#also researching desserts took a long time too cause like trying to figure out what shit tastes like w/o tasting it was hard

[ask-world-academys-host-club]

Hihi! I was wondering what kind of deserts you guys like? :3

[reidingmelodies]

Sugar Rush

Summary:  Who knew finding the perfect wedding day dessert was so much work? Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Category: Fluff Includes: Food consumption, light kissing Word Count: 2.4K

“Did you know the first wedding cake was most likely served in Ancient Greece?” Spencer began, looking down to where you were laying with your head snuggled against his chest.  You hummed in interest, moving your hand to meet his where it rested on his lower stomach, intertwining your fingers together.  Spencer smiled at the gesture before continuing his spiel, “But one of the earliest mentions of wedding cake originates from Ancient Rome where the cake was actually broken over the bride’s head in the hopes of bringing them good fortune in their life together”.

Your brows furrowed at that, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction.  “Well, we certainly won’t be doing that at our wedding,” you giggled, giving his hand a light squeeze.  

Flipping your hands over, he brought your hand to his line of sight and admired the engagement ring resting on your ring finger.  “Do you want to smash cake in my face after we cut it?”

You thought for a second before shaking your head.  “I don’t think so- unless that’s something you want to do?  I don’t even get why that’s a thing in the first place, it seems kind of gross”.

Spencer sighed in relief, beyond grateful that wasn’t something you wanted to do.  He loved you, and he was more than happy to exchange germs with you in other ways- but throwing cake at each other definitely wasn’t his style.  “I’m glad you don’t because I feel the same way.  Cutting the wedding cake is traditionally seen as a symbol of a couple’s commitment to each other, and I don’t want to ruin that by throwing cake in your face”.

You smiled, rolling over slightly until your stomach laid against his and propping your head up to look down at him.  Spencer hummed in approval at the new position, moving his hand from yours and resting it on your lower waist.  “Plus,” you added, “we’re paying way too much for the cake to waste a single drop of it”.

Spencer laughed in agreement, pushing himself up lightly to give you a soft kiss on your lips.  “So no cake smash- there’s one part of the great cake debate settled”.  You groaned at his words, dropping your head and burrowing your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

“I don’t understand why there’s so many cake flavors to choose from!  Honestly, do we even need a cake?” you groaned, voice coming out as no more than a mumble against your fiancé’s neck.  Spencer rubbed your back soothingly, before humming in acknowledgement.

“We’ll figure it out, babe,” he reassured you, giving your forehead a quick kiss.  “On the bright side, regardless of whether we pick one or not we’ll get to try at least twenty different types of cakes for lunch tomorrow”.

“I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” you laughed, pushing your upper half up to once again look at his face.  “But as long as you’re with me I’m sure it won’t be too bad,” you finished, leaning down to lay a sweet kiss on his lips.

“What a sap,” Spencer jokingly mumbled against your lips, causing you to pull away and playfully roll your eyes at him.

“A sap you decided to spend the rest of your life with,” you countered with a smirk, eyes softening in admiration at the grin that spread across Spencer’s face with your words.

“Best decision I ever made,” Spencer claimed softly, sealing his declaration with a concession of kisses against your lips.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair and continuing what you started- leaving the discussion of cakes and all things wedding behind, choosing instead to spend the night entangled with your fiancé, trading kisses and whispered declarations of love well into the evening.    

***

The next morning, you sat in the kitchen nursing your cup of coffee while Spencer took a shower before you headed to the bakery.  It had been six months of engagement bliss for you and Spencer, and you both found yourself on an impenetrable high for the first three months with no qualms.  As far as the two of you were concerned, you were irrevocably in love with each other, full stop.  You didn’t know when you wanted to get married, or where, but you knew that you wanted him by your side for the rest of your personal slice of eternity.  

Eventually, that answer stopped being met with aw’s from your friends, and instead had been met with playful eyerolls followed by logistical questions regarding the wedding.  It became apparent pretty quickly that there wasn’t a where or when anywhere in your plan, but the who, what, and why were pretty clear.  And when it came to wedding planning, the last three took the back burner.  Who would have thought?

Weekends cuddled up with your fiancé turned into Friday nights spent researching, Saturday afternoons filled with venue tours, and Sunday mornings comparing notes (and somehow, that was always the part that lasted the longest when it came to you and Spencer).  

Once the venue was secured, you both became invested in the rest of the details that made your special day unique to the two of you, settling on a lilac color scheme and Save the Dates in the form of bookmarks.  Everything settled into place pretty quickly after that, except for the dreaded cake.

There was just too much to it.  Between the design, number of layers, and flavors there statistically wasn’t a high probability of pleasing all of your guests much to Spencer’s dismay.  And as much as everyone said that the most important thing was that you and Spencer were happy with the cake, the two of you were more than happy with each other, and that’s all you really cared about.

“Ready, Y/N?” Spencer broke you from your train of thought and drew your attention towards him.  He smiled, holding a travel mug of coffee in one hand and your car keys in the other, motioning towards the door with his head.  

You nodded, taking the keys and heading towards the door with the love of your life in tow, internally cursing yourself for stressing out half as much as you have about a silly cake.

***

Two hours later, and one thing was for sure- you were right to be stressed.   The owner of the bakery was one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met (the title of sweetest belonged to Penelope Garcia, hands down), but as welcoming and supportive as she was you still felt like a fish out of water.

You and Spencer were ushered into a room with exactly twenty-three cake samples laid out on tables, accompanied by open portfolios and photos of some of the bakery’s most renowned creations.  In the time since your arrival you’ve tasted flavors ranging from lemon raspberry to mocha chocolate and you were exhausted.  

You couldn’t help but feel like the universe was punishing you and Spencer for joking around the previous night about how great it would be to eat cake for lunch.  You leaned over to tell Spencer just as much, and the exhaustion was almost worth it when you saw his smile illuminate the entirety of his face.  

“What happened to ‘as long as you’re with me I’m sure it won’t be too bad’?” he jokingly questioned, booping your nose and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek when he saw the joking glare beginning to form on your face.

“Changed my mind when you called me a sap,” you retorted with a smirk followed by a quick squeeze of his hand so he knew you weren’t serious.  Your comment made him laugh, and soon enough you were both in a fit of giggles surrounded by mountains of cake and half looked through portfolios.   

As your laughter died down the reality of the situation you were in began to set it.  You loved all of the cake you tried, but everything about what you were doing just didn’t feel right.  The more you envisioned your cake, the cloudier the picture became.  All you knew was that you wanted something that screamed you and Spence, but none of the flavors you tried did that.  You sighed, and Spencer immediately perked up, forever in tune to you and your needs.  

“What’s going on up there, love?” Spencer tapped the side of your head lightly with his pointer finger, causing the right side of your lip to slightly curl up.

“If I ask you something will you be honest?” you asked, putting your hand on top of his.  

Spencer immediately nodded, grasping his fingers with yours and bringing your hand to his lips.  “Always”.

“Do you picture any of these cakes at our wedding?”  You questioned, bringing the closest portfolio towards you with your free hand and flipping through the first few pages.  “They’re all so pretty, but I just don’t think they’re us, ya know?” 

It was quiet for a beat longer than you expected, and for a second you were nervous you had somehow offended Spencer.  But when you looked up and met his eyes, all you found was his understanding gaze looking back at you.

“I completely get what you mean,” he began, squeezing your hand before continuing his thought, “but Y/N.. do you really think that we’ll ever find a dessert that’s more us than donuts?”

You knew right away that he was joking, but you also couldn’t help but smile at the flood of memories that overtook you once he said it.

As Penelope liked to call your relationship, “the greatest love story of this generation” began just a block south of the bakery you were at over chocolate sprinkled donuts and coffee.  It was a Tuesday morning, and you were running a few minutes late in your morning routine.  You usually got to the cafe around 8:15, just before the majority of the 9-5 workforce showed up for their morning coffee fix.  

That day though, you had missed your usual metro and walked in the door of the café at 8:27 AM.  It was overly crowded, and you were already dreading waiting in the overpopulated line for your coffee, but as luck would have it Dr. Spencer Reid had picked that exact morning to treat the BAU to coffee and donuts. 

He had walked in the door behind you, smiling in recognition at the book he saw peeking out of your bag.  Before he could stop himself, he tapped you on your shoulder, reciting a fact about the author of the book.  Almost immediately, his face dropped, worried that you were going to tell him off for being nosy.

To his relief though, you smiled and asked him for his opinion on the book- before you knew it, you both made it to the front of the line, and you found yourself longing for more time with the stranger who seemed to know an infinite amount of fun facts.  

As you both waited for your coffee and donuts, you took a leap of faith and asked Spencer if he’d want to meet up for breakfast the next morning.  To your delight he agreed, and the rest was history.  After three months of sporadic breakfast dates whenever Spencer wasn’t away on a case (mainly consisting of you trying all of the donuts on the café menu and Spencer sticking to chocolate frosted with sprinkles), he took his own leap of faith and asked you out on a date beyond the comforting walls of the café.

As far as you were concerned, donuts were a fundamental part of your love story, and Spencer was a genius.

You smiled at the memory, turning to Spencer and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.  He gave you a lovesick grin in response- “what was that for?”

“Have I ever told you you’re the smartest man I know?”

Immediately, Spencer nodded.  “Just last week when I told you how many books have been published by Penguin Random House.  You also said it the week before when we were talking about polar bears and I-” your laugh caused him to lose focus, all of his attention instead focused on the way your smile lit up your whole face.

“Okay, okay so I call you a genius a lot- sue me,” you countered, giggling with every word that came out of your mouth.  “I think you’re onto something with donuts though”.

“Wait, really?  I was just kidding,” the confusion was obvious on Spencer’s face, but it was laced with excitement as well and you knew right then and there that he was as hooked on the idea as you were.

“I know you were, but that doesn’t make it any less genius!  It’s just so us.  And not only that, but think of all the different flavors we can get!  That way everyone has a choice over what dessert they have and we don’t need to stress over finding one most people will like.  Oh my gosh babe, and Penelope can definitely help us think of a cute way to set them up!  Maybe we can do a cake stand or put them out in a buffet style?”  You made eye contact with Spencer, eyes widening as you realized you haven’t even asked for his opinion yet.  Softly, you brought your ramble to a close, doubt slowly kicking in, “Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea?”   

Smiling, Spencer stood from his chair and motioned for you to do the same.  Considering the fact that you would do anything he asked you to, you followed suit and he pulled you into his side, planting a kiss to the top of your head.  “I think you’re the real genius in this relationship, Y/N”.  You giggled at that, and Spencer continued, “it’s an amazing idea.  And you and I both know Penelope is gonna love that you thought of her to help us put it together.  How about we go to the café and see if they’d be able to help us out, hm?  Maybe grab some donuts while we’re there too?”

You nodded enthusiastically, before grimacing at the idea of having another sweet, “We’re gonna have a sugar rush for the next week, Spence”.

“Every day with you is a sugar rush, Y/N,” he quipped, trying to hold back his laughter at the disbelieving look on your face.      

You chuckled, leaning in for one of many sugary sweet kisses awaiting you that afternoon before playfully retorting, “And you have the audacity to call me the sap in this relationship.”

***

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Tagging: @calm-and-doctor​

[potter-imagines]

Library Confessions (George Weasley)

Summary:  george fluff?? maybe like some sort of best friends to lovers kinda deal?

Notes: I've been wanting to write George for a while so I was excited to make this !! hope you enjoy x

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

It was a flurry and cold winter day, the kind of day when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. The frigid air, the slippery ground and the sheet of white covering the once green grass. All signs winter was here and cold times were ahead. Even in the highlands of Scotland, the winters were ferosus and unforgiving. Seeing as it was your seventh, and final, year at Hogwarts, most would assume you’d have adapted to the cold by now, but that wasn’t the case. Although as much as you despised the freezing temperature, the pulsating tick of your headache preferred the cold over the thunderous noise back inside.

The Gryffindor common room was too rambunctious- wild, uncontrolled for your desires tonight. It was Friday and tomorrow was the highly anticipated day trip to Hogsmeade. Students were understandable thrilled and you would have loved to join in, but the throbbing pain and stress of school on your shoulders masked your fun. The migraines were brought on by school, but also the idea that you would not get to join your friends tomorrow.

Your feet carried you further from the common room, the rowdy noise fading with every step. If the weight of homework wasn’t so heavy on your shoulders, the party would’ve been in your plans. You tried to stay as long as you could but after about twenty minutes, and three Weasley fireworks being set off, you decided a breath of fresh air sounded delightful.

Your best friends, Fred and George Weasley, were the cause of this chaos. They were fully sober yet drunk off the energy of the room. When you had left, Fred and Lee were orchestrating a tournament of pumpkin juice pong, and George was sitting on the scarlet couch talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. His eyes darted to you every few seconds. Sometimes he would hold the gaze, or send you a wink, but most of the times he snapped his head back to the golden trio, pretending his attention was elsewhere.

It made your heart thump against the bones of your chest. You were sure if he had been sitting beside you he’d surely hear it, loud and clear. A deep pink blush spread across your cheeks at the thought of George. You had been close friends with the twins since you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express and sat in the same cabinet as them. Through the years, the bond grew stronger yet developed differently with each twin. Fred was like an annoying, overbearing, proactive big brother and George, well, the affection you felt for George was not in a brotherly way. 

Since your third year, you started noticing subtle things about him. Like how he arched his eyebrows when he spoke, or when he’d bite his lip when taking notes. He also had a tendency to eat his dessert first, if you got him laughing enough he’d accidentally let out a tiny snort and he always stood to your left when you walked to class together. When winter came, George was always shedding his clothes in order to keep you warm. Fred would complain that you knew it was snowing, therefore it’s your fault for being cold, but never George. Not to say that Fred is cruel, he can be a gentleman when he chooses but your relationship was more sibling bickering and competition. But George had always been a bit, sweeter than Fred.

Most wrote the twins off as one person but the differences between the twins was written out in neon signs, in your eyes. Maybe it was because you were closer to the twins than most, besides Lee. They were both your best friends, but they treated you in polar opposite ways. If Fred ever tried to cuddle you in his bed, you were sure you’d ‘Stupefy’ him into oblivion. When George did it, you could hardly croak a breath with all the rockets exploding in your heart.

The fragrance of frosted pine and butterscotch wafted through the nipping air as you approached the north entrance of the castle. Winter was finally here. The beauty of Hogwarts shined most bright during this time of the year. Snow crunched under the weight of your foot while you trudged through the courtyard taking advantage of the short cut. With the overwhelming school work piling by the second, slipping into the library didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You had two papers, a research project for Magical Creatures, and an exam in Potions. Not to mention you were expected to memorize and perfect a list of disarming and protection spells before Defense Against the Dark Arts by Tuesday.

Lost in your own stress, you hardly noticed your feet carrying you into the large doors of the library. The lighting was low and the attendance was even dimmer. A few Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws were scattered around the room. Madam Pince nodded her head at your arrival then returned to her work behind the main desk.

Sliding into an empty table, you started to situate yourself. A stack of parchment was already waiting next to a clean quill and glass container of ink. It wasn’t hard to find the necessary textbooks and you returned back to your seat rather quickly.

A good twenty minutes had passed before your ears perked up at the sound of Madam Pince scolding a student. You didn’t have a clean view of her desk but you assumed a group had gotten too loud for her liking. Turning back to your book you faced away from the main entrance of the library. Eyes scanning the textbook, a new presence creeping up behind you went unnoticed. As you flipped to the next page in the advanced potions book, a grasp clamped down on either shoulder and a pair of lips hovered dangerously close to your ear. The unexpected warmth created a jolt on energy through your body. You practically flung out of your chair in surprise, whipping around to face your attacker. The initial glare and scowl soon washed away as your eyes met a familiar pair of warm, chocolate orbs.

George Weasley had a devilish grin, proudly basking in your shock. Not giving you a second to refuse his arrival, George pulled the wooden chair besides you out and sat in it. Throwing his arm across your shoulder, he smiled innocently at you.

“And what might you be doing in here on this eventful Friday evening, hm?”

Still reeling in shock, you placed your hand over your heart in hopes to calm down from the scare. Wildly glaring up at George, you yelled in a hush tone,

“George! You nearly gave me a heart attack- what’re you doing here?” You smacked his chest with a thud, though George remained unphased. His eyes squinted down at you while he shot back,

“Pretty sure I asked you first, love.” He said smugly. A large maroon and gold sweater adorned his frame, paired with dark washed jeans. You could smell the signature scent of pine and cinnamon that wafted wherever he followed. Folding your book on the table top, you glared playfully at the ginger.

“What else is there to do in a library besides studying?” The smart reply caused a twinkle in George’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning as his witty side took control. His fingers tightened around the blades of your shoulder, dragging you a tad closer to him.

“Plenty of things-” An instant smack came as you knocked his side once more. George chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by the flusterness taking over your features. Motioning towards the stack of parchment and mountain high pile of lengthy textbooks, you shook your head.

“I’ve got a lot of work due this coming week, so figured I’d get a head start.”

“Ah, you weren’t enjoying the party.” He declared knowingly. George typically never left your side during house parties. The anxiousness and suffocation of the noise that crept into your veins was always capped by the feeling of his arm around your shoulder protectively. Although tonight, George ran to the Golden Trio the moment the function began, leaving you alone in the corner with Dean and Seamus. You were friends with the boys but George was the only one who could make you feel relaxed and him being busy, escaping the party seemed like the best option.

Leaning into your chair, a heavy sigh fell from your parted lips at the recollection of tonight. “Not really I suppose. I don’t know… not in the partying mood tonight.” You admitted softly. George’s face furrowed immediately, concerned painting his features boldly. The dim lighting of the library all but hid the gleam of worry in his eyes.

“What’s got you stressed, darling?”

Scoffing at the question you picked up your book and started flipping through the pages again. For starters, you couldn’t decide where was the best place to start when it came to all your worries. There was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who returned last school year, the fact that the twins were planning on leaving early to open their shop (which they asked you to help run once you finished with school), home stress, school work, your feelings for George, trying to figure out your plans for after Hogwarts, and so much more. The weight of the world was crashing down on you and for the first time, you felt like allowing it to crumble you.

“You mean besides the school work I’m drowning in and the ever looming fear of being murdered by the Dark Lord himself? Eh, not much.” The sarcastic reply was all too familiar to George. Having spent the last seven years glued to your side, he started to pick up on your antics. Like your constant need to use sarcasm to hide your genuine fears. He studied you for a moment, searching for any hint on what really had you worked up.

Reaching his hand out, George plucked the potions book from your hands and started surveying it. He tilted the book upside down, pretending to read the text. Scrunching his brows, the fiery twin feigned comprehension of the material, a small ‘oohh’ and ‘hm’ falling from his lips as he did so. His silly antics caused you to giggle as he threw the book back to the table.

“Why’re you doing homework on a Friday night, anyhow? You’ve got all tomorrow morning and all day Sunday for that!”

“Technically have all day tomorrow as well-” George stopped you short as he cut into the conversation stubbornly.

“No, we’re all going to Hogsmeade and I already claimed your spot next to me at The Three Broomsticks!” He resembled a pouty child as he huffed besides you. Flipping the page of your textbook, your mouth bunched in the corner, guilt entering your bloodstream.

