#I read it and she's all like ��Well butter my backside and call me a biscuit I forgot you wrote but you do a pretty dang good job!”

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up? 

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

-

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon. 

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth. 

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick. 

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it? 

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best. 

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again. 

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness. 

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes. 

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman. 

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop. 

Away.

All she needed to do was get away. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong? 

It didn’t happen this way. 

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out. 

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete. 

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose. 

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor. 

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?” 

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing. 

Away. 

She needed to get away. 

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away. 

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word. 

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass. 

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster. 

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” 

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something? 

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog. 

“Kendra?”  

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out. 

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight. 

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair. 

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally. 

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm. 

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.” 

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud. 

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook. 

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation. 

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,  

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble. 

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles. 

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths. 

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?” 

She was in the middle of dying. 

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now. 

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.” 

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic. 

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?” 

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up. 

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.” 

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away. 

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?” 

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little 

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?” 

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted. 

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room. 

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul. 

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms. 

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm. 

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm. 

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle. 

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her. 

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?” 

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static. 

“I need details.” He pressed. 

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.” 

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time. 

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.” 

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach. 

“Are we feeling more alive?” 

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side. 

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.” 

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.” 

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed. 

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered. 

“Then neither is yours.” 

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?” 

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly. 

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.” 

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.” 

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.” 

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.” 

“Positive?” 

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible. 

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed. 

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.” 

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron. 

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.” 

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep. 

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair. 

She was home. And she was safe.

~

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

[taetaespeaches]

“You should call me daddy more often.”

taehyung x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 3.1K

a/n: Ayyy it’s Tae time!!! We’re kicking off our two weeks of Tae with this little drabble showing Tae and Peaches before they crossed the lines of friendship. This takes place the night of, “It’s ok, baby, you don’t have to tell me how cool I was”, in which the whole bangtan gang do karaoke together. Peaches is realizing some feelings in this... anyways, I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

AS the group began exiting the karaoke room, Taehyung was behind you, holding your coat open for you as you stuck your arms into the sleeves.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you appreciated after turning around to face him, reaching for the buttons on his own coat. As you did them up, you felt his gaze on your concentrated expression. “There,” you told him, smiling at him as you met his eyes, patting his chest as he flashed you a grin of his own.

Nodding to the door, you spun around, Taehyung’s hand finding your lower back as he guided you toward the exit. You were some of the last one’s out, following behind Namjoon and his girlfriend as the man hung on her making her support his large frame. What a scene, really.

Behind you, you heard mumbles from Yoongi’s girlfriend talking about you, making you smirk fondly.

“I mean, look at her bum,” she told her boyfriend.

“You really need to calm down,” Yoongi told the girl, Taehyung peering at you with an amused smile.

“Well, are you looking at it?” She asked, Yoongi scoffing as she giggled. Turning around, you shot her a wink, the girl dramatically clutching her heart. Taehyung chuckled lightly as he shook his head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Yoongi told you, the girl smacking his arm, Yoongi feigning pain with a dramatized, “ouch”.

Stepping out of the karaoke bar onto the street, you shivered at the cold air, a complete contrast from the warmth of the room you were all just occupying. Taehyung immediately noticed, swinging an arm around your shoulders as he tugged you against his body, bringing his other arm to wrap around you, holding you in a side hug. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Taehyung asked you in a whisper, you nodding quickly.

“Pancakes?” You asked, Taehyung tucking his chin into his neck to smile at you.

“Wish me luck,” you heard Namjoon’s girlfriend say with a sigh, pulling both yours and your best friend’s attention to the couple as she helped the drunken man into the car they ordered. You all chuckled as you scanned the group of friends who were all preparing to go their separate ways.

When you and Taehyung excused yourselves to walk the few blocks to the 24-hour diner you often frequented during your late-night hangouts, Taehyung groaned at the comment from Yoongi’s girlfriend once again.

“Watch her as she walks away,” she told her boyfriend, the man scoffing again.

“You know, I have a nice bum too, Kid,” he complained to her with a whine.

“You wish your ass was as good as mine, Yoongles,” you called out, Taehyung giggling against the side of your head as he continued to hold you close, making it difficult to make your way down the street, though you weren’t complaining.

Half way down the block, Taehyung pulled away from you slightly, shooting an obvious glance to your backside. “Is it really that good?” He asked, you trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably. “I’ve never noticed,” he played ignorant, a stunning grin stretching across his face at his own joke.

“That’s offensive,” you shot back through your amused grin. “We’re best friends, how could you not notice how great my ass is?”

“Have you noticed mine?” He asked, you giving him a wide-eyed look.

“Of course, I have,” you told him, “there’s no missing all that cake.” The man fell into giggles as he looked down to his feet in embarrassment, you watching him fondly. God he’s cute.

Entering the restaurant, you sat yourselves in a booth near the corner next to the window. “Do you just want to share a plate?” Taehyung asked you as the waitress made her way over. Nodding at him, Taehyung gave you a single nod as the waitress appeared.

Taehyung handled the order as you watched him fondly, getting you a plate of pancakes to share, a juice for him, and a coffee for you.

“Tonight was fun,” Taehyung said as the waitress left, stretching his arms out across the back of the booth, looking a little too attractive for a late-night pancake run. Or maybe you just found him to be a little too attractive.

“It was,” you pouted. “We don’t get to hang out much all together like that.” Taehyung nodded as the waitress reappeared with the drinks, you both thanking her. “It was nice to have Jungkook and the wifey with too.”

“I really like her,” Taehyung said, taking a sip of his juice, his other arm still hanging over the back of the booth.

“Me too,” you agreed with a smile. “Oh, we decided to call you and Guk,” you paused, building the suspension, “ready for it?” you asked, Taehyung sighing. “The Nimrods,” you announced.

Taehyung’s eyes widened as a small smile graced his face. “The Nimrods?”

“Yeah, it’s fitting,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee. “She came up with it, I just agreed,” you smirked.

He let out a low chuckle, watching as you lowered your mug to the table. “When did you two even decide this?”

“When you were rapping like your life depended on it,” you grinned. “The skill.”

“Shut up,” he smiled widely, his eyes turning to crescents as he flashed you his boxy grin.  

“I’m serious,” you defended, “I personally think Yoongi should write you a rap verse. I would love it,” you told him sincerely, though you wore a smirk.

“He keeps complaining that you haven’t stopped by his studio in a while,” Taehyung noted, your eyes widening.

“That little bitch acts like he doesn’t miss me,” you shook your head, Tae chuckling. “But no, rap king Taehyung,” you added. “The man you are today.”

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “What about you singing with your girlfriend?” He started, referring to your ‘I Kissed A Girl’ performance with Yoongi’s girlfriend.

“Do you think she would date me?” You asked with wide eyes, dramatizing your excitement, Taehyung chuckling. “I could take Yoongi, I think,” you nodded to yourself.

“Ok, anyway,” Taehyung interjected, you giggling. “Do you want me to get you a meeting with Bang PD? You could be a performer, darling,” he teased you, you shooting him a glare across the table.

“Taste this,” you suddenly told him, holding up your coffee.

“I don’t like coffee,” he whined, you giggling in response.

“I know, but I love your face after you taste it,” you teased him, the man sighing as he took the mug from you. Without a word, he lifted the cup to his lips, taking a small sip, his face immediately contorting in distaste.

Dropping your head onto your arm on the table, you laughed at him fondly, Taehyung quickly setting the coffee down and grabbing his juice to wash out the taste. “I don’t’ know how you drink that,” he complained making your laughter increase.

“I can’t believe you actually tasted it,” you giggled, lifting your head back up as you grabbed the mug and took a drink.

“You’re ridiculous,” he shook his head, though a small smile was fighting to appear on his annoyed expression.

“And you’re my very favorite person,” you cooed, watching as his lips finally curved up, his beam stunning as ever. Your laughter died down and you and Tae sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as the taste of the black coffee left his mouth.

A small breathy chuckle left his mouth, grabbing your interest as you stared at him intently. “Jimin said I looked jealous,” he admitted in embarrassment, your eyebrows raising. Jealous? “When you sang ‘I Kissed A Girl’.”

It took you a moment to comprehend the words and register he actually spoke them and you weren’t dreaming. “Were you?” You asked tentatively, a small smirk toying on your lips.

“Maybe,” he confessed, a smirk overtaking his mouth as you tried to calm the pounding of your heart. His gaze was playful but intense, showing off that infamous duality of his. It wasn’t unusual for Taehyung to fluster you, the man was beautiful and both fortunately and unfortunately, he knew it. But this moment felt a bit heavier than past flirtations.

Before you could respond, the waitress brought your pancakes, asking if you needed anything else before she left you and Tae to stare at each other, the plate of pastries covered in a thick slab of butter sitting between you. He was the first to move, reaching for the knife to spread the butter across the pancakes, you watching his strong and delicate hands hold the metal, causing you to bite your bottom lip. Did I just bite my lip? You thought to yourself. Down girl.

Tae poured syrup over the stack before presenting you with a fork, you taking it with a small smile. “Thank you,” you whispered, Taehyung nodding before he cut a large section of the three pancakes all at once, shoving them into his mouth.

You giggled at him, Taehyung trying not to smile as he struggled to chew the food. “Weak,” you commented, cutting off an even bigger portion and shoveling it into your own mouth, both you and Taehyung desperately holding in your laughter as you struggled to get the pancakes down.

“Jesus, Peaches,” Taehyung laughed after finally swallowing his massive bite, you covering your mouth as you finished chewing yours. The man took a more appropriately sized piece, eating like a normal mature adult as you just barely finished your mouthful, humming in approval making Tae chuckle.

“Oh,” you started, putting your fork down to take a drink of your coffee. “Speaking of Jimin,” you said, Taehyung pulling his eyebrows together in confusion. “Earlier,” you added, Tae’s mouth opening in a realizing oh. “Um, ‘Partition’?” Singing ‘Partition’ with Taehyung, or rather, mostly singing it to him was um, interesting.

There was no denying that you had a bit of a crush on your best friend. However, you were always unsure if he reciprocated those feelings in any way. You always found yourself to be quite fickle in relationships and Taehyung was not a person you were willing to lose due to your inability to give and receive love properly. Yes, he was gorgeous, yes, you adored every aspect of his personality, and yes, you had no doubt he would be the best partner anyone could be blessed with. But those were also the reasons you weren’t willing to cross a line with him. You’d never forgive yourself if you broke his heart, and you’d never be able to move on if you had him and lost him.

Your best friend let out a breath, a smile spreading across his face as he shook his head. “That was your friend too,” he noted, pointing out that Jimin’s girlfriend was as much to blame.

“Friend? She’s dead to me,” you joked, Taehyung giggling as he put more pancake into his mouth.

You watched as the man lost himself in thought for a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for him to space out every now and then as his mind wandered. It was something you loved about him, observing him fondly every time he did it around you. You simply ate another piece of the breakfast food as you waited for him to share his thought with you like he usually did.

When his eyes met yours, you raised your eyebrows. “Do you think we were meant to know each other?” He asked you, a smile immediately tugging at your lips at the question.

“You and I?” You clarified, Taehyung nodding as his tongue swiped out over his lips. He was anticipating your answer, which you found adorable. “Absolutely.”

“Yeah?” He asked, you humming. Tae smiled softly at you with a nod. “I think so too.”

“I don’t think I really believed in soulmates or fate before you,” you admitted, Tae’s expression softening immensely as he soaked in your words, sitting in their sentiment before responding. Neither of you were typically ones to share your feelings so openly, any conversations regarding these types of topics almost always occurring over text or through little letters and postcards you’d send each other.

“I don’t know why I even talked to you that day,” he chuckled lightly. “I just had to.”

“You asked me where I got my backpack,” you giggled, thinking back to the 17-year-old dude who approached you on the street that day, striking up a conversation over your bag and never allowing the conversation to end since then. “I don’t know, when I start thinking about all the things that had to line up just perfectly for us to meet that day, I can’t help but think it was at least sort of meant to be.”

“Knowing you now and being your friend for six years, I’m surprised you even kept talking to me,” he noted with a fond smile.

“Are you calling me standoffish?” You questioned him teasingly, the man chuckling as he waved you off, shaking his head. “I prefer the word aloof,” you added.

“Stop,” he giggled, “I just mean, well, you are a little aloof,” he agreed, reaching out to grab your hand off the table, holding it gently in his as you grinned. “But I mean you’re shy and quiet and you don’t really do strangers,” he explained, and though the words didn’t exactly sound like compliments, you knew he meant them to be. He was just as keen on your personality as you were his.

“Well, I talked to you because I just had to,” you mimicked his previous words. “You made me feel at ease, which was the first and only time I’d ever felt like that with someone I just met,” you admitted, Taehyung watching you thoughtfully. “I was still nervous, obviously,” you let out a small chuckle, “but I just felt like I knew you or something, I don’t know.”

“I felt the same way,” he told you softly. “And look at us now.” His expression carried such fondness and endearment, his mind surely sifting through the last six years of friendship like yours was. You’d been through a lot together, supporting each other every step of the way. It was almost hard to look back on without getting emotional, especially in the intimacy of the moment, Taehyung’s thumb gently soothing over your knuckles.

“I know, one day you’re asking for my number after knowing me for a total of fifteen minutes, and the next I’m calling you daddy in a song right in front of our closest friends,” you smirked. “The evolution.”

Taehyung let out his low chuckle at the comment, lowering his gaze to the tabletop as he hid his face, feeling flustered by the memory. You smiled fondly at the man, still amazed by how you of all people could cause such bashfulness from the Kim Taehyung. Then again, you were right by his side as he became the Kim Taehyung everyone knew him as now.

Lifting his gaze back to you, his boxy smile slowly transformed into a teasing smirk, your heart racing at the sight “You should call me daddy more often,” he told you, his voice low and thick, and you found yourself wetting your bottom lip before clamping your teeth over it lightly.

“I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” you started with a smirk of your own, Taehyung quirking an eyebrow at your lowered tone. “I took you more as a ‘sir’ kind of guy,” you teased him back, because as effected as you were by him in that moment, you always knew how to play right along.

The man scoffed at you as he grabbed his juice, taking a sip. This wasn’t the first time you’d teased each other in this way, pushing the limits, but one of you always pulled back. However, the tension had been building up all night, and despite your usual worries of hurting him and yourself, you had no intention of pulling back. Tae, on the other hand, did have a level enough head to do the backtracking for you both.

“Do you still have that date planned for tomorrow night?” And there it was, the pulling back. You had to wonder if the teasing and games were just that; entertainment. Maybe he was just joking around with his best friend and the friendlier feelings weren’t reciprocated by him. Why would he ask about your dating life in that exact moment?

His eyes were on you as you sighed, taking a sip of your coffee as you nodded. Lowering the mug, you audibly confirmed the date, looking into his eyes as you did so. “Yeah, we’re just getting dinner.” He broke eye contact at your confirmation, looking to the plate that only had about three more bites-worth on it. “She said she knows a place,” you mimicked the text the girl had sent you.

“Oh you hate that,” Tae commented, bringing another piece of food to his mouth, referring to the cliché expression. “You eat the rest,” he nodded to you, dropping your hand as he sat up straighter, returning his hands to his own side of the table.

You looked at your empty hand as you nodded. “Yeah, I do hate that,” you agreed, bringing your now empty hand to your lap as you reached for your fork with the other.  

“What happened with that guy from a couple weeks ago?” Taehyung asked, you suddenly feeling discomfort with the direction of the conversation. You talked to Tae about everything, but as you got older and your attraction to your best friend increased over time, you disliked talking about your dating life more and more.

“He was boring, I ended up ghosting him after the first date,” you told your best friend, plopping the second to last piece of pancake into your mouth.

Taehyung chuckled, watching you as you ate. “Everyone is boring in comparison to you,” he pointed out, echoing his common remark that no one would be able to keep up with you. Your mind is too interesting.

“You’re not,” you countered, pushing the plate and the final piece of food toward Tae. “And I’m not eating that,” you said stubbornly, Taehyung sighing. You always made him eat the last piece of food.

“That’s why we’re best friends, Peaches,” he reminded you, you nodding as you attempted to hide your disappointment by the term. Being best friends with Taehyung was your favorite thing to be. You just sometimes wondered what it would be like to be something more.

“Forever and always, my Dearest,” you replied, Taehyung smiling adorably at you.

“Definitely,” he agreed with a single nod, eating the last piece of food as you watched him fondly. Always fondly.

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [21]

Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 21.5 OR Chapter 22

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Baking is a mastery. It’s an ability that needs to be practiced and refined. It requires discipline and patience, especially when things go wrong. It’s problem solving and creative with never one right answer. It’s practically magic in a silver bowl, a whisk, and an oven. And Jungkook is the best wizard in this kitchen.   He preheats the oven to three hundred and seventy five degrees fahrenheit. Then he cuts parchment paper to line a baking sheet and moves to brush the ramekins with melted butter. Jungkook adds the tablespoon of white sugar and rotates the ramekins until the surfaces are coated in it.   Five ounces of seventy percent dark chocolate is put into a bowl with two ounces of semisweet chocolate and he melts it over a saucepan with hot water on low heat. Afterwards, he adds the egg yolks until the mixture stiffens. Jungkook wipes his sweat before he mixes in the tablespoon of flour and butter, reducing the heat to low and adding in some cold milk.   It’s thickened after three minutes and he adds salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper as a secret ingredient, and mixes.   The bowl is left over hot water while he whips egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar, adding sugar after a bit to create glossy, soft peaks.   Jungkook transfers the egg whites into the soufflé base, folding it in gently one third at a time and then he divides the mixture to bake for a full fifteen minutes.   What he’s left with at the end is the best chocolate soufflé on the planet.   “What do you think?”   “It’s really good.” Aeri politely smiles and you roll your eyes.   “You don’t need to feed his ego. He’s been raving about it for days now.”   “And you’ve eaten at least ten of them.” Jungkook grins and you mutter incoherently, unable to really protest against the claim that’s all too true.   The soufflé is puffed and crusty on top, but still gooey and jiggly in the center. It’s risen to its maximum height without collapsing whatsoever, uniform all around. And the texture is cloud-like, soft with the chocolate taste melting on the palate.   It took two weeks to perfect — but the outcome made the effort all worth it.   “I call it the ultimate soufflé.”   Your brows raise. “The ultimate? Not Jungkook’s ultimate?”   “Nope. The ultimate.” He smirks and leans into you. “Want another one?”   You hope he doesn’t know that it takes a lot of strength for you to reject.   Jungkook’s good at baking. That much is clear. You’re not sure if he’s as good as you are of course, but anything that has to do with chocolate practically has his name on it. His chocolate soufflé is no exception. It’s fucking delicious. Enough that even Yoongi asks for seconds and Taehyung almost starts to cry.   But you don’t want to admit just how good it is since his ego’s been boundless these past few days.   “How does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” he pipes up suddenly when you haven’t even said a single word for the past five minutes. And when you tell Jungkook he’s not a chocolatier yet, he laughs and tells you he will be soon while condescendingly patting your head like you’re his pet.   As if that wasn’t enough, he interrupts snuggling time by rolling over with a pompous look on his face. “I’m just so happy right now.”   “Why?”   You’re expecting a corny answer along the lines of — ‘because you’re here’. But instead Jungkook sighs dreamily and says, “I really nailed that soufflé, didn’t I?”   It’s annoying. You’re just trying to live your life peacefully but in every shape, way, or form, no matter the context, he just has to bring up that goddamn soufflé like it’s his child he’s so proud of. It’s not like you aren’t happy for your boyfriend — frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he bragged or boasted about it to others. But he’s been constantly chirping about it in your ear. And any complaints from you would just warrant his grins and questions of if you’re jealous of his skills.   “I don’t know what to add to my portfolio,” you mention passingly one afternoon after much contemplation.   Your boyfriend hums. “You need something with chocolate, right?”   “Yeah.”   “Well, you could make my soufflé. I’m sure it would help with your grade a lot, but—,” Jungkook draws out the syllable with another sly smirk, “my recipe’s a secret. Sorry, babe. Wish I could help.”   In spite of your inner exhaustion and vexation, for the sake of being a good girlfriend, you simply nod and let him have his moment. Even if Jeon Jungkook was being unbearably arrogant and reminding you of why you hated him about a year ago, he was clearly happy with the recipe he worked so hard on and you didn’t want to step on that.    He deserves some personal limelight, so you let him have it.   But luckily, you don’t have to bear the weight of his smug ass by yourself for long.   “Yuna!” Your arm waves over your head. The high schooler smiles, rolling her luggage behind her and meeting with you halfway. Immediately, you engulf her in your arms even when she grumbles and resists. “How was the trip here? You’re not hungry, are you?”   “God, you’re like my mom,” she huffs. “It was fine. Hey, Jungkook.” Yuna shifts and smiles warmly at your boyfriend who nods, greeting her as well.   “Hey.”   “So this is the school you go to?”   You grin. “Sure is!”   The last time you were with Yuna, she expressed interest in the professional baking and pastry arts program. You didn’t expect that she would actually come visit during the week-long break for a tour but it was a surprise you welcomed. You hope you can take her interest and curiosity and inspire her.    “Namjoon and Sejeong packed some cookies for you. They told me to say...thanks….for showing me around when you’re busy and stuff.”   “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to.” You smile. “Tell them I said thanks too.”   “Taehyung’s joining us,” Jungkook reads off his phone and then pockets it. “Apparently, he’s bored.”   You shrug. “Fine by me.”    “Who’s Taehyung?” Yuna asks.   “Just a friend of ours,” you say to ease her obvious worries of the stranger.   The three of you wait a few minutes, getting caught up with one another as Yuna talks about what her last classes were about. But soon after, the tall brunette is strolling over with his hands buried in his white hoodie pockets. His hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed and you don’t think that’s too far from the truth.    “Jimin ditched me to go on some date with the chick from his classic desserts class,” he whines when he gets in ear-shot distance. “I thought I was going to die of boredom.”   “Tough life,” you scoff and don’t notice Yuna who’s frozen next to you. Her eyes are wide on the stranger, gaze sweeping up and down at him.    She swallows hard before stepping forward and making herself known. “H-Hi. My name is Kim Yuna.”   “Oh yeah.” Taehyung grins easily. “They told me about you.”   “Did they? I’m glad.” She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. You exchange expressions with Jungkook. This was an awfully familiar situation. “I’m Namjoon’s niece, their boss during their internship.”   “I’m Kim Taehyung.”   They shake hands and Yuna goes in for the kill without hesitation— “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”   Taehyung is flustered, taken aback by the blunt question. “I….don’t have a girlfriend.”   “Great.” Yuna answers swiftly with a big smile.   You have to admit, she’s bold. The girl has some guts even you don’t have. And you’ve never witnessed Taehyung this perplexed either. It’s hard to catch someone as spontaneous as him off guard.   “How old are you?” Taehyung frowns, an apprehensive expression etched on his features like you’re telling him to touch a gooey substance in the corner of some dirty bathroom stall.   “I turned eighteen in May,” she declares bluntly.   But Taehyung looks unconvinced despite his slow nod. “That’s barely legal,” he mutters and only you and Jungkook catch it.   It’s hard to hold back laughter, but you try your best and interrupt— “Should we start the tour?”   You show her around campus, walking through the corridors, directing her where the lecture halls are and what classes are where. You tell her what it was like for first years and you show her the dormitories, the lockers, the dining hall, and the kitchen area.   All in the meanwhile, Taehyung sticks to Jungkook’s side like gum. It’s obvious that he’s intimidated by the petite high schooler and it’s an amusing sight.    But Yuna is a go-getter and somehow manages to get Taehyung beside her to answer her numerous questions. You and Jungkook fall back, no longer showing her the way and you’re reduced to watching their backsides.   “You know what I want to eat right now?” Jungkook turns to you, mumbling, “My soufflé.”   Here we go again….    You internally sigh, but maintain a stiff smile. “Uh-huh.”   “I should make it for Yuna. She’d be blown away.”   “What?” The younger girl twirls around at the mention of her name.   Jungkook grins at her. “You like soufflé? I make the best chocolate soufflé here.”   Yuna blinks, too innocent to know better. “Really?”   “Your soufflé isn’t even that good.” It’s a lie. “I bet I could do it better.” That’s an even bigger lie, but you can’t stop it once it’s spewed out of your mouth.   It goes silent.   Jungkook stops walking. Taehyung turns around.   “You think you can make a better chocolate soufflé than me?” Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow, taking personal offence.   You shrug — it’s too late to back down now. “Why not? Can’t be that hard.”   Jungkook scoffs with a stupidly smug expression, calling your bluff. “You can barely temper chocolate.”   “You underestimate me, Jeon,” you bite back and his lips curl.   “Fine. Let’s see then.”   //   It was a mistake — something said on impulse, after days of irritation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It came tumbling out before you could know better, before you could think twice about the consequences, but now you’re standing in the kitchen at an impromptu competition.   “Welcome to the annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”   “This isn’t annual,” you mutter at Taehyung’s unnecessary extravagance.   He corrects himself— “Welcome to the first annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!”   The word spread like wildfire, but luckily kept only in the group chat. The last thing you needed were acquaintances, classmates, and teachers coming to watch. The guys were noisy enough. And it’s a testament proven with Yoongi coming over, Hoseok sprinting to get here, and Jimin calling to tell everyone to wait for his date to be over. All of it was enough pressure you could handle at the moment.    But even Aeri had caught wind of what was going on and decided to come by.    It’s clear that there’s still tension between her and Hoseok. You don’t miss the strained expressions they exchange with one another before taking seats on the opposite ends, but you’re glad that they can at least be in the same room as one another. It’s an improvement. A sign of moving on.   Yet you don’t dwell on them — not when you have bigger fish to fry at the moment.   “Over here we have Y/N who believes she can make a better chocolate soufflé than Jungkook, an aspiring chocolatier who literally took weeks and weeks to perfect this recipe of his to make it the ultimate soufflé—”   “Alright, that’s enough,” you cut off Taehyung, the self-designated commentator, before you start actually sweating.   Jungkook is competitive. Everyone and their mother knows that. And that fact alone makes you nervous. He might just throw you entirely under the bus and burn your relationship to the ground for the sake of winning. You’re worried — but you don’t show it. You can’t.   If he knows you’re fearful, he’ll have the upper hand. So you feign indifference.   After all, if there was one similarity between you and Jungkook, it was that you weren’t going to back down without a fight either. You were born a winner and it was going to stay that way.   “And to make it more fair and maximize the amount of desserts we get to eat, over here we have Jeon Jungkook who will be making éclair. A pastry made with choux dough filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing. It is a specialty perfected by Y/N, an aspiring pâtisserie chef who dreams of running her own wedding cake catering services someday.”    “Two very different dishes that the opposing member has a speciality in.” Taehyung continues to narrate and nods his head, inadvertently making Yuna giggle, “Who can make it better? You’ll be the judge of that.”   It’s ridiculous, but you’re not going to cave in or surrender. Not when Jungkook’s ego was insurmountable and you’d never hear the end of it if you gave up.   An hour and a half is put on the clock. Your counters parallel to one another while your friends are gathered at the other, ready to watch, eat their snacks and hang around. You momentarily wonder why you never have the privilege of relaxing like them.   But you don’t think about it for too long. The moment Taehyung starts the time, you begin.   You preheat the oven and begin buttering the ramekins.    “How do you feel, Y/N?” Suddenly a whisk is thrusted in your face, almost puncturing your cheek. It’s a makeshift microphone that you push aside.   “Fine.”   “What are you doing now?”   “What does it look like?” You push Taehyung aside, grabbing sugar to coat the dish.   “Well alright then.” He laughs and slinks over to Jungkook’s side who’s humming underneath his breath. He’s much too casual as he finishes greasing a cookie sheet and moves to combine butter and water in a saucepan. “How about you, Jungkook?”   “Never been better.” The side of his lip is curled. Jungkook’s black long sleeve is pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, and one peek at him is enough to feel your blood boil. It’s obvious that he doesn’t see you as a threat whatsoever.   “You think you’re going to win?”   “Unfortunately, I do.” Jungkook plays along with Taehyung’s antics, head so far up in the clouds.   “Why unfortunately?”   “Well, it’s not everyday I want to crush my girlfriend, but sometimes I just have to.” Jungkook twists to you. “Sorry, babe.”   You ignore him, too busy glancing at the label and dumping the chocolate into a small bowl with butter. In the meanwhile, Yoongi chews on his chips and scrutinizes. “Are you sure that’s the right kind?”   “Fuck off, Yoongi.”   It’s not like you haven’t done this before — you’re just not sure if yours can ever beat Jungkook’s.   You whisk in the six egg yolks and add a pinch of sea salt until the melted mixture thickens. At the same time, Jungkook is singing under his breath, forming his pastry dough and piping it out onto his baking sheet.   You don’t know how he works so fast, but you concentrate harder, ignoring Jimin asking Yuna if she likes the place so far, disregarding Yoongi’s snarky comments and Hoseok’s music that he turns on as background noise.   Once you place egg whites and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar in the electric mixer to beat, you’re finally able to take a moment of relief. Jungkook is also at his mixer beating his heavy cream for the filing. “Nervous, babe?”   You scoff at him. “As if.”   “Alright then.” Jungkook smirks, almost as if he finds your snobbery endearing.   You hate how he can see right through you, but you still maintain the facade anyhow. At this moment, he was your rival first and your boyfriend second.   “It smells so good.” Yuna inhales.   Aeri smiles at her. “That would be Jungkook's choux pastry in the oven.”   “Who do you think is going to win?” Taehyung suddenly asks the high schooler, thrusting the whisk in front of her.   She smiles gingerly. “I don’t know. Who do you think will win?”   Taehyung hums and ignores the protest of his friend when he says— “I’ll put my money on Y/N.”   “Want to bet on it then?” Yuna asks, lashes batting back and forth. “Loser takes the other person to dinner.”   “What about you, Chim?” Taehyung immediately diverts his vision, pretending that he doesn’t hear her deal. He even disregards Aeri and Hoseok’s stunned expressions of Yuna’s forwardness. “Who do you think?”   You add the sugar carefully, one tablespoon at a time until the egg whites hold glossy, stiff peaks. Then you’re gently folding the egg whites into your soufflé base until it’s a light and fluffy mixture ready to be put into the ramekins. But you know it’s too basic.    It would never beat Jungkook’s.   So in the midst of your inner hysteria, you sprinkle in a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. Yoongi, the only person who’s actually watching, quirks his brow but doesn’t say anything.   The soufflés are popped into the oven and by then, Jungkook is still working.    He’s letting his pastries cool on a rack, his filling already in a piping bag, and he’s busy making the icing.   “How do you feel now, Y/N?”   “The same.” You shrug. “I know I’m going to win, so…”   Your boyfriend lifts his chin, a small smirk gracing his lips. “We’ll see about that.”   “You aren’t intimidated whatsoever?” Taehyung asks. “I mean Jungkook’s soufflé was fucking deli—cious. It was like gooey on the inside and so soft, but really crispy on the outside and very, very chocolatey. It felt like an explosion of flavour—”   “Alright.” You shut him up and move over to steal Yoongi’s bag of chips, much to his dismay.   In the few minutes that you finally get to sit down and rest, you observe Jungkook.   In spite of his arrogance, he’s working quite hard. You’re impressed he agreed to make éclairs in just an hour and a half since it usually takes two. But Jungkook works quickly, efficiently, and your eyes can’t help lingering on his exposed forearms, the furrow of his brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his pink lips.   God. As competitive as you are, a part of you doesn’t even care who wins — you already feel like a winner.   The beeping of your oven breaks you out of your daydream.   “You should wipe off your saliva,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing full well that you were ogling Jungkook in silence. You glare at the dark-haired man, a silent threat not to say anything lest it becomes clear you have other priorities other than winning.   You take your soufflés out of the oven, breathing a sigh of relief when you see them.   They all rose. A few with them have cracks and they’re not uniform whatsoever, but it’s more than you hoped for.   The aroma of chocolate fills the room, making Yuna antsy in her seat.   You begin dusting the top with powdered sugar.   “Two minutes left, chefs,” Hoseok warns with a grin, peeking over at Taehyung’s timer.   Jungkook is long finished piping his éclairs, already drizzled the chocolate icing over top of it and allowing them to set in the fridge. You step back from your counter as well. “I’m done.”   “Same here.”   “Finally!” Yuna is cheering. “Can we taste them now?”   You’re the first to go since the soufflés are still piping hot. It’s six servings with Yuna receiving the first one since she’s the guest of honour. Then the rest are passed to Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Aeri. They dig in without hesitation and you watch with your breath hitched.   “It’s really good,” Hoseok says, chewing in his cheek.   “I like it a lot.” Aeri smiles. “You did a good job, Y/N.”   “Thanks.” Even if you don’t win, you feel great at your attempt.   Yuna hisses when it burns her tongue and she hums after letting it cool. There doesn’t seem to be any complaints from anyone.   “The top can be crustier. It’s baked well through though,” Yoongi notes pompously after sniffing his spoonful for the past minute to take in the scent. “Not half bad.”   “But is it better than Jungkook’s?” Taehyung asks.   It’s silent. No one can give a blatant answer. Jungkook is appalled that they even need to think about it.   “Give me that.” He grabs Jimin’s and takes a spoonful. Jungkook bites, chews, and his brows furrow. “What...is that? There's something in there that’s weird. Like the aftertaste is off.”   In hindsight, cinnamon and nutmeg probably wasn’t the best idea. But you don’t say anything and you plop your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as an implicit warning not to speak about it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”   It’s your turn to take a taste and the moment it hits your tongue, you know the outcome.   It’s miles and miles away from Jungkook’s standards. Your soufflé is good, but not crying-worthy. It doesn’t bring tears to your eyes and make you remember your mother’s home cooking, how you gathered around the table for dessert during warm holidays.   The situation only gets shittier when you take a taste of Jungkook’s éclair. The custard is tangy and smooth, pastry crispy and buttery, chocolate icing sweet at all the right places. And all you can think is — what. the. fuck.    This guy had to have a cheat code for life. There’s no way he can be so good at everything he does. It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. It’s unfair.   “What do you think?” Jungkook stares at you in particular, trying to gauge your reaction.   You swallow hard, managing a half-hearted shrug. “It’s decent.”   It’s clear with his smile he can see you’re trying to hide your true feelings. “Want me to save you seconds?”   “I’m fine.” You wave your hand at him, despite your heart saying otherwise. It causes Jungkook to chuckle, but he doesn’t push to spare your pride.   It’s hard to tell if his éclair is better than yours — but the mere fact that Jungkook hadn’t even had time to perfect his recipe or practice yet made it this good has your knees weak. You’re glad you don’t have him as your competition on a daily basis anymore.   “This is pretty good,” Yuna admits, licking off her fingers.   Yoongi seems to be enjoying it as well, eating quietly as he studies it. Hoseok is making noises at the back of his throat and Taehyung nods in approval. “Have you only made this once before?” Jimin asks.   “Once or twice. Can’t remember.” Jungkook grins and that’s even more impressive.   You’re conflicted of being proud of having such a talented boyfriend and being spiteful of him as a rival.   Eventually, Taehyung dismisses the two of you for the rest of them to ‘deliberate’ and judge.    You step out into the hallway and Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close.   “Don’t be too sad when you lose, babe. I’ll comfort you with my golden trophy.”   “There is no trophy.”   “Hmmm, how about a kiss then?” His nose bumps against you, smiling wide.   You feign a pout. “I’ll think about it.”   “Alright, love birds.” Taehyung pokes his head out of the door in less than two minutes. “We’ve made our decision.”   You gather back together again. All of them are pretending to be very experienced pâtisserie chefs with decades of experience. It’s both an amusing and lame sight — but you don’t comment in case they decide to deduct your points and Jimin grins, reading off the paper he has in front of him.   “Y/N, your chocolate soufflé was very moist and delectable. It had the perfect amount of sweetness. We found your techniques to be very competent and proficient. The presentation was great. The texture was very soft and the flavour was very deep. The aftertaste, on the other hand, was unique and different. It caused many to continue tasting to pinpoint what it was. You obviously accomplished what you set out to do and you made a very tasty dessert.” Jimin clears his throat. “And Jungkook, your éclair was alright.”   “Y/N wins,” Yuna announces with giddy laughter, arms in the air.   “Wait.” Jungkook frowns. “What?”   “Me?” You point to yourself, starting to laugh. “I won!”   “It was a consensus,” Taehyung spits in the midst of giggles.   “This is obviously rigged!” Jungkook protests loudly.   “Don’t be a sore loser.” Hoseok shouts and the rest ignore his outcry.   Yoongi nods in approval. “Congratulations, Y/N.”   You put your hand over your heart. “Thank you.”   You didn’t plan this — maybe they were sick of Jungkook’s ego too or maybe they just thought it would be hilarious to see his reaction, but whatever the case may be, you’re glad that they have your back.   You lean over to your boyfriend, giving a brief peck on his pouting lips.   “This is so rigged,” he mutters, less upset after your kiss.   You smile at him and quirk your head to the side. “Life’s rigged, sweetheart. But tell me, how does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?”   Jungkook scoffs, a grin spreads into his face.   //   Informal baking competitions are all fun and games, but it’s not so much at the end when there’s a mountain of dishes to wash in the sink and a whole kitchen to clean. The others have long left after satisfying their sweet tooths, so you and Jungkook have been hard at work yet again.   But in the midst of wiping down the counters, your eyes stray to Jungkook’s pastries.   He’s stepped out for a moment, so you take the opportunity swiftly by its throat.   You lurch across the floor and grab an éclair to eat.    But as you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while relishing in the deliciousness, you don’t notice the man creeping up on you.   “Having those seconds, huh?”   You’re scared shitless, jolting, and you whirl around to see Jungkook with his shit eating grin that just screams ‘I knew it’. You’ve been caught in the act. There’s no denying it now.   All you can do is swallow your mouthful.   “So you liked it that much? You should’ve just admitted it from the start, Y/N. You know I can read you like an open book—”   You grab Jungkook by the back of his neck and pull him in for a smothering kiss, just to shut him up. It’s a slow kiss, one where he cleans the cream off your lips and tastes the sugar on your tongue.   It’s ambiguous who the real winner is. When you pull apart, you know you both feel like it.   “Happy?”   Jungkook laughs, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “Very.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Cross My Heart - CH.04

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Angst, fluff, some relief of the tension, maybe?

WC: 2720

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean’s been gone for over an hour now and she starts to worry. He told her that he’ll only be away an hour, tops.

There had been sounds of motorcycles around the cabin all the time. She begins to think that there’s a popular excursion site or something close to here and she realizes that they’re not excluded as she first thought they would be.

She’s panicking because she’s slowly but surely losing her mind. With every sound of a motorcycle, she jumps up, thinking it’s Dean.

How fucking stupid of him to leave her alone. 

There’s another one that stopped close to the cabin. And then it’s like it only dawns on her now. What if the people who are after her have motorcycles too? What if they use it to confuse her?

She goes to the kitchen, grabs a knife and waits by the front door. She hears footsteps coming closer.

Her heart’s beating out of her chest.

The door opens and she holds the knife up, is fucking ready to attack.

“Woah, hey, it’s me!” Dean holds his hands up in defense when he sees her, one of them still clutching a bag of groceries, “What happened, why are you so agitated?”

She drops the knife as tears start to pool in her eyes. Her vision gets cloudy.

It’s Dean. Oh god, it’s Dean.

“I’m scared,” She admits, “There were so many motorcycles driving around here. I thought maybe the people who are after me were driving one too?”

“Hey,” Dean lets the bag drop to the floor and pulls her to his chest, she cries some more, even if she doesn’t want to, “Shhh, I’m here okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” 

She wraps her arms around his waist, and it’s good. Good to cry. She hasn’t done that in a while now.

“I’m sorry, I won’t leave you alone anymore.” Dean mumbles his big hand is stroking her back, one wraps tightly around her shoulder. The sound of his voice rumbles in his chest.

“You won’t?” She sniffs into his shirt.

“No,”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Dean says before he starts to chuckle, “Just how much damage you thought you could have done with that knife?” 

“Hey! It’s a knife alright? I could have stabbed you!” She looks up to him, they still stand there, intertwined.

“It’s a butter knife!” Dean is laughing. His whole body shakes.

“It’s still a knife and I could have hurt you.” She says it with a pout.

“Of course,” Dean agrees and then it’s like he remembers that he’s standing there hugging her, so he lets go, brushes at her face with the pad of his thumb and swipes away the tears. His thumb brushes further down against her bottom lip and he leaves it there for a short moment while he stares at her.

“You’re cute with that knife. Not scary at all.” He says warmly and turns away, lets go of her and picks his bag and knife up from the floor before he walks towards the kitchen. 

 *

 Chuck called after they ate and Dean put him on speaker. 

Her husband only asks if Dean has everything under control to which Dean takes a little offense and says that of course he does, all while the creases on his forehead are deepening. She thinks Dean’s not very happy that someone is questioning his professionalism. He takes his job very seriously, she can see that, and maybe she’s a little disappointed about it.

He also only said hello to Y/N very briefly and then went on about how hard it was to get the blood and the stink of the blood out of his house.

Even Dean frowns by the sheer amount of apathy Chuck shows towards her, to which she could only shrug with raised eyebrows, as if she tells him with her eyes, see that’s how much he really cares about me, in case he didn’t believe her before.

After the phone call Dean goes out to work on his car and she joins him. How can she not, she has literally nothing else to do.

Dean showed her a bookshelf in the cabin which contained an impressively large amount of books and she first tried to read something but couldn’t concentrate for long. 

She wanders out and Dean again has his head bowed and under the hood of his car.

Standing back, she admires the view. It’s a nice one, honest to god.

He only wears a simple black shirt and his jeans are bordering on a little too tight, not that she minds. She can see the muscle of his back moving as he works under the hood of his car. It gets her all worked up and she has to bite down on her lips so as not to make a sound.

Dean’s indeed strong and big. His hands are capable, can easily handle tools and even a weapon, and his fingers are deftly working on fixing up his car. 

Y/N wonders what else they’re capable of. She can’t help but feel a rush of blood to her head when she thinks back to how he held her in his arms. Thinks back to how easy it would have been, to pull him down, to kiss him. She’s imagining how he could have easily lift her up, could have easily pressed her against the next surface and kissed her stupid. 

A voice pulls her out of her trance.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

She turns red, “No?”

Y/N walks closer until she’s standing next to him and Dean turns to her. She can see the amused look on his face when he sees that she’s blushing.

“Liar,” He scoffs and braces both his hands on his car, “What are you doing out here again?”

She doesn’t answer. Wouldn’t know what to answer except that she’s bored but he already knows that anyway. 

