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heavenunderthemoon · 3 years

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Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy.

"Y/N."

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would've done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren't forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father's life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother's.

"Dad."

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father's abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn't particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father's face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn't and who was to say that it wouldn't happen to you too?

"Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?" He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father's voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn't composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn't afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

"I know, I love you too." You didn't know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn't done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would've said.

"I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug." If you hadn't been so worried that you might die soon you might've found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn't mind it. You didn't mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn't mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.

It's funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

"Remember when I taught you to drive?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn't learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. "There's no use learning to drive when your mother's here, sometimes me, and the metro, it's useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun."

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

"Yeah."

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother's features and the amusement playing on Foyet's, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

"I'm a terrible driver." You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn't seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn't been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn't miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

"You're good enough."

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

"I think that's good enough, right, Y/N?" The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of...mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father's stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn't smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn't ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn't hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

"Don't touch me." You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn't expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"Wow, you've got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner." He chuckled to himself like he said the world's funniest joke, and you glared.

"Leave them alone." Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. "How about this, how about you go hide, I'll give you a head start, and then I'll come find you."

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. "No." You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother's flesh, yet, you couldn't just leave your mother. You couldn't leave her to die.

"Ah, come on. You're a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren't you guys supposed to be fun?" His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn't have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father's height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn't think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy's girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the 'bad guy' in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn't think you would ever be able to ignore that.

"Y/N, go." Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother's lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. "Mom, no." it came out shaky, and you didn't have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn't been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That's how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley's ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother's lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl's cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. "Go, baby. I'll be okay."

No, you won't. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother's arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother's hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn't care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

"I- I love you." It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

"I love you too." Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn't feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father's nightstand. It hadn't been touched since you all had moved out. It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother's quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

"Y/N!" A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother's body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack's old room- eye's scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn't have much time until he was coming after you.

"I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are." He sang out. He must've taken your mother- your mother's body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn't difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn't it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

"I think I'll lay your body right next to your Mom. You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you can be together?" He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack's door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn't known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn't have given the man much thought. You wouldn't have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that's what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father's team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could've been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family's suffering once and for all. You weren't sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren't there before.

"You bitch!"

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn't look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that's for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother's dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn't hear anything that was going on. That he didn't hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn't dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn't died now. If anything, you might've made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That's why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn't really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn't want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that your mother was dead. It wasn't fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

"Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me."

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn't realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek's. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed...feral.

"Y'N, it's me. You're safe. it's me, it's Derek. Put that gun down." It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn't hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother's body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

"He's dead. Y/N, he's dead." The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who's blood was that? Was that your mother's? Was that Foyet's? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?' He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man's waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

"Y/N!" Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn't been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. "Are you okay, Y/N?"

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn't see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn't even been home very often. Then, you didn't have much of a choice.

You liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

"I'm fine." You took a hand, running it through the boy's ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

"Let's get you checked out, yeah?"

#aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader #criminal minds x reader #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #Criminal Minds

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toxophilitis · 3 years

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The Preacher’s Hot Family cont

CHAPTER EIGHT

The following weekend, Valarie told her husband and daughter that she was going to visit her sister in a nearby town -- when, in reality, she was shacking up with Arnie Hunter.

The minister spent that Saturday morning attending to some duties at the church and, returning home early in the afternoon, he decided to take a shower.

Passing Tammy's open door as he walked down the hall toward the bathroom, he was stunned to see the girl spread out naked on the bed.

With her eyes closed, she was feverishly fingering her juice-drenched pussy as she visualized a big muscular man fucking his hard cock into her. Tammy was so completely lost in her overpowering lust that she didn't even notice her father watching from the door.

The preacher could hardly believe his eyes as he numbly stared at the writhing, moaning girl. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her baby-soft mouth gaping open as her long blonde hair flailed wildly around her flushed face. Sobbing and moaning with ecstasy, she was obscenely finger-fucking her blatantly exposed cunt.

Staring between, his daughter's widely spread thighs, the minister could see her wet fingers slithering around in the clinging moistness of her dripping cunt slit. Her sweet cunt, nestled in a growth of downy pussy hair, was the most erotic sight he had ever seen. Looking at the adorable girl's naked body was almost blowing his mind.

For the past several years, the man had been so involved with his church that he'd given very thought to sex, rarely fucking his beautiful wife. But now, watching his daughter finger-fucking on the bed, he got a horrendous hard-on.

Shaking with excitement, the man began rubbing his aching boner through his pants. His sweet daughter's cunt was hotly flowing with juices that were running down between the soft round cheeks of her ass. Becoming more and more aroused with every passing moment, and not wanting his daughter to see him watching, he turned away and walked on down the hall to the bathroom.

Standing under the warm spray in the shower, he felt his hard cock throbbing wildly as he soaped his body. The man reached down and began lazily skimming his foreskin up and down over his straining cockshaft. It had been years since he had jacked off, but in his present state, the feel of his fingers around his thick boner suddenly felt good to him. Staring down at his bloated cockrod, he began stroking it a bit more urgently. Closing his eyes, he could vividly see Tammy's cunt peeking out at him from between her soft thighs. He tried to imagine that the soapy suds on his hands and cock were his daughter's slippery cunt juices. Half out of his mind with lust, he imagined that his hand was Tammy's pussy. It seemed as if he could hear her sobbing and squealing with delight as his clenched fist slid up and down over the throbbing length of his prick.

He had enjoyed watching her masturbate, but he knew he would never be depraved enough to fuck the girl, yet he was fantasizing that he was fucking his cock in and out of her cunt.

Now stroking his cock a bit more rapidly he imagined his tingling prick fucking deeper and deeper into the slippery hotness of that little pussy of hers. He could clearly see the adoration in her half-closed eyes as she locked her arms and legs more tightly around his body.

As his fingers squeezed and stroked his throbbing boner, he could vividly feel her hot cunt muscles sucking and squeezing on his ready-to-burst prick.

"Oh, Tammy, you sweet baby!" he panted. "It's so good to be fucking your hot pussy!"

He imagined his daughter writhing her overheated pussy around the base of his deeply embedded prick. With his hand racing wildly up and down the length of his throbbing boner, he could almost feel his hard prick plowing deeper and deeper into the hot moistness of her sizzling fuck-hole.

"Here it comes, Tammy, darling!" he suddenly gasped. "Here comes the fuckin' juice!"

Then his thick creamy jizz began splattering all over the wall of the shower stall. The lust crazed preacher's grasping fingers continued pumping up and down on his cum-spurting prick until the last drop had finally oozed out. Shaking like a leaf, he had to lean against the wall to support himself because his trembling legs could hardly hold him up.

Filled with shame over what he'd done, he stepped out of the shower and briskly dried his body. He was completely disgusted with himself, but at least he'd gotten rid of his hot cum-load.

Slipping into a robe, he walked downstairs to his den where he proceeded to pick up his Bible and settle down in his favorite chair. Slowly sipping a Coke, he tried to concentrate on reading, but his mind kept returning to thoughts of his horny daughter. Jacking off had temporarily relieved him of a big wad of jizz, but he still needed to fuck a hot pussy!

Two hours later, the preacher was still sitting in the chair when Tammy walked into the room.

"Hi, Daddy," she said in a pleased voice. "I didn't know you were home."

"I left church early," he smiled.

"Aren't you feeling well?" she asked, walking over and settling down on his lap.

"I feel fine," he smiled, thinking how fresh and clean her hair smelled.

He could feel the soft warmth of her body burning through his robe, sending a faint ripple through his loins. Tammy's short skirt had accidentally slipped up quite high when she plopped herself on his lap, and the sight of his daughter's bare thighs brought back the lascivious thoughts he'd been having about her. Remembering how her pussy had looked when she was playing with it, he suddenly wondered how it would feel to stick his cock in there. He tried to dismiss the thought, but it still persisted. The realization that her juicy pussy was only separated from his cock by the material of his robe and her skirt was making his prick stir back to life.

Sitting on her father's lap, Tammy was suddenly conscious of his boner swelling and throbbing against her ass. For the first time in her life, she wondered what her dad's cock was like. Being an extremely horny girl, and realizing they would be alone in the house all weekend, she suddenly had a wild desire, to have him fuck her.

Wanting to let him know that she was available, she began slowly and very subtly squirming her hot ass around on his rapidly swelling cock-bulge.

"Gee, Daddy!" she whispered, rubbing her ass against his expanding cock. "I sure love sitting on your lap."

The way she was squirming round was exciting him even more.

"Oh, Daddy," she giggled. "You're getting a hard-on, you naughty man!"

"Don't talk like that," he said in a nervous voice. "Nice girls don't use those kinds of words."

"Oh, Daddy," Tommy whispered, squirming around and covering his mouth with her moistly parted lips. "I loved you so muck."

Holding the girl in his arms, he felt a horny thrill as her sweet tongue wormed between his lips and into his mouth. Because of the way she was squirming on his lap, the front of his robe opened arid his prick sprang out against the bare flesh of her inner thighs. The thrilling sensation of his big drooling cockhead burning against her bare skin sent a hot spurt of cunt cream gushing out from between her legs.

"Jesus Christ," he softly moaned into the girl's open sucking mouth.

Almost out, of his mind with lust, the preacher no longer gave a shit whether it was his own daughter or not. The only thing that mattered anymore was that she had a cunt and he desperately needed to fuck her.

More than eager to fuck, Tammy reached down and wrapped her fingers around his stiff prick, sliding his silky foreskin up and down over his sensitive cockhead. God, how she wanted to feel her sweet father's hard cock stuffed up between her legs! His prick felt so stiff, with a spongy hardness about it that was extremely pleasant. Placing his bloated cockhead between her soft creamy thighs, she closed her legs together, gently squeezing his hard cock between her naked thighs.

"Oh, you sweet baby!" her dad gasped, almost beside himself with the intense ecstasy.

Opening her legs, she once more began stroking his heavenly boner with her soft fingers.

"Do you like this, Daddy?" she whispered, expertly skimming his foreskin back and forth.

"It feels fantastic," he gasped. "But I shouldn't be letting you do this to me."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my daughter."

"Oh, shit," she giggled. "I've been fucked lots of times."

"Are you telling me the truth?" he panted, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Sure," she grinned. "I love to fuck. Would you like to try me?"

"Oh, honey, we couldn't do that," he mumbled as the horny blonde continued stroking his throbbing hard-on. "I'm your father."

"So what?" she giggled. "Dads need fuckin', too."

"I know," he admitted. "But not with their daughters."

Pleased that she wasn't wearing any pants or a bra, as usual, Tammy took his hand and shoved it up under her skirt -- letting his fingers brush across the soft fuzz of her juicy pussy.

"Daddy," she whispered into his ear, "stick your finger in and see how hot and juicy my pussy is."

His hard cock lurched wildly in Tammy's hands when his fingertip slipped into the hotness of her cunt slit. He had never felt anything so incredibly good in his life.

"Does it feel good?" she whispered. "God, yes!" he panted.

"Then why don't you fuck it?"

"I can't, honey. It just wouldn't be right."

"Don't you wanta fuck me?" she pouted. "Of course I do, darling. But ft isn't right for a father to mess with his own daughter."

"Maybe it doesn't seem right," giggled the horny girl. "But it'll sure feel right."

Feeling her fingers lovingly stroking his throbbing prick, the preacher closed his eyes and surrendered to her persistent urging.

Pleased that he wasn't resisting any longer, Tammy raised her skirt above her hips and, facing her dad, she straddled his loins. Grasping the base of his stiff prick, she guided it up between her cuntlips as she slowly lowered her hot dripping cunt slit down over his throbbing cockhead. The horny girl's body trembled with excitement as she felt her father's big blood-engorged cock sinking into the slippery hotness of her steaming pussy.

"Oooooooooh, Daddy," she passionately whimpered, still lowering her seething pussy down aver his wonderful fuck-tool. "It feels so good... so good!"

As Tammy's hotly aroused cunt slid down over his cock, her dad kept arching his hips up until her pussy was completely filled with his throbbing prick.

"Oh, fuck!" she whimpered, screwing her hot slit down tighter around the thick base of his embedded fuck-shaft. "This feel so shittin' good!"

Tammy could feel every vein and sinew of his hard cockmeat pulsating deliciously against the sensitive flesh of her tightly stretched cunt walls.

"Oh, shit," she giggled as she began fucking her grasping pussy up and down over his glistening cockshaft. "This is gonna be fun."

Becoming more and more aroused as she bounced up and down on his throbbing prick, the girl suddenly pulled, her dress off over her head and excitedly rubbed her luscious tits against her father's drooling mouth.

"Mmmmmmm!" she whimpered when he sucked one of her swollen nipples into his mouth, feeling it clear down to her cunt when he began lightly nibbling on her sensitive nipple. "It feels so fuckin' good, Daddy!"

With her nipple stuffed into his hotly sucking mouth, Tammy was feverishly fucking her pussy up and down over his glorious cock. The lips of her greedy pussy sucked and grasped hungrily at the base of his prickshaft, as if frantically trying to suck more of his cock into her writhing fuck-hole.

The man could feel his cock growing bigger and bigger as it slithered in and out between the fleshy ridges of his daughter's tightly squeezing inner pussy flesh. Only a few short minutes before, his sex-starved body had been dying for a hot fuck, but he had never dreamed of anything as wonderful as this. His pretty daughter was giving him the tightest, hottest fuck he'd ever had in his entire life. It felt as if his big bloated cockrod would literally explode from the exquisite sensations induced by her sucking cunt.

Their sweaty bodies were frantically grinding together as she bounced up and down over him, taking his hard cockmeat deeper and deeper into her hot fuck-hole.

"Oh, shit, Daddy!" she shrieked. "I just love your big hard cock!"

"You sweet baby!" he gasped, momentarily releasing her swollen nipple from his feverish sucking mouth. "That's gotta be the hottest, tightest cunt in the whole world!"

"I'm glad you like it," she smiled. "I want you to enjoy my pussy as much as I'm enjoying your big hard prick."

Their lurching bodies were slapping noisily together as the lewdly coupled father and daughter frantically fucked on.

"Oh, you sweet darling!" he gasped. "I've never felt anything so fuckin' good in my life!"

"I know! I know!" she squealed with rapture. "Your hard cock is driving me crazy!"

As her cream-slickened cunt slurped up and down over his wildly throbbing boner, she was rubbing her tits wildly against his face and mouth.

"Ooooooooh, Daddy!" she screamed as the man began thrusting his loins up more violently to meet every downward fuck-plunge of her pussy. "Fuck faster Daddy... faster... harder!"

As the horny girl rapidly increased the tempo of her fucking, her dad could feel an ejaculation building up deep in his balls, and he realized he would soon be filling his daughter's cunt full of hot cum.

"Oh, sweet fuckin' Jesus!" she joyously whimpered, throwing her long blonde hair back as the top ridge of his big juice-slickened cock rubbed against her tingling clit. "It's so good... so good!"

The wild ecstasy was almost more than the horny girl could stand, and when she suddenly felt her father's hot cum gushing into her eagerly waiting cunt, she exploded into a mind-blowing orgasm.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, shit! I'm coming!" she shrieked, writhing her hot cunt down around the base of his cum-spurting cock, wanting to get the full impact of his powerful discharge.

Falling forward with her face against his shoulder, Tammy clung passionately to her dad until the very last drop of cum had dribbled out of his prick.

"Oh, Daddy," she softly whispered into his ear. "That was the neatest fuck I've ever had. Let's just fuck all night long."

"That suits me," he grinned as his lovely daughter got up, letting his limp prick slip out of her cummy cunt with a wet slurping sound.

"Let's go up to your room," she said, picking up her dress. "I wanta get this sweet cock nice and hard again."

They went upstairs together, big globs of slippery cum oozing out from between her legs with every step. Once they were in her dad's room, Tammy playfully pushed him down on the bed. Lying next to him, the horny girl began lightly caressing his limp prick.

"You're sure a horny shit," her dad grinned as Tammy's fingers lovingly worked on his sensitive cockshaft. "Who taught you all this stuff?"

"Me," she giggled.

"How many guys have fucked you?"

"Lots of them," she admitted. "Even Uncle Will fucks me all the time."

The preacher was shocked to hear that his older brother had fucked Tammy, but the shock turned to ecstasy when Tammy suddenly lowered, her head and stuffed his sticky prick into her mouth. His entire body began trembling with excitement as he watched the girl wrap her juicy baby-soft lips around the head of his prick.

"Mmmmmmm," she whimpered, swirling her tongue around his limp fucker. "You taste so good."

A ripple of renewed excitement rushed through her cunt when Tammy felt his cock starting to grow bigger in her mouth. She could feel her father trembling with lust as her tongue and lips worked and sucked on his rapidly expanding boner. As she nibbled and sucked up and down the sensitive underside of his spit soaked prick, her father quickly raised another throbbing hard-on.

"God, that's a neat cock," she sighed, momentarily removing his prick from her mouth.

"And you're so sweet," he whispered as her fingers teasingly moved up and down the length of his cockshaft like butterfly wings. Then, slowly sliding the thick foreskin back and forth over his bloated cockhead, she lovingly rubbed his sensitive prick-knob against her cheeks, under her chin and through her long blonde hair.

Finally covering the head of his cock with her hot wet mouth again, she began a slow deep suction that soon had him writhing all over the bed. With every deep suck, it felt to the man as if she were drawing his asshole right up through the length of his swollen cockshaft.

"You sweet cock-sucker!" he gasped, curling his fingers into her hair as he talented mouth sucked feverishly on his blood engorged prick. Her head was bobbing faster and faster as she frenziedly sucked on him throbbing boner. His entire body was writhing and jerking from the fantastic sensations being induced by his cock crazed daughter's juicy mouth.

"Are you almost ready to shoot?" she asked, releasing his prick when she felt his stomach muscles tensing.

"Just about," he panted.

"Then shoot your jizz into my cunt," she giggled, rolling onto her back and spreading her legs for him.

Smiling at his beautiful daughter, he quickly crawled up between her logs.

"Oh, sweet Daddy," she whispered, feeling his cock slowly parting her slippery cuntlips. "That feels so fuckin' good."

