#I’ll show him the recipe. Maybe brew a batch for him!

[daddestboyhalo]

No! No it doesn’t put you to sleep like. On purpose. Just calm

Me when I’m calm

[nxrthmizu]

#28 with Daminette, please! Also I love your works!

Prompt: ‘Pretending to be a couple and this is a huge mistake AU’ 

Pairing: Daminette

Words: 2904 words 

Note: I kind of changed up the idea a little, hope you don’t mind... 

[Thank you so much for the request hun, I’m so sorry it took be so long...

Enjoy! 💖💖💖]

- Cady

---

Damian had always thought that turning eighteen was a privilege. Boy, was he wrong. It was, in fact, a nuisance.

“Mr. Wayne! Do you have a special someone yet?”

“Mr. Wayne, my daughter is 18 and single, would you like to-”

"Mr. Wayne-"

Galas became a swarming mass of reporters and fathers seeking marriage for their daughters. He could constantly feel chills along his back as women stared at him shamelessly as if he were a prize, their predatorial gaze piercing through his soul. Annoyance tainted every aspect of his features at galas, his siblings constantly reminding him to not scowl so much. But honestly, could you blame him? He couldn’t go anywhere without being pestered by twenty reporters about his love life.

Heck, if he wanted to get a cup of coffee by himself, he had to dress up like a criminal avoiding attention. Lucky for him, there was one special cafe that was out of the way and always offered a little quiet for him- As quiet as it could get, anyway.

The Lucky Bug Cafe.

It was quiet and tucked behind a little street, often filled with just one or two students studying quietly and an old couple casually relaxing by the corner. The Lucky Bug Cafe was run by a single, dark-haired woman who looked at him and thought: ‘Ah, he needs somewhere to lay low for a while’ instead of ‘It’s the heir of the Wayne Enterprises, the Damian Wayne’.

It was another casual morning, and Damian needed his fix of coffee before heading to the office, where he would oversee his father’s (And soon to be his) employees while self-studying his business course. A long day lay in wait ahead of him, and Damian would appreciate and nice, aromatic cup of brewed coffee before he had to survive on the machine-made coffee for the rest of the day.

“Good morning.” The dark-haired woman greeted him with a warm smile, her bluebell eyes twinkling under the glow of the yellow lightbulbs. “The usual?”

“The usual.” Damian nodded, hoodie covering his face.

Leaning against the counter, he watched as she bustled around the area, turning on the machine, humming a song to herself as she headed over to the fridge for fresh milk. He glanced at the glass display case under the counter, eyes flitting over the batches of pastries that she had made for the day.

“Could I get five mint-flavoured macarons, please?” He asked as she set his coffee on the collection counter.

“Oh, of course.” She smiled brightly, already grabbing a paper bag. “They’re my new recipe! Do tell me what you think of them tomorrow.”

Damian smiled, his features softening at the woman’s words. “Sure. Oh, and how’s your website holding up?”

Perhaps one of the reasons they clicked so well together was because they were both... Well, famous. Except that he was the future boss of the Wayne Enterprises and she was the anonymous designer of Nette’s Design and Clothing. Articles concerning the identity of the anonymous designer popped up occasionally on Gotham’s magazines, not to mention that the celebrities that wore her work often ended up on the front page of fashion magazines.

“Good. It’s getting a little flooded these days, but I think I’ll manage.” She said with a giggle, winking at him. To anyone else, it would seem like they were talking about a small, by-the-side online clothing commission business, but both of them knew the true value of their conversation. “Need me to make you a new suit for the gala?”

It was then the idea struck him.

He processed it, and a fierce blush erupted on his cheeks, the said man nearly dropping his paper bag of macarons in the process as he fully understood his idea.

“Are- Are you okay?” She asked instantly, worry clouding her features.

“Yea-Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll... Get back to you on that.” He stammered, knowing that if he stayed a second longer, he was going to blurt out his crazy, stupid idea, and everything was going to be over.

Except that he couldn’t get the idea out of his head as he stared at the ceiling, sleep refusing to overtake him. The idea wouldn’t even leave him alone as he leapt across the streets of Gotham, keeping an eye out for crime.

If he brought Marinette to the gala with him, all the reporters would get off his back.

But then again, Marinette would never have peace again, and he couldn’t do that to her... Right...?

“Morning.” Damian greeted her the next day, dressed in a dark green hoodie. To anyone else, it would seem like a normal hoodie, but in reality, it was his favourite hoodie. ‘NDC’ was stitched in with golden thread on the inside of the sweater- The work of his favourite coffee shop owner. She had gave it to him after two months of their discreet friendship, and it was one of his most valued possessions.

"Morning," She replied with a gentle smile, her eyes morphing into little crescents as she did so. "The usual?" Her fingers never stopped moving, constantly wiping the counter clean or preparing a cup of warm milk. It was just one of the things he found adorable admirable.

"Yeah."

Before he could think, his mouth acted on its own. “Do you think you could be my date for the gala?” He blurted out suddenly, freezing when her movements came to an abrupt stop. Bluebell eyes slowly flicked up to his emerald ones, his heart jumping out of his ribs when those soft orbs stared into his. “You don’t have to say yes, I was just wondering-”

“Okay.”

He could feel his heart fluttering happily as she smiled, her eyes twinkling in bluebell crescents and her lips a soft curve.

“If you don’t mind, could I maybe go as... You know.” She asked shyly, brushing one of her hair strands behind her ears. “I know you want a date because... Well.” She laughed. “The attention, but I was hoping I could go as... Nette instead of... Well, plain ol’ Mari.”

“You’re not plain.” He responded instantly like a reflex action, tone cutting but soft at the same time. “But if you want to go as... It’s your choice. And... Thank you. For understanding.”

The smile she returned him was worth more than a thousand dollars, he thought.

---

Slicking his hair into a neat, presentable style, Damian checked his appearance in the mirror for the last time. The day of the gala had arrived, and they had already discussed all the details of the night over text. They would pretend to be a couple so that the reporters would finally get off Damian’s back, and ‘Nette’ would get her first appearance in public- They had both agreed that Marinette would wear a mask in order to preserve her identity, so that she could stay in a quiet world for just a little longer before she planned her official debut to the world.

The suit felt soft to the touch, a silk moisture across the shiny surface of the dark fabric. Gold threads wrapped around the jade green that Marinette had chosen as the accent of the suit. A jade tie with the same golden embroidery accompanied the suit and the dark-moss green dress-shirt that he had on underneath. ‘NDC’ was stitched carefully in the same cursive lettering that it was on the corner of the suit, the trademark of the designer’s handiwork.

Not wanting to answer his family’s pestering questions, Damian slipped out of the house, acknowledging and thanking whatever deity out there for the wonderful man named Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred gave Damian a knowing smile, handing him the keys to his new car. “Thank you.” The youngest Wayne thanked the butler, the keys jingling in his hands.

“Treat her like the lady she is.” Alfred advised him, stepping forward to adjust the emerald-eyed man’s tie. There was a quiet, lingering thought inside the older man’s head, but after one more glance at the nervous young adult with a cold outer shell, he decided against the remark.

The car engine rumbled to life with a purr, pulling out of the garage. Alfred watched as the tail lights disappeared into the evening, the thought still clear in his mind.

He’s in love and he doesn’t even realise it.

---

“Hey.”

She opened the door with a smile- God, she never stopped smiling, did she? A little twirl showed off her dress, made in the same palette as his suit. Jade green and moss green strips of thick fabric made the dress blossom into a flower shape around her ankles. The top half of the dress hugged her curves in all the right ways, a braided rope going over her neck to hold the dress up. The sleeveless-ness of the dress showed off the smooth skin of the designer, not to mention her striking, sharp collarbones that were on full display.

“You look beautiful.” He managed, knowing full well it was a lie that he had just uttered. She wasn’t beautiful, god, no. She was absolutely stunning and gorgeous, and he would give anything to keep that smile on her lips. He had to mutter up all of his resistance and self-control to prevent himself from reaching out to stroke her soft, dark hair.

“Thank you.” The smile would’ve made him melt into a Damian-shaped puddle, except he had a date and he would have to wait until the night was over to melt into a puddle. “Shall we?”

He offered her his arm, like the gentleman his dad butler had taught and raised him to be. The feeling of her soft skin in his hands made roses flower over his cheeks, his heart beat a little louder, and the affectionate feeling in his chest double in size.

The drive to the gala was the most interesting car ride he ever had. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he listened to her sing to the songs on the radio, occasionally joining in shyly, both their voices dancing in an intricate dance of harmony. Her laugh tinkled like wind chimes; her smile glowed like the moon on a clear night; her voice soothed his soul like a warm bowl of soup. There was absolutely nothing on his mind but her and her only.

“Are you ready?” He asked, pulling up in front of the gala’s entrance. Reaching for the mask on her lap, he placed in on her gently, careful not to tug on her hair as he adjusted it.

“For our fake date?” She giggled. “As I’ll ever be.”

A smile danced on his lips as he pushed the car door open, for once, not annoyed by the bright flashes of the cameras. He wanted the world to know how amazing Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, and he wanted her to rise to top of the fashion world and beyond. There was nothing that would make him feel more honoured than the fact that he would be the one that introduced her to the world, watching as she took over the rest of the fashion kingdom like the queen she was.

“M’lady.” He whispered, pulling her car door open as he offered his hand for her, bowing slightly. Whispers clouded the air, quickly replaced by gasps as Marinette took it gracefully, stepping out with the aura of a goddess. He planted a light kiss on her palm, emerald eyes bright and soft in the dying light of the evening.

“Thank you. Shall we?” She smiled in return, never removing her hand from his grasp.

He nodded to her, gesturing for the valet to take his car away, tossing the man the keys. He normally wouldn’t trust anyone else with his car, but at the moment, escorting to beautiful bluenette was the only priority in his mind.

Because she was the only thing that mattered, after all.

---

Funnily enough, he didn’t feel triumphant at all.

Damian had thought that if he got a woman to pretend to be his girlfriend, well, he would enjoy the disappointed looks on the fathers’ faces and the burning anger in the girls’ eyes. Well, it wasn’t the case at all.

He was absolutely mesmerised with the designer next to him, who was talking gracefully to the CEO of one of Gotham’s fashion magazines. She was the definition of grace, beauty, and poise. Everything about her said goddess. She practically radiated power into the room, even when she didn’t realise it. There was a calm to her that made her seem like a cool-headed queen, and boy he would be willing to be her knight any day.

“I’m going to go get some wine.” He whispered to her, arm looping around her waist naturally. They truly did give off the ‘dating’ vibe, but he was too absorbed in her to notice.

“Okay.” She smiled, only this time it made him feel something else. No, not just a little flutter of his stomach, or a resounding thump of his heart. In fact, the first thought going through his head was that he wished, hoped, prayed that he could wake up to that smile for the rest of his life. He could picture it in his mind- Her, curled in his arms, her dark hair spreading into an intricate net behind her, eyes closed softly.

He could see her eyes fluttering open, see her yawn and stretch before nestling back into his embrace, only this time her eyes were open and there was a loving smile on her lips, and she was speaking.

“Morning, love.”

It took him a moment to realise that he had been stupidly standing there after stating that he was going to get them some drinks. Both the CEO and Marinette stared at him expectantly, wondering why he had suddenly got into a daze.

He found a waiter, easily plucking two wine glasses from the man’s tray before making his way through the crowd, who parted for him like the red sea parted for Moses. It was infuriating; He couldn’t get the picture out of his head. Her, nestled into his arms... No, they were on a fake date, and it was only for one sole purpose... It wasn’t as if he liked her... Right?

Wrong.

---

He made a mistake.

It wasn’t until after the night ended that he begin to feel the pain. His heart ached when she left, thanking him for the night. For the next few days, photos of Damian Wayne and the mysterious, masked Nette clouded the cover pages of magazines, reminding him over and over of that one night that he got to live.

His family hadn’t stopped pestering him about what in the world happened, Damian, and after Tim had found out Nette’s identity through the batcomputer’s wide database, it didn’t take long for the rest of the family to piece ‘Damian-might’ve-fell-in-love-with-a-cafe-shop-owner-who-happens-to-be-a-world-wide-famous-designer’ together. 

“You should ask her on a real date sometime soon, Master Wayne.” Alfred told him offhandedly as Damian strolled into the kitchen. The butler was busy polishing wine glasses, placing them neatly back onto the shelf when he was done.

“It’s kind of too late.” He muttered quietly, sinking onto the chair, the soft fabric of the dark green sweater comforting him.

Alfred sighed, placing down the glass with a sonorous clink. “It’s never too late for anything, Master Wayne. Not if you take the chance and make a move.” Damian met the older man’s eyes for a second, realising what he needed to do. It was as if someone had took a lighter and relit the candle in his heart.

“I’m going out, Alfred.” He said abruptly, never pausing to see the proud smile on the older man’s face. “I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Noted, Master Wayne. Your car keys are on the counter in the living room.”

---

He didn’t bother to pull on his hoodie, barging through the back door of the Lucky Cat Cafe before turning back on second thought, closing the door gently, muttering a sorry to the poor door that just got kicked open in the heat of the moment.

“Why are you apologising to a door?” Her laugh sounded behind her, the woman giving him an amused look.

“I... Kicked it open.” He admitted, before remembering what he had come to do. “Marinette.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I know the gala was a fake date, and we did it because it benefitted the both of us, but-!” He caught himself, realising that for once he was doing something without a plan. “But I don’t want that.”

She stared at him blankly. “Um... That’s fine. We didn’t tell the media we were dating, it could’ve been a one-time thing...”

“No!” He burst out, his heart nearly overflowing with emotions. “It took me a long time, but I-! I want to date you. For real. And take you out. And do the sappy things that Grayson does with his girlfriend. And take care of you. I want to date you for real.”

Her mouth was open in an ‘o’, and he wondered briefly if he broke her. Then a smile slipped across her lips, and he could see it again- Both of them, sharing a home, sharing a life, and then a child with dark blue hair and emerald eyes-

“Okay.”

---

sjskjsks I was so worried about the plot!!! Was it choppy? And in the words of my ninth grade english teacher, did it lack fLoW??? I’m so sorry if it didn’t live up to expectations, I lost where I was going with this- 

On another note I have this headcannon that the two students and old couple always knew that he was Damian Wayne, they were just ‘oh he’s totally in love with Mari, this is really sweet and we’re going to stick around and watch’ and when he asked her out for the gala he was actually being really loud and they were all just legit eavesdropping and the two students going ‘jskjskjkjkjs he finally asked her out oh my god the ship is sailing’ and the old couple going ‘aww how sweet’ and ‘my boy finally got his courage together, so proud of him even tho im not his dad but still’. 

Anyways I was thinking of another way to get around the MDC nickname for Mari as a designer and I thought Nette would be a cool name for her, and DC stands for Design and Clothing. 

Once again thanks for sending in the request, sorry that it took so long bby <3 

Requests are open, just head over to my blog, check out the rules and specifications, then shoot your request right into my inbox, I’ll be waiting. 

Also I’m watching Haikyu and I am IN LOVE with those babies, gonna start writing fics and opening up requests for the Haikyu fandom once I get a better grip on the characters’ personality. 

Okay, I’ve been talking too much. Bye and thanks for sticking around to the very end, lol. I can be quite talkative when I’m typing anddd I’m just going to stop now before I write another paragraph 

- Cady

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Let Them Eat Cake (Part iv)

Tonight, on The Great British Bake Off;

“This is thick as hell.”

Will our bakers melt, or melt down? Only time will tell - it’s chocolate week in the tent!

“I quite like your mouth.”

Remus stared at himself in the mirror. His mouth wasn’t that bad to be fair, but it was nothing next to Sirius’ own. I quite like your mouth, I quite like your mouth, I quite like -

“Remus? You ready?”

Remus shook himself. It was time to put all of this out of his head. “Yeah,” He called to Lily. “I’m coming.”

He left thoughts of Sirius in the hotel.

“This week,” Sirius announced, (looking ridiculously good in those skinny jeans Remus noticed), “Is possibly the best week.”

“Not being in any way subjective now, are you?” James quipped.

“Oi, you can’t say anything, last night you sang me a ballad about this week just last night.”

“Ah yes you’re right, I’ll sing it for everyone, shall I?” James took a deep breath, but before he could get the first note out, Sirius had covered his mouth.

“It’s chocolate week!” Sirius interrupted quickly, succeeding in making everyone laugh as usual. For our lovely first challenge, our judges would like you to make brownies.”

Remus already knew this of course, but he couldn’t help but sneak a little smile to Lily. They were practising all week, Lily even surprised Remus with a batch of gluten free when she had still been experimenting with her flavours. Salted caramel was sacred to Remus now.

Remus heard Sirius and James say the rules in the background, but he had tuned out a little. It was hard to stop his mind from wandering to Sirius when the man in question was standing right in front of him. His hair was in a top knot today. Fuck if Remus didn’t love his hair like that, Throughout the day, it would loosen a little and strands would fall in front of Sirius’ face and Remus would imagine what they would look like wrapped around his fingers-

Remus blinked. Not here. Now it was time to focus. Chocolate week would be his week.

“Ready?”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus grabbed his ingredients and set to work.

Chocolate week was not his week.

Nothing was going quite to plan. He had burned the chocolate after leaving it in the bain marie a little too long - not so much that it required to be redone, but enough that Remus was annoyed at himself. He had misread his scales and added a little too much four and to top it off, he was pretty sure he had over-baked them.

“What are you making for us today?” The judges had asked when they had made their usual rounds at the start of the day. Remus had been calm and confident then. 

“Classic chocolate, just with walnuts added in.”

“Chopped, I assume?” Dumbledore said and Remus forced a smile on his face instead of rolling his eyes. 

