#also dipping into colored lines a little bit more this is what we call experimenting lololol

[aberooski]

Updating/redesigning my Enchantix refs for the GX girls to try and ease back into drawing instead of working on Chazzerella and I actually really do need to write really badly like fr this is bad akskskskksksksks

[all-the-pacs]

#2 - Pac-Man (1980)

If you put a conch shell up to your ear, you'll hear Pac-Man! Much less popular is putting your finger in your ear and scratching it to hear the sea.

Welcome to the 1980s, and for that matter, welcome to the genesis of Pac-Man himself! Yep, it only took us... 3 posts, but we're actually playing the original Pac-Man. No preamble, no Galaxian, no nothin'.

Now, the development of the original Pac-Man is something so, so many people have talked at length about and may as well have made their thesis. Stuff like how originally the four ghosts were all the same color, or maybe the maze being different, or other such details.

Now, that's way out of our jurisdiction as we're here to play the finished games and talk about them at length--however iconic they may be. So, our apologies in advance as this post sounds a lot like stuff you've most likely already heard thousands of times. But if we skipped this game on the principle of "we've already played it many, many times", it wouldn't feel right, y'know?

...So anyways we would like to remark that, yes, the flyer we showcased is to be trusted, and we are playing the Midway version today. Why not the Japanese original? Well, there's one good reason that's tangentially related to what we discussed above:

Yep, over in Japan, he started out as Puck Man, not Pac-Man. In fact, that's not the only character name difference, as the ghost gang were also called by completely different names in this version as well. Later on, however, as Pac-Man exploded in popularity worldwide, eventually Puck Man also turned into Pac-Man over in Japan as well. It's probably for the best, too, because remove just a little connecting line in that P, and you get a very different experience.

The starting screen for Pac-Man is about as basic as you get. 10 points for normal pellets. 50 points for the blinking Power Pellets (not pictured, as they were mid-blink). 4 characters in addition to Pac-Man, with their personalities (their "character", if you may) and nicknames displayed.

Blinky: The "shadow" of the group. He tries his best to be Pac-Man's shadow by simply targetting wherever he is, plain and simple. He likes the top right corner.

Pinky: The "speedy" one of the group. Always one step ahead, she's... well, aiming for a little bit ahead of where Pac-Man currently is. She likes the top left corner.

Inky: The "bashful" part of the group. As you can probably imagine, he doesn't care much for targetting Pac-Man alone, usually paying attention to where Blinky is and where Pac-Man is directly headed towards and making his move if Blinky's also in hot pursuit. Multi-faceted, that Inky. He likes the bottom right corner.

Clyde: The "pokey" member of the group. He doesn't really try to go for Pac-Man directly, more than he does try to play goalie for his own little portion of the maze, only dipping away from it to try and take a quick swing. He likes the bottom left corner.

You might notice I'm going into their behaviors in addition to their characters, and... Well, that's for a good reason. While Galaxian was content to have enemies act more-or-less the same way beyond two of them employing a buddy system and having slightly differing flight patterns, Pac-Man's true revolution was that it was the start of what we now know as AI in terms of gaming.

Before now, it was almost unheard of for enemies in a game to be able to look at the immediate state of the game, and react accordingly and consistently, with most early attempts at this being very rudimentary, or involving some form of turn-based. This was the first big game where enemies would respond to your inputs in real time, and man do we take that for granted nowadays.

Anyways, that start screen is similarly incredibly simple. Just one extra life like in Galaxian, but at least in this case, the scoring is a lot more dynamic than it is in Galaxian--so, y'know, it's actually possible to get it! (We jest, we jest. But we do honestly feel like in comparison to Galaxian's requirements for an extra life being way too high, Pac-Man's is a bit too low. Literally all it took was one run where we focused more on actually playing the game than grabbing screenshots for this project for us to get it trivially.)

We're gonna be real with you--from this point on, a lot of our observations are probably gonna be real banal sounding, because we've basically gone over a lot of the more complex stuff (albeit skimming over it, admittedly.) But on the extreme off-chance you aren't aware, yes, the gameplay of Pac-Man involves you being put in the center of a symmetrical maze with two tunnels to the left and right. You're able to go through those tunnels in order to circle back around to the other side of the maze. Across the maze are a bunch of little pellets/dots, as well as four Power Pellets/Energizer Pellets/Flashing Power Bait/Gaaaaah okay let's talk a little bit about this in a bit, but all you need to know is you need to eat all the dots in the maze to win the level. If the ghosts make contact, you die, and you lose a life.

Now, this is something we will make a pointed mention of now. At the start of Pac-Man, you start by moving left by default. Left! Keep this in mind for later. It will be very, very important. ...Not for this game, though, we'll only really start to care about starting by moving left later. Much later, depending on how things go.

Oh, and while we're here--if you eat a certain quantity of pellets, a Bonus Fruit will spawn in the center, right below the Ghost pen. Eat it for extra points--the higher the round, you'll be seeing different bonus fruits, and they'll be worth more and more points, up to 5000! Yep, much like most other Arcade games of the era, it's a simple "get the highest score" deal, with no finite "end" defined by the game itself. (If you're raising an eyebrow, don't worry, we'll get back to you.)

And of course, we couldn't talk about this game without talking about the Power Pellets/other names. Of course, with four enemies that all behave differently in hot pursuit, you need a little something to combat them to keep it fair. You can always outmaneuver them, but alternatively you can grab one of the four Power Pellets in the maze. By grabbing them, the ghosts will not only turn around immediately, but turn blue and try to avoid Pac-Man for a limited time. If you actually touch a ghost in this state, Pac-Man will gobble them up, leaving just their eyeballs to wander back to the ghost pen, where they will reappear as normal. This is already a great tactic for survival, but there's also a risk-reward element; the more ghosts you eat, the more points you get. 200 for the first, 400 for the second, 800 for the third, and 1600 for the fourth! Note this stacks upon itself, so if you manage to eat all 4 ghosts in one Power Pellet, you're looking at 3000 points right there.

...Oh, right. Real quick, let me get back to you on the whole "Power Pellet" naming confusion thing. See, early on, Arcade games weren't exactly powerful to display full-on information about the games just yet. Usually that'd be saved for being on the actual cabinet itself, on the sides of the screens. As a result, basically anything not in the actual game data itself was heavily, heavily susceptible to inconsistent names. The pellets didn't have a name in-game, so in the future they'd get all sorts of names, officially and unofficially. Let's just agree to call the small ones pellets and the large ones Power Pellets for the time being, okay?

Also, here's a detail some people don't know--the ghosts aren't just, all-the-time in pursuit according to their AI. On some occasions, usually at the very start of a round, they'll instead beeline for their respective corners. From there, they'll alternate between chasing after Pac-Man and playing goalie for their respective corners of the maze. This is part of what makes the ghosts seem so "erratic" in this game, as one moment they will directly target you, and the next moment they will disregard everything and instead head right for their respective patrol points.

You might be asking what happens if you eat all the pellets, and usually, it's pretty underwhelming. The maze blinks between blue and white, and then the maze resets anew, marking your progress by showing the Bonus Fruit of the current level on the rightmost spot.

Of course, something happens if you beat enough levels, unlike in Galaxian...

The Intermissions! If you clear certain rounds, the game will play these little skit cutscenes featuring Pac-Man and Blinky, set to a repeating jingle. After this, the game starts another round as you'd expect it to. The first intermission is fairly standard, with nothing much to say on it.

The second intermission, however... Is perhaps a little confusing. Maybe another one will clear things up?

Oh! While we're over here, we might as well bring this up. The first few bonus fruit are indeed fruit--Cherries, Strawberries, Oranges, Apples, then Melons--but then after those, the bonus fruit get a little more... esoteric. For example, after melons are the Flagship from Galaxian! What do you suppose that tastes like, anyways? Not pictures is that after this is a Bell, and then after that is a Key. As in, like, a standard key for a padlock! After the key, there's no change in both visuals and point values, it's just keys for days. This is also exactly why we even bothered talking about Galaxian, by the way.

As for that last intermission...

...Well then! Talk about a good ol' case of early installment weirdness, huh?

Okay, it's worth mentioning that originally, Namco and Bally Midway very insistently referred to the Ghost gang as "Monsters". Not Ghosts. Presumably, this was to cover the truth all along that the ghosts... Weren't ghosts at all! Instead, they had these weird slug designs.

However, uh, very few people actually called them monsters. People were content to just call them ghosts because, well, it moves like a ghost, it looks like a ghost, it makes a weird little "wheww-wheww" like a ghost might, they were ghosts! It seems like this concept of them secretly being these weird slug-like creatures was scrapped very early on, as we think the idea that they are very specifically ghosts crops up as early as the mid-80s--and when they did that, Namco never looked back. They didn't quite give up on the name "Monsters" so soon, and as we'll see in a bit, this didn't stop them from allowing some strange non-ghostly depictions of these guys very early on, but this angle definitely didn't last very long. Quite funny, seeing as this is basically as close to a "plot twist" the game has to offer!

Now, some of you who are aware of glitches in video games might've heard us mention the game goes on forever and hold contention with that. And to be truthful--there is, indeed, a glitch that prevents the game from lasting forever. But we've made the executive decision to discuss that at a later date. There's two reasons for that:

There's something much, much later down the road that expressly relies on knowing about this glitch anyways.

This post is going on long enough, and we think discussion of that belongs in its own post, so it can have the gravitas it deserves.

So, for the time being, we wait on it. Sorry!

...Besides, next time, we've got something much sillier. Believe it or not, this is the only 1980 game they released. Really! It took a moment for Pac-Man to really simmer and take off, and so join us next time for the start of 1981. And, uh... Not to spoil anything, but you know how we said we only brought up Galaxian because of this game? Weeeell... We might've lied a little bit...

Oh yeah. Those familiar with bootlegs might have just had a siren go off in their brain, and we're goin' there. We're already invoking our "notable bootlegs are fine" stipulation. Whether you're familiar or not, however, we'll be seein' you around!

[diasomnia-dreams]

Platonic! Vil Schoenheit x Reader Drabble “Whistle while you work”

•tiny little drabble about Vil and his tendency to whistle while he works on your makeup🤎🤍there’s no specific gender—

Perks of being one of Vil’s very best friends on campus: You had a personal make-up team which consists of the Pomefiore Housewarden and Vice Housewarden, Vil Schoenheit and Rook Hunt.

Not only were they your upperclassmen but they were also like older brothers to you. Presenting advice, and giving you all of the gossip on and off of campus.

Vil enjoyed giving your hair intricate curls with his hair rods and admiring the simplicity of your aesthetic. He realized early on when the two of you first met that you weren’t one for his extravagant designs and his matte and smokey eye looks. You told him you were specifically interested in natural shades which fit your [skin tone] to a T.

If you are of a darker skin tone (like me! ) Vil would have to go off and buy a specific shade of foundation for you because the two of you could not share the same palette. He would be excited to practice on different skin colors because that would give him even more experience on makeup artistry. He would compliment how lovely your skin is and give you the perfect highlight matching whichever fits you best.

If your complexion is close to his, he would use one of his own foundations to start off your makeup look. Don’t worry, despite his demeanor, Vil would have no problem sharing his makeup with you. He’s more than happy when it comes to esthetics and beauty.

Sometimes, while Vil is so in the zone of giving you a new makeup look, you would find him whistling. It’s very out of character for someone as elegant as Vil to make such a noise but Vil is so deep into his makeup craft that he himself does not realize that he is doing it. Whistling and humming a merry tune is what he does as he digs through his cashmere makeup bag, grabbing the liquid eyeliner and making beautiful and fragile lines along your inner and outer corners of your waterline. Giving you a mysterious yet, cat like look.

“What a nice little tune!” You would giggle at your upperclassmen who would abruptly stop in the act of applying lipgloss to your top lip. Even though he stopped in an abrupt manner, he was still careful to not smear lipgloss on your chin. Clearing his throat and turning his lip into a slight frown.

“Ah yes…it’s something I heard from my grandmother a long time ago.” Vil continued to apply the shimmering cosmetic to your lips. The bright pink glimmer adorning you as your lips turned into a smile.

“It’s so lovely. What’s it called?”

“I dont suppose it has a name…we just whistle it while we work.” Vil dipped a bit of contouring powder onto his purple brush. “It won't take long when there's a song to help you set the pace.” He chuckled lightly to himself. “Humming and whistling somehow makes my makeup routine faster, it helps me focus and ensure that the correct aesthetic is being portrayed.”

He grabbed a golden handheld mirror with Zodiac signs adorning the sides and held it up to your beautiful face which was beat with powder, foundation, contour, highlight and mascara.

Your eyes widened as you hardly recognized yourself but in a good way. Vil was always so talented in makeup and not just in makeup but he made humming sound so elegant and poise when he did it. Now take someone else for example, if they were to hum and whistle the same song that Vil did, they would sound horrible.

“Do you like it?” He asked confidently.

“Of course I do! Vil you’re a makeup Queen!” You hugged the taller student briefly before running up to the larger vanity mirror.

“I know.” Vil ran a finger through his lucious locks which were currently tied up half up half down. He grabbed an eyeshadow pallete with yellows and oranges and first tried a dash of sunset red on his fist before applying the brush to your eyelid.

He began to whistle again. He sounded like a gentle songbird making sweet morning tunes to the world. Vil had such a beautiful soul and he was beautiful on the outside as well. Hearing him make such enchanting music to your ears was even more exciting.

Vil then removed the hair tie from your hair and applied a few dabs of hair product to ensure the low ponytail he was giving you had a slick beginning by brushing and smoothing out the edges and tying it up with a lavender hair tie.

Or if your hair is short, he would adorn your hair with barrettes on both sides of your head to match whatever color you were wearing that day. And he would stand back and admire his work because he knew he excelled in both categories of style.

“You work so fast Vil! I might have to whistle while I work on my homework to ensure I get it done quicker.” You tapped your chin and stared at yourself in the mirror. The housewarden of Pomefiore did not respond, he only went and grabbed one of his favorite perfumes from off of his vanity mirror set, which was called ‘Fairest’. A gift from Rook.

Spraying the perfume lightly on your clothing, Vil took one more look at you and gave a rewarding and rare Vil smile. One which was simply divine to behold.

You still wished to know how on earth Vil worked so quickly in such a difficult area of work. Giving someone a makeover was no easy feat for sure.

“Seriously Vil! How do you do it?” You held your hands on your hips before Vil gave a smug scoff.

“My dear potato, When hearts are high the time will fly…so whistle while you work.”

