#( i've turned down two jobs and i just worked a ten hour shift in the cafe )

[clochanam]

i wanted to write tonight but i'm fucking WRECKED so i'll be on mobile, send aisling questions or hit her up on wire, i'll try to be here tomorrow!

[pompadourpink]

It's a new beginning!

Hello children,

September is coming, school too for some of you - often a great moment for a bit of decluttering and a few new good resolutions. Here am I, offering myself as one of them!

As you hopefully know, I started this blog in 2016 and have been a private tutor since the beginning of the pandemic. I have room at the moment for several new students, so here is what I offer:

Classes, obviously - the typical schedule is one hour a week, sometimes one and a half, or one every two weeks, or two every two weeks; typically same day same time (I'm always happy to make adjustments if you work shifts)

Homework, if you can make the time for it. I typically prefer it to be finished by the middle of the week so that I have time to take a look and correct it, giving you the opportunity to give it a second try before class!

Depending on your preferences, either just a few activities so we can take our time, especially if you are a beginner, or something a bit more dynamic consisting in five to ten minute long activities to keep you motivated and alert (which seems to be a crowd's favourite as most of my students are neurodivergent).

Talking activities are typically answering series of questions I share from my Notion, talking about your week, summarising a book or a movie, making me guess a word or a person, or a concept I call "alien talk" where you explain something (like a vaccine or insurance) from scratch to a little red man.

Writing activities are often fictional (I have students create a little character on a website and we write an update about their life regularly), they can also be an overview of your month, a letter to quit your horrible job or convince Snoop Dog to marry you because you are a gold digger.

Transcribing activities, especially at the beginning, are either me reading very easy sentences so you can write them down and memorise the way things sound, then it's episodes from young children's shows, extracts from very famous movies, then we hit harder and turn to gameshows or podcasts.

Translating activities, from one language to another, are a written translation of the first page of a novel (I did the Secret History recently), or a newspapers article (we are working on this one at the moment); or an oral translation of songs lyrics, fairytales, children's books, muted captioned playthroughs of your favourite games on Youtube, etc.

Finally, a few games: silly quizzes, crosswords, Wordle and even Quordle, hangman, and sometimes we even sing if you're comfortable with that.

Here is the link of my website where you will find reviews and a list of what to send me to get the process started. A few things to know:

I try to make the activities fit your preferences: get me a list of what you like and that is what we will work on. If your first language is not English, I am happy to include it, I'm always eager to learn (I've been reviewing my Spanish this way!)

I work without cameras. I don't need to see your face, I just need a voice and a good Internet connection. All students are welcome, no matter if you have an accent, a stutter, or disabilities. Do not be afraid of being judged, there is none of that here.

I ask for your contact information to be able to do my billing, no one else sees it and no one will know if you give me the address of a building in your area if you feel more comfortable this way. If you prefer to have a lesson first and decide that you want to continue before sending me your info, that's also an option.

I have a student and a regular rate, depending on what you can afford, and we can make different arrangements if your country's rate makes it too difficult, I've done it before.

Please comment if you have a question!

Much love,

Rose

[pokemonshelterstories]

this might be a little long so bear with me.

I have a Xatu called Tokko (for the sound he makes when he clicks his beak on his favorite plastic cup) who I raised since he was a Natu. Over the years Tokko has done strange things since he's evolved into a Xatu, ranging from expected Xatu behaviors - like standing on the roof of my apartment complex or in my backyard once we moved and intently observing the sun, meditating for tens of hours at a time, to less expected but aligned to partner Pokémon behaviors like using Psycho Shift to steal my colds and high fevers, using Rain Dance to create a localized storm when he didn't want me going to work and (psychically?) turning down the TV when it's too loud for me while he's indulging in nature documentaries and old movies.

I happen to work as a court reporter. I trained for a long time to properly use my stenotype and as it happens, Tokko came into my life around the time I was finishing up my prep for my certificate course to properly enter the profession. Since, Tokko has known that my stenotype is invaluable to my job. I've been professionally doing this for years now, and Tokko has been observing me more and more since I started going at it in real court cases. He's even started insisting on coming to court with me after an incident with a particularly irate defendant, for which I was thankfully issued a permit. He now flanks me basically at all times in court, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, he's calm, typically meditates and does nothing or simply observes the proceedings. He even teleported my stenotype repair kit from home to me so I can fix it up before recess ended.

Then last week happened. You'll understand why I'm anon now. I woke up to a rainstorm that morning, an obviously manufactured one when I looked out the window and saw the neighbor's house dry as bone. Tokko was just doing his usual bit of standing at the window and staring out at the rain like he's in a 60s album cover, but this is typical for him not wanting me to go to work, so I just gave him a pat on the head and told him bills don't pay themselves. As I'm sitting down with my freshly made instant espresso, Tokko suddenly teleports my stenograph onto the table in front of me, then slowly, ominously floats over and intently stares at it, like he wants me to read it. I take a paper out of it and am mortified by what I see; a perfect, court-procedure conscious record of a trial. To my knowledge, Xatu are known to be highly intelligent when properly raised and educated and I spared little expense in doing that. What scared me was that the record was of a case that hasn't been seen in court. It was for a case due in two days. Tokko probably sensed that I was scared by this and immediately started doing his little apology dance that he usually does when he knocks something over.

Timestamps, notes about witness behavior, down to the exact wording in the evidence used to prove the defendant's innocence, all appearing multiple times, all of it flawlessly written out with only an occasional grammatical mistake. And lo and behold, two days later it all plays out exactly as reported by Tokko.

What do I do. What CAN I do? Do I just keep this a secret forever? I'm not gonna experiment with future sight and I'm not very keen on punishing Tokko for what he probably only thought was helping me with work! I already communicated to him that using my stenograph without asking is rude, so hopefully he won't be giving me early morning heart palpitations anymore, but he's been insisting on trying to use the Stenograph more and more often, he seems very taken by it. I don't know if it's a toy to him now, like some Incineroar might steal home appliances they like and hold onto them just because, so taking the implications into account, would taking the stenograph away from him be like depriving him of enrichment? He only seems to want to use it when it's on, and he pretty much only seems to type out future things.

Any advice MORE THAN welcome

please

//hey so i think this is a REALLY cool story you've come up with and you've captured some really interesting vibes! unfortunately, it also goes against established worldbuilding i have for charlie. a xatu just doesn't have the cognitive capability to do this from her perspective. i do think it's a really neat idea to pursue and i didn't want to have charlie reply and just dismiss it for not being something that would happen, but you might want to send it to another pokemonirl blog where pokemon have that kind of ability.

as a reminder, please read the faq before sending an ask! it'll help make sure that whatever you send is something charlie can answer

[steviebbboi]

Ordinary is Ordinary

Chap 01/02: Steve meets Gem

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Gem)

Rating: Teens and up!

Summary: You viewed life as it was: ordinary. To you, life was an endless cycle of simply trying to make ends meet. People work, sleep and wake up to do it all over again. A chance encounter with a certain captain challenges your philosophy of what is considered to be ordinary.

A/N: Fluff on fluff, a meet cute with Steve and Gem! This is a two-parter that I also wrote around 2018. There's not many warnings other than getting ready for some teeth-rotting sweetness from Steve. Hope you enjoy reading :)

Coffee dividers by @thecutestgrotto - Thank you so much for creating these!

Diamond divider by @firefly-graphics - wonderful work as always! Thank you sm!

"Chris, why not?" You asked desperately.

"I'm sorry, but I can't make ten orders of coffee while I have a line of customers behind you." The barista said reluctantly.

"You know that my boss will kill me if I don't get these coffees in by 8:00." You begged imploringly.

Chris responded with a slight tilt to his lips, "I know, gem, but I'm sorry, I can't. My boss already scolded me because of that huge lineup from before!"

"Chris, I'm sorry but please, you know that I need this job," You leaned in close, "Without this job, I won't even get a scolding— I'll just get fired and you know it!"

Chris looked at you sympathetically, "Gem, I know. But if I serve your order again with customers behind you trying to get their own morning coffee before 8, then my boss will kill me and then I'll lose my job. You're going to have to either wait for the line to pass or find another cafe."

You were ready to fight one last time, quite keen on keeping your job, until a voice behind you spoke up.

"Hey, I'll get half of whatever she gets."

The guilt that you were feeling doubled down and you instantly turned around to shoot down the stranger's request until you saw his face.

The man was tall, built and broad shouldered. He had a clean shaven face that showed his cutting edge jaw line. He was rocking a full head of brown-blonde hair and wore a simple dark, navy blue flannel and black jeans. In other words—

The man was fucking gorgeous.

Chris looked as dumbfounded as you did, "Uhh, sir..."

Chris' stammering broke you out of your weird staring contest with the guy’s oddly attractive forearms and decided to shift your gaze to his blue eyes, "Sir, don't worry— you really don't have to do that."

The man gently smiled, "Don't worry, ma'am. Honestly, I don't mind waiting."

Chris finally spoke again, "Sir, that is very generous of you but are you sure?"

You quickly interjected as you could see that the attractive man was about to persist with his request. "Chris, you know what? Just cancel my orders— it's totally fine. I'll go somewhere else."

You gave the guy another thanks, and heard him call for you as you walked to the exit, but you ignored him and walked back outside into the brisk, cold air. You groaned in exasperation, realizing that you were going to have to Yelp another cafe during rush hour.

You waited outside, yelping other locations for about 10 minutes when you heard the front door of the cafe swish open and close. You were so preoccupied with your phone that you didn't feel the towering presence next to you. You looked up and realized that the hot guy was carrying one bag that was carrying three trays of coffee in one hand and, in the other, another tray of coffee.

You looked up from the bag to his eyes and said warily, "Hi?"

The man smirked a bit, "Hey, I know that you said that you'd find another cafe but I saw you standing outside after you left and decided to just buy it anyway." He handed you the bag and you took it wordlessly.

"Why would you buy ten cups of coffee for a complete stranger?" You asked him skeptically. You supposed you should be flattered but in New York, you never know.

"Let's just say that I've been in a position of risk before. From the smallest things, just like needing to buy ten cups of coffee every morning to putting yourself in the front lines. I get it." He smiled and nodded, as if he expected you to understand.

Even more confused, you shook your head, "Well, at least let me pay you back." You reached for your wallet.

"Honestly, Gem, don't worry about it. It was good talking to you." The man nodded and walked away with his tray.

You frowned as you stared at his departing back, noticing that he referred to you as Chris did at the cafe. He must think that’s your name (but really, the nickname comes from chatting up your barista for the past five years). But also– the front lines? Risk? Also, why would a stranger, a hot stranger, buy your job's coffee? You had so many questions and the man just walked away.

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you turned and saw the man walking down the sidewalk before finally turning on Montague street. You quickly made up your mind to follow him while shouting, "Hey, sir! Wait!"

You ran down the block and made the right turn. However, your attempts in catching the guy were futile as he seemed to have disappeared as quickly as he appeared behind you at the coffee shop.

You huffed in frustration and looked at your watch. Grateful to have some time to yourself, you caught a cab to go to work. In the car, you couldn’t stop thinking about the strange handsome man.

Now, you were no stranger to the movies and books showing romantic "meet cutes" and other such notions. When a man buys a girl a drink, alcoholic or not, it's hard to not read between the lines.

"But the way he spoke to me...it doesn't make any sense." You thought to yourself. "It almost seemed like he was genuinely just happy to fix the problem."

Maybe he was just a handy sort of a guy who likes to help others. A "true humanitarian." Then again, he could also be a complete psycho who thrives off helping women in coffee shops.

You shook your head to rid yourself of this morning’s odd experience. "I'm just going to take it in stride. A hot guy bought your coffee, which saved your job, which basically saved your life. Be grateful."

You plastered a smile onto your face as you swiped your ID into the turnstiles and went about your day as usual.

It wasn't until you got home and turned on the news that you saw another Earth invasion—this time with what looked to be transformers.

It wasn't until you got into bed, did you realize who exactly bought you coffee and saved your life.

Your eyes were resting softly as you thought about the news coverage on what transpired in South Korea and Sokovia. The footage showed all of the Avengers fighting as the city of Sokovia floated above the ground.

With a shock, your eyes opened wide at your next thought, "Captain America bought my coffee."

What do we think?? Love a NYC meet cute honestly. Comments/likes/reblogs are welcome and so appreciated, thank you for reading :)

Read the last part here.

Main Masterlist

[valeffelees]

Oh do tell about that snowbaz au of yours 👀

I WOULD FUCKING LOVE TO, thank you so much tumblr user pidgelikethebird (and also my most beloved and loyal companion @drowninginships) for providing me the enrichment i need to survive the winter.

ok gimme a min here to turn my thoughts into comprehensible words. i'm gonna say right now: this post is gonna be a LONG one, but 10 out of 10 scientists agree you should read to the end.

so, if you didn't know, The Beauty Inside is a Korean romcom from 2015, based off an American short film of the same name; the orig short film i linked is an extremely quick watch (only 6 episodes, each one 4-10 minutes long) and i would absolutely recommend it, but the very basics of the premise is that: a man wakes up in his bed on his 18th birthday to find he's in a completely different body than his own, and every day since then, he wakes up as somebody new.