When his throbbing cockshaft was fully embedded in her horny aunt, he slowly withdrew. It about halfway and then went all the way in again. Repeating the same thing, ho was soon rhythmically fucking his steel-bud cock in and out of her juicy pussy.

"Oh, Daddy?" she screamed with rapture. "It feels so fucking good! SO fucking, fucking good!"

The room was echoing with their squeals and moans of passion as they feverishly fucked each other for all they were worth.

"That's it, Daddy!" she shrieked, feeling his hard cock pounding deeper and deeper into her belly. "Fuck it to me, Daddy! Fuck it to me!"

As his cock fucked deeper and harder into her cunt, Tammy knew this was just one of the many fucks she would share with her dad before this night was over -- and for years to come.

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amtwst-tls · 4 years

Text

~Dance and Wishes~ Wish upon a Star: Epel’s wish

Epel's Wish

Pomefiore Dorm - Epel's room

Epel: My wish is... "to grow taller"

Grim: Why do ya want to grow taller??

Epel: I've always been a late bloomer... and I've always yearned to be more well-built.

Epel: If I could grow taller, then I'd be one step closer to my ideal.

Deuce: Ahh...its true some folk look a lot more intimidating when they've got the height for it.

Deuce: By the way, is there anyone in school that you think is close to your ideal?

Epel: If I had to pick someone... it'd be Jack-kun from my class, I guess.

Deuce: Right, he's got 190cm on him, he'd definitely fit the bill.

Grim: His arms and legs are pretty bulky too, he's built like a log!

Epel: Right? We're in the same class so once, I asked him how he managed to get so tall.

Mc: >What was his reply? >What was the reaction?

Epel: He said... he doesn't know.

Epel: When he was younger, he was about average height, but... apparently he started to get growth pains in his legs before he even graduated from elementary school.

Epel: And before he knew it, he was as tall as we see him now...

Deuce: If his growth spurt was that bad then it must've been pretty painful for him.

Deuce: Mine happened during middle school, I'd wake up in the middle of the night because of the pain.

Epel: I haven't experienced that yet so... I'd like to believe that my growth spurt has yet to happen, there's hope for me yet!

Grim: I haven't experienced that either so, maybe I'm gonna grow huge one of these days!

Deuce: You aren't even human though, so you probably shouldn't count on it working the same like it does for us...

Grim: Wha-!? That ain't true, I'm sure I'm gonna grow taller!!

Grim: Just you wait Deuce: I'm gonna grow so big I'll be looking down on ya soon enough!!

Epel: Fufu, it'd be great if you could get bigger too, Grim.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst tls #twst translations #twisted wonderland tls #twisted wonderland translations #deuce #deuce spade #epel #epel felmier #grim #Dreams and wishes #wish upon a star #twst event #aera's tls #dance and wishes

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koutaroulogy · 3 years

Text

estrella . hinata shoyo

genre: fluff, post timeskip

warnings: posting this early! i wish i could post this on his birthday spot on but my schedule says no. pretty much a short drabble- wrote this on a whim. all characters are aged up.

details: shoyo's recount of the years of growth until you both made it to where you are now.

notes: i have so many things to be grateful for- but thank you @soft-for-shoyo for including me in the collab, and thank you furudate for giving us this sunshine who started it all.

word count: 600 or so.

hinata shoyo was nothing short of passionate and grateful.

once upon a june twenty-first of ninety-ninety-six, he opens his eyes to see a crying mother, a happy father and the bland hospital walls. his wail resonates around the building in a way to announce that he was happy to be alive.

he surprisingly remembers a lot of things, like the first time he was ever able to hold a volleyball in his palms or the tears his mother wore as she happily held him up in her arms while he raised his fingers up to the sky- wondering if he'll ever able to touch the faint stars glinting far away.

there were moments when he felt so small. the going tends to get tough, but hinata shoyo had a very big and bright heart that was more than enough to overcome the dark corners of his mind.

volleyball became his life, his passion and his love. he looked at volleyball the same way jack and rose looked at each other in the escape boat. his fiery passion made up for his lack of height- and he loved it all the more as he grew up through puberty and subtle growth spurts that never seemed to come fast enough.

shoyo had so much love gained from the smack of the balls against the concrete, the sound of shoes scraping across the grounds in chasing after the point that flew across the net and the swooshing sound of jumping from the soles of his feet to engage in a mid-air battle.

was there anything else to love?

shoyo remembers the first time he met you in the same country where he had been battling the wind and sand. the stars were bright the night he saw you- a struggling journalist desperate for passion, and he as a delivery boy homesick for japan at an empty beach along with a net set up as if it was waiting for this moment.

hinata spiked the ball across the net, and you watched him.

the stars were reflected in his eyes and you were mesmerized.

the both of you clicked like a locket and key. puzzle pieces returning to their respective places beside each other. birds making nests on a withered tree and calling it home.

in those unforgettable dates- he had realized that yes- you were the one who was his to love. maybe God had waited up till this time to make your hearts sing with a simple 'i love you'.

you tell shoyo he tends to look at you as if you were the entire universe all in one body, and he too was what a shooting star granted when you wished for him. he particularily reddened at that statement while you giggled at the flustered vision of him.

after many hardships, bumps along the road later- and now june twenty-first of twenty-twenty-one, he opens his eyes to see you smiling from your side of the bed; the ring on the hand that had the vena amoria glinting in the brazil sun filtering through the windows and he's just in awe of you. at you.

"you look like you're in love with me," you snorted. the orange-haired man rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed laugh and leaned down to kiss your temple, stressing his syllables in his slightly broken portuguese you had come to love.

"y/n- i AM in love with you."

you reminded shoyo of those faint stars he used to dream about catching with a bug's net. and now that he had you snuggled up next to him while kung fu hustle played on the screen, he felt like he could put the entire milky way into his palm- shaping it into a circle of dreams and infinities which was what he used to be too small- too powerless to reach.

estrella.

his stars were you.

hinata shoyo was really someone who was nothing short of passionate and grateful. in fact- he was filled with so much passion for volleyball, so much gratitude for the gods for giving him the courage to grab the oppurtunities; for letting him exist in the same universe as you.

shoyo kissed your forehead and silently thanked your sleeping figure fondly.

my star, mi estrellá.

he grins, extending his arms around your round middle contentedly.

yet another star was coming home.

#ShoyosCelebration #koutaroulogy #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x you #hinata x you #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo #hinata shoyo drabble #love #drabble #haikyuu drabbles #fluff fluff!#a small surprise at the end ;)#romance

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

I’ve just always loved the idea of Billy and Steve being chilhood best friends since they were litte kids and then slowly as they get older they’d start to like each other. So, what about them having their first time with each other? Billy slowly fucking Steve while they’re both so new to all of it and in a way it’s very tender.

Steve met Billy at the park when he was six.

Billy was only five, was new to Hawkins with his dad and his brand new baby sister.

Steve liked his curly hair.

Billy liked Steve’s brown eyes.

They had been inseparable since.

Steve came over for lots of play dates when his parents were out of town and his nannies didn’t mind dropping him off at the little house on Cherry Road.

He and Billy would run around in the backyard, would jump in puddles and stomp through mud. They would help Mrs. Hargrove with dinner and clumsily set the table with chubby hands.

And then Steve’s nanny would whisk him away and Billy’s father would berate him for whatever he did wrong that day.

But the two boys were joined at the hip, spent as much time as possible together.

They knew one another inside and out.

Steve was the first person to tell Billy that he loved him.

Billy was the first person to tell Steve that he loved him.

And they shared everything. Their clothes were so intermingled that neither knew which t-shirt originally belonged to whom.

They told each other everything.

“Don’t you think that Stacey’s totally hot now?” They were fourteen, laying on their stomachs on Steve’s bed, talking through the first day of high school.

“I don’t know. Wasn’t really looking.” Because Billy only ever had eyes for Steve, had since he was five.

“She’s got boobs now.” And Steve had only come into his own. His braces had come off two summers ago, and he was beginning to fill out, probably had one last growth spurt left in him.

“I didn’t notice.” Billy was trying as hard as he could to keep off the baby weight he had finally shed this summer. He was going out for the high school basketball team, was heartbroken when Steve decided he was going to go for swimming, since he already swam for the Hawkins Comp. team.

“You never notice girls.” And Steve said it so nonchalant, like it was just a plain old fact. Billy supposes it is.

“I notice boys, though.” Billy’s voice was small.

He knew he could trust Steve, but his heart was still thundering as Steve flicked the page of last year’s yearbook. What if Steve turned? Called him disgusting like his dad does and told him to get out of his house.

“Yeah, me too.”

So they shared the same shameful secret.

It was only fitting.

“What do you think sex is like?” They were sixteen, sitting in the front seat of Steve’s brand-new BMW. The old Camaro Billy bought much too cheap and had been fixing for the past year and a half was so damn close to being finished.

Sometimes Billy got jealous. Steve had fucking everything. He didn’t have to buy a junked car and fix it up just so he can have some transportation. He doesn’t have to clip coupons with his step-mom just so they can afford some dish soap.

But Steve didn’t ask for any of this. It’s just what he was born into. And he shared it with Billy, no qualms about it.

“I mean, like jacking off. But better, I think.”

“I guess that would be pretty good.”

“I don’t know. I kinda just wanna get the first time over with. I feel like there’s too much pressure for it to be this magical thing you’ll fondly look back on for the rest of time.” Billy took a drag of his cigarette. Steve stole it from him as he was blowing the smoke out the window.

“I hope mine is.” Billy rolled his eyes. He knew Steve was a hopeless romantic, always had been. “I hope it’s with someone that I care about, and that cares about me, and even if we break up or something, I’ll always think about my first time and feel good.”

Billy took back the cigarette.

He had an idea. Didn’t know if he could broach it to Steve, didn’t know if Steve would take it well.

He had thought about fucking Steve plenty of times.

He had swiped enough gay skin mags from truck stops outside of town to know what to guys got up to together.

And he knew that Steve’s eyes were big, and his legs were long, and his heart was kind. And he knew that he was in love with Steve. He’s known that since he was a little boy.

He blew out the smoke, locking his jaw. Didn’t want to ask.

“Um, hear me out.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, focused on the windshield. “What if, what if we, um, did it.”

Steve was staring at his hands, fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“Wait, like, you and I have sex?” Steve shrugged.

“I mean, best of both worlds. Like, you can just kinda get it over with, and I can have something nice with someone, someone that cares about me.” He got quieter with every word.

“So you, you think we should fuck?”

“Just forget it. It was dumb.”

“I mean, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve’s head snapped to look at him, dark eyes searching his face.

“Really?” Billy shifted in his seat, trying to open his posture.

“It makes sense. Plus, I mean, I know I said I wanted to get it over with, but at least I’ll never regret it, you know? Plus like, I can make it real special for you. Candles, and Michael Bolton. All of it.” Steve had red patches on his cheeks, looking past Billy out the window. “What do you say?”

“Um, yeah.”

Steve didn’t know what gay sex was like.

He had pawed through a few of Billy’s nudie mags, had seen naked men enough to know that he wanted, had seen Billy naked enough to know that he really wanted.

He drove out the city, shoved a hat low over his brow as he walked into the store.

He bought a few different films, watched them that night with his hand on his cock.

He thought about fingering himself, getting used to the stretch of something inside him, but then he thought about Billy’s fingers, thought about how thick they are, thought about Billy stretching him open, and he blew his load.

Steve had told him he didn’t want to know what Billy was planning, and he especially didn’t want to know when he was planning it.

Billy had pulled out all the stops.

Well, as many stops he could pull out on a limited budget.

He bought lots of nice candles, and put a lot of ideas into music.

He picked a random Saturday, when he knew Steve was at swim practice to get everything set up.

He toyed around with taking him in Steve’s parents room, but didn’t want to give Steve any reason to be uncomfortable.

He had made a mix tape, songs that he knew would make Steve all sappy and gooey. He lit the candles, put lube and a few condoms on the nightstand.

He was a little jittery.

Steve had told him that he wanted to be the one taking, that he had come to really love the idea of Billy fucking him.

Which, Billy was fine with, had been hoping for.

He had whacked off that morning, figured he wouldn’t last long once he got inside Steve.

He was getting hard just at the idea.

He heard Steve’s car out front.

He sat on the end of the bed, didn’t want to pull some awful pose.

Steve’s eyes were wide when he opened the door, hair still wet from his post-practice shower.

He dropped his bag.

He was on Billy in a second, straddling his lap, sinking both hands into his hair.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Billy pushed forward, connecting their lips.

Steve sighed into him, melting into Billy.

Billy brought his hands up Steve’s frame, feeling up his back from his hips.

He laid back, Steve pulling Steve on top of him.

They made out for a little while, just taking it slow, easing each other into it.

And then Steve ground his hips down, and they both gasped, breaking their kiss to look at one another.

Billy rolled them over, Steve’s eyes were wide as Billy settled on top of him.

“You want this?”

“Yeah, I want this. Want you.”

Billy pressed his hands under Steve’s shirt, pulling it over his head, tossing it on the floor.

Steve scrambled to get Billy’s shirt off as well, feeling down his chest.

He squeezed at the bulge in Billy’s jeans.

“I wanna blow you.” Billy fucking moaned at Steve’s voice.

“Yeah, Baby. Go for it.” He rolled off him, sitting against the headboard.

Steve sat on his knees between Billy’s legs, undoing his belt slowly.

His hands were shaking a bit as he pulled the zipper down, reached inside and pulled out Billy’s cock.

He stared at it for a second, and then bent forward, sucking the head into his mouth.

He thought about what he saw the pornstars do, licking up the length of Billy’s dick.

Billy sighed above him as he took him into his mouth, pressing down as far as he could.

He buried his nose in the soft pubic hairs at the base of him, the head of Billy’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Steve pulled off, jerking his spit-slicked cock.

“What?” He sank back down, taking all of Billy, bobbing his head.

“Oh my, God.” Billy was stuttering. “I thought deepthroating was supposed to be-ah-hard.” Steve pulled off him again.

“I don’t really have a gag reflex.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, ‘course you don’t.” Steve just shrugged, kept going.

Billy was gonna lose his shit.

Steve gave head like a goddamn pornstar, like he’d been doing it for years.

He set a sloppy pace, swiping his tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Stevie, Baby pull off.” Steve pulled off him with a frankly obscene slurping noise. “Don’t wanna cum yet.” Steve smiled coyly at him. “Yeah, yeah. You did a good job. Whatever.”

Steve laughed at him, started tugging Billy’s jeans down and off.

“I mean, didn’t really take you for a minute man, Bill.” Billy kicked off his jeans, slamming Steve back to the bed.

Steve yelped as he roughly pulled off his shorts.

“Let’s see how cock sure you get.” He reached for the lube, pouring some out onto his fingers.

He pressed Steve’s legs open, taking a look at his hole.

He pressed one finger against him, just rubbing small circles.

He pushed his finger inside.

Steve gasped sharply as Billy teased his finger, pressing in slowly.

“You ever finger yourself?”

“Thought about it, but, but wanted you.” Billy pumped his finger in and out.

Steve breathed deeply, relaxing into it.

“You okay?” He smiled lazily at Billy, nodding slowly. “What’s it feel like?”

“Honestly, doesn’t feel like much.”

“You think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Billy pulled his finger out, began prodding at him with two.

Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Okay, yeah, now I’m feelin’ it.”

“Good?”

“It’s just, it’s a lot.”

“You want me to slow down?” He was still drilling his fingers in and out of Steve, and gave an experimental curl.

Steve arched off the bed, inhaling sharply. He went limp again, Billy watching with wide eyes.

“Whatever the fuck you did, do that shit again.” Billy barked a laugh, started curling his fingers, making Steve moaning loudly, and fucking writhe below him.

And then Steve went rigid, his thighs trembling, cumming all over himself.

He was breathing heavy as he opened his eyes, looking back at Billy.

“Who’s the minute man now?” Steve lazily slapped at him. “For real though, that was hot. Didn’t know you could cum like that.”

“Yeah, me neither, or I woulda stopped you.” Billy was suddenly aware he stil had two fingers in Steve.

“So you want me to stop, or?” Steve shook his head.

“I’ll be good in a minute or two. Just keep, you know.” He waved a hand at Billy’s arm, his face flushing. Billy smirked at him.

“Just keep what, Doll?” The more embarrassed Steve got, the more Billy wanted him to say it. “I don’t know what you want.” Steve whined.

“Keep, like, keep fingering me.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, his cheeks red.

Billy took out his fingers, pushing three in at once.

He rubbed up and down Steve’s chest, could feel him tensing against the intrusion.

“Breathe, Stevie.” He closed his eyes again, visibly relaxing.

Billy fucked him with his fingers, moved slowly in and out of him.

He spread his fingers, making room for himself.

He took his time, loved sitting here making Steve feel good.

He was starting to get hard again, bucking his hips to fuck himself on Billy’s fingers.

“I’m ready, Bill.”

Billy pulled his fingers out, lubing up his cock. He wanted to feel Steve, knew they were both clean anyway, didn’t wanna bother with a condom.

He scoot on his knees closer to Steve’s body, lining himself up.

“You ready?” Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck, pulling him closer to him.

“Want you.”

So Billy pushed his way in.

It was like Heaven, sinking into Steve.

His body was so hot, tight and perfect around him. He slumped on top of Steve, lazily kissing his neck.

Steve was holding onto him, started tapping his shoulder.

“Move, Bill. Fuck me.”

He pulled his hips back, pushing back in slowly.

“Oh my God.” Steve felt like he was being split open, his mind short-circulating at the feeling of Billy on top of him, all around him, inside of him.

Billy lost himself in the slick slid of his cock, the perfect heat of Steve around him.

“Feel so fucking good.” Billy’s mouth was right against Steve’s ear.

Steve was completely hard again, his dick caught between their stomachs.

“God, Billy.” Billy pushed up on his elbows to look at Steve’s face, still moving slow.

Steve wrapped his leg’s around Billy’s waist, pulling him close. Billy picked up his pace a little bit, bucking his hips a little harder, a little faster.

He was toeing the edge, felt like he could cum for the past half hour.

“Love the way you feel.” Steve was babbling, his eyes hazy. “Love you.”

Billy bucked his hips, and came deep inside Steve.

He buried his face in Steve’s neck, embarrassed that Steve saying he loves him made him cum.