Dean exhales and tilts his head to hers again, “You know, you would make my job so much easier if you’d listen to what I say.”

“Well, I guess you have to be more picky for your next job then,” She just shrugs and she can swear that she sees him smirk before his face goes back to being unreadable again. 

“Can I help?” She asks and Dean eyes her up and down.

“You wanna get your hands dirty?” 

“What? Do you think I can’t? I’m not a princess, Dean.” She takes the wrench, waves it around.

Dean has to hide his grin and raises an eyebrow, “Your husband isn’t exactly paying me to get you dirty.”

It sounds so wrong and Dean has to cough to cover the embarrassment. 

She smiles, flashes him her teeth, “Oh, you can see it as a tip to your pay. I can get even dirtier.” She winks, for good measure, and continues to fix the screw Dean was working on before.

They spent the afternoon fixing his car, but most of the time, she’s watching him. Can’t help it. He’s quite easy on the eye, that’s for sure. He might not know it, but when he’s deep in concentration, he’ll frown and the tip of his tongue peaks put to rest at the corner of his mouth. She thinks it’s adorable.

Dean slams the hood of his car down to signal that they’re finished.

“Thanks,” Dean smiles, “You really helped a lot. Not afraid to get your hands dirty, huh?” She might be wrong but she can hear the admiration in his voice.

“Nope,” Her face is flushed and she’s beaming. She feels really good because finally, she feels that she matters, that she can be useful for something.

He looks at her, a grin spreads around his lips and she can see the crinkles around his eyes deepening. He points at his own cheek, “You got something—” but before he finishes the sentence, he places his hand on the side of her face, “Let me just—” 

Dean brushes at her cheek with the pad of his thumb, has to rub again to get whatever it is out. And then he smiles when he’s done. 

The longer he stares at her, though, his smile starts to face. Soon, there’s no trace of a smile left, but instead, his expression gets darker, his eyes are intense and he looks at her as if he could eat her alive. Her heart races. His gaze on her feels like fire, her skin’s burning. 

She feels something, maybe he feels that something too? His eyes travel from her eyes to her nose, her lips.

All of a sudden, her lips feel awfully dry so she licks at them. Dean swallows when he sees it, and she can feel that he’s holding himself back from reciprocating her own movements.

“We should go in,” Dean breaks the moment and turns away, leaving without even waiting for her to follow. She hears the door slam shut.

Wow, this is going well. 

When she gets inside, she can hear the shower running so she goes to the bedroom, kicks Dean’s bag to the side which he had left laying around instead of placing it back into the closet where he keeps it. Which suggests that he was probably in a hurry to get into the showers.

She begins to undress herself, wants to take a shower, too. Feels the need to get the grease off her body, maybe also to stop the aching between her thighs while she’s at it.

Just when she’s standing in the bedroom in her lingerie, Dean walks in wearing only his boxer briefs. His skin is still damp, his hair still wet. Drops of water still dripping down from his hair over his body.

Fuck, she’d like to lick it all up.

He clasps his hand over his eyes when he sees her, “Jesus Christ, Y/N! Put something on!”

“I could tell you the same,” She chuckles, takes the opportunity to look at him when he doesn’t see her staring. Dean’s body is firm and he has freckles all over. His tummy is soft but strong. She bites her lips when her eyes travel further down. There’s a little happy trail leading from below his navel to the elastic band of his underwear. His bulge is big. She doesn’t have a lot to compare it with but it’s definitely much bigger than Chuck’s and Dean’s not even hard. Well, maybe a little because he’s definitely also not soft.

Dean Winchester has a big gun, okay. 

“Are you dressed now?” He asks, loud and clear, as if him not seeing her means that she doesn’t hear him too.

Her lips curve into a smile, “Yes.”

Dean takes his hand away and looks at her, his gaze traveling over her briefly before he clasps his hand back over his eyes and now, he even turns around. “No you aren’t! Fucking Christ, Y/N!”

Y/N can’t say that she minds seeing his backside either. 

She laughs, loud and hard. “Sorry but what’s the point of getting dressed when I was waiting for you to come out of the showers so I can go in?”

“Well, it’s free now!” Dean’s still so loud.

“Fine, I’m going. You can open your eyes now.”

Dean opens and turns around but this time, instead of him yelling at her or clasping a hand back over his eyes, he just looks at her and takes her in from head to toe. She can feel his gaze on her body, it sets it on fire. Her skin heats up, her head gets light.

She probably shouldn’t have teased him. She swallows, and she can see that something is swelling down there in his pants. The look he gives her is dark and hungry. As if he accepts her challenge.

Y/N lifts one eyebrow, decides to tease him some more because she’s come this far, there’s no going back, not that she really wants to go back anyway, “You like what you see?”

He takes a step closer, grins predatory, and with one swift motion, he pushes her back against the wall, one-handedly pinning both her hands above her head while his other hand sneaks around her waist. 

His face is merely inches from her, their noses almost touch, his hot breathing mingles with hers and she can feel his heartbeat because he melts his body to hers.

Dean swallows, his look is intense and he’s so close. Closer than he’d ever been before.

Y/N knows that Dean’s a professional, he would never do anything that could jeopardize his job, so if she wants something to happen, she knows that it’s going to be her who makes the first move. She bites down on her bottom lips, wonders if she wants anything to happen. 

Right now they can still walk away from it. They can still pretend that nothing happened.

But that’s not really what she wants. She wants it, wants to feel him. 

She closes her eyes and presses her wetted lips on his. To her surprise, Dean kisses her back and she parts so easily for him, letting his tongue explore her mouth while he lets go of her hands and hooks his arms around her thighs to lift her up, she wraps her legs around his waist. 

He kisses her deep and hard, there’s nothing gentle about the kiss. It’s both their sexual tension crashing together, it’s their anticipation finally finding release. The kiss is sloppy wet, all rough and demanding, and he grinds his swelling cock against her center. She’s awfully wet already. 

She sucks at his tongue, making him groan out into her mouth, her hands hook themselves around his neck, her nails scraping at his back. 

He kisses down her chin, sucks and nibbles along her throat and she moans.

“Dean,” Her voice is shaking, “I need more.”

He sucks at her pulse point, mumbles against her skin, “What do you want?”

“More,” Y/N lets out a shaky breath, “I want more, please,”

One of Dean’s hands works it’s way down her body, kneads at her tits before he finds the peak of her nipple and pulls at it through her bra. He doesn’t leave his hand there, though, moves further down, wedges his hand between both of their bodies until he’s palming at her stomach.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” His voice drops, it deep and gravelly. 

Baby.

She fucking likes the sound of that word.

“Fuck,” She moans, his scruff scratches at her throat on his way up to claim her mouth again.

He’s hard, she can feel it, the amount of friction against her pussy is just right but also not nearly enough.

Dean bites at her lower lip, making her yelp up again. It doesn’t hurt, it just took her by surprise because she’s never kissed someone so roughly. 

However, the yelp is enough to bring Dean back to reality and he stops kissing her. His eyes fly open, taking her in as he still pants against her spit slick lips.

Startled, he pulls back and let her down on her feet.

“‘M sorry,” Dean swallows, his lips are red and swollen from kissing. She thinks that hers probably doesn’t look any different.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” He looks down to his feet, not quite able to look her in the eye, “It’s my fault. I shouldn't have let this happen. Your husband is a client. You’re my job.” He rubs one hand over his face, scratches at his beard, “Can we pretend this,” He gestures between the both of them, “Never happened?”

“Okay,” She agrees, not because she wants to fucking pretend, but more because she doesn’t want to put him in an awkward situation. She knows she can never pretend that it didn’t happen. It was quite memorable. Her heart is still thumping out of her chest, her cheeks probably all shades of pink.

“Good. I’m sorry. I can normally control myself better, I’m usually more professional.” He finally looks at her but then he quickly looks away to clear his throat, “You should go take a shower, I’ll cook dinner.”

“Okay,” She says, because she’s too baffled to say anything more.

CH.05

[captainjimothycarter]

Be interesting to see your take on medieval Steggy or steggy at any point in history

Ahh you said steggy and medieval and that’s what my mind latched onto. I have no idea if this is what you wanted, OP but this is what i came out with.

--

This was the end, wasn’t it?

This isn’t how Steve ever saw his life ending. Sure, he didn’t think he’d ever get to live a grand and lavished life with riches piled around him and silk draped over his thin shoulders, but he thought he’d get to live a modest life. A well-deserved one with heart work and the respect of people around him.

Instead, it was coming to an end from someone else’s actions he was forced to follow. It wasn’t like he chose this life. To be this skinny, to be this frail and sick, and in almost constant need of some healer. Yet, this is the life that the Goddess had chosen for him. 

To become a page to a man that is known as a hero in the lands, but behind the chamber doors, he is ruthless and cruel as the rest of the knights that Steve has serviced while growing up. He bellows and hits him around the ears if he’s even a second late with his dinner or if he can’t get his hunting dogs to hush at night. He mocks Steve when he can’t breathe or even worst, mocks Bucky when the guy is giving commands around the table.

Bucky is the only reason he’s here, the only reason he stayed because he had made a promise a long time ago that they were together till the end of the line.

And that line ended today, with Bucky’s death fresh on his mind, at the end of a blade coming down onto him. 

Steve couldn’t even do justice to meet his maker in the eyes, raising his arm instinctively to try to block the sharp blade with just the thin chainmail he’s granted to wear.

He tenses, he waits. The blood is pounding in his ears. Yet, the blade never comes.

He never feels it slice through the chainmail like butter, never feels the sting of the metal as it slices through his skin and muscle and pierces his heart. 

Instead, what he hears is the sound of metal-hitting-metal, the clashing ranging in his ears. He opens his eyes to see a figure dressed in a full suit of armor, their helm hiding their face. Their armor is tarnished and battle-worn with knicks and dents all throughout it. The shaft of a bolt sticks out from the side, still lodged into place, but still, the figure fights on as if it’s nothing. 

Maybe they weren’t hurt and the armor had saved them. 

Shoving the figure above him back, his savior takes advantage and swings their weapon, an ancient claymore that is controlled with ease. The blade whistled through the air and strikes his attacker in the side, their mud-coated boot raising from the ground to strike them in the chest and send them tumbling back.

“Get up!” The savior growls at the scrawny blonde. “Take my horse and go. She’ll know where to take you. I’ll meet you there.”

“But…”

Why is he trying to protest? He’s being saved. An annoying voice, the voice that has been conditioned for so long after serving under Sir Rumlow as his page, tells him he should stay, search for his Lord and apologize for being useless and not being able to help them in battle. 

Instead, the figure’s horse, a large beast with the kindest, most-human eyes he’s ever seen nips him by the back of the shirt like he’s nothing but a scrawny kitten. Steve grumbles and tries to fight but gives up when his strength is sapped from him as he is practically thrown onto the horse’s backside by the horse itself.

Since when do these things get so strong?

He’s forced to do nothing but wrap his arms around their soft, velvet main and tuck his face into the crook of his arm as they gallop away. From a battle that should’ve never been, a raid that had not been fair, and the blood that coats Steve’s hands will forever remain.

He’s not sure how long they ride, but by the time they’ve come to a stop, he’s cried himself out of tears. The horse knickers and stomps its hooves, indicating for Steve to get off. He slides to his feet and crumbles to the ground in front of a warm fire. It’s his only saving grace, this fire amongst the inky-black darkness around them.

They’re in the middle of a forest, thick trees are lined around them like fortress walls. He feels closed in and yet safe in the same manner. 

Steve watches as the black horse walks disappears into the forest and comes back out a wolf. He should be afraid if it’s not for both the guilt building up like an erupting volcano in his chest and the human hazel eyes the wolf wears. He walks around Steve twice before plopping behind him to offer comfort and warmth.

Steve isn’t sure if he nods off or if he just blacks out, but when he slowly comes to when the dawn is breaking, he’s not alone. The wolf is still behind him, but his savior is sitting beside him. The smell of meat over the fire is what gets his attention first, his stomach growling to remind him of his hunger.

It takes him a second, a long second to become aware that his savior has removed their armor until they sit in nothing but their tunic and pants. She smiles when Steve’s head rises from the wolf’s chest, offering the leg of an animal she’s killed for them to share.

“Eat,” she says in a soft tone, the wolf nudging Steve from behind to get him to sit up. “How do you feel?”

There’s a hesitation before Steve takes it, hunger winning over as he bites into the flesh. He watches her for a moment, watches the way she tears off a slice and hand feeds what should be a wild beast behind him. She’s beautiful. Battle-worn with bags under her eyes. Her hair is elegantly braided into a knot. Her eyes are the same as the wolf, brighter but more human and life in them. Her weapon rests by her side, within grasp. 

“I…” Steve opens and closes his mouth, dropping his eyes back to the fire. The leg is lowered and while he’s hungry he should eat, but the guilt is too much. “I killed them.”

“No,” she says in an accent he hasn’t heard before. There’s a firmness to her tone that makes him look up. “You did not, Steven. You did not give that order or swing that blade and if my memory serves me correctly, you tried to argue. You were punished, am I correct?”

He did. He tried to fight Rumlow on this but he ended up tied up back at camp. He witnessed Bucky’s death before his very eyes. The blade had come straight down onto his shoulder. It had been a painful death, he’d done all he could to try to escape, to comfort his dying friend. The tears burn his eyes and he buries his face into his hands. The wolf sniffs at his ears and comfortingly licks at his cheeks. 

She moves to sit beside him and he finds her arms around him, hiding his face in the crook of her elbow. The sobs take over him, hysterically sobbing until nothing is left in him. He can’t move, he doesn’t want to move or breathe. He wants to die.

Picking his head, she’s looking down at him with kindness he doesn’t deserve in her eyes. Her cheekbones are sharp, there’s a faint scar running from the side of her full lips. Her eyes, in the fire, look like pools of warm honey. Her fingertips stroke through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“You did all you could,” she hums, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You fought with every last bit of your strength. I am sorry that I could not save your friend, but it does not mean he’s gone.”

“If you...if you tell me some bullshit about the Goddess and how she works in mysterious ways and we should praise her, I will…”

The bitterness is met with a fond chuckle, the woman shaking her head. “No, my fair Steve, I am not talking about the Goddess. While she does work in ways we do not understand, I am talking of something beyond most understanding. Do you know why Rumlow ordered a siege on that village? Why your friend fought so hard?”

At the shake of his head, she sighed and her arms only tightened around him. “Rumlow is cruel and vicious and follows by his own rules. If he follows another order, it would be Alexander Peirce given them.” The very name made him shudder, her hand resting on the side of his neck to bring him closer to her chest. Steve hated to admit it, but it was warm and comfortable here. “He ordered them dead for the simplicity that they had defied him, that they hoasted a traitor amongst their people. If anyone has blood on their hands, it is me.”

Pulling away, Steve frowned as he looked up at her, trying to read her passive expression. Her eyes dropped down to her lap, her arms pulling away from around him. “They were protecting me. I had begged them not to. I didn’t want it to be in vain. I told them I would leave - they didn’t let me. I told them to leave but they refused to leave their home. They died protecting me and that blood will always be on my heads, young Steven.”

Steve swallowed, his throat tightening. Alexander Peirce was their Lord, the man he served under Rumlow. Their King, their ruler, whatever title he wished to be called that day. He ruled over them with an iron fist, believing fear over love. Believing any who defied him were to die.

“And...Bucky?”

He almost didn’t want to hear the reasoning, but he had to. He needed to.

“Protecting me. I had ordered him not to, but he’s never good at following orders.” A small smirk was on her lips, but it died the second she met Steve’s baby blue eyes. “My name is Peggy Carter, I-”

“...am part of a secret organization hell-bent on trying to bring Peirce down. You’re their leader.” This time she did smile, even if the tears shined in her eyes.

“Yes. I am. I was injured and the town took me in. Someone betrayed me - we do not know who quite yet, by giving my whereabouts to Peirce. Bucky was our double spy within the group, he was able to warn me ahead of time. I admit I am still not quite healed, and that battle took everything from me.”

For the first time, Steve could see how exhausted she was. The pain resonated in her features. She sagged and the wolf made a sound, nudging Peggy. She rubbed at his snout and kissed him between the eyes. “I’m fine, Michael.” At the name, she shrugged in Steve’s direction. “This is my brother - he was cursed by Schmidt to live his life as an animal. Howard and I attempted to reverse the spell but the only thing it’s managed to do is give him the ability to change form into any animal he’s seen.” 

Looking at the wolf, now he understood the human eyes. Why they were so kind and held such remorse for the loss of great life. He nuzzled Steve’s side and the warm tongue licked at his cheek again. Steve gently touched his side and gave a soft smile. 

“And Bucky?” He hated to press, to ask questions, but he had to know. “You said...he’s not gone? Is he...alive? Did he survive?”

“In a manner, yes. His soul lives on, he will be...reincarnated, as to when and where we just have to be patient and wait and see. If he’s smart, he will let Peirce continue to believe he’s dead. Any element we can get in surprise is a good mark in our book.”

Shifting Steve, Peggy laid back near the fire, Michael quickly laying underneath her head. She sighed and tried to sit up but found a shaken hand on her chest preventing her from doing so. “You protected me, so let me protect you while you rest. You’ve done enough, Peggy. Thank you.”

Her hand rested on his cheek, giving a warm smile. “I’ve heard great things about you, Steven. Your size does not define you, but you are right, I do need to rest. So do you. We are safe within these walls, the forest only listens to me. Come morning, we will continue our trek home. Lay with me. It will get cold.”

There was little hesitation as Steve lowered himself to her frame, resting in her arms with his head on his chest. The guilt that had weighed on him so heavily still resonated there. It would remain there for a long time to come, in the same manner, he knew it would remain on Peggy. 

There was still work to be done, lots of damage to undo, but it was a starting place to know whose company he was in.

“Rest,” Peggy breathed, a hand buried into Steve’s hair. “You’re safe with me.”

Who was he to argue? This is the safest he’s felt in a long time, even if the mystery of the world and what was at play still surrounded him. 

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hey. I love these fics, they are some of my favourites. You’re the only thing doing this ship justice. Do you think you could do a Clueless au. With Sirius as Cher and James as Josh. Tysm

"Sirius, James will be coming over tonight, so be sure that you're prepared for a family dinner," Orion said, and Sirius just barely managed to keep himself from gaping at his father. 

"What? Why is he coming here? You divorced Euphemia, like, three years ago." And his current outfit was far too good for someone like James. He didn't want James to think that he'd gotten dressed up for him or summat. Sirius just always looked this good. 

"Yes, well, you can divorce a wife, but not your children," Orion said distractedly. 

Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Isn't he busy in uni?" 

"It hasn't started yet." 

"Figures," Sirius muttered. 

Orion glanced at him. "Why are you so against this? He's your brother." 

"He's not my brother; he's your ex-wife's son. Our connection to him is long over." 

"Can't divorce your child," Orion repeated, turning back to the papers in front of him. 

Sirius rolled his eyes again and left the room. The term hadn't started yet, so what? It's not like James lived here. He had an actual home of his own that he could stay at, where he had a parent that actually had responsibility to him. 

James showed up way before dinner, like he lived here or something. It's not like Sirius hated him, but he always acted like Sirius was an idiot. Like just because he didn't talk like a bloody professor all the time, that meant he didn't know anything. What a tosser. "Hey Sirius," he said, then took a swig of orange juice straight from the bottle. Who did that? Honestly, every time he came around, it was like living with a pig. If Sirius wanted to live with a pig, he'd buy from from the animal shelter or wherever it is people bought pigs from (how would he know? He's not a farmer, and a pig wouldn't fit in very well at their house-- pigs and this many stairs don't mix.). 

Sirius made a face at him and reluctantly said, "Hi. Is this what you're learning at uni? How to mess up someone else's kitchen?" Because in addition to his bottle-drinking ways, he'd opened a loaf of bread and left the peanut butter with the knife still in it-- and still sticky with jelly. 

"Relax, it's not like you're the one that has to clean it up." 

*

"I can't believe Professor Binns gave me this bad a grade," Sirius said, frowning at his report card. 

"Ugh, I know right?" Lily said, easily falling into step beside him. "I got the same grade. My dad's totally going to choke when he sees it. You look pretty calm considering I know your dad's going to flip too." 

"It's not set in stone yet," Sirius said, thinking about all the other report cards that he'd been able to fix. 

"You going to get it fixed?" 

"Yep." 

"Binns is notoriously hard to please. I don't think he'll change it for you." 

"I've done the impossible before," Sirius said, tucking the paper in his bag. 

"Like that time you convinced Severus to cut his hair short?" 

Sirius gave a decisive nod. "Exactly. This is just a little grade; Binns won't even remember it by the end of the year." 

"Good luck," she said, voice light enough that Sirius knew she doubted his ability to get it done. 

But really, what did she know? Sirius had been taking care of his grades like this for years, and Orion was never the wiser that Sirius failed to turn in so much of his homework. He didn't have the time to do homework though, not after the designer stores started opening so close to their house. Great outfits didn't just put themselves together. Lily knew that. 

*

"Hey kiddo," Orion said, looking up from his dinner as if suddenly struck with a memory, "where's your report card?" 

Sirius had to swallow thickly around food he hadn't quite finished chewing. "I don't have it yet." 

"You don't have it? What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Yeah, Sirius," James said, looking far too smarmy for his own good. "Didn't everyone else get their's today?" 

Sirius glared at him, but he had to think up a response because Orion was still looking at him expectantly. "Dad, you always say that you should never accept a first offer. I'm negotiating." 

