#I am quite busy this next few weeks but I can squeeze em in :D

[kaitaiga]

Would you guys be okay with me chibi-fying ur ocs for the month of December….

[hawkbucks]

SteveTony Harry Potter AU for anon! :D Whose ask I have lost once again since it was on my old blog. 

Original prompt: hogwarts!au where tony & steve's class started lessons abt Amortentia, but Tony is unaware of w/c potion they are brewing; he's too out of the loop bc of another allnighter maybe? So Tony's confused as to why the room smells so much like Steve & thinks that he’s pranking him bc of a prank he did on him earlier? Or thinks Steve somehow found out he likes him and it's his way of teasing/making fun of him so he snaps loudly at Steve to Cut It Out

Tony wrinkles his nose as he measures out exactly 20 grams of powdered moonstone and adds it into his cauldron. They’re supposed to be making a potion that does… things? To be quite honest, he isn’t sure what it is they’re supposed to be making. Every word that his professor uttered went in one ear and out the other, the nook and crannies of his mind busy being taken over by dreamy thoughts of cuddling up in his warm bed with a belly full of food. Damn his N.E.W.T.-levels and the near obsessive way they have to study for them.

He stirs his potion clockwise once, then counterclockwise thrice, idly following the instructions written out on the textbook he has sitting next to his cauldron. He reduces the flame underneath his cauldron and leaves the potion to simmer, waiting for it to turn a sky blue.

He starts to crush 5 dried rose petals in his mortar and pestle, eyes wandering around the room. One student, Peter Quill if his memory serves him right, seems to having trouble with the way that he’s still trying to stir some peppermint into his cauldron. Another student, Kamala Khan, seems to have already finished, the professor standing over rnext to her and complimenting the fantastic sheen of her potion.

Then there’s Steve Rogers, who Tony’s eyes always seem to land on no matter where they are or what they’re doing. He seems to be on the same stage as Tony, the tip of his pink tongue poking out between his teeth as he works on crushing the petals. Tony briefly wonders if Steve’s hands are as large as they appear to be.

That’s inappropriate, his mind chides, but can anyone blame him? Steve Rogers is the epitome of perfect Hogwarts student. He’s a prefect (that Tony strongly suspects will be made Head Boy) as shown by the badge pinned to his chest, the Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team along with being the team captain, an excellent dueler, and he’s earned an Outstanding on all of his O.W.L’s bar 2 subjects.

In short, he’s way out of Tony’s league, which is exactly why Tony’s chosen to have a crush on him.

It’s not helped by the fact that Steve seems to go out of his way to talk to Tony whenever he can, whether that means complimenting him on his wandstance or offering to buy him a Pumpkin Pasty or a Cauldron Cake whenever their shockingly interwoven group of friends ventures to Hogsmeade for the weekend. Plus, Steve, it turns out, is a bit of a nerd when it comes to collecting Chocolate Frog cards. It’s frustratingly endearing, especially when he offered to give Tony his card of Derwent Shimpling simply because he knew that Tony was intrigued by Shimpling’s story.

Speak of the devil, Steve catches his eye and smiles sweetly, eyes closing into crescents as he tilts his head to the side.

Tony huffs, embarrassed at being caught staring, and turns his eyes back to his cauldron.

The potion’s color is satisfactory, and he assumes the petals are crushed enough. He places the pestle off to the side. Using one hand, he stirs the potion clockwise and pours in the petals with the other.

It takes effect almost immediately; the surface of the potion forms this beautiful mother-of-pearl sheen, starting from where the petals were dropped in and expanding the more and more Tony stirs it. Steam spirals up into the air. He takes a deep breath, relieved that his potion turned out better than he expected.

And, wow, that potion smells fantastic. Freshly brewed coffee, petrichor, and… Steve, all sandalwood and vanilla. He takes another sniff, chest clenching when he realizes that Steve’s scent isn’t going away. He fists his hands, shoving them into the pockets of his robes.

The first thing his mind jumps to is that Steve knows. He knows all about Tony’s pathetic little crush on him and decided to tease him by spraying that stupid cologne or whatever he uses all over the room to see that lovesick look in Tony’s eyes whenever he catches a whiff of that scent that he associates so strongly with desire. It has him thinking whether Steve ever thought of him as a person or if he thought of him as a heart that he could string along and play with until he got bored.

God, and all of his other friends probably knew about this, too. Lose one, lose ‘em all, he supposes.

“Can you cut that out, Rogers?” he calls out, an agitated set to his jaw. He ignores the curious looks that a few other students throw his way.

Steve looks up from where he’s putting the petals into his own mixture, confused and looking as innocent as the day he was born. “What? I’m—am I doing something wrong?”

He’s a good actor, Tony’ll give him that. How else would he have been able to put him under the false pretense that Steve might actually want to be friends? “Stop spraying your perfume all over the room. It’s suffocating.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. Ha. Caught. “I’m—I’m not spraying anything.”

Tony snorts. “Sure.”

“No, I—Tony, you know what we’re making, right?” A few students snicker in the background, and Steve throws a hard glare their way. “We’re making Amortentia.”

Amortentia. Oh. Oh, no. He looks down at the textbook and, sure enough, Amortentia is written in bold words right at the top of the page. Heat engulfs his entire face and his knees start quaking. The most potent love potion in existence, he reads, finding this all very familiar from the precursory study he had to do a week before, distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, spiraling steam, and an odor unique in the fact that it adapts itself to smell pleasant to anyone within sniffing range, with each person having their own combination. He should��ve known the second the petals hit the liquid.

Instead, he ends up outing his crush in front of all his classmates. Gossip spreads like wildfire around the school, so he has no doubt that everyone from the Headmaster to the squid in the damn lake would know about his crush by the end of the week, if not the end of the day.

“Professor,” Tony manages to get out, voice miraculously not wavering, “I need to use the restroom.”

He doesn’t wait for his professor to reply before he’s sweeping out of the room, tears threatening to fall.

Stupid. How could he be so stupid. He couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and confront Steve about it after class. No, he had to put on a show and now everyone knows. Everyone knows. They’re probably making fun of him. Steve’s probably laughing. Fine. It’s fine.

“Tony, wait!” Steve calls out from behind him, having followed him out into the hall.

He continues to walk, upping his speed. If Steve wants to mock him, then he can damn well do it later.

Steve’s footsteps get faster, louder, and then Tony’s wrist is held in a firm yet gentle grip, keeping him from moving any further forward. “Wait, Tony, please,” Steve says, out of breath.

Tony turns around, eyebrows furrowed together as he desperately tries to blink away the tears. “It’s not like you’re giving me much of a choice,” he grouses. He gives one experimental tug of his wrist, unsurprised that Steve’s grip doesn’t falter even a bit.

Steve pulls him closer until they’re standing almost chest-to-chest. Tony has to tilt his head up to even look at Steve in the eye. “The Amortentia… did you really not know?”

A peal of laughter tears itself from Tony’s throat. “No. I didn’t know. Why? You here to make fun of me all because it had your scent? Because I admitted to having a crush on you without me even knowing?” He tries one more time to get his wrist out of Steve’s hand. “That’s a pretty low blow, Rogers.”

Steve shakes his head. “The Amortentia scented like you for me.”

He sounds so genuine, so honest, that Tony hopes. Oh, he hopes. “You’re joking,” comes out of his mouth instead. “You’re lying.”

