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laurorne · 1 day

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༊*·˚ HE MADE A SLAVE OF ME | daemon targaryen x targtower!reader, minor aegon ii targaryen x twin wife!reader

summary: confined to the sullen walls of the red keep, there isn’t far you’re afforded to wander. entertained only by the people you silently watch, you find excitement in the visit of your older sister and uncle. though the latter is far more appealing to spend the night with, and more willing.

warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest (uncle x niece), porn with plot, p in v, rough sex, slapping, degradation, masochism, blood play?, praise kink, breath play/choking, breeding kink, a lil’ stomach bulge, cheating on both halves, swearing, possibly inaccurate high valyian (i tried?), weird pure bloodline shit, fiending for that valyrian d, hightowerphobic daemon, bastardphobic reader, they’re haters, first time writing full fic of smut how'd i do?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: daemon is so ugly but he’s so hot it’s so bad, i literally felt compelled to write this is and i did?? 😭 there’s no reason for matt smith to have made him that sexy. (this was my inspo for this entire fic, bless tiktok editors 🙏🏼🙏🏼)

As a daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, you'd found that most people bent to your will regarding requests. The lords would bend over twice fold if it meant a chance at earning your hand, and the girls at court dared not step a foot before you in the case you'd remove them from your entourage of highborn ladies.

With eyes so doe-like and lips like honey, one would mistake you for just that, a doe, not the dragon draped beneath green silk that shifted like flames in a hearth.

That's how you'd created yourself. How you'd curated each step and each titter of laughter, every slow blink at every lord and all those tight lipped smiles at ladies of court who came too close to your family.

People at court had said that you were the best half of your twin brother, that he had taken all the bad traits so you could shine as the darling of the realm. Poor, sweet Aegon. Ever the scapegoat and always the perpetrator.

So as you sit across from your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, you find yourself rather... without.

He sits beside your half-sister. A beautiful glow on her skin as she laughs along with something your father had said. She's stunning, Valyrian in every sense of the word. With her pale hair and aquiline nose, you can see why she was adored.

Other than the Realm's utter Delight, dinner is less than… familial.

Everyone can clearly see the divide between both sides of House Targaryen. The Hightowers sat to the right of the King, the mix of Targaryen and brown-haired Velaryon to his left. You find no warmth in this arrangement, other than false pretenses of civility and feigned love for each other, the entire affair is only for show of the poor old King.

Though there is an affair that consumes your thoughts, a tryst that would no doubt end messily. So you opt to speak with your family, with a spare glance thrown his way just to divulge yourself after all these years of self-control.

Daemon understands the weight of your gaze on him. Even from across the table he can feel the way your eyes trace his features, the way you're devouring him without lifting your fork or grinding your teeth or even touching him. Your supposed indifference to the sides that the house of the dragons has taken makes his fingers twitch around his goblet. You're speaking with Baela and Rhaena as if you've sat beside them in court for years, doting on their new dresses and telling them snippets of what they've missed at the Red Keep.

Jacaerys' gaze is flittering over to your figure every couple of seconds, eyes dipping to your dangerously low neckline of your green dress, every time you laugh and your chest heaves he looks away like a wide-eyed virgin. Red at the ears as he scolds Lucerys for holding a fork wrong, Daemon guesses, with the way the older boy points to another utensil.

And your family, gods.

Your twin brother, Aegon, is attempting to drink away his sorrows but you're always quick to scoop the cup out of his grasp and palm it off to a servant. The fool simply allows you, resigning to watch everyone speak as you have him by the balls practically. And to still have him fawning over you, his pretty little twin-wife, is absurdity.

Aemond is glaring daggers at Rhaenyra's boys and Helaena is off in an entire world of her own.

When he looks back to you and finds those lilac-coloured iris' already poised on him, his jaw clenches and he takes another pass at his Dornish wine. The way your hair falls in pure white curls around your face and frames the heavy gorget necklace that adorns your neck, inlaid with moonstone and rubies that look eerily similar to the ones from the Conquerors crown. Spoiled Hightower brat.

Daemon is far from naïve. He's been apart of how many wars?

He's a seasoned veteran to these types of women, to their greedy plans and treacherous thoughts.

Though... that colouring that she has, so clearly a staple of House Targaryen, he's not so convinced that he's entirely immune. He's sure that his nephew is beyond stupid to not have made you a mother sooner. With tits like that and eyes so sweet? He'd have you swollen with babe two moons after your last birth.

He watches the way you lick a droplet of wine from the corner of your mouth, watches the way your eyes flicker from Jacaerys to him, and he can see it then. Something so wanton in your gaze.

Perhaps paying a visit to his dear, sweet niece tonight would not be such a bad thought.

You arch up into the touch —his touch— as shivers run along the length of your spine. His hand smooths over the swell of your breast in response, easing your ache as you squirm for more. It travels over the fat of it until his fingers pinch roughly at your nipple. A stuttering breath punches its way from your throat as he stares down at your face.

“So eager, aren’t we?” He admires the way your lips part, the way your eyes dance back into focus and meet his heated gaze. The way you seek out the eye contact. Want to know he’s watching the show you’re putting on.

Just as you’re forming the vowels on the tip of your tongue, he’s grabbing a fistful of your thigh and pushing his hips impossibly closer to yours. It makes you shudder, makes you want all the more. But there is no give to his press, he’s seated far too deeply inside you to move any further in. He’s pulling his hips back just the smallest fraction before he starts inching back in, heavy and hot and oh-so deep it burns.

Your tongue swipes over your lips, your hand moving to clutch onto the arm that props him up above you. The thickly corded muscle makes holding onto him all the easier, makes your cunt flutter and your chest heave and your eyes water. He’s so large, far different from your husband, this pure-blooded Valyrian —this man— he’s encompassing your body and stuffing you all at the same time, filling, holding and folding you how he wants.

You move to weave your fingers into the loose strands of his hair but the hand that was cradling your thigh is quick to grasp your wrist, tugging the appendage away as he begins dragging his hips back. “Where did all your words go, dōna riña?” (sweet girl)

You swallow thickly, fingers balling up as he oh-so slowly pulls out til’ just the tip rests in you. It’s agonising, having been so full not even moments ago, you feel empty. It’s involuntary, the way your hips lift towards him, cunt greedily taking him as you stifle the way your breath hitches. His thighs tense up as he groans, fingers tightening around your wrist as his hips rock forwards just the tiniest bit.

“Daemon, please.” It’s breathy, spoken from someplace in your chest that you feel with every inch of your body. “I want you.”

Your eyes only just catch the tic in his jaw as he drops your wrist, immediately grabbing a fistful of your tit and pushing back into you. Hips meeting flush as he glares down at you. The grip he’s got on your fit fucking hurts, but you’d be damned if it doesn’t set all your nerves on fire.

“Ilībio,” He all but snarls. (whore)

You don’t even register the next thrust before he’s pulling out again. He leans forward, large hand coming to press down onto your throat. His fingers curl around your neck —encompassing it entirely as he presses down onto you— using you for leverage as he fucks into you.

You moan, mouth falling open as he uses your body and paws at your tit messily. You can feel the flesh spill from between his fingers, feel the sensitive peak rubbing against his rough palm.

It’s driving you insane.

The hand leaves your tit, moving to the next and grabbing on just as roughly. He hits a particularly forceful thrust that has you jolting up the bed, back arching up as you whine. Your legs curl around his hips, thighs bouncing with each stroke, making a distinct slapping as he fucks you into the plush sheets of your bed. You roll your pelvis to the rhythm he sets, it’s practised, timed and purely filth.

“You belong in the,” He pauses as he sneers down at you, watching his cock sink deep into your tight little cunt. “Street of Silk.”

You can only sigh out a breath as his hand clamps down on your throat, your air coming in short bursts only when he pulls out to thrust back in.

“Your husband mustn’t have fucked you well enough.” He thrusts violently on husband, heavy cock bullying its way back into you as your cunt clenches.

His words are driving you closer to the edge, making you feel all the slicker as he fucks you, uses you like he’s your husband. Like you belong to him. Like you’re the sister he married in the ways of Old Valyria —in the ways of your house— in blood and fire.

The thick drag of his dick brings you back from your cock drunk haze, his words ringing in your brain as he watches your lashes flutter.

“Tight like a Lyseni virgin,” He buries himself into you until oxygen evades you entirely, all his weight resting on your throat as he leans in, licking a stripe up your throat and biting at your pulse point. “Wet like a pillow house whore.”

You writhe beneath him, fingers curling into the thickly corded forearm that presses you down into the bed, he teasingly slows to a stop only to rocks forwards. Watching your eyes turn hazy as your hips twitch up onto him. Jerkily grinding onto him as you struggle to take a breath.

“Struggling to breathe and you still want me to fill you, tala.” He smiles down at you, lifting a hand from your throat to caress the bone of your cheek. “So desperate for it.”

Oh, how badly you want to spit an insult at him. How badly you want to punch him and pull on his hair and suck marks into the muscled line of his shoulder.

He lifts the heel of his palm slightly, just when the edge of your vision was beginning to cloud. A quick respite of air before he’s pressing a bruising kiss to your pouty lips. Teeth digging into your bottom lip as he fully cups the side of your face. Tongue pressing into your mouth intrusively as he overwhelms you. Full of cock, his tongue, and being pinned to the bed by the entire weight of him.

The red hot coil in your stomach is cooling quickly, fading away into nothing as he devours you in the most deliciously possessive kiss you’ve ever had. His thumb presses roughly into the bone of your cheek as he thrusts gently into you. There’s a bloom of pain in your lip as he begins pulling away, teeth biting your bottom lip as he lifts himself back up. Blood smears your pearly white teeth, and you can taste it on your tongue.

Your chest heaves as you grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his face back down so you can kiss him roughly. You practically consume him with this kiss, wanting and needy as you fight to gain control. He pants out a chuckle, thumb pulling on your chin as he licks over the cut and your teeth. Your fingers tangle in his white strands and you give a sharp tug, the rasp that escapes him sends a needy throb through your cunt. But you take his unfocus as a chance to lick into his mouth, cunt throbbing as his lower half folds you over, sinking into you so deeply it makes your hips twitch and writhe in pain.

You fight against the pain, neck aching as you crane up against his weight, biting his lip harshly until you feel the break of his skin between your teeth. Blood mixing in your mouths as he pants into your mouth, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth as he looks down at you with something akin to satisfaction.

“Smile, tala.” (niece)

You breath in shallowly, greedily taking in air that you neglected yourself of.

“Uh-uh,” He squeezes your cheeks together, until your lips pout and he presses down onto your jaw hard. “Smile.”

And you do, lips pulling up as best they can with his fingers holding your jaws apart. He lets his fingers loosen so he can watch your teeth peak out from beneath your abused and bloody lips. You can guess that you both look the same, blood staining your teeth a burning carmine. The colour of House Targaryen.

“Good girl.” His voice is condescending as he pats your cheek roughly, pushing himself back up, and sitting back on his knees as he stares down at you through wispy strands of platinum hair. Dick sitting heavy inside you, fill to the point of it being a bit hard to breathe. Your sheets reeks of sweat and sex, and the iron tang of blood sits in the air and on your tongues.

His hands smooth over your thighs, thumb running along a pink scar nestled closely to your knee.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tits on full display while you look up at him through those pretty lashes, admiring the scars that mar the pale skin of his torso and the blood the runs a rivulet down his chin. “What are yo-“

He unwraps your legs from his waist, grabbing at the back of your thighs and pushing them towards you. You whine at the sudden movement, the blunt tip of him nudging against what the deepest parts of you. Pressing you in half with ease until he can hold your legs against his chest with one arm. The other coming to rest against the soft spot of your stomach as he hovers over you.

“Fucking an heir into you,” He presses a quick kiss to your calf before he’s snapping his hip forward and pressing down on your stomach. And that’s when you feel him. You let out a breathy moan as he fucks you, with your back arched toward him as you let him take you.

Like a virgin during her bedding ceremony.

His fingers leave pale prints in your skin as he grips onto the meat of your thighs so tightly. His thighs slapping against the backs of your legs while he fucks his length into you. With his arm wound tightly around your knees, there’s no way you can move or adjust or even move with him, you’re practically in his lap as he uses your hipbone for leverage.

Choked-out pants and whiny breaths are the only noise you can make as the hand that was holding your legs together drifts to your soaked pussy. Thumb slipping through until he bumps into your clit —he can tell by the way your tits heave and your cunt clenches impossibly tighter— and he can’t help but snicker as he presses down onto the poor thing. Hands used for more than just sword fighting, skilled in pleasing wives long gone that were no doubtingly three times older than you, are so deliciously textured.

“Hightower votrītsos nȳmagon wal morghūljagon.” Your maternal house is spat with hatred, he punctuates it with thrusts that grow more violent as he claims you. (hightower cunt calls men to die.)

“Iksā kempa isse nyke, issi ao daor, kepa?” You heave the sentence, attempting to speak without falter as he continues his selfish pleasure seeking manhandling. (you are heavy in me, are you not uncle?)

He grunts, nose scrunching up for a moment as a strand of hair dangles between his eyes. Silver locks messy. His thumb flicks over your clit again —a full-bodies shudder follows— so he can stare intently at your bouncing tits without the chatter.

“Aōha Valyrio Eglie jorrāelagon mirre.” (your High Valyrian needs work)

You admire the way his hair falls to his shoulders, undone from its hairstyle tonight at dinner, the slope of his shoulders to the plains of his front. A battlefield of cut muscle and scars that create ridges and valleys. Your eyes dart up as his nails cut into the skin of your calf, his lip curls up as his eyes finally drift from the harsh jerk of your pliable body beneath him, to your lilac eyes.

His eyes are dark, ringed by what little purple you can see in the darkness of your lonely chambers. The way he looks down at you, the look of curiosity, of lust, of hatred, it burns in your throat and makes your thighs quiver as he just stares.

You could nearly compare it to the way Aegon admires his cups, the way he drinks in every hitch of your breath, the way he huffs your scent, the stutter in his hips at every flutter of your cunt around him.

(Akin to Aegon’s lust for Dornish import wine, he drinks you in and savours the way your body begs for the extra inch.)

Your fingers tangle up in the silken sheets of your bed as you stutter, stomach quivering as he keeps his hips in motion, brining you oh-so close to your peak. Though it’s barely enough, used to the drunken fumble of your twin, you need a rougher edge, a little more pain. He’d just need a push.

“Iksā iā buzdari naejot kasta orvorta. Hae se dārys.” (you are a slave to green cunt. like the king)

He hums, brows pinching together as his thrusts grow sloppy and unpractised, like the green boy your husband had been on your wedding day.

“Kostilus ziry ūndan mirros hae bisa,” He circles your clit roughly, pad of his thumb rubbing deliciously against your slick cunt. “gōvilagon aōha muña grēza.” (perhaps he saw something like this, beneath your mothers dress.)

You let out a strangled moan, hips rocking up to meet his every thrust. The coil in your stomach is tightening and heating and making your thighs twitch and tense, and he doesn’t seem to take the movement kindly. The rhythm stutters when he forces one of your legs to his side as he surges forward to capture your mouth in a crushing kiss. Your other leg is caught over his shoulder as he moves in and it stretches muscles you hadn’t know existed in your legs as he bullies his way deeper and deeper, like he owns you, like your his to ruin.

“I would have loved taking your maidenhead.” He breaths the word into your mouth as the cuts on your lips open anew, smearing blood across your mouths, cheeks and noses. The kiss he pulls you into next is careless and messy, all knocking teeth and hot breathes.

“I- I’m,” He cuts you off by wrapping his hand back around your throat, pinning you down as his nose buries itself in the hair on the side of your head.

A blinding heat curls in your stomach and your cunt flutters around the abusive cock he fucks you with. The one leg that wasn’t pinned between you both is quick to pull his hips flush to you as you moan wantonly, though it’s smothered by his hand. Chest heaving and pale baby hairs sticking to your forehead as your lashes flutter closed. Taking the last few cants of Daemon’s hips as he finishes inside you, spilling deep inside you with heavy panting accompanied by a groan.

Everything is all warm, floating in your soft bed as the heavy man above you lets his weight onto you fully. Cock keeping you stuffed with his seed.

The hand on your throat drifts to your hair —you gulp down air as you feel an ache begin to form— deft fingers stroking at the loose strands behind your ear as he breathes in the perfume oil of the Dragons Breath flowers you'd chosen for tonight.

“I may take you to wife, with a cunt like that.” He murmurs, fingers tightening around those stray strands of hair as he lifts his face to meet yours. Pupils blown wide as he rolls his hips to nestle nicely between yours. That leg wedged between you both falling loose, and landing on the bed softly.

Oh?

That sentence shouldn't have made you so giddy, nor should it make a delighted grin pull across your bruised lips.

A plan well curated, is always fruitful.

TAGS: @avalyaaa

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #targaryen incest

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water-loos · 2 days

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Chocolate

“We’re dressed in black from head to toe, we’ve got guns hidden under our petticoats”

dealer!eddie x witchy!ditsy!fem!reader

cw: drug mention, drug use mention, tooth rotting fluff

wc: 1,504

“Babe, just because they’re purple and you like the color does not mean that the Blazy’s are better,” Eddie groaned for the umpteenth time, looking at the older man behind the smoke shop counter for a lifeline.

“They’re the same price as the RAW cones! You’re the one who said we should expand the market and try and get some new customers. I’m telling you, all of my friends would start buying from you if they were getting a purple preroll. Even better if it’s a purple preroll of the special dreaming blend that I came up with,” You smiled brightly, long, dark nails tapping excitedly on the glass countertop. “It’s a great marketing tactic.”

“Sweetheart—“

“She’s got a point, Eddie. The ladies love it when their shit is all pretty,” The shop owner snorted.

“Thank you, Dennis!” You motioned toward the man, rings clacking on the counter as your hand came to rest on top. “A little sexist, but correct. Please, Eddie?”

When Eddie looked back at you, you could see his eyes melt. “Fine. Give me two shorts, two regulars, and two kings.”

“One pink, one purple?”

“Yes please!” You reached up to kiss your boyfriend right on the apple of his cheek, leaving behind a black cherry-colored lipstick mark. “I promise it’ll be worth it. I’ll pinky swear on it.”

“You get your cones and your blend, that’s it,” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he looked down at you pointedly. “That’s it. I’m not having you take over my business, alright?”

“Mhm. That’s it. Just those,” You confirmed, nodding your head. “Can you ring up a few of those fun little incense cones in a separate order, Dennis? I’m running out and I need some for my altar.”

“Will do, sweetie. Just don’t give your man any more trouble, alright?”

“On my life, I will not give him any more trouble.”

——

You swore up and down that you would stop at the cones and the special blend of weed and other herbs.

But then you found a pack of navy blue mesh bags covered in tiny stars that could comfortably fit half an ounce at the craft store. In the clearance aisle. For $2.99.

“Baby, you have got to be kidding me,” Eddie sighed, watching you come in the door, platform boots stomping excitedly as you bounded into the living room of your shared trailer, the bags clutched in your hands. “Don’t tell me those are what I think they are.”

“They are that exactly! Aren’t they cute? Look,” You swung yourself into his lap, legs hanging over the arm of the rocker he had been lounging in. His arm instinctively wrapped around you and rested on your hip, making sure you wouldn’t fall off. “They can fit at least half an ounce and still have room. Not to mention the amount of prerolls you can fit! And they tie super nicely so you can keep everything together!”

His head buried into the crook of your neck, his dramatic groaning rumbling against your skin. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Is that a yes? Please tell me that’s a yes,” You immediately get excited, dropping the bags into your lap and looping your arms around his drooping shoulders. “Have I told you I love you this afternoon? If not, I love you. I love you more than the sky and the sea and the moon and the stars—“

“Yes, angel, you’ve told me you love me more than I can count today,” He laughed sweetly, lifting his head to look at your expression. You could tell he was trying so hard to stand his ground, but the smile on his lips gave him away. “I can’t let you use the bags, though. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“What, your reputation among college kids who invite you to every function even though you graduated two years early?” You joke, nodding toward his high school and college diplomas, which were framed above your fireplace. “What a thing to ruin!”