James snorted, but Orion nodded approvingly. 

"Do you think you'll be able to do it?" Orion asked. 

"Totally." 

"How?" James said derisively. "Going to give your professors a makeover?" 

"Don't get mad at me just because you look like you went picking through a poor American writer's closet." Open plaid shirt? Really? James could at least try. And the graphic tee under it that said something about animal rights certainly wasn't helping-- also, faux fur exists for a reason, duh. 

*

"-and I was like, er hello? Gideon's Welsh, and if we go on a date or something, people are going to expect me to know how to speak Welsh. It's like, a super hard language to learn, and I'd totally butcher it," Lily said. 

"Welsh is hard. It's like, almost impossible to learn even if you are Welsh," Sirius agreed. "Total downer." 

"It's almost impossible to learn Welsh because the British government is still trying to make it a dead language and is actively working to make that happen," James interrupted, and Sirius and Lily turned around to glare at him. He was eating cereal from the box. Again. "If either of you paid attention to your history class instead of talking about your nails, you'd know that." And then he stormed away. Like he thought he was some sort of storm god that came down to interrupt perfectly nice conversations. They'd barely been talking about Welsh and British colonialism in the first place. 

"What's his damage?" Lily said. 

"God, who even knows. Maybe you could ask Gideon on a not-date first. See if it's worth the trouble first," Sirius suggested. Then he shrugged and added, "Or you could go my route and not date because everyone our age is kind of a bonehead anyways." 

"Are you including yourself in that?" Lily asked pointedly, and Sirius just rolled his eyes. As if. 

*

"Hey Sirius, have you seen my cellphone?" Regulus asked. 

"No, and I'm not going to help you look," Sirius said, flipping a page of the fashion magazine he was reading. Well, looking at. They never had good articles in these, he was sure. "Maybe next time you'll carry it in a bag like me." 

"I'd look like a ponce," Regulus said, then poked his head up and looked at him. "Like you." He ducked back down before Sirius could decide to throw the magazine at him. 

"Well there are worse things in life than looking like a ponce, Reggie." 

"Don't call me Reggie," Regulus muttered, and Sirius summarily ignored him-- summarily, his big vocab word of the day; he was trying to get better about those so he wouldn't sound so clueless all the time. 

"For one, you could be crawling around on your hands and knees looking for something that you could have so easily kept in your bag. For another, you wouldn't fail to find it and have to ask Dad for a new one. You know he's not going to give it to you, right? Not after he just bought you that new desktop computer." 

"I'll find it," Regulus growled, all prepubescent certainty. 

"Sure you will," Sirius said. "And while we're on the subject, I didn't say you have to carry a purse, I said a bag. Get a bag to match your school bag or something so that you can avoid being bullied like you imagine your dear old brother was." 

"You weren't bullied," James said, choosing that moment to enter the room, looking a little more angry at the world than he usually did before talking to Sirius. 

"Exactly my point! So, dear sweet Regulus, get yourself a bag. Or a purse, if you are so bold. Hi James." 

"Er, hi. You lose something Reg?" James asked, bending over a little as if the changed angle would help him find the answer to his question. He was a total prick and all, but at least he had a nice backside. God only knows how he got it though, sitting around reading boring books. 

"My cellphone. Matty said he would call me tonight, so I need my cellphone." 

"Would that be the same cellphone I saw sitting on the balcony upstairs?" James asked. He had that answer all prepped and ready to go before Regulus had said a word. Weird. 

Regulus shot up, eyes wide. "Really?" He went running off up the stairs before James could answer. 

"You okay?" James asked, and Sirius frowned up at him. 

"Yeah? What, are we having heart to hearts now? Because if there's something you want to talk about, there are therapists for that." Aka, please don't talk to Sirius about that sort of thing. It's not like he was against James talking to him, but if James was in a talking sort of mood, he'd probably want to talk about, like, world hunger or something and then James would get mad at him for not doing more to help-- just like he always did. 

"No, I- I meant with Regulus?" 

"What about my dear sweet brother? I was being honest before; Dad won't give him a new cellphone if he doesn't manage to hold onto that one for another month. At least." 

"Not that. He called you..." 

Ah, so James had been listening the whole time. "You can't say that surprises you," Sirius said. "The makeup is usually a dead giveaway for people when I'm not wearing a skirt." Although, he did usually wear a skirt because if he could look that good in something, why wouldn't he? 

"Yeah, I didn't mean that." He was still giving Sirius a too-severe look. Normally at this point in a conversation, they'd be poking and needling at each other. "...Whatever." He walked around and joined Sirius on the couch, landing heavily specifically to displace Sirius's comfortable position. "Bloody hell, you're reading a fashion magazine. And here I thought you were reading something intellectual for once." 

That was more like it. Sirius hit him on the head with the magazine and got tickled in the side for it. Besides, it totally wasn't fair for James to say that. Sirius had watched the news some to that he knew what a little of what was going on. And he actually listened when Professor McGonagall talked about the various disasters happening around the world. 

*

"We should be friends with him," Sirius said, and Lily looked at him like he was crazy. 

"Um, excuse me? Sirius, look at him." 

Sirius looked. His nose wrinkled, but he shook it off. "Yeah, I know. God, I know, he looks like a total burn out." He had baggy clothes, and the lip ring wasn't doing him any favours. He'd dyed his hair green, which served to make his skin look pale and sallow. "But, you know Lily, we've been trying to do more good things for the world, and that starts where we live." 

"That means planting flowers that don't grow on bushes; not bringing down our credibility by being seen with... someone like that." 

"You'll survive," Sirius said before raising his voice and calling, "Remus!" while waving a hand at him. "Hi, I'm Sirius, and this is Lily." 

Lily gave a terse little smile. "Hi." She sounded way too snooty for what they were trying to do. 

Sirius gave her a warning glare for it, then turned back to Remus with a bright smile. 

"Oh. Erm, I'm Remus. Just moved down here," he murmured. He had a Northern Irish accent. God, who even lived there anymore? At least it explained why he was more pale than he should've been. Honestly, the porcelain look had been a mistake for everyone. 

"Yeah, that's great honey. Listen, if we're going to be mates, you need to not mumble everything. You're proud of yourself-- or at least you're going to be-- and people who are proud of themselves don't let their mouths muss up their speech so much. Okay?" 

"Erm. Okay?" 

Sirius beamed. "Great! You free tonight? No offense, but I was thinking you could come over and we could get started on a makeover for you. Maybe buy some new clothes this weekend if this is representative of your entire wardrobe." 

Remus tugged on his shirt self-consciously. "I'm here on scholarship," he muttered, face getting a bit of colour as he blushed. 

"Oh, don't even worry about that. I've totally got you covered." 

"Why? I mean, why would you do that for me? We've just met." 

"Because he's totally lost his marbles and decided that he needed a male best friend," Lily said, rolling her eyes. 

"I've done nothing of the sort, Lily. I'm simply... expanding the group." 

"Group? There's no 'group'. It's you and me." 

"Well, now it's you and me and Remus, so we're a group. Right?" Sirius said, looking at Remus. 

"I guess?" Remus agreed tremulously. 

*

The good news-- the really really excellent news-- was that Remus was pretty cute once the weekend was over. His natural hair was loads better than what he'd done to it before, and with the lip ring gone, he had the face of an angel. Well, an angel with freckles, but some people liked that. 

Lily had missed most of the transformation because she'd had a date with Gideon-- apparently, the Welsh thing wasn't an issue so long as they were still in the city because everyone around them pretending that Gideon wasn't Welsh-- but she was suitably impressed when they showed up to school on Monday. 

"Okay, lesson number two, Remus, is making sure that if you're going to date, you're dating the right sort of person. Your new look, new diet, and new workout regime won't mean anything if you spoil it by dating the wrong sort of person. Benjy, for example, is a burn out. You don't want to join that crowd. They're all going to end up flunking out before they can decide what they want to do with their lives, and you're going to be just like them if you date him." Sirius wasn't used to being so harsh with people-- other than Regulus and James because duh, they both needed the help big time-- but Remus had given Benjy a shy smile and friendly wave when he'd seen him a few moments ago. Remus could always decide not to date like Sirius had, but Remus had seemed gobsmacked at the idea that Sirius wasn't having sex. Aiming him in the right direction had a better chance of success than convincing him that guys their age weren't worth his time. "Look, for example, at Peter." Peter was a friend, and they got on pretty well considering they hardly hung out because Peter lived in the exact opposite direction of Lily. "He's popular, very nicely groomed, and most importantly, doesn't smell like weed because he doesn't smoke it. Tell you what, I'll help you get his attention, and we'll see where it goes from there." As if he stood a chance of failure. He'd gotten two of his professors together just to help boost his grade; getting Remus and Peter together was going to be a piece of cake. 

But Remus agreed, and that's all that was important. Even if dating Peter didn't last, it would get his mind off Benjy and on the right track. 

*

"I bet you've never done anything selfless in your entire life," James said, and Sirius glared at him. 

Partly for the (very unfair) comment, partly because there was no reason for James to be here right now when there wasn't a break in uni, but mostly because he was sporting facial hair that looked more like razor burn than anything else. "What is that thing on your face?" 

"My glasses? I've had them since before we ever met." 

"No, that disgusting peach fuzz on your chin. You look fourteen; it's despicable. Shave it off or you'll risk looking like an even bigger berk than you already do. There, I did something selfless." 

James rolled his eyes. "It doesn't count as selfless if you're telling me to help your own senses." 

"So you admit that that thing is an abomination to my eyesight?" 

James snorted and muttered something about he was right about Sirius being selfish, but the light dusting of hair along his jaw was gone. He looked much better this way, but it's not like Sirius could say that to his face; that would be too much like getting along. 

Still, James thinking that Sirius was selfish stuck with him. "Lily? Would you say that I'm selfish?" 

"Not to your face." 

Sirius pouted. "I do good things." 

"Sure you do. You're better than me, anyways. I'm still not sure about your whole mentoring-Remus kick, but whatever." 

*

This was probably the worst night of Sirius's life. Really. Worse than Dad's last wedding, when the priest showed up drunk, and Regulus puked all over the cake because he'd been sneaking ice cream all day and Sirius had had to run around fixing everything-- why Sirius had taken care of it instead of James's mum, he'd had no idea, but it had been very stressful. Wedding cakes took ages to make, and priests were surprisingly hard to pin down even though they were supposed to serve the people or whatever. 

But anyways, this was worse. Because not only had Peter stolen a kiss and pretty much ignored Remus the whole party and come onto him in the car and then driven away when Sirius got out of the car because he wouldn't stop touching him, leaving Sirius stranded in the middle of nowhere, but someone had mugged him! Mugged! Like it was the bloody dark ages! he had no phone, no cash, and he'd gotten mud on his Jimmy Choo's. Mud. That wasn't going to come out. He'd just gotten these heels, and now they were ruined. Ruined! Why did he try to have anything good in this life? It was just going to end up splattered with mud. 

Since he didn't know how to use the tube much less where it was and Dad would totally be mad at him if he had to leave the house to come pick Sirius up from a party he wasn't supposed to be at, that left Sirius with only one real option: James. James would come get him, if only because it would make Sirius owe him a favour. 

Getting his hands on a phone he could use was a little bit more difficult than it should have been, and he was glad that he'd taken the time to memorise the number for James's dorm room. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi James, it's Sirius, and I need for you to come pick me up." 

"Pick you up? Where the hell are you?" 

"I was at this party that Dad doesn't know about, so I couldn't call him!" Sirius didn't really mean to shout, but he was tired and-- quite frankly-- on the verge of crying. "It's been like, the worst night ever. Someone stole my phone so I can't call a cab." 

"Okay," James said slowly. "Weren't you at a party with your friends? Why didn't one of them drive you home?" 

"Peter started to, but then he like, practically assaulted me for some reason, and he wouldn't stop touching me, so I had to get out of the car, and when I wouldn't get back in, he left. Can you believe that? He just left me out here all by myself, and then someone stole my phone and stuff, so I couldn't call a stupid cab for myself, and I just ruined my new pair of Jimmy Choo's, so I need you to come get me!" 

"Jesus, I'm coming. Just- don't cry, I'll be there soon." 

Sirius was already crying. He sniffled a little and went outside to wait since he'd already ruined these shoes and a little more harsh pavement wasn't going to do anything worse to them. Sirius thought that he couldn't feel any worse about himself, except he got in the car when James showed up, and some little fuck buddy of his was there, took one look at Sirius and said, "God, is he your step-brother or a rent-boy?" 

Sirius ripped one of his shoes off and shoved it in their face. "These are Jimmy Choo's. Rent-boys that have to stand on the side of the road in the middle of the bloody night can't afford those, and I'm sixteen. If you want to be a piece of shite, maybe you could just say so." He put his shoe back on and sneered at him now that he was looking. "And if you want to say I'm pretty, you could just fucking say that too." 

James pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, which kept Sirius from feeling even worse about himself. Of course, then James's little friend started talking about Shakespeare-- probably to make him feel inferior-- and he had to butt in partway through. 

"That's Twelfth Night, not Taming of the Shrew." 

"I think I know more Shakespeare than you do," he said, all condescension. 

"Congrats, I know my American high school movies. Channing Tatum was the one that gave the greatness speech in She's the Man, not Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. She's the Man was based on Twelfth Night, so that's what it's from." 

This time, James couldn't completely hold back his laughter. 

*

"Hi Dad." 

"Hi pumpkin," Dad said distractedly, not looking up from the paper in front of him. 

"What are you working on?" 

"Just a case." 

"Ah." Sirius rocked back on his heels. He didn't feel like being alone, but he also didn't want to leave the house or... do anything, really. He just wanted to hang out with Dad a little. "Anything I can do to help?" 

Dad looked up at him, over the rim of his glasses. Then he smiled. "Sure. Here," he said picking up a stack to the left and handing it to Sirius along with a highlighter, "highlight every call that was made on March third." 

"Okay." Sirius sat down next to him and started working. It was pretty quiet, just the sound of them breathing, the squeak of highlighters, and the occasional paper being flipped. 

*

"Are you watching the news?" James asked. He sounded a little surprised, but not incredulous. 

"Yeah. Trying to stay up to date with the world like you suggested." 

"Huh." James threw himself on the couch next to him and stole his snack. 

People who stole his snacks should not be allowed to look so cute, especially since James said it tasted weird and then kept eating it instead of giving it back. And really, who looked cute in denim anyways? This was totally not on. 

Sirius didn't think anything about the fact that he'd called James cute in his mind until a few minutes later, when James pulled a blanket over their legs. This was... soft. Comfortable, even. Snack stealing aside, it made Sirius's chest feel all warm to be snuggled up like this with James. 

*

Realising that he fancied James was kind of like that time he was a kid and realised that he was stuck with Regulus for life, unlike Dad's wives that had a habit of coming and going before Sirius had to really accept them. Only this was worse because unlike then, there was no guarantee that everything would turn out okay. Sirius and Regulus had had to get used to each other; James was under no such commitment to fancy Sirius back, especially since James's type seemed to be arseholes that thought they knew Shakespeare and had no idea how to dress themselves. 

Sirius hadn't decided what he was going to do about it, which made it so much worse when Remus turned to him one day and said, "Hey, would you help me get James?" 

"What?" Sirius said, blinking at him. Surely that had been an auditory hallucination. Since when did Remus want to date James?

"James," Remus said, as if there had been any doubt. He might as well have elaborated to explain who James was for all that had made sense. Of course they were still talking about James. If they were talking about someone else, Sirius wouldn't care. More power to Remus for finally getting his legs under him. But James? Really? The last guy that Remus had been interested in of his own volition was Benjy. "Will you help me? I mean, you know him so much better than I do." 

"Why would you want to date James? He's not exactly your type." 

"You've been saying that I should get a new type," Remus reminded him. 

Aw shite, he had said that. Of course, at the time that he'd been saying it, he meant Peter. He didn't mean that anymore, but he really did not meant James. "Well yeah," Sirius hedged, "but I don't think you're his type either. I mean, he likes, like, brainy people." 

"Are you saying I'm stupid?" Remus asked, and he wasn't hurt by it, he was belligerent. 

"What? No, I just mean that-" 

"If you're going to be an arse about this, I won't bother sticking around," Remus said. Before Sirius could collect himself enough to protest or correct him, Remus had gathered his things and left. 

"What the...?" Sirius shook his head. Whatever. If Remus wanted to act like he was better than him, then fine. Sirius didn't need him, and obviously Remus didn't need him anymore. 

*

Sirius didn't know how big of a mistake he'd made with Remus until they were at school, and Remus didn't just brush off Benjy when he dropped by their table; he made fun of him. Listen, Sirius wasn't responsible for a change of mind, and he knew that. But there was something about the way he did it, like it was a performance he was doing to please everyone around him. The amused look he shot Lily afterwards only cemented that idea. 

Sirius went to find Benjy after last class, because he figured someone owed him an apology and Remus sure wasn't going to do it himself. "Hi," Sirius said. 

Benjy looked up at him, looking less stoned than usual. "Hey. Erm, sorry about your shoes." 

"What shoes?" 

"The er, red ones that I spilled a drink on. Like, a few months ago, remember?" 

"Oh, those are so last season, it's fine. Listen, I wanted to apologise for Remus being... well, a total arse. I told him that he should take more pride in his appearance and like, apparently he took that to mean he should be rude to people that like him if they aren't popular." There were a few details that he was leaving out, but they weren't important to the situation. It didn't really matter that Sirius had given Remus a makeover and told him straight out that dating Benjy would bring him down, because Remus hadn't even listened to him. It was only once Remus had turned confident that he started acting like an arse, and Sirius didn't think he could be credited with that. "Did you want to-" god this pained him "-like come over for pizza or something?" 

"Huh?" 

"Just to make you feel better," Sirius said quickly. He didn't want Benjy to think they were suddenly friends. "You looked like a kicked puppy after Remus blew you off. And I need an excuse to order pizza," he added. Lily was going gluten free, and as the best friend, Sirius wasn't supposed to order any food that would mess up her diet. Of course, Sirius also wasn't supposed to be eating that much cheese and bringing Benjy around would give a good excuse for both of them. 

Sirius had sort of been having not good luck lately, so it was a surprise when Benjy said yes, but not a surprise when Benjy, Lily, and Sirius showed up to find that James and Remus were already there. Personally, Sirius wanted to know why Remus thought he could invite himself over when they were in the middle of a fight, but whatever. 

"James, do you want pizza?" Sirius yelled. He wasn't going to make the effort to go over to him and ask like a civilised person because he didn't want for James to think of him as put together all the time. Looking as good as Sirius did on a daily basis took time. 

"Pineapple!" 

Sirius only had to stare at him incredulously for a moment before he cracked up. He found it endearing. It was a stupid joke-- a barely there joke, even-- and James was guffawing, something that Sirius usually did not find pleasant in the slightest. Somehow though, all Sirius could think was that James looked super adorable and he wanted to squish his cheeks. Or maybe kiss him. Or maybe hug him. Feelings were confusing. 

"Cheese is fine," James said. 

Sirius stuck his tongue out then went to make a call, nodding when Lily said they should do thick crust. He had no idea what happened when he was gone, but Benjy and Remus had both vanished. Together, according to Lily. "Well where did they go?" 

"Based on the moon eyes they were giving each other, I told them to get a room, and I think they listened to me," Lily said. "I'd give them some time alone before going looking for them. I don't think it's something either of us want to see." 

"What, are they getting along again?" 

"Guess so," James said. "Isn't that why you brought that guy here? What did you say his name was? Ben?" 

"Well yeah, but I didn't know that Remus was here." Sirius narrowed his eyes at James. "What were you even talking about? And why are you here? Don't you ever go to school?" 

"You're just now realising this?" James asked, raising an eyebrow. 

*

Sirius's crush on James was out of hand. Normally, Sirius only helped with Dad's work when Dad was around. The whole point was to spend time with him. Right now though, Dad was still at the office, and Sirius was helping with the work to spend time with James. He wasn't sure when James had decided to work with Dad, but it meant that Sirius was poring over papers in the study with James and Lucius instead of going shopping with Lily and Remus like he wanted to; he'd even gotten all dressed up for it, and it felt kind of ridiculous to be wearing a skirt this short if he was staying in but whatever. 

If this was a different situation, Sirius might think that James was interested in him. Sirius was playing with his hair because he categorically refused to pull it back unless he was doing something physical, and he was trying to keep from getting too bored. It wasn't all that strange, but he'd be messing with his hair, and James would glance at him before tearing his eyes away. Then, a minute later, it would happen again. Sirius would poke James with the non-ink point of his pen, and James would give him a little shove in return. It was playful, almost like flirting. If it were anyone else, Sirius would think it was flirting, but this was James, and since when was James interested in someone like him? 

Lucius shuffled some of the stacks around, looking confused. "Where are the call records?" 

"What call records?" James asked. 

"The ones our client made. It was over a hundred pages, where did it go?" 

"You mean the March calls?" Sirius said, and they both looked at him. "I highlighted the calls from March and then put them in two piles since there was..." he slowed a little at the angry twist to Lucius's face, "so much. Was that not right?" 

"No, you absolute idiot, it wasn't right. The March calls are nothing; we don't need them. It's going to take hours to find all of them again, and it's your fault." 

"Hey," James protested, and Sirius shrunk back a little. 

"We have to have this case ready by tomorrow, and now we won't be able to." Lucius shook his head. 

"I didn't mean to," Sirius said quietly. 

"Congratulations, you didn't mean to bugger up," Lucius said flatly. "You still did. Why are you here, again?" 