“Out of everything you think I’d lie about, do you really think I’d lie about this?” Steve says. “Honey and lavender. That’s what I smell, and it comes from you. You and hot chocolate and paint. That’s what it smells like for me. I like you, Tony. I’ve always liked you.”

Tony frowns. “Yet you’ve never told me.” 

“I didn’t think you’d like me back,” Steve admits, expression turning sheepish. “I mean, you could have anyone, really, so I… I don’t know. I didn’t think that I’d have a chance.”

“You,” Tony says in disbelief, “didn’t think you’d have a chance with me?”

Steve shrugs, smiling nervously. “You’re real kind, Tony. I’ve seen how you are with that Peter Parker kid; you’re basically his older brother. You’re not afraid to speak up, and I admire that. You’re smart and talented and…—” a red flush appears on Steve’s cheeks— “you’re cute. You could have anyone, and I didn’t think that you’d want that anyone to be me.”

Tony searches Steve’s face, stares him in the eye, looks for anything that could tell him that Steve is lying. He wants to believe that Steve is truthful, but he doesn’t want to but his heart at risk by blindly accepting his words at face value.

Thankfully, he finds nothing but earnesty.  

“You’re really not lying, are you?” he says, voice no louder than a whisper.

Steve swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m really not.” He loosens his grip on Tony’s wrist. “Sorry for just grabbing you like that. I do, uh… I do like you very much.” He fully lets go of Tony, chewing on his lower lip.

Tony nods. “It’s alright.” He hesitates for a second before slowly reaching out with one hand and intertwining his fingers with Steve’s, restoring that connection. “We should probably get back to class.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Tony’s hand. “We probably should.”

[sugaroons]

good-luck charm | M (2/2)

“Where else do your claws come out, I wonder?”

(image credit)

pairing: min yoongi x reader wordcount: 8012 summary: You don’t expect to see Min Yoongi again, but a month after he falls asleep before your drunken hook-up, he’s producing a track for the group you manage. Your various attempts at getting him out of your system only leave you with tingling lips, increasingly dirty texts, and tender moments you can’t seem to ignore. (contains smut—it’s at the very end—dirty talk, and far too much teasing than expected. x-posted on ao3.)

(one) | two

It’s six in the morning on a Wednesday. You’re watching the boys practice their routine for tomorrow’s taping, noting who might need pain relief patches once the first practice session is over. Your eyes are on Joshua as you round up the bottles they’ve left behind—they still don’t quite remember to pick up after themselves—and you’re hoping, praying he can do the last moves of the dance exactly on the beat. Hoseok is a patient choreographer, but the awards show is a crucial performance, so everyone’s just a little on edge.

Once a break is called, you listen in on all their little conversations, paying attention to what Hobi tells Joshua. If he needs someone to watch him practice later on, you’ll be available and ready to watch for whatever mistakes Hobi’s pointing out. You don’t notice your phone buzzing at the table until Jimin picks it up and calls out your name.

“Do you want me to read it out for you?” Jimin says, tapping lightly at the back of your phone. You nod, one ear still trained on Hobi and Joshua. “It says you missed a call from—who’s this—Agust D?” Your cheeks color immediately, and you throw one of the used towels at Jimin. He dodges it gleefully, moving away slowly as you get up and stalk to him. He holds your phone above your head, his eyes crescents as he speaks. “He says he’s so far away, but he misses you! How sweet.”

You shove all the towels you’ve collected in Jimin’s face. The smell of sweat is too much for him, and he lowers his hand slightly, allowing you to grab your phone. Your face is red—from the exertion, you tell yourself—and you unlock the screen to read the message.

09:40 AM [amber]: yo we still on for sat 09:40 AM [amber]: dont flake on us again 09:42 AM [amber]: ur boys won’t burn the dorms down and its jimins turn to watch them

These are the texts you’re expecting to see, but you can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. It’s irrational for you to hope that Min Yoongi has texted you, especially considering that you haven’t seen him since he left his number on your bedside table.

“So far away,” Jimin sings by your ear. As if you could have forgotten the last track Yoongi released. You swat at him while sending a reply to Amber.

09:47 AM [you]: i wouldn’t miss it for the world!  09:47 AM [you]: haven’t seen u girls in forever. ㅠ.ㅠ

When the boys start dancing again, you sit at the small table beside Jimin, who looks sideways as you sit down. You continue to watch the boys, but in the corner of your eyes, you see Jimin open his mouth only to sigh. “I know, I know,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

“It’s been a month, Y/N,” Jimin says gently, “and you’re clearly not over it.” With how busy your boys have been the last couple of weeks, you’ve had no opportunity to meet up with any of your friends outside the company. Jimin is the only person who knows what happened that fateful Saturday when you first met Min Yoongi.

You pout, sulking. Your cheeks are still warm from earlier; your infatuation with Yoongi is not something you need to broadcast at the same company that manages him. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, we were supposed to fuck, but I bored you to sleep?’” You know Jimin is being serious because he doesn’t roll his eyes like he usually does, instead reaching out to pat you on the arm. You bury your head in your hands. “It was going so well, Jiminie. It really was.”

“What’s stopping you from texting him, then? He was clearly interested in you, if that ‘good-luck charm’ business was any indication,” Jimin says, smirking.

“I’ve been—” you say, hesitating. You look Jimin in the eye, but your eyes drift down to his chest when you speak. Your voice is small as you mutter, “I’ve been burned before.” You wince at the memory of every person you’ve ever confessed to or made the move on. While some of them continue to be your good friends, others never talked to you again. Your last boyfriend had thrown it in your face when he’d broken up with you, calling you desperate and stupid. It’s ridiculous for you to have taken it to heart, but you have, and that likely won’t be changing any time soon.

Jimin watches you for a while before sighing again. “That’s fair.” He squeezes your arm, an odd look on his face. “Just make sure you’re open to whatever comes your way,” Jimin says, his tone cryptic. You find this a little strange but say nothing. Jimin’s always said the strangest things, and this is probably no different.

Right before the afternoon singing practice, while you’re massaging Seungcheol’s shoulders, the senior manager calls you around in a huddle. “Boys,” she says, “you’ve been working really hard for your performance, so we have some good news for you.” Jimin loops his arm through yours and grins, so you know something’s up. “The new song we’ve been rehearsing the past few weeks will be recorded next week and produced by Bulletproof Entertainment’s own Min Yoongi!”

As the boys begin to talk among themselves excitedly, your grip on Jimin’s arm tightens. “Is this the surprise you warned me about?” you say through gritted teeth. He shrugs at you, mouthing the words, ‘Namjoon-hyung told me,’ before looking back at your senior managers.

“Managers,” your senior continues when the boys begin to do run-throughs, “we’ll be having a working dinner with Yoongi-sshi later to finalize everything, so you can go home a little earlier to freshen up.” You nod, still a little flustered, and spend most of the afternoon tidying up the mess distractedly. Jimin ruffles your hair affectionately before you part ways, jokingly reminding you to bring your tiger pin.

Min Yoongi is at his studio, mulling over the arrangement he’s been working on. It’s clean, but he can’t fully judge how well it’ll fit until he hears it done live. Namjoon’s mentioned this group once or twice, so Yoongi’s looking forward to learning more about them from their managers tonight.