“I’m really sorry, Georgie. If my grades slip any further- my mum’ll have my head on a stick! Besides, I didn’t figure it would be that big of a deal, everyone else is going so I’m sure my absence will not be noticed.” Your laugh was meant to cover the tang of honest hurt, although you hoped it would slip past him. Of course, George noticed everything when it came to you and seeing you down was definitely not something he felt okay with ignoring.

“But I’ll notice- just like I did tonight.” He added with a point of the finger. It was true, George always seemed to notice when you were missing. He also always seemed to know where you were when you did sneak away.

“Thanks…” Trailing off, you glanced over to George. The honey like orbs were already examining your features. You assumed he must’ve picked up on the sadness dripping through your pores because the next thing you knew, George was offering up his entire Saturday.

“You want me to stay back with you?” Your head snapped in his direction immediately. With a bugged stare, you shook your head feverishly.

“What- no! You and Fred practically countdown the days until we get to go to Hogsmeade. I know how bad you wanna go, don’t skip out ‘cause of me.”

“We do have another trip next month so I can just wait to go until then. I’m sure Hogsmeade will still be flourishing by then. C’mon, you know you want me to stay back. You’ll bore yourself to death without me around!”

“You’d just be staying back because you feel bad-” George interrupted you, face reading bewilderment at your accusation.

“No, I’d be staying back because I want to. Y/n, when have I ever hung out with someone I don't want to be around- besides Percy seeing as I’m obligated to share a home with him. I want to spend time with you, that’s why I look forward to Hogsmeade trips. Get to spend time with you outside of the castle. So if you’re not there, I’m just gonna be miserable, love. Which means, I better just stay back with you.” A mischievous smirk rose to his lips as he finished his spiel, crossing his arms across his chest. The material of his sweater bunched around his fold and you admired Molly’s handiwork. Pressing your finger into his chest, you gave George a playful shove. He reached out for the table top to sturdy himself as he chuckled. Batting your lashes you teasingly cooed,

“Sounds like someone can’t get enough of me.” Not missing a beat, George rested his elbow on the tabletop. His chin was planted in his palm as he leered dreamily.

“Thought we already established that.” He winked over to you. Lifting up your heavy book, you sheltered your blushing cheeks behind the pages. Your forehead pressed deeply into the pages as you folded the covers around your heated face.

“You joke too much.” Mumbling into the book, you were taken aback when a hand abruptly snatched the book from your fingertips. You watched as the book went above your head, then settled in George’s hand. He snapped the cover shut between his hands, an echoing ‘snap’ invading the library. The peppermint lingering on his breath smacked against your lips. George ran his finger over the title page, then tossed it to the side. As the book slammed on the counter, he turned his head back to you.

“Never about my feelings towards you, though.” He stated seriously. Your brows pulled together in a stern line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your furrowed gaze rested heavily upon him.

“I just… really like spending time with you. Like just the two of us.” As he finished speaking, you watched cautiously as George’s hand sneaked over to land on top of yours. His palm was warm on top of yours. After a few seconds, he flipped your hand over so it was set inside his. That comfort feeling bursted in your chest under the weight of his eyes. It was funny how the simplest of actions from him could cause a firework extravaganza in your chest. The tension in your throat was increasing.

“I do, too, Georgie. You’re very sweet.” You smiled awkwardly, the bashfulness overcoming every cell in your body. When Fred complimented you or was too kind, it made you suspicious. Usually he buttered you up before a prank, so you never fully trusted his words but George? George was too gentle to ever set you up or put you in harms way.

“Y/n… there was actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you- well something I was gonna ask you tomorrow but seeing as you’re not going, might as well as you now.” The mumble was a notch above audible. You watched on as he fumbled with his hands, twiddling his thumbs nervously. His anxiousness was contagious as you soon felt uneasy as well. Your mind raced in worry as you wondered what was clouding his mind. As if it was second nature, your hand moved out in reaction to his worrisome state to snake his hand into your own. Softening your piercing stare, you squeezed his hand tightly.

“What’s wrong, George?”

His attention was shifted to your locked hands. It wasn’t the first time you held his hand, although it was the first time you were knocked off balance by the wave of electricity streaming down your spine from the touch. Based on his reaction, you figured George felt it too.

“Uh, would you ever want to, like, go on a date? I um, I’ve really liked you for quite some time now and I keep trying to ask you but I get nervous cause… I just needed to tell you myself before Fred does it for me.”

“Tell me now if this is a prank, George Weasley.” The sternness in your voice was something George only heard on occasion. He knew not to joke when it came to your heart so he was taken aback by your words, though understood why. You saw the confusion stirring in his brain before he settled your worries.

“It’s not a prank, love, I swear on my life. I would never lie about my feelings, that I can promise.”

“Tomorrow?” You looked up, eyes peeking over to your side. George had hardly moved and stared blankly at you. It was if his brain had hit a wall and was lagging in processing. The candle on the table flickered, orange and red shadows flashing across his face. Even in the shadows the razor sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones popped.

“Huh?” He croaked.

Catching a Weasley twin off guard was not a common thing and George appeared baffled. Hands folded in your lap, you could feel the small shake to his grasp. In an odd way, you felt a surge of confidence knowing you had the power to make George blush. Tightening your hand around his own, you roamed the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.

“Could we go on a date tomorrow? After I finished at least two of my papers- could we go on a date then?” It was hard to shake the electric shock tingling through your bones. Never before had you basked in eyes as beautiful as his. His eyes reminded you of a pool of whiskey and shades of chestnut. When the light flashed, a honey, caramel tint soaked his orbs. Simply calling them ‘brown’ eyes did no justice.

Your voice brought a large smile to George’s lips like he won the lottery. The glistening gleam brighten the dim corner of the library. You could feel your breathing become inconsistent once again at the sight. Nodding his head, you watched with a smile as his sandy, ginger hair danced in tune.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Does uh, does that mean you like me too?”

Leaning back in your seat, you started to think back on all your years at Hogwarts. There wasn’t an exact moment you fell for him- it didn’t happen all at once. It was born as a crush, your heart leaping at the sight of the handsome boy your first year. When you started hanging out with the twins, you immediately grew close with them by the third week. Since then, you only got closer with the twins although it was undeniable that there was always a more intense gravitational pull you felt towards George. Not that Fred hadn’t pointed out the obvious connection between his twin and you numerous times. He enjoyed harassing George and yourself a bit too much.

Shrugging your shoulder in uncertainty, you admitted,

“Honestly it’s been so long I can’t remember when I first started liking you. I mean I’ve had a crush on you since first year and… I’ve always found you to be the funniest, most handsome guy I’ve ever met.” You paused your word vomit to take in George’s expression for a sign. Glancing up, you noticed he was far closer to you than he was before. The tip of his nose faintly brushing against your own. Your eyes enlarged in seconds at the lack of space between you two. “What’re you doing?”

A gulp echoed through George. His teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip, tugging at the skin in an attempt to calm his nerves. You viewed in curiosity as his eyes darted from your lips, to your eyes, then to the floor, then back to your lips again. Your suspicions were confirmed as George locked his peer into your own. His face read seriousness as he asked you gravely,

“Are you going to slap me if I kiss you? I’ve seen you knock the daylights out of Fred for trying to. Mum says you need to take a girl out before you kiss ‘em for real so I wanna do it somewhat right. Y’know, be a gentleman and such.” 

Your cheeks flared red instantly, eyes planted to the floor. George had always been sweet but you never expected him to be this sweet. There was nothing more in the world that you desired than finally getting to kiss George Weasley, but it was an incredible kind of him to take your own feelings into thought before acting. You pressed your lips together tightly, exceeding all your effort into suppressing the bashful smile threatening to breakthrough. It took everything inside to contain your excitement and nerves at his proposal.

George broke your messy train of thought as the sensation of his hand against your skin registered. His slim fingers brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, then wrapped around the side of your cheek. Like two magnets matching up, you melted into his touch. Finally drawing your gaze back up, you placed the palm of your hand against George’s chest, grasping a light fist of his sweater for stability. The height difference wasn’t immense, but enough that you needed some sort of control to keep on your feet.

“How proper of you, Mr. Weasley. Yes, I would really like that.”

Leaning into his hand, you met George’s gaze as you slowly moved towards each other. Meeting in the middle, you were nearly knocked off your feet by the force of his embrace. Your lips connected like a perfectly mapped constellation. His kiss was warm and fulfilling, yet constantly left you wanting more. It was undeniable he had practice before, his lips moved far too calm for this to be his first.

You practically melted in his arms, kissing him softly. Your lips danced for a moment until you steadied your hand on his cheek, holding his face. You needed that sense of control, wanted to feel the hold you had under George. Taking the first leap, you dragged your wet tongue along the smoothness of his bottom lip. A tiny, almost inaudible groan fell from his mouth. You deepended the embrace momentarily, then pulled away to press one lasting kiss to his puckered lips. George giggled in reaction, a cherry red blush painting his cheeks.

“You’re adorable.” George ‘booped’ the tip of your nose when he finished speaking. You laughed at his action then extending your finger, you placed a similar tap to his nose and teased him,

“Stop talking about yourself, George.” Although before you could fully retreat your hand, George’s own wrapped around your fingers. In one swift motion he lifted your hand to his face, then pressed his lips to the back of your hand. As he raised his head, his arm was quick to wrap around your shoulder, jerking your chair towards George as a result. His fingers clutched your upper arm loving. 

That smug smile was plastered across his face again, pleasantly pleased with the peach glow tinting your cheeks. Feeling the heat rising you dove to cover your cheeks in the sleeves of his sweater. George accepted your full embrace, arms moving to circle your body entirely. Suddenly a light bulb popped in his mind as he released his grip slightly to glance down at you.

“Maybe if I help you with some of your paper tonight, we’ll have more time for our date tomorrow!” The excitement in his voice was by far the sweetest sound you’d heard. You smiled back at him and nodded in agreement.

“Sure but I do the writing- I don’t trust you enough for that. Your handwriting resembles that of a child.” You laughed at your own jab while George gave you a deadpan look, clearly unable to form a comeback. He’d say so himself that his print was what the Muggles would call ‘chicken scratch’, a phrase you taught George. When George first learned to write with a quill and ink, he had a tendency to smear the ink a smudge as he scribbled away faster than the speed of light. Molly would scold George as the side of his hand would be stained a deep black shade and his paper was hardly legible.

“Rude but, understandable.” George commented. It was sweet of him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he truly wanted to spend his Friday night stuck in the library. Raising your eyebrow to the boy, you gave him a questionable look.

“Wait, don’t you have a party you should be getting back to?” Arm still enclosed around your frame, George gave you a squeeze. A mischievous smirk now covered his lips as he confessed the truth. 

“What do you mean? I only threw that party with Fred so I could spend the night around you- maybe impress you with my wicked dance moves.”

Giving him a pointed look, your chest erupted with a fit of giggles. A memory popped into your mind of the first time you got the chance to view a drunk George Weasley putting on a ‘show’ for you. Sober George was a decent dancer but drunk George was on a different level of skill. The liquid courage had left George regretting a lot of nights and quite a bit of scenarios that came as a result. 

Although dancing drunk with you was never a regret of his. Especially when the two of you went to the Yule Ball together as ‘friends’. Mummers followed your every move as you waltzed with George, students gossiping about George and yourself. Not that you paid attention to anyone but George- there wasn’t a chance given to! You didn’t spend a single second resting on your feet as George had you dancing until the band was packing up. He spun, twisted, lifted, and twirling you all night long. When a slow song finally came on, the prankster king put his gentleman side on full display. It was by far one of the best nights of your life, one you still had yet to stop daydreaming over. Poking his side, you smirked teasingly at the boy.

“Georgie, darling, I’ve seen them before. You’d have a better chance sending yourself to the infirmary than impressing me with your ‘moves’. I haven’t forgotten the Yule Ball last year. My head was spinning for a month!” You laughed together at the reminiscence. George was just as mesmerized by the night as you, maybe a tad more so. For those few hours of pure bliss, George had never felt more complete. Seeing you all dressed up and glowing from head to toe- the image was captured in his mind forever. He never understood the term ‘speechless’ until he saw you walking down the stairs in search of him. He replayed that moment over and over again for a year now. Rubbing your shoulders lovingly, George leaned his head on top of yours.

“Aw, c’mon! You loved it! Twirling around like a beautiful ballerina in your dress. You looked breathtaking- everyone was staring at you. Can’t blame them, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you either.” His words made your insides feel fuzzy, kinda like the sleeve of his sweater. That of which your fingers were absentmindedly petting. George smiled down at the quirk, he loved every antic of yours.

Shaking your head, you pulled the book back that George had discarded. After all, you still had a stack of unwritten essays to get working on. You popped open the top of the ink container. George unraveled his arm from your shoulder to wrap lightly around your waist.

“Stop making me blush.” Crimson flooded your s/c cheeks, far too flustered to meet George’s eyes. That confidence from early had flown away just as sudden as it came. A sprout of warmth came as George’s finger pressed against the side of your jaw, turning your face. Sweetly, and silently, he requested your gaze to which you obliged.

“But you look so beautiful when you do, darling. Now stop distracting me- we have a paper to write, in case you’ve forgotten, love.” His lips darted forward and soon enough, his enticing lips kissed your reddening cheeks. George smirked teasingly, reaching the feathered quill out to brush against your nose. You lightly smacked it away, giggling at him as you did.

“You’re the one distracting me-��� The squeal was silenced by George as he pretended to ignore your words as he continued to tease you. Pressing his finger against your lips, George purred,

“Hush, we’ve got work to do so I can take you out tomorrow, love.”

“Fine but don’t forget Georgie, I’m doing the writing.” Narrowing your playful glare, you spoke sternly. It was a sort of game you played- going back and forth with one another. Although finally that teasing crossed the line of flirting to something real. In a way, it almost felt fake. Like all those years of waiting hadn’t really paid off, you were just asleep in your dorm room, dreaming this all up.

The touch of George’s arm leaving your waist cold was enough to question; however the radiating sensation of his hand slipping into yours was confirmation it was real. The chaste kiss he left on the back on your hand still buzzed. Despite the lack of lighting, every handsome feature was distinct from his blazing locks to the scatter of freckles dotting his face. Giving you a sly wink George flirted,

“Ah, I love a woman who takes control.”

For the next hour and a half, far in the corner, behind rows of bookshelves and torches to light to way, George and yourself attempted to write your essay. The first hour consisted of stolen kisses, stolen looks, and George constantly stealing your book from your hands. He made it nearly impossible to the point you threatened to cancel your study date, which shaped him up immediately. 

The last half and hour George read to you different pages from your stack of books until you got a good jump on the paper. You were feeling hopeful until Madam Pince had announced the library would be closing for the night. In a matter of seconds, George’s hand was clamped around your wrist, attempting to drag you out. You managed to scoop your school supplies together and tuck them away in your bag before allowing him to escort you back to the common room. You just hoped your study date tomorrow would consist of some actual study. If not, it’s a good thing you have all of Sunday.

[kim-chann]

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

       ❝   Siblings  ❞        --       Chef’s Special

            - - - | Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki, Satoru Gojo

                                 Synopsis ;; being siblings with some of my favourites

                                                           ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ $ 0.00

               - - - Includes slight manga spoilers - - - 

༺ Chef Note: Another Chef’s special! This has been on my mind for quite some time. This is some just some indulgent stuff cause siblings relationships are so fun but the worst at the same time lmao. 

Also!! I’m going to reopen matchups soon once I hit only 5 left. Currently, I have 7 left to write. So if I finish two more today, they’ll reopen later today!

༺ Chef Note: Adding a border, cause this is quite long...

〄          ⤷ Yūji Itadori | 虎杖悠仁 - - - 

       ☉ Being Yuji’s sibling is a wild game, jesus dude

       ☉ It doesn’t matter if you’re older or younger than him, he’s still as wild as ever

       ☉ Yuji is such a brat, he pulls pranks on you, blasts music in your ear when you’re sleeping, uses your stuff without permission, and overall, just plain rude...

      ☉ Just kidding!! (but he will do those stuff listed above)

      ☉ Being his sibling is the two of you guys being stupid as hell

      ☉ And siblings fights! He’ll always win whenever the two of you guys are wrestling and might accidentally hurt you, and will profusely apologise 

      ☉ Hurting you is the last thing he ever wants to do

      ☉ He’s the type of sibling to throw things at you just to get your attention instead of calling your name

      ☉ Whether it’s from a snack that he’s eating, or even a rock

      ☉ “Heyy, heyyy, I said hey!!”

      ☉ Once Yuji gets bored, he will barge into your room and bother you until he finds something better to do

      ☉ If you’re on a call with your friends, he will embarrass you. I feel like it’s always a siblings job to embarrass the hell out of each other 

      ☉ Yuji will start spilling your deepest secrets in front of your friends and tell the most embarrassing stories about you when you were younger

      ☉ Also! He always does head pats and ruffles your hair whenever he walks past you and doesn’t care if you just fixed your hair or not

      ☉ He will always ruffle it, and there’s nothing stopping him

      ☉ Yuji is also the type of sibling to accidentally break your door down

      ☉ “It was locked!!”

      ☉ “But you didn’t have to kick my door down!”

      ☉ “I didn’t mean to!”

      ☉ That’s... not even an excuse, Yuji

      ☉ Sometimes, he’ll ask for your opinion on a subject cause he trusts your words of wisdom

      ☉ “Hey, (nickname), do you think that my muscles are getting bigger?” He flexes his biceps and even invites you to touch it

     ☉ Once you say that he’s fine, and tell him the answer that he expects, he’s self esteem will boost (honestly, positive comments from siblings just feels more genuine, ya know?)

      ☉Yuji will always ask for homework help and is ass at math

      ☉ “Help meee, I don’t know how to do Geometryyyy” 

      ☉ Yuji is always whining 24/7, which he redeems to be a puppy 

      ☉ If you don’t know how to do geometry either, or forgot, then the two of you will struggle together. 

     ☉ “If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.” Yuji whines

      ☉ Can I also say that he will cook for you? (And it’s always delicious, might I add)

      ☉ Be can try to cook you anything you want, by researching recipes, then improvising to make it “tastier,” according to him

      ☉ But somehow, it always tastes better than you expected?? What kind of sorcery does he possess? cursed energy

      ☉Overall, being his sibling consists of the two of you going wild and him making fun of you

〄           ⤷ Megumi Fushiguro | 伏黒恵 - - -

       ☉ Being his sibling is him being protective of you

       ☉ Like Yuji, he doesn’t matter if you’re older than him or not, he will always protect you because “you don’t know what could happen,” Megumi says

      ☉ It’s really sweet, but sometimes, it can get pretty annoying whenever he walks you to a friends place and he makes sure that you get in the house before he leaves

      ☉ Going somewhere? “Let me come.” Leaving the house? “Where are you going?” Eating food? “Can I have some?”