“Are you really going to bring up me graduating every chance you get?”

“Absolutely,” You kissed him sweetly, one hand smoothing over his hair. “My smart boy.”

“Okay, now you’re just buttering me up, you sap,” He ducked away, watching you cackle with a grin on his face. “How about we compromise?”

“A compromise?”

“Yes. You can make your fancy little prerolls with your mix and put them in your pretty little bags,” Your eyes widened, surprised that he was letting you do it that easily. “But, nothing else. No edibles, no flower, and none of the raw cones I’m still working through, okay?”

“I can work with that! It’s like a little side business! A partnership!”

“Yep. A partnership,” He tapped your hip and sat up slightly. “Let’s go get some stuff ready for later, alright? I’ve got to drop off to those monthly guys up in Chicago tonight.”

“Let me text some people and see if they want anything,” You got up off his lap, handing the bags off to him as he rose. “Can you put these at my seat while I go grab us some drinks?”

Eddie sighed heavily, rolling his eyes playfully. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“I love you, just a reminder!” You called as you left the room, a shit-eating grin on your face.

——

You ended up finding a few friends from college who lived in the city and wanted to try the new “dream bundles” as you called them. Each bundle was packaged with care and love, and Eddie watched endearingly as you meticulously packed each and every cone, lined them up in the bags, and even included some candies from your personal stash. The bags looked almost comical next to the brown bags that your boyfriend’s regular orders were in, but as you piled into his van, both his and your bags piled into one of your many tote bags, they looked perfect together.

He held your hand the whole two-hour drive into the city, a mixture of alternative rock and metal blaring through the speakers as you both sang along at the top of your lungs, a smile permanently etched into your lips. Eddie even let you be the one to run the bags up to each of his clients, watching with a lovesick smile and your favorite puppy dog eyes as each and every one of them smiled, happy to see you and your bubbly personality.

You practically skipped away from the final house of the night, grinning from ear to ear. You had sweet-talked the customer, a 6’3 and honestly terrifying security guard, into buying a couple of your special bundles for his girlfriend, who had waved at you from behind the open door.

With your empty tote bag swinging from your hand and your front pockets full of cash, you pranced up to Eddie, who leaned against the side of his van with a grin that could stop hearts on his face. Except, he was looking at you, who was the picture of joy.

“D’you see? I got him to buy three bundles! I told you they’d be a big seller,” You smiled brightly, chains jingling as you rocked back and forth on your heels. “He got them for his new girlfriend and he said he’d let you know how she likes them.”

“That’s great sweetheart,” He reached forward to pull you close and kiss your cheek. He watched you pull the big bills of cash out of your pocket, folded perfectly and all in the same direction and put it into his pocket instead. “We make a good team.”

“The best! You’ve gotta let me keep doing this, babe,” You pull your tote bag over your shoulder and loop your hands around his neck, stepping on the tiptoes of your boots. “They love me. And it’s so fun!”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “What kind of influence am I, huh? Getting you to enjoy this whole thing?”

“The worst ever,” You hum, smiling at his almost drunk expression as he looked at you. “I think my parents would have a conniption if they knew what I was out doing right now.”

“Oh, what will I ever do if your parents find out that I’ve corrupted their precious angel?” He laid the sarcasm on thick, reveling at the giggle you let out as he smushed a kiss to the soft skin of your cheek. He pulled back after, pecked a quick kiss to your lips, and tapped your hip with the hand that held his car keys. “C’mon. Let’s get home and pack a bowl with some of that mix you’ve been selling. I wanna see what it’s all about.”

“Really?”

He stepped back and opened the passenger side door for you. “Really really.”

“Yes!” You celebrated, grabbing his face and smacking a kiss to his lips before you leaned down into your seat. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #dealer!eddie #fanfiction #stranger things #oneshot #my work!

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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 3 days

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They Mates - with Y/N Pt 4

Summary - Hybern’s a problem (but when is he not) and this whole Cauldron situation, out. Of. Hand. Based on Ch 19 of ACOMAF

Notes/Other Warnings - Vulgar gestures, language, my grammar. As always lines/plot points directly or heavily inspired by the series itself. 1.4k words. 2nd pov again for a more intimate look into Y/N and Az’s relationship.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

You stood with Azriel near the window in the sitting room of the townhouse. It was snowing lightly outside, dusting the outside world. Cassian lounged near the fire, next to Mor. He felt tense, like an animal waiting to jump out of its cage after spending too much time cooped up. Amren was not present—where she was, you did not know. You all were waiting for your High Lord and Feyre to return from their trip to the Bone Carver for information.

As you watched the snow build up outside your mind wandered back to earlier that morning. Nearly five-hundred years Azriel had been your mate, and still every morning was utter bliss. You could still feel his teeth scraping lightly across the shell of your ear and his lips trailing—

“Amren’s right,” Rhysand said.

You snapped out of your thoughts to see him standing in the threshold. Feyre stood next to him.

“You are like dogs, waiting for me to return home. I ought to buy treats for the lot of you,” Rhys continued.

Cassian flipped him off, the tension in his system still evident. You stepped forward to smack Cassian’s shoulder. The general gave you a withering look. The High Lord of Night narrowed his eyes at the pair of you. You stepped back as Feyre, who looked chilled headed for the armchair near the hearth. You returned to your spot next to your mate who stood in contemplation, a constant for him.

“How’d it go,” Mor asked to quickly glance between Feyre and Rhys, who had finally stepped into the room.

“The Bone Carver,” Rhys said with a sigh, “has too much time on his hands considering how often he likes to pry into others people’s business.”

You reached for Azriel’s hand, unsure of what to do in the moment. Your mate didn’t protest, his shadows swirling around your wrist for a few moments. You could see Feyre’s eyes dart to the sight. The mortal said nothing.

Cassian broke through the silence, his hands falling to brace his knees. “But…?”

“But, the busybody can be useful, when he chooses,” Rhys replied with another sigh. “He informed us that the Cauldron was originally hidden at the bottom of the frozen lake in Lapplund, but vanished a while ago. But three of the feet on which the Cauldron used to stand were cleaved from it, in an attempt for power. Each foot was hidden in a different temple.”

You didn’t exactly need Rhys to spell out the rest for you. People were after the Cauldron, after its power again. “Shit,” you murmured. Cassian, to your surprise said nothing, only sat up a bit straighter.

“Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica,” the high lord listed out. “The King of Hybern seeks to return the Cauldron to its full glory.”

It was a suspicion most everyone in the room had. You could sense the grimness of it all, the way the room shifted even though most were expecting it. You glanced to Mor who looked back at you, giving a well this isn’t good look.

“The mortal queens have one part of the Book, Tarquin the other,” Rhys finished.

You sucked in a breath before Azriel stepped forward, his shadows lightening from around his form. “I will contact my sources in the Summer Court about the other half of the Book of Breathings on where it is hidden. I can aldo fly to the human world. See if I can locate their half before we ask them for it.”

The High Lord of Night shook his head. “I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, Azriel. Not anyone outside this room, except for Amren.”

“They can be trusted, Rhysand,” you defend as Azriel’s shadows grew thicker for a moment before lightening up. Az let go of your hand, fists curling slightly, staring at his high lord. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I, we, are not taking risks where the Cauldron or the Book is concerned,” Rhys responded calmly. Rhys returned his spymaster’s stare.

You reached for your mate’s hand, and his fingers slowly uncurled, eyes drifting away from Rhysand’s face and back to your own. You gently intertwined your fingers with his.

“So what do you have planned,” Mor asked.

“Well,” Rhys responded as he picked at absolutely nothing on his leathers. A habit you had noticed he got when growing up. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples for a piece of the Cauldron, which, as far as I am concerned, is an act of war.”

“Of course he wants war,” You interjected more strongly than you had anticipated. “For the Mother’s sake we were an ally to the humans during…the War. He would never dare sway you at risk of revealing his plans.”

Cassian nodded in agreement before adding, “Amarantha’s cronies likely reported to him Under the Mountain.”

“Hybern and his forces successfully infiltrated our lands, without detection. I have every intention of returning the favor.” Your high lord straightened himself up slightly.

“How?” Mor asked, before you could.

“We go to Hybern to bring the Cauldron back or go to nullify it.”

You thought you might just laugh at that. “Hybern would already have countless wards to protect it.”

You could feel Az’s thumb over the back of your hand, gently rubbing as if to try and ease some of the tension from your body. “Y/N’s right. We would need to find a way to get through them, undetected,” your mate added.

“Then we start, now while we hunt down the Book. We do it swiftly, so by the time we have both halves we can get through without word spreading quickly,” Rhys said like it was the simplest solution possible—the simplest task possible.

“And how qre you planning to retrieve the Book?” Cassian added.

“These objects are spelled to each high lord and can only be found using their power.”

You looked to Feyre, almost apologetically. Thrown into this life and world and she was being asked to find pieces of the Book of Breathings itself using powers she received because she died. A shuddering feeling went through you. As if in defense of the girl you looked at Rhys. “You don’t know that it will work.”

Rhys smiled slightly. “True—but there is a way to test it.”

“Mother’s tits! Here we go again,” Cassian grumbled from his place besides Mor.

Your eyes danced over to your mate whose eyes had narrowed slightly, your fingers still intimately intertwined.

“With your abilities, Feyre ,” Rhys began, ignoring his Inner Circles words, “you might just might be able to find the half of the Book in the Summer Court. To be certain, to make sure when it counts, when we need it, when we need you, we’re going on another trip… see if you can find an object that I’ve been missing for quite some time.”

You let out another heavy sigh knowing exactly where this was going, Az still rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Shit,” Mor groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Where,” Feyre asked tremulously.

“The Weaver,” Azriel responded. His thumb stoped rubbing your hand.

“Who is the Weaver,” the new fae asked.

“An ancient and wicked creature,” Azriel responded with a sharp exhale, that tickled the back of your ear. “Who should remain unbothered,” thr spymaster shot in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhys pushed on. “I want to see of Feyre can identify the object amongst the Weaver’s trove.”

“Oh! By the Cauldron!!” Mor exclaimed. You couldn’t disagree with her.

“The Weaver,” Feyre began to press, “the Bone Carver. Can you just call someone by a name?”

You let out a soft chuckle with a slight angling of your head. She had a point. Something in the sound your momenary joy eased the shadowsinger.

“What about adding another name to that list?” Rhysand asked Feyre who had finally seemed to warm up.

A few grumbles sounded about the room, including your own.

“Emissary,” Rhys said ignoring the room. “For the human realm,” Rhys clarified, looking to you as if ensuring you weren’t about to be fired from your position.

Good, Azriel thought to himself. You needn’t make any more travels than you were doing at present as Rhysand’s emissary in every other aspect. One less place for you to be caught in something dangerous. One less thing to pull you from his arms in the morning, and leave half of the bed empty at night. Truth was, even after nearly five-hundred years together, all he wanted to do was lay in bed with you and never leave the comfort of your embrace. Too bad the world had other plans.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria, @5onedirection5, @emryb

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #feyre #cassian #mor acotar #cassian acotar #amren acotar #2nd person pov

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anothermansjeans · 2 days

Note

I need to know what the rest of the bau thought of youtuber Reader when they first met them 😭

ah yes, i love a good bau reaction!! this takes place very early in their relationship 🫶

cw: fluff! mention of drinks, karaoke, MEETING THE TEAM!!

wc: 840

youtuber!reader masterlist

“We really don't have to go.”

You let out a loud laugh as you turned around, clasping a dainty necklace around your neck. “You're kidding, right?”

“I don't want you to feel pressured into meeting everyone. Especially because they'll crack jokes about us– mostly me– and I don't want it to be uncomfortable.” He sat on your bed, wringing his finger together as he spoke.

Once the necklace was secured, you walked towards him and placed your hands on his cheeks, feeling his hands automatically shift up towards your hips. “You could never make me feel pressured, Spence. You do the opposite! I feel so comfortable with you, I don't think meeting new people will kill me.” He let out a breathy laugh and squeezed your hips, prompting you to continue. “Plus, I've already met Penelope. I’m assuming that if your team is as half as caring as she is we’ll get along fine.”

“And the whole “joking about us” thing? You don't care?”

Brushing his hair back, you gave him a playful smile. “What do you think my comment section does to me whenever I bring up my ‘big-brained boyfriend’? I don't give a shit what someone has to say as long as we’re happy. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you smiled and placed a peck on his lips. “Now let’s get moving. I’ve heard the bar we’re going to has karaoke and I don't think I’m being my authentic self if I don't embarrass both of us with a terrible duet!”

Standing up and grabbing his jacket and your hand, Spencer let out a rushed, “we are not singing” as the two of you walked out of your apartment.

The two of you did end up singing. Multiple times!

When you first got to the bar, everyone was sitting at a high top waving over once they saw Spencer. Turns out, Penelope already shared a few of your videos with the group prior to your arrival and Emily and JJ were obsessed with you, David Rossi didn't understand the lifestyle (but showed his support), Aaron expressed how happy he was for Spencer and yourself, and Derek was a bit apprehensive– but for good reasons!

After everyone got acquainted, Derek made sure to pull Spencer to the side. “Are you sure you're up for her lifestyle?”

His question didn't come as a surprise to Spencer. It was actually a topic frequently talked about between the two of you, because you're always worried he’ll realize this isn't what he wants. But it is. He wants you. The lifestyle just comes with it. “Yeah, Morgan, I’m sure.” The face he made told Spencer he wasn't buying it. “I know it's soon but… I would do anything for her. It’s not rational and usually I would think these things through but–”

“I get it.” Derek’s words caused Spencer to look at him like a deer in headlights.

“You do?”

“Yeah, man. She seems great so far, I was just worried about. I’m happy for you.” Tilting his head over towards the group Derek, said his next words with a genuine smile, “let’s get back over there before the ladies eat her alive with their questions.”

The two men walked back over to the table as JJ was finishing up her question. “So these magazine companies ask you to do interviews for them on the red carpets?” you let out a small hum, prompting her to ask another question. “Wouldn’t it be easier to live in L.A or New York?”

At her question, you looked over at Spencer sitting back down beside you, and gave a smile before turning back to everyone. “Maybe… I was thinking about it earlier in the year but… things changed in my life and I think I have too much here I can't part with.” A coo of awes filled the table, which caused your cheeks to turn a shade of red. Feeling a hand on your knee, you looked over to Spencer and saw him smiling.

“That was sweet.”

“Mhmm.”

Spencer lifted an eyebrow, squeezing your knee as his words left his mouth, “you're embarrassed now?”

“...just a little…” looking up at him through your lashes, you could see his smile shift to a playful one. “Karaoke might help,” you added, watching as he rolled his eyes.

“And let me guess, me singing with you would help even more?”

“You really are a genius!” The two of you shared smiles, in your own little bubble completely oblivious of the awestruck team around you. “Come on! One song? Please?”

And he couldn't say no to you. So yes, you did end up singing. After a silly duet with just the two of you, Penelope joined in, and then a couple more members had to do a song as well. Multiple songs were sung, drinks shared, and memories made. If the team wasn't so transparent about taking a liken to you, Spencer would've sworn up and down that they loved you… almost as much as he realized he loved you.

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!!

#LOVE THEMMMM!!!#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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i-know-you-know-we-know-lee-know · 2 days

Text

Skz maknae line react to you falling asleep on them

This is pt 2 of the falling asleep on them reaction because I've let it marinate in my head for a few days and decided its time to be productive again😌

Hyung line

Tumblr deleted half of this draft so i had to rewrite it😭

Sorry this is shorter than the hyung line;-; i kinda took all the good ideas for that one

Warnings: Bad grammar, mild cursing

Han

*cracks knuckles*

I know everybody says he's shy-

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?

poor boy is flustered constantly

He would probably just be laying around doing nothing

Like me

And you would be 🥐pRoDuCtIvE✨

Realises i used a croissant instead of a sparkle

*insert surprised pikachu face*

Anyways

Doing chores, working, living, etc.

Ya know, hard things

Is what you would be doing

But say you didn't get much sleep the night before

So there's basically a zombie casually doing things around the house

When you come over and sit on his lap

Boi is sweating

Profusely

He's worried that he'll wake you up if he breathes too much

So he just kinda sits there all stiff

Untill you snore

And he's like

👁👄👁

Your asleep

And THEN he cuddles you

Because at this point he's decided that if you wake up he's just going to cuddle you right back to sleep

He would turn the TV volume down if he was watching something so he wouldn't wake you up

...

WHO WANTS A JISUNG TO CUDDLE THEM BACK TO SLEEP?

Stays: *raise their hands in unison*

He would play with your hair

You cant tell me he wouldnt

If you wake up he probably wouldn't even notice😭

He would just be staring off into space playing with your hair

He's also squishy

👌

Felix

Sunshine boi right here

Lets make that literal

And by literal i mean he's hot

Temperature wise i mean he's warm

😃

Anyways~

Its winter

And the two of you are taking a romp through the aesthetic snowy forest

But you know how walking through snow is exhausting

And your overheating in your snowgear

And the sun is blinding

*remembers winter is my favorite season*

Yeah...

So when you get back home your basically running on the thought of sleep

And the house is warm

And Felix is warm

*melts*

When you sit on his lap you do just that and fall asleep as soon as your comfortable

He would wrap you in a blanket like a lil burrito🥺

If you wake up he makes hot chocolate for you

But when he comes back with it he scares the shit out of you

Because you were already falling back asleep

Once you finish your drink you go back to sleeping

He would probably fall asleep too😭👌

Seungmin

*inhales*

He claims he hates it

But if you try to not sleep on his lap and hes near you

(๑•̀ㅁ•́๑)

#offended

Will literally drag you on to his lap

Lets say you just came home from a long trip without him

But when you came home he wasn't there

So you fell asleep waiting for him

And when he does come home he sees you

Takes a second to admire you

And pulls you on to his lap

You wake up and just

Oh its you

And fall right back asleep

He holds your waist

Or just puts his arms around your waist and holds you

When you wake up he just looks at you

You think he's about to kiss you

But he just kinda stares at you

You know the way Minho stares at Han?

Yeah

Hes looking at you like that

...

ALEXA PLAY CARELESS WHISPER

*𝓣𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓯𝔂*

Seungmin has been bias wrecking too hard recently😌 im weakening

*exhales*

Jeongin

Shy

But not stiff shy like Han

More like...

Squishy? Shy

Like ✨bread✨🍞

Idk

You had a really long day at school with a bunch of tests and basically slept through half of them

When you get home you B-line for him

And just climb into his lap without saying anything

He doesn't really know what to do with his hands

So he just wraps his arms around you

And hopes he's doing the right thing

If you wrap your arms around him he will freeze

And then kinda just relax into your arms

🥺

Baby bread

Would close his eyes and pull you closer

When you wake up you think he's sleeping

But he's just trying to make you stay asleep

EAGHSPWHEFUHCHEFT

Sorry just combusted rq

🇼‌🇭‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌ 🇸‌🇴‌ 🇨‌🇺‌🇹‌🇪‌

*my friends at my funeral*

Cause of death: Yang Jeongin

#skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids #han jisung #lee felix #seungmin #i.n #jeongin

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middlingmay · 2 days

Text

Marge is Gale's Beard AU

I don't know what happened, but this was supposed to be a funny cute little scene of Bucky stumbling across Marge getting a little frisky with another guy, not knowing she's not actually Gale's girlfriend, and promptly losing his shit. Like 1K words, max

BUT OVER 6000 WORDS LATER AND HERE WE ARE.

I need to be stopped, jesus fucking christ.

Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: violence, blood. Also period-typical attitudes towards monogamy.

Also, John doesn't look to good for part of this fic, but he is genuinely apologetic, and comes out the other side the John we all know and love. He's just going through some things!

Read under the cut!

Ostensibly, this little get together was a send off for Bucky who was being shipped off to Thorpe Abbotts in England thanks to his new and entirely unwanted position as Air Executive. But it was also a chance for the rest of the fellas to enjoy one more night of fun and frivolity with their loved ones before they left the States in a few weeks, some of them for the very first time. Maybe some of them for the last.

And for Buck, that meant none other than Marge.