Sirius wasn't in the mood to get yelled at, so he slid out of his chair and left the room. 

"That was uncalled for," James said. "He's not getting paid for this, and he had no idea that he shouldn't split them up." 

"Leave it to you to defend him." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"That maybe if you weren't busy making puppy eyes at him, you would've noticed that there was an issue sooner and we would actually have the time to fix this. But you were busy thinking with your prick, and now we're buggered. Besides, isn't he supposed to be your brother?" 

"Step-brother, and we weren't bloody raised together," James defended automatically. 

"Do whatever the hell you want," Lucius said, getting to his feet, "I'm calling in sick tomorrow so I don't have to explain to the boss why his stupid son messed it all up." 

"He's not stupid; he's just not trained for this. He didn't have to be there at all, and-" 

Lucius cut him off with a groan as they walked to the front door. "For god's sake, if you want to moon over him, do it with someone that cares. I'll talk to you when you have half a brain again." 

"I doubt I'll ever see you again if you're ducking out of this now, Lucius, but go on and get a good night's rest, I'm sure you'll need it for job hunting." James sort of slammed the door as soon as Lucius was out of the house. He rubbed at his forehead tiredly as he turned, catching sight of Sirius sitting on the middle landing of the stairs. It was obvious that he'd been there the whole time. He looked sad. James had seen him upset a few times, but never so dejected. He had his knees pulled up a little, arms resting on top of them. The way Sirius dressed was so innocent. He wore a short skirt because he liked knee-high socks and the way his legs looked, not because he was trying to seduce anyone. That being said, James felt thoroughly seduced. 

"Did I really mess it all up?" Sirius asked, sounding as depressed as he looked. 

"Nah." James walked up the stairs and sat down next to him. "Lucius is just blowing off steam. I mean, yeah, it'll take some time to sort out, but it's not going to ruin the case or summat." 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah." 

Sirius turned and hugged him, hiding his face in James's neck. "Thanks." Then, a moment later, he added, "Thanks for sticking up for me. I know you think I'm kind of vapid." 

"You're not vapid; you're just not a bloody professor. That's not a bad thing." 

Sirius leaned back a little. "Were you really making puppy eyes at me?" 

"What?" James asked, a blush rising in his cheeks far too fast for it to be innocent. 

Sirius kissed him. It was a little clumsy, but the important part was that James kissed him back. James's hand was warm on his knee, and Sirius wondered if it would be wildly inappropriate to climb into his lap. 

[coffeefairy]

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 6

Day six of the challenge, a return to an older ship of mine :)

Day 6, Ocean

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Ship: Red Cricket - Ruby Lucas/Archie Hopper

Rating: General audiences

Summary: Ruby Lucas goes for a run that is interrupted by the cutest puppy ever. His owner is no slouch either.

Excerpt:

Ruby Lucas ran. Her grandmother liked to tell the story – when they were on good terms – of how Ruby had learned to run before she could walk. “Always in such a hurry,” Mrs Lucas would chuckle. And it was true, Ruby had always been in a hurry. She had been in a hurry to grow up, in a hurry to leave, in a hurry to live, to experience life to its fullest. Now she ran to feel less stuck in place. While her grandmother was too old to take care of her businesses alone, she had to help. That meant putting all those shimmering, glittering dreams on a shelf for now. Like snowglobes they sat in rows in her mind, ready to be taken down and shaken in her mind’s eye so she could imagine a day when they were her reality.

Tags: First meeting, probably pretty AU but who knows with the timelines that are canon on OUaT..., terrible titles continue

Run, Interrupted

Ruby Lucas ran. Her grandmother liked to tell the story – when they were on good terms – of how Ruby had learned to run before she could walk. “Always in such a hurry,” Mrs Lucas would chuckle. And it was true, Ruby had always been in a hurry. She had been in a hurry to grow up, in a hurry to leave, in a hurry to live, to experience life to its fullest. Now she ran to feel less stuck in place. While her grandmother was too old to take care of her businesses alone, she had to help. That meant putting all those shimmering, glittering dreams on a shelf for now. Like snowglobes they sat in rows in her mind, ready to be taken down and shaken in her mind’s eye so she could imagine a day when they were her reality.

Anything, from exotic places to a simple walk on her own someplace where no one knew her, it all had a place in her private treasure collection. And until the day when she could make them real, she ran. Ran to stifle the feeling of being hemmed in, caged, locked up. Ran to quieten the ever louder voices in her head telling her to run, and keep running and never come back. She ran for the sleep it allowed her at night, the quiet it afforded her in her head. For the feeling of tired muscles and for a job well done.

In the early evening the light was starting to fade, giving way to a pearlescent light between sunset and night, the last rays of the sun hidden behind clouds but still able to lend a silvery tinge to the blanket above. No moon or stars today, but the air was blistering in the cold, the wind a hollow ache. In minutes it’d be dark, the streetlights above on the pier punching damp yellow holes in the dusk. But until then, the world was monochrome and silent, the cold and the dark keeping everyone else inside.

Ruby loved it.

Only the sound of her feet on the packet sand, her heartbeat in her ears and the ever-rolling pulse of the sea next to her were heard. No voices, no gulls, no calls. Just her.

She’d had time to finish the thought when something light flashed by her. In the next second the light had wound between her feet and avoiding stepping on something soft, she fell. Rolling over, something wet touched her face and the next second she realized she’d tripped over a puppy. Delight and worry washed over her as she tried to ascertain if the puppy was okay. It was making yipping sounds, tail wagging so she breathed a sigh of relief.

On closer inspection it was a Dalmatian puppy, young enough to still have loping movements and paws too big for its body. It seemed as delighted with her and was trying to bathe her face with kisses. Stroking soft ears, she laughed and managed to sit up.

“Are you all right? I’m so sorry, he managed to pull off the lead and then he spotted you and he’s still learning not everyone wants to say hello to him and I saw how he just rushed in front and you fell, and are you okay?”

She looked up as a deep but breathless voice addressed her. The man was still hurrying towards them, dressed in tweeds and a Barbour jacket, tie blown over his shoulder in his rush to reach them. A red leash was dangling from his hand.

“I’m fine. I’m glad I didn’t actually trip over him.”

“Still, I am so sorry. Let me help you up.” He held out a hand and taking it, Ruby felt herself pulled to her feet. The puppy continued to weave around her feet.

Standing up, she noticed the man had really nice eyes, blue and currently filled with concern. His hair was wind-blown and something that had to have been a dimple when he was younger added an attractive boyishness to his looks despite him being much too old to be classified a boy.

“Thanks,” she replied, and sounded a little more out of breath than her run would have made her. “I am fine, I promise.”

His eyes searched hers and for a moment she felt like he’d seen more than her smiling assurance she was okay. As if he could look into her soul.

Silly.

“I’m glad. And I still do apologize for Pongo.”

“Pongo?” She raised an eyebrow.

The man smiled, a little sheepishly, and the boyish impression strengthened. “A young client of mine named him. He maintained you couldn’t have “a Pongo” and not name him “Pongo”.”

Ruby laughed. “Sound logic,” she nodded.

“I thought so. So yeah, Pongo is learning but aside from “sit” we haven’t gotten very far.”

At the word, Pongo looked up from his scrambling search for interesting smells around their feet to gaze adoringly at the man, waggle his tail so his entire backside almost tipped him over, and then plop his butt down, almost shaking in his delight at knowing what to do. “Look, look, I did it!” his entire being seemed to announce.

Ruby couldn’t resist and sank to her knees to pat him and praise him for his endeavour. Pongo responded by climbing all over her lap with his four dirty paws.

“So if this is Pongo, what’s his dad’s name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man replied, looking at her a little dazed, as if she’d startled him from a daydream. “I’m Archie. Archie Hopper.”

“Ruby,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you. And Pongo.”

“Likewise, Ruby. And I think it’s safe to say I speak for both of us.”

Allowing him to help her to her feet again, she let go of his hand with a strange stitch of regret this time.

“I work at the Diner in town, you and Pongo should come by one day. I hear there is sometimes a leftover sausage or two after the breakfast rush.”

His cheeks went pink, or she’d only just noticed that the wind had whipped the colour out in them.

“Ah…I’m not much for sausage.”

Laughing, Ruby shook her head. “I meant for Pongo. As you can read, I’ll allow you anything you like from the menu.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be appearing at my best today.”

She tilted her head with a smile that had turned stronger men than Archie Hopper to butter. “Oh, I think you’re doing just fine.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.), Part XXVI (Baile na Coille)

This is the penultimate chapter of HRH, guys. Much love to everyone who has supported me along the way with writing this story. Your support means a ton, and this would not have happened without @notevenjokingfic, @smashing-teacups, and @desperationandgin. xx. K

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed | Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech | Part XXII: The Harlot Queen | Part XXIII: Rarer | Part XXIV: Balmoral & London | Part XXV: The Ring

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XXVI: Baile na Coille

For the sake of appearances alone, Fraser’s belongings were mainly situated in Baile na Coille. He had not slept a single night under the gabled roof of the two-storyed cottage. In reality, Colonel James Fraser (“the Queen’s Lover” as all of the nation’s newspapers - from veritable rag to legitimate press - had started to call him) had made his summer home within the same four walls as the commonwealth’s oft-maligned royal matriarch.

Beneath her duvet, his long body and his hand drawing one of her thighs between his (“ye canna be close enough as ye sleep”) before resting along the curve of her waist.

At the breakfast table, the serrated edge of his grapefruit spoon slicing through thick-skinned citrus fruits, the spritz of fruity acid hanging in the air as she read letter after letter as her fingers toyed with her earlobe.

And in the griffon-toed tub that steamed the mirrors and tile floors, her careful step as she shed the skin of a silk robe to the floor and climbed into the water with curls piled atop her head. “Coming?” she asked, looking over her shoulder and letting out a slight sigh as she brought a second foot into the tub’s depths. He would nod, shedding his own robe and following her, marveling at the fact that neither had to shuffle their limbs to fit. With a toe carefully tracing the hollow lines that separated Fraser’s abdomen into pockets of muscle, Claire sank further into the bergamot-scented bath water. “Did you know that this is the only place I truly own?”

The massaging attentions of Fraser’s fingers on Claire’s calves paused for a moment. “I hadna ever really thought about what ye own or dinna own, a nighean.”

She hummed, smirking as his eyes fixated on her big toe, which was traveling the sloped line of wiry hair beneath his navel. “Do you know how Baile na Coille came to be?”

“Ye could use some help wi�� the pronunciation,” he commented as he shook his head. His brows furrowed as he added, “And I’ll ask that ye move yer wee feet from that part of my anatomy.”

Ignoring his pronunciation guidance but swiftly relocating her foot to hook behind his waist and draw him closer, she rolled her eyes. “Queen Victoria had a lover. She built the cottage for him, or so the story goes. All manner of lascivious scandal was born in that cottage and paid off before it passed those front gates.”

“So ye’re sayin’ that perhaps someday yer wee stables’ll become a thing of lore, too, then?”

With a well-worn shrug, Claire rose out of the water just enough to reach for the glass of lukewarm champagne resting on the windowsill next to the tub. “Perhaps. I think what happened in London would already have gone to print if it was going to. I trust my staff here, but it is only a matter of time before the Accidental Queen and her Not-So-Accidental Lover are front-page fodder.”

He massaged a knot out of the arch of her foot, and she moaned appreciatively, finishing the last of the fizzy liquid in her flute. “Do ye think they’ll compare me to Queen Victoria’s lovers?”

“Not sure,” she said truthfully, leaning forward as he caught the green neck of the champagne bottle to fill her glass. “It seems an apt comparison–”

“Ye have a much bonnier arse than Queen Victoria, Queen Claire.”

If she hadn’t been utterly fatigued from their day’s worth of galavanting about the property, she would have asked him to declare as much only upon further investigation.

Neither had done much thinking about what life would be like after the declaration, when the Queen’s speech ended and tellies across Britain went dark. While they had steeled themselves against an oncoming storm at the cabin, their arrival to Balmoral and the subsequent days had been quite ordinary, really.

They picnicked alongside a forested area and a stream, surrounded by a meadow of too-sweet butter-yellow flowers. He made her a posey of the flowers as they ate (bundle tied with the green string that had trapped their egg mayo sandwiches in brown paper). She made love to him on their tartan blanket with the bouquet discarded to the side. He wrapped the tartan around them afterward while their steeds grazed just until their hearts stopped pounding. She tapped his shoulder, suggested they should finish exploring the property. He was dressed first and folded their blanket as she hopped about bare-footed, attempting to coax her riding pants back up over her arse with her curly hair in a floating cloud about her. He felt like a fifteen-year-old boy with wanting her again.

They walked hand-in-hand and talked about things. He wanted children, an admission hastily given with his feet catching and his body stumbling forward. Her hand found the small of his back, steadied him. When he asked, “and you?” in his slow, easy way, her response was quick, but just as easy (“of course” she wanted children with him, fingers flexing into the marred flesh just above his beltline).

She told him that she loved Balmoral more than any other place on earth – the smell of the Highlands, the privacy, the accents of the staffers, and the way mist hung heavy even at the warmest part of the day.

“It feels like the cabin here,” she whispered when they finally exited the bath (his lips kissing each of her pruned fingers, hands smoothing the half-soaked curls at her nape before wrapping a pre-warmed robe around her frame).

The real world felt ten thousand miles away at Balmoral, and he traced a thumb across her cheek – a rounded, glowing place after the bath that topped off a day of exercise, sunshine, and sex. His Queen had the lightest smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He stilled his thumb, kissed the dusting of pigmentation. “Yer family cabin ‘tis a wee bit grander than my family cabin.”

She smacked his arm, making a rather serious face before dissolving into a fit of giggles when he blew a raspberry against her throat.

There came a time, after a number of weeks, when summer was giving way to autumn and their return to London was imminent.

Fraser was fitted for a number of suits with Claire sitting across the room on the floor – cross-legged and chewing on the end of a pen as she responded to some letters. Her smattering of freckles had given way to what she called “a decidedly un-royal suntan.” It was unspoken, but he would go public in London. As the leaves crisped with the last gasps of the season and fell to signal an oncoming winter, the nation would see him.

The man the Queen saved. The man the Queen loved.

That night, Fraser made the offhand comment that his fitting had made him realize that her arse was fuller after weeks of decadent food. He called it her summertime arse, and vocalized no small amount of pleasure at the way she’d blushed at the declaration. “I didna realize how well ye’d filled out this summer,” he announced, making a determined, awed kind of face and approaching her to take two handfuls of her backside. “It’s as though ye’ve reached yer natural, full-arsed state, and I couldna be happier about it.”

Had he not been pressed against her (his anatomy an urgent and quite unsophisticated lie detector), she might have taken offense. All societal expectations of a slim queen aside, Jamie Fraser did like her just fine. Feeling brazen, she had lowered her nightgown beneath her breasts. Voice low, she whispered, “Show me.”

Later, when they were stretched out on the duvet, and he had shown her quite fully what he meant, she whispered something that verged on a full-throated laugh: “I love that you can appreciate me at my fattest.” Her skin puckered with goosebumps at the first touch of his hands going around her hips.

“I like ye fat. Fat and juicy as a plump wee hen.”

She purred, winding her arms around his neck. “My summertime hen arse,” she continued, holding onto the moment. “I was thinking I would marry you in the autumn; perhaps we can hang onto it for awhile since you hold it in such high regard. Let it fill out a wedding gown.”

His eyebrows rose, his lower lip migrating between his teeth. “Ye want to marry me?”

“I do, yes. In a military uniform made with today’s measurements.”

“I didna ken that today was a fitting for a wedding suit.”

“Do not be an idiot,” she mumbled, sweeping an errant curl from his forehead. His hair had been cut a little closer than was his norm, but she had made it her strictest instructions that the barber leave enough length that it would still curl. Her voice was light, high on the moment and the enchanting power they held over one another. “It was always part that, and this is a proposal, since you have not bothered to do it.”

“It sounds like an order – marrying ye.” He was joking with her, eyes glittering as his hand cupped her jaw, thumb traveling an unmannered perimeter around her lips.

“Well, do you want to marry me?” There was not even the slightest hint of concern in her voice as she asked the question. It was as if she knew the answer, like it was the one thing that lived freely on his carefully-guarded face. A single syllable.

Before he kissed her, the most elemental groan came from him. Something of ancient stock – needy and base, just truth. “Oh God, yes.”

And then he kissed her in a way he’d never kissed her before. Part of her took flight then as he hitched her thigh up over his hip and leaned into her – a part with steadily-beating gossamer wings that lived beneath her breastbone, that had been carefully hatched under his care those first nights aimlessly wandering together on horseback. A part that he had nurtured somehow despite not knowing it existed in her, but that she had tended to all along, equally unknowing. He took her firmly then, in a way that for a handful of minutes drove any tenderness of their earlier encounter in the meadow away, but was no less saturated with their love for one another.

And when they were finished, dark having fallen and the world outside the cracked window gone silent, they were left without even the grayest, shadowiest hint of amorous intention. Eyelids drooping with mutual pure exhaustion, they laid together, completely bared. It was then that they somehow wound their way around a bend in their relationship.

To talk of loss and family, of longing and fate’s plans for them in a way that they never had. Stripped bare, they peeled back their naked skin to expose something deeper, rawer, redder, rarer.

Fraser told her in a clinical, detached way of his parents’ death. The loss of a son that stole the very life and light from his mother’s eyes, molded her like clay into something his mam had never been before (dry hands pouring cereal into bowls with eyes fixed on the window, like she was awaiting someone to round the bend that would never come).

The slow way his father slipped away – an undiagnosed condition that made his eye droop, his body eventually no longer cooperate in the performance of basic functions, until one day he was gone and cold in his bed in the morning (eyes open and dull-blue in their fixation on something beyond the ceiling, his fingers folded over a knit afghan in prayer).

An economy of words described the prison camp (words he learned in German so he would never have to speak aloud in English). The dampness of the cells, the length of the interrogations, the blood on the snow. The wounds that seeped from cracks in the flesh just above his forehead, the never-ending red stream that caked his eyelashes and made him wonder if one could feel an oncoming death. The smell of men shitting themselves and dried vomit on ragged clothes. The way he had slept face-down for two months after his back had been whipped into ribbons that sent red streaks of infection along his ribcage and over his shoulders. How the second time he’d been flogged was worse, each bit of scar tissue giving way so his muscles met the air, this time the odor of infection choking him when he stripped his camp-issued shirt off.

They laid silent for a long time after that, his hand charting a course over her spine again and again and her fingers tracing the scarred etchings of war in his flesh in a way they never had before.

And then he asked her.

So Claire told Fraser for the first time at any length about her parents and her sister.

Before that moment, there had been the natural snapshots of them in casual conversation (locations on the grounds of Balmoral taking on meaning with reference to them – her father’s study, her mother’s dressing room, her sister’s playroom; meals that reminded her of them – her mother’s favorite chicken, her father’s preferred tea, the buttery biscuits that Anne ate smeared in raspberry preserves; the bottle of perfume on her nightstand that had yellowed with age and no longer smelled sweet, but somehow still reminded her of Julia).

But this was the first graphic retelling of it.

The iciness in her veins – the frost and chill of it sucking the life out of her with each of her mother’s screams. The taste of copper in her mouth, the breaking of her bones and the lifeless feeling of no longer gulping for air, of just waiting with the icy water in her throat and lungs. The burning of vomiting the water again and again, her broken ribs screaming at her to just die now as she rid her body of the contents of the creek. How the burning in her lungs and throat had eventually given away to something more primal, a need to survive.

She said their names.

Henry. Julia. Anne.

Claire breathed in, looking away from Fraser as she explained that she hated herself in the back of the ambulance because she was afraid she was going to die. She did not think of them at first – of Henry, Julia, or Anne. She laid still, shivering as the navy-uniformed men tried to warm her, told her she would be okay. She had not thought of them as she willed herself to live.

Papa. Mum. Oh Christ, Anne.

In the retelling of it, Claire did not cry until Fraser reached for her, touched her forearm, whispered “I’m sae sorry, Sassenach.”

She dissolved over their loss then, feeling it new and blooming beneath her breastbone. Under his touch, she leaned into the sensation for maybe the first time in years, since well before her coronation and well before Lamb had passed. A confession: Claire loved her papa and her mum, of course, but Anne was the one she loved the most, a feeling that made her feel sick and wrong. “It was never supposed to be me, Jamie,” she confessed, closing her eyes as he touched her hair. “Anne, maybe, but never me. We played. Toilet roll sashes and our mum’s shoes. She was always Queen. You and me? We could have been free of all of this… gotten a flat in the city, you would not have to live like this–”

He quieted her, shook her head. “Dinna ever think that the tragedy ye experienced, or yer job, has made me do anything that I didna want to do. Being wi’ ye – however I can be wi’ ye – is perfect. Ye canna pull one thread and have an entire tapestry stay the same. I’m no’ sayin’ that yer parents died for a reason. It was senseless. Ye canna wish away yer position for me. It’s how I found ye, and I’d ‘ave found ye somehow, but as it is now, I’m yers, Claire. It’s as it’ll be forever. Irrevocably. In my entirety. And I intend to marry ye come autumn.”

She reached absently for the heavy, well-formed curl just above his temple and ran her fingertip around its circumference, thoughtful for a moment. “I was never really one for planning a wedding, Fraser. Autumn is beautiful, but there is something about springtime. The daffodils and the lilies. The fat bumble bees and the trees coming back to life.”