“Of course.”

“I look forward to trying them.” McGonagall had said and then they had whisked themselves away, vanishing behind Remus to ask Lily some inane questions.

(Remus really didn’t mind the questions. He actually loved them - he had looked up to both judges all his life. Today was just, not his day).

Sirius turned up at his side, nabbing a spare square of chocolate and popping it into his mouth. Remus certainly didn’t think about chasing it with his lips. Nope, not at all.

“Hey Re.” Sirius greeted, as if the casual nickname didn’t just make Remus’ heart stutter. As if he hadn’t been flirting with Remus in this very spot not a week ago.

Remus hadn’t seen Sirius much since then which was pretty odd. The entire cast and crew mingled together on the non filming days and Sirius and James were infamous for showing up in the practice tent to try the bakers latest experiments. Only James had shown his face this week though. Remus hadn’t missed the way he always seemed to know when Lily was practicing, but that was another thing altogether.

He glanced up from where he was carefully piping chocolate designs on parchment paper to decorate the cakes when they were cool. “Hi.”

Sirius pulled out two mugs, ignoring Remus’ raised eyebrow and clicked the kettle. “Tea?”

“You’re taking over my work bench, are you?”

Sirius took his usual perch up on the counter as the tea brewed. “And what of it?”

Remus looked back down at what he was doing. He didn’t answer for a moment or two as he focused on a particularly intricate design, very aware of the way he stuck out his tongue when he was concentrating. “Haven’t seen much of you this week.”

Sirius hopped down to put milk and sugar in Remus’ mug, looking at Remus like he was a little mad. “I looked for you, but you’re a difficult man to pin down Remus Lupin.”

Remus felt his face flush as his mind flicked to how exactly he’s like to be pinned down by Sirius Black, but he swallowed weakly instead. “I was practicing mostly.”

Sirius nodded. “I know. I was there a few times but you were always absorbed in work for the showstopper so I didn’t want to bother you.”

Remus was relieved when his oven timer went off and he had an excuse to move away from Sirius for a moment. 

“You wouldn’t have bothered me.” He said as soon as he had transferred the contents of his tin onto a wire rack.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but just then a microphone appeared over their heads, a cameraman right behind it.

“Feeling good about today?” Sirius asked pleasantly as if their previous conversation had never even existed. Remus’ smile felt tight. 

“I have absolutely no idea.” He breathed. He wasn’t just talking about the cakes.

Remus pursed his lips when he realised he was being judged last today. It wasn’t so bad, Remus just liked to get it over with as soon as possible. He was only partially satisfied with his brownies, but there was a lot more that could have gone wrong so Remus chose to try to maintain a slightly positive attitude. 

Peter’s brownies were a smash hit, Tonks’ didn’t look the neatest but apparently tasted fantastic. Lily’s blew them away. Remus didn’t hide his grin - he was just glad he had technically been the first to taste her recipe.

“They’re quite cake-like.” McGonagall commented, coming to a stop in front of Remus’ bench. Remus didn’t say anything, just pursed his lips.

“Flavours are good, the walnuts add a nice crunch.” Dumbledore said, munching away. “But one of the main features of brownies is that they’re soft, fudgey, even a little gooey.”

Dumbledore met Remus’ eyes. “These are good cakes, but the key word is they’re cakes, not brownies.”

Remus nodded, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes in annoyance when they finally turned away. He knew he had over baked them. Fucking Sirius Black.

(Okay so Sirius wasn’t actually the cause of this particular problem but… Remus was a sucker for consistency).

He collapsed in a chair for lunch feeling the tension bleeding out of his muscles.

“Hey Re.” Tonks chuckled and Remus just cracked one eye open to peek at her.

For once, he was the last to the table, even James and Sirius seated before him. He sat up and dug into his pasta, unable to stop himself from actually groaning when he ate it.

“Sorry but, it’s so good. Also I’m really hungry so that helps, but wow I’m going to need this recipe.”

He didn’t miss the way Sirius eyed him the rest of the way through lunch, or the smug little looks coming from Lily either. So maybe Remus had been a little blind to how Sirius had been looking at him before, but this week he was finally wide awake.

He took a moment to pop onto Bake Off Twitter to see what they were saying this week. There were even more gifs of him blushing, Sirius looking at him and one really great picture of the two of them laughing. There were other things too of course, the other contestants' opinions on last week's episode but Remus couldn’t help but notice he was one of the most popular topics.

His mindless scrolling was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

“Ooh, someone’s popular!” James teased and Remus rolled his eyes.

“Hi Ma,” He greeted, looking pointedly at James and sticking out his tongue.

“Hi sweetheart, how’s it going.?”

Remus began to move away so everyone else could continue their conversation but Lily swatted his wrist.

“I wanna say hi to Hope!”

“Yeah Remus! Don’t be rude!” Tonks chimed in and Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Mam, I’m gonna put you on speaker, the lads want to say hi.” He said, pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Hi Hope!” Lily said, everyone else joining in, a clamour of voices drowning out Remus’ laugh.

“Hi loves!” Hope said, Remus knowing she was having the time of her life. These people were like celebrities to her. “How’re you all doing?”

“Much better now that we get to chat to you.” Sirius charmed and Remus could practically see his mother blushing back in their kitchen at home. They all chatted for a little while longer before they had to get back to work.

“Hey mam, we’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Alright darling, I’ll chat to you soon. Good luck.”

“Bye mam, love you.”

Remus hung up biting his lip. “So that was my mom.”

“Really, you don’t say.” Tonks quipped.

“She’s my new best friend.” Lily sighed wistfully, sinking back into her chair.

“What does that make me?2 Remus asked. “A brick wall?”

Lily quirked an eyebrow. “I thought we were meant to be friends Re, but now I see we were just introduced so that I could get to know your mother. She was my destiny all along.”

“That’s not at all dramatic.” Remus deadpanned and they all started to move, getting up and ready for the next round of filming.

Sirius had been giving him a strange look towards the end of the phone call but when Remus met his eyes, he blinked once and it was gone. Remus wandered back into the tent with Lily and Tonks, debating if Tonks should dye her hair again (Pink: outdated or iconic?) but the only colour Remus could think about was grey.

“For this challenge,” James said as soon as the cameras had recommenced recording, “Our judges have asked you to make a white chocolate and raspberry tart.”

“Everything you need is under the cloth in front of you,” Sirius continued. “Judges, do you have anything you’d like to say?”

“Read the instructions carefully.” McGonagall said, her face blank. Remus blinked.

“Well, they never would have guessed that!” Sirius said cheekily and Remus had to bite down his laugh.

“On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“Bake!”

Remus pulled back the gingham cloth, eyeing the fewer-than-usual set of ingredients. He picked up the sheet with instructions, found it vague as usual but it didn’t seem overly complicated.

“Am I allowed to say white chocolate isn’t real chocolate?” Sirius asked, gliding up to Remus’ bench, cameras in tow.

“I was wondering how long it would be before someone started that debate!” Lily chimed in. “We had a bet going, I won so thanks for that.”

Remus looked at Sirius accusingly. “You couldn't have waited ten more minutes?”

Sirius laughed to himself as he wandered away to talk to everyone and Remus set to work. They wanted a digestive base, so after weighing out the right amount, Remus grabbed a rolling pin and set to work smashing the biscuits.

“You know, you could just use a blender.” Lily called over the thrum of her own machine. Remus made a face at her.

“Yeah, but this is way more cathartic.” He countered.

“Got some tension you need to relieve?” Tonks teased and Remus was suddenly really glad Sirius was on the other side of the tent.

He put his most innocent smile on his face, looked her right in the eyes and flipped her off. Lily and Tonks burst into a laughing fit. Marlene just sighed and looked at Remus a little hopelessly.

“One of these days Remus, I won’t have to edit every shot you’re in.”

Remus just shot her a cheeky wink. “Keep dreaming Marlene.”

Remus scrunched up his nose as he tried to pour the chocolate into the tin. He had placed the raspberries so that they covered the base of the pastry and now all he had to do was add the chocolate and pop it all in the fridge to set. But the chocolate mixture was a lot thicker than he had anticipated. 

“Fuck��” He breathed, drawing out the word as he tried to even it out with a spatula, only succeeding in moving the berries around and messing up the distribution.

“You alright?” Lily asked.

Remus glanced back, shooting her a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. This is just thick as hell.”

“White chocolate’s a bitch like that.” Lily agreed.

“Seriously?” Marlene exclaimed. “Now you too Lily? I’m firing both of you.”

Remus laughed and handed her a spare piece of chocolate. “Sorry Marlene.”

Marlene rolled her eyes but smiled. “I hate you.”

Remus blew her a kiss. “Love you too!”

He bit his lip and evened out the top of his tart before putting it into the fridge so it had as long as possible to set.

“And now we wait.”

They set their tarts behind their pictures, Peter being ridiculously cautious, looking around himself before he made any movements. Remus appreciated it, but found it hilarious all the same.

 He sat on the stool as the judges came out with a familiarity that was new. He liked it. He had watched the show for as long as it had been on air, watching it gave him the same feeling you might get when curling up under a blanket and a good book when it’s pouring rain outside. He liked being comfortable on the show now too.

The judges came out, Remus’ tart right in the centre of the table. 

“This one looks quite good,” McGonagall said as she cut a slice, “But there doesn’t seem to be as many raspberries as I would have hoped.”

Remus bit his lip. She had snagged a slice from a section all the berries had been disrupted. Fucking white chocolate.

“Everything else however, is lovely.” Dumbledore said and Remus breathed easy, it wasn’t the worst one, not by far. A tart belonging to a woman named Susan hadn’t even set properly. Remus wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up going home tomorrow, she had certainly lost the technical and from what Remus remembered, she hadn’t done too well in the first challenge either.

Kingsley won the technical, smiling at everyone congratulating him. Remus liked Kingsley a lot, the other man was quiet, so he didn’t know him too well but any interaction they’d had was always pleasant.

The camera’s stopped rolling and everyone filed over to the table to grab themselves a slice of the best tarts. Remus noticed Sirius hanging back for once, so he sidled up next to him.

“Not a fan?” He asked. Sirius shook his head.

“Nah, white chocolate is much too sweet for me.”

“Right,” Remus said, tilting his head. “You don’t even take sugar in your tea.”

Sirius bit his lip and took his time replying. “There’s only so many sweet things I can handle,” He said, leaning in closer to Remus, who mirrored his movements on instinct. “And you fill that quota completely.”

Remus stood there frozen as Sirius smiled at him before leaving the tent. Lily came up next to him, a plate in hand.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Oh it’s so much worse than that.”

“What happened?” She asked, concerned. 

“Sirius Black is flirting with me.” He half whispered. “And I’m so completely and utterly fucked.”

Lily smirked and bumped her hip against Remus’. “More like you will be completely and utterly fucked.”

“Lily!”

The noise escaping Lily in response could only be described as a cackle. Remus lay awake half the night replaying Sirius’ words over and over in his head. He was so screwed.

“Welcome back!” James began, “It’s time for our showstopper challenge!”

“This week,” Sirius said, “Our judges want you to create a 3D chocolate structure.”

Remus bit his lip. He had practiced. A lot. But this would still be a challenge.

“Your creation should be entirely edible and entirely chocolate. As usual, you have four and a half hours. Ready?”

“Set.”

“Bake!”

Remus set off, faster than he had for the last few challenges. He could do this, but he needed time. He immediately set out breaking up chocolate to melt, two rectangular silicone moulds ready to go. He poured an equal amount of milk chocolate into each and made sure they were spread evenly before putting them in the fridge.

“Damn Re, that was fast.” Lily commented, still filling her mould.

“That’s not what he said.” Remus retorted with a wink and Lily snorted behind him.

Remus kept melting chocolate, white was next on his agenda. When it was melted, he added a couple of drops of orange essence and mixed it in. He spread it quite thinly over two large trays, wishing it had been this co-operative in the previous challenge, and put them in the fridge too.

“Hey,” Sirius said softly, arriving at his station. Remus broke off a piece of dark chocolate and offered it out to him.

“This is your favourite type I’m guessing?”

Sirius blushed. It was fun to see Remus wasn’t the only one who could do that. 

“Yeah,” He said, his voice low. “Yeah it is, thanks.”

Remus took out a clean bowl and started breaking pieces of dark chocolate into it. “Everything okay?”

Sirius frowned. “Does something have to be wrong for me to be here?”

Remus shook his head quickly. “No! I mean, no. I just meant…” He glanced around the room and saw no microphone close enough to capture their conversation but cameras were panning the room. He kept his eyes on his work and his voice hushed. “Well, you know what I meant.”

“Yeah,” Sirius fiddled with a tea towel he found on Remus’ counter. “Can we talk? Later?”

Remus nodded. “I’d like that.”

Sirius smiled at him and moved away, walking around to the rest of the room. Remus took a shaky breath. He would talk to Sirius later. He straightened his shoulders and set his jaw, he would be calm about this. He could obsess about it later. Right now? He had a big ass chocolate sculpture to make.

“Bakers, you have thirty minutes left!” James announced a while later and Remus shared a mildly panicked look with Lily. He took his many many trays of chocolate out of the fridge and set to work assembling his piece. He measured the white chocolate and cut precise, identical rectangles, biting his lip as he prayed the chocolate wouldn’t snap. It would appear luck was on his side today because it all cut cleanly. He sighed in relief and set up the flat stand it would be displayed on. He filled his piping bag with dark chocolate and unfolded the page of notes he had brought in with him that day and began writing on the white chocolate slabs.

“Bakers! Please step away from your benches!”

Remus fiddled with his hands as he stepped away, looking at his creation. It was… It was fucking perfect is what it was.

Lily presented first, a gorgeous goldfish made of chocolate and sprayed with edible paint. Lily had even carved the scales into the surface, Remus was blown away by the amount of detail in it.

Tonks had made a little castle - two towers and a main building, it was ridiculously charming, Remus wished he could live there. 

Remus walked up with his and stood back so he could look at it too. It was a book - Pride and Prejudice to be exact, standing up and cracked a little open so some pages were on display. Pages on which Remus had written the exact text from the book, the cover based off the hardback edition Remus had at home.

“I must say Mr Lupin,” McGonagall said, “As a big Jane Austen fan, I’m quite charmed by this.”

She broke away a ‘page’ and popped a piece in her mouth. “The orange flavouring is a lovely touch.”

Dumbledore broke off a piece from the back cover and nodded in agreement. “Very good, I’m quite impressed.”

Remus beamed at them and returned to his bench. He was so unbelievably glad they liked it, if they hadn’t well, he might have actually cried.

Sirius caught his eye and smiled at him. Remus smiled back.

They sat in a row once more a little while later, but Remus wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t done as well as he might have liked yesterday, but he still wasn’t bad. And he had done quite well today. He was pretty sure he was safe for today. 

As he suspected, Susan went home. Tonks won star baker and Remus had the rare opportunity of getting to try the other baker’s work since it was all made purely of chocolate.

“Take a walk with me?” Sirius asked after a little while, the euphoria of another week done fading and the remaining contestants beginning to trickle back to the hotel. Remus nodded and sent Lily a quick text and then he followed Sirius out of the tent and away from the cameras and microphones and contestants.

And then it was just the two of them.

[jobean12-blog]

Top Shelf: Chapter 10- Recipe for Love

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Bookshop/Bartender AU)

Word Count: 2,064

Summary: You and Bucky decide to host dinner for your friends and afterwards you get the best idea ever...

Author’s Note: Thank you all so very much for sticking with me and continuing to read! This has really been such an escape for me and I can never thank you enough for reading and being so kind and supportive. Thank you all for reading and much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: sweet fluff, soft smut, fluffersmut, fun with friends :) 

Previous Chapters 

Chapter 1: Enchantment

Chapter 2: Cookie Crumble

Chapter 3: Sweet Anticipation

Chapter 4: Read Between the Limes

Chapter 5: Secrets on the Shelf

Chapter 6: Love Between the Covers 

Chapter 7: Love Lines & Soul Finds

Chapter 8: Drunk in Love

Chapter 9: Pour in onto the Page

The rest of the night goes on in a blur of soft touches, heated kisses and whispered, “I love yous.” Now that the words are out it’s as if neither of you have anything else to say. The uber ride back to Manhattan is as sugary sweet as the cotton candy you’re licking off your fingers. “Oh my god, Bucky! I forgot how good this stuff is!” you exclaim as you pull off another chunk of the spun sugar. “I know!” Bucky replies, kissing some melting pink sugar off your lips.

You giggle, trying to refrain from poking him with your sticky fingers. “Sweetheart, if you get that sticky crap stuck in my hair, we’re gonna have a problem.” Your fingers reach toward him as you hold back laughter. Bucky quickly grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth, slowly sucking the sugar off the tip of each finger. “I wish we were home already,” you breathe out.

When you finally fall through the door of your apartment, you’re surprised you’re still dressed, Bucky’s hands groping you from the moment you got out of the uber. He walks you backward until you bump the small island in your kitchen, his arms lifting you up and sitting you on the countertop. Your hands card through his hair as he kneels between your legs, pushing up the skirt of your dress.

His eyes watch you as he trails kisses up your thigh, his soft hair slipping through your fingers as you try to find a hold on something. With the languid movements of his tongue he takes you apart, your body completely sated as he stands to unzip his jeans. You waste no time, helping him get them to the floor.

He enters you slowly and you feel every inch, his forehead pressed to yours while you relish in the feeling of each other. The lights from the city cast a soft glow on your skin as Bucky’s hands and mouth explore every inch with a newfound reverence.  It isn’t long before you come undone, his name a quiet plea falling from your lips.  

The next morning you find the other side of the bed empty, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. With a satisfied hum you throw off the covers, covering your nakedness with Bucky’s shirt. “Do you always walk around shirtless?” you ask as you enter the kitchen, Bucky’s back to you as he stands over the coffee pot.