They had been friends since they were kids. She was the first and remained the only girl he had ever brought home to his mother, and even father was on his best behaviour whenever she was around. Such was the power of Marjorie Spencer.

She was also the first and only girl he had ever kissed. They were teenagers, and even if Gale wasn’t as half-wild as his classmates about all the pretty girls, he was still a hormonal boy and one night, when he walked her home, he took her little face in his big hands and kissed her.

She’d pulled back frowning. “Gale. I don’t have brothers, but if I did I reckon that’s what it’d feel like to kiss ‘em.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d heard the nasty locker room talk about boys sporting half a woody just at kissin’ a girl, and Gale hadn’t felt so much as a flicker.

Then, some while later, he’d felt the full fury of those teenage hormones when James ‘Jett’ Granger, school football star, had bowled him over and landed on top of him on the floor with a thud.

Jett had laughed and apologised and hauled Gale, who was not dainty by any stretch of the imagination, up like he was nothing with an apology on his lips. Like he hadn’t just upended Gale’s entire world.

When he told Marge, she’d cackled and leered like a locker room boy and said, “Did you…” and stuck her tongue between her teeth.

Gale spluttered and coughed on his spit and his blood pounded in his ears. But he couldn’t deny it, even as he scolded, “Marjorie Spencer!”

But once she got over her glee and teasing, she saw Gale work his lip like a well done steak and softened. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.”

Gale scoffed. “We both know you’re the only one round here who thinks like that.”

Even Marge couldn’t stubborn her way out of that cold hard fact.

“Alright then,” she said with a set to her jaw. “Then you’ll be my fella, far as anyone knows. Least until you find one of your own.”

Gale’s heart flooded his body with warmth and he must have looked at Marge like she was a saint. “I can’t do that, Marge. What if you find a guy you really want to be your fella?”

But Marge looked highly sceptical. “Round here? You’re all I got.”

He smiled at the sentiment but he still wore worry on his brow and Marge darted forward to kiss at least a bit of it away. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

And they never had. Right up until Gale enlisted and was due to be shipped off to basic training, Marge kept assuring him every boy that came around was a knucklehead, and as little as Gale even let himself do so much as look, he couldn’t say he disagreed with her.

The night before he left, after an awkward near silent dinner with his folks that his mother had insisted on, he and Marge had laid a blanket out on an empty field and looked at the starts.

“I still can’t believe you’re going,” she said, voice thick.

Gale couldn’t say ‘sorry’, couldn’t say he wished he wasn’t going, because he wasn’t no liar. He’d wanted to be a pilot since he was a boy and he couldn’t wait to get started.

“I’m going to miss you like crazy.” But that there, that was the truth.

Marge snorted, true and ugly. “Yeah, right. You’re going to be surrounded by all the cute boys and I’m stuck here with the cream of the Caspar crop.”

Gale kicked her shoe. “Oh, yeah. No lookin’. No touchin’. Not unless I wanna come home with a crack in my skull and a blue ticket in my first. At the least.”

Because Gale wasn’t scared of the military. He wasn’t scared of leaving home or being surrounded by strangers. He wasn’t scared at the possibility of having to head into a fight. But being found out? That petrified him.

Marge clutched his hand with all the strength she possessed. “I’ll write you,” she vowed. “Every day if I have to. I’ll spritz the letters with perfume and kiss them and everything. No one will know, I promise.”

Marge’s promises were better than the word of God.

Until he met John Egan.

The long-limbed, freckled, moustached, larger and louder than life man had thrown himself into Gale’s life with very little input from the man himself. He given him his name and kept by his side, like he’d adopted a dog.

Despite himself, Gale had actively tried to dislike John, or Bucky, at first. He put up a cold front to his overt friendliness; threw off his wandering hands possessed with so much affection that he just couldn’t keep them still. Gale refused every single invitation for as long as he could. And yet.

Gale found himself looking for Bucky in whenever he entered a room. He listened carefully whenever he spoke during briefings, and chiming in until they were bouncing ideas of off each other, unaware of the secret smiles of their superior officers. When Gale struggled to sleep, he found himself asking Bucky any question he could think of just to hear him rattle on until he was finally lulled to rest.

He stopped rejecting and started anticipating John’s touch, even positioning himself so as to welcome it, necessitate it; an arm over the back of a chair set close to his; a tiny gap in a doorway or corridor that required a gentle touch to a guy’s waist or his back. And soon Bucky became one of the only men Gale ever touched comfortably beyond a squeeze of the shoulder or a pat on the arm.

One of the other boys had tried once, to swing an arm over Gale’s shoulder. Whether it was because he saw Bucky do it and wanted to emulate the two men so respected by the others, he wasn’t sure, but he hadn’t done it again. The less said about it, the better.

Marge noticed, of course.

He hadn’t been aware of how much Bucky had filtered into his letters, and Marge’s questions had seemed innocent at first. And Gale had been all to happy for the outlet. Then in one letter she had scribbled:

He sounds like a scream, Gale. I’m glad you’ve made such a fast friend. I can't wait to meet him, and make sure he’s good enough for my fella. Can’t have you taking up with a no good kinda man who’s just going to lead you into trouble.

He knew Marge better than he knew himself. He could read between the lines: make sure he’s no bigot before you go getting attached.

Which brought them to that night at the bar. The first thing John had done on being introduced to Marge was to sweep her off for a dance.

Springing away with Gale’s girl in tow, Bucky hollered over his shoulder, “I gotta make sure poor Marge gets to dance with someone, tonight, Buck!”

The boys had all jeered and Marge swatted John’s chest playfully, but soon she was just as swept up in the force of him as they all were, and laughed with flushed cheeks the whole time.

It warmed something healing in his heart to see the two people closest to him in the world get on like a house on fire.

At one point, when Bucky went to the bar, Marge slumped into his side.

“Oh, Gale. You never stood a chance against him, did you?”

Not a snowflake’s in hell.

But before Gale could get too despondent about that, she continued. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good man. I think he- I think you’re safe with him. Yeah?”

Gale nodded. Of course he was. It was Bucky.

Then she got that impish look on her face. “So I say, look your fill.”

Gale shushed her and looked around to see if anyone was paying closer attention than they should’ve. No one was, thankfully, and when his heart rate returned to normal, he remembered he could tease right back.

“Well," he said coyly into her ear, “speaking of looking your fill, that black-haired fella at the corner table at the back has been throwing you looks all night.”

Marge pretended to look unaffected and Gale leaned in even closer. “Don’t think I didn’t see you lookin’ back.”

Marge’s vicious little elbow checked his ribs just as Bucky came back with their drinks.

“Thank you, John,” she said primly. “But I have to visit the powder room.”

John toasted her off and looked at Buck, bemused. “Something I said?”

Gale nearly laughed. “Naw. She just likes to keep me in line.”

John shook his head. “And ain’t that a crying shame. I’m surprised she hasn’t upbraided me for trying to undo all her hard work.”

Later, Gale would blame the giddiness that came from John’s proximity for what he said next. “I only gotta behave with her. You can get me as riled up as you like.”

John inhaled too much of his drink and coughed until there were tears in his eyes. Gale flushed to his ears and kicked him under the table.

Giggling and breathless, John kicked him right back even harder. “Noted.”

“Ask Major Cleven! He’s great at calculations.”

“Sir? Sir!”

A few boys in the ground crew called Buck over, and John waved him off good naturedly. “Go awe the masses, Buck. I need a smoke anyway.”

It look less than five minutes for Marge to come barrelling towards him, a wild and furious and worried look him her eye.

“Gale, It’s John! You gotta get John!”

There was a door at the back of the bar that led to the dead end of an alley outside. When he just wanted a quiet smoke in the peace of the evening, John liked to head out there instead of the front with everyone else, where he could easily while away the better part of an hour talking to all and sundry.

And he was enjoying spending his evening Buck. And Marge.

She was a sweet little spitfire. She had the looks of spun glass and high class, but even after spending nothing more than a handful of hours with her, Bucky could tell she was no wall flower, no meek dame. And John didn’t think about it too closely, but he liked that the girl who Gale loved so much wasn’t so different from himself.

Where John liked the think of him and Buck as sides of the same coin - dark and light; steady and gregarious; push and pull - Marge and Buck were one of a kind, like the couples on the movie posters. Their love felt inevitable.

And, as John was learning about himself, he was apparently a possessive man, because between him and the cigarette in his mouth, he could acknowledge the bitter flash of jealousy he got when he looked at them too long.

He pushed open the back door, a box of matches in hand, and looked up on hearing two frightened gasps.

Marge. Her eyes were so wide, there was more white than blue. Her hair was a mess, clutched in the meaty hand of another man. A man who’s face was too close to the crook of her neck.

And both of them wore such fear in their eyes.

John’s cigarette finally gave up its precarious balance on John’s gaping lips and tumbled to the floor. The box of matches dove after it.

“John.” It was a tiny, panicked sound.

And it snapped John back to attention. With two strides of his long legs he had Marge tucked behind him and slammed the man into the brick wall of the alley hard, and smiled ugly with all teeth when he heard the meaty thunk of his head hit the wall.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” John snarled in the man’s face, low and incandescent with rage he didn’t even know how to begin to unleash.

“John-” Marge tugged at his back, urgent.

“Taking advantage of a girl after a few drinks-”

“No, John-!”

He grabbed two fistfuls of the guy’s shirt and rattled him until he heard teeth clack. “A girl who’s taken. By your superior officer!”

“It’s not like that!” Marge yanked at John’s ear and he was forced to turn away from the man, but he didn’t relinquish him.

He calmed himself as much as he could. “Marge. Are you alright?”

But Marge looked painfully, worryingly exacerbated. “For God’s sake, John! It’s not what it looks like!”

“It looked like he was forcing himself on ya!”

But the Marge clutching at his lapels didn’t look scared, not of the man behind him, anyway. She had a little bit of fear when she looked at him though, and John didn’t like that at all.

It’s not what it looks like.

And if it looked like she was forced…

John’s heart broke for Gale, before the red pricks of anger started to twitch at his muscles.

“Oh. It’s like that, huh?”

“No!”

“Are you with Gale or aren’t you?!”

Marge swallowed something down and almost reluctantly said, “Yes.”

The boy chose the wrong moment to pluck at the reserves of his bravado.

“There’s no harm, Major,” he panted. “It was just some harmless fun. It didn’t mean nothing. We all know Cleven’s too much of a gentleman-”

John snapped his fist into the man’s jaw and followed through. The wall was the only thing that kept him standing. So John pulled him upright and slammed a punch into the side of his face and he went tumbling down.

John followed him, straddling him as he grabbed a handful of the guy’s jacket. Blood was already smeared over his mouth and John rained down hell and hit his nose with a crack and blood came pouring outta that too.

He switched his grip to the guy’s hair to keep the lolling head upright as he leaned down and growled into his ear. “You think you’re going to make a fool out of either one of them, you got another thing coming.”

He pulled back to land one last hit, a good one to drive his point home, when a solid weight barrelled into him from behind, wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him into the air. John spun around swinging, but another arm got a stranglehold around the back of his neck and he was wrapped up painfully tight and too close to do anything.

And the scent of Buck’s cologne penetrated his senses and the fight left him.

Because fuck. How was he going to explain this? How was he going to tell Buck he’d caught his woman in the arms of another man? Should he even tell him? If it was Bucky, he’d wanna know, but maybe if he spoke to Marge and she promised it was a drunken mistake (God knows he’d had plenty of those), and it would never happen again, he wouldn’t have to tank Buck’s perfect love story.

“John!” Buck shook him hard enough that Bucky knew he tried to get his attention more than once. “The heck were you thinking?! You outta your goddamn mind?!”

Bucky heard shuffling behind him and he managed to turn just enough in Buck’s unforgiving grip to see the man being led inside by some of their boys, who shot furtive, concerned glances at their Majors.

Then there was Marge, hanging back and looking at Buck with something awfully sorry. He felt Buck nod at her and she went to head back inside, but not before sending Bucky a scathing look and a roll of her eyes.

Now there was nothing to spare him from Buck.

Only now did Buck loosen his grip and let Bucky back a step, and only a step.

“You have done some damn foolish things since I met you, Bucky. But fightin’ with a subordinate?!”

“You don’t understand-” and Buck really wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

“I understand plenty. Marge told me everything.”

Buck couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh? And what did Marge say?”

“That you caught her neckin’ with some guy and went off the damn rails!”

Buck was shocked stupid. Not just that Marge had told the truth, but that Buck seemed more pissed at him that he was at her.

“Then why are you riding me for?! I was defending you - you should be thanking me!”

Buck tensed his jaw so hard, Bucky expected to hear a crack. “Thanking you? For nearly bringing down my whole house of cards?!”

By now Bucky felt he was missing some vital information, and he couldn’t think straight with Buck so close to him, radiating fury. He shrugged off Buck’s hands and shook his head.

“Hold on, hold on,” he held up his palms. “You’re pissed at me for socking the guy making it with your girl behind your back?”

Buck sighed harsh and annoyed like Bucky was the most exasperating thing in the world and Bucky was getting more offended by the second.

“No, y’dummy!”

“Dummy?”

“I’m mad because if Marge hadn’t kept her head and got me before anyone else saw you fighting, everyone might have found out she ain’t actually my girl!”

“I - what?!”

Buck gave a frustrated groan that didn’t quite get out of his throat and prayed for patience. And maybe a little bravery. He trusted John, vexing as he could me. But sometimes fear was instinctual. But he couldn’t let Bucky go on thinking he saw what he thought he saw. But Christ if the other man didn’t make it difficult.

“But - you and Marge - since high school. You said-”

“Well, I lied. Kind of.”

“Kind of? You kind of lied?”

Bucky huffed. “We’ve been tellin’ people we’ve been together since high school. So no one would know…about me…” he trailed off meaningfully.

For all but Bucky, apparently. “Know what?”

“That I…that…” God, why couldn’t he just say it? Bucky may be as straight as they come, but he wasn’t that kind of guy, and he was Buck's best friend to boot. He choked down his frustrations and finally managed to spit out, “That…Marge ain’t the only one who likes looking at cute boys.”

Buck blushed as he said it. He sounded like a stupid teenager. But Bucky just stuttered to a stop and gawped at him. Buck watched his mouth flap, trying and failing to utter a sound, like it too couldn’t believe John Egan had finally been rendered silent.

“I - you’re-?”

“Gay? Queer? A big ol’ blue ticket? Yeah.”

What he certainly hadn’t been expecting was for Bucky to near drop to his knees in a mix of relief and panic.

“Haah-fuck, Gale," John grimaced, breathing heavy over his knees, which looked to be the only thing supporting his weight. "They're gonna court martial me in the morning. Don’t get me wrong - I’m glad I didn’t have to break your heart, tellin’ you Marge was stepping out on you, but fuck. I punched out a subordinate. Fuck.”

Side-stepping the unintentional lie in what John said, Buck, mightily and heroically refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don't get hysterical, Bucky. It don't become you. Relax, I'll fix it.”

And really, the sheer force of the scepticism on Bucky's face was down right insulting.

“Yeah? And how you gonna do that?”

Buck's brain worked furiously for an excuse - the reason’s why men hit other men over women that weren’t jealousy. Protection being the main one, but he didn’t want to put Marge in the frame at all if possible. Then he remembered a story Bucky told him once about a boy that had taken a shine to Bucky’s much younger sister, and Bucky had followed him home one day after his sister had come home cryin' with red bruises round her wrists.

“You ain't gonna like it.”

“Solid start.”

Buck nearly cuffed him round the ear like an insolent, child. “Hush. Now, you uh, ever planning on introducing your sisters to the boys?”

Bucky balked. “Absolutely not. What does that-”

“Listen. That man inside, bleeding - he looked a lot like a fella who left your sister a little worse for wear. Let the boys take that however they see fit.”

“The hell you tryna say about my sister?!”

“Nothing, idjit! Listen!”

Bucky shut his trap with visible effort.

“He looked almost exactly like that man, and when you saw him near Marge - near her and nothing else, you understand? You lost it. Alright? You’d had too much to drink, you weren’t thinking clear, and you were seeing you baby sister, not Marge. Right?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and the gesture was so typically Gale’s that it stole his breath to see it on the other man.

But he had to press on. “Right?”

Bucky capitulated. “Alright, alright. But Jeannie ever finds out about this, we’re both dead.”

Buck eyed Bucky then, waiting for the other show to fall. “Is that all you gotta say to me?”

Bucky's face fell and cleared in realisation and Buck's stomach bubbled with a flare of anxiety about what he might say.

“Ah, fuck. Sorry, yeah. I’ve got to apologise to Marge, don’t I?”

Buck’s eye twitched, because Bucky had to be playing so damn dumb on purpose.

But, he wasn’t wrong.

“Well, yeah. She liked that boy. And you gon’ scared him off.”

Bucky scoffed though, waving a dismissive hand. “If you’re her fake fella, Buck. Marge has got to raise her standards for her real one. Don’t worry, I’ll find her a nice guy; a real prince to your pauper, so to speak.”

“That is not how the story goes.”

But then something occurred to Buck. He’d seen Bucky charm plenty of women, a lot of them blondes. Now that Bucky knew Marge was technically single…

“You mean someone like you?”

Bucky smirked and stepped toe to toe with Buck. He let his large hands smooth out the wrinkles Buck had worked into his own uniform wrangling Bucky earlier. His fingers slipped to his crooked tie and slowly knotted it back into place.

“You callin’ me a prince, Buck Cleven?”

Buck wanted to brush it off, to turn it into a joke, say anything to break the tension. But his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. All his brain could process was the proximity of Bucky, the smell of Bucky, and heat of his fingers at Buck’s collar.

Bucky leaned closer, like a he had a secret to share. “That make you my princess?”

And that should not have crackled a hot, thrilling tremor to life that sent him rocking infinitesimally closer to Bucky, a gasp somehow escaping the clutch his teeth had on his lips.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but before he could say or do anything, the backdoor to the pub opened again and Marge’s golden head popped out.

“If you two are quite done?” she sounded like a teacher scolding the class clowns. “I am fending off almost an entire bomb group in there by myself and they’re like a pack of wild dogs. Some help, if you’d be so kind.”

Buck coughed and stepped back and trotted dutifully to Marge’s side. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

Bucky was left with Marjorie Spencer staring at him, hands on her hips.

“Well?” she said expectantly.

Sheepishly, Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “In my defence, you could do better?”

He saw murder in her eyes and quickly backtracked. Now was not the time for jokes. Evidently Marge did not appreciate them the way Buck did.

Bucky dropped his arms by his sides and looked her in the eye. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that, no matter what I thought. I’m not - God, Marge, I’m not a violent man. Bit of a motor mouth sure, and I’ll stand up for any of my boys, but I don’t usually…”

Marge let him stew in the silence for a bit. But eventually, “No you shouldn’t have. I might be thankful that Gale has you looking out for him, but you can’t be such a hot head, John Egan. I don’t appreciate it and Gale don’t like it.”

Gently, Bucky took one of Marge’s hands, tiny in one of his, and raised it to his lips to place a sorry kiss there with a rueful smile “I will never lay hands on someone like that again, unless it's for a very good reason. I promise. But Buck’s pretty good at keeping me in check.”

Marge blessed him with a knowing smile. “I’m sure he is.”

And then Bucky was back in full force. “But seriously, Marge, you’ve got to at least date sideways. You can’t date down. Anyone less than Buck ain’t good enough for you.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed him back inside, letting him offer his arm. “Well when you find him, you let me know. Because I’m shit outta luck.”

They re-entered the pub laughing and any remaining tension in the room seemed to release. As Bucky took Marge for another spin round the dancefloor, he felt Buck’s eyes on them and risked a glance. And what a risk. Gale stared, blue eyes pinned on him over the smooth rim of his glass, tracking Bucky’s every move and licking the moisture off his lips.

Bucky threw him a wink and mouthed, Later, princess.

Colonel Huglin did not appreciate having to consider disciplinary action at six am. Yet having a man like Major John Egan under his command meant Huglin’s dreams didn’t count for much.

