#I needed his company so undress redress undress redress

[tafferling]

*dufflebag zipper noise*

[santigarcia]

First Time for Everything

a santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader fic 

word count: 2k+

rating: m for smut feat my watch kink; mentions of pregnancy 

summary: It’s Santi’s birthday and you give him a present~

a/n: i wrote this a couple weeks ago and now im finally posting it!! as many of you know my main blog (damerondjarin) is still incorrectly flagged smh so i made this side blog for posting fics and gifs! and feedback is always appreciated! 

tagging: @punkpascal​, @tintinwrites​, @damndamer0n​, @mandoplease​, @darksideofclarke​, @yougottakeeponkeepinon​, @huliabitch​, @himbopoes​, @mylifeliterally​, @agentpike​, @pascalplease​, @wakalas​

First Time for Everything 

A classic rock song plays overhead. There’s a dull roar of voices overlapping in the sports bar. It’s dimly lit, with deep red walls and a black ceiling. TV’s playing different ball games are over the bar. It’s Santi’s birthday, and this place has his favorite wings.

He was ready to get a to-go order and spend the night with you, but the guys wanted to come hang out and buy him dinner.

So that’s how you ended up sitting in the middle of the restaurant at a tall table. Tall enough that your legs dangle from the bar stool. It’s not your first preference. If you’d could pick, it’d just be you and Santi alone in a booth in a corner. Or better yet just you and Santi home alone and naked.

It’s not that you mind the guys company. You enjoy being around them. They treat you like one of their own. You’re an extension of Santi and they respect you. You make him happy, and he makes you happy; and that makes them happy.

Santi’s hand rests on your thigh as a comfort. He knows being out in the middle isn’t your favorite. He only removes his hand to eat his meal. But he’s right there and that’s enough to bring your comfort.

There’s no keeping it a secret it’s Santi’s birthday, Benny told the waiter something like 8 times. A free dessert will be brought out once the meal is over. All Santi does is laugh, and hey he’s not complaining.

Your husband is a happy man tonight, you pat his tight stomach when he leans back in his chair, full and content. He grunts a little, as it tickles him. He’s about to lean in to kiss you when you swipe a bit of sauce from the corner of his lips.

“What did you get Pope for his birthday?” Benny asks with an obvious tease in his tone.

“I haven’t given it to him yet,” you play along, your face heating anyway when Benny smacks Santi on the back. “There’s something else that he doesn’t know about yet,” you add in.

Santi raises an eyebrow, his hand back on your thigh. His palm warm on your bare skin, and his pinkie finger just under the hem of your shorts. Will and Frankie share a surprised look from your comment.

“Guys calm down I’m not pregnant,” you laugh.

Santi leans in for a kiss, and presses another to your cheek.

“Do you wanna be?” he murmurs in your ear. You don’t have time to answer because the dessert is brought out and a group of singing wait staff crowd around the table. Benny sings loudly along with them, and Frankie can only shake his head with a laugh. Will takes a swig of his beer but joins in the singing. You sing too and plant a big kiss on your husband’s cheek as the dessert is set in front of him.

He gets a big spoonful and holds it up to your lips. His eyes have a secret hidden heat in them as he pulls the spoon from your lips. Then like nothing happened, he tucks into the dessert himself.

He gives you a couple more bites before he finishes it, and this time he wipes some chocolate sauce from the corner of your mouth. Only instead of his finger, he kisses it off.

His hand finds its spot again on your thigh while the conversation turns into goodbyes as the night winds down. The bill has been paid and everyone’s letting their food settle a bit before getting up to leave.

Will and Benny leave together. You stay seated while Will kisses your cheek, and Benny wraps you up in a huge hug. Benny gives you a wink, you know what it’s for. Santi’s gonna get lucky tonight.

They hug Santi and you take that opportunity to turn to Frankie to say your goodbye to him. He adjusts his hat on his head and pops one of his remaining fries in his mouth. He gets up and squeezes your shoulder and smacks Santi on the back telling him happy birthday. Leaving you and Santi sitting at the table.

He flips his hand on your thigh over, his wrist coming to rest on your skin. His palm is open to you, he’s offering you his hand, but all you can focus on is his watch face digging into your skin.

All it takes is one look from you and he’s on to you. He doesn’t say anything, just quietly observes. He presses his watch into your skin just a little deeper and your heart jumps.

Fuck.

He knows.

You’re quick to take his hand and hop off the barstool. The heat of his gaze is too much, and the night has only begun.

His hand is in yours and he follows close behind, he slides up close to you and pulls his hand from yours – putting it on your hip.

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“No,” you smile, which he returns.

“I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” he teases. His ‘threat’ goes right to your core. You know what that entails. He’s right, he has a way of getting you to ‘talk.’

His hand is still on your hip as you walk in the parking lot, Frankie drives by in his truck and honks his horn when he sees the two of you. Santi gives a little two fingered salute at his friend.

Once in Santi’s truck, you lean in and give him another cheek kiss while he starts the engine. He turns to kiss your lips and he hums.

“How’s your birthday so far hmm?”

“It’s been great, honey. But I have a feeling it’s going to get better.”

“Don’t speed on the way home,” you laugh.

He gives you a little wink. You grab his hand and pull it in your lap. Your fingers interlock with his, and with your other hand you rub up and down his forearm.

The drive home is familiar, nothing new to notice. It all fades in the background. All you can focus on is what you’re going to give your sweet husband when you get home.

“So, do you?” his voice pulls you from your thoughts about him.

“Do I what my love?”

“Do you want a baby?” he seems nervous. His fingers flex slightly against yours. “We���ve not really talked about it in a while. Is that something you still want?”

You bring his hand up to your lips and kiss the back of his hand. You don’t answer verbally, just a nod of your head ‘yes.’ His foot presses a little harder on the gas and you giggle behind his hand.

When he reaches your driveway, he pulls his hand from yours. With his knuckle his presses the garage door opener. He pulls his truck in the garage next to your car. He pulls the keys from the ignition and sits for a moment. Still.

“What?” you freeze, your first thought is that something is wrong.

“Honey,” he purrs and lunges forward to kiss at your neck. “I wanna fuckin’ take you in the backseat right now.”

“I have to give you your present!” you squeal while he starts to bite on your neck. His stubbled chin scrapes your collarbone.

“I thought you were my present?” he murmurs and kisses behind your ear. His hands cradle your head, there’s no pulling away.

“That’s not all of it!”

“Fine,” he pretends to pout and opens his door. He unlocks the side door and closes the garage and squeezes your ass when you pass by him into the house.

“Go sit down and get undressed,” you point to the couch when he turns on the living room lights. “I’ll come out with your surprise. Don’t move.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins and steals another kiss before doing what you ask.

Your stomach flips with excitement, it’s been a while since you’ve put on lingerie for him. You disappear into your bedroom and get the bag out of your closet. Inside along with the garments is his other gift.

You undress and the redress in the lingerie. It’s sheer, thin, and lacey. It flatters your curves and you know he’ll like it. He likes you no matter what you’re wearing.

“Close your eyes!” you call out to him from the doorway. Your hands clutch to his other gift with a sudden bit of nerves. You hope it likes it. “No peeking!”

You can’t help but smile when you step out into the living room, then a rush of heat goes to your core. He’s sitting naked on the couch as requested, feet planted firmly on the floor. He’s sitting up straight, and one hand is covering his eyes. His lips twitch into a smile when he hears you come in. And his nostrils flare when he gets a whiff of his favorite perfume. He’s hard and ready for you already, you love the effect you have on him.

“Can I look honey? You sure know how to kill a man here.”

“Yes,” you tell him. He lowers his hand and his eyes widen. His mouth drops open and his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip.

“Fuck, honey. Get over here,” he laughs. He’s dying to hold you.

“First,” you hand him the small box in your hands. He takes it in his big hands popping it open to reveal a brand-new shiny silver watch. He has a few watches, but not one like this.

“Wow,” he looks up at you, “thank you!” he takes off his tactical black one and slips on the sliver one. “How does it look?” he asks sticking out his arm examining it. His eyes flick up to yours, he knows.

Without warning, he slips his hand between your legs – grabbing your ass with his hand. The band of his watch on his wrist presses into your center. The cool metal sends a chill to your hot flesh through the thin lace fabric. When your knees buckle at the friction, he steadies you with his other hand on your hip.

“Damn honey, look at you.” He presses his wrist into you harder. “Can I unwrap my present now?”

You nod with a smile; you’ve been waiting for this all night.

With a sharp tug, he pulls your panties down, then brings you to straddle his lap. Only when you’re seated does he pull off the sheer bra. A hand clutches your back as his face buries between your breasts to kiss at your chest. His stubble brushes along the sides of your chest and he groans to feel your body on his. His abs tighten with need, and his length is hard and hot in-between your bodies.

“Fuck,” he whimpers when he closes his lips around your nipple. His other hand cups your breast and you moan. He makes a point to dig his wrist into your skin so you can feel the watch. “I didn’t know my watch got you this hot, honey. It’s killing me.”

His eagerness has him pulling you onto his aching length, and you groan in unison. His right hand reaches between you to thumb at your clit. His left hand starts at your hip, his watchband digging into your skin. He moves up your body, the band brushing against you – giving you delicious chills and shudders, which spurs him on to groan. His hand finds a place on your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but he wraps his fingers around your neck.

You know what he’s doing, and fuck if you don’t love it. His wedding ring and watch – you feel them both against your skin. It’s then he bucks up into your heat. Your hands in need of holding something, your fingers dig into his curls, and you other grasps the back of his neck. You pull his face back to your breasts and he sucks on your nipple again while he thrusts.

His fingers on your clit move faster to pull that sweet high from you. And when you tug on his curls just a little harder, he follows behind you.

“Happy birthday Santi,” you laugh, trying to catch your breath.

“Thank you honey,” he purrs into your neck. “Be honest with me though, was this watch for me or for you?”

“Both.”

He lets out a loud laugh and holds your body closer to him. He leans back into the couch cushions with a sigh. “Don’t get up yet,” he runs his hands up and down your back. “You feel too good.”

He’s softening inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. You nuzzle into his chest, feeling warm and giddy from your high.

���You think we made a baby?” you ask him, and he grunts a little, the idea turns him on.

“That’d be one hell of a birthday present, in addition to what I already got.”

Your chests are pressed together as your breathing slows. You can feel his heartbeat, and he can feel yours. His arms are comfortably wrapped around you, and you don’t move from that spot on his lap for a good while.

“I love you Santi,” you nuzzle your face into his neck. He squeezes you tighter.

“I love you too honey. What a good birthday. Seems like you enjoyed it too.”

“Santi!” you scold him, and all he does is laugh. His chest rumbles under yours.

You hope you do get pregnant; you’d love to have a baby with this wonderful man you get to call your husband.

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 30

We spent the night at Bucky’s - not because he had so much to pack, or because it was cozy and we wanted to leave it with a good memory, but honestly because the idea of redressing after we undressed for the second time was repugnant to both of us.  

“I do have a bed,” he teased, hovering over me where I was prone on his living room floor, but I shook my head and arched into him ending whatever push he was making for a move to another room, but getting him to roll onto his back and giving me full reign of our lovemaking.  

Nipping his lip and getting him to laugh, I couldn’t help but take a minute to just appreciate how fucking gorgeous he was looked - the blue light flickering from the television highlighting all the best parts of him - which were all of him, to be honest.

“Come here,” I pulled on his shoulders, knowing that if he didn’t want to rise up with me I wouldn’t be able to make him, but he did, sitting up - chest to chest with me, my arms wrapping around his neck I stared into his eyes.  “You are -” I wasn’t sure how to articulate it, to say just what he was to me.  “I love you and it doesn’t seem like it’s -” but he didn’t let me try to finish, his mouth meeting mine as his fingertips danced down my spine.  “I thought it was my turn to be in charge,” I murmured when his lips left mine, ghosting along my jaw to nip at my pulse.  

“You weren’t really doing much with the power, Brooke,” he teased, his tongue tasting the hint of sweat we’d managed to work up since we’d arrived.  

“Are you daring me, James?” I moved just enough to get a sharp inhaled breath - loud enough for me to hear for once, “well?” 

Bucky’s teeth met my pulse and I swallowed just as loudly as he’d inhaled.  He didn’t bite, he only let me feel them against my skin and I knew that he felt how that tiny pressure affected me all the way down to where we were joined.  “Maybe,” his breath against my skin, those two syllables had me rock my hips once - earning a hiss from his lips.  

My fingers slid through his hair and met at the base of his neck, tugging to get his gaze to meet mine again.  “Come here,” I urged, and then our lips met again, but this time I rode him as our teeth and tongues dueled, and if I had been loud at the hotel in Louisiana, I made damn sure that I had company in the noise pollution here in New York.  

He carried me to his bed, refusing to sleep on the floor after our exercise.  Laying me down carefully on a blanket that felt brand new, he traced over my skin as if he was taking inventory.  Just as I was getting ready to ask if he was planning on joining me, his fingertips stopped their journey, and I looked up to see him staring at where they’d landed.  

“What is it?”  I considered raising up on my elbows, but I was comfortable, even without being under the blanket or cradled in his arms.  

“I bruised you,” he was worrying his lower lip with those brilliant white teeth of his and I almost teased him about how I was pretty sure he also left a bite mark or two on me, but his eyes were narrowed with concern so I knew now was not the time to mock his upset.  

I let my own hand drift down to meet his, touching his fingers that were still laying gently against my skin.  “Hey,” his eyes met mine and I smiled.  “I’m pretty sure that you’re wearing a few marks from me, too.”  I knew he was, not only the bite from the plane, but scratches and who knew what other marks I’d managed to make on his skin - he’d called me a hellcat and I felt certain I’d earned it.  

Bucky sighed and started to pull away, but I was having NONE of that.  My hand touched his, then I worked to hold on, getting our fingers linked in spite of his less than best efforts.  “You really think that you could hurt me?”  I shook my head and he sighed, letting me pull him down onto the bed beside me.  “Physically?”  His eyebrow was arched in a wondrous display of complete disbelief in my ability to cause him harm.  

I shook my head at him.  “No, I don’t think I can hurt you, Buck.”  I sighed, and waited while he situated the pillows to his liking that way I could use him for MY pillow.  Once he managed the feat, I pressed my cheek against his chest, next to his dog tags, where I could hear his heart pound soothingly.  “I think that you need to understand that I’m not going to break because we got frisky,” he sighed again, but his fingers were back on my skin, sliding gently over the bareness, drawing designs again, brushing my loose hair out of his way.  “Are you listening to me?”  He hummed and I went on, snuggling into his chest.  “A bruise here or there, a scratch or two or three?  A bite or a mark?  None of that matters, Bucky.  It doesn’t because it wasn’t done in anger.”  

Another sigh, with less force, but I knew that he was listening to me, so I waited for him to counter my argument.  “I - I don’t want to hurt YOU,” his chin was on the top of my head, the heat of his breath was hot against my scalp.  “My strength, I could so easily -”

“Hey,” I moved so my chin was propped up on his sternum, with his head on the pillows it was an awkward angle, but we made it work so we could look at one another.  “You didn’t.  I’m fine.  Complete working order here, Bucky Barnes.”  I smiled up at him, before I moved my face back down to face against his chest, kissing his skin.  “I only LET you carry me in here like Tarzan because you seem to like manhandling me.”  

That got a laugh, which was the point.  Bucky getting tense over something as slight as a little discoloration after we had sexy fun times, which I planned on us having much more of I might add, wasn’t something I wanted to become routine.  I knew he had baggage, who wouldn’t be given his past, but I fully intended to make sure that he knew that I loved him and he wasn’t broken or ruined.  Together we were two slightly fucked up people, but I thought that together we might be able to figure things out and make our combined shit more manageable.  

I left the next morning, after I had leftover Chinese - since Bucky had been out of town for long enough to make me doubt most of what was left in his fridge.  He had to check in with his therapist - a reminder from me for that gold star so I could celebrate with him at the house later - and then he was coming back to his place to pack up to move in with me.

“Do you need help?”  I would stay, I could stay, but he shook his head as his grin took my breath away.  

“The only things that are really mine are my clothes and books,” he promised, and I smiled up at him as he put my bags into the Uber that had arrived to take me back to my - OUR - house.  “I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” he held the door for me as I got into the car and then leaned into kiss me goodbye.  “No more pineapples,” he vowed and I nodded. 

“Gold star, mister,” I reminded him and he shook his head with a huge smile.  “I love you,” I mouthed as the driver pulled away, and my heart stuttered as I watched him mouth the words right back.  

I needed the time it was going to take him to check in with Raynor and pack up his humble belongings to get my own welcome home surprise together.  I texted Connie during the drive from his apartment and was laughing as she texted me back almost immediately.  

“Oh NOW you have time for me”  the addition of a few choice emojis reminded me of my failure as a best friend, but then she sent another text.  “How long are you alone before he’s back within sniffing range?”  