AND OBVS I JUST HAD TO FUCKING SNOWBAZ THAT, which is how my AU, titled In the Many Ways of Loving You, was born:

Simon Snow wakes up every day as somebody new; the only person who knows the truth is Penny, his best friend and roommate, since she's been by his side since it all began ten years ago.

he works on commission as a custom bookbinder—like, he has an Etsy or some shit, i dunno, some kinda online shop where people can commission him in a variety of ways to rebind their favourite books, either by paying extra for Simon to buy the book himself and rebind it from new and send it to them, or sometimes collectors will send their personal copies to him to have him rebind them, and he's very good at it, and N E WAY the point of this is that he has a small bookshop he's been going to regularly for the last eight or so years, because it's close to his and Penny's flat, and where the story begins: Baz is a new employee that just started working there about two weeks ago and Simon has a massive crush on him.

ok, now. day one: when we meet Simon for the first time, he wakes up and he's lovely and blonde and brown-eyed and ok, yeah, i've just made him look like Agatha bc i thought it'd be kinda funny, esp since Agatha's not actually in the fic otherwise.

and Simon has to pick up a copy of some random book from the bookshop today bc someone bought a custom binding of it, so he goes down and, as usual, since it's his job, Baz has to come over to talk to him and is like, "hey, can I help you with anything?" and Simon doesn't need any help bc he's been coming to this shop for years, but every time Baz asks he says yes bc he wants the excuse to talk to him, and on this day Simon is like, wait. i'm so hot rn. so he asks Baz out—

and Baz is like [finger guns] absolutely not.

and Simon is like 👁️👄👁️ welp i'm in fucking agony.

but whatever, fine. a guy like Baz is prolly already in a proper relationship, and it's always a bad idea for Simon to get involved with someone he has to see on the reg. he had to start going to a different coffee shop that's twenty minutes out of his way bc he went out on a great date with one of the baristas at his old spot and then obvs couldn't go out again after just that one time, and it made him super emo, so really, Baz saying no was prolly for the best.

TIMESKIP, it's been a few days and Simon has to go down to the bookshop again. but this time he's a bloke. and so Baz comes up to ask if Simon needs help and he says yeah, as usual, and the two of them end up having a bantery convo about the book Simon's looking for bc they've both read it and Baz hated it, but Simon loved it, and it's just very cute and casual, and then Baz is like. so, my shift ends in liiike... four hours. are you doing anything?

and Simon is like. OH. OH!!!

that whole "it's prolly for the best" thing? yeah, fuck that, that was Simon of the past, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about bc cute bookshop guy wants to hang out and so they go out and have the most fucking insane romcom date ever.

'cause you gotta remember, Simon only gets one real day with people, so he doesn't do like casual coffee dates or movies or whatever. they go out and like fucking B&E a museum after hours bc Simon knows someone like the janitor or something (i dunno) leaves one of the back doors unlocked so he can step out for a cig every few hours, so they sneak in and have the time of their life running around looking at art while trying not to get caught, and we're going to use the suspended disbelief bestowed upon us by the power of romcoms to pretend security cameras aren't a thing, and it is BRILLIANT. like, Simon and Baz have so much chemistry, and when the night ends Baz is just like all smiles and creased eyes and messy black hair and, breathlessly: "I want to see you again."

and Simon's heart drops. because he wants to see Baz again, too, but he can't. no matter how much he wants to, he can't. when he wakes up tomorrow he's going to be someone new, so he can't, he can't, he can't, he—

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow?"

SIMON NO!!!

"It's a date."

FUCK!!!

ok, so now we have a problem. Simon can't just stand him up, i mean he could but he doesn't want to, and he really does want to see him again, so he does the only thing he can think of: he stays awake. all fucking night.

Baz, the next day: "You look exhausted."

Simon, wired asf on caffeine and trying to be smooth: "Had someone on my mind all night."

and then they go have another wicked date, but i have nothing in my notes about what it is. oh, i have them living in Canada in this fic btw bc as a rule, if a fic doesn't have to be set in England, i move them to Canada for comfort. so i might have them go cliff jumping or something? who knows. we'll go with that for now.

cue the romcom montage.

[mother tongue starts playing SO DON'T SAY YOU LOVE ME FALA AMO, JUST LET YOUR HEART SPEAK UP AND I'LL KNOW]

ok. post-date. Simon is so dumb and infatuated with Baz and does something only a boy who is dumb and infatuated and sleep-deprived would do in his situation, and he goes back to Baz's flat with him to "watch a movie", or in other words: the movie starts and then they prolly have sex, but in my notes this is written as "??? smash ???" so i guess it's kinda up in the air.

either way, Simon passes the fuck out at Baz's place bc he was properly exhausted by that point, and he wakes up to Baz screaming at him bc obvs he looks like a different person now.

Simon, half-asleep: [PANICKED FLAILING] BAZ IT'S ME!!! STOP THROWING THINGS!!! BAZ!!! IT'S ME, IT'S SIMON!!!

and Baz is like: WHAT THE FUCK

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN

and Baz is like: HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN!!!

so, here's a detail from the orig film that comes into play here: in the orig movie, the MC keeps a video diary, logging every day what his face looks like, and in this, Simon does this on his phone and backs them up to his computer every hundred days, so he gives Baz his phone and tells him the whole story while Baz scrolls through these short like minute long videos of Simon on various days going, "Hey, this is me today. I have [this and such] thing to do, blah blah blah."

and the thing is, Baz recognises him in some of them. bc Simon is always coming into the bookshop. he stops watching when he gets to the day Simon looked like Agatha, and Simon has been quiet for a while at this point, just letting Baz process.

Baz: "I want you to leave."

Simon takes his phone without a word and goes. Penny picks him up on the corner a block over and drives him back to their flat. she doesn't ask what happened. she already has a pretty good idea.

when Simon's next commission comes in, he thinks about going to another bookshop, he really does. but this one is so convenient, esp since Simon can't drive bc he can't risk getting pulled over carrying a licence that doesn't have his face on it, and he's been going there for eight years and it's not like Baz will recognise him anyway.

so, to the bookshop he goes, but this time when Baz comes up to ask if he needs help, Simon is like, "haha, no that's okay," and goes back to looking for things on his own, and Baz kinda lingers awkwardly for a moment before going on his way, but then when Simon comes up to the till to pay for the book, Baz just stands there staring at him. and Simon is so uncomfortable, like, he just wants to leave—

"Simon?"

SORRY, YOU WHAT?

"What?" Simon gapes at him. "How did— how did you? But I'm—"

"Can we talk?" Baz asks.

"How did you know it was—"

Baz shouts over to the other employee on the floor that he's taking his lunch break, and Simon just slowly follows him out of the shop with the book forgotten, unpaid for, at the check-out.

and here's the deal, Baz liked Simon a stupid amount considering they'd only gone on two dates, but they were good dates, and Baz doesn't date much, so he's a bit hung up on just how much he liked Simon and the weird way shit ended, so he's basically like. i want to see it again. and Simon is like, see what? and Baz is like, you. the... whatever that you do, i want to see you change.

and that's how Simon ends up bringing Baz back to his flat, and btw: Simon has a rule about never bringing people back to his flat bc it's weird as fuck. his room is really tiny, and it's cluttered as fuck in a Howl's bedroom type way. he keeps to the same cheap, casual style for all his clothes, but he needs things in a bunch of sizes. shoes are a nightmare. he has to take care of his hair in a million different fucking ways. so he has the lives of a dozen people shoved into a room the size of a shoebox, and his mattress has no frame. that shit is just on the floor, so it takes up less space. and there's this mirror, a wide full bodied mirror, propped up against the wall facing the bed, so that the first thing Simon can do each day is roll over and look at himself.

Simon and Baz have supper together, they talk, they pretend this isn't weird as fuck and, even though it is weird as fuck, they still have so much chemistry, and this is a fanfic, so they just end up having sex again but it's supposed to be kinda emo and tender and look, it's what my heart wants, ok?

morning comes. Simon wakes to Baz's hands on his face. which is already and improvement compared to last time. Baz is looking at him very seriously, but also very like. softly. he's touching Simon's features, tracing them, and Simon is quiet for a very long time, watching him do this, until he's just like. what are you doing.

Baz: "Getting to know you." A pause. "Why does it happen?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz: "Are there other people like you?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz, sighing: "Well, what do you know?"

Simon: "That I'm still me. Inside, I mean. Like... if you had a book, and every day you gave it a new cover, the story wouldn't change."

Baz: "You must get lost on a lot of shelves."

Simon: "Yeah."

and from there, Baz is just a part of Simon's life the same way Penny is, he knows the truth, and he deals with it. for the first time in Simon's adult life, he gets to really date. he and Baz do a bunch of domestic shit together, for months, and it's so good. all of it is so good, all the time, and they fall so fucked up deep in love with each other.

(detail from this point that is relevant later: Baz and Simon make a game out of Baz recognising Simon at work on days when he hasn't seen yet what he looks like. Simon will come in and try to act like a stranger, but Baz can Where's Waldo him every time.)

but then Christmas comes. and Baz has to go home to see his family. and i don't have an exact idea of how this convo goes, only that it is not a fight of any kind, like, it is a normal convo about the holidays but Baz apologises to Simon during it for not telling his family about him, he says they'd want Baz to bring Simon home if he did (bc i just don't wanna fuck with homophobia in this so we've shot Malcolm with the ally beam) and he wouldn't know how to explain Simon's whole... thing to them, and Simon kinda realises that like. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz can bring home to his family. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz gets to have a normal life with.

SO SIMON GHOSTS HIM.

like, Baz comes back from his family's place, annoyed that Simon hasn't returned any of his texts or calls, only to find that Simon and Penny have literally fucking moved flats in the two weeks he's been gone. and obvs he's fucking devastated and confused by this and desperately trying to get Simon to respond to him, but he won't.

Simon goes out of his way to find a new bookshop to go to, and that's the end of things for about a week or so, and i haven't actually decided what happens here exactly, but the general idea i wanna go with is that Simon goes to the bookshop Baz works at just for the sake of seeing him, checking up on him, bc he misses him.

but remember that game they played? so yeah, Baz walks up to say his usual like, "hey, can I help you find anything?" but he fucking clocks Simon after like ten seconds.

scene change: they're in Simon's new flat, like maybe Baz demanded that if Simon is going to break up with him he owes it to him to do it goddamn properly, but i dunno. details, details. but they end up getting in a huge fucking fight and Simon reveals the reason he ghosted Baz was bc he realised Baz can't have a real life with him and Baz is like:

"You don't get to decide that for me! You're still you, you're still lovely—"

"You don't even know what I look like!"

"I don't care what you look like, you fucking moron, I care that you're Simon Snow! There's a person inside you that exists every day, even when everything else changes, and he's lovely. I love him. The rest doesn't matter, how can you not see that? Stop telling me I'm not allowed to love you however you are, I'll love you a hundred different ways, Simon. Any size, any shape. I'll love you over, and over, and over. That's a life for me. A real life for me. You!"

and then Simon throws his arms around Baz's neck and hugs him like he needs him to breathe and Baz clings to his shirt and they're both prolly crying all loud and gross, but it's fine. they're gonna be fine.

the next day: Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck. "Like this one, then?" he says.

"Loveliest yet." Baz brushes his knuckles over the slope of Simon's shoulder. "Freckles, curls, broad shoulders... Mmm, maybe we should stay in bed today."

Simon laughs and rolls over to pin Baz to the mattress, grinning at him. he goes to say something, prolly rib at him the way they do, but as he does he catches his reflection in that mirror he keeps by his bed and he freezes.

"Holy shit!" he shouts, and shoves himself up onto his knees. "That's me!"

Baz rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I told you—"

Simon shakes his head furiously. "No, it's. Baz. I'm. Jesus fucking Christ, that's me. Baz, that's me."

Baz sits up slowly. "Do you mean—"

"Fuck, holy shit!" Simon grabs his curls with both hands. he hasn't touched these curls in ten fucking years. he looks older than he remembers himself, which is a given, but it's definitely him. his father's eyes, his mother's chin. the moles on his cheek, above his eyebrow, below his ear.

Simon freaks out in a way that kinda toes the line between being happy and being a breakdown, he throws himself at Baz, and they both fall back onto the bed and Simon is laughing and he's shaking and he doesn't understand, he doesn't get it, but holy fuck, he has his own face, he has his own body, he has his own hands. Baz pushes them apart so he can get a look at him, and Simon is actually kinda self-conscious when he does, which is a new feeling. he never has to feel self-conscious about anything, usually, since he knows every flaw or insecurity isn't really his, and will be gone the next day, but this is just... him.

Baz takes Simon's face in his hands and then, breathlessly, "Hello, Simon Snow."

AND THEN THEY KISS bc what else would they do here.

and uhh, yeah. so. Simon goes out to the kitchen where Penny is making breakfast and she loses her shit when she sees him. big hugs all around. Baz really does take the day off work to spend it with Simon, even though that just means lying around on the sofa watching movies while Simon works on his current rebinding commission. when Penny gets home that evening, they order takeaway and sit around the lounge room playing boardgames together until late, late, late into the night. Penny falls asleep in the armchair, and now it's 3-am.

Simon is tired. he's looking at the clock, sitting with his knees up and his arms around them, with Baz beside him. Baz has his forehead on his shoulder, an arm around his waist. he doesn't want to go to bed, because what if... what if it was only for today. how long will it be until the next time? what if there is no next time, what if, what if—

"We'll still be here," Baz whispers, exhausted. "And you'll still be you. No matter what, Simon."

and so they go to bed.

Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck.

"Good morning, Simon Snow."

AND YEAH, that is the entire plot of my The Beauty Inside AU.

i told you this was gonna be a long one, but if you've made it all the way to the end of this mess, thank you kindly again for indulging me!

[fallenangelfeeder]

You always came in about half an hour after I started my shift. I was glad that someone other than half drunk idiots would come in to be honest because when I first began that's all it was. But to be fair this job was easy otherwise. Clean up, sell a few slices of cake, set up the ovens for tomorrow morning, go home. Don't know why the owners thought a 'cake-away' needed to be open until 1 in the morning but it suited me.

Here you came now, your chubby face already full of excitement as you pull open the glass door. The thing is, I have my tastes, and you obviously do too. I also think it's a shame if food goes to waste. It all works out.

Your eyes looked over the decadent cakes, rainbow buttercream, chocolate death, strawberries and cream, you considered them all. My eyes looked at that neck that my kindness had been fattening. Surely you'd be at least pre-diabetic by now? You were buying at least three slices of cake these days and taking home five because I'd have to throw this cake out if someone didn't eat it. Every day except Mondays. Still, you only looked about 350 pounds so I might be unlucky and have to push this for longer.

"Hey," you mumbled, eyes still looking at the cakes. "I've had a hard day so I'm gonna grab five slices today I think. As a treat."

I felt my teeth twitch behind my lips. I deserve a treat as well. I'd been working for months on you. "Well, we didn't shift much at all today so tell you what, I'll double that for you."

Surprised, you blinked a couple of times and let out a nervous chuckle. "I can't eat ten slices of cake," you tried to say. But instead you just nodded. There were advantages to my powers working like a truth serum.

"I'll just box those up for you, though its gonna be a quiet night with how cold it is, I would appreciate the company if you would like to eat a slice or two here," I said, gesturing to the couple of tables and chairs. "I wouldn't mind hearing about your day either."

You went tomato red. "I'd-d like that-t a l-lot," you stuttered. "Could I have a slice of the brownie topped one?"

"Of course," I replied, smiling with closed lips as I felt my teeth click into place.

I brought over the slice and went back to the till, folding boxes and placing more slices in them. "So what's been happening?" I asked, false pity coated my words, but I don't think you heard the falseness, you were already eating.

"Just work stuff," you said through a mouthful. "I work at a restaurant and they're talking about taking me off front of house cus of..." you raise the chunk of cake in your hand with a weak smile.

"Well if I ate at a restaurant," I began, my eyes locking with yours. "I would like to see someone with a body and appetite like yours. Shows the food is worth eating."

You pushed the rest of the cake into your mouth before gesturing with your hands for another slice. People call my powers hypnosis but in reality they release people from social conventions, let them do what they do when no one is watching.

"Here you are," I smiled, as I sat down all nine boxes on the table in front of you.

You opened up two and took a slice in each hand and began eating again. Just as I suspected, this is how you ate at home, cramming your face full of sugary foods, cream and crumbs coating your chin and cheeks. Your eyes rolled back as your eating sped up. That was my doing, I'm impatient.

Moans began to come from you as came to the end of those two slices and you opened up a third and fourth box. Again, you grabbed one in each hand and shoved them one after the other down your throat. Your heart bet faster, whether it was from the sugar or being turned on as the moans suggested, I didn't know. All I knew is that the sugar would be flowing all through your body.

I leaned over you and opened my mouth, my tongue desperate to taste that sweet rich blood, when the spell was broken. The door opened and in walked a bundled up couple. They whispered about you, saying very unkind things, and I think you heard.

"T-thanks," you said and took the remaining five boxes, piling them up against your soft chest. You pushed open the door with your foot and walked out into the cold night air.

Fuck, I thought, my teeth clicking back up in my gums as I served the couple. As soon as they went, I turned over the sign on the door and began closing up. I didn't care it was less than an hour into my shift. I was starving, something you had obviously not felt in months. I had been feeding you, plumping you up for those months, you were mine and I would be having you tonight. I grabbed my heavy wool coat and I pulled down the rollers with a slam and looked around the streets.

It was faint, but I could smell those cakes I'd given you somewhere heading eastwards. I checked the streets for people, there was the couple a little ways off, facing away from me. I didn't care anymore. I hadn't eaten for weeks, you humans ate everyday. I lept into the air and flew over the city, my wings catching a strong breeze that aided my flight towards you. Then I spotted your rotund form, trying to juggle the boxes of cake as you tried to unlock your door to a terraced flat. I landed a little ways off and walked down the road towards you.

"Oh, hello?" you said, spotting my dark figure out the corner of your eye. "I thought you had to work to God knows what hour, and I didn't know you lived near me."

"I felt ill so I shut up early, and I thought a slightly longer walk home in the night air might help," I lied. "Do you need some help?"

"That'd be lovely thanks. Sorry you're feeling under the weather. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?"

Gosh you were easy, no dancing around being invited in needed at all. "That's so kind of you, I think I will," I said as I took the boxes from you.

"I'm on the first floor," you said as you motioned with your hand. Your heart was thumping again.

As we entered your flat, the true weight of your gluttony hit me. Boxes from the shop were laying around the bin that was overflowing. Wrappers from chocolate sat on every surface, biscuit crumbs were sprinkled all over the sofa and empty tubs of ice cream were stacked on the kitchen counter. I was so right in picking you, definitely had a sweet tooth. I set the boxes down on your kitchen work surface as you looked in your cupboards for a clean mug.

I touched your shoulder and you turned around, and my eyes looked through yours. "A-actually," you stuttered. "Mind if I eat before I get you that? I'm feeling very hungry again."

"Don't mind at all," I said, smiling widely, showing you my sharp teeth. You just restarted your gorging, opening your freezer for a pint of ice cream and grabbing a spoon before taking another slice of cake. It was like I wasn't here at all, just as it always should be.

Scoop after bite, bite after scoop, the cake and ice cream all went down your throat greedily. You began moaning again, and I guided you to the sofa. Your veins pulsed as the sugar and fat drove your heart harder and your blood thickened.

Running my finger along you absent jawline, I turned your head away from me. So much fat coated that neck already, I hoped my teeth could make it through. You carried on eating, strawberry glaze and raspberry ice cream dripping from your mouth as you opened it for more.

So much sugar, it was now or never. I lunged at your neck, my teeth slipping down through the blubber and to the arteries. Your blood was hot, and yes, so so sweet. As I began drinking, your body relaxed, your hands opening and dropping the food on to your lap. You moaned as if you were still eating though. I drank deeper, so much sugar was in your blood, it tasted divine. I eventually broke away from your neck, gasping not for air, but from the beauty of the taste. Trickles of dark blood mixed with the pale pink of the ice cream on your chest as your body lulled about, your eyes half closed.

I couldn't drain this one. I'd been working on you for too long. No, I would be using you again. I brought the melting ice cream up to your lips. "Drink," I urged. "You need your energy."

You sipped the creamy mixture for a little while before taking the tub from me and tipping your head backwards, gulping the ice cream down with a hunger that I'd only seen in fellow vampires after a long fast. Oh yes, I'd be keeping you.

This story is inspired by both a post and a conversation I'd had with @abundantbelly I hope you enjoy it, piggy

[elminx]

Elminx muses about color magic at the height of Autumn

Note: I wrote this a year ago but never published it so the astrological aspects are off, but I think it's worth sharing anyway.

I remain at my heart a skeptical witch. Especially when it comes to magical associations and even more especially when it comes to color magic. There are things that I understand instinctively about the use of color on my mood - wearing my favorite colors to make me feel better, or perhaps more powerful, for example.

But ever since I learned why black was bad and white was good, pre-set color associations have been pretty hard to swallow for me.

Occasionally, I meet a color anew and a greater understanding of it emerges. Then, and only then, am I inclined to use it in my magic.

This happened to me this week with the color orange.

Some background: I spent the last month in a pretty deep and unseasonal (for me) depression. I've mostly worked my way out of it but I was still behind in both my jobs and struggling to catch up - I'm sure that anybody who struggles with depression understands what I mean. Things had gotten better, I haven't sobbed daily in at least two weeks. But I was nowhere near good. I was still stagnant.

Last weekend was busy: my partner and I both got our bivalent vaccines on Thursday, my friend had a music thing, another friend had a birthday, and my partner and I had to watch the gallery of our art thing on Sunday afternoon. By the time Sunday rolled around we were just tired and stretched thin. We got ourselves bagel sandwiches and drove to the gallery which is in the middle of nowhere in an old New England town.

We opened the space and then sat outside with our lunch to enjoy the fair weather and - seemingly right before our eyes - the entire world turned orange. That's the thing about New England, seasons change in a moment and if you're watching, you might just see it happen. Every time we stepped outside that door, the world was more orange. Leaves danced down all around us.

It rained all day on Monday and I had to scurry hurry around to get a lot of work done. I effortlessly multitasked and caught up on weeks' worth of work in ten hours. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, I put on sneakers and walked across town to photograph something that I've needed for months and months.

All of it, all of the gunk, all of the stuckness, it was just gone.

I've spent the last two days trying to comprehend this shift. Was it astrological? Sun trine Mars is nice and was certainly giving me energy, but that wasn't it. Not entirely anyway.

Autumn in New England is something special. It's not just the sweet smell of decaying leaves, or the brilliant displays of yellows, oranges, and reds in the trees. There is a longing in the chill in the air, a hint of something hiding in the long shadows and fading light.

There is a sense of urgency, a feeling of the need to gobble it all up before it's gone, gone, gone.

Orange is a harvest color, a color of ripeness and plenty. The blood of the North runs deep in my veins; when I see it, it lights up every part of me.

Here in New England, the color of orange whispers this: You cannot rest now. Rest when the days are dark and you need to huddle under a blanket for warmth. Now is a time of doing, of expanding, of collecting. Now we harvest when we have sown and now we come together to do the work of the harvest together.

Interestingly, this aligns strongly with the idea that orange is a color of unblocking or road opening. I can attest that the turning of the leaves did this exact thing.

[skyward-floored]

Ooooh, another thought for your Incredibles au writing! I know you've already done a Malon rescues Time from Majora, but could you maybe continue your story from Plane and simple, where they have to rescue him now from Dark Link? (I've finally read through everything you've got on AO3 for this au, and I'm at work for three more hours, but I had to get this to you before I forgot!) Thank you, you're amazing! 💖💖💖

I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t written much of that scene yet! (though I am planning to!) XD

I’m sort of working my way through the movie events starting at the beginning (with changes of course!) and since Time being freed is a later on one, I don’t have very much of it written.

Buuuuut, all that being said, I have worked a fair amount on the scene that comes directly after Plane and Simple. They’re not at the point of saving Time yet, but it’s leading up to it. And since you asked so nicely and I’d hate to leave you without anything, I’ll share the scene as it is right now! It still needs a little editing, and is subject to change of course, but this is what I’ve got so far :)

(The scene before this one)

———

Malon brushed some sopping wet hair out of her face, looking around at all her sons treading water alongside her. They all looked pale and shocked, eyes wide with adrenaline, and were looking to her for direction.

She took a deep breath, ignoring all her aches and pains she had received in the past ten minutes or so, and pushed away her anxiety.

Time to get down to business.

“All right. Those were short-range missiles. Land-based,” she explained, then pointed off towards where the trails from the missiles were still in the sky, lit by the setting sun. “That way is our best bet.”

“You want to go toward the people that tried to kill us?” Wild gaped, and Malon nodded.

“If it means land, then yes.”

Legend frowned from his piece of debris, brushing his bangs out of his face. “Surely you don’t expect us to swim there?”

“It’s gotta be miles away,” Wind murmured.

Malon gave them all a firm look. “I expect you all to trust me. We’ll make it work, just like we always do. Now come on, let’s get to work.”

They quickly rigged up a flotation device then, pulling debris together with Malon’s lasso to create a rather messy raft. Malon held her rope tight as they all piled on, almost afraid the raft would fall apart if she let go, but the knots held. Legend turned into a rabbit to save space, and Hyrule quietly held him as Wild kicked his legs with his super speed, propelling them across the waves, Wind helping where he could.

Land eventually came into view, just like Malon had said, but it was well after dark by the time they all made it to shore and dragged themselves up onto the beach, both physically and mentally spent.

Malon collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to let her aching muscles relax, and glanced over at who had landed next to her. Wild lay a little ways away, looking half asleep on the sand as he breathed heavily, exhausted from helping propel the raft. He caught her staring and shifted to look back, still out of breath.

“What a trooper,” she murmured with a smile, reaching over and brushing a hand through his hair. “Good job hon. I’m so proud of you.”

Wild smiled tiredly back. “Thanks mom.”

They all eventually dragged themselves to their feet, making their way up the beach and to a nearby cave. Twilight and Legend gathered a few pieces of driftwood so they could make a small fire to dry off with, and by the time it was built, most of them were shivering from their damp hair (though the suits were doing their job, Malon realized to her relief).

The warmth helped though, and soon they were all huddling around the little fire. Wind and Wild were both leaning tiredly against Twilight, looking half awake, and Hyrule sat next to Legend, the two of them slightly huddled together.

After a long while, Malon let out a tense breath, and they all turned to look at her.

“I think your father is in trouble.”

Legend snorted at that. “In case you haven’t noticed mom, we’re not doing so hot ourselves.”