“Are you complaining,” he croons, throwing you a look over his shoulder. “Not at all,” you say, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist. “That smells so good! I’m so glad someone is finally using the coffee pot. I usually just get it from the café down the street.” He turns and hands you a steaming cup, asking, “you mean the little spot on West 22nd and 9th Ave?” You nod as you take your first sip, moaning at the taste.

“It’s going out of business!” You nearly spit out the delicious coffee, “WHAT?” Bucky frowns, holding you against his chest, “yeah, the new Starbucks that opened nearby is killing them.” Now it’s your turn to frown, the realization you may have to start brewing your own coffee or paying way too much for one making you angry. You take another sip, eyeing Bucky over the mug, “that’s awful. I really liked that place!”

Kissing the top of your head he says assuredly, “you have me and since you seem to approve of my coffee making skills, I think you’ll manage.” With a contented smile you reach behind him for your cookie tin, picking it up and noticing it feels way too light. “Bucky. Did you eat the last of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies?”

Hanging his head, he doesn’t answer but it’s all the confirmation you need. “I can’t believe you didn’t even leave me one!” He tries to look sheepish but fails terribly as he checks for crumbs along his mouth. “Well, they were amazing! And I was hungry this morning!” he says in defense. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that” you say. He takes your unfinished coffee from your hands and places in on the counter. “Actually, I’m the lucky one and I love you too,” he says, before stopping any further conversation with his lips on yours.

You spend Sunday afternoon at the bookshop with Bucky, organizing some shelves and just enjoying each other’s company. As per her usual Sunday visit, Grandma Betty strolls in shortly after lunch, her smile bright at the sight of you both. “Look at you two. You’re practically glowing today! I knew a night out would be good for my boy. Was it as fun as you remembered?”

Bucky sends a heart stopping smile your way before launching into a full recap of your night and how perfect it was. Grandma leaves with a smile that matches yours and a promise of some of your now famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies.

After the visit you can tell that Bucky’s mood has dampened slightly, his teeth working over his bottom lip and his forehead creased in thought. “Hey baby, you think Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam would want to come over for dinner next weekend? Maybe we can do it early before you guys have to be at the bar?” His spirits seem to lift at the idea, and he sends out a text to see if everyone is available.

Once your plans are made and you all settle on a time you ask him, “what do I make for dessert?” He laughs, raising his brow before he speaks. You cut him off, “I’m not making you any more of those cookies. In fact, I’m going to make a whole batch, give them all to your grandma and you can’t have any!” He pretends to pout which makes you laugh, his antics hard to resist. “I’ll bake something new! A surprise!” you exclaim, winking his way.

You spend almost every weeknight at Bucky’s apartment, except for Wednesday night because Nat insists she needs some girl time. “So. Does it feel different now that you guys said I love you?” she asks, sitting on the couch with her legs stretched out over yours while sipping her wine. “It just feels right. I can’t really explain it. It all seems so cliché when I really think about it, but I’ve also not felt surer about anything before.”

Nat tilts her head in understanding, her hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I get it. I’m so happy for you.” With another sip of your wine you reply, “thanks, I love you. Now stop stalling and tell me about your weekend with Sam!” She giggles and you squeal when you see a light blush creep over her cheeks. “OH MY GOD! WELL??” She kicks you with her foot, scowling before she says, “it’s the wine! I swear!” You laugh, knowing full well she’s full of shit. “Yea right. You can’t fool me. SPILL IT!”

Saturday morning rolls around and you and Bucky leave his apartment together, you’re heading out for baking supplies and Bucky heading to the bookshop to open and prepare for his early departure. “If you need me to pick anything up on my way back just let me know, doll. I can easily make a stop.” You pepper his cheek with kisses, saying thank you in between before planting a good one on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, watching you walk down the street until you’re out of his sight.

You decide on making a coconut cream pie for dessert, checking beforehand that everyone is a fan of the fruit. It’s the first time you’re making it and you’re both excited and nervous. Once you have everything you need you head back to Bucky’s and start preparing, making sure to send him plenty of silly texts as you bake. Thankfully the two of you had made a sauce and breaded chicken cutlets the night before so all that had to be done other than the pie was frying up the cutlets and cooking the pasta.

Bucky arrives home right on time. “Wow. It smells amazing in here baby.” He gives you a tight hug, picking you up off your feet and kissing you soundly before running off to take a quick shower. Once he’s clean and ready you finish up the cooking and put the pie in the oven. Bucky sets the table and you prepare some small appetizers.

Steve and Peggy arrive first, and Peggy joins you in the kitchen for some gossiping and wine. You look over her shoulder to see Bucky and Steve on the couch plowing through the snacks. “Hey boys! Can you please try to save some for Nat and Sam??” They both look up guiltily, trying to hide their mouthfuls of food. “Sorry,” they mumble simultaneously.

Luckily, Sam and Nat show up only moments later and Sam can snag a few bites. Dinner goes off without a hitch and everyone sits with their glass of wine while they wait for dessert. “Nat has been going on and on about y/n’s baking all week! I can’t wait to eat this pie!” Sam shouts. “I know, Bucky said her cookies are better than my mom’s!” Steve chimes in, raising his eyebrows.

Everyone looks at Steve in shock, their mouths hanging open. “What the heck guys?” you say as you walk to the table holding the pie. “What happened?” Steve quickly speaks up, “nothing y/n! We were just talking about how good your baking is. That looks amazing!” You throw them a knowing smirk and put the pie on the table, serving a slice to everyone.

Sam shovels in a giant bite, moaning around the fork. “Holy cow, this is incredible y/n!” Steve follows suit, closing his eyes and mumbling something about heaven while he chews. Bucky looks up and gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling as he mouths “I love you.”

Before you can answer him Sam snorts, pulling your attention away as you watch him point and laugh. “Jeez, you two are sweeter than this pie.” You scowl at him and try to hold back your laughter but fail miserably when Nat chimes in and says, “that’s the best you could do. Really?” Everyone starts laughing and Bucky pulls you into his lap, feeding you a piece of the pie. “Wow. It really did come good,” you say, only loud enough for him to hear.

While everyone continues to eat Bucky makes some coffee, the smell drifting through the small apartment and perking everyone up. The rest of the evening goes by fast and before you know it, Bucky and Sam must leave for the bar. Bucky tries to help you clean up, but you shoo him out, looking forward to a little alone time with Peggy and Nat. “It’s fine Buck, don’t worry! We can definitely handle this!”

It doesn’t take the three of you long to clean up, afterwards getting comfy on the couch with a glass of wine. You hang out for another couple of hours before the yawning starts, the wine and good food catching up to all of you. “Thank you so much for coming, this was so fun!” They enthusiastically agree, telling you for the hundredth time how delicious the pie was.

An hour later you’re in the bath, relaxing under the bubbles and teasing Bucky by sending him sexy pictures. ‘Doll, this is so unfair…I know what’s under those bubbles and I want some.’ You giggle, placing your phone safely on the towel next to the tub. Grabbing the plate of pie you brought into the bath you take a bite, savoring every flavor as it swirls over your tongue. You mentally give yourself props, loving how much everyone praised your baking abilities.

Finishing the last bite, your eyes suddenly go wide, and you blurt out, “that’s it!!!” You drop the empty dish to the floor and grab your phone, trying to text Bucky as quickly as possible. “Shit, shit, shit!” you curse at your slippery fingers, wiping them off on the towel. ‘BUCKY! I KNOW HOW TO SAVE THE BOOKSHOP!’ The text goes through and you smile to yourself, excitement coursing through you while you wait for his reply.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @azurika-writes @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @devynsdiary @eurynome827 @hailmary-yramliah @godofplumsandthunder @hawksmagnolia @hiddles-rose @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewelofwinter @jewels2876 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelgirl7​ @marvelandotherfandomimagines @metal-armed-cuddly-dork @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @when-the-hell-is-bucky @throwmyheartawayagain @flyawaybay @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods​ @inflxmes 

[domesticdeanwinchester]

i know the rain like the clouds know the sky

read it on ao3 or below // 1.7k words

It must have rained last night, or maybe very early this morning.

Either way the sky is a cloudy kind of grey. Overcast with those darklight smudges of stratocumulus. It isn't ominous, though, the clouds. They're calm in the sky. Peaceful.

Peace. It isn't a feeling Dean's very used to, the last two decades of his life being the chaotic, apocalyptic, traumatic mess that they were.

But the last couple of months... they've been his first real taste of that. Of the calm after the storm. Of easy days, of settling down and moving slow, of being worry-free. Well, relatively worry-free. There may not be any big bads looming over them and the last of the apocalypses may be behind them, but he's still got a husband with a rebellious streak a mile wide, a brother and a sister-in-law who both encourage it far more than they should (and can get into a fair amount of trouble themselves too), and a once-capital-G-god-turned-four-year-old-toddler to take care of and keep entertained. So yeah, maybe not entirely worry-free.

It's good though. It's really good. For the first time in Dean's life, he's at peace with it. He's happy.

Dean stares out at the sky through the kitchen window as he waits for the coffee to brew, letting himself get lost in the matching clouds of his mind.

The staccatoed hiss of coffee dripping draws him back to the kitchen, and he watches as the drip turns steady and the pot starts to fill. When the stream comes to a stuttering stop, Dean waits for the last hesitating drop to fall from the nozzle. Once it does, he removes the pot and pours himself a cup — this chipped old thing that reads "I never dreamed I'd be a grumpy 70 year old man but here I am killin' it", with the "grumpy 70 year old man" bit in big red letters, that Claire got him as a joke, but that he secretly loves. There's still plenty of joe left, so he replaces the pot and leaves it for Castiel, knowing it won't be too long before he's up too to claim it for himself.

Dean cradles the mug in one hand and pulls his dead-guy robe tighter around his body with the other, ambling towards the back door. He slides it open and takes the mug out onto the porch.

The morning air is crisp, cool and a little bit biting, but he likes the slight sting. There's still a hint of a mist to it, too, that makes Dean think that more rain isn't too far off. It smells like the rain, like fresh earth and a hint of that residual lightning storm ozone smell that reminds him so much of Castiel.

He stands at the railing, wiggling his toes in his toasty slippers, holding the mug between both hands. It's warm against his palms, and he brings it to his lips to take a sip, letting that warmth trickle down his throat, settle in his belly, and bloom throughout the rest of him.

It's quiet outside, only the soft wisp of the breeze moving through the trees to keep him company. The rest of the world still slumbers on.

Eventually the back door creaks behind him, and the wood of the deck groans a little beneath footsteps. Dean doesn't have to turn around to know it's Castiel joining him.

A pair of strong arms slide around his waist, and Castiel hugs him from behind, pressing his warm cheek to Dean's shoulder. Castiel brings his lips to kiss the point of his shoulder blade, and even through the material of the robe Dean can feel it.

"Thought I'd find you out here," Castiel murmurs. "It's cold," he adds, burrowing closer.

Dean shifts back against Castiel, nuzzling into his hug as best he can. "I like it," he says.

"Mm, of course you do," Castiel says.

They fall into a companionable silence after that, just the quiet sounds of the world around them and their steady breathing filling the space between them.

"Come inside?" Castiel asks after a moment.

"I will," Dean answers. He doesn't move, though.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks gently, shifting from pressing against Dean's back to burrowing into his side.

Dean doesn't answer right away this time. Instead lets the question settle, lets it bleed into his bones. He watches as a bird takes flight from a branch of one of the trees, sees the light breeze make the small patch of grass dance, admires the still surface of the lake in the distance. He thinks of Castiel, living and breathing right behind him, thinks of Jack, young for the first time in his life tucked away in the racecar bed he'd begged for with his worn in stuffed bee cuddled close, thinks of Sam and Eileen and brand new baby Maura probably starting their morning too all those miles away.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Yeah, I am," he tells Castiel, and he means it. He really really means it. He pulls his gaze from the lake and turns in Castiel's arms to look at him head on, to meet his eyes and hold his gaze. "I am."

A small smile graces Castiel's lips, and they just kind of stare at each other for a moment before he brings a hand up to Dean's cheek. His palm ghosts over it before settling against his jaw, cupping it softly. "Good," he says, then leans in to kiss Dean's cheek.

They stay like that for a few beats longer before Castiel runs his thumb over the arc of Dean's cheekbone. "I'm going to go back inside," Castiel says, trailing his fingertips over Dean's chip before letting his hand fall back to his side. "It's too cold out here," he adds, scrunching up his nose in a way that pulls a fond chuckle from Dean.

"Yeah yeah, go inside ya big ice cube," Dean says, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the porch railing.

"Don't be too long," Castiel tells him, moving towards the door.

"I won't," Dean assures, and takes another sip of coffee. "There's more in the pot for you, should still be warm," he adds, lifting his mug in reference.

Castiel smiles. "Thank you," he says, reaching for the handle. He opens the door halfway, then pauses. "When you come in we should make pancakes. Jack will like that."

It's Dean's turn to smile as a memory of the last time he'd made pancakes filters to the surface. Jack had been asleep that time too, but when he followed his nose into the kitchen to find Dean behind the stove, flipping a pancake the size of Jack's head he'd been so excited. And so amazed too, by how many different kinds of pancakes Dean had whipped up — chocolate chip, blueberry, cinnamon sugar. He'd even tried out a special new recipe, with fresh honey and vanilla. Jack insisted on assisting with the remaining batter, eager and insistent on helping Dean when it got time to flip the pancakes. All the flavors had been a hit, and Jack had been gleeful all morning — a sticky, syrupy, chocolatey mess, but a very happy one nonetheless.

Based on the look on Castiel's face, Dean figures he must be remembering that morning too.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agrees, giving a nod. "I'll be in soon," he promises.

Castiel nods and disappears back inside.

Dean will follow shortly, he will. He'll head back inside and he and Castiel will make stacks upon stacks of pancakes, and maybe one of them will go wake Jack, or maybe Jack will come find them laughing together over the half cooked, half gloopy pancake Castiel accidentally flipped out of the pan and onto the stove. They'll dig into their breakfast with Jack, sitting around their little table together. And later he'll call Sammy. Ask how Maura is. How Eileen is. Maybe they'll video call, and Jack will steal the phone and hold it way too close to his face, and he'll show Sam the new space in his mouth where he'd just lost his tooth. It might rain again, and if it does Jack will want to put on his ladybug rain boots and his new froggy rain hat and jump around in the puddles. They'll bundle up for it, and Dean might indulge his inner child too and jump around in the puddles with him. Castiel will watch from the porch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he'll disappear back into the house just before Dean and Jack decide to come inside to start up a batch of hot chocolate. All three of them will curl up on the couch and put a movie on. Jack will fall asleep halfway through, tired out from his day in the rain despite the sugary treat afterwards. There will be a chocolate mustache still on his lip, and Castiel will try to gently wipe it away without waking him. He'll curl into Dean's side after, right under his arm, pulling the thick knit blanket tighter around them, and Dean will kiss the top of Castiel's hair. They'll fall asleep like that, too, until Jack wakes them up rejuvenated from his nap and ready for something new. In the evening Dean will make butternut squash soup — one of Castiel's favorites, and they'll eat it with freshly baked crusty bread and some warm apple cider to boot. He and Castiel will tag team giving Jack a bath — he'll beg for bubbles and they'll indulge him, of course — and once he's wrapped up in his favorite pajamas they'll tuck him into his bed and Dean will read him two stories and then Castiel will read a third, and they'll both kiss him on the forehead and say goodnight. Dean and Castiel will take a hot shower together, no fooling around, just the warmth of the spray and their gentle hands on each other's skin, washing, cleaning, touching. They'll dry off and dress in their pajamas, then they too will climb into bed. That night, as another bout of rain pebbles soothingly against the window, they'll drift off beneath three blankets with Castiel curled around Dean. And in the morning, they'll do it all again.

But that will all come later.

For now Dean revels in the peace.

[bush-viper-cutie]

Surviving – DAY 2

Pairing: Just Snape

Word Count: 3,488

Rating: M for Mature

Plot:  Severus works to get his life in order, trying to be independent for the first time in his life.

Warnings: Substance abuse, violence

A/N: Day two! “Poisoned” prompt from snapetober! HAPPY SPOOKTOBER! >:D

Posted: 10/2/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Diagon Alley was surprisingly packed with wizards so early Wednesday morning. When he’d made the appointment, he thought it’d be the perfect time. Who on Merlin’s earth would be up at seven on a Wednesday when work normally started several hours later? He was even more surprised to see all the shops open.

Maybe they stayed open all night? But then when would the shop owners sleep… Though of course even I’ve used WideEye to stay awake for days on end. He thought about the sudden crash he’d had during transfigurations and shuddered. Never again would he use it for eight days straight.

He pulled the hood up on his cloak – yes the very one from school, though he’d ripped the bloody Hogwarts crest clean off the second he graduated. No need to get rid of a perfectly good cloak. He learned that from his mother. One of the many, and yet few, things he’d learned from her.

He walked along the cobbled streets, keeping his head down and concentrating on his walk, and turned a corner leading down a twisting alleyway. Knockturn Alley, where his appointment was being held. He leaned on a curved metal post, looking for the ‘Man in the Red Witch Hat’, as his friends called him.

The Man in the Red Witch Hat was having a special, about fifty to sixty percent off his usual seeds depending on how well he liked you. Severus didn’t have a big budget, he had never had enough to save during his school days and the job he had now paid in warm meals and a roof over his head, but the tips were fine enough.