And then he thought about it more, realized Steve had just said he fucking loves him.

“Wait, hold on.” He pushed back up to look at Steve. “Did you, did you mean that?” Steve looked to his right, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

But his cheeks were red, and his bottom lip trembled just so, and Billy knew.

“I love you too, Stevie.” He reached down to tug on Steve’s cock, jerk him quickly.

Steve’s eyes went wide as Billy touched him, his hips bucking into his hand.

“Wanna watch you fall apart again. So pretty when you cum. Lemme see it.” Steve was panting, his body going tight.

His eyes screwed up as he came for a second time, his chest heaving.

Billy flopped next to him, pulling Steve into his side.

He brushed his fingers down Steve’s back.

“How you feelin’?” Steve hummed into his chest.

“Real good.”

“And um, about what you said-”

“Bill, just leave it. It’s fine.” His back was stiff, his shoulders rising to his ears.

“No, but I-”

“It’s fine.”

“I meant it when I said it back. Meant it the same way you meant it.” Steve looked up at him, his hair all wild.

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Steve smiled, all big and so pretty, burying his face in Billy’s chest, let him pet through his hair.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Baby.”

#yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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icefire149 · 3 years

Text

An Angel’s Vow

Chapter Six (Read on ao3 | Read from the beginning)

Startled, Claire was dizzily out of bed and on her feet before her brain had even caught up to what was happening. The piercing cry from elsewhere in the house was making it hard to focus and had her heart racing. Her hip painfully banged into the corner of the drawers as she tried to make it to the door in the dark. She flung it open just to witness Cas bolting into the nursery.

Going from the dark bedroom to the brightly lit hallway hurt. She squinted and tried to shield her eyes with one of her hands while she followed into Jack’s room, stopping in the doorway.

Cas stood next to the crib. He gently swayed back and forth on his feet while he held Jack tightly to his chest. Jack’s little fists held onto the material of Cas’ coat for dear life. “Shhh. Shhh. You’re okay. You’re okay, Jack. Shhh.”

Jack continued to wail with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is he okay?”

He turned in her direction, and Cas’ eyes widened with surprise for a moment. Momentarily, he forgot that Claire was even in the house. “He will be.”

One of Cas’ hands continuously rubbed circles into Jack’s back. “Shhh. I’m right here.” The volume of Jack’s cries slowly lessened to sniffles.

Yawning, Claire leaned her head into the doorway. “What’s bothering him?”

Jack peeked an eye open and it glowed an unnaturally bright gold. Claire banged into the doorway flinching. New tears bubbled in his eyes.

“He’s growing again,” Cas answered, looking just as pained as the baby.

“Isn’t he a bit young for intense growing pains? Should we get a doctor?” Antsy, Claire finally stepped into the room, but she still kept a distance between her and the baby.

Firmly, Cas said, “No doctors.” Jack hid his face in Cas’ jacket.

“Cas, crying like that because of pain isn’t normal.”

Cas crossed the space between them and sighed, “I’ve tried to take the pain away. My grace, does nothing. His grace, does nothing. I doubt a human doctor could do better.”

“Okay.” Claire raised her hands in defeat.

“All I can do is hold him. It seems to help. Hopefully it’s not too big of a growth spurt.”

Jack finally turned his head again. The golden glow of his eyes was hard to look away from.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you.” Cas offered her a small smile. “I’ll take him downstairs so you can sleep. He’ll be all better in a few hours.”

Jack reached a tiny hand out towards Claire. She offered her hand, and Jack tightly wrapped his around her fingers. He sniffled.

Claire met Cas’ eye. “Growing pains don’t just disappear by morning.”

“Jack is two months, one week, and three days old.”

Her gaze flew back to the baby. “He looks a hell of a lot older than that.”

“I know. Every so often he leaps ahead in growth.”

“That explains the pain.” With her free hand, Claire lightly ruffled a bit of Jack’s hair. “Keep fighting little guy.”

“I wish I could do more to alleviate his pain.” His voice was so quiet that Claire almost missed it. Jack released her hand, and he squished his face into Cas’ chest again.

“You’re doing everything right.” Claire crossed her arms. “Trust me. Just being here is enough.”

Silently, Cas studied her for a moment. His head tilted to the side. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “So do you have any clothes ready for him?”

“Oh.” Cas looked down at Jack. He ran a finger down to the collar of the baby’s onesie. It wasn’t too small yet, but it already was snugger than when he dressed him earlier.

Cas went over to the dresser and opened one of the lower drawers. “I should have something suitable from last time I went out.” He glanced at Claire over his shoulder. “Depending on how much he grows this time we will have to go to couple stores in the morning. I’ll need to get a few things in bigger sizes too for later.”

“Okay,” Claire yawned and rubbed at one of her eyes. “We can make a day out of it.”

Cas lightly kissed the top of Jack’s head, and whispered more words of comfort to him. He found the clothes he was looking for and brought it over to the changing table.

Glancing over at Claire again, he saw that she was dozing off on her feet. Cas crossed the room and put a light hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You can go back to bed.” She jumped awake.

“Are you,” she yawned. “-sure?”

“Yes. We’ll both be here when you wake up.”

Claire’s gaze went from Cas to Jack, and then back to Cas. A part of her wanted to argue and stay with them a while longer, but her eyes started drooping closed again. Another yawn escaped her.

“Bed.” Cas walked her out of the room. She followed behind, and Cas watched as she continued past him and into the master bedroom. Claire fell onto the bed and was immediately asleep.

Groggy, Claire rolled over in bed and realized the room was teetering on being too warm. Almost suffocating. She sat up and opened her eyes. Bright rays of sunlight were coming in the windows and a part of her wished thick curtains or blinds would appear so she could go back to sleep.

A big yawn shook her body while she turned to lay on her side, facing away from the windows. Her eyes slowly closed, but then her heartbeat jumped to a racing pace. Claire didn’t recognize the room at all.

Slowly, the memories of the previous day flooded back to her. A lot of it felt like it was all just some crazy dream. Claire put her feet on the floor, grabbed her phone off the nightstand, and stumbled out of the room. On the stairs she looked at her phone. It was almost twelve thirty.

She forgot to peek in the nursery when she passed the door, but she figured that Cas would have said something if they were in there. Entering the living room, Claire still didn’t see Cas. The play pen was empty too. Frowning, she turned around and went over to the window. The lake looked inviting, but still there was no sign of the angels.

Despondent, Claire was about to head back upstairs to change when she heard the sound of something plastic hitting the floor. Oh. The kitchen. Claire felt the tension loosen in her shoulders.

“Honeybee, please,” Cas begged.

Claire paused just outside of the kitchen, and out of sight. She bit back a smile listening to the exasperated tone in Cas’ voice.

“We agreed to be quiet while Claire sleeps, right?”

“No!”

The high pitched voice took her by surprise. Right, the little weed was growing last night. She knew that.

Her mouth curled into a grin at the sound of Cas’ deep sigh. She peeked into the kitchen and saw Cas standing next to the high chair with his arms crossed. Jack’s eyes widened the moment he spotted her.

“LE-AIR!”

Distressed, Cas’ gaze snapped over to her. “I’m so sorry we were too noisy. Did you get enough sleep?”

Yawning, Claire stretched her arms over her head and leaned to stretch a bit of her back too. “I didn’t hear anything until I was almost at the kitchen.”

“Good.” He looked relieved.

Crossing the room, Claire got a better look at Jack. He was holding a small, red, plastic bowl in his hands. The closer she got the higher he raised the bowl, hiding his face. She stopped at Cas’ side.

Jack peeked an eye from behind the bowl, but quickly squeezed his eyes shut when he realized Claire was still looking at him. He was notably bigger than he was last night.

“Hi,” she finally mumbled with a tiny wave. Jack didn’t react. Claire glanced up at Cas. “So….he can talk now?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Cas’ mouth. “A bit, yes.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Walk?”

“Not quite.” Cas walked around to the other side of the highchair. There was a proud air about him when he looked at Jack. He lifted the bowl from Jack’s hands and placed it on the kitchen table. “I thought you wanted Claire to join us, honeybee?”

Jack put the side of his hand in his mouth and tilted his head slightly to the side. He smiled.

The look on Cas’ face melted into a fond one. He lightly ruffled Jack’s sandy, brown hair. Like everything else it had grown and thickened overnight. The front swooped more to the side and the ends in the back curled under his ears.

Claire inched closer to the highchair. “Jack….” His big blue eyes shifted over to her, and Claire immediately felt tongue tied. Her mouth pulled into a nervous smile. “Can you...uh..can you say, Claire?”

His head seemed to tilt slightly in the other direction now. It eerily reminded her of Cas. “Lee-air.” His eyebrows seemed to furrow like he knew that he made a mistake.

A shiver shot down Claire’s spine. Granted, she had never really interacted with a baby before, but she knew that there was something completely different about Jack. Her stare didn’t leave Jack, but she spoke to Cas. “Is it the angel wiring that makes him….seem...more advanced?”

“I’d imagine. His mind is rapidly growing like the rest of his body. He’ll probably be able to perfect various speech sounds within the following week. If not sooner.”

Nodding, that information about the nephilim amazed her. He blinked, focusing on her again. “Cl? Cllllll-la?”

Absentmindedly, she pointed her thumb at the center of her chest. “Cl-air-re.”

“Clll-AIR.”

Chuckling, she nodded. “Not bad, Jack.”

His smile widened at that. Jack excitedly started kicking his feet and they tap, tap, tapped loudly against the underside of the highchair tray.

“Were you planning on having anything to eat right now? Jack’s all done with his lunch.”

“Mm-hmm.” Claire took that as her cue to start poking around the refrigerator again. She settled on a prepackaged fruit cup.

Before she could ask, Cas went over to the drawers and plucked out a fork. He passed it to her and she sat at the table. “Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he said, tearing off a piece of paper towel. Cas carefully folded it in half, and then again. “You know,” he started while wetting it under the faucet. “When I was human, I hated eating right after I woke up. Made me nauseous.”

“When you were what?” Claire burst with a mouthful of cantaloupe.

Cas rung out the excess water and turned around. “I was briefly human for a time after the angels fell. It was a while until I found what was left of my grace.” He started wiping the stickiness off of Jack’s face and hands.

Claire stared at him dumbfounded for several moments, and Jack wiggled against the cleaning. Focused, Cas continued with his task like he was talking mundane subjects.

“Noooo Daa,” Jack whined while his chin was wiped again.

When Cas was done, Jack pouted. Cas turned to see Claire still watching him. Her fruit-cup was mostly untouched. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“When did that happen? The human thing.”

“Oh.” Cas crossed the kitchen to discard the damp paper towel in the trash. “Late 2013, I believe.”

“Okay,” Claire said quietly. She went back to eating her breakfast, but pensively this time.

Cas sat down at the table. “Are you okay with making a shopping run today? We have a long list of things to pick up.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled with a full mouth. A heartbeat later, she realized that Cas wasn’t speaking to her. Both Cas and Jack looked at her with similar confused stares. She swallowed. “Sorry. Thought that was directed at me.”

Cas’ expression softened. “Ah, that makes sense.”

Her gaze bounced between the two angels. Claire frowned. “I’ve never really been around a baby before. I’m not sure what to say to him.”

Cas’ eyes squinted like he wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. He sat back in his chair. “Am I not supposed to be talking to Jack like I would anyone else?”

“I don’t know,” Claire snapped. “People usually talk all cutesy or whatever because it’s a baby.”

He turned to glance at Jack. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Yeah!” A large smile spread across Jack’s face.

“Now what were we talking about again, Jack?” Cas said glancing at Claire out of the corner of his eye. Claire shook her head, watching the exchange. He turned his attention back to Jack.

“Shopp-pop-popp-”

It was impossible not to giggle at that Claire discovered. The corner of Cas’ mouth pulled into an affectionate smile.

“It’s crazy how fast he’s learning,” Claire said just before she took another bite. She mumbled while she chewed. “You weren’t kidding.”

Cas nodded in response. He then spoke slowly for Jack to mimic, “Shop-ping.”

“Shop-POP-ping.” Jack burst into a fit of giggles.

“That’s not bad honeybee. You still haven’t answered my question. Are you up for a busy day out of the house?”

In the metaphysical plane the nephilim’s wings momentarily stretched to their full length before snapping back to their usual resting position. “Yeaa,” Jack answered in a quiet tone.

Tag List:

Anyone that wants to be added just let me know!

@nightandwine @autumnapologist

#Spn #Supernatural #Castiel #baby Jack truthing #baby Jack Kline #Claire Novak #my writing #An Angel's Vow #tag list in the read more and ask to be added

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

Phic Phight: it’s all downhill from here (honey don’t be scared)

Prompt from @aggressivelyclueless: Halfa Valerie AU: Valerie becomes half-ghost. Apart from that being a total nightmare, this also leads her to discover Danny's secret as well. How is she going to handle it?

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 7,825

Mr. Heppenheimer, the latest in a long line of chemistry teachers that have come through Casper High since actual, real life ghosts have begun treating Amity Park like their own personal Las Vegas retreat away from the rigors of whatever normal life is like for ghosts in the Ghost Zone, gives Danny a lingering stink eye. Clearly the last teacher, Mrs. Jamshidi (who barely lasted a month, and submitted her two-week notice while recovering in the hospital after an admittedly memorable encounter with Ember), had left notes behind for her successor. Danny doubted a single word of it was in his favor.

"This practical's worth a quarter of your grade this semester," Mr. Heppenheimer says in his usual droll way. "You're not going to make me regret handing you glassware, are you, Mister Fenton?"

Danny, still a bit sore and off-kilter after another Jack Fenton-approved growth spurt, grins down at him. "No, sir."

Mr. Heppenheimer hums doubtfully. Clearly Mrs. Jamshidi had left extensive notes. "Don't make me regret this."

"Short of a ghost attack, I doubt you will," Danny answers truthfully. He really has gotten a much better control on his powers since the last time any science teacher let him near anything fragile, well over a year ago now. Mrs. Gorman hated him from the start for reasons he never figured out, anyway. He's looking forward to a fresh start.

Of course, worryingly enough Danny’s been sensing a pretty powerful ghost lurking around Casper High for over a week now. Along with the usual big green beasties that like to come sniffing around crowds of humans, which he’s had to dip out to handle three times now. No one’s noticed his on-going ghost sense, though it helps that he’s long-since gotten into the habit of keeping one hand cupped lazily over his mouth—just in case. That’ll be harder to pass off here in a practical lab, but there ought to be a lot of things bubbling and steaming soon. He just has to be careful until he’s got some cover.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again, more dismissive than doubtful, and lets him approach the counter. His partner in this practical is Star, which is—randomized, definitely. Whatever, also definitely. He and Star have as much in common as him and an actual star, which is to say—nothing. He doesn't even generate heat anymore, not really. He's got a modified Maddie Fenton-approved belt buckle that lets him fake it, but it's not remotely the same thing, and not a

ll that convincing at close quarters anyway. Star, at least, knows him well enough that she's been bringing a mint green cardigan to class ever since they were assigned project partners.

Danny, well-aware he’s only good in the eyes of his peers for a laugh and anti-ghost tech, smiles thinly at Star and gestures at her to take the lead. She sniffs pointedly and does just so, which is fine with him. She's well on her way to valedictorian, whereas he's just trying to graduate. If deferring to whatever she wants gets him a passing grade, sure! He'll do whatever she says and accept whatever belittling comment she tacks on along with it. No skin off his back, right?

About twenty minutes into class there's a magnificent crash of glass that puts Danny 110% on edge; it's only Sam appearing at his left with a reassuring hand on his arm that keeps him from blasting a hole through the wall out of pure reflex. Which, maybe, possibly, likely says something about his state of mind after three straight years of fighting the kind of monsters that don't have any place outside of his very worst nightmares, but—whatever. Point is, thanks to Sam, he doesn't trash the lab or draw any unwanted attention to himself, both of which are good things! Another point in his favor: it’s finally somebody else’s turn to destroy a whole tray of beakers.

"Miss—Gray!" Mr. Heppenheimer shouts after a brief glance at the clipboard Danny hasn't seen him put down in the two weeks since he took the job. "What's the meaning of this?!"

"S-sorry!" Valerie stammers, her eyes firmly on the mess at her feet. Her project partner, Wes, is scowling at Danny. Likely because he believes the mess is entirely his fault. Wes can believe whatever he likes; just because he's the only one not fully in on The Big Secret who figured out The Big Secret out doesn't make him automatically right 100% of the time. Case in point: now. Danny's only touched his notebook, where he's got three pages of dutifully written notes on what Star's tasked him to write as she did all the metaphorical heavy lifting. He could swear on a stack of Bibles that this latest chemistry accident doesn't have a thing to do with him. It’s kind of refreshing, honestly.

Mr. Heppenheimer hums again. It seems to be his default over all the loud swearing he'd obviously prefer to be doing. "Clean it up. And do be careful, Miss Gray. I'd prefer to avoid sending anyone to the nurse's office today if I can help it."

"I—yeah. Yes, sorry." Valerie dashes off to the closet where all the safety-slash-cleaning gear is stashed to fetch cat litter, broom, and dustpan. Star scoffs on Danny's right, while Sam, hand still firmly squeezing Danny's bicep, has a worryingly thoughtful scowl on.

"Valerie has been such a mess since her dad lost his job," Star remarks in the usual scathingly cruel A-lister tone.

"He got his job back." Danny points out as he tries to shrug Sam off without making a big deal of it.

"So?" Star's tone has shifted from scathing to incredulous, which means she somehow didn't know something Danny's known since the tail end of their freshman year. It's admittedly bizarre to find himself able to lord some classmate gossip over an A-lister, but—with a glance at Sam to confirm it is, in fact, cool to lord this gossip over an A-lister—he gives Star a slow, sly grin as he gestures her closer. She leans in without an ounce of self-restraint or disgust, which means Danny's moved higher up the food chain since the last time he bothered to pay any attention.

"Valerie's dad used to be some bigwig in Axion Labs," he says, one eye on Sam and the other on Tucker, both of whom in turn are watching the teacher and the rest of the class. Just in case. "After Vlad—uh. Vladco, I mean—took over the company, Mister Gray got his position back despite Phantom screwing him over, and it's been smooth sailing for him ever since."

