#metal bands are just so *gestures vaguely*

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

I finally found one of the “Is the metal band Nazis?” sites again.

Apparently Nazi bands have their own fun little acronym now? National Socialist Black Metal--NSBM--as opposed to Red and Anarchist Black Metal, or RABM.

The reason it can be a bit difficult to figure out sometimes, aside from a lot of the music being in languages you don’t necessarily speak and also growled/yelled/Gregorian chanted over half an orchestra and three drummers, is that it’s like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.  The fun new project you’ve found and really like can have completely innocuous music and aesthetics, but then you look it up and find out that 5/6s of the members’ main gigs are with Nazi bands. Which, you know, if the goal is “Do not give Nazis money”...

But the documentation section of the lists is fucking wild.  You’re going through it and it’s like:

“They had a Nazi guest artist one time but kicked them out once everyone was like ‘Hey, they’re a Nazi!’ and haven’t hired any known Nazis since then.”

“They claim to be apolitical and have made no political statements in their entire twenty-year history.  The band members have only ever been associated with this one project, which exclusively sings about a Cthulhuesque space slug they made up.”

“This band has only ever worked with this specific anti-fascist label, but their drummer is an admitted cannibal.”

“They say they’re not political but they keep collaborating with Nazis.”

“Their frontman stabbed a guy in a bar for looking at him funny, but not in a Nazi kind of way.”

“Well, uh, here’s their last album cover...” and it’s just “This image is blocked due to legal restrictions in your country! :)”

“Pinned top post on all their social media is ‘Nazi punks fuck off.’”

“Frontman is a convicted pedophile with no known opinions about white supremacy.”

“They’ve never said anything one way or another, but they’re signed with Nazi Record Label for Nazis.”

“Lead guitarist burned down a church one time but has consistently maintained that it was due to Satanism, not Nazism, and insists that Satan doesn’t discriminate on the basis of gender, sexuality, color, or ethnicity.”

“Last side project was doing main vocals for that guitarist who stormed the Capitol on January 6th.”

“Varg Vikernes.”

[skrunksthatwunk]

kuwabara sketch dump bc i had a dream where he was just sittin there last night and i love him and i miss him :((

[melon-fodder]

ALWAYS HAVE BEEN • T. HIRAGI

Summary: Hiragi drops in on you unannounced after a fight. Once you patch him up things take an unexpected turn, one you’ve wanted for years.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: smut, reader is Matsumoto’s sister in some capacity, mentions of fighting, very minor injuries, reader has female anatomy, Hiragi gets dirty in this (bless), fingering, oral (f! receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms, squirting, dirty talk, pet names: pretty girl, baby

Note: This got away from me so fast, but it needed to happen. Finally, finally, I have written something more than a drabble for the love of my life 💚 Enjoy~

The bathroom is still full of steam when you step out of the shower, keeping your face damp even after toweling it off. You dry your hair as well as you can, comb some leave-in conditioner through it, then wipe part of the mirror clear to get started on your simple skin care routine. The vent is loud enough to block out any sound from outside, specifically the door to your apartment opening and closing, a voice that would be familiar calling out for your brother. Ignorant of your guest, you just keep humming, rubbing in moisturizer, gliding your jade roller over your face. The tool clatters into the sink when you startle, jumping out of your skin when you hear a deep voice on the other side of the door, “Yo, Matsumoto–” Hiragi, one of your brother’s closest friends and fellow member of Bofurin. Despite not feeling threatened that he’s in your home, your heart rate doesn’t slow down one bit. In fact, it speeds up. “You still have that first-aid kit somewhere?” he calls out, and you rush to wrap a towel around yourself, knotting it securely over your chest, then crack the door to peer up at him. Hiragi’s eyebrows raise high on his forehead, pink dusting his cheeks when he realizes– “Yodai isn’t home right now.” “Shi–I mean, sorry, I’ll leave.” There’s a bruise blooming just beside his left eye, and his bottom lip is split open on one side. You don’t even have to look at his hands to know that his knuckles are bloodied. They stay in a constant state of rawness, similar to your brother’s. “No, it’s fine,” you tell him as he begins to back away. It’s an awkward situation, but, while you would have been mortified a couple years ago, you’re more comfortable with yourself now. Plus, you know for a fact Hiragi would never hurt you. “Give me a second to make myself, ya know, decent,” you gesture vaguely to yourself which makes the man flush even darker and stare at the ceiling, “and then I’ll grab the first-aid kit for ya’.”

Hiragi clears his throat before muttering, “thanks,” then strides back out to the living room, leaving you to skitter across the hall into your bedroom to put some damn clothes on.

You’ve known the Furin boys (men now, you suppose) since high school when Yodai joined. Out of all of them, you’re most familiar with Yanagida, Kaji, and of course, Hiragi, having grown accustomed to them dropping in at all hours, usually after fights but sometimes just to relax. First it had been at your family home, but even when you and your brother moved into your own small, shared apartment, you still found yourself walking into a full house fairly often.

The point is that you’re comfortable with all of them. Even if you’ve been harboring a tiny (massive) crush on Hiragi since the day you met him. It’s fine, though. Everything will be fine. You’ll get him patched up and send him on his way, and nothing will change even though he just saw you in nothing but a towel.

You could have covered up a little better, probably should have, but it’s your apartment, so when you walk back out it’s in a faded metal band t-shirt and a pair of maybe-too-small terry cloth shorts. Whatever.

Hiragi is sitting in the kitchen and straightens up when you walk in, immediately apologizing again until you wave him off.

“It’s fine, I promise. I’ve gotten pretty used to you popping in with no warning,” you kid.

“I didn’t realize it was… I mean, I texted your brother to give him a heads up.”

“Well, as it happens, he does occasionally do things that aren’t gang-related. Errands, dates…”

Hiragi scoffs as you open one of the high cabinets, something about, “I’d know if Matsumoto was datin’ someone. He’s just blowin’ me off ‘cause I put him to work yesterday–hey!” He’s suddenly on his feet when he notices you swing a leg up on the counter. “Don’t climb that! You’re gonna break your damn neck!”

Pulling you off and away from the oh-so dangerous countertops, Hiragi reaches into the cabinet that is much more accessible to him–god, he’s so tall, deliciously tall–and retrieves the little red box you were aiming for. When he starts for the hallway again you catch him by the wrist and try to lead him back into his chair.

“I can patch myself back up, kid,” he tells you. The name raises your hackles while simultaneously forcing a shiver down your spine. Yodai calls you ‘kiddo’ but he’s allowed, even if you are only a few months younger than him. Hiragi, though… You would really prefer if he was able to see past the whole Matsumoto’s little sister thing.

“Just sit down,” you command more than request. “You have clumsy man fingers. I’ll be able to do a better job.”

And you do, dabbing at the tiny cut on his eyebrow with a cotton ball before carefully applying a butterfly bandage. The bruise on the side of his head doesn’t show any broken skin, so there’s not much you can do there, but you are able to tend to that swollen lip. Hiragi pouts like he isn’t a huge fan of you taking care of him like this, but tough shit. It’s in your nature. Plus, you’ve got far gentler hands. He’d probably find a way to hurt himself even worse, get too rough with a q-tip or something.

It’s quiet for a little while, and you are keenly aware of how close you are to him (another contributing factor as to why you’re doing this? Possibly). You’re bent at the waist while dabbing at his face, and you know your shirt is offering a bit of a view after cutting the collar open years ago in an attempt to give it an edgier look. Hiragi isn’t looking, though, gaze trained upward as he pushes his lip out for you.

“He really out on a date?” he eventually asks, and you smirk. Apparently, he doesn’t handle silence well either.

“Yeah,” you answer, waiting a beat before adding, “with our mom.”

Hiragi tries to smile only for you to squish his cheeks together, poking your tongue out at him when he makes a noise of protest.

You think you’re playing it pretty cool so far–casual and lighthearted. That doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking about how you want to pepper his face with kisses, though. Just get comfortable in his lap, play with the short, bleached hairs at the back of his head. See how much you can tease him before he starts rolling his hips against yours…

“Wha’re you ‘hinkin awout?” Hiragi halfway manages through the grip you have on his face.

You let go of him, realize you’re sucking on your own lip, that your eyelids have gotten heavy with desire, but you pull yourself out of it with a short shake of your head.

“Nothing important.”

“No?” He surprises you by sitting forward, and the sudden motion makes you stumble back just enough to trigger his instincts into reaching out and grabbing you before you can fall over. Hands around your waist (huge, warm hands) Hiragi pins you with jasper eyes. “Nothin’ important?”

You swallow visibly. Audibly. But shake your head again. He’s just doing that thing–that subtle check-in, making sure you’re okay without actually asking. Thinks he scared you earlier or that you’re pissed at him showing up in the first place. It’s not like he’s holding you like this just to fuck with you. Hiragi isn’t the type to do that.

But he also isn’t the type to linger, more of a head-pat or brief one armed hug type of guy. So why are his fingers curling against the hem of your shirt? And why is he lifting his eyebrow like that?

“Not often it’s just you n’ me alone, huh?” he prompts, finally letting his hands drop to his thighs.

“No,” your voice cracks and you swear internally. “No, not since that one time in school when the others ran off without you.” A fight that Yodai took very personally, ignoring his captain when Hiragi had called out to him to slow down, responding only with, “keep my sister safe!” as if he had any right to demand something like that from his higher-up.

But it was Hiragi, so he did in fact stay behind to keep an eye on you while Yodai and Kaji brawled out in the school yard. It was right around that time that your crush on him had really bloomed, so being alone in a room with him… You spent most of the time shaking in the corner, eyes darting back and forth between Hiragi and anywhere else. Of course he noticed, frowning at you in confusion but not willing to ask questions and make you even more uncomfortable.

“You were terrified of me back then,” he chuckles now, showing off sharp teeth that you want to feel against your neck.

You laugh–giggle, really–because, “I was not scared of you.”

“What? You were shakin’ like a leaf. I remember you all curled up in one of the desks.”

“Yeah, but not ‘cause I was scared,” you reiterate. “I had a crush on you, idiot.”

It’s okay if he knows now, just as long as you talk about it like it’s in the past, like you’ve moved on.

Hiragi’s eyes widen, truly surprised. “Wait, for real?”

“For real,” you grin, deciding now is a good time to gather up the used cotton balls and throw them away. Putting a few feet of distance between the two of you is good, helps you take in full breaths. Still, even on the other side of the kitchen you can feel his eyes on you.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You spin around, not expecting that question at all, and grapple for a believable answer. “M-me? Back then? Are you kidding? I was so… All I did was follow Yodai around like some–”

“Kid sister?” he finishes for you, an amused smile lifting the swollen side of his mouth. “It was cute.”

Your jaw drops, somehow offended and flattered at the same time. “It was weird. Like I didn’t have friends or anything better to do.”

Hiragi shrugs. “You just seemed kinda shy. Innocent. Like I said, it was cute.”

Narrowing your eyes, you know you’re about to say something stupid, but you just can’t help it. “Innocent? And you thought it was cute? You some kind of creep, Ragi?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Depends. You still got that crush on me?”

Yes. “No.” You answer too quickly. Way too quickly. And Hiragi’s eyes shine. Trying to recover, you walk back toward him, doing your absolute best to look unfazed and confident. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter since I’m not all shy and innocent anymore.”

Hiragi stands up, all 187 centimeters of shiny leather and bleached hair looming over you, and you feel your breath hiccup in your throat. Fuck, he’s only gotten hotter over the years, and you’ve only gotten more desperate for him.

“Who said I was still into that sorta thing?”

You know you look ridiculous, gazing up at him with big doe eyes, lips parted, absolutely everything written all over your face, and all that confidence is gone because he’s staring down at you, and he knows. He knows your feelings, knows you want him. Now.

You don’t think; you just do–shoving yourself up on your tiptoes while wrapping your fingers in his shirt, you pull Hiragi toward you, kissing him hard enough to force a grunt from him. He doesn’t hesitate to respond, bending on his own accord while walking you back to the nearest wall and pressing you to it. You breathe through your nose, each inhale full of his cologne and a hint of sweat. The taste of antiseptic barely registers when you swipe your tongue over his lip, overpowered by the remnants of blood.

His body is hot and hard against yours. Not just the bulge pressing into your stomach, but his chest, his abs, the thigh that slides between yours. You can’t help but grind down on it, gasping into his mouth at the same time he mutters a deep, “fuck.”

His hands are under your shirt, squeezing your curves, blunt nails lightly scratching, and he groans when he traces the swell of your bare tits.

Pulling away, Hiragi huffs against your neck, voice like gravel when he tells you, “I’m about to defile you,” so matter-of-fact that it makes you moan out loud.

“Fu–please, want you so bad,” you whine, and it’s pitiful. Pathetic. Nothing cool or casual about you now as you pant for him. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“I know.” He takes your face in both hands, nodding so that his nose bumps into yours. “M’right here, I’ve gotcha.”

Hiragi kisses you again, teeth nipping until you open your mouth for him. The sensation of his tongue against yours has you all but riding his thigh. You know you’ll be leaking through your skimpy underwear if you haven’t already, and your arousal only increases when Hiragi bends to grip you by the thighs, lifting you onto the nearest countertop.

It makes you snicker, “m’gonna break my neck, remember?”

“Tch.” Hiragi kisses down said neck, stopping to bite and suck, hand on your back to feel how it arches for him. “Not gonna let that happen.”

One hand under your shirt, Hiragi uses his other to dance along your leg, higher and higher until he reaches the bottoms of your shorts, loose enough to slip beneath.

“Tell me to stop if you–”

“Don’t stop.”

He laughs, shrugging out of his jacket when you start to push it off his shoulders, and once it’s on the floor his hands are on you again, fingers disappearing under your shorts to stroke over your poorly covered pussy. Hiragi hums in satisfaction, obviously pleased at how wet you are. You expect him to comment on it since he obviously has a bit of smartass in him, but he doesn’t. Instead he drops to his knees and starts tugging at your bottoms.

You can barely process what’s happening. Is he really–are you finally–holy shit, you’ve dreamt of this. His face between your legs, tongue lapping at your slick, a finger slowly sinking into your wanton cunt.

“Ohh, fuck, fuck…”

You feel the points of his teeth graze your puffy folds, sharp and teasing before he wraps his lips around your swelling clit and sucks.

The noise you let out is embarrassing, high-pitched and uncontrolled. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, softer than expected. Must’ve switched from gel to something else. The thought makes you laugh a little hysterically. Here he is, Toma Hiragi, eating your pussy like it’s his job, and you’re thinking about his hair. He shuts you up with a second finger, though, both of them bent to rub against your g-spot, and you whimper as pressure begins to build between your hips.

It feels so good. He feels so fucking good, licking and slurping and fucking you with his fingers, but you want more, you– “Ragi, please, fuck, I want… I need…”

One long lick to the crest of your pussy then he asks, “what do you need?” only to return to sucking on your clit again, stealing your breath away for just a moment. “Tell me, come on, pretty girl, use your words.”

“I–” Pretty girl. “I—” his fingers are still moving inside you, making your head loll back and hit the cabinets behind you. “I–fuck, need to feel you.”

He stands, still not pulling his fingers from you, and he uses his thumb to circle your clit as he leans into your space and teases, “need me? I’m right here.”

Your eyes roll behind fluttering lids, lips pulling down into a pout that he promptly covers with his own, messy mouth. He’s overwhelming, fingers moving perfectly, milking slick from you with every stroke of your g-spot, and fuck, the way he’s kissing you, how he’s touching you, how he’s teasing you with a soft, “yeah, baby? Can’t even talk, huh? Feel that good?” He’s filthy. Hiragi is so much dirtier than you imagined, and you have imagined a lot when it comes to him.

“Fuck me, please please please, Ragi, wanna feel your cock,” you babble, tears pricking the corners of your eyes because it’s so much, and you’re ready to cum, but there’s something missing. You need to feel all of him first.

The clinking of his belt draws your hazy eyes downward, and you salivate when he pushes his pants down and his cock springs free–long enough to make you shudder with anticipation, thick enough to make you pulse with need, and hard enough to make you preen. You did that to him. You’re doing this to him. You’re the reason for that shiny bead of pre glistening at his slit.

You want to lick it clean, fuck, you want to suck him off, swallow him down, feel him in your stomach. You want him to cum down your throat and fill you up and–

“You look like you wanna eat me,” he says. For a guy with a split lip, he sure is smirking a lot. Doesn’t that sting?

“I wanna do a lot of things to you, Hiragi, but first…” you reach down with a trembling hand, fingers wrapping around his smooth shaft, “I want you to fuck me.”

Growling, he pulls you to the very edge of the counter, conveniently the perfect height for him to line himself up with you. He rubs his tip between your sloppy lips, slapping it against your clit a couple times and sucking your gasp straight from your lips when he kisses you.

You squeal when he starts to push inside you, his thick head already stretching you, but he murmurs, “I’ll go slow,” into your mouth. His voice is shakier than before, strained while he stays true to his word. Skilled fingers rub your clit, massaging it while sinking deeper into you. The stretch is, fuck, it’s perfection. It twinges in the most delicious way, his cock steadily bullying your walls, making way for itself like it belongs there. The stretch and the sounds and his fingers on your swollen bud all have your toes curling and back bowing.

“O-oh, Jesus, Ragi, I’m–m’gonna…”

“Come on, show me how pretty you look when you cum,” he grunts, bottoming out just in time for your pussy to start spasming, clenching over and over as you make a mess all over him. “Yeah, just like that, look at you creamin’ on my cock–you gonna squirt too?” He starts swiping over your clit faster than before, pulling out and fucking back into you as you ride out your orgasm, your sopping hole opening up for him even more as you– “there it is, god damn, such a pretty pussy. You always this messy, or s’it just for me?”

You can’t speak. Hiragi keeps fucking squirt out of you, hips relentless, just like his fingers on your clit, and before you know it he’s forcing another full-body orgasm out of you.

You didn’t know it would be this good. Didn’t know it could be this good. You’ve had sex with a few other guys, and some had even managed to get you off, but not like this. This is something else entirely.

Much to your dismay, Hiragi begins to slow, and it’s only when you open bleary eyes that you notice the tears streaming down your face. For the first time since he got to the apartment and almost walked in on you, he looks concerned.

“Am I hurtin’ you?” he asks, a calloused thumb wiping your wet cheek.

You shake your head, legs wrapping around his waist to urge him deeper. “No, no, you just, mm, you feel so good.”

He bites his lip, thrusting a little faster again, little harder, groans that you, “feel fuckin’ perfect, baby. Think your pussy was made for me.”

Your words are broken and breathy as you agree with him, “it was–all yours, Ragi, I’m all yours…” too high off endorphins and overwhelmed with pleasure to even recognize what you’re admitting to.

“Yeah?” he slows again, but the way he’s burying himself inside of you is making you drool. “Always been my girl, haven’t ya’?

You nod, and he catches you in another brain-addling kiss, breathing a barely coherent, “yours, too. Been yours since day one.”

You lock your arms around his neck, pulling him impossible closer, and when his hips start to stutter you press your mouth to his, swallowing his low groan as he spills his load inside of you. The kiss is sweeter than all the others before, tongues lazy and clumsy as he uses you to milk himself dry, and once both of you are entirely spent, your lips stay molded together, hot and insistent, saying everything that has yet to be said out loud.

“You meant it?” he asks quietly, that sinful tone gone from his voice, replaced with something much softer. “You’re still my girl?”

You sigh dramatically and nuzzle into his neck. “Always have been, probably always will be.”

Face in your hair, Hiragi chuckles, “don’t sound so embarrassed.”

“It is embarrassing. Been pining after you for years.”

“At least you weren’t the one chasin’ after your friend’s little sister.”

Lifting your head, you regard him with a raised eyebrow, “speaking of, what are you gonna tell Yodai?”

He shrugs, the picture of nonchalant despite still being balls deep inside of you. “I’ll be respectful, but in the end I’m still his superior.”

“The Furin hierarchy still stands when it comes to fucking sisters?” you laugh.