Right on schedule, his phone buzzes and he hears a faint knocking sound outside his office. When Yoongi opens the door, he comes face to face with you, surrounded by your three co-managers. Your eyes widen slightly before your face assumes a more neutral expression, but Yoongi doesn’t know how to react. The memories of that night come rushing back, and a faint shade of pink dusts his pale cheeks at the thought of how he’d left you.

He had woken up as soon as the sun streamed through your blinds, warm and cozy under the blanket you’d placed over him in the night. He’d taken the painkiller on the living room table, rubbing his aching head as he made his way to your room. Inside, you’d been fast asleep on top of your covers, your hair still damp from the shower. Yoongi had smiled at your knee-high striped socks and matching orange sleep shorts. A tiger indeed, he’d thought, one he would love to see again. He’d left his number on a sheet by your bed, then waited for a call, a text, or anything that let him know you were remotely interested.

You hadn’t, and now you’re here, looking far more professional than you had at the part but just as attractive. Yoongi swallows, fiddling with his bangs for a second before smirking and saying, “Shall we?”

With the older managers sitting up front, you are sandwiched between Yoongi and Jimin at the back of the car. Your right thigh is pressed against Yoongi’s left, and he tries his best to ignore it. Jimin turns to face the both of you with a smile. “Yoongi sunbaenim,” Jimin says, “you remember Y/N?”

Yoongi smiles in reply. Of course he does: he remembers exactly how your breath feels against his neck, how hard it was to let you go once he’d made the shot; the sounds you’d made in his mouth in the dimly lit street, sweeter than the traces of peppermint and soju on your tongue; and your hips against his, you a dream-like vision in his lap right before he’d fallen asleep. “I do,” he says, looking at you. You hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking down, biting your lip.

Before he can say anything more, you arrive at the restaurant. Yoongi holds the door open for you, helping you out, and you brace yourself on his arm as you exit the small car. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but you seem to hold onto him a second too long. Not that he minds.

His hand goes to the small of your back to support you, and it feels like a brand through the thin fabric of your dress. You breathe in his familiar scent—citrus and something floral—and try to avoid thinking about the last time you’d been this close. You smile at him in thanks, urging him to go ahead. When he does, Jimin exits the car and whispers, “Go get ‘em, tiger,” in your ear. You poke him in the side and walk quickly to the restaurant, but his words from earlier echo in your head. Yoongi’s been on your mind the past few weeks, and maybe some flirting tonight will get him out of your system.

You walk into the restaurant with purpose. Taking the seat beside Yoongi, you keep your manner business-like as you iron out the details over appetizers and soup. Yoongi agrees to produce the track, and your senior manager orders a bottle of the place’s best flower wine. When you tap your glass against Yoongi’s, your finger grazes his. You give him a coy smile and sip at your glass, making a sound of satisfaction only he can hear. Yoongi chokes slightly on his wine at how sexual it is. You put your glass down and tilt your head towards him, placing your hand on his own. “Are you alright?” you say, looking into his eyes.

Yoongi nods once, not trusting himself to speak properly while he collects his thoughts. In the brief moments you’d spent together, you hadn’t shown this side of you. He was intrigued and even more attracted,  and this could be his chance to make a better impression on you. Yoongi strokes your thumb with his own, smiling. “I’m good,” he says. “Thank you.”

He prepares himself for whatever you have planned, but you behave for the rest of the dinner. By dessert, Yoongi’s ready to make a move of his own. He scoots forward, his knee touching yours. You shift in response, the napkin on your lap slipping over his thigh. Your hand reaches down to catch it, and you make sure to graze his inner thigh with your fingers. Yoongi swallows before grabbing your hand with his own. The smile on his face is lazy, but the heat in his gaze is anything but.

Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. “Hyung-nim,” he says to your one of your senior managers, “maybe we can move to the bar once dinner is over?” Your senior manager laughs, saying something about the energetic youth. He insists that you, Jimin, and Yoongi go on without him and the head manager, who pays for the bill with a smile.

The three of you move to the back of the restaurant where the bar is found. You place your orders—soju for you and Yoongi, and a sweet cocktail for Jimin—before the latter makes a detour to the restroom. You pour out two shots and hand a small glass to Yoongi. He raises his eyebrow, tapping his glass against yours. “Already?” you say. “You might fall asleep before the night really starts.” You take the shot anyway, savouring the sensation as it flows down your throat.

“Easy there, tiger,” he says, grinning. You smile sweetly at him, pouring out another round of shots. The two of you are on your fourth round when Jimin returns, taking the seat beside yours.

“Why do both of you suddenly look so guilty?” Jimin picks up his glass and sips from it, looking at both of you. “Planning your next beer pong strategy?”

Yoongi moves closer and puts his arm around you. His warmth is welcome in the slight chill of the bar, and you lean into him, resisting the urge to rest your head on his chest. “We don’t need a strategy when we’re the best.”

You turn to him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Are you sure?” you say teasingly. “Didn’t seem that way during our first two games.”

You feel Jimin’s eyes on you, but keep your gaze locked on Yoongi. His eyes sweep down to your collar for a second. “My little tiger is an excellent good-luck charm.”

“I think that’s our cue to go home.” You roll your eyes and push him away, breaking the moment with a grin. Your left hand lingers on his chest a beat too long, and Yoongi thinks this might be another opportunity to ask you out. Before he can say anything, however, you stand up and hand Jimin some bills, excusing yourself to go to the restroom.

Yoongi looks questioningly at Jimin, who shrugs in response. They sit in silence while you’re gone, and Yoongi can think a little more clearly without your sweet little mouth and bright eyes there to distract him. He doesn’t want to mix work and play, and he vows not to try anything with you until the recording has been released. Yoongi cares about the integrity of his work, and he knows you do too. This is the best plan of action, even if it means having to resist your considerable charms for the next couple of weeks. He has that much self-control. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“I’ll go ahead,” Yoongi says. Your physical presence would make it doubly difficult for him to leave, especially tonight. “Tell her I said goodbye, and see you both on Friday.” He leaves the exact payment for the full bill before getting off the seat and exiting the restaurant. Seconds after he reaches the exit, you come back. Your crestfallen expression at the lack of Min Yoongi makes Jimin laugh, and he pats you on the shoulder consolingly.

“We might as well get through the rest of this bottle,” Jimin says, holding up the half-empty bottle of soju, “especially since Yoongi hyung-nim paid for all of it.” You take the shot he pours in silence, wondering how you could have been so stupid to think you’d be able to forget Min Yoongi so easily.

The next day is a blur as your team spends the whole day preparing for the award show taping, though both Jimin’s muttering “my little tiger” every so often and your hangover make it a little rough. You return home, exhausted, promising yourself that tomorrow you’ll be far more professional. You only spend a little time thinking about how Min Yoongi’s number is still on your bedside table before falling asleep.

You wake up early the next morning to prepare two thermoses of fresh ginger and water for the session later. This will be their first day running the song in the recording studio and the last day for Yoongi to make big modifications to the boys’ lines. The senior managers are negotiating more performances with the tv networks today and have left you and Jimin to hold down the fort, which has you elated and nervous at once. You’re at the studio twenty minutes early, carrying your thick sweater in preparation for the cold of the holding area where you’ll be watching the boys. It’s only coincidence, you say to yourself, that it’s got cute little tigers and lions embroidered at the hem. “Fighting,” you mutter to yourself before entering.