He watched this respected, no, revered man stand before him, clasp and unclasp his hands, purse his lips, and shift his legs like he was fighting the urge to rock on his heels. Like a misbehaving school boy. If Huglin had never met him, and someone had asked him to pick out the best pilot (on par with Major Cleven), the quickest thinker, an excellent strategist and the man almost single-handedly responsible for morale on base, Huglin wouldn't even have spared John a glance.

And yet.

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I’d bet my commission that the young fella you thrashed good and sound yesterday looks real pretty this morning.”

John grimaced. And, surprisingly enough it was not the wince of one awaiting an unwanted scolding, but one that actually looked like regret. John, who never ever failed to look a man in the eye, looked down at his shoes, lips twisting, and just nodded.

Major Cleven had come to him even earlier, at 5.20am, before Huglin had even had his coffee, and filled him in on what happened last night.

“You know Major Egan, Sir. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but he’s not a violent man, not like that. But,” and Gale and leaned forward in his chair, concern creasing his brow and wringing his hands together, “his sister, before he left, she had some…awful kind of trouble. With a fella. That looked just like the man from last night, John said. You know how much he looks after the men, and he loves his sisters. It drives him crazy he’s not there to look after ‘em with their dad not being around anymore… Sorry Sir, I’m rambling.” He was, and it was unlike Cleven who was a man of few words. Surely, a testament to his worry over his friend and brother-in-arms. “I just mean to say, John thought - John saw -"

And Huglin had cut Cleven off with a wave of his hand. He understood. He’d seen countless men wide eyed, crying or screaming at something or someone who wasn’t really there. It didn’t mean Egan could get entirely off the hook, but he understood.

“You have anything to say for yourself?”

“Can I see him?”

Huglin hadn't been expecting that. “What?”

“The…guy. God I don’t even know his name. But I’d like to apologise, if he’ll let me. He deserves that at least, and I’d like to settle it before I go.”

He wasn’t due to fly to Thorpe Abbots until mid-morning. There was plenty of time. “Evans. Airman First Class Evans. And I’ll ask his superior officer and let you know.”

Bucky released a breath and nodded, more to himself, Huglin thought, before he squared his shoulders at the Colonel.

“I just want to apologise, Sir. What I did yesterday was not becoming of a Major of the US Airforce. I know that. It’s not the kind of man I am or how I want my men to see me. I’m…” John swallowed. “I embarrassed the uniform. And I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Huglin needed a moment to collect himself. He wasn’t stupid. He knew part of the reason the men admired Egan so was because he never backed down from the higher ups, always spoke his mind and said his piece - but Huglin couldn’t think of one time it wasn’t on their behalf. To get them what they needed or give them the best odds, or even distract them on days the base just became too heavy. But this was a side of John that Huglin had never seen: the human man underneath the military man.

And Huglin had sisters, too. He could empathise.

“I’m glad to hear that, Major. Normally, there’d be a disciplinary hearing, and we’d decide what was to be done with you.”

John bit his cheek but nodded, accepting.

“But, I think in this case, I can smooth things over. If, you apologise to Evans and his CO, and goddamn cool it on the liquor, John. I mean it. There might even be a mandatory anger management session with the doc in your future, and if so I won't hear a damn single word of complaint from you, understood?”

John reared back looking stunned, and Huglin let himself enjoy it. “Don’t look so surprised. Your buddy Cleven was by here and told me everything. And be glad he did. Otherwise I’d be tempted to ground you the rest of this damn war.”

John said nothing.

“Alright, get out of here. You’ve got a trip to prepare for. And an apology, too.”

“Yes, sir,. John turned smartly on his heels and headed for the door.

When he reached the jam, Huglin called out,. "And John? Give my best wishes to your sister, will you? If they need anything, you let me know.”

John made a funny noise in his throat and nodded before he all but fled the room.

Buck was waiting for him outside. He leapt to his feet when he saw Bucky emerge looking frazzled.

“Well? How’d it go?”

Bucky fell into step next to him, and out of the corner of his mouth said, “What on earth did you tell Huglin? Because whatever it was, I almost got out of there scot-free.”

And Buck didn't fail to notice that Bucky didn’t sound happy about it. He new in the sober light of day, and with the clarity sleep brings, John would be beating himself up something fierce for attacking that boy. Which he should, by rights, but John did take self-flagellation to extremes sometimes. Gale wondered if it was the Catholic in him, lapsed or not.

“You’re still Air Exec?”

“Yeah?”

Buck nudged him. “Sounds like a punishment to me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and came to a halt at the mouth of the building, staring out onto the tarmac.

“I want to apologise to the boys,” he said, hands on his hips and head hanging low. “I just, can’t stop thinking about them seeing me like that. I don’t…”

Standing where they were, Buck couldn't do much but clasp his shoulder and lean down to look Bucky in the eye. “Then let’s go find ‘em.”

The boys, as it turned out, were just finishing getting dressed. They didn’t notice the Majors enter the bunk house at first.

“-wonder what happened?”

“None of your business, that’s what happened,” said DeMarco.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Brady. Bucky flinched.

“Ay,” Curtis dove into the conversation. “You don’t know shit. If he got a bit banged up, then he deserved it. Don’t go thinking anything else.”

And despite himself, Bucky let himself crack a smile at Curt’s friendship and loyalty.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Brady insisted, stubborn and louder. “John’s our leader. He’s a Major. I’m his co-pilot for crying out loud. He should be setting an example, and starting bar fights isn’t it. I don’t know about you, but I want to head into war with the John Egan who has your back, and keeps his head in the air so good he solves problems before half the crew even notice they’re there. Not the John who’ll flip at a switch. I don’t like that John.”

Several of the boys protested and booed Brady and started yelling and cursing, and they knew a more serious argument was about the break out with Brady bearing the brunt of it if they didn’t step in.

Buck let Bucky go when he stepped further into the room.

“Brady’s right,” he called, and the men snapped to attention and Brady dropped the shoe he’d been polishing and stumbled to his feet.

Buck walked up steady behind Bucky, a solid presence at his shoulder. “At ease, gentlemen.”

Bucky stood tall and true. “Last night, I acted in a way that was unfit for a man of the US Airforce, rank be damned. It should never have happened, and it will never happen again. I just wanted you to know that.” He surveyed the boys and they looked on silent. “We all make mistakes, and things get heated sometimes. This one is my mistake, and I’ll own that. So don’t you boys go thinking that starting fights with your fellow airmen to blow of some steam is acceptable. It’s not. You can all learn that lesson from me. That’s part of my job - teaching you how to avoid making the same mistakes I have.”

And in true Bucky fashion he flipped the solemn mood of the room with a switch and a turn of his lips and he gave them a sincere Bucky grin.

“Like that time I wandered into the Colonel’s quarters by mistake and got stuck on latrine duty for a week.” The boys relaxed into their laughter. “Remember that?” He pointed at Curt. “You made me sleep out in that abandoned storage hut until I was done.”

“You stank!”

“Or that time I yanked Ham back from the shaky step heading into the mess hall?”

Ham howled from his bunk. “Because you’d tripped a week or so before it, and sent your scrambled eggs all down a Red Cross dame. That handprint on your cheek didn’t disappear for a whole day!”

Buck just stood back and marvelled at Bucky's ability to work a room.

“So if me or Buck here ain’t around to give you the benefit of our experience,” he reached out and clasped the back of Brady’s head and scrubbed it playfully, “be damn sure you listen to Brady. Best co-pilot there is.”

The men all hollered and scrambled to rib at Brady, rubbing his head like Bucky did or punching him playfully in the arm or chucking his chin.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. “Because we’re the 100th. The best damn bomb squad there is. And we’ll damn well act like it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir!”

Bucky shouted louder. “I said do you hear me?!”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

“Because who are we?!”

“The 100th!”

“Who are we?!!”

“THE 100TH!”

“Then get your gear on, get out there, and show ‘em how it’s done!”

Making a thunderous racket, the boys gathered the last of their things and rushed out the door, Brady the last of the group, shooting Bucky a small, pleased, and proud smile before he disappeared.

The silence they left behind was a stark contrast. Until Buck couldn’t take it anymore.

He snorted and cackled and John threw his hands in the air. “Really, Buck?”

Buck cleared his throat and got himself under control. Adopting the highest voice he could, in something that could barely pass as Bucky's odd not-quite Wisconsin accent, he teased him, “My name’s John Egan, and I’m a terrible leader on the ground!”

Bucky shoved him hard, but yanked him back with a firm arm around his bicep and pulled him in close, so the buckles of their belts gave a soft clack in greeting.

They were alone.

“I’ll be flying at at 10.30 sharp,” Bucky mumbled up close.

Buck nodded. “I know. I’ll see you off, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Mm, with a handshake in front of the boys.”

Buck gave him a firm look. “Of course. Don’t you go thinking otherwise.”

Bucky smiled and leaned in closer, and Buck was surprised that he even could. “But the boys aren’t here, now.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re lookin’ for, huh? A little send of?”

Bucky's hands bravely slipped down to his waist and squeezed, and Buck resolutely did not think about how his waist fit all nice in John’s stupidly large hands. He was not a small man - he was tall; he worked hard all his life, and despite a less than stellar childhood, always had enough to eat. But John was just so damn big.

“Just a kiss, Buck. For luck. To tide me over till you get over the pond.”

Buck grinned, a rare one showing his teeth and leaned in until he felt the softness of Bucky's lips skim the edges of his own. He kept it there, just not quite touching until he heard Bucky's breath hitch and his hands tried their hardest not to wander some more.

And against that mouth he’d dreamed about in his sleep, he’d fantasised about in his waking hours, he murmured, playful and sweet, “No.”

He turned sharp in his heels and escaped Bucky's grasp and threw a pleased grin over his shoulder at Bucky gaping in his wake.

“Buck!”

“You’ll just have to wait for me, Johnny!” And Gale ducked out of the bunk house and left Bucky behind, to attend his duties.

And John stood there wondering what on earth he was in for, taking up with a tease like Buck Cleven. But he couldn’t wait to find out.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic

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tizniz · 2 days

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Inspiration Saturday ✨

Tagged for this day by @hippolotamus & @cal-daisies-and-briars And tagged by so many lovely people over the week :)

I'm back!!! Despite being sick for most of my trip, I had an amazing time. I did absolutely no writing or thinking about anything except being in the moment and enjoying myself. Okay, there were a few things I shared with Al, Hippo, and Caroline that screamed Buddie but they didnt' expand into anything. I simply lived in the moment. I am so ready to dive back into writing. Well, after I sleep a little more (still sick. I have spent majority of the last 24 hours asleep). But I did want to share this little moment that popped into my head before the trip and once again on the flight home.

Enjoy a moodboard of Buddie at Disneyland and a little something something under the cut ;)

Eddie lifts his eyes from where he'd been swiping his thumb along the screen, checking the wait times, "Want to do Indiana again or—Buck?” He looks around, only spotting strangers. Pocketing his phone, Eddie forces himself to not panic, because it’s not that busy today, and Buck couldn’t have gone that far, right?

And just before he can start to actually panic, Eddie spots his missing best friend. He’s standing there with a bag of cotton candy in his hand and grinning over at Eddie.

“I thought I told you to not wander off.” Eddie half snaps as comes to a stop in front of Buck, having dodged a mom on a mission with her stroller plowing through the people walking casually.

“I went like…three feet.” Buck says, pulling away some of the spun sugar to pop into his mouth. A few strands catch on his lips, and Eddie definitely doesn’t watch as Buck’s tongue darts out to lick at them, dissolving the sugar quickly. “I wanted cotton candy.”

Eddie snaps his eyes up, “How did you even get through that line so quick?”

Shrugging, Buck pops more cotton candy in his mouth, “I got lucky. No one was there.”

“And you didn’t think to go ‘hey Eddie, I’ll be right back’?”

“You found me.”

“You’re a little shit.”

“You love me.”

“Why did I agree to come here again?”

“Because it’s fun.” Buck grins, “Come on, you’re loving this. Admit it.”

Eddie had been skeptical at first, because a day at Disneyland with just Buck? They’re adults. It seemed weird. But Buck had told him how many adults go on their own, and how fun it would be, and wouldn't the little boy in Eddie love this?

So that’s how Eddie had found himself spending the day with his best friend. Admittedly, having a great time.

Avoiding answering, Eddie looks at the bag in Buck’s hand, shaking his head, “You opened that like an animal.”

Buck also looks down at the bag, where he’d obviously torn into it and completely avoided the simple knot that would need to be untied to get access to the sweet treat. He looks back up at Eddie, “I wanted cotton candy.”

“You said that.” Eddie snorts, reaching for some, only to have the bag pulled away. “Hey!”

“Get your own.”

“I only want a little.”

“You just got mad at me for getting it!”

“I was mad at you for disappearing on me.” Eddie fires back, grabbing hold of Buck’s wrist, the spun sugary treat held between Buck’s thumb and index finger. “I’m not mad about the cotton candy.”

“You can’t have it. It’s mine.” Buck retorts, trying to pull his wrist away, but Eddie keeps his grip firm. And then, because apparently he’s not thinking rationally today, Eddie ducks his head down and is eating the cotton candy that is between Buck’s fingers. His teeth graze the pad of Buck’s thumb, tongue licking the last bit of sugar from Buck’s index finger, and then Eddie’s straightening up, staring into Buck’s wide blue eyes.

Eddie’s mind reboots and he stares back, heart hammering in his chest. The sugar is dissolving on his tongue and tastes so sweet, but he swears he can taste Buck’s skin amongst it all.

“Uh—”

“Pirates!” Eddie blurts out, releasing Buck’s wrist and spinning on his heel, marching through the crowd, cheeks burning.

What the fuck did he just do?

Tagging for sharing since it's so late on Saturday!

@actualalligator, @actuallyitsellie, @perfectlysunny02, @bidisasterevankinard, @spotsandsocks, @fortheloveofbuddie, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @theotherbuckley, @daffi-990, @exhuastedpigeon, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @monsterrae1, @epicbuddieficrecs, @elvensorceress, @eddiebuckley-diaz, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @wildlife4life, @devirnis, @loveyouanyway, @smilingbuckley, @watchyourbuck, @loserdiaz, @excuseme-greentea, @wikiangela, @dangerpronebuddie, @kitteneddiediaz, @underwaterninja13, @bigfootsmom🩵

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 drabble #buddie drabble #tanis writes #guess who's back #if this is bad please be nice #I’m still very sick and very tired #but wanted to write and share something #okay byeeeee

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waynes-multiverse · 3 days

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Plastic Hearts – Part 25

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, a tinge of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I'm not sad... 🥲 Honestly, I don't have words beyond gratitude and cliché goodbyes, so let's end this journey together 🤍

<< 24 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

25. Dare

“Ugh, I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come out here,” Jo groans and raises her flat palm to her brows, shielding her eyes from the scalding desert sun. “What the fuck is wrong with Palm Springs, huh?”

“C’mon, we’ve always wanted to go to Joshua Tree together since we moved to LA. This is like the perfect time,” Y/N argues cheerfully and nudges her friend with her elbow. “Look! It’s so peaceful.”

“There’s a dead carcass over there. Looks like a symbol of my marriage,” Jo deadpans.

Y/N purses her lips before compelling another positive smile to her face. “We can get rid of that. The girls really needed this after the whole Crowley debacle.”

The group left straight after the network meeting in Dean’s office this morning, which didn’t go as planned, to say the least. While several executives were surely interested, Crowley and H-ELLTV put an abrupt end to it. Apparently, they sold their fucking souls by signing a contract with the devil. Crowley’s words still rang in her ears on repeat.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, ladies, but H-ELLTV owns your characters, which means you can’t sell them to another network. You all signed a contract and made a deal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, fucking asshole…” Jo huffs her agreement but then throws her friend a suspicious sideways look. “What’s up with you, though? Why are you so chipper and cheerful like a fucking Disney princess? I thought you of all people would be fucking depressed and devastated about the stupid show ending.”

Y/N shrugs. “I am. I’m just trying to make the best of our last weekend together. Can’t I be happy?”

“Fuck no.” Jo shakes her head. “Something’s up with you. Usually, when you’re like this, it’s overcompensation ‘cause you’ve fucked something up. If I were still married, I’d think you’ve fucked my husband all over again. So, what did you do?”

Y/N shrugs once more and keeps her eyes trained on the sprawling desert landscape in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Dean also was a bigger asshole than usual this morning. So, I’m asking again, what shit did you fuck up now?”

“Nothing, okay? Dean’s always an asshole,” Y/N deflects defensively. Although, even she has to admit – those were some spectacularly icy green eyes this morning. Not that he ever looked directly at her or spoke with her even once. She probably would’ve turned to stone if he did.

“Fine, don’t tell. God knows I don’t fucking care,” Jo says indifferently and joins the other women as they set up their tents on the campground.

Y/N lets out a small sigh as she stares at the bluest sky she’s ever seen while the hot desert sun beams down on her. She watches the girls for a while, her heart slightly cracking at the thought this might be the last time they all hang out together. This year has been the best one she’s ever had.

But then, her heart stings even more when she thinks about the one person who isn’t here, wondering what he’s doing right now. If anything, she owes it all to him.

Dean nurses his beer with a sigh, his green eyes barely paying attention to the half-naked girl who’s winding herself up and down a silver pole in front of him. This used to bring him joy – day-drinking at a strip club and watching tits bounce. But now all he thinks about is how that girl looks nothing like Y/N. None of them do.

“Hey, son. Startin’ early today,” Bobby notes with a chuckle as he sits down next to him.

“Yeah, they canceled the show.” And while that’s certainly true, it’s not the reason why Dean’s sulking at a titty bar.

“Too damn bad. I loved the show!” Bobby tells him enthusiastically. “It was insane. Good insane. It had everything – comedy, drama, heartache, tits, violence, a fucking wedding? There’s something for everyone there.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Bobby. Really appreciate it,” Dean tells him politely. He likes the guy, but he’s not in the mood for chitchat. He’s barely in the mood for naked women, for crying out loud. This is a deep fucking depression.

There are only two promises he’s made to himself: One, he won’t slump like he did after his last divorce. There will be no excessive drinking, which leads to excessively pathetic crying, which leads to a myriad of bad choices out of sheer desperation. Remember that awful dating videotape he made? Yes, there will be no more of that. And then there’s of course two, no drugs – no matter how much he tells himself he wants or fucking needs them. A tiny dot of hope seems to be still dormant in his plastic heart, reminding him that she might come back, and he doesn’t want to risk disappointing her once she does.

Dean has worked fucking hard to be the best version he can be – a version she doesn’t seem to give a shit about. But even he has to admit: He likes himself a lot better now, so he refuses to turn back to old comforts, albeit it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“You guys interested in doing a floor show?”

Bobby’s words pull him from his reverie. Dean arches a brow at him, straightening a bit in his seat. “What? Here?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, idjit. My wife Ellen has some stakes in a club on the Vegas Strip. She manages the hotel there, too. They’re looking for a new headliner. Just do the exact same show, night after night, 300 miles east. Vegas is where the money is. Headliners make at least 25 grand a week. You think that gym is big? We have to fill 1,100 seats.”

Dean stumps and blinks at the old man a bit baffled. “Well, uh… I’ll think about it. Talk to my partner, the girls…”

Bobby smiles and pats his shoulder as he gets up. “You do that. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now, how about a lap dance? On the house. Can pick any girl that fancies your heartache. You ain’t foolin’ an old man like me.”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks. Think I’m gonna head home and drink myself into a coma there.”

“It’s getting dark soon. How much longer?” Jo’s brown eyes dart to Y/N as she drags her feet over a rocky path. The sun stings less than it did when they started their little hike, but her skin feels perfectly tanned by now and the water is running low.

“Uh, I think it’s supposed to be just up ahead that hill,” Y/N muses and swirls her head around the formation of rocks that all look the same, squinting her eyes into the distance.

Jo sighs, and her stare intensifies. “You’ve been saying that for over an hour. Are we lost?”

“Noooo…” Y/N doesn’t sound convincing and surely doesn’t fool Jo with her reply.

“Alright, gimme the map.”

“I don’t have the map. I gave it to Meg.”

Jo groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“What? Meg’s the trail leader. Trail leader gets the map,” Y/N defends her faux pas with reason.

“Great! So we’re fucking lost in the desert,” the blonde huffs.