💜

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

The Bet (Bakugou x reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x female reader Word count: 2,653 Warnings: 18+, orgasm denial, over stimulation Notes: An excellent idea I had one day. I was originally going to send this idea in an ask to @lady-bakuhoe (especially since the idea came from something she said once), but I never got around to it and then realized I could write it for Bakugou’s birthday bash. I hope this is good, this is my second 18+ fic and the first one to actually have vaginal penetration, so I hope I did it justice.

 ~~~

"Bakugou's hot, but he's probably terrible at sex," you said to a friend once.

You were in your workshop. And your friend was free and decided to come around. She was an old classmate from U.A.’s support course. You rarely saw each other since graduating. But whenever you did see her, it was always an enjoyable experience. So it was decided that you would catch up while you were working.

The conversation somehow led to the point where she started pondering how the pro heroes could do the deed. Of course, she mainly mentioned the popular ones. Which led her to mention Bakugou.

"What was that!?" Bakugou came barreling into the room. A vein bulging from his forehead.

Perhaps it would have been best if you remembered that you were finishing up a project for Bakugou. And that he was in the next room waiting for it to be done. You didn’t know him well the first two years in U.A., but the last year you were given the task of inventing something for him. Ever since then, you had taken more jobs for him and became friends of a sort.

It was too late to take your words back now, and you just had to roll with it. Plus, it was the truth.

"I said you'd be terrible at sex."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you could be! How do you know? Last I checked, you still had your v-card."

"Does he really?" Your friend asked, her emotions a combination of shock and amusement.

"Yeah." You laughed.

"Shut up! I'd be the best at it, and you know it!"

"No, I bet you wouldn’t."

"I bet would!"

"Prove it!"

"Fine! Let's settle this right now!"

His words catch you off guard, but you aren't losing to him. "O-okay! As long as you're paying for the hotel room."

You and Bakugou left the room. You looking up a good place on your phone. And your friend sat there, wide eyed, with her mouth gaping.

It went how you expected.

You asked for a room, after having Bakugou’s promise that he'd pay you back. You texted him the room number so he could sneak in from the back without being noticed. Lord knew the media internet would go crazy if they saw pro-hero Dynamite enter a hotel room with some girl. Especially if anyone happened to notice condoms in his pocket. You also made sure to text your friend later and make her promise not to tell anyone.

He was very clearly inexperienced. Jackhammering into you, not even pay attention to your clit. Eventually he did remember that you had to please the other person to be good at sex. But his attempts were clumsy.

You had to remind him to stay quiet several times when his growls got too loud. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he came and struggled to hide his exhaustion. It ended there.

"See, you're terrible at it. Not even close to cumming." You told him. And with that, you left to go get your vibrator.

It was a while until you saw him again. You were called into another city for work, and was just getting back. And it just so happened that you were back when it was Bakugou’s birthday.

Kirishima and a few other classmates from his U.A. days arranged a party at his place, one you were doubtful that Bakugou had agreed to. You were invited, which surprised you, but you accepted. You did your best to converse, but it was difficult when you didn’t know most of them particularly well. You mostly hung around Bakugou.

As evening bled into night, people slowly began leaving. You hadn’t left yet because you, quite frankly, had nothing better to do. Though, you thought it would be nice if you could catch up with Bakugou alone.

The conversation was fairly mundane. Work, news. At least both of your workplaces were fairly interesting. He had the usual angry bite to his voice, but you expected it of him at this point. You were asking him about how the improvement you finished for him was working out, when he had a faraway look in his eyes. His cheeks had turned a red color. You asked him what he was thinking about.

"We still haven't settled our bet!" He said.

"What?"

"Our bet! You said I was bad at sex!"

"This again? I thought we settled it. And, as I said, you were bad at it."

"No! That was just a fluke! We're gonna do it again!"

You let out a sigh. "Nothing's going to change. We already did it once and know the answer."

"You're just saying that because you're afraid you're going to lose." He pointed at you.

That was it.

"No," you glared, "I'm not."

"Then what's stopping you!?"

"Nothing!" You stood up. "Where’s the bedroom?"

With a smirk, he pointed with his thumb.

How did you get yourself into this? Well, you said you didn’t have anything better to do.

You confidently strode over to the bed. Throwing the bottom half of your clothes off, you got onto the mattress and waited. He wasted no time in undoing his belt with a quick jingle, and climbed over you. You felt the bed dip under your combined weight as he ran a finger against your folds.

He pushed one finger into your hole. Last time he had just tried to shove his length in, which is why his new behavior confused you. Though you didn’t dwell on it. Your tight walls clamped down on his finger as he added a second one. You hissed at the stretch. He shoved them in and out of you, knuckles deep. His fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. You bit your lip in an attempt to not buck into his fingers.

"Everything alright?"

The words alone would have made you believe he was genuinely concerned. But you saw his face, his smirk. His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, of course. Just waiting for you to actually be good at this," you retorted.

Your comment didn’t seem to have any effect on his ego. He twisted his digits around, until they brushed against a spot that almost made you lose your composure.

You hoped he didn't notice, but he must have, because he applied more pressure to it. The sheets bunched up in your hands as you grasped at anything to stop the moan that threatened to escape from your throat.

Your breaths became labored and inconsistent. To your embarrassment, you could hear the wet slide of his finger that came out only to hit the spot once more. A pressure built up inside of you, begging to be released the more intense it became.

A long whine escaped from you, still heard even with your mouth closed. Your thoughts blurred. You were close. You tried to resist at first, but was slowly surrendering.

Almost as soon as you had come to accept it, it stopped. Your heart rate quickened as if facing a fatal misfortune.

"What? You weren’t going to cum if I'm bad at sex, right? Or do you want to be wrong?"

No. Your pride was on the line and you weren’t losing.

He got on top of you. You sunk further into the mattress with his arms caging you in. You could smell yourself on his fingers. He tugged down his pants and boxers, finally releasing his cock from its confines.

You pursed your lips at seeing how large it was. You didn’t think you'd see it again after the first time. The blond ripped a condom out of the crinkling plastic and put it on.

He ran the tip along your slit. It pushed against your clit. You grasped the covers and bit your lip to conceal a whine. Collecting your arousal. This was different from last time. He just stuck it in.

He was taking so long to just stick it in! Your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was almost like he was being slow on purpose. Making you desperate for him after you challenged him.

You must have accidentally shown some of your frustration on your face. He leaned in with a smirk. His breath fanning your warm face as his tip pushed even harder against your sensitive bud. You let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, princess?" He said mockingly. Enjoying your pain. God, you wished you could punch him.

"Nothing, just wonder when y--" he suddenly pushed into you, not even letting you finish.

Your mouth gaped open and eyes widened, feeling him invade your pussy. His smirk grew and he repositioned himself. His mouth was at your neck. You could feel his sharp breaths on you.

"You can't handle my cock when I haven't even moved yet?" His growls vibrated against your skin. "Need me to stay still even longer?"

You couldn't let him win. You were never going to give him that satisfaction. "No," you lied.

You regretted it immediately. His length started pistoning in and out of you. So fast you almost lost yourself.

His hips slightly adjusted their thrusts. Confusion began to show on your face until it twisted back into shocked pleasure when he hit that perfect spot. You couldn’t stop a moan from tumbling out of your mouth. That little ba-

"Ah-hh!" He kept hitting it at an unforgiving pace.

“Heh. You’re enjoying it this much already?”

“No--” you were cut off by a moan escaping your throat. “God, right there.”

You could feel him grin as he began biting your neck. Licking, and teasing where you were most sensitive. All the while, he moved a hand down to your neglected clit. He rubbed circular motions into it. A small moan tumbled out of you.

You could feel it, a heat intensifying again. A lot faster after being edged the first time. It was coming. You were going to cum. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close.

He must have been able to tell. Because he slowed. Oh, he slowed to a painful pace. Your eyes went wide in panic.

"What are you doing?! Why did you--?" One quick thrust interrupted you before slowing again. You were hating this new habit of his.

"Nothing. Just not letting you cum until you beg for it. So beg."

You shook your head. You were dripping. Your primal instincts screaming at you. But you had enough wits about you to not sacrifice your dignity.

He shrugged, the slightest bit of irritation in his face. "Suit yourself."

He continued at the same, slow, painful pace. You withheld a whine of quickly losing the promise of a release. Gradually he began going faster. Consistent, quick claps filled the room once more. You twisted the soft sheets in your hand. Trying to hide how quickly the pressure was built up again.

He was making an absolute mess out of your pussy and of you.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to get fucked real good.” His pace was relentless. Words couldn’t even form in your head from the overstimulation.

Almost there. Almost- then any sort of stimulation stopped again.

You felt like crying. No, you were crying. Desperate to meet your end. Your attempts to be subtle while helpless grinding on his cock was pathetic. And you knew it.

He let you fall from your high, only to build you back up again. Your body writhing, feeling every cell in your body overheating.

"What's wrong? Need me to make you feel good? Need me to finish you off? That's right! You need me right now. Me and my cock."

Your mind was too clouded to even create a witty response. He wasn't this good last time! What happened?

Your eyes went wide at this realization. "How are you--?"

"I did my research."

"I thought Midoriya was the only one who would- ah-h!"

"Don't," he gave an extra hard thrust, hitting your cervix, "say his name. I should be," he pounded into you at every word like a punctuation, "the only person you can even think of right now."

You frantically nodded, completely forgetting about the competition you had made this out to be.

A strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against him. He grinned while staring at your face, contorting in pleasure.

You let out a long whine, combined with a sob. "Please," you said, forgetting everything. Screw your dignity and pride. You couldn’t take this anymore.

"Please what?" He teased, savoring the victory on his tongue.

"Please," you mindlessly babbled. Tears rolled down your face as your resolve shattered, "please let me cum. Please. Please. Please."

"Well, all you had to do was ask." He hit the perfect spot in you. Over and over again, while rolling your clit between his fingers.

Almost instantly, it all returned and you felt yourself gushing all over him. Relief and euphoria flooding through you. He kept thrusting into you during your orgasm, making your brain spark and sputter.

As you started to come down from your high, was when he came undone. He grunted and gave one shove to the hilt, creating a large wet slap.

He slumped over somewhat, having lost his rigid energy from before. He pulled out of you. Your own liquid running out and making your skin sensitive to the air. Your breaths were still deep. You tried to pull yourself together as quickly as you could and started to sit up.

"No way, sister." He pushed you back down by your shoulders. He threw the used condom to the side and put a new one on in a fluid motion. He was already hard again… "We're not done yet."

He pushed calculated thrusts into your sopping pussy. Continuing at a pace only a hero could so short after cummimg. His strong hands clamped down on your hip, letting him roll into you more easily. Constant pressure to your g-spot made your eyelids flutter.

It built up and snapped all over again. You moaned out gibberish deliriously. Waves of pleasure washing over you becoming harder to stand.

He showed no sign of stopping. Angling himself to ram into that spot mercilessly. He adjusts his hand to allow his thumb access to your clit. He lifted up your shirt and bra and leaned down to lick and nibble at your breasts. You tried to pull away, the overstimulation being too much, but he held you down.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Body heating up so much you thought you would catch fire. He shoved you over the edge once again. And again. Reminding you of a computer stalling, only to perform the action you wanted far too many times.

His face was twisted in a determined concentration before it finally relaxed in a groan. Finally he came again. He let out a long sigh before letting himself fall on the bed next to you, sweat glistening on his toned body.

You both lay there. Recovering your energy, trying not to give into exhaustion demands to fall asleep. Apparently it took more out of him than he let on. You tried to ignore how wet you felt.

You breathed heavily. Trying to catch your breath. "That was… better."

"Better? Do you know how many times you came?"

"Yeah. But, just," you took a deep breath every word, "not sure. I would have to try again, to really know. It could have been a fluke." You were too tired to even acknowledge your pathetic argument.

"There’s no way it could have been a fluke!"

"It was the last time, according to you. Why can't it be one again." Trying to remember you schedule was getting easier as you came down, but was still hard. "I'm busy tomorrow. Next week?"

"Three days from now."

"Deal."

But you would only have to wait for two.

[estrel]

for #spnprideweek day 1: coming out + flags

↳ summary: cas tells sam a secret that he hasn’t (really) told anybody else. surprisingly, sam has one too.  PRIDE series | gen, sam & cas | word count: 1.7k

[READ ON AO3]

Sam’s grimacing a little at the grease from the fries on Cas’ plate. Cas would usually make a comment, here, about Sam keeping his eyes on his own paper, or that it isn’t nearly as bad as the veggie burger sitting on his plate at Sam’s behest. This is the recompense, Cas wants to say, but his mouth is dry and no words are coming out even if he wants them to.

Accompanying the inability to speak is the twisting feeling in his gut that won’t even allow him to pick up the burger. The smell is too much, too, and Cas hates to admit it but it’s probably the grease, so he sits back a little against the peeling seat of the booth to calm his nerves.

It’s just Sam. He can do this. It’s only that this is the first time he’s telling anyone, and that definitely ups the stakes a little.

Well, that’s somewhat of a lie. Cas had told the nice woman at the grocery store check out last week when he’d seen her little pin on her work uniform and asked where he could get one. 

He hadn’t actually bought one, of course, but Cas eyed the small bin full of brightly colored pins on the way out, convincing himself it was stupid to get back in line again for something so small and inexpensive. Still, he’d thought about it on the drive back to the Bunker, and that night in his bed, and the full week following, up until now. 

Now, Sam was looking at him with concern, and wiping his mouth in that way that means he’s about to get serious.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, pointedly looking down at Cas’ loaded plate. He’d barely taken a bite, except for a few nibbles of his admittedly greasy fries. And it was weird because since becoming human, Cas' appetite had grown considerably, much to Dean's delight.

And—Dean. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Sure, it was more than just Dean, it was all the humans that had made Cas' body ache like it hadn't before, had made him think of what it means to be in this vessel—his body—and be attracted to other...humans.

It was odd. In hindsight, things in Heaven had been so much easier in this regard. Cas had spent most of his life clueless to the capabilities of human attraction, and then he met Dean and it all came crashing down around him. Only then, Cas was ignoring it. He was facing the other way, because though he felt human, he wasn't. Not really.

But everything is different now.

Cas clears his throat.

"Well," he starts, "no. I am feeling what I believe you’d call...anxiety. My stomach hurts, I find I'm unable to eat, a-and my hands are—"

"Cas," Sam interrupts. Shaking. Cas' hands are shaking.

Sam's fully set his fork and knife down now, hands clasped together on the edge of the table. "Talk to me."

Cas licks his dry lips.

"It’s not...it isn’t a big deal, really,” and yet Cas can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He sucks in a breath. “But I’m, uh. I wanted to tell you that...I like men.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, but he blinks at Cas once from across the table.

“Okay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, pulse slowing down a little with his next exhale. “Okay?”

Maybe it was that simple, and Cas was worrying over nothing. It’s just...this feels like it should be bigger. Earth-shattering. Like Sam should either hug him or tell him he never wants to speak to Cas again.

Instead, he just shrugs, picks up his fork and pushes bits of his salad around his plate.

But then Cas’ gaze moves to Sam’s face and...Sam’s frowning. Cas feels his heart thumping hard again, waiting for the ball to drop. It feels a little like when Dean sat him down to “talk,” right after he lost his powers, and, well. Cas knew how that had ended. He braces himself for the worst, schools his features to something more neutral.

“I’m,” Sam clears his throat, “I’m sorry you got nervous over all of that. I-I get that coming out is...” he laughs, “usually a bigger deal, but. You don’t have to worry with me, you know? I get it.”

That makes Cas pause. “You...do?”

Now Sam’s looking at him, eyes a little wide, but he works his jaw and gets the words out. “Yeah. Uh... well I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

The fork is set back down again. The bell over the diner door jingles. 

“In college...you know about Jess,” Sam says, jogging Cas’ memory. He knows, so he nods and Sam continues, “Well we uh. We actually met in a Gender Studies class. I thought, ‘pff, easy A,’ but it was actually way more complex than I originally thought, so she kind of...tutored me.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Actually tutored me. Whatever. Point is, I learned a lot—‘cause she was a great teacher—and...not just about the class, but about myself, too.” 

Cas nods slowly, beginning to catch Sam’s drift. “Okay...”

Despite his tone, Sam’s posture stiffens a little, like he’s uncomfortable, or not really used to this type of conversation. Cas does his best to relax into his seat to ease him, unfolding his arms.

“What I’m saying is,” Sam shrugs, “I’m...not...cis. Like, I don’t....I’m not um, a guy, I guess. Well, sort of. I’m non-binary.”

Cas is silent for a second, mulling it over in his head. Eventually it becomes long enough for Sam to say, “Uh...you know what? You can forget it, man—”

“No!” Cas says, almost knocking over his plate in the process. The silverware clatters as it falls onto the table, and Sam flinches a little. “I was just thinking...I want to apologize if anything I’ve said about your gender has ever made you uncomfortable, or if you—”

Sam’s out-facing palm makes Cas stutter to a stop. There’s a weird guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, and the anxiety that he’d thought was gone is back full force again. Cas tears off a piece of his napkin.

“Cas, dude. Calm down,” Sam laughs. He takes a deep breath, and Cas follows his lead. They breathe in and out together for a beat, and when Cas feels fairly calmer, Sam pushes both of their plates aside.

“There’s no need to apologize for something you couldn’t have known about,” he starts, shaking his head a little, “and you haven’t done anything wrong, either. I still use he and him pronouns, and sometimes they and them. And besides, it’s not like I go around telling people. Especially with, uh, the way I was raised...I’ve been hesitant, you know? It was great in college, people were really supportive when I told them. But then when I started hunting again...I don’t know. 

“My dad...uh. I tried telling him, once. Didn’t go too well, so I didn’t try it again. I think that’s why Dean...” he shakes his head, frowning down at the table again. “It wasn’t easy, growing up the way we did. You could probably understand that.”

Cas nods. Under the table, his napkin is shredded into bits. 

“I do. I think, in a way, I also understand being trans.” Sam jerks their head up, intrigued. 

“Angels...we don’t experience gender the same way humans do. In fact, the concept is entirely nonexistent in Heaven. So, when we take vessels...”

“You’re essentially defining yourself,” Sam says in awe. It makes Cas smile to see them back in their element, leaning forward a little to listen better. “I never thought about it that way, not really.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure all of my siblings did, either. Many chose according to which vessel would best suit them and their form. That was definitely a factor in me choosing Jimmy, but I also found the thought of looking like a human man...greatly appealing.”

Sam’s nodding now, gaze darting to different parts of the table. Cas knows that means they’re mentally crafting an essay right about now, or thinking of what books in the Bunker might further help in their research about it.

“Wow,” he says, “that’s—I mean. Wow, Cas. Thanks for telling me that. And uh, the other thing.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them now, and Cas takes it as an opportunity to sip from his slightly-melted iced tea. 

“So,” Sam starts again slowly, “have you told Dean?”

Cas sucks in another deep breath, and Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says, “me neither.”

It surprises Cas a little that Sam hasn’t told him, and he expresses that with an inquiring eyebrow. 

Sam purses his lips and dodges the unspoken question. “Dean’s not a bad guy. You probably know that better than anyone except me. You know he’d still love you if you told him.”

Cas’ heart pounds at the mention of the word. When Sam notices, he feels his ears begin to heat with a blush. 

“Oh,” Sam smiles, “that. I figured. For a while now, but I didn’t wanna say anything.”

Cas tries to will away the heat on his face. He doesn’t say anything, so Sam leaves it be.

The waitress gives them a worried look when she brings the check, eyeing their barely touched plates. They both smile apologetically, insisting that their food was “great” when she whisks it away.

On their way back home, Cas asks if Sam can stop at the store. They don’t ask anything more than, “we need groceries that bad?” and Cas dips inside. He knows this is just like any other grocery run—going in and out as quick as possible with the things they need—yet his heart hammers all the same when he stops in front of the bin near the door. The same employee from last week is working on lane six, and he’s sure to check out at that one with his goods. She gives him a knowing smile.

Cas flops into the passenger seat, a little out of breath.

“That was fast,” Sam starts to say, before noticing Cas’ lack of grocery bags. “Dude. What d’you buy, air?”

Instead, Cas brandishes two brightly colored pins. Sam tentatively takes the yellow, white, purple, and black one, eyes wide.

“For me?” they ask.

Cas smiles, running his thumb over the rainbow one in his hand. 

“For both of us,” he says.

[@spnprideweek]

[annabethy]

“never do that again” and/or “that was embarrassing”

perhaps,, in the tiktok au if you want😳 bc i’m way too excited about that one

in which annabeth embarrasses herself but doesn’t mind too much,, percabeth,, part 3 of tiktok au

The way Annabeth wakes up is not at all what she expected. Her eyes blink open slowly, and she is in a bed with sheets too soft to be hers. Her senses are on high alert when she sees a wall that definitely isn’t the color of her bedroom, and she spends so much time observing the area around her that she fails to notice the strong arm that’s curled around her waist until someone shifts behind her.

A featherlight kiss is pressed to the curve of her ear, and she suddenly recalls who exactly is behind her and why. It brings a flush and a smile to her face all at once.

“Hey,” Percy whispers, a delicious low scratch to his voice. He stretches his legs, and she can feel is very bare skin against her own naked legs. “You awake?”

Annabeth smiles softly into the sheets when his arm tightens. “No.”

“Mh-hm.” His face presses into her neck, nose nudging the soft skin. She can hear him yawn quietly, and she certainly agrees with the action. There’s a subtle ache in her body and she is absolutely exhausted. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“Entirely spent,” she says, voice pausing when he bends down to brush his lips against the spot of smooth skin right between her shoulder blades.

Annabeth isn’t sure what she should say when he doesn’t answer. She had zero intentions of coming and sleeping with him when they were supposed to film tiktoks. It’s not something she usually does either, but she can’t say that she regrets it in the slightest. It’s the best thing to happen in the last week, if she’s being honest.

Percy sits up behind her, the thin sheets pooling around his hips, exposing her back to the cold air of his apartment. She’s not facing him, but she can hear his breathing and when he scratches at his chin, no doubt lining with stubble. The thought makes her bite her lip. The bed dips slightly when he slides off of the mattress, and then there’s a quiet curse at the cool touch of the hardwood floor.

When he comes around the bed so that he is within eyesight, she notices that he has thrown on a pair of sweatpants but kept a shirt off. She lets herself shamelessly scan over him, and he just squeezes her foot accusingly.

He smiles at her softly, fingers scratching her lower leg from over the blanket. “Breakfast?”

She groans, shoving her face back into the mattress. As much as she would love staring at Percy while he makes her food, no doubt a sight she doesn’t want to miss, her brain is also still too hazy for it to possibly be time for her to get up. “What time is it?”

“Eight.”

Annabeth chokes. “Eight?!”

“What? Do you have something against the number eight?”

“Eight a.m.,” she mutters in disbelief. “Who wakes up at eight in the morning?”

“I do,” he says, laughing.

Annabeth lifts her head just to scrunch her nose at him in disgust before she very pointedly turns over in bed. “I simply cannot wake up before ten or else I don’t work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, closing her eyes and smothering a smile when his fingers pull the blanket down her back a little bit so he can rub the skin soothingly. “Unless you’re going to kick me out?”

Percy blows air through his lips dismissingly. “Kick you out? Never.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Can I please go to back to sleep?”

“Go for it,” he says kindly. “What do you want to eat though? So I can have it ready when you wake up?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she says, not at all expecting him to actually make it. Her eyes flutter shut again, and she hears him give a low chuckle. She is surprised when he bends down to her side to press a kiss to her cheek, and when he walks out of the room to leave her be, she wonders what exactly it all means.

Certainly this isn’t the way a one-night-stand plays out, but is that even what it really is? Surely Percy doesn’t treat all of his hookups with cuddles and kisses the morning after. She decides she’ll figure it all out later because she’s already beginning to knock back out.

Annabeth thinks the only reason she truly wakes up is because of the warm smell wafting in through the open door. The sweet scent makes her smile. She stretches, back popping deliciously, and she feels much more awake. She decides it’s probably best to get up. It takes her a good few minutes of searching for the shift she’d had on last night before she settles on throwing on his oversized t-shirt and calling it a day. It falls just below the curve of her ass, and the sleeves almost reach her elbow, but it also smells like him and makes her feel happy.

She stumbles out into the living room. Percy is sitting at the kitchen island, his back to her. He’s thrown on a shirt sometime while she was asleep.

Annabeth reaches behind him, settling her chin on his shoulder as her arms wrap around his waist. “You actually made cinnamon rolls,” she notes, smiling into his neck.

Percy tenses, and her mind blares with alarm. Her head whips toward him, expecting to find his face filled with annoyance, much like any other experience sleeping over with a guy.

Instead, he’s suppressing a smile, and a second later, dropping his face into his hands.

“Annabeth,” he whispers, a touch of humor in his voice, “I’m on a live.”

She blinks and looks towards the screen she just noticed in front of him. It’s a live recording, and she sees over one-hundred thousand people are joined.

Oh god.

She just about dies from mortification on the spot.

“Oh.” Annabeth takes an immediate step back, her face blazing with heat.

She just walked up to him wearing nothing except his shirt, and she just kissed his neck, and this is not good.

Percy, of course, just smiles and drags her closer. “Do you want to say hello?”

“Absolutely not.”

He shakes his head, laughing. He reads from the screen, “Why is Annabeth naked in your apartment?”

She groans miserably.

“She’s not naked,” Percy says. “Next question.”

Annabeth covers her face. “Percy.”

He looks at her again. It’s a soft glance, understanding, and he turns back to the camera. He ends the live rather quickly, but she knows the damage is already done. He has twenty million people following him, and every single one of them is going to know within hours.

“Come here,” Percy says, tugging her closer. He wraps his arms around her waist. “Are you okay?”

“That was embarrassing,” she whispers miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s laughing. “I thought you’d be asleep for at least another hour.”

She just makes a sound that’s a mix between a groan and whimper.

“It’s not that bad,” he soothes. “They’ll all forget about it soon enough.”

“We’ve both been doing this long enough to know otherwise.”

Percy laughs.

“This isn’t funny,” she accuses.

Percy’s hand moves from her waist so he can pinch his fingers together. “It’s a little bit funny.”

Annabeth pushes his shoulder without force, but even her lips are turning up in a smile. His grin is just contagious – it’s hardly her fault.

“You’re so beautiful,” Percy whispers, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

She raises an eyebrow but makes no comment. This feels like so much more than a hookup, and she finds that she likes the thought.

“I like the clothes,” he says in admiration. “You look good in my clothes.”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t find my shirt.” Annabeth’s face drops back into the crook of his neck as his hands trail down slightly beneath the edge of the shirt. She breathes him in and says the first thing she thinks of to change the subject. “You made cinnamon rolls?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it.”

“Of course I did.”

She spots grabs a half-eaten cinnamon roll from his plate and takes a bite out of it. It’s amazing, really, still warm and gooey. Annabeth thinks she could eat a million of these, and she tells him just that.

“I made it with a touch of love.”

“Do you always make cinnamon rolls with love for all of your hookups.”

“There aren’t enough hookups to make a definitive decision on that,” he tells her. “But I wouldn’t call you a hookup.”

“You wouldn’t? Then what was that we did last night?”

“Hookup sounds too neutral, like I don’t care about you, and that’s not true at all.”