      ☉ Even though it seems like he wants to protect you 24/7, he wants to be with you because honestly, he can get lonely

      ☉ Megumi didn’t really have many friends throughout his life, and since you’re always by his side, he just thinks that you’re his best friend/sibling 

      ☉ He thinks that protecting you is sibling bonds, but if you’re uncomfortable with him doing so, let him know and he will stop

      ☉ Megumi isn’t one of those mom’s who uses an app to track you down and sees whatever web browser history you go through, cause that’s honestly fucked up

      ☉ Megumi respects your boundaries and wants to make sure that you’re comfortable and safe 

      ☉ Sometimes, he’ll even wake you up in morning so you can go on walks with him and even summon his Divine Dogs to have them stretch and walk

      ☉ Since he’s a jujutsu sorcerer, you know about all the curses, grades, and schools around Japan

      ☉ Even if you’re cursed yourself and can see curses or not, Megumi will educate you about them 

      ☉ He’s really reliable on information cause I always see him as a smart boy

      ☉ Need help with homework? He’s got you covered

      ☉ Sometimes, he’ll even offer to do it for you if you’re too tired to (Which is really sweet not gonna lie)

      ☉ He’ll make you coffee in the morning and occasionally cooks for the two of you, and makes sure that you’re okay and well taken care of 

      ☉ Since the two of you didn’t have parents to look up to, he’s basically your sibling and parental figure 

      ☉ He basically raised you, per se

      ☉ Overall, he’s a great brother that just wants to see you happy and safe. Cherish him!

〄           ⤷ Norbara Kugisaki | 釘崎野薔薇 - - - 

      ☉ Nobara is a wild sister to have, oh my god

      ☉ She’s pretentious and wants to be the one that’s basically worshiped in the family

      ☉ Nobara hates you with a passion

      ☉ She’s like a spoiled sister that wants everything, and if you ask to borrow something that she has, she’ll say, “Who’re you?”

      ☉ She won’t let you borrow anything and always gets mad if you just go into her room

      ☉ “I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit.”

      ☉ Nobara always gives you the stank eye or rolls her eyes whenever you ask her to do something, “can’t you do it yourself? I’m on my phone right now.”

      ☉ “I literally hate you, get away from me.” 

      ☉ Will only do what you say if she’s in a great mood

      ☉ She’s a sister that bullies her older or younger siblings all the time, but will stop if they start to cry, but not with her saying, “don’t be such a baby. Grow up!” 

      ☉ However, if someone is bullying you or made a snarly comment about you, she gets all defensive like she’s the one who got insulted

      ☉ “Excuse me? The hell did you just say?!”

      ☉ She’ll argue towards the person that insulted you, even complimenting you to counter the comment that was made against you

      ☉ Nobara is only allowed to bully you, nobody else!

      ☉ If necessary, she’ll even throw hands against that person to prove that you’re not what they say you are

      ☉ Don’t worry about Nobara losing. Every time she fights, she will win 

      ☉ After the fight, she’ll walk back to you with ruffled clothes and a bloody nose, and say, “If they bother you again, let me know so I can kick their ass.”

      ☉ Sometimes, Nobara spoils you (keyword: sometimes)

      ☉ She’ll buy you something that you’ve been wanting to have, like a new phone or something

      ☉ Once you thank her, she’ll be like, “Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing.”

      ☉ Nobara doesn’t hate you, despite her bullying you in every way possible, but it’s the littlest things she does for you that proves that she loves you as a sibling that she adores

      ☉ Overall, you got a bully for a sibling but makes sure that you’re actually loved 

〄           ⤷ Satoru Gojo | 五条悟- - - 

      ☉ I-- dear lord, how do I even explain this?

      ☉ It’s a bit tough being his sibling at the beginning 

      ☉ So I’m going to explain something else for a minute 

      ☉ When you were born into the Gojo clan, the family often discriminated you because you were an accidental pregnancy 

      ☉ So you were often discriminated as a child instead of getting worshiped and praised by the clan. You were practically a servant to the clan (like Mai and Maki)

      ☉ However, Gojo was always there to protect you because he was worshiped for inheriting the “six eyed,” curse 

      ☉ Gojo has been protective of you ever since you were a child and even helped you with your duties as a “servant.” 

      ☉Even if you inherited a technique or not, the family still looked down because you were not the “six eyed” curse

      ☉ Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him as a child because the family always compared you to him 

      ☉ So once Gojo was legible to attend Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical High school, he made sure to bring you with him

      ☉ It took his family a lot of arguing and convincing, but in the end, you got your bags packed up and ready to leave for the school

      ☉ If you don’t have cursed energy, and you’re younger than him, you can be trained how to defend yourself along with your brother for you not to get left out (like Maki)

      ☉You’re going to be a first year way earlier than other students, but like what Kamo said, “age doesn’t matter in Jujutsu.”

      ☉ Gojo will sometimes tease you as the two of you are students, but he’s a great mentor whenever you need help about something 

      ☉ Suguru and Shoko will also be your best friend too!

      ☉ Currently, Gojo is still a protective older brother, but goddamn he’s such a tease and a bitch at the same time

      ☉ “(Nickname)~~, what’re you doing?”

      ☉ Like every typical sibling, he can get bored and he will bother you, even if you’re busy

      ☉ If you become a teacher like him, he will randomly interrupt your class and sit down in one of the empty seat and act like nothings wrong 

      ☉ He’ll even act like a student by raising his hand and answering the question

      ☉Gojo disrupts a lot of your activities quite often just because he wants to and sometimes enters your room, stares at you for a few seconds, then leaves

      ☉ Whenever the two of you are free, he’ll invite you to go have some lunch or dinner to take a break from the school

    ☉ Expect him to order a lot of desserts too lmao

      ☉ Gojo honestly pays for anything, even your groceries, necessities, etc

      ☉ Gojo is literally rich, rich, and doesn’t care about his spendings sometimes, and will buy you anything if you ask him

      ☉ He spoils you a lot, to secretly redeem his forgiveness for how the both your parents treated you

      ☉ Overall, he’s a great brother and he’s really fun! Being his sibling is just him being himself, but extra protective 

༺ Chef’s Note: Trying my best to clear my inbox. I have 7 matchups left, wish me luck!

[defenderrosetyler]

Always With You

Banner done by me; Pics are not mine

Word Count: Over 3.5k

Beta and some content added by @flamencodiva​

THIS FIC IS ANGSTY! There are death mentions, as well as well as alcohol intake. If you don’t like this or it triggers you, please turn away now! There are also spoilers for the 15x20 SPN Series Finale. Now, here are your tissues. Away we go!

It was just supposed to be a simple hunt. A simple hunt to kill some vampires. Y/N had been off doing her own hunts for a while after she’d gotten a call from the Winchester brothers that, after what had seemed like a long time coming, Chuck was defeated.  With the defeat of the vengeful god, it made Jack the new God and allowed him to restore the world from the devastation that he had caused with the removal of the whole universe, besides Y/N, Sam, and Dean. Then there had been the beautiful golden retriever Miracle as Dean had so named him. 

Y/N had met the Winchester Brothers during a routine werewolf hunt. It was just her luck that they were on the same case. A werewolf had been terrorizing a small town and killing innocent people, brushing it off as a bear attack. With the werewolf case solved, as it usually did, with all three of their brains working together to help save people and hunt things, the family business for Sam and Dean Winchester, and now for Y/N too. After working with the brothers and feeling a sense of family, she never wanted to hunt alone ever again.

This victory they celebrated after dealing with the vengeful god was finally over. All three of them had met back at the bunker and opened up a beer, and Dean smiled as he looked over at his younger brother and Y/N. 

“To all those we lost and saved,” Dean says, holding out his beer to Sam. Sam let out a chuckle, clinking his beer glass with his brothers, and allowed Y/N to clink hers as well. 

Like the brothers, Y/N had lost other people when she first started her hunting career. She had someone like Bobby for her, one who helped her with the lore she’d been unfamiliar with and ways to defeat them. She was still a novice hunter until she met Sam and Dean approximately 6 months ago, she found herself drawn towards Dean, but she didn’t tell him how she felt. Not right away anyway. Maybe this was her chance to tell Dean how she felt? No, she was still too much of a coward. 

Sam left the war room after their celebratory toast. Y/N and Dean both knew he had to work on contacting Eileen Lehey. Eileen and Sam always had a soft spot for one another, and the pair realized they were meant for each other. 

Dean cleared his throat as he looked over at Y/N, sipping whiskey from the glass he held in his hand. “What will you do now?”

Y/N sighed as she set down her glass, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I may head back home.” She says. 

Dean’s body slumped down a little at the thought of her leaving. She’d been gone when Billie had been in the bunker. When Cas had vanished, and she didn’t even know he was gone. Castiel had saved and healed Y/N on more than one occasion. This was more than Dean would have liked, but he knew it was bound to happen in their line of work. 

“I haven’t seen Castiel around, have you?” She added, finishing her bottle of orange hard soda.

Dean frowned and sighed, clearing his throat. He had to tell her, didn’t he? As he opened his mouth to speak, Y/N’s laughter rang out when Miracle had entered the War Room and jumped into her lap. Dean wasn’t about to ruin her happiness now. This is all he wanted for her. True he didn’t have his chance at an ‘Apple Pie’ life as he called it with someone special like Sam had with Eileen, but this was definitely something he wanted for Y/N. A chance to get out. 

Several weeks passed in the bunker, and a routine kicked in. All three of them would work on handling Miracle. They took turns feeding him, walking him, those types of tasks. Y/N found herself most afternoons curled up on one of the plush chairs in the Men of Letters library, catching up on some reading. Not knowing much of the Men of Letters, but she knew this was a hunters haven and something that was part of Sam and Dean’s history? She wanted to know more. 

This was one thing Dean loved about Y/N. Her intuitive nature and the way she wanted to fill her brain with as much knowledge as possible. It seemed to make her like Sam, a bookworm, but he didn’t mind. Dean found that attractive about her. 

As Sam came in from his run early one afternoon, he was looking at his laptop, brows furrowed as he read a news story he found.

“Sam? What is it?” Y/N asks as looking over at him as she walks in carrying a plate of Chinese. 

The aroma filled the room of mushroom and chicken with zucchini. It was a healthier choice than the other dishes that were available, which Dean teased her about on occasion. Y/N was a health nut like Sam. She’d been more focused on her physical appearance, but that was beside the point. 

“Well, I think I just found a case,” he said.  

Sam appeared to be in a state of shock at the randomness of the case after the amount of time between the defeat of Chuck and now. 

All three of them gathered into the impala, heading over to a small town that was holding a pie festival. Y/N shook her head as she saw the face of the elder Winchester light up. “Dean, are you sure about this?” Sam asks, giving his brother a skeptical look, raising his eyebrow as Dean nods. Clearly, you can’t keep the elder Winchester away from him and his obsession with pie.

A few minutes later, all three companions sat together on a bench. Y/N, as much as she wanted some pie, knew she could share with Dean, who had returned with an entire box full. It was like he’d grabbed every single slice that was offered. Sam had his own slice on a plate, but let out a deep, resented sigh. 

“Oh god, don’t give that sigh.” Y/N says giving Sam an objectifying look. This made Sam glance over at her, feeling confused. Apparently Dean heard it too. 

“That….That’s sad Sam sigh.” Dean tries to explain further, causing Sam to shake his head. Clearly it was a face of denial. 

“I’m not sad, okay? Just got a lot on my mind ya know?” He says. Sam knew what had happened to Castiel but wasn’t sure if Dean had told Y/N. This wasn’t Sam’s responsibility to tell her what happened that night in the bunker with Billie. Dean glanced over at his brother, and instantly knew what was on his mind. 

Both brothers seemed distracted and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. To lighten up the mood, she grabbed a small plate of pies with a whipped cream topping and moved to shove their faces into the dessert. A light giggle left her lips as she watched the shocked expressions of Sam and Dean as they attempted to comprehend what just happened. 

“Did she just..?” Sam says, a look of shock and awe etched on his face. Dean used his finger to clean the whipped topping off his nose. 

“Okay, I feel better now,” she giggled. They all needed a good laugh, given the mood they all seemed in since discovering the case. 

While the trio researched the case, a family was turning in for the night after the events of the festival, and the day overall. Mother kissed her children goodnight, as did the father. As the kids were headed upstairs to finish their evening routine, the father stopped at the doorway, seeing a shadow in the window, Followed by a knock at their front door. When he opened the door, he had a confused look on his face as there was no one there.

“Lyle?” The woman asks her husband, a worried expression on her face. 

“It's probably nothing,” Lyle shrugged, “just some kids….” His words are cut off as a machete sliced through his spine, cutting him in half. Lyle’s wife shrieked. Seeing this, the boys ran upstairs quickly to hide from the invader. Their mother isn’t far behind them. However, she was soon backed into a corner, unable to run or hide. Her children watched as their mother collapsed to the floor, dead. The echo of a boy shrieking filled the night. 

The following morning, Sam and Dean approached the house surrounded by yellow police tape and introduced themselves to the officer as Y/N examined the property. 

“Hold up, Feds, look into murder cases now?” The officer asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam and Dean, who’d introduced themselves as Kripkie, Singer, and Y/N as Agent Lemming.

Dean nodded, “Couldn’t help overhearing on the wire that one of the victims had its blood drained, right?”

The officer sighed and nodded, “Oh yeah, blood gone, puncture marks, it was really disgusting, and I’ve seen my fair share of murder cases.”

“The Mom?” Sam asks.

“Her body’s upstairs, but her tongue was cut off.”

“The kids were taken too,” Y/N says. “Were there any witnesses who can pin a description on who may have taken the kids?”

A female officer approached with a sketch pad and showed the trio the composite of the kidnapper/murderer. The photo shows a man with a skeleton mask. The officer excused herself, as did the Sergeant, leaving the trio nodding, thanking them for their time. 

The trio loaded themselves into the impala; Sam appeared to be racking his brain for something that connected the clues. “I know that face. I just can’t put my finger on it,” Sam sighed, irritated. Dean pulled the Impala under a tree off the main road. He knew what his younger brother was trying to remember. 

Y/N had the patriarch, John Winchester's journal, in her hands and froze when she saw the sketch inside the journal's contents. Dean blinked as if remembering the case.

“The kidnappings of ‘77!” They both said together

“According to the journal, he didn’t find much. But this is a common denominator between the two cases now,” Y/N says looking between them. “The blood was drained, tongues removed….I think we’re dealing with mimes.”

“Mimes or vampires,” Sam says.

“Vamp-mimes,” Dean says, attempting to merge the names together, earning a skeptical look from Y/N. “Son of a bitch.” 

“So, what do we do?” Y/N asks. 

“If these cases are a copycat of Dad’s old case, we need to head over to Canton,” Sam says. “We need to look for families that live outside city limits, around the age of 5-10 years old.

“Okay, so we need to look over the population of Canton and see who fits the bill,” Y/N says as they all climbed into the Impala, setting themself to get to work.  

They had followed the vampires over to an abandoned barn, Sam declining Deans wanting to use a throwing star, he gave it a huge resounding no, but Y/N managed to sneak it into her arsenal before they walked in. Inside it was dark and dreary. Being confronted by a vampire they met several years ago was a surprise for them, but the ambush, was a whole different surprise.

Y/N issued the two young boys back to the safety of the impala as the fighting began inside. Dean and Sam used their machete’s to chop the heads off each skeleton masked vampire. Y/N was knocked down to the ground, Sam rushing to her aid as he chopped its head off. Meanwhile on the other side of the barn, Dean was pushed into a pole, unseen till he felt it, had a metal rebar. 

Seeing Dean struggling, Y/N rushed over to chop its head off and watched it fall to the ground.

“Okay, I think that’s all of them,” Y/N panted, “Sam, go check on the kids would you please?”

Sam nods and heads to check on the two younger boys they had managed to save. Y/N looked at Dean and wondered why he wasn’t moving. They’d won, they could go home, and celebrate over some leftover pie from the festival. 

“Dean?” She asks “Come on, Sam’s gonna need help with the kids.”

A sad smile appeared on Dean’s face, he was clearly struggling. “I don’t….I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” 

“What?” Y/N breathed confused but she already had an idea about what happened. 

“There's something in my...Something in my back. It feels like it's right through me.” Dean rasped. Y/N walked to stand in front of him now, reaching around to his back and more tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him. Shaking her head, fighting the tears. She wasn’t about to cry in front of Dean.

“We-We can call for Cas, Cas can heal you!” Y/N pleaded. Praying for Castiel, praying that her angelic friend would be able to appear in a ruffle of his feathers and save Dean like he always did. Heaven rules or not.

“Don’t move me, Y/N/N, this thing is actually holding me together right now,” Dean says trying to put on a smile for her. Y/N moved to leave him, intent on calling for Sam for help or at least gathering the first aid kit she’d ensured was in the Impala at all times, in instances where Castiel’s healing ability wasn’t at their disposal to use. “Just-just come back and stay with me please?”

Y/N wasn’t about to let Dean be alone. He’d been there for her so many times, now it was her turn. “Okay, okay.” She nodded trying to compose herself. “Sam’s off taking care of the boys right now, we’re all gonna go deliver them to their families. Deal?” She suggested

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head, “no Y/N/N. I’m not going to be leaving with you and Sam. I mean, this is how I always told Sam that this is how I was going to go out. On a hunt, doing what we do, saving people and hunting things.” 

“Dean, for the love of God stop it!” She snapped, the tears now fully falling down her cheeks. “I’m going to get you out of here alive if it's the last thing I do!!”

“It's been a hell of a ride Y/N/N.” As hurt and as injured as he was, he gave her a stern look. “No deals, you and Sam are not bringing me back. We all know how deals turned out for us. Just, let me talk for a minute okay?” He asks. Causing Y/N to nod only and bite back her tears. “Remember, remember the day we met at the pool house? You were at the bar and uh…”

“You and Sam were playing pool,” Y/N chimed in to help him. 

Dean nodded. “You had busted my ass at pool, only because I let you, then you proved me wrong on the hunt that we’d done, saved my ass for the first time.” Dean chuckled sadly before coughing. 

“I don’t want you to go…..” Y/N sobbed, looking at him. “I can’t do this without you.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N/N,” Dean says, “Besides, I’m never gonna leave you,” he whispered moving his hand to her heart, Y/N placing her hand over his. Gripping it tight as she possibly can without hurting him.  “Can you do me a favor?” Dean adds. 

“Anything,” she says instantly 

“Tell me it's okay to let go?” Dean asks. This makes Y/N finally let the waterfall of her tears fall down, resting her head against his. Chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Where was Castiel? Why wasn’t he or Jack here yet? This was the one thing she refused to do. 

“Y/N/N, please?” Dean was practically begging on his final breaths. Y/N gathered her composure and nodded. A sniffle filled the air as Y/C/E met his emerald green ones. 

All Y/N can do is sob. “I’ll let Sam know you said goodbye.”

A single tear fell down Dean’s cheek. “I’ll always love you Y/N/N, I always have. Just been too afraid to say it.” Dean says struggling, on his last breaths. 

Y/N sighed and moved her hand to place it over Dean’s heart. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, soft at first before dean deepened it. His tongue clashing with hers as they shared their first and last kiss., Pulling away, Y/N bit her lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. Her heart shattered into a million pieces as she placed his hand over her heart. “I love you too,” she whispered, “It's okay Dean,” she paused to find her voice, “You can go,” she whispered. 

Dean took his last breath, his hand slowly dropping from Y/N’s chest where he had it over her heart.  Y/N kept her hand on his heart till it wasn’t beating anymore. She let out a scream of rage, sobbing at the loss of the one man she loved. Collapsing onto the floor, all hope abandoning her.. 

Upon entering heaven, Cas and Dean were reunited. As much as it pained Y/N and Sam to do it, surrounded by family and friends they’d known throughout the years as hunters, they gave Dean a hunter's funeral. Y/N watched the flames, holding back the need to jump on the pyre with him and meet him in Jack’s new heaven she is sure he’d have built. In order to numb the pain, after the funeral, one night as Sam slept, Y/N slipped out, heading off to find another hunt. 