He normally hated shops, and working in one was a nightmare. He hated talking to people. The way they sneered at him. As if those bastards looked any better. It wasn’t his fault his personal upkeep had gotten worse since graduation. He’s been wearing the same clothes – washes them in the sink every Sunday – and hasn’t bother to cut or even comb his hair. Of course it doesn’t matter what he looked like working in the shop, all he had to do was sweep and prepare pots and dust off roots. Occasionally he’d have to make a home delivery – which is where the tips came in – but that was it.

There he is. Severus spotted the red witch hat across the street. The man was tall and made the brim covered his eyes. They were already in a shady alley, and yet the fact the man was acting even shadier gave him a giddy type of excitement. He must have some bottles too.

He peeled himself from the post and joined the few weary wizards walking the opposite direction before making a complete turn and walking back, trying not to draw too much attention to the man as instructed. As he approached, the man ducked between two shops and Severus had to squeeze in just to follow.

Severus didn’t have broad shoulders and had an annoyingly slender and lanky figure which made him even more confused due to the fact that he was having trouble reaching the end when the broad shouldered man seemed to be gliding down just fine. He popped out the other end into a small room-like area with trashcans and crates all around. The man turned and Severus tried not to appear shocked.

The Man in the Red Witch Hat was a boy no older than himself, maybe nineteen at the most. His cloak had some obvious padding up close. Is he supposed to be intimidating?

“I’ve got what you want… and more.”

“More?” Severus smiled wickedly, gripping the coins in his trousers. He knew Avery – and especially Mulciber – would go ballistic when he came back with more than just the seeds. Especially if what was in the bottles could lead to some extreme brews.

The guy pulled a case out of the air and opened it, exposing hundreds of little bottles with powders, wings, stones, gems, liquids, ooze, glowing lights, and hairs. It was a treasure-trove of Ministry-banned potions ingredients. The guy held up a purple pouch of what he assumed to be the seeds he’d owled him about.

“That’ll be forty.” The man smiled and bounced the pouch around.

Severus tried not to smile, knowing he’d lowered the price below the agreed upon amount in order to entice him to buy a little extra. He pulled out the coins and traded for the pouch, tucking it into his other pocket.

“Right. How much then.” Severus hated the smile that pulled on the guy’s face. He hated giving him the impression his little ruse had worked. It hadn’t. He’d figured it out. There was nothing ‘smart’ about him or his business practices.

“Fifty per bottle – that’s already on discount so don’t try bartering.”

Severus frowned. The bottles were tiny, about the width and length of his pinky fully extended. He pulled his face in closer for a better look at his wares.

“Don’t smudge the glass,” the guy mumbled.

He gave him a side-glare and pulled back a bit, inspecting each label and their contents. He picked two – he couldn’t afford any more – and gave him the last of his coins, leaving himself only two Knuts in his pockets.

The guy closed up his case immediately upon receiving the payment, pulled out his wand, and disappeared where he stood. Severus turned and squeezed back out the small alley onto the twisting street. He walked into the closest shop and took out his bag of Floo powder, just enough to make it back to Avery’s place.

~ * ~ * ~

They were waiting for him by the kitchen, hexing knives to fling themselves towards Avery’s cat. Severus stepped out of the fireplace and coughed multiple times, trying to clear his lungs. They turned and waited. He pulled out the pouch and they cheered, sending extra knives out of their drawers. He stepped over the trembling cat and placed the two bottles on the counter, raising his eyebrows in victory.

“You’ve got more!” Avery laughed and smacked the counter next to the bottles, making Severus jump with momentary panic.

“Ha! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist!” Mulciber shoved his shoulder and stood, taking down three cauldrons. “How much we got left?”

They’d been brewing Mulciber’s special recipe for several weeks now, trying to get it just right to allow for the very peak of its effects to last longer. When they’d started, the recipe was atrocious, but with a little effort, he’d gotten it nearly perfect, or so they told him. He always refused to taste any of his own brews, knowing he couldn’t afford whatever addiction could occur from the wrong batch.

“Enough. We don’t need much of the powder per cauldron full. We could make real money with this.” Severus smiled. He could finally start saving.

“Then start it Sev. I’ll owl Lucius, see if he can get his friends together by this weekend.” Avery left up the stairs to his owl.

Mulciber laid on the living room carpet as Severus started, stretching out so his feet touched the kitchen counter and his hands touched the fireplace. He always refused to use the couch, which was the length of the whole room, and decided he liked tormenting the cat that hid under it better.

Within days the brew was made and Avery and Mulciber were laying on the only floor space of the whole ground floor, mumbling to themselves. Their eyes were glazed over and occasionally their mumblings would get loud and shaky. They always looked to be in pain to him, but when they came out of it they said it was the greatest happiness they’d ever felt in their lives.

That was another reason why Severus didn’t want to try it. He was done with happiness. Forever.

~ * ~ * ~

The meeting with Lucius had gone fine. He’d brought his friends – or so he called them, though it never felt like he liked them very much – and several of them had tasted the potion and been knocked out for hours. It was then that Lucius had pulled him aside. They’d gone up to Avery’s bed and Lucius had told him the men downstairs were part of ‘the cause’ and that he had joined them last month. That was Lucius’ way of saying there was a pack of Death Eaters in the house just down the stairs.

Severus had been showed the official Dark Mark on his arm, and Lucius had told him what it was like to be one of them. The power. The influence. People did what he told them to do and several Ministry officials backed him up. He had recognition beyond just the Malfoy name.

“If I want a promotion in the Ministry, all I have to do is ask for it. They fear me... Severus. You want that power too. I know you do.” Lucius had stood by the window, looking out with his cane held in his gloved hands. “Why are you so afraid to take it?”

“I want it,” he’d whispered. “I want to be taken seriously… I’m tired of being cast aside! I’m not rubbish, I’m not worthless. I deserve – ”

“To be accepted.” Lucius had known exactly what to say.

~ * ~ * ~

He carried thirty thumb-sized bottles in his cloak pockets. Five of Mulciber’s recipe and the rest were all of what Lucius had told him to brew. He walked into Hogshead and sat at a back-corner table, taking out last week’s daily prophet and hid behind it, keeping his hood up.

Every ten minutes someone cloaked would walk in and sit across from him. They’d ask about a headline and depending on the one, Severus would pull out a bottle. They’d slip the money under the paper and he’d slip them the bottle, never seeing the hooded figure again. He did that for months. Any time he didn’t spend at his job he spent brewing and bottling and selling on the weekends. He made enough money every week to afford a house like Avery’s, down by the edge of the village, but he never kept any of it, not even the money from Mulciber’s recipe. Every week Lucius would come down to his place and collect.

After a long day of selling, Severus packed up and left the shady pub.

Lucius knocked loudly on the door just up the stairs behind the shop, making Severus jump. This wasn’t a day he was expecting him, but he was excited to see him nonetheless. He pulled open the door and smiled, welcoming him in.

“Severus. How are you?” Lucius entered, cane swinging on his right hand. He stood taller and seemed to demand more attention than normal. “I’ve come by early to deliver a message.”

Severus closed the door and dropped onto his bed, wincing as dust burst into the air. Lucius knew how poor he was, but the dust cloud seemed a bit over the top. “What message?”

Lucius stood beside the chair by the window and raised a brow. “You’re producing quite the funds for us… Severus, there are many impressed with your work.”

His heart fluttered at the praise. He bit his cheek, trying to keep from smiling and nodded lazily. “Yeah?”

Lucius chuckled. “You could be selling much more expensive things. So expensive you could actually keep a good amount and get out of this…” he looked around and sighed, never finishing his sentence. “You could live somewhere better suited to your needs. A place with an actual kitchen so you didn’t have to brew in your own bedroom.”

Severus pulled on some loose strings on his shirt, watching them zig apart and grow larger. He avoided his eyes, knowing what it would take to gain enough trust to be handed large amounts of the ingredients he was given to brew with. Lucius pulled up his sleeve and got on the bed with him, surprising him completely. Lucius hated touching anything in his place and avoided staying longer than he needed to.

“It’s a symbol. Severus. A symbol you’re a part of something.” The snake on Lucius’ skin almost shimmered, as if it was an image reflecting of water. They were both quiet, watching the dark eyes of the skull. “Is she still holding you back? Do you still expect to go back to being friends with – ”

Severus felt a flash of anger. He sat up and scoffed, staring into Lucius’ steady eyes. “What a stupid thing to say,” he spat.

Lucius pulled down his sleeve and stood, heading for the door. “Then I’ll leave you with the message and let you think on it.” The door opened on its own and he turned. “Just because we’ve all graduated school, doesn’t mean we don’t have your back.”

Severus squeezed his fists and heard the door shut. I’m not weak anymore.

~ * ~ * ~

Severus stuffed his hands in his pocket and shook them around, hearing the coins jingle and clink. He did that after every tip, loving the sound. It was like hearing freedom ring in his ears. Sometimes he thought about visiting home finally just to shove the shiny gold in his father’s face. That old fool would probably smell the ruddy pouch, try to inhale it for himself, desperate and pathetic. Sorry Da, looks like you were wrong. I don’t need you. I never did. You’re the poor stupid fool living in that house.

He hopped on the old broom and pushed off hard. The broom was so old it had small branches growing out the sides. He ripped all but two off, using them as handles. It took an hour to get back to the shop, but he used that time to relax. If he wasn’t asleep, then he was spending his whole day working or brewing. It was nice to get some peace every once in a while.

He arrived home just as the rain started to really pour and left the broom under the stairs, tied to the underside of a step with charmed twine the shop owner had given him. He pulled his hood down and climbed the stairs up in a rush, pushing his door open.

He shrugged his cloak off onto the floor and pushed the door with his foot, except it wouldn’t close all the way, staying ajar. He groaned and pushed on it with all his might. “Close!” He kicked it but it wouldn’t budge. He sighed and moved his only chair to lean up against the door, pushing it in place against the wind. It’ll do for now.

He pulled the bedsheet off and wrapped it around his shoulders, opening the top cupboard and took down a jar of pickles. The shop owner always brought him back food from the store when he went, but Severus had the sneaking suspicion that he was given cheap, almost expired food.

He dropped the lid and fell back on his bed. The loud groan that came from falling back on it no longer scared him. He’d thrown himself onto the bed so often, sure that the bed would break, that he hardly noticed it anymore, knowing that it likely could not be broken, not with his own weight.

He bit into a pickle and dropped it back in the juice, sucking on his fingers and wiping them on his trousers. He blurred his vision, going over the steps to one of the newer brews Lucius had handed him instructions for, when he felt a prick in the back of his throat.

It felt like a needle was sticking out inside his throat, poking into the walls of his flesh, stinging. He coughed, sitting up to produce more power but the needle multiplied. The needles stuck deep into his mouth and throat, making it painful to move. His hands scraped his tongue, trying to find the needles and pull them out but there was nothing but thick saliva.

When he pulled his fingers back, the tips had blue bulging veins. Poison. He was being poisoned. He fell out of bed, gasping for relief, feeling his muscles begin to tire, and dragged himself to the cabinets under the sink. He was half way down the small stretch of hardwood when the bathroom door opened and someone in a red witch’s hat stepped out.

“Good to see you again.”

Severus stopped, glaring up at him.

“It’s belixy poison. Slow acting, but painful.” The boy smacked his lips and rubbed his hands together. “Here’s the thing, friend – ” he opened up the drawers and cabinets, knocking everything Severus used for brewing potions to the ground. “My employer’s received word our supplier has a better deal. Thinkin’ ‘bout dropping us completely.”

Severus groaned, spitting his saliva out in an instinctual attempt to get the needles off his tongue.

“’Parrently those Death Eaters and their Dark Lord been making so much money off illegal brews with our Ministry-banned ingredients, they’re thinkin’ of expanding.” He kicked a cauldron out of his way and sat on the floor in front of him. “Been using some real nasty stuff on those Muggles in Glasgow, Manchester, Cardiff, and even my London?” He tisked.

Severus spit on his shoes.

“Dick’ead!” He smacked Severus’ head and pulled him up by the collar. “I’m tryin’ to talk to ya!”

Severus got on his knees, gripping onto his own collar as he was pulled up. He could feel his feet begin to numb and waited for the guy to let go. The second he did, ready to state his demands, Severus stuck his hand in his left pocket and pulled out his wand.

He held it up and rasped, “Confringo!”

A red light blasted from the tip of his wand and blew them back in a fiery explosion. Severus was flung back on his bed and rolled off quickly, getting to his feet as best he could. He couldn’t feel them, and the numbness was creeping up his shins now and up his hand as well.

He looked around at the flames scattered everywhere and hunched over to escape the accumulating smoke. He saw the guy had been blasted into the bathroom and heard him coughing. Severus turned and limped over to the chair, throwing it aside and swung the door open. He hobbled down the stairs and flung himself under them, hissing “Cave Inimicum!”

He whispered it over and over as he dragged himself under the bottom steps as the guy barreled down them, looking around wildly for him. He turned everywhere, and looked right passed him, unable to spot him through the boundary he cast, keeping him hidden. After a few minutes of digging around, the guy apparated away.

~ * ~ * ~

The numbness was up to his knees and elbows now. Severus dragged himself into the shop through the back door and crawled through the un-swept dirt on the ground. He flipped himself as he reached the back wall and looked up at the edge of the counter. There were a few leaves that just needed to be tipped into his mouth and the feeling would return to his limbs long enough for him to brew a cure.

He raised his wand and tried to flick, watching his hand twitch slightly. The leaves moved but looked like they were trapped under something. Severus slid sideways and did his best to lift his head, spotting a pot holding them down.

He lifted his wand again, falling back onto his back. “Circumrota,” he wheezed. The pot rotated and the leaves were pushed out from under it, falling gently to the floor. Severus moved onto his side and stuck his tongue out, licking the leaves into his mouth one by one and sucked on them until he could feel his toes.

~ * ~ * ~

After a grueling hour, his tongue no longer felt on fire, his gums no longer stung, and his throat didn’t feel like it was being pricked with every breath he took. He rubbed his neck and sat at the stool in the back of the shop, sobbing into his elbow. He gripped his wand with a trembling hand and tried his best to keep his shoulders from shaking so violently.

He felt vile. He was weak and pathetic and easy prey for the world. Why did I think things could get better? It wasn’t Hogwarts that made my life so horribly miserable. It’s me. I exist to be stepped on and beaten time and time again.

He pulled his chin to rest on his wrist, staring at a distant candle through blurry eyes. He sniffed and wiped his nose. He needed to find Lucius. He needed to join Avery and Mulciber. He needed them. He couldn’t survive on his own.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

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Day 2 Prompt: Poisoned (snapetober day 2) + cave inimicum (Produces a boundary that keeps the caster hidden from others), confringo (produces a fiery explosion), and circumrota (Rotates objects)

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General Taglist:

@severuslovebot @bionic-otp

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[sailynthesayaad]

In her own little world

It had been a while since Sai’lyn was last alone, or as truly alone as she could ever get. The house suddenly felt a bit too big, had she really gotten so use to such small quarters? The front door was closed, locking it as she leaned against the wood, letting the guise of the Ren’dorei form fall away and let on her more usual pale green skinned form, the one she was most comfortable in, take shape. The small nubs of her horns put pressure on her head as they indented the wood. Hand running in down along it, hearing the neigh and trot of the horse as it pulled along the carriage carrying the trio of odd beings she had met and brought into her. Well and that one annoying woman who happened to be thrust in without her own wishes. Was she really in a position to argue it all? A heavy sigh as she moved on into the kitchen, looking in around the space. Around this time Inu’era would be toying over with some new recipe or helping her prepare the next batch of drugs to be sent out into the city. “Oh..i hope i don’t run out of cookies while she’s gone.” Speaking aloud to fill the space with some sound as she moves in towards the cabinets to open them up and take stuck of the sugary sweets to see what she would have left to nibble on idly. “Hm, maybe a week...” A disappointed sigh. Pulling down the kettle and some tea she’d make to brew some, anything really to keep herself busy and moving, she didn’t feel like sitting by. Once the tea was finished, she’d put in far too much sugar for a mere mortal, stirring it in causally as she moved on towards the dining table to sit down, pulling out her books to check over once more when next she needed to have the next shipment of drugs ready, who to meet, at what time and where to ensure the product got delivered and dealt. This was likely the third or so time that she went over it all, she had it memorized but she wanted to be busy. After sitting for so long, the shadows around her began to bleed and slither in along the walls and floor around her. Elongated mouths formed and stretched out along the darkness, showing off wicked grins and seeming as though to laugh towards her without making sounds. Eyes of plenty bleed through, turning this way and that way showing off a variety of shapes and styles, from slit iris’ to no iris’ to wide or long shapes, to triangles and ovals. Leaning back in the chair, a heavy sigh coming out from her. Setting the notebook down. Reaching over to idly bring the tea over to herself, resting the saucer on two fingers of one hand and slowly bringing the cup to lips to take a small sip before resting the butt of the cup to the saucer. “What is it? You clearly have plenty on your mind.” The shadow stretched out, or least attempted to before she pulled in on it’s strength and girth, reminding it just who was in charge of it’s power. A soft chuckle came from the mouths, filling the room with the presence of many.  “You sure are doing a lot for just some mortals. Even asking your most annoying rival for help. The thought of you even saying that word and not just once but twice to such a person. I never thought such a thing could occur.-” A laugh cut off the deity from speaking further, “Oh hush with your silly taunts. Caedera is the most annoying thing on this planet and as if i’d ever ask for anything from the little spider freak. You are giving Olivia too much credit. She did as i wanted in the end did she not? She’s merely a stepping stone and i was able to cut some jibs into her and now i have a better chance she can be of use later on. Ava is proving useful to me in making such things happen.” Eyes flicking up towards a pair near by, head tilting slightly, “Have you not noticed how much sugar i like in my tea? Well everyone is like that, they prefer sugar over salt. However, unlike myself not everyone can stomach so much of it so you have to balance the palate.” A flick of free hand, “Honestly, you should know me better by now. You’ve even seen me play as naive and sensitive, this is nothing.” Eyes turn back to her tea as hand reaches for it to reach and bring it back to her lips. A laugh sounds out in the room, “I do know you, i know you better than anything or anyone because i am a part of you. Now why don’t you show me your real form? I miss it.” The sayaad freezes, head turning in towards one of the mouths and eyes, growing and snarling in towards it. “Do not use -his- voice. You only have a piece of his soul and you’ll never get the rest, you don’t deserve it.” Irritated, she sets the tea down back on the table. “It’s rude to try to rile me like this, i have a lot of plans to make.” “Such as?” The voice changed once more into another annoying voice from her past, he ex-mentor. Moving from the chair to move towards the sink, the shadows being dragged in along the floors and walls behind her as she cleans and tidy’s up. “I need to ensure Ava joins Alice, or rather Helriel. I need to remark Stormwind as mine, so don’t worry you shall have some feasting.-” “You are playing by their rules still, you are taking things slow. This isn’t like you.” A soft chuckle, head turning back slightly, “I’m allowed to enjoy myself.” “Are you?” The voice asks. Silence. “Well? Sai’lyn, are you enjoying yourself?” Something about that voice, about -him- saying that sent shivers through her. Hands moving to grip in around the edge of the sink and counter, the metal groaning under the pressure. “I...” Hand moved to rub in over the stop between shoulder and collar bone as if some ghost pain still lingered. “I’m not going to let you take over again, whittle me down as much as you wish to try, i’m always going to win. I will always survive. I have to.” Another small chuckle, the voices change in over to array of more feminine tones. “Do you even know why you want that? Dar’thea remembers things, why don’t you steal that for yourself? Get back what you lost? She can tell you how.”