The sound of Valerie sweeping up broken glass gets discordantly loud, somehow. Danny doesn't have to look at her to know she's glaring daggers at him. He sets his shoulders and sticks the angle of his nose twenty degrees snootier, mostly to spite whatever murderous and/or weepy glower Valerie might be trying to laser into his soul. Which, whatever. He knows the shape of his own soul by now. He knows it's Phantom, plus or minus some degree of fiery white hair and green-tinged skin.

A bit of the old guilt niggles in the back of his head though. Accident or not, it was Phantom who cost Mr. Gray his job in the first place and Vlad who gave it back. And Vlad only did it at all once he realized his favorite little ghost fighting minion would be a better thorn in Phantom’s side if she didn’t have to work a part-time job at the Nasty Burger. Which—well. Danny’s glad she doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, for all that it does make her a better thorn in his side.

But—guilt. Dumb guilt, but on his plate all the same. He manages to edge the conversation to some other Gossip with a capital G that even Star's not aware of. Oh the things a guy can hear when he can literally turn invisible. It's kind of fun, honestly, to fill her in. The rest of the hour is spent hissing old-as-shit hearsay that still manages to make Star's eyes light up like she's watching Paulina’s favorite cabin burn down again. They do, somehow, manage to get their project pushed along to step three, which will pick up with the rest of all the normal and unobtrusive partnered projects tomorrow. He's not sure which of them is to thank for that, but he is more than a little pleased with how neatly he wrote their notes. It's the most like a regular student he's felt in months. It's honestly pretty great!

"We have a problem," Tucker hisses no less than five seconds and no more than ten after the bell rings. It's that perfect middle ground time of everyone shoving all their shit into their bags so they can bolt out the classroom door as fast as normal-humanly possible, so it's also that perfect middle ground time of nobody paying the three of them the least bit of attention.

"You noticed too?" Sam asks with her usual omniscient scowl. Danny truly and whole-heartedly wishes she'd stop with that, but he's yet to find an opportunity where he can say that to her face without coming across as a total shitheel, including now, so he grits his teeth and raises a pointedly baffled eyebrow at the both of them.

"Noticed what?" He asks with a patience he hasn't actually felt since junior high.

"Valerie's—" Tucker does a casual look around to see if anyone's close enough to eavesdrop, intentionally or no, which means this is a Phantom Thing. And if this is something Phantom and Valerie related? Yeah, no, he's in too good a mood for whatever latest gadget or trick Vlad might be cooking up via Valerie.

He holds up a hand with a sigh he automatically pretends is a yawn to cover up the blue wisp that escapes with it. "Can this wait? Better yet, can we just—not? At least for today? I'm really not up for counter-scheming."

"No need for that," Tucker assures way too quickly. The nervous laugh he follows it up with really doesn't help.

"Right," Danny says wryly, but motions to let them talk. Sam and Tucker share one of those weird non-verbal psychic looks where they have a whole conversation in the span of two seconds that goes right over Danny's head. He wishes they’d stop doing that, but if he called them out on it they’d deny it loudly, and it’d be a whole thing, and—ugh.

"Valerie's acting weird," Tucker says once they've finished. "As in, 'we definitely need to intervene' weird."

"Possessed?"

"No. But this might be worse."

"But this isn't the first time she made a mess in class,” Sam says.

Danny slips his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil into his bag. He's learned the hard way to pack light and get real good at shorthand, as well as keep all his textbooks down in the Fenton dungeon where they're least likely to get torched in a ghost fight. Again. "Isn't it?"

"Nope," Tucker says as they make their way to the door. Danny's sure to give Mr. Heppenheimer some ever-so-slightly iridescent stink eye of his own to make him flinch, and then doubt himself for flinching. One good turn, and all that. "Seventh actually. Third a teacher noticed, but she's been weirding out a lot of the other students."

Danny grunts, more interested in shouldering other people out of the way to make it easier for Sam and Tucker to squeeze out into the hall. Hey, may as well get some mileage out of being one of the tallest guys in school, right?

Sam touches his elbow to make sure she's got his attention while they make their way to their next classes. She's got sign language, Tucker's got photography, and Danny's got a free hour to nap in the auditorium ceiling. "She's constantly dropping things, she's always shivering, every lie I've heard her tell a faculty member has been total nonsense, she hasn't gone after a single ghost in almost two weeks—"

"Well, that would explain why there's been an uptick in my fifth period snake-wrangling," Danny remarks dryly, then grins nastily at some girl giving him a serious case of side-eye. She squeaks—actually squeaks!—and ducks behind some broad-shouldered guy in an eye-wateringly neon football jersey.

Tucker wacks his other elbow, scowling up at him. "Dude, this is serious."

"I haven't heard a reason to care yet."

He doesn't have to look to see they're doing another round of psychic Concerned About Our Bestie back-and-forth. Sam's the one who trips him—damn her preference for steel-toed boots—but it's Tucker who shoves him into a nook between two battered banks of lockers. "Danny," they both snap.

He blinks down at them expectantly, staying quiet. Hey, they're the one's worried about the badass ghost fighting black belt who would love nothing more than an opportunity to strap Phantom down to an operating table and go wild with a cattle prod. He's just trying to graduate. Preferably with all his teeth.

"Valerie is acting just like you did freshman year," Sam hisses. "Right after the you-know-what."

Danny barks laughter. "Yeah, right."

Sam and Tucker remain stone-cold serious. Worse, they look worried.

They wouldn't suggest something so crazy without a lot of thought put into it.

Fuck.

It's another two days before Danny gets a good—"good"—opportunity to talk to Valerie one-on-one. During that time he sees first-hand no less than 37 incidents of irrefutable acts of half-ghost-hood. How nobody else—including that ass, Wes!—has caught on yet is nothing short of a miracle. Valerie cut ties with every other person in their graduating class after some disastrous party embarrassment Danny never cared enough to find out the details of secondhand. She's kept her head down and her teeth bared at anybody who’s tried to meet her halfway, and it seems everyone's accepted the fact that Valerie Gray is the second worst delinquent in the entire school.

(The first is him, naturally.)

He corners her three minutes before the bell to end lunch will ring. He's got calculus next—an unexpected good turn in his life that still makes him giggle every time he actually has time to do his homework—and she's got English. They can't afford to skip either class, but hey, you only half-die once, right?

She scowls up at him, twitching her head out of a habit she's not yet broken. She only shaved her head a month ago. He's still reeling over how good she looks, and also how much it makes her look like the awesome older Valerie from the horrible future where he and Vlad ghost-melded and murdered a dismayingly large number of humans. If that future is still somehow lingering out there in the tangled fabric of spacetime like a bad hangnail, he’s pretty sure that Valerie died, fullstop.

He’d like it if he could do something to help this Valerie not die, fullstop.

She scowls up at him harder. "What do you want?"

He allows himself another couple seconds to just—bask. Yes, she's hot as hell, and if they were both normal humans she could easily break him over her knee like a fistful of kindling. He's not yet gotten an inch of the Fenton width. He's basically all elbows, and it's now all but impossible to find shoes in his size. It's great, really, just super.

Mostly though, he holds his breath and lets his ghost sense settle in a chilly, wriggly knot in his lungs. How the hell did he not realize she was the cause before now?

He smiles down at her. It becomes immediately apparent that this is the worst possible thing he could have chosen to do. He stops smiling. Somehow that's worse.

"We need to talk," he says, and immediately wants to hit himself. Has daytime television not taught him anything? That's the worst thing he could have said!

"I don't think so," she says, and tries to edge past him. He catches her elbow—

—and she's got him smashed up against a classroom door before he can even blink.

"Uh," they say at the same time. He feels one of her hands go ice cube cold against his skin. Since it's him and not a normal person, it's far more likely her hand just dropped to some negative three-digit temperature. If he were human, he'd be at risk for frostbite. As he's not, it's more like a refreshing breeze. He swears he even gets a whiff of the Ghost Zone off of her; like a hard shock of static on his tongue in a midnight snowfall. It's... nice. Is that what he smell-feels like?

Hmm. Distracting himself. Best to stop doing that.

She realizes after too long a beat of awkward silence that one of her arms has gone full-ghostly, and springs back with a half-hysterical yelp. He turns around to look at her again, rolling his shoulder out of a long habit of pretending that Dash trying to rough him up actually feels like anything. She looks—

Well. Kind of like some kind of frazzled toy dog that's had to deal with way too many idiot humans manhandling her, and like she's pissed that all the finger-biting she's tried has only gotten her a bunch of braindead cooing. Danny finds himself sympathizing, and also like maybe he needs to vent to somebody else aside from Cujo on their 3 a.m. Thursday walkies. He considers several facial expressions he could make at her, dismisses all of them, and settles on upping the grimacing and shoulder-rolling. It sort of works? She looks guilty, which is honestly one of the better reactions she could be leveling at him right now.

"We really do need to talk, actually," he says, feigning an apologetic tone while pretending very hard he hasn’t noticed her left arm suddenly stops at the elbow.

"Pretty sure we don't," she retorts.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes, and then a show of looking pointedly at her invisible arm. She looks down at herself, does a double-take, yelps again, and hides both of her arms behind her back as she makes several stammering attempts at a believable excuse. Danny winces, torn between sympathy and secondhand embarrassment. Sam was right; this is exactly how he stumbled his way through the first six months of figuring out his powers. At least he had the benefit of a couple of friends and eventually Jazz too to help cover his tracks. Valerie's on her own. She's going to get found out at this rate, and accidentally or not she will drag him and Vlad down with her.

"It's okay," he says calmly.

"Everything's fine I don't know what you're talking about!"

He looks at her, unimpressed, until she looks appropriately embarrassed. "Let's try this again," he says, and puts both hands up to stall when she goes to retort. "Please?"

She purses her lips, huffing through her nose, but nods. Good enough.

"You're not okay," he tells her. "You're freaking out because something crazy happened to you, and you don't have anybody to turn to for answers without risking everything. You think you're a monster, or that you're dead, or you're dying, or some shitty combination of all of the above. You're scared because you can't control what's happening, and you're scared because you know you're gonna get caught at this rate, and you're scared because you know exactly what the GIW does to the ecto-entities it manages to get its hands on, because you're the reason half the ghosts that frequent Amity Park have done time in a GIW containment cell. Right?"

Valerie stares.

She keeps staring.

Eventually her mouth starts making some feeble attempt at protest.

A while after that she musters up the stamina to stammer out, "W-whahaaat are you talking about? I think you've got—ha! The wrong idea! Yeah! I bet you're thinking I'm, uh. Um. Possessed! Yes! I'm definitely possessed! You caught me, oh fuck, I'm definitely just another one of Walker's goons—nobody important though! No nefarious schemes going on either, honest! I just, uh, wanted to take a human… out for a spin? Yes, that’s what I’m doing. You definitely don't need to say anything to your parents—"

"Valerie," he says.

Her mouth snaps shut so hard her teeth click. She looks terrified, furious, and miserable all at once. She looks like she knows she's cornered, caught red-handed, and like she fully expects Danny to rat her out. Does she really think so little of him?

He winces inwardly. Of course she does. She's kept him at arm's length since freshman year because he never owned up the truth to her. She's been protecting him from himself all this time by staying away. She only knows the front he puts on for everybody else.

The bell rings. In a matter of seconds this hallway is going to be packed with students, and this is not a conversation to risk anyone overhearing. He looks around. Their options are to either continue this wedged in a janitor's closet (she'd probably shoot him), ghost her up to the roof (she'd definitely shoot him) or duck into a classroom. Luck's on his side for once. He'd cornered her just outside the wreckage of the wood shop; it's not going to be fit to teach in until after they graduate, and even the other, regular delinquents know better than to hang out anywhere with that much Fenton ectobiological hazard caution tape.

He nods toward the door. "Please?"

She looks like she'd much rather go toe-to-tail with Desiree, but the sound of a crowd surging their way decides for her. She bolts for the door, Danny at her heels, and they're in and hidden out of sight before anyone could see them go. He watches through a small hole in a stretch of opaque plastic sheeting, patiently waiting for the rest of the school to disperse into their various classrooms. There're too many holes in the wood shop's walls to risk talking even with all the noise out there.

Eventually the hall outside quiets. The late bell rings. It's about as safe as it'll ever get to have this talk.

"I can explain," she begins, her voice quiet and shaken.

"You don't have to," he says, and turns on the scary eyes as he faces her.

Three years of fighting nightmare monsters hasn't done Valerie the right kind of favors either. A metal cube materializes over her shoulder and flares brightly as it powers up a shot. She in turn steps smoothly into a defensive stance, light humming up and down her as she... doesn't pull her ghost-fighting suit out of the spectral hammerspace it sloughs off to whenever she doesn't need it. He blinks. He looks at the cube properly once it becomes clear she isn't going to shoot him. The light coming off it isn't pink anymore, but the same ghost-green as his own powers.

"Explain," she growls.

Probably not a good time for jokes. He keeps his serious face on, scary eyes and all. "I was in an accident freshman year. My parents couldn't get their ghost portal to work. They got lax about not letting Jazz and I down there unsupervised. I took Sam and Tucker down there one afternoon while they were out. One thing led to another, and I accidentally got their portal to work. While I was standing inside it."

She winces. Not like Jazz or Wes did when he stammered out the story to them just so they'd stop asking. Not in sympathy as they tried to imagine what that would have felt like and falling a thousand miles short (not that he ever said so). She gives him the same look he's seen in the mirror every time a bad dream of that day grabs him by the throat and shocks him awake. She knows.

"Don't shoot," he jokes weakly, and reaches for that cold spark that shares the same illogical, impossible space as his heart.

Another three cubes appear in a neat arc over her head when he changes, not that he blames her. She's just found out she dated her sworn enemy once upon a time. He's definitely surprised she doesn't shoot. She does go a bit deer in the headlights again, but more like a ghost deer that's just as likely to shoot lasers as it might bolt into traffic. "I," she tries. "You. You're. The whole goddamn time?!"

"Okay," he says. "Point of order. Cujo really wasn't my dog yet when I got your dad fired. That was an accident and I'm still very, very sorry about that."

Her eyes go ghost-red. "You wanna try that again?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, sighs out another blue wisp. She's doing it too. Has been the whole conversation actually, and plenty of other times before. He wonders if she's figured out what it means yet. He adds it to the list he's mentally compiling, keeps his hands up, and starts running his mouth as contritely as he can.

The sun's almost set by the time Danny's really, truly, fully convinced Valerie not to turn him into the half-ghost equivalent of Swiss cheese. He's so hungry he feels like he's nursing a gut wound, but he thinks it's the smart choice to not suggest talking all of this out over dinner. It's not like his allowance (and black hole of an appetite) would pay for more than clearing out the dollar menu at Jack-in-the-Box, and no way is he stupid enough to suggest Valerie pay. So he remains perched on one of the few remaining tables left in the wood shop, still in Phantom mode mostly to watch Valerie grind her teeth. She's sitting cross-legged on another table, cubes and scary eyes gone. She's reached the fun sort of balance between bone-tired exhaustion and impotent frustration with no good outlet that isn't the kind of violence that will draw a lot of unwanted attention. She sits there and stews awhile, turning over everything he's told her.

He pulls out his phone—tossing her a wry grin when she flinches—and lets her stew. He shoots out a "safe, taking longer than a thought it would" into the group chat he's got with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. Tucker lets him know he's rooting for him, and also they handled the Box Ghost's usual afternoon showing with a game of checkers, and Wulf's in town avoiding Walker again. Sam reminds him to work on his book report if Valerie doesn't skin him alive first. He shoots back a neutral affirmative to them both, then pulls up Bubble Blaster to kill time until Valerie feels like talking—

"It was two weeks ago," she starts.

Danny resists the urge to sigh and pockets his phone again. Well, he mimes pocketing his phone. It sort of phases into that weird imaginary skin between his halves with a buzz of protest. When he changes back it'll be in his back right pocket, fully charged.

"Mister Masters," she pauses to make this really complicated grimace, like she'd sort of prefer calling Vlad something like Captain Fuckface but she's too polite to do it aloud. Danny makes a mental note to call Vlad exactly that the next time they run into each other. The fruitloop'll make a hilarious noise, he just knows it. "Mister Masters sent me info on another job. He told me some of his employees at Axion Labs had reported some ghost sightings, and my dad had mentioned seeing some weird stuff too, so. So I snuck out and went to go check it out. It didn't sound like anything bad, just. Y'know. Another ghost."

Two weeks ago her tone would have been one of complete, dismissive disgust. Two weeks ago she was still human though. Danny stays quiet, which is probably the smart thing to do.

"There was something on my radar when I got there. I thought it was gonna be you, honestly—" She glares, a flicker of red coloring her eyes. He shrugs and gives her a charming grin that's all, Who, me? She doesn't buy it for a second, not that he expected her too. Two weeks ago Vlad was being a real prick though, setting all sorts of nasty ghoulies he'd Frankenstein'd in his super gross secret lab loose in the downtown area. Danny's honestly not sure if he got any sleep for like, four straight days. There was a lot of doctored coffee involved, by which he means the kind of coffee a regular human couldn't drink without requiring a fairly immediate trip to the ER.

(Tucker Foley tested.)

"Most of the reports were from some department I've never heard my dad talk about, and it's all three levels underground. If Technus hadn't juiced my suit up again I don't think I could've gotten down there—"

That's an alarm bell Danny super doesn't like the sound of. "Again?"

She waves her hand dismissively that's all, So last year, honey, try and keep up. "Doesn't matter. Point is, I got down there, and it—well. It looked like the Fen—uh. Your parents' lab. Kind of identical, actually. In a kinda creepy way."

Yeah, that's Vlad all over. Kinda creepy and not all that original. Oh well. He raises his eyebrows pointedly.

"Uh. Well, my radar went crazy down there, but I still couldn't get a real bead on anything. So I went poking around and found the framework of this—well, portal. I didn't realize it was a portal though, since it didn't look like the one in your parents' lab. It was standing on its own in the middle of the room, covered in cables—"

"Ours is a mess too," he points out. "You can't tell unless it's off though. I'm not really sure where all those cables and weird hunks of tech go while it's on...."