A few chuckles went up at that, and Malon stood, sufficiently dried and rested from her time by the fire. She stretched a bit, loosening her stiff muscles, then dusted off her pants.

“I’m going to look for him. And that means you’re in charge until I get back Twilight,” she instructed.

“Aw, what?” Wild and Legend complained at the same time.

Twilight smiled. “You heard her.”

“Mom, you can’t just go by yourself,” Wind protested worriedly, “these guys are—”

“Dangerous,” Malon interrupted. “And trust me, I’ve been in this sort of situation many times. I know what to expect, and you all don’t, so I want you to stay here and stay safe.”

She reached into her pocket then, pulling out the masks Fi and Ghirahim had given her, which she handed over to her boys.

“Put these on,” she said, and they all gave her slightly confused looks. “Your identity is your most valuable possession here. Protect it. And if anything goes wrong, use your powers.”

Wind frowned. “But you always say never to use our powers in...”

“I know what I said!” Malon said with a surge of exasperation, and they all went quiet. She sighed and took a steadying breath, then gave Wind an apologetic look.

“Do you all remember the bad guys on those shows you sometimes watch on Saturday mornings? Or the ones in the books you all like to read?” she asked, and they nodded. “Well, these guys are not like those guys,” Malon explained seriously. “They won’t exercise restraint because you’re children. They will kill you if they get the chance. Do not give them that chance.”

Her sons went silent, but nodded as she finished, their expressions equally worried and serious.

“Twi, I’m counting on you,” Malon said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid to use your abilities. You’re stronger than you think.” He looked intensely worried, but nodded anyways.

“Mom?” Hyrule said quietly, so quietly that Malon didn’t realize he’d spoken. “There’s something I...”

Malon still didn’t hear him. “I’m counting on you all. Be strong, Wind, make tornadoes if you have to. Don’t be afraid to use your skills Legend, Hyrule. And Wild, if anything goes wrong, I want you to run as fast as you can.”

Wild perked up immediately, a huge smile on his face. “As fast as I can?”

Malon smiled back. “As fast as you can.” She leaned forwards and drew them all into a tight hug, then stood up again. “Stay hidden. Keep each other safe. I’ll be back by morning... with your father.”

Then she slipped out of the cave.

She’d barely reached the edge of the jungle when a voice called her name, and she turned to see Hyrule jog up, his face distressed.

“Mom, before you go, I just wanted to say that what happened on the plane, I-I’m sorry. I wanted to help, I mean, when you asked me to, I just...” he stuttered, then lowered his head. “...I’m sorry.”

Malon felt her heart ache, and she placed her hands on Hyrule’s shoulders before drawing him close, giving him a quick hug.

“Oh honey, it isn’t your fault,” she murmured gently, “It wasn’t fair for me to suddenly ask so much of you, I’m sorry I yelled.” She pulled back and met his eyes, giving him a serious look. “But things are different now, and doubt is a luxury we can’t afford.”

She cupped his cheek in her hand, and Hyrule swallowed, still looking uncertain.

“You have more power than you realize, honey,” she said more softly, “I know you can do this. Don’t think so hard. And don’t worry. lf the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

She let go of Hyrule, and gave him one last reassuring smile before she turned and ran into the jungle.

“It runs in the family.”

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Two, Part 6

"We still got to chop mushrooms. We've got enough to get started but if it gets busy, we'll be out very fast. Same goes for the pepper mix. And there's really not a whole lot portioning done."

"Jesus Christ. What did Mitch do this morning?" Mitch was another cook. And not the best one. So I gave him the morning shift. All he had to deal with was a lunch rush, and I made sure Dana, another cook, was available if he needed help.

"Nah, he got all the other veg prepped. And he did most of the sauces." No matter what, Justin would stick up for Mitch. But they'd been friends a long time. It was Justin who got Mitch job here. And other than being kind of dumb, Mitch worked when I needed him too. Never missed a shift, He was stoned most of the time he was here, but so was half the kitchen. My rule was you fuck up once cause your stoned, you lose that. I will do write ups. And Tom, the owner, was kind of strict when it came to that sort of thing.

"For sure?" I asked, grabbing a tub of mushrooms. They'd been washed and just needed to be sliced. I didn't mind it. I liked working knife skills more than almost anything else in the kitchen. I've had a fascination with blades and knifes since I was about ten years old and my grandfather gave me an old and dull pocket knife.

"Yeah, I checked. Oh, and the French Onion is ready, just needs it's final torching before it goes out. I think we've got a good night ahead of us." * * **

"Dude, you fucking jinxed us." I said. Justin and I were outside, sitting on milk crates behind the building. Both of us were burnt, and covered in various sauces. I had a new cut across the top of my hand. Knife slipped off an onion and I wasn't paying attention. My own fault.

The night had been viscous. Not overly busy, but not at one moment were we not cooking. It was just after 10:30 and we had just finished the last table. Service was over. And even though the kitchen was a mess, Justin and I were worse, and there was more than enough to do before either of us could leave. Both of us were beaten down and exhausted. But we were in the home stretch. Justin pulled a joint of the pack of cigarettes he had and lit it. We would pass it back and forth before going back into the building to clean.

"How did I jinx us?" He asked, inhaling and passing me the small pencil joint.

"You had to say we had a good night ahead of us." I said.

"I didn't say it would be good for us."

"Fuck you," I laughed. We sat in silence, smoking our cigarettes and passing the joint back and forth. Resting. We finished the joint off into a roach. Our cigarettes were quickly after and tossed those into a coffee can we kept filled with water and hundreds of dead cigarettes.

An hour passed and we were just finished up. Justin was mopping the last little spot of the kitchen. I was finishing up the numbers in the office. I flipped off the switch to the lights, checked to make sure all our equipment was off.

Justin and I stepped out of the kitchen, and both took a stool at the bar, The place offered a shift drink. Some nights that turned to four or five shift drinks. There were a few Saturdays where Amber, Justin and I would stay until almost bar close. And some nights, I wouldn't even have one. Tonight was not one of those nights.

"High Life," I said to Amber. She used to try and guess what I was getting, but it changed all the time. Amber was a great bartender. And her drinks were always perfect when I'd get one. She grabbed my bottle and brought it over to me.

"Have you tapped into that new IPA?" Justin asked. I could never understand how anyone could drink IPAs. There just crazy bitter to me, and I always got a headache from them.

[postjentacular]

Day 2 of @kinkuary 2023: Gloryhole

No Guts, No Glory Chapters: 1/1 (963 words) Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Percy Weasley Characters: Draco Malfoy, Percy Weasley Additional Tags: Glory Hole, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Kinkuary 2023 Series: Part 2 of Kinkuary 2023

Summary: There is, if rumours are to be believed, a cubicle in the men's on the fourth floor of The Ministry where, at a certain time on a certain day, one can get their cock sucked – no questions asked.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

There is, if rumours are to be believed, a cubicle in the men's on the fourth floor of The Ministry where, at a certain time on a certain day, one can get their cock sucked – no questions asked. It's Wednesday night, seven hours into a twelve hour overnight shift and I'm on my knees with my nose squashed against a chipboard wall and struggling to even wrap my tongue around the head because he's not sticking it through far enough – so it's safe to say that the rumours are completely and utterly true.

This guy isn't a regular; my regulars have the basic courtesy to get themselves nice and close for my mouth. Regulars, ha! A good nine times out of ten it's just the one, the same cock that appears through the hole. I'm not complaining, said cock is relatively good: decent size, not overly girthy, always clean, and he chokes back the most delicious moan when I swallow him to the root and bury my nose in his ginger pubes.

Yeah, ginger.

And no, not that one. Granger has a mean right hook which I have no intention of experiencing again. The one from Magical Transportation. Every Wednesday night for the past six months he’s turned up at my hole like clockwork, but tonight it’s gone two am and he’s not shown. He is in, I saw him skulking around the coffee machine earlier, sniffing the swill as if he’s too good for it; plus, my cock-sucking skills are certainly more than enough to keep anyone interested, so where the fuck is he? I'm tempted to go find him and ask.

Fuck it’s not like I have anything, anyone, better to do. Sometimes you've just gotta Gryffindor-up and go get what you want, and here's the thing: he knows it's me and thinks he's clever enough to keep his own identity hidden. He doesn't know that I know he knows. Former Head Boy Weasley might have got the family smarts, but discreet he is not – although neither is he smart enough to have planned what to do should I turn up at his office door. 

“Running late?” I ask from the threshold of his office. He stammers and turns a bright red. Told you he lacked discretion. “Only,” I continue, “I thought we had a meeting?” I swipe my thumb across my bottom lip and watch him hungrily track it. He’s still just sitting there, gaping like a grindylow. “My mistake,” I wave him off and turn around. I get about two half steps before he calls me back with a hissed ‘Malfoy’.

I turn back and give him a convivial smile.

“Maybe we could, could have the mee- meeting now? Here?”

I’m a depraved shitbag who gets his kicks from anonymous blowies at work, but even I draw the line sucking him off while his wife and kids wave cheerily from the framed photos on his desk. I shake my head, “You want a meeting, you know where I’ll be.”

Ten minutes later I’m back on my knees, waiting, and I hear the door swing open. It’s quickly followed by the slide of the lock in the cubicle next to me and the whoosh-thunk of trousers and belt hitting the tiled floor. The cock I've been waiting for slides through the hole, more than half hard.

Usually I’m on it in seconds, there’s no need for foreplay, a swipe of my tongue across the head and then I swallow it down; we both know what we’re here for so why pussyfoot around? Not tonight, though. Tonight I leave it sitting there, sticking out from the wall untouched until it's raised to full mast. After about a minute and a half he gives it a jiggle, a little wave for attention. Thirty seconds later he clears his throat. All-in-all he lasts no more than three minutes before he starts to pull it out. I halt him with a tsk. It takes another tsk for him to put it back where it belongs. I make him wait a minute more before I swipe my thumb through the bubble of pre-come on the head. He tries to thrust into it but I pull back silently. Once he stills I run my thumb over the same spot and this time he doesn’t move. I reward him with a peck on the shaft.

He gives a little groan and then swallows the noise; he gets another peck, this time just because. Then I wrap my lips around my teeth, hollow my cheeks and just go for it. 

There's a fine line between function, finesse, and ferocity and I weave between them like a fucking queen. Nobody leaves Draco Malfoy's hole less than utterly fulfilled – no matter how much of a prick they've been. He likes it fast, I like to be fucked in the face, what else do we need? Sure, the shitbag part of me wants to pull off, leave him spurting into thin air, or better, with a well deserved case of blue balls; but what can I say, I'm greedy and I never say no to what I want. And what I want is to choke on it. I push down till he's buried in my throat and hold myself there nostril-deep in his pubes unable to breath as he empties himself with a muffled groan. When I pull off I don't let him leave, not until I've lavved every last inch clean. 

His soft cock disappears back through the hole it came from and I hear him tucking himself away, zipping his fly, tightening his belt. “I expect you on time next week,” I warn hoarsely, although I know there’s no need. He’ll be there, and he’ll never be late again.

[fighterkimburgess]

Home

Summary: Stella is finally home

Words: 1k

Warnings: none

AN: I've had a few requests for Stellaride reunions and this kinda just...poured out of me. There'll be other reunion stuff coming soon I reckon, but I needed some stellaride fluff!

Wanna join my taglist?

--

The flight from Boston to Chicago was just over two hours, and every single minute made Stella just want to get off the plane. She was so fed up of the humidity, of the weirdly laid out streets, of the accents that hurt her ears because there was no more Midwest drawls. Instead it was trying to parse words as they were said, answering slowly so she could understand it fully.

But finally Girls On Fire East was set up, and she was going back home. Officially she could have been there another week, but she hadn’t extended her furlough any longer, deciding instead to head home as soon as possible.

The distance was hard. Matt leaving was a shock to all of them, and she hated that she hadn’t been there for her fiancé and her best friend as he went. She hated that she never got to say goodbye. It had been the right move career wise - she was going home having turned down an offer to move to Boston - but Chicago was home. Kelly and Sylvie and Molly’s and everyone she loved was there. The thoughts of leaving it all to move to the East Coast wasn’t worth it.

“We’ve just landed at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, where the local time is six thirty. Thank you for flying with American, and we hope to see you on board soon.”

It was a hustle to the terminal, but her checked bag was one of the first off the belt. She had just over an hour to make it to 51 for her shift, and she couldn’t wait to be there. It felt like a dream, getting into the cab and watching the cabby get confused at where she was sending him, but it worked. She made it on time, opening her locker and pushing her backpack in. She felt at home, and it was wonderful.

Voices were coming around the corner and she hid in the bathroom, standing in the shower stall until they faded and the coast was clear. Everyone was in the briefing room, and she watched Kelly leaning against the wall on his own. God she’d missed him. She missed his strength, his light. She missed how he made her feel like she could do anything.

So before anyone else walked into the room she opened the door, watching the faces change as they realised she was back. Kelly was the first to react, a grin breaking through as he saw her there, almost disbelieving. It was ten steps each, meeting in the middle of the room with his arms around her waist, smiling into a sweet kiss that was just ok enough for their workplace, proof that they’d made it through eight oh too long weeks and she’d missed him so incredibly much.