Hunting seemed to help her not think Dean was gone, but then came the nights where she heard his voice in her head. Telling her to stop, slow down, and take a rest. One evening, after she’d been up for almost three days straight, Y/N decided to give in to her exhaustion and take a soothing bath. 

While in the tub, Y/N had opted to numb more of the pain she felt, by drinking Dean’s favorite whisky.  God she missed him, missed the way he flirted, missed how they would sing at the top of their lungs to annoy Sam. She just wanted him back.  As she continued to drink, the exhaustion mixed with the effects of the alcohol started to sink in. Her mind began to drift off, eyes fighting to stay open until they closed, her body sunk into the tub, head submerged, until she was engulfed by the water. 

The next morning, Sam went to check on her. He hadn’t heard from her in a few days and tracked her down to her motel room. At first, he thought maybe she was sleeping and tried calling her cell while banging on the door. That usually resulted in Sam meeting the end of the barrel of her gun. But after a few minutes, his heart began to pound with worry. Kicking the door down, he called out her name frantically, until he reached the bathroom. His heart stopped, torn at the scene before him. He let out a cry, both angry and sad at his fallen friend. Angry because she had left him alone, she was all he had left, and sad because he knew he didn’t do enough to help. 

With a heavy heart called 911, and a second hunter's funeral was planned. 

Y/N opened her eyes and looked around herself. The sky shone brightly, her skin feeling it’s warmth. She wasn’t sure where she was, but she could feel a familiar presence behind her. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around to see a familiar place she called home. 

Harvelle's 

The sign welcomed her and as she walked closer to it, she felt her heart warm to see the familiar mentor who had helped her long before she met Sam and Dean. 

“You’re an Idjit for doing all those hunts back to back you know,” her mentor huffed, putting the beer bottle to his lips and taking a drink. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, “but at least I saved people doing it, Bobby.” 

Bobby let out a huff, smiling gently at her, “He’s in there if you’re wondering.” 

Y/N nodded, making her way towards the door. Her hands shook as she placed her palm on the wood, and pushed it open. 

The bar was filled with laughter and music. As she looked around she saw familiar faces, faces of the people she had loved and lost along the way. They were drinking and dancing, music filling the air around them. As she continued farther in, the voices seemed to fade away as the man she was looking for stood at the bar, elbows leaning on the top as he offered her a cocky smile.  

“I’ve been waiting for you sweetheart,” he says with a chuckle. “Now, about that kiss.”

Tags: 

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[hes-writer]

Exclusive Content

this is a master list of all one shots, blurbs, series parts, and unfinished content that i have posted on patreon (so far)! click the title to read the sneak peek (if i’ve posted one)

———

*+VALENTINE’S DAY

the one where harry has an eventful day

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

* ACHY BACK

the one where y/n’s back hurts and harry draws a bath

“Took too long,” Y/N mumbled as they met in the middle, knuckling tiredly at her eyes. A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken a shower hours prior. Her back had been aching since then, the pain barely bearable for her stature, causing a crease in between his brows.

+ A LETTER TO THE MAN I’VE LOVED

the one where harry receives a letter from y/n

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

+ UNWAVERING (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

the one where harry cheats (another version of ‘a cheat’)

"I-I'm in a bit of a rush, baby.” He took a step back, increasing the distance between them. "I have a meeting today. Lots of work to be done," Harry responded his tone suggesting that he didn’t want to talk anymore. Y/N nodded to please him.

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her at the back burner of his mind.  

"I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

+ ALL I ASK

the one where feelings aren’t mutual and hearts are broken

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren't. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

* LITTLE PRINCE

the one where harry and y/n are 7-year olds

Harry gasped in horror, crouching to his knees and getting his knee dirty beside the girl.

"Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn't mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?" Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

RENEGADE

the one where y/n teaches harry the ‘renegade’ dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker. 

DROP THE TOWEL (m)

the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

“Hey, babe,” He greeted, walking closer to you in a towel that made him feel liberated. You hummed in a silent greeting, giving him a smile before doing a double-take at his appearance. He dropped the towel on the floor, his length hanging proudly between his legs. 

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry,” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

DREAM WITH ME (exclusive content as of right now) - this fic will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus

the one where y/n has trouble falling asleep

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black. 

DIGRESS (1) PROGRESS (2) REGRESS (3) 

the one where love fails

What happens when love fades away? How do you cope with the feelings disappearing slowly like a blot of dark blue paint diluting with every stroke of a ruffled paintbrush? Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

ROUTINE (1) (the first part will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus. following parts will be patron-exclusive content)

the one where harry is a camboy

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of seeing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly.

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

NOTES ON CAMP (1) (2) (3) (exclusive content as of right now) - this fic will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus

Y/N plastered a smile on her face as she shook Belle’s hand. “Sorry but I need to steal Harry away,” Belle tugged on his tattooed arm, fingers clasping around his wrists as he started walking along with her. “See you, Y/N!” Harry greeted, turning around with his arm draped over Belle’s shoulder.

“See you,” She whispered under her breath, looking at his retreating figure towards the cafeteria. Y/N couldn’t help the disappointment she felt, her shoulders slouching at the realization that it was too good to be true. Of course, he had a girlfriend.  A gentleman with chiselled features and a caring personality complimenting her? No way. Still, she wasn’t too sad about it. It wasn’t like they’ve known each other for long. Plus, they were co-workers! It would feel wrong to start a relationship anyway.

STRESSED OUT

the one where y/n is stressed and harry wants her to take a break

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Harry physically pulled his chest back. He felt like he had been shot. He knew she didn’t mean it though, but it still hurt to hear, “O-oh. I didn't know y-you felt that way,”

She continued, “You don’t know what it’s like having to spend hours researching so you don’t get anything wrong. Sleepless nights to perfect one paragraph that my professor nitpicks to the bone,” Y/N penned a few words on her notebook, not noticing the pout plastered on Harry’s face.

DESSERT

the one where harry wants something else

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

PET NAME

the one bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name

“Am I, Harry? Seems like you’re putting me at the back burner nowadays,”

He was speechless; had he? Harry didn’t mean to make her feel this way but he wasn’t aware that he was actively blowing her off for Ruby. And why won’t she call him ‘honey’? That was his nickname, wasn’t it? H stood for Harry but it was also the pet name Y/N had given him.

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself--golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

ROOMMATES SERIES (3) (4) (5) (6)

the one where harry and y/n are roommates

updates every 2 weeks!

will not be posted on Tumblr until the series is finished

Y/N gasped at Harry’s proximity, lids snapping open with her hand reaching over to pat along until she found her phone which was blaring with an alarm that she had set. Harry gulped, eyes wide as his mind ran through what the hell just happened.

“What are you doing here? Get out!” She yelled, tugging the sheets higher on her body. 

“I-I was just waking you up so you can make us dinner,” Harry stuttered out, his excuse sounding lame but he patted himself on the shoulder for making it up on the spot. Well, that was his intention in the first place until he got distracted.

FRIENDS DON’T MINI-SERIES (1) (2) (3)

“Is this okay?” Her doe irises searched his. Harry raised his head lazily to make eye contact, nodding his head with a bit lip. Y/N clenched her inner thighs together at his already blissed-out state, his pupils slowly becoming larger with arousal. “Friends don’t touch each other this way,” She purposefully drew out her statement, giving Harry an out of the situation if he needed to.

“More than okay,”

FIC EXTRAS #1 - TEASE

the one before ‘under the table’

“Fuckin’ dirty,” He spat, the pads of his thumb tracing circles on her hipbones, not feeling a trace of clothing resting on her hips. “Wearin’ a short dress with no panties,”

Y/N hummed, arms slanting behind her to support her upper body so that she could spread her legs further, making room for Harry’s hand. “Didn’t feel like it,”

“Y’just waiting for me to find out, hmm? You knew I couldn’t resist myself when you look so goddamn pretty,”

UNFINISHED DRABBLE #1

the one with fratboy!harry

“Y’alright?” Harry’s husky breath barely made its way to her ears, only then did Y/N feel the hand palming her lower back, another one gripped around her shoulders. Her front flushed against his own, feeling his hard chest on her heaving ones. She peeked one eye open, looking around at her angled stance, then to Harry who wore a concerned look scanning her face. Y/N nodded in response, blinking rapidly, her nipples hardening at a sudden cold breeze beneath the thin fabric of her dress, surely poking him through his shirt. She blushed at the thought and his brief glance over her where they touched, his eyes dilating the tiniest amount.

UNFINISHED DRABBLE #2

the one where harry’s a cheating asshole

Harry wormed his way through his delectable voice and his ever-present words that somehow scorched your shield to the ground. Again. He promised never to do it again and your love-sick heart trusted him. Again. 

But your trust wasn’t something that was particularly valuable to him. To Harry, it would always be there, lingering like the stars in the night sky; always present, always gleaming. Harry was very sorry for what he was doing to you. It was ironic, really; he hoped and prayed every day that you wouldn’t find out but his carelessness left everything out in the open.  

TEXT MESSAGES #1

the one where y/n has silly thoughts

TEXT MESSAGES #2

the one where harry and y/n share the same class 

[plumoh]

[FEH] weight

Rating: G

Word count: 2715

Summary: After spending time together, and realizing they have more in common than he initially believed, Roy thinks he and Annette are cut from the same cloth.

Note: AO3 link. I believe Roy and Annette would be very good friends and will find in each other companionship...they’re good kids. No spoilers for either game.

“Is this not… your preferred weapon?”

“Oh, not at all! My uncle sent me to the School of Sorcery, where I study hard. I was put through some axe training because of my family’s relic, but I’d rather fight with my spells than fight with… this.”

Annette gestures at the giant axe that is lying on the ground while they’re resting in-between treasure hunting sessions, her face twisted in something akin to embarrassment. Roy glances at the wiggling teeth and shudders; yeah, he wouldn’t want to wield this weapon either.

“I’ve never seen a weapon quite like that,” he says.

“Crusher isn’t the worst, trust me. Sylvain wasn’t summoned with his family’s relic, but the Lance of Ruin is terrifying and seems straight out of a nightmare.”

Fódlan’s sacred weapons look like they were cursed instead of blessed by the Goddess—nobody in their right mind would look at them and think they weren’t going to have half their energy sucked dry. Roy has been in Askr long enough to know some heroes are being corrupted by their own powers, and he doesn’t wish it on anyone who still has the chance to keep them in check.

Today’s hunting spot is near a cliff, where they’re supposed to gather materials to upgrade their armors, as usual; with so many heroes arriving each day, Kiran is determined to welcome them as best as possible with fitted armors and spare weapons in case something goes wrong with the weapon they were summoned with. It usually takes a while before anyone has to change their weapon, but they can never be too safe.

Roy is picking at some grass blades as he listens to Prince Leo and Peony talk about specific species of flowers good for insomnia, and he can’t help thinking that the words leaving Prince Leo’s mouth are from experience, rather than simple knowledge. They’ve stumbled upon each other many a time in the library at night, when both of them should be in bed resting instead of doing whatever research or studying they were up to—not that anyone else knows, of course.

“Have you studied magic, Lord Roy?” Annette asks with a small smile, apparently eager to talk about a subject she’s well versed in.

Roy frowns. “You can call me Roy.”

Annette’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “That wouldn’t be proper, you’re a noble from another country!”

“But you let me call you Annette, would you rather I call you Lady Annette?”

“You’re a Marquess’s son!”

“From what I’ve gathered Sylvain is a Margrave’s son, our statuses are the same, and you call him Sylvain!”

“...I haven’t thought about that.”

Roy resists the urge to groan. Why is it so hard for people to simply call him by his name?

Annette’s face is pinched, like she cannot determine whether it truly makes sense for her to be informal with people she’s fighting alongside with. Roy thought that people his age would also prefer be addressed casually by their friends and allies.

“Alright, I guess you’re right… Roy,” Annette says tentatively.

Roy smiles. “See, isn’t this better? There’s no need to follow etiquette so closely between friends.”

“I might take some time to get used to it...”

“That’s fine, don’t worry.”

Annette nods, still a bit anxious about it but Roy has learned that it’s just her simple state of being—worrying over everything and anything, making sure that she is doing her job correctly and that she isn’t inadvertently inconveniencing anyone. Well, at least he understands her desire to work hard to be as helpful as possible.

“To answer your question, I did study magic, but I’m not very good at it,” he admits. “My teacher was Cecilia. Lilina and I were her students, but she was much more talented than I was.”

Recalling those memories always brings a small tinge of disappointment; he logically knows that some people are naturally compatible with magic, and others are not, but he can’t help feeling a bit envious of anyone wielding a weapon in one hand and shooting spells with the other.

“Do you want to pursue it? We could study together!”

“I don’t think we’d be reading the same level of material,” Roy chuckles. “That would be wonderful, but I think it’s better if I keep training with the sword, which is a weapon that I understand better.”

He also doesn’t know if studying magic now would yield more results than it did years ago.

“Focusing on what you’re best at...” Annette mumbles. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll gladly help you.”

Annette smiles at him, eager and kind, and Roy mirrors her expression.

***

It’s almost comical to see Annette and Lord Hector training together, swinging an axe at full force for a strength exercise. The Hector from Roy’s time is much bigger and cuts an even more imposing figure, but even in his youth he was a feared and powerful warrior. Lifting the weapon and tearing through dummies isn’t a struggle at all for Annette, despite her claim that she isn’t proficient enough in axes to be fully reliant in battle. Her support has been more invaluable than she thinks.

Lord Hector is laughing and clapping her on the shoulder, seemingly satisfied with the progress she’s making. Roy wonders if Lilina would train with an axe if it meant spending time with her father this way.

Annette dips her head and thanks Lord Hector, and they keep practicing more drills. Roy decides that he’s taken a long enough break and focuses back on the training dummy, shifting his sword and positioning it like a rapier for quick and nimble attacks. He’s wielded the Binding Blade for so long that he has almost forgotten how to fight with a lighter and thinner blade—it feels exhilarating to revert back to a stance his body is used to. He has used his time in Askr to polish his skills and to get accustomed to the heavy weight of the Binding Blade; he still has much to learn, especially from heroes more experienced than him who will provide useful insight about tactics and the battlefield, so he can’t relax just yet.

***

“I’m not as good at baking as Mercie, but I promise they’re tasty!”

Annette is shoving some berry tarts at him, eyes sparkling and face full of anticipation. She took it upon herself to find what kind of food the people of the army likes, and apparently it also includes desserts and sweets. Roy doesn’t particularly like sweets, but refusing such a treat baked with passion wouldn’t be courteous of him. He smiles at Annette and takes the tart, and chews slowly. Oh, that might be a good idea, actually.

“I like it,” he says sincerely. “It’s not too sweet.”

“I’m glad to hear that! I still have plenty of recipes to try for all kinds of occasions, I hope that the others will enjoy them too.” She pauses, then pinches her chin between her fingers. “Muffins are a good way to find what stuffing people like...”

Roy shakes his head, a bit amused.

“Do you always go to such lengths for other people?”

Annette’s face relaxes and looks just as warm as her voice sounds.

“I’m told I do too much, sometimes, but I can’t help it. I have to give my all in everything I do, and this includes making sure that my friends get moments of joy, too. And pastries always cheer people up! Well, most people.”

This, Roy understands; to be pushed by the drive of accomplishment, to please and to ensure everyone is happy and comfortable. In times of war, even the smallest attention can bring a smile on someone’s face, because there is still kindness in people’s hearts, despite everything. This is what Roy wants to believe, and Annette seems to share this point of view.

“You are a good person, Annette.”

Annette laughs, frantically waving her hands in front of her face. “I’m just doing what I can. I’m so clumsy that I’m relieved I haven’t caused any major incident yet.”

“Surely it isn’t as disastrous as you think it is?”

She makes a face. “I’m probably cursed to trip over a barrel even when I checked the halls were empty.”

He doesn’t mean to offend her in any way, but Roy chuckles at the image this conjures up. Annette crosses her arms over chest and frowns at him. She looks stern and ready to chew him out for laughing at her accidents, so Roy quickly composes himself.

“I’m sorry, mocking you wasn’t my intention,” he assures her. “Please be more careful, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“We should get rid of barrels,” Annette mutters.

“How would we contain wine and other liquids then?”

The question seems to actually spark an interest in Annette as she keeps frowning, but her face takes on a contemplative air. Roy rubs the back of his neck.

“Um, do you have more of those berry tarts? I think Wolt will enjoy them.”

“Oh! Of course, come with me.”

Annette takes his arm and drags him to the kitchens, and Roy can’t help feeling completely at ease, finding Annette’s enthusiasm and energy refreshing.

***

Sitting at a table in the quiet gardens, Roy is flipping through his battle tactics notebook when he’s jerked to the side and almost falls out of his chair.

“Roy, I need your help to fight against sword wielders!” Annette exclaims earnestly. “Lord Hector is giving me really good tips but I’m still struggling when a sword is pointed my way. With my magic I’d fight more easily and have faster reaction, but I’m still not used to Crusher and—”

“Woah, Annette, calm down. I accept?”

Annette looks like she hasn’t slept for days and is running on adrenaline or caffeine, but given her sweet tooth Roy doubts she even likes coffee. She sighs in relief.

“Thank you! The Professor is busy and the heroes from my world are already on a mission, so...”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help.”

And this is how they end up in the training grounds, though they’re using their real weapons instead of training ones. Roy supposes it makes sense; Crusher is hefty, dragging its wielder forward or backward, and seems to be channeled with magic, if the light orange glow is anything to judge by. It’s not a weapon you get accustomed to easily. Annette insisted he use the Binding Blade and to fight like they’re in a real battle—Roy trusts her skills and her strength, but it’s still a sparring session. He doesn’t want her to get hurt because of his carelessness.

Roy has never gone up against Annette before, but he can already tell that she’s a powerful and unpredictable opponent. The swing of her axe isn’t as fast as she probably would like, but she manages to be accurate and hit hard. The Binding Blade comes up to block the attack and pushes back, forcing Annette to step back. Roy tilts his blade and thrusts it towards her side, and before the flat of it touches her, she fully dodges to get out of harm’s way. She immediately springs back into action to smash Crusher over his shoulder, but even with her momentum all she manages to do is graze him.

They keep exchanging blows, parrying and dodging. If it were an actual battle, they most likely wouldn’t have been able to stand for so long without inflicting at least one serious injury. It seems that Annette is trying to prove something, or to assess her opponent. Roy stays silent though, continuing to swing his sword until one of them collapses or draws more blood than a spar would allow. Axe wielders heavily rely on brute force, but Annette is swifter and more nimble than most—her fighting style is almost similar to Echidna’s.

They eventually tire themselves out, and when Roy has the Binding Blade poised to strike Annette across the chest as she can’t lift Crusher in time, they stop.

“Thanks for training with me,” she says, a bit breathless.

Roy wipes beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and because nobody is around to see them in this state, he decides to sit right then and there on the ground, gently laying down the Binding Blade and catching his breath.

“Did you manage to figure something out?”

Annette joins him on the ground, nodding.

“I’ve sparred against other people too, and I know that swordmasters tend to thrust and to go for the small openings, so I tried to use what I know against someone I’ve never trained with.”