The words make her tingle. “You like me.”

Percy laughs, and it’s a melody in her ears. “Yes, you’re like my middle school crush.”

“So what does this make us then?”

“You tell me.” It’s exactly what he said last night, except she hadn’t answered him that time. At least not with words.

“I mean, people definitely think we’re dating now that they saw me wandering around in just your shirt.”

“I guess we have an image to uphold then?”

“We also met yesterday,” she reminds him.

“Then let me take you out. A real date.”

She smiles. “A real date?”

“We never did make it to that diner.”

“And then what?”

“Then I take you on another date?”

“Then?”

“Another, and another, until you fall in love with me.”

It’s a bold statement but based on how she’s feeling after only one day, she doesn’t doubt that it’ll happen, as long as he keeps looking at her like she has the stars in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I think you might fall in love with me first.”

“A part of me already has.” Percy kisses her once. “I love your personality.” He kisses her forehead. “Your humor.” Nose. “Your selflessness.” Neck. “Everything about you.”

“You know all of that already?”

“I’ve been following you for a while,” he says. She laughs slightly because it’s a statement that would sound creepy if it weren’t for why they met. “But you can call it intuition.”

And she thinks that this might turn into something beautiful.

She surges up to catch his lips. It starts sweet – she can taste the frosting from the cinnamon rolls on him – and quickly turns more fiery. He bites at her lower lip, hands roaming on every piece of skin he can possibly reach. He rucks up the shirt slightly, kisses her harder, and she’s dizzy with affection. But he stops himself, and she does too.

“Do you have anything to do today?”

“Depends on what you have in mind,” she says, sly.

He hums and picks up the abandoned cinnamon roll to take a bite before speaking. “How about we go to a diner, and then we spend the day out? Maybe we’ll fall in love in the process.”

She plucks the treat from his fingers and takes her own bite. “I think I’m ready to fall in love.”

Annabeth would never admit it, but she thinks that’s the day she really does fall in love. He’s everything she never knew she was missing in her life. He takes her to eat, and then they walk around the city. It’s a simple date, but one that fits them so well. His eyes never leave her, and it leaves her even deeper into this love they’ve created.

They definitely run into a few of their followers while they’re out, and every single time, it’s a show trying to explain themselves. But they always leave hand in hand, smiles plastered on their faces. It consumes all of her, and she doesn’t mind one bit.

It’s insane to think that this is because of tiktok of all things, but she supposes love has always been mysterious.

After all, the goddess of love sprang from the sea, and the handbook of love was written in invisible ink.

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

Guest Speaker

Anon requested: Hi! I saw that your requests are open, so this is oddly specific but, could I get a Reid x reader where she’s a cheerleader kinda prom queen stereotype but she’s like really smart and majoring in criminology (maybe that’s how they meet?) and he’s sorta insecure about dating her, maybe it could be a bit smutty? If not it’s totally cool, thank you sooo much. 

Author’s note: First off, I would like to apologize to you anon. I took a rather long hiatus without really planning to due to some personal stuff, so I’m really sorry for that. I hope you still follow me, I hope you see this, and I hope above all else that you like it. Also, I should mention I didn’t add any smut because I didn’t feel like it fit the story. But, if you would like, I could do a smutty part 2! Just let me know. 

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reader’s POV:

Could this class be any more boring? Sure, criminology is my favorite subject. But this professor looked like he had one foot in the grave, with the voice to match. Talk about naptime. 

I put my pen down in exasperation and decided that picking at my nail polish was a better way to spend my time. 

“Psst,” a voice hissed next to me. 

I popped my gum as I looked up at the source of the voice. It was Naomi, my best friend. 

“Girl, I didn’t even notice you next to me!”

“I know,” she whispered, trying not to laugh. “You were too enamored with your polish flaking off. Sometimes I wonder how you’re top of the class.” 

I stifled a laugh. 

“I wonder the same thing sometimes, Naomi. Hey, I think I might dip a little early. What do you think about coming with me?” 

No answer. I waited to see if she would respond, but she never did. Glancing up, I saw her staring towards the podium. There was no way she was looking at Dr. Daniels. I followed her gaze and about swallowed my gum in surprise. 

Dr. Daniels was up there, but next to him was someone I had never seen before. Quite unfortunate, if I do say so myself, because he had to be the most beautiful man I had ever seen. 

I whispered to Naomi out of the corner of my mouth, not breaking my gaze towards the man, “Who… is that?” 

“I think Daniels said he works at the FBI. A guest speaker, I guess. Dr. Spencer Reid.” 

She hadn’t stopped staring either.  

I rested my head in my hands and sighed. 

“He doesn’t look much older than us, Nay.”

She tilted her head and blinked slowly, “May the best woman win.” 

——————————–

“Alright, so that brings me to the end of my presentation. I have to get back to Quantico soon, but uh- I’ll stick around for some questions if anyone has any.”

Dr. Spencer Reid had to be the most beautiful, awkward, brilliant man I had ever seen. 

I glanced around the room as I packed my things. Not many people went up to ask questions. A few did, but only briefly. Their loss. 

Naomi nudged me with her elbow. “Gonna ask him a question?” 

I took a deep breath, “I don’t think any of my questions have anything to do with criminology.” 

Naomi laughed and shouldered her bag. “I’ve gotta get to my next class.”

She began walking down the steps to leave the room, but turned to me at the last second. 

She began pointing at him while his back was turned and mouthed the words, “Get his number for me.” 

As luck would have it, he turned around and noticed Naomi gesturing towards him. He looked at her and then up to me. A nervous smile graced his lips as he turned back around to pack his things. 

I widened my eyes at Naomi and she raised her hands in defeat with a huge grin on her face. 

Once she left, only Dr. Reid and I remained. I started my walk up to the podium, trying to come up with any questions that actually related to his presentation. As I slowed down near him, I prayed he couldn’t hear my heart ripping a hole in my chest. 

“Um, Dr. Reid.”

He lifted his head and looked towards me, pausing mid-action. His hands were large compared to the papers he was putting in his bag.

“What can I do for you?”

I shifted my weight around, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t work.

“I was just wondering- um, does the FBI take interns? It’s been a dream of mine to work for the FBI.” 

He turned all the way towards me and narrowed his eyes slightly. Was he judging me or something? 

“Yeah, actually we do. There’s tons of programs you can check out. What’s your major?” 

“Criminology,” I said softly. 

“Oh wow, really? I would’ve thought maybe it would have been… something else.” 

He glanced at my bag where my pom poms were sticking out. 

“Ah, yeah because I’m a cheerleader?”

“Uh, no no, that’s not what I meant- I just-”

I shook my head with a small smile. “No, don’t worry about it. I get it a lot. Cheerleading is just a hobby. I’m actually top of the class.”

Dr. Reid raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s very impressive! I was top of my class in- well, every class,” he said, laughing quietly.

“I don’t doubt it, but you don’t look much older than us. Are you that much of a genius you skipped so many grades?” 

He grabbed his bag and shrugged it on. “I do have an IQ of 187. I’m not sure if that’s what you were looking for.”

He smiled shyly at me. I was confident there was nothing this man couldn’t do.

“Wow. Well, that’s really impressive, too.” 

I paused for a second, hoping he didn’t notice my burning red ears. 

“Well, um, Dr. Reid, I don’t wanna hold you up. I’m sure you have way more important things to be doing than talking to me.” 

He looked down at his feet and shifted his bag.

“Talking to you was important. Here,” he dug in his bag as he spoke, “Take my card. I’ll um- check up on those intern programs for you. Call me- I mean call my office in a few days. I’ll have something for you.”

He handed me his card abruptly. I took it with slightly shaking fingers. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice that either. 

“I have to go, but it was nice talking to you. Hope to see you in Quantico some day,” he said as he smiled. 

I stood stone still in my spot, still holding his card as if he had just handed it to me. I only broke out of my trance when he cleared his throat at the door as he was leaving.

“You shouldn’t pick your nail polish off. That color looks good on you.” 

And then he was gone.

—————————————-

As I walked out of class, I couldn’t seem to make my heart stop fluttering. Dr. Reid wouldn’t flirt with me- right? No way. He was just complimenting me.

Naomi could tell something was up when I got to cheerleading practice. I didn’t want to tell her though; she’d never let me hear the end of it.

“You’re late! What’s up, (Y/N)? Did something happen?”

I shook my head. “Nothing happened, just took the scenic route!”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Spill. What happened?”

I sighed. I should’ve known she’d start in on me immediately. Guess I’ll save myself the trouble and just tell her now.

“I talked to Dr. Reid and he gave me his card. And…he said I shouldn’t pick at my nail polish because the color looks good on me.”

Naomi’s jaw dropped. “Show me. Card. Now.”

I dug in my pocket and handed her the card. She snatched it from my fingers that still felt tingly.

“Oh my God! What did you say to him to make him give you that?”

I grabbed the card back from her. “I said I was interested in an FBI internship.”

She scoffed. “Well, I don’t know about an internship but you gotta get laid. Call him. And use protection,” she finished, winking at me.

I rolled my eyes and followed Naomi to the sideline before coach started yelling at us.

————————————–

A few days had passed since I talked to Dr. Reid. I didn’t know what to do. Should I really call him or just forget that interaction ever happened?

I tried pushing the thought of him from my mind to focus on tonight. It was Friday night, which meant football. Not just football, but the rival team was playing us tonight. It was a huge game and tons of people are coming. I had to make sure I didn’t fuck anything up.

My makeup was done and my uniform was on, so I made my way to the field.

I was early of course, but there were already herds of people trying to get in. Young and old, students and non-students. Everyone was here. I felt the familiar rush of excitement I get before performing. There was nothing else like it in the world.

Tonight was gonna be a night to remember.

———————————–

Narrator’s POV:

“Tell me why we’re here again?” Derek asked in confusion.

Spencer scratched his head. He was no good at these kinds of things.

“Well, I was really young in college. I- I never got the full college experience as an adult.” He tried not to cringe at his own words.

Derek glaced at Garcia. She shrugged and turned to JJ.

“I’m gonna go grab a hot dog. Wanna come with?”

JJ nodded. “Of course! Want anything boys?”

Spencer shook his head and Derek asked for a drink. The two women walked off.

“Well let’s go find seats then, Pretty Boy.”

Derek took Spencer through the crowd; it wasn’t hard to see he had no clue what was going on.

They found an empty corner in the bottom row of the bleachers. Spencer hesitated as Derek sat down.

“You gonna stand there all night, kid?”

He glanced around before his eyes settled on Derek.

“Do you know how many germs there are on these things?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You wanted the full college experience. Here it is.”

Spencer groaned internally before sitting down.

“So tell me,” the bigger man said as he leaned forward, “Which one are you here for?” Derek gestured to the cheerleaders lining up on the field.

Spencer shifted in his seat and cut a sideways glance at Derek. “What makes you think I wanted to watch the cheerleaders?”

Derek laughed. “Kid, I might not be a genius like you, but I am a profiler. And I can tell when someone is crushing. You’ve been looking around here for something. My guess is, you saw a pretty girl at your guest lecture the other day and wanna see more of her.”

Spencer began to protest but sank back down in defeat. He looked around at the girls, trying to find the one he came for. After what seemed like forever, he found her.

“That one,” he pointed out, “in the very front with the (your hair color) hair.”

Derek looked at you as you began calling out to the other girls, leading them in a cheer.

“My man,” Derek said as he clapped Spencer on the back with a smile. “You better get to talking to her soon, or I may have to work my magic.”

Spencer sighed, “Go ahead. It’s not like she would like me anyway.”

“What makes you say that, kid?” 

“Well, it’s just- I’ve never had much luck with those types of girls. Remember a few years ago with JJ?” Spencer said quietly while looking at his hands.

“That was back then, man. Look at you now! I bet she’d be into you.”

Spencer tried not to smile. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Derek said, patting Spencer’s back once again.

Spencer smiled to himself. He felt a little better about everything. 

“What’s her name?” 

Spencer looked at Derek and paused. “I- I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

JJ and Garcia appeared then, hands full of snacks and drinks. 

Derek leaned back as the girls sat down behind them.

“He’s here for a girl,” 

JJ groaned and set her food down. Garcia smirked and held out her hand expectantly. After a second of digging in her pocket, JJ pulled out some money and slapped it into Garcia’s hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said as she put the money into her bag.

“Y- you guys took a bet?” Spencer asked in shock.

“All’s fair in love and war, dear doctor.”

“Garcia that doesn’t even- never mind,” Spencer said, shaking his head. He turned his head back to the field. 

You were at the top of the formation now, standing on one foot while holding your other leg in the air with one hand, being held up by all the girls underneath you. It took Spencer’s breath away. You were so beautiful. 

“OOH, she’s flexible!” Garcia grunted out past mouthfuls of hotdog. 

Spencer ignored the comment and continued watching. He didn’t expect you to watch him, though.

You had found him in the crowd and made eye contact for a second. He raised his hand to begin waving, but stopped when he saw the color leave your face. 

“Hey, woah- is she okay? She’s wobbling a little,” Derek said, shifting forward like he was going to stand up. 

“She looks like she’s gonna-” JJ started. She didn’t get to finish. The group watched in horror as you went limp and fell from the top of the formation. 

—————————————-

Reader’s POV: 

I loved being up here. There was no other feeling like it, especially when I got to call out the cheers tonight. 

We were nearing the end of this cheer, so I held out this position as long as I could, smiling at everyone in the crowd, making eye contact with as many as possible. I wasn’t expecting to make eye contact with Dr. Reid.

What was he doing here?! 

I felt my leg begin to wobble, but still held my position. My heart was pounding and I suddenly felt very cold. 

“Hey,” one of the girls below me hissed, “You okay?” 

“I-” I managed to whisper, “I don’t feel so good…”

I don’t remember falling, so I was a little shocked when I came to, laying on my back. The rest of the squad circled around me, panicked looks on their faces. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Stay down there. The AT is coming over to talk to you,” Naomi said, patting my shoulder. 

I groaned and tried sitting up, but she pushed me back down. “That’s not a good idea. You just passed out.”

My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to remember what happened.

“Ugh, how embarrassing. I’ve never fallen before.” 

Naomi smiled sadly at me. “It happens to the best of us. But what happened? Why did you lose it?” 

I rubbed my head and sat up slowly, much to the annoyance of Naomi and the AT. 

“I just felt- sick all of a sudden. I don’t know,” I lied quietly. 

The AT handed me a bottle of water. “Just nerves, baby. It’s a big game.” 

I nodded as she helped me up. “Yeah. Just nerves.” 

Naomi went back to the squad and told them I was okay. The AT sat me down on the sideline, leaning me against the fence. “Take a breather, hun. You’ll feel better by halftime.”

I gave her a smile as thanks, and took a sip of water.

A voice behind me called out, “Hey, are you okay?”

Dr. Reid stood on the other side of the fence with a bigger African-American man and two blonde girls, one wearing glasses and one without glasses.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine! It’s just a big game. A lot of nerves, you know?” 

I stood up and faced them. “Are these your coworkers?” 

“Oh uh, yeah, this is Derek, JJ, and Penelope,” Spencer said, gesturing to each of the people next to him in turn. 

I gave them a small smile and a wave. 

“So what are you doing here? FBI that boring that you have to come see a random college football game? Maybe I don’t want an internship,” I laughed out to them. 

Derek laughed with me. “Nah, Pretty Boy didn’t come for the game-”

Dr. Reid punched him in the arm.

The two women, JJ and Penelope, laughed as Derek raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright!”

I smiled and shook my head, looking back out to the field. 

“Hey, I never asked you the other day. What’s your name?” 

I turned my attention back to Dr. Reid. The other three were no longer in sight. 

“(Y/N). My name is (Y/N).”

“Well, nice to officially meet you, (Y/N).” 

“So what are you really doing here, Dr. Reid? It doesn’t take a genius to see that you have no interest in football.” 

I hopped the fence and stood next to him. 

“Hey, be careful. You did just have a pretty big fall.”

I grinned, a burst of confidence erupting in my chest. 

“Of course, Doctor.”

He leaned against the fence next to me and looked down to meet my gaze. “Call me Spencer.” 

My heart fluttered a bit. He was totally into me. 

“Okay. Spencer, then.” 

He smiled back at me. “Would you maybe want to get a coffee with me sometime?”

I turned towards him, hoping he didn’t see just how much I was blushing. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hot Mess

Prompt: Hi, so I really flippin love your writing style and I was wondering if you could write a fic of the sides just flirting(mainly Janus because we all know he's the best flirter) with each other, like in (Un)wanted chapter 1 where Janus was flustering Virgil really badly, that sort of thing. Could be DLAMP or DLAMPR I don't mind. You don't have too I was just wondering... Thanks either way!

First off, thank you so much for the prompt! Second...

Listen. Everything is awful and I don’t understand how flirting works. Ever. Actually, you know what, no. No one understands what flirting is. There have been so many fucking tests run and no one can ever tell who is flirting ever. It’s bullshit. Everything is bullshit and I’ve never understood a damn thing in my entire life and I’m sure as hell not about to start now. So.

That being said, here. 

Read on Ao3

Pairings: yes. LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR. 

Warnings: sympathetic janus & remus

Word Count: 5884

If you ask anyone whose fault is it that everyone, for some reason, starting flirting with each other, they’ll blame Janus. Even Janus. He knows what he did. It’s his fault.

Anyway, there are a few things that are a given. Everyone flirts with everyone, with the one exception of Roman and Remus. They’re brothers. It doesn’t work. Anything else is fair game. Are they being serious? Who knows. Probably. Maybe. Keeping anything straight around the Mindscape is complicated enough, for obvious reasons.

 Doesn’t mean there can’t be some level of trying to keep track of what’s bound to happen at some point.

 Patton’s flirting is both the least obvious and the most obvious. It’s super cheesy pick up lines delivered completely genuinely and the sweetest pet-names ever. But the problem is that’s not too different from how he normally is. For some reason, the Dad Coaxing Tone™ is the worst and he knows it. He doesn’t flirt nearly as often as some of the others do and he’s surprisingly sweet about it. It normally just makes them kind of giggly and slightly redder than normal. Always comes with hugs, which is never something to complain about. Cheeky comments and cheeky smiles that leave them second-guessing everything that just happened. And, of course, by the time they’re just about finished wrapping their heads around what just happened, he’s back with another line and here they go again.

 Roman.

 Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

 They should have expected this because his job is romance but fucking hell.

 His way of showing love is through poking fun at things so…all the teasing. All of it. Not just verbal teasing, even though that in itself is enough to make everyone melt into puddles, but he gets close. Like, sneak-up-and-hug-you-from-behind kind of close. Or he’ll just stand really close with a smirk as he teases them, waiting for them to give in and run into his arms. Or he’ll crowd them against the wall. Or the counter. Someone probably dared him to do this—or not, because, again, it’s Roman—but he definitely pinned Logan to the wall and didn’t let up until his grip on Logan’s wrists were the only thing keeping him standing. Also, super gushy pet-names. Like, super gushy. Like Patton, very fond of telling them how cute they are, including asking them why they’re hiding such a cute face, come on, he wants to see how adorable they are. With Janus and Logan, he makes his voice lower, taking advantage of how close that lets him get. Dramatic monologues or sneaking up and dipping them are a must. He goes full Disney Prince and doesn’t let up until they can’t even ramble anymore, smiling down at their bright red cheeks. With the others, he makes his voice very sweet, soft, and gentle. He gets right in their faces so they can’t go anywhere and riles them up until they’re a melted squirmy mess. It’s not uncommon to find someone—normally Patton or Virgil— an absolute puddle with Roman beaming, just twisting them round and round his finger. Merciless and shameless flirt. Roman is the actual worst and they all love him.

  Virgil is affectionately known as The Meme Flirter. No prizes for guessing who came up with that. He picks one nickname for each of them and just peppers it into conversation with a wink and a smirk. The master of timing. He doesn’t need to spend ages winding them up, he just picks the right moment and they’re covering their faces and squirming. Also uses the technique of being close but not close enough to touch. Sometimes he’ll team up with Roman or Logan and just be there all ‘you know he’s right’ when they look to him for help, or engage in conversation with whoever else is flirting about how red they’re getting, or how much they’re squirming. Or he’ll engage in flirt competitions. He’s way more confident about it than they ever anticipate and it always catches them off guard. He keeps an eye on them though, because he knows the others (especially Roman) can get carried away. “You don’t wanna break ‘em, do you?”

 (They do sometimes but shh.)

 For Logan, infodumping is the actual best way of expressing affection and you will not convince him otherwise. He’ll research topics so they can talk about them together if they want but if you think that is it then boy howdy you are wrong. This guy keeps notebooks on the best way to fluster each and every one of the Sides, okay. He knows his shit. He infodumps about them too, phrasing compliments as provable facts. Will pretend to be confused about why they’re getting so flustered, he’s just telling them the truth, why are you so red? It would be convincing if he weren’t purposefully making his voice as low as it can go and smirking. Also a teasy bastard. He will just ask them to do things he knows they can’t help doing when they get flustered, especially with Patton or Janus. He’s asked Janus to squee for him more often than he would like. (Liar.) Or they’ll be protesting and telling them to knock it off and he’ll just point out that ‘no one is holding you. Nor are we blocking any exits. By all means, if you wish to leave, then you may.’ Knowing perfectly well they’re puddles and puddles can’t move. But then ‘oh, you must not want to leave.’ ‘Accidental’ touches make it worse, as well as nonchalantly adding in pet-names. He’s the one who figured out that pet-names make them melt, by the way. Also figured out that firmer touches help ground them, so he offers them a deal sometimes. If they like, they can come and cuddle with him while he flirts. It gives them an excuse to cuddle and a place to hide, but that does mean he’s murmuring right into their ears. It’s a double-edged sword. When he teams up with Roman they are the worst, especially when they agree that it’s necessary to reestablish emotional stability. Or they’re bored, snickering when poor Virgil bolts out of the room from too much blush. Virgil will run away if it gets to be too much, he’s got that built into his whole deal as anxiety, but Janus…forget about it. That team-up definitely has overwhelmed the poor thing multiple times. You can’t freeze with these predators, they’ll eat you alive. They definitely teased and flirted with him until he burst into tears one time, it was…an experience.

 “Enough!”

 Roman pauses, midway through some dramatic gesture, faltering at the crack in Janus’s voice. Logan glances at him before looking back at Janus, his hands still pressed hard to his face, his shoulders tense. He takes a small step forward and tilts his head.

 “Janus?”

 He calls his name softly until he lowers his hands, unable to stop the comforting noise when he sees the tears on his cheeks. Beside him, Roman inhales sharply, only to make a noise of protest when he immediately covers his face again.

 “Janus,” he says, dropping the flirty persona immediately, “may I touch you?”

  Please say yes, please.

 He nods. Logan reaches out, gently covering his hands to coax them away, clutching them tightly.

 “Too much?” Janus nods. “My apologies, it was not my intention to overwhelm you.”

 “Nor mine, little snake,” Roman says quietly.

 “I know.”

 “Would you like us to stay,” Logan asks gently, giving his hands a squeeze, “or leave you alone?”

 Janus shuffles, his mouth drawing tight and his hands tensing. Logan is content to wait patiently for him to make up his mind, but Roman seems to have other ideas.

 “Oh dear,” he murmurs, stepping a little closer, “we really overdid it this time, didn’t we, darling?”

 “I said enough,” Janus mumbles.

 “I know, I know, I’m done,” he assures, reaching out to tenderly wipe his cheek, “I promise. Oh, oh you poor thing…”

 “Roman,” Logan chides gently, “I don’t think…”

 He trails off when Janus frees one of his hands, tentatively reaching out for Roman. Roman swoops in, gathering him into a hug so tight his fingers whiten from his grip on him. As Logan watches, Roman tilts his head slightly, beginning to pepper kisses along the side of his face.

 “I don’t understand,” he says quietly, “how…how is this not more overwhelming?”

 “I think you’re going to have to wait to ask him that, Specs,” Roman murmurs, “because I don’t know that either.”

 “Then how did you know it would work?”

 Roman looks up at him, sadness coloring his gaze. “Because a different face told me it would.”

  Ah.

 “I’m right here,” Roman says softly, rocking Janus in his arms, “I’m right here, little snake. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

 Janus all but slumps into Roman’s embrace, his head tucking neatly against his shoulder as he presses more kisses to his face.

 “I have you, alright? I’m not going to hurt you, you know I’m not.” Roman adjusts his grip. “It’s just like we always do, hmm? I rile you up and then you come here and I cuddle you right back down.”

 He pulls back to gently catch another tear with his thumb. “Just pushed a bit too far this time, hmm?”

  I rile you up and cuddle you back down.

  Like we always do.

  I’m not going to hurt you, you know I’m not.

 “I understand,” Logan breathes, “I understand now.”

 “Understand what?”

 “What’s happening.” Logan steps forward, gently resting his hands on the part of Janus’s back not covered by Roman’s arms. “And how I can help.”

 “By all means then,” Roman says, “tell us.”

 “Janus is…not accustomed to receiving compliments,” Logan begins, lightly hushing Janus’s noise of protest.

“It’s true, little snake,” Roman says.

 “Yes, and we will work on that,” Logan promises, “but that does make it easy to blindside or disarm him with comments of that nature. Hence…”

 He motions between the three of them.

 “You’re not used to experiencing affection like this,” he continues softly, “and especially not through flirting or playful teasing, which is why it doesn’t take much effort on our parts to fluster you.”

 Janus makes another noise of protest and he shushes him gently.

 “I’m not trying to tease, Janus, I promise,” he murmurs, “but it doesn’t, does it? It makes you uncomfortable because you don’t understand it, not really, so you don’t know what to expect next. We have not exactly been…forthcoming with affection in the past, have we?”

 Janus nods hesitantly.

 “This, however,” Logan continues, leaning a little more of his weight onto his hands, “is a form of affection you understand very well.”

 He steps a little closer, rubbing firm circles into Janus’s back.

 “You are a very heat-sensitive person,” he says, “and you understand how to give and receive affection in this language, so to speak. When one of us touches you while we are teasing or flirting with you, it heightens the loss of control you feel because it’s something that should be familiar, but it’s being used in an unfamiliar way.”

 “But when it’s like this,” Logan continues, leaning closer, “it’s calming. Grounding. Especially after you’ve just been in a state of higher stress. You know what we mean by it.”

 “When I put my hand on your shoulder or your back,” he murmurs, shifting his weight further onto his hands, “you know it means I’m here, right here, and I’m not going anywhere. When Roman kisses you—“ Logan smiles when Roman uses that as an excuse to press another kiss to Janus’s forehead— “you know it means he cares about you, that he won’t let anything hurt you.”

 “Look at our resident genius over here,” Roman says, leaning over to peck Logan’s cheek too, smirking when it brings a flush to his face, “aww, Logan, feeling left out?”

 “No,” Logan replies stiffly, ignoring the growing smirk on Roman’s face, “and even if I were, we have more pressing matters to deal with.”

 “No, no,” Janus mumbles, “I’m good now, I can leave, it can be Logan’s turn.”

 Roman raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you gonna let that go?’

 Logan will most certainly not.

 “I can assure you,” he rumbles into Janus’s ear, “I am perfectly satisfied with our roles as they currently stand.”

 Roman chuckles when Janus squirms in his grip.

 “After all,” Logan continues, “we have just established that this can be quite the cathartic experience for you, it wouldn’t do at all to interrupt it before it is complete.”

 “Did you just…create a scientific excuse to do this in the name of maintaining emotional stability?”

 Logan smirks. “Perhaps.”

 “You know better than to try and argue with Logan about science,” Roman adds.

 Janus swats at them half-heartedly but doesn’t protest when Roman lets him go a few moments later, pressing one last kiss to his forehead and leaving. Logan taps him gently on the shoulder.

 “Am I correct, Janus?”

 “Yeah,” he mumbles, a little red still on his cheeks, “you’re right.”

 “Good.” Logan reaches out and slides the tissue box closer. “And…thank you.”

 He looks up, confused. “For what?”

 Logan smiles. “For telling us it was too much, and for letting us help.”

 That’s the first time Logan’s able to determine exactly how best to help one of them calm down, especially after one of them is incredibly flustered. The first time he implements it is under…slightly different circumstances.

 He’s not quite sure how Virgil and Roman talked him into playing Truth Or Dare, but here he is, on the couch, Roman sprawled across the floor, Virgil perched on the back. So far he’s had to cover his ears from Roman belting the third Disney medley in an hour and he has several questions for Remus about where his good clipboard is. Then it’s Virgil’s turn again and he picks dare.

 “Are you sure, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance?” Roman asks.

 “Just hit me with it, Princey.”

 Roman taps his fingers against his chin, glancing around. His eyes land on a spot over Logan’s shoulder and he grins. Logan follows his gaze and sees Janus in the kitchen.