They separated before Boden came in, holding hands as they leaned against the wall together, her head in his shoulder as the briefing happened. She paid attention, trying to ignore Kelly’s thumb rubbing a slow circle on her hip, just happy for the connection they had together. She was home. She was back. She was in Kelly’s arms and it felt so right.

Once the briefing was finished Boden called her back to his office, so she let go of Kelly with a squeeze and followed him. He indicated to the chair, Stella nodding as she spoke.

“I hear good things from Boston. The Deputy Commissioner there called me, said he offered you a job and you turned him down? It would have been a good career move.” She nodded before speaking.

“It’s like we said. 51, this group of people? It’s a family. Chicago is home for us, and I don’t want to leave. I can build my career here.”

“That you can. We had an interim Lieutenant on 81 while you were gone, Jason Pelham. I offered him the position.” Her heart sank. She didn’t think she’d be offered 81, not with being gone, but hearing someone else had taken it still hurt.

“Pelham refused it, said he appreciated the offer but he enjoyed being a floater, he likes moving between locations. Stella Kidd, will you be the next commanding officer of Truck 81?”

“Yes.” It came out of her mouth before she could even think. “Yes, Chief. I’d be honoured. From when?”

“This shift?”

“Definitely.”

“I took the liberty of picking this up for you.” He passed a plastic bag across the desk, and Stella opened it to two grey polos there, her Lieutenants bugles shining in the collar. Truck 81 was embroidered in navy thread on the right breast, the CFD logo opposite it. There were tears in her eyes as she lifted the first one out.

“You’ve got new turnouts as well, go change and we can announce to everyone?” Boden asked, Stella nodding and wiping her tears away. She’d never imagined she’d get this chance.

It was a minute later when the polo was on, tucked into her pants. Lieutenant Stella Kidd of Firehouse 51, it sounded so good in her head. She came back into the office and Boden went to the common room first, everyone sitting down to eat.

“Folks, I wanted to let you know that Lieutenant Pelham rejected the position on 81. He thanked all of us for working with him, but he’s happy floating and learning at different houses. I want to introduce the new commanding officer for 81, Lieutenant Stella Kidd.”

Stella walked out from behind Boden, a wide grin on her face as the common room whooped and hollered in celebration. Kelly was the first to reach her, dipping her into a kiss in front of everyone with a grin on his face while wolf whistles went out around everyone. Sylvie was next, hugging her closely and kissing her cheek. It was hugs from everyone until the bells went off, calling them to a structure fire. Stella was handed her new turnout coat with Lieutenant Kidd on the back, before going to the drivers seat in 81. She’d teach Gallo to drive the rig soon enough, but for today she was back in control, giving instructions to her team. And when she heard the “Yes Lieutenant” response, she had to stop herself from smiling.

Taglist: @aruzlover @amandarrollins @morganupstead @brookerz122493 @redpoodlern @everythingaddictxx @write4life13 @tuxieboy101-blog @planecrazylex @stellarideofhouse51 @sophiatellerrhodes @xxxjocexxx @thestarrynightslover @etamne @torreshalstead @itsnotpersonalbut @kellykidd @blehblehblacksheep @stephanie708 @sylvieshay @dedlund82 @upsteadlovingheart @ittybitty-tittycommittee @thewannabewriter @brockreynolds @detective-buttercup @bila1011 @angelsjedi @multicouple-lover @keenmarvellover @takemetooneverlanddd @oracle23 @sylviebrettisaswiftie @thedefinitionofendgame

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[worldsover]

Dal Segno ft. Chuu

length ✦ 3570

genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.

Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.

“Not good enough.”

“Again.”

“One more.”

Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.

“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."

“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”

“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“

Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.

You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.

“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.

“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.

“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”

“Then I’d be out of a job.”

Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”

“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”

“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.

“You good? What was that?”

“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”

Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.

She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”

Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”

“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.

You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”

“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically.  “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”

“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.

She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.

“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.

You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.

Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.

Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.

“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.

“Sure.”

You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“That’s enough!”

Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.

Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."

She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”

Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.

"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"

Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.

“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”

You hold in your confusion.

She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"

Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.

"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”

Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.

Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"

She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.

"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”

Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.

“D- did I say now?”

However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."

Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”

Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.

“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”

Those efforts continue to fail.

"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.

“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”

“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.

“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”

You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.

“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”

“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.

"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.

"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"

After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.

Hold her by the chin. "Wait."

She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.

Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."

You squint your rough eyes to command her.

Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-"  Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.

You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?

Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.

“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.

She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”

“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.

Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.

Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.

You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”

Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.

“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”

“No… Wait!”

You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”

“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”

"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”

She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher​ and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fermata, the aforementioned sequel

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Invisible String

Summary - Dean Winchester was never a man who would freely speak about his feelings and emotions. The reader, is his best friend of many years but some wrong choices and words of Dean's pushes a the reader away.

Pairing - AU Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings - Fluff (lots of fluff), angst-ish, swearing, mentions of abusive relationship, mentions of bad parenting, cheating

Square filled - Bestfriend AU ( @spndeanbingo )

Word count - 6150

A/N - This is written for @supernatural-jackles' Bi-weekly challenge. The prompts are in bold. Spn dividers by the amazingly talented @talesmaniac89 (go check her blog out) Beta'd by @mariekoukie6661 (she is a sweetheart for agreeing to take a look at this long fic. Thank you💕)

“So what are we watching?” You asked as you slumped down on the yellow couch. You were dead on your feet after a long week of work but you just couldn't break tradition and not hang out with your best friend like every friday. Pulling the comforter close to your body, you let out a sigh of contentment. Truth be told, no matter how exhausted you were, you always looked forward to movie night.

“I picked the movie last friday, now it's your turn,” Dean handed you a bottle of beer and took a seat beside you. Your eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief, a knowing smile appeared on your face as Dean's lips curled up in disgust. “No chick flicks,” he warned.

“I get to call dibs on the movie tonight so I picked,” you paused for a second to create a dramatic effect, “The Proposal.”

“No!” Dean cried out in horror.

“Oh come on, it is not going to be that bad. Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock are in that movie.” you winked at him, making him groan and he picked up a cushion to cover his face, “Now, now don't be so dramatic.” He removed the cushion from his face and glared at you. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. “Pizza's here!” He exclaimed as he got up to open the door. You turned on the tv, opened Netflix and put on the movie.

“I don't understand how we can be best friends,” Dean grumbled as he came back to the room, “you eat your pizza with pineapple on it.” “It tastes good. You should try it one day.” you said and took the two boxes of food from his hand, setting them down on the table in front.

“Are you kidding me? Even if that becomes the only food available on earth, I still won't eat it. You can't put fruits on pizza,” he said, and took a slice from his own pizza and nestled into the comforter beside you.

“Tomato is a fruit, De,” you said, biting into the slice in your hand. You heard him mutter something under his breath which you ignored and shifted your focus to the movie playing on the screen. Halfway through the movie, you yawned and snuggled into your best friend. He wrapped his warm hands around you, pulling you closer to him. “You want to head back now?” He asked softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Nuh-uh,” you said, “I want to finish the movie. I need to see if Andrew got Margaret back .” That elicited a chuckle from Dean, the vibrations of his laugh shaking your body a little.

“You're so stubborn and they are gonna find each other, it's a chick flick for God's sake,” he said, “they love each other, clearly.”

“Speaking of love, Cas asked me out,” you said, making Dean sit up straight. “What'd you say?” He asked

“Yes obviously. I need to dive back into the dating life,” you shrugged, “and Cas seems like a good guy.”

“He is but I thought you wanted to wait because of what happened with you know ‘ he who must not be named’,” he said, and you picked up the remote to pause the movie.

“I can't live in the past. I need to move on. It has been two years since I've gone on a date and it's not like I'm getting engaged tomorrow. It's just a date,” you said, messing with the loose end of the comforter.

“As you wish. I'm just looking out for you.”

“I know. You always do,” you said, giving Dean a tight hug, “and I kinda miss doing it.”

“Doing what?” “Sex,” Dean's eyebrows shot up, “oh come on, it's not like I didn't use to have sex with….him.”

“So,” he gulped, “so you m-miss doing….it?”

“Kind of. My fingers are not enough, you know what I mean right?”

“Of course, of course,” Dean cleared his throat, blush crept up his neck.

“And it's not just sex, I miss the physical touch, I miss those things that are part of a relationship,” you said, “I need this and I think I'm ready.”

“If you think you're ready, then it's fine. I just don't want to see my best friend with a broken heart again.” he said, his fingers getting entangled in your hair, as he slowly massaged your scalp.

“That feels good,” you moaned, “after that hell of a meeting with Azazel, I needed this night De. Thank you for always being there.”

“You're my best friend. I'll always be there when you need me even if you make me watch stupid romcoms.” he grinned, “Azazel creating problems again?”

“He never seems to approve of the templates and designs I make no matter how hard I try to make them loveable and on the other hand, the shitty designs made by Abaddon always gets approved.” you groan.

“Why don't you change jobs?”

“I can't. It's not that simple. Life's going good. I don't want to disrupt it by going on a job hunt.” you sighed.

“What if you start working for my company?” You immediately turned your head towards Dean and looked at him with surprise clear in your eyes.

“No.” “Why not?

“I'm a graphic designer, De. I'm not built to work in your company,” you said.

“Be my PA. I really need a personal assistant to help me keep upto date with my schedule and I'm a mess after Charlie left.” Dean said.

“But what is my job criteria? That I'm your best friend? It's like taking advantage of you. I can't do that.”

“What if you work as my PA after being interviewed for the job?” He asked. “Fine, maybe I can give it a shot,” you said.

“Awesome! Meet me in my office on Monday, ten in the morning, sharp. I don't tolerate tardiness.” he said, slipping quickly in the work mode.

“Aye, aye captain.” You giggled, but a deep frown soon appeared on your face.

“What?” “What if it messes up our relationship?”

“It won't. I know how to separate my work life from my personal one,” Dean assured.

“I guess, then it's okay,” you smiled.

“So about your date with Cas. Where's he taking you?”

“I have no idea,” you chuckled, “he said it will be a surprise.”

“That's-that's great but he should know that you hate surprises,” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn't know me very well. I'll let that pass this one time,” you told Dean.

“Fair enough,” he laughed. You yawned once more, as you tried to fight the drowsiness that was threatening to take over you.

“You want to head back home now or you want to crash here tonight, sleepyhead?” Dean smiled.

“I don't think I can drive all the way in such a state. Do you mind if I crash here?” You grinned, knowing very well he didn't mind because you crashed in his guest rooms on most of the Friday nights. He rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch.

“I'll prepare the guest room.” You sleepily nodded at him. You didn't realise you had fallen asleep but you were soon woken up when you felt your body move.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up. I'm taking you to bed,” you found yourself in Dean's arms as he headed towards the guest room with you, “you looked too peaceful sleeping. Go back to sleep.” He softly murmured. Dean gently placed you in the bed, pulling the cover upto your chest as you snuggled into the warmth of the covers. Within a few minutes, you had dozed off.

“Morning, sunshine. Pancakes for you,” Dean's loud voice woke you up from your deep slumber the next morning. You sat up in your bed, as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, the smell of pancakes hitting your nose.

“Breakfast in bed for my girl. Listen I gotta run to the office now,” he said as he handed you the plate of freshly cooked pancakes to you.

“It's Saturday!” You exclaimed.

“I know but Benny wanted to sign the deal with our company today. It's an important one, we can't let that go out of our hands,” he made you understand, “I'll be back within a few hours.”

“Sufe fing. I wif ve here,” you spoke with your mouth full, “Sure thing. I will be here.” You repeated your words after swallowing your food.

“Maggie will drop by. If you want to leave the house before I return, give the keys to her.” He said as he went back into his room to put his suit on.

“Hot damn,” you let out a low whistle as Dean stepped out of the room in his black suit, “Go get the deal, cowboy!” Dean did a full body laugh at your words, throwing his head backwards before he bid you goodbye and walked out of the door leaving you alone in his penthouse. Finishing your breakfast, you got up and got freshened up for the day. You picked up your phone and saw three texts from Cas.

“Meet me at 7.” “At the Season's 52.” “I'm looking forward to this.”

A smile crept onto your face, as you read the texts from him. “I need your help,” you shot a text to Ruby, “I've a date tonight. I don't know what to wear.” You waited for her to text back but instead of getting a text, you got a call from her.

“He finally asked you out?” She screamed from the other side of the phone.

“What do you mean “finally”?” You wondered.

“Oh come on, Y/N. How long have you two known each other?” “Uh-two months.”

“Two-wait, two months? You don't have a date with Dean?” She asked.

“No! Why would you think that?” You exclaimed, “Cas asked me out.”

“Cas? As in Castiel Novak? Dean's friend? And Dean's okay with it?”

“What's with the twenty questions, Ruby?” You said, annoyed at her questions, “And yes. Dean's fine with it. Why wouldn't he be? He is dating Lisa, in case you didn't remember. Now will you help me? I need a dress for tonight.”

Ruby agreed to go on a little shopping spree with you to find the perfect dress. Handing over the keys to Maggie, the housekeeper, you shot a text to Dean letting him know you were leaving his house. You waited for some time but he didn't text you back. You shrugged it off thinking he was probably busy with the meeting. Your whole afternoon was spent with Ruby as you tried to find a good dress for the date. She made you try on what seemed like a hundred dresses of different colours and style until a green bottleneck dress finally caught your eyes.

“This is a beautiful dress! You gotta try it on,” Your friend insisted.