I sent her my best estimate and she calmed my ratcheting nerves by reminding me that she had half days and she’d be over to help me set the scene for Bucky’s return.  When the driver let me out, shucking my bags onto the porch, I took a deep breath and hoped like fuck that I wasn’t about to set off some trigger in Bucky’s PTSD reserves with my little surprise.  That would suck balls, and it would ruin our first night as cohabitants in the house.  

Looking around the living room once I got my bags inside, it sobered me when I realized that technically the wrong trigger with Bucky could actually fucking demolish the house.  Oh well, I thought, putting as much forced positivity into the thought as I could - too late to back out now. 

[honestsycrets]

The Designer || 5CW

Cute moments of Sigurd finding out a slave girl who's with them since he was a child is in love with him silently through all these years, caring for him and even being the real author of many things he thought was Margrethe who did for him instead.

“This one is more your taste. She’s a good thrall from King Ragnar’s hearth as you may well know! Well-trained and a virgin,” the loud voice from the queen’s favourite trader punctuated, pulling on the slave collar that hung from around your neck. He cracks your collar down, forcing you onto your knees before the potential buyer.

“A virgin?” the woman said. “I wasn’t aware that the sons of Ragnar left any virgins unclaimed.”

“Fortunately so.”

The woman has a youthful face though her eyes reflect her age. Her long, blonde hair is neatly braided back from her bright eyes and spoke with a mealy-tongue. You recognize the woman as being the earl Lagertha. Every once in a while, you spotted him shifting in the background. You caught a glimpse of his blond hair shifting by with his brothers. He sat today with them eating, a flat bread in his hand while his eyes creased as he talked. They remind you of where the sea lapsed along the dark granules of sand, how the great snake would one day slither out from the bright ocean.

But not today.

Today your arms hurt in the tight rope and though you’re not sure what you said or did to upset Aslaug after so many years of service, here you were regardless. You try to think of better things than being traded. Like how his fingers would strum the oud at the end of a long night, sloppy with mead as opposed to the morning when he was fresh faced.

“Lovely,” the earl leans in, slipping her hand under a dress that fell to your knees. Her hand cups your sex, slipping over soft curls. Your legs knock together and you nearly sob out a protest. “She would make for a good gift for a king.”

The man leans in, “Or a queen.”

The exchange a knowing look between one another. “Yes, well, I am known to enjoy the company of both. I’ll take her. Let her say her goodbyes to Ubbe and Sigurd. She has been watching them since we began to speak.”

The other brothers had gone. You watched them leave not so long ago, never thinking that you wouldn’t see the brothers again. Maybe you would see him again-- Sigurd, who shifted with his Margrethe who was ordered to sit beside Ubbe for the time being. It must have been nice.

“Come,” the overseer brought you to the princes. Sigurd sets his drink aside as if realizing your presence. You look at him from behind a long curtain of your hair, lined by buds of fresh flowers that were meant to help your sale.

“(Y/N),” Sigurd recognizes you. That’s enough-- enough to make it worth it. “What are you doing to her?”

The overseer titters, “She’s been sold to earl Ingstad.”

Ubbe sets his cup down as if realizing that their mother who spoke with the girls of Kattegat was behind it all. Sigurd stands up, so close that you can make out the wisps of fine hairs on his upper lip cradling his chin.

“I wasn’t aware that my mother could sell my thrall,” Sigurd says in an unreasonable voice. His eyes flicker over to yours, wide and on the ground, then back to the overseer.

“Ah. She is queen, isn’t she?” He implies, almost with mock amusement. You wonder what Sigurd thought you had been doing over there. “You should be proud. She caught the eye of a great shieldmaiden. I dare say she will become her love slave.”

You don’t look up. Not when Sigurd inhales sharp. Ubbe reaches out, consoling him with an arm to his. You try to relax, to tell yourself that this was… temporary, despite knowing it wasn’t.

“My prince,” you soothe. “I-- your oud was in my bed. I was working upon it.”

“Working upon it?”

“The design of the snake among flowers in the wood. It was me,” you inform him with contrite remorse. You hadn’t meant to be so forward. But for years-- you let him believe that Margrethe was the one who cared for his instruments when it was always you. You suck in a breath and snap your mouth shut when both princes fell silent.

“Yes, yes, come along,” the overseer says clearly, mincing back toward Lagertha with smooth steps. His eyes leave yours when Lagertha unbinds your hands, leaning in to speak into your ear. The realization set over him-- you had been the one to fix his oud, to design his oud, to be there and listen to his songs. He has no idea what to do now with this new information. He almost steps up, but his brother’s wife stops him.

“Let her be,” Torvi stops him. Sigurd almost defies her when she speaks again. “She will care for her better than you can.”

As Torvi sweeps away, and Lagertha shows you the door, Sigurd lurches up. He couldn’t let things… go. Not like this. He clutches his bag of coin at his hip and pushes past her shieldmaidens.

“Lagertha!” he calls after the earl whose hand follows the loose rope on your slave collar. She turns just as he stands in front of her, his chest raising and falling behind his deep blue tunic. Her head turns.

“Sigurd,” she says, stating his name carefully.

“I will pay triple what you gave for her,” Sigurd says, holding his bag of coin. “Here and now.”

Lagertha’s hand falls from your rope, and you gawk at the ounces of silver in his hand. It’s far more than you ever thought you would fetch. Her shieldmaidens wear shocked, pulled back expressions too.

“She means that much to you?” Lagertha meets his eyes, standing up to him. He says nothing more, neither confirming nor denying, but it’s enough. Lagertha takes the coin from his hand and drops the rope into his hand. There is a warmth behind her next words-- almost as if she half cared. “Take good care of her.”

Your eyes fall to the rope. The women he usually play his oud for watch you, as if wondering themselves, what was so great about you? Your head bows away from their stares. Sigurd’s hand meets with your midback to take you somewhere else-- to his bed. His oud sits over a feather stuffed pillow. When he guides you to sit upon his bed, you take it upon yourself to refluff his downy pillow.

“What else have you done?” he asks, bending down onto one knee before you.

“Hm?” you mutter, stupidly. You’re far from stupid but-- you’ve been caught. You thought that you would never see him again. Or at least, not in a very, very long time.

“You etched these markings upon my oud. But what else have you done?”

You would unbraid his hair when he stayed out too late with his brothers. Undress him and redress him with proper fitting clothes when he was too drunk to stand upright. Sharpen his knives and cleaned his furs. Things that-- a wife should have done. But you knew that your intentions were him for deep.

“Where do I start?” you laugh, awkwardly so.

“That many?”

When you nod, Sigurd massages the tension out of his own head. He makes out why quick. “Of course, that many. What was I thinking?”

He was thinking that it was Margrethe-- spending time etching designs to please him. For as much as he loved her, she did not love him nearly as much. The person that did love him was sitting here, stroking fluffy pillows with a collar that weighed down her neck. He leans up, hooking the slave collar around his thumbs. When he pulls it down, your gasp almost stops him.

“You are a free woman. Go and do what you please.”

You stutter, reaching back out for the collar like it was some sort of safety net to keep you in his arms.. “What I want is to be here... with you.”

“A slave?” Sigurd asks.

“If I have to be.” you answer quickly. “I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t. Stay here with me.” 

When you smile, it’s all the confirmation he needs-- you found yourself back at home. Right where you had always been.

@alicedopey @sununicorn @shadioux-fox @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @sincerelysinister @snake-eye-blaeja @flowers-in-your-hayr @feyrearcheron44

[prisonrose]

Mea Culpa || 24 Hour Journal

01:00

A guard inadvertently wakes me up by shining a flashlight in my cell to make sure Craig and I are still present. 

After a brief pause to make sure the figure above me is truly asleep and not dead or a sack of potatoes serving as a decoy, he moves on.

I fall asleep shortly afterwards.

05:45

I force myself to wake up at this time every morning, about 10-15 minutes before the cells unlock. It was hard to get the timing just right since I don’t have an alarm at first, but most days I manage it based on my biological clock alone.

I relieve myself on the loo while Craig is still asleep, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

I brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and sit on my bed, waiting for the doors to open.

06:00

The cell doors finally unlock, and I make a beeline for the kitchen area of our cell block. Usually I’m the first to get there, but sometimes I’m unlucky. 

Today I have the first go at the microwave and heat up some oatmeal with peanut butter and instant coffee to take back to my cell.

I manage to get in and get out without being caught or harassed by anyone. Craig is gone by the time I get back. Likely at the chow hall or showers. I get to have a relaxing meal alone.

07:00

I show up for work in the laundry facility. A few of the driers are down for scheduled repairs.

I spend most of the day lubricating roller bearings, adjusting pulleys, and replacing drum rollers and dryer glides.

This is probably the most relaxing part of my day. It always feels good to be working with machines again.

Still, I can’t believe I only get paid 200 Pokedollars for this shit. Guess I’ll splurge and spend a whole day’s pay on some Fresh Water from a vending machine one day.

11:30

Wrap up work in time for count. Try to make it back to my cell without bumping into anyone.

Craig is already there in the room by the time I come in. I say a quick greeting to him and reuse the bowl I used for oatmeal earlier for a bowl of cereal and a box of UHT milk.

I rather miss having cold beverages.

11:55

“Five minutes til count time, boys. Be on your bunks and be visible! I repeat, be on your bunks and be visible for 12:00 count or you will get a ticket!”

There’s never any telling how long these things will last, so I get comfortable on my bed with a science fiction novel I used to read a lot as a child.

A guard comes by with a Boltund to check to see if we’re where we need to be. 

12:25

Count is mercifully short today. The doors unlock again, and most guys begin shuffling over to the Chow Hall for lunch. I say goodbye to Craig.

I wait until it’s relatively quiet in the halls before donning my shower shoes and taking my little plastic bucket of shower supplies down to our cell block’s communal showers.

Privacy is important during this vulnerable time. Most guys wash off either in the morning or just before lockup, but I prefer going in midday when most guys are either having lunch or out in the yard working out.

12:40

It’s never completely empty though. I try my best to creep to the other end of the showers opposite a loose group of men that probably had the same idea as me.

The showers are always disgusting. The floors are usually covered in a thick layer of grime, shaved body hair, and bodily fluids. The holes in the shower head I initially chose are so clogged in one that I have to go to another slightly closer to the other men.

This one works, at least, but the hot water is used up. Oh well. It really is a lottery most days. 

I hate these annoying timed press buttons. I hate everything about these damn showers. Showering used to be the most relaxing part of my day. I miss my flat so badly just for this alone.

12:46

I try to get in and out as quickly as possible since I have company. Maybe if I’m in and out before they realize who I am, I can avoid a scene.

No such luck. I’m small but not small enough to not be seen past the half-assed dividers supposed to offer a shred of privacy. 

They intercept me in the changing room. Thankfully, I still have my towel on.

The big guy says he’s heard of me. He asks if it’s true that I ████ █ █████ ████ █ █████.

I confirm that it is true. He’ll find out the truth either way, so there’s really no need to lie.

He ███ ██ ██ ███ ███ ██ ███ ███ █████ ███████. His buddies ████ ████ ██ █████ ██.

█████’█ ██ █████ ██ █████████ ███ ████ ██ ████ █████. ██████ ██ ████ ████ ██ ██████. █ █████. 

█ ████ ██ ██ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███. ████ ██████████ ███’█ ███ ██ ████ ██. ██’█ ███████ ████ ████ █████ ███ █ █████’█ █████.

I guess that’s the only thing I’m good for anymore. 

13:05

I get back to my cell.

Decide to take a nap since I’m not feeling so well.

14:55

Get woken up by a guard with a Growlithe banging on the cell door. Apparently I have a visitor and need to get processed for that. Time to put on my game face. 

15:01

Getting strip searched in front of the guards is the most humiliating thing ever. Probably even worse than getting undressed in front of other inmates. 

The female guard’s Espeon stares at me the entire time, its forked tail twitching slightly, possibly scanning the near future to see if I was a threat. The whole process of undressing, getting searched, getting redressed takes about 15 minutes. I’m led to the Non Contact visit area so that I can talk with whoever this is.

15:16

Another journalist trying to get the big scoop on my fall from grace. I’m exhausted by now by how many interviews these people keep subjecting me to, but I understand the appeal.

I smile politely and answer all of her questions, no matter how asinine. When she asks me how a well-to-do businessman is fairing in a maximum security prison, I tell her that I’m doing just fine. Part of me wants to believe it, too.

15:46

Visit is officially concluded. I thank the journalist for her time and go back to get searched a second time.

I take off each article of clothing individually and shake them out, then spread every fold and orifice of myself that might be hiding contraband as the guards search my clothes.

The Espeon is still staring at me. Part of me wishes I could have seen into the future for what was in store for me years ago when I begged for the harshest punishment possible.

16:02

Time for tea. Also the last time to get something from the Chow Hall before Lockdown in 2 hours.

My hunger gets the best of me, and I make a visit, despite how terrible the food is and how dangerous it is for someone like me. This place and the Yard are the sites of most stabbings and riots.

Today it’s what I assume to be some sort of beef (I think?) stew with tons of soggy, mealy potatoes and white rice. It looks like something already eaten, but that was par for the course.

I take my little tin of food and try to desperately find a seat at a table not already occupied. No such luck, so I sit at the opposite end of the table of two gents with my approximate skintone. 

Thankfully, they ignore me. I eat in peace. 

16:38

Go to the rec center to see if there’s anything worth watching on the telly. Maybe I can even catch a match.

My appearance prompts from jeers from a couple of men playing pool, but they leave me alone pretty quickly when I try to pay them no mind. 

No League matches are showing today, so I instead turn it to the news.

Apparently there’s some sort of catastrophic Dynamaxing incident playing out in multiple cities at once. I hope that some madman didn’t get news of my own experiment and try to do something similar…

17:45

Lockdown in 15 minutes. Head back to my cell, but Craig is busy on the loo. Walk back out again and respectfully wait as long as I can for him to finish up.

17:55

“Five minutes til count time and lockdown, boys. Be on your bunks and be visible! I repeat, be on your bunks and be visible for 18:00 count or you will get a ticket!”

I have to go in at this point. Luckily, Craig is now washing up. He nods at me and climbs back on his bunk for count.

When the cell doors close, there’s no opening them again until 6 the next morning, unless there’s some sort of emergency. So it’s best to get as comfortable as you can.

I begin reading my book again. There’s nothing else to do, really.

20:00

Last state sanctioned meal of the day. The small slot in our cell door is opened, and two paper bags are fed through. 

It’s a ham and cheese sandwich, a bag of crisps, and a box of milk for each of us. 

As per our agreement, I hand Craig my ham sandwich and my bag of crisps over to him as well. It’s hard not to feel hungry in here, but it’s a small price to pay for peace.

He hands over his box of milk, and I instead have my last bowl of cereal for the night. The extra box of milk is tucked away somewhere safe, and the bowl cleaned and ready for the next morning.

Back to my book. 

21:00

The lights in our cell unceremoniously turn off. “LIGHTS OUT!” the voice over the intercom booms. “QUIET IN THE CELLS!”

I sigh, sticking a popsicle stick into the pages as a makeshift bookmark, and stretch out to place it back on the desk for tomorrow. 

I lay down, staring blankly out of the bars, feeling more empty than I ever have in my life.

I’ve long since stopped wondering if my sacrifice was worth it, if this is the fate I deserved, if there’s any hope I’ll be remembered fondly in the future, or at all, even in the present day.

This is my life now. It’ll be my life until the day I die. As unhappy as I am about the notion, I’ve made my peace with it, and have adjusted accordingly.

I wipe away the hot tears rolling down my face with a soft sniffle, and roll back over to try to rest up and gather my strength to face this hell the next day.

And the day after that and the day after that and the day after that…

[elegantfloorknot-blog]

It Started in the Elevator...(part one)

Warnings: sexual content, light BDSM, bruising, SMUT, aggressive kind of serial killer vibes? (idk i’m fucked up what do you want.)

I couldn’t get this out of my head so I wrote it down *shurg*

i’m not a writer, this is poorly written.

This is also going to be a series. Maybe. 

It’s Tuesday morning. You step out of your cubicle making your way out of the office, presentation in one hand, phone in the other. You start to head towards the elevators. “Might as well head over to the conference room now and start setting up.” you think to yourself. You arrive at the elevators and press the “down” button while perusing your phone, waiting for the elevator to finally arrive. You notice there’s a man already in the elevator standing by the buttons.

You glance up for a second and give a quick good morning then try to avoid awkward small talk by going back to your phone. You stop for a second, thinking to yourself “…. is that...? No, it can’t be What would /he/ be doing /here/?? Ok you know it’s not him, but casually try to–” your thoughts get cut off by the man in the elevator with you. In an Australian accent, you are asked “what floor are you going to?” “6” you blurt out, taking the opportunity to look at the man standing next to you. “Holy shit you’re Dacre Montgomery!” you think to yourself….no wait, that was out loud. You stand there for a second slightly embarrassed but try to remain composed. He looks over at you and gives a smile, “yes, I am”. You’re trying to think of what to say next when you suddenly realize you’re already talking. “OH cool! You know just the other day I was read–” suddenly the elevator jolts to a stop, the lights turn off and the emergency lights turn on.