Pushing up from the counter, “I’ve lost nothing. I don’t need a reason to exist, i will out of spite if that’s what it comes to. I’ll take everything and anything i want.” A roll of neck and yawn, “Honestly, you’re starting to bore me again. You always think so little of me even after all this time. I don’t care if those three die, let alone the others involved. They get caught it’s their own doing, i just can’t have some little upstart thinking she has an edge on me. Get over yourself, you’re not impressive, remember whose the one who took you over. I’m in control!” Snarling and glaring down to the shadows about her, they begin to slowly recede back into herself. “Yes, of course, Mistress Sailidoria.” Eyes widen as that womans voice comes back to haunt her, body stiffening and eyes widening. Hands clutching tightly enough for nails to dig into flesh and cause some blood to leak between fingers, head tilting back as eyes close, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

[feelingfredly]

Tea for Three?

Part 3 of the Better Living Through Chemistry series

Grimmjow was a surprisingly good companion—Ichigo refused to call him a date, no matter what Nelliel said—the only problem was his enthusiasm.

And his ego.

Oh, and don’t forget the fact that he constantly forgot they were surrounded by humans.

Okay, he was a horrible date, but it was still good to not be the only one in the audience looking at the kickboxing “experts” and thinking they’d last about a minute and a half in a real fight.

“Sit down, you idiot,” Ichigo hissed, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. “I told you, they don’t take challengers.  Anyway, you’re in a fucking gigai.   What makes you think you could take them anyway?”

Grimmjow growled and dropped back onto the bench. “I could take that asshole in the black with my teeth. I can smell his fear from here.” He pulled his lips back in a feral grin and Ichigo had to admit, they were impressive teeth for a gigai.   Kisuke’d even let him keep the almost-fangs. “Everything he does is for show and then he runs away where the other guy can’t hit him.  Fucking coward.”

Ichigo made a noise that could have been agreement.  “The guy in white has great range, though.  I thought he was going to pull the guy over completely when he grabbed that last kick. Good leverage.”

Grimmjow grunted. “Should’ve just broken his ankle.  Gloves are for weaklings.”

Ichigo didn’t argue.

They sat like that, alternating between hunched forward staring intently and throwing themselves back in their seats in frustration as the fights went on, until neither of them could stand it anymore.

“Race you to the training grounds at the shōten.”

The almost-fangs shone in a blood-thirsty answer. “Thought you’d never ask.”

***

They trash talked as they raced through the streets of Karakura and Ichigo had to fight Zangetsu down more than once, his inner hollow feeding on the aggression.

“Aw, is the Baby Hollow giving you a hard time, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow laughed at the glimmer of gold that Ichigo knew was edging the brown of his eyes.

“Fuck you, Grimm,” he said, tripping the taller man as they turned the last corner before the straightaway towards the shōten. “Zan would wipe the floor with you, gigai or not.”

He could hear the crazy laugh in his inner world and growled internally. Don’t get any ideas. Grimm is MY fight.

Zangetsu giggled again. Sure, King. Fight. Right. Say it a little louder and maybe you’ll believe that’s all he is.

Ichigo frowned and ignored the taunt.  Zan had jabbed at him more than once about the time he spent with Grimmjow, whether they were arguing or sparring or trying to sort out what exactly was going to happen now that Aizen wasn’t running Hueco Mundo. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the white bastard was jealous. And Kisuke was no help.  He just smiled and said that it made sense for Zan to want to prove his dominance over the nearest hollow, and if Ichigo was going to continue spending time with Grimmjow, he should either get used to his inner world being a constant snarkfest, or give in and let Zan have it out with Grimm once and for all.

That sounded like a recipe for disaster of absolutely Kisuke proportions.

“Cheating bastard.” Grimmjow laughed and scrambled to his feet so fast it was as if he’d never lost his balance. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Kurosaki.”

“You have no idea what I have in me,” Ichigo said, throwing himself forward at full speed.  Even in his human form he could feel his reiatsu humming along his skin, and he couldn’t wait to hit the training ground to beat Grimmjow and Zangetsu both back into line.

They hit the door of the shōten at almost the same time, but Ichigo had the edge of familiarity and he had the door in his hand before Grimmjow could grab it. “Beat you, Grimm.”

Grimmjow snorted and leaned against the wall, the only sign of their hell-for-leather race being his breathing a little more heavily than usual. “What was that? You wanted to use all that practice you’ve gotten beating off, eh, Kurosaki? Why didn’t you just say so? Didn’t have to…”

“Shut it, asshole,” Ichigo slammed the door, just missing Grimmjow’s foot, “save it for downstairs.”

Just then Kisuke wandered out of his lab, hair mussed like he’d been running his fingers through it. “Grimmjow-san! Ichigo-kun! Welcome back! I didn’t expect to see you so early. I take it the kickboxing tournament failed to hold your attentions?”

Grimmjow pushed off the wall and sauntered across the room. “Tournament? Bunch of losers you mean.  One adjuchas could’ve kicked all ten of their asses, and then eaten the damn trophy at the end. Right, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo hated to agree with him, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah. It was a little frustrating, honestly.  Too much padding.  Too many rules.  Made us want a real fight.  I thought we’d use the training ground and burn off some steam before Grimm headed back to Hueco Mundo.”

Kisuke looked from one to the other and then shook his head a little apologetically. “Oh, but Ichigo-kun, don’t you remember?  The experiment I’ve been working on is finally ready, and you promised to help me test it this evening.  I’d say that it could wait, but unfortunately the compounds in this batch are quite volatile.”

Ichigo groaned.   Right now, the last thing he wanted was to do another one of Kisuke’s tea drugging experiments, but he couldn’t back out.  Kisuke’d been working on this one for three weeks.

“I’d totally forgotten.  Crap. Sorry Grimm, but I’m going to have to take a raincheck on the fight.”

Grimmjow wasn’t having it. “What the fuck is so important that it can’t wait until I’ve kicked your ass around a little?  We weren’t even going to be back for another hour, and it won’t take me that long to beat you into a bloody pulp.  Then the mad scientist over here can use what’s left for his experiments.  Win/win. Everybody’s happy.”

Zangetsu hissed in the corner of his brain. Let me kick his big blue ass, King.  I’ll take him apart until he’s nothing but little pieces that Kisuke can let Benihime practice sewing on. Fucking prick.  All talk.  Let’s fuck him up so badly that you’ll have to throw him through the garganta back to Hueco Mundo.

Ichigo knew from the look on Kisuke’s face that Zan had taken enough of a hold on him that his eyes were bleeding to gold.  Fuck, this wasn’t what he’d planned for this evening.

“Grimmjow-san, I am sorry to say that the bloody pulp would not be sufficient for my experiments,” Kisuke gave a little bow, “although I appreciate your willingness to adapt your plans to suit mine. For this experiment, though, I need Ichigo-kun at his strongest.  He will have to be to deal with the effects of the tea.”

A blue eyebrow rose. “Tea?” The disbelief was palpable. “Is this one of those tea drugging things Kurosaki was whining about a couple weeks ago?  I mean what?  You made him throw up for a couple hours.  Surely that isn’t something that he’d have to be in top form.   Or are you going to actually poison him for real this time?”

Ichigo shoved him.  Hard.  The bastard barely moved, though, and that just pissed him off more. “If Kisuke says I have to be in top form, then I have to be in top form.  You’re just lucky you’re not the one getting dosed.  You’d probably be crying in a corner like a kitten when it was over.  Asshole.”

Grimmjow stepped into him, forcing him to look up to meet his eyes. “Anything you can take, Kurosaki, I can take twice over.  Fucking drugged tea.  Give me a break.  He’s probably going to dose you with a sleeping pill so he can finally have a quiet night without listening to you whine.”

Kisuke stepped forward. “Boys, boys, calm down.”  He raised his hands placatingly. “I’d really rather not have to close the shop because you two ripped the displays apart.  Again.”

The two of them separated looking a little sheepish.  Well, Ichigo looked sheepish.  Grimmjow just looked pissed.

“Grimmjow-san, coincidentally enough, you might find the experiment interesting after all.  It was, in fact, designed to interact with Zangetsu-san, so it should, in fact, affect you as well.”

Broad shoulders rolled back at the challenge couched in Kisuke’s voice. “If the white punk could take it, then I can.”

Gray eyes turned to Ichigo and a blond brow rose in silent query.  The penny dropped, and Ichigo remembered what Kisuke had told him about this particular experiment.

 Hollows, no matter how evolved, whether they’re like Zangetsu-san or the Arrancar, are more driven by instinct than humans or Shinigami or Quincies.  At the bottom of every interaction you will find one of the major impetuses—fight, flight, or, to be blunt, fuck.  Most of them revert to flight.  The stronger ones fight.  Very few fuck.  What if we could find a formula that would change that? It would be much easier to kill a hollow that’s trying to chase an orgasm than one that’s trying to kill you, ne?

At the time it had sounded impossible and insane, but honestly many of Kisuke’s best/worst ideas started that way. And now… he’d done it. Or he’d gotten close enough that he wanted to try it on Zan and he didn’t think it would do any lasting damage if it didn’t work.

Zan’s wild laughter had quieted, but the anger still simmered deep inside and Ichigo wondered what the hollow would be like if he was just horny instead of murderous all the time.

What would Grimmjow be like?

That was what Kisuke was asking, wasn’t it?  Did Ichigo want to include Grimm in this mad trial? What would the brutal attention he brought to his fights be like if it was turned into sex? Did Ichigo want to bring that into their lives?  Into their bedroom?

“Two test cases are always better data sources than one, Ichigo-kun.”  A sly smirk spread across Kisuke’s face and Ichigo could feel a flush begin to crawl up his neck and across his cheekbones as his jeans became just a little tighter.

“Fuck it.  Bring on the tea, Kisuke,” he said, flinging himself onto the cushions by the low table in the lounge. “First one to cry uncle loses.”

***

“Now, Grimmjow-san,” Kisuke had brewed two cups of his best matcha and set them in front of Ichigo along with two glass vials filled with dark amber liquid, “normally I wouldn’t inform you of the expected effects of one of my experiments due to the possibility that foreknowledge would skew your reactions, but because you are coming into this totally blind I find myself in a quandry.  Most people would tell you I have no morals to speak of, and they’re typically correct, but I cannot in good faith let you take part in this without your understanding and consent.”

Grimmjow was shifting on his cushion clearly wanting to get to the next stage of the action, whatever that action was, but Ichigo couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that Kisuke was at least trying not to take advantage of the big idiot.

“Yeah, yeah, so what’s this going to do?  Make me howl at the moon?  I already do that sometimes, you know. Roar, not howl, but it’s pretty close.”  He grinned, and Ichigo could just imagine him on the dunes of Hueco Mundo roaring into the night, all the other hollows running in fear from the sound.

“Yes, it isn’t quite that simple, Grimmjow-san.”  Kisuke knelt in a graceful seiza and reached for one of the vials. “If I asked you what drives you, what would you say?”

It only took a second for him to answer. “The fight.  Being the one that’s still standing. That’s what it all comes down to.”

“This,” Kisuke waggled the vial, “will change that.  You’ll still have a drive, and it’ll ride you as hard as your desire to fight, but it won’t be the same.  You may want to run—to flee from whatever you see as danger.   You may want to fuck your way through it, to survive and thrive by spreading your seed as far and wide as you can.  I don’t know.  All I know is that while you’re under the effects of the formula, you *should* react differently than you normally do.”

Grimmjow made a sound in his throat like he had a hairball. “Flee my ass.  I’ve never run from anything in my life and no fucking formula is going to change that.  Fucking?  I don’t care about that, but who’m I going to fuck?   You?  The Berry over here? If you’re saying I’m going to sit around with blue-er balls than usual, I’m going to reconsider this whole thing.”

Kisuke didn’t say anything, but Ichigo couldn’t help but shift his weight slightly and Grimmjow’s eyes widened a fraction when they landed on him. His face was red, he knew, but he wasn’t going to be the one to back out of this.

“Well, well, well,” Grimmjow said, his voice dropping a little lower, his eyes moving from blond to redhead and back again, “not the wrestling match I expected, but I’m game.  Any other side-effects you want to mention before we get this show started?”

Kisuke shook his head and shifted until he could lounge more comfortably. “Well, there are always unforeseen side effects, but they should be minimal.”

Grimmjow looked back and forth between them once more and then took the vial and downed it before raising his cup of tea in a salute.  “Good enough.  If I end up bald or with an extra leg, I’ll just kill you tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Kisuke laughed and removed his hat back in a show of rare openness.  “If that happens, you are more than welcome to try.”

Ichigo reached for his matcha and the other vial. “You’re lucky you’re not getting the pink spotted camouflage tea, Grimm. I should’ve gotten a medal for that one.” He slugged back his dose and made a face.  It tasted terrible.  Again.

“Pink spotted camouflage?” Grimmjow’s voice cracked and Ichigo thought he looked a little panicked at the idea. “What the actual fuck?”

“I don’t know, Grimm,” he said and settled back to sip his tea. “It’s Kisuke. What can you expect?”

***

Zangetsu was quiet, and it was making Ichigo nervous.

“Kisuke?” He looked across the table at the blond and sighed. They’d shifted from tea to sake, but he was still not feeling anything but a little warm around the edges. “I don’t think this is working.  How certain are you about the formula’s projected outcome?”

Kisuke took a sip from his cup and very pointedly did not look at Grimmjow. “Oh, fairly certain, Ichigo-kun.  I expect that you’ll be noticing something shortly.”

The Arrancar growled and sucked in a shaky sounding breath. “Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that if the bleached bastard isn’t making noise in that noggin of yours, it isn’t because he isn’t feeling it.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop his smirk. “Does that mean you’re feeling something Grimm?  Still want to see what Pantera looks like with a high-gloss coat of blood, or have you lost your taste for it?”

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and Ichigo could see his throat move in a convulsive swallow. “Not sure you want to tease, Kurosaki,” his voice sounded like it was being dragged across broken glass, “I may want to swing something other than a sword right now, but you covered in blood wouldn’t be a deal breaker.”

Ichigo’s throat worked on its own swallow at that.

Fuck yeah, Zan finally pushed through and Ichigo felt his breath catch at the overwhelming wave of awareness that came with him. Hold him down and lick him open. Stab his pretty hole with my tongue, stab him with my cock. Make him beg.  Make him cry.  Make him come all over himself.  Pull his hair and fuck his mouth and stripe that face with come until he smells like me, tastes like me, aches for me…  fuck, fuck, FUCK.

Ichigo must’ve made a noise because suddenly Kisuke’s eyes were focused on him, measuring. “Ichigo-kun? Everything okay?”

He was too far away.  Ichigo couldn’t feel him.  Couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin.  Couldn’t smell the ink and sandalwood and sword oil that meant Kisuke.

“Finally hit ya, huh?” Grimmjow asked, tossing back the dregs of sake in his cup. “Wondered how long I’d have to wait.”

Ichigo turned to face the Arrancar and could see the wildness flickering in the depths of his gaze.  His face burned because he knew what Zan was saying.  What he was thinking.

“Kisuke?” He pried his gaze away from Grimmjow long enough to ask, “You still have the wards up on the bedroom?”

The blond was already half-way to his feet as he answered, “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, holding on to his control by a thread. “It’s time to move.” He bared his teeth and lunged at Grimmjow with a growl, sinking his teeth into the long tendon there that had been tempting him for longer than he wanted to admit.  “Now.”

***

The futon was barely big enough for the three of them.

Kisuke had hesitated, standing to one side while his measured gaze following Ichigo and Grimmjow as they’d all but attacked each other, but Grimmjow stopped and reached out, his long fingers twisting in the front of his samue, pulling him inexorably closer.

“You don’t get off that easily,” he laughed, dark and suggestive, “or maybe you will, I don’t know.  What does it take to get a mad scientist off, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo pried himself away from Grimmjow’s neck long enough to answer. “He likes it all, Grimm, but if you want to knock his geta off, rubbing his prostate while you’re sucking his cock as deep as possible usually works for me.”