 “I dare you,” Roman announced, “to flirt with Patton for two minutes.”

 Virgil snorts. “That’s it?”

 Roman just sweeps his arm dramatically. “Your dare awaits.”

 Virgil shrugs, getting up off the couch and making his way to the kitchen. The instant he’s almost there, Roman scrambles up, jumping onto the couch next to Logan, almost landing on top of him, hooking his chin over the back.

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “Comfortable?”

 “Shush, Pocket Protector,” Roman says, flapping a hand, “and get your timer out.”

 Logan rolls his eyes, checking his watch and watching Virgil lean on the counter, propping his chin on his hand.

 “Hey there, cutie.”

 Patton startles, whirling around to see Virgil. “Hey! Wow, you scared me, uh, yeah, hi there!”

 “Sorry,” Virgil smiles, not sounding the least bit sorry, “can’t help it. You look like a cute little bunny when you’re startled.”

 “Oh, god, not this,” Patton mutters, turning around, his face already starting to flush.

Virgil grins, his tongue between his teeth as Patton tries to go back to what he was doing. “You just make it too easy, cutie.”

 “I do not!”

 The grin turns feral. “Then why don’t you turn around and show me that pretty face?”

 “Nope. No thank you. I’m going to stay over here.”

 “Why, afraid of proving me right?”

 “No.”

 “Then come on, cutie,” Virgil says, tilting his head, “turn around.”

 Patton leans his head back, sighing before turning around and spreading his arms. “Happy?”

 “Mm.” Virgil grins. “You’ve got such pretty eyes, Patton.”

 He stutters, his face already turning red. “Oh my god. Stop!”

 “Can’t help it cutie,” Virgil says, waggling his eyebrows and chuckling when Patton covers his face, “I’ve been dared to do this for two minutes!”

 “Good to know,” Patton squeaks, ��that this is only happening because it’s mandatory.”

 “Aw, don’t be like that, cutie, you know I’ll flirt with you anyway.”

 “That is not what I meant!”

 Virgil only laughs harder. “You might wanna pace yourself, cutie, you’ve still got…”

 He trails off, looking at Logan. Logan checks his watch.

 “One minute and twelve seconds.”

 “One minute and twelve seconds left,” Virgil finishes, propping himself back up on the counter, “so…”

 The sight is entertaining, Logan has to admit. Patton goes bright and flushed, his eyes squeezing shut, mumbling little things to himself and trying not to whine every time Virgil opens his mouth.

 “Aw,” Virgil teases when he breaks and tries to bite down on his knuckle, “don’t muffle yourself, cutie.”

 “Goodness, you need to stop.”

 “I want your voice on my playlist, it’s so pretty.”

 “Why?”

 “I just said.” Virgil props his chin on his hand again. “It’s so pretty.”

 “No, why are you doing this?”

 Virgil smirks. “Because you’re so pretty.”

 And with that, Patton’s reduced to another blushy panic with plenty of muttered comments and Virgil’s standing there, grinning. It’s refreshing, seeing Virgil so confident, so sure of himself. It looks good on him.

 And, of course, Patton is objectively adorable.

 The scene is so captivating, in fact, that Logan glances down at his watch only to realize the two minutes have expired.

 “Time,” he calls, much to Patton’s relief.

 “Thank goodness.”

 “Aw,” Virgil pouts, “you’ll hurt my feelings, cutie.”

 “Nope. No more.” Patton points a stern finger at him, the effect slightly undone by his pink cheeks and the fact that he’s obviously fighting a smile. “You get out.”

 Virgil just winks and saunters back to the couch.

 “Stellar performance, Dark and Stormy,” Roman declares, giving Virgil a round of applause, “truly excellent.”

 “Well done,” Logan says, “that was quite the display of self-confidence.”

 Virgil just lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “Eh. Easy dare. My turn now, right?”

 “Indeed.”

 Virgil narrows his eyes, glancing between the two of them. “Princey. Truth or dare?”

 “Dare,” Roman answers immediately, “what kind of prince would I be if I turned down a challenge?”

 Virgil smirks. “Alright, then. You have two minutes to make Patton redder than I did.”

 “Done.”

“Virgil,” Logan chides lightly as Roman prances off toward the kitchen.

 “Relax,” Virgil says, settling in to watch, “it’s not like he’s gonna hurt him.”

 “No, he’s just going to fluster him with the end goal of rendering him inarticulate.”

 Virgil smirks. “Exactly. Now shut up and watch.”

 “Oh, Addie,” Roman calls, smirking at the way Patton startles.

 “Oh, um, hey, Roman, um, what do you want?”

 “I just want to talk to you, Patton.”

 “Oh goodness,” Patton mumbles, already covering his face as Roman crowds him against the counter, “don’t say my name like that, that’s really mean!”

 Roman’s eyes gleam. “Dearest, if you wanted me to call you pet names instead, you only had to ask, my sweet, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

 “No!”

 Roman just smirks, bracing his hands on either side of him. “No? Then what should I call you, gorgeous?”

 Any reply is too muffled for Logan to hear. Virgil snickers as Roman sighs dramatically.

 “Fine, I’ll just have to call you by your lovely, lovely name.” He leans forward to try and peer through the gaps in his fingers. “Almost as lovely as you.”

 He chuckles when Patton whines again, spluttering like a fish out of water. “You’re so cute when you’re at a loss for words.”

 “What do you want?”

 “Oh, I was dared to make you redder than Virgil did.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you’re absolutely stunning, darling,” Roman answers easily, “and it’s stunningly easy to flirt with you.”

 “It is not!”

 Virgil snorts and Logan raises an eyebrow. Roman’s smirk widens.

 “Of course is it, cutie pie,” he coos, “all I have to do is this.”

 “N-no, don’t do that,” Patton stammers, trying to cover his face with a dish towel, only for Roman to catch his hands and effortlessly pull them out of the way, lacing their fingers together and holding them against the counter.

 “What’s the problem, sweetie?” He gently blows a strand of hair out of Patton’s face. “Is it just that I’m…right here? Talking like this to you? Is that it, honey?”

 “Mmm!”

 “Hmm?” Roman tilts his head. “What’s that, cutie?”

 “It’s not even flirting,” Patton manages, still looking as if he’s trying to sink into the counter.

 “I’m not even saying anything, cutie,” Roman coos, “and there’s nothing I enjoy better than being able to render you speechless like this.”

 Logan has to admit, Roman’s teasing is enough to make him shift on the couch, a slight flush rising unbidden to his face. Judging by the way Virgil starts fiddling with the strings on his hoodie, he’s not immune to it either.

 It really should not be that much of a surprise that Roman is one of the most proficient flirters in the Mindscape. Romance, passion, and desire all fall under his purview. And yet, here they all are, slowly growing more and more flustered.

 “Okay,” Virgil mutters just loud enough for Logan to hear, “Princey’s getting me and he’s not even trying.”

 “I concur.” Logan adjusts his tie and glances at his watch. “Thirty seconds.”

 “Come on.” Roman tugs gently at the towel in Patton’s hands. “You have to show me your cute little face, otherwise I won’t know if the dare’s over yet!”

 He finally manages to get the towel away from him and gasps, quickly reaching out to cup his cheeks before he can cover his face again. “Oh, just look at you, you’re even cuter up close!”

  “R-Roman!”

 “Yes, cutie pie?”

 “Let me go!”

 “Go where,” Roman murmurs, pushing Patton gently against the counter, “can you think of anywhere better to be than right here, in my arms, while I tease you silly? Hmm? You’re not even trying to get away, sunshine.”

 “Time.”

 Roman chuckles, stepping back, perching his hands on his hips. “What do you think, redder than Virgil’s go?”

 “Hmm,” Virgil hums, leaning over the back of the couch, “dunno. Can’t see his face from here.”

 “I’m mad at you,” Patton mutters, already covering his face.

 “Aw, no,” Roman purrs, “no you aren’t. Come on, gorgeous, if you don’t show us your face, I’ll just have to do it again!”

 “No.” Patton forces his hands down, making Roman chuckle again. Sure enough, his face is beet red, covering his skin with such intensity that for a moment, Logan worries. Then Virgil snorts.

 “Aww, he’s so cute!”

 “I know, isn’t he?”

 “Oh my goodness.”

 “Virgil,” Logan chides lightly.

 “You’re no fun, teach,” Virgil says, waving a hand, but he concedes. “Yeah, alright, Princey. You win.”

 Roman bows, sweeping his hand in a wide arc, before taking one of Patton’s hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

 “Thank you, sunshine.” With a wink, he strides back to the couch and sits down triumphantly. “That was fun!”

 His eyes widen when he sees Logan adjust his glasses nervously and Virgil quickly flips up his hood.

 “Don’t tell me that you got flustered too,” he teases, reaching up to poke Logan’s arm.

 “Enough,” Logan says quickly, “your turn to ask.”

 For a moment, he braces himself for Roman to not, indeed, agree, but then Roman simply pouts and tilts his head up.

 “Logan, dare or dare?”

 Logan blinks. “That is not the game, Roman.”

 “Yeah, but you’re the only one who hasn’t done a dare yet, so…” Roman shrugs. “Dare or dare?”

 “It seems pointless for me to choose between two of the same options,” Logan sighs, “but I will select ‘dare.’”

 Roman tilts his head this way and that, considering Logan. Then he grins.

 “I don’t think it’s fair if we leave Logan out,” he says to Virgil, “do you?”

 “Oh, goodness, hasn’t Patton had enough?”

 Virgil narrows his eyes at him. “So you don’t wanna have a turn?”

 Logan fiddles with his watch. “…I didn’t say that.”

 “Marvelous!” Roman claps his hands. “Oh, don’t be so shy, Logan!”

 “We know you’ve got notebooks full of ways to fluster us, L,” Virgil adds, “you’re good at it, okay?”

 Logan is quite proud of his ability to flirt, although how the others know about his research is a worrying question.

 “So,” Roman says cheerfully, “you have two minutes, but you have a harder job than we did.”

 Logan frowns and Roman’s grin widens.

 “You have two minutes to make Patton melt.”

 “Oh, Logan’s screwed,” Virgil chortles, tugging at his hoodie strings, “he’s so wound up right now.”

 Well.

 Logan gets up, adjusts his tie, and heads for the kitchen, ignoring the way Roman and Virgil scramble up onto the couch to watch.

 Patton’s leaning over the counter, pressing his hand to his forehead. He glances up when Logan enters the kitchen and pauses. Contrary to his previous statement, he doesn’t look upset or angry, simply exhausted.

 “You too, hmm?”

 “I’m afraid so.”

 Patton groans, letting his head drop onto the counter. “Did I do something? Or are you all just bored?”

 “We’re bored,” Virgil shouts, “and you’re cute!”

 “Shh, it’s not your turn anymore!”

 “Shut up, Princey.”

 Logan rolls his eyes fondly, stepping closer. Patton straightens up, waving a hand.

 “Go on. Just get it over with.”

 “And I thought Roman was dramatic,” Logan remarks dryly, “but I am not keeping you here. If you truly wish to leave…”

 He gestures toward the stairs. Patton glances between him and the stairs.

 “…really?”

 “By all means,” Logan says, lowering his voice and leaning against the wall to demonstrate he had no intentions of moving, “be my guest.”

 He watches, carefully keeping his face blank, as Patton starts to edge around the counter. He eyes the little bit of space he’s left and he can see the moment he realizes it’s not enough.

 “Okay,” he says, “I’m gonna go now.”

 “I know.” Logan tilts his head and smiles. “I’m not stopping you.”

 He stops out of his reach and stares at the gap again. One more little push, then.

 “You know…” Logan adjusts his glasses and looks Patton up and down. “You do not seem to be particularly…eager to leave, Patton.” He lets the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk. “Could it be that…you do not wish to leave?”

 Patton takes the bait.

 As soon as Patton gets close enough, Logan hooks his foot around his ankle and blocks his exit, not bothering to hide his smirk this time. “However,” he says quietly, “I do have a task to perform.”

 “You,” Patton mumbles, closing his eyes, “are mean.”

 “Then allow me to make it up to you.” Logan moves, using his weight to push him back into the kitchen. “I have a proposition.”

 “Logan…”

 Logan smiles, leaning against the counter. “Come here.”

 “That sounds awful.” Logan raises his eyebrows. “…okay, okay, I’m coming.”

 Patton stops in front of him, his arms wrapped protectively around his waist. He does indeed look very cute.

 “Touch can be very grounding for you,” Logan says quietly, careful to keep his voice too low for Roman and Virgil to hear, “so if you like, you may cuddle with me for the duration of the two minutes.”

 “…really?”

 “Yes, really.” He holds out one hand, palm up. “Or, you may leave. I won’t stop you this time.”

 He hugs himself tighter, glancing between the stairs and Logan’s hand. He tilts his head.

 “Come here, Patton,” he murmurs.

 He takes his hand.

 He pulls Patton closer, opening his arms and letting him hug him nervously. He hugs him back, creating a little pocket of intimacy apart from the rest of the room.

 “There…” Logan leans down to whisper in his ear. “Isn’t that better? Now you have something to hold onto, something to hide your face, hmm?”

 Patton nods, his face buried in his shoulder.

 The other thing about having Patton in his arms is that he can murmur directly into his ear, which both prevents Roman and Virgil from hearing anything he’s saying and makes flustering him much, much easier. He says as much, smiling when Patton whines and tightens his grip.

 “Do you know what my dare was, Patton?” When he shakes his head, Logan reaches up to gently run his hand through his hair. “It was not, in fact, to fluster you, but to make you melt.”

 “M-melt?”

 “Yes, dear,” Logan smirks when Patton shudders involuntarily. “Do you like the pet names, little one?”

 “Logan…”

 “Shh,” he murmurs, running his hand through his hair again, “it’s quite alright, dear. Physical affection helps you relax, pet names make you feel cared for. It makes sense.

 “You are a sweetheart. No, no, don’t disagree with me,” he hushes, “you are. You care very much about how you can help other people and you do, sweetheart. It follows that having such affections be returned make you feel good.”

 He tightens his grip, cradling his head against his shoulder. “You feel good right now, don’t you, dear?”

 “…yes.”

 “Then, truly, how can you blame us for wanting to call you so many?” Logan tilts his head a little more. “You always get so flustered by it.”

 “No, I don’t…”

 “You clearly do,” he purrs, “you’re not hiding it well, dear. I can feel how warm your face is, pressed into me like that.”

 As he speaks, he feels it grow warmer still. He chuckles.

 “Oh, there’s really no need to be so embarrassed, dear,” he murmurs, “it makes complete sense. Hugs have been proven to decrease stress, reduce blood pressure, and increase the production of oxytocin.“ He smirks. “Quite the addictive drug, no?”

 Patton whines and he runs his hand slowly down his spine, pulling his hips against his.

 “You are smaller than me—“

 “Hey!”

 “—you are, which increases the feeling of protection,” he murmurs, “and safety, and thus you will relax.”

 He draws the word out with deliberate slowness, the end of it turning into a chuckle as he trembles in his hold.

 “That’s it, dear,” he says softly, “relax. Because there’s one more reason you’re going to melt for me.”

 Logan pauses, glancing up to see Roman and Virgil staring at them over the edge of the kitchen counter. He smirks and puts his mouth deliberately close to Patton’s ear.

 “You care for me, don’t you, Patton,” Logan whispers, his breath ghosting over his neck, “you do, don’t you? You care for me.”

 Patton whimpers.

 “Say it, dear,” Logan coaxes, “say you care for me?”

 “…of course I do,” comes the strangled whisper.

 “Of course you do,” he purrs, “of course you do, and here you are…wrapped up in my arms…letting me call you pet names…letting you hide your blush in the crook of  my neck…”

 He shifts one last time, making sure Roman and Virgil can see. Raising his voice slightly, he cups the back of Patton’s head protectively. He glances at his watch.

 “Ready?” He threads his fingers through the baby hairs on the back of Patton’s neck.

 “One…two…three, melt for me, dear.”

 The two minutes run out just as Patton whines and melts into a blushing little puddle in Logan’s arms.

 “Holy shit,” Logan hears Virgil mutter, “he fucking did it.”

 “I’m never underestimating him again.” Roman throws his hands up. “He did it in two minutes.”

 He tightens his grip, his nails scratching the back of his neck. “Good job, dear.”

 And if it makes him shudder and lean into him a little more, well, that’s just something else to add to the notebook.

 It’s cathartic; he can wind them up, make them all flustered, and then open his arms and cuddle them right back down, give them the reassurance of getting all worked up in a safe environment where nothing’s really gonna hurt them. Plus, if they’re too tired to protest when he peppers kisses all over them, that’s just a bonus.

 Janus—the one whose fault this is—is classic spy movie seduction. Textbook. His silver-tongue makes compliments as smooth as his scales and subtle touches that make their heads spin. Pet names, snarky comments, teasing, the lot of it. He knows they have a thing for his voice. All he has to do most of the time is get close and purr and they’re putty in his hands. Sometimes he’ll stay further away where they have nowhere to hide and just watch them squirm. Sometimes he just has to look at them a certain way and they’re gone. He is the embodiment of using the business end of your weapon to homo-erotically tilt up your opponent’s chin. Rivals Roman for how easy it is for him to make them flustered, but unlike Roman, with him, it’s a toss-up. He knows he’s a lot, and odds are, if he’s going to flirt with them, it’s more likely to be for the catharsis reason and less because they’re fun to play with. (Even though they are.) So, if he’s not having a competition with another Side or in a playful mood, he’s much gentler about it than Roman is, he’ll stop a lot sooner or pull them into his lap for cuddles. Or, like Remus, he’ll just touch them, let them hide their face in the crook of his neck, and just run his hands over them. It’s a perfect combination of grounding and flustering. Plus, warmth is good for snakes and there’s nothing warmer than a bright, flushed, flustered face. Totally doesn’t fluster people on purpose to steal their body heat.

 Remus is by far the only side where his approaches are completely different depending on who it is. Virgil is flustered very easily by his innuendos and everything, the more audacious, the better. Sometimes it resorts to the two of them having a flirt-off, the loser hiding their face while the victor cackles. Or Remus will make something that totally isn’t an innuendo into one and Virgil’s gone. For Logan, often he’ll just find him and tackle him onto the nearest surface, flopping down on top of him like a cat and listening as Patton starts verbally vomiting as he gets redder and redder. But overt sexual references make Patton and Janus really really uncomfortable, so it’s the bad kind of flustered. Instead, he’ll just find them and cuddle them and loudly explain how they are in fact the best cuddler. He finds how embarrassed they get very amusing. And if it has the side effect of summoning everyone else to a cuddle pile both because of the outrageous idea that anyone is better at cuddling than them and also free cuddles, well. Oops.

 So yeah. It’s a fucking mess.

 At least it’s a hot mess, right?

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[itsadamcole]

arranged

fem!reader x drew mcintyre

reader was just a regular American girl who has some royal family members in Scotland. Drew is the heir to the Scottish throne, and he needed to marry to become king. Drew and reader were married only days after they met, making reader a Scottish princess. both were against the wedding. now, the two want nothing to do with each other unless they have to attend a public event, until one night ...

word count: 3.6k

warnings: prince!drew, arguments, arranged marriage (ig that's what you can call it?), angst, a tiny bit of fluff

— this was originally gonna be one part but now it’s two bc that’s just the way the writing brought me. this was also gonna go in a completely different direction than it did but now this is it. enjoy —

part 2 || masterlist || request an imagine here

***

You're getting ready in your chambers. The maids are helping you get ready for the annual New Years Ball that the royal family of Scotland puts on every January 1st. Your long Y/H/C colored hair is being curled by one of the maids while another does your makeup. A third maid is making sure your dress and shoes are ready for you for when your hair and makeup are done.

Balls are not your thing. Actually, going out in public with your husband is not your thing. It's only a few times a week but you're not all about the fake smiles and hand-holding when you were never supposed to marry him anyway.

Being a princess was not on your list of things to be in life. You were an up and rising professional wrestler. Your great Aunt Blair asked you to come to Scotland to meet someone while you were wrestling on Ring of Honor. You had no idea that she meant that she actually volunteered you to marry the heir to the Scottish throne.

The maid doing your hair throws some little white flowers with a sparkly silver lining on the end of the petals. The maid doing your makeup has done a silver smokey eye look with some highlight, blush, and nude lipstick color.

Your nails were done earlier in the day. You got an acrylic French manicure. The nails are kind of long and oval-shaped.

"Princess," one of the maids says. "Yer dress is ready for ya when ya're."

You look at the ballgown hanging up in your large closet and sigh softly.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you get up. One of the maids grabs the dress. You take off the long, silky robe and the dress is pulled over your head. You're zipped up and the maids puff out the skirt.

The silver ball gown is very poofy with a small trail. The dress is strapless and very sparkly. The neck dips down a little bit. The top is tight and gets poofy at the waist. You put on silver heels to match the dress.

You put on silver earrings and a necklace, as well as your diamond engagement ring and silver wedding band.

There's a knock on your door as one of the maids put on a silver tiara since you are the princess of Scotland. Another one answers the door.

"Oh, yer highness," she says, bowing. "The princess is almost ready."

A male voice says, "Thank ya, Miss Arabel." Your husband, Drew, is at the door.

After some finishing touches, you're finally ready. You walk up to the door and look at Drew, who's dressed nicely in a black and white suit with a silver tie to match you. His hair in a neat ponytail on the back of his head. He's also wearing his wedding band.

"Ready?" he asks. You can hear the annoyance in his voice.

You nod and mumble, "Sure."

Drew hooks his arm with yours and the two of you head down to the ballroom.

You wait at the door with Drew's father and brother. The royal family is announced together. Drew's father, the King of Scotland, says, "Y/N, ya look stunning. Doesn't she, Drew?" He looks at his eldest son.

Drew just nods and says, "Sure, it's a little too much though."

Anger rises within you as Drew's dad signals for the door to be opened. The guard at the door opens the door and another guard yells, "Introducing the Royal Family of Scotland. The king, Andrew, Prince Drew, Princess Y/N, and Prince John."

Music plays and a fake smile forms on your lips as you follow Drew's father into the large ballroom. Most of the room is made of gold and a large chandelier hangs on the ceiling.

"The princess looks stunning."

"Look at the princess."

The comments make you blush and the fake smile turns real. Drew looks down at you without you knowing.

You and Drew mingle, talking with guests together. Drew steals occasional glances at you but you don't notice as you laugh with the guests.

Being an American, you're still learning about all the Scottish traditions. You've only been over here for a few months so everyday is a learning experience. The guests ask what you did for the holidays with Drew and his family since it's your first time in the country.

"Oh, we celebrated Christmas the way we do in America," you explain to the guests who asked. "Christmas Eve dinner, presents on Christmas morning, and Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. Drew and I also watched some Christmas movies that night. I've heard that Scotland's Christmas traditions are similar to America's."

You added the part about Drew to make it seem like you and your husband actually spent time together on Christmas. After dinner, you went off to your separate chambers and you watched Christmas movies over FaceTime with your friend who now works in NXT, Candice LeRae.

The guests are all very interested. Then the music changes and Drew asks, "M'lady, may I have this dance?"

You look up at Drew and say, "Uh, yeah. Sure." He takes your hand and you excuse yourself from the small group and walk to the dance floor with Drew.

He takes one of your hands in his and the other goes to your waist. You hold up your very poofy skirt so you don't trip.

The dance is slow at first, to make sure you don't trip. Once you're both in sync with each other and you're sure you won't trip, Drew speeds up the movements.

"Wow," Drew says. "My toes aren't bruised yet. Looks like those dance lessons 're paying off."

You stare up at Drew, who is standing tall above you at six foot five. "You're so funny, Drew," you say, rolling your eyes. "I almost peed from laughing so hard."

Drew says, "And there's the sarcasm I absolutely just love about ya."

"As if you love anything about me," you mumble to yourself.

The air turns tense and he says, "Ya could only wish that I'd love ya, or anything about this relationship."

Rolling your eyes, you say, "Maybe if you spent time with me, maybe you'd actually start liking things about this relationship. You only married me to become king when your father relinquishes the crown in a few months."

He looks around and says in a hush tone, "Believe it or not, Y/N, but I married ya for several reasons. Yes, I needed t'marry t'become king but I was excited to start a family. Then ya got here and were nothing like I expected. Yeah, I have an attitude with ya but that's because ya have one with me all the time."

Annoyance rises within you and you say, "I gave up my career to come here. I gave up my dreams of wrestling for WWE and winning titles for the company. I'm not happy I'm in this marriage, Drew. I married a stranger and you're still a stranger to me."

Guests start to look at you and Drew so he takes your hand and whisks you off to a more private area in one of the hallways. You trip over your gown as you follow closely behind Drew.

The door closes and now you're alone with Drew. He looks at you and says, "I'm sorry that ya gave up wrestling to come here and marry me, Y/N. I'm not that happy about it either but if I wanted t'succeed my father then I had'ta marry someone, and that someone is ya."

"You could've picked someone in the country, Drew," you say. "Seriously, you had to pick me."

Drew says, "Yer aunt spoke very highly of ya when she would visit my father. When my father told me I needed t'marry, my mind went t'ya. I didn't think about the repercussions ya would face when I told my father I wanted ya t'be my wife."

Sighing, you say, "Wrestling was taken away from me and I moved away to a country to marry a prince. It's been overwhelming for me and you are nowhere to be seen. I've been taking princess lessons for months and I'm still struggling. It doesn't help I'm alone, Drew, in a foreign country. I don't even have wrestling anymore because I 'can't risk getting hurt'. It's not a fairytale ending like in the books."

There's a silence between the two of you before Drew says, "It still can be"

You look at Drew and ask, "What does that mean?"

He meets your eyes and suddenly you feel butterflies. You've never felt butterflies in your stomach since meeting Drew.

"I just thought that maybe before the coronation that maybe we can go t'America and see a few wrestling shows," he says slowly. "I'm a big fan myself."

Everyday in Scotland is a learning experience. You didn't know that he was a wrestling fan.

You say, "I'd, uh, like that."

Drew slowly takes your hand and he says, "I also thought that maybe we can share a room together like a married couple should."

Confused, you say, "It was your idea to have the separate chambers since we 'didn't have to be married within the four walls of the castle'. At least that's what you told me."

He says, "Contrary to popular belief, I actually do like ya, Y/N. Why do ya think my mind went t'ya when asked if there was someone I wanted t'marry? The girls in this country are beautiful, don't get me wrong, but ya. There's just something about ya that peeks my interests."

You stare up at Drew and for a second before you say, "We've been married for months and this is all coming out now."

"We've never had this conversation until now," Drew says, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "By the way, ya do look stunning in that dress. Shows yer personality really well."

You get flustered and say, "You said it was too much."

Drew chuckles and says, "I'm just that good of a liar, I guess."

A little bit of annoyance creeps up and you say, "Stop lying to me, Drew. I'm confused and now I have a headache because of what you're saying to me."

He says, "I know, I'm sorry. I can walk ya to yer room if ya wanna go lay down and get rid of that ache."

You soften up a bit and say, "Yeah." That's all you say. That's all you feel like you can say.

So, Drew walks you to your chambers. You notice that you're still holding his hand when you arrive at the door of your room. He turns toward you and says, "Whenever ya would like t'go see those wrestling shows in America then let me know and we'll go, okay?"

You nod and look up at your husband. "Thank you, Drew," you say. "Offering to go see some wrestling shows in my home country sounds really nice."

Drew says, "It's been a while since I've been to America and I'd like t'see where my wife is from."

My wife. He said you were his wife. That was the first time behind closed doors that he's referred to you as his wife.

There's another silence between the two of you before you say, "I'm, um, going to head inside. Take some medicine and lay down."

"Can I stop by later t'make sure yer okay?" he asks slowly and cautiously.

You consider it for a moment before you say, "Yeah, sure. Just come in if you do because knocking may make my headache worse."

Drew nods and says, "Alright."

You look up at Drew and the air between the two of you thickens a bit. Your heart races in your chest as you wait for Drew to do something.

He pushes a loose curl behind your ear before he kisses your cheek lightly. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest when his lips touch your cheek. You look at him as he pulls away from you slowly.

"Goodnight, in case yer asleep when I come check on ya after the party," Drew says quietly.

You nod and say in almost a whisper, "Goodnight."

He shoots you a smile before walking off to the party again. You stand in the hallway for a second, playing with your engagement ring as you watch him walk off.

For the first time in this marriage, Drew's actions and words made you have butterflies in your stomach and made your heart race.

If you didn't know any better then you might be falling for your husband.

***

The moment between you and Drew has melted away by morning. You walked down to breakfast early the next morning and he doesn't even acknowledge your presence at the table.

"Y/N, are ya feeling okay?" Drew's dad asks. "Ya left with Drew and only Drew came back."

Nodding, you say, "Yeah. I just wasn't feeling well so I went to bed a little early. That's all."

Drew finally glances at you and his dad says, "Feeling better this morning, I hope?"

"Depends," you say, looking at Drew. "Is your eldest son going to keep ignoring me like he is right now?"

His dad looks at him and asks, "Is there something wrong?"

You say, "No, nothing's wrong." You get angry and stand up. "Excuse me but I think I'm going to go back to my chambers. I'm not feeling well again."

After you're done talking, you leave and go back to your room. You've just closed the door when there's a knock.

Reluctantly, you go and answer it. Drew stands in the doorway and you say, "Oh, great. It's you. Come to promise me something else then ignore me again?"

Drew says, "Look, I'm sorry. This whole thing is new to me, Y/N. I'm 35 and I haven't been in a serious relationship like this."

"We're not even in a relationship, Drew," you spit at him. "We're legally bind to each other for you to become king."

He says, "I'm trying here, Y/N!" His voice is rising. "I'm fucking trying. We met, were engaged then married within weeks. I'm trying t'be a good husband in public while also trying t'form a relationship with you behind closed doors. It's not easy. Especially because I do want a relationship with ya, Y/N."

You glare at him and say, "Ignoring me isn't trying, Drew."