“Then springtime it is, a nighean.”

But two weeks later, the Queen would realize that she had not had her courses in two months.

The wedding would not wait until springtime after all.

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [5]

Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

➜ Words: 2.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

The day has finally arrived.   Jimin opens the door for you and follows.   “You’re going to do great,” he reassures in a soft murmur.   “We’ll do great,” you correct and he grins.   The both of you enter the room and it’s a familiar scene. There are people pacing around the room, singing while making wild gestures, trying to round out their sound and warm up their throats. These beautiful people are getting into character, aiming for the main role of Cosette or Marius. It’s obvious that they went to salons to get makeovers, nails done, face full of makeup, clothing fresh from the laundromat.   But unlike the last audition, this time you have someone with you. You’re not so scared with Jimin by your side. And he’s close enough, avoiding being hit by the people theatrically swinging their arms, that his shoulder brushes with yours.   “Are these auditions really always this...extravagant?”   “It’s all for show,” you tell him, reminded of the stranger’s words from last time. “Don’t be intimidated.”   He hums and nods while the pair of you take a seat. “Should we intimidate them then?”   You burst out laughing. “How would we do that?”   “We’ll dance.”   You giggle even louder and he gazes at you with his own smile. “I’m pretty sure security would escort me off the premise for scaring everyone.”   “You’re not that bad,” Jimin emphasizes. “But I’m kidding. All you have to do to intimidate others is start singing. You’ll blow them all out of the water so fast, they’ll leave without even trying.”   Usually, you’d get flustered from his praise. Maybe you’d even feel greasy from the way he butters you up so excessively, but at this moment when the nerves are beginning to ebb at your mind, you appreciate it.   Jimin’s your personal cheerleader.   “What do you want to do after?” he suddenly asks, pulling your thoughts away on how your palms are getting clammy and tearing your eyes away from the beautiful girl across the room who’s gracefully flipping through a script.   “What do you mean?”   “For dinner, silly.” Jimin’s eyes light up, crinkling when he smiles. “What do you want to eat?”   “I’m fine with anything.”   “Oh c’mon.” He nudges you gently. “You gotta have a better opinion than that. If we do well during the audition, then it can be a celebratory dinner. And if we do badly, then it’ll be like comfort food.”   Another laugh comes spilling out. “How about fried chicken then?”   Jimin snaps his fingers. “You read my mind. We’re always on the same wavelength, aren’t we? But whose apartment are we going to tonight?”   Neither of you want to leave a mess or the smell of greasy chicken wings to linger in your home to haunt you for breakfast. So an intense game of rock-paper-scissors begins — one where you lose and Jimin’s throwing his arms up into the air doing childish fist pumps before he throws his arms over you and gives a triumphant hug. Jimin rubs his victory in your face, making you laugh while being smothered by his affection. You don’t notice some of the stares in the room.    Jimin continues talking about nonsense that doesn’t matter, keeping you from thinking too hard and getting nervous. He’s doing it on purpose to distract you and knowing so puts you even more at ease.   But you’re on your own when he gets called in first.   “Good luck, okay?”   You clasp his hand, squeezing. He smiles softly and nods. Jimin stands, fingers still tightly on yours until he has to let go. You watch his backside and the door closes.   You hope he does well — he’s practiced and prepared lots, and even wanted you to choose his song for him. He said it would make it more meaningful, so you picked the song ‘We Kiss in the Shadow’ from The King and I, another Broadway show you once watched when you were young.   It was perfect for him, and you memorized the lyrics as well.   Trying to keep your composure, you shut your eyes, tapping your finger against your bag. You envision Jimin inside the room, in the center of the space with faceless judges, singing.   You murmur with him. “We kiss in a shadow, we hide from the moon. Our meetings are few and over too soon.” He’ll be just fine. You believe in him, his gift, his personality, his likability. “We speak in a whisper, afraid to be heard. When people are near, we speak not a word.”   You’re humming to yourself and soon enough, after ten full minutes, the door opens again.   You stand, coming to grab his hands and search his expression. “How’d you do?”   “Fine.” Jimin smiles, and suddenly your own name gets called on the list.   The timing is poor.   It’s too sudden. You haven’t even asked him on the details of his audition. You’re unprepared, disoriented. But Jimin helps you grab your belongings and he fixes the collar of your shirt, then urges you forward with a grin. “You can do it.”   You nod, taking a deep breath and following after the lady.   It’s like last time — exhausted faces lazily watching you, their pupils flickering while their bodies are slumped in their uncomfortable chair like they’ve been encased in ice. But it’s fewer people than last time. There are two producers, a music director, a casting director, and a writer.   You approach the group of them with another deep breath, handing out your application package of headshots and resumes.   “Hello, my name is Y/N L/N.” You stand on the tape that’s been put in the center of the room, and you offer your best smile.   “Hello Y/N,” the lady off the left of the table says as she lances at your application. “Today, you’re auditioning for…?”   “The role of a factory girl, so part of the female ensemble.”   “Alright then.” She jots something down. “Can you tell us anything about your experiences? It doesn’t have to be on Broadway either, any experience you have with musicals.”   You nod vigorously, clearing your throat. You’re more prepared than last time, and it helps to know that there’s someone waiting for you on the outside who is praying and hoping for your success as much as you were doing for his.   “I performed at my local theater since I was ten. I also went through a theater company school and I moved to New York shortly after on my own. Currently, I’m working as an intern for the production of Phantom of the Opera here in this studio.”   There are more hums. The man in the center looks up and puts down his pen. “Is there a reason you haven’t performed since graduating? It looks like there’s been quite a bit of a time gap since your last on-stage performance.”   “Oh, um….” You rack your brain before you scrape by with an excuse. “I had some family issues in the past several years. It prevented me from performing, but now I’m ready to again.”   There are understanding nods and you take a sigh of relief.   The woman asks, “What song will you be singing for us today?”   “When Will Someone Hear by Martin Guerre.” You head over to the pianist in the corner, handing them the sheet music before you stride back to the center of the room.   Your palms are getting clammy, the world is starting to spin. You swallow hard.   “You can start when you’re ready,” the bored producer states in a monotone.   You inhale another deep breath. You can do it — there’s only five of them watching. It’s not too bad.    You try to imagine that it’s just Jimin watching, so you give a signal to the pianist and the notes begin.   “W-When will someone hear? All I know is fear.” It’s off to a bad start, your voice cracking, going out of tune, though you quickly stead yourself.   But it’s happening again.    You put your hands behind your back, hiding the tremor. “A-And now I see the loneliness of losing all you trust. Day has turned to night. Stone has turned to dust. And now I need to find the words. When will someone hear?”   Your voice goes quieter and quieter against your will. This isn’t how you practiced. This isn’t what you prepared. This isn’t how you wanted this to go. But you feel so out of control.   Time is moving too quickly — and it’s happening in front of you. Your body won’t listen.   Your eyes divert, unable to hold consistent contact with theirs when you feel your face drained of blood. Their scrutiny is too much. Your heart is pumping so fast, you can feel it all the way up to your throat and it clogs it, keeping the proper notes from streaming out.    “Love that once was close. Faith that once was clear. Now all I've known and all I've loved is all I have to grieve.”   Your face twitches. Your mouth goes dry. You’re so dizzy, you might throw up.   The spotlight is too much to handle.    “All that I've begun. All that I believe is just another broken dream. W-When will someone hear?”   You’re choking over your own singing. The notes are smothered. And you want to cry, especially when you can see it in slow motion — the man raising his hand to silence the pianist, the instrument fading away, the opportunity slipping from your fingers.   They can’t hear you the way you want them to.   “I-I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I got so nervous, I—”   “It’s alright.” The woman offers a sympathetic smile. “Thank you for coming in today. We’ll give you a call to let you know the outcome in the following week.”   You would have preferred that they laughed at you, that they told you to get out. The kindness, the pitied looks, acting like you have a real chance — it’s mocking. It hurts.   You leave the room, holding back tears. Jimin meets you half-way and reads your expression with his brows scrunched, lips lopsided. You exhale a staggering breath, shaking your head, and you tell him directly—   “I did badly.”   “I’m sure you did fine,” he murmurs but when you shake your head again, the two of you merely walk out together in tense silence. Jimin glances at you a few times. “I didn’t do too great either,” he admits with a self-deprecating smile. “When they asked for my name, I got so nervous, I accidentally said Bark Jimin.”   “What?”   You turn to him.   “Bark Jimin,” he deadpans and sighs. “Can you believe that?”   You laugh. It bubbles out without you realizing. Then you wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, sniffling hard. Jimin puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest. It’s warm in the cold night.   “Why do I keep messing up, Jimin? What’s wrong with me?”   “Nothing,” he answers, able to see a cloud emit from his lips into the chilly air as he speaks. “There’s definitely nothing wrong with you. Some things we succeed in, some things we don’t. But it’s always a learning experience. They’ll always be a next time, right?”   You’re comforted by his presence, by his words.   The pair of you are in this together. You’re not alone in your successes or failures.   “So you up for some fried chicken?” he asks and keeps staring. “Hmm?”   “Yeah.”   “Hmmm?!” he increases his volume, decreasing the distance between you two even more until your foreheads are almost bumping against each other’s.   “Yes!” You laugh and Jimin shifts away again, satisfied since he was waiting for that smile.   The both of you go off into the night together.   //   It’s the first time that you don’t feel so bad about messing up an audition.   They’re rare and hard to come by and when you fuck it up, you often go through the stages of grief, feeling like you’ve reeled back to square one, making you question all things. But you bounce right back with Jimin right here.   He’s your partner in crime who motivates and comforts you. He walks in sync with your footsteps — never does it feel like you’re racing, that you’re trying to catch up to him.   You’re in this crazy madness together.   You tie your garbage bags, hauling them out of your apartment with your arms straining from the weight. The door shuts behind you as you lug it down the hallway, but then there’s a sudden shout of your name.   It comes from a smooth, very familiar timbre.   “Y/N!”   You turn around, catching the brunette walking down the wall, having turned the corner where the stairwell is. His eyes light up. They shimmer in the corridor lights and he approaches with his hands dug in the pockets of his trench coat.   It takes too long, so he runs to you, meeting you the entire way.   “Did you get a call?”   “No—”   “I got the role!” he exclaims happily, jumping up and down, cheeks nearly bursting from his enormous smile. Jimin pulls you in for a hug, giddy laughter spilling from his chest. “I got the role for Les Mis!”   You feel your heart drop to your stomach — your blood runs cold — you’re shell-shocked.   “R-Really?”   “Yes!” He pulls apart from you, but his hands are still placed securely on your shoulders. He might get a noise complaint for how loud he’s being, but he doesn’t care. “They told me I got the role of Jean Prouvaire.”   “Wow—”   “He’s part of the Les Amis de l’ABC or whatever that means, well I know what it means but it’s not important right now. Listen, Y/N, the character is a shy poet, loves flowers, and is a bad dresser. A good fit for me, right? Except for the bad dresser part — or at least hopefully they don’t think I’m a bad dresser. I only get around one line and I get shot two thirds of the way through, but this means I get to make my Broadway debut! My Broadway debut, Y/N!”   He’s rambling, so eager and excited.   You muster up a stiff smile that cracks at the corners. But he’s too caught up in his own world to notice, to read your expression, see the way it turns sour.   “T-That’s great, Jimin. Congrats…”   You can’t mean it sincerely. You can’t find it in you to be truly happy for him.   He lied to you — he didn’t do poorly in the audition. Not if he got a role.   “I’m so excited, Y/N! I couldn’t have done it without you. They said my singing really sold them.”   Your jealousy and envy make you feel ugly. Jimin makes you feel ugly.   “—wanting this so badly—”   It’s not that you blame him for failing the audition — that was your fault and yours only. But suddenly, you can’t fathom why you were hoping and praying so desperately for him to succeed when he obviously didn’t need it. You should’ve prayed for yourself.    Why did you think his accomplishments would be your own — you’re both different people. Why you were wasting your time — you should’ve spent it on yourself.    Why do you put your heart on your sleeve?   You’ve made a mistake. A horrible mistake.   “—guess I won’t have to work as an intern anymore!”   You thought you were in this together. But you’re not. You can’t believe you could’ve been so stupid. Jimin was never walking in sync with you. The two of you were never even on the same path, on the journey together. You’re not friends, not even colleagues, just neighbors at most.    Strangers who happen to live next to one another.   He’s gotten what he wants from you. He just wanted you to teach him how to sing, and now he’s finally better than his teacher. He’s succeeded. While you’re still stuck here. For the past year.   “They told me to come in next Monday—”   Jimin’s voice drowns in and out. You’re no longer paying any attention. You’re merely watching his delighted grin, his rosy cheeks that threaten to burst, how it almost breaks his face. You wonder when his smile became so damn irritating to look at.    “—I’m actually performing on stage on Broadway.”   You self-sabotaged yourself. All those nights spent with him, teaching him, you should’ve used to practice yourself. You should’ve worked harder instead of being so concerned about him. You were so wrapped up in Jimin that you neglected your own career.   And now he gets to pour salt all over your wounds. He gets to rub it in your face.   “My parents are gonna be so stoked to hear. They can finally be proud of me—”   You failed to realize...   “I can’t believe I’m actually performing on stage on Broadway, Y/N. I came here just two months ago and I already have myself a role.”   Jimin was your rival this entire time.

[captainofthebrokentides]

Briefcases and Blood Splatter Benny Colon x OC - Chapter 1: In the beginning

Hello! This is my first Benny Colon fic, I don’t think there’s enough out there for him, so I thought I’d give it a crack. This first chapter is essentially introductions to get us off the ground running, so please dont judge too harshly!! :) Thanks for reading.    1622 words

Olivia Byrne looked up at the towering mirror like building and straightened the creases out of her jeans. Her work bag felt heavier today than it had in a long time, she hadn’t worked for an independent company in a long time – she’d been getting comfy in her position with the police, let alone provided evidence to a trial analysis team. She’d heard great things about Dr Jason Bull and his team, but that didn’t make the uncomfortable swirl of nerves go away.

“Come on Liv.” She told herself encouragingly. Olivia had always been a bit shy, and the personal letter and request from Dr Bull that she attend and help them with this trial had not helped to cure her of that.

With a deep breath she put on a bright smile and entered through the main doors. A bored looking receptionist at the main desk pointed her towards an elevator and informed her she needed floor 22.

Olivia clipped her visitor’s badge to her blouse and gave herself an affirming nod. She knew she could do this.

 TAC was huge. Olivia hadn’t been quite prepared for the size, or modernity of it. Every wall was glass, and people milled around, talking loudly and pointing at large monitors made up of multiple screens. She was in awe as she looked around, her palms feeling a little over warm with nerves.

“Olivia Byrne?” A sophisticated blond woman made her way over, a kind smile on her face.

“That’s me.”

The blond lady’s smile brightened, and she offered a perfectly manicured hand, “I’m Marissa, I work closely with Dr Bull. We’re really glad you were willing to help us with this case, we’ve never had to bring a forensic pathology specialist in before, it’s quite exciting really.” Her eyes sparkled kindly.

Olivia wiped her palm on her jeans quickly before shaking Marissa’s outstretched hand. “Hello, please call me Liv, I’ve never been one for formal, which is why I usually spend all my time in a lab. I’m a little nervous, but I hope I can help.” Marissa looked faintly surprised at her outburst. “And I’m babbling a lot aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous, I’m sorry.”

Marissa chuckled lightly and shook her head. “Don’t you worry, there’s no one to be nervous of here. We’re all like a big family. I’m sure you’ll fit in while you’re with us. How was your flight?” Marissa started walking down the corridor, motioning for Olivia to follow along with her.

“Uh long, but good, thank you. It’s nice being away from London for a while.”

“I can imagine, but I’m afraid New York is no less chaos. I did like London when I visited there though, there’s something about it.” She stopped at a frosted glass door and swiped her ID card, there was a beep and the door opened an inch. “A few of our techs are setting up your lab for the case, just down the hall.”

Olivia’s eyes widened as she stared in disbelief at the petite blonde lady, “You’ve built me a lab?”

Marissa opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by a deep masculine tone coming from inside the room. “Of course you have a lab. We need you to do your best work while you’re here.”

Marissa bobbed her eyebrows and grinned good naturedly, as she pushed the door open and stepped aside for Olivia to enter.

Two men inhabited the room, one at a desk – he was blonde with glasses and a typical psychologist’s cardigan. Internally she smirked, this must be Dr Bull.

“I’m Dr Bull, and welcome to TAC, Miss Olivia Byrne. I’m glad you could make it. I’ve heard a lot about your work for Scotland yard. I took a look at the Parson triple murder case you worked on a couple of months ago. You’re very good at what you do.”

“Thank you, Dr Bull.”

“Bull or Jason” Bull cut her off waving his hand. Liv nodded and started again.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“You’re honoured to be given the choice, you must be good.” A deep, almost lyrical voice said from the other side of the room. Olivia turned to look at it’s owner and her heart skipped a little beat. He had perfect dark hair, olive skin that looked incredibly smooth and the darkest, most intense eyes she had ever seen. He sat in a large leather arm chair, his hands resting casually on his thighs. The expensive looking three piece suit just added to his suave charm.

Bull sighed and gestured toward the other man “Benny Colon, our in house council.”

Liv swallowed down her nerves and offered him her hand, acutely aware that she wished she’d repainted her nails. “Hello, lovely to meet you.”

He took her hand in both of his and gave her a firm handshake, his fingers giving her a reassuring squeeze. “The pleasure is mine.”

Liv couldn’t fight the dusky pink flush that threatened to burn her cheeks, and turned her face away quickly.

“So,” Bull started, regaining her attention. His eyes flicked momentarily between her and Benny, Olivia could almost see the cogs turning in his head as the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. “How much do you know about our current case? I gather it’s not reached the news in good ol’ England?”

“It hasn’t, but I sent Liv a file on the case to look over on her flight. It laid out all the details we have for her.” Marissa said, offering her one of the spare chairs in the room.

Olivia shook her head, deciding to remain standing after such a long flight. Between plane seats and the three cabs she’d had to take since she left home yesterday, she had begun to lose the feeling in her backside. “Thank you, but I feel like I’ve been sitting for a lifetime, I need to get my blood flowing again.” She did however, place her work back on the ground and crouched next to it, retrieving out the folder she had been sent. “Let’s see … rich boy turns 18, uses daddy’s money to host a big bash on board his, or daddy’s yacht. Does what teenage boys do, and has sex with a pretty girl, only problem is, the pretty girl is found strangled and washed up on the beach …”

Benny nodded his head appreciatively, and smiled at her “Well, that was concise.” Olivia couldn’t help but smile back, his dimples were one of the most attractive things she thought she’d ever seen.

“Thank you, Mr Colon”

He held his hands up and continued to smile at her reassuringly, his chocolate eyes sparkling with mirth. “Benny, please.”

“Benny” she repeated, nodding and smiling back. She held his gaze for a couple of seconds before directing her attention back to her temporary boss. “So what would you like me to do? If you have a lab I can probably run all manner of tests, I could even pull a tox screen if you feel it’s needed, my inhouse results might not be as clear cut as a designated tox lab, but I can do my best. I can test for outside or internal factors as well, judge whether anything triggered her body to shut down prior to the strangulation …” Bull just sat back, watching her with an amused look on his face, twirling his glasses around in one hand. Olivia looked back to Marissa, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marissa laughed gently and nodded, reaching out to pat her hand.

“You tend to over think when in unfamiliar situations. You speak whatever is going through your head in those moments, like you can’t control it. It’s a nervous tick. And here you are, in a new building, in a different country, surrounded by people you don’t know. Your brain is going into overdrive.” Bull analysed, looking smug.

“In other words.” Benny soothed, standing up from his chair, “You’re nervous and that’s ok. We’ll have you settled in before you know it.” He came to stand beside her and placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder blade. “I need to get down to mock court to go over the opening statement, let me show you to your lab, you can get some peace in there.” He smelled amazing, and with every subtle movement a waft of expensive came her way. Sandalwood, leather and citrus assaulted her nose.

“A good plan.” Bull also got his feet, nodding at her. “We’ve manged to secure some blood and hair samples if you could look them over for any abnormalities or anomalies.”

“Sure” Olivia smiled reassuringly, and nodded, blood and hair follicle analysis were easy, her bread and butter back home. She went to pick up her work bag, but as her fingers closed around the handle warm, soft fingers collided with hers. Benny, being the gentleman Liv could already tell he was, picked up her bag for her and gestured for her to leave the room, him following closely behind her.

Marissa watched the pair go, a contented look on her face. With a little sigh she turned to her boss who was also watching his old friend and new employee leave.

“She seems sweet. If a little nervous.”

Bull nodded and put his glasses on to look through some paperwork on his desk.

“She’ll warm up. Benny will look after her.”

“But Benny can be a bit … aloof … sometimes …”

“When have I ever given you cause not to trust me, Marissa? Believe me, she’ll have him eating from her palms in no time.” Marissa scrunched her nose up and looked at Bull. “Figuratively speaking.”