For a split second, you thank god that this interrupted your sentence, you were just about to talk about the fanfic you read about him the other day! Once you realize what’s happened, you let out a small sigh of relief, and look over at Dacre whose pleasantry-smile faded to a somewhat panicked look. You hit the emergency button, but no answer yet. “Don’t worry” you state almost sympathetically. “Look the maintenance log says that they just had maintenance done and replaced the ropes, so it’s probably just an issue with the travel cable, or maybe the building just lost power, either way we’re safe….even if we did fall were only stuck between the second and third floor, we’d be fine” he laughs nervously at that last line. You look back over to him. He looks confused yet impressed. “How do you know this?” “I used to run operations at an elevator company” you say excitedly. “Finally, this knowledge comes in handy” you think to yourself. He replies “you??” He looks you up and down. Suddenly you are grateful for your presentation today, ensuring you’d be a little more dressed up and put together than usual. “You used to be at an elevator company?! No way, I don’t buy it” “Riddled with sexism, but I’ll take it as a compliment, I guess” you think…no wait that was out loud again. You really have to work on your social skills.

He lets out a small laugh while lowering his head to look at his feet, realizing he stuck his foot in his mouth. “You’re right” he says looking back up at you, “I’m sorry, you just don’t look…” you shoot him a glance that tells him to tread lightly, and he casually leans against the far wall. “…I mean, it’s kind of impressive is all” “nice save” you blurt out. Even in a situation like this, you just can’t help being sarcastic. He lets out another laugh and looks you over again. You notice he’s slightly biting his lower lip. You almost melt right then and there. “You really like to speak your mind, huh?” You smile back shyly. “What is it you do anyway?” “I’m in finance,” you say while waving the binder that is your presentation. “I have…well had a big presentation today which hopefully will impress some big investor they’re trying to nab.” You pause and shoot back “and what is it that you do?” He’s embarrassed for a second until he realizes you’re joking. He seems to relax a bit.

About 45 minutes go by. Both of you are completely enveloped in conversation. There was a lull in dialogue, so you decided to push the emergency button again--still no answer. He noticed that you looked concerned and started the conversation back up. “You know, it’s kind of nice to be stuck in here, no crazy paparazzi or cameras…” he pauses and points up. “Well except for the ones in–” you cut him off, taking a step closer to him. “Oh, there’s no cameras in here…just you and me”. Admittedly, it came off more forward than you expected form yourself.

Just then, the elevator started to fall for a few seconds. You realized the falling stopped, but then also realized you had grabbed onto Dacre as a reflex. Feelings of embarrassment began to surface until you realized that he too had grabbed onto you for safety. He looked down at you, and you up at him. He started inching his face closer to yours, and you bit your lip in anticipation of the kiss. He kisses you deeply, and you feel like your body is made of electricity. He must have felt the same way because when he pulled back to look at you, animosity had completely taken over his eyes. He looked almost murderous. It was chilling, really, and it drove you insane. Just then, as if he were reading your mind, he hoisted you up onto one of the side railings on the elevator wall and positioned himself to rest in between your thighs. He continued to kiss you passionately, and the way you would grind into his hips drove him insane. You spent the next few minutes undressing each other. He lifted up your skirt and literally tore off your underwear.

You both stopped for a moment to take each other in. You took a mental picture of how perfect his abs and arms looked, and his cock was even bigger and thicker than you imagined. He really was gorgeous. His words broke your stare. “Wow, all this for me” he promptly slid two fingers inside of you, feeling how wet you are. You softly moaned in recoil, and he laughed softly. He slid his fingers out of you and into his mouth, not breaking eye contact once. That look drove you insane. He then pulled you close and kissed you deeply, he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue.

He brought his member up to you, teasing before he would enter you. “Beg” he commanded, as he continued to glide himself around you to get his cock nice and wet. You let out a breathy but quiet “fuck me”. He stopped to look at you, quickly cocked his hand back and slapped you across the face. The sting was euphoric. “I said BEG” he practically growled. You moaned “please fuck me, I need to feel you inside of me. I can’t wait anymore please” a satisfied grin swept across his face. He rams into you, hard. Both of you moan as he bottoms out. He slowly starts to pull the full length of his member out, and rams it back in as you both moan again. It feels so good, you can help yourself. You begin to squirt all over his cock. He leans in close to you and whispers in your ear “good girl, but don’t cum again until I let you” he swiftly bites down on your neck.

It’s going to leave a mark, but you don’t care. He flips you over so now your ass is pressed up against him. He bends you over and presses you against the mirrored wall while grabbing a fist full of your hair. He inserts himself into you again, this time more gently. He starts thrusting back and forth, hitting all if the right spots. You love watching him fuck you. Your eyes meet in the reflection and you see it again, that murderous look. You see him quickly cock his hand back again and this time spanks you. You let out a deep moan. He hits you again, and again. He starts to feel you tighten around him.

He pulls you up back to him by your hair. Your back is now resting arched against his chest, your face buried in his neck. He removes his hand from your hair and wraps it around your throat. He squeezed harder than you had expected. “You like that, huh? You like when I treat you rough” He growls. Hearing /those /words from /his/ mouth sent a jolt of pleasure through your body as you moaned. He took that as a yes. He started thrusting harder, more aggressively into you. He flips you back around so that you are facing each other again.

“Are you ready to cum for me?” You shook your head excitedly, hardly being able to breathe from anticipation. He cocked his hand back and hit you across your face again, landing in almost the exact same spot. “Use your words.” he says while thrusting faster into you. “Are you ready to cum for me” “yes, please” you beg. He starts pumping harder and faster into you. Your eyes start to roll back and you turn your face away in preparation. He grabs you by the jaw and turns your head back to look at him. “LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU CUM” he forcefully commands, as you both let go of what was building up inside. You both let out an orgasmic scream as you both came to completion.

A few seconds pass when you hear the elevator speaker jerks on “everybody okay in there? We thought we heard screaming” this jolts both of you out of the orgasmic fog. He starts off “uhhh..yeah that was just….” you jump in “you know panic attack (you pause to catch your breath), trapped in elevator” Dacre, panting “ yeah…any…any idea in when we’re getting out of here ” “Good news! The elevator should be up and running in about 10 minutes” the speaker clicks off. You and Dacre hurriedly redress and try to compose yourselves, make yourselves as presentable as possible, neither if you having the time to fully process what just happened.

Once more gathered, he breaks the silence “so, who are you anyway?” Just as your about to answer, the lights flicker on and the elevator starts moving. You know you don’t have much time, so you slyly pull out a card while laughing softly and hand it to him. He examines it for a moment “so if I call up this number and ask for you…? "I’ll be there” you respond. The elevator doors open and to your relief, no one is standing outside of it.

Just as you both turn to go your separate ways; he grabs your arm and pulls you close to him to kiss you deeply one last time. You smile for a moment and start to slowly back away. “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll see you around”. You didn’t know what floor you were on, but you knew the layouts of the floors were all the same. You ducked into the nearest bathroom to clean up and make sure you were presentable. You looked in the mirror and saw bruises start to form on your face where he hit you and around your neck from when he choked you. Flushed and dismayed, you exclaimed to yourself “Holy shit I can’t go back to work looking like this”. You called your office and said you were too shaken up from being trapped in the elevator (which wasn’t completely untrue) and you have to go home. The whole ride home you couldn’t help but feel accomplished and excited by your encounter, especially whenever catching a glimpse of your forming bruises in the reflection

[sandersfander1820]

I’m Here: Part Thirteen

Summary: This is Roman’s last chance to get this right, but he’s still struggling. He can handle it though, right?

Words: 1,815

Author’s Note: God, I am so sorry this took so long to get done and finished. I didn’t want it to wait so freaking long, honestly. But sometimes things happen. This chapter is actually pretty significantly shorter than previous chapters, so sorry about that, but I felt it was okay to end where it did. Also, this hasn’t been fully proof read, and I’m sorry about any typos there are in there. Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter and I hope it was worth the wait.

I will not be putting the taglist on this right now because it’s late and I want it posted. I will put it on in the next few days maybe.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Fourteen | ?

(I’m not sure if Tumblr is still doing that thing where posts with outside links don’t show up in search results, so I won’t link the Ao3 file, but it’s ‘I’m Here’ by SandersFander1820 (RobinPlaysTrumpet15).)

He’d read through the script at least three times already throughout the day, and not because he didn’t have anything to do. Honestly, Roman had so many things to do that he might have lost time by rereading a script he was completely and totally familiar with.

But something about it just wasn’t sitting right.

He couldn’t pin down the feeling until about halfway through practice that afternoon.

Dr. Allen had them start over from the beginning and go through every scene leading up to the confession. Smaller scenes that didn’t have Roman and Sera in them together were skipped in favor of getting to the “important” bits. Not to say the scenes without them were unimportant, Dr. Allen specified, but everyone knew the of issues they’d been having.

Almost three quarters of the way through the scene and it finally hit him what felt all wrong.

“Alright, stop! Stop, stop, stop,” Dr. Allen called. She waved her hands through the air in a cutting motion, getting all the attention on her. The woman sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Roman…” she huffed on a hard breath. “What is the issue? What did I tell you do to yesterday?”

Roman winced, stepping away from Sera and facing their director.

“I- I know, Dr. Allen, but-”

“So what is the issue?”

“Well, I had a thought-”

“You know what I said, Roman.”

“I know-”

“If you don’t get this scene down by this evening, you won’t be in opening night.”

“I know that, ma’am-”

“Roman Prince.” Dr. Allen’s tone took on a deadly blunt edge. “What does everyone in this theater know about calling me ma’am?”

Roman took a deep breath. “That we are not to call you that, ever, under any circumstances.”

Dr. Allen nodded. “Exactly. That’s right. Now,” she turned and looked him directly in the eye, “what have you been trying to say?”

Deep breath. Swallow. “Prince Edward’s reaction to finding out Ginger is his soulmate doesn’t make sense.”

She paused in her pacing, cocking a skeptical eyebrow up at him, challenging. “Oh really? Enlighten me.”

“Okay,” Roman said, taking as calming a breath as he could. “Well, for starters, this scene is written as if Edward and Ginger had just met for the first time. But actually, they’re already friends. They already love each other. This scene is huge and over the top, which, yes, is usually right up my alley, but it doesn’t fit into the dynamic that the rest of the play has built so far.”

Dr. Allen’s eyebrows furrowed as her gaze dropped. Then she was picking up her discarded script and flipping through it, reading lines and then flipping more pages and reading a few lines. After a few moments in which Roman started to sweat out of pure unadulterated nervousness, she looked back at him with a contemplative look. She motioned for him to continue.

Roman swallowed, glancing around the theater, his eyes drawn up movement up in the balcony. There he saw Logan rushing in through the door to put his bag down as if he was late. He watched for a second in which Logan leaned over to exchange hushed words with Jordon. Then Roman felt Logan’s deep brown eyes focus on him.

Roman took a split second, closed his eyes and sucked in a slow, deep breath, then opened them again and focused on Dr. Allen.

“Ginger herself had already had her suspicions up to this point about Edward being her soulmate, so her own reaction would be a lot calmer than it’s portrayed. And as for Edward and his over the top proclamations of undying love for her, those don’t fit either. Because they’ve already become friends and grown close. Ginger and Edward already love each other, and they know they love each other…” Roman trailed off, his eyes wandering back up to the balcony and settling on Logan again. A feeling that was soft and fuzzy red swelled in the middle of Roman’s chest, right where his lungs were. It felt just a little harder to breathe, but in a good way. He felt a smile grow on his face. “It’s really just a matter of knowing for sure that they’re ‘meant to be’, and that’s cool and all but… it’s doesn’t change their feelings. Crazy, out-there, excessive pronouncements of love just don’t fit in here because they aren’t needed.”

Roman almost hadn’t realized when he’d stopped talking. He just smiled up at Logan, watching him smile back, blissfully unaware of the silence and growing number of eyes on him for the moment.

Until Dr. Allen brought him crashing back down to earth rather forcefully.

“Well, Roman,” she said, seeming loud in the silence, “That was very good insight. I appreciate it. And beyond that, you clearly learned something last night, and I believe you are now a better actor for it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Allen-”

“And as valid as your points are, and as right as you are, unfortunately we cannot change the play now. I am impressed and pleased that you noticed, though.” She smiled at him, closing her script and tossing it gently back onto the seat at her side. “Now, can we take this scene from the top, please, everyone?”

Dr. Allen clapped her hands at them, a teasing, bright smile firmly on her face. Roman smiled back at her, turning back to Sera and his other cast mates with a pep in his step.

He could do this. He could make this happen.

It took another half run before Roman fulling found his groove again. But by the end of rehearsal that day, he was feeling confident and sure and everyone was smiling and laughing and joking around. They were going to be so ready for opening night, they’d knock the audience’s socks off.

And only one thing changed.

In Roman’s mind, the scene was no longer Prince Edward proclaiming love for poor little Ginger Baker. It was just Roman, telling just Logan all the things he’d ever thought and felt and practiced in his head. Glancing up and finding one of his fated loves watching with rapt attention, and imagining him in his arms instead.

No offense to Sera, but still. It worked.

*

Roman kept his eyes on the balcony a little more than was truly warranted, but he didn’t want to miss this. He didn’t want to miss his chance to actually meet his soulmate. He butchered the first time, so the second time was going to be perfect.

Well, maybe not perfect, but that was okay. Roman could live with okay.

As he changed out of his costume backstage, his phone buzzed from its place atop his pile of clothes. He let it wait until he was finished undressing and redressing, then checked it. He had a message from Logan.

Pocket Protector @ 8:18 | Would you mind very much if I asked you to join me for a cup of soothing tea on our way back to our dorms?

Roman barked a laugh suddenly and loudly.

Queen Bee @ 8:27 | How long did it take you to write that?

Roman tucked his phone away in his pocket for a moment while he grabbed the rest of his items. As he turned for the door to leave, he heard a knock on the doorframe of the dressing room.

“Too long,” a familiar voice admitted.

Roman couldn’t help the way the air left his lungs in a tiny, high pitched gasp. It was a familiar voice with a familiar timbre that Roman could recognize in his sleep. Except that this time, there was no distortion, no static, no electronic, metallic, clangy sort of fuzz to it.

When he turned fully around and came face to face with Logan, he nearly threw caution to the wind and scooped him up right then and there.

But he didn’t. Because Roman knew and remembered that Logan didn’t like a whole lot of physical contact. He might not appreciate a sudden, impromptu hug from him. So Roman forced himself to stay his ground, bounce a little on his toes and squeal a bit in the back of his throat. He couldn’t stop smiling.

And it seemed, neither could Logan.

This was so, so much. First Virgil yesterday, now Logan (for real) today. It was all so, so, so so perfect. And Roman had no idea where to go from here.

After a second where the air started to turn clammy with an air of awkwardness, Logan cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing an embarrassed pink. His eyes dropped to the floor and he fidgeted in place nervously.

“So… tea?” Logan offered, peaking back up at Roman.

It was just too fucking cute.

Roman’s smile brightened (if that was at all possible) and he nodded. Suddenly his princely charm and calm, collected demeanor was back. Blushing and cute. Roman knew exactly what to do with bushing and cute.

“Sure, cutie,” he agreed with a fake teasing wink. He closed the distance between them in a few steps, invading Logan’s personal space just a little bit so he could add in a whisper, “I know a little place that’s open twenty four seven. The tea’s not five-star, but I hear the company is pretty outstanding.”

Roman wiggled his eyebrows a little bit for good measure.

Logan almost snorted, rolling his eyes and giving his soulmate a fond look.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged, something mischievous glinting in his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to decide that for myself, Prince Charming.”

Logan? Flirting?

That was something Roman never thought he’d see in a million years. But he supposed there was a first time for everything. Perhaps Virgil and Patton coached him or gave him lessons in their spare time in the past few weeks.

Not that Roman was sure either of them could flirt either.

Either way, Roman was not going to pass this opportunity up.

“So where is this hole in the wall?” Logan teased as Roman finally stepped out into the hallway and closed the dressing room behind him.

“Oh, not far. But be prepared,” he warned, “you might leave covered in glitter.”

Logan’s clearly carefully crafted outer persona faltered a little. “Why?”

Roman shrugged, relaxing back from his flirting. “Because I like it, and it gets on literally everything. It’s the herpes of the craft world, they say.”

Logan shook his head, adjusting his glasses. His casual, neutral expression returned, a look Roman was far more accustomed to.

“Just as long as it’s not in my tea,” he commented.