“You sure? Look at the price - it's too expensive,” you pouted.

“Do you want to get laid tonight?” Ruby quirked her eyebrow.

“Yeah-I mean no….maybe,” you stutter.

“That dress - Cas won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight,” she smiled.

“Fine, if you insist.” Needless to say, the dress was a perfect fit but it was all for nothing.

Tapping on the hardwood of the table, you let out a frustrating sigh. Tears pricked at your eyes as you took a sip of the drink.

“Ma'am do you-are you going to-”

“Please bring the check. I'm done here,” you said, barely managing to keep your tears at bay. The waitress nodded and walked away from your table. You dialed up your best friend’s number and waited for him to pick up.

“Dean,” you said, sniffling a little as he picked up his phone after the third ring. “Y/N, you okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Can you,” you cleared your throat, “Can you pick me up? I'm at Season’s 52.”

“Sure,” you heard shuffling on the other side, “I'll be there as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” you replied.

“He just didn't show up,” you sniffled as Dean drove yourselves back to his house.

“Maybe-maybe he had his reasons,” Dean said, throwing a worried glance at your way.

“Reasons?” You scoffed.

“Cas is a good man. This is very unlike him,” Dean said.

“Am I-am I not good enough, Dean?” “Y/N, you know that's not true. You're pretty, smart, a little badass - you are a good person with a kind heart,” Dean smiled.

“Then why? Why didn't he show up? He could have left a message. I'm telling you Dean, I'm so over men now. All men are the same,” you looked at him, “except you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. That is good to hear.”

“I sure do know how to choose,” you grumbled.

“Y/N, it's just one bad date. So what? Cas is not the only man in the whole world. You'll find someone,” Dean said, pulling into his driveway.

“I don't think so. Maybe he was right,” you opened the door of the car to step out.

“Who?”

“Alistair. Maybe he is right. Maybe the problem is me,” you said, tears pooling in your eyes. Dean grabbed your hands and pulled you back into the car.

“No. He is not right. Alistair will never be right. He was an abusive and manipulative son of a bitch. Listen to me, you are not the problem, sweetheart,” he said, “those men just don't understand you.”

“Is that why no one sticks around?” You turned around to face him with wet eyes.

“I did and I will always be there for you,” he said, his hands cupping your face.

“I know, De,” you leaned into his touch as his thumb gently caressed your cheeks. You opened your mouth to speak but were cut off by three harsh taps on the car window. Dean immediately opened the door and stepped out.

“Lisa.” He said.

“Unbelievable, Dean!” Lisa exclaimed. You couldn't see her face but you knew she was furious.

“It's not what it looks like,” Dean whispered.

“You just up and left me in the morning and now when I get back to talk things out, I find you cozying up to her. I'm done with you!” She yelled back. You shrunk back into your seat when you heard her scream. Dean didn't even tell you that he had broken up with her. You wondered why he hid it from you.

“I already said we were over Lisa, just go back home,” Dean said and brought his hand down his face.

“Three years of relationship meant nothing to you! Why?” Lisa shoved Dean, making him stumble back a little.

“I don't owe you an explanation, okay?”

“You cheating asshole-” “I didn't cheat on you, Lisa. I-I'm just not in love with you anymore,” Dean said, making her scoff.

“Have a nice life, asshole!” Lisa said and you heard her retreating footsteps. You stepped out of the car and saw Dean standing against the car, with his face buried in his hands.

“Hey, you okay?” You rubbed his arm gently.

“Yeah. I'm sorry you had to hear that,” he sighed.

“Why didn't you tell me you broke up with her?” You asked.

“It wasn’t important.” “Not important? You let me ramble all the way from the restaurant to your house but not once did you tell me you broke up with her,” you said.

“Y/N, I'm fine. Can we drop this now?” He snapped at you, “I'm sorry.”

“S’okay,” you gave him a sad smile, “I've an idea.”

“Does this idea include booze?” “What do ya think?” “I'm in.”

“What time is it?” You groaned as bright light hit your eyes. The throbbing pain in your head increased as you opened your eyes, trying to focus on the human figure standing in your doorway.

“You got wasted last night, sweetheart,” Dean grinned.

“Stop talking. Just stop talking,” you groaned and nestled deep into your covers.

“Aspirin. You will need these,” he kept the medicine on the nightstand, and walked away, “Breakfast is ready.”

“Morning, how's the hangover?” He gave you a cheeky smile as you walked into the dining room a few minutes later. Dean had his laptop opened in front of him, a cup of coffee beside the electronic device. “You're enjoying this too much, aren't ya? How come you're not hung-over?” You grumbled, “I'm hungry.”

“Here. I made waffles because my heartbroken, hung-over best friend needs her comfort food. Dig in,” he said and pushed a plate of waffles towards you, “I didn't drink much.”

“I thought we were drinking because you had a breakup.” “I told you already I'm not feeling miserable. See there's this girl I like who is not Lisa. I'm thinkin’ of asking her out so I did what I had to do. I ended things with Lisa,” Dean said.

“How come you never told me about this girl?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “‘Cause I wasn't sure how I felt but two days ago I saw her and I just knew that she is the one I want to be with,” he smiled.

“You're such a sap.” You giggled, “she must be very special.”

“She is very special. I have never met a girl like her,” he said, staring at you, “now, eat up.”

“Mhm,” you moaned, taking a bite of the waffles on your plate, “you know, you should give up your business and open up a coffee shop. You make excellent waffles.”

“Sorry sweetheart, no can do. People at work will miss me too much,” he chuckled, “you do remember you are interviewing for the position of PA tomorrow?”

“Yep but I don't know if I will get it or not. I have heard the CEO of the company is kind of a shithead,” you grinned.

“Oh really?” Dean looked at you with amused eyes, “You're terrible.”

“Yeah, so I've heard.” You laughed.

He shook his head at you, “Listen, I have a favour to ask.” “Shoot.”

“I would like it if you could accompany me to Sam and Jess’ anniversary party tonight,” he said.

“Tonight?” “Yeah. I know it's very sudden but it completely sli-”

“I'll go with you but I thought you told me that after what happened with your Dad last time, you wouldn't be attending another family gathering,” you said.

“Uh-huh. Sam insisted that I attend this party,” he replied.

“Fine I'll be there with you at the party to save you from John Winchester,” you giggled.

“You'll be my knight in shining armour tonight.” He chuckled.

You went back to your apartment to get ready for the party. Dean had told you that he would be picking you up at six that evening. As you touched up on your makeup, you heard three knocks on your door.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Dean smirked, looking dapper in a black two-piece suit.

“Good evening, Dean. I'll be out in a minute,” you blushed when you saw his eyes travel all over your body.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“De-” you snaked placed your hand over his, as you both sat inside the Impala with her engine turned off.

“I can't do this Y/N. I can't face John Winchester again, not after the crap he pulled last time,” he gritted out the words, his knuckles turning white as he held the steering wheel tightly, staring off at the direction of his house.

“Why are you here?” He looked at you in surprise. “I-Sam asked me to be here,” he said.

“Exactly. Your little brother asked you to be here so you will go into that house and attend your brother's party. It's up to you if you want to make any small talk, I'll be there with you but Dean you can't avoid your father forever-”

“I'm not avoiding him,” Dean said.

“Yes, you are. Now go in there, ask him why he did that, demand answers from him,” you said.

“I-okay, let's go. Just don't leave my side tonight or someone might get hurt,” he said.

“You're not going to punch your Dad,” you mumbled, “even though he deserves it.” He chuckled at your words as you two stepped out of the car.

“I'll never get used to the fact that you grew up in a mansion,” you smirked.

“It's not a mansion. It's a….big house,” he smiled.

“Yep, whatever you say.” As soon as you stepped through the door of the mansion, Dean was immediately pulled into a hug. “I thought you wouldn't show up,” Sam said, letting go of his brother, “Hey Y/N.”

“Almost didn't,” the older Winchester replied as you gave the younger one a small wave. “He showed up, didn't he? What about Mom?”

“Mom and Dad are in the living room. Last thing I saw they are not speaking to each other even when they are in the same room. I just want everyone to act civil till the party's over,” Sam said, “Drinks are in the kitchen.”

“So kitchen first, living room later. Keep John out of my sight and everything will be perfect,” Dean patted his brother's shoulder and made his way towards the kitchen, taking you with him. Pouring himself a glass, he handed you one.

“Dean,” a deep voice came from the doorway, making Dean stand up straight. “Sam had one job. Dad.” He looked at John and gave him a curt reply.

There was a moment of awkward silence as no words were exchanged between the father and the son. You could feel Dean trying his level best to keep himself from screaming at his Dad. You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“I know you don't want to see me right now-” “You're right and you may leave now,” Dean said and turned his back towards his father.

“Son. You have to understand, it was a long time back and I didn't know what was going through my head. I-” John sighed.

“You what? You had a perfect family here. A wife, two sons. And all this time, you knew about Adam but you said nothing. You kept up with the charade of the perfect husband and father when in reality you were neither of them,” Dean gritted out.

“Dean. Maybe I was not the perfect husband but I did everything for you and Sam,” the older man said in a harsh tone.

“Really? You did everything? You were nothing but an absent father. I was there to take care of Mom and Sammy while you were away on your so-called business trips when actually you were plowing another woman's field,” Dean growled at his father.

“Dean!” His father snapped back.

“Mr. Winchester you should leave now,” you said, trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand, “John, please.”

“This is family matter Y/N. You have no right to get involved in this,” John retorted.

“Don't speak to her like that. She is more family to me than you ever were,” Dean said and stalked towards his Dad, “so you can leave now. I'm sure as hell Mom is not talking to you so you can get the hell out of this house now, John.”

“Dean-” “Now,” Dean growled.

“I would do what he says, John,” you said. John scoffed, turning around and got out of the house. Dean plopped down on one of the chairs in the kitchen, gently rubbing his temples.

“You sure you're okay?” “I need a stronger drink,” he murmured.

“I saw Dad leave. What happened?” Sam came into the kitchen and asked as he looked at his brother.

“I told you to keep John away from me. You had one job,” Dean snapped and stormed out of the room, grabbing a glass of drink with him.

“He just needs some time to cool down. John came to talk to Dean and-”

“Yeah I understood. I'm gonna check on Mom. This party was a mistake,” Sam said and left the kitchen leaving you standing there alone.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you finished up your drink. You were angry at John too. He had hurt Dean, your best friend. He was a liar and you hated liars. You needed to go find Dean. You placed the empty glass on the counter and made your towards the door but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.

“Cas,” you said, “I didn't expect you to be here.”

“Yeah well, Sam is a good friend so he invited me over.” Cas gave you a smile.

“Oh.” You nodded.

“We should probably address the elephant in the room,” he gave an awkward laugh.

“Huh? Oh you mean how you stood me up last night?” You glared at him.

“Well you didn't tell me that you were looking for only a one night stand? I would have backed out sooner. I like you Y/N but I don't do one night-”

“Wait, hold on. Who told you I was looking for a one time, no strings attached thing?”

“Dean told me,” your jaw dropped onto the floor at his confession, “I'm sorry Y-”

“S’okay.” You brushed him off, “I need to have a word with Dean, have you seen him?”

“I think he was talking to Kevin over there,” Cas pointed you towards another room.

“Thanks and it's okay, Cas. We're cool.” You said and almost ran your way into the other room.

“I'm telling you man, you deserve someone better than Y/N. She is clingy and she doesn't take no for an answer. I can give you her number but-” Dean turned around and his eyes locked with your wet ones. You shook your head at him, a look of betrayal evident on your face. You heard him call out to you as you turned on your heels and ran towards the door. “Excuse me, Kevin,” Dean said and went after you but by that time you were already out of the house. “Y/N!” He called, as you pulled out your phone to call for an uber.

“Fuck you!” You exclaimed, “I'm clingy, I don't take no for an answer. Is that what you think of me? All this time while you pretended to be my best friend, is this what went through your head?” Tears were running down your face now, “how many times was I there for you when you needed me and this is how you repay me?”

“I didn't mean to say it like that. You are my best friend Y/N-”

“You are a fuckin’ liar! You told Cas that I was looking for a person to keep my bed warm for only one night. Why? You know what, I don't want to talk to you right now. Leave me alone,” you said.

“No, please,” he took a step towards you. “Don't you dare make a move!” You screamed, “You lied to me and I hate liars more than anything. You are no better than your Dad. I hate you! I regret that I ever thought of you as my best friend.” You heard shuffling behind you and turned around to see him leaving. A sob tore from your throat. Standing there alone on the porch of the Winchester mansion, with your smudged makeup, you waited for the uber to show up.

It took you one hour to finally reach your house. Your phone was getting blown up by messages from the Winchester brothers and Ruby. You broke down in tears as soon as you reached your house. You crawled underneath the covers without bothering to get out of your dress or to remove your makeup. Your body shook as you continued to sob loudly into the pillow. The same man, who acted as your rock when you had left Alistair, gave you shelter in his house when you showed up in the middle of the night because your ex-boyfriend was drunk and was on a rampage, was the one who continued to spew lies about you behind your back. Your trust was shattered just like your heart and you didn't know how to piece them back together. The crying had tired you out and in no time you slipped into a deep slumber with Dean's words haunting your dream.

Morning came way too quickly. You woke up to Ruby knocking on your door along with Dean calling your phone. Your eyes were red and swollen as a result of crying all night long.