Y/N chuckles lightly, mostly out of uncomfortableness and panic she tries to hide behind it. “No, there’s a trail marker right over there,” she says, pointing to a pile of rocks. “That looks manmade.”

Jo quirks her brow. “You mean like that pile of rocks? Or that one over there?”

Y/N follows her friend’s gaze, only to realize that there are lots of piles of rock that all look too fucking similar. She purses her lips and scratches her head before resting her arms on her squared-off hips. “I think we’re lost.”

“Yeah.” With an exhaustive sigh, Jo plops down on another pile of rocks and watches as the orange sun dips behind the horizon, shadows of blue slowly crawling across the desert floor and swallowing the light.

Y/N clumsily lowers herself down next to the blonde. Her leg hurts like a bitch, and the desert sand that has wound its way into her cast itches a good deal. Her hands and arms hurt as well from clinging to her crutches all afternoon. Maybe Dean was right, and this was a bad idea, after all. Why does he always have to be fucking right about everything? How can one person be so annoying and frustrating all at once?

“Well, you finally get your wish,” Jo deadpans. “We’re gonna die together.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says ruefully and looks at the first stars appearing in the night sky. “Maybe the stars will guide us home.”

Jo just looks at her, unamused and unsurprised. “You’ve never been camping, have you?”

Y/N twitches her shoulders apologetically. “It was only supposed to be a three-mile moderate beginner’s trail to a beautiful vista. It’s what the guidebook said.”

Jo shakes her head and blows a raspberry, hugging her knees. “Joanna Wesson, 27, found dead near a random cluster of rocks that might have looked like a trail marker. She was best known for playing Beth Crowne on the soap opera Paradise Bay before trying to revive her career on an unsuccessful wrestling show. She is survived by her son, Sammy, and her bitter ex-husband Sam with his secretary Jessica.”

“Well, at least you get an obituary,” Y/N quips. “Mine would just read: Soap Star Found Dead Next to Unidentified Woman in National Park.”

Jo even snorts at that. “Well, I’m sure Dean would cut and edit an adorable video tribute with a bunch of B-roll about you at your funeral.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Y/N pensively licks her lips, her heart doing those painful twinges again whenever she thinks of him. “You know yet what you’re gonna do next?”

“No, I-… I think I wanna produce,” Jo announces with determination in her hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna ask permission. I’m so tired of it all. For once, I wanna boss people around and tell ‘em what to do. You know, you were right.”

Baffled, Y/N raises a brow. “About what?”

“Men,” Jo says simply and then spits with fire, “I fucking hate them all. The Crowleys and the Dicks and the Cases and the Sams and the Deans… They make the choices. They dictate the terms… I’m sick of it all. I just hate asking them for anything.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Y/N says quietly but doesn’t look at Jo. Her heart stings for the millionth time. “I got that role for the Sondheim musical. They called this morning.”

Jo’s lips curve into a soft smile that reaches her eyes. “Congrats. I’m not surprised. You were really fucking good.”

Y/N’s heart flutters a little at the compliment. Tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t remember the last time Jo was nice to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Jo notes attentively.

“No, I am,” Y/N manages to choke out, but the sniffling betrays her intentions.

“But?”

Y/N bobs her head, swallowing. “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Jo huffs and rubs her cold and goosebump-littered arms as the heat disappears, the nightly air bringing a fresh breeze.

“Dean told me he loves me,” Y/N confesses. “He’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda obvious,” Jo says without a twitch of surprise. “Don’t feel bad for not loving him back. That’s what they want… For us to feel bad about every single fucking thing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think that’s how I feel,” Y/N replies and lets out a jittery sigh.

Jo’s head turns to her, eyeing her friend up and down. “And how do we feel about that? I can’t tell. It’s too dark to see your face.”

“I-, uh, I don’t exactly know,” Y/N says, which is partially true. She might know how she feels about the green-eyed director, but not how she feels about the situation overall.

Jo purses her lips and nods. “Alright, here’s a couple of options: happy, excited, scared, or… repulsed?”

“Well, uhm… scared,” Y/N admits slowly and gulps. “And excited… happy.”

Jo throws her arms up, shaking her head at the stars. “Jesus fuck! Then what the fuck are we doing here?! Is that why you dragged me all the way to the fucking desert? Because you’re running from your feelings?”

“Kinda. I thought the peaceful quiet and beautiful nature would bring me some much-needed clarity,” Y/N explains.

Jo lifts a brow but tries not to seem too annoyed. She’s accustomed to her friend’s theatrics, after all. “And? Did it?”

“The hike didn’t, but facing death kinda does,” Y/N jokes and begins to laugh a little, Jo soon joining her. When their laughter dies down and the desert sounds of chirping crickets and screeching eagles remain, Y/N exhales a shaky breath. “I’m in love with him, too. He makes me really fucking happy. But… I finally feel like I’m on the right track with my career. I am where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t wanna throw that away for a guy.”

“Who says you should?”

“I don’t know… Isn’t that how it goes? You did it,” Y/N argues.

Jo licks her lips and clicks her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause I chose the wrong fucking guy. Sam made me give up everything I ever loved and told me what to love instead. If you pick the right guy, he won’t make you do that.”

“How do I know it’s the right guy, though?”

Jo smiles softly. “Look, I’m not Dean’s biggest fan, but he’s yours. You know that, right? He’d never hold you back. He adores the ground you walk on. Yes, he’s an asshole with so many fucking issues, and he’s goddamn annoying most of the time, but he’s always had your back, even when he pretended that he didn’t. The guy would probably sell every limb and his fucking soul to see you get everything you ever wanted, Y/N. He wouldn’t be a mistake. You know what would be a mistake? Not trying because you’re too scared of making one. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Thoughtfully, Y/N nods in agreement and grabs her crutches, rising from her rocky seat. “I need to see him. We have to head back to the city.”

“Finally! Thank fucking God.” With a grunt, Jo jumps to her feet and helps Y/N to steady hers. “Maybe the girls made a fire bright enough, so we can find our way back.”

“Shit.”

“What? They have matches, don’t they? I’m sure these bitches can manage a simple fire, right?” Jo then notices Y/N’s hand curling around her bicep, her grip tightening. And then, Jo glances in the direction of Y/N’s eyes and sees the same damn thing. Her brown eyes widen.

“Mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the blonde hisses and holds on to her friend as well. Both women freeze on the spot. “What-, uh, what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should throw a stick?”

“A stick?” Jo arches her brow. The big cat snarls and stalks a little closer, making the two women jump back. Their hearts are thumping in their throats at this point. “It’s not a fucking dog, Y/N. It won’t play fetch with you.”

“I know that. How about you come up with a better idea, then?” Y/N snaps through gritted teeth. The lion hisses again, causing the women to tremble down to their bones and hug each other tighter. “I think I should jump it.”

“Are you nuts? No!”

“Look, while it eats me, you can flee. I can’t run with my cast anyways. This is the best option,” Y/N insists, but Jo vehemently shakes her head.

“Fuck no! You’re not sacrificing yourself. We die together. You’re not leaving me behind,” Jo maintains. “I always knew my death would be your fault. Don’t ask me how, but I knew you’d get me killed somehow.”

The wild cat takes another step forward and lowers to the ground as if to get ready to jump its prey – them. But then a few tumbling rocks and breaking twigs draw its attention behind the women. Is there an even bigger cat here?

And suddenly, Meg leaps forward from above them with a loud howl and snarls at the cat, which hastily tucks its tail between its legs and flees down the hill into the dark night. Y/N and Jo expel a big breath of relief and a shaky laugh as they find Meg.

“Meg, what the fuck? Did you just scare away a mountain lion?” Y/N gapes at her friend in utter disbelief.

Meg only shrugs her shoulders. “I hate cats. What are you guys doing out here so long?”

“We got lost. Couldn’t find our way back to camp,” Y/N explains.

Meg furrows her brow and thumbs behind her. “It’s just over there. You guys have been hiking around the same hill for five hours.”

Jo shoots Y/N a small glare of annoyance and blows some loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Of course we did…” she mutters.

“We have to get back to LA!” Y/N declares eagerly, trying to climb the small rocky hill with her crutches, foregoing the more suitable pathway.

“Right now? It’s probably 3am when we get to Burbank. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Jo says as she attempts to climb after her friend.

“No! I almost died! Twice… Dean needs to know how I feel before I get bit by a rattlesnake, too,” Y/N reiterates passionately.

“It’s probably for the best,” Meg chimes in. “We kinda forgot to pack food. I was about to hunt something for us when I ran into you guys. We have tons of drugs and booze, though.”

Y/N’s knuckles thunder persistently on Dean’s door and conjure up a storm. She has jumped out of Ruby’s limo so fast, the girls are still scrambling out and flooding Dean’s front lawn one by one. They’re loud and obnoxious, but the ringing in her ears makes their chatter barely noticeable.

The lock clicks and the door opens. Dean stands in front of her with weary green eyes, heavy with sleep, tousled bed-head, and a furiously scrunched brow. He half yawns and half grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he feels clearer, minus the soft buzz of whiskey remnants in his bloodstream, he blinks at the young actress in front of him and then tilts his head at the circus show behind her.

God, between his punk rock daughter and this, his neighbors must really hate him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be camping in fucking Joshua Tree?” His voice is a gravelly bark. He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially when he just woke from a dream about her, but he’s not as masochistic as he used to be. He’s not a fan of torturing himself with the image of her any longer.

Y/N’s heart somersaults as soon as she sees him, even though his apprehension hurts a bit. “Look, I almost died tonight. We got lost in the desert and then a mountain lion almost fucking ate us.”

Dean licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not fucking surprised. Told you Palm Springs is the better option. So, did anyone fucking die? What’s the head count?”

“No one died.”

“Huh. Then why the fuck are you here in the middle of the night, Y/N?” Dean bites, his brow creasing in anger. He can’t even fucking look at her for a second without his heart being on the brink of an explosion. Even saying her goddamn name hurts like needle pricks in an abused vein.

“I–” Y/N swallows thickly. Her drumming heart is stuck in her airway along with her words.

“She’s here to tell you she loves you!” Ruby hollers behind her before several girls tackle her and clasp her mouth shut.

Dean’s heart twists upon the sick joke, his frown deepening. But then he glances at Y/N and thinks he can spot the truth in her eyes. He thought that once before, though, and was terribly wrong.

Y/N gives a shrug of one shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. A small smile forms on her lips. “What she said.”

Dean nods and drags a hand over his freckled face, feeling the tears well in his eyes, too. Fucking whiskey. Always renders him goddamn sentimental. “Look, uhm, you kinda gotta tell me this yourself. Otherwise, I won’t believe it, okay?”

Upon his request, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks him into his eyes. “I’m in fucking love with you.” As soon as the words are out, she starts crying and the tears fall down her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dean’s heart tumbles into free fall, and he’s sure not even a parachute can stop it. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Is-, is it too late?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, grinning brighter than the California sun on the longest day of the year. “Fuck no. Even if it had taken you thirty years, I still would’ve taken you back. That’s kinda how once-in-a-lifetime love works, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good movie,” Y/N jokes between her tears, her fingers tingling to touch him.

“Yeah, best one there is.”

His hands grab hold of her and pull her into his embrace. He claims her lips, Y/N eagerly parting her mouth as his tongue slips between. The kiss is rushed and fervent and perfectly desperate. They’re both so gone they can’t even hear the girls cheering and applauding them in the background.

“You’re gonna come inside?” Dean asks in a murmur against her lips, barely letting her breath.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, Lothario, you got space for us, too?” Cassie shouts with a wide smirk.

“Yeah, we’re fucking starving,” Ruby adds with an impatiently arched brow.

“We, uh, forgot to pack food,” Y/N explains with a chuckle.

Dean sighs and smiles knowingly. “Of course you did.” He then turns to the women waiting on his lawn. “Alright, get in. I’ll order some pizzas.”

The women then proceed to brush past the couple and filter into Dean’s house. Missouri pinches his cheeks, Ruby pats his head, Cassie fist-bumps him and sends Y/N a flirty wink, Meg tousles his hair, Charlie shrugs apologetically, and Jo offers an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m never gonna get rid of them, am I?” Dean looks down at her and tightens his jaw, even when a grin is visible.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s like you’ve adopted twelve strays. One of which actually turned out to be your long-lost puppy. They’re gonna be here until you die and then eat your corpse,” Y/N quips.

“Funny.” Dean clicks his tongue, his dimples itching to form a grin.

“Oooo! Let’s call the guys!” he hears Ruby exclaim from inside his living room. “It’s a fucking wrap party at the boss’ house!”

“No! No party! Guys, c’mon!” Dean storms inside after them, leaving Y/N giggling on his doorstep.

“Let’s call Garth, Kevin, and Benny!” Donna suggests, ignoring his protests. It’s like they can’t fucking hear him.

“I’ll call my husband, too!” Bela adds and eagerly dials Cas’ number on his landline.

“Oh, right, Cas…” Dean mutters with an eye roll as he remembers the impromptu wedding. “No fucking Benny!”

Y/N joins his side and rubs his back in comfort as he watches his house sink into female doom. “You okay?”

The deep trenches in his brow flatten into soft valleys as his green eyes lock on her. He dips his head and pulls her to his lips, kissing her slow and reverently. “Better.” He smirks. “Just gonna have to sage the whole house tomorrow.”

That earns him a playful slap on his chest. He laughs and pulls her closer with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, uh, speaking of party…” Dean mumbles before he addresses the whole room, grabbing their attention with an authoritative clear of his throat. He’s still got it. “You guys wanna do shows in Vegas?”

“What?!”

Dean’s eyes find Y/N’s gaping face. He chuckles a little. “Yeah, uh, Bobby offered me a deal. There’s nothing in the network contract about live shows. I already went over it with Cas this afternoon. It pays well, too. You guys interested? It’s not like any of you have actual jobs lined up, right?”

Y/N closes her mouth. “I got that Sondheim musical in San Diego. It’s a workshop production, but if it goes well, it could go all the way to Broadway. I could end up in New York.”

“Good,” Dean says and smirks. “You’re fucking fired.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N’s mouth falls open again. “You said you’d never fire me!”

“Yeah, well, this is for your own good,” Dean reasons. “You think I’m gonna let you quit Sondheim for some stupid wrestling show in Vegas? You gotta be fucking nuts! This is what you fucking wanted. Don’t make me kick your stupid ass onto that stage. It’s gonna look embarrassing for you again…”

Y/N bites her lips to conceal her grin. Her eyes meet Jo’s, who mouths ‘I told you so’ at her. “Thank you,” she tells Dean and kisses his cheek. He furrows his brow at her in suspicion. “But rehearsals don’t start until June. Still gonna need a job till then.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow shoots up in realization. “The June in nine months?”

“Yeah, the June in nine months,” Y/N confirms with a laugh.

“Whoops. Well, consider yourself rehired till June, then,” Dean relents.

“So, if I ever have to work in New York–”

“Then we’ll go to New York. Big fucking whoop-dee-doo. You know I hate LA.”

Y/N giggles, nodding. “What would you do in New York?”

“Same I do here, just on a little balcony instead of a backyard. I sit with my typewriter by a table and smoke and drink,” Dean retorts. “I’ve actually been working on a new script. I’m moving away from horror and into Western.”

“Got inspired by the motel’s wallpaper, huh?” Y/N teases. “What’s it about?”

“Father-daughter storyline. Thought I’d give that a shot…”

1990, 5 years later…

“Dean! We’re gonna be late!” Y/N reminds him and holds the blindfold in place over her eyes as he drags her somewhere by the hand. Her heels can barely keep up with his fast pace. “You know, check-in at LAX is the worst. Our flight departs in two hours. I’m nominated, Dean! I can’t reschedule! The girls are all flying in, too…”

“I know! I’m fucking hurrying, okay?” Dean assures. However, she can hear the stress and tension in his gravelly voice. He then suddenly halts and positions her into place by her shoulders before carefully taking off the blindfold. “Alright, here we are.”

Y/N blinks her eyes open and recognizes blurry shapes of purple and gold. She lifts an eyebrow as ornaments on the walls and a big stage come into view as well. “The Aztec porno theater?”

“Mayan,” Dean corrects her and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets down in front of her on one knee and tries to fumble out the too-big ring box from his too-tiny suit jacket pocket. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, wait!” Y/N stops his endeavor with raised palms, her eyebrows meeting her hairline when she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N!” Dean frowns in frustration and rises to his feet with a huff and a shaking head. “I know you’re against marriage and the patriarchy and all that bullshit, but c’mon… We’ve been dating for five years. We have a good thing going, right?”

After spending a whole year in beautiful Las Vegas – the Paris of Nevada – the two of them moved to New York. Dean sold his house in Burbank and opted for a Brooklyn apartment instead. Claire also studied film at NYU before she graduated last Spring. But every few months, the couple finds themselves back in LA – for interviews, for business, for friends.

“Dean–”

“No! You know me. I’d make a great fucking husband. You love it when I make reporters laugh on the red carpet. I’m an awesome trophy husband, okay?”

“DEAN!”

“WHAT?!”

Why the fuck is she angry now? He should be the one that’s angry. She’s turning down the best opportunity of her life. She should consider herself lucky he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He even had an amazing speech prepared to knock her right off her feet, but does he get to say it now? How he wanted to grow fucking old together and support each other? How he wanted to marry her all those years ago when she told him she was pregnant? Nope...

“I’m fucking pregnant!”

Dean blinks at her in confusion before his eyes begin to wander around the familiar theater. Did he take something? Drink too much? Did he actually travel through time or is this a weird fever dream on his deathbed?

“What’s it with you and this theater? And why do you always yell that?”

“Because you never listen.” Y/N giggles and bites her lower lip. “And I’ll gladly marry you if that’s what you were going for. I just figured I’d tell you before in case you wanna change your mind and bail.”

“Why the fuck would I bail?” Dean’s brows knit together, close to offense.

She shrugs and holds up her palms in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Why? Isn’t it mine?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a grin twitching on her pink lips as she slaps his arm. “Yes, of course it’s yours.”

“And you’re keeping it? You sure?” Dean throws her a quizzical look.

Her brow furrows. “Why, you aren’t?”

“No, I am!” he assures her swiftly, realizing how it sounded. “Hell yeah, I want another kid! You know I always wanted to make up for missing out on Claire so much! I finally get to change a diaper, go to the park, or the fucking zoo while my wife works… It’ll be so fun!”

Y/N tries to stifle her laugh. He seems happy, judging by the joyful glint in his green eyes. They resemble sparkling emeralds.

“But are you sure, y' know?” Dean checks with a deep look into her eyes. “I mean, I do what I can to support you and keep the thing alive in your absence, but you know you’re still gonna be benched for a couple of months, right? I’m not a fucking seahorse.”

Y/N laughs a little at that. “I know. I’m fine with sitting on the bench for a little while. I’m kinda exhausted. I did two Broadway musicals almost back to back, three off-Broadway shows, all the workshops and the rehearsals and Matinees and the dancing and the singing… Not to mention I’m nominated for a fucking Tony tonight,” she says and is close to out of breath by the time she finishes her list of accomplishments.

“Which you’re gonna win,” Dean reassures her persistently. He’s been telling her since the nominations were announced (and even before that when he first saw her in the role on the first night).

“We’ll see,” she brushes him off, although her blushed cheeks betray her words. In her heart, she hopes so as well. “Anyways, I could use the break,” she admits and takes his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers. She places a loving kiss on his lips. “Right time, right guy, right baby,” she says, smiling.

Dean squeezes her hand happily and pulls her to his lips for a searing kiss. “So, where did we land on that whole marriage thing?”

“See? You’re never listening,” she teases, laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Under one condition…”

Dean smirks. “I've had the same exact thought – Vegas. It’s perfect!”

“What, no! I don’t wanna get married in filthy Vegas, you dork!” Y/N frowns playfully, shaking her head. “I wanna get married in Nebraska. I want my dad to marry us."

Dean’s brow creases. He chuckles in amusement. “What, like a shotgun wedding? Could be fun… Pastor marries pregnant daughter to older man. Is this gonna make headlines in the townie paper?”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head at him. “No, it’s a shotgun wedding. It’s very common,” she deadpans.