“It makes sense.”

“That also brings me to the realization that I really do need to get used to Crusher and its power.” Annette rubs the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t understand why I was entrusted with my family’s relic so early. I’m clearly not prepared yet.”

Roy glances at the Binding Blade. Anyone could have met the criteria to wield such a mighty weapon; and yet, it was him who took on the burden to use it. People say that each weapon is unique and alive, and those inhabited by the spirits of warriors and their legacy even more so—those who take up Armads are cursed to die on the battlefield, and this isn’t a hearsay he wants to find out. Annette is looking for answers he wishes he had.

“I think that sometimes we are bestowed gifts that we only see as burdens, because others are putting their faith in us.”

He looks down at his lap where he clenches his fists. He hasn’t thought about this in a long time.

“They trust us to do the right thing, or at the very least that we will when we are able to. It’s like… they expect that our position will grant us the wisdom to do right.”

There are events out of his control, and all he can do is stand on his two feet to show that he won’t disappoint anyone who entrusted their life to him.

Two hands come covering his own, and he looks up to see Annette smiling sadly at him, though there is something like understanding flashing in her eyes.

“We are probably in similar situations, right?” she laughs weakly, as she nods towards the Binding Blade. “Those big weapons in our hands feel heavier than they should. Maybe something bad is going to happen in the future and this is why I was summoned here with Crusher, so that I can get used to it. Maybe it’s like you said, it’s a gift and I refuse to see its value.”

Her hands are warm and reassuring as she squeezes, still keeping her smile on her face even if her voice hasn’t shed its layer of self-doubt. Roy doesn’t think they will ever grow out of doubting their own abilities and worth, unless they learn to live with the expectations piling up on their shoulders. However, it doesn’t mean they can’t start now or take small steps to get there. He returns Annette’s smile and squeezes back.

“Refusing to see the value of the gift doesn’t mean you’re rejecting it. You’re working hard to master Crusher, that counts for something.”

“I suppose. It’s still frustrating to keep going without having answers.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But knowing that I’m not alone in this struggle helps a bit. I have to overcome my own fears.”

“It’s a long journey, but I believe in you. You’re resilient and resourceful.”

The laugh that escapes Annette’s throat is genuine. It’s not full of confidence, and this is not the solution she was seeking, but it’s close to one.

“You have a way with words, Roy! We’ll do our best together.”

Roy’s lips curl into a grin. “Our efforts will pay off, I’m sure of it.”

Annette pats his hands one last time before they get up. She hoists Crusher over her shoulder while Roy sheathes the Binding Blade; the sword is still a persistent weight against his side, one he’s become familiar with, but slowly, steadily, it will become a weight holding the proof of his achievement.

[writeyouin]

It says asks are closed, but your recent post said they're open? If they are closed, that's fine, sorry to bother. Love your stuff btw! What if LL crew were temporarily turned human. The human liason helps them adjust (even if this is just for a while-they hope) and since it's Christmas, they decide to make everyone a traditional Christmas dinner (or as close to it as they can...) Who actually helps in the kitchen, who's more of a hindrance, and who sneaks food when they think no one's looking?

Transformers MTMTE/LL Reader Insert – For Just One Day

A/N – This one was tricky, trying to fit everyone in.

Warnings – Very Mild NSFW

Rating – T

It started with a stupid bet that the crew wouldn’t last a day as humans. To be honest, you forgot even making the bet with Brainstorm, but apparently those were your exact words, and now he hadn’t just turned himself human, but the entirety of the Lost Light. Fortunately, the effects of Brainstorm’s device were only going to last a day. Unfortunately, the day it took place was Christmas. Now, you not only had a million questions to answer about being human, but you also had to cook a Christmas dinner for everyone because Swerve had given the idea to Rodimus and it had spread like wildfire.

“Okay,” You said, tying back your hair and putting on an apron, mildly anxious now that everyone was looking to you for a Christmas feast. “I’m going to need help in the kitchen, if anyone will volunteer.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. He had just finished making a pamphlet for the bots who were struggling with their humanity. “I shall organise a cooking party,” he said, and with that, he was organising groups of bots who had volunteered into those willing to cook meat and those who weren’t.

Soon, you were left with a group of around thirty volunteers, looking to you for instructions. Among them were Rung, Ten, Swerve, Nautica and Cyclonus. You started by showing the group how to prepare the vegetables, setting off a production line. Rung was very attentive to his carrots, though having more experience on model ships, he was paying far too much attention to detail and was very slow with his work. Upon watching Ten, who was much faster, you decided to partner the two up to make up for Rung’s lack of speed.

Whilst trying to give instructions to some other bots, you found Swerve watching you dreamily, rather than preparing his items. When you went over to him, he blushed and started talking a million miles an hour, soon becoming more of a hindrance than a help, though you humoured him, since it came from a good place.

“You can keep yapping, as long as you get back to work, instead of staring at me,” You winked.

Swerve, feeling suddenly very nervous looked around for something to distract you, although it was too late for you not to have noticed his blatant ogling. “Ugh, I- I- I- FLOUR FIGHT!”

He threw a fistful of flour at your face. You coughed and spluttered, raising a bemused eyebrow once you were okay.

“I-Uh-I-” Swerve babbled, wondering why he hadn’t just got back to work when you had called him out.

“I’ll let that one go, but I’m gonna get you back later,” You deadpanned, smiling only when your back was turned and he couldn’t see you; it would be fun to watch him panic for a while.

You walked on, stopping when you found Nautica stirring an empty pot, whilst watching Brainstorm and Perceptor dreamily. You had a feeling that she had volunteered for the cooking before she realised that they were going to be running various experiments on the now-human crew. You stopped to look at the pair of arguing scientists.

“It is not a contest,” Perceptor sniffed drily.

Brainstorm wrapped an arm around him, “Everything is a contest, Percy. If it wasn’t, existence would be futile. So, you in or not?”

“Most definitely not. I am here to research the human mechanics that you have so hastily created, not compete over who can do the most experiments before the day is up.”

“Ah, classic Percy, that’s the fighting talk I love. We’ll tally the scores at sundown.”

Turning your attention back to Nautica, you knew she wouldn’t abandon the work she had promised to do, even if she didn’t realise that she wasn’t actually doing it.

“You should go with them,” You told her.

“Hm? Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m supposed to be here,” Nautica smiled bashfully when she realised that she had been stirring the wrong pot and the cocktail sauce was still just a batch of raw ingredients.

“Nautica, you’re supposed to be having a good time. Go nuts, run some experiments. Christmas is all about having fun, after all.”

Nautica chewed her lip, considering it.

You pushed her towards the exit, “Go!”

With that, Nautica gave you a quick hug and ran excitedly out, leaving you to get back to checking on everybody else. On her way out, you saw Megatron standing awkwardly in the doorway. From the disturbed look on his face, it occurred to you that nobody had told him what was going on and he had only just figured it out upon seeing everyone else.

You approached him, “Hey Megatron… It was Brainstorm-”

“So I gathered,” He replied gruffly. “Please can you inform me how long this is to last.”

“Around twenty-four hours.”

“I see. Then I shall remain in my hab-suite until it is over.”

“Wait,” You grabbed his arm. “We’re um, celebrating a human holiday, if you want to join us.”

“Please (Y/N), do not pity me. You know I have no place among my peers during celebrations.”

“Megatron, I will only pity you if you leave. Come on, you should be among your friends, and don’t say you don’t have any ‘cos that is utter rubbish. So, as your friend, I am ordering you to get over to your other friend, Rung and help him with those potatoes.”

Megatron stared at you, dumbfounded. If he didn’t have so much respect for you, he would have left to hide away until this was all over. As it was, he simply nodded and joined Rung, who immediately struck up a friendly conversation.

‘Right,’ You thought to yourself, ready to get back to work until you saw Tailgate hanging out near Cyclonus, about to pop some raw bacon in his mouth.

“NO,” You ran over picking him up. “PUT THE BACON DOWN.”

“WHAT? WHY?” Tailgate whined. “You didn’t yell at Ravage when he stole the eggnog.”

“He did what?” Sure enough, when you looked around, the eggnog was gone without a trace; how Tailgate had seen him take it was beyond you.

“(Y/N), I just wanna taste Cyclonus’ cooking. Pleeeeeease.”

“Tailgate, I get that you’re excited, but Cyclonus is on meat duty, ‘kay. Meat can make humans really, really sick if we eat it raw. I’m just doing this so you don’t get ill. So, I’ll say it again. Put the bacon down.”

“Do as (s)he says,” Cyclonus added, without even looking up from his cooking station.

Huffily, Tailgate put the bacon back onto the counter and you let him go. “If you want everything so perfect, you better check the dessert station,” he huffed.

You were puzzled for a moment, but you decided to do what he said, heading over to the dessert section.

“Oh, come on,” You groaned, upon seeing Rodimus remoulding all the gingerbread men into gingerbread Rodimus stars.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Rodimus grinned, trying to hide his artwork behind his back. You had been far too occupied to notice, but Rodimus had already been kicked out of the kitchen by various other members of the crew no less than seven times for causing havoc wherever he went. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to be kicked out again; it was getting harder and harder to sneak back in.

“Really? You couldn’t leave the gingerbread men alone?”

“(Y/N),” Rodimus put a hand over his heart. “I, for one, am disgusted that you would allow us to take part in an act that encourages cannibalism. I mean, eating fake humans is the first step towards eating real humans, and I will not stand for it.”

“Ugh, where the hell is the dessert team?” You asked frustratedly, looking around for any sane bot.

“Oh, them? Well, they chased after Riptide who stole all those little pastry things to eat. Then when they came back, Rewind and Chromedome had stolen all the chocolate.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They heard something about chocolate being an aphrodisiac, so they took it and went away to canoodle.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then Drift came to try some stuff.”

“Drift, really?” You said, surprise colouring your tone.

“Yeah, don’t tell him I told you, but he has kind of a thing about watching organics eat, so he stole some food to get into his kink state. Anyway, that was when the dessert team abandoned base and went to play twister. By the way, super-fun game. Anyway, that brings us to this point, when I’m your only hope for saving dessert, thus saving Christmas.”

You rubbed the back of your neck tiredly, “Fine… Do whatever the hell you want to the gingerbread. Just make sure to cook it afterwards. I left the instructions on the datapad there.”

“You got it,” Rodimus winked. “This is gonna be the best dessert ever.”

Finally, you were free to get back to work, and with only a few more problems, dinner was served. You and a few others volunteered to take food to those who had decided to quarantine themselves. Your first stop was Whirl’s hab-suite. Quite frankly, you were surprised that Whirl hadn’t come out to make mischief when everything started.

You knocked on his door, “Whirl, sweetie, you in there?”

“GO AWAY, MEATBAG!” He roared from inside.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I SAID GET LOST. I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU OR ANYBODY ELSE WHILE I’M LIKE THIS.”

You didn’t really understand what Whirl’s problem was, so you just left the food outside his door, telling him what you had done before leaving. Whirl didn’t go to collect the food. How could he, when he had a problem of this nature? As it turned out, something had gone wrong with Whirl’s transformation, so instead of his usual holoform, he looked entirely different. He was a grown man in a leather jacket, with fairly good looks. The problem was that without his interface panel or his usual feminine form, he couldn’t hide his arousal for you. As such, he had vowed not to come out until everything was back to normal.

Where others were saying Merry Christmas, all Whirl could think was ‘Bah, humbug.’

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[soukokuwu]

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

THE GAME

》 angst (fyodor x reader)

》 trigger warning! death, toxic relationship, manipulation themes

》 word count: 2.1k

》 hi i’m glad you liked the fluff, hope you like this just as much! 

“your thoughts are not your own”

A series of calculated moves. The workings of a brilliant mastermind. It was going to be checkmate very soon. The pawn is going to be making her last move, and it would be tonight.

The lights that paved the way to your house intensified his evil grin. His long black hair covered his eyes as he walked forward with his head hung low. The ushanka he donned kept his ears warm in this chilly night air. To a mere stranger, he may have looked sickly. But unbeknownst to them, he couldn’t feel more alive. Tonight would be the night he could finally be free from your shackles. Or to be clearer, the shackles he had let you put on him.

It was a chore. A part of his mission he had to carry out. This role had left him figuratively paralysed. He had to act like a caring, doting boyfriend. For the longest time, he has had to act like you were an exception. How vile. There was nothing wrong with how you treated him, no. That was not what he had a problem with. But he had grown close enough to you to peek into your past— every little minute thing you have ever done.

And he could only think of one word to describe your sins: appalling.

The more he thought about it the more it gave him a headache. But, it was a silver lining. When the time would come for him to dispose of you, he would at least have no qualms about doing it. The art of manipulation was fun to execute, but it was getting much too boring. You were much too easy to control.

Tonight would be his first night returning to your accommodation in a week. It was a mere week apart, but he knew it absolutely drove you crazy. Mind-reading was not needed for him to know what you were feeling: paranoid, anxious, self-hatred. All of which was what he had aimed to induce in you. It would make you more agreeable, inspire you into taking action to make him happy.

Oh and how simple it was— a plain argument was all it took. He had hired a man to flirt with you, and as much as you were blindly loyal to Fyodor, you also always had trouble with turning people down. It was all too easy for him to ‘catch’ the guy laying hands on you, with you all flustered and wondering how to turn him down. All Fyodor had to do was put on an angry facade, pull you away and warn you that if you let others do that again that he would break up with you. Then he left you to your devices, and made sure you got the message by not showing himself to you— until tonight.

You had been practically shaking in your knees. It was entirely not your fault, but Fyodor was aware that you were too unaware to understand that. Such spineless nature— an advantage for him, but it would be the cause of downfall for you.

Oh what a sad thing, to be human and longing.

As he approached your door, he smelt the aroma of your cooking. You cooked very well, that much he would admit. He slowly opened the door and walked toward the kitchen, and there you were— so deep in thought about your cooking that you hardly noticed anything else around you.

So unobservant. So easy to assassinate.

Keeping his sinister thoughts under wraps, he put on a fake smile and approached you, placing a quick peck on your cheek.

Such a revolting action.

You spun around to find your lover, a relieved grin taking over your face. “Fyo, I’m so glad to see you again!” you exclaimed, giving the gentleman a tight hug. It was just all over your face how happy you were to see him again. You had obviously been fretting non-stop. Fyodor had been bombarded with messages the moment he up and left you that night after the run-in with the touchy man. He had gotten bombarded until tonight, even. Not that he gave it any care in the world.

I barely even have to try. How pathetic.

If you knew what was going on inside his head, you would have run for your life. But of course you didn’t. You didn’t even think anything was amiss. All that you had going on in your head was how you were going to make it up to him— you did infuriate him that night, after all. You thought about it as you started to loosen your hold on him.

“I have an idea! Go wash up, I’ll whip up something amazing for you!”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

The night ended with dessert and a bottle of wine. Not that Fyodor cared or appreciated any bit of it. Still, he managed to play the role of devoted boyfriend perfectly— making sure that tonight you felt complete, wholesome. He needed you in a good mood, a willing-to-please mood.

He was sat on the couch, waiting for you to finish washing the last of the silverware. Once he heard the water stop running, he turned toward you, patting his lap, “Come join me, milaya.” Fyodor gave you the most sugary smile he could manage. Fake— but it looked sweet.

To anyone other than you, it was nothing but a mirthless smirk. However, you were blinded beyond saving. It was perfect in your eyes; just what you needed to end a dreadfully long week. The fact that Fyodor effortlessly knew exactly what was going on in your head made him more excited than you could imagine. Everything would go according to plan, and it looked like he’d chosen the perfect pawn. A strong and weak pawn, ironically, all in one.

Sinfully stupid.

It had been two long months you’ve been dating. He had researched enough on you to know what you’ve been searching for emotionally— a promise of a better life. Your childhood had been riddled with problems, most of which caused by the fact that you had come from a wealthy family. So Fyodor played the part of a humble, ambitious man who came from nothing. And you fell for him hard— hook, line and sinker.

You sat yourself comfortably on his lap, your head pressed against his chest. To you, it was cosy, comfortable. You wondered why Fyodor’s heart was beating so fast, but you took it as a sign that he was delighted by your affection. Which was half-true, he was delighted, yes, but only because he was about to make the pawn deal a checkmate.

“Do you love me, milaya?” he asked, gently ruffling your soft locks.

“More than anything in the world.”

“I know this may be going a little fast, but what do you think I go meet your father?”

You looked up at him in disbelief. Did that just happen? Did he just offer to meet your father? After all the horrible things you warned him about? This was going to be such a huge step forward in your relationship. Something you could have only dreamed about. But it was going to come true.

“Are you sure, Fyo?” you asked, searching his face for any sign of doubt.

He flashed you yet another sweet smile. “Of course I am, lyubov moya. You are special to me.” Fyodor leaned in to kiss you, just to make sure he got his message across. He didn’t even have to instil fear in you— he was almost in disbelief at how easily he was getting away with all of this.

And just like that, you agreed.

The meeting was to be on the next day, at noon, in the quiet park just a ways down from your house, before heading into the heart of the city for lunch. According to you, your father was elated to meet the man who has managed to capture your heart.

And controlled your mind, Fyodor added to himself.

That night as you lay asleep next to him, he smiled genuinely for the first time since he’s known you. He looked at your sleeping face. You were a beautiful lady, with a dangerously charming smile and an appeasing personality. That was the only thing he would admire about you— looks.

“You shall serve for the sake of God’s amusement,” he mumbled to himself, eyes still glued on you.

Fyodor inched a little closer to you to get a better look at your beauty, the smile still plastered on his face.

“What a pretty little disaster you will be.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

The next day couldn’t come quickly enough for Fyodor. You had just texted your father, telling him that you and your new lover would be headed to the park soon. You were very excited, and Fyodor could tell. You were all jittery.

“Okay I’ve told him we’d be there soon, so we should probably head out now.”

And the moment Fyodor heard those words roll out from your tongue, he dropped all his masks and chuckled.

Stunned, you turned to look up at him, and found yourself bewildered by the evil grin he donned. Did you miss something? What was going on? Why did that laugh sound so... soulless?

“F- Fyo,” you stuttered, trying to close the distance despite how terrified you were. “You... aren’t acting like yourself.”

What was this you were feeling? It was like complete... malice.

His chuckle got a little louder, his shoulders shaking, trying to contain his content. His purple eyes had lost all light, and the way he was looking at you chilled you to your very bones. “On the contrary, milaya,” he said, leaning down so his face was directly in front of yours. “I’ve never been more myself.”

You swallowed, confused by the sudden change in his demeanour. You fought back the urge to ask him about it in fear of the response you would receive. His eyes were still boring into yours, and you realised that the man in front of you was a stranger. A complete stranger. And it was then that you knew.

“I will pretend that I don’t already see the question in your eyes, milaya.”

Your worst fears have been realised the moment you noticed the threat in his eyes. So that’s all this was to him? A game? And you were nothing but a tool, a stone for him to step on to get to his true destination. Judging by recent events, his target was your father, and you had been the perfect ace in the hole, giving him exactly what he needed.

“I’m just a pawn,” you thought out loud, “in someone else’s game.”

Fyodor’s sinister smile never left his face. He placed a hand on top of your head. “Correct. And you’ve finally made a move.” He patted your head before continuing.

“After all, a pawn that does not move upsets the entire game.”