He says, "I know, Y/N." He rubs his face. "God, I'm terrible at communicating how I feel and this is whole new territory for me."

Deciding to lighten the air, you say, "If you want to be king then you have to work on communication skills there, Drew."

Drew looks at you and says, "I'm gonna pretend that I didn't just hear ya say that."

You smile and say, "Come on, Drew. Lighten up a bit. Here, tell me the truth. How do you feel when you're around me?"

Your husband blinks at you and thinks for a second. He says, "I, uh, I feel nervous. Ya make me a little nervous, Y/N. My heart races when ya're around me, especially when we touch. Um, when ya walk into a room, I feel a knot in my stomach. I don't know what it's called-"

"Butterflies," you say, helping him out. "They're called butterflies in the stomach. It's what happens when we're around someone who we may or may not like."

Drew looks down at you and says, "Sounds like yer talking from experience."

You nod slightly and say, "I am."

He blinks at you and starts to say something before someone walks into the hallway and say, "I apologize for the interruption, your highnesses. Prince Drew, your father has requested your presence in his chambers. Immediately."

Drew nods and says, "One second." He turns toward you. "When I'm done with my father, I'll come back and we can keep talking. Okay?"

You nod and he smiles before walking off quickly.

That's when you notice when there are butterflies in your stomach again.

***

It's hours later and you're still waiting for Drew. You've asked your maids if they've seen him and they've all said that he's still with his father.

You're watching Freaky Friday on Disney Plus when the doors to your chambers open. A red-faced Drew walks in and you ask, "Woah, Fire Face. What's wrong?"

"My father is what's wrong," Drew says. He's pacing around the room and you pause the movie, getting up and walking to him.

You say, "Talk to me, Drew." He doesn't look at you. "Hey, dumbass. I'm your wife, remember? You're supposed to talk to me about this stuff."

Finally, Drew looks down at you. You're so much shorter than him. You're barely five foot four. You're eye level with his chest and you have to tilt your head up to look at Drew.

He says, "My father just told me that we're going on a two week tour of the country. He wants me t'know the country before I ascend the throne."

"What's the matter with that?" you ask, gently stroking Drew's arm to calm him down.

His eyes are on your hand on his arm as he says, "I wanted t'surprise ya with tickets home t'America for the two weeks that we'll be on tour."

Your eyes widen and you say, "We can go when we get back."

Drew says, "When we got t'America, yer friend was gonna meet us in Florida. I got ya cleared t'wrestle in one match in WWE against your friend. It was more than just going t'see some wrestling shows in America. When we got t' ya're hometown, I was gonna take ya t'yer favorite spot that ya told me about before and I was gonna ask if ya wanted t'try and be a real couple."

Your heart sinks into stomach when you see how upset Drew is about this. You say, "You had all that planned out for me? For us?"

He nods and says, "I wanted ya to feel less alone and I wanted ya t'have at least one more match before ya actually have t'give up wrestling."

You console Drew by hugging him. You close your eyes and you say, "I already feel less alone, Drew."

"What about yer one more match?" he asks.

Looking up at Drew, you say, "I've already come to terms with the fact I'll probably never wrestle again. It would have been amazing to be in a WWE ring but I don't need one more match."

His hands rest on your cheeks before he says, "I'll get ya in a WWE ring at some point, Y/N. Ya gave up yer career t'be here. It's the least I can do."

The idea of talking to Drew's father pops into your mind and you say, "I need to do something really quick. Can you excuse me?"

Drew nods and you let go of each other before you walk off to the king's chambers.

At the door, you knock. A "come in" is said from the other side so you open the large doors.

King Andrew sits at his desk and he looks up at you. "Ah, Y/N," he says, getting up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Postpone the tour of Scotland," you bluntly say. "Please, sir."

His face hardens a bit as he says, "Drew must've told ya what was happening."

You nod and say, "He did, and he pulled a lot of strings to surprise me back home. Mr. King Sir, he gave me an opportunity to do the thing I love one more time before I give it up to join him by his side as queen of this beautiful country. He wants to take this trip to help us get closer so maybe we could be together behind closed doors as well. Let us take this trip and the day we get back, we can tour this country that I can proudly say I call my second home."

Andrew looks at you as you talk. He leans against his desk and crosses his arms across his chest, looking down at the floor when you're done talking.

You wait for a response.

It's almost an eternity before he says, "I can remember what it was like t'be in love with Drew's mother when we were younger. All the trips we took were always business, never for pleasure. Then she got sick and she died, and I regret that we never got to go on a trip just for pleasure. So, I will postpone the tour so ya and Drew can visit the States, but the day ya get back is the day the tour of Scotland begins."

You smile and say, "Yes, Mr. King Sir. May I go tell Drew the news?"

He nods and dismisses you.

As soon as you're out of the room, you take off back toward your chambers. Drew sits on the small love seat in your room and looks at you when you walk in.

"When do we leave to go to America?"

—

tags: @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (waffles)

summary: (part 1) or (part 5) <- reader joins douxie on his quest to protect nari. he’ll need company wont he. (part 6) do you like waffles? also appalachia and nj trollmarket fun. next-> (part 7)

warnings: swearing, fem! reader, maybe an alcohol mention, proof reading is for squares yo

word count: 3875

a/n: i’m sorry to anyone from PA but wtf. i also have no idea why this turned out the way it did. bon apetit.

no gif im trying to test something

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Y/n looked over at Douxie. The blue of his hair was starting to fade into a duller hue. While not as bright and bold as his personality, it was still very nice to look at. This muted blue was softer, almost comforting in a way. Y/n found herself running her fingers through it. It wasn’t just the color that was soft. Like feathers in her hand, she gently caressed the strands. The duller color made him look tired, older, and the permanent bags under his eyes didn’t help. She placed her hand on his face and ran her thumb over a said eye bag. He gave her a very subdued smile in return. His sunken eyes were so beautiful. Her favorite color. Or colors, one should say. They were like an earth toned opal. Y/n’s hand drifted down his face. She used her thumb to explore his cheekbones, tracing constellations in his freckles, and finally settled on his mouth, tracing his cupid’s bow. Douxie couldn’t help but break the stoic face he was trying to hold.

“As much as I hate to ask this, and I really do, but will you please cease what you’re doing, My Love. I’m trying to drive here.”

“Yes, I would also like to ask you to stop, miss L/n. Not wrecking the ship is worth you canning your pda for a while.” Archie added.

Y/n pulled her hand back and exaggeratedly pouted. She teasingly stuck her tongue out at Archie for good measure, but couldn’t help but dissolve into a snicker right after so it wasn’t very effective. But really, it wasn’t her fault that Douxie’s beautifully sculpted face was right there and demanding to be touched. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the scenery around them. North Pennsylvania was delightful, so it’d be a shame if she spent the whole time that they flew through it looking at nothing but Douxie. There was plenty of time for her to do that the rest of her life. It’s not like she didn’t have every freckle memorized already. Every single adorable little dot. Right, Pennsylvania. Appalachia. Y/n was a little disappointed they didn’t manage to go through West Virginia, being as north as they were. She really wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Country roads.

The mountains were hard to transverse through, so Douxie took the boat up high in the clouds. A little too high. The oxygen was thin. While this didn’t affect Archie the dragon or Nari the plant goddess, Douxie and Y/n were getting a bit woozy. Neither would get altitude sickness to the point of dying, thanks to that good ol’ curse of immortality, but their minds weren’t exactly operating at high speeds here. They passed through a low hanging cloud in a puff of fog.

Though they were over it, just being in the range of Appalachia felt odd. There was a presence that clung to the mountains. Even flying high up in the air, one felt as though they were being watched. Like the thousand eyes of the forest were upon them. Looking down below, hanging over the edge like Douxie hated her to do, Y/n saw a herd of deer that might as well be ants. Watching over the herd was a bigger, or maybe closer, stag on a peak of some sort. His antlers were covered in crimson. Y/n hoped he was just shedding.

There were pathways cutting through the trees below, some roads, some manmade trails, some rivers, some troll trails, and some deer trails. Some that wound around in endless curves, some that seemed to start from nowhere and stop at nothing, some that went round and round in a circle, and some that crossed over each other, effectively creating a maze of sorts. Y/n didn’t know why, but she was glad she was above the trees and not in them. Something within her gut told her that as beautiful as the scenery was, she did not wish to experience it first-hand. The deer below were beautiful, but there was something not quite right about them. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to turn down a game of ninepins either, and she could really go for a drink.

Douxie’s brain may have been foggy, but he could certainly see Y/n hanging over the edge again, tantalizing him. He couldn’t help but imagine 174 ways for it to end badly. He’d been pretty passive about this before but now that they were so high up, he had no choice but to be up front now.

“Y/n, My Love,” Y/n turned her attention to him, which also pulled her weight more towards the boat than the sky. Good. “do you mind being back near the center of the ship? I really don’t like you draping yourself over the railing like that.”

Y/n was getting sick and tired of people always trying to keep her away from edges, advising her not to climb the mountain, telling her to stay inside when there was only a light rainstorm. She could handle it. She wasn’t a fucking porcelain doll. She was not wearing a fancy gown that suffocated her, she could speak, her lips were not perfectly painted on. And she wouldn’t shatter. “Relax, Dewdrop. I’m fine. I’m not just gonna go skydiving for kicks. If anyone has had a penchant for falling through the sky recently, it’s been you, Hisirdoux. I can catch myself with anti-gravity spells, like you taught me. Besides, we walk across tall, crumbly, ancient non-osha compliant walkways all the time. You never had a problem then.”

“Well,” He huffed, “it would be one thing if I was there next to you, but I’m not, so could you please just try to stay safe when I can’t reach you?” Y/n was taken about at how quick his tone went from annoyed to desperate. She furrowed her brows. Doux sighed, “Look, it frightens me, okay. I know that nothing will happen, but what if it does? I can’t- I can’t lose you.” His tone got even feebler in his pleading. “And there’s so many ways to lose you. Especially with the Order on our tails. Please, just give me this peace of mind for at least one thing.”

Y/n stepped away from the railing, crossing over to Douxie. He opened his arm and she nestled into his side. Pressing her head against his chest, she mumbled, “Absolutely. I’ll just—I’ll just stay here then. Next to you. I’m sorry I worried you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you, My Darling.”

~ ~ ~

The dipped down south to go through the top of Maryland and completely through Delaware to get to the south of New Jersey, in place of just going through Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love was not on the itinerary.  Philly, and the top of New Jersey, were just too densely populated to take a magic boat through. The airspace was filled with airplanes and skyscrapers. It was easier to go the roundabout way.

As they passed between Philly and Lancaster, they went by fantastically named towns such as Paradise the city, where the girls are pretty, Bird In Hand, Blue Ball, and Intercourse. Stellar. Y/n was starting to really like Pennsylvania. It was cursed ground. She made sure to get photographic evidence of every road sign. Douxie was happy to pose with them.

They took a pit stop in a town called Peach Bottom before leaving Pennsylvania. Y/n wanted to go through New Texas, since she was curious how somewhere in the original colonies could be a new Texas, but Nari could sense a river nearby, and wanted to seek it out. Peach Bottom. It was a cozy little town with a power plant that was dumping it’s waste into the riverside it was built on. Toxic river. Fun. Y/n made Douxie explain to Nari why she couldn’t get near the river or touch any of the water. Y/n wouldn’t have been able to stay as calm as Douxie could. There was nothing happening in the rural Pennsylvanian town. Nothing special about it unless you counted their countless nuclear admissions. The locals didn’t care for strangers, and that was alright with them cause they didn’t want to be here for any more than necessary for a restroom break. Dinner could wait.

The top of Maryland was great. Lots of rivers to make it up to Nari. There was just, an incredibly large walmart near the line. Just absolutely humongous whopper walmart. A leach whose name doesn’t even deserve to be capitalized, thank you very much autocorrect.

It took less than half an hour to fly right through the top of Delaware. Hi Delaware, bye Delaware.

Soon they were on the coast of south New Jersey, headed for a sleepy town called Monty. Monty was a town along the Cohansey, split across it with quite an impressive bridge between the two sides. As soon as the bridge became visible on the skyline, Y/n grabbed Douxie’s sleeve and tugged excitedly. She looked up at him with a big smile. Rest. At last, they were going to get to rest. Y/n made herself busy calling Jim to let him know that they were there so he could call someone else to let them know that they were there and to wait by the entrance for them. Neither Douxie nor Y/n had a horngazzle on them at the moment. Y/n had had one in her possession back in Arcadia, being book club buddies with Blinky, but alas that was destroyed along with their bookstore.

They hid that damn magic boat in the forest. While they did plan on staying with the trolls for a few weeks, Douxie didn’t put it back in its glass bottle quite yet, cause they were in fact taking it into New York not tomorrow but the next day. He covered the ground around it with a few more wards than necessary. Y/n threw up an illusion spell around it, as she had been all the other times they’d just left it in the woods, and thought the wards were overkill but didn’t say anything. They started on the trek to the base of the bridge.

The troll at the entrance greeted them cordially. He was a dark green color, with two massive horns resembling those of a longhorn cow, chiseled stone tattoos, and no clothes other than a tiny loincloth which made everyone but Nari uncomfortable. He let them in with flourish, as if he’d always wanted to do this and practiced it.

“Welcome to NEW JERSEY TROLLMARKET.”

Y/n was surprised at how well the town had come along within the two months the trolls had occupied the cavern. It wasn’t the Trollmarket she had known, there was no Blinky and no library, but still marvelous. The new hearthstone glowed warmly, very much alive and not making zombies. While looking pretty similar to the old Trollmarket, with a multitude of shops and homes carved into the mineral covered walls and formations, there was a sort of human touch to it now. Claire definitely had a hand in the planning and maybe the decorative features too. Or perhaps Jim. Y/n wouldn’t put it past the boy to be the one who designed the very elaborate crystal art flower bed she was looking at. Or that weirdly steampunk bridge. Funny thing, a bridge under a bridge.

Dictatious met them soon after they came in to show them around and to where they would be staying. The tour he gave them basically just included him walking them through the main street, waving his arms to various places and vaguely saying that they were shops but not what they sold, pointing out the pub, and then took them straight to their accommodations. Since the home that had been occupied by Blinky, Jim, and Claire was now empty, they’d be staying there, with the place practically to themselves. Dictatious also lived in said home, but rarely stuck around it for long now that his brother was gone.

“Alright, here’s your nest.”

Since Dictatious still slept in the nest that he shared with Blinky, he had given them Jim and Claire’s. The nests were just rocky bowls carved into the floor of the room, with a few comfort items. Thankfully, Jim and Claire had left theirs full of pillows and a couple thick cushions they must have taken from a couch. Unconventional, but better than sleeping on literal solid rock. Speaking of couches, there were way too many couches spread across the apartment. This entire place only had two rooms, a large living area and a nestroom, and yet there were five couches. Not to mention the extra-large easy chair Dic was currently lounging in. Okay, so one of said couches was technically a love seat, but still. There was no kitchen, which was surprising due to this being Jim Lake Jr’s home, and no table besides the one that three of the sofas were gathered around and a paper-covered work desk against a corner. There were glowing crystal lamps all throughout, lighting the house. All in all, interesting interior design decisions. The kids had definitely been trying to make it a more homey human dwelling but had limited options.

Nari nestled into the nest, happy that there were no blankets to smother her. Not even a minute passed and she was out like a light. Douxie and Y/n sat on one of the couches in the nestroom, watching the veggie lady snooze. Archie made himself comfy in Douxie’s lap, who absent mindedly stroked his familiar’s fur. They were underground now. Surrounded by inorganic matter. Some of that inorganic matter could fight, would be willing to fight, would probably be disappointed if there wasn’t a fight. The little devil on Douxie’s shoulder wasn’t really having to work hard. His stomach growled. They had opted to just not stop for dinner in favor of plowing right through their trip route. It was late, and dark, and Douxie really just wanted them to have a roof over their head before midnight. And now they did.

He looked over at Y/n. They had been a couple for an entire day now and he had yet to take her on a proper date. What a bad boyfriend he was. It’s not like Archie would want to come with them or anything either, since he filled himself with birds that didn’t know what hit them while they traveled. The dragon had even caught a hawk at one point, which wasn’t as impressive as it sounds, since Archie was a much faster flyer. He would be happy to watch Nari for them, surely. And Dic had given them a horngazzle so they could come and go as they pleased. It was settled then.

“Arch, watch Nari for us, please, we’ll be back in a pinch,” He grabbed Y/n’s hand to pull her off the couch, “C’mon, My Love, we’re going on a date.”

~ ~ ~

Turns out the only thing open past midnight in small town New Jersey was a waffle house. The perfect date. Y/n had thought it funny to watch Douxie try and deactivate all the fresh wards he had put around the boat. He had to be careful where he put his feet, and it was like he was doing a silly little dance. Ward trap ballet of his own barely thought-out design. At one point he stepped backwards to admire his work, triggering the ward behind him, and Y/n had to free him from the net. Lucky it was just a net one.

Entering the waffle house, they slid into the nearest booth, the one near the jukebox. They ordered what else but waffles. The food of kings and hungover college kids. Not just plain waffles, though. Douxie got chocolate chip and Y/ got strawberry, and they were going to combine them to make chocolate covered strawberry waffles. Everyone knows chocolate covered strawberries were the most romantic food, why else would they push them so hard around Valentine’s.

Douxie leaned in with his head in his hand. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Y/n laughed, decided to play into this bit. “Oh, I’m just a California lass, on her way to New York. Things have been crazy lately. Went to a very convincing renaissance faire, I’m harboring a fugitive, my roommate keeps hitting on me. Very stressful.  Sure am lucky I came across you, Mr. Handsome.”

“Lucky indeed.” Doux snickered.

Y/n pointed to the jukebox behind Doux, which he twisted around to see. “Have you ever heard ‘Last Night I Saw Elvis At Waffle House’?”

“No?”

“Oh, it’s a banger.” She got out of the booth and put a coin in the juke, making her selection. She slid back in with a Cheshire cat grin and Doux was kind of scared now, actually. As the current song ended and the song that they were waiting for began. Well, it was a song. About seeing Elvis in a waffle house. With a country tune he supposed someone thought was catchy in order for them to have recorded this. Douxie didn’t know what he had expected.

“Uh, wow.”

“Yeah, Ain’t it something. I loved this song when I was knee high to a grasshopper. All the waffle house jams really.”

“Your aunt let someone bring you to a waffle house? That’s not very proper.” Douxie chuckled.

“Oh, no, actually. Um, this was before my dad passed and my mother, ah, slipped.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Douxie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

“No, no. I’m fine Dewdrop. I can talk about it, really. And, like you said the other day, I’ve been focusing on the Now Love.” The silly waffle house themed song was still playing despite the air of seriousness that had fallen over the duo. It helped keep Y/n from getting too sad and dwelling on the memories she had just brought up. It was comical, really. A waffle house song keeping her grounded. She rubbed the palm of Douxie’s hand. “I still mourn my family, but it’s been so long that the pain’s but a dull ache now. As long as I don’t think too hard about it. If anyone knows about mourning it’d be you, Doux. I can’t imagine meeting hundreds of friends over my lifetime just to watch them all grow old and die while you just have to go on living.” She paused, eyes drifting downwards, “But I suppose that’ll be my fate anyways.”

Douxie reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s actually not that bad, once you get used to it. You just have to enjoy every bit of time you get. That’s what makes other magic friends so valuable, there are some permanent players on your team.” He let his hand linger under her jaw, pulling her face closer to his, “You have me. We have each other. We’re family. We always have been.”

“So I hate to interrupt, but, waffles.” The server put the plates she had been holding down onto the table. Douxie and Y/n pulled away from each other quick as lightning, sitting up straight in their seats. “Again, sorry guys.”

“Thank you.” The two chorused to their fleeting form in embarrassment. Their faces were fire engine red. Archie was right, they did get a little carried away with the pda. It may have been 12:28am in a waffle house but they were still in public. Grabby hands needed to be kept to themselves.

After dinner, neither Doux nor Y/n could bring themselves to go home quite yet, despite the nagging feeling to return to Nari. They loitered around woods, unsure of what to do. Leaning against the parked boat, Douxie got an idea. He put on the music on his phone, turning the volume all the way up and positioning it so it’d put out a better sound the best he could. The playlist he selected was actually the one he had of songs that reminded him of his beloved. Copying what Y/n had done last night, he held out his hand.

“Come on, dance with me, My Darling.”

Douxie twirled Y/n around in the night breeze that blew through the trees. This song was much faster than the one they danced to last time, and there was more energy between them. Y/n’s laugh echoed through the forest. This was a lot of fun, she could do it all night. Honestly, she could do anything all night if it was with Douxie. He lifted her up, like she weighed nothing. Seriously, how strong was this noodle armed wizard. She threw her arms around his neck, looking down to meet his eyes, a rare thing. Y/n kissed his nose, eliciting a happy giggle from his mouth.

He should have put her back down by now. Instead, he still held her up, transfixed by her face ringed in moonlight, like a halo. She noticed the awestruck look on his face, kissing him properly, yet it did nothing to pull him out of his stupor. He had one thought running over and over in his mind. Marry me. But, he couldn’t say that. A proposal had to be special, not after a waffle house date. Their first date, mind you. He couldn’t possibly jus-

“Marry me, Dewdrop?”

Well apparently he couldn’t but she absolutely could.

It took him a moment to take in her words, shocked out of his overthinking. The biggest grin spread across his face as he giddily spun her around in his arms. He finally put her feet back on the ground, crashing his lips into hers. Y/n brought a hand up to drag through his hair and left the other to slide down his back. No battle for dominance, Douxie’s tongue was definitely the one leading here. He just couldn’t believe it. It was if she had read his mind. It was still hard for him to believe she wanted him in the first place, but this much? If this was the afterlife he must surely be in heaven. One makeout session later, Y/n rasped “So I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

“Let’s sign the papers tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

Despite the uneasy feeling they had both had about leaving Nari alone for so long, she was perfectly fine. In fact she hadn’t even moved an inch form the spot they left her in. Like they never left at all. Archie was asleep on that couch, as peaceful as ever. They’d tell him the news in the morning.

Y/n climbed into the nest and dragged Douxie down with her. After getting comfy on the array of cushions, he opened his arms and she nestled into his chest. She could feel his hands rest on her back. Perfect. It was calming, listening to his heartbeat, being lulled to sleep with the rhythm that gave proof that her beloved was alive. A steady beat that reassured her he was there, he was there. He wouldn’t leave her again.

*** check notes for chapter illustrations lmao

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 19

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger​!

Social interaction has its pros and cons.

Martin considers a way to pass the time.

Technically, there was no call that night.

Martin had had months to familiarize himself with the strange predawn that added a little color to the sky each morning. His home was on the western coast, so of course he didn’t see much of it until he’d made the trek uphill. With some cloud cover and dense fog, though, the light would scatter and cast a cold blanket of grey light over his corner of the world.

Early on he found it sort of nice, seeing the world ‘wake up’. He’d even started to get up earlier than necessary, just to make himself some tea and look out the window for signs of birds or other creatures who made their lives at dawn and dusk. There were some lines of poetry about it somewhere in his notebook, something about the magic of a quiet morning in solitude.

He’d lasted about a week with that. Turned out his life was already quiet and full enough of contemplative solitude, and warm blankets were much better than cold kitchen tile against his feet.

It was during this little sliver of morning when his mobile, vibrating against the wood of his bedside table, dragged him back to consciousness. 

“No…” he groaned, nuzzling into his pillow. It could only be one person. “Don’t make me come in early. Don’t make me come in early, you prick-” 

He reached over (god it was cold) and grabbed the offending object, keeping as much of himself under the blankets as possible and slipping the mobile back under with him. The screen was bright and painful in his cozy darkness. His eyes adjusted, and on his lockscreen the time read 4:06 a.m.

Before he could convince himself to let the damned thing ring itself out, he glanced at the caller ID. If anything it should’ve given him even more reason to let the call go, but Martin’s finger was already pressing the answer button. 

Attempting to whisper, his voice came out rough and croaky. “Jon?”

“Martin. Glad you’re still up,” Jon said in that distant way of someone paying attention to another task entirely. Keyboard clicks could be heard in the background. “How are you doing?”

Still up? Bleary and confused, Martin replied as if he’d just run into Jon at the store, “Fine, I guess? How are you?”

“I’ve successfully whittled down my assignments enough to have personal research opportunities.” There was a weary but nevertheless triumphant edge to his words. “If this is some sort of test of my abilities, I’d say I deserve a raise.”

“Impressive,” Martin yawned. “Does that mean anything for me, or…”

“No, not yet.” He could feel Jon deflate on the other end. “I’ve only just started looking, and Elias is still acting rather blasé about what we found. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to put business relations over the mission statement, but if that’s the case then-”

“Why send you out here?” 

“Precisely.” Jon clicked his tongue. “So I’m going to pry in that direction while digging through old reports. I assume the others will do the same once they’re caught up.”

Well, progress was as good as anything to wake up to. He reluctantly pulled the blankets from over his head and peeked out at his window. The frost was just visible at the edges, its frigid hands creeping across the glass. Perhaps a little while longer under the covers.

“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you,” Jon continued, filling the space Martin had left empty. The keyboard taps had ceased. “I’d decided to give you some breathing room, but you were quiet during the call with everyone and I thought- well, I wanted to make sure you were okay. As much as can be expected.” 

A small, halfhearted smile found its way onto Martin’s face. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“So… are you okay? I know you said you were, but it sounded like you were being polite.”

Martin looked up at his ceiling. “I mean I was being polite, but… Yeah, I’m okay. As much as can be expected, like you said, but okay.” 

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“What? Nothing, it’s good. I’m gl- I’m happy that you’re… doing okay.” Midway between this thought, Jon seemed to switch the mobile from one ear to the other. “If you aren’t, I just hope you know that you can tell me if something is going on. Sometimes there are emotional aspects that contribute to an event-”

As Jon spoke at length, Martin noticed a distinct tumbling feel in the way Jon spoke, like his thoughts were coming faster than his mouth could follow. Not alcohol, surely? No, a different idea had been bothering Martin since Jon had first called.

“-can’t speak for Tim or Sasha about hours, and if you’d rather just talk one-on-one, I’m sure-”

“Right, hours. Jon, I don’t mean to pry, but have you slept at all?”

The stream of consciousness halted in its tracks. “What?”

“You seem a bit… out of it? Have you checked the time recently?”

A moment passed. Then another. Then- “That can’t be right.”

Weakly, Martin replied, “Good morning to you, too.”

“I-” Jon began. He then made a small, irritated noise. “I woke you up.”

Martin ran a hand over his face and pressed it to his upturned mouth. Into it he mumbled, “You really need to sleep.”

As if the hours had finally come crashing down upon him, Jon’s voice dropped low and soft and properly tired. “I could’ve sworn it was earlier.” 

“I mean, in a sense-” 

“You know what I mean.” A yawn finally broke through, but he fought it back down. “I hope it wasn’t too much earlier than your normal wake-up time?”

“Nah. You’ve seen how early my day starts. Besides, my alarm isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to, and you could’ve been Peter calling me in early.” It was like getting up to enjoy the morning, but he was still in bed and someone else was there (sort of). As far as he was concerned, the pros outweighed the cons. 

“Then I’ll hold my apology for a later date, if you don’t mind.” He spoke bluntly, but possibly in a way that was meant to be funny. Martin was still working out when Jon was being blunt in a rude way or in a friendly way, and his gut pushed him toward the latter. “I also won’t apologize for my work ethic. I work better at night, without distractions or other people.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Martin asked, “Okay, I can play along with that, but when do you sleep?”