Kisuke visibly shuddered at the words and Grimmjow and Ichigo shared a grin.  “Can’t say I blame him.  Nothing like a good face-fucking to get things started.”

Another time Ichigo might have snarked about how quickly Grimm went to his knees, but watching him strip Kisuke so efficiently, pulling his cock out and licking a strip from crown to balls and back again, drove everything from his head except, “Fuck, yeah.  Just like that. Holy shit that looks amazing.”

Kisuke groaned along with him as he grabbed two handfuls of blue hair, jerking his hips forward just as Grimmjow wrapped his lips around him, the glistening tip of his prick disappearing and then reappearing with a lewdly wet pop. “It feels amazing as well, Ichigo-kun.” He pulled back and angled himself so that his next thrust slid his length along Grimmjow’s jaw, smooth in a gigai, but they were all thinking about the sharp edges of the bone mask that should’ve been there.  Instead, there was a trail of pre-come tracing his jawline that made Ichigo itch to kiss it and taste the combination of slick and skin.

Kisuke reached down and stuck a thumb in the side of Grimmjow’s mouth, “I can’t wait to ruin this pretty mouth,” he said, pumping his cock in alongside it, the tips of his fingers pressing against the hinge of Grimmjow’s jaw holding it open as he fucked into it, “fill your mouth until you can’t breathe.  Let those blue eyes beg enough and maybe I’ll let you.”

The tone, threatening enough that normally Grimmjow would be raring to strike out at anyone who dared to talk to him that way, was clearly pressing different buttons.  His eyes fluttered closed and his tongue lolled out beneath Kisuke’s cock, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth.

Ichigo watched the scene unfold, Zan howling in the dark corners of his mind as he watched the two men, deadly and beautiful, and all he could hear was the drumbeat of mine, mine, mine, drowning out every other thought.

Grimmjow had worn regular human clothes for the tournament and the tight black trousers clearly showed the outline of his hard-on, huge and heavy, pressing against his zipper. Ichigo sucked a breath in through his mouth, the musk of Kisuke’s arousal and the heady scent of Grimmjow going straight to his head, and he knew had to see it, to touch it, to taste it.

“Shift your leg, Grimm,” he said, trying to pull the fabric down and out of the way without tangling Grimmjow’s legs up painfully.  Finally he managed, and his mouth literally watered when he got his first glimpse of the Arrancar’s cock.  A hot spurt of pre-come squirted out of his own, and he pressed a hand into it to try to minimize the wave of sensations that swamped him.

“Like what you’ve uncovered, Ichigo-kun?” Kisuke managed to sound mostly unmoved, but Ichigo could hear the hint of breathiness that was the first sign of his loss of control.  He and Grimm may have been the ones dosed, but none of them were getting out of this unscathed. “He has an impressive cock, doesn’t he?  I can’t wait to see it disappearing into your slick, stretched hole.  Zangetsu-san will hate that, watching you allow another hollow to ride you, to fuck you…”

He swallowed the last word on a strangled groan as Grimmjow took him deep into his throat, and Ichigo could just imagine what that tight ring of muscle felt like, wrapped so tightly around him that it stroked him with every millimeter he moved.

The redhead couldn’t wait anymore.  He stood and shucked his clothing, not caring where it landed, and he wrapped his hand around his own length, pumping it in counterpoint to Grimmjow’s movements. The blond watched him, eyes hooded, and Ichigo could see the wheels within wheels moving in his head.

“You should take care of our guest,” the words were mild, but they triggered a wave of hunger that consumed him, the idea of touching Grimmjow’s muscular ass suddenly becoming the most important thing ever.

“Fuck, Kisuke,” he said, breath stuttering on the upstroke, “yes. Yes.”

He stumbled over Grimmjow’s legs where he was kneeling on the futon and grabbed the pot of slick from the bedside table, somehow managing to open it without spilling it everywhere.

Grimmjow was working up and down Kisuke’s cock like it was the only thing in the world, his chin dripping with saliva and pre-come, until Ichigo’s weight fell against him. He pulled off with a wet pop and glared.

“Watch it, Ichigo,” he said, hoarse from the fucking Kisuke’d given his throat, and Ichigo felt a shudder ripple through him both at the sound of Grimm’s broken voice and the sound of his name being said with it.

“I am watching it,” he said, hiding behind a little of his standard bravado, “and if I can say so, it’s well worth watching.”

He ogled Grimmjow’s ass and waggled his eyebrows until both the big Arrancar and Kisuke let out rough laughs.

“Watching isn’t going to cut it tonight,” Grimmjow arched his back a little and spread his knees, balls hanging heavy between his thighs and Ichigo just wanted…  everything.

“Want to fuck you, Grimm,” he said as he ran a sword-calloused finger down the graceful line of the other man’s spine, “Zan’s going a little crazy about it, but this…  this is what I want.” He dipped three fingers in the pot of slick and let the other man see them for a moment, and then, before he could react, Kisuke grabbed him by the sides of his head and thrust his cock between his gasp-opened lips.

Fuck, Kisuke. Zangetsu was as turned on by the blond’s move as Ichigo was, So hot.  Fuck his face.  Choke him on your cock.  

Ichigo pressed the tip of one finger against Grimmjow’s entrance, the muscle there tight and hot, and all three of them groaned from the domino effect of the sensation.  A second finger quickly followed the first, and then a third, the knowledge that Grimmjow was probably the most durable person he could ever fuck soothing whatever pangs of conscience he might have about proper prep.

Kisuke watched his progress closely, eyes glittering as he relentlessly slid his rigid prick between Grimmjow’s lips, pressing so deeply that it brought tears to the Arrancar’s eyes, and then backing off just enough for him to catch his breath before starting the cycle over again, timing every thrust to coincide with Ichigo’s fingers. The harder Kisuke pressed him, though, the hungrier he seemed, opening wider, swallowing harder, hips rocking back against Ichigo’s fingers as he strained for more, every bit as wild and driven he’d ever been in battle, and the redhead wondered if just that would be enough to get him off.

Then, Kisuke changed the game.

“As lovely as this has been, Grimmjow, I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.” He pulled his cock out of Grimmjow’s mouth, but didn’t move far, his cock still ruby red and glistening mere finger’s-widths away. Ichigo watched, fascinated, as he gripped his own length and pumped it slowly, teasing the other man. “You’ve always talked such a good game I thought you’d be a sexual force to be reckoned with, but you’re just a little too…  passive for me.”

He smiled at Ichigo over the blue head. “Maybe I’ll just watch you try to top from the bottom with Ichigo-kun.”

Grimmjow erupted into motion, his lethal body moving faster than he had all night, leaving Ichigo wide-eyed and slick-fingered on the side-lines as he swept Kisuke into a hold that had to knock the air out of him.

“Can’t come up with a better insult than topping from the bottom, Shinigami?” He grabbed Kisuke’s legs and dropped him onto his back with a growl, pinning him there with his full body weight as he slotted his hips between Kisuke’s legs and lodged his cock between Kisuke’s ass cheeks. “I know what you’re doing, pushing me, pissing me off.  You and your fucking experiments.  You want to see what happens when you piss me off enough that I lose control? I’ll tell you. I’m going to fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in Hueco Mundo, so hard your crimson bitch won’t be able to sit down. And then? Then, I’m going to fuck Ichigo until he can’t remember his fucking name, and make you watch while my come leaks out of your ass and you can barely crawl across the futon to beg for more.”

Slick fingers pressed into Kisuke’s hole and the blond squirmed and gasped, but his cock was still jutting up, hard and demanding, and Ichigo knew he was enjoying it.

Grimmjow looked over at him and grinned triumphantly, a wild, beautiful thing, and Ichigo leaned in and caught his mouth in a filthy kiss that tasted of lust and violence and Kisuke’s cock.  He licked into Grimm’s mouth again and again, eating at the heat there, listening to Kisuke groan and hiss and sigh under the demanding fingers that were stretching him wide for fucking, and knew he’d never again be able to see Grimmjow’s battle grin without getting hard.

Zangetsu was vibrating at the edge of his inner world, cursing Grimmjow and Kisuke by turns, and Ichigo swatted him away, because these two were his, and Zan could just go fuck himself and the horse he identified as.

He leaned over Grimmjow’s shoulder and looked at his cock, ruddy and huge, dripping pre-come, and breathed into his ear. “Go on. Fuck him, Grimm. He’s a fucking slut for it.  He’ll love it.  Love the stretch and burn as you pound into him.  Love it when you hit that spot that makes his cock leak and his eyes roll back in his head.”

Grimmjow growled and pressed against the ring of muscle that was the last barrier between him and Kisuke’s heat. Then, with one rapid rock of his hips he breached his ass, dragging a low groan from the Shinigami beneath him.

“Fuck yes,” Kisuke hissed the words and rolled into the thrust, silently demanding more.  Grimmjow was more than willing to provide.

“Isn’t he perfect?” Ichigo asked, hot breath stirring the fine blue hair around Grimm’s ear. “He’s made for fucking.  Tight ass. Hard cock.   Smart enough to know exactly what to do to make you see stars.  Wait until you feel him in your ass. You’ll want him again and again.”

Kisuke let out a little moan as Grimmjow bottomed out forcefully and he flexed his muscles around the Arrancar’s length.

“Fuck,” Grimm gutted the word out. “You’re so fucking tight.  It’s like fucking a velvet vise.”

Kisuke let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel a pulse of envy.

“Lean forward, Grimm.  Hold him down.” He wrapped himself over Grimmjow’s broad back and held on as he bucked into Kisuke, and Ichigo found his hole with questing fingers again.  He was still loose from earlier but Ichigo took his time, curling his fingers and sliding them along the rim before twisting so that he could find that spot, that incredible little spot that would make even Grimmjow whimper and whine.

He angled himself to capture Grimmjow’s lips in another kiss, this one sloppy and breathless, distracted by the pistoning of Grimm’s hips as he fucked Kisuke so hard Ichigo was almost afraid for his gigai, but Ichigo had pounded Kisuke’s ass often enough to know that a day or two of rest was all the blond needed before he was back in form, turning the tables and driving him to the edge and over.

“Want to see you fuck him, Ichigo-kun,” Kisuke’s voice broke on the words, desire so thick he could hardly speak around it.  “Want to see his face.  Want to hear you both.” He reached out with a scrabbling hand and Ichigo grabbed it and squeezed.

“Grimm?” Ichigo asked, unwilling to force the Arrancar into something he didn’t want, but apparently it wasn’t a problem.

“You heard him. You need an engraved invitation?” was all he said, but the answer rattled through Ichigo and he groaned, dragging clawed fingers down Grimmjow’s flank, digging into the dimples above his hipbones as he settled his weight behind the bigger man.

The heat pouring off Grimmjow was amazing, and Ichigo rubbed his face against the plane of his back, nipping along the bumps of vertebra, his knees splayed obscenely to either side of the well-muscled ass.  Grimmjow leaned farther forward and dropped down to catch Kisuke’s lips in a kiss, something Ichigo had never thought to see, stilling the motion of his own hips to allow Ichigo to maneuver into place, his cock pressed against the puffy red furl of his opening, slick and soft and worked loose until it practically sucked him in.

“Fuck.”  He breathed the word against Grimmjow’s skin and felt rather than hear a rumble in response.

“What are you waiting for, Kurosaki?” A dry, raspy need threaded through Grimmjow’s voice that hadn’t been there before and it made something predatory in Ichigo sit up and take notice. “Just put it in me, you son of a bitch. Fuck me with that cock.  I know you want it.  Show your boyfriend here what fucking a hollow is really like.  Let the hunger out.  I won’t break.”

Ichigo couldn’t pass up an offer like that. He snaked a hand down beneath them to where Grimm’s balls were tight against him and rolled them once, twice, gently and then buried himself deep in his ass in one thrust.

Grimmjow roared and Ichigo howled along with him.

Sweet heat exploded around his cock, and he could feel the shock waves as he lost control of his reiatsu, the waves of it pounding against the others. He rocked forward and down, forcing Grimmjow deeper into Kisuke, and the moans that broke from them both only fed the flames of his hunger. He loved that sound, loved that he was the one wringing it from them, and wanted to hear it again and again, until they were too hoarse to speak.

“Look at us, Kisuke,” he reached around Grimmjow and grasped the blond’s cock, the drooling, dripping length of it hot in his hand, “this is what you said you wanted so open those pretty eyes and watch carefully.  I’m going to fuck him now.  Fuck him and let him take you apart until you’re nothing but a quivering, come-soaked mess.”

He couldn’t have stopped now if someone had held a sword to his throat.   He started with a quick motion, rocking deeper and deeper into Grimmjow until he was working at a constant pace, shifting after every third or fourth stroke to aim for his prostate, pulling moans and curses from the Arrancar as he also almost brutally stroked Kisuke’s cock.

“Fuck, Kurosaki. Harder. Harder.” Grimmjow was holding himself up over Kisuke, the muscles in his arms rippling as he panted and bucked, his own cock plunging in and out of Kisuke at a wicked pace spurred on by Ichigo’s fucking and the redhead couldn’t tell if he was begging or threatening him. “I’m almost there.   Fuck.  That’s it.  Come on.  Fuck it out of me. Yes, yes…  right… there! Fuck!”

He jerked as if electrified, his whole body locking up as he poured his come into the blond beneath him, but Ichigo kept moving, slamming his hips against him until he was sure Grimmjow would have bruises on his ass.  He could feel his own orgasm just beyond his reach, and he stroked Kisuke’s cock in time with his own rhythm, determined to bring him off. His thighs trembled and he could feel his balls tighten as he dragged his thumb through the wet slit at the tip of Kisuke’s cock and then he heard it, that sob and gasp that he sometimes heard in his best dreams, and as Kisuke came, so did he.  Pulse after pulse of come striped Grimmjow’s chest and pooled on Kisuke’s belly and Ichigo filled Grimm’s ass as the reiatsu waves of a truly earth-shattering orgasm ripped through all three of them.

Later when consciousness had crept slowly back, they pulled themselves apart like pieces of a come-covered jigsaw puzzle, breathing heavily in the dim bedroom.

“So,” Grimmjow said, scrubbing a hand through his wild blue mane and looking at Ichigo, “I’d say the mad scientist’s experiment was a success.  What about you?”

Ichigo smothered a grin.  “I’d agree. Kisuke?”

The blond rolled over sleepily and settled between them, spooning back into the big Arrancar’s body while wrapping an arm around the redhead.   “Well, first impressions are positive, but you know how it is with these things.  One has to be able to recreate the results of an experiment several times before being certain of anything.”

In the recesses of Ichigo’s inner world, Zangetsu laughed.

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

on the 5th day of 🎄, canyousevmyheavydirtysoul gave to you...

Note: I’m posting this on mobile so please excuse the layout and lack of bold and italics. x

Candy canes with twentyonepilots.

Tyler:

A knock on your apartment door grabbed your attention away from your online Christmas shopping, and you lifted the laptop and blanket from your lap.

“Coming!” you called out, getting up from the couch and hurrying over to open the door. You were met with the joyful face of a Christmas elf carrying a sack full of candy canes. You gave him a sweet smile.

“Candygram!” Santa’s helper announced, reaching into the red sack.

“Did someone say ‘candygram’?” (Y/B/F) questioned with a grin, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she exited the kitchen and walked over to join you; you nodded.

“One for (Y/N),” the elf said, holding out the sweet treat, which you accepted with a beam and a thank you, “And none for (Y/B/F). Bye!”

(Y/B/F)’s face fell as her smile was replaced with an offended expression; you giggled uncontrollably as the elf scurried away.

“Hey,” you placed a supportive hand on (Y/B/F)’s shoulder and used your hip to shut the front door, “Don’t feel bad. These things are meaningless, anyway,” you shrugged, waving the cane around.

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better. But whatever,” she rolled her eyes before nodding to the sweet in your hand, “What’s it say?”

You looked down at the cane, using your thumb and index finger to hold up the greeting card. You began reading aloud.

“There is a magical simplicity to your walk. A careless beauty that sings to me. Eyes that pierce the air around me. A hidden magic that inspires me to write these words. You must be an angel. And maybe, if I’m lucky, you can be my heaven on earth.”

A silence filled the air for a moment before (Y/B/F) tore through it with a shriek.

“THAT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL! Oh wow, I need a moment,” she shook her head, dramatically collapsing onto the sofa. “Who’s it from?!”

You frowned as you noticed the lack of a signature. “They didn’t sign.”

~

Over the next week, the poem was all you could think about. The words had permanently etched itself into your brain, and the thought of who the author could be completely consumed your thoughts.

At first, you thought it was just a joke; who would want to send you something so stunning? But after reassurance from (Y/B/F), and lots of contemplation over it, you were swayed to believe otherwise.

The only problem was that you still had no idea who had sent it.

You and (Y/B/F) were walking up the steps to your building when you spotted your neighbour, Tyler, approaching the door from the other side. As he greeted you with a smile, he held the door open so that you could enter before he slipped out.

“Thanks, Tyler.”

“No problem, angel,” he smirked before disappearing into the night.

You winced in pain when (Y/B/F) suddenly gripped your arm, eyes wide.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“He just called you ‘angel’!”

“Yeah,” you nodded, rubbing your arm. (Y/B/F) looked at you expectantly, and then it hit you.

You must be an angel.

“Oh my god.”

Josh:

“Alright, the recipe seems simple enough,” you nodded, eyes skimming over the page you held in your hands. Pivoting your head slightly, you glanced over your shoulder at Josh, who was balancing all the necessary ingredients in his arms while using his hip to shut the door to the pantry. “Got everything?”

With a pant, Josh heaved all of the necessities onto the countertop before nodding. “Yeah, that’s everything.”