Roman smiled softly as they exited the building together.

A hand brushed against his cautiously. His brushed it in return.

Carefully, Logan slid his hand into Roman’s.

“I promise,” Roman said quietly, almost too softly. “No glitter in the tea.”

A squeeze to his fingers.

“Thanks.”

[illusiione]

“Ugh…I drank so much.”

morning after starters || accepting

      Drinking has never been one of Quentin’s preferred pastimes. Alcohol carries negative associations – and he’s never been one to enjoy ceding control, anyway. There were nights out in college that got rowdy, the occasional drink or two after work with coworkers who insisted that he needed to loosen up. But the desire to fit in in that way was largely shed with his youth.

      But Tony has a funny way of making Quentin toe the boundaries of his comfort zone.

      He can’t say that he recalls the reason for the prior evening’s celebration – not that he’d really known the cause going into the event. There are always milestones worth celebrating at Stark Industries. Breakthroughs, promotions, launches of some high-tech gadget or another. Tony was there, and so was Quentin, and after a glass of celebratory champagne the latter found himself gravitating towards the former. Such was the billionaire’s charm. When he smiled and schmoozed the effect was like that of the sun – you couldn’t help but find yourself being drawn to him. And that singular flute of champagne lead to another in Tony’s company, and the evening unwound from there, unraveling like Quentin’s tightly-wound composure.

      It’s easy to blame the alcohol, even though being drunk doesn’t change you so much as it strips away inhibitions and exposes what’s already there.

      How they wound up tumbling into bed together is another of the prior night’s mysteries. Quentin can remember snippets. Wandering hands in an elevator, suitjackets being shucked. Everything else is a (blessed) blur. Just the dawning realization that he’s laying undressed next to his boss is enough to make Quentin want to die of pure mortification. There’s a definite headache already throbbing behind his eyes and his mouth feels like cotton, but the scientist is quick to stumble out of bed and begin the task of locating his clothes. He’s halfway through redressing when Tony stirs – only to complain about how much he’d drank the night before. 

      Quentin freezes like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. There really isn’t a way out of this. Tony might not recall, at this precise moment, who he took to bed last night. Quentin could run before the other man has a chance to roll over. But he probably won’t make it far – and besides, it’s likely that Tony has cameras all over the place (a thought that makes Quentin flush pink to the tips of his ears). Anonymity won’t be maintained for long.

      “I, ah–” he clears his throat, tries to formulate a response in his already addled brain. “Me. Me too. I don’t normally…” Drink. Fuck my superiors – especially not when they’re men. “I can– I’m going. Leaving. Sorry.”

/ @aestarc

[burningrosepassion]

Betrothed

Chapter 3

Silvaria had spent the rest of her evening, after leaving the Great Hall, in her room. Loki had shrouded himself in an invisibility illusion and followed her. Once in her room, he shrugged off the illusion and sat with her, asking her about her likes and dislikes, her hobbies, her family and friends. She shared willingly and without reservation, truly enjoying his company. And Loki found himself enjoying hers.

When her mother came to help her get ready for bed, Loki resumed his invisibility illusion. He had told Silvaria he would leave the room while she got ready for bed. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, while her mother helped her undress, bathe and redress in sleep clothes, he simply turned his back, looking out the windows. When Silvaria and Madinah walked out of the bathroom, Loki turned to peek at his betrothed. And was in awe at her innocent beauty. She was wearing a thin, satin nightgown in a deep midnight blue color. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid that swayed behind her as she padded, barefoot, over to her chair. Madinah followed with a serving tray of tea and fruit.

“It’s been a big day for you, honey. How are you feeling about everything?” the Queen asked, sipping her tea and watching her daughter.

“I don’t really know. Not only have I met the Royal Family of Asgard, which I never thought would happen, but now I am to marry Prince Loki! It’s like a dream.” Silvaria was positively beaming like a girl whose crush had just asked permission to court her. “He’s so nice, momma! And I like his eyes, and his smile, the genuine one, not the smirk he gets when he’s planning something. And his hair is so dark, like midnight. He is a real Prince, and I get to marry him!” Silvaria covered her mouth to stifle a fit of giggles. Her mother looked at her with a mixture of excitement and pride. It had been far too long since she’d seen her daughter giddy. But suddenly, Silvaria’s mood changed. “But what if he doesn’t like me? I’m not pretty. I’m not a real Princess. I’ll make such a fool of myself. Oh no, momma, he doesn’t deserve that!”

“Nonsense,” Madinah scoffed. And Loki silently agreed. “You are a Princess by right, just as I am a Queen by right. You’ll learn everything you’ll need to know, and I’m sure Queen Frigga will quite enjoy having a young woman to teach. Consider, she’s been surrounded by men all this time. She’ll need a beautiful young woman around. And who says you’re not pretty? That’s utterly preposterous.”

“I’m a freak, momma. My hair is silver, and grows and grows because it can’t be cut. And it glows when I say the words! And my eyes are the wrong color and they turn red when I say those same words. My skin...” she touches her skin on her bare arms, calling attention to the faint blue tint highlighted by the firelight. “And look what happens when I get frightened or upset too much...” with that, Silvaria set her tea cup on the tray. Madinah already knew what she would find when looking upon the cup. But Loki quietly made his way over and stared down at the cup from his place behind Silvaria. The once hot, steaming tea had turned to ice and the cup itself was frosted over. “I’m a freak, momma,” she reiterated.  

“You are special, my sweet, wonderful baby girl!” Madinah had swept from her chair to pull her daughter into a tight, comforting hug. “You have these traits and these gifts for a reason. I believe The Norns sent your father to find that apothecary, that they wanted me to take the Jotun flower potion to cure me so that you would have these powers to use them for a purpose. Perhaps, your marriage to Prince Loki, living in Asgard with all those warriors and protectors, is where you will find your purpose.”

Loki stood behind Silvaria, doing his best not to reach out to comfort his Princess. He felt conflicted about the information he’d just unwittingly been given. The other worldly beauty she possessed was some kind of side effect she’d received from a potion her mother had taken. And apparently she had seidr, but clearly she wasn’t trained in how to control it. She was frightened of it. Perhaps, rightly so. Jotuns were considered monsters and despised throughout all the realms. Jotunheim was a desolate, chaotic wasteland of snow and ice. The idea of anything beautiful, or even slightly beneficial as the flower, being found there was nearly unthinkable. Loki looked down at the delicate girl he had agreed to marry. For some reason, stemming from a surge of protectiveness he didn’t know he could feel towards another being, he wasn’t bothered by this revelation. In fact, as he watched and listened to her conversation with her mother, he felt himself grow more fond of her. Once again, the thought of hiding her away where no one might harm her sprung to mind. Followed shortly by another thought, How would mother and father react if they knew? All things Jotun were feared and hated on Asgard. Would that be her fate as well? Would Odin insist the marriage be called off? Would he start a fight with Alfheim because King Nadheir didn’t disclose this information before the betrothal? But, no one seemed bothered by her appearance, and as of yet, her seidr hasn’t manifested in front of anyone. Maybe King Nadheir did not know any of this. Maybe it was just Madinah and Silvaria who knew. And now Loki. If he spoke with Silvaria, helped her learn to control her seidr and help her keep her secret, Odin would never know and everything would continue as planned.

“Alright, honey,” Madinah said, suppressing a yawn. “I need to get to bed. And so do you. Come on.” She rose from the chair, hand out towards her daughter. Silvaria took it gladly and let her mother pull her to the giant four poster bed near the back of the room. Madinah had to suppress her laugh as she watched her small daughter pull a step stool from under the bed so she could get on top of the mattress. When Silvaria was up, and tucked cozily under the covers, Madinah gently kissed her on the forehead and wished her goodnight.

Loki waited a few moments after the Queen left before he shrugged off his invisibility spell and approached Silvaria’s bed.

“Hello, Sweet One.” His voice was low and tender, hoping not to startle the girl.

“You’re back!” Silvaria smiled. She scrambled to the end of her bed where Loki stood watching her.

“I must admit, Sweet Girl, this bed is absolutely comically oversized for you.”

“I know. But apparently it’s the same size as Lena’s and Kharin’s. This is what they called a ‘regular’ bed. I’m just, smaller than the others, so it looks bigger than it is. You should see momma and Nadheir’s bed, it’s gigantic. And there are so many pillows! I mean, I have a lot of pillows, but they have dozens. Momma said she and Nadheir have to take them off the bed every night. And someone puts them back on the bed everyday. Oh, that would be a fun job! A few months ago, I snuck into their room and stole a few of their pillows so I could make a blanket fort. Momma and Nadheir were gone for a few days, they don’t know I was in their room without permission. Oh! Please, don’t tell them.” Loki watched with rapt attention as Silvaria rambled on about her bed, her parents bed and the mountain of pillows. When she realized she’d told him her secret, she started twisting her hair.

Loki gently cupped her cheek and smiled at her. “Your secret is safe with me, Sweet Girl.” Silvaria returned his smile and brushed her hair behind her ear. “Now, may I ask you something?” He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, moving his hand from her cheek to her hand on her lap.

“Of course,” Silvaria answered, but she sounded a bit nervous.

“Now, I want you to know that nothing I heard and nothing you can say will change my opinion of you,” Loki started. “I didn’t leave, when I said I would. I’d apologize, but I was curious and wanted to know more about you, so I’m not really sorry.” He gave Silvaria his signature mischievous smirk before continuing. “I listened in on your conversation with your mother.”

Silvaria almost jumped off the bed, mouth open about to apologize for withholding information when Loki grabbed her shoulders and shushing her.

“It’s alright, Sweet Girl,” he purred tenderly. “I promise, nothing that was said was upsetting, except your low self-esteem. We will discuss that later. For now, I want you to know I still want to marry you.”

Silvaria nodded, still looking upset but she nodded mutely. Loki noticed she had started trembling under his hands. “Calm down, Sweet Girl. Everything is fine, I promise you. I understand why you may feel the need to fear your Seidr, and why you hide it. The Jotun’s are not well liked among the other realms, Asgard in particular. And their Seidr is feared more than any other. But, I am of the same mindset as your mother. You are such a sweet, intelligent, wonderful girl and I believe, if you were to train in using these gifts of yours, you could be a masterful and resourceful Sorceress.” Loki waited and watched the girl in front of him as his words sunk in. He wasn’t afraid of her. He wasn’t repulsed by her. It was refreshing, for her. A slow smile curled her pink lips as she looked up at him.

“You don’t think I’m weird, a freak?” she asked, hope shining in her lovely lavender eyes.

“Never. You are unique, and beautiful and wonderful. You are my Sweet Girl, and I would have you no other way.” And then he did something that startled both of them at the impulsiveness of the action. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. When he straightened and realized what he’d done, the boundary he’d crossed, he cleared his throat and looked away, but never apologized. That just wasn’t him.

“I don’t know how to train using my Seidr. No one else has any, and I’m too afraid to seek someone out,” Silvaria whispered after the shock of Loki’s words and actions subsided.

“What if I were to tell you I am a very well practiced Master of Seidr and willing to help you learn to harness and use your abilities?”

Silvaria lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Loki, a normal, impulsive reaction for an excited young lady. But feeling Loki freeze under her embrace, she immediately let go and scrambled to put distance between them. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, eyes looking down and cheeks turning bright pink in embarrassment.

It took Loki a moment to collect himself. He wasn’t used to physical forms of affection, receiving or giving. But with Silvaria, with his Sweet Girl, it felt so natural, he wasn’t always aware of the act until he was in the middle of it. Her clinging embrace just moments ago caused his heart to race and his breath to catch, capturing her scent at the back of his throat. She smelled of spicy cinnamon, cool, biting frost and just a hint of herbal tea. When he opened his eyes and saw how she recoiled from him in embarrassment, the need to soothe her worry was all-consuming. He pulled her against his body and held her close and tight. “You are welcome to hug me, hold my hand or do anything else that feels safe any time you want or need. As long as I can do the same.”

Silvaria giggled and nuzzled into Loki’s chest. She nodded. “Will you truly teach me Seidr?” she asked against him.

“Of course, Sweet Girl. I will always help you,” he replied, petting her hair and kissing the top of her head. The affection just felt too natural to ignore. And it made him feel strong, in control and whole. But too soon he had to release her, feeling her try to stifle a yawn. “Now, it’s time to sleep, Sweet Girl. I will stay with you until the morning, but I will leave before your maid comes. I will see you at breakfast, alright?” He helped her slide under the sheets and tucked her in. He watched as she produced a large, floppy, slightly ragged looking black wolf stuffie from under her mountain of pillows. “What is that, Sweet Girl?”

“This is Knight, my wolf. My daddy gave him to me. My daddy was a trader, and used to travel all over the realm. Once, he had to go away just before my birthday and said he’d missed my party. But he didn’t! He came back the day of my party and gave me this wolf. Told me it would protect me always!” Loki watched as Silvaria clung to the silly little thing, reminding him that she was, after all, just a girl.

“I can see you have loved it very much. Now, it’s time for sleep. Sweet dreams, my Sweet Girl.” Loki leaned over the yawning girl to press his lips against her cheek before standing and walking away.

“Wait, where are you going?” she called. She thought the plan was for him to stay with her through the night.

“Don’t fret, Princess, I am not leaving you,” Loki assured her. “I am going to set up my own little bed by the window here. Go to sleep, now.”

Silvaria watched as Loki created a simple, but elegant looking bed with deep green sheets and blankets. His seidr shimmered in the air as Loki used it. And it was a beautiful sight to behold. Mesmerizing. She didn’t realized she’d been staring until Loki turned back to her with a wicked, mischievous grin on his handsome face. “I at least had the decency to not watch you dress for bed, the least you could do is offer me the same courtesy.”

He chuckled as Silvaria pulled the covers over her head and somehow, he just knew she was pressing her eyes shut as tight as she could. After he had magicked out of his armor and into his sleep clothes, he slid under the sheets and laid against the pillow. “Good night, my Sweet Princess.”

“Good night, my Prince.”  

[strangestdrabbles]

A Lovely Drunk

A/N: I absolutely adored writing this. it was so cute. 

Pairing: Jonathan x Fem!Reader

New York at night was beautiful.

Y/N leaned away from the mirror after the final swipe of red lipstick to see Jonathan shrugging on a denim jacket. The couple were going out with a few friends that night, enjoying an evening away from the responsibilities of university. Jonathan crouched down behind Y/N then, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek softly.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

Y/N made eye contact with Jonathan through the mirror, a smile just a little too large appearing on her face.

“Hell yes. Do you know how much I’ve needed this?”

Jonathan did understand. University had been demanding and taxing for the both of them with classes, exams, assignments, group projects, portfolios and trying to maintain a healthy social life. The couple had made a good size group of friends through their various classes which meant that they both were able to have a more of an enjoyable time, a constant invite to places which included that night.

“Are you almost ready to go?”

Jonathan’s question hung in the air as Y/N got up and slipped on her shoes before shrugging on a denim jacket of her own. She checked her make up one last time in the mirror, nodding when she was happy and then turned to Jonathan.

“Ready?’

Y/N smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s get going.”

++

The pub was a few blocks away from the college, a place that was frequented often by the students when they had a free moment from the pressures of school. Y/N and Jonathan walked in, his arm around her shoulders to make sure she was close to him for the time being. Their friends motioned them over, holding out two beers and smiling when the couple took them quickly.

“Ready for a good night?”

Jonathan and Y/N looked at each other before looking at the group, smiling wide and clinking their beer bottles together before nodding.

“Hell yes.”

The group talked loudly amongst themselves while Jonathan and Y/N drank, Jonathan kissing the crown of Y/N’s head softly causing her to blush. She knew she was going to get drunk, hopefully really drunk to try and relax while finishing the first beer rather quickly. She went to the bar after whispering her plan to Jonathan, smiling at the bartending before ordering two beers and walking back over to Jonathan. The conversation that was going on was about photography, Y/N feeling a homely fond feeling fill her chest as she watched Jonathan’s eyes light up while talking about his true passion.

When Jonathan took a break from the conversation Y/N had finished the beers she bought and was sipping on the second Pina Colada that she purchased. She didn’t bother keeping track of what she was drinking, enjoying the buzz that the alcohol was giving her. Through the company and the drinks, as well as being with her love, Y/N felt completely content and happy.

++

Y/N was drunk, so very drunk, but that didn’t stop her from having a good time. Jonathan watched her with a fond smile on his face while sipping on his beer. It had been an amazing night and as the sound of AC/DC was heard through the speakers, Jonathan decided to call it a night and take both Y/N and himself home. He walked over to her, a fond smile on his lips when she turned to face him and looked up at him innocently drunk.

“How about we go home love?”

It took a little to process but then Y/N answered.

“Y-Yeah sure love. L-Let’s go h-home.”