She gives him a look like she's regretting not shooting him earlier. He does the smart thing by not pointing out that shooting him is still very much on the table, and that if history's anything to go by she's a huge fan of shooting him. He can't help but think that opinion might, just possibly, if he's very lucky, have changed in the last couple of hours. Fingers crossed? Those cube cannon things hurt like a bitch.

"I was looking around that thing because it was freaking my radar out when Plas—Mister Masters showed up."

He reels a bit. She must've expected it, because it's her turn to raise her eyebrows pointedly. "Wait," he says, holding his hands up in a time out T. "Wait a minute. You knew he's Plasmius? The whole goddamn time?!"

"No," she snaps. "Only after Danielle."

"That's nearly the whole goddamn time. What the hell, he's been lording you over me as a reason not to blab the truth for years. For fuck's sake, Valerie—"

"You wanna maybe shut up and let me finish, ghost kid?"

He scowls. She scowls back, plus scary eyes. He's pretty sure she's not doing it intentionally, so the effect's not as impressive as it could be. Red continues to be a great color for her though, not that he's dumb enough to say that.

"Plasmius showed up, blasted me into the portal, and hit the switch before I could do anything," she bites out, hunching in on herself like she's wishing the ground would swallow her whole—aaaand there she goes, sinking through the table. He clears his throat loudly, she realizes what's going on and ends up flailing around like an idiot for a few seconds until her body gets physical enough to stay put.

"Sam was right," he muses. "This is entertaining."

"Fuck you," she snaps without much venom. Mostly she sounds tired.

He sighs, hating himself a little for reasons he's not gonna explore right now. He's too hungry for introspection. "Did he evil-monologue why he did that to you?"

"A little. I was kinda out of it, after." She grimaces, gesturing at herself. "I didn't catch all of it. Something about being a distraction for you, though I didn't know that he meant you at the time."

"Oh goodie, this evil plot has layers, and ruining your life is apparently a fucking footnote." He scrubs his face with both hands and changes back into his plain Jane self. Valerie twitches badly, eyes flashing red and a fun eye-watering white shimmer shivering up her whole body. Huh. "Hey, have you tried changing back since that asshat zapped you?"

"Of course not," she hisses, looking at him like he just suggested she go streaking through the administration office. "I'm trying to keep a low profile while I figure out a way to fix what he did to me."

Ah, hell.

"I'm sorry," seems the smart thing to start with. He hops off the table, hands up where she can see them as he approaches her. He takes a risk at reaching for her hands. She surprises him again by continuing to not shoot him. "I'm really, really sorry. But there's no fixing this. You just get—better at being this." He squeezes a little when she starts shaking her head and pulling away, amping up the 'I'm sorry for your loss' face he's had to get way too good at. Superhero, he ain't. "I'm serious. Vlad's been like me—like us—since like, '85 or whenever he got zapped by a proto-portal, and he got really sick after."

Her eyes go big and laser pointer red again. "S-sick?"

"Ecto-acne. Ever hear of it?" She shakes her head. "You'll probably be okay, if Axion's portal is based on my parents' portal, or even Vlad's."

"He has a portal?"

"In Wisconsin," he confirms grimly. "He's been trying to build a second one ever since he moved here, but I kept messing with him. I didn't think to check the basements of any of his evil companies."

"Axion Labs isn't evil," she retorts instead of doing the sensible thing and blaming him outright for the shit she’s mired in for keeps.

He raises an eyebrow. "Sure. And Invis-o-Bill really is hellbent on establishing a ghost-human empire capital in Amity fucking Park."

She winces.

"Wait. You didn't actually believe that, did you?"

She winces harder.

"Ohhhh Valerie," he sighs, dropping her hands to melodramatically sag against another table. "I'm wounded. Honestly, truthfully, hurt that you'd think so highly of fucking Invis-o-Bill. Haven't you been paying attention to the shit the gossip mags shill about me? I'm either a ghost blob with delusions of grandeur in a skinsuit or the ostracized son of Pariah Dark and Desiree. You don't think my evil ghost parents have been around enough to teach me how to be a good evil emperor, do you?"

She's trying—and failing—not to laugh. "Shut up. How was I supposed to know what to believe, huh? None of the ghosts ever say shit about you."

"Yeah, 'cause they're cool with keeping my secret!"

She presses forward to jab a finger in his chest. She's still kind of flicker-y at the edges, like she hasn't quite decided she isn't going to go full ghost hunter on him, so it sort of feels like another hard burst of static. Goosebumps break out all down his skin; it's all he can do not to shiver. "What's with that, anyway? Most of 'em are so hellbent on destroying you for stopping them again and again, but none of them have ever come blabbing your big life-ruining secret to me or your parents!"

He shrugs. "Honestly? I don't think it's ever occurred to any of them. I'm pretty sure Skulker's the only one who knows like, for sure that Vlad's the same as me, and that's only 'cuz he likes to take jobs from Vlad now and then. The others?" Another, more expansive shrug as he slides sideways out of her range. So she makes him uneasy. What about it? She's only shot him point blank like, five hundred times if she's done it once. He'd really like to get out of this whole situation without any new burns to hide.

"Huh," she says. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. It's not—I dunno. I think it'd be like cheating for most of 'em to go blabbing to some humans or even Vlad. They wanna take me down, sure, but they wanna do it on their own steam. I'm definitely not complaining."

"Course you're not, because you are ludicrously overpowered compared to most of the ghosts out there itching for a little world domination."

He grins down at her, big and sloppy. "Hey, give it some time and you'll be OP as fuck too."

She reacts to that little nugget of wisdom just like he expected her to; retreating halfway across the room and shrinking in on herself like she's dearly wishing for a bit of time travel to undo what Vlad did to her on a selfish whim. Well. A conversation with Clockwork is an option still on the table. He'll give her a few more days of adjustment before suggesting a fun little jaunt into the Ghost Zone. He's honestly not sure if Clockwork and her are properly acquainted. That should be good for a laugh if nothing else.

"Hey," he says companionably. "I mean it. You're gonna be okay."

She scoffs. He pretends not to hear the dampness to it. "Oh, sure. So long as I do exactly what you say, right?"

"This isn't blackmail," he says, injecting as much calm as he can to his voice. "Honest. I mean, I won't lie and pretend I'm not hoping you listen to me. If you get found out it's both of our necks on the chopping block. Sure, I'll make sure Vlad takes the fall too, so that's some nice revenge wrapped with a bow, but it's not like we'd be around to really appreciate it, y'know?"

She makes another, slightly damper noise. He considers the risk of hugging her against the risk of walking away with all his parts where they ought to be, and he decides the smart thing is to stay put and pretend right along with her that she's definitely not crying.

"I want to help you, Valerie. I've been where you're at. I know how much it sucks. And I had Sam and Tucker helping me while I tried to figure it all out. You... you need somebody to help you. Trust me on this much at least, okay? This isn't something you can do alone."

Her various damp noises evolve into an outright sob. "Fuck."

Yeah. That about sums it up.

"Fuck," she hisses out again, pawing roughly at her face. "This. I didn't want—all this time and you never—I coulda killed you but you didn't—and now I'm—!"

Okay. Yeah. Superheroes don't leave anybody to cry so miserably on their own. He's hardy. Even if she shoots him he can hang out, make sure she's okay to get home on her own. And they both skipped their last two classes. He ought to go rummage around their teachers' desks and try to figure out what tonight's homework is. She's got every reason to burn her textbooks and scream fuck it at the moon (Danny's sophomore year was a personal low point), and it's just as likely Skulker will pull some new scheme to try and skin him tonight as any other school night, but it's the principle of the thing. They're both just trying to graduate at this point, and they're so close.

It might seem so incredibly, completely stupid, to care about graduating with all the other bullshit in their lives. Most days, it is stupid to care. But there are some days that stupid, pointless piece of paper is the only reason Danny chooses to get out of bed. He chooses to remember that he's still human enough for human consequences. He needs that diploma to get into college, and he needs to get into college so he can earn his bachelor's, and he needs to be stable enough to earn his pilot's license, and then somehow net 1,000 hours as pilot-in-command in a fucking jet, and on and on and on, because there's still this stupid, stupid, stupid little voice in his head that won't shut up about how cool it'd be to actually manage to become an astronaut despite—

—everything.

He wants to ask what Valerie wanted to be when she grew up, but that's... not now. That's a conversation for later, if he's lucky enough that she'll trust him with that little, foolish dream every kid clings to even when they're loudly proclaiming how stupid it is. Everybody grows up and realizes how stupid the dream jobs they wanted when they were kids was; it's the real dreamers that grit their teeth and keep working despite—

—everything.

He takes the risk, the leap of faith. He closes the distance between them and plays a pattern across her shoulder to warn her he's coming in for a hug. No cubes or guns or accidental ecto-rays materialize to blast him into next week, so he calls it a win and finishes the deed. She's all hunched shoulders and hard fingers knotted in his shirt, hot tears and probably some snot at war with how neutrally temperature-wise the rest of her feels. Everybody else—everybody human—feels hot as a sunburn if he gets too close. Ghosts are still too cold, though thanks to his handy-dandy ice powers none of them are ever cold enough to hurt like humans do.

Here and now, hugging Valerie and whispering soft, pointless bullshit into her frizzy hair is the closest to human he's felt in—

—in too long.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be," he replies, instead of Me too.

"Thank you," she says.

"Nothin' to thank me for," he replies, instead of You should be blaming me for this.

"I'm scared," she says.

"It's going to be okay," he replies, and means it.

It's almost nine by the time he makes it to Sam's house, and he's so hungry he tunnel visions twice on the flight over. Lucky him, his friends and secret keepers know how bullshit his anatomy is, and there's a veritable buffet awaiting him when he gets there. Luckier him, his friends and secret keepers know better than to try and hold a Serious Conversation when he's like this, and leave him alone for the better part of 20 minutes before they both start loudly clearing their throats.

He slows his flawless imitation of a combine harvester long enough to muster a, "Hngh?"

Sam and Tucker waste precious moments he could be upping his calorie count with another psychic conversation that they're clearly both enjoying. He scowls, for all the good it'll do him.

"How'd it go?" Sam asks.

"Well," he says, setting his fork down to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Manners, schmmaners. "She didn't shoot me."

"Damn it," Tucker says loudly, and pulls out his phone.

"Seriously?" Danny asks.

"He owes Jazz twenty bucks," Same explains as Tucker begins a furiously-typed text. Danny suppresses the urge to shudder. Something about the haptic feedback on cell phones really sets him on edge. He genuinely doesn't know if it's a pet peeve or a ghost thing. Either way he always has to squash the insane urge to pitch Tucker's phone at the nearest brick wall, and right now that is an honest struggle.

"Seriously?" He repeats. "You bet against me?"

Tucker pauses long enough to level an incredulous glare at him. "Dude."

...yeah, okay. That's fair. Danny would've bet against himself too, if he'd known to.

"Rude," he says anyway, on principle.

Sam and Tucker both make a huge show of rolling their eyes, but at least Sam pushes another three slices of pizza in his direction. They even ordered in, so there's actual meat and cheese on it. He has the best friends a guy could ask for, even if Tucker is an ass nine times out of ten. Serves him right to lose 20 bucks, voting against him against his sister of all people.

"Details," Sam demands. "How's she doing, what happened, is she gonna stop trying to kill you, et cetera."

"Vlad happened," he manages through half a slice of pizza. Sam and Tucker both wince; Tucker hard enough he actually drops his phone.

"Fuck," Tucker hisses. "Why?"

"Dunno yet. And I dunno about you, but figuring out his latest scheme has definitely become number one on my honey do list."

They both nod. Tucker's the one to ask the important follow up. "And Valerie? How's she doing?"

He makes a seesaw motion with one hand. "Again, gotta stress the whole 'didn't shoot me' thing." He grins real sleazily while Tucker groans. "She's not great though. I foresee the next like, two months helping her out taking priority over all the usual ghost bullshit. Short of like, apocalyptic ghost attacks, of course."

"Fair," Sam and Tucker both say. Sam gives him a pointed capital L Look, going so far as to pull his plate a few inches away so he can better direct his instinctive growl at her. "She's not gonna rat, is she?"

"No," comes out more snarl-y than he means it to, but—pizza. Sam takes him at face value at least, and gives him his plate back, with an extra slice of meat lover's for good behavior. She's his favorite.

"We're gonna co-op," he adds, and pretends not to notice the Extraordinarily Concerned Psychic Look Sam and Tucker share over that bit of news. Whatever. They can stress over the idea of Valerie being included in their group. Him? He's gonna polish off the rest of this pizza, pull his one (1) notebook and one (1) pencil out of his bag, and he's going to get as much of a headstart on his homework before patrol as he can. If he actually manages to finish his two pages of grammar problems he's going to call it a great day. Anything else? Well, that's gravy so far as he's concerned.

He grins to himself a little, thinking of Valerie's new phone number burning a hole in his pocket. If anything toothsome decides to show up tonight he got the okay to text her. And honestly? For all that she's in the same bullshit hell as he, Vlad, and Elle are....

Well. It's probably shitty of him, but it's still nice to have an ally and friend in this half-ghost bullshit hell.

#danny phantom #my writing #valerie gray #gray ghost #phic phight 2020

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dcforts · 4 years

Text

[monday 10 - free choice: paradise]

Dean takes the last familiar turn and brings the car to a stop next to a semi-beat up truck.

He gets out and takes a moment to breathe in the clean air, smell the trees all around him and hear the distant sound of the ocean.

Every other week Dean drives up to North Cove and finds himself on the doorsteps of the little cottage James Novak rented for Kelly Kline.

It’s been two months since the birth.

There’s no one to welcome him but he knows that the rumble of his car has announced him already. He smiles to himself at the feeling of anticipation he’s got at seeing them.

He doesn’t take out the door key he’s got in his pocket though, he knows that at this time of the day, when the sun is low, Castiel and Jack will be at the back catching the last rays of the sun.

So he rounds the house and he’s not disappointed.

He spots Jack first. He’s grown again from the last time he’s been here. As a Nephilim, his growing time does not match the one of any other human. He now looks like a ten-year-old, has a big mop of blond hair, bright blue eyes and a crooked friendly smile. Right now he’s standing with his arms outstretched and a focused expression on his face. Floating in front of him there are two trembling leaves that he’s struggling to keep up in the air with the power of his mind.

Homework time then.

Jack must see him with the corner of his eyes because he looks up towards him, and as he shouts “Dean!” the leaves fall back at his feet. He doesn’t seem to care as he runs toward him to hug his waist.

“Hey, kid.” He greets him patting his hair. Turning his head on the side he can see Castiel sitting on the wooden steps between the stone pillars. He is watching them with a soft smile on his lips.

Dean has seen many things in his life, impossible things, extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime things, but if someone had told him - that first day at the barn and in the many bloody, gruesome battles that had followed that day - that the angel at his side would one day retire from the world to fulfil a promise made to a mother and raise a child everyone was scared of and everyone wanted to use, and that he would protect him and guide him and teach him good from evil, right from wrong, patience and love - he wouldn’t have believed that.

And yet there he is - and there they are.

“Look what Cas taught me,” says Jack and runs back to where he was standing.

Dean drops his bag on the porch and sits next to Castiel. He looks just as he’s always looked every time Dean had come to visit. He’s still got worry in his hands and the weight of past burdens on his shoulders, but the bags under his eyes have almost disappeared and his gaze is steady, clear, his presence solid. He knows what he’s doing, he has no doubts about where he’s supposed to be.

He looks good.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“You are early,” he greets him.

Dean clicks his toungue and escapes his eyes to focus on Jack, feeling a little embarrassed. He shrugs, “Slow week. Plus, sunsets are cool here. Didn’t wanna miss it.”

“They are.”

“Dean, are you watching?” Jack calls.

“Yeah, kid, go ahead.”

Jack takes a deep breath and brings his hands forward, his fingers outstretched. Slowly one leaf raises from the ground by itself, soon followed by another one and again, a third.

Dean claps and whistles so obnoxiously than Castiel leans away and Jack laughs and loses his concentration.

The leaves fall on the ground but he stills bounces full of joy coming towards them. “Did you see that? Did you see?” he says, but he doesn’t give him time to reply. “Cas says that if I keep improving in a few weeks he will teach me how to heal!”

“Whoa, really? That’s awesome!”

“Yes, but it’s enough for tonight,” Castiel says. “Go wash up while we set the table.”

“But - Dean just got here,” whines Jack.

“Yeah, and he is hungry,” says Dean laughing. “come on, after dinner I’ll show you what I brought.”

Jack gasps. “You brought movies? Star Wars?”

Dean winks. “You know it.”

Jack raises a fist. “Yes! And ice cream?”

“No. But you know what? Why don’t we all go get some tomorrow?”

Jack looks at Castiel who just nods.

“Yes!” he yells again beaming.

“Alright, but now go, it’s getting cold out here.”

Jack jogs up the steps and runs inside. “I’ll be right back!” he shouts taking the stairs two at the time.

Dean can see on Castiel’s face the same silly smile he’s probably got himself.

“I’m gonna miss this when he wakes up a teen.”

“Me too,” agrees Castiel. “Although all the energy he has now it’s a lot to deal with every day.”

Dean laughs at him. “That’s cause you’re old, Cas. Like old old.”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“I can’t believe there was a time when I thought he could be anything but good,” keeps going Dean, throwing a look at the door behind them “You were right, Cas.”

“He’s making incredible progress. With each day he is stronger and more knowledgeable. I’ve never seen something like that.”

“Do you think he’ll be ready soon?”

“You mean, to leave this place?” Castiel sighs and gazes off into the distance. “I don’t like keeping him here either. It’s not right, I know. But I need to make sure that he’ll be able to protect himself from those that are looking for him.”

“Yeah, I get it. But you don’t have to worry that they’ll come find you. Me and Sam, we got ears everywhere. We got this.”

“I know you do.”

The sun is gone and the sky above them is striped of blues and pinks. Dean closes his eyes and imagines the aches of his body disappear - his back that hurts after twelve hours non-stop behind the wheel, the scar from last week’s hunt that hasn’t healed properly yet, the slight headache he’s got after sleeping on a cheap motel pillow.

It almost works.

It feels good, sitting there in the night breeze with Castiel by his side. He wants to say that he misses him, but doesn’t really know how or if he can. It’s not that they saw each other every day when things were good, and to be fair, when had thing ever been good in the first place? But his life with Sam and his visits here, they feel more and more like they are two separate things and he would love for them to become one.