Bulletproof’s studio is fairly small but well-equipped. Without all thirteen of your boys crowding the room, it seems bigger than usual, and your eyes take in the records lining the wall—mostly Agust D’s achievements—before landing on the person reclined on the couch. Yoongi’s eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep. In his black beanie, loose black shirt, and dark-wash jeans, he’s a lot more dressed down than he was last night. Before you can do anything you regret, you quietly take a seat on the chair beside the couch, bringing out your phone for want of something to do. You’ve just finished checking your emails when you feel someone watching you.

“Good morning, Yoongi-sshi,” you say, giving him a small smile. He nods silently in reply. Today, it seems like his attention will be entirely on production. The fan in you grows excited at the opportunity to watch him in action. Yoongi enters the production studio proper, and you follow him in, stopping at the machine room that doubles as the waiting area. He glances back at you, gesturing for you to enter the mixing room with him.

You don't wait long for Jimin to arrive with the boys, some of them still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Still, there's an excitement thrumming through them: it's in the slightly awed and very respectful way they greet Yoongi hello, in the cheerful energy with which they practice the song in the vocal booth. You and Jimin offer to help Yoongi bring out the equipment, but he refuses politely. Your nose is almost pressed against the glass as you watch him set up, entranced by the great care with which he handles each microphone and cable. Once Yoongi is done, he stays in the room to listen to the boys sing, his eyes shut. Wonwoo and the others glance nervously at him every so often, and you can't blame them.

Yoongi returns to the mixing room and sits down. The boys gather round the mics, as poised as they are on the stage. Yoongi pushes a button and says, "Today, we'll be recording the group vocals." At his words, they move around, arranging themselves according to the groupings on the score. Yoongi nods. "Right. Seungcheol's group will go first. The rest, head to the waiting room." They've always been obedient, but the speed they move at Yoongi's command is impressive. You exchange looks with Jimin, who only shrugs.

Despite their jumpy nerves, the first two groups finish their recordings with few issues. While Yoongi doesn't bark orders nor raise his voice, the calm with which he speaks is unnerving. And, if you're honest with yourself, a turn-on. As each set of boys files out of the live room, you flash them a smile and a thumbs up. The last group enters, and you take a deep breath. This is the weakest set so far, and you know Chan's been struggling with the song since the sheets were given to them. You worry at your lower lip, not noticing how Yoongi glances at your face, lingering at your mouth. He clears his throat. "From the top," he says, and that's where everything begins to go wrong.

Yoongi stops the first run within seconds. "You're nervous," is all he says, which does little to reassure the boys, especially Chan, whom you see gulping. "Again." By the third repeat, Yoongi's looking directly at Chan, his gaze unreadable. "Chan." You're proud of the way Chan looks Yoongi straight in the eye despite the fear that has his hand shaking. "alone."

"Again," he says sternly after Chan sings the lines. "More power." It's a couple of notes outside Chan's natural vocal range, and his voice cracks on his second try. You see Chan's eyes widen, and a look of panic crosses his face for a moment. Yoongi sighs, steepling his fingers and leaning forward. His eyes don't leave Chan's face as he speaks slowly through the intercom. "Will you need to sit this one out, Lee Chan?"

You look angrily at Yoongi, your brows furrowed. Chan blanches, but before you can say anything, he stutters out a weak 'no.' Yoongi sighs again, calling for a break. He and Chan disappear to one of the soundproof practice rooms, and it takes everything in you to stay where you are and continue to hand out concentrated ginger water. Chan returns twenty minutes later with his eyes puffy, the tear tracks not properly wiped from his face, and you see red. Jimin places a calming hand on your shoulder, shaking his head in warning. You squeeze Chan's hand reassuringly before returning to your place on the sofa behind Yoongi. Recording goes smoothly from there, and you manage to finish the day's agenda earlier than usual. This means rare time off the rest of the day, though you'll pass by the dorm before you go home to watch the boys practice the next parts of the song.

All of you breathe deeply once you're outside the recording studio. Soon, the boys are chattering in excitement, except Chan, who stays behind. You fall into step with him, throwing a comforting arm around his shoulder. "You alright?" you say. Chan nods. "What did Yoongi-sshi do to you in the room?"

He swallows, looking away. "He sat me down and made me rehearse line per line," Chan says. "I know you're worried, manager-noona, but it's really the stress and nerves that had me crying. Yoongi hyung-nim was nothing but nice." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, smiling at Chan one last time before letting him go. You signal to Jimin that you'll be staying behind, and he frowns for a second before going on, asking the boys what they'd like to have for dinner. Chan brightens up at that, and he soon joins the others with a smile.

You walk with them for a little bit more before turning around, walking straight to the mixing room. You hesitate for a moment, before making up your mind and knocking. Before you can knock again, Yoongi opens the door, his beanie in hand. Your eyes soften for a split-second at his hat-hair, then you remember why you've come here. "Yoongi-sshi," you say, pausing as you try to remember the speech you'd come up with while brisk-walking back to the recording studio.

"Yoongi is fine," he says, scratching the back of his head. He had seen you flare up in the reflection of the soundproof glass, but he didn't expect you to do anything about it. You're here interrupting his work and he ought to kick you out, but the way you stand arms akimbo, your cheeks flushed from exertion and nose scrunched up in anger, has Yoongi smiling instead.

"Yoongi," you say, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, "I don't approve of what you did to Chan. He was visibly shaking, and all you did was aggravate him. And don't give me that bullshit about the music industry being this difficult." You cross your arms over your chest. "Kim PD-nim started this company wanting to be different, and we both know that." You sigh, feeling all the anger bleed out of you, replaced by the exhaustion you haven't let yourself feel. "Please be more careful next time. A little kinder."

His eyes narrow at you, and he opens his mouth to speak. You reach out to touch his hand, adding, "But thank you for practicing with him. You have to know how much these kids look up to you." You drop your hand, suddenly shy. “That's—that's all."

You turn as if to leave, but Yoongi catches your elbow, pulling you back. He won't apologize for what he did because he knows it was the right thing to do. "You clearly care about these boys," he says instead, his tone soothing. His eyes fall to the hem of your sweater, and Yoongi laughs at how perfect the designs are for you. "A tiger indeed.” Yoongi touches an embroidered lion close to where your sweater has ridden up, and your breath catches. “Where else do your claws come out, I wonder?” he murmurs, tracing the hem of your jacket, his fingers just barely skimming your skin.

“Have a good night, Yoongi!” you squeak, squirming away from his treacherous fingers and freeing yourself from his grasp. You shut the door none too gently behind you, and Yoongi is left to mix the tracks with the faint smell of ginger and your perfume lingering in the room.

After a well-deserved afternoon at the spa with Jimin, you’re ready to spend your Saturday night the way you used to before your job got too hectic. You put on your favourite black dress and make your way to the bar you haven’t been to in almost two months.

Sulli and Luna whistle when they see you, and Krystal pulls you onto her side of the booth before resting her head on your shoulder. You’re smiling, listening to them resume their conversation from before and trying to figure out how to bring up everything that happened between you and Yoongi. That's when Amber returns with a bottle of some greenish liquid and six shot glasses. “Y/N!” she says. “Are you fucking Jimin yet?”

At that, you laugh hard, and it doesn’t take long for you to talk about what’s happened in the last month. Jimin had been a wonderful listener, but there was nothing like hearing your girls howl in laughter over Yoongi’s corny lines. “You should have slapped him when he fell asleep. You’re way too nice,” Victoria says.

“I just don’t know what I should do,” you say, your head in your hands. You don’t know if the nausea is from the alcohol or the thought of how crazy you still are about Min Yoongi.