“What happened? Who's ass do I need to kick?” Ruby barged into your house as soon as you opened the door as saw you had been crying.

“....Dean.” “Dean? Dean Winchester?” Her eyes widened in surprise which later turned to anger when you told her everything that had happened the day before. Ruby was furious and if Dean was there in the room, he would have been a dead man.

“Oh Y/N,” Ruby cooed as she pulled you into a hug, “I didn't know it was this bad. Sam called me to check on you because you left his house in a hurry. I'm gonna kill Dean Winchester.” You held onto her tightly as sobs racked through your body. She gently caressed your head while cursing the green-eyed Winchester.

You were miserable but what you didn't know is that your ex-best friend was also losing his mind over the incident. The guilt was eating him up alive and he didn't know how to fix it. Sam had punched him in the face and kicked him out of his house when he had told him what happened.

“Tell her the truth or don't ever talk to me again,” Sam had threatened his brother. With red eyes and a swollen cheek, Dean went into his office the next morning. He hoped that after the interview he would get a chance to apologise but you never showed up.

“Okay, Mr. Winchester, that was the last interviewee,” Jody poked in her head into the room. “That was the last? What about uh-Y/N L/N?” Dean asked.

“Uh-she dropped out - called us early in the morning to let us know she won't make it to the interview,” Jody smiled, “I need your decision fast.”

“Decision?” “Who we are hiring for the position of the PA,” she said.

“Sure. I'll let you know. You can go now Jody. Close the door on your way out,” Dean said.

He sighed as he dialed your number, “It's Y/N L/N. She can't get to her phone now. Please leave a message.”

“Y/N, sweetheart I'm sorry. You shouldn't have dropped out of the interview. I know you won't ever forgive me but I'm sorry.” You sniffled as you heard his voice message. He had left you exactly fifty-three texts, twenty three missed calls and seventeen voice messages - all had the same words, ‘I'm sorry’ but you couldn't forgive him.

“Stop listening to that asshat,” Ruby grumbled and snatched your phone from you. “I-I just can't understand why he did that? I thought he was my friend,” you sniffled.

“I'm sorry Y/N,” Ruby took a seat beside you and wrapped you in a comforter, “I brought ice cream with me. I heard they work wonders on a broken heart.”

“And you brought my favourite flavour. Thanks!” You hugged but were interrupted by the sound of your doorbell.

“Stay here. Let me check,” Ruby said and went towards the door. Opening it, she stared at a disheveled, sad Dean Winchester.

“Give me one good reason to not kick you out right now,” Ruby glared at Dean.

“I need to talk to her. Please,” Dean’s voice cracked at the end.

“No you won't. She is miserable and I won't let you break her even more,” Ruby challenged, “Now get out.”

“I don't care if I have to fight you but please let me see her,” he pleaded.

“You are one stubborn, lying piece of shit,” Ruby grumbled.

“Why are you here?” the two heads turned immediately towards you.

“I wasn't sure you wanted to see me but I had to see you,” Dean said.

“And why exactly?” Ruby snapped.

“Ruby. It's okay. Let him in. I need to hear him out.” Dean gave Ruby a side eye and let himself in.

“Y/N,” She started. “I'll be fine," you assured her.

“If you need me to kick him out or kick his ass, just call me,” she glared at Dean once more and left your apartment.

“She's scary,” the green-eyed man said. “Well she has to. She just saw her friend with a broken heart,” you threw him his words back.

“I can't tell you how sorry I am,” Dean said, his head hung in shame.

“Why?” He looked up at you, “I don't know,” he replied, making you scoff.

“You don't know? Well maybe because you actually thought of me to be clingy and the girl who doesn't take no for an answer,” you seethed, “and you even lied to Cas about me. You framed me as some whore who doesn't do relationships. Fuck you, Dean! You knew better than anyone how long it took me to get over Alistair. How could you do this to me?”

“I don't know,” he whispered, “It's just I lied to them because I didn't want them to be with you.”

“It's my life! I get to decide who I want to have sex with and who I want to date,” you hissed.

“Well I couldn't let you make those decisions because I didn't want you to choose them. I wanted you to choose me.” he blurted out. You sat there dumbfounded as you heard his confession, "What? Why?"

“Because...I love you,” Dean muttered.

“You love me?” “Yeah.”

“What are you, a kindergartener? Next thing I know you will be pulling my pigtails,” you sassed.

“I'm sorry. You know I'm bad with feelings-” “So you decided to lie?”

“Yeah.” “You're terrible, you know that,” you said.

“So I have heard,” he shrugged. “Come here you idiot,” you beckoned at him. He went towards you and sat down beside you.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was just-” “What? You were just fending off the boys?”

“Yeah. At first I was scared that I was falling for my best friend and you knew me, you knew all my horrible secrets, the thoughts that are inside my head which keep me up at night and I was scared that you wouldn't feel the same. I broke up with Lisa for you because whenever I closed my eyes at night I wanted it to be you with me, not Lisa.” You were stunned at his confession. Dean never talked about his feelings, he was extremely good at hiding his feelings so hearing him blurt out about how he felt, surprised you.

“Dean,” you said. “No. I need to say this,” he said, stopping you, “I don't know if you feel the same. Even if you did, I don't think I have a chance after the stunt I pulled yesterday. But sweetheart, you mean everything to me, I swear to never hurt you again. I was planning on asking you out after the party but Kevin had asked for your number so I told him all those lies about you but sweetheart I know what I did….said is unforgivable but please I need you. I need my best friend back.” He looked at you, locking his teary eyes with yours.

“I don't know whether to kiss you or hit you,” you said, wiping away the single tear that rolled down your cheek. “K-kiss me?” Dean’s eyes went wide.

“You are the most horrible person I have ever met. I hate you, Dean but I hate me more that I decided to fall for this horrible person that I call my best friend. Kiss me, before I change my mind,” you said and that's all Dean needed before he crashed his lips into yours. It was a harsh kiss but one filled with longing and love. His hands sneaked to the back of your head, his fingers entangled with your hair as your hands held on to his biceps.

“I'm sorry for hurting you,” he said after he let go of your lips. You sat there with his hands cupping your face, your foreheads touching. “Next time, talk to me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he kissed your forehead, “So Y/N L/N, can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?” “Definitely Dean Winchester, but mind you I'm tough to impress,” you smirked.

“I have plans, special plans for a special girl. I will make you mine,” he said before he leaned in to capture your lips with his once again.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 6

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Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

AO3

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A/N: Sorry for the waiting, but real life came along and I had to stop writing for a couple of weeks. Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this. Happy Labour Day!

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Chapter 6 . .

Be not inhospitable to strangers,

lest they be angels in disguise.

(W. B. Yeats)

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When Killian regained consciousness he found himself in what reminded him of a military hospital. There were thin white curtains around his bed, but through them he could spot other beds like his, most of them empty. The room seemed large and dimly lit.

He closed his eyes and remembered the crash landing, the unknown desert planet, the great rock that was about to crush Henry, and that feeling of unease and imminent danger he had felt just before the impact. Where was he? And above all what kind of situation was he in, a good or a bad one? He opened his eyes again, and noticed he wasn’t alone. A woman was checking his IV, and a nearby monitor was beeping intermittently.

Killian tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in his lungs made him desist immediately. He groaned loudly.

“Look who’s awake.” Said the woman, who was now staring at him. “Hello, handsome.” She added cheerfully.

Killian had found himself dealing with uncharted waters several times in his life. He decided to play the waiting game. “This is usually my line, well, more or less.”

“Really? In this case, I'll warn my husband not to approach you.”

“Don’t worry I'm not into men, not recently at least.” He smirked.

“Oh, but my husband is quite the charming one.”

“I still prefer the company of a fair lady, if I could choose.” He winked and chuckled, and a dull pain made him gasp.

“Take it easy.” She immediately shifted her attitude from playful to worried. “How do you feel?”

“As if I've been hit by a rocket.”

“Not a rocket, but yes, you’ve been hit hard. You’ve suffered two broken ribs. And believe me, you were lucky, it could have been worse. Do you mind if I run some tests and see how you react?”

“No problem.”

While the woman was busy measuring his temperature, making him follow a small blue LED light with his gaze, and extracting some blood to examine later, he took advantage of the opportunity to observe her more closely. She had short black hair and green eyes, bright and lively in contrast to her very delicate skin. Killian found himself thinking of another pair of green eyes, which had been filling his thoughts frequently lately. The memory brought him back to reality quickly.

“What is this place?” He inquired, eager to know what had happened while he was unconscious.

“Welcome to Vernal-Den.” She answered smiling.

Killian tried to remember if he had ever read about this planet. “Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, we’re not very popular.”

Was she too concentrated on checking-in his vitals, or was she being too concise on purpose? He didn’t know, but he intended to keep an eye on her. “How long was I out?”

“A while.” Another elusive answer.

He decided to test the waters. “Were there ….other injured people with me?”

“If you’re referring to Henry and Emma, they are perfectly fine.” She seemed sincere. “They are staying at our place. Henry has visited you every day since you came in.”

“And Emma?”

“Well, she can’t come in. She’s not a relative of yours. But she has spent long hours sitting just outside that door.” She said pointing towards the exit. “I had to order her to go home and get some rest.”

After that she excused herself, saying that she had to attend to other patients.

He realized she hadn’t even told him her name. He didn’t know if he could trust her or not. The fact that she had avoided some of his questions sent chills down his spine. And most of all there was the Emma problem.

Why couldn’t she visit him? Was it true that it was only a matter of rules? Or was she in some kind of peril? He needed to know what was happening behind those doors that separated him from the woman that had been pestering his dreams in the last ten years of his life. He had to know that she was alright. To hell with rules! He thought. And by the way, when was the last time he followed one. He had to get out of this place. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his lungs was so strong that his vision started to blur and cold sweat formed on his temples. He lay back down on the bed, aware that in his conditions he couldn’t have gone far before collapsing unconscious on the floor. He promised himself to solve the problem as soon as he had enough strengths, but he couldn't dwell too much on that thought, because sleep was reclaiming his mind again.

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~·~·~·~

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Time passed very slowly, or so it seemed, but maybe it was simply the fact that every day looked the same. Killian was mostly asleep, probably due to the painkillers introduced through the IV, and when he woke up he couldn't tell how long he had been out, he couldn't even tell if it was day or night. There were no windows in that room.

During one of the moments when his mind regained consciousness, he felt the mattress drop slightly to one side and he slowly opened his eyes.

“You are awake! How do you feel? Can you breathe? Of course you can, you would be dead otherwise! Does it hurt?” Henry was sitting at the end of the bed, and he was asking a lot of questions, as usual. “Sorry.” He suddenly looked contrite. “I should let you rest, but…”

“It’s ok, lad.” Killian cut him off. “I’m glad to see you’re all in one piece.”

The boy greeted him with a wide grin.

Killian remembered the last moments before getting injured, and he was relieved to know that he had been able to prevent that rock from hitting Henry. But other worries crowded his mind. “How about your mom?”

“She’s fine. She’s outside. They won’t let her in. You know, only relatives and all that stuff.” He explained.

“I see. And why are you…?”

Henry didn’t let him finish the question. “I told them I’m your son.” He whispered with a conspiratory smile.

“Clever boy.” Killian’s chuckle turned soon into a cough due to the pain.

“Does it hurt?” The boy asked, frowning.

The man dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “It’s not a big deal.” He didn’t want the lad to feel responsible for his well-being. “How many days have passed since we landed here?” He asked, changing the subject.

“I don't know exactly.” And at Killian’s questioning look, he added, “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“People live underground here,” The boy started to explain, “With no opportunity to look outside. And there are no clocks. My watch had probably broken when we arrived, it doesn’t work anymore.”

The man hummed, he was starting to understand. The lack of windows, the elusive answer he had received from the dark-haired nurse… everything was beginning to tally in Killian’s head. “I want you to think carefully about everything you saw outside this room. Did you feel something was wrong?”

The boy shrugged. “I don't know.” He seemed to ponder. “This place is strange. Lots of corridors and passages underground. We are not allowed to go out into the open. They say it’s dangerous. But I never felt a threat or something. I would rather say it’s boring.”

“Why boring?”

Henry was trying to find the right words to explain it. “All the days are the same, people repeat the same actions every day. They say it’s useful to maintain a routine. But I don’t think Mary Margaret and David are bad people.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Killian asked.

“Oh, yeah, Mary Margaret, she is your nurse. We’re staying at her home. She is very nice. And David is her husband. He showed me the greenhouse. It’s awesome and huge, you should see it! But I don’t think he works there. I don’t know what his job is.”

Routine? New people? A greenhouse? Well, that was a lot of information to process. But Killian felt sleep calling him back. Next time I see that lady Margaret, I’m going to ask her not to put more painkillers in my IV. He thought. “Thank you, Henry, for everything. But I may need to rest for a while now.” He managed to say before falling asleep again.

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~·~·~·~

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Emma knew Killian was feeling better, Henry had told her about their short chat, and some of her child's enthusiasm had even infected her positively, but she continued to feel restless, she wanted to make herself useful. Most of all, she wanted to see Killian again.

All this absurd situation was her fault. And no, she was not thinking about the fact that Killian was lying on a hospital bed because of some bad decisions she had made lately. No. She was not going down that path again. She had already spent a lot of hours regretting many choices done in the last month.