It’s selfish but he says it anyway:

“Maybe you can come stay at the bunker. You know, after the next growth spurt. I know that we always have some drama going on but we can put up some extra warding, and we could help you. You and Jack. If you… if you wanted.”

“I’m sure Jack would like that,” Castiel says and then he looks at him and adds, “as much I would.”

A corner of his mouth goes up but it’s not a smile. His face says that he’s regretful and he too is holding something back. Dean has seen it before.

He can’t take it.

He slaps his tights, says “Alright” as he gets up and then holds out a hand for Castiel to grab.

“Come on, up. I wasn’t kidding, I’m really hungry.”

Castiel huffs a laugh and takes his hand.

“I’ll have you know, we are having vegetables tonight.”

Dean groans as he hauls him up but neither of them let go and they stay there, Castiel on a step up from Dean, their hands clasped together between them.

“Jack needs it.”

“You’re worse than Sam.”

“We have dessert.”

“Pie?”

Castiel sighs. “What else, to make you happy?”

Dean fears that the smile that has blossomed on his lips will cut his face in two.

He squeezes Castiel’s hand without really meaning to but when he feels him squeezing back, he uses that grip as leverage to lurch forward and plant a kiss on his lips.

He can’t take no more regrets, no more holding backs.

“Nothing,” he says and Castiel’s shocked expression immediatly melts into a smile.

When Castiel had first told him about Paradise on earth, he didn’t think he could ever understand.

Now though, he can almost see it too.

For the last time :( I’m participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

I wanted to say thank you so much for organizing this and for being so supportive and nice with your comments! I’ve read them all and I appreciate so much that you took the time to read and write such lovely things. Thank you!! Thank you to everyone else who liked, reblogged, commented. This was the first time for me and you made me feel very welcome and each week a little less scared to put myself out there. Thank you also to the ones who didn’t like what I wrote but did NOT tell me and just moved on. I appreciate that as well. Let’s hope for a next time cause I had a lot of fun <3

#monday 10: free choice #spnstayathome #deancas #destiel #deancas fanfic #this is me completely ignoring you know what of s12 finale #i've watched s12 long after it aired so i lost all the amazing ficlets/codas/canon divergent stuff that the fandom surely came up with #i don't even like kids tropes but i felt robbed anyway of the dad!cas content we could have had #in that beautiful cottage #lots of smiling going on in this one #i needed tenderness #also hands #never enough hand holding when it comes to deancas #too sweet not to be disgusting #deancas ficlet #deancas ficlets #my writing

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ducktracy · 4 years

Text

176. porky’s garden (1937)

release date: september 11th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (porky, chickens), george humbert (neighbor), earle hodgins (salesman)

this would be tex avery’s final black and white cartoon until 1941, and his second to last porky cartoon. how time flies! i enjoy his porky entries a lot. the blow out, the village smithy, and of course porky’s duck hunt are all shorts of his that i find myself coming back to frequently. but, of course, greater tex cartoons lie ahead. interestingly enough, this is also the second and final credit for animator elmer wait, who passed away in july of 1937. chuck jones once described him as “a fine young assistant animator who died too young." i’ve heard speculation that tex’s little-known character elmer fudd was named in wait’s honor--i’m not sure if it was that, or the fact that every other cartoon character in the 1930′s was named elmer, but this is a claim i can find myself believing with more conviction than other animation claims. for now, we visit farmer porky, who’s eager to enter the local contest for the largest home grown product. however, his stereotypical italian neighbor seeks to out-perform him at any cost.

this cartoon is a peculiar anomaly in the tex avery-verse, in that it feels much more like the 1936 avery porky cartoons than the 1937 bunch—and almost deliberately, too. the cartoon starts off very similarly to his first directorial entry, gold diggers of ‘49, laying out the time (1927), the place (podunk center), and the population 500 502 — mrs. castle bottom just had twins!). though tex would constantly reuse gags all throughout his career (and quite well, often elevating the hyperactivity of the gag), it’s rather uncharacteristic for him to reuse a gag for nostalgic purposes. nevertheless, the opening is amusing, and faster paced than its facsimile over at gold diggers of ‘49. the sound of the baby wail as the 500 is replaced with 502 is an extra bonus.

a sign gag featuring the tried and true income tax gag (which has been used, and will continue to be used, in a number of cartoons--tex’s milk and money is another porky entry that uses this gag):

porky is amongst the group crowding around the sign, joyfully declaring that he’s going to win first prize with his garden. cue the antagonist of the picture, porky’s curious italian neighbor, voiced by george humbert. humbert was an italian actor, starring in a large number of hollywood films throughout the ‘30′s and ‘40′s. if i recall, bob clampett once mentioned that tex would go to the movies to get ideas, no doubt his reasoning for getting humbert to do the cartoon. humbert’s vocals shine and add a lot of vitality to this otherwise tame entry. speaking of, italian neighbor is quick to contradict porky: “ohohohoho no, i gonna ween with my cheeken!” with that, he leapfrogs over porky, who is quick to bumble along after him.

we get a brief overhead shot of the two neighbors and their respective houses, the overhead shot once again calling back to earlier porky entries such as milk and money. the competitors both go to their gardens to out-perform the other. cue a short gardening sequence with porky, who uses his straightened out tail to dig holes in the soil, big enough to drop seeds in. his neighbor, on the other hand, concocts a meal full of vitamins and tonics for his chickens cheekens, narrating all the way. the underscore is a stalling favorite, “chicken reel”, and if my memory is correct, i BELIEVE this is the first instance it’s used in a warner bros. short? cue a seemingly arbitrary cut back to porky, who finishes the job of planting. back to the neighbor who summons his chickens to eat his mystery feed of who-knows-what. the chickens dig in... only to halt, spit out the food, and hold their noses (beaks) in disgust. great timing--the drawings especially of the chickens rejecting the food feel quite avery-esque, which is nice: it’s always nice to feel the personal touches of the director.

cut back to porky, a cue of “carolina in the morning” (which is impossible for me to hear without thinking of daffy kaye’s rendition of it in the anomaly that is book revue) underscoring his plan to use hair growth tonic as a means of growing a quick, hearty, full harvest. the scene is cute, yet sluggish--if the cartoon were made even 5 years later, it would have been twice as fast, if not more so. nevertheless, his plan works: the ground shakes beneath him, and crops as tall as the eye can see spurt out from the soil. satisfied, old pigdonald strolls inside, “uh-veh-vuh-vo-do-de-oh”ing and “uh-uh-eh-beh-beh-boop-de-oop”ing all the way along (to remind our audience that this cartoon takes place in 1927--because, why not, right?)

meanwhile, pesky neighbor pops his head over the fence, equally as impressed with the results as porky. perfect food to fatten up the cheekens! the animation of the neighbor is rich and full, humbert’s vocals of course magnifying the quality. with that, the neighbor loosens up one of the boards in the fence, sparking the feeding frenzy: “come an’ get it!”

the chickens do just that. calling back to the days of porky the rain-maker (where there were vegetable gags galore), we get a montage of semi-amusing “chickens eating vegetables in creative ways” gags. one chicken uses a tomato vine as a straw, sucking out the pulp from all of the tomatoes connected. another rolls a line of peas straight into its mouth, rolling up the shell like a toothpaste tube.

though the gags rouse polite chuckles at most today, the most uproarious gag is the last one: a chicken and a baby chick fight over a watermelon. big cheeken asserts its authority by flicking the baby chick away, spouting tearful insults at the bully chicken. just then, fortune: the chick spots a patch of spinach, the seeds belonging to jones (yes, that chuck jones--whose birthday is today! happy birthday, chuck!) garden company. i can’t say this with staunch certainty, but i do have reason to believe that this cartoon was backlogged for a few months: chuck jones would have been at bob clampett’s unit during the time of this cartoon’s release, but the allusion to his name, the animation of this scene looking peculiarly reminiscent of bob clampett’s animation, and the lack of irv spence animation leads me to believe as such. nevertheless, as you may be able to surmise, the chick transforms into a caricature of popeye, complete with jack mercer-esque mumblings and popeye speak. the newly transformed chick socks the chicken right in the face, usurping the half-eaten watermelon slice and gobbling it down all in one go. easily the highlight of the cartoon, and a gag that can be appreciated regardless of time period.

one last eating gag of a chicken plucking a ripe worm from an apple (fittingly scored to “in the shade of the old apple tree”). the joke suffers from constipated timing, more on the part of carl stalling than the animator. there is a nice, quick, shiver take as the chicken attempts to rip the apple open into two halves. fade out.

fade back in on the feeding frenzy. porky takes notice, and is not happy about it. he does a lumbering, quick little run that calls back to the 1936 porky entries where he was much more short and squat (virgil ross animation?), zooming out of screen, then back in again to retrieve a nearby broom. porky swats the chickens frantically, but to no avail: despite his angry demands for them to get out, they continue to eat.

virgil ross animates the next scene as porky confronts his neighbor: “hey, n-nn-ne-neighbor, eh-teh-teh-tell your cheh-cheh-cheh-chi-chickens to keep outta my uh-geh-eh-geh-eh-geh-garden!” the neighbor complies, his vocals hilariously disingenuous as he haggles with the chickens, who, predictably ignore him. thus sparks an overly-profuse string of excuses from the neighbor, who doth protest too much. “you see? i talk to them! but a-they don’t listen to me!” he pauses. “i’m too sorry for you.” another pause, just as we think he’s finished. “...but i cannot talk-a cheeken talk!” one more pause. “i can no make-a the cheeken coming out!”

neighbor finally leaves the disgruntled pig to his own devices, laughing as he talks to the audience. “eet’za too bad...” he looks at the audience and gives them a knowing wink as he finishes “but not too bad!” overall, a great scene. humbert’s vocals are divine, as is the comedic timing. porky’s befuddlement by the rapid-fire responses from his neighbor is another plus.

back to a downtrodden porky, who mournfully sulks along to a succinctly timed rendition of “am i blue?” (if you listen closely, you can hear the beats lining up exactly with his footsteps.) suddenly, a thick vine growing out of the patch catches his eye. he follows the vine, pulling it like a rope...

and the perfect solution awaits on the other side of the fence: a giant pumpkin! perfect for the harvest contest.

porky lugs his new prize out from the fence, which instantly attracts the attention of the hungry chickens. spark the ever transformative avery moment, where the cartoon halts to make a big production out of nowhere--in this case, football. the favorite “freddy the freshman” score serves as the backing track of the makeshift football game as the chickens line up to take position: “HIKE!”

the next sequence appears to be animated by chuck jones: porky runs long, pumpkin in hand as he swats away the oncoming rush of chickens. the extra touches of making porky do some twirls and swivels as he attempts to maintain balance are not taken for granted. a nice straight-ahead shot of the football field turned garden, with a trellis in the foreground and clothesline in the background to form goal posts--very clever!

it’s not the chickens who serve as porky’s pumpkin demise, but rather a spare crate left on the ground. porky trips, horrified as he watches his pumpkin launch into the air and across the yard. we get a tashlin-esque concealed pan as porky darts through his house to retrieve his prize, the action obscured: we only see a brief glimpse of the house’s facade, the drumroll and sound effect of the airborne pumpkin being our only indicator to the success of the stunt. thankfully, porky shuffles out of the other end just in time to catch his pumpkin (topped off with a triumphant “ta-da!” fanfare.) wasting no more time, porky dashes down the road and off to the fair. meanwhile, the neighbor’s chickens are all plumped up, ready to win the first-a prize.

“the merry go round broke down” scores the scenes at the fair as we catch our hero bumbling along with his prize pumpkin into the fair, neighbor and cheekens not far behind. there’s a line of posters advertising the various attractions at the fair, including a caricature of bobe cannon (once more reinforcing the idea that this cartoon was back-logged: he would have been at the clampett unit by the time of the cartoon’s release.)

earle hodgins voices the salesman (a specialty of his--he played the pill-peddling salesman in porky the rain-maker, as well as the oil huckster honest john in get rich quick porky) peddling the miracle “reducing pills”. his test subject? an elephant. the salesman pops a pill in the elephant’s mouth, who stares at the audience nonplussed as he shrinks to the size of a mouse... literally.

the next scene of the salesman is great, as it’s full of energy, zaniness, and fervor. i wonder if it’s a clampett scene? the voice of the salesman rises into astronomical pitch as he describes the size of “teensy, weensy, weensy, bitsy, weensy, teeny little mouse”, capping it all off with a flamboyant “WOO!” and pose. the pose looks similar to the same one struck by daffy in clampett’s entry the henpecked duck 4 years later, hence my reasoning. nevertheless, a great scene of zany eye candy.

peddling his wares, the salesman accidentally knocks over a spare bottle of reducing pills, right in the trajectory of the passing cheekens. and, predictably, the cheekens devour the pills in no-time.

cue a rather blunt cut to porky, who’s about to receive first prize for his pumpkin, standing on stage and politely soaking in the glory. just as the judge reaches to give him his dough, he halts, spotting the ginormous array of poultry behind the pig. the judge is quick to take back his bag of money, much to the awe of porky (which also gives us this intriguing little error for a few frames). neighbor accepts the bag--that is, until the pills kick in. the chickens revert back to the size of chicks, and there’s just enough comedic pause to let the joke sink in before the chicks revert back to mere eggs.

we iris out--or so we think. just another declaration of tex’s love of playing with the iris out gags. that is one steamed ham.

not the snappiest entry in the avery repertoire, but not exceedingly dull, either. george humbert steals the show with his acting, and the popeye gag with the chick is wonderfully amusing. the cartoon mainly suffers from sluggish pacing in some parts, tired gags in others, but not enough to exclude a watch-through. it’s a fond look back at the earlier days of tex’s directing, and asserts just how far the cartoons have yet to improve. so, for that, i’d say i’m relatively neutral on whether or not to persuade you to watch it: the porky lover in me and ‘30′s cartoon lover in me say go for it! there are bits of greatness that you should definitely seek out. but it won’t kill you to skip this one either.

here’s the link! (excuse the butchered titles/credits: opening title music is the merry go round broke down which is wrong, and the title card music is the opening to porky’s tire trouble--also wrong, as is the porky “that’s all, folks!” ending over the written script)

#lt #looney tunes #porky’s garden #reviews #long post #avery

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

Text

Dazed and Confused (Part 5)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

______

“Our dad killed our mother? Our dad? John Winchester? ” asked Dean, Jack nodding his head. “Well that must make me the fucking Easter bunny then.”

“I’m serious,” said Jack.

“Well I ain’t laughing,” said Dean, clenching his jaw.

“Nine times out of ten, a person knows their killer,” said Jack.

“It wasn’t him ,” growled Dean, moving his chair back, your hand catching his keeping him in place.

“Yes, it was!” said Jack, throwing his hands up.

“I swear to God kid, you say that one more time and I’ll-“

“Dean,” said Sam, so quietly you barely heard it from across the table. “I think...he’s right.”

“Sammy. It’s dad,” said Dean, running his free hand over his face. “He was a street cop most of his career, then a detective, then chief. He didn’t work for the FBI. When the hell would he have even done it?”

“Yeah he did work for them,” said Jack, holding up a hand, pointing at the laptop in front of Sam. “Look it up.”

“Tell that little brat to shut up for two minutes,” grunted Dean, stealing the computer away, typing away before his mouth twitched at whatever he was reading.

“The little brat would suggest the big brat cool it,” said Jack, Dean glaring over the screen at him. “Your dad’s the bad guy, not me.”

“Dean?” asked Sam, Dean shrugging and shoving the laptop aside.

“He was in the FBI. So what,” said Dean. “It proves nothing.”

“So you don’t think he was smart enough to wait until you were 15 to kill your mother?” asked Jack, raising an eyebrow that made Dean squeeze his hand around yours so hard you had to let go. “Until you hit your growth spurt and were strong enough that he could pin it on you? You had the means and the opportunity to pull it off. A smarter, more talented little brother that got more attention than you, a mom that cared more about him than-“

“That is not true,” spat back Dean, swallowing hard, taking deep breaths.

“The motive of jealous brother? John could twist that real easy given what you’ve been up to the past four years. You’re angry, emotional...he’s probably been setting you up to take the fall since you were old enough to walk,” said Jack. “He planned this for years.”

“Kid, you’re this close to-“

“Dean!” you shouted when he stood up. You expected his anger to turn on you, for him to start shouting his head off.

But he only forced his mouth shut and took a deep breath through his nose, sitting back in his chair.

“The old Dean still in there?” you asked, Dean nodding his head slowly. You reached under the table to hold his hand, Dean staring at his lap, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “Jack. Remember you’re talking about their parents. A little finesse in your phrasing, okay?”

“Sorry,” mumbled Jack.

“Whatever,” said Dean, your hand squeezing his until he grunted. “Sorry I was going to beat the crap out of you.”

“I could take you,” said Jack with a smirk.

“In your dreams rookie,” said Dean, giving one back, his anger gone like that.

“Guys are so fucking weird,” you said, turning your attention to Sam. He was spun around in his chair, elbows on his knees, head between them.

“Sammy?” asked Dean, much more gently now, Sam lifting his head slowly. “Don’t freak out on us now. Just because Jack said those things doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Do you remember the time Bobby was supposed to take us to the zoo? I was five I think. I had that awful cold. You promised we’d both go again real soon and you went with Bobby on your own?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. I got you that little moose stuffed animal. You loved that thing,” said Dean with a big smile.

“Mom and I were home sick. Dad came home in the middle of his shift. I remember because I asked if he would get those sore throat suckers for me and mom on the way home. He was weird, just said I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I don’t remember a whole lot but mom looked at him funny and a neighbor stopped over with some soup soon after that and he want back to work. He brought home my suckers later on and I never thought about it again until just now,” said Sam.

“Sam...that’s beyond circumstantial...that’s…” said Dean, rubbing his free hand through his hair, pausing mid way. “You slept in my room for a week after that, with your little moose. You didn’t have a nightmare. You were scared of something but wouldn’t tell me.”

“I can’t remember what of but whatever it was, it freaked me out,” said Sam. “Bad. Like reoccurring nightmare to this day bad.”