“Then let’s start,” you beamed, excitedly clapping your hands together. “Okay, so you grease the baking sheets with butter, and I’ll start on the syrup mixture.”

Josh’s face fell. “How come you get to do the actual making while I’m stuck greasing things?” he pouted, feeling very unjustified.

“Because the last time we tried making something together, you mistook the salt for sugar, and my sugar cookies were total flops. Now we’re not invited back to your aunt’s for Christmas this year.”

“Fair point,” he nodded, moving to grab the butter.

You read the recipe sheet once again to make sure you were using the correct quantities of everything before combining the sugar, water, corn syrup and cream of tartar in a large saucepan. While waiting for it to boil, you turned to Josh.

“This was a really good idea,” you complimented, smiling at him, “I think the kids are gonna love it.”

“Yeah, this’ll definitely secure our spot at Christmas with my family next year,” Josh rejoiced, moving next to you to take a look at the brewing mixture which would soon be moulded into candy canes.

“Unless you managed to screw this up too,” you chortled, leaning back against the countertop next to the stove.

Josh narrowed his eyes at you. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that since YOU’RE NOT EVEN LETTING ME DO ANYTHING,” he huffed, crossly folding his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” you giggled at his childishness, “you can put the flavouring and food colouring in.”

“Really?” he perked up.

“Mhm,” you nodded, grabbing the two small bottles and handing it over to your ecstatic boyfriend. You then moved the saucepan off of the hot plate and onto a cool one.

“Now?” he asked you, and when you nodded, he carefully decanted the liquid into the mixture in the pan.

“Perfect,” the both of you smiled. “Okay, now we have to pour it onto the tray in 8 inch strips. You wanna do the honours?”

“Hell yeah,” Josh beamed, hurriedly taking the pan and moving over to the prepared sheets, which he carefully poured the mixture out onto.

“It needs to cool for about 2 minutes and then we need to half them and then shape them. I need to run to the bathroom real quick. Will you be okay starting without me?” you questioned, slightly sceptical.

“Of course!”

“Okay. Don’t screw up!” you yelled as you rushed to the bathroom.

“I won’t screw up!”

~

“I screwed up,” Josh grimaced as he tried, unsuccessfully, to remove the candy from the baking sheet; he had let it cool for too long, and now it was set on the sheet, “Oh gosh, (Y/N)’s gonna kill me.”

“Yeah, she is,” Tyler chuckled, sitting on the nearby barstool and making no effort at all to help his distressed best friend.

“Dude, not helping,” Josh snarled, “Also, this is all your fault! If you hadn’t shown up and distracted me, we wouldn’t have this problem!”

“You mean you wouldn’t have this problem. I’m problem-free.”

“That’s cause you are the problem,” you growled as you entered the kitchen.

“Lovely to see you too, (Y/N),” Tyler smiled.

“Josh,” you sighed as you picked up the baking sheet and shook it around, the candy still stuck to it, “Really? I left you alone for 5 minutes.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Josh defended, “Tyler showed up just after you went into the bathroom and then-”

“It all went downhill from there,” you finished with a shake of your head, “Just… both of you, out of my kitchen. Now. I need to whip up another batch to make sure that Josh’s family doesn’t disown us completely.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

[geekprincess26]

Like Paint on Porcelain

Part 3 of my “Northern Lights” series (Part 1 | Part 2).

A silly mistake prevents Sansa Stark from getting her longtime wish for an afternoon spent sipping salted caramel hot chocolate in Wintertown’s coziest coffee house.  When her friend Jon Snow steps in to rectify it, Sansa gets more of a treat than she’d bargained for.

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s declined.”

Sansa Stark snapped her gaze from the scones populating the glass case to her right to face the cashier in front of her.

“Excuse me?” she asked, but her heart sank.

“It’s been declined.”  The young woman gave her an apologetic look.  “Do you have another card?”

Sansa did not.  She’d canceled all three of her credit cards when she’d left King’s Landing.  She could hardly afford them on her salary as a temporary receptionist in Winterfell University’s visual arts department, so her silver Northern Star Bank card was all she had.  

“Could you run it again, please?” she asked.  She checked her bank balance every evening, and she knew she should have more than enough money in her account to afford one of Hornwood Coffee House’s famous salted caramel hot chocolates.  Sansa’s strict budget, however, had made it an unattainable indulgence until now.  Thanks to Jon Snow, the graduate student who had asked her to make a shoulder bag for his sister’s Christmas gift, she had met that sister, Rhaenys Targaryen, who had convinced Sansa to fulfill requests for similar bags from a few of her friends.  “They’ll be marvelous,” Rhaenys had assured her, and, even though Sansa had not sewn anything for over a year, Rhaenys’s friends had agreed with the assessment.  

So Sansa had been thrilled when she had deducted all of her monthly expenses from her most recent paycheck and calculated that she had enough left over for a small indulgence.  She had longed for months to enjoy a quiet afternoon curled up on one of the overstuffed chairs scattered around the shop’s fireplace, sketching patterns for new bags while sipping on a salted caramel hot chocolate from one of the hand-painted mugs in which the shop served it in-house drinks.

She’d checked again last night.  The money had been there.  But now the young cashier was handing back Sansa’s useless bank card and telling her for a second time that it wasn’t.  The girl spoke loudly enough to make the barista behind the counter turn around and stop making the drink he’d begun preparing, and Sansa felt a flush as red as her hair sweep over her face and neck.

“Do you have another card?” the girl asked, and Sansa shook her head.

“Oh.”  The girl shrugged.  “Sorry, then.”

Sansa shook her head.  “No, it’s fine,” she murmured, and turned abruptly to make way for the next person in line.  She blinked back a rush of tears, which blurred the light of the flames dancing in the fireplace she was now facing.

Wait.  Light.

Sansa groaned.  She’d forgotten the e-mail she’d received last week from her utilities provider informing her that due to her usual due date’s occurring on a weekend this month, her automatic payment would be deducted from her bank account two days earlier than usual – three days before her next paycheck would be deposited into her account.  That meant the money would have been taken out today, leaving not quite enough for the hot chocolate she’d ordered.

“Sansa.”

Sansa wiped hastily at her eyes and turned around to face none other than Jon Snow, who was standing in front of the counter and regarding her with concern.

“Oh, hi, Jon,” she offered weakly.  “How are you doing?”

“Good.”  Jon nodded briefly.  He still looked concerned.  “Would you like to get a table?”

Sansa thought her cheeks must be the color of beets by now.  She shook her head.

“It’s all right,” she said.  “I was just leaving.”

“You ordered a salted caramel hot chocolate, right?”  Jon asked, as calmly as if her were inquiring after the location of the nearest bus stop.  He turned to the cashier.

“That, and a medium café Americano, please,” he said, handing the girl his own bank card.  Sansa, much as she did not want to, forced her feet in his direction.

“Jon, no, it’s all right,” she murmured.  “You really don’t have to.”

Jon shook his head.  “No problem.  I want to,” he said.  Sansa swallowed the protest on the tip of her tongue and replaced it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Sure.”  Jon took his card and the receipt from the cashier.  “Would you like to share a table?  Maybe the fireplace?”

Much as Sansa wanted to crawl into a dark hole and sip her hot chocolate there over the course of the next week or so, she nodded and reserved them two armchairs next to the fireplace.  A few minutes later, Jon set a green-and-white painted mug on the table next to her chair.  It was filled to the brim with something brown and steaming, and the drink was topped with an artful swirl of whipped cream, a drizzle of caramel sauce, and a barely visible sprinkle of salt.

“I think this belongs to you,” he said, settling himself into the chair next to hers, and Sansa felt another wave of heat sweep across her face.

“Thank you,” she said again.  “You really didn’t have to, Jon; it was my fault I can’t do math like a grown adult.”  The tears rushed back with a vengeance, and she stared at the fire and bit her lip.

Jon shook his head.  “It happens to the best of us,” he said, and Sansa, not expecting that, looked over to meet his gaze.  It gentled behind his owl-eyed glasses when he saw the moisture in her own.

“Really, it does,” he repeated.  “I pulled much worse than that in college.”

Sansa’s eyes widened.  Somehow, she could not imagine Jon’s having been that irresponsible.  Jon, however, continued without missing a beat.

“I went out to a bar with some friends,” he said, “and when I had to pay, I realized I’d forgotten my wallet.”  His hand reached back to rub his neck.  “And I was drunk enough to think I’d left it in the bathroom.  I stayed in there so long, they almost called security on me.  I had to borrow the money from Aegon.”  His face twisted at the memory as though he had just eaten a whole lemon.  A giggle escaped Sansa, and then another, and before she could swallow a third, Jon had begun chuckling along with her.

“Yeah,” he said when they had stopped laughing.  “Egg’s never let me live that one down.”

Sansa shook her head, still smiling.  “Well,” she said, “in any case, I think I’ll just make a salted caramel hot chocolate the next time I want one.”

Jon raised an eyebrow.  “You can make those?”

Sansa shrugged.  “I used to do it back in college, years ago,” she said, and refrained from adding that once she had begun dating Joffrey Baratheon, he and his mother had mocked her mercilessly any time she had so much as mentioned making anything from a dress to a dozen cookies by hand rather than purchasing them from a person of taste.  “It’s not terribly hard, especially if you use chocolate milk and a bit of butter instead of melting down a piece of chocolate.  You just have to make sure the brown sugar dissolves properly before you stir it into the chocolate mixture.”

Jon gave her a bemused smile.  “You and Uncle Jorah should definitely get together some time,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.  “He doesn’t make hot chocolate, but he does brew his own beer.  He’s got almost half the basement set up for it, and any time I come over to help him he’s got another idea for another different batch.  How he keeps all the different ingredients and flavors straight in his head I have no idea, but he’s a master.”  He nodded at Sansa.  “I just do whatever I’m told, but I think you’d really understand it.  I’m sure he’d love to show you some time.”

Sansa blinked.  Had he just asked her to visit his aunt and uncle’s house again?  Or maybe he thought his sister would invite her, as Rhaenys had done for Daenerys’s New Year’s Eve party the prior month?  But Jon said nothing else and merely rubbed the back of his neck again.  Sansa took a long sip of her salted caramel hot chocolate and sighed with delight.  It melted over her tongue in a wave of velvety sweetness and left behind the most delightful aftertaste of toffee.  

“Mmmm,” she said, her eyes widening.  She took another draught and gave another moan of delight, and Jon grinned like the Cheshire cat before emitting a rumble of laughter.

“Well, it is that good,” Sansa said, directing her sweetest What-are-you-looking-at? stare at him.  That only made Jon laugh harder – much as her brother Robb would have done back in Riverrun, when they were children.

“Well, have you ever had one?” Sansa asked when Jon had done laughing.  He shook his head.

“Oh, you have to try it some time,” she said, then added, “unless you’re not a hot chocolate person, of course.”

“No, I like hot chocolate,” answered Jon.  “I just haven’t tried it here before, is all.  I don’t come here much.”

“Oh.  Well, I can tell you that it’s wonderful,” said Sansa, taking another sip.  Her eyes widened in pleasure again, and Jon’s eyes twinkled.

“Maybe I’ll try it next time I’m here,” he conceded, “although I agree with you.”  Sansa looked at him, uncomprehending.  “I mean, I usually make my drinks at home,” he continued, “although I probably don’t do it as well as you or Uncle Jorah.”

Sansa smiled and shook her head.  “Well, like I said, it’s not that hard,” she replied.  “I mean, once I get back in practice, I could show – or tell you, really, or e-mail or text you a recipe if you want.”

Jon’s smile spread to the corners of his brown eyes.  “That would be great,” he agreed.  “And – well, I can’t give you any recipes in return, because only Uncle Jorah really gets what he does to make his beer, but if you meet with him, he’ll show you the whole process.  He’ll talk the ear off anyone who will listen to him describe it.  And he’s always keen on giving samples of his drinks.”  He scratched the back of his head, tousling his curls into a more beautifully tangled mess than they already were.  “Actually, plenty of what they served at the New Year’s party was his.  Did you have anything you liked in particular?”

Sansa tilted her head.  “Actually,” she said, “I did; I think – yes, Rhaenys said it was blackberry cider.”

That earned her another grin from Jon.  “Good choice,” he said.  “I remember helping him out on that batch.  It wasn’t nearly as hard as brewing beer.  We didn’t have to worry about any hops; we just had to get the yeast mixture right, and then afterwards listen to Aunt Dany yell at Uncle Jorah for not cleaning the basement thoroughly enough…”

Almost three hours later, when the cashier trotted over to the fireplace and informed them that the shop would be closing in ten minutes, Jon checked the old-fashioned watch on his left wrist and raised an eyebrow.

“This is a first,” he said.  “I’ve never been kicked out of a coffee shop before.”

Sansa did not try to bite back her laughter this time, and Jon gave her the wide grin that showed off his crooked tooth and his crinkling eyes.

“Well,” he said once they had deposited their mugs on the counter, “if you ever want to share a recipe with someone who’s been kicked out of a public establishment, I can give you my phone number.  If you want, that is.”  He stopped in front of the door and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“Oh.”  Sansa stopped in her tracks as well, but she hesitated only a moment before fishing her phone out of her purse and offering it to him.  The screen cover was cracked down the middle and the corners of the case were dented, but Jon did not mind in the least, for when he took the phone from Sansa, he smiled again, and Sansa felt a sweet, warm trickle travel down her throat into her stomach and fingers and toes, and she decided to forgive her utility company.

After all, mistakes happened to even the best of people.

[reaping-cain]

67) “Don’t look at me like that.”

This was sent a month ago ;A; apologies for the delay!

I thought of this cute modern apartment au where Cullen and Kaeran are neighbours who wage petty wars against the other. Meanwhile the other tenants in the 6plex are begging them to stop or are rooting for certain sides.

Cullen x Kaeran (modern rivals!au) 1837 words

Cullen had the day off from work and if he was honest with himself, it was a Makersend. Too many long hours, endless meetings and deadlines and troubled sleep made him feel like a walking corpse. Unfortunately for him, it was impossible to go back to sleep. He thought about spending the early morning reading in bed with a hot mug of tea. He couldn’t even remember the last time that he indulged in something so simple.

With nothing to do but wait for the water to boil, Cullen leaned against the window looking on to the backyard and shared garden space. The summer had odd weather but Josephine, the owner of the building, still managed to make the garden flourish. Though Cullen seriously doubted he had the gift of a green thumb, he still appreciated the sight of various flowers and their fragrances. Josephine had even planted lavender for him and saw to drying the buds for his personal consumption. He hadn’t expected that kindness and reciprocated by baking her a batch of his mother’s butterscotch cookies.

Moving into this small community had been one of the best decisions he had made. The last two years being some of his best years in recent memory and it helped that he didn’t feel so lonely. He had a longstanding rendez-vous with Dorian every Wednesday evening to play chess and trash talk. He also got to know Dorian’s boyfriend who insisted on being called The Iron Bull (“But you can call me ‘Bull’, all close friends do”). Cullen always enjoyed picking Bull’s brain about anything from military history and workout routines to baked goods.

He also got to know Sera. His first impressions of her were…explosive. Yet as time went by, their interactions evolved from her shouting “Oi, you!” to her smuggling jars of homemade honey (the lid was always sticky) to his kitchen table. At first it bothered him how she managed to get into his place and despite the number of times he’s asked her to stop doing it, he resigned himself that as long as nothing else was done to his place (or anything stolen) that having a free supply of the liquid gold appear at random was a small price to pay. He leaves handwritten cookie recipes for her to consider through her mail slot (they test the recipes together every two weeks and have only had to use the fire extinguisher twice).

The owners of the building lived there too. Josephine acquired it through her family and insisted on living there to be readily available for any issues. It had been her first home away from home and had grown fond of the place. Cullen once asked her why, that surely she would want some peace away from her tenants and perhaps move into a bigger place, Josephine would smile and say that she had grown too fond of her place and the sense of community that was fostered among the tenants. Like the garden she brought to life, she couldn’t part from the place where she re-established herself.    

It should have been the hissing of the kettle that brought him back to the present. Instead, it was the new neighbor above him.

“Hey!”

He never caught her name but knew she was Dalish. He couldn’t remember if she was a teaching assistant or a tutor. If he was honest, he didn’t care much and only got word of her through his other neighbors.

“Come on, don’t be an asshole!”

Maker, she had only moved in the previous month and was already insufferable. He recalled the first week how she kept stumbling and dropping things in the dead of night; the crashing of unknown (yet always heavy) items startled him awake and he barely slept well.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she huffed.

Absolutely insufferable. Who was she even talking to?

Cullen poked his head out of the window to catch a glimpse of something small and grey rushing down the spiral staircase. A slight pinging sound alerted him that small pebbles were falling from above. Only they weren’t pebbles. Were those…?

He wasn’t going to get involved in whatever shenanigans his upstairs neighbor was doing. Contenting himself with making a relaxing brew, he focused on his tea. He was about to grab a teabag when he heard something thud against the backdoor.

“What in the…” He had drawn the curtain from the window only to jump back in alarm. Staring back at him was a squirrel, its beady eyes searching for more delectable snacks. Why it thought that Cullen would have it, he couldn’t rationalize. The fact that this squirrel was daring enough to dangle itself from the window screen to pester him was of concern to him. Where would it end?

The squirrel maneuvered around the screen, flicking its tail and making odd chirping sounds, almost cooing, as though it could endear itself to the human and trick him into feeding it something. Cullen thwacked the screen to jostle the rodent, which only responded with longer squawks, now seemingly annoyed. As though Cullen was at fault for not following protocols, that it was his duty as a human to furnish food upon demand.