“If it means I can be with you without catchin’ any bullshit for it, absolutely.” He punctuates it with a peck to your forehead then looks down between the two of you. “We should probably, uh…”

“Get cleaned up before it’s too late?”

“Exactly. Otherwise–”

Keys turn in the lock. The front door opens.

You look at Hiragi with wide eyes as he turns red from his neck to his hairline.

“Wait right there, Yodai!” you call out frantically, fighting a whimper when Hiragi pulls out a little too quickly.

There isn’t enough time, though, not for him to zip himself back in his pants and definitely not enough for you to pull yours back on.

Yodai rounds the corner, takes in the scene, then turns right back around while shouting, “the kitchen counter? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

Do not copy, modify, or repost my work. I do not consent to my writing being used for AI.

[softshuji]

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐍

Title: I love you as the day loves the night

Summary: Ran knows he is not a good man, but he's trying to be better for you. You don't argue often, but when you do, Ran confides in the only person who might understand him.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, alcohol usage, Ran is a little sad, Rindou being a good brother, some vague suggestive parts, explicit pregnancy mentions, nothing too serious. Reblogs appreciated!

Ran downs another shot and winces at the burn as the alcohol coats his throat. From here, he can just about make out the thrum and trill of music in the club underneath him, and it seems the beat is pulsing in time with his racing heart.

Packed bodies, heads thrown back in laughter, tables coated in white, the floor sticky with the residue of drinks spilled and then hastily mopped up and underneath it all, the vinegary tang of sweat and sex.

Considering the time of night, he isn’t surprised to see Sanzu talking in low tones with Mikey on the other side of the private bar, his head dipping, pink hair framing his face. 

The scene makes him nauseous, and it takes ample self control not to vomit the contents of his stomach all over the mahogany table.

He rubs his temples, inhales the hot and heavy air and closes his eyes, throwing his head back to the artificial lights. The red glare dances on his skin and he shudders as the urge to throw up tickles the back of his throat for a second time. The tension under his knuckles is a spark of electricity when he grips the table for support.

‘Ran?’ 

A voice pulls him from the darkness, and he rocks forward in his chair, groaning against the anxiety that threatens to climb its way out of his chest as his eyes crack open, squinting at the harsh flare of the lights.

‘Rindou.’ He chews on his lip and makes to pick up his glass again, the condensation wet against his clammy hands. He grips it hard to force down the shaking that snakes along his knuckles. ‘You’re here.’

‘This better be good Ran,’ Rindou says and pulls out a chair opposite, propping his chin up on his palm as he takes in the sight. His Brother’s tired eyes, shadows clinging to the skin underneath, the pinched brows that give him a permanent frown, the matted hair that sticks to his forehead, curling at the nape and around his ears, the sweat that rolls down his temple despite the air conditioning. 

‘Thanks for coming,’ Ran says solemnly, his head hung low, eyes downcast.

Rindou narrows his eyes and reaches into his jacket, fishing around till he feels the sharp metallic edge of his cigarette tin, frowning when Ran’s hands shake as he leans forward to accept the offered cigarette.

‘So what’s this about then?’ Rindou moves the glass from Ran’s reach absent-mindedly, noting the way his Brother’s lips purse as he takes a long drag, holding the smoke in till it burns.

The smoke curls from his mouth, grey against the light. ‘Had a fight with My Girl. A bad one.’ This last part is a barely imperceptible whisper, and Rindou leans in, tucking his hair behind his ears as he strains to listen.

Ah, Rindou thinks, his lips a firm line. He scoots his chair closer around the table till the thump of music gyrates his ears less and gestures with an incline of his head towards the bartender for a drink. Under this light, the shadows under Ran’s eyes and the creases in his otherwise immaculate suit are all the more prominent. As is the shaky exhale when Ran puffs his cigarette.

He knows the wedding band on Ran’s finger is still new, that Ran hasn’t fully adjusted to married life and domestic bliss is a concept he’s not well acquainted with, that it had taken Ran a very long time to persuade himself that he was capable of marriage in the first place.

‘What about? Can’t be that bad.’ Rindou watches as the bartender sets down a jug of iced water and two glasses, backing up when Rindou shoots him a look, bowing profusely. 

He fills a glass, all but thrusting it into his Brother’s hands and Ran doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the action when his hands itch for something dark and strong, and the pounding in his head tells him it can only be lulled by more alcohol.

‘It was bad Rin, don’t think we’ve ever fought like that before.’

It was new and it was ugly and the feelings are still fresh this many hours later as Ran drowns his anxieties for the umpteenth time tonight. 

 It’s not as if the two of you hadn’t fought before. At the beginning, your relationship was fraught with hushed arguments, vitriolic whispers that caught in your throat, words said without meaning, anger and bitterness and negligence thrown back and forth, a sharp word here and there that turned into something else entirely.  Sometimes, not very often, he would say something that cut you, a clean slice through the tendon of your heart, and you’d wonder at what manner of love you had for him that had you constantly crawling back, sniffling down the line as you both whispered your apologies to each other. 

It always ended in love, with you against his chest, your feelings for him, that of tenderness, the need to protect him renewed when he kissed you again and again and again, fervently, desperately, his lips latched onto your neck as you hoisted your legs around his waist.

‘So?’ Rindou fills his own glass and gestures with a hand, tilting his head as Ran curls around his glass of water, an injured animal hunched and hurt, his back and shoulders heavy with an invisible burden.

‘I cancelled our date,’ he starts and his eyes flick to the ceiling. The elaborate and ornate decor seems a mockery right now, and he can practically feel the desperation leaking from his skin. ‘You know how Mikey’s been on my ass lately,’ he says and his eyes move to his boss seated in a booth with his eyes closed, hair fanning the bridge of his nose. 

The spark of his anger had started small, a flickering flame. You’d huffed and his ears had prickled at the sound and he’d raised his eyebrows as you crossed your arms, glaring at him as he shrugged on his jacket. 

And the minute the complaint had left your lips Ran’s hackles had risen and the flare of his temper had sparked to life and you had cried, left sopping wet stains on the corner of your sleeve as you threw the insults back and forth. What hurt more, you couldn’t tell- the complaint itself or the fact that your complaints had been met by the domineering force of his viciousness, the wall that had slammed down on your voice when he glared, his lavender eyes swirling with rage. Rage at you. 

You’d learned somewhat, to accept that part of him. The larger than life part, the fullness of him, as if he swallowed the light in every room, the ruthlessness that came with that, the cutting edge of his words when they bit into you. But this was different and as he’d towered above you, dragging a hand down his face, you knew it was the smallest he had ever made you feel.

‘Okay and then what?’ Rindou refills the glass and pushes it towards his Brother. 

‘She told me she never got to see me, that she was always fighting to have my attention, that she missed me.’ Ran has never felt so humiliated, and the self loathing wraps its hands around his throat, and the guilt and shame is thick in the blood that floods his ears and head.

Rindou winces and sucks in a breath, the crease in his forehead growing larger as Ran takes another long drag of the quickly burning cigarette. 

‘So what did you do?

‘I yelled at her, told her I had enough, that she was selfish, that she was being a spoiled brat when I was working hard for our future.’ Ran feels small as he says this, judged, even though he knows the opposite is true and even now, replaying his words out loud, he knows how harsh and critical they sound and Rindou only drives the point home unintentionally as his lips part and jaw drops open.

‘In those exact words?’

‘Yeah…Yeah in those exact words.’

‘And then you walked out?’

‘Yeah…’ A whisper against the glass, his hands still shaky, slipping on condensation. 

Rindou purses his lips and pauses momentarily. ‘That was bad nii-chan,’ he says, the childish nickname slipping past his lips with ease. ‘Y’know she hates that stuff the most. It must have hurt her.’

Something in him softens watching Ran’s head tip towards his chest, the sad droop of his eyes, the singular strands of hair out of place around his ears, curling towards his forehead. He knows Ran can be brash and iron-handed and sometimes even cruel. 

But he also knows that Ran loves you, and it’s a simple fact in itself. He knows he loves you as the day loves the night and the sun loves the moon enough to share its light. An indisputable unchangeable fact.

‘I know, I’m an idiot.’ Ran lifts his head, setting the glass down and dragging a hand forlornly across his face. He sniffles, and maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his blood, so much of it that his brain is fuzzy and swimming in his head, or maybe it’s the thoughts of you, your broken sob that died when he slammed the door, the hunched figure alone and left staring at the paint as he drove off to drown his sorrows, but he thinks he’s never felt this wretched or consumed by bitterness at himself for damaging something so precious.

‘Yeah no shit Ran, you messed up big time,’ Rindou says. A fact, not a criticism. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Well you’re going home to talk to her right?

Ran’s lips curve into an ‘o’ and he blinks owlishly, his vision hazy. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’ Even as he says it, he knows how cowardly that sounds. That he continues to run from confrontation, from difficult arguments and sullen silences, from the clenched jaws and the eyes misty with tears, that it’s a consequence of constantly treading on eggshells in the life he’s chosen, a life of constantly running.

‘You don’t know if that’s a- are you listening to yourself?’ Rindou is incredulous, his glass suspended in the air as he shakes his head. ‘So what, you’re going to sit here all night?’ He scoffs and blows the wisps of hair kissing his eyebrows from his face.

Ran’s head snaps up, his eyes a harsh deep violent and flaring with anger. ‘So what do I do then?’

‘Go and talk to her, obviously!

It’s Ran’s turn to scoff bitterly, despite the fact that he knows Rindou’s right, that running from this conversation only serves to cut through both of you and prolong the pain. ‘I can’t.’ It’s the most shameful thing he’s ever said, the most pathetic.

Rindou only softens in response and while he could berate him and drive home the point of how clueless he thinks he is, he knows this isn’t the time, that Ran needs both his honesty and his brotherhood, the lifeline that connects them.

‘Nii-chan…’ Rindou swallows and takes a breath, hot and heavy in this cloistered atmosphere. ‘If you’re not going to listen to her or give her what she deserves, then leave her, because she deserves someone who will.’ 

It isn’t laced with hatred, bitterness, jealousy or resentment, and the softness, the low cadence of his Brother’s voice only tells Ran that he is being given a rare truth, that Rindou wouldn’t say it if he didn’t care. As pathetic as he feels, with anger and tension and cynicism rolling in waves under his skin, he understands the gravity of what he is being given, the weight of what the consequences are. 

The thought itself however, is practically inconceivable. It’s another irrefutable fact that  you have made him the man he is, at least to him. You have chased away the days spent tossing in a cold bed, sheets wrinkled as he turned in his sleep, nightmares hooking claws into his back. You tore down those walls he had so painstakingly built as a nest around himself, believing he could never be hurt if he never loved.

Ran closes his eyes and his clenched jaw is a knife simmering on the precipice. 

‘And if she doesn’t want to listen?’

Rindou shrugs. ‘Then listen to her instead,’ he says, as if it’s the simplest concept. ‘And don’t get angry if she tells you things you don’t want to hear.’ She only does it because she loves you, he adds as a mental afterthought, a fact that he knows from experience and one he took too long to come to terms with.

Ran nods, his eyes fixed on a speck on the mahogany table and Rindou only hopes his words aren’t floating into the ether, that Ran’s addled state still allows him to grasp the gravity of them.

‘I’ll try.’ The words come out broken and cracked, his voice hitching as the breath forms a lump in his throat.

Rindou pats his Brother on the back. ‘Relationships are all about communication but it stands for nothing if there’s no comprehension involved too,’ he says. ‘It’s all well and good saying you want to talk to each other but are the both of you willing to listen? That’s what matters.’

A strange sense of pride tickles Ran’s chest as Rindou speaks. Pride in his Brother, in the way he raised him, in the way Rindou snatched a life worth living in a lifestyle that was less so and refused to allow it to break his spirit completely. Ran makes fun of him yeah sure, for the fact that Rindou is so homely and soft, tender and caring and embarrassed to hear it, but he’s also proud beyond belief, that Rindou had found something he loved so completely, or someone rather. Something that was so directly in contrast to the vicious and violent Brother he knew, raised and watched crack bones on a daily basis.

Underneath that pride comes the tendrils of love for you, the shame at having walked out on you when you had tried to talk to him, the renewed hope that perhaps he can fix his own mistake.

For the first time that night, Ran allows himself to roll the tension from his shoulder, his neck prickling as the coil of anxiety dissipates a little through the soles of his feet. He downs a full glass of ice water, the sharp sting a welcome sensation against the murkiness of his head. He winces as the cold rushes down his chest, cools the pulse of anxiety simmering in his belly.

‘How come you’re so good at this relationship stuff?’ 

Rindou chuckles and the faint warmth kissing his cheeks tickles the base of his neck as he hangs his head ‘It’s just experience. I had to work through this too, remember?’

Ran can’t help but smirk knowingly as the heat prickling his skin begins to ebb, leaving behind a strange tranquillity and it’s the calmest he’s felt all night since he slammed the front door. He knows he has a lot to make up for, that you’ve every right not to take him back, but he hopes the vigour of his efforts when he returns home will be enough to assuage the anger you no doubt have for him.

‘How is she?’ Ran asks, if only just to see the wistfulness in his Brother’s gaze, the glaze of his eyes when he stares at the glass in front of him, trying and failing to pull back the smile. 

Rindou’s lips curve into a grin and the tint on his cheeks only grows tenfold. ‘She’s good. You and your girl should come when you get time.’ 

‘And the baby?’ 

‘Also great. Still a little soon to be buying baby things though.’

Rindou smiles sheepishly, his leg bouncing with excitement and Ran basks in the wonderment of Rindou’s happiness, returning the easy smiles, his heart settling back in his chest. Perhaps it’s because they’re older now, no longer so naive and arrogant and flighty, consumed by distaste for the world around them, but they no longer find themselves retorting with quips wrapped in jealousy, with anger or bitterness. Things are easy between them and when they glance at each other in that unspoken way that siblings often do, it is always with love and brotherhood, memories of running through alleyways laughing as the rain comes down in droves.

As Rindou babbles about his wife and the baby soon to come, Ran’s mind drifts. He thinks of you, of your belly swelling with his child, of your quick smiles, the lazy Sunday mornings under the covers, him tracing patterns on the sliver of skin under your collarbones, his thumb brushing over the hollow in your throat. He thinks of all he stands to lose if he can’t fix his own mistakes.

Haitani Ran knows he is not a good person, he doesn’t expect to be called one. He knows he has the ability to be callous, pretentious, even downright selfish and he knows that the less than savoury aspects of who he is flare to the surface at the worst of times, that he bites at you, makes you cry. Domineering and cruel and unrelenting. 

But he also knows another indisputable fact. That he loves you, that he’d walk barefoot in the desert, the hot sand licking at his heels just for a glimpse of you in a mirage, that he, the unredeemable, is redeemed by the two people who love him the most despite his severity. 

And you, you love him too. You know you’ve forgiven him already, that the sharp and jagged edges of his cutting words have softened now and all you want is to bury your head on the smooth planes of his chest, your hand on his stomach as it flexes underneath you. You wonder if you can keep going like that, arguing and making up, the constant back and forth, torn between love and anger. For him, you would bear it all, the full force of his will. 

‘Ran?’ Rindou’s voice tears him from his thoughts and he shakes his head as the alcohol begins to loosen its grip on him.

‘Hm? Sorry, what did you say?’ 

‘I said, shall we go? I’ll drive you home.’ Rindou is already shrugging his jacket back on, leaning back to down the rest of his ice water. He looks at Ran expectantly, his clear violet eyes flashing under the sickly artificial lights.

‘Yeah…yeah let’s go.’ Ran stands and as he slips into Rindou’s car, he thinks again of your hair against his chin, your lips on his, needy and tender all at once, the way your teeth graze against his tattoo and his stomach jumps with the sensation it sends across his skin. He thinks of his hand tilting your chin up, kissing the sharp point of your lips, your pout that only makes him laugh fondly.

And as Rindou drives, he finds for the first time tonight that he is less scared and anxious about returning home, that instead he can only count the seconds till he can press his mouth to your neck, hear your giggle as you swat at him. 

You are his, and he is yours, and that is the way he likes it. 

a/n: happy birthday to my darling <3

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick

[visualnovellover]

it's currently 4 am and I have yet to actually do my work but this idea has been haunting me ever since I posted it and i need to get it out before it eats me alive AND SO I DECIDED TO WRITE ABOUT IT! (it's not good or anything, this is a first for me to write in 2nd person and i wanted to try out using the games wordings as a base so udjdjdjdjjxjsj)

Wearing Your Promise Ring While Shopping

Pure!Sydney X GN PC (i wrote this with my pc Rini in mind but decided to make it vague like how pc would be described in game)

You are on the top level of the shopping center. Crowds of people leisurely strolling around in and out of stores to avoid the heat outside.

You're browsing through the displayed swimwear while waiting for Sydney to finish trying out the swimwear you recommend to them.

You felt a presence besides you as you continue to browse the shelves. Taking a glance you noticed a sleazy man right next to you, seemingly looking at the swimwear you were also looking at.

(1) Ignore

You ignored the man, thinking you're just paranoid. That is until a hand is placed on your shoulder. You tensed up as the sleazy man leaned his face closer to yours.

"Say, doesn't this swimsuit look nice on ya?" The sleazy man says gesturing towards a rather lewd pair of bikini. | + Stress

(1) Stay silent

(2) Try to move away | Increase of harassment

(3) Show off your ring | Defiant

You shoved your hand towards the sleazy man, showing off the ring on it. The metal band glinting under the light. "I have a spouse if you didn't noticed." You say as you shook off his hand on your shoulder.

That wasn't exactly a lie, but calling Sydney as your spouse has you feeling giddy and warm. | - Stress | + Love

The sleazy man scoffs and squints at the ring. "Ya look too young to be married kid. And besides I could be way better." He says as he tries to get closer to you again.

"Leave before I start screaming," you say glaring at the sleazy man. "And my spouse is a hundred times better than you could ever be."

It took a second before the sleazy man roughly shoved you back, cursing under his breath as he stomped out of the shop. | + Pain

You sighed in relief, holding your hand as you look at your ring. The metal band sits on your finger, a tiny warmth emitting from it. Looking at the ring reminds you of the happiest memory you had with Sydney. | - Stress | - Trauma

You hear footsteps near you, you looked up to see Sydney walking towards you. They look happy.

"Hey! It fit perfectly beloved." They say holding the swimwear in their hand, they're by your side as you only now noticed the light blush on their face.

"I hope this time you'll let me pay for this." You ignored what they said as you take the swimwear out of their hand, walking towards the cashier as Sydney follows you, insisting on paying for it all the way.

(1) Next

The both of you are walking back to the Temple. Sydney looked like they had fun, judging by how they took your hand in theirs without you initiating it and how theirs a skip in their step as you walk back.

You're glad that you went out today. Seeing Sydney letting loose once in a while makes you feel happy. | -- Stress | - Trauma

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

From Hell to Home To Back Again

Summary: At the talent show, Chrissy Cunningham is so hungry that she nearly collapses. When she's found by Hopper, her parents ended up losing custody of her. She ends up being placed in the care of the Hendersons, and she finally finds the family she so desperately needed. She also ends up falling in love. What other changes are made in this alternate universe?

@emen-98

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chrissy frowned as she walked to class. She didn't mean to make Dustin feel so bad, but he shouldn't have left home like that. What if something had happened to him? She had told him she didn't want to lose another brother, but maybe that was too far. He just wanted to go look for his friend. Was she turning into her birth mother?

"No," Steve said.

When did she get to Nancy's locker? She blinked at Steve.

"What?"

"No, you are not turning into your mother," Steve said. "I know that look. What happened?"

"I got into a fight with my brother last night for sneaking out," Chrissy said.

"Oh, I thought you and your mom knew he was at my house," Nancy said. "I have no idea what they were doing in the basement."

"Planning to look for Will probably," Chrissy said. "I told him I didn't want to lose another brother and he looked so guilty."

"He knows you love him, and that's something your mother would never say. Think Wilbur," Steve said and touched Chrissy's nose.