“I’ve never met your parents,” Dean realizes then. “Why have I never met your parents? It’s weird they never come visit you,” he ponders.

“Oh no, they do,” Y/N tells him, pursing her lips as she twirls her hair around her finger. “They’ve seen me both in Into The Woods and Gypsy.”

“Really, when?” Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Whenever you were in LA, visiting Claire,” Y/N admits ruefully. She never told them she was dating the director, not sure if they’d approve – not that she gives a shit, but she wanted to spare herself all the sermons and the exploring of the Sunday school dating pool. Whenever they asked who owned the men’s clothes in her apartment, she lied and said she had a gay-but-in-the-closet roommate. “But you can meet them now,” she promises with a reassuring smile on her lips. Thank God she’s an excellent, Tony-nominated actress. “I’m sure they learn to love you just like I did.”

“Learn to?”

“I love you.” Y/N smiles mischievously and shuts up any further comments by kissing him.

Dean grins and relents with a blissful sigh. “I love you, too.”

THE END 🌅

Thank you all so much for reading and making me laugh with your comments and screams throughout! 🤍

Are we done with these two for good? Probably not. I've left gaps and doors open on purpose, so I'm sure they'll make an appearance again at some point in the future 😉

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@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70

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smokedruid · 2 days

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Come On, Cowgirl (the ghoul x lucy maclean) part 1

word count: 2.6k

after the events of season 1's finale, lucy and the ghoul embark to find lucy's father and finally get some answers (as well as maybe a bit of revenge). on the journey, they find they have more in common than either might have imagined.

"Don't Meet Your Heroes"

The Ghoul didn’t speak a word for more than half a day before Lucy couldn’t take it anymore.

At first, his silence felt like a gift - the first kind thing he’d done for her. It gave her a chance to pick apart all of the things she could and should have said to her Dad before he flew unceremoniously away in that stupid suit.

God, how had she been so blind?

Coming to the surface had meant discovering that everything she’d ever known, the foundation she built her whole life on, was a lie. That much would have broken anyone else from 33 - but Lucy would be different. She may have lost her finger, probably her health, and most of her dignity, but she had her father, and she was determined that once he was freed, he would make things make sense again.

Right. That had worked out well.

After those first few hours of silence, she started catching sideways glances from under the Ghoul’s tattered hat. His eyebrows were lowered and cast a shadow over his sunken eyes - well, they would, if he had any - but he never looked longer than a moment. They’d crossed the ridge of the mountains by now and the settlement where she’d left Max - who was hopefully conscious, by now - had vanished over the horizon.

“Surface trained the chatterbox outta you, huh?” he finally spoke after her knees had started aching from the downhill climb. Despite feeling moreover glad that he wasn’t looking at her anymore, this sparked a hot irritation in her gut.

“What would you do if your mom was a ghoul and your dad turned out to be a megalomaniac?” she retorted hotly, then instantly felt sorry. He didn’t turn around to look at her - he hadn’t even when he first spoke.

“I din’t turn into this by sittin’ on my ass and drinkin’ lemonade, you know,” he replied, and again, his head twitched, but he didn’t look all the way around. Shame blossomed into a warm pool at the base of her chest and she bit the inside of her lip guiltily.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that,” she replied softly and a grunt answered from ahead of her. She wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a word lost behind his yellowed teeth.

After a long moment: “You knew my dad.”

At this, he slowed down, allowing her to catch up to him - something she could have done if she really wanted, but was now forced to. He stopped for a moment to examine her, his mouth working like he was chewing imaginary tobacco. Maybe he really was chewing tobacco. She wasn’t sure.

“Yeah,” he nodded. He turned that word into a three-syllable affair. Ye-a-wh. Nobody had accents like that in the vaults. In movies, maybe, but not thick as his. Everything he said was muddled. “I’m guessin’ this’sall new information for you.” he turned away again to keep walking, but this time she kept pace at his shoulder. Well, below his shoulder.

“Yeah,” she echoed dully. “I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.” he rested a hand on his holster and she flinched back before he turned a bemused eye on her.

“Ain’t gunna hurtcha. Not now, anyway, that wouln’t do me much good.” he took the shotgun from his side and dropped empty casings to the ground to reload it absently.

“Well that’s good to know,” she replied flatly, but he made no sign he’d heard her.

“Wha’d you do with your daddy down in the vaults, hm? Play catch with jello moulds or sum shit?” he was clearly joking, but a heat was creeping up her throat and making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. She shook her head, even though he wasn’t looking.

“No. I helped him with work, sometimes. We walked. Watched movies,” Lucy hated that he could hear the thickness in her voice, the first hints of tears, even if she wouldn’t let them fall. It had been a rhetorical question anyway. He re-holstered his gun with a snort.

“Walked where? In circles?” he looked up and Lucy quickly turned her face away, feigning interest in the barren waste to her right. “Movies,” he repeated, and she got the feeling he’d caught a glimpse of her flushed face. Was this really better than being waterboarded for bait?

“He liked westerns. So that’s what we watched,” she shrugged, not sure why she was entertaining this conversation when the silence had been so peaceful by comparison.

When she felt composed enough to turn back around, his bare eyebrows had raised, elongating his red, fleshless face.

“Westerns, huh?” one end of his mouth was pulling up as if by an invisible fish hook.

Lucy thought the word ‘smile’ was a little generous in describing whatever his mouth was doing. Not quite a smirk. Not genuine enough to be a smile. She nodded, surprised at his interest. She didn’t know how old he was exactly, but probably old enough to have been to a movie theater, she realized.

“Big cowboy fan. I r’member that about him.” the sentence almost made Lucy flinch.

It seemed impossible to imagine her dad outside of a vault, let alone alive before they ever existed. With him. One thought led to another, and before she realized what she was doing, her eyes were tracing the Ghoul’s jagged profile and trying to imagine hair, skin, a nose. She only had to squint a little to achieve the illusion of skin, but frankly, picturing him with a nose seemed incorrect.

“I got sum’n on my face?” he asked before Lucy could realize he’d caught her eye.

“No. No. Sorry,” she fixed her eyes to the powdery dirt under them. He let out what Lucy thought might be a chuckle, but it quickly turned into a dry, wheezing cough. “Did you like westerns too?” she asked the ground, hoping to steer the conversation away from touchier topics - for both of them. He laughed again.

“Feo, fuerte y formal,” he gave her a wry side glance and she felt herself smile before she could stop it. God, her dad had loved that movie so much - she must have seen it a dozen times, at least. Fallen asleep to it a dozen more.

“You are a fan!” the lightness returning to her face and voice made her feel more like herself than she had in several days. Instead of the exasperation that he’d met her with before, he seemed amused. Maybe still in a slightly derogatory way, but Lucy decided this was better than being waterboarded.

“Doesn’t take a fan to know that line. Couldn’t walk into a theatre without that movie hitt'n you in the nose.” this confirmed Lucy’s suspicion that he had been to a movie theater. She tried not to be a little jealous. And not to imagine him with a nose again. In a theatre. With his wife.

He’d said he had a wife, right? That conversation was a blur that ended with the single clear picture of her father leaving.

“I, well,” Lucy began, her talkative nature kicking back in without help. “I used to have a big crush on one of those actors, when I was younger.” This caught his attention more than she’d expected. He turned his whole head to shoot her an amused stare.

“Really, now? I pit’ured you with some button up prairie boy, but you like an outlaw, don’tcha, sweetheart?” he was needling her now, provoking her, but she couldn’t help but earnestly respond.

“No, no, the good guys,” she insisted, to his greater entertainment. She knew he was making fun of her on some level, but couldn’t bring herself to be truly irritated. “You know, the heroes.” he nodded back slowly.

He was definitely making fun of her.

“Lemme guess… Fred Larson,” he mocked hitting a button like one of those old game show contestants. “Real prim and proper, just like you.” For some reason, this made her cheeks glow again and she shook her head, still smiling.

She wasn’t sure why she was smiling except for the fact that it felt so good. Like it was the only way to crack off the hard exterior these last few weeks had caked onto her. He said he wasn’t going to hurt her, and right now, she believed him. So she was smiling.

“No- that one actor, from that movie- Cooper… Cooper Howard!” she struggled to remember his last name. Sitting on a couch, sitting down to watch a movie, god, that felt like another lifetime. It was hard to imagine being that carefree again.

When she looked back up at him, he wasn’t smiling anymore, so she stopped too. “Feo fuerte y formal. You know,” she repeated stupidly, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Not my fav’rite,” he shrugged, and she frowned. Hadn’t he just quoted that same movie?

“Too heroic for you?” She tried to tease, but his eyes turned sharp and she fell quiet again. Something she’d said had irritated him, and she flipped back through the conversation, but he was as unpredictable as fire. Whatever it was, all she could do was try not to say it again… somehow. “Who did you like, then?” she tried to redirect, but he seemed to have lost the appetite for conversation.

“‘S been a long time.” he replied indifferently, so Lucy let their walk return to silence. They continued that way until sundown.

Lucy didn’t know if the Ghoul slept, but she certainly needed to. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him exhaust himself once that first time he’d kidnapped her. Probably all of those drugs.

“Can we stop here?” she finally asked faintly, holding a stitch in her side. Maximus was certainly larger than her, but the Ghoul was taller. Longer legs, longer strides - more effort to keep up with his normal pace. Max had also slowed down for Lucy. The Ghoul didn’t slow down for anything.

He turned to look back at her like he’d forgotten she was there.

“‘Lrght,” he grunted back.

They’d stopped close enough to some wreckage that would make for decent cover, despite being half buried in sand and dust. You couldn’t find much untouched by sand or dust up here, Lucy had learned.

The Ghoul, as she’d predicted, didn’t show signs of sleeping. If he did, she doubted he’d ever fall asleep first anyway. He slid down against a wall and drew out a wad of cigarettes from his coat before lighting one. Another appeared before her as she laid her bag out like a pillow on the floor. An offer. She wrinkled her nose.

“No thanks,” she replied, and they disappeared back into his trenchcoat.

“Suityrself,” he shrugged, taking a long, satisfied draw of smoke and releasing it in lazy curls. Whatever had happened earlier had closed him off, and he was still just as reserved.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, knowing that best case scenario, he'd just laugh at her. Granted, she had learned her interpersonal management skills from books, but still.

“Nope,” he replied, not looking up at her from the twisting smoke between his fingers. His hat was low over his eyes, so all she could see of him in the dark was the pulsing glow of the lit cigarette.

“Okay…” she replied, unconvinced. She couldn’t gauge what his ‘normal’ was. Nothing about him was normal. “If it was about the movies-” she began, unable to stop herself. The interpersonal management guides always urged you to fix a conflict before putting it down, and clearly, it had trained her well.

“Wha’d I tell you?” he tilted his head up just enough for the embers to illuminate the bottom half of his face. It almost looked normal in the dim light, where you couldn’t tell his nose was nothing but a cavity, and his skin merely looked blemished, instead of raw. “If y’re worried about this-” he nudged his shotgun with an elbow, but she hurriedly shook her head.

“I’m not. I just…” she couldn’t find a good enough reason.

I just can’t leave things well enough alone? Well, that was true at least. I have a stupid, inexplicable urge to make everyone like me, weirdly - especially - you? She definitely couldn’t say that… even if it were the truth too.

“...I thought you liked westerns,” she finished lamely. He snorted hard enough that it ruffled the clean spirals of smoke leaving his mouth.

“I watched ‘em. Never said I liked ‘em,” he replied simply.

Lucy had been so spoiled, she realized that now. When talking to people from the vault, their tendency was often to over-speak. If you stood still long enough in front of someone from 33, you’d probably walk away with their life story and entire known genealogy.

He was completely the opposite. Simple and blunt, just like his features. Nothing about him was accommodating. Not his stride, not his words, not even his stupid face. She scolded herself inwardly - his face wasn’t stupid. Even if it was, she wouldn’t say something like that.

“Is it… you don’t like Cooper Howard?” Lucy had told herself that whatever button she’d pressed, she wouldn’t press again. This conversation proved that she was failing that completely.

“It’s no wonder you’re such a good girl,” he replied with a lazy sort of meanness. “All those movies fillin’ your head with horseshit about fairness and fuckin’ apple pie.” she was surprised at his response and remained still, arms wrapped around her knees habitually.

“Well, it’s good to have a role model, isn’t it?” she replied weakly and he grunted out a laugh. Half of his communication came in grunts.

“Not up here, sweetheart. When y’re busy chasin fuckin’ fairytales, you can't see when you're about to catch a bullet in your head.” he never seemed to get angry. Irritated, yes. Mean, yes. But after so long, nothing seemed to really ruffle him.

Again, probably the drugs, She reminded herself.

“Well, sorry,” she bit back, the words coming out more pathetically than she was intending. “I just thought we finally had something in common.”

A long silence followed this before a deep sigh. When he inhaled on the cigarette, and the embers burned brighter, she saw he was frowning.

The conversation was over. She turned over to rest her head on her bag.

“C’mere,” a low murmur came from behind her, and she glanced back over her shoulder. The light had completely dwindled now, and the only hint anyone was there was the small circle of light and its trail of smoke.

“What?” She replied hoarsely, her face growing oddly warm.

“C’mere,” he repeated, and raised his canteen to his face so his cigarette would reflect on the metal. She understood now, and shuffled forward, not looking to turn him down. Especially not after whatever had just happened. It had felt like an argument, but she didn’t have the faintest clue what they’d been arguing about.

He waited until her knees were nearly brushing his boots and she was all but inhaling his secondhand smoke to lean forward and motion for her to open her mouth. When she didn’t see it the first time, he brushed her chin with a gloved knuckle and she opened it obediently.

She was too obedient, always.

She tilted her head back and let the warm, metallic water fall into her mouth. It tasted awful, of course, but after several dry days, it was heaven in a bottle. He indulged her for slightly too long before retracting the canteen, forcing her to remember herself.

She closed her mouth hurriedly, feeling exposed so close to him in the dark and crawled back to her spot on the sandy floor.

She watched the glow flicker on the wall while he smoked his cigarette dead, and by the time the light had faded, Lucy was asleep.

AN: this will probably be 4 or 5 parts so look forward to those soon! this is also on ao3 under my same user :]

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lailawinchesterr · 20 hours

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Silence in the city

summary: you’re going through a rough patch with your boyfriend Sam, and Dean is there to help you. Can you forgive Sam? Does your relationship with Dean evolve?

guys first time writing anything remotely sexual please don’t make me kms tysm! tw: not that explicit but kinda + rape but not described at all (by soulless Sam)

We’re on the couch with one of Dean’s ‘underrated’ movies playing. He already left with a quiet ‘goodnight’ a few minutes ago so when I look over at Sam to see him already watching me, I’m not surprised. And then I lean in, claiming his lips on mine and he doesn’t seem to mind so I do it harder, pulling him closer, and he leans down a little more so he doesn’t strain his neck then he pulls away and I whine at the loss of contact.

“You sure?” Sam asks and I smile at him, nodding. He’s sweet like that. We’ve waited at least two years but he still doesn’t mind waiting more. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, we don’t have to rush.”

“Maybe we don’t have to go all the way today, just a little. Just… kiss me, Sam.” He does and I reciprocate desperately. We didn’t talk much about safe words but before he lost his soul our main ones were ‘red’ and ‘green’, so we both assume it’s the same ones now.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans when I flip us over so I’m on his lap now. I move against him, pushing our bodies closer (if that’s possible), but still through our clothes. I don’t know how much I want to let Sam see today but I don’t reckon it’s a lot, so this will have to do.

His hands instinctively find my hips but I quickly push them off, holding them down onto the couch and moving a little faster, rougher, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. “Sammy…”

“Baby, can I kiss you?” I take a second to process his words before quickly picking my head up and leaning in, he connects our lips and his tongue slides over my bottom one, licking and waiting for an invitation. I grant it to him, removing my hands from their grip on his wrists so I can ground myself on his shoulders.

Fuck. We haven’t even touched each other in so long it’s embarrassing how fast I’m going to come. Sam pulls away for a second to speak, “Hey, fuck, you need to slow down, sweetheart, won’t last like this.”

“Glad I’m not the only one.” I let out a laugh but I don’t think he finds it as funny because his hands try to find my hips again but I quickly hold them in place on my thigh. “Okay, yeah.” I slow down my rhythm to basically nothing but we’re both still breathing heavily and into the other’s neck.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks out of nowhere and I frown, still grinding on him softly, still panting, still out of breath and shaking and wet, “Talk to me.”

“What— shit— what do you mean?”

“Your hands. Are you scared? Sweetheart, Stop for a second.” I want to stop to listen to this riveting conversation about how much of a coward I am but I couldn’t even if he begged me to because I am just so so so close.

“Hey!” His hands fly to my waist and I freeze immediately, slapping both hands away with much more force this time.

“Stop it, Sam! Don’t touch my waist again, please.” My voice is all but inviting for any type of negotiation and he doesn’t looks like he wants to anyways, putting both of them up in defeat but staring right into my eyes

“What’s wrong? Why?”

“‘Cause…” I say as if that’s all the reason in the world and try to get off of him but he quickly shakes his head, evidently struggling to keep his hands to himself. I stay planted on his half-hard on.

“Can you just… can you not run away from this? Can we talk about it instead of forcing it?”

“No, I don’t want to.” And I do get off of him this time, leaning back into the couch. Now I’m wet and angry. Great, that’s just awesome.

“If you spent half as much time talking to me as you do avoiding it—”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t the one who was raped by your own fucking boyfriend so I hardly see how you’re an expert on the matter.” I can already feel the shocked expression and disappointment and hurt coming from him so I don’t bother looking, instead I stand up and walk to my room.

While walking back to my room I stopped by the kitchen to get some pills for the headache I know I’m going to get later and maybe some sleeping pills too.

Then I see Dean. Dean Winchester who we all thought was dead asleep in his bed was actually eating cherry pie in the kitchen a few feet from me and Sam’s fucking and fighting.

“Dean? What’re you doing up?”

“I didn’t go to sleep. Y’all just looked like you wanted to be alone so I bailed.” I nod and walk over to the fridge. I’m not certain about what I’m looking for but I’ll know it when I find it. “By the way,” I hear from behind me, barely, and i just hum in acknowledgment as I scour and— yes! Cereal! I take the milk out and go to the cupboards for the cereal.

Dean clears his throat, his mouth no longer full, “By the way, if you ever wanna talk, you know I’m here for you, right?”

I, honest to God, can’t think of one time in my entire life where Dean has said that to me and I’ve known the man for the better part of a decade.

“Sure…” My words aren’t sure but I hope he doesn’t pick up on that because I don’t mean to offend him, we just haven’t always been friends.

The first time I met Sam and Dean was on a hunt and neither of them trusted or liked me for the entirety of it. The fifth hunt we accidentally met on was when they finally let their guard down (to some extent) to see I was just an average hunter like they are. Though I hold nothing to the infamous Winchesters.

Even then, Dean was never my best friend. We never even spoke alone, mostly just when Sam was around. And even when I got with Sam a couple of months later, Dean had his doubts (which he made crystal clear) and kept a wall up ever so slightly. Only when I was ten months into dating Sam did Dean strike conversations when we were alone. We went on some hunts together without my boyfriend and we even texted sometimes. I think that was the biggest step to take with grandpa because man, does he hate to text.

There’s an exasperated breath then, “I’m serious.”

“Okay.” I nod once and assemble my bowl of lucky charms. Dean is a sweetheart, honestly, and attractive as hell, sure, but he’s also emotionally unavailable and extremely traumatized. Both of those qualities are ones I already handle with his brother, I don’t need a second Winchester to do take care of.

“I just mean that if you ever want to tell me anything about how you and Sam are doing—” Ah, there it is. The blatant need to protect Sam from everyone and everything. Not limited to those who love him, of course, because who could really ever love Sam more than his older brother?

“Sam’s fine, Dean.”

“I don’t mean just him. What about you? Are you fine?”

“Yes— why are you doing this? Why are you asking about me?”

When I look up from the counter Dean’s no longer eating, just staring at me, as if willing me to make eye contact. “‘Cause, you’re family, you know that, right?”