That’s it, he’d had enough; Cullen turned the knob, alerting the squirrel that took it as a cue to jump off the screen. If Cullen wasn’t so annoyed he would have appreciated the parkour move. Tea abandoned, he walked past the small back porch to assess the situation. The same squirrel ignored Cullen and raced to snatch a peanut that seemingly fell from the sky; from there, it launched towards the garden to hide its prize.

Another peanut fell from above, nearly hitting Cullen. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was nearly pelted with the peanut, the scavenging squirrel that was ruining Josephine’s hard work, or the fact that when he looked up he saw a scurry of them lounging about the various steps that made the spiral staircase. It was, quite possibly, a combination of all three. Seeing the intruder, they all scrambled for the safety of the trees, some even crossing the electric pole lines with no care for how high off the ground they were as long as they escaped the angry stranger.

He obviously had no nuts to give them, so why stick around?

Cullen thought he would have to knock on his neighbor’s backdoor but instead found her lounging on a patio chair (her legs stretched to rest on its twin) wearing nothing but the smallest shorts he’s ever seen (he hoped that it wasn’t her underwear), a thin tank top with holes on the bottom hem and the most ridiculous cardigan that nearly consumed her; despite how it practically engulfed her, it was the only decent thing she was wearing at the moment.

She glanced up from her work (knitting something dreadful, he surmised) before fussing with the yarn, carefully transferring the loops from one double-pointed needle to a vacant one without losing a stitch.

“Morning, you must be my downstairs neighbor. How can I help?”

The fact that she barely gave him eye contact frustrated him further but he had to remind himself that he wanted to make this quick. His plans for relaxation had no room for lecturing his neighbor about common courtesy.

He also seriously doubted that she would be receptive to that kind of talk.

“I’ll make this quick since you seem busy but I’m Cullen, I live in the apartment below you and I noticed that the squirrels have become a bit, well, bothersome.”

“Bothersome,” she repeated, this time her hands paused as she looked at him. He wasn’t sure if the look on her face was confusion or incredulousness.

“Yes, I was in my kitchen and this, this squirrel was hanging from my window.”

“Well, that’s unusual,” she said, “have you been feeding them or something?”

Maker, what a silly line of questioning.

He didn’t know how to proceed, this entire conversation was absurd and it was clear to him now that it was useless to talk sense into this woman. The only rational alternative was that she was being purposely obtuse about the whole matter. 

That had to be it.

“You must be joking,”

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You’re obviously feeding the squirrels,” he said, trying to keep the edge of disbelief from his tone.

“Well obviously I’m not if they’re hanging off your window screen,” she replied coolly. The fact that she maintained eye contact with him while knitting with ease was unnerving.  

“That makes no sense! If I was feeding them then why would I come to you to complain about it?”

“Beats me,” she shrugged while showing no signs of slowing down the movement of her needles. Cullen felt his eye twitch slightly, convinced that this was an act of intimidation.

Blessed Andraste, this woman was difficult.

“Nice try, but you’ll have to do a lot better than that. I practically tripped on one of your tree-rats just coming up here.”

“Well that’s rude. First of all, they’re squirrels, not ‘tree-rats’,” as if her mocking tone wasn’t already grating on his nerves, her exaggerated air quotes further raised his hackles, “and maybe avoid stomping about so much like you’ve got anvils for shoes.”

“I do not stomp!”

“Listen, Callum…” she began.

“It’s Cullen,” He really didn’t want to bite her head off but she was truly testing him.

“Right, anyway, tell you what, I’ll take into consideration what you’ve told me and if you’ve still got a problem, my visiting hours are from one to four on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“That…makes no sense, we’re Friday.”

“Consider this a courtesy from me to you. Was there anything else?” She even smiled, which only made him feel less at ease.

“Um, n-no?”

“Awesome,” she resumed her knitting, but not before shooing him with a wave of her hand.

Cullen pondered about the encounter as he descended the steps, noting that for now the squirrels kept their distance. He realized about halfway down that he was carefully walking on the balls of his feet, his neighbor’s earlier comment making him embarrassingly aware of how bullish he might’ve come across. Not wanting to stick to that particular train of thought, he tried to dispel it as he reentered the kitchen, trying to remember what he was doing before the strange encounter.

He didn’t have long to think, witnessing the kettle furiously sputtering hot water and steam from the element, now red-hot from being left on the entire time. Cullen notched the dial to ‘off’ and carefully poured the remains of the scorching water into his mug, careful to not get any of it on himself.

Now seemingly quiet, Cullen went to his pantry for a teabag. He barely had time to dunk it into the mug, letting out a sigh, before he heard the telltale clawing coming from his screen door.

He should’ve just gone to sodding work.

[arazialotis]

Pinch of Nutmeg - Part 4

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: 2900

Summary: The reader is a young and upcoming chef who takes up an opportunity in Vancouver where she by chance befriends Jensen.  After several years apart and seeing each other at a convention. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

Again, this is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.

Special thanks and shout out to @misguidedconqueress for reviewing, editing, suggestions, and as always putting up with me.

-----

Scott was anxious to get back to Vancouver. He had been on a tour of the restaurants in the States and had been busy with a few TV promotions. He arrived early to check on the kitchen and dining room. It was rumored that this site may soon be privileged with a visit by a Michelin star inspector. Although, he didn't want to overthink it, everything had to be in exactly the right place. He was expecting to start this morning by working on a seasonal menu in order to give the restaurant that extra notch it needed.

He was walking through the dining room when something across the street caught his attention. An old competitor's restaurant was being gutted out. “What is that?!” He yelled at his staff. “Why was I not informed?!” He demanded.

He became more furious when no one answered him. He ran his fingers through his wavy red hair. There was so much work he had to catch up on if he would even be considered for a star but a new competitor could jeopardize the entire process. He threw down his apron and headed out across the street to get a better look.

Although he had seen workers going in and out with materials, the windows themselves were lined with butcher's paper so the public could not view inside. On one of the parchments was scrawled ‘The Spotted Zebra - Microbrewery and Eatery - Coming Soon.’ He scoffed at the name. On top of a new menu and a barely functional staff this was the last thing he needed.

He pulled at the door which was unlocked and walked in. Wood floor was being laid down, and a bar spanning the east wall with cabinets made from French doors. The workers seemed occupied and he walked through unnoticed. He continued to make his way to the back discovering part of an open kitchen and another portion hidden in the back. Although most was up and running, some appliances were being replaced and updated.

“No shit,” He said when he saw you working with another chef, writing down a recipe. You turned around and smiled. “Was it always your plan to stab me in the back?”  He joked, relieved it was you.

“Scott!” You yelled ecstatic. “Took you long enough to find out, are you losing your edge?” You teased back.

“I should have had you sign a contract about becoming competition.” He said joyfully with a little bit of seriousness.

“Oh no, no, no. We are going to help each other.” He raised an eyebrow waiting to hear your scheme. “You see once customers realize your entrees that could fit on a spoon won't fill them up, they'll waltz on over here for some real food and wash away the guilt of spending too much money at your place with a beer.”

“That seems more parasitic than mutual.” Scott commented.

“But it's not! Because those who start out here will have lowered their inhibitions and I'll send ‘em your way to empty their wallets.” You played.

“When I said you'd come back to work for me, this is not what I had in mind.” He confessed.

“You gotta let me take flight, Chef… speaking of flights, come here.” you said leading him into the building where you had also purchased the first floor for the brewery.

You led him through the maze of fermentors and kettles. “I think I want to turn this wall to glass so customers can see the process.” You described.

You led him to a testing station. “We have a sour and a saison ready to go.” You said pouring them out into a couple small glasses.

“No bias in that decision, presumably?” He asked knowing they had always been your favorites.

“Of course not.” You smirked before sipping on the sour.

Scott's brow furrowed as he caught a glimpse of Jensen walking down the sidewalk and into the other part of the building. “What's he doing here?” He asked with a sense of urgency and protectiveness in his voice.

You had avoided telling Scott that you and Jay were together, afraid of how he would react. “We flew the yeast in from Belgium, it gives a unique flavor throughout all the brews. Can you pick out what we used to flavor the sour?” You tried to divert the conversation.

“He has done nothing but break your heart time and time again.” Scott lectured.

“Just be nice okay?” You pleaded quietly seeing Jensen walk into the brewery. You poured a tasting glass for Jay too.

“Coste.” “Ackles.” They both greeted each other coldly as they shook hands in what you could only assume was a contest for dominance.

Jensen came to you and planted a kiss on your lips without saying a word. Out of respect for Scott, you tried to sneak out of it by handed Jay a beer. “Here.” You took another big sip of yours.

Scott set his untouched beer down. “I have a busy week coming up, I'll try to catch up with you later.”  

“Scott, “ You called after him, but he didn't turn around. You sighed in frustration.

“What was he doing here?” Jensen asked you.

You rolled your eyes at the antics of both these men, so similar. “We discussed this when we picked the location, he is nothing but a mentor and a friend.” You reminded Jensen, leaving out the ‘best’ that should have gone in front of friend.

“I don't know if he thinks the same of you.” Jensen argued, full of jealousy.

“He only has my best interest in mind. If you stopped acting like a jerk around him, maybe he would loosen up.” You suggested.

“You think I'm being a jerk?” He asked slightly offended.

“To him… yeah.” You confessed, to which Jay tensed further. “Listen, this is not some love triangle. You and only you have my heart. But Scott is family, I don't want to have to give that up.”

You glanced back out the window as the first few snowflakes of a new winter storm started to fall. “Can I show you the progress or are you still going to have a sour attitude?’

“Hey, sour beer, sour me.” Jensen finally started to lighten up.

“Then try the saison.” You directed switching his cups.

“Huh.. nutty…” He commented after taking a sip. “So we are on schedule?” He asked following you back into the kitchen.

“Yes, construction should be finished by the end of the week. I’m just putting the final touches down on the menu along with rotating weekly specials. As for the beer the rest of the batches should be finished in another two weeks.” You explained to him.

Not only were you and Jensen dating now, you were also business partners. Jensen technically owned the restaurant as you could never afford such a location. He hired you on as the head chef, and for now you filled the managerial role until a fitting applicant came along. Yes, in the back of your mind you knew this could extremely complicate already complicated things such as your boyfriend paying your salary, your future if the relationship went south, and disagreements about business strategies. You were probably just overthinking it at this point.

“And the beers are the ones we sampled earlier this month?” Jensen questioned for clarification snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, just in much bigger batches. Here try this.” You handed him a slice of cheesecake with orange blossoms and coriander. “It should pair well with the nuttiness of the saison.”

“God.” He said, mouth practically still full and already shoveling in another bite. “My trainer is going notice if I keep coming around here. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He said, taking another bite.

You couldn’t help but feel some pride. “Guess that means I’m doing my job.”

“Okay, what else do you got?” Jay asked.

“Hmm… tonight… I think I finalized the recipe for what I am going to call a curry.” You handed him a spoon. “It’s vegan to make our restaurant more VC friendly. Black eyed peas, potatoes, coconut milk, various spices.” You watched his reaction.

“It’s got a kick to it.” He said, immediately picking up on the berbere.

“Too much?” You asked.

“Perfect for the winter menu, warms you to the bones.” He responded.

“Okay, let’s see.. Oh of course, veggie samosas with a cucumber sauce.” You gave him a small bite. “Which will go perfectly with the lamb. And I don’t have any right now, but we will have risotto and poutine which will be daily selections based on what needs to be used up in the kitchen.”

Jensen kissed you on the cheek. “Everything is perfect.”

“Other than food, I do have a few interviews lined up for a managerial position tonight if you want to sit in on them?” You offered.

“I trust you, you know this better than me.” He assured.

“I also need to finalize my recipes with my sous, I’ll see you at home?” You asked, unsure if he would be at the apartment or if he had an early morning on set - making the trailer a much more convenient option.

“Always back to business with you. I’ll be at home, please make it home before 3:00 am tonight.” He urged.

“I’ll try.” You smiled and kissed him. “But no promises.”

“If it becomes consistent, I may just end up sleeping here.” He threatened lightheartedly.

“I’ll get a cot for my office.” You playfully challenged back.

When Jensen finally left, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief, feeling at peace again. Yes, you loved both of them to death, in different ways, and enjoyed your time with them individually. But balancing both relationships was exhausting - especially when they collided. You gulped down the rest of Jensen’s beer that he had left on the counter hoping it would help distract your mind from them.

The next two weeks flew by in a blur. You did secure a manager with extensive experience, which had thankfully relieved a load of off you. Opening day you were the first to arrive to the restaurant. The 12-plus hour days had been taking a toll, but you knew opening weeks could make or break the entire business. You and the staff had prepared most everything last night, but you wanted to inspect every last detail.

As you were folding more napkins, a task that always need to be done, your phone buzzed.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey gorgeous,” Jensen greeted you. “Did you sleep in like I suggested?”

“Mmhmm.” You lied.

“You are already at the restaurant, aren’t you?” Jensen called you out.

“Yup.” You answered briefly, still focused on folding napkins.

He sighed a little before suggesting, “Would you want me to tweet something about opening day?”

You put down the napkins, thinking about it for a moment. “Only if less than 5 people show up.”

“I’ll wait for your word then. I am positive it will go great.” He encouraged. “I’ll bring Jare and Misha down tonight too, after we finished for the day. “

“Don’t expect any special treatment though.” You laughed.

“I know better than to expect that from you.” He joked. “But seriously, good luck tonight. I love you.”

“Love you too.” You ended before hanging up and immediately diving back into work.

Staff started trickling in throughout the day to help clean, polish, review the menu and pairings, dice, simmer, and anything else that was needed. A few minutes before the time was here, you and the staff had a celebratory moment tearing off the butcher’s paper from the windows. There were a few people waiting outside in line - not a remarkable number by any means - but still a small victory.

“Okay, I just want to be a sap before we open those doors.” You started with the staff gathered around. “We’ve all worked really hard to get where we are right now. Over the weeks, I’ve selected each one of you by hand and have gotten to know you as family. I am fully confident in the success of this restaurant because I am fully confident in the abilities of everyone of you. Tonight will be business as usual, we’ve had our practice runs and worked out the kinks. Mistakes may happen but that is how we learn. Nothing will be different in tonight's service than from the training we’ve had together. However, if we make it through alive, let’s break open the bottles with a little celebration after we close shop for the first time.” You toasted your staff before signaling to the manager to open the door.

The first few hours were busy but you had open tables. It wasn’t until after five that the lobby started filling up at which point you encouraged your wait staff to pursue a faster turnover rate. By 7 o’clock, there was a line out the door. You made the decision to offer those waiting in the cold, coffee or a sample of soup. Throughout the night you jumped between the open front and hidden back of the kitchen, making sure recipes were being properly executed, helping out if someone was behind, and plating. You were in the middle of carving a rack of lamb when Jensen caught your attention from across the dining area. He had been intently watching you the entire time. Jared and Misha were with him chatting over drinks and entrees.

‘Is it good?’ You silently mouthed to him with a thumbs up.  

He signed okay with his hand mouthing back. ‘Perfect’.

Part of you knew he was just saying that to ease your mind but it really did help make you feel better. You quickly went back to work as orders kept piling in. And there was no rest until you closed the kitchen even though the bar would be open for a few more hours as groups finished up their drinks and appetizers. It gave you and your staff time to clean up and get prepped again for tomorrow.

Finally, when the last guest left and the restaurant was scrubbed clean, you celebrated with your staff, having ordered in a few boxes of champagne. You had invited Scott to join you for the after party but lost hope when he didn’t show up an hour after the lights at his restaurant went out.

Eventually your staff trickled out and only you remained. You went through the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer counting up inventory to put a list together of what supplies you’d have to pick up from the market tomorrow. You also wanted to get a head start tracking orders to gauge the popularity of dishes. You were working on a spreadsheet when Jensen came into your office around 3 am. You were hardly shocked, so many people had been in and out the last couple of weeks it felt normal.

“Hey, am I ever going to see you again?” He softly joked.

You shut your laptop and looked up at him with tired eyes. “When we are old and retired, I suppose.” You joked back with a weary smile.

“You know, we could find someone else to take your role, freeing up time, giving you more managerial responsibilities.” Jensen suggested.

You thought about it for a minute but didn’t agree. “Jay, this is my one shot to see if I have what it takes to be up there with the big players.”  You could tell he was still unconvinced. “Just give it a few more weeks. The crowds will settle down, staff will learn the flow and take up more tasks.”

“But where does it end? You make it here, so you have to try out New York, and then host a show on Food Network.” He hypothetically made up.

“I would never ask you to give up your ambitions for me.” You defended with a furrowed brow.

“You’re right. I know.” Jensen admitted. “It’s just I’m tired, and it’s late and I miss you.”

He walked around the desk and started rubbing your shoulders. He eyed the nape of your neck and bent down to softly kiss it sending shivers down your spine.

“Jensen?” You asked, embarrassed. He responded by rubbing his hands up your neck and down over your collarbone. He kissed you again, behind your ear. “Seriously, I’m sweaty and sticky, and probably covered in food.” You giggled.

“Then it’s a good thing I like your cooking.” He flirted slowly starting to unbutton your chef's jacket.

His continued advances and deep voice made him impossible to resist. You calmly set the laptop into the drawer. “Only if I can clear the desk in one swipe.” You stated giving him an ultimatum.

“It’s your office…” He reminded you waiting for your answer.

 A sly smile crossed your face as you used both arms to clear the desk of folders and paperwork hardly caring of the mess you would be required to clean up. You laughed as you jumped around to face him. He closed the gap between you causing you to slide onto the empty desk. His waist locked you against the hardwood as he continued to kiss your neck and finished unbuttoning the jacket. You laid down on the desk exhausted but equally excited for what was to come. Jensen followed you down, deeply kissing your lips. 

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