Y/N grabbed onto his hand that was outstretched, intertwining her fingers with his while they walked out of the pub after saying goodbye to their friends. It was a quick walk back to their apartment, Y/N giggling and enjoying the alcoholic haze that she was in. Jonathan made sure that she was safe while they walked into the apartment building, Y/N tripping over her feet before righting herself and being surprised at the feeling of almost falling.

“Come on. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Y/N nodded, her movements exaggerated which made Jonathan laugh before steering them both into their bedroom and then undressing and redressing Y/N into her pyjamas. She smiled at Jonathan, pecking his jaw a few times in her drunk haze before leaning out and giggling.

“I-I love you b-babe.”

Y/N’s voice was soft and airy as she spoke, her mind hazy and full of thoughts of sleep as Jonathan sat her down on the bed.

“Come on darling. You need to take your makeup off before you even think about going to bed.”

Jonathan grabbed the makeup wipes, moisturiser, cleanser and cream that Y/N usually used for her night routine, double checking before walking back and smiling softly when he saw Y/N rubbing her eyes.

“Come on darling. It’s time for you to take your makeup off.”

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, attempting to stand before falling back on the bed, giggling and rolling around.

“I-I don’t wa-want to.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and smiled, sitting Y/N up before sitting on the bed across from her and putting her hair back with a soft hair band. He took the makeup wipes first, smiling when Y/N kisses his cheeks and lips and nuzzling her nose against his. The makeup wipe felt cool against her face and caused her to sigh before leaning in and cuddling Jonathan close. It didn’t take long for him to clean her face bare of makeup, his touch soft and soothing while Y/N nuzzled against him and left kisses on his skin. Next came the moisturiser, Jonathan rubbing in the cream before kissing the spots and smiling when Y/N giggled. The cleanser and cream was massaged into her skin softly before Jonathan got up and put the skincare away while Y/N took the headband off and laid down.

Jonathan quickly got dressed and walked back to the bed, helping Y/N under the covers before getting under himself and pulling her close so he could kiss her nose and lips. Her eyes were closed but she was completely blissful, the alcohol haze ebbing away but the buzz was still there due to the love she felt for Jonathan.

“I love you darling.”

Y/N blushed hearing that, even though it was far from the first time.

“I love you too, so much.”

[heaven-asunder]

[* or nsfw would be 👍, whatever you think! Thank you!] Micah/Gaius - One of the villagers performs an experiment using the blacksmith's forge, resulting in it being temporarily unusable. Micah offers his for Gaius to use and eventually he gets used to Gaius being in his home, even if it's only for a few hours out of the day. Gaius can tell pretty easily that Micah likes his company so he drags the repair process out, taking the opportunity to be a bit lazy and explore their relationship.

hello yes i love this. this will be chapter 1/3 (probably unless i get particularly long-winded) pls keep an eye out for the next few chapters (i’ll be cross-posting this to my ao3 if u want to bookmark or whtvr)

Rune Factory Fanfiction

Gaius/Micah: Pre-Relationship

SFW (rating will change in later chapters)

Gaius was always worried when he came back from a walk to Raven telling him, “don’t be mad.” The fact that he wasn’t regularly mad made it all the worse. It had to be bad if Raven was warning him ahead of time. So as he entered the smithy, his stomach dropped as Raven greeted him in that manner, not quite making eye contact.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice already pitching just a bit too high. 

“Marian...got a little over zealous with one of her potions. Figured heating it at the forge was the only way to get it hot enough...” Raven’s voice trailed off as Gaius’ focus blurred. Marian’s potion. His forge. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the damage, but his anxiety wouldn’t let him not. Swallowing hard, he nodded to Raven, and walked into the other room. 

To call it a disaster was an understatement. The entire surface of it was covered in a thick blue goo. Parts of the forge were entirely missing, as though a very large monster came and took a very large bite out of it. Gaius’ hands fluttered across it, wanting to fix but not knowing where to start. Raven came up beside him.

“Don’t panic,” she said, in the most reassuring way Raven possibly could.

“Who’s panicking? I’m not panicking,” Gaius said, three octaves higher than normal. “I--I think I might need to sit down.” Raven brought him a chair just as he collapsed. He leaned forward in his seat, breathing too fast. Fanning him, Raven tried her best to sound steady and comforting.

“Breathe...easy,” she muttered to him. It sounded more like an order than a comfort, but Gaius did his best to steady his breathing. Too caught up in this, he didn’t hear as someone entered behind him.

“Good afternoon!” came a too familiar voice. Micah poked his head in the forge room. “Hey, what’s going on--oh Gaius.” Gaius turned to him, miserable.

“Marian broke my forge,” he said, his voice just on this side of whining. He knew he should be more mature, but Marian broke his forge damn it, he was allowed to whine. 

“Why--I mean--how did this happen?” Micah stammered, wandering farther into the room and surveying the damage.

“She tried to brew a potion in here. It blew up,” Raven explained, and Gaius focused on his breathing again.

“And these holes?” 

“She tried to disappear it away. It...disappeared the forge instead.” 

Gaius bit back a whimper. His poor, poor forge. 

“How long is it going to take you to fix this?” Micah asked, turning to Gaius. Gaius simply threw his hands in the air, a pathetic motion, mostly meaning “who knows? Not me.”

Micah turned to Raven, and Gaius closed his eyes as they talked. 

“How are you guys going to fill your orders?” he asked. Gaius could almost hear the gears in Raven’s head turning.

“We’ll have to direct our customers to other means. Unless, of course, we can find another available forge,” she said. Gaius opened his good eye, watching them both from the side.

“I have a working forge Gaius can use until you guys can set this to right.” Micah offered. Gaius sat up, startling both of them.

“For real?” he asked, hopeful. If that had been Raven’s plan, he was fine with it.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Micah responded with a smile. “Anything to help out.” Gaius all but jumped out of his chair, catching Micah in a bear hug. 

“I owe you one, big time,” he said, letting go and patting the other man on the arm. 

“No--no need. I’m happy to help,” Micah stuttered out, looking a bit pink in the cheeks. Gaius barely considered this as he turned to Raven.

“Help me get my supplies to Micah’s? I need to make something to blow off some steam.”

Days passed slowly. Although Gaius couldn’t be more grateful to Micah for allowing him access to his forge, repairing his own was taking an excruciating amount of time.It had taken he and Raven two days to begin with to wash off all the leftover potion and then, between his orders, he made missing parts for his forge, trudging down the Sharence tree with the parts, and Micah, in tow. Still, he couldn’t complain. Micah’s forge served him fine, though he couldn’t work into the night like he usually did, retiring around sunset so Micah could sleep.

Micah seemed to enjoy his presence at the least. When he came by, the other man usually dropped what he was doing to join him at the forge, watching Gaius work. Gaius, for his part, had never had an audience before, but he could talk for ages about smithing, and Micah didn’t seem to mind. He watched with a reverence Gaius had never seen before. It was strange, he had never known Micah to be so interested in it before.

Today, though, Micah had work in his fields, and Gaius worked in silence. The order was nothing special, and nothing particularly hard, but Gaius put all his focus into it. Hours passed, and his muscles ached, but he went on until Micah came up from his fields, covered in dirt and sweat and looking as tired as Gaius felt. Gaius lowered his hammer, realizing now he was breathing hard. 

“I need a bath,” Micah said and Gaius let out a breathless laugh. 

“I think I’ll join you on that one,” he replied, laying his hammer to the side. He stretched, his muscles feeling too light without the weight of it. “Been a busy day for us both.”

Micah averted his eyes but nodded. Together they made their way to the inn, looking a mess next to each other. Gaius was glad for the spare set of clothes he’d brought. He didn’t want to have to redress in his dirty clothes after washing off. 

They paid Pia at the counter and went straight to the men’s bath. Once the door shut, Gaius shucked away his clothes without a second thought, rinsing off the bulk of the dust and sweat outside of the bath before making his way into the the bath itself. He sighed as he immersed himself in the water, the heat working its way into his sore muscles. Only after he was situated did he realize that Micah had yet to even disrobe. He raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna wash up?” he asked, and Micah startled, looking down at him. He nodded once, and undressed, turning red. Figuring he must be self-conscience, Gaius only did the polite thing by closing his eyes. He felt the water move as Micah joined him, and he opened his eye surreptitiously to watch him. 

Micah was staring, and as their eyes met, he looked away, flustered. That’s when it all fell into place for Gaius. The interest in his smithing, the random blushes, the sudden modesty. Micah had a crush on him. Gaius nearly laughed out loud at his own blindness, but held himself in check.

Micah had a crush on him. 

Gaius chewed on that a moment. It wasn’t a bad idea, him and Micah. He realized he had a fondness for the other man, but his one-track mind had never wandered to the possibility of them being together. Now that he thought if it, he wouldn’t mind it at all. Micah was good looking in a soft, slim kind of way, and infinitely kind, with a quick wit and a contagious laugh. The thought of being with him made him warm, though it may have just been the heat of the bath getting to him. How to go about any of it, though, was lost on him. For all his talent at the forge, he was garbage at dealing with the subtle art of emotions. 

He rose from the bath, scrubbing himself down with soap, trying to think it all through. His forge would be finished in a couple days, and he’d have to come up with a way to keep Micah near enough while they worked it all out. He stopped cold, a basin of water just poised to rinse himself off.

Or did he?

If he drew out his repairs just long enough, maybe he could find a way to express himself. Or maybe even give Micah enough time to sort out his own feelings. Either way, it seemed like his forge was going to have to wait. He poured the basin onto his head. 

This was going to be an interesting next couple of days.

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Crush - Chapter 4. The Break

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: I’m SO enjoying editing this, it’s fantastic. It feels like a relationship backwards and something completely different. Love it. Thanks for reading and reblogging and wanting to be tagged!

Tags:  @iammarylastar @badassbaker @pathybo @mimigemrose@frecklefaceb @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @lauraaan182 @kenzieam @tigpooh67

Eric lets her pull him inside, his hand loose in hers, but Abbey keeps her grip tight.

Eric peers around him for the briefest of moments, taking in his surroundings out of habit. It's clean and tidy, mainly dark stained wood, and a lot smaller than it looks from the outside. The kitchen and living space is crammed together but that's all he can make out from the lack of light.

Abbey leads him through a small doorway to a square hallway, only there to connect the bathroom and bedroom and only big enough for two people to stand in at the same time. Eric has to keep himself from sneering at the stupid Amity design and lack of imagination.

Gleefully, he latches back onto Abbey in front of him, her robe floating behind her. It seemed his luck was in. She's offered him her company for the night - he had no plans to abuse it however, if anything he was enjoying spending time with her.

Abbey turns back and smiles at him. "It's probably far from Dauntless, isn't it?" She let's go of his hand, leaving him in the doorway and crosses the room to sit on her bed.

"You're not wrong."

Eric mulls over her room, a typical woman's room, apart from the fact it was dressed typically Abbey. A dark, wooden framed bed with white sheets and far too many pillows that one person would ever possibly need, sat positioned out into the room from the farthest wall. There were floating net curtains by the only window with a dreamcatcher to one side, a dresser with a mirror on top with personal vanity lotions and other things he didn't particularly care for sitting opposite the end of the bed. What grabs him the most are the roughly stuck pictures around her mirror, and he casually strolls over to them.

A picture of her parents, Abbey with some straw hat on her head holding up the biggest, sickeningly sweet bunch of flowers she could possibly have found. More pictures of flowers… He eventually lands on one of interest and he recognizes the picture well. Eric flicks it, admiring the young girl and baby-faced boy. "Seriously, you have got to get over me…"

"Ha-ha, very funny." He peers over his shoulder, smirking at her before turning back and unsticking it from the edge of the mirror. Abbey crumples her face up, detesting the way he was destroying her room and untouched organization – and also for the fact that he really didn't care either. "I like the picture. We came second in our presentation. It was a proud moment for us and my parents."

Eric huffs, rolling his eyes, his thoughts roaming onto all the ways he was always placed second. Second to Four, second to Abbey's fiancée, second in biology… He tags it back messily and turns to face her. She looks tired, so he's not going to keep her any longer. "So, who's taking the floor?"

Abbey shrugs. "No one. Kind of thought we'd share? We're both adults and it's not like we haven't before." She plays with the bed sheets, suddenly peering up at him. "Don't tell me, Dauntless has led you to be too used to sleeping alone?"

Eric steps in front of her and continues to watch him from her seated position. "From time to time I'm not always alone…"

"Good, so it shan't be any bother, then." She stands, her head reaching to just below his neck. She was getting all moody with him and his eyes dance playfully over her. "Stop looking at me like that!" He pouts. "Or that!" She laughs and eventually, she falls quiet, gazing up at him.

Was she expecting something? … Now, this was awkward.

"You going to sleep in your full Dauntless uniform, or?" Abbey doesn't wait and lets the light robe fall off her shoulders. She nimbly chucks it to one side, still standing before him – he notes the way that just under the silky material of her mint-green vest and matching shorts, that she is definitely not wearing a bra, so that meant - no underwear either.

One of her hands reaches out to him and he sighs, flicking his eyes back and forth between her face and how her hands work against his jacket, loosening the poppers, then yanking on the zip underneath. "I can undress myself." He lets the words rumble from his throat rather than spitting them nastily. He didn't really want her to stop.

Keeping his eyes down on her. She doesn't look up and ignores him, motioning for him to take it off, watching him furtively, the air so thick it could burst. Abbey's small hands find the bottom of his vest and she pulls it up a fraction revealing the pale flesh underneath, then meets his eye.

A silent exchange happens. Eric couldn't really place what it was, and his heart felt suddenly like a ton of lead.

He takes off his vest fluidly and throws it to one side, presenting her with finely defined muscles that held themselves taut from years of work. Abbey finds it hard not to look down to the V of his waist, counting the ab's he had kept hidden from her till now. "Roids are really bad for you, you know…" Eric covers an airy chuckle, and she breaks away to the light, flicking it off, leaving just an orangey glow from the lamp beside the bed.

Abbey flips back the sheets and slides herself in, waiting for Eric to finish undressing. Their escapades had gotten way too personal and deep, leaving her a little strangely breathless. Eric pretends that he can't hear it and makes his way over, hesitating for a fraction of a second before getting in himself while Abbey turns off the lamp.

He feels too highly strung that he may not sleep, a tension in his shoulders and a small tingling down his arms… Until Abbey does what she does best – talks. "So, there is no one waiting for you at home?"

"Never has been." Eric shuffles till he's comfortable on his back, looking up at the ceiling. But he's fully aware that she's facing him.

"So, you just find someone who's favorable that night and take them back to yours?"

Yeah, it was pretty much like that – "They're gone after an hour, it's nothing special." And it only made him feel shitty afterward… until the next manly urge took a hold of him. "Wouldn't be jealous now, would you, Abbey?"

She snorts into her pillow laughing, any other person he'd probably shove off the bed and tell them how vile they are, but with her, it's attractive. "You are so smooth. Where do you get this shit?" – she was mocking his simplistic flirting methods, which was just drawing a word out longer than usual…

"Years of practice." He turns his head fractionally towards her. "You should get some sleep."

The blackened room makes their silhouettes just visible, and Eric can see Abbey's bright eyes shining up at him more than anything else. She shifts till she's touching him, then grabs his arm, throwing it up and placing herself at his side, lying her head on his chest and arm wrapped around her.

Her warmth seeps over him and for a minute he's ridged but gives in when he can feel her breathing against his chest.

Eric would never let any old woman sleep near him. He'd be toe punting them out the door the minute he got his fix. But the fleeting thought occurs that perhaps after all this time, that this was why. He just hadn't gotten over Abbey, and by the looks of her, she hadn't either.

"I've missed you," she tells him. "…I had no idea." Her aching voice vibrates against his chest. "Everything's messed up."

Eric pulls her closer, running a hand over her back in comfort, still managing to feel her spine even through the material. It may have been a selfish act before, maybe even whimsical to get Abbey back, but it was so much deeper than he had realized. The journey was harsher, the reality raw.

Eric opens his mouth to say something and she digs her fingers into his body. "It's okay, I know you don't like that kind of stuff." She sniffs and now he's unsure as to whether she's crying or not. The ape-like instinct to grip her head back and search for evidence surely wouldn't go down well.

"Just hold me… like this… just for a while," she pleads.

God, why did he have to be such a cottoned dick? But the simple fact was he actually couldn't openly trust his emotions being aired. He could air hers, memories - but his feelings, no. He was spineless. Emotions and feelings had represented weakness to him for far too long that he mentally ignored them, he'd never realized how powerful they could be.

When Abbey's breathing becomes softer, slower, he allows his own itching eyes to close. Tomorrow he will do Abbey a favor. One that would stop her pain.

He was going to find her fiancée, and make him break up with her…

Eric wakes on his side, Abbey's back pushed up against his chest and his arms thrown over her. It's warm and clammy and he has a hard time coming to terms with leaving. But he has multiple jobs to do and he has no idea what the time is now. All he can make out is the bright light shining in through the window and he knows he's already late.