@lets-love-little-me​ @reelovesbennycolon​

[missmonsters2]

Between Us

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers (carolnat) Summary: Natasha used to have nothing, until she got this family. But now everything is slipping through her fingers, and Carol comforts her the only way she knows how. Warnings: Endgame spoilers. Smut. 18+/read responsibly  Genre: Soft angst, fluff, comfort, smut NOTE: tagging @agentnatasharomanov as the carolnat captain certified crackhead fic dealer 😂 Count: 2181 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ “That’s all for today. Make sure you stay in touch,” Natasha said to the holograms before the call ended.  Carol hadn’t been able to make it to the call, but Natasha assumed that was because the blonde was busy with her mission, she would most likely call the redhead later.  Swallowing with a sigh, Natasha got up to head to the kitchen. She was getting pretty sick of takeout, but with no one else in the compound, there wasn’t much she could do.  Grabbing out the bread from the pantry, she also grabbed herself some cheese from the fridge. She was going to make a grilled cheese.  She could do this, she thought. She’s a fucking spy, for crying out loud. Its name was the recipe, so it should be fine. 

Heating the skillet on the stove, Natasha put her bread slice onto the pan before placing a couple slices of cheese onto it. She eyed the second piece of bread, wondering when it would be appropriate to put it on top. Before she knew it, the bread was burning, but the cheese wasn’t melting fast enough, and she was still holding the other piece of bread. When smoke started to form from the pan, she panicked and quickly turned off the stove, grabbing the kitchen towel to fan the smoke away. Once it settled, she leaned back against the counter and sighed, dropping her head slightly into her fingers as she rubbed her temples tiredly. If she couldn’t conquer grilled cheese, how was she supposed to accomplish anything else? Like getting Clint back, or getting Tony to reply to her e-mails or calls? She didn’t even fucking know where Bruce was or how Thor was holding up. Maria was gone. Fury was gone. Laura and the kids, Sam, Wanda, Vision, everyone was gone. And whoever wasn’t gone, wasn’t here. Everything was slipping through her fingers so fast, and she didn’t know how to catch it. There was a burn in the back of her eyes, a sensation that she recently has become familiar with. It was always accompanied by the lump in her throat. “You know, of all things, I wouldn’t have expected a grilled cheese to bring you down.” Natasha’s head immediate snapped up to the kitchen door to see Carol leaning casually against the wall with a slight smirk on her face.  Blinking rapidly to rid of the tears forming, Natasha stood straighter and walked to the kitchen island.  “What are you doing here?” Natasha asked, trying to sniff subtly as she put down the bread slice in her hand. Carol lifted herself off the wall, sauntering slowly to Natasha as she stood behind the redhead at an angle. “Well,” Carol mused. “I finished my mission earlier than I thought, and instead of calling you later because I missed our check-in, I thought I’d come to visit my girl instead.” Natasha snorted softly, “Oh? So now I’m your girl?” “Would you rather be Rocket’s girl?” “Why is that my only other option?”  Carol smiled, “Well, try hitting up Nebula or Okoye and let me know how it goes.” Natasha chuckled softly but didn’t respond with words. Carol took the moment to look at Natasha’s attempt at cooking better. The burnt creature in the pan said it all. “What did we say about you cooking?” Carol asked with a hint of mirth in her tone when she went back to look at her girlfriend. Natasha had turned around, finally able to reign in the spiraling outburst she was about to have.  She leaned against the counter, hands crossed against her chest as she looked over at the pan. “It’s grilled cheese,” Natasha defended herself. “I was just...grilling...cheese. I’m not sure why that happened.” Carol took one last look at the pan and cocked her brow. “Butter probably would’ve helped.” “If there was supposed to be butter, then it should be called grilled butter and cheese.” Carol merely chuckled as she looked at the other slice of toast that was relatively unharmed. “Any reason for the punctured hole in the bread then? No need to hold it that hard. I thought we talked about that last time.” Natasha rolled her eyes and grumbled slightly under her breath.  Carol quirked her lips, taking a moment to regard her girlfriend. It wasn’t a coincidence that she decided to come back to visit. Rhodey reached back out to her after the last meeting when Carol had disconnected.  It was difficult, being away and doing what she had to do to save the thousands of other planets who were experiencing the same thing. More than anything, she wanted to be home more often, be there for her girlfriend because it was clear that fucking no one else was. There was a look in Natasha’s eyes.  The one that told Carol that she was on the edge, teetering between falling or making it back. The one that said she was suffering, trying to be better even though no one from her family was here to see it.  The one that said Natasha blamed herself for not being able to save the people she loved.  Carol took a step closer, bringing her hand up to brush Natasha’s hair back gently before she cupped her neck gently, fingers just edging on Natasha’s jawline. There wasn’t really anything that Carol could say that would make it better for her girlfriend. If there was, Carol would’ve said it a million times already until her throat was raw.  So, Carol comforted Natasha in the way she only knew how, the only way that Natasha would accept. Her lips gently pecked Natasha’s at first before it returned with a bruising force. Natasha immediately gripped at Carol’s sleeve, relishing when Carol buried both her hands into Natasha’s hair, pulling them closer together.  Quiet moans were making their way out before Carol pulled Natasha off from the kitchen counter, lowering her hands until she reached the redhead’s backside. With a leading push, Natasha took the prompt and hopped up, agilely wrapping her legs around Carol’s waist as the blonde walked off towards her bedroom. Natasha moved her lips against Carol’s in a frantic manner, arms around the blonde’s neck as her fingertips would rush through Carol’s hair. Suddenly she was lying on her back against the mattress, breathless as Carol hovered over her.  It took one look into Carol’s eyes for Natasha to feel like she was unraveling. She lifted her head to press her lips against Carol’s again before she was entirely undone before anything started. Carol’s eyes fluttered closed as she let herself get lost in the feeling of her of Natasha’s lips. The physical softness contrast against her desperate need. Carol found her hip grinding slowly against Natasha’s core. “Oh,” Natasha moaned softly against Carol’s lips. Her fingers were already making quick work of taking off Carol’s suit, discarding the garment on the floor.  Wet, open-mouthed kisses were being pressed against Natasha’s neck, teeth scraping against her collarbone before Carol would suck at the skin and leave a visible mark.  Natasha bit her tongue to hold the moan that wanted to escape as her shirt is lifted over her head, and strewn to the floor. “You know I don’t like it when you hold back, Nat,” Carol reprimanded without any bite, only kissing further down just at the dip of the valley of Natasha’s breasts. Natasha’s nipples are rock hard from the arousal that was running through her, just begging for attention but Carol skips right over them as punishment for holding back her moans.  The kisses trail down further, muscles tightening as Carol drags her lips across her stomach. Firm hands are holding Natasha in place as Carol passes over her hip bone, teeth scraping and nibbling at the skin. Natasha’s hips automatically cant up from the feeling and Carol takes advantage of the movement by ripping Natasha’s pants and underwear off at the same time.  There was a fine line between working Natasha’s body and giving the redhead was she needed: a rough fucking. Carol was level between Natasha’s leg, the cool breeze hitting her sex, sending shivers down her spine. Slender fingers ran between Natasha’s fold, just teasing against her clit.  “Look how wet you are,” Carol comment offhandedly. “I’ve barely even started.” Natasha’s breath hitched. God, there were words Natasha wanted to say, yet it was all trapped in the back of her throat.  It almost came unexpectedly when Carol's tongue flattened against her sex, licking the length of it before she sucked Natasha’s clit.  “Fuck,” Natasha groaned lowly, hand moving to Carol’s head, fingers tangled in the blonde’s hair. Her hips were moving around with the strokes, the way Carol’s tongue would flick at her clit was sending her closer and closer to the edge. “I--” Natasha choked when Carol’s tongue swiped downward, teasing her entrance. It was nearly overwhelming with Carol’s hands stroking her thighs.  Just as Natasha thought she was about to come from Carol sucking on her clit, Carol stopped. The pending orgasm came to an abrupt stop, and Natasha groaned loudly and frustratedly as she dropped her head back on the mattress. Carol chuckled, the sound vibrating against the lips of Natasha’s core before she slithered her body up, lining up herself nose-to-nose with her lover.  “You know I hate it when you tease,” Natasha breathed out. “Don’t lie,” Carol purred, her hands traveling to down, palming Natasha’s breast in her hand, finger rolling over the hard pebble. “You love it.” Carol’s navel lined up with Natasha’s sex, and she slowly ground against it, the wetness slicking against her skin.  “But that’s not what I want,” Natasha was breathless, her hips already rising to meet the grinding of Carol’s hips. Carol ran her fingers through Natasha’s hair until her hand was at the back of Natasha’s head. Carol gripped Natasha’s hair until her head was tilted back slightly.  “Then use your words, Natasha. What do you want?” Carol’s hand was already slithering downward. “I--” The words were stuck again, but maybe she could get away with that.  It started with two fingers, setting a rough pace. The words were stuck, but the moans weren’t.  Lips half-hazard against Natasha’s neck, sucking and biting. Hair pulling and messy kisses were driving Natasha mad.  A third finger and a hard thrust was bringing Natasha closer to the edge again.  The tight coil in her stomach, the hot liquid pooling downwards...God, she was so close.  Carol watched as Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut, muscle tensing, the pulsating around her fingers. Natasha was close, and right where Carol wanted her.  Sweat dripped off their bodies as Carol brought Natasha closer and closer to her climax. Her thumb swiped upwards, circling Natasha’s clit and pressing against it. Stars were exploding behind Natasha’s eyes. “Hold it,” Carol commanded as Natasha’s eyes screwed shut tightly and did as she was told.  “That’s right, baby,” Carol breathed against Natasha’s lip, watching as tears flooded her girlfriend’s eyes and streamed down the side. That was the thing about Natasha when she was unraveling. No amount of words could stop her when she was falling apart, feeling all alone, suffering in silence.  And Carol would allow that. If Natasha wanted to teeter between falling off the cliff or make it back, then she would dangle Natasha at the edge before bringing her safely back in when Natasha has had enough.  “Alright, let go, baby,” Carol allowed as Natasha let the orgasm rip through her until her legs were numb and back gone cold.  Natasha released a huff of air as she slowly came back from her high, Carol releasing her grip on Natasha’s hair until she dragged it back to cup the back of her neck. Carol wiped Natasha’s tears with her other hand, coming in for a slow, soft peck on the lips that Natasha returned. And she was safe, away from the edge of the cliff once more.  ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ “When do you have to go back?” Carol sighed as she traced her fingers against Natasha’s naked rips. “Soon,” Carol replied sullenly. Natasha dragged the edge of her lips upward half-heartedly. “I know it’s hard,” Natasha softly spoke, voice still raw, “but you’re saving so many people out there.” “I know,” Carol replied, her legs tangling more intimately, trying to savor the small moments they had. “It’s just, I hate leaving you here alone.” “I’m not alone,” Natasha argued. “Right,” Carol drawled. “I guess Steve visits every now and again to do laundry.” “There’s Scott too,” Natasha quipped.  “I think Scott is just trying to catch himself at the same time with America's ass,” Carol pursed her lips. Natasha let out a raspy chuckle. It was quiet again, her fingertips dragging themselves lightly over Carol’s bare arm, fascinated with the goosebumps that trailed. “I’m not alone,” Natasha repeated. Sometimes it had felt like everyone had abandoned her, and she would have to shoo the thoughts away because she was better than that. But... “Between us,” Natasha whispered. “There’s still you.”

[anuschkalova]

Light In The Dark

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: All you want is some relaxation after a stressful day. But your neighbor upsets your plans as he decided to workout - half-naked.

Warnings: none Word count: 1,610

>>Life isn't just about darkness or light, rather it's about finding light within the darkness.<< - Landon Parham

__

You didn’t know how this got out of hand, but here you were:

Sitting on your bed at 10 pm, dressed in a silky nightgown with spaghetti straps and waiting for your neighbor to appear by the window opposite the street.

It felt wrong watching your neighbor work out half naked, but also - and for this very reason - exciting.

It had all started three days ago.  You'd just come home after a stressful day at work plus a very exhausting Pilates class. So you performed; after a nice hot shower; your relaxing-ritual, which included changing into your comfy clothes, removing your makeup and grabbing a bowl of your favorite ice cream.

"Much better", you sighed as you sat on your bed. Taking a spoon full of peanut butter chocolate goodness, you spent the evening by watching a movie on your phone.

Well, that was the plan.  Because shortly after the movie's intro, something else caught your eye. You looked up and glanced out of your window and there he was - your naked neighbor. 

At first you'd thought he had just taken a shower and averted your gaze immediately. 

Oh my god! Is this really happening?!

A little embarrassed, you allowed yourself another glance and were greeted by his naked and muscular back. To your defense, it was hard to not look at him as his illuminated window was the only source of light in the night's darkness. And so must have been yours. 

Suddenly, you felt a knot of panic growing in your stomach at the thought of him seeing you like that - baggy clothes, messy bun and a big ice-cream bowl in your hands. Not a good first impression. 

You peeked over your glasses, trying your best to keep your head down, but he was gone.  It would have been a lie to say that you didn't care, because all you wanted was to take a closer look at him.

So needless to say that a wave of relief washed over you when he all of a sudden appeared.  He'd stood up from the ground, walking around his room while stretching his arms. You watched, and saw him go down again. 

That was the moment you'd realized that your neighbor wasn't naked, but half-naked while seemingly working out. Pondering what to do, you quickly closed the curtains before he got up again. Your heart was beating way too fast and a glimpse at the full-length mirror next to you revealed your blushed cheeks. 

How could a stranger have such an effect on you, making your knees turn weak just at the sight of his toned body? 

You blamed your 22-year-old-virgin-ass for that. It was all your hormones’ fault for acting like a teenage girl and dressing up for him since that incident. You knew it was stupid, but you couldn’t help it. In case you would see him again, you’d replaced your oversized white T-Shirt and old sweatpants with a slinky nightgown. Bless your best friend for donating that piece to you.

Finally, after two days of no sign of life, the room of your neighbor lightened up. On cue, you gave the book in your hands your full attention, swirling a strand of hair as you read. You secretly hoped that he saw you - at least you had turned on the ceiling light instead of the table lamp.

Suddenly, a vibration sound made you look on the display of your phone. You unlocked it and tapped on the new message. It was your friend.

>>And? Is Mr. Nudie in sight?<<, she wanted to know and you smiled. 

Of course you had told her about your discovery. Besides, it was said best friend who had equipped you with your new sleeping outfit. She was as excited as you were. On her demand, you had to provide her with every single detail when you saw him again. 

>>Yes.<<

>>Oh my god! Okay, good luck. Tell me about it later.<<

Still smiling, you put your phone away and dared to raise your gaze. Your neighbor stood by his window and you froze. It wasn’t due to the fact has his ripped upper body was exposed, because you were already used to that. 

No. 

You were petrified with horror, because his eyes were directly set on you. Or so you thought.

He had both of his arms up, leaning against the window with his face directed to you.

Even though you wanted him so see you, it was overwhelming. Time seemed to stand still as your shy gaze admired his soft curled chestnut hair. You couldn’t see his face, but you guessed him to be around your age. 

You noticed that he didn’t move and it made you nervous. Should you do something? 

He stayed like that for a while before he went back to his workout. You sighed.  Turning the unread page of your book, you watched your neighbor lifting some dumbbells.  After two sets of twenty repetitions, you came to a decision. 

Ignoring your wildly striking heart and any doubts, you stood up and slowly approached your window. With your hands on the windowsill, you openly savored his appearance - how his abs deliciously twitched every time he lifted the dumbbell; or him shaking his head to get the sweaty curl out of his face. Each move left you crave for more and you asked yourself - was meant more?

You watched as his repetitions got slower, until he stopped. With anticipation filling your body, you monitored your neighbor closely walking to his window. This time, you were able to tell that he was good-looking. 

It was hard to see from afar, but you swore that his eyes had the most alluring dark brown shade you’d ever seen. A smile flits across his face and you couldn’t defend yourself against its power.

Then, he raised his hand to wave at you. 

You took a deep breath and waved back. 

God, you were flirting with a man whose name you didn’t even know. But at that moment that seemed irrelevant. All that mattered was the addicting rush of adrenalin that pumped through your veins. 

He pointed out his index finger, signalizing you to wait as he disappeared. You used the time to retouch your hair, bringing enough volume to your roots and nibbling on your lips so they were flushed and plump.

Around a minute later, he came back and held a piece of paper against the window that said:

Tom.

Your heart skipped a beat. Tom. His name was Tom. 

You spun around, eager to find a pen and something to write on. And after you successfully wrote your name on the backside of a notepad, you showed it to Tom. He smiled; the kind of smile that turned your legs into pudding and you imagined some cute wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

The piercing ringing tone of your phone caught you off guard and made you visibly flinch. 

Jesus Christ…

A look at Tom’s wide grin confirmed your fear that he saw it. Annoyed, you turned your head to spot your mom’s face on the display. Crap, you had totally forgotten about her weekly call! You glanced one last time to Tom and waved goodbye. 

Maybe you misinterpreted it, but his slouched shoulders made you believe that he was rather sad about your early leave.

„Hey, Mom!“, you beamed as you picked up her call. It took you acting skills to hide the disappointment linger in your voice. 

„What took you so long? Are you busy?“, she asked. That was typical of her - always worried.

„No, I was at the bathroom“, you lied and blushed. If only she knew the truth.

„I see. So how have you been?“

__

Slowly but surely, Tom became a part of your everyday life. 

As soon as the night fell and darkness laid its veil among the world, it was Tom who brought back some light. No matter how stressful or bad your day was - Tom would always cheer you up. He seemed to sense your emotions and did his best to distract you from whatever burdened you.

He even did a handstand and back flips once to put a smile on your face. And it worked.

It was Wednesday, somewhat around 5 pm when you got home and were greeted by the two huge rubbish bags in your kitchen. You were supposed to take them out yesterday, but you were too exhausted for any physical activity. Including meeting Tom by the window. 

Sighing in defeat, you grabbed the two bags and made your way outside. The garbage containers were thankfully close to your door and so you were more than relieved as you got rid of the weight.

Closing the lit of one of the containers, you heard footsteps behind you. 

„Look at that, she is alive!“, a male voice said and you frowned. Was he talking to you? Just to be on the safe side, you turned around to face a young man with curly brunette hair.

Silence dominated and your confused expression made him laugh.

„I thought I left a lasting impression, love.“ The nickname made your face heat up. And as the stranger threw his own garbage bag away, it hit you.

Standing face to face, you didn’t recognize him right away, but the familiar sparkle in his brown eyes and profile of his face left no doubt.

„Tom?“

His thin lips curled up into one of his breathtaking smiles.

„Yes, love?“ __

Masterlist 

[guesswho-mp3]

~•Ride•~

AU: outlaw!ateez | Pairing: character x reader | Warning: ahhhhhhhh we all going to hell, smut, bondage, dom/sub tones, dirty talk, language, unprotected sex (wrap that willy before you get silly), a sprinkle of knife play, slight choking, degradation if you squint, mind-rotting fluff shawty give me whip-whiplash | Rating: 18++++ | Word Count: 1.2k of pure filth

I imagined wonderland era mullet!san and like I surprised myself with this one I had to stop multiple times to take breaks because it was just too much and I even made myself blush ahhhh

Also the oc!reader for San’s storyline is a gunslinger named Armistice Adams, I’m still working on her introduction but I just wanted to release this already.

also uhhh please don’t read this in my voice ok enjoy :)

The gunslinger peered down at her crimson lover, hair mussed and already fucked out from their heavy petting, lips shining with gloss and begging to be bitten. She could hear him, serpentine tongue slithering into her ear and soft whispers of eat me, you know you want to invaded the recesses of her mind. His black jacket was already unbuttoned, chest heaving and abs tensing with every scrape of her nails against his skin.

“I liked seeing you tied up earlier.” He traced one of his prized knives up the threads that held her shirt together, teasingly weaving it among the strings and pulling it loose, cotton shroud coming undone. “When you were completely at my mercy and just begging to be fucked with those wide eyes of yours.”

“Oh you mean when I had to play damsel to lure out our prey? I dare say Mr. Chisholm I quite enjoyed it too, but right now it seems like you're cutting me loose,” she giggled, squeezing her things together that were wrapped around his slim waist. He just gave her a wolfish grin as he slipped the covering off her shoulders, fingertips ghosting down her shoulder.

“We made off with the score because the bastard couldn’t help himself but be drawn to our helpless little temptress. Don’t worry pretty, you’ll be bound again soon enough,” he simpered, sprinkling tiny pecks along the valley of her breasts, bodies leisurely undulating against each other like the tides.

The blade, not yet done, traveled south and cut through the fabric of her lacy bloomers like butter as she gasped. San used the tip of the knife to pull back the trim and he let out a groan at the sight of her glistening cunt; slick with want and waiting to be satiated. “Oh, look at you,” he pushed the cheek of the knife directly to her sex, “already so wet, you’re practically dripping.” He collected her honey before pulling away, hips lifting up to desperately chase after the little sting of rapture. Her apparent desperation made him chuckle as his tongue darted out to lap at the heady essence, moaning when he tasted heaven. Brown sugar whiskey and peaches.

“Taste yourself.” He brought the knife up to her mouth but she swiped it out of his hand, sending it to embed itself in the wall as she surged forward, shoving her wet muscle into his mouth. San’s dulcet murmurs were swallowed as she sucked up her nectar from his tongue, grinding her core against the rough material of his pants. He fumbled with his belt, shucking it off before binding the gunslinger’s hands behind her back; the scratchy leather nipping into her wrists with the most painful pleasure.

He teased the tip of his member against her engorged clit, drawing throaty moans as the woman nibbled on the freckles that adorned San’s neck; biting down hard when he slipped in. “So tight,” he hissed, voice trailing off in a breathy whine as he shallowly thrusted up inside her. “And you’re so big,” she purred back, nipping his jaw.