"You know about Wilbur?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, of course," Steve said. "I think it's cute."

"Me too," Nancy said, looking at him fondly.

Chrissy smiled at the pair of them. They were so cute. Meanwhile, Barb was rolling her eyes. Chrissy nudged her, and she grinned. She leaned next to Barb and raised her eyebrow questioningly. Barb shook her head. She wasn't ready to talk. Chrissy bumped her shoulder playfully, and Barb smiled. She let her eyes drift for a moment as Steve and Nancy did their little dance. Chrissy's eyes landed on a locker all the way across the hall. Leaning against the locker was a long-legged girl in a corduroy baseball cap, talking to none other than Eddie Munson. Eddie. Chrissy bit her lip. She hadn't talked to him since the Talent Show. It wasn't that she didn't want to. It was just that life kind of got in the way, and she spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to figure out her new life under a new roof with a new name and family. Before she knew it, time got away from her.

Now, here she was, and suddenly, the memory of that night came flooding back. He was still as cute as she remembered, cuter even. His hair was longer and very curly. He wore a vest now with pins and patches that look put on by himself. His shirt was a faded Led Zeppelin shirt. The same white one that she had. Chrissy was kind of surprised that it wasn't a heavy metal band like Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, or Judas Priest. She vaguely recalled him playing some Black Sabbath at the Talent Show. It was the only time she listened to heavy metal. She supposed he could also like rock music too. Chrissy herself didn't have a particular taste in music, mostly listening to what sounded good to her ears at the time. It generally depended on her mood. She smiled at the shirt, wondering what else they had in common and what else they didn't. A familiar feeling tugged at her stomach. Uh oh.

Chrissy sighed. She recognized that feeling. It was the same feeling she got when she first started crushing on Heather. They hadn't dated long but long enough to know that Chrissy definitely also liked women. Luckily, they ended on good terms. She should really stop watching him before he noticed, but she was mesmerized by the gesturing of his hands and the grin on his face. Oh my God, he has dimples. Suddenly, she felt someone push her.

"Why are you staring at Eddie Munson?" Barb asked and then said with a teasing grin, "It's rude to stare, you know."

"I wasn't!" Chrissy exclaimed, blushing.

"Oh my god! Are you crushing on him?" Barb asked.

Just then, the bell rang, and Chrissy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, look, saved by the bell," Chrissy grinned gratefully.

"Oh, by the way, we've been invited to a party at Steve's house," Barb said.

"But it's a Tuesday," Chrissy said in confusion as they walked to class.

"That's what Nancy said. Apparently, it's going to be low-key," Barb muttered. "Whatever that means."

"It means just us, Steve, Tommy, and Carol," Chrissy said. "His parties are always low-key."

"So, he doesn't throw ragers?" She asked.

"He goes to ragers. He doesn't throw them," Chrissy replied.

"Seriously?" Barb asked and rolled her eyes.

"It's going to be fun even if Tommy and Carol are going to be there," Chrissy said.

"It'd be better without Steve too," Barb muttered.

"Barb!"

"Oh, God, look," Carol said.

Jonathan was putting up missing posters of Will.

"Oh God, that's depressing," Steve said.

"Poor Jonathan," Chrissy agreed with Steve.

"Should we say something?" Nancy asked.

"I don't think he speaks," Carol said, and Chrissy glared at her.

"How much do you want to bet he killed him?" Tommy laughed.

"Shut up," Steve and Chrissy said as Nancy walked away.

"Steve, why the fuck are you still friends with these assholes?" Chrissy asked.

"Because he'd have no one else," Carol laughed.

Chrissy could tell by the look on Steve’s face that this wasn't the first time that they said something like this. Steve tried to laugh it off, but even Barb could tell it bothered him.

"He's got Chrissy," Barb scowled.

"Oooh," Tommy said and laughed with Carol.

Somehow, Chrissy managed to get through the day even though Will entered her thoughts every so often, and even Eddie filtered in there. She made sure the kids made it to Mike's before biking over to Benny's to make up for missing yesterday. However, when she got there, police cars were out in front. She dropped her bike. Chrissy was quick and managed to dodge the cops' arms as they made to grab her. She burst into the diner and gasped at the sight of Benny lying dead at a table with a gun in his hand as though he had killed himself.

"Benny!"

Suddenly, Hopper was standing in front of her, blocking her view.

"Kid, you shouldn't be seeing this," Hopper said gently.

"He didn't kill himself!" Chrissy sobbed. "He couldn't have. He was supposed to go out with my mom this weekend. He wouldn't do that!"

"He finally asked out Claudia?" Hopper asked.

"Yes! Oh God, mom. What am I supposed to tell her?" Chrissy cried. "He's not - He's not dead."

Hopper pulled Chrissy against him and let her cry in his arms.

"Hey, you guys handle this for a moment. I'm going to take her home," Hopper said.

Her mom had been just as much of a mess as Chrissy had been when Hopper told her the news. He stayed for as long as he could, but eventually, he had to go back to the diner. Mother and daughter both cried until they fell asleep curled up on the couch. They didn't wake up until there came a knocking on the door. That's when Chrissy remembered the party. Fuck.

"Oh, I just remembered. I forgot to call and tell Barb. She's supposed to pick me up for the assembly," Chrissy said.

"Oh, go, Honey," Claudia said.

"Are you sure, mom?" Chrissy asked.

"You need to be with friends. Besides, I need to call Sue," Claudia said. "And I have Mews with me. I'll be okay."

Chrissy looked at her doubtfully for a moment before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Her blue sweater clung to her nicely, going great with her blue jeans. She shook her hair out of its ponytail and shrugged on her white denim vest as she walked out the door.

"Are you okay?" Barb asked as she slid into the car.

"Yeah," Chrissy said and looked at how excited Nancy looked. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Barb asked.

"Yeah, just a shitty day at work," Chrissy said.

"Rude customers?" Nancy asked.

"Something like that," Chrissy replied. "Robin didn't want to come?"

"Of course, Robin didn't want to come," Nancy said. "She's too good for parties."

Chrissy couldn't help but snort at that. As much as Robin and Nancy fight, like sisters sometimes do, she also knows that they really love each other. She was surprised that Robin didn't come along to make sure Nancy stayed out of trouble with claims of invading Nancy's privacy. It was amusing to watch Nancy force Barb to pull over three blocks away from Steve's house, too afraid of what the neighbors might think.

"This is so stupid," Barb said. "I'm just going to drop you off."

"Calm down, Barb," Nancy said. "Come on, you promised that you'd go. You're coming. We're going to have a great time, aren't we, Chrissy?"

"Absolutely," Chrissy said, plastering a fake smile on her face.

"He just wants to get into your pants," Barb said and Chrissy sighed.

"No, he doesn't," Nancy said.

"Nance seriously. He invited you to his house. His parents aren't home. Come on, you are not this stupid," Barb said.

"Barb! I've told you that Steve isn't like that. He really likes Nancy," Chrissy frowned.

"Tommy and H. and Carol are going to be there," Nancy said.

"Tommy and Carol have been having sex since, like, seventh grade," Barb said. "It'll probably just be, like a big orgy."

"Okay, I don't even like Tommy and Carol but even I know that's a stupid untrue rumor," Chrissy said. "Seriously, Barb, I did not take you for a gossip. It sounds like someone's turning into their mother!"

"I am not! You take that back!" Barb exclaimed and Chrissy laughed.

"Look, Nancy's a big girl and she's smart too. She's going to do whatever she wants tonight and it's going to be her choice because Steve respects that," Chrissy said. "I love you, Barb, but you need to chill the fuck out. I need to have fun tonight and so does Nancy. You need to let your hair down, just a little bit but you don't have to do anything you don't want too either. We're all making our own choices tonight because tomorrow we could be dead."

"Thank you, Chrissy," Nancy said as she changed her sweater. "Although, the last part was a little morbid, Chris."

"Is that a new bra?" Barb asked.

"No," Nancy said, lying.

"Nance, you left the tag on!" Chrissy laughed and pulled it off.

"Oops."

When Steve opened the door, "Raise a Little Hell" by Trooper was playing in the background.

"Hello, ladies," Steve grinned.

"Hey, Steve," Chrissy said, actually ready to forget about the day she had. It's not like it could get any worse, could it?

Chrissy chugged the beer until it was completely gone and let out a loud burp. Carol and Barb looked at her in disgust while Tommy laughed with Steve.

"Oh, that's ladylike," Carol scoffed.

"I never said I was a lady," Chrissy said flipping her off. "You're further from being a lady than I am, Perkins."

Chrissy collapsed in the empty lawn chair with a grin. Not even Carol could get to her in this moment. She watched in amusement as Steve stabbed a hole in the beer with a knife and drank from it. He was clearly trying to impress Nancy. Chrissy couldn't help but giggle as Nancy pulled it off. Then Nancy tried to get Barb to do it. Chrissy rolled her eyes.

"Nothing she doesn't want to do, remember, Nance?" Chrissy asked.

"Right, of course," Nancy said.

"But you do need to stop pouting," Chrissy giggled and kissed Barb's cheek.

Right, beer makes her cross some boundaries. She looked apologetically at Barb who just shrugged and laughed it off.

"Didn't know you were a lesbian, Cunningham," Tommy cackled. "But that makes sense."

"It's Henderson, asshole, and I'm not a lesbian but thank you for thinking that I am one," Chrissy laughed as she pictured holding his head under water.

"I can do it," Barb said suddenly. "Give me the knife and the beer."

"Are you sure, Barb?" Chrissy asked with a frown.

With a look of determined look, Barb attempted to cut a hole in the can but instead, ended up cutting her hand open. She quickly rushed off to the bathroom, letting Chrissy know that she could find it by herself. She frowned as Barb walked away but her attention was pulled away when Tommy tossed Carol in the pool before Steve did the same with Nancy.

"Fuck it," Chrissy said before stripping down to her bra and panties.

Tommy, Steve, and Carol all wolf whistled as Chrissy dove into the water. In that moment, Chrissy was free of what happened today, and nothing could get to her. Although, she ended up getting out of the pool early when Carol kept giving her "fuck me" eyes. Yeah, she hated Carol too much to do that. . .as attractive as she found her. She dried her underwear as much as she could in Steve's bathroom before getting dressed and going to search for Barb. She found Nancy standing on the stairs looking down at Barb.

"Where are you going?" Barb asked Nancy.

"Nowhere. Just upstairs to change. I fell into the pool," Nancy grinned. "Why don't you just go ahead and go home? I'll get a ride or something."

"Nance - ," Barb started to say.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"This isn't you," Barb said.

"I'm fine. Just go ahead and go home. Take Chrissy," Nancy said.

Barb stormed out of the house. Chrissy grabbed Nancy's arm.

"You're going to be safe, right?" She asked. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm not - ," Nancy started to say, and Chrissy gave her a look. "I'm on birth control. You're not going to stop me?"

"Why would I? Is this something you really want to do?" Chrissy asked. "Do you like Steve?"

"Yes," Nancy said.

"Well, I already know what you're like when you make up your mind," Chrissy said. "I expect all the juicy details. Have fun. Oh, by the way. . .Steve is a heavy sleeper, so if he falls asleep after, you're going to have to slap the shit out of him to wake him up. If that doesn't work, yank very hard on his hair."

"Noted," Nancy giggled.

Chrissy wandered outside to find Barb sitting out by the pool. She was sitting on the diving board. Her feet and wrapped up hand were dangling over the water. Chrissy's heart went out to her because she looked so sad and she didn't know why. She walked over and stood by the diving board.

"Do you want to leave?" Chrissy asked.

"I want to wait," Barb said softly.

"You know what she's doing up there," Chrissy said softly.

"Making the biggest mistake of her life," Barb said. "Nancy wouldn't do this. They haven't known each other long, and suddenly, she wants to jump into bed with him like she's got something to prove."

"That's your version of her, Barb," Chrissy said. "Did you ever think that maybe she really likes Steve?"

"It's always been us against the world even when you became our friend, nothing changed, but then she started to look at Steve and I just - ," Barb cut herself off.

"What?" Chrissy asked.

"Why can't she look at me like that?" Barb asked.

"Oh, Barb," Chrissy said softly.

"She never showed an interest in boys, not really, and I thought maybe she was like me too," Barb said.

"Well, you know, just because she likes boy doesn't mean that it can't change, and it doesn't mean that you're not alone," Chrissy paused. "I never had a boyfriend before, but I do like boys. However, that doesn't mean I never had a relationship."

"You had a girlfriend?" Barb asked with wide eyes.

"Yeah, can't tell you who it was because it would mean outing her, and that would be a no-no," Chrissy said.

"Do you think Nancy might be like you?" Barb asked.

"I don't know, but it's not up to us to talk to her. Right now, everything she's experiencing needs to be her decision. She needs to explore her sexuality herself, and she doesn't need us telling her who we think she is," Chrissy said.

"What am I supposed to do?" Barb asked. "It's not like I want to hate Steve or feel like this - "

"You're just jealous. We need to support her, and in the meantime, we can hang out, so you rant and rage all you want to me until you find yourself getting a little better each day," Chrissy said.

"How do you know how to deal with this?" Barb asked.

"A lot of therapy after I got adopted and then when I was hanging out with. . .my ex, I started to realize that I like women, and I kind of freaked out. My ex had this this older cousin who walked in on us, and we both freaked out, but she sat down to talk to both of us. She really helped, and if you ever want to talk to her, I still have her number," Chrissy said. "She's a huge ally."

Barb stared thoughtfully into the water for a while, and Chrissy was pleased that she looked a little less sad.

"Thanks for being my friend, Chrissy," Barb said.

"Always," Chrissy said.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her, and she looked up. Chrissy opened her mouth to scream, and then she was pushed into the water with Barb, being dragged down with her as the bottom of the pool opened up. It was strange, she thought. Before she fell into the water, did she hear Argyle scream her name?

Chapter Three

[tanis-fics]

Mismatch (or: Barry doesn't mesh well with leather)

In one of his visits to Parliament Tower, Barry tells Alice a story about him trying to deal with the Anderson brothers, with mixed results and incriminatory pictures to fill in the gaps. Barry wasn't keen on people laughing at him, but considering this was the first time he ever made Alice laugh, he could suck it up for the time being.

Pairing: Alice Wake & Barry Wheeler ♦ Words: 1832

[on ao3] ♦ [on squidgeworld] ♦ [read on site]

 Barry took a deep breath after taking an equally big bite, the last bite in fact, of the casserole dish he brought with him that particular evening. He had been too busy that month to do it earlier, and to be frank, he liked being busy, but doing an escapade in between clients would be much easier if he didn't also insist on making the dish too. Curse his mom for instilling on him the miracles of a homemade meal.

 Exhaling, he looked to the side. Despite him doing most of the talking Alice still had food on her plate, and while she looked significantly better than when he arrived, something told him he should probably stay a little more. He knew how it went. One minute it was fine and the next they were back on the tar pit. He remembered.

 Humming, he called, conspiratorially.

 "Hey, Alice." She raised an eyebrow.

 "What?"

 He dragged his chair just a bit closer, but not enough to be on her space.

 "D'you wanna see something funny?" She eyed him with suspicion, but Barry put on his best face.

 "...Sure."

 Grinning, he quickly grabbed his phone, searching for something.

 "You remember the Anderson brothers, right?"

 "The senile old men you took off from retiring?"

 "The older gentlemen I'm managing, giving them another shot at fame, yes." Scrolling, scrolling, he set the stage in the meantime. "Terrific fellas the two of them, really, and a great band... But they really like their aesthetic."

 Alice made a face, as if trying to picture them. Good. Keep her engaged.

 "Nordic, right?"

 Barry laughed.

 "Well, yeah, if the eye patch and the occasional hammer and their names are anything to go by. But no, no, I mean... They like their metal heavy and their leather black, if you catch my drift."

 With a mouthful of food, Alice could only shrug and do a gesture with her hand, more confused than anything else. Barry looked at her with a smile when he finally found what he was looking for.

 "So, the other day we were on a rehearsal, right? Toying with the idea of a new song and all that, and Tor -the one without the eye patch- keeps staring at me, right? Giving me a real stink eye, which is odd but you know, it happens," Alice's mouth twitched, "and I go

'Hey man, what seems to be the problem?' And he just keeps looking at me up and down like I, I don't know, like I'm dating his daughter or somethin', and he points at me like this and says:

'You're messing with our vibe, man, how can we practice if you're there looking like that!'

'Like what?' I ask, because, I swear, I was looking like I always do!

'All those colors and patterns, it's not rock & roll at all!'"

 Alice's plate was nearly finished by now, and despite the slight huff, prelude of a laugh that never came, she kept squinting up at him and at his cellphone clearly wondering where this story was going. Barry gestured with his hands, trying to summarize.

 "And now Odin joins in, puts a hand on my shoulder and goes

 'It's okay, sonny, we know exactly what to do in these situations, we'll get you fixed in no time! We know places, you know?' Which is insane because they never set foot on New York before I brought them in but anyway. Long story short. Guess what happened."

 She blinked, vaguely surprised there even was public interaction, but be it curiosity or wanting to get this over with she indulged him:

 "I don't know, Barry, what happened?"

 Barry shook his head dramatically, dragging a long suffering sigh before finally, finally, giving her his cellphone. Alice's eyes scanned the picture on it, eyes widening.

 "They took me shopping. Said not to worry about the money, sonny, they weren't rock stars for anything. Said that they had all the time in the world until we found something I could wear that matches their energy, too -which is bullshit, of course, ‘cuz they're ancient, but I try not to think too much about that- So there I was, kidnapped by a couple geezers for an entire day, trying out clothes that were barely, barely more decent than what I imagine leather night at a gay club must feel like."

 Barry was exaggerating for the bit, of course. It hadn't been an entire day and, all things considered, the clothes weren't half bad either. He even looked good in some of the outfits they arranged for him. But he never got around to liking dressing in black, it made him feel too serious, too formal. Like he was attending a funeral.

 From the two, Alan had been the one who always looked good in black...

 At the end of the day Barry couldn't pretend he didn't had fun with the old men however, he was growing fond of them crazy bastards. They even found a middle ground that evening! He would wear their awesome t-shirts (you just couldn't get more metal than that, he swore) and on top of that, his usual phony shirts. Free advertising! He chuckled, considering if adding that happy ending to his story or not when a snicker interrupted his train of thought.

 Alice was scrolling through the pictures with a hand atop her face, a poor attempt to hide the growing smile when the creases around her eyes and the snickers that so wanted to become laughs betrayed her. Barry smiled, smugly and proud.

 "Oh my God..."

 "I know right." He scooted closer to see which one she was looking at and was met with his own face, red from embarrassment, as he pathetically tried making horns with his hands with a very excited Anderson brother in each shoulder looking as vibrant as vikings. He looked the part, with a leather jacket that made him feel like he was being cooked alive and a handherchief tied around his head that left a mark for the next two days. Barry shared that information with her, and he didn't even need to exaggerate this time for her to finally crack.

 Hearing Alice laugh was... odd. In the grand scheme of things they've known each other for many, many years, yet it feels like the first time Barry actually heard her laugh. It was a joyous, bright thing. An old sneer crossed his face, remembering his beloved friend's own words when they first started seeing each other, but he had to agree.

 It was surprising, too, feeling it break the quiet atmosphere of the department for the first time since... well. Since he's been dropping by. The clinical white light appearing just a tad warmer.

 "Why, why do you look so...? So...?"

 "So what? Red? Tight? Uncomfortable?"

 "...Yeah..."

 "'Cuz I was. Just look at this shit."

 He went ahead and showed her the next pictures himself, grinning at the very physical reaction of Alice holding her stomach, laughing at the complete misery on his face. Misery, helplessness, eyes reaching out for help that never came. Who knew his discomfort was going to be enough to make her crack? That devious woman... Barry laughed. Maybe they could get along after all.

 "You look terrible." He snorted.

 "Yeah."

 "It looks like they're holding you at gunpoint."

 "Believe me, it felt like it."

 "You..."

 "Careful, lady. Only the first couple insults are free."