“We have a cot.”

Martin scoffed. “What, at work?” An image of the three researchers finding different corners in some dark back room to snooze on company time was almost too much.

“Working after-hours is implied in the description of any academic job. If we didn’t steal some of the day back to sleep, we’d all have dropped dead by now.” For a moment his voice strained as if he was stretching, dipping into the background before returning to normal. “Though this past week has been a bit more extreme due to circumstances. I’m not always up until dawn, calling people in a stupor.”

“First time for everything?” Martin said helpfully, pushing down weakly against the rising guilt. “I know it’s a bad situation, but I’m sorry you all have to work so hard.”

“No need for that. I can choose to sacrifice a few nights for something important.” 

Slowly, very slowly, Martin pressed his burning face into his pillow. Maybe it was too early for him after all, to handle anything approaching concern. The heat was surely enough to melt the ice right off the window. Ignoring the ridiculous reaction happening in his cheeks, he turned his face back upwards and mumbled, “Thanks.”

There was a small rustling of papers. With the same damned softness, Jon continued, “I’m sure Tim and Sasha would say the same.”

A quiet thing clung deep in Martin’s throat, and in his nose, and he imagined a version of himself from the night before, scared and powerless and ready to dump any and all his feelings on the first person who would speak with him. Would that have been something Jon was prepared for, if he’d called at a sensible hour? Or if Martin had called first? But it was nearly morning, and he was well rested, and eventually the thought fell away in his wakefulness. 

Without a response to go on, Jon said, "I’m not going to be as… outwardly optimistic as before, but…”

“You’re making progress,” Martin finished, coughing lightly. “I know. I’ll be patient, and careful. It’s hard after the weird stuff we did last week, though.”

“I’d like to say it was all due to extreme circumstances, but we are just like this.” 

“There go my hopes of you all getting proper rest when this is over.”

“S’not impossible, but terribly unlikely.”

Martin sighed, checking his screen clock again. Still some time left. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be sleeping at this point?” 

“Won’t be long until I can go to the archives. I’ll wait until then and avoid being groggy on public transit.” A pause. “Also my last energy drink is still working.”

“Mm.” Letting his forearm fall across his eyes, Martin gave up that particular battle. “Anything new set off your ‘fake’ alarms recently?”

“You’re in luck. Just yesterday a man came in to tell me about his experience with ‘spy birds’ that even you can’t devil’s-advocate your way through.”

“I’ll be the judge.”

It was a tough sell, even for Martin whose own situation made a lot of things seem possible. Midway through he even began to resent the person for wasting time better spent solving Martin’s problems, but that was an emotional rabbit hole for another time. By the end he had to concede that it was more of a conspiracy than a supernatural encounter, if they were going to get into the semantics of it. Still, Jon made it easy to be contrarian.

“When we’re not busy with all this,” Jon said, accepting that Martin wasn’t yet ready to forgo the benefit of the doubt, “I’ll be happy to sit outside and film birds all day for the sake of science, but the man finds perfectly normal birds unsettling.”

With a silly kind of bullheadedness, Martin replied, “Plenty of seabirds around here. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I wait for something to happen.”

Jon snorted. “I expect a full report by Monday.”

Before Martin could respond, his phone made an all too familiar and dreadful noise. He really should’ve picked a song or something, he thought as he dismissed his alarm. “Well, it’s that time.”

“Yes, I should be getting along with my morning as well. Good luck with your birdwatching,” he said with joking scorn.

“Have fun sleeping on the bus.”

“Ha ha. Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye.” 

Dropping his arm onto the bed, mobile in hand, Martin ignored the numbness in his fingers and considered how invested he was in writing a fake report about birds just to see the reaction it would get. Maybe he would text Tim about it.

The idea sat in the back of his mind as he got dressed, as he made breakfast, as he put on his shoes and coat and hat. When he opened the door to meet the cold that had settled in overnight, he couldn’t help but wince at the extra bit of sting the wind delivered, but he clung to his fanciful little idea all the way up the hills and through town. 

Creative writing had never been his strong suit. It was debatable if poetry was, but he’d reached a point where it was more of a comforting activity than a skill. Still, as he got to work in the blessedly empty lighthouse, he thought of the little notebook he’d stashed into his bag. If it all came to nothing, he could end up with scraps of text to rearrange into poetry someday.

It was a mess of a book. Technically bound, it was still cheap with some pages starting to come loose from his handling. He’d long ago given up on the idea of a nice looking notebook, especially as it had become personal enough to count as horribly embarrassing. It was inevitable for any poetry notebook of his to become more akin to a scattered, flowery journal of sorts, and this one was no different. 

It was also a step up from previous ones in that it wasn’t some spiral-bound school notebook he’d found in the discount section of the general store. No, he had found it in a bookstore discount section. The stiff cover even had sort of a nice texture before he’d beaten it up by shoving it into a drawer a million times.

The day crawled by with no interruptions, leaving Martin on edge. Peter hadn’t come by once. Perhaps he’d assumed Martin had had any boldness scared out of him, an aggravating thought. He had the will to act. He also had some amount of self preservation left in him, that was all.

By lunchtime he was itching to talk to anyone, but texting the others was off limits and it was so dreary outside that going out to eat was a non-starter. He supposed he could stop by the grocery store. He knew some of the people from when he’d worked there. Most of the ones he’d worked with had also left, but maybe…

No, that was a stupid idea. He wasn’t seeing anyone unless they came to him.

No one did.

So in his time off the clock, he stared at his little notebook and hoped his brain would think of anything to say.

--

The weather had taken a more miserable turn by the time he’d left work in the evening. He only saw a few birds struggling in the gales, none of them particularly watchful. If he had to guess, they didn’t care much about what anyone was doing. Not great material for a report, but maybe for a poem when the feeling hit.

The streets were largely empty as people avoided the high winds and mist that sprayed against Martin’s glasses, making it a challenge to see anything around him. He had half a mind to just stow them away, but there was going to be water in his eyes no matter what he chose to do. Just another little thing to make his day worse that he couldn’t change.

Part of him considered that the weather often matched his mood, but it wasn’t hard for bad weather to pair with sour thoughts. Nearly all weather was bad and nearly all moods were sour. Correlation, etcetera.

As much as he’d wanted to check his phone as soon as work was over, the others could wait until he’d stopped feeling so damned sorry for himself.

And he did feel awful, though there was no inciting incident. It had been a long, tedious day where the words wouldn’t flow, the world was grey, and any residual happiness from his conversation with Jon had been slowly eaten away by the loneliness of the present. Why was it so hard to hold onto those good things? A good start was supposed to make the day better, not make the rest of the day look worse.

It had to be everything at the lighthouse. He’d always been moody as a person, but the stress had to be getting to him. His head shouldn’t have been hurting from holding back tears when nothing had happened.

God, the squinting wasn’t helping, either. He knew where he was going, of course, but the streetlights were barely helping. The sky had decided to paint itself over everything, a dark, grey blob of water and concrete and fog. The walk down the hill was going to be a slippery pain, even in his grippy boots.

Had he passed by the florist? He probably should have by now, but the main road hadn’t ended yet.

And even when he got home, oh joy, it would be to sit at a table and eat with his mother, and based on her tastes she would love to stand outside in the misery of it all even though it would be terrible for her health. What was the point of trying when another person wouldn’t even listen-

He’d been walking for too long. 

The road continued on, no longer heading into the surrounding trees but stretching itself past the point of impossibility. And at the end, in a place where it should not have been visible through the colorless mist, was a large, familiar house.

Ah, Martin thought. Someone had decided to talk to him today.

Looking behind him, the lighthouse was just barely visible. Looking to either side was a fool’s errand, as everything had been consumed by the grey.

He slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and bent over to shield it from the rain. The screen lit up at his touch, but as expected any and all communication was blocked. Nevertheless, he opened the group chat and began to type.

Martin: i think simon wants to talk. everything is fog and i cant go anywhere else. hoping my phone makes it out so this makes it 

He pressed send, then mustered up whatever hope he had and added:

Martin: talk to you soon

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 32

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 1-41 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Without fail, Sam used to wake up early and go to the gym. He’d be up before the crack of dawn, sweating out all his frustrations and pushing himself harder than he probably should.  That was before. Things have changed. It’s no longer as easy for him to jump out of bed and start the day. Life has shifted. It didn’t happen all at once, it was little by little, his obsession with work waning as you become a focal point in his life.

It’s before five. The streets are quiet, most of the world still asleep as Sam lies on his side watching you. He’s been awake for an hour, silently watching your back rise and fall. It’s dark save a tiny bit of ambient light filtering through the curtains, but it’s enough.

This isn’t a new thing. Lately, he wakes up early and uses these moments to think, to wrap his head around the constant chaos that’s his life. And his favorite early morning pastime is watching you sleep.

This morning you’re belly down on the bed, a hand shoved underneath your pillow. The side of your breast is soft and round and warm. He thinks about how warm and soft your skin is. He gets lost in the middle of meetings wishing he could touch you, feel you pressed against him.

The blanket is pulled just over your ass, leaving your naked back exposed. There’s a subtle rise and fall as you breathe deep and even, lost somewhere in dreamland. You’re perfect and you don’t have a clue.

He stares at the curve of your hip, that slope of your waist that he likes to grab on to. You’ve told him you’re self-conscious of that part of your body but he can’t imagine why. Everything you fuss over he finds flawless. You were beautiful when he first met you, it’s part of why he pursued you. But the more he gets to know you,the more breathtaking you become. Every day he notices some new little area he wants to touch and kiss and watch while he fucks you.

Time in London is coming to an end. It’s been eight weeks of nonstop work but he’s confident in the expansion of his business. Toni will run things here, and she’s good at her job. He’ll be able to go home without worries about the day to day.

He should feel satisfied, but he finds himself unsettled.

In these quiet moments, he thinks about himself. Who he is, the man he’s become. He’s honest. He knows returning home will mean a shift. No more sharing a hotel room, back to the grind of the work week. He’s enjoyed this time with you, become accustomed to your constant presence in his bed and in his life. He doesn’t want to go back to how it was. You with the shitty apartment that you insist on staying in. Weeknights alone.

He should just tell you what he’s feeling but he doesn’t even like to admit it to himself.

You shift, cheek rubbing over the pillow, mouth falling open as you settle back in. Jesus, he’s done for and he knows it. This is as good as life will ever get. He’s fully aware that he doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve to be this happy. And he doesn’t trust it. In his experience, the next misfortune is always waiting right around the corner. Adversity is always hiding in the shadows, one moment away from total catastrophe. He’s balanced on a house of cards hoping a stiff breeze doesn’t blow him over.

“Sam,” you whisper, eyes blinking open and closing just as quickly. You’re still asleep. This is Sam’s favorite.

“Hmmm?” he hums, stroking a hand up your back, grazing over a shoulder blade.

“I like you so much,” you mumble, stretching out long. You’re dreaming and he wonders what goes on your head. Your inner thoughts are the thing he wants most but will never have access to.

He grins, watching your face fall lax again as you slip back into the deep.

“I like you so much too.”

-

He fell back asleep without realizing it and when he wakes up for the second time he’s not sure where he is. There’s an overwhelming pleasurable sensation and when his eyes pop open he realizes why.

The covers are pulled back and you’re on your knees between his thighs with his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he rasps, hands going to the crown of your head.  Your mouth is unbelievable, hot and wet, always perfect around his cock. And the way you suck him like you’re getting off on it is enough to make his balls go tight.

“Good morning.” You smile as your mouth pops off his dick. Wet lips pulled back over pearly teeth as you grin like the Cheshire cat.

“Shit,” he chuckles, forcing himself awake as he looks down at you. You caress him, palm curled around him and stroking over the head of his cock and back down to the root. Slow and steady as you dip back down and take the tip into your mouth.

When he’s in charge you’re gagging on him, mouth drooling, eyes watering with him shoved into the back of your throat. But there’s something just as appealing about this, you happily sucking his cock, tonguing around the crown before taking him into the back of your mouth.

Your other hand cups his balls and he thinks he might blow his load right here and now. You’ve gotten good at reading his body. You’ve been studying him the same as he’s been memorizing you.

“Get up here,” he huffs, tugging at your hair. You respond immediately, almost always obedient to his orders.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you knee your way up, straddling his waist. You lean down to kiss him, a wet, happy kiss that makes his belly flip. He simultaneously loves and hates the way it feels to be this affected by anyone.

“I thought I’d wake you up.” Grinning against his mouth your pussy rubs along the underside of his cock where it’s curled up against his stomach. You rub yourself on him up and down, letting the crown rub over your clit until he’s coated in your slick. “God, you’re so hard.”

“I woke up with my dick in your mouth.” He gives your ass a squeeze, both hands cupping your backside as you slide up and down his length. Jesus, he could watch this all day. The way you take his cock between your folds, teasing the head only to slide back for another pass.

He’s close already, he normally holds out longer than this but you’ve caught him in a vulnerable state.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” His teeth click together, head pressing back into the pillow. He opens his eyes just in time to watch the first spurt of cum shoot over his belly. You make a wonderful little sound, grabbing his cock and quickly sinking down on him as he finishes his orgasm inside your pussy.

“I like it better inside me,” you quip, raising yourself up and down on his cock, fucking him through it as he jerks and bucks from the release.

You kill him when you say things like that. He’s the one with the filthy mouth but sometimes you whisper things that make his cheeks red.

“You want me to fuck you?” he offers, sitting up, holding your hips in place. You smile, both hands threading through the hair at the back of his head.

“You’re still hard?”

“That was some blowjob.” You giggle as he flips you onto your back, mouth falling open, thighs squeezing around his hips as he slides back inside in a slow thrust.

“Better hurry, you’re going to be late.”

-

7:30am

He has a budget review meeting that’s dull as dirt despite Mick’s colorful personality. It’s his money and reputation on the line. There was a time when that alone was enough to keep him hanging on every word but not anymore.

8:30am

Pepper delays his skype call with a financier in Tokyo to deal with a minor crisis back home in Boston. He’s been away too long and apparently, people have forgotten what the expectations are. There’s been a mix up with documents for a legal case in New York. A courier handed off the wrong folder. They’re looking at a delay and possible reprimand for compromising a client’s personal data. There’s also a leak in the men’s bathroom on the eighth floor that requires a total overhaul. That means a construction crew and several dozen employees temporarily relocated.

10:47am

Sam’s forty-seven minutes late for the weekly wrap up led by Toni and Mick. True to her style, she didn’t wait for him. She’s in the middle of dressing down a guy in middle management when he enters and all eyes shift to him. He glances at Toni and then around the room at the sea of semi-familiar faces before he lands on you.

There’s not enough room, so chairs have been added against the sidewalls. You’re sitting behind Cole, notepad open. God, he’s happy you're here. Not that he’ll be able to talk to you, but just being in the same room is something. You flash him a smile that’s a far cry from every other somber face in the room. There are sixty W & S employees who are scared shitless of him and then your wonderful face lights up when you see him.

He returns a hint of a smile but it’s enough acknowledgment for you go back to your notes. Millie who’s sitting beside you looks away the second he makes eye contact with her.

12:30pm

Pepper has sushi delivered and you arrive at his office right on time. He’s got a video conference with the board. You silently take a seat on the other side of his desk, eating and watching him get into over market fluctuations.

Twenty minutes later he’s off to his next appointment. He gives your hand a squeeze as you turn to leave.

“Sorry we didn't have a chance to talk.”

“It’s okay,” you smile giving him a wink. “I know how busy you are.”

Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss his cheek. It’s soft and quick and far too sweet for anything he deserves. You could make a big deal out of this if you wanted to. You could demand more of his time and God help him, he’d find a way to make it work because he won’t lose you. But you never make him choose. Occasionally you swoop in with a gentle reminder to attend to your relationship, but other than that you respect his dedication to the business. He’s forever grateful for that.

Pepper comes in with his jacket, ready to whisk him away to a waiting car.

“I love you,” you whisper at the shell of his ear, so quiet he scarcely hears it.

He’ll never get used to anyone saying those words to him, least of all you.

He sits through his meeting getting lost in his own thoughts. He wonders if his mother used to whisper those three little words to him when she laid him in his crib. If he tries hard he thinks maybe his dad said it once or twice.

Sam had successfully categorized himself as unloveable long ago. He’s an asshole. His reputation hinges on his ability to be level headed and utterly ruthless. Love was something for men who weren’t permanently damaged.

And yet here he is.

When he gets back to the office, his schedule is jam-packed. He never used to mind it, running from one meeting to the next. He got a high from it, an adrenaline rush from the breakneck pace. Work filled every waking moment and that was how he preferred it. He didn’t have to think about anything else, every waking moment was filled with strategies and budgets and concepts ripe for the picking. He was all in.

Today he finds himself between meetings, locked in a private bathroom on the second floor just to have five minutes of peace. He’s already late for a follow up with Mick and there’s a laundry list of information he should be reviewing. But instead, he’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the wall.  

Maybe he’s getting old. That must be it. Time waits for no man and age is finally catching up to him. He needs to talk to his nutritionist and get back to a normal routine. Watching you sleep is an indulgence that he’ll have to let go of. He needs sleep and the gym. He needs self-control.

-

He doesn’t get back to the hotel room until just after eight. He wants to stay in, he’d prefer nothing more than to order room service and lay in bed but that’s not his life.

“Hey!” you call out from the bathroom. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” he glances around the room at several dresses hanging from various perches. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah, I was gonna tell you.” You wander into the main room in a bra and panties. Sam swallows hard. “I can’t decide what to wear. What do you think?”

“What’s the occasion?” he asks.

“Mick invited us all to this bar for drinks. It’s a going-away thing. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not.” He needs to tell you. “In fact, I have plans as well. Toni and I are going to dinner. One final review before I leave.”

“Oh,” you return quietly.

You’re facing the bed and he watches your whole back go tense.

“I can’t avoid these kind of situations simply because I have a past with her.”

“I never ask you to.” You turn toward him, eyes meeting. You’re pissed. Or maybe it’s just jealousy.

“I know and I appreciate that.”

“She thinks she’s better than me. She looks down on me as if I’m some little girl. A comical annoyance that she’d prefer to squash if she could. She makes me feel small.”

“I don’t want anyone to make you feel that way.” He’s not sure what to say. Does he reassure you? He’s not sure if you’re looking for a response or simply sharing your feelings. “Will Cole be there?”

“I’m sure he will. Along with twenty other people.”

“Then don’t wear the black dress, it’s too much for a work function. The red one is better.”

He loves the way you look in that little black dress. It’s not revealing but it hugs every curve and there’s something about the length of it, the amount of thigh it shows. He can’t stomach the thought of Cole sizing you up in his favorite dress.

“I’ll probably be out late,” you explain, pulling the red dress on and turning around for him to zip you up. “See you later.”

-

Sam’s half done with his meal listening to Toni talk at length about her last vacation in the south of France. He might be there in body, but his mind is elsewhere.

He’s been thinking about Jess lately. She used to only pop up on quiet, lonely nights. Blurry images of her face flashing before she slipped away. But this last year she’s been in the forefront of his mind.

For years he could hardly remember her face. The details faded with time and she was like a distant memory. A story from somewhere else’s past. But over the last few months she’s flooded back to him.

He can remember the way she smelled. Sweet and fruity, a body wash she used to buy that gave her skin this faint scent of strawberries. He can taste the chocolate chip cookies, feel them in his hand, still warm from the oven.

Their apartment was a small one-bedroom with creaky wood floors and low water pressure, but nothing ever felt more like home. Her stuff was everywhere, she bought her entire life with her, a household of belongings. He brought a duffel bag of clothes and a single family photo.

She gave Sam little pep talks. Anytime he expressed even a hint of self-doubt she’d crawl into his lap and tell him a hundred reasons why he was wonderful and capable and meant for greatness.

The memory shifts and he can feel her skin. He used to stay up late studying, crawling into bed well after midnight. She’d peel her pajamas off, kissing him as he did the same. That soft strawberry skin was like silk under his hands, every inch of her pressed against every inch of him. She’d whisper in his ear when they fucked. Sometimes sweet, sometimes filthy. But it was always about love; the way she loved his touch, his cock, his heart.

And then, just as life was better than he ever could have hoped for, Jess was dead.

All that warmth and love, the home, the life, it was gone like it never existed.

“Are you even listening to me?” Toni sits back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“No,” Sam admits, setting the cloth napkin on the table next to his plate. “Today was brutal. Just going over it in my head. Pulling a game plan together.”

“Well, I’m ready for a nightcap.” She raises her arm to get the attention of the server. “Why don’t we go back to your place and review the projections one last time. Get a headstart on tomorrow.”

“Sure.” He nods. “Sounds good.

-

Sam and Toni head back to his room, and he pours himself a glass of water, opening his laptop and waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. She’s been in there for ten minutes and he’s starting to wonder if something is wrong when she finally emerges.

She’s in her underwear, white lace panties, and nothing else. Her breasts are small and perky, hard nipples already at attention. Her body doesn’t look much different than when she was younger.

Shit.

“Toni,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is not…”

His words leave as she slinks toward him, practically crawling onto the couch.

He momentarily wonders if he’s become detached. Reading people has always been his forte but this but takes him so off guard that he’s stunned, a deer in the headlights as the moment unfolds.

There are a thousand thoughts at once. She’s a beautiful woman, a beautiful naked woman and yet he finds himself indifferent. He needs to make this as painless as possible, needs to find a way to turn her down without making things so awkward that they can’t work together. Sam needs Toni to run the London arm of his company, he can’t alienate her. You’d be so mad if you knew this happened. Does he tell you? He’ll worry about that later. He’s not done anything wrong. You’ll understand, you always do.

“Stop,” he hisses, pushing against the back of the couch.

“Come on, Sam.” She flashes a confident grin, then yanks his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants. “For old time’s sake.”

“I said stop,” he says again, watching in wonderment as she doubles down. One hand slides into his hair, the other at his belt, getting him half unbuckled before he gets his wits about him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she purrs. “Come on, you have to want something more exciting than getting your dick sucked by a glorified secretary. Judging from all the pent up tension I’d say you’re in need of a little more satisfaction.”

She’s making it exponentially worse.

He draws in a breath and hesitates. Is this happening? Of all the things he’s got going on this is the last thing he needs. She takes his silence as encouragement and leans forward, pressing her lips against his mouth.

“That’s enough,” he grabs her wrists, pushing her backward. “I’m not sure what about our interaction has led you to believe this is something I want, but I don’t.”

“You have to be kidding me.” Sitting back on her heels, she examines him, eyes narrowing.

Sam knows her. She wants him because she can’t have him. Because of his status and the power he wields. More than anything he’s willing to bet the appeal comes from the fact that she’s competitive. She doesn’t like that you have something she wants.

Toni likes to be at the top of the food chain.

“Get dressed.” Sam scooches back, clearing his throat. “We’ll pretend this never happened.”

“You’re turning me down?” She holds her head held high. “Seriously?”

“This isn’t going to happen. Let’s just-”

There’s the familiar electronic beep of the keycard being slid in the lock and the door opens.

You stop dead in your tracks, a happy-go-lucky smile melting away from your face as you come upon the scene of the crime. Looking back and forth from Sam to Toni your mouth falls open, eyes going wide.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sam’s frozen, looking in horror at you standing in the doorway. You’re dumbfounded, the reality of what’s happening taking time to sink in.

“Good evening, Y/N.” Toni sits up straight, proud little smile with her tits on full display. “We didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

Your mouth snaps shut, eyes darting from her to Sam and he wants to punch the wall. Wordlessly you turn and walk out of the room.

“Goddamn it!” Sam shouts. He grabs Toni’s wrists, giving her a yank. “Get dressed and get the fuck out of my room.”

By the time he makes it to the hallway, you’re halfway to the elevator.

“Y/N!”

“What?!” When you turn back you’re wild-eyed, fighting back tears. Your mouth contorts in repulsion. “Jesus Christ Sam! I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

“Don’t overreact.” Fuckfuckfuck. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, even before you recoil. He can’t think fast enough, the words are just tumbling out of his mouth.

He can’t remember the last time he panicked like this.  

“Don’t overreact?!” you sputter, taking several steps away from him. “Fuck you! I trusted you. I must be so stupid. It never even crossed my mind that you would do something like this.”

“Nothing happened,” he counters, holding up both hands with palms out.

“Don’t lie to me. Something sure as fuck happened.” You look him over from head to toe, so disgusted that your mouth sours and you have to look away yet again. “For a guy who’s all about the details you’re not covering your tracks very well. You’ve got her lipstick on your mouth and your fly is still down.”

“What?” Sam feels at his crotch and sure enough, he’s unzipped. He’s not sure when that happened. “Look, she tried and I-”

“And you what? Let her take her clothes off? Did you fuck her?”

“No, of course not.” This is bad. He can see the escalation, the hundred ways this situation can get even worse.

“I don’t get it.” Your voice breaks as tears slip down both cheeks. His heart falls into his stomach. He’s hurt you a million different ways, both intentional and unintentional, but this might be the worst. “I thought we were in a good place. I try everything you want. I gave you a blowjob this morning. What could you possibly want from her that I’m not giving you?”

“Nothing,” he reaches out, moving toward you and you step back in tandem. “Nothing happened. I know this looks bad, I get that. But nothing happened. You came back at the worst possible time, but nothing was going to happen. That’s the truth.”

“Oh, this is my fault?” you yell. “I need to get out of here. I have to think.”

You’re tipsy, he can see it now. The wobble in your step, the way you tilt your head.

“Don’t leave.” He grabs your arm, forcing you to look at him. “If you leave it automatically makes things worse than they are. You can stay here and be pissed at me. We can talk. I’ll sleep on the couch. Just don’t leave, please don’t leave.”

Your face softens, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you consider his plea.

He knows how desperate he sounds and it makes him sick. Despite the love he has for you it’s painful for him to beg anyone for anything.

Crossing your arms over your chest you look toward the door. “She’s still in there.”

“She’s leaving.” He gets close enough to put his hands on your shoulders and nearly breathes a sigh of relief when you let him. “Just let me get her out of there. Don’t go anywhere.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter three: take this longing

“your body like a searchlight, my poverty revealed. i would like to try your charity until you cry, ‘now you must try my greed’. and everything depends upon how near you sleep to me.” -“take this longing”, leonard cohen

The sun had dipped behind the Los Angeles skyline and in turn, the entire area was bathed in a blanket of bluish violet darkness. It was moments like that there in the northeastern side of the city that Sam realized she had missed it all. She peered out the windshield at the winding dim lit freeway before them: all the jacaranda and oleander trees tucked behind the brick walls that lined the road around them. Somewhere near there was the old neighborhood in Alhambra where her parents used to live at before she was born.