Family? Since when am I family? The most ‘family’ I’ve been to him is due to the fact that Sam fucks me occasionally and that I sleep in one of the many bedrooms in this shit hole. “Okay… thanks.”

“Fuck,” He rubs a hand over his mouth then gets up, walking over to me. He’s much closer now that I anticipated and I’m hardly doing anything to cover my hardened nipples or my too-low sweatpants that clearly show off my belly button piercing and white underwear straps.

“I can’t have you doubting that. I know I ain’t the best at this whole thing but you’ve always been family, ever since you helped with Cas—” that’s the second hunt we went on, “and then Charlie—” third hunt, “then you got with Sam and maybe I haven’t showed it but we do care about you. I care about you. I don’t just wanna know if Sammy’s okay, wanna know if you are too.”

I take a deep breath that maybe almost chokes me, “Yeah,” I don’t wanna cry in front of Dean. He’d just make fun of me, but I have so much to cry about it and I don’t know if I can hold it. “Yeah, Dean, I know.” Please God, don’t let my voice break. “I’m good, I’m okay. Thanks. I’m going— yeah, my room. I’m— okay, yeah, g’night.”

And I’ve never run out of a room so fast.

gonna post a part two later, not sure where I’m going with it though but this idea just popped into my head cause I love those two codependent freaks sm.

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geckoomoria · 11 hours

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Routledge reader x jj 👀

Interpret it however you want but I eat that trope up every time.

also I love ur writing sm 😍

Worth it- jj may bank x rout-ledge reader

babe i love you.

HMMM I WAS ACC THINKING ABT THIS ONE SO U READ MY MIND CUTIE but like i was thinking wb John B having a sister thats a year or two older and jj has this huge crush on her.

low-key wanna make her a lil masc. like car mechanic and a smoker type shit ( shares interests with jj)

sorry this took so long to post , took me a while to think of the right story. AND SORRY ITS SO LONG I JUST REALLT LIKE SETTING THE SCENE.

mentions of blood , fighting , smoking , yelling, abuse -ive home

————————————★ —————————————

Wednesday, June 17th

6:40 pm

THE POGUES DECIDED TO GO FOR A BOAT RIDE hoping to cure their boredom on this hot summer day. 4 of the teenagers decided to test the cool waters , swimming , surfing and fishing.

As the daylight eventually ended and the sun was beginning to set, they all made their way to Twinkie , John b’s van and as fate would have it , it appeared to be broken down in some way.

“man why is it making that weird ass sound?” questions Jj as he keeps trying to turn on the ignition but fails each time.

“you think i know? probably busted somewhere” john b replies looking around for any signs of why the Twinkie wont start.

the van finally starts but it continues making a weird noise , scaring the group into thinking it wont last much longer.

Pope cant take waiting any longer “call AAA or something, if we die in that deathtrap im suing you” Kiara nods in agreement with him.

John B rolls his eyes at his friends antics and pulls out his cellphone “yeah yeah i got something better than AAA”

the three other Pogues share glances in confusion wondering who he’s calling other than car service.

After a few moments talking on the phone with much annoyance from Jj getting close in an attempt to hear , he finally ends the call.

“alright lets head down” he says getting in the drivers seat. “to?” Kiara questions

“Y/n , shes in town and working today. Said she’ll take a look” , Pope and Kiara eyes nearly pop out of their skulls , no idea of John Bs older sister being in town since you travelled for studies and job opportunities a lot.

Jj on the other hand is stunned a little , he remembers you very clearly yet its been years since seeing you.

You were a year older than John B and Jj always had a huge crush on you as a kid.

He even remembers that stupid promise you made him when he was 9 and you were 10. If you weren’t married by 25 , you would marry Jj.

To you it might have seemed like an fun empty promise made to a kid to keep him happy but to Jj? He still held onto that all these years.

every girl he was with , he refused to let it go farther than a hookup because he wanted nothing more than to be with his longtime crush.

Jj finally snapped out of his trance as John B calls his name for the 5th time , making him realize they all already got into the van while he was reminiscing.

He was anxious the whole ride to the mechanic shop , wondering if you’d even remember him let alone his massive crush on you.

The group finally makes their way towards the shop with no one working to be seen. John B calls out your name repeatedly while looking around.

Finally Kiara nudges him to catch his attention on the pair of legs that’s underneath a car. “N/n? that you?” the younger Routledge calls out.

You slide from underneath the car the you were working on , standing up and wiping the oil off of your hands with a rag.

You looked different, you had obviously matured physically and likely mentally.

Obviously you would look different from when you guys were kids , you looked beyond beautiful now.

Jjs eyes were stuck on your figure as you pull john b into a tight hug , giving him a ear pull to tease him while your at it.

oil smeared on your face , your mechanic overalls opened from the top half to drape down the bottom half showing a black halter bikini top that also revealed a belly button piercing , paired with black combat boots.

Your eyes averted to your younger brothers friends recognizing them from whenever you came to visit.

Pope and Kiara basically threw themselves towards you as its been years since they’ve seen you.

You then lastly notice the tall muscular blonde boy with his hat flipped backwards to be quite familiar, staring at you.

You knew exactly who this was.

“is that who i think it is?” you say in a teasing tone , pointing at Jj with a smirk on your face.

“yes its your future husband.” is what Jj swore was gonna come out of his mouth but instead he continued to stare at you , eyes wide.

“oh cmon J, dont tell me you don’t remember me” you asked with a dramatic tone underlying your words. Jj and his friends knew for a FACT he was making an absolute fool of himself right now.

You were always attractive to him but seeing you so… badass made you 10x hotter

He needed to say something in response to you right now or else he’d continue embarrassing himself.

“Y/n?” he questions half heartily as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing ever.

“well i was hoping you’d say the better sibling but that works too” you say causing John B to push your shoulder slightly and earned chuckles from Pope and Kiara.

The silence that follows was deafening , making you all stand there awkwardly as Jj continued to stare at you. His friends were beyond surprised to see Jj of all people be so stunned of a girl.

“so uh you said Twinkie broke down?” you say filling the silence

“yeah keeps making this weird noise , no clue whats going on” your younger brother replies

you grab your tools and slide under John b’s van , tinkering the car while the Pogues wait around.

The four start whisper arguing in hopes of you not hearing:

“what the hell was that??”

“yeah Jj man why are you acting so weird around her?”

“i don- i dont know! i just couldn’t speak alright! i think i have like hemorrhoids!”

“Jj i dont think you know what hemorrhoids are”

“alright spill. whats going on with you and Mrs Routledge over there?”

“its Miss* Routledge actually. Jeez you guys make it sound like im supposed to be having my third child by now when im only a year older” you say from under the van , butting into their not so secret conversation leaving the whole group to stare at Jj who’s gone red in the face.

They decide to stay silent for the rest of the time so Jj doesn’t pop a blood vessel out of embarrassment anytime soon.

around half an hour later , you come out from under the van and wipe your hands again , telling john b to turn on the ignition. It turns on with no apparent problem and hums like a brand new vehicle.

The pogues cheer loudly in victory , you start cleaning up as your shift was coming to an end anyways. The pogues eye each other as you turn your back , all wanting to spend more time with you.

“uh n/n?” calls out Jj as the rest nudge him to talk making you look up at the rest of them , all with puppy like eyes that made you guess they were gonna beg you for something.

“we were uh- gonna go crash a party , yo- you wanna come along?” he says stumbling on his words a little

he was so cute when he was nervous.

you had a feeling none of them were gonna let this go. You sigh in defeat and agree , making them cheer that John b’s “cool ass sister” as they described was coming along.

At the beach party

It had been around an hour since you all arrived, drinking , dancing , smoking weed and hanging out was the main thing you all did.

Jj still hadn’t really held a proper conversation with you , every-time he tried you were catching up with someone else or he’d just get cold feet and chicken out.

He sighed as he sat down to take a smoke on his own by a tree , unaware of your presence above him.

“didn’t know you smoked, y’know its bad for you right” you uttered catching his attention while pulling out a cigarette of your own.

at first he’s stunned that you spoke to him first but figured this was his chance. “whats that then?” he says eyeing the cigarette in your mouth as you lit it

“dont question your elders” blowing out a puff of smoke from your mouth

he laughs “okay granny did you forget that its only by a year” , “still older than ya hon”.

A sound of tranquility fills the air as you two continue smoking , the cold breeze hitting your faces as the party behind you continues.

“im sorry” Jj says sombrely breaking the silence while avoiding eye contact

“for?”

“making things so awkward back there, i was just surprised to see you”

“dont sweat it J , its been a while so i get it. im just glad you remembered me”

“you are?” the blonde boy says facing you now curiously

“i mean yeah , you always were my favourite out of my brothers friends J” you say taking a hit on your cigarette

Jj’s heart sinks a little , right thats all you saw him as , your younger brothers friend.

you take his silence as an odd response, pressing him for more. “what? whats wrong?” you ask

in a bitter quiet tone he mutters “nothin.”

“dont give me that , what did i say?”

“Why cant you see me more than that! why cant you see me!” he outbursts in a much louder tone attracting some glances from people while he stands up

“what are you talking about??” you ask mimicking his stance while putting out your cigarette.

he closes his eyes out of frustration for a second and takes his cap off , running his hands through his blonde shaggy hair.

“im talking about how you don’t remember me liking you , no y’know what loving you!” he spits out in an angry manner

“what? Jj we were kids! why would your crush from years ago matter now!”

“Damn it cause its not from years ago! i still have one. i haven’t forgotten about you at all and you dont even notice me.” he gets in close to you

you stay silent as he attempts to walk away but you grab his shoulder , pulling him back.

“sit.” he obeys defeatedly after hearing the sterness in your tone.

“admit it. its been a while since we’ve been kids and you ARE my brothers best-friend. You really still have feelings for me?”

Jj nods in response as if its the only thing he’s sure of , staring into your eyes.

“then… okay.” He tilts his head slightly confused , you put put your hand for him to shake.

“im Y/n Routledge, you’re Jj right?” you grin

He smiles and shakes your hand. This meant a new beginning , a way to start over.

“does this make you a cougar?” he says making you laugh out loud , “dunno how many times i have to say it , im only a year older”

“yes ma’am” he responds making you shove his shoulder causing him to laugh now

The sound of commotion from the beach makes you revert your attention there , everyone was gathering around a fight.

you both stand up and make your way to watch it , you became worried as Kiara , Pope and Sarah Cameron were all screaming.

John B was getting his ass beat by Topper. You wanted to get involved but Jj beat you to it.

He yanked topper by the shirt and punched him, causing him to let go of John B. Kiara and pope running to help him up.

As he was going to throw another punch at the Kook , you grabbed his arm with the intention of not wanting anything bigger to start. “Jj he’s not worth it. lets get out of here”

seeing the look on your face and the rest of the Pogues , he lowered his guard and turned away from Topper as you all walked away.

“Thats right Maybank! should listen to her , dont wanna follow in your Dads footsteps!”

Crack!

the sound of your fist hits toppers big ass mouth causing blood to gush out.

Everyone stares at you wide eyed. Everyone.

You walk away pissed off and hand bloodied. Jj clearly fighting back a smile “thought he wasn’t worth it?”

“yeah but you are.”

————————————★ —————————————

this was lowkey fun to write especially hitting topper. is it bad i wrote this with fully just the intention of hitting topper😭😭

leave anything in my inbox !!

i love gaining mutuals guys.

I HATE HOW LONG I MAKE DRABBLES BUT I CANT STOP.

also does the colour coding of what characters say bother anyone bc ive been like getting annoyed with the diff colours but it makes seeing which character says what so much easier.

i also just realized all my jj works are always involving a party😭😭 but like its such a him thing , to be partying

#girlblogging #fanfic #obx jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fluff #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #just girly things #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #john b routledge #jj maybank x routledge!reader #fypシ゚viral #mutuals #foryou #jj maybank x you

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atombombkaytee · 1 day

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My Echo, My Shadow and Me (Part 2)

Summary: Hancock and I retire to The Third Rail after a long day to find that it’s particularly busy. Still, we manage to find a quiet spot to indulge in heavy flirting, booze and chems. However, I notice a shadowy figure across the room - somehow, neither Hancock or I recognise the stranger (another ghoul). Hancock is keen to introduce himself but the sheer amount of intoxicants we’ve consumed could have the potential to lead to a very interesting evening.

Pairings: Hancock x Female OC/Reader, Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Female OC/Reader

Warnings: (In future parts - all of the following) Heavy alcohol/drug use, public groping, smut, MMF threesome, anal.

(Part 1 here)

Part 2

After a few hours, I'm struggling to focus and my speech is slurred. However, the entire night has been spent laughing maniacally at the ghoul that I've been cuddled up with. Hancock can handle his liquor much better than me, but he's also been alternating between huffing on Jet and popping Mentats. His favorite combination - chasing the upper and then riding the downer - it led to hilarious conversations.

“Holy SHIT! Do you remember that fucking molerat - that thing went absolutely flying!" He laughs uproariously, nearly toppling the rusty metal table in front of us, clutching his knees for support. Tears of laughter fill my eyes as I try to stifle my giggles. My makeup is likely ruined but the alcohol is dulling my concerns.

“We have sure had some crazy times together…” The fiery sting of whiskey rushes down my throat.

I swing in place before slumping against his shoulder and looking up in admiration at the handsome ghoul sitting beside me. He inclines his head to meet my gaze.

“And, my love, this is just the start. You know being here with you is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me… right?” He swoons, maintaining his stare. Even beyond the alcohol, I can easily uncover the arousal beyond his eyes. If he could, he would probably just have me - right here and now.

I slide my hand clumsily across his thigh, towards his groin and, with it, I catch a swollen erection beneath the fabric of his slacks. Chewing at my lip, I avert my eyes down to admire it. The visible bulging lump is enough to send a flood of liquid trickling into my panties.

With unwavering determination, I maintain the rubbing motion, stimulating his cock beneath the layers of his clothing. Placing my lips against his neck, I tenderly bite down on the elastic flesh nestled there.

“I want you…” I whisper as I move up his neck to connect with his lips. He clashes messily against me, using his tongue to greedily explore my mouth. Our intoxication leads to sloppy, wet kisses. Gripping a fistful of my hair, he pulls me away and holds me in place just inches from his face. The palpable presence of his breath, generating a sensation of warmth against my lips, coincides with the slow, deliberate advance of his other hand towards my thighs, where it delicately brushes against the damp fabric of my underwear. His fingers linger there for a brief moment of stillness, before eventually retracting back.

“Not yet…” Releasing my hair, he jerks me back into position, then promptly seizes his half-full glass once more. Even though he's not making eye contact, I can detect the smile playing on his thin lips, understanding that he’s driving me wild.

“You think you can be a little more patient, dollface? It’s not even midnight yet!”

I pout and tightly cross my legs. Trying to ignore the swollen heat of my cunt between them.

While Hancock throws back another shot - my eyes roam the bar. The noise has diminished noticeably as a large portion of the previous attendees have either retired to their rooms at the Hotel Rexford or are congregated around various tables, showing signs of weariness from their festivities.

I recognize a lot of them - regular faces around Goodneighbor. Some of them are residents, some traders, some mercenaries looking for work, or lost souls that just couldn’t stay away from The Memory Den. But there are also some unfamiliar faces.

Across the room, a group of unkempt women who appear to be raiders are seated around one of the small metal tables. Since they are not causing any disturbances, they are being treated with the same level of acceptance as everyone else (at least for the time being). Two tables over from me and Hancock, an unknown elderly ghoul couple catches my eye. I can't help but smile fondly as I observe the man lovingly place his jacket around his partner's shoulders, shielding her from the chilly breeze.

I quickly shift my focus from table to table, until my attention finally lands on a man by himself, near the back room. Despite the distance between us, and the fact that his eyes are completely obscured underneath a cowboy hat, I can tell that he's a ghoul. The flickering candlelight on the table casts dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the dark, mottled skin and the void in place of his nose. He absentmindedly manipulates an object in his hands. When the spotlights shift to him, a glimmer from the item catches my eye. Is it a knife?

I gently prod Hancock, who is lounging on the sofa with his tricorn hat covering his face, having just indulged in more jet.

“Hey, who’s that over there?”

Offended that I’ve interrupted his high, he adjusts his hat to shoot me a perplexed look before following the direction of my gaze to the stranger in the corner. After a moment of absent observation, he furrows his brow and shakes his head to refocus after using so many chems.

“No idea. Can’t say I’ve seen him around before…”

Hancock's expression contorts into a subtle frown, emanating a hint of concern at the realization that there's a person in Goodneighbor whom he has yet to meet. Unperturbed, he picks up the bigger of the two whiskey bottles left on the table, gently swirling its contents to gauge how much remains.

“Let’s go and introduce ourselves!”

Before I can react, he drunkenly seizes my wrist and yanks me to my feet. All at once, the whiskey rushes to my head. I stumble behind my excited companion, struggling to walk in a straight line.

Hancock staggers towards the shadowy man with no hesitation. He recognizes the potential danger but takes a silent comfort in the fact that every able-bodied person in the bar would come to his aid in an instant, should something go wrong. Then again, he is perfectly capable of fighting his own battles, even when completely inebriated - he doesn't require anyone's help. I have observed this firsthand on multiple occasions.

Hancock pulls out a chair opposite the stranger, its metal feet chiming against the concrete floor. The sound captures the man’s attention. He watches us inquisitively from under his hat while reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small, rusted tin of cigarettes. Despite both of them remaining completely silent, Hancock is already pouring whiskey into the man's glass. I tentatively take a seat on the chair between them. The stranger places a cigarette between his gnarled lips and speaks through it.

“Can I help you?” He ignites the cigarette, nonchalantly discarding the used match to the ground. Reminiscent of Hancock, his voice is coarse from radiation, except it’s complemented by a smooth southern drawl. It's strangely appealing. And I'm seriously drunk. Before I can stop myself, words begin to tumble out of my mouth.

“Are you like… a real cowboy!?”

Both his and Hancock's movements cease abruptly, and although only a moment passes, it stretches out into what seems like an eternity. The dread of my careless remark hits me as I comprehend the implications of saying something so silly to a complete (and possibly dangerous) stranger.

Their eyes meet briefly before turning back to me. The stranger lifts his head, unveiling a clearer look at his face. His complexion is much darker than Hancock's, with a rubbery texture that appears less ridged. His eyes are also different from Hancock's, with the whites still visible and large black-brown pupils surrounded by red forking blood vessels. His serious demeanor shifts slightly as a smile snakes across his lips and he twists his head to examine me with curiosity.

“Well, fuck me! Ain’t you just an adorable little smoothskin?”

He inhales deeply on his cigarette, and nods in a gesture of approval towards Hancock, leaning forward purposefully to reach for his newly acquired glass of whiskey.

“I guess you could say I am a cowboy - something like that.”

It is quite apparent from the way he is speaking that he is also somewhat drunk. He sways slightly in his spot as he gulps down his drink, forcefully placing the empty glass on the metallic surface and then proceeding with his cigarette. Hancock unveils his own tin and pops a Mentat into his mouth, extending the same to the stranger. The ghoul eyes him with a touch of suspicion momentarily, before snatching one and avidly consuming it.

“Hell - would you look at this for hospitality!” He chortles. Hancock smirks at him, his eyes droopy with alcohol.

“That’s just what you get when you come to Goodneighbor, my friend! Of the people, for the people!” I discreetly reach out beneath the table to grip Hancock's knee, half-wondering if he’s still hard. Instead, mindful of the presence of another man, I let it rest there, protectively.

“Yeah, I dunno about all that horseshit. But - free booze and drugs will get me on your side, ain’t no doubt about that.”

His teeth are yellow and his lips are dry. Nevertheless, he’s handsome - just like Hancock. Not all ghouls are handsome… some are more decayed than others or, simply, lack the accompanying charisma. Luck of the draw, I suppose.

Observing Hancock lean back in his chair, I am somewhat surprised that the flimsy support can withstand his unsteady weight.

“I’m Hancock - I’m the mayor ‘round here.” His hand tightens on my shoulder as he gestures toward me with a tilt of his head. “And this… this is my girl.”