 That sobered her up a little, raising an eyebrow.

 "W, what's the price?"

 Gotcha.

 He looked up to the window, humming.

 "You know, it's a pretty nice day outside. Sun shinning, birds singing, the whole shtick... When was the last time you went out for, say, grocery shopping?" Alice expression shifted, then, to understanding and disbelief. The ghost of her previous smile lingered, though, as she crossed her arms across her chest.

 "I don't know. Couple of days."

 "Tell you what. You get an unlimited amount of insults today if you let me help you go out, do some shopping, whatever. It's a one of a kind deal, doesn't even have to do with these pictures."

 Alice stared at him in more than just disbelief, corner of her mouth still curved despite the cold pang of her eyes, and Barry took a breath. Throw the lure and wait for the fish to bite was easier said than done, moreso when the fish knew exactly what was coming, but he made sure to put on his sales pitch voice, the one he knew Alice despised. He just hoped it didn't backfire spectacularly.

 "I, " she started, laughing a bit as she shook her head. It sounded more sardonic than before though. Acidic. "I hate you, Barry. You know that, right? I hate you."

 He let the air he was holding. In a way, it almost felt better to have the chance to be honest.

 "I'm well aware, yeah."

 "That's not an insult, by the way, it's just a fact."

 "I know, I know..."

 "..." Her smile was almost an afterthought now, and Barry started to believe this was a bad idea, when her sharp eyes, that only seemed to be that way when he was around, softened ever so slightly. In dignified silence she gathered the last piece of food remaining on the plate and ate it with moderate gusto, and Barry sat back, itching for an answer. After cleaning the corners of her mouth with a tissue she took the phone out of his hands again, glancing at it with a much deeper, longer hum. "You... look like a circus clown who got mugged and had to get all his new clothes from a leather shop."

 "Ouch!" He hissed dramatically, gripping the front of his shirt in mocking pain. "That really hurt... So, what would you like for dinner?"

 "...Haven't had a good salad in a while, you know?" He wrinkled his nose at the blandness of the request, expecting something more grandiose, and Alice bit a laugh of her own.

 "And a salad you shall have, then. The best salad you can possibly imagine." His statement was met with a raised eyebrow, before putting his bluster away for good, rising his hand to show he meant it.

 Alice looked at it unimpressed, followed by a frown and a grimace that could be a smile, or a smile that tried so hard to be a grimace, before shaking his hand. Barry grinned.

 "Pleasure doing business with you."

 "Yeah, well." The grimace that could or could not be something else gave way to a genuine smile, a glint of amusement painting her tired eyes. "I guess you'd have more stories like this. I'm sure we'll have a lot of time today for you to tell them to me."

 Oh, Barry was going to regret this for sure. But, for now, seeing Alice hold herself better, more stable, and seeing a warmer color breath life to her cheeks, was enough. He supposed it was worth it.

[smilinlemon]

Husband Material

a/n: fuck you, James proposal fic!

If there was one thing about James' partner that he loved the most, it was that they never saw him as some suit, some higher-up who was untouchable but as James and just James, their long-time boyfriend, and lover. As stoic and professional as he was, the moment he entered their shared home, he could let all of that go, dropped it at the door, and could just be himself, and as he watched them from the threshold of their shared kitchen he couldn't help but smile as they sang quietly to themselves, cooking what was arguably his favorite meal that they had introduced to them early in their relationship. 

“I can feel you burning a hole in my back, Jamie.” They piped up, setting down their kitchen utensils before turning to face him with a bright smile as they leaned against the counter.

 James laughed softly, making his way over and planting a gentle kiss on their forehead as they wrapped their arms around his waist in a gentle hug. 

“Couldn't help it, I’ve always told you that you look gorgeous when you're in your element, and that certainly hasn't changed in the four years we’ve been together.” He responded, gently bumping his forehead against theirs before scrunching his nose lightly as they pressed a kiss to his nose.

 “You flatter me with your words, as always mi amor. Dinner should be ready soon, set the table for me?” they asked softly, all he gave was a small nod as he pressed a chaste kiss to their lips before reluctantly leaving to set the table.

After setting the table, he took a moment to linger by his jacket that hung by the door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small box, popping the top to reveal a gold banded ring with their favorite gemstone laid delicately in the middle. Years prior, when James had started to consider proposing to them, they had off-handly mentioned that they thought diamonds weren’t what they ever really cared about. He remembered the moment vividly as they slowly made their way through the jewelry shop, stopping in front of the engagement rings.

 “I've never really cared for diamonds… if I were to get married, I wouldn't want a diamond ring. As long as the meaning is true, the gem could be something as simple as an amethyst because in the end, price doesn't matter, the love does.” so James dutifully filed that away, closely studying their favorite metal color, their favorite color, and gemstone before finally settling on what he deemed to be the perfect ring for them. Pocketing the ring box, he took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen, if the moment was right, he’d propose.

 “You need help carrying the food out, love?” he offered, stepping beside his lover. They gave a small nod in response, handing him the serving platter as they grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. Once they were both settle and the food was served, the meal went well, with James giving vague details about his day and his lover returning with a plethora of detail. He sat in awe, listening to the love of his life go on and on about what they were passionate about, and at this moment, he realized that he truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with them.

“Love,” he started, reaching his hand across the table to take their hand. “Can I?” he asked, nodding his head in a silently understood gesture. “I've got something I want to tell you but can't seem to form the words.” he chucked nervously. They simply nodded with a smile and james let out a soft sigh as he entered their mind, being greeted with a soft ‘Hi darling” which made him smile even brighter before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, clearing his mind the best he could. James knew full well that he would ramble on and on but he would try and keep it as clear as he could.

‘Ive been thinking about this for a long time.’ ‘I never knew how to tell you, even after all these years.’ ‘four years together, the greatest four years of my life and I want it to be four hundred years more with you.’ ‘god, thats so stupid and cheesy but thats what you do to me. ‘ ive never felt this way about anyone before and I just…’  his mind was running a mile as he tried desperately to keep himself in check while simultaneously being honest. James’ mind was interrupted by the soothing call of his lover.

‘James, it’s okay. Take your time, im not going anywhere.’ they thought, James looked up from his plate with a smile, his entire body relaxing just hearing them in his head. The blonde gave a small nod and took one more deep breath, reaching for their hand which they happily accepted.

‘We’ve been together for almost five years now. You’ve been by my side through the toughest parts of my life, this job especially. But coming home to you is my favorite part of the day, you make my day better even if it's been the worst day i've ever had. I come home and you’re always here with a warm hug and a kiss to greet me and I can't thank you enough. Been thinking of this moment for ages, the day I come home and ask you to be mine forever so here goes…’ 

James reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out the velvet ring, sliding it to the middle of the table before looking up at his lover with a soft smile. Tears welled in their eyes as they shakily reached for the box, opening it to reveal the ring as James continued. 

‘Will you do the honor of being my spouse?’ They stood abruptly from the table, startling James for a moment only to be enveloped in what could only be described as a tackle hug that nearly took him out of the dining chair. “Jesus Christ James, of course.” They muttered into the crook of his neck before pulling back and pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek. James hadn’t even realized he was crying up until that point, he rarely cried to begin with but of course, his love would be the one to make him cry tears of joy.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

ttwt episode 12

“Last time, on Total Takes, World Tour: Our surviving- I mean, remaining- teens ate, prayed, and loved in beautiful Rome, Italy! With an even number of players, the teams were divided in two- one half sent to a brutal, vein-popping, blood-spilling cooking challenge, and the others almost died in the arena. Tensions rose between Ass and Courtney, who’s promise to return to normal fell through the cracks faster than Team Friendship took the fall, leaving Mojo and Yaoi to share first class… much to everyone’s dismay, hah! With Mal and Albert coming to the same conclusion about the aforementioned, we’re just on the cusp of some class A drama! Will either of them spill the beans? Who will be mauled by man-eating lions this time? Find out right now, on Total Takes: World Tour!”

Without its usual two teams, economy class feels emptier than usual this morning. No one is really talking- with nothing to say about the game, there’s not much to say at all. None of the remaining players are here to chat, after all… except for one bubbly blond. 

“Good morning! Rise and shine, everyone!” Kelly beams, walking into the cabin with a large tray in their perfectly manicured hands. “I have a special treat for you!”

Max opens his eyes groggily, staring at them as if they’d come barreling through the room with a Mariachi band. “Please tell me it’s ear plugs,”

“Nope! Breakfast in bed,” Kelly says, gracefully dishing out plates from the metal tray. “Well… breakfast in bench.”

They laugh at their own joke, as sunny and high-spirited as ever. Bonnie rolls their eyes. 

---

KELLY: “The team could use a little cheer… after all, we’ll be together for a few more days at the least- why not make the best of it?”

---

Max sets the gruel-loaded plate aside and turns over in a vague attempt to fall back asleep. Bonnie notices him sulking, and quickly turns away, taking a bite of what looked like oatmeal to dissuade anyone from striking up a conversation. Max sulks further, and they sigh. 

“Fine. What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing,”

Bonnie grits their teeth- they were already going out of their way to be friendly, but they wouldn’t play cat and mouse with him. “Okay, good. I’ll just go back to my side of the cabin, then,”

They stand, ready to return to their seat without another word, and Max shoots up. “Wait!”

“There we go,” they sigh, sitting back down on the bench beside him. “What’s up?”

“I just… don’t feel right about this. When I could keep an eye on him, sure, but now? They’re off in first class, talking about who knows what, doing who knows what…” he trails off, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t trust her, I swear- he’s just shady. I know he’s up to something.”

Bonnie sighs, vaguely gesturing around. “Listen, I’ve told you a million times. Albert is just some guy. He’s a little eccentric, sure, but…”

They stop when they could tell Max wasn’t listening. He stares dead ahead, out the window, lost in his own thoughts. They stand, mumbling “Why do I even bother?” before returning to their original seating. 

Kelly scooches over to them. “You’re being a real team player, Bonnie. I’m so proud of you!”

“Whatever,”

Phillip licks his plate clean and sets it aside. “Yeah, you’re kind of like the team mom!”

Bonnie visibly cringes at this, standing and walking to the least occupied corner of the cabin. 

---

First class is positively buzzing this morning, but not in a good way. 

Julia rolls over in her seat, covering her ears as Mal’s phone goes off for the umpteenth time. The aforementioned brunette is happily dozing, sleeping away without a care in the world as another loud chime emanates from her pocket every other second. 

Finally, Michela snaps. “Can you just take it from her already?”

“No way. Last time I tried, she woke up and tried to bite my fingers off!” Julia snaps right back, whispering harshly. “If you wanna risk a pinky, be my guest!”

The two begin bickering back and forth, forcing Albert to sigh loudly and retreat to the confessional. 

---

ALBERT: “It’s essentially just what I thought- Michela is too caught up in the manure of human drama to make good decisions for the team. I suppose I’ll have to take the lead on this one. My first target? The goody two-shoes,”

---

“Guys, please stop fighting! Save your energy for the game!” Courtney chides, speaking down to the two like an exhausted substitute teacher. 

After a few moments of standing between them, Michela and Julia finally give in and sit in silence, exchanging glares with deep purple eyebags. Mal’s phone goes off again. Courtney smiles, and takes a seat next to Ass. 

They chuckle. “Way to go, Mama Bear,”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Courtney shrugs. “I just figured if us, of all people, can put our differences aside, then mediating other conflicts can’t be too hard. I may not be a leader, but I can scold.”

“I know,” Ass sighs, rolling their eyes. The two giggle between each other for a moment before Albert returns from the bathroom, glaring at the display. 

---

ALBERT: “I have my ammo. I could tear apart Team “Yaoi” any time I like. But I need to reveal the information in a way that seems inconspicuous. I can’t be too excited…”

---

He takes his usual seat next to Michela, across from Julia, and clicks his tongue. 

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” the blonde snaps, turning up from where she’d been picking her nails. 

“Nothing. I just…” he sighs dramatically. “Never mind… I just feel sorry for you.”

She turns red, and almost raises her voice to a shout before the intercom clicked and Chris’ voice covered her berating. 

“Gooooood morning, passengers! It’s a bright and sunny morning over the Atlantic ocean, and we are dropping in hot! LITERALLY! You all have about two minutes to grab a chute and jump head-first into the water before we throw you out ourselves. Good luck!”

There was a split second of nervous glances and tensions lifting before every teen jumped from their seats and ran to the cabinet where Chris had left a bundle of packs. 

“I hate that man,” Courtney growls, buckling the chute around them. 

Ass shrugs. “At least we’ll outlive his ancient ass,”

The two snicker. Albert glares before quickly turning to Julia with a sympathetic expression. 

“Here, let me help,”

“HEY!” she hisses as he pulls her in and snaps the parachute pack around her with a strange amount of expertise- or rather, confidence. Michela watched the interaction with a mystified expression. 

Once Albert returns to her side, she whispers. “What’s with the touchy-feely? We hate her, remember?”

He tsked again and shakes his head. “I’ll explain the whole thing later. For today, let’s take it easy on Julia,”

Michela stares at him, frozen in shock. Before she can comment on his sanity, Albert grabs her and drags her out of the plane, Team Yaoi following closely behind. 

The screams of the teens fade out as they release their chutes and land delicately on a floating platform in the middle of the sea. Chris stands on one end, in a red beanie and blue windbreaker, checking his nails. Once the teams are less disoriented, he clears his throat. 

“Welcome to the Atlantic Ocean! We’re somewhere about, say… days from any sign of land, so you better get comfortable,” he chuckles. “Today’s challenge is all about the great unknown- the ocean! Did you know that-”

“We’ve explored more of our own solar system than the ocean. Yes, we’ve heard that one a million times,” Max says, crossing his arms. Chris glares. 

“Alright, Smart Guy. Then I’m sure you’ll really enjoy being under that ocean, alone, for the next few hours, right? ANYWAY, as I was saying- today’s challenge is all about exploration. Each team will be cramming in this teeny tiny little submarine in order to find some of these!” Chris says, tossing each team a rolled up sheet of paper. Max catches theirs and unfurls it, squinting. “And before you say anything- that is, indeed, a treasure map! The first time to uncover the buried booty wins immunity, and first class privileges. Last team to the surface will sleep with the fishes. Hope no one here is afraid of sharks!” he gives the teams a big, toothy grin, as three small yellow submarines surface out of the inky depths. 

Michela swallows a lump in her throat. 

---

MICHELA: “I hate fish, I hate the ocean, and most of all- I hate being underwater. I am a proud landlubber, and no amount of gold and jewels is getting me into that thing!”

---

Team Yaoi bounds into their submarine first, closing the hatch tightly behind them. Team Friendship follows, having to half-drag, half-persuade Bonnie to enter an enclosed space with their teammates. 

Albert huffs as he studies them. “Looks like we won’t have much competition today, right? Michela?”

He turns to see her completely stiffened and sheet-white, as if she’d died and gone into rigor mortis. Albert raises an eyebrow. 

---

“No, no, no, no! You can do it by yourself, I’ll stay up here!” Michela shouts, clawing the docks as Albert drags her to the submarine hatch. 

He narrowly dodges a kick from her platform boots and huffs. “We… are… a team! We do this… together!”

“I can’t!”

“You WILL!”

---

ALBERT: “I know you’re probably wondering why I’ve suddenly decided to put so much effort into this nonsense. The answer is this: when you have no purpose in life, then you can get really rich and spend the rest of your days a hollowed-out shell of a human being… but in a yacht. Plus, this gives me something to do so I don’t have to focus on… all that,”

---

Michela cowers on the floor of the sub, curled into the fetal position. Albert mans the captain’s seat, flicking switches and tapping lights. 

“Seems set. Are you sure you’re not going to vomit? Passing out is okay, but we’re going to be stuck in here with a limited air supply, and I don’t want this place to smell,” he asks, looking at her from over his shoulder. 

She shudders. “I’ll… I’ll be okay… I didn’t eat this morning…”

A red light suddenly illuminates the dashboard and Chris’ voice sounds over a small speaker. “Testing, testing! This right here is your only communication with the outside world- use it wisely! You can also broadcast messages to your fellow teammates, like so- just press that button under the speaker whenever you want to talk, and your message will be sent out to all receiving parties. You have about three hours of oxygen. Good luck!”

Michela shakes, wrapping her arms around herself. Albert turns back to the dashboard and rolls his eyes. “Beginning descent,”

---

Julia squints ahead as their submarine swims through the depths, dodging schools of fish and volcanic mounds. 

Courtney stares at their faded-out paper. “The map seems to indicate the treasure is in some kind of cave system, just up ahead,”

“Oh, great. Even deeper!” Ass sighs, leaning against the back of the sub. A large shadow casts over them from the window behind them and they quickly turn, but there’s nothing there. 

“Stop being such a scaredy pants, the ocean is nothing to be afraid of!” Mal scoffs, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I can give you a prayer if you need something to- wait- no- NOOO!”

“WHAT?!” Julia and Courtney ask in unison, whirling around. 

“I have no bars!”

---

JULIA: “Did she hit her head on something? That chick has been all over the place- one minute she’s a genius, next she’s back to being a lapdog. Unless she has early onset dementia… something is up,”

---

Despite having the same number of players as Team Yaoi, Team Friendship’s submarine seems much more crowded. Kelly and Phillip are hovering over Max, one on either side of his shoulder- the blonde is ooh-ing and ah-ing at the colorful fish out the main window, and Phillip is backseat driving by pointing out all the controls. 

“And that’s the water pressure gauge. It’s really helpful, because without it, we’d explode into a million pieces, and they’d never find our bodies. Because they'd be exploded into a million pieces,”

“Uh-huh,” Max says dryly, staring ahead. 

“I know a lot about World War Two submarines. I think I was destined for the battlefield,”

“Listen, this is all really fascinating, but this isn’t exactly rocket science. I’m sure I can handle it,” Max says, shooing the two of them away. “Bonnie, what does the map say?”

Bonnie hangs at the back of the group, sighing. 

---

BONNIE: “Sure, I’ve always been outcasted, and sure, people have never really liked me, but at least back then I didn’t feel this weird pressure to be nice and helpful all the time. It’s like… saying no is a bad thing to these people- but letting them walk all over me just makes me feel gross,”

---

“A few more meters and we should be at the mouth of the cave,” they say dryly. Kelly pats them on the back and praises their contribution to the team, which makes Bonnie cringe. 

---

Albert spits out a wad of gum and tears it in two, using the sticky substance to fasten the map to one side of the window. 

Michela is still cowering in the back, hands over her eyes to avoid looking out into the inky depths, which puts Albert on both piloting and navigational duty. 

“I’m sorry I can’t help more,” she quivers, blindly inching closer to the front. 

He sighs. “It’s fine. I won’t let us lose,”

And with that, he pushes the controls down and they begin their descent into the cave. 

---

“Roger, roger!” Kelly says into the speaker, their finger pressed flat against the red communication button. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

“Kelly, that isn’t a toy,” Max says. They ignore him. 

After a moment, a response crackles back. “Hi, person from other team! We’re gonna getcha!” Mal squeaks. 

Courtney’s faint voice echoes in the background. “Mal, that isn’t a toy!”

The speaker dies again, and Kelly giggles. Max rolls his eyes. “How close are we?”

“Take a left at the next fork,” Bonnie says, staring at the map. Phillip inches over to them and peers over their shoulder, breathing loudly. They grimace. “Haven’t any of you heard of personal space?”

He leaps backwards. “Eek! Sorry! I’m just really good at reading old maps, especially for stolen treasure. In World War Two-”

Bonnie presses their hands over their ears and sulks. 

---

“We’re close- I can feel it!” Julia grins, leaning forward and pressing the controls onward, bringing their sub deeper into the cave. “No more sharing, no more other teams, no more fake pity- hello, victory!”

Courtney and Ass exchange glances, but don’t push. Mal, on the other hand, turns away from the phone she’d been holding to the roof, hoping for a signal. 

“Pity? Who pities the villain?” she asks. 