He planted a kiss before he pushed her up. “Ride me.” The order was hushed but firm, and the change of position nudged his cock even deeper inside her, sweet little mewls leaving her parted petal lips. Even as he started moving, impatience setting in and fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he increased his pace, she remained still. Using all of her weight and pushing on his knees she pinned his lower half to the bed, interrupting his building melody to slowly rock back and forth, languid sensual bass in her movements.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” he goaded, the anguished way in which he bucked his hips betraying his haughty front.

The hidden plea fell on deaf ears as she smiled coyly, “I am the one on top, sir. And by the way you’re keening under me like a bitch in heat makes me wonder if I’m the one that should be called Snake Charmer.”

He grabbed her chin, command prickling off of him with the jest that pierced his ego. “I wanted to see what would happen if I let you take the reins. But it seems to me like you’re asking for a punishment. Is that what you want?” He taunted, taking the bait that trickled so delectable set on the trap.

“I want you to fuck me, claim me, tell everyone here in this godforsaken desert I’m yours,” she sneered through pouted lips, not hesitating to make know her ravenous desires.

She was suddenly flipped onto her stomach, a hand wrapped around her neck, the other around her chained wrists she was plastered to San’s chest. “Such a filthy slut asking to be used when she’s tied up. Show them you’re mine sweetness, say my name,” he growled in her ear, setting a bruising tempo as he pounded into her. Her mouth was open in a silent cry, too focused on the way his thick pulsing cock was hitting every sweet spot inside of her. “Say.my.name,” he gritted, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust that knocked the wind out of her lungs and tightened the coil around her tingling core.

The hand around her wrists snaked to her front messy circles being rubbed on her stinging bundle of nerves as white hot pleasure shot up her veins, wanton cries of San San San reverberating off the walls of the hotel. Feeling her velvety walls contracting on his length sent tremors throughout San’s body both of them murmuring love confessions and filthy praises as he quickly pulled out. He rutted against her in short staccato until he released on her back, pearly streaks of adour painting her backside.

Her trembling form was gently laid down on the sheets, the belt disappearing as a tender touch stroked her wrists. “You did so well,” he cooed, the saccharine utterances causing her heart to thrum pleasantly against the gilded cage of her chest. San got up from the bed to completely disrobe, changing into a fresh pair of cotton pants; and his lover watched, blearily eyed on the bed as he soaked a towel in the porcelain basin in the corner of the room and wrung it out.

“Mmh, it’s sensitive,” she slurred, jerking away from the icy chill of the cloth that ran along her core.

“Shh sh, I know,” he sultrily soothed, caressing her belly with his warm palm when he turned her over. ”I have to clean you up though, we made quite a mess.” Giggles bubbled from his throat, drunk in admiration and peach kisses. He dragged a clean pair of bloomers up her legs, pecking her soft and aching thighs as he ascended.

Flopping next to her on the bed, San hooked a leg over her hip and smooshed his lips to her cheek delivering little smacks without ever daring to part. The gunslinger hummed and caressed her fingers down his spine, the both of them clinging to each other, exchanging syrupy I love you’s until they both transcended the cusp of consciousness.

:’)

[strykingback]

Betrayal... (Drabble)

WARNING!! WARNING!! SPOILERS FOR VOL 7 CH 11 PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU WANT TO BE SPOILED. 

OST: End The BLCKOUT.

Time: 9:00 PM

Location: Mantle, City Streets

__________________________

The battle against the Artorian military was at its climax, the Unified Solitas Union consisted of the Brumelian Military (Atelier Paladins), The Atlesian Military, and The Mantlean Resistance Force. All of whom were making progress in pushing the Artorians out as they were on the verge of defeat.

“We have them on the run! We’ll do some mopping up, Manta unit you’re with me!” Eros shouted at the Atlesian unit with all of them saying in unison “Yes Sir!!” with the Lieutenant getting on an Atelier hoverbike and driving off to  find more Artorian soldiers hiding from the unified military forces. Whilst the others got in their vehicles and followed Eros. Inside the the armored vehicle the leader of Manta unit was receiving a call from none other than Ironwood. 

“General Ironwood? Whats wrong.” The leader of Manta unit said waiting for a reply.

“We have detained the traitors to Atlas, and I’m declaring Martial Law on all of Atlas, execute the members of Team BLCK and anyone who is affiliated with them. Pull out of Mantle and return to Atlas immediately..” Ironwood said in a disgruntled voice. 

“Yes Sir.” the squad-leader said getting on top of the Technical vehicle aiming down the sight and locking onto Eros’ Hoverbike firing which caused the Atelier soldier look behind himself as the missile struck underneath launching the pilot into the air and slamming into  the ground. 

“What... the bloody...” Eros said before going still conscious as he remained limp to give the impression he is dead with one of the trucks stopping and lightly kicking Eros’ body. 

“Lieutenant Eros has been eliminated... all Atlesian forces be advised execute all members of Team BLCK and everyone that is affiliated with them. Show them No Mercy.” An Atlesian soldier said walking away and getting back inside the Techinical driving it off as Eros got up groaning taking off his helmet and spitting out some blood. 

“All... Atelier and Resistance Forces be advised, P-Protect all members of Team BLCK I repeat! PROTECT MY FRIENDS!!!” Eros said putting his helmet back on and limping away. 

In another area of Mantle, Blade and Outsider  was leading the charge against an Artorian hold out shooting and slashing his way through his enemies. If only that was so easy...

“Come on!!! We’re almost done here!!!” Blade said punching an Artorian soldier unconscious whilst Outsider  grabbed onto one enemy soldier and biting on their neck crushing their throat .  Until...

“KCHCK CLICK KCHK.”

The sounds of the Atlesian weapons pointing at him and Outsider which included the Resistance forces as well who were looking as confused as ever with Blade just in shock at what he was witnessing. 

“W-What...” He said in a horrified manner with the Atlesian soldiers opening fire on the Stryker and his forces, whilst Mantleans shot back with one of them approaching Blade quickly saying. “GET TO EROS NOW!!! THE ATLESIANS ORDERED TO KILL Y-” He was saying until he was shot in face. 

“Fuck!” Blade said shooting his new and improved Inferno and Voltage in their shotgun forms trying to get away as fast he could until one bullet from the Atlesians found their mark striking Blade with such precision as he grunted holding onto his wound. Whilst he started to run getting away from the battle with Outsider looking worried as well joining his master as the two ran for their lives. 

With Louvel... if it was different for him and his stealth team  watching the Artorians run only for the wolf faunus to hear a garbled communication come in through his helmet kneeling down staying low watching his prey(Artorian Soldiers) march through the city rushing for their LZ. 

“This is Shinba... is something wrong?” He said unaware of the horrors that was happening around Mantle and his team. 

“LOU- THE -LESIANS! EXE- CUTION ORDER. ON YOU!!!! GET TO - EVAC POINT DELTA” Jack shouted on the other side getting cut off  from the explosions happening on his side and from the sounds of it... Jack was being attacked by the Atlesians. 

Louvel’s anger finally reached a breaking point when heard the sounds of weaponry behind from his Atlesian Stealth Unit. “Sorry there but animals like you need to be pu- GYACK!!!” He was about to say until from a distance he was shot and from Louvel’s helmet.. if he zoomed in.. it was Corona.. looking like she had went through a fight of her life. 

“DAMN YOU ALL!!!” 

Louvel shouted unsheathing his Katana  swinging at each Atlesian soldier that tried to assassinate him cutting each one down as if they were butter to him growling with the Wolf faunus releasing a scream to the sky hopefully having a friendship with one of them would lead to something bigger maybe faunus rights in Atlas... instead he was met with Betrayal and hatred until one of the Atlesian assassins shot the screaming Louvel missing his shot as it only struck him in the stomach. 

Back in Menagerie in the Shinbaori Temples, Dalai dropped his staff as he felt weak, his spirit rocked to his very core with his hand moving to his stomach with his wolf ears drooping down.”My... Son...” he said feeling his son’s spirit being wounded. 

In the sky Ace was flying with the other Atlesians shooting down  any pterasaur like Grimm attempting to get into Mantle. Until he heard Kazura screaming something  over the comms. “Kaz! Whats going on?!” Ace shouted back. 

“Ace! It’s the Atlesians! They’re trying to kill us! We need fire support in Area G5, DANGER CLOSE!!!!!!” Kazura shouted as Ace closed his eyes grimacing angrily with his teeth gritted opening . “HEY ATLESIAN FORCE. FAREWELL YOU PIECES OF SHIT YOUR ON YOUR OWN!!!!” Ace growled moving his Jet away from the Atlesian Air Force.  “WAIT ACE WE NEED YOUR HELP-AGGGGHHHH!!!!” Someone in their bullhead shouted until being ripped to shreds while Ace flew his Jet above Area G5.

“GET TO COVER!!!” Ace shouted over the Comms launching two missiles at the Atlesian forces pinning  Kazura,as the Knight used his body as a shield for them protecting his soldiers both Atelier and Mantlean from the incoming Explosion with his Semblance activating keeping backsides protected as he saw four, no six figures come up to the Knight with the dust from the explosion clearing.

Blade, Louvel, Eros, Outsider,Corona, and Jack

“What happened... why would they be attacking us?” Kazura asked  in shame looking at his friends as they all looked like they’ve been through some serious hell. 

“Ironwood..he called for an execution order on us.. Not to mention if I’m correct..he’s also calling all Atlesian forces back to Atlas to leave Mantle to burn...” Louvel said with a bit of poison and hatred within his voice. 

Kazura on the other hand tightened up his fist as it trembled lightly. “We’re Going to Brumel...” He said in a dark tone ready to bring war right to the Atlas..

If only Ironwood read the Brumelian-Atlesian Accord.. that it stated: “An Act of Violence towards the Prince or  The King is a violation and an instant declaration of War.” Atlas... you have made another Enemy..

[stusbunker]

Twitterpated with a Side of Ex-Demon

A Through the Years OS

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Unnamed Female Character, Human!Crowley, Borrowed Grace!Castiel

A/N: This is part of a larger AU where Sam closed the gates of Hell and Crowley was cured. Dean met our mystery nurse while Sam was in the coma from the Trials. Nothing to warn you about, however there is smut-ish parts and regular Crowley attitude. xoxo Stu

*^*

Dean answered without looking at the caller ID, “Agent Neil.”

“Shit, must be a wrong number, I was looking for a Winchester.”

“I might be able to help you out, Miss?”

“It’s Nurse, actually.”

“Well, it seems to be my lucky day. Where you stuck this month?”

“Cedar Rapids, you?”

“I’m a couple days out. What’s your schedule like?”

“Twelve on, Twenty four off.”

“A whole day huh?”

“If you time it right, you may just get a day and a half, AGENT.”

“There are no speed limits for Feds.”

She chuckled back at him. “Sure, just get here in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean couldn’t keep the stupor of anticipated bliss off his features.

“You done flirting? We have a witness to interrogate!” Crowley’s posturing broke into Dean’s happy place.

Dean rolled his eyes at his temporary partner’s impatience, climbing out of the Impala five paces in front of the other man. “Question the witness. You interrogate the suspects.”

“Well, lots of times they’re one in the same, yeah?”

“How many cop shows have you been binging?”

“You do your research, I’ll do mine.”

“I’ll give you something to research.”

“Come again? Get your head out of the booty call and get to work, Agent.”

Dean knocked on the door, bemused to be falling into Crowley’s orders. It was a long case, generally because Crowley wasn’t used to putting in actual human effort and insisted on questioning Dean’s every move. It was fine, the cursed object was whisked away into a spelled box and everybody lived. Dean couldn’t wait to lose his shadow and make good on his promise.

As soon as Dean was heading for the door, barely a half hour after reaching the Bunker, Crowley started to stew. “Fine, just leave me here to rot.”

“You could do some work, find a case while I’m gone. Won’t be more than a couple of days.”

“Is that all I am to you? Your secretary?”

“Look, I’m giving you a place to lay low. A place to avoid all those big bads on your very HUMAN ass, man. Don’t go reading into things.”

“I suppose I should thank you.”

“You should, but you won’t.” Dean popped the Impala’s trunk, tossing his restocked duffel inside.

“You know me so well.”

“Yeah, well, don’t wait up.” Without looking back to see his reaction, Dean slipped into the driver’s seat.

*^*

Dean barely made it through the door before her hands were on him, her warm lips kissed the night air from his skin. It felt good to have somebody waiting for him, somebody who knew crazy hours and sacrifice. Somebody who got him. She had his jacket off before he could hang up his keys, his duffel laid forgotten at the door. She dragged him to the bedroom and gave him the welcome he never knew he needed, one he definitely didn’t deserve. Like always, he took what he could get with her and she more than reciprocated.

It was after midnight when Dean woke to an empty bed, the gentle closing of cabinets bumping down the hall from the kitchen. The whole loft was dark, her assigned flat, cavernous and bare. His gun was in the slightly open drawer on his bedside table, he stared at it for a solid five seconds before leaving it to find her stark naked and grinning over a spoon full of peanut butter.

“Well now I feel upstaged.” Dean’s face dipped, his eyes sultry beneath his heavy lashes as she continued to rake her tongue up and around the metal curve, challenging his stare. Her only reply was a hummed, unimpressed note, but the mischievous spark had ignited. Dean carefully leaned one wide palm on the countertop, trailing it behind him as he pointedly circled the island, rounding on her and that devilishly distracting snack.

She felt the delicious apprehension as he approached, the set of her spine and puckering of flesh tensing from his potential threat; such danger he possessed. Would he scoop her up and lay her out on the tile? Would he take his time and have a treat of his own? Her mind grew fuzzy as he lingered, taking in her every twitch and smirk.

“Uh, there is a dress code after midnight, Mister. Drop ‘em.”

Dean quickly dipped out of the offending boxer briefs, bunching them in his hand and tossing them over his back. “Should of known you were going to start nagging me.”

Her eyebrows shot up, the empty spoon hovering in midair. “Excuse me?”

“With all these sudden rules.” Dean slid behind her, brushing himself against the swell of her backside. His hands threading around her waist, leaning on the countertop. “And you don’t even share,” he teased. “A guy should really cut his loses.”

“Yeah,” she mock agreed, dropping her head back onto his shoulder as Dean lifted the jar of Skippy Natural up, noting the giant canyon she had left in the middle. “You’re really getting to the low parts of being in a relationship.”

She dipped the spoon back into the depths, holding it just out of the reach of his mouth. “I mean, what guy is gonna stand for being spoon fed by a naked chick at one A.M.?”

She spun and almost choked him with it; shoving the handle up, playfully through his mouth, smearing his lips with the sticky paste. “Thiff, thiffs whad ‘m talging aboud!”

They laughed, the easy comfortable kind that sits in the seams of eyes and lips, the kind that buries itself for memory sake. Eventually, she pushed her chest into his. Dean’s hands rubbing her arms as she licked him clean. Spoon forgotten somewhere between the floor and their embrace. Tongues met in a true kiss while the blood started to thrum between them once more. Once he got her on the counter, she knew they weren’t making it back to bed anytime soon.

His lips roamed without worry or rush. She used her healer’s hands to pull and prod his neck and back, working him in slow, deep drags down to his ass. Dean’s fingers dropped between them and just as he found an angle that worked, one she liked; his phone erupted in the other room.

“Ignore it,” Dean grunted, leaving a kiss on her neck as he tried to work her over once more.

“Dean?” She worried, another call following the last.

He sighed, pulling back and resting his hands on her spread thighs. His forehead rested on hers in defeat. “I could kill him?”

“I know you could, Babe. But he’s your friend and he probably found something.” Her whole face smiled at his repulsion to her choice of words.

“Something that is going to take me away from this, from you.” Dean groaned. As quickly as the third call broke through, Dean bent over, locking his arms around her waist and hips before throwing her over his shoulder and trotting her back to the bedroom.

Only once Dean found her suitably tucked into his side did he answer the unrelenting ring. “What?!” He barked, earning a giggle from her as his face broke from keeping up the front of anger.

“It’s Wings, Squirrel. He’s a mess and he isn’t exactly in the chatting mood.”

“What, is he hurt?”

“Define hurt?”

“Crowley!”

“He’s coughing like Patient 0 and could use a, make that several, washes.”

Dean heard Cas’s voice in the background, but couldn’t make out much from their end of the line. He weighed Crowley’s dramatics and Cas’s fortitude before giving himself a few hour respite. “Alright, sit tight. I’ll be there when I can.”

“Oh, don’t rush the reunion sex on our account.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Dean winked at her as she played with his free hand, fingers dancing in little patterns over his lifeline.

“Figures.”

“Yep.”

“You gonna hang up?”

“Are you?”

“ I call you, out of the goodness of my–” Dean rolled his eyes and ended the call before powering down his phone for the rest of the night.

*^*

She watched him walk back to the sleek black car, bowlegs in a perpetual strut. The predawn haze a dreamscape of goodbyes. He bit the lip of his take away coffee cup and settled the contents of his trunk. She was getting cold waiting on the patio, but she insisted to see him go, to have him for as long as possible. They were completely impractical, but somehow, it worked. A weekend here and a night there, states and battles apart. He stirred a part of her she almost let fade, a part full of purpose and most importantly: hope.

He gave her a two finger salute and a scruffy pout as he pulled out of the parking lot. It actually hurt to watch him go, like an organ being transplanted from a conscious patient. She understood what was happening, but she could do nothing but see what happened next. Dean was worth it, they were worth it. Besides, who doesn’t love a bad boy, especially one with a heart of gold and too many chips on his shoulder?

*^*

[idiosyncreant]

The Price of “Interesting”:

A grown Third Culture Kid talks being unordinary without choice

originally posted on The Post-Alien Diaries on Wordpress as part of a series I will be reposting here!

It’s been two months now, and my co-workers have been starting to put together how shady the stuff I say about myself is.

A customer comes up to the counter and asks for a brewed coffee, then carefully states, “And I’d like some butter put in it. With some heavy cream.”

“Sure! Getting your Bulletproof Coffee?” I answered.

He looks surprised. “You’re the first one to know what that is.”

“I’m a health coach in my other life,” I say, as I grab a pat of butter and the heavy whipping cream to make his coffee.

We chat a little bit about the benefits of healthy fats as I hand it off to him. When he’s taken off with his creamy, buttery coffee, one of my co-workers sputters, “Wait, so you’re a poet and a writing coach and a what-now?”

I make some disparaging comment about being unable to tame my hobbies, but later come back to say, “Actually it makes sense.”

I explain that I write because art makes an impact but I’m also passionate about emotional and mental health. Writers often are anxious or depressed, like I have been. And health coaching is just me helping them figure out how to be able to function better because food and physical health matter.

And she gets it, because she’s an anxious musician with physical issues from a car-wreck and some serious food allergies.

Her initial reaction also makes sense, though. As I said, now that I’ve been working at this store for a few months, I’m more likely to let things slip. Not bad things, just…interesting things.

When my dance teacher, who is getting certified in natural movement to inform her ethnic dance practice, sitting in her living room with a bright pink statue of a backside from knee to waist that’s topped by multiple costume hats, calls me one of the most interesting people she knows, I feel sheepish. I attach a disclaimer. It’s nurture over nature.

I almost named this blog “The Accidental Alien” because I feel like of all the adventurers in stories I am most like Bilbo Baggins: caught up by circumstance into forsaking my homebody nature, my natural disinclination to action, and bitterly regretting if I do not have any handkerchiefs.

Oh, yes, I am only 32 and do not currently actually own handkerchiefs, but there was a time in my past that I used them daily. In Japan, they are carried to dry hands after going to the washroom. In school we didn’t have paper towels. It was quite a good system. Maybe I should readopt it….

This is the kind of aside where I get myself into trouble.

Recently some friends shared a video on Twitter of Naomi Osaka answering a question about her identity and how it impacts her career. She’s a Third Culture Kid who is biracial and I watched this with that sympathetic dread any TCK feels about being asked “So where is your home?”

The answer is always too interesting. Someone was trying to nail me down in a similar fashion recently, asking, “Well, where do you think you belong most?”

Nowhere, dude. That’s what this whole thing means. I exist as “interesting” because normal just isn’t in the cards. When I hopefully move to Massachusetts I don’t expect to feel like I belong there, even though it’s where I was born. In the past I may have thought so, but I know now it won’t be that way. I may discover things about myself that come from those roots as I observe other people, but I’ll still also have lived in Japan, and Washington, and California, and most of my adult life in Oklahoma since then.

I’m not a biracial tennis champion trying to explain to people how much or how little being Haitian-Japanese is relevant to my identity. But I do often keep back info about myself because it otherwise might derail the conversation. In some contexts, what people know about me is that I’m a writer and a health coach. At Starbucks, oddly, I started off as a returning college student who plays hockey.

Which is true, too. It felt weird to be known as a hockey player, when I had just started playing this year. But people like to know about people in shorthand, and that worked as well as anything.

It feels weird to see my kid brother billed as from “Claremore, Oklahoma” but it’s the most true way to put it. He’s lived there most of his life. He doesn’t even remember much about living the first four years of his life in Japan. It affects his preference in food in an odd way, but he’s not bilingual.

The truth is, people are interesting. Not everyone is forced to be interesting in ways that make their co-workers ask, “You’re a what?”

And maybe I’m overcompensating a bit by taking up hockey on top of being a poet, a coach, and a student of sociology–because I don’t really think I’m interesting, either.

Check out this article on Naomi Osaka by hiplatina.com for more reading on identity and its complexity:

Tennis Star Naomi Osaka Perfectly Answers What It Means To Be Biracial