A thousand things were running through your mind. But one emotion stood out: fear. For Fyodor to have told you to your face that you were a pawn, after two months of keeping up with his boyfriend act, could only mean one thing: this was your first and last move. A pawn that was no longer useful would have to de disposed of.

“Don’t look so upset,” Fyodor said, amused by your reaction to his every movement. Such a pity that your beauty had to be wasted on your soul. “There are times when a well-placed pawn is more powerful than any other piece in the game.”

You wanted to punch him. To run. To get as far away from this sick, manipulative freak as you could. You hated that all you could think of now is not only of his murderous intent, but also of the small moments that had transpired between the two of you— the way his thin fingers always caressed your cheeks, or the warmth you felt every night as you fell asleep next to him.

“You should be rejoicing at the power you have.”

“I have fulfilled my purpose,” you resignedly admitted.

Fyodor was pleased upon hearing that. “Exactly,” he agreed. “So I shall reward you with this.”

You felt his fingers lightly brush against your cheek one last time, before blood started pooling at your feet and everything around you started fading into black. So, this was what you got for trusting the man, huh? What a stupid, foolish way of thinking. Nobody could be that perfect and be true. What were you thinking?

“May you be released from the yoke of your sins.”

His emotionless voice was the last thing you heard as you released your last breath.

“and then an uneventful demise”

[kickingitwithkirk]

Happy Coincidence Chance Discovery

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Piper, Jared Padalecki x Piper,

Characters: Dean Winchester /Jensen Ackles, mentions of Chad Michael Murray 

Word Count:4367

Warnings: cursing, kissing, nudity, implied sex/genital fondling/teasing 

 *Jared and Jensen are single.

A/N: for @idreamofplaid​  Thanks for the Memories Challenge #plaid and the memories  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARED🎉

Prompt: Season 11, episode 4, Baby

A/N: Baby is my favorite episode but every time I’ve watched it I kept wondering; Sam’s hook up with Piper the waitress? So this is my fill in that blank with a Jared twist.

Divider: created by @writeyourmindaway​

*No beta all mistakes are mine

Dean drives into the parking lot of a roadhouse just after dusk and Sam looks at the marquee shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Dean, it's late, I’m exhausted and..and.. and starving.  And this place. I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam groused.

“First of all, never use Swayze’s name in vain, okay. Ever.” Dean chastises his brother for such a sacrilege, “Second, you don't remember this place? You don't remember Heather, the hunter we worked the wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam partially smiles, remembering that night of fun.

 “Yeah, exactly” Dean taking the same trip down memory lane.

“What, she’s here tonight?” Sam asks, perking up a bit.

 “I texted her, she's working a rugaru case in Texas.” Dean says.

“Actually, she never texted me back. That's not the point, the point is that we have a ton of driving left to do just to go to a town where it's not probably a case.” Dean points ahead, “But in there, good times.”

 “Uh...” Sam hedges looking at the building.

 “But time heals all wounds, especially good times. What do ya say?” Dean looks at his brother hopeful.

 “I say... knock yourself out.” Sam answers with his usual reply and Dean looks away, “I'm gonna find a diner and dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anythings ever happened where we’re headed.”

“Ah man, you really got to learn to have fun.” Dean’s reply was full of disappointment in his little brother.

“Seriously. It’s pathetic.” 

They both climb out of the Impala. Sam grabs his bag from the backseat and starts walking back towards town as Dean heads into the roadhouse. 

***

Sam had walked over a mile looking for somewhere to eat. Being Saturday night he thought there’d be more open but that’s small town living, the streets roll up at noon on the weekends. 

He was about to give up and hike back to that mom & pop gas station he passed for a microwave burrito, preferably bean to get back at Dean, when he happened upon a small, local place, Mak’s Diner. 

Hitching his bag up, he pushed open the door expecting the usual greasy spoon Dean's unerring sense navigates towards and stops just inside the front door.

It was an older establishment, obviously one of those passed down from generation to generation places but to his surprise it was well maintained, despite the C on the marquee being burnt out.

“Evening, have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. Sam walked past the counter smiling at only other occupants, an elderly couple having coffee and dessert, heading towards the back where family seating was located. 

As he passed the next to last booth he noticed a closed laptop, several open books with notes scrawled around their margins, highlighted paragraphs and a few notebooks scattered on its tabletop.

He dropped the bag on the seat and shed his jacket before sliding into the booth, fishing out his laptop and the legal pad that he had started making more notes on earlier.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” 

Picking up the menu laying by his elbow Sam glances through it, “Coffee and the Cobb salad, thanks.” He orders closing the menu and looking up to hand it to the waitress. She is differently not what he would have expected to find in a backwater burg like this one. 

Her makeup is understated, nails painted a neutral color and her copper hued hair is pulled back in an elegant chiffon, not a high ponytail or hastily bobby pinned up-do, held in place with a real silver clip, the type that’s handed down as an heirloom.

“Just the Cobb salad?” She asked looking under the tabletop, taking in Sam’s long legs somewhat stretched out under it, boots bumping against the other side of the circular booth. Her blue/grey eyes slowly travel up appraising his body till they meet his.

“Big boys like you need more than a few leafy greens for stamina.” 

Sam felt himself blushing like he was seventeen again. Waitresses blatantly flirt with Dean and vice versa all the time so he’s taken aback by this woman's more than blatant appraisal of his physique.

“I, um, yeah, ju..just the salad.” Sam stammers out.

“Okay, be back with that coffee.” Her smiles genuinely, not that faked for the customers sake one he’s used to.

Sam appraises her retreating figure like she did him. She’s not wearing the nurses white or black rubber soled shoes that’s usual waitress gear he’s seen but a brand of tennis shoes he knows are out of the typical income of career restaurant staff. 

The fifties style, yellow uniforms color is completely unflattering, not fitting her right, way too tight around her bust and hips and far shorter than it should be, her mile long legs on display.

Sam shifts in his seat and tries to discreetly palm down his spontaneous erection but not so little Sam is putting up a fight, making it known it's been way too long since he’s gotten wet and he wants to enjoy her junoesque attributes. 

***

While he is waiting for a page to load Sam hears the elderly couple preparing to leave. He watches as the husband helps his wife into her jacket and gently takes her hand, resting it in the crook of his arm as they slowly make their way to the exit, feeling the pang of loneliness that’s his constant companion.

“Mr. Reynolds’s, hang on a sec,” the waitress calls from the kitchen emerging with a white cake box tied shut, “Auntie wanted me to make sure you got this before leaving. She’s sorry she missed your anniversary party.”

“You tell her we missed her, needs to hurry up and get well.” Mrs. Reynolds remarked as her husband took the box with his free hand. She glanced back towards Sam, “Sweetie, you gonna be okay here with the likes of him?” 

Sam kept his expression neutral, waiting to see how this plays out. He knew people found him intimidating because of his size and being a stranger in a small town, he definitely stands out but not many were that blatant about it.

“He ordered a Cobb salad, I think I can handle him,” she jested winking at him.

The couple bid her goodnight and she went back into the kitchen, Sam realizing they were now all alone. Sighing, he starts reading the info again trying to figure out what exactly their hunting is. Or not.

He was so focused on his research like usual he didn’t acknowledge the waitress standing there with his order.

“Kmm hmm,” Sam’s head snapped up, “must be something really good if you don’t notice the likes of me.” She chided him setting down a coffee decanter and cup.

“Sorry, guess I was kinda caught up.” Sam moves the laptop and notepad over as she sets down his salad and two types of dressing. “Figured you might not be a ranch type of guy so I grabbed the vinaigrette too.” 

“Thanks, I prefer vinaigrette, don’t usually get offered it.” 

“I’m pretty good at reading people which is why I also brought you this,” she set down another plate with a lettuce wrapped, curiously colored and, by the smell, not meat burger with all the fixings, a generous helping of baked sweet potato fries and a green colored milkshake.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know but it cooks night off and I’m trying some new recipes. Seeing as you're the only other one here, you've been conscripted as my guinea pig.” She slid into the other side of his booth where an identical plate rested, “I wasn’t kidding about you needing more than just a salad. Besides, I hate eating alone, you wouldn’t believe how often it happens. Fuck, where’s my manners, I’m Piper.” She stuck her hand out across the table.

He takes her preferred hand amazed how it fits perfectly in his, “Sam.” 

“So Sam, figure out what you're hunting yet?” She asked nonchalantly as she picked up her burger, “Cause, not being judgey, but that’s some really random shit you got there.” She takes a bite, watches as his expression bounces between startled and incredulous.

“How…”

“Saw your Tarsus 99 when you took off your jacket. I had one as a kid, then daddy got killed on a hunt and I got sent here to live with Auntie, she doesn’t cotton to hunting.” 

Piper picked up a fry pointing it at him, “But what I really wanna know, where the hell did you get that demon blade, ‘cause I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

Sam hesitates, “That’s a long story.” 

“Don’t close till one and I’ve got nowhere to be after.”

Sam decides to deflect instead of answering. “So what is it you do, because you're definitely not a waitress.” 

“Officially, I’m an antique appraiser. Unofficially, I’m helping a wayward hunter who graced my door with something he can’t figure out.”

***

Sam and Piper, after closing the diner, stayed another three hours hashing out the research for his case were now taking their time walking back towards the roadhouse. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s with that name tag?” Sam noticed early it read Maggie.

“Came with this god awful uniform. Auntie insists that we all adhere to how her daddy ran the place. So when I came back to temporarily help out after her surgery, Maggie decided she was not gonna take orders from someone younger, quit and I got stuck with this. I told Auntie it wouldn’t fit, even with letting out the hem. Maggie was like five-four and I’m over five-ten! 

Ugh! I keep popping these stupid top buttons and can’t freaking bend over without showing everyone my C U Next Tuesday.” 

Sam smiled that nervous smile he got when unsure how to respond to an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“I normally wear this to cover it,” moving her pocketed hands in the light weight, knee length sweater she had put on when they left the diner, “but I have to confess,” Piper turned around, walking backwards, “I took it off when I saw you come in, thought what the hell, been long time since a really cute guy has walk through my door so...” She bit her lip, turning back around as they continued down the lane in companionable silence.

Sam mused over her confession admitting to himself he was interested in her too. He enjoyed sharing different theories and bouncing ideas of what they might be hunting back and forth with her, surprising him with her unique take on things.

Piper might not have been the type he consciously steered towards since Jess but she was comfortable to be around, didn’t feel his usual awkwardness he normally had around most women. 

They arrived at the roadhouse a few minutes later and Sam led her towards the Impala.

“Damn, you brother is a fucking artist, how many times has he rebuilt her?” Piper asked walking around the car, running her hand over the Impalas pristine exterior. 

“To many.” Sam replies, putting his bag on the front seat. “Can I have a look?” He turns to see Piper standing by the trunk. “Um, sure.” Strolling over he unlocks it and lifts the interior wheel well exposing the car's hidden armory.

“Is that a grenade launcher?”

“Yeah, Dean found it at the bunker.” Sam laughed remembering how excited Dean had been when he discovered it. 

Piper shook her head shutting the trunk and hopped up on it, “What’cha wanna do now, go in,” gesturing at the bar, “or hang out here for a while longer?”

“I think I’m good hanging o...”

Piper grabbed his jacket dragging him between her spread legs and kissed him.

It took Sam all of five seconds to process what was happening before his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her to the edge of the trunk, her short skirt riding even higher as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sam jerked back as headlights flashing over them, a patrol car drove into the parking lot. He lifted Piper off the trunk and led her to the car's back door dragging  the green cooler out of their way.

Piper climbed in as he hauled it to the trunk and grabs the army blanket Dean keeps then gets in depositing it and his jacket over the front seat.

“Where were we before being rudely interrupted?” Piper asked, sliding onto Sam’s lap and leaning in to resume kissing him. 

Sam tangled his long fingers into her now loose hair pulling to halt her, “What about that patrolman?”

“Won’t be back till closing, around six A.M.”

“That means Dean won’t either,” he says closing the space between them, heatedly attacking her lips.

***

Piper ran her hand over his bare chest, “How long is your refractory period?”

Sam shifted to look down at her, “umm, around twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna have to see what I can do to shorten that ‘cause we are so doing that more than once again.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” 

Piper stared at him slowly trailing her hand down his torso. Sam’s breath hitched as she lightly teased her fingers across his lower stomach, running through his treasure trail and over to his hip.

Shifting further down his body she continued running her fingers over the top of his left thigh feeling the hard muscles flexing under the skin. She placed both of her hands in between his legs shifting his left one off the seat and bending his right leg back placing his foot flat on the bench seat. 

Piper kneels in the space between Sam’s spread legs continuously moving her fingers in random patterns over the insides of both tights, touching him everywhere below his waist.

Sam closed his eyes groaning loudly, dropping his head back against the window as her fingers played over his balls feeling her other hand travel behind them teasing over his...

“You fell asleep in the fucking car!”

His eyes snapped open startled. Blinking rapidly he sees Dean leaning through the open car window looking at him. 

“Dean what...where’s Piper?”

“What’s a Piper?” He growled out, “Dude, we wrapped twenty minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you, got worried cause you weren’t answering your fucking phone Jay!”

He took a good look at Dean. His foggy brain finally realizing its mistake, taking in the headset hanging around his neck and the ball cap he likes wearing when directing. “Jen, sorry, guess I’m still in Sam headspace, got disoriented for a sec.”

Jensen laughed, “You find one grey hair and suddenly you're getting memory loss and needing naps? I’ll have to remember to have you in bed by nine, old man.” 

“Your fucking hilarious Jack.” Jared shoots back sliding across the seat getting out, “Man, I had the weirdest dream.”

“From the happy noises you were making that was far from weird. And speaking of happy,” Jensen's eyebrows went up as he pointedly looked down.

Jared glances down thinking he’s drooled all over himself only to see the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“Bob’s called a meeting in five but I think we’re gonna be late.” 

***

“I’m telling you it was so real! She was tall with coppery blond hair, tasted like chocolate peppermint and has this tattoo above her...” Jared paused grinning, keeping that specific location to himself, “I’ve never in my life had such a vivid dream like that.”

“Dude, you like petite brunettes.” 

“I know..so why would I make her a redhead?”

“Hell if I know, it’s your giant melon. Maybe all that sugar ribbon you eat is finally getting its revenge.” Jensen snarks as they enter the meeting room.

They were greeted by Bob’s gruff voice, “About time you two showed up. Alright, now that everyone is finally here, we need to get everyone up to speed. We’re having to make changes to the filming schedule.” He pauses looking at him notes, “Jared, don’t need you to come tomorrow for those new promo shots with, what was that new character again?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Sam’s new love interest.”

“Right, anyways, writers scraped that idea. As some of you heard, several of our exterior locations got flooded with that last storm and it’s taking time to find new locations so instead of doing blocking we're gonna do a quick read through of the new episode.”

Jared opened his copy of the new script to episode 4: Baby.

Reading the opening scene he experiences deja vu, quickly scanning the first two pages: bunkers garage: Dean washing the Impala, Sam having a possible case in Oregon. Next scene: interior shot Impala, Sam gets a protein shake out of cooler, Dean wants to know about the beer. Next scene: pulling in roadhouse parking lot, Dean trying to get Sam to join him, goes to eat instead, shot from Impala view watching Dean walking. Next scene: daybreak continuing from the view of the car...

“Fuck me.” Jared whispers, catching Jensen's attention. “What’s wrong?”

“This is how my dream started.”

Jensen pulls a yeah right face.

Jared shifted in his chair leaning closer to Jensen, looking directly into his green eyes, “I’ll prove it. Next scene: Dean gets in the car at daybreak and a naked waitress pops up in the backseat with a voice-over from Sam. Dean gets out peeping in the driver's side back window at her getting dressed. Cut to next scene: Sam climbs into front seat buttoning his flannel as he apologizes for having sex in Dean’s car. Dean, happy his brother finally got laid drives off quoting Bob Sager lyrics, playing Night Moves and Sam changing a lyric. 

Jared continued to lay out the entire episode from memory as Jensen flips through the script following.

“Bullshit Jared, someone snuck you a copy of this script, you're totally fucking with me.” 

“Jensen, not this time.”

***

Jared walked back to his trailer aggravated that Jensen won’t believe he didn’t get an advance peek of the script. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was two steps into his trailer when his phone vibrated. Chad left a voicemail instead of texting, weird.

“Jay man, you gotta do me solid. A friend of mine got the part of Y/N on your show and I don’t know what the fucks happening up there but she flipped the fuck out on me! Need you to check on her, she’s outside one of the guest trailers. And have her call me back after she’s calmed the fuck down!”

Jared snorted, another woman pissed off at Chad, shocker. “The fuck you getting me into this time Murray.” Jared mutters to himself as he heads over to the guest stars trailers and hears a somewhat familiar voice outside of one.

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? I get here and now they're telling me they’ve dropped the story line.”

There was a pause in conversation as Jared walked closer to hear more clearly over the lot's noises and was shocked when he saw her sitting on one of the trailer's steps.

“But I signed a contract...what? I don’t remember seeing that in there. So they can just arbitrarily drop the part with no notification, that’s bullshit! I’ve never had a clause like that in one before. I gave up my job and apartment for this!” She gets up and paces around not noticing him. 

“They're giving me the bit part of the waitress in this episode, have a five am call for hair, getting a blonde rinse so I look more like a Dean type girl. I don’t know what the fuck is with these writers, it’s like they don’t get Sam, should’ve left him like Kripke originally created him.” She paused, “paying me what? At scale! That’ll just cover my petrol for the drive back to L.A. Wait, what about my six month lease? Could you check on it.” 

“Oh, giving me two nights at the Hilton. How magnanimous of them,” she sarcastically replies, “can I still get that part on Arrow...cast someone else.” She abruptly ends the call and sits back down on the step slumping over her knees.  

“So, how much of that fucked up conversation did you overhear?” She asked not looking at him.

“Um, almost all of it.” Jared confesses, “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping but I got a voicemail from Chad,” she looked up staring in disbelief at Jared, “he’s worried and wanted me to check on you.” 

“Fanfuckingtastic, can this day get any better? I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of Jared Fucking Padalecki!” 

Jared can just make out her blushing in the still dimming light. “I wouldn’t say completely, I mean, you could drop your pants and yell Pudding.”

She blinked at him before doubling over in laughter, “Alright, point taken. Still, it’s a crock of shit you don’t need to be bothered with.”

“Chad’s kinda made it my problem. Look, I don't know all the details but maybe I can help, I can call casting..”

“Oh hell no! Thanks but no thanks. Bunch of assbutts on social media were already speculating about how someone like me got the part in the first place. Last thing I need is more ammo for the haters, they’ll tweet something like I had a three way with you and Ackles because I was desperate to get the part back.” 

Jared cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair embarrassed to feel turned on by the imagery she conjured up in his mind. 

 “Mmm, that’d be my wet dream come true, but not the point, they’ll just come up with some random shit.”

Jared understood being all too familiar with the anti whatever’s having been the target himself.

“Okay, how about we go to my trailer,” she gave him a skeptical look, “where you can have some privacy to call Chad back. I’ll get de-Sam’d and we can talk some more or grab a bite if you're hungry.”

“You don’t know me from Adam, what if I’m some psychotic serial stocker nut job?” 

“If your friends with Chad, you absofuckingloutley are Ms. what's your name.” Jared sarcastically remarks given her a mischievous grin.