Julia sighs. “I resent that title, you know. And it’s not important,”

Mal leans over her shoulder, squinting at her. “I don’t pity you. Assney doesn’t pity you… Michela doesn’t, either…” a thought occurs to her suddenly, and she frowns. 

---

MAL: “So, Albert knows about the Assney kiss. Big whoop! He’ll never spill. He’s totally evil, I know- I’ve seen his confessions! But he’s also a big mopey baby, and he’s cautious around Michela. I’m leagues ahead of him,”

---

“We’re too far behind,” Albert says, checking the sonar on the control panel. His blip is comically behind the other two, with Team Yaoi in dead first. “If we can-”

Ksssssh. The speaker crackles to life again, and Chris’ ever-grating voice rings out through the depths. “Team Yaoi has entered the treasure chamber!”

“Shit!” Albert yells, looking around. If they lose- he’ll be forced to vote for Michela, something he didn’t want to risk. “Crap… I didn’t want to do this yet, but…”

He sighs and pushes the speaker button, putting on a cheery tone. “Good job, Team Yaoi. You guys really deserve the win. Or, should I say, Julia deserves the win,”

Back in the Yaoi Submarine, everyone turns to the blonde with raised eyebrows. Mal’s eyes are wide. Ass scoffs. “What’s he mean?”

“After all, it can’t have been easy… people going behind your back like that, forsaking the team for their own selfish wants,” he shook his head. “I’m just glad you won’t have to vote anyone off today.”

Ass and Courtney go pale as Julia leans over and presses on the button. “What are you talking about?”

Mal squeaks. “Wait-!”

“You really don’t know? Now… I just feel even sadder,” Albert’s voice said- his tone was depressed, but there was a twinge of glee in his words. “Ass and Courtney-”

“I SAW ALBERT AND MICHELA KISS!” Mal blurts out, shouting into the speaker. 

Everyone falls silent. The feedback from the other end disappears, indicating Team Mojo has backed out of the communication line. Ass and Courtney blink, both too stunned to speak, and Julia just looks sick. 

The crackling resumes, but it sounds much clearer than before. A new voice speaks. 

“You. Saw. What,” Max hisses. 

Mal leans in, nodding to no one as he teammates stare. “In the confessional! After the Los Angeles challenge!”

“What are you DOING?” Julia hisses, her eyes narrowing. “What’s your angle here?”

Mal hushes her. “I was waiting for the right time to say something… after I’d posted about it, of course… but I just couldn’t keep it in!”

The line goes dead again. 

---

Everyone in Team Friendship is pale. Even Kelly’s sunny disposition is clouded over, and Bonnie looks like they’re about to diffuse a bomb. “Max…”

---

But none look more mortified than Team Mojo themselves. Michela has been snapped out of her anxiety, and is now staring straight out the window in shock. Albert grits his teeth. 

---

ALBERT: “I can’t believe it. I’ve… been outplayed. It’s almost impressive,”

---

A faint ding sounds over the speaker, but Chris doesn’t have to urge anyone on before they burst into a musical number. 

Max scoffs. “Girlfriend kisser! I knew he was a jerk, and now you’ve gone and dissed her,”

“Sure, he had his moments, but we’re not gonna miss him now!”

Mal sings along over the intercom, a grin breaking across her face as her impulsive move rides out. “Girlfriend kisser!”

“You’re gonna get- what’s coming to you- if it’s the last thing, I ever do-oo-ooh!” Max continues. 

“That’s right!” Mal eggs him on. “That’s right!”

“That’s right!” the two sing in unison. 

Max clears his throat and goes on. “Let’s go a little back, you got McLean sacked- 

“Then he got out, you hack!” Mal continues. “And you set out for your attack!”

“All those times I knew you were bad news- I was right, it was true!”

Julia scoffs to herself. “Duh, it was so obvious!”

“Girlfriend kisser!” They sing in unison. 

“You are not her new mister- you’re a jobless, vegan, nasty blister!” he huffs, jobbing his finger at the speaker as if it’s a person. “Girlfriend kisser! You’re gonna get, what’s coming to you- if it’s the last thing, I ever do-oo-ooh!”

The communication cuts out and Team Yaoi stares at each other, flabbergasted while Mal grins maliciously. Ass and Courtney share a guilty look, but neither one of them says anything.

Mal turns back to the team with a wide grin. “Well? Let’s win this thing!”

---

Max slams on the submarine brake, holding them in place. He huffs and turns to the rest of the team. “Change of plans. We’re on a suicide mission- Team Mojo CAN. NOT. WIN!”

Bonnie grimaces. “I hate to be the last sane person on the team, but do you think that’s really-”

“YES, it’s necessary! Let’s move!”

Bonnie grumbles but concedes as he turns the sub around. Both Phillip and Kelly look to them nervously, the blond leaning in. “Um, shouldn’t you stop him?”

“Why should I do anything? I’m not your mom,”

“Yes, but I mean… you’re a voice of reason. Everyone listens to you!”

They grunt, and cross their arms. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t. Max- go get them!”

He nods back to Bonnie and speeds up, the goth smiling wickedly and watching as Kelly and Phillip watch, flabbergasted. 

“Bonnie, don’t you think that’s a little mean to-”

“No! You know what? I’m sick of playing nice! I need SPACE!” They shout, storming off to the back of the sub (which albeit, only took a few steps). “You can like me all you want, but I don’t owe you anything!”

Phillip and Kelly wince at their outburst. Max chuckles and presses on. 

---

MAX: “It’s about time they learned about the wonderful world of boundaries. Sometimes they remind me too much of a dog that wasn’t socialized enough as a puppy,”

---

Michela is still in shock as Albert presses on, speeding deeper into the cave system. His plan may have backfired, but there’s no stopping him now- except for Team Yaoi flying by in the opposite direction, treasure chest located firmly between the claws of the sub. 

“CRAP!” He shouts, quickly turning around. It’s a race to the surface now- and all inhibitions are gone. 

---

“Follow that sub!” Bonnie shouts, pointing dead ahead at Team Mojo. Max grimaces and speeds up, going as fast as he can. “Get them, Max!”

Just as they’re about to ram into the back of the yellow sub ahead of them, it breaches the surface- Team Friendship just behind. Chris’ voice crackles over the speaker, now clearer.

“Team Yaoi has won the challenge! Team Friendship, as the last ones to surface, you’ll be up for elimination. Ciao!”

And with that, his voice disappears. 

---

“For the last time, Mal is a liar,” Albert says, storming through economy with Max shortly behind. Michela is sitting on one of the benches, hunched forward as if about to be sick. She hasn't once said a word since they docked, and based on the pale and sickly complexion she's sporting, no one has pushed her.

“How should I know? Mal's the only one who’s treated me with any DECENCY!” he shouts. Albert grits his teeth. 

Bonnie, Phillip, and Kelly watch the display with tired eyes, none enjoying the back and forth that’d been consuming the cabin for hours. 

---

First class is much different. Courtney and Ass are attempting to sleep, though none have been very successful so far. Julia is huffing, pacing back and forth. 

She spoke aloud as she walked the length of the cabin. “Mal did something insanely impulsive, incredibly risky, and just smart enough to win- she’s keeping something from me,”

“So? She’s a pathological liar who likes watching people squirm. Tell me something new,” Courtney yawns, turning over in their seat. 

The blonde growls. “I’m not talking about her weird Chris McLean photocard Etsy or her AO3 account. I mean she’s hiding something big time, and it’s starting to irk me,”

Ass and Courtney looked between each other nervously. 

---

COURTNEY: “Could Mal have… no, no, she wouldn’t know. There’s no way! She probably just lied to get a kick out of it... right?,”

---

“Welcome one, welcome all- what a day!” Chris chuckles. Max glares at him so coldly it makes the host shiver. “...Alright. Kelly and Phillip, you’re safe. Max, you’re partially responsible for the team loss today… and Bonnie, you might be the only person he would’ve listened to, and you egged him on out of spite! Hah!”

The campers stare back blankly. He clears his throat. 

“But your team has voted, and decided that only one of you is expendable- and one of you is not,” Chris says, bouncing a bag of pretzels in his hand. “And that expendable person… Is…

…Bonnie. Sorry, dude, you’re out!”

They stand, breathing a quick sigh of relief. Bonnie graciously accepts the parachute from Chef and turns back to their team one last time. 

“I hope you all learned a valuable lesson today-”

“Don’t push someone to their limit?” Kelly smiles nervously. 

“Don’t kiss Max’s girlfriend?” Phillip says, earning himself a sharp glare. 

“NO! Well, I guess- I mean, never mind. The lesson is to leave loners alone. We’re not all secret saps, you know,” they say, pointing. “And Max… man, good luck.”

And with that, they jump. Chris wipes a crocodile tear from his eye and gives scattered applause. “Beautiful!”

Max stands and storms off. 

---

“Okay, I acted impulsively. So what? I panicked! What was I supposed to do, let that rat take my prize blackmail?” Mal scoffs, pacing back and forth. A few rats perched on the boxes surrounding her give a round disapproving squeaks. “Sorry. I just mean… Albert is a snake, that’s what he is. And I won’t let him win.”

“You’ve made the correct decision. A later blow to your team can cause far more damage than an early one. He is quite the fool,”

The words are spoken with a faint smile, half amused, half in agreement.

The air in the cargo hold is stale and stuffy, towers of crates and luggage rising above the two teens like a jungle of pleather and plywood. Rats scutter around Mal’s feet, scaling her clothes and scurrying past the cross-legged boy sitting adjacent to her. 

“I know. But there’s no way he’s coming back from this,” she grins wickedly, crossing her arms. “And if I can get Max on my side… Well, then that’s just easy-pickings until the finale!”

Frollo rolls his eyes at her glee, though not necessarily in judgment, wrapping a rosary around his hand. “What ever. If you think you can adequately punish those degenerates, then by all means,”

[numetaljackdog]

I see your point and I'm really willing to agree with most of what you're saying. I admit that dubstep was a kind of meme answer. But if you're really willing to talk about this, then I have to say I simply disagree.

First of all I'm not trying to objectively present anything here. Art is a form of communication and as such can only be perceived subjectively. There is no objective to criticize art. Period.

That being said, you can absolutely apply hierarchy to this if you really wanted to. For example NSBM is a genre. Nazi Black Metal. Because of the statements of this genre, the participants and the aesthetic. It is inherently worth less than other forms of music. Especially since it tries to put other art down. The music itself does have a merit for its target audience and it does reach its intended purpose.

I fully understand where you're coming from with statements like this, because I used to think like this as well, but especially your focus on genres as set categories instead of loose relatives of similar roots and styles, is unhealthy, I think.

for sure this all gets hugely into subjective-land - i think that's pretty inevitable when discussing the rhetoric around anything. i've got my opinion about how we should talk about art, you've got yours, everyone's got theirs, such is how it goes. and i'll grant you that i probably do place too much value in genres as rigid categories! i just love to sort things, i'll admit it. but at the same time, these trends in the creation of music are still "real," in whatever sense one wants to accept, because the music itself is real and we can observe the patterns that exist within what we label as genres. if we stop accepting genres as something we can engage with as though they were more than just a name and a vague gesture, then the whole conversation has to switch to a much smaller scale where we talk about individual artists or even individual releases and the context around them, which can be valuable in its own right but is a different ballgame than the one we've been playing here. my argument is that we shouldn't criticize art by generalizing one genre to be inherently worse than another because it's reductive and unfair. that's all. the nuance that exists within discussion of any given genre remains untouched by my statement and equally as valuable as it would be under any other framework of viewing these topics.

as for NSBM...... that's tough. certainly it's a repulsive thing that exists, and i want to really stress that fact because of what i'm about to say next. so. FUCK ALL NAZIS FUCK ALL FASCISTS. to be clear. now, if we imagine my framework here, where all genres are, when observed in a vacuum, value-neutral with equal potential to produce good music and bad music, then that must include NSBM, right? and unfortunately, it does. because, as we agree, the evaluation and critical analysis of art is necessarily subjective, regardless of whether it's done on the level of the individual or by consensus. so despite the fact that ideologically NSBM is reprehensible, it is possible for a band in the genre to produce a record with a lot of technical skill and passion, and for someone to evaluate that record (again, subjectively) as being "good," if that person happened to be a shithead. evaluation of NSBM (and in fact the genre's existence in the first place) is not a damnation of the genre, because again the issue here is scale as well as subjectivity. it's instead a damnation of the broader political climate and like, the existence of vice within mankind, which is perhaps the most necessary thing out of any of this stuff to have discussions about, but is decidedly outside of the range of topics that i feel qualified to have a full intelligent conversation about in public.

[doctor-punkenstein]

It’s gonna fucking hurt but I need to drop out of my second school and/or change that part of my life radically... like *do a 180* radically. Which both will be the biggest decision of my life in terms of what I’ll have to sacrifice, what I and other people have already sacrificed, and how far I’ve come in general. But I will go crazy otherwise. And I’m... just so... t i r e d.

[sacredsorceress]

Flame || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: you go undercover to a festival with your best friend and object of your affection, bucky barnes

a/n: this is loosely based on an experience i had on a date once- enjoy!

word count: 1.9k

warnings: bout of being self conscious, vague mention alcohol consumption, fluff

masterlist

“You know you look more suspicious like that, right?”

The two of you were leaning over the stone wall of a bridge above the river, watching the lit pyres blaze on the water below you. You smiled as you watched couples pass the spectacle in gondolas as a band played on a stage behind the both of you, welcoming you to melt into the festivities. 

You had been focused on the scene in front of you when you commented on your partner’s appearance, but when you felt his gaze shift towards you, you met Bucky’s eyes and smiled.

“Easy for you to say.” Buck quipped, waving his gloved hand. “You don’t have a metal arm.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Well at least you can see my eyes!” You argued, gesturing at his ensemble. “You’re wearing sunglasses at...” You paused, glancing at your watch. “Nine o’clock at night.”

“Super soldier vision.”

Watching the reflection of the fires below burn in the lenses of his sunglasses, you reached forward and pulled them off of his face.

When the tips of your fingers brushed against his temple as you did, you swore your breath caught in your throat for a brief second.

Both you and Bucky had been treading the line between friends and lovers for far too long. You got along with one another more than you did with any other, but what you made up for in bravery on the battlefield, you lacked in communicating your feelings. So, instead of the both of you being honest about the admiration you had for the other, your unspoken romance lived in stolen glances and brief touches that left the other person fumbling over their sentences.

“Can’t you see better now?” You asked. “How often do we get nice views like this on a mission?”

For a moment, Bucky just stared ahead of him and thought of saying: Always. As long as you’re there.

But just as every time before that, the words laid lodged in his throat and hidden in his mind: so secured that he wondered sometimes whether he even knew how much he loved you.

When he realized he had taken too long to reply, Bucky scoffed and turned his attention to the band behind the two of you.

There were a crowd of couples learning to dance, the entertainers from earlier replaced with a band and leader instructing the crowd on how to salsa dance. Although Bucky had learned how not to draw attention to himself through decades of being an assassin, something about the idea of learning to dance with you amongst the couples enticed him. 

Whether it was the red glow over the crowd from a mixture of the fire and stage lights or the smiles on the faces of the elderly pairs who danced hand and hand- he wasn’t sure. But he knew one thing and it was that if you wanted him to blend in, Bucky would make sure the two of you fit right in.

Bucky held his hand out to you in an inviting gesture, though you had known him long enough to eye him warily.

“What’s that for?”

His head tilted to the side.

“What?” He asked. “You don’t trust me?”

That was a difficult question.

Did you trust him in the general sense? Yes. You had thought more times than you’d care to admit about how you’d trust him ten times over with your heart. But, James Bucky Barnes also had a way with messing with you through the little things that made you falter in taking his hand.

“You want to blend in? Trust me.”

Glancing from the crowd to his hand, you figured for one of the few times in your life: why not?

Placing your hand gingerly in his, you became so focused on the sensation that you forgot everything that was going on around you. The hopeless- or was it hopeful?- romantic in you memorized the feeling of his calloused palm against yours, convinced that it might be the last time you ever felt it. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle, and you lost yourself in the thought of melting into him forever.

Getting lost in the idea of James Barnes was so easy that before you realized what was happening, you were in the middle of a crowd.

“Wait, Buck.” You paused, snapping back into reality. “What are we doing? I don’t dance in front of-”

“What happened to blending in?” The super soldier asked, stepping in front of you.

You wish you had the ability to go back in time and eat your words before you ever had the chance to say them. Bucky was nothing if not a tease. A lot had changed since the forties, but that certainly hadn’t.

“You’re awful, you know that?” You said.

You bit back a smile as Bucky followed the instructions of the man leading on stage and placed his hands back in yours, bringing them up between the both of your chests.

“Oh c’mon, doll.” He chuckled. “You don’t mean that.”

He’s right. You didn’t.

How could you possibly?

For a moment you thought that maybe what he was displaying was liquid confidence from the drinks he had had at the festival, but that flame was quickly extinguished by the recollection of the fact that he was incapable of getting intoxicated. What you had in front of you was a completely sober, conscientious Bucky Barnes, and you didn’t know how to play his game.

But you were nothing if not a person who tries.

“You’re right.” You said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t.”

Challenge accepted.

“I’ll lead.” He told you.

When Bucky stepped backwards, you stepped forwards, following his movements, but the voice of the instructor with each step. You kept your eyes trained on the ground, watching his feet move complementary to yours, being sure not to trip over his toes.

“Ya know,” Bucky said, “I’m surprised you don’t have two left feet.”

“I could say the same about you.” You replied.

Shaking his head while laughing, Bucky moved his hand from its space between your fingers to find a new home on your waist. As it landed against your clothed skin, he pulled you flush against him.

“You’re forgetting that I was a single guy in 1940, Y/l/n.” He retorted. “I’d say I know a thing or two about dancing with a pretty girl.”

Though the two of you had been treading the line between friends and lovers for quite some time, there were certain barriers that you didn’t cross. But here, now, with him comparing you to the women he used to go on dates with, you felt as though you were about to pass the point of no return.

Though it exhilarated you, it also scared you and a part of you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe that it was happening.

“What does dancing with a pretty girl have to do with me?”

Bucky lifted your arm above your head, spinning you while the fingertips on his other hand brushed against your hips.

“Oh c’mon, Y/n,” He said. “Don’t act like you don’t know how you look.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?”

Pulling you flush against him, his eyes met yours.

“I mean how I caught three people staring at you just tonight.” Bucky stated. “There’s even one looking at us right now.”

You felt your skin grow warm at the idea of drawing attention from others- or better yet- that their wandering eyes hadn’t escaped Bucky’s perception.

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

When you were unable to come up with a logical response, Bucky shook his head and squeezed the hand of yours that was in his vibranium one.

“Look, maybe it’s the fact that there’s all these couples around us and I never got the chance to grow old,” He said. “But I know if I get the chance now I’d want to be like them. I’d want to be here, with a woman I still find attractive when we’re old as hell, having a good time even if she’s stepping over my feet. And you know who I want to do that with?”

Your heart began racing in your chest, and your breathing both grew faster and caught in your throat at the same time. You knew where this was going, so much so you couldn’t find it in you to break the moment with your own voice- to ruin this milestone you knew would affect the rest of your life.

You only looked up at him with your mouth slightly agape as your chest rapidly rose and fell. At some point, the two of you had stopped dancing as your feet remained planted to the ground beneath you.

“If I get old, I’d wanna do it with you, doll.” Bucky confessed. “You’re the one with the magic powers and stuff, but I knew it from the second I met you and I’m tired of acting like I didn’t.”

You’d like to say that your mind moved fast or the world slowed down around you, but it didn’t. For the first time ever, you think you were completely and totally living in the present. You were here. Standing in Bucky Barnes’ arms, feeling his breath against your skin as you noticed just how blue his eyes were. Your mind was fused with your voice and you were so aware of his touch that you swore it was as though the two of you were combined.

You didn’t have to worry about what to say as the words fell out of your mouth without a second thought.

“Me?” You asked.

Bucky smiled at you softly.