Krystal pats you reassuringly on the back. “Just be yourself, Y/N,” she says, “and you’re sure to win him over!” Luna nods in agreement, and you sigh.

“Being myself hasn’t really worked out before, has it?” You blow a raspberry into your glass, the harsh smell of the alcohol making you dizzy.

“Snap out of it,” Sulli says, pouring shots out for everyone. While you’re coughing with what feels like gasoline burning down your throat, she adds, “What are you going to do, drag him to bed? It’s effective, sure, but we all know how emotional you are.”

“I really think my crush on him has me confused,” you insist. “Maybe I will sleep with him, just so I can get him off—“ Amber makes a face at this, but you wave your hands frantically, continuing, “off my mind.” The others look unconvinced, but that’s the last you’ll hear about that for the night, and you move to a karaoke bar to sing your hearts out in true girls’ night out tradition.

Monday comes and you arrive with your boys in tow, your sleeveless silk blouse and pencil skirt giving you the boost of confidence you need for what you’re going to do today. The recording proceeds smoothly, with you acting the consummate professional. If you lean over a little too much, your shirt slipping down a little, or your fingers linger a second too long on  his as you hand Yoongi a bottle of water, well, that’s not your problem.

The boys file out behind Jimin once they finish, bowing to Yoongi in thanks. You’re ready to pretend to leave, but Jimin tells you to stay behind, right on schedule.

4:54 PM [jiminnie mouse]: you’re on laundry duty for the next week 4:54 PM [jiminnie mouse]: have fun! ^.~

Yoongi senses something amiss when you don’t leave. You’re making it far harder for him to keep his promise and stay away, at least until the track is finished. When you sit beside him on the too-small mixing bench, your side pressed against his, Yoongi takes a deep breath. You turn to him then, an innocent look on your face, and he knows he’s in for it. “Anything wrong, Yoongi?” He makes a non-committal sound and places the headphones back on, clicking around the tracks.

You seem satisfied enough to watch him work, though soon he feels your head against his shoulder. Yoongi often struggles getting work done around other people, but your quiet presence is oddly soothing. Still he gets distracted each time you nuzzle against him, and the work goes by slower than it ought to. He saves the file and pulls the headphones off with one hand, his other lifting your chin up. “You’re a distraction,” he growls before leaning down to kiss you. Your mouth opens to his, and you moan as his tongue strokes against yours. He gets up and you follow him, drugged by his kisses, and soon you’re both on the couch, Yoongi hovering above you. “What do you want?” he breathes against your lips.

You shiver before pulling at his belt loops, rolling your hips against his. He groans, half-hard at your thigh, and bends to kiss you again. Your lips are chapped in the cold of the room, but he bites at them greedily. Your arms tighten around him in response, one of your hands creeping under his sweatshirt, your fingers sneaking below the hem of his pants.

Yoongi lifts his head, breathing hard. “Not yet,” he chants repeatedly under his breath as he pulls himself off you. He takes you by the shoulders, leading you towards the door. He sees the tips of your ears turn red, and you can’t seem to look him in the eye. “Make no mistake,” he says, caging you between the wall and his arms. Yoongi mouths at your neck, one hand skimming down the front of your body to pull your hip tight against his. “I want you.”

“But there’s work to do,” you say breathlessly, a hint of disappointment still in your voice. “I get it. I’ll be going now.”

He smiles at you, caressing your face one last time. “You have my number,” Yoongi says. You smile at him, then, genuine and sweet, and he thinks about asking you to stay one last time.

Within the hour, he receives a text from an unknown number. Yoongi sends a reply before putting the earphones back on, suddenly energized.

Back at the restaurant where you’re having dinner with the other managers, you make a face at his response before chuckling, your heart lighter than it had been moments before.

5:43 PM [you]: do u always smell like fruits, mr. genius producer? 5:45 PM [mr. genius]: just trying to be as sweet as u, tiger

You hear from the senior manager that Yoongi is producing other tracks, possibly releasing his own work with Namjoon, so you don’t see him the rest of the month. Just as well, because the boys begin shooting the music video for Yoongi’s song, and you’re in a flurry travelling to different locations, making sure no one leaves anything behind. Throughout all this, you and Yoongi continue to text.

4:30 AM [you]: good morning from bumfuck nowhere! [attachment] 11:50 AM [mr. genius]: learn to love urself 11:50 AM [mr. genius]: only misanthropes are awake before 9 am

You’re worried you’re bothering him because you always text first, but he greets you a couple of days later with a selfie featuring Namjoon.

6:09 AM [mr. genius]: [attachment] 6:09 AM [mr. genius]: namjoon’s studio is way more impressive than mine 6:10 AM [mr. genius]: note he can’t read half the english titles on his shelf, the pretentious ass 7:01 AM [you]: don’t worry, yoongi, i like u more.

Yoongi grins widely and subsequently has to ward off Namjoon’s grabby hands. “The world must be ending for you to smile so widely at your phone, hyung,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi can only shrug in reply.

Later, he gets a text that has him glad he’s alone in his room, already settled in for the night.

10:52 PM [my little tiger]: i’m sad. [attachment]

He loads the attachment and finds a picture of you. You’re in your skimpy pajamas again, the left strap slipping off your shoulder, and you’re pouting at the camera. The picture cuts off just below the hint of cleavage your tank top reveals. Yoongi swallows, staring at the picture for another minute before remembering to reply.

10:54 PM [mr. genius]: any way i can help ?

You type write away, smiling at how eager he is.

10:54 PM [my little tiger]: send me a pic of your hands?

Yoongi finds the request odd, but sends it anyway, curious to see what you’ll say next.

10:55 PM [my little tiger]: now it’s easier for me to imagine how big your fingers’ll feel. 10:55 PM [my little tiger]: thank you, yoongi, and good night.

Before he sleeps, Yoongi comes on his fingers, wishing he’d thought to ask you for pictures of your own.

The weeks go by, and finally, it’s time for the boys’ comeback.The music video is a success, of course. The hits are far more than even Kim PD-nim anticipated, and he throws a celebratory black-tie affair for the company to commemorate the boys’ sixth month. You’re delighted to see everyone looking sharp in their suits, though you find yourself longing to see one man in particular.

You and Jihoon are discussing his plans for the group’s next song when he recognizes someone behind you, his eyes lighting up. “Yoongi-hyung!” he says, the smile wide on his face. You turn to find a suit-clad Min Yoongi, his dress shirt and slim-cut pants making your stomach do backflips. He nods at Jihoon with a small smile, and his hand strokes lightly down your back, lingering at your hip. Internally, you congratulate yourself for keeping a straight face, though your ears are likely the colour of tomatoes at this point.

“Congratulations on the video, Jihoon,” Yoongi says. “I may be the genius who produced the track,” he adds, smirking, “but it wouldn’t have done so well without your hard work.” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the grin off your face.

Jihoon watches the two of you for a moment before saying, “Yoongi hyung, are you and Manager-noona dating yet?” Your eyes widen and you take a small step to your left, not willing to look at Yoongi. “She found me the cutest when she first became our manager, and Jimin-hyung says it’s because I looked like Agust D.”

“That’s enough, Jihoon!” you say, though the blush on your cheeks discredits the threatening tone of your voice.

“Is that so?” Yoongi smirks at you, placing his hand firmly on your lower back.