Eric pushes himself away, rolling onto his back and slipping himself carefully out of the bed. He studies her precariously when he redresses, trying not to wake her. Hopefully, he'll find her pain in the ass inconvenience quickly and get the job done before she's any wiser. Then there is the problem with the factionless that needs his attention.

His phone call yesterday was to Max. He'd asked for more men as he had no doubt that in the next few days there would be disruption with the factionless. But with the extra support, he knew they could intervene before anything made its way to Amity.

Eric's first mistake is throwing her front door open and stepping outside without checking who is around. In fact, he didn't really care. They hadn't done anything worthy of gossiping, but still, the other faces that appear wide-eyed in passing make him realize he better do this quick before word gets around. There was still one small problem though, he still didn't even know who he was looking for and he had a strange sense that perhaps he was - for some reason, in hiding. Did he possibly know about their connection? Eric guessed he must, their picture was stuck by the mirror after all.

The best place for him to go and find out was none other than her little friends at the flower shop who would be so willing to give him everything he needs if he so asked. A small wry smile forms on his face as he sets off… today will be interesting, he can feel it in his bones.

Eric went back and showered so quickly he was sure he left soap still in on his skin. But he felt better, tired, but there was excitement lingering in his veins. The same feeling he gets when he knows he's about to do something really bad.

Was it normal to feel that way – in the sense that he enjoyed tension, eerie vibes? He actually didn't give a fuck... Eric strived to get what he wanted and would flatten anyone who got in his way.

Every muscle in his face tenses when the door chimes as he enters. The stench of pollen thick in the air, damp, sweet and sickly. It takes everything not to hold fingers to his nose to block the smell. He scans the room briefly, a bored expression sitting on his face as he puts his hands casually behind his back. It annoys him that no one comes out to check who has entered straight away – until he sees his dear friend Sandra pop her head up from out back. She looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights, eyes wide and jittering with unsure looks as if she may be about to be arrested or even attacked.

"Hello, Sandra."

"Abbey's not here."

Eric smiles. No, that's right, she's probably still asleep in the sheets that now smell like him. "I'm actually not looking for Abbey. I was wondering if perhaps you may be able to help me with a little something?"

Sandra looks confused as if she can't possibly fathom what he was talking about and what exactly she could help him with. "Yes, of course…"

"I need to pass a message to Abbey's fiancée, but I've seemingly forgotten his name…"

Sandra's face flushes just a little. "He's one of Mark's men."

Shit… He must've been standing with Johanna when he arrived on the first day and he didn't even realize. That must mean he definitely knows who he is and he has for sure been trying to avoid him. "I need a name, Sandra," Eric snaps, growing impatient.

"Matt, Matt Wallace."

That was all he needed, he could find everything else on his electronic pad. "Thanks," he says abruptly, marching through the door and slamming it shut to the bell chiming behind him.

Finding Matt's details were easy enough. Finding the right words to use, however, was a whole other subject. He had no idea what he was going to say. He was just going to think of something on the spot as per usual.

Eric knew where to find him, he was a bitch of a bitch so it wouldn't be hard. He'd be around Johanna somewhere.

When approaching Johanna's office, he begins to wish he'd left Abbey's shack much more secretly. He's only just made it inside the barn doors when voices shout and reverberate from above him. Stepping on the first step, Mark looks down at him, and for a split second, he swears he sees joy sweep his features.

"Talk of the devil…" Mark says to the yelling voices and there's a load of footsteps echoing above him.

A man pushes passed Mark, looking absolutely frantic, and he knows he's found the Matt he was looking for.

"Matt, I presume?" Eric says rather calmly, watching as Matt's face contorts in anger. Then to his excitement, the young lad barrels himself down the steps towards him, arms outstretched.

Eric allows him to grip his jacket. Maybe he deserved it. He wasn't sure how Amity fellow dealt with emotions like anguish. It was strange to see an Amity so angry, highly entertaining.

Grabbing his jacket would be the only thing he would allow him to do. He knocks Matt's feet out and slams him backward with one arm, pinning him to the ground against the hay and dirt. "Easy, boy."

"Why were you at Abbey's this morning!?" Matt hisses, trying to push against his locked arm to no avail.

"We're friends, Matt. Have been a long time…" Matt then tries to push him harder and Eric slams him into the floor again, knocking some of the tension out of him. "Easy. If it's a fight you're looking for, you won't win. I can assure you that."

"Let him go, Eric!" Johanna screeches from above. The commotion has bought some Dauntless from one of their watches, guns pointed to the blushing guy on the floor.

"Ease down," Eric commands to the guns, motioning with his free hand to lower them while still holding the front of Matt's jacket, keeping him pinned easily to the floor. Eric's gray eyes have glazed over slightly, a little darker than they were before and he peers down to the sweating, grimacing face of Abbey's fiancee. "I think it's about time me and you had a little chat…" Eric picks him up with the same amount of effort he used when he pinned him – nothing, and pats his jacket down from the hay. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, nothing has happened between me and Abbey." He makes sure to tell the room who are all cautiously listening. "We've known each other since Erudite, that's all."

"Everyone out. Eric, Matt, in my office. Sort this out now and then concentrate on the real situation at hand here!" Johanna raises her voice and everyone leaves, bar the Dauntless who Eric signals eventually.

Matt throws a hand to his forehead and rubs roughly till red marks paint on his skin. His dark hair is clinging to his head with sweat and he agitatedly paces once or twice before storming back over to the steps and up.

Eric follows him a little less hasty and Johanna gives him a long look when he gets to the top, pleading with him almost - what for, he wasn't sure.

"Sort this out between the two of you. After today I don't want to hear any more about it. We don't need this kind of negativity on the verge of attack," Johanna lets out loosely, so he guesses that everyone at Amity now knows the shitty situation she's been trying to hide from them.

"I'm all for that," Eric says, smiling, peering between the two, and Matt appears as if he just can't stand to be anywhere near him, opting to stand a good distance away from him.

Johanna leaves with one last look over her shoulder and the barn falls quiet. Eric inhales a large lungful of air. "Let's not beat this round the bush. She doesn't love you." Well – someone had to start somewhere.

Matt laughs, still pacing. "Right. She tell you that?"

"She doesn't have to. I know her extremely well."

"I know that. I didn't know to what extent. I was just letting you guys have your little reunion. But finding out you walked out of her place this morning, that crosses the line!"

"Nothing happened. I give you my word." Eric walks casually and takes a seat in Johanna's chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. "However, I want you to call the wedding off. She's not happy with you."

"Oh right, but she is with you. Does she even know you're here?"

"Not exactly. But I know for a fact she won't marry you. One doubt and Abbey is extremely stubborn. So…" He fixes a steady look on the stressed man in front of him. "I'm going to give you a free get-out-now with a reasonable excuse… Cut your losses and never think about her again."

"Shouldn't this really be Abbey's decision?" Matt crosses his arms, but he's reluctantly absorbing his words.

"She'd never tell you, she's too Amity, so I'm doing it for her. She won't call off the wedding as she doesn't want bad feelings. However, if you call it off, you get to be the asshole for the day, but then everyone gets what they want."

"Everyone gets what they want … and what you want is Abbey."

Eric stands, rounding the table and perching his ass on the edge. "I won't deny it, nor will I acknowledge it. Call off the wedding today. Find Abbey and tell her this morning, and I'll see to it you get a promotion," he shrugs. "You can work alongside the Dauntless watches if that's what you want." When Matt doesn't reply, he shifts to stand. "Look at this way, it's not really an option."

There's a long pause, the young man's heart breaking into tiny pieces in front of him. He almost felt guilty - almost. "Okay. Just - just don't hurt her."

Eric chirps up instantly, gleefully moving towards the stairs on his exit. "I wouldn't dream of it, buddy."

Matt watches as he disappears, sighing to himself extremely audibly. But secretly, deep down – he kind of knew this was going to happen… but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Eric's pristine in his uniform standing tall and particularly intimidating. He's crowded by other Dauntless as he instructs the watches and movements around Amity. "Every two hours, switch back. Take that path that runs alongside the fences, skim the woods. Nothing is to be left unturned. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." They chime between them, and he watches the one in front flick a look over to one side. "Incoming…"

Eric turns to the wrath that is an angry Abbey.

"Here she is!" He steps away from the Dauntless, but they begin to disperse around him anyway. She looks as though she's been crying, or just shouting as she's red in the face – he wasn't really good at this shit.

"You!" is all she says before throwing a right hook into his arm, propelling away from him in agony from crumpling her knuckles on his solid arm muscle. Abbey hisses loudly, throwing her hand around and biting her lip in agony.

"Woah, Ab's! Let me see."

"Stay away from me!" She's still whimpering under her breath. "You are the biggest asshole I've ever known!"

"Oh come on, that's a bit harsh." Eric tries to conceal his amusement, a smile cracking on his lips and it only riles her further.

"You told Matt to call off the wedding! What… you didn't think I was capable? Why do you have to throw yourself into my business?" When he steps forward, she slaps his arm, then again. But it's petty.

"Gossip got around. The same gossip that you were trying to avoid. He confronted me and it slipped out," he shrugs nonchalantly. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. He couldn't exactly tell her that this is what he was planning, but either way, it panned out pretty well for him. "It's better like this, is it not? This is what you ultimately wanted. Even if you couldn't bring yourself to say it."

"Don't test me, Eric. I'm so close to kicking you in the balls, it's unreal…" She paces just like Matt did and Eric begins to wonder if that was a passive Amity thing. 

Abbey's fiery spirit compels him, and after a second he steps forwards, motioning to his head to the people standing around them. "You want to talk about this somewhere else? I mean, we can do it here if you want? I don't really care."

"You've made me look like a bitch! Him an asshole – depending on who believes what in the rumors. No! No, I do not want to talk to you. I don't even want to look at your stupid face!" Abbey begins walking away but he follows her. She walks to the entrance of a stable and filters her way through in the dimmer lighting. "Stop following me!"

"I'll stop following you when you tell me that you don't want me."

Eric folds his arms, and Abbey freezes, her shoulders curled inwards on his words. She doesn't turn, just seems to be taking a moment.

Eric begins closing the distance slowly. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop." A horse nickers to the side of him as he passes and he runs a hand over the muzzle softly. "Say it Ab's." He's now within a few steps from her.

She suddenly shivers as she feels his approach and turns to face him, keeping her eyes downcast. Eric reaches her, tilting her chin up, locking his eyes on hers and watching as her lips part again. His other hand grips onto her shoulder, sliding onto the soft skin of her neck.

"Well?" he asks, faltering slightly as her fingers grip onto the top pockets of his jacket, pulling him forward. He doesn't resist.

"I can't." She brings herself up on her tip-toes, him leaning down to her, their faces fractions from each other as they both hesitate. Eric can't help the shuddering breath that escapes.

And she kisses him.

Very, very gently, almost non-existent at first. He tilts his head back, wondering if he imagined it or not. But the warming sensation is left pulsing as its own evidence.

She pulls him a little more severely - and when their lips collide, a thousand things seem to pass between them that were left unspoken.

The fumbling young boy and clumsy girl were gone.

At one point their teeth clash, and Abbey lets a small moan escape from her throat as Eric's tongue moves faultlessly against hers. He bites at her lip and lets his hands drop to underneath her ass as she jumps and wraps her legs around him easily.

This felt right. Everything felt right.

Two hands sit on either side of his face as she tilts it back and holds him there, practically leaving him wheezing as she covers his mouth again. "You… are such… a chicken shit," she whispers between frantic, long and loud kisses. She rolls her hips on him and his erection is practically fit to burst.

Eric would take her here in front of the horses but he doubts she would appreciate that - and the fact they could be spotted at any moment. He was still up for it, though.

He lets his fingers curl underneath her inner thighs, beneath her dress, pulling the skin apart where he can already feel the heat pouring from, and she groans. Teasingly, one fingertip runs along her underwear, testing the flimsy material and she grinds against him. "Eric..." Her head rolls back a little before she brushes a finger on his lips. "Not now…" she breathlessly says, her lips swollen and red.

"We're not finished here…" He bites at her again and quite simply wants to fuck her brains out, right here, right now.

He makes sure he leaves marks on her neck. At first running his tongue across the clammy, salty skin before pulling it into his mouth and sucking.

She presses into him and lets him stay there for a little while - till she realizes what he's doing. "Eric, stop! I've got to go to work…"

He laughs against her neck and eventually brings himself to look at her, licking his lips under her gaze. "You're so fucked…" He paints a coy smile on his face, absolutely delighted with himself.

Abbey thumps his back, leaning forward against his lips as she speaks, flicking her eyes between each of his. "I was fucked the moment I met you…"

And she was right…

[saraimt]

In Your Eyes (Part 3.5 of Four)

Pairing: MinKey Rating: PG 13 Length: 4k Warnings: None.

Summary: Vignettes from Minho and Key being together. 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Key wasn’t sure how his and Minho’s relationship was going to change, now that they’d put a label on what they were, but he certainly hadn’t expected this.

Nothing happened.

The two of them were still as flirty and communicative as they had been before Minho’s confession and subsequent declaration that they were together, and that felt pretty wonderful. Key had never been more comfortable relationship before, but that was probably because he’d never been with someone who was so well suited for him.

Minho was pretty much the perfect boyfriend, with how supportive and sweet he was, not to mention how God damn attractive he was. Key was now privy to Minho in every state of undress and he had to say that there was a lot to appreciate.

Their relationship hadn’t changed much if at all, however, just developed further. They went on silly dates in which the two of them would sit in front of mirrors at restaurants and flirt with each other to their waiter’s dismay. It was strange to their spectators, but neither Kibum nor Minho could really be bothered by what other people thought of them.

Even Jinki and Taemin had become more accepting of how often Key was ‘on the phone’ or ‘skyping’ with Minho, which was damn near constantly. It was only sometimes during the work day that they didn’t have a chance to talk, but the rest of the time they were happy to be in each other’s company.

“Babe, I have to go to sleep soon,” Minho whined quietly.

Kibum was in the middle of explaining his nighttime routine to a less than appreciative Minho, but he paused his explanation to listen to his boyfriend.

“Okay,” Key hummed. The only reason he was explaining this in the first place was because Minho had shown an interest in how Key got his skin to look so flawless. Now that he thought about it though, Key could probably see how it was meant to be a compliment instead of a request for instructions. “I know you’ve got court early tomorrow.”

“It's not that I don’t find all of this fascinating, but I’ve been up all day.” Minho explained.

“I know, it's fine,” Key replied. He wasn’t offended by Minho’s disinterest, and he knew that Minho’s day was usually longer than his own.

“Baaaaabe,” Minho whined some more. “Don’t be upset with me!”

Kibum chuckled, “I’m not! For some reason I thought you wanted to learn to moisturize.”

“I do moisturize! I put lotion on after I shower,” Minho explained, leaning back on his bed. Key was sitting in front of his bathroom mirror, all of his face products laid before him.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Key answered. “That doesn’t count.”

“Well, you are much cuter in your headband than I would ever be,” Minho complimented. Key knew that Minho had closed his eyes, as he only saw himself reflected in the mirror and no bit of Minho’s darkened room. “I like watching you go through your routine.”

Key was unable to resist the smile that formed on his lips; Minho always knew what to say to him. It was so easy for Minho to bring a smile to his face and a blush to his cheeks.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Kibum said jokingly. “But I’ll teach you my ways eventually. Now go to sleep. I don’t want to hear Jonghyun complaining about how your boyfriend is dictating all of your time and not letting you get enough sleep.”

“He better not say anything,” Minho replied, even as Key felt him settling down on his bed, and snuggling into his pillows. “He was the one who left me to look through the briefs this afternoon while he went to visit his mom.”

“You better not let your mother hear about that,” Kibum scolded Minho. “She’ll be jealous that Jonghyun actually takes time off during the week to visit his mother.”

“I know, I know,” Minho said drowsily.

“Go to sleep Minho,” Key said quietly, not wanting to rouse Minho from his near slumber. If the other man was even remotely stimulated while he was falling asleep, it took him forever to get comfortable and settled. “Good night.”

~

“You have got to stop looking at yourself in every reflective surface we walk by,” Jonghyun said mockingly.

Key laughed rambunctiously at Jonghyun’s comment, but it was probably because he was the reason that Jonghyun had begun to think that Minho was a narcissist.

“Jonghyun, shut the fuck up,” Minho sighed. “You’re just jealous that I look this good in a suit.”

“Yeah he is,” Key agreed loudly from all the way in his office in New York. “God damn, Minho, don’t listen to him. I need to see you in this three piece suit as much as I possibly can.”

Minho knew that he was flushing with Key’s blatant adoration for how he looked in his best suit. It had been purchased on a whim and had sat in Minho’s closet, forgotten and unused until Kibum had spotted it while they were chatting as Minho was getting dressed for work that morning.