“Touché, and it's Piper,” Jared froze at her name, “and you’ve been friends with Murry longer than me so I know you’re straight up batshit crazy.” She smarts back standing up, “lead on, oh gallant knight.”

***

Jared walked out of the bath toweling his wet hair sees Piper lounging on his couch still on the phone with Chad.

As he crossed over to the kitchen's fridge he couldn’t help but notice her low rise jeans had ridden lower, revealing the top half of the tattoo just above her..

“Dude, should’a told me Padalecki has a tattoo kink,” Jared tripped over his feet before catching himself embarrassed at getting caught, “Yeah, that was your boy.” She winked at him, “No way in hell I’m ever showing it to you perv.” Jared loudly laughs at that. “Hey, when I get back I’m PA’ing for you till I get another gig. Don’t you dare argue, you got me into this so it’s that or I’m on your couch for a month,” Piper rolled her eyes at Chad’s response, “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Is that how you met Chad, working as a PA?” Jared inquired coming over to sit down next to Piper handing her a beer. 

“Yeah, paid the bills while doing auditions, was starting to pick up a few bit parts around LA.” Piper starts nervously fiddling with the bottles label, “I heard about the casting call for a new Sam girl and Murry talked me into trying out for it, so I figured unless I kiss Crowley I don’t have a shot in hell and holy fuck, I got it.” 

She stopped talking but kept playing with the label. 

“Hey, whatever it is you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jared says gently touching her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

She took a long pull of her beer before continuing. “My Auntie died and I inherited everything, including her debts. I negotiated a smaller settlement but it wiped out all my savings.” She paused draining the rest of her bottle. “I figured it was serendipity..”

Jared is half listening, feeling that uneasy sensation again at that last word.

“...gonna be Sam Winchester’s...”

“If we’re meant to meet again,”

“.. weren’t killing her off after three episodes but then they decided to drop that story line...”

“we will.”

“...I should be going. Thanks for the beer and letting bending your ear, I’m gonna get out of your hair.” Piper gets up heading for the door.

Jared finally remembers.

“I believe in serendipity..maybe you can too.”

He quickly jumped up moving between her and the door blurting out, “I know you said you didn’t want my help but you can’t go, not yet.”

“Okay, why not? ‘Cause any other time I’d be up for some wham bam thank you ma’am but so not in the mood right now.”

Taking a deep breath he goes for it, “So, get this, after we finished filming today, I fell asleep in the Impala and had this dream…” 

***

Jared sat on the couch nervously chewing on his thumb watching as Piper paces back and forth mulling over his story.

She abruptly stopped and sat down on the table in front of him. “So here's the deal, I will believe everything you've told me,” Jared opens his mouth to say something but Piper reached out laying her fingers on his lips, “if you can answer one question.” 

Jared took her hand remembering how it felt so right in his, “Okay.”

“Since you’ve seen it in your dream, what does my tattoo mean?”

“In Japanese, it means happy coincidence,” Jared confidently says sitting back as Piper climbs onto his lap, “but that's the first line, the second one is chance discovery.”

Jared pulls her in, brushing his lips against hers, running his tongue across them so she’ll part them , allowing him access. He can taste the beer they’ve been drinking but there’s that sumptuous flavor of her underneath he finds intoxicating..chocolate peppermint..thinking to himself..

Serendipity.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 10 - Crunch

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader 

Genre: Smut/Action

Word Count: 4, 926 ( i know, shorter than my usual chapters, but this has a lot of plot progression i promise) 

Masterlist 

Ao3 

TW: violence

“What the- what the actual-”

Dick’s voice almost scared you, breaking your concentration. You jolted up, your eyes immediately meeting his blue ones.

“Dick!” you exclaimed, rising up from your study table, “Didn’t Alfred ever teach you to knock?”

You crossed the floor from your desk to him, standing at your opened door. You threw yourself into his warm arms, feeling him squeeze you tightly.

“Alfred also taught me how to pick locks,” he chuckled, giving you a peck on the top of your head.

“What are you doing here?” you took a step back and crossed your arms.

“Nevermind that- what are you doing with all this?” he gestured to your floor.

Papers were strewn all over your room. From case files to articles to your notes. Dick bent down and opened a beige file.

“Wait- this is the series of Pyg’s murders in ‘07!” he gasped. He threw the file back on the floor only to pick up another. “And this is the murder of Sarah Gordon, when Joker kidnapped all those babies. Just what have you been doing?”

“Research,” you shrugged, “I’m sure you’re familiar.”

“That file on Pyg not only had the autopsy report, but also the pictures,” he pointed out.

“So?”

“So?” his eyes widen, “So, why are you obsessing over violent crimes?”

“A lunatic just kidnapped me a couple weeks ago, Dick, maybe this is my coping mechanism,” you defended yourself.

Dick pursed his lips, his expression changing.

“I don’t want your pity, Dick,” you told him, “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he smiled sadly, “Which is why I don’t think this is your coping mechanism.”

He walked to your bed and sat down, his handsome face catching the light of the setting sun outside your window, casting a shadow that made his usually bright and charming look turn into a more mysterious and dark character.

You smirked and joined him on the bed, sitting next to him.

You never could lie to him. Which was why this time it was going to be hard.

“Red Hood, he’s…” you struggled to put together the words, “Confusing.”

“Confusing?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, collapsing onto the bed on your back, “He’s got something against Bruce. Or Batman. Either one of them, he knows our identities, Dick.”

“It’s normal to be scared, or worried,” he offered you, “Knowing our identities make us vulnerable to him at all times, not only when we’re in uniform.”

“It does scare me a little,” you admitted, staring at the ceiling that both Alfred and Dick helped you repaint, “But mostly, I’m just frustrated. Why did he kidnap me if he was just going to toy with me and then let me go? Everything is just so unclear, and Bruce isn’t telling me the whole truth. That’s why I’m trying to figure it all out myself. I need to understand him- and in order to do that, I need to understand people like him.”

“Hence the..” Dick waved at your mess.

It wasn't a lie, but a half truth. That's what made it possible for you to deceive Dick or Bruce. You learned that by trial and error.

You did start to research to understand people like Red Hood better, but after a while, you suddenly became fascinated. The detail these people put into their torture, their time and effort. You were amazed at how passionate they were. Long gone was the girl who couldn't sleep because she saw decapitated heads on spikes.

But Dick didn't need to know that.

“Yeah,” you nodded at your ceiling. “Wait a minute.”

You shot up.

“Do you know who Red Hood is? Did Bruce tell you?” you interrogated Dick.

“He won’t tell me either,” Dick huffed, “It’s always been like that with him. No matter how hard I try to get closer to him, sometimes it feels like he’s getting further away.”

“I can relate to that,” you rolled your eyes.

“But I have a feeling that he will tell you eventually,” Dick put an arm around you, “It seems too important not to.”

You let out a snort. If it was important, he should have told you right after you got kidnapped.

“And,” Dick continued, suddenly giving you a noogie, causing you to squeal and push him away, “I heard from Alfred that you’re not talking to Bruce. May I ask why?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I came to check up on you,” he told you sternly, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come here right after, but my little sister did just get kidnapped.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you whined.

“Then you’re fine enough to tell me why you haven’t been talking to Bruce,” Dick probed, “I won’t judge. I’ve had my fair share of cold shoulders and fights with him too. I know first hand how frustrating he can be. So come on, tell.”

You let out a long and tired sigh.

“We fought,” you started, “It was when I got back from the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me who Red Hood was. And he- he called me ‘Jason’.”

You saw Dick close his eyes and squeezed his temples.

“Jesus,” he whispered, “What did he say exactly?”

“‘Back down, Jason’,” you repeated Bruce’s words solemnly.

“Now that’s something I haven’t heard in years,” Dick chuckled humorlessly.

You couldn’t stand to see the expression Dick had then, because he looked as if he was remembering a fond memory, reminiscing to a time when you weren’t around. His eyes suddenly aged, as if the sadness affected him physically.

You turned away, biting your lip. You tried hard to reel in the tears of jealousy and exclusion that burned your eyes. You focused your gaze to outside your window. It was around midday on a Saturday.

“Has Bruce made any attempts to reconcile?” Dick asked.

You took a deep breath before you answered, making sure your voice wouldn’t break.

“Yeah, but I’m still mad at him,” you pouted.

“And you have every right to be,” Dick acknowledged, “But Bruce, well, you know Bruce. He keeps these things to himself, but obviously he’s still hurting.”

You felt a wave of guilt crash over you.

He lost his son, and there you were being selfishly stubborn.

You didn’t reply, and suddenly an awkward silence filled the room.

“I’m seeing someone,” you changed the subject.

“You are?” you saw Dick’s eyebrows rise so high, they almost disappeared into his dark wavy hair.

“Yeah,” you blushed, “It’s still very new, and we’re not official yet or anything. But we’re definitely testing the waters.”

“That’s great,” Dick smiled widely at you, “Who is he? Tell me the deets. Spill the tea.”

You giggled at Dick’s ironic use of slang.

“I met him in the library a while back,” you spilled, “We exchanged numbers. Started texting, meeting up from time to time. He’s really cute.”

“I bet he is,” Dick wiggled his eyebrows.

“What’s with that face?” you laughed, “He is! He’s slightly older, and he’s got this sexy bad boy look, you know?”

“I thought you liked the nerdy types?” Dick responded.

“I never had a type, you ass!” you tried to poke him in the ribs, which he avoided skillfully.

“You’re right. I thought you were completely uninterested in boys,” he wondered out loud, “Is he nice, at least?”

“Yeah he is,” you smiled to yourself, “He didn’t know I was Wayne until 2 weeks ago. Before that, we were mainly texting. Now we’re meeting up more. I feel like I can be myself with him. I don’t know, there’s just something about him that makes me trust him.”

You noticed Dick frown at that.

“I’m not going to tell him anything!” you quickly added, “I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t trust someone I just met. It’s not about the confidential stuff. It’s the little things like how I feel, and my problems, and just- stuff, you know?”

“I get it,” Dick nodded understandingly, “You don’t know what it is about the person, but you feel like the two of you just click, am I right?”

“Exactly,” you smiled, “Been with anyone like that before?”

“One or two,” he shrugged, “People like that- whom you just click with- they’re hard to come by. You should see where this leads. Who knows, maybe he’s one of those that would stick around, huh?”

“The only problem is this big fat secret,” you complained, “It gets tiring sometimes. Lying, that is. About the injuries, about activities. I mean, how do you start a relationship based on lies?”

“That’s why you have to make sure they’re worth the effort,” he said simply, “You’re a smart girl, and way mature beyond your age. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks, Dick,” you gave him a side hug.

“Since you haven’t been talking to Bruce for the last two weeks, does this mean you haven’t been on patrol?”

“Of course I have!” you clarified, “I go out with him, and interact when I have to. But I keep my words concise and I don’t ask questions.”

“Sounds all too familiar,” he chuckled.

“How long are you staying?” you looked at him with hopeful eyes. You loved it when Dick was around. He was the affectionate older brother you never knew you wanted, who spoiled you with snacks and dessert.

“I was just dropping by,” he gave an apologetic look, “I’m a liaison for Bludhaven PD, with Gotham City PD, since they know Bruce is on good terms with Gordon.”

“On a Saturday? Which case is it?”

“That arson case,” he explained, “The third that got away, he was causing problems up in Bludhaven a few months prior to that. Gordon asked for some files, and… A detective who’s familiar with the case.”

“You made detective?!” you squealed, “Congratulations! Not many people make detective in their middle-almost-late twenties.”

You tackled him into a bear hug.

“Thanks,” he laughed out loud, “Apparently this guy, Jerome Miller, he's always hired to do stuff like that.”

Jerome Miller. The one that got away. You clenched your jaw at the mention of his name, willing your blood to not boil.

“Burn buildings?” you scoffed, hiding your true feelings from your older brother, “Why would people hire other people to burn buildings?”

“Buildings like the library, you know how their fire system works. It's like the bank. Once a fire starts, the system suck up all the oxygen,” he explained, “It's not easy to burn down buildings like those. So people hire professionals.”

“You're saying someone else hired him to burn the library down?” you frowned, “But why?”

“That's what GCPD is trying to figure out. Could be one of those location disputes. Higher ups are probably involved. It wouldn't be the first time in this goddamn city,” he shrugged.

You remained silent.

Of course, politics. Corruption had this bad habit of snaking into people's lives and ruining things.

“Promise you I’ll catch the guy, okay?” Dick offered, “I know how much that library meant to you.”

“Thanks, Dick,” you gave him a small smile, his promise comforting you. Your bond with your older brother could never be explained with just words. He gave you a sense of protection that went just beyond the physical sense that you felt with Bruce. With Bruce, you knew you could rely on him. But Dick was the one you told your secrets to. And he could make you feel better with just a simple promise such as the one he gave.

“No problem, kid,” he grinned, “I should get going, though. Gordon said he’d be free after lunch.”

“I’ll walk you out,” you hopped off the bed.

*** “Uh, Bruce?” you awkwardly stood behind him as he was sitting down in front of the Batcomputer- all geared up as Robin.

He spun around, looking at you questioningly. He was geared up as well, besides the cowl. You could see the dark circles under his eyes, the crows feet that were starting to be visible. He looked tired.

“Alfred told me you hadn’t eaten much all day, so, uh, I made you something light to have before we head out later,” you hesitantly set down a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the desk.

You almost missed the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

After talking to Dick earlier that day, you felt guilty for continuously being mad at Bruce. This was your way of reconciling to him.

“Thank you,” he nodded, reaching for one.

“So,” you cleared your throat, “What are we up to tonight?”

“Patrol as usual,” he elaborated, “Red Hood has been busy. With Black Mask gone, he’s technically the only one in power as of now. Even Penguin has been laying low because of him. GCPD reports a fifteen percent surge in weapons and drug trafficking along with gang related crime the past three months, but strangely a thirty-two percent drop in petty crime, murder, sexual assault.”

“Thirty-two percent is a lot,” you frowned.

“Indeed,” Bruce agreed, “In fact, it’s the lowest since Batman first appeared.”

“Which is a very long time ago,” you nodded.

“Even the Ibenescus’ have been keeping it down. Though I have reason to believe that they still are not submitting to Red Hood,” he added.

“Why?”

“The Ibenescus’ built an empire through human trafficking, and they date back all the way to the eighteenth century. The Moehler family does not nearly come as close to a crime legacy the way the Ibenescus do. The Ibenescus’ have more pride to lose more than anything. They wouldn’t surrender so easily and completely stop all their operations,” he summarised.

“I see,” you absorbed everything, “Okay, well. Patrol it is.”

You honestly expected a quiet, boring night. The past few weeks had just been stopping drug exchanges, interrogating drug dealers, and one or two car chases involving a vehicle suspected to contain smuggled weapons.

But that night, the GCPD comms were active.

Thanks to Dick’s information on his habits, GCPD had been patrolling specific locations where Jerome Miller would most likely loiter in, and at 11pm that night, a cruiser identified him buying a couple of Slim Jims in a 7-Eleven at Upper East Side on Verne Avenue, and tried to arrest him. He made a run for it, and now there were three police cars circling the area. Wherever Miller was, he was trapped.

Both you and Batman were now patrolling the area, in hopes of finding him. Batman interacted with you as usual, and you tried to do the same.

But at the mention of Jerome Miller, you felt your heart beat louder in your chest. You were extra vigilant that night, your senses somehow even more heightened as you strained your night-vision to look at every little crook and cranny in every little smelly alley that he could be hiding. You went as far to check inside dumpsters.

And at a quarter past midnight, you finally laid your eyes on him from the edge of a roof.

He was a sweaty, panting mess. His straw hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes wild with panic and he jumped at every small sound. He was hiding in a cardboard box, covered partially with a dirty towel. It probably belonged to one of the homeless, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Batman,” you communicated through your earpiece, “I’ve got eyes on him. Between ten and twelfth Verne Avenue. I’m going to incapacitate him.”

“Wait for me,” Batman ordered.

You wanted to argue back so bad, but you didn’t want to mess up your relationship with him again, especially since you were on good terms.

“Hurry then,” you said.

“I’ll be there in 1.”

You lurked on the rooftop, your eyes now entirely focused on him.

You revelled in the fact that he looked like he was about to shit his pants. He deserved it. For fucking with your library.

You swallowed. Your vision was tunneling. All you saw was him.

Your heartbeat was drumming in your ears.

He deserved it.

Fuck it, you thought. You grappled down and landed right in front of him.

He let out a small yelp, and his eyes immediately went wide when he saw who it was.

“I was paid, he made me do it,” he started pleading.

Funny how they all start to plead when they saw either you or Batman. Funny how they didn’t think of the repercussions before they did the crime.

You took a step closer.

“Please, don’t take me in,” he begged, “I have a family. They need me.”

The man’s words never registered to you. All you could hear were blubbering sobs. You bent down and gripped his shirt, forcing him up on his feet.

But before you could reel anything in, before you could even think- for the first time in your life, you acted first without thinking of the repercussions.

That was when the white hot rage blinded you.

You could taste the blood in your mouth as you threw him violently to the floor like a ragdoll with all your might, your blood boiling hot as you heard the sweet crunch of the man’s skull break as you landed blows after bloody blows to his face.

You took his head in both your hands, lifted it from the ground and then smashed it back into the the tar floor.

Your eyes couldn't focus on anything else. The world seemed to melt with around you into a blur. The only thing that existed was your revenge.

A pressure on your shoulder snapped you out of your trance. Suddenly you felt a lurch, and you were flung across the alley, your back hitting the metal dumpster with a loud bang. Your eyes focused again to see Batman hovering over the bloody mess of a man now a metre away from you.

The bloody mess you made.

You felt the bile rise in your throat. Your knuckles were aching, your head pounding. You now felt the effects of your assault on him as the adrenaline and rage wore off slowly.

And you were horrified.

You scrambled to your feet and started to walk towards the two of them.

“Stay. Back,” Batman growled at you.

You stopped right in your tracks. Batman was checking for a pulse.

The man's face was unrecognisable. You had disfigured him so much that he looked like a heap of meat and skin and blood.

“I- I- I didn't mean to,” you whispered, holding down the puke.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered.

You froze on the spot, still looking at your victim. You saw his chest rise and fall, but somehow it was wrong. Only one chest was inflating. You heard his laboured, weak breathing. You saw his arms and legs twitching.

“NOW!”

His raised voice made you jump, and you immediately took out your phone and dialled 911. Once you ended the call, you took another step closer.

“Leave. I’ll deal with this,” his cold voice demanded.

“Batman,” you whispered again, trying as hard as you could to not break down.

“I said leave,” he snapped.

You ran out into the drizzling rain and rode your bike home without another word.

***

It was your third time showering that night.

You had scrubbed your skin so raw that it was red and felt tingly.

Especially your face. You couldn’t stand to look at yourself in the mirror. Because when you got back, you saw the blood splatters. On your mask, on your cheeks, across your nose, all from the man you beat half to death with your own fists.

You puked the minute you reached the toilet, hurling away the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you ate earlier.

But what you tasted on your tongue was the familiar metallic tang of iron, and bitter guilt.

You had completely disregarded everything the man had said to you, and you just attacked him. Why? Simply because you were angry.

Simply because you felt like it.

Simply because you could.

There’s no shame in spilling blood for the greater good , your mother’s voice popped in your head.