“Why don’t you tell Yoongi about your proposed recording?” You’re too flustered to participate in the conversation, so you listen to Jihoon talk for a minute before excusing yourself to hide in the ladies’ room.

10:02 PM [mr. genius]: 2117 10:02 PM [mr. genius]: i’ll see you there

You return to the party with a gracious smile on your face, determined to play the perfect host till the event is over. You manage to secure possible collaborations with other artists, and this makes your heart soar for the boys. Still, it does nothing for the thrumming desire you feel to go to room 2117, to find out what the weeks of texting and flirting will lead up to.

Later, the team gathers, and Kim PD-nim gives an unexpectedly sentimental speech. You’re still drying your eyes in the elevator up to the 21st floor, the warmth you feel at such a successful night being replaced by a more sensual tension. Every step you take down the hallway has you more acutely aware of the soft material against your skin.

Hesitation grips you as you lift your hand to knock at the door. You stall, bringing out your phone to reread Yoongi’s texts and make sure you understand things right. In the two hours since he last sent you a message, he sent a couple more.

10:46 PM [mr: genius]: you’re so hot when you’re negotiating, little tiger 10:59 PM [mr: genius]: i’m going up to resist pulling you into a small corridor somewhere and having my wicked way with you 11:04 PM [mr: genius]: door’s open. i’m inside

You enter the room and remove your earrings and heels, placing them in the dresser near the door way. The richly carpeted floor makes your feet tangle as you pad towards the main room.

There, you find an achingly beautiful sight: Min Yoongi on the bed, his eyes closed and tie loosened. You smile at the fact he’s fallen asleep again and walk to him quietly, reaching out to smooth his hair away from his face. Before you can, he catches your hand, pulling you down on top of him.

“My biggest fan,” he says with a smirk. You try to squirm away from his grasp, not wanting to admit your need and your nervousness melding together to form the strangest feeling, but it only places you more firmly against him. You gasp at the evidence of his arousal at your backside. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, and you bend down to kiss him. Before you can, he rolls you over so you’re beneath him and finally, finally kisses you. “Missed me?” he says against your lips. All you can do is moan in reply.

He mouths down your jaw, moving up to bite at your ear. Yoongi feels your breath against his neck, hears the small noises you’re stubbornly holding back, and chuckles. He’d been worried you wouldn’t show and was trying to meditate when you arrived. It awes him, how quickly your expression had changed from one of innocent surprise to that of need, written as it was in your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. He props himself up on one arm and lets the other wander to your chest. Yoongi palms at your breast through the slinky material of your dress, the weight of it heavy and full in his hand.

Yoongi’s touch is so different from your own that you lift your head to watch, your eyes transfixed as his hand traces the fabric of your dress, slowly making its way to your warm skin beneath. Your jaw falls open and your eyes flutter closed, and you reach down to skim your hand against the front of his pants. Yoongi bites harder at the lobe of your ear, moving to worry the skin at your throat with his teeth before kissing each red mark softly. He laughs before going lower, mouthing at your chest through the dress. You push his head away, muttering something about marks. You bite his neck when he laughs, laving the spot right under his ear before nipping at it. You try to sit up, pulling at his jacket and wanting to feel his bare skin against your own. You fumble the buttons of his white dress shirt while his hand moves along your back, trying to locate the zipper.

You both laugh, then, and you stand at the side of the bed to unzip your dress, letting it pool at your feet. Yoongi watches you, his eyes tracing over the curves of your body as he pulls off his socks and unbuttons his shirt. The thirst in your eyes mirrors his own, but he’s still surprised when you climb on top of him, pulling at his tie to bring him closer for a kiss. Both of you finally manage to remove his shirt, and your hands run over his bare skin with a frenetic energy he didn’t expect. Yoongi bites at your left breast, right above where your strapless bra holds you up, smiling as you pull him closer. He pulls away to bite at your lip playfully, pressing your foreheads together before saying, “You like me.”

It’s hard to look him in the eye, and you feel ridiculous and shy even as his arm wraps around your head. Yoongi’s running his finger through your hair, dislodging hairpins along the way. They clink as they hit the table, and the sound, along with the way Yoongi is looking at you, helps you let go of all your fears about being too much or too little for Min Yoongi. “Well,” you say, pausing to peck at his lips, “you clearly like me, so I have to like you a little bit or it’d be embarrassing for you.”

Yoongi pulls you against him tightly, and you melt a little. “I do,” he says. “I do like you.”

The words are simple, but make you feel like you’re floating. The boyish way he bites at his lip, looking up at you through his eyelashes, has you more playful, and when Yoongi opens his mouth to say more, you interrupt him.  “Like this?” you say, grinding down on him. You reach behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall to the side. You press yourself against his chest as kiss at his neck again, still entranced by the smoothness of his pale skin.

He groans, and his hands tighten around your waist, stopping you. He sits up and cradles your face in his hand like he did that very first night you met. “Date me,” he says seriously. “Let me make it up to you.” Your heart flutters when you hear the words he’d only written before, but you can’t ignore how his new position has his bulge closer to your heat.

You pull him close, muttering, “Be cute and dramatic later, please.” You smile into his mouth. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you for ages.”

“You’re not alone, little tiger,” Yoongi says, growling, your words unlocking the dam of lust he’s kept at bay since the day you came onto him at the studio. His hand rubs at the damp spot on your panties before pushing them aside. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he says, his voice suddenly calm and collected, like he doesn’t have two fingers thrust into you. “Sending a text like that before I went to bed, like you didn’t know I’d need to be early the next day.” He tsks as you clench around his fingers, a clear sign you’re interested in this kind of talk. He grins, pushing it a little further. “How does it feel to have my hand fucking you?” With his thumb, Yoongi rubs at your clit, accentuating each word with a pass over your bud of nerves. You moan, then, and he adds, “If I’d known this was all you’d wanted, maybe I would have taken care of you in my recording studio. Is this how you want the night to end, with you cumming all over my hand?”

You shake your head, your hand reaching down to grasp him through his pants. “Not right now,” he says firmly, catching your hand and pinning it to your side, your fingers laced together. “If you get your pretty little hand on me,” Yoongi says, his fingers crooking to rub at your inner walls, “this’ll all be over too soon.” He finds a spot that is slightly rougher to the touch and presses against it. You keen and arch your back as he plays touches your g-spot. “Your little noises already have me so worked up, and your cunt’s squeezing so tightly around my fingers.” Slowly, he adds a third finger, still stroking your clit.

The pressure mounts inside you, and you find yourself breathing harder. Sensing how close you are, Yoongi increases the pressure against your clit, his three fingers moving constantly inside you. “Come for me,” he says in your ear, his voice husky with want, and the thought of him being just as wrecked as you are has you coming harder than you have in months. He holds you through your orgasm, his fingers moving slowly inside you until it subsides. You fall against the bed with a huff, chest rising and falling like you’ve just run a marathon. While you slide off your panties, Yoongi lifts his hand to his mouth, licking at it before wiping his hand on his pants. You’re catching your breath as he undresses, leaving him just as naked as you.

“Still up for this?” he says, rifling through his pants for something.

You get up and reach out, grasping his dick firmly in your hand. You pump your hand once slowly, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “As up as you are,” you say coyly, your tongue between your teeth, and Yoongi groans at the both the pun and the feel of your hand against his skin. Yoongi finds the packet in his back pocket, tearing at it with his teeth. He moves your hand away to roll on the condom, slipping the fingers of his other hand to check how ready you are. You pull him over you, his hardness sliding against your clit in a way that has both of you moaning. “Don’t tease,” you say, thrusting your hips up and clenching around his fingers.