“It's just a suit,” Minho had said gruffly the third time that Key had demanded that he stand still in front of a mirror to admire him for a little bit longer.

“No, it's more than that,” Key had argued. “It’s a fitted, navy blue suit that looks like it was made to be on your body. If I wasn’t needed at the office today, I’d be happy to just watch you walk around today.”

As much as it pained him to admit, Minho had been particularly aware of mirror and reflective surface he encountered today because it kept inducing heavy sighing and appreciative noises from Key. He probably shouldn’t have taken as much pleasure from Key’s obvious, and often boisterous, approval, but Minho was reveling in it. It didn’t even matter that Jonghyun kept laughing at him every time he stopped to look at himself in order to adjust his tie or run his hand through his hair.

“This is getting kind of ridiculous,” Jonghyun muttered mostly to himself. “I didn’t know you were this vain, Minho.”

Minho chuckled at his friend’s exasperation with his behavior. Since he didn’t get to show off for his boyfriend live and in person, this was the next best thing. So Minho was decidedly not embarrassed by what he was doing. He plugged his headphones in and pulled his phone out as Jonghyun and he walked out of the courthouse.

“Hey babe,” Minho greeted even though he and Key had been in connection as soon as court had let out a few minutes ago. He got better and better with every time that he had to pretend that he was just starting a conversation.

“Hello dapper boyfriend of mine,” Key replied with a chuckle. “Did you get tired Jonghyun making fun of you?”

“Yes, he’s insufferable,” Minho answered quickly, not caring that Jonghyun was listening to his conversation.

“Well don’t listen to him,” Key said. “I appreciate all the reflective surfaces. In fact, if you didn’t have appointments this afternoon I’d have you go home and undress and redress in front of the mirror for my entertainment.”

“KEY!” Minho shouted, indignant. Minho could feel his face heating up at the insinuation, but all the same knowing that Key was being completely honest.

“But, I know you have a few appointments, so I won’t push,” Key said with a laugh.

“Please stop talking about it,” Minho muttered. “Like you said, there’s nothing I can do about that now. And I’d rather not ruin the line of these trousers.”

“Minho, you sly thing,” Key murmured. “You’re worse than I am.”

“Shut up,” Minho replied, a smile pulling at the edge of his lips.

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll speak to you later,” Key huffed. “Neither of us will be able to concentrate on work with you looking like you do.”

“But I’m headed to lunch anyway,” Minho said, wanting to pout a little. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk all morning since Minho was in court and later in the day Kibum had an event for the magazine.

“Yeah but I doubt you want to spend lunch staring at Jonghyun while I tell you all the things that suit makes me want to do to you,” Key explained.

Minho looked over at Jonghyun and pictured exactly how their lunch could go and shook his head at the image, “That’s actually an excellent point.”

“I thought so,” Key chucked again. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye honey,” Minho whispered into the phone; if Jonghyun heard him being all lovey dovey on the phone, he’d never hear the end of it.

When Minho turned to face Jonghyun, it seemed that his whispering had been for not, if Jonghyun’s shit-eating grin was anything to go by. “How is that mysterious boyfriend of yours?” Jonghyun questioned with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“He’s fine,” Minho said in a clipped tone, hoping to cut the conversation short. “And he’s not mysterious.”

“I’d say otherwise,” Jonghyun kept on. “I mean, all you’ve told me is that he works for some magazine.”

“Just because I don’t tell you about him doesn’t mean he’s mysterious.”

“Well who do you tell about him?”

“As a matter of fact, my mother-” Minho caught his slip too late.

Jonghyun stopped, stunned, in the middle of the sidewalk. “YOUR MOTHER KNOWS ABOUT HIM?” There were people walking around the two of them now, some looking back to see the silly surprised face that was adorning Jonghyun’s face.

“Can we discuss this back at the office?” Minho whined, wanting to get out of the public’s eye. They had a reputation to uphold. “Come on, I’ll tell you everything.”

That was all it took for Jonghyun to start power walking back to the office, his short but powerful legs sure to get him there in no time. Minho sighed, he was not looking forward to this.

~

It had been a shit day. Absolutely and irredeemably shit. Minho had been in court for hours arguing against an asshole defense attorney who claimed because his client was a first time offender, that domestic abuse should be punishable with community service. Not only was Minho furious, but he was also losing because the judge kept allowing the unreasonable argument. In all honesty, he was ready to punch someone. Anyone. On top of all that, he was hungry and he hadn’t talked to Kibum all day because the other man was busy as well.

As he drove home, Minho was already planning to shower and go right to sleep, hoping to end this terrible day as soon as possible. He didn’t even want to eat anymore.

Once Minho was pulling his truck into the driveway, he felt the niggle in the back of his mind that told him that Key was trying to push through. With a sigh, and prepared to tell Kibum that he’d talk to him tomorrow, Minho allowed him through.

Before he could get anything out, however, Kibum got his words out first.

“What’s wrong babe?” Kibum asked, concern decorating his tone.

All at once, Minho felt his shoulders finally come down from around his ears, and the stress begin to seep out of him through his mouth. “Today has been spectacularly crappy. I can’t believe that I’m in a profession where people will defend horrible criminals who have no business being out on the street, breathing the same air as all the good people. Why do people think it's okay to be so terrible? Like this guy, I think I told you about him…”

And Minho vented. And vented. And forty minutes later, when he’d run out of steam and things to complain about and nearly crying a few times, he felt much much better.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day,” Kibum sympathized, “And that you felt that you couldn’t talk to me about it because I was a little busy.”

“I didn’t really want to talk to anyone,” Minho reasoned, now sitting in his living room.

“That’s definitely not what the last twenty minutes felt like,” Kibum chuckled. “You should have text me, you know that I can always make time for you.”

“I’m pretty sure I would have been an emotional wreck and cried in the bathroom of the courthouse if I had talked to you in the middle of the day,” Minho reasoned. Despite having never met Kibum, he immediately felt safe with the other man, his emotional presence was enough to have Minho crumbling and letting go of everything that had eaten away at him that day.

“That could have worked in your favor!” The other man argued. Minho, whose eyes were now closed, could see that Kibum was just now arriving home, as he recognized the streets that he was walking down. “You could have cried and given the judge puppy eyes and there’s no way he would have said a single word against you.”

Minho sighed but he felt a smile pull at his lips, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he talked to Kibum. It was a feeling that happened uniquely with Kibum and no one else before him, except perhaps his mother when he was still a little boy.

“Well, tomorrow we have the last bit of evidence and closing arguments,” Minho said, a little defeated. “But I’m glad this one’s almost over. I’ll figure out another way to help that woman.”

“I’m so proud of you, Minho,” Kibum said, sincerity shining through all the way from New York City. “I know today was hard, but you’re doing everything you can for your client and that’s all anyone can ask of you.”

“You talkin’ to Minho?” Taemin asked, interrupting their little conversation. Minho could see that Taemin and Jinki were sitting around the island in the kitchen, comfortably lounging in their sweat pants.

“Yes, and he’s had a shitty day, so leave me alone to cheer my boyfriend up,” Kibum said as he set his bag down on the kitchen table. Minho’s lips quirked, as they did every time Kibum called him his boyfriend. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of it.

“You should do the thing.” Taemin said with a stifled laugh. Minho could feel Kibum tense up at the suggestion, but that just fueled Taemin’s giggles. “I think Minho deserves to see you do the thing.”

“Why don’t you fuck off?” Kibum asked, defeat in his voice.

Jinki snickered, even though he was attempting to play it off as a cough, and Minho had to ask.

“What thing?” He asked cautiously.

Kibum groaned in reply. “Please don’t let these terrible people influence you. It’s a very lame thing that is humiliating.”

“Oh, well I don’t want you to feel obli-” Minho cut himself off to hear what Taemin had begun to yell.

“MINHO! HE DANCES KPOP CHOREO! THE GIRL ONES!” Taemin shouted loudly, probably assuming that the headphones Kibum had in were connecting them via phone call.

“YA! Why are you such an asshole, Taemin? Now he’s gonna want to see me dance and I sure as shit am not going to do it by myself!” Kibum was shouting back.

“I’m a professional ballet dancer,” Taemin muttered, “I should not be reduced to this.”

“Baby,” Jinki said with an exaggerated pout.

Minho chuckled because he’d seen enough through Kibum’s eyes that he knew that he was in for quite the show. He was well aware that Kibum liked several Korean girl groups, as his boyfriend would often sing bits and pieces of songs when he was distracted. Minho hadn’t known, however, how big of a fan his boyfriend was. And judging by the long list of songs that Kibum named off as options to dance to, Kibum was quite the fan.

“If you don’t do Girl’s Generation then you’re not doing the K-Pop genre justice,” Jinki complained from where he was readying the living room for the impromptu performance.

“Minho, do you want to see a cute dance or a sexy dance?” Asked Kibum amidst his argument with Taemin over what song to perform.

Minho was immediately torn about what he wanted to witness, “Uh…” He trailed off, still thinking of all the possibilities.

“Minho wants to see your sexy dance moves, OBVIOUSLY,” Taemin scoffed, already stretching for their unrehearsed routine. Minho didn’t want to agree too quickly, but if he was completely honest, just the thought of having Key dance sexily was riling him up more than it should have.

“Whatever you want to do babe,” Minho answered, knowing he wasn’t being helpful.

“I think you should do Touch My Body by Sistar,” Jinki supplied. Minho had never heard of that group, or of the song, but it sounded promising.

“Jinki, this is supposed to be for Minho, not for you,” Kibum complained. “I don’t know why you’re the one picking the song.

Jinki laughed and took a seat on the couch that was now against the wall of the living room. There was a wide enough space between the couch and the coffee table, that had been pushed against the TV, for Kibum and Taemin to dance comfortably in. “Look man, I’m trying to do Minho a favor by having you shake your ass on camera for him. See? This is me being selfless.”

“I’m definitely not opposed to that,” Minho quipped. His mood was lifted and watching Kibum shake his butt to girl group choreography sounded like the best cure to his terrible day. “I think that watching you shake your butt would make me very happy.”

“You’re such a dick,” Key replied with absolutely zero venom in his voice. “But this is just a little bit of what you deserve for being so amazing. I’m gonna go have Jinki record me shaking my ass just for you.”

With a rush of affection so powerful it nearly choked him, Minho muttered an okay. He honestly didn’t know what kittens he’d saved in a previous life to be deserving of someone so wonderful.

~

Despite the fact that they were more than fifteen hundred miles apart, Minho and Kibum were like most couples. They spent time together and went on sort of dates, and occasionally they got into fights.

"I can't believe that you aren't siding with me on this!" Key shouted into his empty room. He could feel his cheeks heating and his throat aching from the yelling, but that didn't stop him. He'd been venting to his usually supportive boyfriend about how unfair the editor of the magazine was being with his department and Minho had defended the other man. A man he didn't even know!

"Kibum, babe, it's not about taking sides," Minho replied calmly, only infuriating Kibum further. "I'm just saying that-"

"You're saying that it's completely fair that he cuts our budget, and ONLY our budget, in half without so much as a notice, and that it's fine and dandy that we all have to scramble to keep our projects from falling apart," Kibum interrupted.

"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it," Minho said sternly. "If you would listen to me for a second, you'd understand that I-"

"OH! So now I don't listen," Kibum seethed. With as much shit as he'd had to deal with today, he didn't think that he could handle fighting with Minho any longer. Before Minho could say anything in rebuttal, Kibum sighed deeply. "You know what? I'm just gonna take a bath and go to bed. I'll talk to you tomorrow or something."

"Okay, goodnight Kibum," Minho agreed.

After a quick goodbye, Kibum shut their connection. He tried to clear his mind of both work and his argument with Minho while he drew a bath. It was difficult to do so, though, when he was unintentionally running over every word that he'd exchanged with his boyfriend that could have led to them fighting.

Kibum had vented on his way home, especially because he'd gotten out of the office much later than he wanted to, about how he'd been so invested in a particular photo shoot and now the budget was basically nothing. He thought it was understandable that he was upset; none of the other departments had had their budgets slashed despite fashion being the focal point of Goddamn Vogue. Minho had begun to explain that he understood his frustration, but budget cuts were usually done after a lot of deliberation and that there was probably a reason his funding was the one that got cut. It hadn’t taken much more than that to rile Kibum up to the point of arguing.

When the warm water of the bath touched his skin, however, Kibum felt soothed. He sat there motionless for a few minutes, letting the hot water and the steam melt away his stress from the hectic day. Intellectually he understood that budget cuts weren’t done without consideration, but emotionally he was already so drained from having to deal with the stresses of putting together a photoshoot. Budget cuts did not make him feel better in any way.

And okay, he could admit that he’d been considering cutting some of the more outrageous props that the shoot director asked for. And the model was gonna be half dressed the entire time, so the budget for clothing was a little more grand than he strictly needed. And sure, the model was kind of shy so they didn’t want to employ more people on set than strictly necessary.

Kibum knew all these things already, and as the warm water soothed his strained back, he realized that he had also made Minho aware of these things. So perhaps, Kibum had been unfair to his boyfriend. Perhaps Minho had just been trying to get Kibum to see that a budget cut wouldn’t affect his shoot as much as he thought it would. And Kibum had just shut him out. Great. Now he was going to feel guilty about it until he talked to Minho.

It had always been hard for him, though, to curb his pride enough to apologize to someone. One of his less likeable qualities, that’s for sure, but Kibum wanted to fix things with Minho immediately. Yet, Minho needed to understand that he was just upset and that maybe rationalizing wasn’t the best course of action when he was still in the heat of the moment.

It didn’t matter, though, that they had both been wrong. What mattered was that Kibum had pushed Minho away when they should have talked about the situation. With that in mind, Kibum nudged at the connection, wondering if Minho had shut himself off. Kibum found that as soon as he tried, he had access to Minho. There was nothing but darkness on Minho’s end, but Kibum knew that his boyfriend must be staring at the ceiling in quiet reflection.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Kibum said to start. “I didn’t mean to snap at you and then cut you off. I was just so upset and you weren’t telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“I know, I’m sorry too,” Minho sighed. “I should have just listened to you instead of inputting my own reasoning. You have every right to be upset, and I should have been more supportive of that.”

“I get what you were trying to do but yeah…” Kibum trailed off.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Minho said again. “I don’t like fighting with you, and I definitely don’t like making you feel bad.”

Kibum felt his shoulders sagging down from where they had been taut around his ears. The fact that Minho knew exactly what to say to apologize made him feel warmer than the water he’d been soaking in. His boyfriend may not have been the perfect person, but he was the perfect partner for Kibum. Being with Minho was easier than breathing and it made Kibum feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I love you,” Kibum whispered into his bathroom, overcome with the need to say those words to Minho.

There was a sharp intake of breath followed closely by Minho’s reply. “I love you, Kibum. I love you so much.”

“I think we should meet.”

[shrapnelstars]

He eased himself down the stairs, slowly and carefully. “Dammit, please hold on a few more seconds.” He hoped.

He opened the front door and exhaled relief.

“Hey Dev! I’m ParagonDiamond, love your videos…” she said as she brushed her hair behind her ear. “…and I felt so bad for you in your lastest vlog. You said you weren’t feeling so well. I thought I’d surprise you by showing up to keep you company! I brought some cold medicine with me, too!” She held it out to him with pride.

“Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you so much!” He tried as hard as he could to speak higher than an exhausted mumble as he accepted her gift. “Come on in!” he welcomed.

He led her to the living room and set some music down low. “Excuse me for a minute while I shower. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that for my sake!” she assured. “If you’re too tired, it’s alright!”

Even in his weakened state, he tried to catch himself from raising his eyebrow. “No, I need to. It’s OK. I’ll be right back!” He headed back upstairs and into the bathroom, turning on the water and undressing. “ ‘No, you don’t need to shower!’ That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” He scrubbed himself down as best he could and let the cool water run through his hair. “Aaaaah…” He sighed in bliss. Having his hair clean made him feel a little bit better. He dried himself off and redressed as he examined his state in the mirror. His eyes were still drooping and his hair was a pastel and faded rainbow instead of it’s usual stronger color. He uncloaked his horn and examined that, as well. It was solid white, no longer resonating with magic. “We’re about to fix it. Just hold on.” he tried to encourage himself.

Dev hobbled back downstairs, just as cautiously as before. He sat down next to Paragon, wrapping his blanket around himself. “Thanks for coming out here.” he murmured.

Paragon’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s no problem! I’m always here for you if you need me!”

“I really appreciate it.” He smiled gratefully as he placed his hand atop hers. She blushed and inched closer to him, and he moved in closer to her and laid his head on her shoulder. She hugged him and pet his head. Her hand was steady, but her heart was racing a million beats a minute. He pulled away for a second, looking her straight in the eyes. She was almost looking past him, her mind shuffling through thoughts as she tried to focus on the present. He placed his hand gently on the back of her head and pulled her close until their foreheads touched. "It's going to be alright." he whispered.