“Yeah you.” He said. “I didn’t even think about a future until I met you. I think it’s you or nothing.”

You were done with thinking. You were done with guessing five steps ahead. You were right where you wanted to be.

“Do you...” You started, staring up at him. “Do you think we’d blend in more if we kissed?”

Any nerves that Bucky had shooting throughout his body that evening evaded him as the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile and he squeezed your hand.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

As confident as you attempted to be, he surpassed you tenfold. Buck’s hands moved to cup your face, gently pulling you towards him. His calloused fingertips against your skin contradicted the feeling of his soft lips against yours, but the two at odds brought a balance to your senses that you welcomed kindly.

Your hands moved to his chest and gripped the opening of his hoodie, pulling him even closer to you- a motion that caused Bucky to let a chuckle escape out of his mouth and into yours. 

“I thought you cared about other people watching?” Buck teased.

Staring up at him, you swat his chest and laughed.

“Shut up.”

Just as you leaned in for more, you heard gasps from the crowd around you. The both of your attentions shot towards the sound to find the assailant that the two of you had been meant to be scouting all evening.

Looking back at him, you shrugged.

“Meet you back here in an hour?”

Rolling up his sleeves, he smiled.

“We’ll make this one quick.” Bucky said. “I got a date to get back to.”

[irrelevantwriter]

Wait It Out

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Female Reader/You

Rating: SFW (later chapters will contain smut and will be tagged accordingly)

Warnings: Language, mentions of drug use, vague sexual references, Eddie being cute as shit (kill me)

Word Count: 1603

Summary: Part 3. You seek Eddie out and find him.

A/N: Part three is here! Things are building. Tensions are rising between reader and Eddie. Who will crack first? (probs eddie tbh) Y'all let me know if you fucks with it. Enjoy and share with your friends! Feedback is that good shit.💗

Disclaimer: As always, reader inserts are true reader inserts. If you find any specifics in regards to reader’s appearance, kindly let me know and I will fix that.

*Find previous and future chapters here

*Check out my other Eddie fics here

***********************

Somehow nearly another month had passed since you’d seen Eddie. It wasn’t on purpose. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. Despite seeing him at Reefer Rick’s a few times, he wasn’t always there for every party. Other than that, you weren’t entirely sure where to go looking for him. You could ask around. You knew he played in a band at some bar just outside of town. But you didn’t want to seem obvious. Though you were getting close.

You’d been to the Family Video four times. All were excuses to hopefully run into Eddie. But such was not the case. He was never there. And you were losing reasons to turn down a membership at Family Video when you’d gone in so damn much.

But as luck would have it, Reefer Rick got arrested. He was your dealer on the occasion you needed to buy for your own supply. You usually bummed off your friends. But word around town was Eddie played liaison while Rick was away serving time. So as casually as you could, you asked about where to find Eddie Munson to complete a transaction. You’d gotten his address soon after.

It was a warm summer night, the crickets already out and making their presence known with the incessant chirping. You drove down to the Forest Hills trailer park, realizing you’d been here once before. You’d briefly dated a guy who lived here. Hopefully he still didn’t.

You made the turn at the entrance and looked for Eddie’s van. It wasn’t hard to find. His trailer was towards the back, van parked askew. There was only one light on in the trailer and it came from the back. You briefly thought about cutting out and making a run for it. You felt dumb. Foolish for needing a reason to see a guy. A guy you’d had all of two conversations with.

You were actually beginning to like him. Something you’d hadn’t quite been expecting. You’d anticipated a metal head with the attitude to match. But instead you got Eddie Munson. An endearing man-child that teetered between nervous and sexual energies. It was a serious mind fuck and you were beginning to have doubts.

You put your car in reverse when a knock came to your window. You jumped and yelped, grasping at your chest as Eddie’s smiling face appeared in the glass. You rolled down the window, eyes flat as you glared at him.

“You scared the shit outta me, Munson,” you chastised.

“Could say the same about you,” he gestured to his van and you realized one of the back doors was open. He must’ve been inside when you pulled up.

“You okay?” he asked, seeing you still frazzled.

You nodded.

“Wanna come inside?”

He took a step back so that you had room to exit the car, waiting for you to make your move. You still felt like a complete idiot, but you nodded and grabbed your purse.

He opened the door for you with a lavish wave of his arm and you laughed. His silliness always put you at ease.

“I wasn’t expecting company so forgive the state of my castle,” he joked and you suddenly felt like shit.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I should've called first.” You looked at him with an apologetic expression, but he waved you off.

“Nah, it’s cool.”

He led you up some stairs and held the door open as you walked in. You took in the many knick knacks that adorned the walls. It was a small space, but homey. You’d seen much worse.

“I live with my uncle. He works nights,” he offered, shifting his eyes away from you.

“Alone at nights. Sounds dangerous,” you teased, gaze sweeping over the living area.

“It’s pretty quiet around here. Nothing to worry about.”

“Not the kind of danger I was talking about,” you threw over your shoulder, reading the scrawl on the numerous mugs that hung from the wall.

You could hear him clear his throat from behind you, your words no doubt landing in exactly the way you’d wanted.

“You, uh…you want something to drink?”

“Sure. Whatever you got,” you replied as you moved towards the couch. You set your purse down beside you as he rummaged around the kitchen.

He emerged with two beers and handed you one as he sat on the arm of the couch, facing you. You noticed how he played with the label on the bottle, rings clacking against the glass.

“Are you okay?” you asked with an arched brow, smirking at the way he opened and closed his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

You nodded, not believing him in the slightest but left it alone.

“Sorry to just show up at your place. It probably could’ve waited.”

He seemed to settle and shook his head at your words, taking a large swig of the beer.

“S’okay. Truly. I am open for business,” he announced with a flourish, that silliness back on full display.

“Well, while I did come to see you for that, I also came for another reason,” you started, setting your beer down.

Eddie grew quiet as you opened your purse and pulled out a black piece of fabric. You held it out to him as he eyed it warily, setting his own beer down.

“It’s not going to bite you,” you laughed, seeing his hesitation.

“I’ve been bitten by some questionable shit.”

“That’s a story for another day.” You pointed at him and silently made him promise he would tell that tale.

He nodded, unfolding the fabric. “Holy shit!”

You smiled as he beamed at you and the t-shirt you’d gifted him. It was an AC/DC concert tee. One you’d picked up from the show last month. You’d seen it and instantly thought of Eddie. So you bought it. Never really having any intentions of giving it to him.

Until now.

“This is for me?” he asked in shock, still inspecting the garment.

“Yeah. I owe you for the cigarette. And now the weed. Figured you’d like it,” you replied, hoping you sounded blasé enough.

Eddie’s expressive eyes kept jumping from you to the shirt and back again. Once he registered your words, he stared at you for a long moment. A flash of something serious passed over his face before he was smiling once again.

“This is nice as shit. You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged. “I wanted to.”

He accepted the simplicity of your answer. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Munson.”

“I’m trying it on right now,” he exclaimed with all the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.

You laughed and watched as he ripped off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt he had on. Your eyes roamed his naked torso, surprised to see all the ink that decorated his skin. It suited him.

You discreetly licked your lips as you took note of the leanness of his muscles. The faint trail of hair that disappeared beyond the waistband of his jeans. The faded scars and freckles that dotted his flesh. It was a feast for your eyes.

Eddie didn’t seem to notice your hungry gaze and slipped the t-shirt over his head, the material fitted just right against his body.

“Looks great,” you complimented as he showed it off, doing a slow turn for drama. “Totally bitchin’.”

“It is totally bitchin’,” he agreed. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to,” he said, tone growing serious.

“No sweat.”

One of those meaningful, intimate stares passed between you two. It was more electrically charged this time. A little more intense. And it made you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate this new ache.

“Well, you know flattery works on me so you get the good shit,” Eddie said with a clap of his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

He left you alone and you took the time to think about letting him fuck you right then.

You’d let him. You wanted to. More than anything at this point, but you needed him to make the move. You had a feeling if you just waited him out, Eddie would come to you. And you hoped he was anything but sweet when he did.

“Alright, got it,” he announced as he joined you back in the living room.

He handed you a sandwich bag filled with weed. It was more than enough. Probably too much but you weren’t going to tell him that. The shit would get smoked.

“Thanks, Munson.”

“Hey, thank you. Pleasure doing business,” he motioned to the new t-shirt he still wore and grinned.

The hum of a window unit nearby came to life and suddenly cold air was being blasted into the small space. It felt divine. You could feel your nipples pebble against the sudden breeze, showing in the yellow halter top you wore.

Soft brown eyes flickered down and then up again, a look you couldn’t quite place decorating his features. You decided to make your exit before you lost your resolve.

“I gotta go. But I’ll see you soon, yeah?” You stood and grabbed your purse, walking towards the door as he followed.

“Yeah, don’t be a stranger.”

You turned to face him at the top step, seeing the glow of the trailer frame him in a perfect halo. It was ironic. And alluring.

“I could never,” you said with a smile, stepping down the stairs and to your car. He watched you the whole time until you were pulling out of his lot.

The entire way home you considered turning around. But you held strong. Eddie would come to you.

[serendipity-writes]

All the Things That I Know (That Your Parents Don't)

Written for Harringrove Week July 2022! Prompt: handcuffs

Fics for this event: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Rated Gen, 4.7k

Warning for a brief Neil Hargrove appearance (but Steve is also there so he doesn't try shit) and alcohol

Summary:

“I’m sick of your bullshit,” Nancy says primly, hands clasped behind her back. “So you two are stuck together until you learn how to get along or one of you kills the other. Have fun!”

“Nancy—” Steve starts as she walks around them, ushering Max, El, and Dustin out the front door. He’s distracted by the soft, vehement “fuck” issued by none other than Billy, still standing next to him, and when he finally looks down, he can see why.

They’re—Nancy fucking—

“Are these from the police station?” he shouts at her, gesturing at the handcuffs connecting his wrist to Billy’s.

read on ao3

--

They’ve been scowling at each other for about three minutes straight now, which has to be a record.

Well, a record in that they’ve never lasted this long without shouting or swinging at each other.

Steve and Billy are standing in the Wheelers’ entryway, waiting for their respective children to emerge from the basement. Nancy is by the foot of the stairs to the second floor, arms crossed, staring each of them down. She’s termed this “chaperoning,” as though she can’t trust Billy and Steve to behave themselves around each other.

To be fair, they’ve yet to prove her wrong.

With a great show of restraint, Steve tears his eyes away from Billy’s and focuses them on the banister. He can still feel Billy’s glare burning a hole into the side of his skull, and he’s only capable of gazing stoically ahead for so long. Eventually it’s just too much.

“Will you cut it out,” he hisses between clenched teeth. Billy chuckles like he’s just won their silent battle of wills, which he absolutely has not.

“Cut what out, pretty boy?” he asks, taunting and irritating and just fucking there, standing next to Steve with the audacity to pretend he doesn’t know what Steve’s talking about.

“Staring at me,” Steve grits out, finally giving in and turning back to Billy, fists clenched at his sides. There’s a fire in Billy’s eyes that says he’s looking forward to doing this for the seventh time this month, a fire that Steve wants to slap onto the floor.

“Do either of you have plans tonight?” Nancy interrupts, gaze flickering between their faces when they turn in synch to look at her. After a second or two, Billy spreads his arms, gesturing grandly to the house around them

“You’re looking at them, princess,” he sneers, and Steve also wants to slap that word out of his mouth.

Nancy ignores it though, choosing instead to focus on Steve. He shrugs. “What else do you think I’ve got going on?”

She shrugs back. “I don’t know. Wait here, I’m going to check on the kids.”

With that she disappears into the kitchen. Steve glances at Billy out of the corner of his eye. The fight hasn’t quite left him, per se, but his face is puzzled rather than gleefully angry, which Steve thinks is a step up.

Not that he spends time thinking about Billy’s face or anything.

“What do you think that was about?” Billy asks after a moment’s hesitation. Steve crosses his arms over his chest.

“No clue. Just ‘cause I dated her for almost a year doesn’t mean I have any idea what goes on in her head.”

The children flood into the hallway before things can turn bad between the two of them again, all six of them piling up by the stairs even though only three are leaving right now.

“Alright, Max,” Billy says as she hugs El goodbye. “We gotta get moving, shitbird, your curfew’s almost up.”

Steve doesn’t bother with words, just gestures vaguely at Dustin with his right hand.

Which proves to be his first mistake, as a cold band of metal closes around his left wrist.

“What the fuck?” he and Billy say at the same time. That immediately doesn’t bode well. Steve tries to turn around, but finds he can’t move his left arm. He ends up kind of sideways, looking awkwardly over his shoulder at Nancy, who somehow snuck behind them while they were busy with the kids.

“I’m sick of your bullshit,” she says primly, hands clasped behind her back. “So you two are stuck together until you learn how to get along or one of you kills the other. Have fun!”

“Nancy—” Steve starts as she walks around them, ushering Max, El, and Dustin out the front door. He’s distracted by the soft, vehement “fuck” issued by none other than Billy, still standing next to him, and when he finally looks down, he can see why.

They’re—Nancy fucking—

“Are these from the police station?” he shouts at her, gesturing at the handcuffs connecting his wrist to Billy’s.

“Don’t worry, they won’t even notice they’re gone!” Nancy assures him, which is not very comforting in these trying times. “I’ll drive the kids home, it’s alright.”

Max’s face pales at that for some reason, but Steve doesn’t have time to think about it because Billy is suddenly yanking him out the door and down the front steps toward where the Camaro is parked on the street.

“—has to take me home,” Max is telling Nancy when they arrive, Billy tense and Steve flushed. Nancy looks between her and Billy, a suspicious glint in her eyes, before nodding.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s fine. Billy, you’re good to drive, right?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, “if you’ll take these off.” He shakes his arm for emphasis, rattling Steve’s hand around and tugging uncomfortably at the thin skin of his wrist.

“Hey, hey!” he says, fighting to still the motion, which only makes him hurt more.

Nancy looks like she’s considering it for a moment before she shakes her head. “You know, I’m not sure where I put the key,” she offers by way of explanation, which Steve knows is absolutely not true.

Billy looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. Steve would be worried for Nancy if he wasn’t more worried for himself, seeing as he’s handcuffed to the guy and all.

“Fine,” Billy growls, and somehow that word sounds like more of a threat than anything he’s ever said to Steve. Nancy, absolute badass that she is, doesn’t look cowed in the slightest. “Max, get in the car.”

She obeys without a word.

Steve starts heading for the passenger side door before he’s abruptly pulled back. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Billy asks, venom in his words. Steve starts pointing to the car when Billy shakes their wrists again. Suddenly, Steve realizes the flaw in his plan.

“Right,” he says slowly, and follows Billy around the other side of the car.

“Go ahead,” Billy says when he’s opened the door. Steve glares up at him as he slides into the driver’s seat.

“For the record, I don’t like this,” he complains, crawling over the gear shift and flopping unceremoniously across the passenger seat. Even being pulled along, Billy enters the car smoothly, the bastard.

“Neither do I, pretty boy,” he mutters as he turns the key in the ignition, then, “Shit, shit, shit!”

Steve glances at the clock. 9:56. Shit.

Billy floors the gas before Steve’s even buckled in, racing away from the traitorous Wheeler household. Steve hopes Nancy suffers a painful death at the hands of Dustin’s excessive knowledge about every science topic known to man.

The ride is tense and silent, Billy glaring murderously at the road in front of them, Max in the backseat not making a sound, and Steve too confused by what he’s just been pulled into to risk saying a single word. Billy treats road signs like suggestions and corners like he’ll get points for skidding around them. Steve’s knuckles are white on the handle of the car door, but Max doesn’t ask him to slow down, so he takes her lead.

“For the love of God, Harrington, be cool and let me do the talking,” Billy says, breaking the silence as they pull up in front of his house. He jerks their hands back so the handcuffs aren’t visible on the center console. Steve’s just about to complain about this treatment when he catches sight of Billy’s face, his eyes. For once, there’s no anger boiling under the surface, waiting for an excuse to burst out.

It’s been replaced by fear.

So Steve keeps his mouth shut as Max gets out of the backseat, as the front door opens to welcome her in. The car clock reads 9:59.

A figure, silhouetted by the light pouring out of the doorway, walks the short distance to the curb. Somehow, they’re imposing even though they’re not particularly tall or large. Billy rolls down Steve’s window, and as the person braces one hand against the roof of the car, Steve can make out dark eyes, a stern mustache, an even sterner mouth.

Steve takes a moment to reassess everything he’s ever thought about Billy’s life.

“Mr. Hargrove,” he says, taking a gamble and inclining his head slightly. Whatever luck he’s had with anyone else, Steve has always been able to charm parents.

Billy’s father, because Steve’s guess seems to have been correct, glances at him briefly and nods back before his gaze shifts. Steve knows he’s looking at Billy right now, but for some reason, he keeps his gaze fixed on the elder Hargrove.

“Billy,” he says, and Steve can feel Billy’s flinch through the cuff on his wrist. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend here?”

“Steve Harrington,” Steve offers before Billy can say anything, blatantly ignoring his request to keep silent. Mr. Hargrove holds his hand through the window, and Steve thanks God that it’s his left hand that’s attached to Billy as he shakes it.

“Harrington,” Mr. Hargrove says when Steve’s been released. “I know your father. Good man.”

“Yes sir,” Steve says, because it’s useful enough to keep all the adults in Hawkins thinking that.

“We were gonna go for a drive,” Billy says. “See what’s happening tonight. Sir.”

“Ah.” Billy’s father looks at him, then back at Steve. “You get into a lot of trouble, son?”

“No more than a healthy teenage boy should, sir,” Steve answers with one of his patented schmoozing-the-parents grins. Mr. Hargrove looks taken aback for a moment before releasing a startled chuckle. Works every time.

“Maybe you can keep my son in line, boy,” he says before turning back to Billy, smile tightening almost imperceptibly. “Don’t let me hear you come home late.”

“Yes sir,” Billy says. Steve’s never heard that amount of deference in his voice before. It’s borderline frightening.

With that, Billy’s father backs away and Billy wastes no time driving into the night, leaving Steve to roll up his window himself. He keeps an eye on Mr. Hargrove in the rearview, still standing in the front yard until the road curves and he’s out of sight.

* * *

“I thought you said this was gonna be easy,” Steve huffs, changing the position of his legs for the third time since Billy started trying to pick the lock on the handcuffs.

They’re sitting in the junkyard because Billy didn’t have wire in his car, and that’s apparently a crucial material for picking handcuffs. Not that it seems to be doing them much good, since all Billy’s really succeeded at is growling in frustration and rubbing the skin on Steve’s wrist raw.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a while since I’ve had to pick law-enforcement grade cuffs,” he fires back, wire still scraping around in the little hole by the chain. “Can’t believe Wheeler fucked us over like this.”

“Hey, she did ask us if we had plans,” Steve offers in Nancy’s defense, although he’s not her biggest fan at the moment either.

“Still a fucking bitch,” Billy mutters under his breath.

He grunts as Steve leans forward and grabs the chain connecting them, tugging it harshly and twisting Billy’s arm into what he hopes is a really uncomfortable position, since he’s doing his fair share of suffering. “Call her that again,” Steve hisses, staring deep into Billy’s eyes, “and I’ll break your face.”

Billy looks almost chastised for a breath before his swagger returns full force. “Yeah? How well did that work out for you last time, pretty boy?”

Steve doesn’t really have a good defense for that, so after another tense second, he pushes Billy’s hand away as far as it’ll go and falls back against the trashed bumper he was leaning on before. Billy chuckles, a victorious set to his shoulders. Steve wants to kick him so bad. He doesn’t, though. Getting along, and all of that bullshit.

The silence lasts another few minutes, during which Billy makes absolutely no progress on the cuffs, before Steve feels the urge to break it again. “You must take after your mother,” he says, not quite sure what prompted that observation.

Billy’s shoulders stiffen, but his tone is casual enough when he says, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, head lolling to the side so he can see Billy’s face. “You don’t look like that ugly son of a bitch at all.”