Finally, Yoongi pulls his fingers out and lines himself up at your entrance. He slides in so smoothly you’re almost embarrassed, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It feels so good, even if you don’t think you can come again, and you wrap your legs around him and urge him deeper. You squeak in surprise when you feel his hand at your clit again, teasing it lightly in contrast to his slow, hard strokes into your cunt, and the pressure builds at the pool of your stomach. You pull him down for a kiss, tangling your tongue against his, your hands roaming his back, nails scraping lightly against his skin. Everything builds and builds, and soon you’re coming around him, like a wave meeting the shore. It’s less intense than your first orgasm, but the aftershocks last longer.

The feeling of you around him and the sheer pleasure on your face, a hint of perspiration at your temple and your collarbone: all of these drive Min Yoongi crazy, and the sounds you make as you come have him following soon after, his movements growing jerky as he finishes.

Yoongi falls on top of you gently, letting his weight rest on you for a moment. It’s a little stifling, but you welcome the heat of his body against your own, your limbs tangled together, feet dangling off the foot of the bed. He pulls out out of you, standing up to dispose of the condom properly. You watch him, unsure of what to do now that you’ve finally gotten what you’ve been waiting for.

When Yoongi turns around, you’re not on the bed, and his brows furrow until he hears the sound of the toilet flushing. You emerge from the bathroom a little later, your hands still wet from the sink. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s seen anything better. Your lips are swollen from all the kissing, your body glowing in the low light. You smile sleepily at him, and he beckons you closer. You snuggle up to him, your hand on his abdomen while you pull the covers around you. He presses a kiss at your hairline, and soon you both fall asleep.

The next morning, you’re nowhere to be found. When Yoongi checks his phone, however, he finds a couple of messages from you, the last of which has him grinning.

6:52 AM [my little tiger]: boys have a promotion taping today, so i had to dash. 6:53 AM [my little tiger]: [attachment] 6:54 AM [my little tiger]: i can’t stop smiling at this pic of us. u in ur natural state (sleeping) 6:53 AM [my little tiger]: holding you to your promise, min yoongi. i’ll see you soon.  

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - FINAL CHAPTER

Warnings: If you’re still with me, nothing new.

Summary: Set app. a year after the chapter “Days”

Word count: App. 2.200

A/N: I did it!!! I finished it! I can’t believe it. *Ugly crying* Now what am I gonna do??? (Finish the follower inserts from my 300 follower celebration before I hit 400, maybe? Finish recording Force of Habit, one of @littlegreenplasticsoldier ‘s many masterpieces? Do the recording of Mirror Mirror, I’ve been wanting to do since I wrote it? How to choose, how to choose...)

This is part of a chapter story (in case the caption didn’t clue you in). Link to mobile friendly master list here.

Tagging: @winchesterprincessbride @jencharlan @twenty-onepages @kbrand0 @fangirling-instead-of-working @mrsjohnsmith @deandoesthingstome @vibou25 @jotink78

“You’re not hunting alone. It’s too dangerous. Call someone else, got it?”

Sam grinned and slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Was planning to.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and put a hand to his chest in mock pain. “So that’s how it is, huh? Trying to give your poor, crippled big brother a freakin’ heart attack on top of everything else?”

Sam scrunched up his face, processing. “I didn’t catch that,” he finally lamented. “Unless you said something about a boar, nippled pig mother. And was there something about an art attic?”

Dean flipped him off, not quite managing to bend his index finger.

Sam grinned. “How very British.” He put an arm around Dean’s shoulders and steered him away from the wheelchair. “Come on, let’s get you home and put some real food in you. You can get back at me when you’ve had some of that pie Caitlin made for you before going to work.”

Moving On

“Dean!” Caitlin squeezed between two stacks of boxes, higher than herself.

She found him in the kitchen, staring at a metal circle between two handles.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a corn cob scraper.” She sighed.

“Why do we have a corn cob scraper?”

“To scrape kernels off the cobs. Can’t you just put it in the box?”

“But I’m gonna hafta carry the box to the truck and from the truck to the house. I’m not gonna pack stuff we don’t need.”

Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. “I used it three days ago for that cream corn you gushed over so hard, I thought you’d sleep with it and banish me to the couch.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips and scrutinized the scraper for all of two seconds before tossing it into the open box next to him. With a shrug, he picked another item from the drawer. He stared at it. “What the fuck is-”

“Just throw it out. I only ever use it when I make pies and I don’t think I’m gonna do that anymore.”

Faster than lightning, Dean put the thing in the box.

Caitlin smiled, shaking her head. “Dean, I just wanted to know if you and Sam agreed on when to pick up the appliances this weekend?”

Dean buried his hands, elbows deep, in the kitchen drawer, feeling for more stuff. “Yeah, um, sure.”

“So when are you picking them up?”

He glanced up, eyes wide. “Saturday, I guess. Or Sunday, maybe.”

Caitlin glared at him until she burst out laughing. “Jeez, you’re tired. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll text Eileen and figure it out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sighed and threw himself on the couch. He ran a shaking hand across his face and let his eyes drift shut.

He woke up to Caitlin gently massaging his neck and shoulders. “Mwhah?”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I talked to the company and the houses are so close and the total order for all of us is big enough to warrant free delivery, so that’s taken care of.”

“Mmh.” Dean pulled her closer, overbalancing her. He made an ‘oof’ sound when her weight hit him. Then he wrapped his arms and legs around her and kept her there.

“Are you secretly an octopus?” Caitlin relaxed against him.

“No, I’m a homeowner. But if you’d asked me ten years ago if I thought I’d end up as an octopus or as a homeowner, I’d have gone with octopus.” He lifted his head a bit to look her in the eyes. “It’s weird how bizarre it feels to be normal.”

“You’ll never be normal. Doing normal stuff won’t change who we are. You’ll never be a civilian, Dean.”

He squashed her tight against him, chuckling at the way her breath whooshed out of her lungs. “You’re right. I just… Fuck, I…”

“I know. I get it. But, Dean, you would have had to stop someday no matter what. You could have ended up dead or far worse off than this. Anyone who didn’t know you before will barely notice that you’re a bit more clumsy than most. There’s still so much you can do.”

“But I can’t hunt. I can’t save lives. If something ever happens to you, or to Sam, Cas, Eileen… I can’t protect you.”

“I know. That’s life for most people. You can still do a lot of good.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Caitlin was silent for a while. “You could help Sam with research.”

“Or I could get a job at Biggerson’s, flipping burgers. No way, I’m gonna sit and read about monsters and lore and not get to kill ‘em myself.”

“I bet you’d be the employee of the month all through the year.” Caitlin’s grin broke free. “You’d look so dashing in their uniforms, with the cap and the stripes-”

She cut off, squealing, when Dean tickled her sides, showing no mercy.

Her phone buzzed and bought her a respite as she read the text, almost hiccuping from laughing too hard.

“Who’s writing? Did Charlie kill Garcia’s character off again? Has Cas been arrested again? Is it Eileen?”

“It’s from Brad.” Caitlin showed him the message, sad smile on her lips.