“You honestly think…” said Dean, Sam nodding his head. “But you were there in the house. That doesn’t make sense. You would have been a witness.”

“Unless I was supposed to...you know...” said Sam.

“Sammy, stop,” said Dean, holding up his hand, staring down his little brother. “We don’t know anything.”

“It fits. The timing and-“

“What’s the motive?” asked Dean. “There is none. No way would dad hurt you or mom.”

“Dean,” you said, cupping his cheek with your free hand. “There was that one time-“

“I told you, we were messing around like guys do and I hit my face accidentally. Dad didn’t do it on purpose,” said Dean.

“He does know they teach cops how to spot a lie, right?” asked Jack. “Especially when someone is being-“

“It was an accident,” said Dean. “None of it makes any sense so until I see anything but hard proof, and I mean hard, I ain’t jumping on the bash on dad train. Y/N, you’ve worked for him for years , known him longer than that. You can’t possibly think dad is involved.”

“I want to know what Jack does before I start going gone way or the other on this thing,” you said, Dean nodding his head, Sam sighing. “Sam, I believe you. But that was years ago and you said it yourself, you can’t remember everything. I mean, I know you guys don’t have the greatest relationship with your dad but we should be smart about this.”

“Y/N, can I speak to you privately,” said Jack, both Winchesters whipping their heads in his direction. “It’s delicate and I’d rather tell Y/N first on account she is better at...phrasing things.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said, Dean tugging on your arm when you stood up.

“Be careful,” said Dean.

“It’s Jack,” you said, Dean’s jaw tensing.

“Please be careful,” said Dean. You gave him a smile and he dropped his hand away, Jack leaving the conference room first, moving down the hall until he found an old locker room, poking his head around.

“Jack,” you said, leaning back against the rusty things, Jack far more relaxed away from Dean but making sure you wouldn’t be overheard all the same. “They aren’t eavesdropping. Now do you want to tell me what you can’t say in there?”

“I work internal investigations,” said Jack.

“Yeah. I got that. You’re a smaller version of Sam with a gun,” you said, Jack giving you his best bitch face. “Oh look. There’s my friend again.”

“Yes, I am a mini Sam,” said Jack rolling his eyes, sitting down on a bench, rubbing his hands on his legs. “Dean thought he was working an undercover gig to get in with his mom’s killer, right?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Sam was investigating the team that assigned Dean this job, the team where someone on it in the FBI was Mary’s killer, right?” asked Jack.

“Yes and your job is to make sure nobody tries to kill Sam while he does that,” you said.

“Yes and no,” said Jack, looking over his shoulder at the door. “I’m supposed to protect Sam. I’m also supposed to do the footwork part of the investigation he can’t. Mary’s killer had to be in Lawrence that day. A local. There was only one person that fit the bill. John Winchester.”

“Where’s your proof Jack?” you asked.

“DNA. Only DNA found in the home was that belonging to the Winchesters. It was a mess according to the crime scene photos. No way to do that and not leave something behind. It had to without a doubt be a Winchester,” said Jack.

“Sam and Dean were kids,” you said.

“I know. If there’s only three possible suspects, two of them wouldn’t go through the trouble of setting themselves up to try and clear a name when they were getting away with it, would they?” said Jack. “It had to be John.”

“I need hard evidence, Jack,” you said. “Dean won’t believe conjecture, even if it fits.”

“Find me a murder weapon,” said Jack, lowering his head with a deep breath. “It was a kitchen knife. One was missing from the butcher block. A mistake a kid in a rush might make. Not one a guy framing his kid would.”

“He’s their father. I’ve had how many dinners with the guy. He’s my boss. He’s your boss. You know him,” you said.

“If this were anybody else, why would you be denying it? It’s because you don’t want to hurt your friends, right?” said Jack.

“How do you know they were FBI, the person who killed Mary,” you said, crossing your arms, kicking at the ground.

“They understood FBI protocol...they put out an anonymous distress signal in Houston, pulled in officers from all over the state, including Lawrence. John Winchester didn’t show up until two hours after everyone else,” said Jack. “He played the part well but there were a few that suspected him.”

“Why didn’t they do anything then?” you asked. “They just let their buddy go around and kill his wife?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe you should have asked them before one had his brakes fail. One had his gun jam out in the field. One fell in the shower. Three weird deaths of the three guys that thought maybe something was up? I’m sure that was all just a coincidence,” said Jack.

“He did it,” you said, running your hands through your hair.

“Likely. Timeline fits. John retired from field work, went local cop route. Stayed on as a consultant for us. Who do you think pushed for Dean’s team to come together in the first place? He did once Dean was in the academy. He never suggested Dean by name but implied things. When Dean went ‘bad’ John cried wolf that he couldn’t watch Dean do that, hung up his fed coat and let the pieces fall into place,” said Jack.

“Sending me in, the feds...what was that?” you asked.

“Dean punched his ex-girlfriend. Shows a history of violence. Not too much of a stretch with his rap sheet to mommy murder when he was a teenager,” said Jack.

“Fuck,” you said, sliding down to the ground, hands on your head. “Fuck, Jack.The stuff with Sam…was that real?”

“I don’t have a motive, Y/N so I don’t know. I have a whole lot of if this happened then that happened but I really need a murder weapon, a confession, a jacket with Mary’s blood, something. You know this family better than anyone else,” said Jack.

“Is Sam safe?” you asked.

“Someone tried to kill him a few days ago so probably not,” said Jack. “I don’t know if Sam’s always been a target or he was getting close. I don’t know.”

“I want somebody with Sam 24/7. Either you or me or Dean, understand?” you said.

“You don’t think you’re a target?” asked Jack. “We’d be stupid to discount you as one.”

“I’m a junior detective, I can handle-” you said, Jack standing and on top of you, stealing your gun from your holster easily, backing up with a cock of his head.

“You can handle what now?” asked Jack, your gun in his hand.

“He’s...older. He’ll be slower,” you said, Jack rolling his eyes as he handed your gun back over. “You aren’t babysitting me.”

“I didn’t say we had to. Just be careful,” said Jack with a smile.

“I have to be the one to tell the guys about John, don’t I,” you said.

“Probably a good idea,” said Jack. “I have to head into work soon before someone thinks something is up. I’ll call you later to meet up. We can use this place as a base.”

“Alright,” you said, following him out of the room. Jack paused before he got to the door, stopping you in your tracks.

“Did...did you know Dean found his mother?” asked Jack.

“No,” you said. “He only spoke about that day once. I figured it was better not to bring it up again.”

“Read his statement when you get a moment to yourself,” said Jack. “It’s what made me start looking at John in the first place. It’s not pretty but it’s useful. I don’t think he realized it, that he even realizes it now, but both those boys are afraid.”

“How’d you get assigned this case?” you asked. “Investigating John Winchester.”

“My dad. He was the one that had his brakes fail. I was in the backseat,” said Jack, a sad smile on his face. “Not a fun day.”

“Jack,” you said, grabbing his arm. “You really…”

“My dad kept notes. He didn’t work with John often but he knew something was off with him, especially after Mary,” said Jack.

“You’re doing this out of revenge,” you said, Jack shaking his head.

“I want some justice for my dad just like those guys for their mom,” said Jack with a sad laugh. “Go team murdered parents.”

“Yeah,” you said, giving Jack a smile. “You better get going. Bobby’s going to make you run laps outside the building if you get in after him.”

“You’re joking,” said Jack.

“I wish I was,” you said, Jack taking off down the hall.

“I call you later!” he said, barging through a couple doors, a car revving to life outside.

You took a few minutes to let everything settle, walking down to the conference room, the boys going through an old supply cabinet, pulling out notebooks and pens. Apparently they had the same idea about making that your base.

“He took off quick,” said Dean.

“He’s got work,” you said, holding out your arms. “Both of you, come here.”

“Why?” asked Sam, slowly walking over, letting you hug him, Dean uncertain on it as he tensed up, getting in close though.

“You two are about to have a very bad morning, Sammy, that’s why. Take a seat guys. We might as well get this over with.”

______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #au #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #series

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areeta9 · 4 years

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Hear me out: FGO, but with a late bloomer master

So I don’t know why this came to mind but I like the story potential of a master oc that hasn’t hit puberty by the time the Grand Order starts but does as time goes on. For the sake of avoiding the incredible awkwardness a female master would go through in Chaldea because they went from “a bra is not necessary” to “There is not a single shirt in existence that fully conceals my tits”, I’ll talk about my ideas for a male master.

So in the beginning, Mash finds a an elementary schooler asleep on the floor of Chaldea’s hallway. She wonders if a staff member somehow brought their kid, but notice’s that he’s wearing Chaldea’s master uniform. She wakes them up, they head to the orientation, the master falls asleep again, and Olga wonders why the hell there’s a child. He gets sent away but finds Romani is his room. Romani is like “Hey there little guy,” wondering why there’s a twelve year old here. He offers him his cake, which he accepts before corrects the doctor by telling him he’s 17, and one of the masters. It’s hard getting a regular part time job when you look the way he does, so he applied to Chaldea and got accepted.

Crap goes down just like in the game and the master and Mash come back from Fuyuki. The master starts summoning servants and every single time, any servant that comes through wonders why the hell were they summoned by a child. Nobody believes the master about his age until Da Vinci looks through his files and confirms it.

Life for the master is a struggle. He’s 4′9 and both the staff members and his servant habitually treat him like a child and often have a hard time taking him seriously. Because he has the physique of a grade schooler, he can’t lift anything heavy nor can he reach anything up high and often needs others help. The more mischevious servant bully him by putting his stuff on the top shelf and watching him struggle. Other servants have gotten into the habit of picking him up or just generally invading his personal space.

He has been trapped in a female servant’s marshmellow hell more times than he can count. He also has been forced into a lot of lap pillows. He has been forced to run from Medea when she wanted to use him as a dress up doll. Musashi was ecstatic when she was first summoned by him. Atalante get pissy when he stays up past 10. Nobody lets him drink coffee, let alone alcohol. Jack doesn’t even call him “Mommy”.

He forms a strong friendship with Hans because of their similar struggles of looking younger than they actually are.

At first he resisted and complained about this, but after awhile, he just gave up and went with it. He was used to this treatment back home, it wasn’t any different here, However, when he gets frustrated with his servants’ treatment of him, he has taken to hiding from them for a couple of hours and boy is he a hide and seek king. He can fit his tiny body in just about any corner of Chaldea and has become an expert at creeping around unoticed. Multiple times, the servants have had to have a caster scry where he was to find him.

Now, if things are really like this in Late Bloomer’s Chaldea, how do they have so many servants loyal to them? Two reasons:

Protective Instinct

His Hyper-Competence

Have you ever had the overwhelming feeling that you wanted to protect something or someone? That you just couldn’t leave them alone? That if you weren’t there to look out for them they’d get killed? That’s how a lot of the older servants feel about Master. The very sight of them evokes a parental/big sister/big brother instinct in them that they simply could not ignore.

This child is the one left save humanity? This one? He’s adorable, but how old is he? He can’t even reach the top shelf and you expect him to defeat demon pillars? Am I leaving then? Hell no! Like hell I’m leaving them to do this by themselves! They’ll get killed!

Perhaps it could even be said that some of them allowed themselves to be summoned because of this instinct. Raikou came in one ticket after all.

It’s a strange sight to see Mash call the “elementary schooler” Senpai.

However, allies and enemies alike are often caught off guard by his competence. The master has lived most of his teenage lives being underestimated for their looks, to compensate for this, they got good. They absorb information like a sponge and put it to practical use just as quickly. He once asked Robin and Geronimo to teach him how to trap animals. After one lesson, he caught, skinned, and cooked rabbits with no issue. The same thing happened when he asked Cu to take him fishing. They soon became proficient in first aid, riding, and climbing. His commands in battle became more confident as learned more about his servants abilities and developed better tactics. The enemy never expected the shota master to ignite explosives in the encampment by firing a flaming arrow with precise aim.

However, after Okeanos, Emiya and some other servants notice that their master is eating a lot more. They wonder where all that food is going as their master is a skinny little kid. In the following months and singularities they find out.

Their master hits a growth spurt. It starts off small. Master can no longer fit into some of his old hiding places. Then he starts hitting his head against low edges while in singularities because he’s never had to duck before. Then come the wardrobe malfunctions. He moves one way too fast and tears his clothes. He stops needing help to carrying stuff as his muscles grow. Slowly, his perspective on his servants change. He is no longer looking up at many of them. His female servants are now eye level with him but they will become lower as he grows closer to his male servants’ heights.

Despite all this, the master is so used to being small that he lacks awareness of the changes. He suddenly takes up more space, he’s bumping into everything, and his clothes don’t fit the same. This is where his male servants step in and show that they are truly his bros. It’s Lord El-Melloi that explains what’s happening to him. He relates to the issue because the same thing happened to him when he was 19. Romani redoes his measurements and gets him better fitting mystic codes. The others make a point to warn him of low cielings so that he doesn’t develop a concussion and help him avoid bumping into things.

By time the Grand Order is completed and they’re dealing with the Remnants, the late bloomer master has grown a whole foot taller. They’re 5′9, but that’s not all. Their features are more chiseled and because of their time travelling through singularities and regular visits to Chaldea’s gym, they are shredded.

Musashi and Atalante mourn the loss of his shota appearance. He overhears this and asks, with puppy dog eyes, if they don’t like him anymore. The look on his face draws huge blushes onto their faces. They eye say no before they hurriedly excuse themselves.

And thus was the struggle of every young female servants in Chaldea. When the master looked like a little boy, they had cuddled and coddled him without a care but now that he looked like, like that, many were having trouble even looking him in the eye.

The Master was used to his servants invading his personal space, so oblivious to their newfound struggle, he found himself in theirs. Where in the past, hugs, handholding, lap pillows, reception of forehead kisses, napping together, and grooming each other’s hair was acceptable, suddenly many of the female servants would blush furiously or refuse whenever the master requested them or just took them like he used to. Servants who had only known the master in his more adult appearance were less prone to this.

Mash of course, suffered the worse. She first realized her adorable little senpai was now a SENPAI when he ran about without a shirt on when they were trapped on a deserted island. Now she couldn’t even imagine helping him dry his hair or even hugging him like she used too. Every time they accidentally touched, she’d be unable to speak.

The master remained oblivious to this until one day, it sharply came to a head. Excited, he had leaned in too close while speaking to Jalter and the servant, blushing and embarassed, smacked him across the face impulsively before yelling at him and stalking away.

He looked like a kicked puppy, holding his stinging cheek when he approached Da Vinci and Mash about the situation. He didn’t seem to get along with many of his female servants anymore. Had he done something wrong?

Mash blushes. Da Vinci laughs and tells him he looks a lot different than how he used to. Let’s just say puberty hit him like a truck.

Confused, he asks one of the male servants. They say he’s turned into a good looking guy.

He returns to his room and looks in the mirror. He calls Kiyohime, who crawls out from under his bed.

“Am I hot?” he asks.

“You’re just realizing this now?” she replies.

Sorry this was so long

#master #oc #master oc #mash #writing #Fate Grand Order #fgo #fate go #sorry for the long post #fanfiction #fanfic #rant

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prorevenge · 5 years

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Girl I had a crush on in middle school bullied and mocked me for SIX YEARS. A decade later, VENGEANCE.

TL;DR at the end!

When I was in seventh grade, I moved to a new town. My father was killed in a military accident, and my mom wanted to start fresh in a new place. We came from a small town and our new apartment was in a huge city. My mom grieved my dad for over two years, but after that got back into dating and eventually married my now-stepdad, with whom she is still happily married. He's always treated us well, and I love and respect him. They have their own daughter together, my half-sister.

I didn't adjust very well. I was active and happy in my old town, but in my new town I was depressed and a loner. I entered school in the middle of the year when all the friend groups were already formed. I missed my dad a lot so just stayed home and ate and played video games.

I got fat.

Never obese, but I was chunky and out of shape compared to how I used to be.

I liked this one girl who was in a few of my classes. I'll call her "Lindsay." Lindsay was pretty and popular and she was the first girl I really had a crush on. Being shy, I never tried to talk to her.

As time went on, I made what I thought were friends with these two boys, who I will call Allan and Joey. All of us, including Lindsay, were in the seventh grade. I didn't hang out with Allan and Joey outside of school, but they'd let me hang out with them on campus. At least I didn't have to sit alone anymore.

Allan and Joey were talking about which girls were cute, and who they had a crush on. I eventually admitted that I liked Lindsay, but told them not to tell her.

Later that day, in math class which I shared with Lindsay, a note was passed to me.

It was from Lindsay!

My heart leapt, although I was nervous: did Allan and Joey tell her I liked her?

When I opened the note, my heart fell to my feet.

I get red when I'm nervous or sad.

I was never more red than that day.

Inside the note, Lindsay had written in block capital letters:

I DON'T LIKE YOU, OP

There was a little bit of giggling in the room.

I was so embarrassed I asked the teacher if I could go to the nurse.

There was loud laughter as I left.

The nurse let me stay in her office until the end of the day, which was good since my mom couldn't leave work unless I was dying, and I wasn't allowed at that point to walk home the three quarters mile to our apartment, due to a recent spate of kidnapping stories in the news. I took the school bus home as usual.

Kids laughed at me on the bus, too.

Not two days later I get called into the principal's office and get lectured by the principal how a student complained that I was stalking her.

I of course had no idea what happened but eventually I figured out that Allan and Joey told Lindsay, and Lindsay decided to make a big production about getting me into trouble.

Soon everyone on campus started to call me the creepy stalker, the hillbilly, the White trash redneck, things like that. Lindsay got all sorts of positive attention for being brave enough to tell adults about kids who harassed her.

Thing was, I was never officially reprimanded and my mom was never actually called in to talk to any adults about what I supposedly did. The principal just told me that stalking was bad and to leave Lindsay alone. I didn't really know what more I could do to leave her alone. I never even said one thing to her or tried to send any notes to her or stare at her. All I did was tell someone I thought was a friend that I liked her, and please don't tell her.

I didn't tell my mom about it.

But after Allan and Joey's betrayal, it was back to sitting by myself.

In eighth grade I still went to the same school and it was more of the same. I was still known as the uneducated redneck creeper. Lindsay was still really popular and went out with the cool guys from our class. Allan and Joey were never in the cool kid group and I suspect that they both liked Lindsay too, and were trying to suck up to her.