That was a gamble too, but one that paid off if Billy’s shocked burst of laughter is any indication. Damn, Steve’s on a roll. He should hit up a casino after this.

“Steve Harrington,” Billy says slowly, smirking up at Steve, “are you calling me pretty?”

Steve smiles back, almost against his will. “I don’t know,” he hedges, “I thought that was your thing.”

Billy laughs again, throwing his head back. Moonlight shines down on his face, casting his features in an ethereal light. He looks like how Steve imagined those fairies did in that one Shakespeare play, A Summer Dream or whatever.

Steve still wants to kick him. Kind of. Not really.

* * *

“So what do we do now?” Steve asks. He’s lying on his back, gazing up at the sky because after half an hour or so, the shapes of the junkyard at night started to wear on him. God, he wishes he had Josephine with him, her sturdy, reassuring wood in his palm. Even if he could only swing her with one hand, she’d still do some damage.

Billy is sitting up next to him, hand resting on the ground so Steve doesn’t have to lift his arm. He’s long since given up on picking the lock. Even when he claimed the darkness was interfering and they’d turned on the Camaro’s headlights, he hadn’t been able to spring them. Somewhat unexpectedly, he’d accepted this defeat with grace.

“I don’t know,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders and jostling Steve’s arm. Then he stills, turns to Steve with a nearly manic grin. “What if we break them?”

“What?” Steve asks, but Billy’s already standing. Steve squawks as he’s dragged to his feet, stumbling after Billy as he makes for the Camaro.

As soon as he pops the trunk, Steve steps back, hands raised. “Nope, not a cold chance in hell, Hargrove.”

* * *

Steve screws his eyes shut as Billy raises the crowbar over their heads. “I swear to God, Billy, if you take off one of my fingers—”

“You’re coming for my kneecaps, I know.” Billy doesn’t sound the least bit concerned. Steve has the energy to be offended for all of a second before the crowbar comes whistling down.

* * *

“What if we just go to the station and ask them to unlock them?” Steve muses. They’re both lying in the grass now, staring despondently at the clouds that have just started to roll in. Steve’s got the fingers of his right hand wrapped loosely around the crowbar. After that spectacular plan had failed, he’d refused to let Billy put it back in his trunk. Billy made it quite clear that he thought Steve was out of his goddamn mind, but he let him keep it.

“Absolutely not,” Billy retorts. “You wanna walk into a room full of cops and explain that your ex-girlfriend got the jump on us with equipment she stole from them?”

Steve shrugs. “Fair point. They probably wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

Billy laughs incredulously. “I don’t give a fuck about the police, Harrington. It’s Wheeler I’m worried about. She’d skin us alive if we threw her under the bus like that.”

Billy’s… got a point, Steve has to admit. Just picturing Nancy’s expression has his blood running cold.

“Okay, so no police.”

* * *

“D’you think she’d believe us if we told her we’re cool now?”

“No.”

* * *

“Well, since we’re stuck here,” Billy starts, which in Steve’s experience is never an auspicious beginning, “might as well entertain ourselves.”

Steve shudders to think of what this entertainment might entail. “Why, got some ideas?”

“Eh, we could do some bullshit party game. Twenty questions, or something.”

“I’d rather eat the goddamn handcuffs,” Steve responds. Billy huffs a laugh. Turns out Steve’s pretty good at that, making him laugh. “You don’t have a deck of cards or anything in your car?”

He can feel more than see Billy’s lewd grin. “Well, usually when I’m taking someone back to my car, it’s not to play cards.”

Steve rolls his eyes so hard he can see the inside of his head. “Fine, shoot.”

“King Steve,” Billy drawls. Steve is suddenly very worried. “Handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs,” Steve repeats slowly, unsure where Billy’s going with this.

“You ever fuck in them?”

Steve drags his free hand over his face. “Coming out of the gate strong with that one, huh?” He feels Billy shake next to him, although he can’t actually hear his laughter this time. “What would you think if I said yes?”

Billy abruptly freezes. Steve turns his head to find Billy staring back at him, eyes wide and glittering in the slivers of moonlight peeking through the clouds. “I’d think you contained multitudes,” he says eventually. A goading smile steals over his face as he adds, “Always thought you’d be Midwest fuckin’ vanilla.”

Steve blinks, trying to figure out if he should be offended or not. “I think I’m gonna take that as an insult,” he decides.

“From me? Definitely.”

“Alright then, California boy,” Steve retorts. Billy’s grin grows wider. “You a handcuffs kind of guy?”

“Not usually,” Billy answers. “But in the right circumstances…” he glances between them, where their hands lie next to each other, nearly touching despite the several inches of chain they have to work with, “I could get into it.”

Steve can’t help it; a laugh bubbles up his throat. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. “Your turn again, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Billy actually seems to be considering this one, which soothes Steve’s nerves not at all. “Why’d you and Wheeler break up?” he settles on. Steve winces.

“Well, she got drunk at Tina’s party, called me bullshit, and essentially told me she didn’t love me.”

Billy whistles through his teeth. “That sucks, man.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “But we’re past that now. Water under the bridge.”

“Gotta say, Harrington, I’m not sure I’d be able to do that,” Billy says. “Seeing her as much as you do and not holding a grudge? That takes character.”

“Billiam Hargrove,” Steve says, surprised, “is that a bona fide compliment?”

“Cherish it like your little shitheads,” Billy replies, “because it’s the only one you’re gonna get. Now ask me something, I’m getting bored.”

“What’s the deal with your dad?” Steve bites his lip as soon as the question’s out, wishes he could take it back. Billy turns his head back to the sky, jaw clenched. He doesn’t have to say anything. Steve gets the message loud and clear.

* * *

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

“Alright, I’m gonna need alcohol for this,” Billy says, actually waiting for Steve to be ready this time before standing up. Turns out he’s got a six-pack in the Camaro’s backseat, which he pulls out with a flourish.

“IPA?” Steve says, bending closer to look at the cans. “That cheap shit tastes like piss.”

“More for me then,” Billy says, chuckling when Steve snatches a can from the plastic rings.

They end up sitting down by the Camaro, leaning against its front bumper. Steve would have rather been on the hood of the car, but the look Billy gave him when he suggested that implied both that he valued the car over his own life, and that he would happily gut Steve with an empty aluminum can if he so much as smudged her paint. So back to the hard-packed dirt they went.

Billy’s chugged his way through two beers and is nursing his third when he finally speaks. “My old man’s a piece of shit,” he says, then takes a hearty swig. “My mom, she got out, but she left me with him.”

“That sucks, man,” Steve echoes, unsure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Billy replies, his faint chuckle sad and angry. Steve finds himself missing his laugh from earlier, when he told Billy “pretty boy” was his thing, or when he said he’d rather eat the handcuffs than play the stupid game that got them here. “Can’t do anything right in his eyes.” He finishes the third beer, reaches for a fourth even though technically Steve can lay claim to it. He lets Billy take it, crumples his own empty can against his leg and grabs the last one. “He woulda flipped his shit on both of us if he saw us handcuffed together.”

That explains why Billy was so worried when they pulled up to his house, then. “Sorry,” Steve tries, but it’s flat even to his own ears. “Anything I can do to help?” It’s a genuine offer, but it still sounds lame as shit. Steve wishes he could come up with something better.

“Nah,” Billy says, looking down at his beer. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me.”

His hair is silver in the intermittent light. Steve kind of wants to kiss him.

* * *

“Do you think we’re cool now?”

“Yeah, pretty boy, I think we are.”

* * *

“Truth or dare?”

“Who’s coming up with lame-ass party games now?”

Steve snorts, runs his hand through his hair. He’s not drunk, he only had two beers, but the buzz feels nice. “Just answer the question, Billy.”

“Truth,” Billy says. It feels like he’s placing a lot of faith in Steve, considering everything he’s already told him. Steve’s not going to abuse it.

“How do you really feel about Max?” he asks. Billy rolls his eyes.

“She’s a shitbird,” he responds, and Steve’s about to call bullshit because that’s nothing he didn’t already know when Billy continues speaking. “But she’s my sister. I don’t think we’re quite there yet, like how siblings are supposed to be. I don’t know if we’ll ever get there. But I’m trying.”

Steve nods slowly. He’s heard from Max that Billy’s doing better, at least when he’s not around Steve. He almost wants to laugh. If only Max could see them now.

“Truth or dare?”

Right, it’s Steve’s turn. “Truth.”

Billy opens his mouth like he’s already got his question prepared, then closes it. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think he looks… uneasy.

“Fuckin’ go for it, dude,” Steve says, spreading his arms as much as he can. “I’m an open book.” Well, except for some things. You know, the ones involving little girls with superpowers and interdimensional monsters in this very junkyard and literal pounds of NDAs, but he highly doubts that’s where Billy’s going to take this.

Billy raises his eyebrows at Steve, who nods encouragingly. “Alright,” he says, like it’s Steve’s fault he’s about to ask whatever it is. “Ever fuck a guy?”

And, yeah, Steve can see why he’d be a bit apprehensive to ask that. There isn’t enough time in the world for him to count up all the guys in Hawkins who would kick Billy’s face in for that question, and then drag him home so his dad could probably beat the shit out of him too. But that’s not what Steve thinks about. Instead, his mind turns to his thirteenth birthday, to Tommy staying over after all the other kids had left his birthday party, them sitting next to each other on Steve’s bed, Steve leaning over to kiss Tommy clumsily, half on his mouth and half on his chin. Tommy, staring at Steve with wide eyes before kissing him back, closer to the mark this time. The two of them making out in Steve’s room all night, swearing to each other never to mention it again in the morning.

“No,” he says, staring out toward the old school bus where he’d almost gotten himself killed, not really seeing it.

After a moment, Billy’s shoulder bumps into his. “Gonna ask me, Steve?” he prompts.

“Truth or dare?” Steve asks, more on autopilot than anything else.

“Dare,” Billy responds, false confidence covering something else, something that Steve’s worried will break if he examines it too closely. He blinks and swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Turns to look at Billy, his face shadowed by the clouds covering the moon.

“Kiss me.”

The clouds break, silver light spilling down on them just in time for Steve to really see Billy, sitting next to him, lips parted in shock, before he surges forward.

Steve’s not sure what he was expecting, but it isn’t the electricity that crackles down his spine, spreading through his arms and legs, leaving his face tingling in the cool night air. Billy kisses him hungrily, with the same kind of aggression he’s been throwing at Steve every time they’ve seen each other these last few months, but it’s not mean now. It’s… intoxicating, rushing straight to Steve’s head, making him feel like he could fly. He swings a leg over Billy’s, settling on his lap as Billy swipes his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip. When he opens his mouth, lets Billy inside, he swears he can feel the stars raining down on them.

It gets a little awkward when they remember that they can’t move their hands apart, but that doesn’t hold them back for long. Billy runs the fingers of his free hand through Steve’s hair, tugging at the strands slightly as Steve’s hand slides down his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles through the thin cotton of his shirt. Steve nips gently at Billy’s lip and is rewarded with a sharp gasp, Billy’s hand sliding down from his hair, blunt nails scratching at the nape of his neck. Steve breaks the kiss, leaning their foreheads together as he pants into the space between them.

“Who would’ve guessed,” Billy breathes, hot air ghosting over Steve’s lips. “King Steve contains multitudes.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve whispers back, not really waiting for Billy’s answer. “I’ve never actually fucked anyone with handcuffs on.”

Steve chases the chuckle that falls from Billy’s lips, connecting them again. It’s Billy that pulls away a few moments later, looking up at Steve like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Lucky for you,” he says, lifting their joined wrists into the air, “I know where we can find a pair.”

Steve falls forward, forehead landing on Billy’s shoulder, wheezing with silent laughter. “How about we go get out of these?” he suggests when he’s recovered, rolling off of Billy so they can stand.

“I don’t know, pretty boy,” Billy says, and the nickname that used to burrow under Steve’s skin now makes him flush, “they’re kind of growing on me.”

“No,” Steve says, trying for serious even though he can still taste Billy on his tongue. “I am not spending the rest of the night handcuffed to you. It’s, like, four a.m. already, and we have school tomorrow.”

“We should skip tomorrow,” Billy murmurs, pulling Steve closer by his waist. “I can think of better uses for our time than sitting in a classroom.”

“Alright,” Steve concedes, “but we’re still making Nancy take the cuffs off.”

“I’ll let you handle that,” Billy says as Steve once again clambers over to the passenger seat of the Camaro. “Good luck.”

“I don’t know,” Steve parrots, “I think we can make a pretty good case for ourselves.”

* * *

As soon as Nancy lays eyes on them at her door, she pulls the key out from her back pocket and unlocks them. There’s a red circle around each of their wrists left from the metal, but as Steve looks at it, he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed.

“I’m keeping these,” Nancy says, holding onto the handcuffs threateningly. Billy laughs at her.

“Good,” he says, not leering like he might have earlier that night. “Now I know where they’ll be.”

She narrows her eyes at him before backing into the house and closing the door slowly behind her. Steve turns to Billy.

“I think we convinced her,” he says. Billy nods.

“We’re gonna give her so much shit for this though, right?”

“Of course,” Steve says, unable to conceal his grin. “We’re gonna make her regret the day she ever made us get along.”

[thetravelerwrites]

Bashir (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Troll (World of Warcraft Design) Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Fake Dating, Hired Boyfriend, Fake Boyfriend Content Warnings: Stalker Ex-Boyfriend, Stalking, Mention of Guns, Brief Violence Series: OkCryptid Words: 6365

A commission for @floral-and-fine​​! A woman getting out of a bad relationship has moved across her home state to get away from her controlling ex-boyfriend, only for him to show up at her job. Scared, she goes on OkCryptid to recruit a "boyfriend" in hopes of frightening him off. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

>Hi. I know we don’t know each other and this is pretty sudden, but I have a proposition for you, and it isn’t what you think.

Vague, yes, but it would catch his attention quickly enough, you thought. You were desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

>Oh, He messaged not long after. >What would that be?

>I want to pay you to go out with me for a while.

>I’m not a prostitute. Lol

>That’s not what I mean, You replied, rolling your eyes. >I know this sounds weird, and if I had more money I’d probably just hire a bodyguard, but I don’t.

>Why would you need a bodyguard?

You sighed. >I have a stalker ex-boyfriend. I dated him for about five months, but he was really possessive and crazy so I broke it off, and now he won’t leave me alone. I moved here last month from across the state and he followed me. He showed up at my work today.

>Ah, I see. So you want me to rip his arms off?

>No, I just want him to see me with someone who is big enough to rip his arms off. Maybe it’ll scare him away. You’re the biggest guy I could find on here. Well, I did find a cyclops that was pretty big, but she wasn’t interested.

>Have you gone to the police about this?

>Yeah, but they said unless I get proof he has intent to do harm, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even get a restraining order unless he hurts me or causes property damage. It’s like he has to beat me up before they’ll do anything, and I’d rather not let it get that far.

>Gotcha. Why don’t we don’t meet for coffee tomorrow and talk it over?

>That sounds great. I’m free at lunch.

>Me too. I’ll meet you at Leo’s Diner, you know that one?

>No, but I can Google it. See you tomorrow at 11.

Bashir arrived right on time at eleven the next morning. He was a large troll, dark blue in color, with large, off-white tusks jutting out from the sides of his mouth and his long red hair braided in several placed and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was muscular, thick in the waist, and around nine feet tall. He wore a suit, which was finely tailored to his body. You raised your eyebrows: his profile was sparse, so you didn’t know what kind of job he did; you’d only chosen him because of his picture. But dressed like that, you were surprised he even agreed to take this “job.”

“Hi, you’re the one I’m supposed to meet today, right?” He said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” You replied, standing and shaking his hand. Your hand was dwarfed in his. “Thanks for agreeing.”

“It’s no trouble,” He said, gesturing for you to sit back down as he took a seat opposite you. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You said. “His name is Jake. I met him at work; we worked in the same department. He seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I didn’t think anything of saying yes. The first two months was fine, and were got along really well. As soon as we decided to be exclusive, he got really clingy really quickly. Every time I’d try to pull away, he’d clutch at me tighter. He started pressuring me to put distance between me and my friends, he wanted to know where I was all the time, he was constantly texting and calling and got mad when I didn’t respond right away. I got sick of it and broke up with him.”

“When did the stalking start?”

“Almost immediately. It didn’t help that we still worked in the same department, so I had to see him every day. He’d show up at my house after work and on the weekend. He’d either be super angry and demand that I let him in, or he’d be there with flowers and candy and cry and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was sorry and he’d do better. He kicked my door in a couple of times and I had to call the police. I finally managed to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t really help. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet, so he would stand on the curb exactly five hundred feet from my house and just watch the house. I was scared for my life. So I quit my job and moved across the state with just my savings. I found a job and I started last week. And yesterday, they said I had a new client, and it was him.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out and called security, telling them I had a restraining order against him. He mistakenly thinks the restraining order is void because I moved, but I called and that’s not the case at all.” You sighed in aggravation. “I really hope this asshole doesn’t get me fired.”

“Hmm,” He said. “So what’s your offer?”

“Hmm?” You asked.

“You said you’d pay. What’s your offer?”

“Oh,” You said, surprised. “Uh, fifty bucks per date, plus the date expenses. I can’t really afford more than that.”

“That sounds fair. Okay,” He said. “I’ll do it. You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Really?” You replied. “You’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” He said. “I’ve got some free time, and the extra money will be nice. I could buy a new suit in a month.” He grinned and plucked at his own, no doubt worth several months of dates.

“That’s great, thank you,” You said, sighing in relief. “So, Friday night? Around six o’clock? Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” He said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your phone number. I’ll add it to my contacts. That way, if you see him, you can call or text and I can head over and do the arm ripping thing.”

You laughed and took out your phone.

After exchanging information, the two of you had lunch and discussed the finer points of the job. PDAs were acceptable, but you’d prefer if he didn’t kiss you. He had a nine-to-five job, just like you, but his position was flexible and let him leave the office for errands, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege. You left the lunch feeling a little safer.

Friday night, you met him at a nice Greek restaurant, and he wore another nice bespoke suit. He offered to pick you up at your home, but you didn’t really want him to know where you lived. You were still pretty paranoid about Jake finding out.

“I’m surprised you chose this place, considering you’re footing the bill and everything,” Bashir said, looking around. “It’s pretty fancy.”

“It has to look believable,” You reasoned. “And I do like Greek food. If you like, you can pick the place next time.”

He chuckled. “Have you ever had Mediterranean troll food?”

“No, I haven’t,” You said, interested. “What’s it like?”

“It’s very similar, except there’s no bread of any kind.”

“So what do you eat the hummus on?”

“You drink it like sauce.”

“You’re not supposed to drink sauce!” You protested.

He snickered.

“I feel like you’re making this up.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never met any Mediterranean trolls, so you don’t know.”

“Are you a Mediterranean troll?”

“I am, actually,” He said. “My parents came over from Morocco when I was a tot. I don’t remember much about Morocco, but I’ve always dreamed of going on a trip there, I’ve just never had the chance.” He gave a cursory look over the menu. “Maybe that’s what I’ll use this money for.”

“Sounds nice to me,” You said. “If we both get something good out of this, then that’s a plus.”

“What do you get out of this, other than getting rid of a bothersome ex?”

“Security and peace of mind,” You said, picking up your own menu. “That’s worth the price.”

He looked at you seriously. “This guy really shook you up, didn’t he?”

You set the menu back down and sighed. “He’s never hit me or threatened me verbally. The most he’s ever done is break my door, but…” You looked out of the window. “I feel like… it wouldn’t be hard, you know? It wouldn’t be that much of a leap from breaking my door in to doing something worse. If he gets mad enough, if he gets obsessed enough, who knows what he could do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.”

“I understand,” He said. “I’ve never had to deal with something like that, because… well, look at me…” He gestured at his massive body. “But I do know people who have, and it sounds terrifying. I’m glad I can help, even if I am getting paid to do it.”

You smiled. “Well, it helps that you’re good company.”