I JUST WANTED TO WISH YOU GOOD LUCK IN KANSAS CITY. YOU’LL BE A GREAT DOCTOR. I HOPE EVERYTHING IS GOING ACCORDING TO PLAN WITH THE BIG MOVE. ALL THE BEST, -BRAD

Dean read with a frown. “You gonna answer?”

Caitlin sighed. “I don’t know. I hate knowing his psychiatrist’s reading over his shoulder. My answer wouldn’t be just for him.”

“I know he hasn’t had it easy but I still don’t get how you can forgive him.”

“Well, you weren’t there for his trial. It’s his story to tell, but trust me; he already paid his dues and some.”

“You mean they… Nevermind. I don’t wanna know.” Dean shook his head, holding Caitlin tighter to him. “Will you have to go back here and testify every other week when Cody’s appeal starts?”

“I’m sure they’ll ask me to.” Caitlin shrugged. “I won’t.”

Dean opened his mouth.

She spoke first. “I know they might repeal his death penalty without my testimony but he’ll be behind bars for the rest of his life either way. Cody might deserve to die but I’m against capital punishment on principle.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“Sure, there are humans worse than any monster you and Sam ever hunted, but once they’ve been caught and locked up, they’re not doing any more harm. How do you distinguish between them and the people that might have been possessed or otherwise influenced by something that will never be acknowledged in a courtroom? How do you know the difference between a Brad and a Cody if you weren't smacked in the middle of it? I didn’t even know the difference when I was sixteen, would never have known if they hadn’t taken me last year.”

“But what if he ever gets out? Some bureaucratic mistake, a legal technicality, early parole due to good behavior. As long as he’s alive there’s always a risk.”

“He’s not the only threat out there. There are Djinns and Demons and Daevas and drunk drivers and diseases, just to mention a few beginning with the letter d. I spent ten years in hiding, playing it safe. I’m done living in fear.”

Dean let out a deep breath when she nuzzled close, her nose tickling his neck. For a while, they just lay there, enjoying the closeness. Then he spoke, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m surprised you don’t think Sam and I are killers, with that attitude.”

“Dean. You protected people. It’s not like there’s a court or a prison for human eating or killing, sentient creatures out there.”

“Always so rational.” Dean licked Caitlin’s cheek, laughing when she tried to get away, sputtering in mock outrage.

The licks turned to kisses and the kisses turned to nibbles. Caitlin gave in with a content little sigh, ending in a gasp when Dean used enough pressure to make her really feel his teeth around her earlobe.

Dean snuck a hand under her blouse and undid her bra.

The doorbell rang.

Dean huffed a half laugh, half sigh as Caitlin sat up and redid her bra clasp. He put his hands on her hips. “Can’t we just ignore it?”

Her eyes softened and her movements slowed. “What if it’s important?”

“They can leave a note.” Dean’s hand snaked up her back again, destination obvious.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a quick rapping rhythm, Dean knew all too well. He let his hand fall with a sigh of regret. “Or they might unlock the door since we were dumb enough to give ‘em a key.”

They scrambled to their feet and looked halfway respectable when their front door opened to reveal Sam and Eileen.

Looking at Dean and Caitlin’s still frazzled appearance, Sam grinned. “I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?”

Dean flipped him off. “I thought you guys were busy in Kansas, painting protective sigils in invisible ink?” He signed a few keywords out of habit, though Sam most likely understood just fine, interpreting the movements of Dean’s lips.

“Yeah, we just… something came up. I wanted to tell you in person.” Sam did that weird thing where it looked like he was looking up from under his lashes, all shy and uncertain.

Dean’s jaw clenched, wrinkles of worry creasing his forehead. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

Sam sputtered. “No, no. It’s not like that, nothing bad. But… It’s just… I guess Eileen and I will have to stop hunting, too.”

Dean's eyes flitted between the two of them, mouth open and eyes wide.

Caitlin broke into a wide grin, something unspoken passing between her and Eileen. “Congratulations, you guys,” she exclaimed, hugging first Eileen and then Sam.

“Could someone tell me what’s going on?” Dean grumbled.

Caitlin bit her lip and watched Sam expectantly.

Sam smiled wide, dimples carved into his cheeks. “You’re going to be an uncle, Dee.”

Dean’s eyes went impossibly wider, his mouth agape. A blissful smile slowly spread before he froze, frowned, and narrowed his eyes. “If this is some stupid joke about that mutt you’re planning to adopt-”

“No joke. Though we do plan to get a dog, now that we won’t be traveling as much as expected.” Sam grinned. He sobered a little. “Dean, I know you don’t like talking about it but you practically raised me, man. You’ll be there, right? If I need help?”

Dean swallowed hard and engulfed Sam in a crushing hug. “Of course, little brother.”

They didn’t get any more stuff packed that day, leaving the chaos behind to eat out.

Over desert, Dean nudged Sam. “So what are you gonna do, college boy, if you’re not hunting?”

Sam chuckled. “Be a college boy, I guess. Charlie dug up my old scholarship and refurbished it. I guess I’m going back to law school. I won’t become a procedural lawyer as long as I’m deaf but I guess pushing pens isn’t so bad.”

Dean glowed with pride. “That’s… Holy fuck, Sam, that’s awesome.” He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” Sam took another bite of his salad and chewed slowly. “So, what about you, Dean? Any idea what you’ll do with your time while Caitlin’s busy at the hospital?”

Dean made an awkward shrug and lowered his gaze to his plate. A sly smile appeared on his lips. “Maybe I should take some child rearing classes. At least one of us should know what we’re doing, this time.”

Eileen almost choked on her water.

Sam kicked Dean under the table, his expression grateful. “You didn’t do too bad the first time around, you know.”

Dean grinned and Sam knew he walked right into what was coming.

“Imagine what you could’ve achieved if I had known more, college boy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

It was late, and they were both a little buzzed from toasting so many times when Caitlin turned to trace the handprint on Dean’s shoulder with a finger. “Did you mean it?”

Dean, almost asleep, grunted, opening one eye halfway. “Meanwha?”

“You, working with kids?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Those ankle biters can be vicious.”

“But not as scary as monsters, right?” Caitlin chuckled.

“Way scarier.” Dean smiled. “I guess they’d be easier to handle than engine parts, these days.”

“I never told you, but when the Djinn had me, I dreamed of you. Us. Together.” Caitlin blushed.

“You did?” Dean pulled her closer. “What was it like?”

“You…” She smiled, her cheeks heating further. “You were a nurse at the pediatrics ward. You were amazing with the kids.”

Dean gaped at her. “A nurse?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head, considering. “Don’t nurses usually end up marrying handsome doctors?”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

“Why? You could be Doctor Winchester, parading you trophy spouse, nurse Winchester around at fundraisers. Doc Winchester’s got a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

“Dean, seriously, can it.” Caitlin rolled away and lay on her back. “You’re such an ass.”

Laughing, Dean poked her side. “You’re the one who dreamt me as a nurse, Doc.”

Caitlin glared at him with narrowed eyes. “I did. I saw you put a glove over your head and down over your nose, making it look like a pig’s snout and blow air into the glove until it came off your head, whizzing across the room.”

Dean laughed harder. “That’s… that’s priceless. Next time I get my hands on a glove, I’ll try it.”

“Screw you.”

“Really? I thought you were mad at me?”

“Dean!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stop. Sleep tight, Caitie.”

Caitlin turned to kiss him goodnight. “You too, nurse Dean.”

“Whatever.” Dean drifted off, his smile lingering.