On Valentine's Day, I got one of those candygrams that students send to one another that they buy from student leadership at their school during holidays. Like, two dollars will get you a card and a candy bar, and a student aide will deliver it to the intended recipient, along with a sealed message.

I at least got a candy bar out of it.

The message wasn't so nice. It said,

STOP STALKING ME, FREAK

Thanks, Lindsay.

By high school, I really hit my growth spurt and eventually grew to be 6'5." I eventually got quite skinny so I began pumping a lot of iron starting in tenth grade. I became really ripped.

Allan grew up to be a b*tchy little runt and he never messed with me again. Especially after Allan, the one who asked me who I had a crush on in seventh grade, was whispering something to someone in a class we had together in eleventh grade, and looking at me and laughing.

I said really loud, "Yo, Allan you little ****, you have something to say you say it to my face like a man, don't go whispering like a little ****."

Everyone laughed and even the teacher didn't call me out or send me to the office. I think she was sick of the little punk, too.

I didn't really care to date in high school because, even though I was big and strong now, I was still awkward around girls.

Joey actually came around, though.

In eleventh grade he approached me and apologized for how he treated me in middle school. He said that Allan was the one who told Lindsay that I liked her. He told me that Allan had a crush on Lindsay, too, and was trying to score points with her. I thanked him, and although we were never really friends after that in school, I wasn't mean to him, and he wasn't mean to me.

We were "fist bump" acquaintances.

Lindsay was still really popular in high school. Not quite as popular as in middle school, because in high school there was more "hot girl" competition. But she still held her own.

I didn't lack for attention from other girls, but more often than not the girl would tell me that Lindsay told them I was a stalker, and harassed her in middle school.

Lots of girl accused me of that in high school, especially the ones I rejected.

Eventually, since I was rejecting a lot of girls, some of whom were in the popular group (and Lindsay was still in the cool kid group at this time) people spread rumors saying I was homosexual.

I don't happen to be gay.

Nothing wrong with being gay, but the way these people were throwing it around, it was as if being gay was an insult. Really disappointing, considering this was a huge, progressive city. I might have thought such attitudes were common in my old home town, but it was surprising, here.

I'd sometimes find notes in my locker calling me [homophobic expletive]. Of course, no one, especially any guys would own up to it, because by this time I was huge, not just in height but I was also really jacked. Side note about that. I asked the custodian, a really chill dude especially if you slip him a twenty, if I could look at the surveillance videos of the halls that he had on his office computer. It actually pinpointed who was putting notes in my locker.

It wasn't Allan.

I would have loved if it was Allan because I would cave his face in.

It was actually this wannabe gangbanger who walked around in sunglasses and baggy pants and flannel shirts buttoned to the top. Looked like a total toolbag.

So I caught him in the parking lot one day with his girlfriend and said he forgot something.

Then I showed him six or seven notes that he had put in my locker.

He tried to act like he didn't know what I was talking about but I slapped him in front of his girlfriend and said next time I find a note in my locker I'm going to make you look like a weak **** in front of the whole school, not just your ****.

I never got a note from him after that.

But before he drove off like a deflated White cholo balloon, he admitted that Lindsay and her crew were behind it.

Nowadays, and especially if my kid were the victim, I'd want him or her to tell an adult, but back then I had this "snitches get stiches" mentality, and decided to just suck it up.

Right around this time, social media was really starting to take off, especially that website where you had your own personal space, and could have a "top five friend" row, could use HTLM to switch out music, and have personalized wallpaper. Looking back, I think I preferred this space of mine to that boring book of faces.

Most of my online friends were older than me and from all over the place. I liked having online friends because at least you could delete them, just like that, if you decided they suck.

Unlike high school, where people you've mentally cancelled were still on campus every day.

Joey was my online friend (still is) and he pointed me to a page he found on that website.

It was a bogus one, that had stolen pictures from my real account, and was using my whole name.

It was full of hateful, homophobic slurs and accusing me of being a stalker.

By tracing this fake profile's "friends," I could tell it had originated from the Lindsay group.

I flagged the account and it was soon taken down.

To this day, I don't get why Lindsay found it so necessary to hate me so much that she had to try to ruin my middle and high school years, just because I happened to like her a little bit in seventh grade.

Anyway, in high school, I wasn't a loner anymore. I was on the basketball team and track team and swim team, so I had friends, but I was never in the very top-tier popularity group. Lindsay was in that top group, though she was mostly one of the hangers-on of the most popular girls in school. Like, she was in that group, but was never Beyonce.

And though I had my share of fun with girls in high school (never dated, just hooked up), I could never shake the reputation that I had "stalked" Lindsay.

Well, I graduated and moved on.

I went to college for accounting, and eventually became a CPA. I still work out every day, and so I stayed in really good shape. I also continued to play sports in college, though I never had the desire (or talent, really) to make it my profession. With the help of my awesome stepdad, who's an accountant, too, we opened our own small financial service with a dozen employees.

We're doing alright!

Eventually, a man comes in, looking for a job as an accountant.

Lo and behold, it's Joey!

Haven't seen him in years. Still looks the same, maybe a little balder but otherwise pretty good. We catch up, and since he's gone to school for accounting himself and has a good resume, we hire him.

He does fine for a couple of years, and we've actually become good friends. We've put the past behind us. I went to his wedding. He went to mine. I went to his son's baptism, and he went to my daughter's.

We're friends on social media, and neither of us keep in touch with people from middle and high school.

Bygones are bygones.

And time passes.

One day Joey asks me if I got a letter in the mail inviting us to our ten year high school reunion. I tell him no, and remember that the school doesn't have any of my updated addresses, since my mom and stepdad moved a couple of times since I graduated, and anyway I don't live with them anymore. Joey is taking care of his sick mother, so his wife and child moved in with his mom in his childhood home.

He shows me the letter. Typical stuff, except hey now! Lindsay is on the reunion committee.

It has her email address and everything.

I haven't thought about her in years.

Since I'm in front of my computer, I look up her email address on Face-libro, and it leads right to her since her privacy settings are minimal.

Her current photos don't do her any favors.

She's aged badly.

It looks like she had a couple of kids and was married once, but is now a single mom, and sharing custody with her ex husband.

She gained a lot of weight and doesn't look like she used to.

Really, I wonder if it's even her. But the name matches up, and the school history matches up.

I was thinking how LOL it would be if her ex husband was Allan, but it wasn't.

Allan WAS on her friends list, though.

Clicking on him, it doesn't look like he amounted to anything. Never attended college, but that's okay if he does other productive things. But he doesn't. It seems he washed out of the army, and has worked a series of menial jobs and now lives in another state far away. Seems like he's obsessed with just smoking weed and trying to date teenagers these days.

Per Lindsay, from her updates it looks like she is big on the dating scene, but hasn't found Mr. Right, and it's frustrating her because she has "so much to offer."

Like her crushing student debt that she complains about in one post, for her super cool and useful almost-degree in fashion design, that she never quite earned because she "fell in love" and got married with some loser from high school.

Or how her children don't respect her in another post.

Or how she has several go-gimme-funds just to raise the rent on her crap studio apartment.

Or her amazing, exciting career as a junior shift supervisor at that popular coffee shop, Galacticbucks.

Holy cow.

I think life got my revenge on her, for me.

But I think this b*tch needs a little nudge.

I tell Joey no, I'm not going to the reunion, are you?

He says he will, because he wants to see if any of his favorite teachers are still around.

And he tells me, "don't you want to show off to people how successful you are now?"

LoL. We're boring accountants, not Navy SEALS or hedgefunders over here.

So, I tell him no, but if you're going, say hi to people for me.

Will do!

The reunion is still a couple of months away.

For what I'm going to do, I need my wife's permission.

After I explain how Lindsay treated me in middle and high school, about all the stalker and anti-gay stuff, my wife tells me, mid breast-feed, to destroy, with prejudice, and in detail.

Thanks, dear.

I look completely different in the face compared to high school.

Still, I don't want to use my own photos.

So, instead, I gather lots of stock photos of a particular male model.

Sorry dude, I hope you don't mind! Anyway I'm sure lots of catfish use you as their hook, Mr. Inoffensive, Conventionally Handsome Buff German Guy.

And then I make a profile on that awesome dating site, AcceptableCupid, after I learn on the Libro de Face that Lindsay is on there.

The idiot actually doxes her own username, she's that thirsty for attention.

Right when I launch my profile I get a few spam emails and desperate cat calls from lonely women.

I ignore those and go right for the kill.

I send a message to Lindsay telling her how amazing and interesting she is.

Since she's such an unattractive person in every way, I don't think there's a long line of suitors vying for her attention, and I'm right.

Within minutes, I get her reply.

We begin a message-exchange on the site, and I gradually gain her confidence, mostly by flattering her.

She doesn't tell me she's a mom, even after several days of messaging, which is odd. She implies strongly that she's a career person and artist. Haha okay, relax there, Lindsay.

Eventually I share a pic with her, and she fawns over how gorgeous I am (thanks, innocent German model!)

I am glad she can't hear me laughing when I type that she is beautiful.

As days pass, she begs me to give her permission to share my photos to her book of the face, where she is bragging about me.

I tell her that there is a time for that. Soon she can share my pic and I will share hers.

I lull her into thinking I'm respectful and want to take time in figuring out "us."

Throughout this whole time, I keep giving her opportunities to tell me she's a mom.

I get her to say that "for the right guy, I'll make my existence only about him and me. Everything else is second place."

I also get her to say that she "can't stand" kids.

This is already a long story, so I'll try to at least shorten it a little here.

Eventually, she invites me to her high school reunion.

I tell her how much I'd love to go, but that I live in another state and can't get time off from my highly paid executive job (LOL) until a date a few days after. But I promise her that we will have a date at a VERY expensive restaurant.

She's bragging all over her social media that she has a new hot guy online, and has a date with him. Of course her friends are begging her to share his pics, but she doesn't, to her credit.

She does brag about how this will teach her ex a lesson, that she can still pull the hottest dudes.

Everyone online in her friend group (I was not shocked to see that most of her friends were other losers from school, and how she never seemed to grow up) was cheerleading her, telling her how much she deserved this.

You sure do, Lindsay!

I don't tell Joey what I'm doing a few desks away from him at work. Every spare moment I have from my job, I devote to messing with Lindsay. Sending her messages about how beautiful she is, how I will take her on trips. Eventually I learn her phone number.

I hit the convenience store, let's call it "seven hundred and eleven," and buy a cheap cellphone with minutes-card. I begin texting Lindsay about how I think she's so amazing, refreshing, so real.

Just to see if she's still a hateful B-word, I tell her about how during my online dating, sometimes guys will try to chat with me. She immediately laments how [homophobic expletives] need to stay away from straights.

Okay, Lindsay, you're trash.

I text her back that I don't mind when guys message me because I have my acceptable cupid account set for "friends" in addition to romantic partners.

She immediately backpedals when she sees that gay guys don't offend me.

Whatever, Lindsay, I know what you are.

Anyway Joey goes to the reunion with his wife. His mother is ill, but well enough to watch his son for a few hours.

The high school is about twenty miles from our place of business.

Joey tells me that all the expected people were there.

He was sad to learn that one of the popular teachers had passed away, but most of the others were still working there.

He saw a lot of the former popular kids.

He texted me some of their selfies together.

Too bad Allan didn't make it. Probably still chasing a statutory charge in his new home state.

With few exceptions, most of our former classmates looked like they peaked in high school.

Sad, considering we're all still under thirty.

I didn't ask him about her or try to coach him on anything to say, but Joey told me that Lindsay, one of the officers in charge of the reunion committee, was bragging to everyone about this hot guy she was messaging online, and how she had a date with him.

According to Joey, people were marveling about how unbelievably handsome the guy was, "like a model!"

I'm glad that Lindsay was never the sharpest tool in the shed, otherwise a simple reverse image search would reveal that the photos were of a very famous European model.

Joey told me that Lindsay was bragging about how the guy online was in love with her, and how they had a date next week, and how he was a rich CEO of some mysterious, never named company.

Joey told me that a lot of the girls were encouraging Lindsay to "marry him and his money!"

Although I appreciated Joey's updates, they weren't actually necessary since Lindsay flooded her book of the face with tons of photos from that night, as did her crappy friends.

Eventually I spoke to Lindsay on the phone.

Amazing.

In middle school and high school, I never once really talked to her.

I only told one d*ckbag in seventh grade that I liked Lindsay, and after that, it was all just gossip and rumors that she started.

This was the first time I really heard her voice, and I wasn't even me, I was "Herr Deutsche Model."

She told me how "sexy" my voice was.

Really, Lindsay? Because I was pinching my nose and trying to sound different, not that she knew what I sounded like for real anyway.

I told her I couldn't wait for our date, and told her which restaurant it would be. I also told her I was staying at a certain five star hotel. I said that we could go there after dinner, which is of course polite talk for "we will f*ck on date number one."

I made sure this particular exchange was on the acceptable cupid site.

I could tell she was falling hard for me, especially the way she plastered her social media with updates on her dreamboat.

Hey, Lindsay, you've got two kids and you never post ANYTHING about them on social media.

Are you ashamed of your children?

Meanwhile she's telling the world she's going to f*ck some stranger she's never met.

Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay...

A truly trash human.

Over the following few days she never did own up to having kids, but she did admit she worked at Spacebucks Coffee as a "side thing," for fun in addition to all of the art she said she did, and having her own business. I assume she's talking about her online store at 3tsy that she brags about on the book of mugshots where she sells really crappy beaded jewelry that only drunk ravers might find appealing.

By this time she's given me her full name and I've given her my made up name.

She says that her job at LunarBucks is a total joke, her coworkers are idiots, her manager is mentally deficient, and that she often takes home pastries at the end of the night, supposedly to give to the poor (nah, Lindsay. I've seen your pics. You clearly be eating them scones personally). According to Lindsay, she's supposed to "mark out" expired pastries and dispose of them for various city code reasons.

But she goes all SJW with me and tells me that "why should all that perfectly good food go to waste? It's truly an evil company."

Yeah, whatever Lindsay, you racist, elitist homophobe.

Anyway, fast forward to our date.

The restaurant is only a couple of miles from my business, and I scheduled our date for shortly after we closed for the evening.

I scheduled everything in such a way that I wouldn't miss my wife's famous lasagna later for dinner.

I parked not far from the window, in a parking lot adjacent from the restaurant. I couldn't park at the restaurant itself, as it was an extremely expensive place that had valet parking only.

As scheduled, I see Lindsay waddle into the front door, coming out of her rideshare. I had instructed her to give her name to the host, and be seated at a specific table.

I happen to know, because she said so on the libro of the face, that she was ashamed of her beat up 2001 Chevy Cavalier.

I assume she expected her hot date to drive her home after an amazing night of what I can only assume is--with her--vomit-inducing, and malodorous love-making. I told her I would be arriving in a Maserati.

I see her sit at the table I arranged earlier. I see her playing with her phone. Probably bragging about our date to whoever.

After twenty minutes of stringing her along, I see my courrier arrive on a red Vespa, just as he told me he would. The courrier I scheduled to arrive at a certain time, twenty minutes after Lindsay's arrival. He wouldn't bring the item unless I texted the go-ahead, which I did. He texted me, "here!"

And I saw him take the bear out of his backpack.

His task was to ride to a certain gift store I never really frequented, and pick up a small, stuffed bear whose arms could surround anything from a bouquet of roses to a box of candy to an envelope with a million dollar check in it. The courrier was then supposed to bring the bear to the restaurant host. The host would then of course bring the bear to Lindsay.

The courrier handed the bear to the host. I didn't see the handoff because that part of the restaurant was out of my vision, but I did see the courrier ride away after I received a text saying "done!"

I DID see the host give the bear to Lindsay, which was the important part.

I was parked close enough to see her face as she read the note I had typed and placed inside the envelope I had the bear holding, next to a fancy chocolate bar.

I DON'T LIKE YOU, LINDSAY

Her face.

HER FACE!

OMG.

She looked like she was going to die, right there.

I received a WTF? Text from her.

I started driving home.

Text after confused text.

Twenty or more.

She never knows when to drop it.

Finally, I pull into my driveway.

Wife and daughter at home.

I hear their laughter.

The good kind.

I smell the lasagna, and my wife kisses me.

She asks me if I had a good day.

I tell her yes, most definitely!

And then, before I take the phone's battery out and break the cellphone into a hundred pieces before throwing it in the garbage, I send Lindsay one more text:

STOP STALKING ME, FREAK

The next day, I couldn't help it.

I looked at Lindsay's social media.

Set to private!

I'm wondering if her narcissistic ass knew that it was ME that played her. Especially since the mascot for our middle and high schools was a bear, that didn't look too different from the stuffed one I had given her.

I don't really care.

All I know, is that now I have closure.

Especially after I sent the screen captures of our alrighty-cupid messages (my own user name and fake photo blocked out) to CPS, where Lindsay bragged about hating kids and told me what she thought about being a mom. And said she was going to be screwing a strange man on the first day meeting him.

Maybe ex-hubby will get full custody, and give those children the attention they deserve.

Her boss at Galaxybucks was certainly interested in my recording of her calling him "a retard" and that she stole pastries that she was supposed to mark out at the end of the night and that her company was an evil corporation and that they were a "joke."

Random call to her store a few weeks later.

"Is Lindsay there?"

"Oh, she no longer works here."

Damn right she doesn't, LMAO!

Go to Hell, Lindsay.

Hey, at least you got a candy bar out of it.

Thanks for reading!

PS: A few days ago, my wife asked me whatever happened to that revenge I had planned on that mean girl from middle school. I told her I've moved on, that it was too long ago, and that I needn't be petty. She told me how much she admired me for my restraint. "If it were me, I would have cut a b*tch."

One day, I think I'll confess. Maybe one of those deathbed things. About how I kicked a loser when she was already down and laughed while doing so. Oh well.

TL;DR: Girl wrongfully accused me of stalking when we were in middle school, and bullied me in middle and high school. Years later, fat, alone, and defeated by life, time had given me revenge. Still, I felt like beating a dead horse.

(source) story by (/u/OpenFaceClubSammich)

#prorevenge #by /u/OpenFaceClubSammich #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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