But this was nonsensical, why couldn’t she visit a friend that was hurt and maybe in need of some company? She had actually had a chance to say that she was his wife; after all in the eyes of her guests, she and Killian had a son together, so why not lie a bit more and make Mary Margaret believe that she and Killian were married. But the thought of a possible long time spent together on this planet feigning to be a happily married couple scared her, and she couldn’t go on with the lie.

So there she was, sitting on a very uncomfortable metal chair in the waiting room. She had spent more hours there than she could count.

David had passed by to greet his wife, and he had offered to take Henry with him, on the way back home. So she was left alone with her thoughts.

Mary Margaret peeked out the door with a steaming mug in her hand. “Take this. It will help.”

She agreed with a nod. “Thank you.” She sipped some of the hot liquid and it felt like her nerves were starting to relax a little.

“You should go home and rest. It's late.” The woman said.

“Mary Margaret let me enter.” Emma pleaded for the umpteenth time.

“We have already talked about it. You know I can’t do that. There are strict rules down here, and the best way for us to survive is to follow them.”

“This is insane. I’m not a dangerous criminal or someone who is plotting to destroy this planet. I just want to see him. Please.” She begged.

The dark-haired woman seemed to be pondering all the possible consequences. “All right.” She sighed. “Let’s just say that I’m going inside and leave the door ajar, by mistake, of course. I have to check some very important documents, so I’ll be busy and concentrated. I’m not going to ask you what you’re going to do in the next... fifteen minutes or so. Okay?”

“Thank you.” Emma handed her the cup back, rising from her chair. “You won’t regret it.”

After Mary Margaret disappeared behind the door, Emma waited some minutes before going after her. The room was large and there were many beds, she had no idea where Killian was, but after a quick look at the surroundings, she discovered that only a couple of all the beds were occupied.

She approached one of those and gently opened the curtain trying not to disturb the patient lying inside.

Killian seemed asleep. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. She could only imagine the pain he was going through. She had her heart in her throat because she felt responsible for the situation. If they hadn't taken a detour because she had requested it, they'd probably all be home safe and sound by now.

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted her with a painful grin.

Immersed as she was in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he had woken up. She smiled, trying to be strong and not show her inner turmoil. “Do they treat you well here?”

“I'm not complaining. The nurse is kind and the food is edible.” He tried to downplay the situation. “Although I would prefer the care and attention of a certain blonde.” He winked.

Emma chuckled. Then she went closer to him and sat down on the side of his bed, trying not to cause him any more pain. She looked him straight in the eye, and then, gently, she took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with his. She saw him swallow hard, and the beeping of his heartbeat accelerated on the monitor. She smiled softly again. “Thank you for saving my son’s life.”

She saw how he wet his lips before answering as if his mouth had been suddenly dry. “It was the right thing to do.” Was his answer, but his voice came out slightly choked.

Emma looked back, checking if any hospital employee was nearby, “I shouldn’t be here, and unfortunately my time is running out. But I wanted to see you... needed to see with my own eyes that you are ok... well, more or less.” She whispered, with her gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact. The physical connection of their joined hands was already arousing too many contradictory emotions inside her.

“Aye. I know the feeling.” He replied, letting her know that he had been eager to establish contact with her throughout his stay in the hospital.

At those words, she stared at him again. “Get well soon.” She bent down and dropped a mild kiss at the corner of his lips. “We need you.”

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~·~·~·~

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Killian was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. This time there was no way he would fall asleep again. Every time he thought about what had just happened his beeping monitor sped up. He blushed. It had been just a chaste kiss, nothing compared to the hot and breathtaking one they had shared a few days before. But she had said it had been a one-time thing and he had promised himself not to indulge in those lustful thoughts anymore. Yet, this last kiss had seemed much more real, and meaningful... it had left him with a feeling of hope.

Hope and distress. Emma was such a strong and beautiful woman, a marvelous creature, as he liked to describe her in his mind, and a princess even. And what was he? A rebel, and a scoundrel. Or a rapscallion... whatever. Okay, maybe not anymore, but he had been in the past, for many years. He had been trying to redeem himself lately. But was he worth enough of her? That was the million dollar question.

He was still ruminating on it when the known brunette peeked out the curtains. “Hello. How are you today?” She greeted him with a bright smile, as usual.

“Better.” He hoped the monitor on his right wasn’t showing his state of mind.

She came closer. “Do you mind if I check your ribs? It's time to change the dressing.” After a short pause, she added, “I'm sorry, but we don't have the best equipment to assist our patients. We have to work with what we have available on this planet.” She said pointing to the bands that covered his chest.

Killian nodded, and Mary Margaret started to untie the bandages. She seemed concentrated on her task, probably she was trying to avoid causing him any pain. It was only when she started to apply an ointment on the bruises, that she spoke again. “You love her.” It was just a whisper, and Killian doubted if he had heard correctly. But then she added “Emma.”

It wasn’t a question, and he pondered what was the correct answer, or if she was expecting one. “I'd go to the end of the world for her… Or the multiverse.” He said eventually.

“And she for you, I take it?”

Killian chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem?” She looked at him surprised. Then took some clean gauzes and started to wrap them on him.

“She's bloody brilliant, an amazing woman. She fights for her son and always does what’s right.” Killian’s voice was so full of admiration.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Mary Margaret inquired.

Killian shook his head again. “She raised the bar very high. The fact is, I don't think I measure up.”

The woman folded the old bandages and took the ointment bottle, then she stood up, she was making an exit when she stopped short. “Since you came here I've been watching you.”

“I don't know if I should be flattered or scared.” The man tried to ease the tension of the moment.

“We don’t have many foreigners on this planet, but believe me, you're not one of the bad guys. You sacrificed yourself for the sake of a young boy. There's good in your heart.” She smiled at him softly. “I’m going to look for the doctor; I bet you’ll be leaving this room soon.”

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~·~·~·~

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The following day started the same as the previous ones. But during the first hours of the evening a man in a white coat came to visit Killian. He explained the medications and precautions to be taken to him, some movements that he should avoid for a while, and other tips for a speedy recovery. Then he handed over some papers for the patient to sign to be discharged. Finally some good news.

After a while redressing and packing up his few belongings in his satchel Killian went to the door. Walking hurt a bit but nothing he couldn’t bear.

Mary Margaret was already waiting for him, and a tall blonde guy was with her. “You must be Jones.” He said. When they shook hands, Killian learned his name was David Nolan, and he remembered Henry had mentioned him in his conversations. “I’m going to take you to our humble abode.”

Nolan's house was in fact modest. A loft with a large dining room, a kitchenette, a bedroom, and a small bathroom on one corner, all open, without doors, except for the bathroom. There was a raised bedroom opposite it, whose access was a metal stair.

Dinner was good, if a little awkward. Emma didn't interact much, and Killian wanted to ask if something was troubling her, but he preferred to wait for a better time, perhaps a less crowded one. Henry entertained them with what he had done throughout the day and kept repeating how glad he was that Killian was back with them.

But the man was still a bit cautious with those new people around him. He didn’t know them, especially the Nolan guy, who had been silent for most of the dinner, glancing sidelong at him as if he wanted to study him thoroughly before making a personal judgment. The feeling was mutual, Killian thought.

Just after dessert, David started to speak. “What will you need to restore your ship?” He asked.

“Uh… a new stabilizer, I think, and some parts of the propulsion engine for sure. But I’ll have to look closely at the damages to be sure there’s nothing else broken.”

The blond man nodded. “Not many ships come and go from here. But I hope we can find all the pieces you need.”

“Thank you, mate.”

“Tomorrow I’ll take you to the hangar where your ship is. We’ll have a look at it.” He seemed sincere in his generosity.

“May I help?” Henry barged in.

A chorus of “No!” echoed the room.

“I appreciate the support, but it could be dangerous.” Killian explained.

“I hate being here. I feel trapped.” The boy complained.

Mary Margaret sighed. “This is a feeling that will vanish with time.”

The woman was no doubt trying to instill some optimism, but Killian didn't like the idea of staying in that place longer than necessary. “Well, then, let’s hope we could leave this planet before the feeling has entirely vanished.” He made a grin and passed his hand on his side.

“Time for resting.” The brunette stated although it sounded more like an order. “But before that, we should change those bandages. Emma, would you like to help me?”

“Me?” Emma, who had been silent and a bit on the sidelines all evening, seemed to re-emerge from wherever she’d gone.

“He won’t be able to do it by himself when you won’t live here anymore. It’s better if you learn how to help him.” Mary Margaret clarified.

Emma looked like she was going to object, but in the end, she asserted. “Sure.”

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

If a certain nervousness had taken hold of Emma as she climbed to the upstairs room, it disappeared the instant Mary Margaret helped Killian get rid of his shirt. That wasn’t a thorax, it was a nautical chart. Most of it was covered by gauze, but she could still spot many marks and scars.

There was a tattoo, two of them to be exact, but Emma saw just one at first. It was on his right forearm; it was a big red heart with a dagger running through and the name “Milah” across it. Emma made a mental note to ask him later who she was.

Mary Margaret showed her how to unfasten the bandages, and then she ordered her to stand behind him, to help better in removing them all.

On his back, Emma saw the second tattoo, on his right shoulder. It was an old nautical instrument she had read about in a book when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember the exact name. The drawing was beautifully detailed, even if it had faded, it was probably older than the other one, she thought.

And when all the gauze was out of the way, she saw them: tiny, blurred, old scars that studded most of his back. Emma wondered what kind of life he had to endure when he was very young.

Mary Margaret asked her to help with the ointment. She had already opened the bottle and was showing the blonde woman how much cream to use. But Emma wasn't listening, standing now in front of the man, her attention was caught by the glorious chest hair that was covering most of his torso.

Okay, there was also a big, horrible bruise on his right ribs, but Mary Margaret was saying that it seemed on the way to a fast recovery, if the yellow and purple veining was some indication.

Emma was ogling and she wasn’t ashamed of it either. The amount of hair decreased in the lower part of his chest, leaving a black trail that disappeared under the hem of his pants.

"See something you like?" Emma was abruptly taken back to reality by a smug Killian that was smirking at her while arching an eyebrow. She blushed. She was caught red-handed, but she couldn’t let him win. She took advantage of the fact that Mary Margaret was looking for something in a nearby drawer, to get closer to him. She looked at him lasciviously from under her lashes. “Maybe?” She purred.

Now it was his time to blush, he looked intently at his feet, but she found the bright red that appeared on his ears extremely endearing. Point for Emma.

Mary Margaret taught the other woman how to fix the bandages, and Emma had to use some tiny hooks to hold them together. She did not miss the opportunity to casually slide her fingers over a part of his chest hair that came out of the bandages.

“Bloody Hell!” Killian muttered.

Emma retreated her hand immediately. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Worries that she had done something wrong clouded her gaze.

“Apologies.” Killian was scratching behind his ear, in evident embarrassment. “While I do enjoy two lovely ladies attending to my needs, I'm not used to someone taking care of me…” He smiled and brought his mouth close to Emma’s ear: “I’m usually the one who devotes full attention to a woman’s needs.” He whispered, but clearly not as quietly as he would have liked, because Mary Margaret's answer - “Well, you will have to put that off for a while” - made him blush again like a schoolboy scolded by his teacher.

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

Suddenly it was bedtime. Everyone was busy making preparations and taking shifts for the bathroom to change for the night. Killian was upstairs, staring at the bed he knew he had to share with Emma, who was arranging a pillow on the nearby sofa. He passed a hand through his hair and then scratched a spot behind his right ear. “I'll crash on that couch.” He stated as if it was the most logical conclusion to a battle he was fighting inside.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “It's barely long enough for Henry. Plus, you’re still recovering, you absolutely need to rest.”

He didn't seem very convinced. “Emma, I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

“And why is that?” Was her exasperated reply, turning towards him with her hands on her hips. “What are you going to do? Seduce me with a couple of broken ribs and a ten-year-old boy sleeping next to us?”

He lifted his arms and surrendered. “Fair point.” He conceded.

In no time they were all ready for the night and Henry was snoring softly on the sofa. Killian was supine, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the events of the day. In any case, sleep had no intention of coming, but he tried not to move. He didn’t want to wake up his roommates. Emma was lying close with her back to him and he didn’t know if she was already in the arms of Morpheus.

He turned his head to observe how her upper body moved with the rhythm of her breathing, blond curls covering her shoulders. Killian had to repress the urge to touch them. And as if responding to his call, she stirred and turned to face him.

Her eyes opened lazily. “Still awake?” She murmured.

“I have the feeling that I’ve slept enough for the rest of my life.” He whispered. “But you can’t rest either, I see.”

She didn’t answer.

Perhaps it was the closeness, perhaps it was the fact that they had spent the last few days apart. Killian didn't know how he found the courage, but he lifted his left arm as an invitation. “Come here,” he said.

She seemed to ponder the situation, chewing her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He decided not to think about all the possible implications of that sentence. He was falling in love with her, he was aware of it. Probably the simple doubt that she might not reciprocate was already hurting him, but he knew that at that moment she was referring only to his physical bruises. “You won’t.”

She slipped under the sheets towards him, resting her head gently on his left shoulder and placing a hand on his chest, avoiding the bruised part. Not many minutes passed before her lids grew heavy and she dozed off to the rhythm of his heartbeats. Killian placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

previous post

warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

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