“You don’t have to flirt with me, you know,” He teased. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“I will throat-punch you,” You said with a grin, and he laughed.

The next date was the following Saturday, and he chose to go to a concert. He wore a black v-neck shirt and a pair of black slacks, which was as dressed down as you’d seen him, but still very business-casual. It was a showcase of up-and-coming local bands, and they were all pretty good. You didn’t know that he liked Djent and progressive metal, too, but you were happy to have a common interest.

In truth, Bashir was pleasant to be around, and you were relieved that this entire thing wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. It definitely helped make this “dating” business look real from an outsider perspective. He held up his end of the bargain really well over the next dozen dates, holding your hand and putting an arm around you as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Thankfully, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable when he did it, as he was very warm and the height difference meant he couldn’t be too cuddly naturally. You hoped that if Jake was watching, he believed you’d moved on and had no thoughts for him.

Unfortunately, if he was watching, he didn’t take the hint.

One night, as you were turning off lights and getting ready for bed, you looked out of your bedroom window and there he was, standing on the curb across the street, Jake stood in the shadow of a tree, vaping, and looking toward your house.

Panicked, you didn’t your best to stay calm while you were at the window, not wanting him to know you had seen him, but as soon as you walked away, you turned off the bedroom lights, snatched up your phone, dashed downstairs, and frantically checked the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked.

You meant to call the police, but instead, you dialed Bashir’s number. He answered immediately.

“What’s up?” He asked, sounding caught off guard. You weren’t surprised, you never called or texted him unless it was about the next “date.”

“Jake’s outside,” You whispered. “He’s across the street, I’m looking at him right now from my living room window.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’d recognize that stupid snakeskin vape box anywhere,” You said.

“Okay,” He said. “I’m heading over. Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Do you have a landline?”

“Yeah,” You replied.

“Get it and call the police. Don’t tell them he’s stalking you because, well frankly, they won’t care. Say you’re a concerned member of the neighborhood and there’s a suspicious man hanging around outside and you’re worried about a break in.”

It wouldn’t have been a lie. “Okay,” You said, picking up your cordless phone.

After calling the police, you waited with your heart in your throat, listening to Bashir get into his car and drive. He’d heard you tell the operator your address. He arrived before the police did, his vehicle a nondescript SUV, and he got out wearing sweat pants and a tank top and pulled a duffel bag from his passenger seat. He didn’t acknowledge Jake at all, simply walked up to your door and knocked. You went to open the door for him.

“Hug me and kiss my cheek,” He said in a low undertone. Gulping, you did as he said with him turning so that your display of affection was clearly visible to anyone watching from the street. You let him in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What now?”

“Let’s turn on the lights and make some coffee while we wait for the police,” He said.

“Okay,” You said, your voice shaking. You went to go into the kitchen but he stopped you by taking your hand.

“Hey,” He said gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and the police are coming. You’re safe.”

Tears came to your eyes and you nodded, wiping them. He released you and you went to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on.

The police arrived. You and Bashir watched covertly from the breakfast nook. Eventually, Jake walked to a car and got in it, driving away. The police followed him.

“They let him go?” You asked, worried.

“Well, they may not have know he has a restraining order, and even if they did, he looked plenty far away enough to not have violated it. He wasn’t breaking any laws other than loitering, so they couldn’t arrest him. At least they made sure he left.”

You held your head in your hands. “God, I don’t want to have to do all this over again.”

“It’s okay,” He said. “I’ll stay the night to make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? You can’t be here all the time,” You said, your voice shaking.

He sighed heavily. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

You scoffed in disgust. “I don’t want a fucking gun.”

“Okay,” He said. “Then, I’ll put up a security system. I brought one with me; it’s in my bag. I’ll set it up tonight while he’s not here.”

“It’s late,” You said weakly.

“Do you want to sleep or do you want peace of mind?” He asked you levelly.

You scrubbed your face, took a deep breath, drained your coffee cup, and stood up. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

It took a few hours, but he managed to get several security cameras fixed to the building, focused on entryways and the front and back yards. You helped him by holding the equipment and tools for him as he worked, handing up what he needed as he needed it. By the time the two of you were done, it was three a.m. and you both had to be at work in mere hours.

The two of you fell into an exhausted sleep on your bed. You didn’t even have the energy to be affronted by the fact that you were sharing a bed with him. The next morning, before he left to go home and get ready for work, he downloaded the security camera app onto your phone and showed you how to use it.

You went to work, checking your phone surreptitiously to see if Jake was outside of your house. So far, he hadn’t reappeared.

>Today’s Friday, You texted him. >I know you’re probably tired after last night, but do you want to have a date today?

>What about a home date at my house? He replied. >I’ll cook dinner and everything. I don’t want you to be at your house at the moment.

>I can’t argue with that, You said in return. >Sounds good to me. What are you cooking?

>I was thinking a kefta meatball tagine with couscous on the side, and a snake pastry for dessert.

>That sounds amazing. Thanks for putting me up. I know this all is a huge inconvenience, and I really appreciate it.

>It’s no problem,” He said. >It’s what I’m getting paid for, right?

You sighed. Well, this wasn’t exactly what he was getting paid for. How much would an overnight stay cost you?

He sent you a message with his address and you went home after work to shower and pack a small overnight bag. You snickered, pulling out your pretty underwear and a sexy negligee, wondering if you should pack this, too, before putting it away and just throwing some pajamas in your bag.

Checking the cameras before stepping outside, you left the house and hurried to your car, heading to Bashir’s house. His place was a two-story, bungalow style house with a dark brown cliffstone brick pattern and a detached garage. It was charming, and a lot cuter than your tiny yellow ranch-style house. The yard was well kept and three were full flowerbeds next to the wide porch. You wouldn’t have imagined he lived in a place like this.

You knocked on the door and he answered it quickly, wearing a comfortable t-shirt and pair of tight jeans. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His clothes left very little to the imagination. His hair was also down and cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“Come in, come in,” He said, taking your bag for you.

“Thanks,” You said. “Your house is really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks!” He said. “It was actually condemned when I bought it. I basically had to rebuild it from the ground up. I’m not quite finished with it yet, but I’m happy with the progress.”

“You should be, it’s amazing,” You said. “I’d never have guessed it was a fixer-upper.”

He grinned at you, showing off his sharp teeth. “Come on, dinner will be ready soon.”

“It smells great,” You said, inhaling the savory smell of lamb and vegetables.

“All my mom’s recipes,” He replied, heading into the kitchen. “She owns a restaurant three towns over.”

“I’ll have to go and visit it sometime,” You said.

“Maybe I’ll take you myself one day,” He said, smiling as he stirred the couscous. Your heart fluttered a little.

How long were you going to have to keep this up? “Dating” Bashir was fun, but it wasn’t going to last forever. Either Jake would give up or get arrested, so either way, it would be over. Maybe you could stay friends. He was nice enough, and you enjoyed hanging out with him. But still… why was he talking about things that might happen in the future if there was no future for the two of you?

Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert, and afterward the two of you went to the living room to watch a movie. He even put his arm around you, since the window was uncovered and anyone could look in, he said, and you felt comfortable enough to relax into his side. It almost did feel like a real home date.

After the movie, though, you both decided to sleep, since you were still tired from the night before. You decided that you were both adults and could share a bed without it being awkward, and besides, his bed was huge and could fit five of you easily. You both fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime during the night, you got a ping from the motion detector on your phone, but when you checked the security system, it was just a raccoon in your trashcan. You sighed and put your phone down, rolling over.

Bashir was on his back, asleep, with his face turned toward you. He was breathing deeply and relaxed with one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach.

You couldn’t help but stare. He really was an attractive guy, and if circumstances had been different, you might have dated him for real. But… until Jake left you alone, you didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. Bashir didn’t have any emotional connection to you, so Jake couldn’t affect whatever “relationship” you had.

But maybe things could be different after? You weren’t sure. He hadn’t expressed any interest in you other than what he had to to make the job believable. He hadn’t been flirty or more affectionate than he needed to be. You couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Bashir, not right now.

Even still, you brushed your fingers gently against the skin of his arm, feeling the hairs that covered it, and followed the curve up to his hand, allowing yours to rest on top of his for a moment or two before retracting it and trying to fall asleep again, sighing heavily.

The next morning, Bashir recommended that the two of you spend the day together, to keep up the weekend stay appearance.

“How much is this ‘weekend getaway’ going to cost me?” You asked dubiously.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, today’s a freebie, since I suggested it. You still have to pay for last night, though. The normal fifty bucks is fine.”

“Mm-hmm,” You hummed flatly, fishing the money out of your wallet and handing it to him. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“Ah, it’s a freebie day, right? You get to choose this time.”

You smiled. “Well, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll cook it. I can cook breakfast blindfolded.”

“If you like,” He said, sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching you putter around, looking for cooking tools.

After breakfast, you decided you wanted to go to the local botanical garden, which you hadn’t been to in some time.

“Your flowerbeds outside reminded me of this place,” You told him, walking slowly through the rows of Japanese maples. There was a beautiful and an extremely rare Chinese Red Maple behind a gate at the end of the row, the centerpiece of the garden. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“Yep,” He said with a smile. “I helped my dad do a lot of gardening when he was still alive. He had a landscaping business, but he was really passionate about it. I actually inherited the business. Gardening helps me keep his memory alive.”

“That’s really sweet,” You said, smiling softly. “Is that what you do for a living, the landscaping job? I’ve never actually asked what you do for work.”

“No, actually. I mean, I own the company, but I don’t work for it. My actual job is something else entirely.”

“What is it?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d believe me.” Before you could ask, he took you by the hand and said, “Let’s take a break and get a coffee. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” You said, letting the subject drop. For now.

You got to the food court outside of the botanical gardens and sat down at the outdoor cafe.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said, putting some money down on the table. “Can you order me a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” You said. He smiled and headed off. You got up and put in your order, then sat back down at the table and opened the security app, looking through the cameras and checked to see if anything was out of place.

The chair opposite to you was pulled out and he sat back down while you were still looking at your phone.

“The coffee should be out soon,” You said.

“I didn’t order coffee,” A voice said. It wasn’t Bashir.

You jerked your head up and saw Jake sitting across from you. You stood up so fast that you knocked the chair over.

“Get away from me, Jake,” You said.

“Look, just talk to me,” He said, standing up and advancing on you. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Get away from me!” You shouted. “Bashir!”

“Are you calling for that monster?” He sneered. “You could do so much better than him. Besides, you’re not even really dating him, you’re just paying him to keep you company, you slut. You think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

“Fuck you!” You back up. “Bashir!”

Jake was snatched back and slammed down onto the cafe table. Bashir had him pinned down with a single hand. It wasn’t hard to do: Bashir was almost twice the size of Jake in height and weight.

“Let me go!” Jake said, struggling against Bashir’s iron grip. “I’ll have you arrested! My brother’s a cop!”

“Ah, that explains how you got her address so quick,” Bashir said. “I don’t really care if your brother’s a cop. Actually, I think I do, I think an internal affairs investigation is warranted. Regardless, you’ve just violated a restraining order.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Bashir snorted. “I’m FBI, dickless.”

You gaped at him.

“Bullshit!” Jake said. “I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll ruin your fucking life!”

“Whatever you want, you’re still under arrest,” Bashir said, pulling out a set of handcuffs from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re kidding,” You said slowly, staring at Bashir.

“I told you you probably wouldn’t believe me,” He said, grinning at you sheepishly. He jerked his head at his jacket. “My ID is in my pocket.”

You reached in and fished it out, opening the leather fold to reveal a… rather official looking ID and badge.

You laughed in disbelief. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

The police arrived to detain Jake and took him to the station. Bashir drove you to the station, as well, so that you could make a statement.

Later, Bashir drove you back to your house.

“I’ll bring your bag over later,” He said. “He’ll probably get ninety days in jail for violating the restraining order, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Although, if you hear from him again once he gets out, let me know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Really, thank you for everything.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” He said, handing it to you. Inside was all the money you had given him for the dates, plus some. There had to have been almost two thousand dollars in there.

“But this is…”

He laughed. “I’m a federal official, you know. I can’t take bribes. I’d get fired.”

“This wasn’t…” You started, but stopped yourself. This could absolutely be seen as a bribe. “What do I do with all this?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Go on a trip. Buy something nice. It’s your money, after all.”

You sighed a little sadly. “I guess this is it, then.”

He sighed, too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward, bent down, and kissed you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Jake did end up getting three months in jail, which made you feel a lot better. You were worried that he would come after you, but the three months passed and when he was released, he moved clear across the country and you never heard from him again.

Finally free of him, you thought you might try actually dating again, but you could only think of Bashir. You and he had only spoken a few times, mostly him checking on you, but you hadn’t seen each other since Jake’s arrest. You missed him, but you couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t have any feelings for you, anyway. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked you out after Jake was out of the picture?

Even still, you wanted to see him again. So once Jake was gone, you texted Bashir.

>I have something for you, You told him.

>Oh? What’s that?

>I want to give it to you in person. Would it be okay to come over this weekend?

>I’m free now. Why don’t you stop by?

>Okay. I’ll be there soon.

Before leaving, you hesitated and decided to throw on your best, sexiest underwear. Just in case.

You arrived at his house to find him out in the front yard. He was digging a hole in the yard with a sapling sitting in a bucket, ready for planting. There were also stones and gravel he was going to use for a decorative barrier. He stood up and waved as you drove up into the driveway.

“Hey!” He said, pulling you into a hug. Well, as well as he could, being so tall. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too!” You said. “What kind of tree is that?”

“A Chinese Maple,” He said. “I got inspired when we went to the botanical gardens that time. It cost a pretty penny and I had to wait for the cutting to grow, but it’s finally ready to plant.”

“That’s so cool,” You said. “Can I help?”

“Really?” He said, grinning. “Yeah, sure! There’s a pair of gloves over there on the porch. They might be a little big, but it’s better than blisters.”

You ran to retrieve them, and picked up a trowel. “Why did you decide on the maple?”

“Cause it reminds me of you,” He said, digging. “When I look out my window every day and see it, I’ll think of you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t look at him.

It only took about an hour to dig out the hole, plant the sapling, fill the hole with soil, lay the stones, and spread the gravel. Thankfully it was a cool day and you didn’t sweat too much. The two of you caught up on what had happened in the three months since you’d seen each other. You wanted to ask if he had started dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“It looks great,” He said, standing back and grinning. “Thanks for your help! We got it done in record time. Let’s get cleaned up and have a drink.”

“Okay,” You said. “Let me grab my purse from the car.”

“Oh, right, you had something to give me, right?”

“Yep,” You told him, grabbing your bag.

He laughed. “Sorry I side-tracked you.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time,” You said. He opened the door for you and let you go into the house before him.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up and when you looked down, you realized your toothbrush was in the holder, the one you had forgotten when you’d stayed over. You had bought a new one and figured he’d just throw it away when he found it. Why had he kept it? Why was it in the holder with his?

You went back out into the kitchen and found him shirtless, water beading down the muscles of his back, and you stopped in the doorway, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, laughing and throwing on a clean shirt. “Needed a quick wash. I felt a little grimy after the yardwork.”

“It’s okay,” You said, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Iced tea?”

“Yeah, sure,” You replied, sitting at the bar. He poured you a drink and sat at the bar opposite you.

“So, what was the thing you had for me.”

You swallowed your tea a bit too hard and reached into your purse, handing him an envelope.

“This isn’t the money, is it?” He asked, smiling.

“No, it’s not money,” You said. “Open it.”

He grinned playfully at you, but it slipped from his face when he looked inside the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets.

“Morocco?” He asked, looking up at you in surprise.

You nodded. “Those are good for a year, so make sure you get some vacation time soon,” You said, anxious.

He stared at them. “There are two.”

“Yes,” You replied. “In case you wanted to take your mom. Or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

You kept your face as neutral as possible, but he was staring at you.

“The extra ticket is for you, isn’t it?” He asked softly.

You looked down and away. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s okay. You can take whoever you like. I just wanted you to have the trip you always dreamed of.”

He got up out of his chair, came around, and got down on his knees, so that he was face to face with you. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was firm and testing, and you responded, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I missed you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” You asked him, pulling back to look at his face.

“I thought you weren’t interested in a real relationship,” He said, pulling you against him. “If I had any inclination you did, I would have asked you out on the spot.”

“I thought the same thing,” You said. “I never expected you’d actually like me.”

“I do,” He said, kissing you again and standing up. “I like you very, very much.”

He walked you into his room and lay you down on his bed, stripping your clothes off your body.

“Pretty,” He said with a grin as he came across your lacy black underwear. “Did you wear this for me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Well, it would be a shame to take it off so soon, then, wouldn’t it?” He said, palming your breasts over the fabric of your bra. He touched your slit over your underwear, and you gasped. You lifted your leg and rubbed him through his pants, and he grunted. You felt him harden under your touch. He was… uh… large.

You pulled off his shirt and ran your nails down his chest. He moved his hand away and pressed himself against you, still clothed, grinding himself into your clit, and you moaned. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it, unbuttoning it, and pushed his pants down with your toes. Because of his long tusks, he couldn’t bend down to kiss you in this position, so he picked you up as if you were a doll, kissing your body. You were always a little self conscious about your weight, being a big girl, but he seemed not to notice.

He lifted you all the way up to his face, kneeling down so that you weren’t so high up, and licked the cloth covering your slit, putting your legs over his shoulders and his tusks under your body. Using just his tongue, he moved your underwear out of the way and teased your clit. His tongue was long and thick. You whimpered and rocked your hips against his tongue. He pushed it in side of you and thrust it back and forth, and you writhed in his grip.

Carefully, he pulled you down and eased you into his lap, pressing himself against your entrance. You pressed your hands against his stomach and watched him disappear slowly inside you. He couldn’t go all the way in, but once he reached the back and knew where the limit was, he pulled back out slowly and thrust in again slowly, easing you into it. He must have had a similar size problem in the past and had learned how to overcome it in these situations. You were glad for it.

He lay you on the edge of the bed and pressed your knees back, thrusting a little faster, and you reached down and touched yourself, rubbing quickly as he sped up. He pulled the cups of your bra down so that he could grasp your breasts, squeezing gently, and grunted. You held his hand there with your own, pulling up your head and sucking on his pointer finger, looking up at him through your lashes. His breathing was erratic and he watched you hungrily, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and pricking the skin.

“I’m so close,” You moaned. “I’m going to cum.”

He nodded as if in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced as if in pain, but then shouted, roaring, and released inside of you. It was a torrent, spraying out of you. Another few hip thrusts and circles around your clit, you came too, your head thrown back against the bed, crying out.

He pulled out and turned his head, resting it against your stomach as his arms gripped your sides, breathing hard. After a moment, you both sat up, and you realized that his legs were covered with his own release.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said dreamily, standing up and leading you into the bathroom. You took a shower together, helping him clean himself. He did the same for you, kneeling down and washing your body. The way he knelt in front of you combine with the way he looked at you, it almost felt like he was worshiping you. Honestly, you didn’t mind that at all.

Your underwear would have to be washed, but he said you could borrow one of his shirts, if you wanted to. Honestly, you were happy to lounge in his bed naked. He seemed happy with that, too.

“When would you like to go?” You asked him, laying on his chest and playing with his chest hair. “To Morocco, I mean?”

“Soon,” He said, entwining his fingers in your hair. “I’ll put in for vacation time as soon as I get back to the office. I don’t really take vacations, so I’m sure my colleagues will be surprised.”

You smiled and kissed his skin. “I’ll have to put in for time off, too,” You said. “Although, I only just started working there six months ago, so they may not approve it.”

“Let me know when they do and I’ll schedule for the same time,” He said.

“Sounds good to me,” He said, sitting up and crossing his legs, looking down at you. You posed a little for him and he grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of your torso and belly. “You know what I’d like to do right now, though?”

“What’s that?” You asked.

“I want to take you on a date,” He said, smiling softly. “A real one. I'll pay and everything. And I want to be able to kiss you.”

You smiled back at him. “Deal.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[clairenatural]

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.