Chuck took the next exit to one of the side streets down below, past a small row of low palm trees off to the right. Beyond the trees stood a mural painted upon a wall of pale bricks. Sam couldn't exactly tell what the mural bore but she made out the sight of a series of bright colors there in passing.

“Did you see that?” Greg asked her.

“I did, yeah,” she said.

They rolled up to a stoplight and Sam glanced about the intersection before them. The darkening freeway to the left, the stretch of road right in front of them and all the mission style houses up that way as well, and to the right, the four lane parkway that took them into the heart of town and closer to that old neighborhood. The faintest of memories in mind and yet a memory nonetheless.

“Oh, god, the memories that are coming back right now,” she admitted.

“That's right, this is your neck of the woods, isn't it?” Chuck said as he raised his attention to the rear view mirror; even in the dim light, Sam made out the sight of the little glimmer in his eye.

“All of Elsinore and this side of L.A. in particular,” she said. “My parents lived around here when they first got married. They also lived closer to the beach, too—down by San Pedro.”

“Love San Pedro,” Tiffany declared.

“Oh, yeah, it's all cool down that way. San Pedro, Long Beach, Rancho Palos Verdes—it's all the real nice part of L.A.”

Sam thought about a walk on the beach at some point. So much she wanted to do while she was back there in California, that is if she could do it. Bill wasn't willing to let her out for any reason whatsoever.

Hell of a time getting back to New York if she so wished to do so.

In the meantime, she thought of her parents. Or at least she thought about Esmé and what she planned on doing following the divorce. The fact that her parents were splitting up left her wondering where it all went wrong when she wasn't looking. Her mother became an author and her father had his own things to deal with and yet she had no idea about either one of them.

Much like with her secret about living with Bill had to be kept away from Joey at all costs, she knew that she need not tell a soul about the divorce as well. As far as she knew, Bill had no idea about it, and he didn't need to know about it, either.

Within time, they reached the center piece of Alhambra, the vast stretch of dark grass nestled in between a series of scraggly but still fully shrouded oak trees. The grass made a little hillside near the middle of it all. And right near the sidewalk stood the dark brown wooden city sign: Sam peered out Alex's window to the stone sidewalk out there as Chuck searched for a place to park.

“We're just gonna be seeing them in a little restaurant,” he announced to them. “It’s another little baby thrash band, too, so it’s a humble restaurant rather than the sunset strip.”

“They’re not Poison or Ratt, anyway,” Alex noted in a low voice.

“Don't really wanna walk too far, though,” Chuck continued, “you know?”

“Right, right,” Tiffany said.

“Especially after all of the running we just did,” Sam pointed out. “And the fact I fell on top of Greg.”

Alex laughed out loud at that and Greg bowed his head at that.

“I saw that!” Chuck declared. “That was actually pretty funny—no offense, Greg.”

“Greggy,” Sam said in recollection of Zelda's nickname of him.

“Greggy!” Tiffany chimed in.

Chuck then swerved towards the curb and they took the spot closest to the corner, right across the street from a small bar in a brick building with a pink and blue neon sign in the window.

“We're seeing them in there?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Nah, next door,” Chuck told her as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Mr. Skolnick here isn't twenty one yet—neither are they.”

“Really?” Sam muttered but Chuck never replied as he climbed out first, followed by Tiffany, and they leaned the seats forward so she, Alex, and Greg could climb out into the impending darkness.

Chuck and Tiffany led the way to the warmly lit restaurant next door: on the far side of the room stood a doorway into a separate floor for a band to play. Behind them stood a long table with Death Angel shirts.

“Here just in time,” Greg remarked right as the lights turned low. The five of them were only a select few in a small crowd but it didn't seem to bother either of them up on stage. All five of them had that smooth Pacific Islander skin that seemed to glow with a halo under the dingy lights. All five of them were slender and svelte and their instruments seemed far too big for them.

“Band of cousins,” Chuck told Sam. “Each and every one of them.”

“I was just gonna say,” she started, “they all look related to one another. Like they're brothers.”

“All literal kids when they started out a few years back,” he continued. “About around the same time as us, but kids, though. Literally kids—you think Alex is still just a baby when you first saw him and also right now. I think Andy, the drummer, was fourteen when they dropped their first album. That was like a month after we officially changed our name to Testament.”

“Wow!”

“Hello, Alhambra!” the bassist declared into the microphone with a bit of a high pitch squeak of a voice. “We are Death Angel.” Indeed, they struck Sam as a five piece band out of a high school up there on the stage. But she knew they carried with them a bit of prowess from her secondhand experience with Mark. He then ran up to the stage with a portable microphone in one hand, and those long black dreads streamed behind his head. His slender little body was wrapped up in a big black Slayer shirt and baggy black jeans that appeared to be falling off of his hips.

To think Aurora had an encounter with him right before her wedding. The more Sam thought about it, the more she wished for Aurora to have gone with him rather than that harebrained Emile. But as far as she knew, Aurora never touched him once and she only did it to rile her up, especially after her behavior in recent months. He gave those dreads a little toss back with a flick of his head and he showed a big beaming smile out to the audience.

“This is from our brand new album—it's the kind of album you listen to in the City of Angels, too,” Mark said into the microphone head. “It's called Frolic in the Park.”

“What a name,” Sam joked, to which Greg and Alex burst out laughing at that.

“Exactly!” Chuck declared.

“Hit it—”

For a band of kids, they reminded Sam of the Cherry Suicides, just by their relentless nature, their tightness, and the high scratchy shriek that Mark sang in. They weren't nearly as akin to punk rock and they lacked that gory aspect as well, but they were definitely up there; his thick black dreads reminded her of Joey. She needed to call him at some point.

“Man, they just pull, don't they!” Sam shouted.

“They do!” Greg shouted back.

Mark lashed his tongue and threw his dread locks back so that he resembled to a sea monster up there. Andy kicked his drum so hard in order to get the crowd clapping: given it wasn't a very big room, Sam could feel the thumping right through the floor. Chuck and Greg also stomped along with them.

“Let me hear you guys!” Mark bellowed into the microphone. “I wanna hear this room come alive! Make the Philippines proud, Alhambra!”

He raised his hands up over his head as they plunged into a good long guitar solo. Sam thought of the Cherry Suicides in Boston, when they became a thrash band themselves for a few moments. The whole series of claps lasted about five minutes before they returned to the original flow of the song.

Death Angel played one more before they parted the stage, and Sam, Alex, and Greg treated them to applause.

“Hey, kids, you want a shirt?” Tiffany offered the three of them.

“Can get a whole bunch of shirts, actually, Tiff,” Chuck told her from behind them, “they’re all like a buck-fifty.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Bill’s complaint about a bag of crackers. Cheese crackers that were the same price as a handful of T-shirts she could sleep in that night and the one afterwards. But at the same time, she still shook her head at the very notion. And he was about to lose what income he had left; but Marla had the right idea to pressure him into finding a better solution for himself. Sam thought back to what her mother had said about things growing treacherous and sticky when kids were involved.

Greg bowed into the men’s room in the restaurant while Chuck and Tiffany strode outside into the night. Sam turned to Alex.

“You want something to eat?” she volunteered as she tucked her small bag of shirts under her arm while she put her change away.

“Nah, I’m not very hungry believe it or not,” he said, “Chuck also told me that he and Tiffany are going next door to bar for a drink.” To which he then eyed her juggling her things only to put her wallet away. “Here, let me help you—“

He took the shirts so she could put the change inside her wallet, and then her wallet back into her purse. Once she had it back against her body, he handed the shirts back to her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“Wanna take a walk outside?” he offered her.

“Take a walk on the wild side?” she retorted, and Alex laughed, a big hearty bout of laughter. But he led her out to the front door of the restaurant, where the night had fallen upon Los Angeles: a hazy orange glow emerged from the downtown area, such that Sam could only see the stars in the sky if she turned her attention to the north, over the mountains.

Alex led her to the corner next to the bar, and they both peeked inside: Chuck and Tiffany were in fact in there and at the bar in anticipation of their drinks.

“Did Greg say anything about being in there?” Sam asked him.

“Nah, he just said he was using the bathroom and then he’d meet us outside.” Alex took a glimpse over his shoulder right then.

“I’m not seeing him, though.” He stood there at the corner of the sidewalk and she awaited right next to him there. Once they glanced about both ways first, he took a step off of the curb and she walked side by side with him to the opposite sidewalk, right near the car. But Alex himself kept on going into the darkness: the sole light came from the glow of the city, the neon lights behind them, and the sole street lamps on the corners up ahead.

“Would you believe that before I joined Testament,” he started at one point, “I never really had been to the L.A. area?”

“Really?” She was stunned by that, to which he nodded his head, even in the darkness.

“Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area my whole life,” he told her. “Never really felt the need to leave until I decided I wanted to be in a band. Sometimes I made visits to New York City or out to Vegas, but never the City of Angels. It was weird telling Chuck that, too, because he was born in L.A.”

They reached the street corner and he ran his fingers through his hair once more. Even in the nondescript light, Sam made out the sight of his deep eyes as they glanced off to their right. She was once again alone with Alex, and what better place than an area she called home for such a long time.

“I will say this,” he began again as he strolled along the sidewalk with her right next to him.

“What's that?”

“I'm glad that you're out this way,” he admitted: whenever he looked over at her, the ambient glow of everything made him resemble to a little porcelain doll. “Ever since we got together on New Year's over in Ithaca, I went home thinking, 'I was really wrong about Samantha.'”

“I feel bad about you overhearing at that conversation I had had with Aurora, though,” she confessed. Meanwhile, the sidewalk deviated away from the grass and gave way to pillars of pure concrete.

“Why?” he asked her as he stepped down in the barren storm drain.

“You saw a side to me that I didn't really want you to see.” She followed his lead into the storm drain, away from the concrete and almost into the street.

“Why? She was your best friend and she pretty much left you behind at this point.”

“And she made your day all about her,” she added.

“And she made my birthday all about her, right,” he echoed her.

They kept on walking around the concrete until they reached the next edge of the sidewalk. Beyond that something dark emerged from behind the pillars.

“Bit of grass here,” he pointed out.

“Grass, the trees, and the hill,” Sam added, and she turned to him. No moon out that night but there was in fact plenty of ambient light from the city near there and the very town of Alhambra; despite the dim light, however, she could make out the sight of that gradual hill side not too far from the concrete's edge.

“Remember during Kirk and Rebecca's wedding when you and Zelda rolled down that one hillside together?” he recalled.

“Oh yeah!” Sam snapped her fingers at that. “And you and Joey ran down it together with your shirts off like you were a couple of athletic boys.”

“I dunno about him but my suit was getting a little heavy at that point,” he pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little grin. Through the darkness, she noticed his eyes pointed towards the other side of the grass. “Hey, there's the car.”

“Where?”

“Due north of us from here. Right over there.”

“Shall we frolic in the park?” she joked.

“At this time of night?” he pointed out.

“Yes.”

“There's no light, though, Samantha. We can't see the creatures and things that crawl about the grass beneath us.”

“Well, if we frolic about in the park, we gotta get closer at some point, though. So you can protect me from all the bad things that linger about down in the grass.”

“Well—you're technically married now,” he pointed out as they continued onward to the next corner. One more corner, and they were back at the restaurant and the bar, and of course the safety of the car.

“Yeah... but I don't have a ring, though,” Sam pointed out. “Sure, Bill made me sign some things but we don't have the things that make a marriage a marriage. Or at least so I think.”

“But you are technically married to Bill, though,” Alex insisted. “That means we can't fool around or do anything like that or anything that involves any kind of frolicking. Or at least that's what the Jew in me tells me.”

Sam giggled at that.

“Mr. Wandering Jew,” she joked.

“The Wandering Jew!” he recalled with a chuckle. “I think we gotta put a name on that at some point.”

“Who, you and me or you and Testament?”

“Testament! That could be a track for an album in the future. When I get back to my guitar, I'll throw around some licks and see what comes out of it at some point.”

“You are just—you are fascinating, Alex,” Sam remarked.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. There’s so much more to you than meets the eye, and I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface with you.”

“You really have, Samantha,” he told her, “you like barely made an etching on the surface of the little Skol-man.”

“By the way,” she began and a part of her shuddered at the phrase given she knew Bill likes to employ that onto her, “I know you're a guitarist for a heavy metal band—but are there any other genres you play?”

“Not really,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Most of my influences tend to be rock n' roll based. Most anyways. I saw Miles Davis in a concert on TV a while back, and ever since then, that's piqued my interest for the jazz world. I was raised by older parents compared to my peers. Where they grew up to things like Grateful Dead, I was exposed to like Sinatra and Dean Martin when I was growing up.”

“Who do you tend to be influenced by?”

“Well, my favorite band ever is the Beatles. I think anyone who knows what they're talking about when it comes to music they mention the Beatles at some point. They have to mention them, too, otherwise they have no credibility. The thing that got me into heavy metal was Kiss—I remember being eleven years old and literally begging my parents to take me to see Kiss. I actually cried to convince them.”

“Aw!”

“Yeah, my older brother Nate was like 'okay, Alex, if we can't get Mom and Dad to say yes, turn on the water works' and I did! So the Beatles got me into guitar, Kiss was what convinced me to go into metal—and then I found Van Halen and Eddie Van Halen, whom I think genuinely inspired me to be a lead guitarist. And then I started finding more and more guitar players like Randy Rhoads and Stevie Ray Vaughn. I also found a movie—you might find it the next time you go to a video store like near here or over in New York—that came out when I was nine years old, I think? I was nine going on ten. It's called 'American Hot Wax'—got people like Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins playing themselves!”

“'American Hot Wax',” she repeated, “I'm writing that down.”

“Please do! The last time I threw out that movie name to someone they forgot it in like three minutes and then I never saw them again.”

Sam stopped right on the sidewalk in search of that one piece of paper, the one with Chuck's and management's phone number written on one side, and a pen down inside of her purse. Alex stopped right before her with his head bowed a little bit before her. The neon from the bar across the street from there provided enough light for her to find it but she had to squint her eyes in order for her to adjust to the sight of the ink on the paper.

“Can you see?”

“Sort of.” She held the paper within the pink and blue glow of the neon and that proved to be enough for her.

“'American Hot Wax',” he repeated. “The story of Alan Freed, the disc jockey who introduced rock n' roll to the masses and even coined the term, too. It's a little obscure, though, I remember one of Nate's friends had a copy of it and I happened to watch along with them. So you might have to look around for it.”

“A little late movie night the next time I see Marla and Bel,” she said as she carefully wrote the words down.

“Do they still live in New York, by the way?” he asked her.

“Marla does—Belinda went up to Albany to work in a shop that specializes in stained glass.”

“Oh, wow, that's badass.”

“She tried to get me to take stained glass when we were in school but it went through twice.”

“Damn, that would've been awesome.”

“She showed me a few little tips and tricks on the whole world of glass. There’s just… so much I want to do. You know?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Absolutely.”

Alex then turned his attention to the sidewalk before them, to the car still parked there. Chuck and Tiffany were in that bar there while Greg appeared to be still in the restaurant.

“What shall we do next?” he asked her. “We kinda walked around in a big circle just now.”

Sam tucked the piece of paper and the pen both back into her purse, and she glanced up at the grass before them. They were close to the car and the sole light came from the neon across the street: he was too young to go inside there and she needn’t drink lest Bill ask her about it by the time she came back. As far as she knew no one would see them out there.

“We can lie here, though,” she suggested, and he giggled at that.

“Just lay on the grass?”

“Yeah, like star gaze. Just walking around here, I can tell that the sprinklers haven't come out yet, either. We're a ways out from the very center of L.A., so the light pollution isn't so bad out here in Alhambra.”

“Yeah, guess we sure can,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just don't get too close to me, though.”

“Why not?” Sam laughed.

“Because when you get too close to me,” he started with a little gyration of his head, “it warrants a kiss from you.”

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him. Alex sighed through his nose and he ran his fingers through the piece of black hair on the right side of his head. That little glimmer of gray atop the crown of his head appeared even lighter against the soft neon glow near there.

Sam tucked her new Death Angel shirt underneath her arm, and then she led him onto the soft dry grass in the midst of the trees. It wasn't in fact entirely dry: a light dew already began to fall over their heads. She guided Alex towards a spot on the grass, the driest spot as far as she could tell there. He had rolled up that single bag of T-shirts into a tight bundle and, once Sam stopped right in place, he dropped down to the ground and he set the bundle down on the grass behind him.

“Oh, I see what you're doing,” she declared as he lay down flat on the grass and his shirt lifted a little bit up his body. Even in the darkness, Sam made out the sight of that little sliver of pale skin between the bottom hem of his shirt and his jeans, about the width of her thumbnail, but a sweet little sliver of his tummy nonetheless. She bunched up the shirts in her bag as well, and she followed his suit and lay down next to him there on the grass. A couple of inches separated them from the other.

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him for the third time in a row.

He shifted his weight there on the grass and folded his hands upon his stomach, which in turn made the sliver between his shirt and his jeans a little bit bigger. He swallowed and his neck appeared much more shapely than before. She thought of drawing that shapely neck at some point. It was a fleeting thought, but that thought in fact swam right through her mind at that point. The shape of his side profile and the soft appearance of his black hair as it sprawled over his shoulders even down there on the ground.

Sam then cleared her throat and he rolled his head over the makeshift pillow for a glance over at her.

“So if you write a song called 'The Wandering Jew',” she said, “will you credit me for inspiration?”

“Of course,” he replied with a slight chuckle. “I mean it only makes sense to do just that.” He showed her a sweet little smile and then he rolled his head back to where he lay flat on the bundle of the other shirts. “The Perseids are coming up here soon. At least I think they are.”

“Perseid meteor shower?” she asked him.

“Yeah. They're right in the middle of August—at least I think they are. That's my memory of them from when I learned about them in school.”

He fetched up a big yawn and then he stretched his arms up over his head. Sam rolled her head over her makeshift pillow for a look at the side of his face: the way in which his side profile had such a fineness to it. The prominent but gentle point of his nose. The full sensual shape of his lips. The smoothness of his skin and his chin.

She never thought of Alex as being so lovely, but laying there next to her, she recognized another side to him that she hadn't seen before there. She inched closer to the side of his face, much to his surprise. He gaped at her and raised his eyebrows at her.

His little body enticed her and she wanted him, and she wanted to kiss that little pearl of gray upon his head, now a little tuft the size of her index finger. She set a hand on the side of his face and she lunged in closer to his face.

“Samantha!” he gasped. “What're you doing?”

“I want to kiss you,” she whispered into his face; she showed him her tongue.

“Don't,” Alex begged her in a soft whisper and with a shake of his head.

“I want to kiss you,” she insisted as she gazed into those deep eyes and at those sweet smooth lips, as smooth as butter.

“Samantha—Samantha, please—you're legally married and you have a boyfriend, too.”

“So?”

Alex froze right in place at that.

“So?” she repeated, and he cracked her a smile and he laughed at that. He brought a hand to his mouth in order to stifle his laughter given they lay together there outside of the bar. She lifted herself up and then rolled over him: she suspended herself over him. He was right underneath her; Sam brought her face closer to his so she could smell the soft cologne on the side of his neck.

Decadent, like a little treat for her and all for her, all for being such a bad girl.

A bad girl with a good boy.

His chest heaved from her being right above him. The tips of her dark hair dangled down towards his chest and she ran her tongue around her lips to get him going as well.

“Samantha, I—” He could hardly talk. “—I—” She pressed a finger to those lips.

“You're just—you're so sweet and intelligent and funny and refined and just—everything totally different from what I'm used to.”

Alex swallowed but he never moved a muscle.

“I want to come closer to you,” she begged him as she touched his chest. With that free hand, she unfastened the bottom lip there at the top of his shirt. “I want to come closer to you, Alex Skolnick.”

Or at least that was what she thought would happen had she inched even closer to him. Instead she fluttered her eyelashes to rid of the daydream, and she just lay there on her back next to him and every so often, she peered over at him and the soft and smooth side of his face.

“I should tell you,” she began for real that time, “you have the cutest little lips.”

He snickered at that.

“You do! They're really cute and shapely, and I like how they kind of peel back whenever you talk, too.”

“I'm a mishmash,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Like one of those rag dolls,” she added.

“One of those rag dolls they piece together of all the scraps they scrape up from like the bottom of the barrel.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted.

“These lips under this schnoz and with these eyes and with the little tuft on my head? Yeah, it's bottom of the barrel, Samantha.”

“You are not from the bottom of the barrel, Alex,” she persisted. “I assure you.”

“I'm like something that the world likes to keep a secret, and by the time it comes out, it's already been said and done.”

He sighed through his nose and Sam frowned at that. And then it hit her, especially with Joey and Marla not around, and neither of her parents knowing about Alex himself.

“Speaking of secrets,” she began, to which he rolled his head back over the roll of shirts on the ground. “Can you keep another one?”

“I'll lock secrets up in a vault and never let them out,” he said in a single breath, “especially after Louie told Marla about your living situation. Can't believe he did that.”

“My parents are getting divorced,” she told him straight up.

“Aw, really?” He gaped at her.

“Yeah.”

“Well, why am I sworn to secrecy about it?”

“My mom doesn't want me talking about it with anyone. But she doesn't know about you, though.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Really?” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah. So—could you?”

He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth.

“I'll put them in the proverbial vault, Samantha. Don't you worry about a thing.”

“Hey, kids!” Chuck called from across the street.

“I want you to be my secret, too,” she blurted out to him.

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Yes. From my parents, from Joey, from everyone. I want you to be my best kept secret.”

“Sam?” Tiffany called from across the street. “Alex?”

“I’ll explain later,” she vowed, and he nodded his head and they both clambered up to their feet. Alex fixed his black hair and Sam straightened her top.

“Oh there they are, babe,” Tiffany pointed out from the shadow under the neon lights.

“Had a little fun on the grass?” Chuck joked as they headed closer to them.

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out,” Sam retorted, and Chuck erupted into laughter. She glanced over at Alex and the shadow cast over his face.

“Gonna be hell of a time getting you back home,” he said in a low voice. “I just think about how that man treats you, too.”

“That’s an understatement. I don’t even want to go back there.”

“You wanna hang out with us!” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “Next time we’re down this way, I’ll make sure you get a spot with us in the hotel room. I’d hate for you to go back to him.”

“Aw, Alex, that’s so sweet of you,” Sam said with a smile on her face.

“There’s Mr. Christian,” Chuck declared.

“Looks like he’s got some food, too,” Alex added. Indeed, Greg returned to the car with a brown cardboard box in one hand. The two of them awaited Chuck’s unlocking the doors as well as the folding back of the seats.

“Still not hungry?” Sam asked him as she took a whiff of whatever was inside there as Greg walked past.

“That might change,” Alex confessed to her before he climbed into the back seat behind Tiffany first.

[everyothermouse]

Made some designs for my old superhero au for funsies, enjoy

I am going to take this as an excuse to talk abt this au, some backstories and design details under the cut :)

Tw: suicide attempt (peters backstory) and abuse (hash’s backstory)

Also, i gotta warn you that the backstory descriptions get longer as we go on, as the longer i write for, the worse i get at being concise. My apologies!

Peter

Power(s): control over the shadow realm

Power triggers: fear, depression, sadness, anger, focus

Relationships: hash (daughter/apprentice), genny (ally), ms. Garner (friend/ex nemesis), gabby (ally), prince (assistant/nemesis) princess (nemesis?)

Backstory: Tried to die in a vat of Poisonous Liquidtm but due to the nature of the experiments Done by damian at Unnamed Lab Owned By Damiantm, instead of dying his misery manifested through shadow powers. He was a shadow for a bit before he was able to start being a person again, and he was so upset about being alive that he decided he needed to consume the entire city in shadow so everyone else would have to be miserable like he was. He would be repeatedly thwarted by a superhero in the city named flower girl, who would eventually (over the course of like 3 years) forcibly found family him. He now has a job and uses his powers for good, and has recently taken up a superhero apprentice :)

Design notes: the heart clasps on peters cape and arms were originally by Ms. Garner before she retired as a superhero. They are tools used to help focus magic, making it easier to stay centered and to direct magical forces. The heart in the middle changes color based on the magic surrounding it/running through it, for peter it is black, but for Ms. Garner it was red/pink. Peters crown is made of the same material, but is not quite as strong. Peter mainly focuses his magic outwards using his palms and the soles of his feet, thus why they are uncovered. Villain peter looks a lot less alive than current peter partially because of being magically exhausted, but mostly just because he is in very bad physical health, having dipped himself in a vat of poison and proceeding to get 0 medical help, and then also not eating or bathing and living on shadow magic and depression. The boots previously used for villain-ing are now his work boots :)

Genny

Power(s): super strength

Power triggers: N/A

Relationships: nut (son), mellisa (friend), gabby (ally), Ms. Garner (friend?), hash (ally), peter (ally), damian (enemy)

Backstory: genny was a single mother and teacher living a normal life when she was caught in a catastrophic event as the city’s super villain the week was wreaking havoc in the middle of town. When a car came flying at her child, she had no choice but to rush forward and try to get him out of the way. Usually this would have ended in disaster, but thanks to a mix mothers hysterical strength and the strong magic energy radiating out of one of the destroyed buildings (it was U.L.O.B.D., because its always fucking damian isnt it) she was suddenly imbued with the strength to block the car and escape. Soon she would realize that this effect wouldn’t go away, and thus she decided to try and use this ability to help protect the city from all the dangers which threaten its safety.

Design notes: the knife on her leg is attached with a very strong magnet, it is difficult for others to remove but easy for her to thanks to her strength. Her body armor is all much stronger than the other three’s, as having armour that is lightweight isn’t a priority for her in the same way it is for the others, due to her strength. Genny doesnt actually have that much more muscle mass than a normal reasonably fit person, as her super strength is not connected to this. She wears contact lenses in her daily life, but after the event in which she got her super powers her eyes are entirely white (nut’s eyes are also lightened, but not to the same extent as genny’s, you can actually see them from more than 2 inches away.)

Hash

Power(s): control over earth/rocks

Power triggers: fear, excitement, focus

Relationships: Peter (parent/mentor), genny (ally), gabby (friend), prince (annoyance),

Backstory: Hash has had the ability to move the earth since she was born, but her parents always shunned her for it, saying it was destructive and evil, and so was she. She was forced to repress her powers and was often neglected (and occasionally hurt) by her parents, as well as frequently being forced to socially isolate herself from peers and teachers due to her being “too dangerous.” She tried to run away from home, feeling as though she was a danger to her parents, but when she was caught she freaked and accidentally used her powers towards her parents out of fear. Her parents called the police, making her more afraid and causing her to become more destructive. After a couple days of chaos and no one being able to defeat her, she would eventually be talked down by [whatever tf peters superhero name is], a superhero in the city who had previously been a villain but was changed through kindness and love and what not. It took a while after that to convince her that she wasn’t some horrible monster, and to get her a way from her previous household for good, but now shes a lot happier and has moved in with peter. She’s also started practicing using her powers, although its pretty hard for her given she spent all the time that her powers were developing not using them, and thus doesn’t know how to control them at their new level. She likes to tag along and try to help out on superhero missions, but honestly her main focus right now is trying to make friends and become accustomed to normal daily living, which is difficult when you’re constantly afraid of everything and have no idea how to talk to people.