"Thank you." was the last thing she remembered saying before time stopped. Dev pierced her skull with his horn and tore the spirit right out of her body. There was barely a sound despite the force it took to crack through the bone. As he picked up her corpse to take it to the basement, the color faded back into his hair and horn, and he felt his strength returning. He chuckled. "I wasn't talking to you."

[television-romantic]

Windows to the Soul

Title: Windows to the Soul

Characters: Cas x Reader, Dean, Sam

Summary: Reader runs away and is on the verge of death. When an angel comes and saves her.

Warnings: None? Cursing maybe? Almost death? Lots of medical stuff though…

Word Count: About 2,000

A/N: Hi! This is my first Cas x Reader fic and will probably be a bit of a slow burn. I’m kinda new to this so be kind! Feedback is always appreciated!

Prologue

Cold, so fucking cold. There is snow everywhere, falling from the sky, on the streets, almost completely covering the sidewalk till it’s basically a hill. Despite me being completely decked out in winter gear. I’m freezing my fucking tits off. Why out of all days did I decide to leave when it started to snow?

You know why.

Trapped, I felt trapped in that fucking house. Sure, I had everything I could ever want in that house. Movie theater, Gourmet food, Huge garden, Rooms filled with books. That’s right rooms, as in more than one. I had everything. Except…

What? Except fucking company? You think you deserve friends? Love? You do realize you’re risking your life for it right now. Just for a-

“Shut up!” I yell, startling the pedestrians around me. “Dammit, great now we have people staring! You happy?”

Very, now you can just turn around back to the house. That, or you can keep walking and talking to yourself until someone calls the cops. Your choice, sweetie.

“You know we’re way too far from the house to just walk back and-”

Call him then!

“No fucking way!” I mutter, now trying to find the nearest and warmest spot. I just need to lie down…Just for a second.

No! You can’t sleep. Do you know the last time you ate? Two days! That and plus all this walking…You’ll die. And did you not realize why all of a sudden I’m here? Your body is going to overdrive. I’m the last resort, Y/N, you need to call hi-

“I’ll be fine!” I interrupt, walking over to an seemingly safe alleyway. By safe, I mean empty. “You heard what god said, an angel will be there for me when I need him most.” I say with smirk, not entirely believing it myself.

Yeah right! And when’s the last time anybody was there for us?

“Crowley…” I mutter, my smile growing bigger, remembering the incident.

Exactly! That’s why you need to call him! Now, Preferably!

I settle down against the brick wall behind some abandoned cardboard box. So sleepy…

“You know he won’t understand why I’m doing this. He’ll just stick me back at that houssssse…” I mumble, my words becoming slurred.

Y/N!

“Mmm, just a quick nap..”

Stop, wake up! If you go down so do I, you know this!

“Well maybe that will shut you up once and for-”

Y/N? Y/N! Wake-

Silence, Darkness, Nothing. Finally, I’m at Peace! It’s been so long… Wait, what’s that? God? It’s so bright… I see a figure, it’s walking towards me… Stop, please tell me it’s not time! I’m not ready. It comes closer.  I had so much I wanted to do. Closer.  I’m not strong enough yet! I won’t be able to defeat hi-

My eyes snap open and I’m greeted by bright blue ones. It belongs to a man. He looks so pretty… His scruff, his soft pink lips, his jaw line… But it’s his eyes. They’re so blue, like the sky on a perfect day, so full of…something? Wisdom? Hope? Love? How can someone look so beautiful and so perfect? An angel, maybe? It’s my angel! God was right! He has come!

I reach to touch his face. My arm suddenly feeling heavier than usual. I wish I could feel his scruff through these gloves. But even with them off it’ll just feel numb from the cold… He looks at me with his eyes full of questions and worry. I smile weakly at him trying to reassure him. “My Angel, don’t worry.” I mumble, my voice hoarse, how long have I been out? “You have come to save me, right?” Before I can hear an answer from my angel, I hear a loud shrill sound, and my vision goes dark.

The last thing I hear is her

Heh…guess you were right…this time.

Chapter 1

Today was like any other day in the bunker. There was no new cases. Sam just got back from shopping for tonight’s dinner. Dean just finished cleaning the impala from the last road trip. And right now they were both sitting down and binge-watching Jessica Jones. Today was supposed to be like any other day.

“Dean, Sam!” A gruff voice calls out. They turn around and see Cas, holding a girl in his arms…

Dean and Sam immediately get up and run up to Cas. “Wha-What happened? Who is she?” Dean moves closer to the girl cas is holding, inspecting her for injuries.

“Put her on the couch,” Sam says before running to the first-aid in the bathroom.

“She was in a alleyway in Colorado,” Cas says, walking briskly to the couch and setting her down. ”She was freezing, frost was forming on her face, she was turning blue.”

“And why were you in Colorado?”  Dean grunts, gathering all the blankets around the room.

Sam comes back with the first aid and sets it down next to the couch. He inspects her face again before kneeling down beside her and unzipping her jacket.

“What are you doing?” Cas moves closer to Sam in almost a defensive stance.

“She’s cold Cas,” Sam sighs and continues undressing her. “Wearing wet, snow, and ice covered clothes isn’t helping her.” After he finishes the outer-layer of clothes and is done checking her arms and legs for injuries, he towards Dean, who has a pile of blankets in his hands. He takes the blankets and quickly lays a couple over her. “Clothes,” He mutters towards Dean, “Get thick clothes.” Dean runs towards one of the bedrooms grabbing as many sweaters and sweats that she could wear.  Cas, on the other hand, is still standing there next to Sam and the girl. Looking distressed as ever.

“I-I couldn’t heal her…she has some sort of protective…thing” He mutters. Sam pauses briefly before, setting a throw pillow under her head.

“Cas, why were you in Colorado?” Sam mutters, looking up at Cas.

But before Cas can answer Dean runs in with a pile of clothes. “She Okay?” Dean says, handing over the clothes to Sam.

Sam takes the clothes and sets them down next to him. He then, reaches under the blanket were the girl is lying and starts to remove her clothes without looking. He feels her stomach and notices how easily he can feel her ribs. He looks back up at her face and realizes how sunken in it is as well.

He sighs and removes his hand from under the blanket, “She could be worse, but she’s malnourished and probably dehydrated.” He looks up at Cas and at Dean, deciding who to call on. He settles his eyes back on Cas, “Cas, go to a hospital and go get IV bags and one Parenteral nutrition bag.” And like that Cas is gone in a flash.

Sam starts to redress her with the clothes Dean gave him, obviously without looking. Meanwhile, Dean is rummaging through the first aid, gathering all the needles and tubes he can find. By the time the both finish, Cas is back with arms full of IV bags and One milky looking bag, probably the Parenteral bag. After Dean finds all the supplies he stands up and grabs the bags from Cas and sets them down by Sam along with the needles and and tubes.

“We also need the-”

“IV Pole, on it,” Dean interrupts, running the down the hall and to the bathroom.

Sam grabs the girl’s arm to put outside the blanket, then starts to set up the IVs. Cas watches with a worried look. God, he feels so useless right now. He’s a freaking angel and all he can do is watch! ‘Why couldn’t I use my grace? Why of all angels did he think I could do it?’

“Cas!” Sam calls out again, trying to get his attention. Clearly annoyed at this point.

“Y-yes? Sorry.” Cas stutters out, getting to ready to go to wherever Sam needs him to go this time.

Sam sighs, “I’m asking you why you were in Colorado?”

“Oh, Right. About that. Well-” But, before Cas can explain Dean is running back in wheeling in a pole with wheels and hooks on the top.

“Got it!” Dean calls out grabbing the IV bag that Sam had set up and is now needled into the girl’s arm. Sam, takes the girl’s arm and grabs tape from the Med kit so the needle doesn’t come out of her arm. Dean hooks the IV bag to the pole and turns a knob on the tube leading to the girl’s arm. The clear liquid starts to drip out into the girl’s arm. The girl show no reaction, still sleeping quietly, as if nothing was happening to her.

Sam takes out a small flashlight from the Med kit and turns it on. Lifting up the girl’s eyelids open he checks for any bad signs. He’s greeted with Y/E/C slightly rolled back, but her pupils slightly growing smaller from the light. Nothing bad, thank god.

“You didn’t answer my question Cas.” Sam muttered, setting the girl’s arm down and tucking it under the blanket.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Cas asks worriedly, clearly ignoring Sam’s question.

Sam sighs annoyed by Cas trying to avoid the question, “Yes, she should be at least…It depends if she wakes up. Which is why I asked for that Nutrition bag. She might slip into a coma if she doesn’t wake up soon to eat.”

“Why can’t we wake her up yet?” Dean asks with the same worried voice as Cas.

“I-I honestly don’t know,” Sam says, running his hand through his hair frustratingly. “I mean, if she could she probably be awake, especially after sticking a needle in her. But by looking into her eyes she shows no signs of being in a coma.” or being dead.

A sigh of relief washes over both Dean and Cas as they slump back into arm chairs on either side of the couch. Who knew Dean would have to spend his day off trying to save some strange girl from dying. Why was she here anyway? And why couldn’t she wake up?

“God, he told me she would be there,” Cas pipes up, before anybody could ask for the 5th time. Dean and Sam look at him with shock as well as some other emotion they can’t quite point out yet themselves.

“You mean-”

“The God,” Dean interrupts, “As in Chuck? The one who is supposedly with his sister? He told you that a strange girl was in an alleyway? And you just went and saved her?”

“What was I supposed to do Dean?” Cas sounding more annoyed and exhausted at this point. “Leave her? Obviously she has to be of some sort of importance. And by the look of her being immune to my powers, she kinda is.” Cas huffs sinking further into the chair.

“But he didn’t like, tell you anything about her?” Sam says, finally finding a way to enter the conversation.

“No, he just said that there was a girl that need my help and that ‘by his command, I must protect by however means necessary.’ “ Cas mutters, using air quotes as emphasis.

“Great, I just love it when people ask vague and somewhat threatening favors from us!” Dean sarcastically chimes, followed by a groan and him going back to drinking his beer from the stand next to the chair.

Sam just sighs and turns back to looking at the girl. Color starting to form back to her cheeks and her breathing even and almost relaxing Sam. “Well at least we know she can’t be someone bad.” Sam sighs again, reaching over and moving hair out of the girl’s hair.

Then all of a sudden the girl starts to groan and shift, startling all the boys into standing back up. She groans again, louder, as if she’s saying something.

“Crowley…” She mutters her hand trying to move up as if grabbing something. “Crowley!” She repeats, then as if something was there, her hand closes and goes back down. Then she relaxes again into her sleep as if nothing happened.

The boys just stare in shock at the girl, then at each other, then back at the girl.

“What did you say about her being bad?” mutters Dean.

Part 2 Coming soon!

[carina-debayle]

Helping Yvain 

Log date: 4/9/17

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: None

I had left that afternoon with the idea of training outside of the Beds. Most of my axe training is done within close proximity of the apartments, but I had decided to take a visit to the Bannock instead. Perhaps fate had that with reason...

Carina De'bayle blinks over, tilting a head, "oh... hello! Didn't expect you all to be here, was there an occasion?"

Alleria Surlaint: "Just a very.... eye opening display."

Denz De'bayle nods his head. "As he said, the test was meant for two knights." Denz looked to Carina as she approached, then to the unconscious Captain at his feet.

Carina De'bayle follows Denz's eyes, "Huh, look at that. Is he alright?"

Yvain Dulimont was taking a nap. A very vivid nap. If she could tell at all, his aether would be massively depleted, just enough to keep him going. He'd be fine, just needed either an aetherical replacement or lots of sleep.

Denz De'bayle: Aetherical overuse. He... manipulated a great deal of energy into the visage of a wyrm.

Denz De'bayle: To exemplify the strength of the beasts we once contested with. No doubt we will engage in them before our life's end, and I asked that he educate Alleria in such before Armont tested her beyond her capabilities.

Carina De'bayle: "I see. I'm afraid I wouldn't be one to note such a thing, as I cannot sense aether or feel it around me. Least not anymore," squatting down, Carina poked a cheek to the man's face, "should I bring him back to my apartment to treat him? He will more than likely be fine, I have some potions to help with stamina, health, all that..." she waves a lazy hand.

“Instead he turned his aetherical construct meant for Armont and I on myself solely..” Denz De'bayle shrugged his arms. "Akin to thaumaturges and their exhaustion, no? What sort of potions to they use for such? Ethers?"

Carina De'bayle: "Ethers are in part yes. Elixirs, stamina potions. Using your aether so extensively is very... energy consuming," the woman stands straight, "so, yes?"

Denz De'bayle shakes his head. "Regardless, assume that was a yes, Alleria, for him to train you. And a... fiery insult to mine own strength." Denz winced as he stretched out his scorched lims, picking up his discarded weapon.

Carina De'bayle shrugs her arms. Moving behind Yvain, the smaller Hyur squatted down to wrap her arms under his armpits, hefting him up with surprising ease... although he feet did drag some. "I will be back at the apartment then if you wish to see him when he is conscious!"

Denz De'bayle: Mm.

Alleria Surlaint: "I'll take some time to reflect on what I've witnessed today..."

Carina De'bayle walks toward the interest, dragging the man with her with a rather plain expression.

Carina De'bayle dragged the man into the apartment, shutting the door with a leg. "Joseph, see if you can... get his legs," she grunts out, her beast wandering over toward the foot of Yvain with a stare of disdain as he shoves his head under his greaves, heaving them up a bit to help maneuver him into her and Armont's room. "Heave! HO!" she swings him onto the sheets, him flopping onto it a bit... awkwardly. "Aha... hopefully he doesn't feel that one..." Carina moved to adjust his arms and legs, pushing him over onto his back as she patted the man's arm a bit once he wasn't sprawled about like a rag doll, then moving to remove his plate off of him to help him get more comfortable.

Yvain Dulimont winced slightly here or there, his right shoulder looking a little worse for wear. As well as his face had some bruising that hadn't quite healed up. He adjusted himself in his now what would be considered sleep. It seemed like he wanted to wake, but didn't have the energy.

Carina De'bayle stepped out of the room a minute to redress herself appropriately. Passed out or not, she wasn't about to undress in front of her family's friend. Once returned, she began shifting through different varieties of potions. Tugging out a larger vial, she began working on one large concoction, that should in theory help him. Whether it would make him want to power puke was another story however. Carina tugs out a bucket and a towel she keeps under her desk once the tonic was complete, moving over to situate the bucket and towel onto the man's lap. Potion in one hand, Carina slipped a hand under Yvain's back to push him up as much as she could. Adjusting the arm awkwardly to the back of his head, the woman shoved the vial into his mouth to force all of the contents down his throat.

Yvain Dulimont instinctively drank from the concoction, and that would go well. Until the taste hit him. He'd wake up, but wouldn't be as bothered by it as one would expect. It upset his stomach, and made him feel ill, but he'd hold it down as he shook his head, "What'd you just give meeeeee-uh." He looked around for a moment, "Okay..." He looks over to Carina and tilts his head for a moment, "Carina. Right. I passed out.... thanks." He wasn't sure what he was thankful for, but he laid back down, wishing to drown himself with bathing materials on his insides.

Carina De'bayle: "Try not to vomit! They won't be as useful if you do, but if you're going to vomit at least do it in the bucket please," she points, to his lap, "and yes I've brought you here for some recuperating. The potion is an ether of the sorts, so you should be feeling a bit better... once the taste passes."

Yvain Dulimont nods slowly, closing his eyes as he tried to ignore the taste, "And... how long does it take for the taste to pass, about?" He opened an eye out to her, quite weary from his display earlier. He barely wanted to move.

Carina De'bayle: "You'll more than likely want to drink something else... or eat... or wash your mouth out. Otherwise you may taste it for quite a bit. I'd suggest resting some though, let the potion do its work."

Yvain Dulimont nodded, "The taste isn't too bad when compared to... shite." He couldn't think of anything pleasant to say, so he closed his eye and groan, "To think that I be needing care two days in a row."

Carina De'bayle shrugs her shoulders some, glancing over the mans shoulder, "I have seen worse, seen better. You will recover, but you should probably sleep some. Think you can stand? It would be better if you were to sleep in Hestia's bed. She can rest with us for the evening."

Yvain Dulimont nods slowly, his head spinning as he carefully moved his legs off of the bed and stood. He wavered slightly, reaching back to the mattress for balance, "I can make it. Just lead the way."

Carina De'bayle: "I am sure my daughters toys will keep you company, they are quite good for the healing process I've heard," she smirked, motioning for him to lay, "do rest well, I will let Armont know you are here when he returns."

Yvain Dulimont nods, "But of course.. thank you, Carina. I will repay you someday." He stumbled forward for a moment, catching himself on the bed, before sliding in for rest.

Carina De'bayle: "It is quite fine, do not feel as though you are any dept. Sleep tight!"