A surge of blood rushes to my cheeks. His girl. The dampness that still clings to my panties acts as a stark reminder, reigniting my keen awareness of the heat building once more between my thighs.

The stranger curls up one corner of his mouth, exposing his gritted teeth. It seems more like a snarl than a smile. After making brief eye contact with me, he rummages for another cigarette. He extends one to Hancock, but not to me.

His lack of introduction prompts Hancock to glimpse over at me momentarily with a flash of worry splayed across his features. Regardless, he accepts a cigarette from the man and lights it, illuminating the grooved skin on his face.

“You staying at the Rexford?” In an attempt to fill the heavy silence, I ask innocently the first thing that comes to mind. The ghoul pours himself another glass of whiskey.

“You mean that shithole hotel round the corner? Nah… I’ve got a little camp set up just down the way… Prefer it that way.”

“I feel ya. Sometimes - better to just keep to yourself to yourself - sure fire way to stay outta any trouble.”

Hancock attempts to express solidarity with the man in an effort to establish some connection. In contrast, the ghoul consistently casts glances in each of our directions with an air of indifference, yet appears quite pleased to continue to help himself to our collection of chems and alcohol.

Other than his beige cowboy hat, he sports a long black duster coat that is frayed and tattered at the hem. Beneath it, he has on several grimy layers of clothing and armor. A quick look down by his side reveals a leather belt with numerous large rounds and a shoulder bag - presumably holstering weapons (and who knows what else).

"Well, you don't mind if we drink with you for a while, do ya?" Hancock asks eagerly, extending yet another Mentat to our new friend. The ghoul doesn't respond - just nods inattentively.

(Part 3)

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erigold13261 · 5 months

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i should get more gel nail polish. I still suck at applying it (almost always going too thick) but its dries so quickly with a UV lamp!

#rambling #eritalks #noart #going with a gradient blue #like each finger is a different color #not each finger has a gradient #then when these fall off #i'm gonna put on a light purple i found #after i let my nails breath for a bit #lol #painting nails is fun #wish i was ambidextrous though #my right hand looks like shit half the time

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this-should-do · 2 years

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Freeman has neither the time nor the patience to deal with cowards who wont do their job, especially when they stop him from doing his

#gordon freeman #half life #blood tw #idoindeeddraw #oh m y fucking gooood finally its fucking finished #is it my best work? no! do i give a crap? no! done is better than not and this was a good idea so i wanted to finish it #anyways love doing comic based on in game events #like me having a bad day and losing my patience when i couldnt get a guard to do his job so i pushed him down stairs and then #slapped him when he continued not doing his job becuz vr controls are weird and vr lets u have empty hands #anyways inifnitely fond of the face gordon makes right before he slaps this poor guard lol #like please dont make it at me but do it again its a good look #also loving the concept where if this follows the black mesa series of events this guard gets beat to shit by aalien grunt after gordon #goes thru the door to get chased down by a goliath lol #anywyas please enjoy my desperate effort to finish a project thats been sittin gopen in krita for almost 2 months now lol #going insane with relief #but ye as much fun as makin gordon feel sad and alone and pathetic #it is equally as fun to make him have sum moments of not being a perfect victim son #hes ruthless and sumtimes u gotta be a lil forceful to get to ur goal so u gotta be a lil bad #cant be perfect all da time its just not fun #and its also simply unrealistic for everyone of these cops to be willing to follow everytime cuz like (gestures to real life in frustration)#but yeah angry gordon very good concept #peace out im gonna go eat the freeze dried bananas i promised myself as a reward for finishing this comic lol

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unproduciblesmackdown · 8 months

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had a hell of a time (good) bit ago watching elemental and feeling things including enjoying a film, great ride, i love a metaphor & anything vignettey (just living life, alongside but also including the [this is about the metaphor] threads), i do love it when a couple of fun people have an enriching dynamic that they enjoy and huaaaghwgh (good) & i liked the premise metaphor exactly as is for what it is for what it did with it & i liked overlaps & resonances w/other experiences i saw ppl perceive. i liked the way i was going oh my god that painting looks the way i feel b/c like navigating a complementary dynamic where what's holding one person back is what helps the other person along, vice versa, no interaction or relationship that develops by like having some [theoretically your trait/quality/behavior] contained in the other person, rather it being an interaction within yourself, such that i was going "i have this interaction Within Myself, right now, in life currently like always and the past years but also past months especially really, it's ongoing, i'm going Oh Goddamn Omg" scintillating to see it externalized as a conversation imagined by others. and also still different / more capacious on both ends than "wow Exactly that." feeling things going ohh my god. music is going for it so Noticeably. hot air balloon scene And track changing me with an immediate Resonance

easier when having fun but i was also like continually so hype gasping about intrigued about pointing at art direction decisions & execution and one especial element i was sooo noting was the use of Color b/c it's Really colorful like rainbow palette nigh constant noticeable saturation, And it was atmospheric, always readily visibly parsed, varying in styles but cohesive. the backgrounds babey, with obvious priority for working with a vivacious orange and/or blue. oh and the related use of Light like different visuals for different glows and just different effects and waugh....i collected mostly a bunch of bgs to point at often for that "look at the color design & atmosphere" but also so much more & foreground things big time too. semitransparent characters like bitch. the physics of fluid dynamics. optics like refraction like my God. i'm mclosing it and that these effects would be sooo prohibitively intensive w/o computer but it's so impressive w/computer and that Stylistic Decisions were made all over, it's clearly not ever simply just "oh this is what it'd 'realistically' look like if uhhh someone was made of fire or water" even as realism Based effects were employed for style and fun and our lives. the use of of course 2D animation / art conventions for style and effect and fun & our lives!!! maybe ember a bit too but wade has a whole like 2D style profile so the [curved droplet] shape always faces the camera, how are we doing that it's so cool & i love to see it. not to mention being transparent but also like clearly not!! first time i've properly thought about how inside of mouth 3D animation has Ever worked lmao

cut so i can go on & on (^ that's brevity up there lol) & post mostly various backgrounds to gesticulate at what i notice abt the use of color like oh my god. and some other things. laughed, cried, lived & loved like for real lol

oh my god

and like immediate intro theme going "oh my god blue and orange making Purple (magenta, pink) oh my god we're doing Additive Light with that holy shit yes"

so extra [!!!] about city nighttime shots especially. and the details of all the building designs, it's all the shit like i haven't even sat and Studied any given shot for all small elements like that but that you know they're There so that it looks this complex and "realistic" like you know the attention & effort is there & you get the Overall Effect baby. also the way purple/green are employed to contrast with blue/orange often. the Glows here, the Bluer upper half and the Oranger lower half that both also have some purplishness to them, the Green bridge breaking it up / spanning this

the colors in closeups even. first of all the expressions styles are after my own heart & got it, and i'm sure i'll go on & on more there. pull mouths down do the m upper lip n lower lip lines combo, you know what i mean, i Love it. wavy flowy design vs more triangular / ending in peaks/corners design for your water vs fire aesthetiques. i think that's [heat creating refraction in the air] effect like lord. the pink blue purple here. the slight shadow framing the pic for better contrast, the pink / glow around ember, wade slightly Glows from within too, the constant wave refraction there. okay obsessed again with both sorta transparent and fluid Figures like you've got the outermost layers. you've got the Inside. you've got the silhouettes and the lines that are "drawn," reddish outlines of flame shapes and constant highlight "outlines" for water so it never "realistically" blends in with everything / just Is clear and is impossible to easily parse. that those silhouettes are constantly Flowing and responding to motion / pressure as well. i can only imagine. oh and the colors again that the Glow for fire is often a Soft gradient, but there's this like, slightly convex polygonal style of "glow" / Light in backgrounds a lot and it works great for style and contrast with the important Soft Glow from fire and even also water, again the slight inner glow there too. and again the mutual [pull mouths down] expressiveness lol so much fun. the Elasticity is fantastic, same with like 2D style Movement like invoking a smear frame for example like fuck yes it's about What Works it's about style & effect & what things like lighting color faces can do that aren't just aiming for "be peak realistic" like clearly it isn't. note the sharper line of shadow in the upper corner with a deeper blue. we framing

oh this one was to point out "look at how you can see the full spectrum rainbow in the wave surface light refraction oh my fucking god" not to mention of course In Motion the shapes, the effect, some bubbles and flow for flare and seeing that constant Light Outline, the cyan leaning aqua that's put in along with the overall slight blue not b/c it's "realistic" but b/c it's what works baby the artistic design choices fuck like hell. and only when i took this one frame was it like oh my fucking god look at these split second flame shames flowing off of ember there above her head especially. all the more stylization required for fire without it being like, "realistically" mostly transparent, overly bright, not very strongly delineated / silhouetted....the shape, color, flow of flames on the "inside," outermost breaking off shapes & "outline" as well augh god. and look at the purples in the background's left side

AUGH the night city backgrounds. pottery burn haha yeah the blue orange AND purple my god!!!! it's thematic ([blue + orange = purple] b/w the blue & orange characters) and it fucks like hell holy shit!!!!!

meanwhile the green & purple here with One orange element getting to stand out / not that much blue either, but more ultramarine style than aquamarine, and LOOK AT THE MOON!!! the surface!!! check out that Polygonal glow around it and the green/purple there too!!!

and the use of bokeh. immaculate, not holding back, after my heart. the Purple/Pink additive light properties coming into play!! her reflection is more simply orange(tm) sometimes and i would presume it tends purpler when we are getting [emotionally connecting / recognition of the self through the other] but oh my god heaving overhead like a hero this additive light blue+orange=purple ingenious and stylistically fucking like hell choice. and again their "outlines" working so well while also retaining enough softness/fluidity to be part of them as a whole. everything is so cool

there's the mouth shape i was talking about. you see the slight m upper lip simply n lower lip and resultant (idk like a video game controller?) shape lol. flexible expressive asymmetry. the closeup transparency of [can always see the other side of shirt collar]. green bg for contrast while also incorporating the orange glow. the full spectrum rainbow refraction just also an immaculate and probably characterfully relevant lmao as a bonus. also hell of cute moments wauugh yes, fun, dying thanks

the additive light!!! (how magenta/purple/pink the reflection of Orange is off the Blue like employing what's realistic in another context for what fucks aesthetically & carries symbolism. like wade wouldn't Realistically be constantly [surface wave refractions] but it fucks like hell. also wouldn't be someone made of fire or water but it fucks like hell & embodies a central metaphorical layer to the literal material). also look at that curtain from deep purplish red to deep bluer purple!!! the line of bright blue!!! the glow in the Background with sharper polygonal lines / corners to contrast with the visual effects of glows elsewhere!!! wade default =3 as [wavy featured] and inherent =3 vs ember's more flame tipped => (not pictured)

ohh this one for rainbow color / out of focus usage and b/c it's like how the semi transparency but only So Much + constant outline of Highlights / constant inner glow and visible infusion of like aquamarine / bright turquoise cerulean color helps a water guy stay perfectly Visible / parsable. also besides ember being green, an effect subtly pictured at any given point: like cinders continually rising off fire but depicted so much like Sparkles :') there's so much colors and highlights and choices after my own sensibilities out here like i love a shoulder swoop design that flows right into the arms from the neck from the head. and that's exactly what we get precisely b/c it has so much flow!!! ember's like whole head Flaring out from her neck, terminal points like tips, or sources, of flames. Styles

the bokeh!! the blues and pinks and purples!!!

ouuwaah

UGH obviously in motion the like arcing falling curtains of water, the shimmering....the purple into pink into dusky orange!!! the little bit of contribution of the turquoise light aaa wahooo, ofc what the bridge adds in Composition for this & that previous shot

lmao this is b/c Wavy Scribble Squiggle Mouth again the design choices after my own heart. the constant extra wobbliness to Mouth Outline obviously works great to emphasize [water design] but it also works great b/c i love it

every shot of the background with this beach is gongious like jesus christ. the closeup of sand is like that looks amazing and So soft. look at the wavy swoopy shapiness of the clouds, look at the [in this shot] faintly detectable Polygonal outlines of Glow from the sun. feel free to look at that water like i said every shot of this, wrow. tasked with Pretty Beach Sunset and coming through big time

expressive design contrast, glow contrasts, refracting, silhouettes, those flame shapes breaking off again epic hot wheels style fuck yes....and the bg!!! look at the purple to muted purple pink sky, the atmospheric distancing on layers of buildings that goes from blue to purple!! the dimmer purple / blue / teal on the ground in the foreground here UGH the COLOR USE

ooh i was so Noticing the like, full ultramarine blue here, like it's been used Before in any night environments but the way here it's brighter, making it like "okay yeah night but more Lit Up. also the visual variety of [water curtain] textures there, the area of Pink, the Yellow that hasn't previously shown up too much but might be saved for associations with tension / "danger" lol. also love the "straightup a pool" designs lol wish i was swimming

oh the orange + blue = purple on display here / translating Outlines

amazing sequence and again look at the Purple shadows the Blues the Oranges the Greens!!!! aughhh again like So colorful and so bright but also ofc dimmed, atmospheric, balanced, waughhh!!!

oh my god what can i say. "bisexuality" for one but and also fr like the pink of the sky vs deep purple, lighter with more blue in the water, the streak of oranger light, pink atmospheric haze....augh!!!

speaking of "and then really vivid striking colors in another overall palette we haven't seen before" the teal & golden yellow for this shot was new & noticeable. the yellow of problems, but not too bad lol, looking at that Contrast with the blue on the outer pool edge there. i wanna take a swim yippee....but fr like holding some colors more in reservation, finding new combinations, as Ever how bright the bgs are but atmospheric, non overwhelming of other elements, i Love it

bokeh!!!! colors!!!!!!!

bokeh!!!!!! colors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fucking roy g biv like yes gorgeous. nice tree evocative bridge. composition. lots of lights and colors but the distribution being so balanced, but organic, broken up in all the right ways and all encompassing....the bright orange lights in shadowed blue/purple buildings in the upper left corner, leading down to the path of lights across the center of everything....ugh incredible great

out of focus bg, the lights, the purples, the blue/Green, look at everything on the right side ugh lovely, the slight Shapes of glows, can see that arc in the right side as well, the emotional relevance of all the colors and glows as this bg dims / desaturates a second later

and so similarly here, the Purple, the Glows....like the use of both the perfect balance of soft edges/borders but no sacrifice in clarity

oh and i suppose there's then any amount of spoilers following but like, in part only b/c i point them out as as much but also like. it's about the journey lmfao you see two screenshots, containing some information, well you've seen it all

and to pad that out i'll also note without screenshots about it like bringing in a very like Clear for Compositional Effect sort of Danger Yellow again twice over, with the harshest like chartreuse leaning yellow yet for it, v much a color that it'd just take more effort to fit into a palette / would have to be kind of the color centerpiece, vs the orange/blue/purple here

(but also not to say yellow was never used otherwise....some perfectly harmless golds, paler lighting like just Daytime vibe, constant presence w/fire of course. so the Particulars of a hazard yellow are all the more notable)

the COLORS....look at that orange that pink red the pink reflections the Purples....the just deep slightly slightly purple red in the bg and how like smoothed over / Immediate that background is to just make everything close & present!! the flame textures going!!! water textures going!!! cinders as points of light!! the colors the orange purple pink blue UGHH it's amazing they're really off the shits with it in every scene

spoilers they do kiss about it and i was like smacking hand to forehead like oh my god and they did another "breaking out a new Light thing" when we've glowed and refracted within and without, lit up or dimmed, sparkled, reflected, used further styles in environmental lighting....answer was Lens Flare rainbow refracting glow like goddamn!!! and again like putting In the purple, but also the blue, the orange, the out & out more cerulean / aquamarine that is not gonna simply come from elsewhere in the environment. nice commitment to also having someone smile into a kiss lmao we've all been like i Will make this work. i'm still just like ugh the focus on and variety of Light too, the backgrounds' like soft polygon/hexagon glow "fields," straightforward soft/even gradient glows, wave pattern refraction, refraction also separating light into rainbows, remember water is a lens, stylized light of fire, bokeh, additive color mixing....holding on to & breaking out Cinematic LENS FLARE is fr like ohhh my god they're just fucking On It, got this, here's another effect for you

i also have a gif b/c i couldn't note anyone's fluid dynamics / flowing / Interacting physics enough, and little moments giving that some extra flair are a delight, but holy shit a highlight i'm instantly obsessed with forever, now if there's something and nobody pours themself, i'm out

oh we sloshing!! all the water physics going on here to fantastic effect but also all working within the confines of "and it's some guy." immaculate joke 5 sec later around the "i am Not an inspector" line just What a delight. the vision....the manifestation of effort, craft....i'm not kidding at all i'm like okay forever treasuring [pours yourself] clip and if someone doesn't get it it's like it's called joie de vivre, panache, taking all kinds. some sloshheads out here

again i had a delightful time at the cinema (figuratively. i didn't go anywhere. though i did go "oh fuck re: even the idea of seeing plenty of this in theater format" like i was going oh Shit at visuals and music and every damn thing enough already, can only imagine) i was like bitch i love ppl living life vignettesquely with the emotional arcs aids of metaphor, symbolism. i love the styles and designs and i love paying attention to details and going damn how they'd do that, i love technical shit, noting techniques that are centered around 2D derived visuals, about aesthetic effect & visual purpose....i was going "oh my god same. lately, always, ongoing. oh my god it's me always crying at everything, but also never at anything, and also just sometimes at some things. it's me with the Temper it's me with one like everyone else but not about to let it out at all / not be making room for anyone else's. me like 'just powering through like arghhh' me like 'that, but [a puddle]' liable to spontaneously interact with randos by just doing your own thing, also [dying] and beloathed at that, going with the flow trying to carpe diem it, having these conversations and navigations like just as one person lmao, and also ofc it's different" lol like oh damn okay. and twentysomethings popular with the nebkids like wow in real life....and just having a great time entirely straightforwardly and expecting as much but also being increasingly delighted and surprised and going "wow my aesthetique sensibilities piqued" and going "wow okay a journey" and like Gasp at details and loving the overall effects and little moments and shots and entire deal. did weep repeatedly, when you slosh, when you soggy....delighted a lot, along for the ride having fun for the whole way, so much abt [bummed 20somethings who are nevertheless very vivacious Feeling Things, including About feeling things] and the way that's given sooo much space, Saturating things even, maybe with light & color....i liked it a bunch, [aaaaaa], great time, thinking about feeling things and feeling about it and about thinking about it & so on & so forth too like man hang on a second. and the soundtrack. and the character designs Overall there did i mention?? so cute & fun. wobbly wavy shivery tapering having Flow in the lines / shapes of silhouettes in different ways just like flow in [fluid dynamics] of flame or water in different ways. there's a lot i can say but i just mostly did the backgrounds / color / lighting noncomprehensive slideshow lol. i was very engaged like oh wahoo yippee aaa then mfs let's go and keep going

#i'm big on like rainbow lot of color constant saturation....Yet; Atmosphere / skilled balance in application/usage #i don't have the restraint (or like full knowledge / experience lol) to Use it myself but i Love when i see it used lol. Very colorful here #and i had thoughts & feelings & a good time so that made it easier to be like oh whee AND look at that background. mf we sloshing #nonzero spoilers via largely contextless static images; many wide shots / environments; really doesn't matter much #but i guess if you're like ''i specifically want to know Nothing at All'' like well then there are images in there #like 65% me going ''and look at that purple. oh my God the green blue & blue green. Orange''#b/c like wrow....#pixar elemental #films to whisper to myself like omg. like me. right now #btw it's kind of long post inside there. but For Me; typically so lol #can't say shit in thirty tags!! esp when i had a great time i liked it i was like oh my god #can't even say that shit in regular text which is why i mostly talk about colorful backgrounds lmfao. and even Then!! and so on so forth #and hand over heart like omg when by yourself you're a bit too much; but together; you're a bit too much together ;w;#like wow just like me; me; & still me!!! and not caring about what's all ''too much'' like it's about the me & me actually thanks #(and ofc the premise / central metaphor/conflict there as is; vulnerable cultural identity that needs to be maintained but uh oh)#speaking of uh oh look who's underway in the tags!! i'm heading myself off now lmao. time for half past 3 am Night Sandwich

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