Design notes: her small cape/cloak is an old one of peter’s. She hand painted on the rock pattern and the green inside, and its not perfect but she likes it. Just like normal hash, she cut the sleeves off of all her shirts, even the ones that weren’t damaged, back when she was at her old household. After moving in with peter though, shes started wearing more long sleeved shirts :) . Hash may lift rocks from the ground and stick them to her body as impromptu armour when shes distressed, although she usually doesn’t purposefully do this as its not actually very good armour, its just annoying.

Gabby

Power(s): fire manipulation, lizard stuff

Power triggers: lizard: N/A Fire: focus, anger

Relationships: peter (ally), hash (friend/ex-rival), Dario (nemesis/enemy/rival), Akira (friend/ex-rival), genny (ally), Ms. Garner (mom/mentor), Mrs. Harvey (ally/girlscout troup leader), the other Mrs. Harvey (Girl Scout troup leader/ally)

Backstory: ever since she could walk gabby was convinced she had the ability to control fire, But none of the other kids at her orphanage ever believed her, and neither did anyone at her school. One day though these powers were put to the test, when the orphanage took fire and she rushed in to help the local super hero evacuate the other kids while the fire fighters were still on their way. It was at that moment she decided that she could be a superhero too, and that the poor superhero present at the time, flower girl, would be her mentor. She followed her everywhere being the annoying curious child she was, but all flower girl wanted was her to stay out of danger and go home to her parents (which she would eventually realize gabby didn’t have.) But when gabby proved her worth and saved flower girls life, flower girl finally caved and decided to start training her, as long as she promised to try to be more cautious, and to stop skipping school to follow on dangerous missions. From then on they were an amazing super duo! Together they fought villains and used the power of kindness and pretty flowers to brighten peoples day :) and after a while ms. Garner would even end up adopting gabby, yay!

Eventually gabby’s lizard features started growing in, which was pretty scary. But her mom showed her that they weren’t all that bad, and gabby realized she could use them to help out on super hero missions! Peter, who was flower girls nemesis, would move in with her and her momma temporarily while he was getting better, as he was very sick while he was a super villain. She decided to adopt him as her new second parent, which he never agreed to, but I mean hes never denied it so its basically true. Several villains and other hero’s have also been added (and removed) from gabby’s growing list of parents. After her mom got hurt really badly in the hash incident, she decided to retire from being a superhero, deciding that she needed to put more focus on her safety so she could take care of gabby. Gabby has continued fighting crime, now taking up a more independent role as a superhero because she’s a preteen and thinks shes mature, but she usually works alongside other superhero’s in teams or as partners, as her mom requires she have adequate supervision (bcus shes LAME.) She still gets somewhat serious treatment from other superhero’s given that she technically does have more years of experience in the field than like half the cities heroes and she has had a major role in taking down multiple big villains, but she’s still a child and is generally not to be trusted on her own, as she is minority stupid and majorly reckless.

I’m sorry that was so long,,,,,, it could’ve easily been 1 paragraph but i have failed 😔

Design notes: gabby isnt wearing shoes under the legwarmers in hercivilian design, she likes the good grip her feet give her. Sidekick gabby’s stick can make fire just like her current one can, but it does not have the other functionalities. Her stick is not just for magic stuff, she also wacks people with it, and knocks them off their feet and stuff, its quite sturdy. The thick line on her face is just face paint for funsies and to make her a little bit less recognizable (only barely tho.)

[thedistantdusk]

Can you write anything with the Harry/Ron bromance? Thank you, you are helping me survive quarantine!

Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for all her help! For once, this is only mildly inappropriate! ;)

On AO3.

Rain patters on the window of the attic, sounding angrier by the minute. For once, the exterior of the house is louder. This is quite a feat for the Burrow ever, but on an afternoon in June, it’s almost unheard of.

Harry lets out a deep breath, running his hand across his eyes. Over the past month, he’s adapted to the silence. He’s started to crave it, to consider it reassurance that everything’s on the mend. There aren’t explosions or calls for help or sobs emerging through the rubble and darkness. There’s simply quiet. Solitude. Even—

“HEY!” The door bursts open, slamming against the wall, as Ron pierces through the aforementioned solitude.

Harry just sighs and gets his glasses from the bedside table. No hope of an afternoon nap, it seems.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Ron deadpans, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Harry rolls his eyes; since he and Ginny got back together, Ron and George have greatly enjoyed taking the mickey anywhere they can find it. Just yesterday, George had interrupted a perfectly good garden snog with a series of nonsensical, thinly-veiled questions (“Have you dipped your nib in ink, Harry? How was it? Please, I’m desperately curious for feedback on all nib-dipping experiences; this could be vital information for restocking a line of magical quills at the shop!”)

Now, though, the girls are off shopping; the Burrow is empty, save for the two of them. To Harry, this seems like much of the same.

“Interrupting a kip is the least of your worries, mate,” he mutters darkly, sitting up in bed. He hopes the meaning isn’t lost there. If Ron’s going to be a cock-block, he’s going to hear about it.

Ron doesn’t respond, though. Which is odd. So Harry slides on his glasses and takes in his appearance. Ron’s looming frame stands near the door, his freckles and red hair more distinctive than usual. It could be the lighting, Harry thinks; after all, it is quite gray and dim up here. Ah but no... that wouldn’t explain why he’s now awkwardly shifting in place, rubbing his palms against his jeans.

Then, Ron clears his throat — and suddenly, his face turns red instead of white. “Erm. Listen,” he starts uneasily, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I’ve erm... I’ve got something to discuss!”

He ends with a sort of jubilant bounce on the balls of his feet, wearing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry peers back warily. If Ginny were here, she’d suss this weirdness out straight away. She’d know, just from his posturing, what Ron’s getting at. A moment later, he opens his mouth to speak again — but just as quickly, he seems to decide something or other is a bad idea, because he waves his hand and strides toward his bed with an anxious huff. As if that explains anything.

“Right,” Ron says, settling down across from Harry. “Right.”

“Right,” Harry echoes, arching an eyebrow. “You… feeling all right?”

“Mm.” Ron hunches over, his elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor.

As the seconds pass, Harry peers at Ron with a growing sense of dread. It’s rare he’s this quiet around him — and Harry doesn’t like it. It’s too reminiscent of darkness, of the times they’ve been at each other’s throats. Has Harry done anything to make him angry this time? He doesn’t think so. Ron’s been supportive, even, of his renewed relationship with Ginny. Apart from giving him shit for it.

This silence isn’t doing his head any favors, though. So Harry decides to break it.

“Listen,” Harry says uneasily. “I don’t want to pry, but—”

“—So you know Hermione and I are properly together, yeah?” Ron blurts, his words stringing together so fast they sound like a single syllable.

Harry clears his throat and tries to respond as delicately as he can. “Mate, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think most of the castle knows you’re properly together.”

But Ron’s not on the same page. “No,” he says over a humorless chuckle, his eyes still locked on the floor. “That’s erm. That’s not what I’m getting at.”

Then what…?

Oh.

Oh no.

Harry’s stomach clenches with fear, head filling with memories that seem far more distant than a year old. He remembers Lupin’s drawn, tired eyes when he approached them in Grimmauld Place. He remembers the unflinching expression of horror and shock, the way he distanced himself from Tonks’ baby. He remembers the resigned tone in his voice, like a man marching to his own execution.

Then, of course, Harry remembers tiny little Teddy. The baby who’d charged in and changed everything. Tiny little Teddy, who is undeniably adorable… but also fuck-loads of work.

Shit. Harry desperately blinks up at Ron, pleading with the universe that he’s wrong, that he’s made a mistake in this leap of logic. But there’s nothing reassuring about what he finds. Ron’s still staring at the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing, his back hunched.

This couldn’t be... no.

Hermione’s smarter than that, isn’t she? Hell, Ron — with his six siblings — must also be smarter than that! They’d never let... something… happen.

Right?

But even as Harry tries to deny it, he knows there’s a chance — mostly because Hermione’s a right moron when her feelings get involved. Fuck. Harry’s stomach churns as the memories shift. He sees birds pecking at Ron’s hands in that abandoned classroom. He sees Hermione’s face when Ron returned to the tent last year, her eyes flaring with something unbridled and terrifying.

Best to get it over with, though. Like ripping off a plaster. If he’s going to be an uncle (the word lands like a sour rock in his stomach), he reckons he’d rather know as soon as possible.

With that, Harry clears his throat. “Erm. Ron, I’m not going to push you, but—”

“—Hermione wants to know if you want to arrange something where Ginny comes here at night and I go down there and we sleep there ok.”

Somehow, this string of words comes out even more quickly than the first, leaving Ron in a red-faced, mortified silence; Harry only understands any of it at all because he knows Ron so well, but he gives both of them time to process the exacting wording of the declaration.

After a few seconds, though, Harry’s still not sure what to make of it — and not because he didn’t understand the literal words. No… the real fear is that he’s ignored what Ron actually said and supplanted what he wanted to hear.

So Harry draws a deep breath, guarding his heart as he does. “Ok ok ok,” he says, raising his hand. “I… I need to make sure I’ve understood you correctly. You’ve only come in here to tell me that Hermione’s cooked up a shagging arrangement. Is… is that right?”

There’s another pause.

For his part, Ron only looks impressed. “Yeah mate,” he says fairly. “Sums it up.”

Oh for the love of —

Harry releases a half-laugh, half-sigh as he collapses back on the bed. Shagging! That’s all Ron was after! For fuck’s sake! Harry’s chest feels lighter, his head happier, his future brighter.

“You… seem surprised, though ” Ron notes, peering over. “What did you think—?”

Harry laughs again, cutting him off. “I thought you’d got her pregnant! I was terrified for you! Can you even imagine—”

“Nooo!” Ron says sharply. He shudders, the color draining from his face. “No,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “No, I cannot, so please don’t even joke about—”

“Oi, who’s joking?” Harry counters. “You’re the two who ran off to Australia and spent nights in hotels! Your mum was scandalized, by the way. It was brilliant.”

He ends with a grin, but it seems that the word Australia was a bit of a trigger; Ron’s face is now blank and happy, his mouth spread into a gormless smile as he stares at the wall above Harry’s head.

Ugh. Harry looks away. He’s glad he hasn’t volunteered his (rather unfortunate) knowledge that those two shagged before they even left the castle. Harry still can’t decide if Ginny’s ability to wheedle information out of people is a blessing or a curse, but he reckons it’s best to push the subject of Ron and Hermione’s sex life from his mind.

As if on cue, Ron sighs from his bed. Harry’s pleased to find he’s not making that weird Hermione face anymore, but he doesn’t look entirely… settled either. His expression is pensive, his arms crossed over his chest, and it takes a few more seconds for Harry to understand why — but when he does, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his brain.

Oh.

Harry releases a deep breath of his own. Ron hasn’t said a word, but he’s certain they’re both filled with this sort of… shuddering awareness of the situation at hand. Because this is the first time they’ve broached this, isn’t it? The fact that they’re intimate now, with each other’s sisters. Harry can’t decide if that’s more comforting or repulsive — but more than anything else, he reckons it’s just... different. Nothing more, nothing less.

After all, it wasn’t long ago Harry was terrified they’d get together and leave him. But when they got together — right in front of him — Harry hadn’t been jealous or scornful; he’d been happy for them. He reckons he would’ve been chuffed, even, had they not been in the middle of a battle, but that hadn’t stopped them for long.

Then again, it also wasn’t long ago that Ron yelled at Ginny for snogging Dean. A year ago, Ron had yelled at him for snogging Ginny — mostly because he’d been concerned about his sister’s feelings. Harry hadn’t blamed him for that, not really, but he nonetheless reckons it should’ve foreshadowed Ron’s cock-block tendencies.

Another vacant smile crosses Harry’s lips. They’ve all changed, haven’t they? War changed them, to the core. Age changed them, to the core….

“Erm. But please, don’t give me details,” Ron blurts, apropos of nothing. He shivers again despite the warm afternoon. “I think I’d rather remove my fingernails with a blunt needle than hear about how much you love shagging my sister, thanks.”

Harry raises a brow. Technically speaking, Ron’s wrong in his conclusion. They haven’t… done that. Not properly, even if they’d hedged around it more times than he can count. They’ve done basically everything but shag, actually, but Harry reckons that would be more mortifying to admit than just letting it go.

Not that they aren’t ready; Harry knows they’re both ready. But through either sheer practicality (his reasoning) or misguided chivalry (Ginny’s), Harry couldn’t bear to live with himself if he took her virginity in their usual haunts of the garden or Mr Weasley’s shed.

Now, though, they’ve got… options. That Ron — of all people — has delivered on a silver platter.

Harry feels his pulse quicken at the thought as his jeans start to tighten. Aaand lovely, this is now thoroughly embarrassing. He needs a distraction, now.

So Harry loudly clears his throat and picks up the threads of their conversation. “Yeah, and I’ll trust you to do the same when it comes to Hermione. I’ve no desire to hear about—”

Ron interrupts with a wave of his hand, but when he speaks again, he’s not taking the mickey like before. “Noted,” he says firmly. “Just erm... I guess I also wanted to make sure...” He trails off, biting his lip, but seems to think better of whatever he’d started. “Nevermind, it’s stupid. Do you want to play chess?”

Harry’s not letting him off the hook that easily. “Whatever it is, mate, I’m sure it’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Ron laughs. “Yeah, and that was kind of my point, actually.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. When he looks at Harry again, there’s a telltale spark of reassurance shining behind his eyes. “You… erm. You know we’re still us, yeah?”

Oh.

Harry hadn’t realized he’d been that… transparent. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek. They’re together now — all four of them, which is the best possible situation. But he can’t deny there’s a lingering fear that romantic relationships, real ones, will change them forever. That he’ll lose the first friend he ever had. That they’ll finally have found the one thing they can’t talk about, even as the topic voraciously consumes both of their thoughts.

Has any of that happened, though? asks a voice in the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously like Ginny.

Harry’s lips curl into another smile as the answer comes to him.

No. No, it hasn’t.

Because at the end of the day, they’re still Harry and Ron. They’re the two prats from Gryffindor who became best friends on the Hogwarts Express and got detentions together and shared a mutual loathing of Malfoy, all as their voices cracked. They’re still Harry and Ron, who fought bitterly and pretended to hate each other and nearly vomited on each other and discussed wanking techniques.

No matter what, they’ll always be Harry and Ron. Their relationship survived Voldemort. How could Harry have thought it wouldn’t survive sex?

“Yeah, we are,” he agrees. “Just, you know...” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Taller. Wiser.”

Ron smirks, rising to stand. “Actually, I was gonna go with shagging each other’s sisters — but if you’d like to pretend you’re wiser...”

Harry chokes out a laugh. “I reckon Hermione’s still the wisest of us all, seeing how she arranged this. What time were you thinking, by the way?”

“Eleven minutes past ten,” Ron says promptly. “We reckon it’s less suspicious if it’s a bit off the hour.”

“Eleven minutes is highly specific, mate.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Please tell me that number wasn’t in your head because of some… personal record. Or something.” He makes a face and moves to stand, too.

Ron just jerks his chin towards the door. “Do you want to play wizard’s chess? And I’m not going to dignify that with a response, by the way — but just know, you’re definitely, definitely incorrect.” His lips twitch. “As well as a total wanker.”

Ha! He’s left himself wide open!

Harry laughs and strides into the hallway, too. “Only when I think about—”

“UGH!” Ron groans dramatically as they walk downstairs, but Harry can hear the grin in his voice. “I thought we agreed never to discuss that!”

Harry spreads his palms in surrender, but doesn’t push it; Ron’s been more than understanding today, so he reckons he’ll let it slide — at least until the next time he tries to give him shit.

Then they march into the living room wearing stupid, contended grins, just as they’ve done a thousand times, for one reason or another. Then they play wizard’s chess, just as they’ve done a thousand times. Then Ron kicks Harry’s arse, just as he’s done a thousand times.

Ron pumps his fist in triumph and lets out a jubilant yelp as he resets the board — and although Harry would never admit it aloud, he’s nonetheless reached a comfortable, contented conclusion.

He’s fine with losing at wizard’s chess for the rest of his life… as long as he loses to him.

[twobit-anime-trash]

Painting Outside the Lines | D.N Angel Ficlet

Pairing: Satodai (Satoshi/Daisuke)

Summary: Post-curse, after the dust settles, the boys try their hands at making 'bad art' by badly imitating Jackson Pollock. Fluff and angst and tenderness and hilarity ensues. Or: I don't make the rules of 90's rom coms, I just work here

Warnings: Mention of scars, very minor contextless spoiler for the end of the manga, minor angst, mostly fluff

Here on Ao3

“Jackson Pollock was an American expressionist painter, active from the mid 1930’s to 1955.”

In the depths of the Niwa family’s infamous basement, a room had been cleared out. Covering most of the grey stone floor was an enormous fifteen by eight foot canvas, pinned down haphazardly by open cans of house paint and scattered brushes and sticks.

Daisuke fiddled with a thick dowel rod, eyes following Satoshi as he paced the edges of the canvas, confidently educating his only pupil on the artist whose work they’d be bastardising today. Oh the lectures he’d get about the “damn Hikari walking around like he owned the place” if his mother saw this. Daisuke shook his head and tuned back in to the speech.

“-of course most famous for his iconic ‘drip paintings’, a style that came to define the-“

It had taken them a long time to get to this point, for Satoshi to be ready to paint again. The desire was still there, had always been there, but it had been tamped down for so long, held down with so much fear, it was very hard to let it loose. The handful of times he’d allowed himself to paint outside of his training, the work was always constrained. Limited to imitation, re-creation, or locked down in the traditional Hikari style: realistic, overly ornate, cold.

“-rejected traditional material’s and instead use alkyd enamels, better known as commercial household paints, and tools such as hardened brushes, sticks, and basting syringes to-“

This was something Satoshi had been toying with for a long time, ever since the day Daisuke carried him to the Niwa home, and he caught sight of the messy vent painting Daisuke had made while he worked through his frustration. Art had never actually been available to Satoshi as a tool for self-expression before. After the dust had settled, he’d confided in Daisuke that it was something he’d like to try. To not feel the pressure of his family legacy pushing down on him every time he picked up a brush, to let go and not care about what the end result looked like.

“-instead of limiting himself to merely using his hand and wrist, Pollock used his entire body dynamically to create his pieces-“

Daisuke was trying to pay attention, really he was! But watching Satoshi stride about so self-assuredly, gesturing with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, not at all insecure about his scars, well, it made that difficult! His heart was racing with pride; Satoshi had fought so hard and come so far. Half of Daisuke wanted to cut the lecture short and tackle him to the floor right then.

“-actually Pollock himself described his paintings as not relying on accident at all, but rather as a balance of controllable and uncontrollable-”

It also didn’t help that confidence looked really, really good on Satoshi. Daisuke felt his face heat up. Oh what would Dark say to him now? A little bubble of sadness welled up in his chest at that thought, but he pushed it aside for the moment. This wasn’t about their families, or legacies, or the curse; this was about them. They were going to have fun today, doing something that would have their ancestors all rolling in their graves: making art together.

“Are you listening, Daisuke?”

Busted. “Ah well……”

Satoshi shook his head with a put upon sigh, and put a hand on his hip. “Well, I suppose it’s not too important. After all, the rules don’t matter here today,” His lips quirked into the slightest suggestion of a smile.

“Color theory?” Daisuke asked playfully, dipping his dowel rod into a can of lime green paint, “Never heard of it!”

“Indeed,” Satoshi nodded, choosing a burnt orange color for his start. He dipped a stiffened brush into the paint, but paused before he could draw it out. Daisuke held his breath for a moment as he watched Satoshi take a deep breath, and square his shoulders.

“Well,” he said, finally raising the brush, “shall we get started?”

Daisuke beamed at him, “Only if you do the honors!”

Satoshi slowly raised the brush, letting globs of burnt orange hit the canvas in thick drops, then gently flicked his wrist, sending a streak of paint splattering against the canvas.

“Yeah!” Daisuke cheered, flinging his paint stick out and sending another stripe of paint down to join the lone splatter.

Satoshi graced him with an amused grin and flushed cheeks, “Go on, and have at it.” Daisuke was only too happy to oblige.

It took a bit of warming up to get over the awkwardness of the movement, but soon they got into a rhythm. Working his way back and forth, and round and round, Daisuke sampled the many garish colors on offer, dripping, flinging, and splashing them around the canvas quickly and slowly, changing his tempo whenever the mood struck him. Soon he became absorbed in the strange dance of it, smiling and laughing as he lobbed strings of paint harder and harder to hit the center of the canvas. So absorbed even, that he forgot to keep an eye out for his painting companion until-

“Niwa”

“Yeah?” Daisuke said, looking up, “What’s up Hiw- OH!” His sentence cut off in a squeak. From across the room, Satoshi was giving him his patented deadpan, the effectiveness of which was somewhat undercut by the large hot pink splatter of paint that streaked up his arm. Some had even managed to hit his face and glasses.

“Oh my god! I’m so, so, so, sorry Satoshi!” Daisuke sputtered, dropping the paint stick and waving his hands frantically. “I got caught up in it, I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t mean to get paint on you! M-maybe if we go upstairs and wash it right now-”

“It’s fine Daisuke,” Satoshi cut him off with a wave of his hand, “When you’re doing this kind of work, you don’t wear clothes that you would mind getting a bit messy,” he flicked his arm, sending a few droplets of paint flying down to the canvas where they were supposed to be. “Just be careful.”

Daisuke’s face burned. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Of course Satoshi, I’ll be more careful! I promise!”

Embarrassed, he drifted towards the edge of the painting, further away from his partner. Of course he’d managed to make a fool of himself in front of Satoshi, as usual. Stupid! He angled his body away from the other boy, and decided to stick to carefully dripping paint instead of flinging it for a while.

His resolve lasted for a few minutes, until something cold and wet suddenly splashed across his back, and Daisuke jumped, his head whipping around instinctively looking for the source of the attack.

Across the canvas from him, Satoshi’s expression hadn’t changed, even though he had a very incriminating dripping-wet brush clutched in his hand.

“Oops. Sorry, Niwa-kun,” he said flatly.

Daisuke’s brain stuttered for a moment. Had Satoshi just….he cocked his head, looking closer. Sure enough, there was the slightest ghost of a smile in the corner of Satoshi’s mouth, and he would swear he saw laughter in his eyes. Oh. So that’s how it was, huh?

Daisuke waved the ‘apology’ off cheerfully, but behind his smile he was scheming. Game on, Satoshi!

Years of training kicked in as he stalked around the canvas, keeping his body language casual as he waited for an opening. When he had to turn his eyes away, his sharp ears listened for his target’s footsteps amongst the sound of paint hitting the canvas. Finally he found the opening he’d been searching for, and struck.

Satoshi started, but this time didn’t call attention to the ‘accident’. Instead he just kept dripping paint with his back to the other boy. Daisuke looped around the painting again, carefully casual, turning and twisting with his paint trail. His back had only been turned for a few seconds when he realized the sound of footsteps had disappeared. Splat! Another direct hit to his back. Daisuke whipped around, but Satoshi still had his back to him, dripping paint in a wide arc at the other end of the canvas.

So he definitely hadn’t lost his touch either! Daisuke smirked. Their little game of cat and mouse continued for a few minutes, the opponents exchanging carefully calculated blows one after the other. And then a wicked idea suddenly sprung to Daisuke’s mind. He quickly picked up a stray brush, dipped it in the nearest paint can, and tucked in into his back pocket. His pants would be destroyed, but if his tactic worked…he bided his time, waiting for Satoshi to strike again.

This time, when a volley of paint hit his side, he turned to the other boy and laughed, dropping the paint stick in his hand and throwing his arms up in surrender. ‘Ok, ok,” he chuckled, making his way around the painting to Satoshi’s side, “you got me!” He moved his arm as if to wrap it around the boy’s shoulder, but with nimble fingers at the last moment, snatched the paintbrush from his pocket and smooshed it right into Satoshi’s hair.

Who froze for a moment, eyes wide with surprise. And then his lips curled into a smirk as he let out a huff of a laugh.

“Oh, it is on now Niwa!”

It devolved from there into all out warfare. The basement witnessed a battle like no other as paint flew everywhere, splattering against the walls, floors, even the ceiling! Screams and laughter echoed down the halls as two boys chased each other around and around like the children they were, leaping, and slipping, and crashing into each other in a cacophony of sound and color.

Eventually even the former Phantom Thief host ran out of stamina, and the paint stopped flying, as the two soaking wet combatants stopped on either side of their painting to catch their breath.

“Well I’d say that experiment was a success!” Daisuke exclaimed, as soon as he had the wind for it. Indeed, their canvas had managed to catch some of the paint, even though the process had involved some acrobatic moves that he was pretty sure that Pollock had never used.

“I’m pretty sure most of the paint ended up on us,” Satoshi said dryly, wiping some paint from his brow and gesturing to the canvas, “But I digress. There you have it, the first collaborative artwork in existence created by both a Hikari and a Niwa. What do you think?”

Daisuke backed up a few paces to examine their handiwork. It was a mess, well and truly, streaks of garish, oversaturated colors clashing wildly against each other and mixing muddily in splotches. Smeared handprints and two different sets of shoe treads littered the edges of the canvas. There was a large smudged blotch in the bottom left corner where two bodies had hit the wet paint and tussled.

“It’s awful, I love it!”

Satoshi looked down at it with a critical eye, leaning over and spotting a clean patch of canvas that had somehow miraculously avoided getting splattered.

“It’s missing something,” he said cryptically, and beckoned to Daisuke with a crook of his finger. Daisuke trotted over, curious, as Satoshi brushed a thin layer of light colored paint on his palm and pressed it to the empty space for a few seconds. He fanned one hand over the wet paint, and wordlessly handed Daisuke a paintbrush dripping with a darker paint with the other. Daisuke followed his lead, coating his own palm with paint as well.

“Here, put your hand down right there” Satoshi directed, “That’s it.”

Daisuke pulled his hand back, and looked down. Before his eyes were two handprints, layered as if two hands were pressed against the canvas together. His breath caught.

“There. Though it’s a bit corny, I suppose….” Satoshi said, his tone carefully bland, and glanced away.

Daisuke didn’t think. He reached out with his hand still tacky with drying paint, turned Satoshi’s head back, and kissed him softly. The lips against his stayed still for a moment, before gently returning the kiss.

After a moment, Daisuke pulled back and stroked the other boy’s cheek with his thumb, smearing the dark paint even worse.

“I changed my mind, it’s a good painting.”

Satoshi looked at him, blinking as if to clear the stars from his eyes, after all this time still awestruck by the affection. And then he smiled so softly that Daisuke couldn’t help but kiss him again. And again.

Later, when they came up from the basement to clean up for dinner, if Kosuke noticed the suspicious amount of paint handprints all over the two boys’ skin and clothes, well, he kept it to himself.

-

A/N: So remeber in the manga when Satoshi passed out at school and Daisuke took him home and Satoshi sees Daisuke's vent painting where its a total mess of feeling on the canvas and Satoshi says he likes it and that he could never paint something like that. NOW YOU CAN BABY, NOW YOU CAN! Now you don't have to hold yourself back and keep yourself in a cold little canvas frame, you can pour your feelings into it and it doesn't have to be perfect or even good it just has to FEEL-

SUGASAKI LET ME SEE THAT CANON FOR A MINUTE, WAIT A MINUTE JUST LET ME SE-

Anyway...been chatting a lot with Luanna about the boy's post-canon lives, and basically them reclaiming their lives and childhoods. One thing I really want for Satoshi is for him to be able to make quote unquote """bad art""", meaning that I want Satoshi to be able to explore his own style without fear of failure, to experiment and try things that might not work, to make kitschy or weird or ugly art. Like, the boy has been cut off from expressing himself in any way for so long, let him explore self-expression through art! And its Satodai this time because Satodai was like, the og ship for me and I need it.

Also, two fics in a month??? I haven't posted two fics in a year since 2016 wtf. As always, comments and critiques appreciated!