You hadn’t heard from her in a while, and her unwelcome presence shocked you.

You would have justified Red Hood’s actions with that logic, but even Red Hood’s cruelty were driven with a slightly righteous, albeit delusional, motivation.

But yours were purely personal rage.

That’s when you realised your actions were even worse than Red Hood’s.

You sobbed yourself to sleep that night, ignoring the countless knocks on your doors by both Alfred and Bruce, and the 32 missed calls from Dick.

***

“...last night, the vigilante Batman is now a suspect for violent assault against known arson Jerome Miller, who himself is a suspect for Gotham University Public Library’s unfortunate demise…”

Jason’s ear perked, and he stopped right in his tracks.

He ignored the scowl he got from the man behind him who almost walked into him and turned to the window display of televisions, all of different sizes, showing him a blonde woman at a desk, with blue background.

“...Jerome Miller was brought straight to the emergency department, and reports tell that he is currently in a comatose state. Has Gotham’s vigilante finally decided to show his true colors of violence? Or do you think that Jerome Miller had it coming? Stay tuned, on GNN.”

Jason frowned.

The Batman Jason knew wouldn’t have landed Jerome Miller in the hospital. Batman never cared for personal grudges. No, he was too disciplined to let his feelings get in the way of his work.

Jason knew that all too well.

He sensed that Batman was just covering for Robin, for you.

He smirked to himself, not caring if the people in the streets thought he was crazy. He looked up at the gloomy sky- despite it being noon- and thought about you.

You were probably getting in a whole lot of fucking trouble with Bruce right that instant. You must have lost control last night when you saw Miller, and boy did that make Jason’s day.

He was right about you after all. He knew you were hiding something dark inside you. He knew that you were almost just like him. All you needed was a little nudge in the right direction.

Were you crying all night? That was probably why you hadn’t replied to his text message yet.

His mind conjured the image of you from those weeks ago, crying at the park. Red eyes, red nose, sniffling away.

He frowned at the memory. He wanted to comfort you. Even now, his chest suddenly ached at the thought of you being in anguish and drowning in guilt.

What was fucking wrong with him?

He pushed away the fucked up mess he felt was brewing inside of him. He ignored how conflicted he felt.

He focused instead on his curiosity. You landed Jerome Miller in a coma. No doubt Miller would have been begging and sputtering about his wife and kid- yet you must have ignored everything. He needed to know what you did to him.

He stuffed his hands back in the front pockets of his hoodie, and then hunched over, looking down as he turned around and walked the opposite way of where he was going, and straight towards the hospital Miller was admitted in.

“I’m his nephew,” Jason told the two police officers stationed outside Miller’s room. He had peeked in. Miller’s face was covered in bandages. He had a ventilator attached, and one of his legs was in a cast, elevated.

“I don’t need to see him or anything, considering he’s, well, unconscious,” Jason scratched the back of his head innocently, “But Anna, my aunt- his wife, just wants to know his condition.”

“Then why don’t she come see him herself?” the shorter one huffed.

“A-are you kidding me?” Jason tried to look offended, “She has stage four cancer! She’s on chemo, she can’t move around much. Come on, officer. What does the medical report say? His family deserves to know.”

“How do I know you’re not just some reporter, huh?” the same man demanded.

“No offence, officer, but do I look like a reporter to you?” Jason smirked.

“Hey, Charles,” the other officer whispered to his partner, “I think he’s legit. BPD did mention about his wife in the case file.”

“Anyone could have gotten that information!” he argued back.

“Remember what that pretty boy detective said? Miller was very protective of his family. That kinda info don’t just get spread out like that.”

Officer Charles narrowed his eyes at Jason. And then- “Fine. You tell him, Graham, you’re better at the science stuff than I am.

Officer Graham looked at Jason apologetically. He was about ten years younger than his partner.

“The doctor said he’s got fractures on his cheekbone, his jaw is dislocated, missing teeth, nose is shattered, his orbital bone’s all messed up, one punctured lung, one broken tibia, and Grade 3 diffuse axonal injury- that’s what the doctor said,” Officer Graham’s lip tightened, “Doctor said his chances aren’t looking so good. I know he’s a criminal, but his family aren’t. I’m sorry.”

Wow, you really did a number on him.

“Thank you, officers,” Jason said with a long and sad sigh, “Aunt Anna- it’ll kill her. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her. They’ve obviously had disagreements, and she doesn’t support his actions, but she doesn’t have anyone else.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Graham offered again.

Jason nodded and turned to leave, secretly happy with his ability to act. He got so used to acting when he was with you, that it came naturally to him now.

But most of all, he left the hospital with an intense feeling of pride. Even if you were beating yourself up over it, it didn’t change how he felt.

He was just so fucking proud of you.

***

“You didn’t have to take the blame,” you croaked.

Your eyes were stinging, and your nose hurt every time you breathed. You were sitting down at the dining table, across from Bruce. You had expected him to yell at you like before, to do something when you came in and took your seat.

But he did something much worse.

He looked at you with pity and concern.

You looked at him through swollen eyelids.

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” you whispered, “Aren’t you angry?”

“I’m furious,” he calmly stated.

“Then, why-” your voice cracked.

“Because it wouldn’t make a difference now,” he sighed.

“I’m a monster. I understand if you tell me to quit,” you said, “I can’t believe- I just- I’m exactly like them.”

“Then what does that make me?” you saw Bruce giving you an odd expression.

He was smiling sadly.

“What?” you asked, confused, until you realised what he was talking about, “No, Bruce. That was different.”

“I killed your parents,” he said as a matter of fact, “So what does that make me?”

“You didn’t kill them, Bruce,” you argued, “You were under the influence of- of whatever it is they gassed you with.”

“It was supposed to be fear toxin,” he reminded you, “They were experimenting with Scarecrow’s toxin when I broke in.”

“Yeah, see?” you tried to prove your point, “So it’s not your fault.”

“I wouldn’t have displayed the wrath I did- which led to your parents being pushed off the balcony- if I were emotionally stable,” he said, “They fell because of me. Because I wasn’t myself.”

“No one blames you,” you told him, “I don’t blame you. You had the right to be unstable, Bruce, your son died three months before that. I can’t believe you still think this way.”

“Yet, they still died on my watch, because of my aggravation,” he pointed out, “But if I were to quit every time I did something because I was unstable, well. We wouldn’t be here.”

“Stop being nice to me, Bruce,” tears welled your eyes, “It makes me feel even worse than if you got mad at me.”

“Good,” he smiled at you kindly.

So that was his punishment. To be understanding.

“I’ve got bad genetics,” you argued, “There’s been a lot of research on it and it shows that there is a gene to be passed down.”

“The psychopath gene?” Bruce smirked, “You’re not a psychopath. Your parents were. You feel remorse. Psychopaths don’t.”

“But, even if it’s not pure psychopathy, there must be some other traits, right?” you rationalized.

An attraction to violence, for example.

Bruce just gave you a long and tired sigh.

“Even if you were to have this so-called psychopath gene,” Bruce continued, “It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Everyone has some form of good in them. Even your parents. In their own twisted way, they thought that all those experiments would bring a great contribution to the scientific community- and to humanity as a whole. Regardless of their true motivations, they comforted themselves in that delusion. Not all psychopaths are criminals, remember?”

You remained silent, mulling over his words.

“You think people, no matter how bad they are, can be saved?” you finally asked.

“It’s one of the reasons why I don’t kill,” he said, “People change. It’s just a matter of the help they get.”

“Even Joker?” you scoffed.

“Even Joker,” he nodded, “Though, I’ve stopped myself from killing him mainly due to selfish reasons. But I do believe that there is a way to cure him. We just haven’t found it yet.”

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 23

I was almost surprised by the ease that Billy moved through the country club dining room, almost but I recalled that he’d bribed one of the waiters before the auction so he’d clearly been inside the building before. The confidence radiating off of him, even as the maitre d’ gave him a look of disgust at his lack of coat and tie, well he had A coat, just not what the regular diners would have worn, Billy’s smile held. He shook his head when offered one of the ‘just in case’ options that the snooty host suggested.

“Veronica’s parents have seen me before, just like this, I’d rather not play pretend,” a curt nod, and the man sniffed at the rebuke. “If it makes your panties unbunch,” he leaned closer, forcing the other man to lean back, “we probably ain’t gonna be here for long. Prior engagement, and whatnot.” I was biting my lip, the maitre d’ looked like he was praying for the likelihood of us turning around and leaving NOW, but seeing Billy unmoving, he shut his eyes to ask for strength instead. And then he opened them, straightened his back further and stalked to the table my parents sat waiting for us at.

As we followed, I whispered that I was confused. When Billy looked down at me, our progress not pausing, I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes and said he said he wasn’t interested in playacting, which made him shrug. “I guess I’m confused because you promised me a fling with ‘bad cop’ and now you’re saying you don’t want to,” biting my pouting lip, I was rewarded with the flare of his nostrils and the heat of his hand on my lower back as he leaned closer to me.

“Not gonna put on a fucking act for the parents, Veronica, but when we get to the house?” His voice, just as quiet as mine was a rough growl. “All bets are off.”

Shit. Maybe teasing him backfired. I expected him to be as undone by the idea of dessert as I was, and yet he looked as unruffled as ever, and I was twitching with need. Fuck.

My dad stood when we got to the table, my mom stayed seated as her lips thinned at the sight of Billy’s outfit. Too bad, I thought he was gorgeous in his flamboyant shirt, the longer than necessary coat, those damn jeans of his, and his half tied boots. If she really had issues with it, we could always leave. Now. And I’d make sure that he was out of the clearly offensive clothing as soon as my door shut behind us. I considered making that offer as Billy held my chair for me, and when his fingers brushed my bare neck and REALLY wanted to suggest it.

Once Dad and Billy sat, after the host walked away to leave us with our menus, silence reigned. Billy’s hand touched my knee that was bared as my skirt rode up during my sitting down, and I licked my lip to steady the urge to toss the menu and straddle him. Jesus.

“Well?” I broke the silence. Mostly I wanted whatever was coming to come and go. And then Billy and I could go and cum, if you know what I mean? My mom was still eyeing Billy like she was trying to figure out what I could possibly see in him, and I came close to going into incredibly graphic detail of ALL of Billy’s most impressive attributes. Most of them didn’t even involve parts of his body. Dad was looking at his menu with carefully trained indifference.

“The duck sounds delicious,” he offered, and I rolled my eyes. Yes, of course, Dad. Let’s focus on eating Daffy and NOT on the ridiculous reason Mom insisted on dinner. “I think I’ll have that with the-” he literally sat and went over his entire order. All four courses. Including dessert. Shit.

“While that’s riveting,” I deadpanned, I shot a look at my mom. “I’m fairly certain this lovely dinner wasn’t demanded just so we could hear how succulent the duck sounds.” If I thought my mom’s lips were thin when we arrived, I was almost impressed by just how fucking thin they could get. “Well?” Again, this time fully directed at the woman who theoretically pushed me out of her nether regions.

“Honestly, Veronica.” I had to hold back another eye roll, and Billy was helping by applying not so subtle pressure to my knee. “First we’ll order dinner, and then-”

“I’d much rather get whatever issues that caused you to infiltrate Billy’s cell phone number to get out and over with, maybe then I’ll have an appetite for Donald.” Pretty sure I even managed a smile at the end. Maybe I looked pleasant, but I had doubts by the way my mom was clutching the stem of her glass.

Pursing her lips, which made them marginally wider than they had been, my mom studied me. “I had thought that we spent ample time raising you properly, Veronica, but perhaps I was incorrect.” Sweet, disappointment and we’d only sat down moments ago. “The ‘issues’ that forced me to-” she looked like she was sucking a pickle with how distasteful she found having to find out Billy’s contact information. “Returning a phone call or a text message,” how did she manage to make texting sound like signing a pact with Satan? “Shouldn’t be beyond you.”

“Oh, it isn’t beyond me.” I felt oddly relaxed, of course that could have been due to Billy’s fingers sliding up and down my inner thigh. “In fact, today I returned several missed calls and I even managed to text three people. Hell,” Mom’s eyes narrowed as I leaned forward as though sharing a deep dark secret. “I EVEN managed to send a couple emails.” Take that, Mommy Dearest.

“Veronica,” it was my dad, and a glance told me that he was in the running for the most narrow eyes in the family challenge. “You know very well what your mother is saying.”

“I do,” I agreed. Taking a beat to lick my lip again, since Billy’s finger was getting dangerously close to the top of my stockings. “I have to wonder, however, if the two of you understand that not only am I an adult, but I also have complete autonomy. I am actually, by the grace of the country we live in, given full rights to decide who I answer and who I ignore. And that includes the two of you.” I shifted in my chair, letting my legs fall a tiny bit further apart. Even if he was being strangely silent, Billy was giving his own type of support and damned if it wasn’t helping.

The waiter came then, and Dad was firmly locked and loaded with his order. Mom gave hers begrudgingly, then Billy who I was shocked knew what he wanted since I thought he’d been diverted by diverting me. When it was my turn, I flipped open my menu and ordered my own meal being as clear and fast as my three dining companions.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, my mom’s focus returned to me. “And this autonomy that you’re so proud of, you are aware that it comes with a high price.” Ah, my inheritance. I smirked, because once I’d learned this disaster of a face off was coming, I’d done what I was more than capable of doing. I researched. “Are you willing to pay such a heavy fee?” She looked so smug, so sure of her hold over me, that I almost felt sorry for her.

Instead of answering her, I turned to Billy. Leaning closer to him, but letting my voice carry in a stage whisper across the table, I smiled as he played along and tilted his own head closer. “My mom thinks she owns me, all because of the dangling promise of my future inheritance.” Billy’s fingers were still toying with me, but his eyes were locked on mine. “Which is hilarious, since I actually came into the bulk of my money when I turned eighteen, five years after my LAST grandparent died. She forgets that I used part of it to pay for college, a VERY small part of it.” I could see him fighting a laugh. “Not only that,” I leaned closer, wanting so badly to just kiss the living fuck out of him instead of dealing with this nonsense. “But Dad took over my granddad’s company, and he hasn’t added a SINGLE client to it since. I have a feeling,” a glance at my parents showed me they were RIVETED and appalled at the information I’d gathered in preparation for what they assumed would be their heavy handed negotiations. “I’m in better financial state than they are, but they STILL insist on paying for my membership to this fucking hellhole.” I kissed him then, too happy to hold back, because I knew with that parting shot I’d done it. I won.

Billy Butcher didn’t disappoint. Once my lips brushed his, he took over, moving his errant hand to join the other cupping my face and taking the kiss we BOTH wanted, audience be damned. And as our tongues touched, I vaguely heard a throat clearing, but couldn’t have stopped tasting the man I loved if I wanted to, and I truly didn’t want to.

 Our dinner didn’t last much longer. We did ask for our meals to be wrapped up so we could take them with us, after all, I hated the club, but their food was amazing. It took no time to get the beautiful, heavy bag of food, and I didn’t glance at my very angry parents as we walked away. I didn’t blush when Billy’s hand went farther south as we weaved through the tables filled with the snooty assholes that my parents claimed as friends. I didn’t pay attention to the whispers, or the looks, because all I could focus on was getting Billy home and having dessert. Hours and hours of dessert, and then once that craving was satisfied, maybe we’d have dinner.

[lavellens]

about my oc:

Tagged by @rebelvakarian​​, thank u rebel ilysm!!!♥♥♥♥

I decided to do this about one of my Inquisitors, Vesryn! (cause i love him so much like??? my son.) 

I’ll be tagging: @liveinthehills @themalkavians​ @trvelyans​ @lavellane​ @elfgremlin @drthamen @trash-effect and whoever else wants to (& pls tag me cause i would love to read about your bbs uwu)

(I decided to gif this one clip that ive had sitting in a folder for like...months lol)

GENERAL

Name: Vesryn Pavus 

Alias(es): Era’Harel, Inquisitor, Trouble (Varric) 

Gender: Male

Age: 29 at the start of Inquisition, 30 by the end. 32 in Trespasser. (Born 9:12 Dragon) 

Place of birth: The Free Marches 

Spoken languages: Common tongue, Orlesian, knows small Elvish phrases, learning Tevene. 

Sexual orientation: Gay

All Occupations: Hunter in Clan Lavellan until he fled at 18. Notorious assassin based in Orlais pre-Inquisition, and Inquisitor up until disbanding. Currently a figure in the Lucerni to aid in redeeming Tevinter. 

APPEARANCE

Eye color: Pale green

Hair color: White

Height: 5′10″ 

Scars: knife wound (cheek), various small scars from years of combat.

Burns: Small burn on his upper back from when a mage caught him unaware at his flank.

Overweight: No

Underweight: No

FAVORITE

Color: He’s naturally drawn to dark colors, since he spent so much of his life lurking and slipping through the shadows as an assassin. for literally eight years of his life yall. He especially likes the color of the sky on a clear night, completely midnight black. He’s spent many evenings out on his balcony to find some comfort looking at the stars. It made him feel grounded amidst so much chaos. 

Hair color: Much like his favorite colors, he’s inclined toward darker shades, like black or dark brown. (shocker that he noticed Dorian, huh)

Eye color: He doesn’t have a specific preference, but bright, striking eyes do stand out to him, as they would to anyone else. 

Music genre: He enjoys ballroom music and the sound of harps. He warmed up a lot toward tavern songs after becoming Inquisitor, though. His memories of Herald’s Rest and Maryden’s voice are always a source of comfort... and nostalgia. 

Movie genre: N/A

TV show:  N/A

Food: Vesryn loves sweet foods! If there are desserts in Skyhold’s kitchens, you’d better believe he’s going to eat more than he probably should and take a stash up to his quarters for later. If there are a few icing smudges or crumbs on official documents, well... His time in Orlais gave him a much more distinguished palette than what he had with the Dalish, and he’s now a bit of a picky eater because of it. He’ll eat anything if the situation calls for it though, like if he’s venturing away from Skyhold for extended periods. But if anyone knows Vesryn well, they’ll remember to pack extra spices for their dinners at camp (unless you’re okay with hearing at least one snarky comment about blandness).

Butter soup, Fereldan-style stew, any well seasoned meat, cookies, small pastries, sponge cakes, etc

Drink: Naturally, he drinks a lot of water since that’s easiest to come by on the road. He also likes a nice cup of hot tea in the evenings to settle himself before trying to get some semblance of rest. Alcohol wise, he tends to stay away from ale and mead. He mainly drinks wine, preferably the sweeter variety, like Dandelion wine.

Book: He’s not much of a reader, but at the very least, he’ll browse through historical accounts or research certain subjects if he feels he needs to be further educated to better fill his role. He doesn’t want to be at the brunt of political decisions with no former knowledge to go off of. (but then he goes and does things like publicly assassinating Florianne, sigh) 

HAVE THEY

Passed University: N/A

Had sex: Oh, yes.

Had sex in public: Yes

Gotten pregnant (themselves or a partner): Nope

Kissed a boy: Yes

Kissed a girl: Once

Gotten tattoos: No

Gotten piercings: No

Had a broken heart: Yes, though it wasn’t severe. 

Been in love: Yes

Stayed up for more than 24 hours: Yes, many, many times. His anxieties kept him awake at times, or brooding over past decisions that could have played out differently if he had just done this or that. He was also often called upon by his advisors to discuss important matters, and these discussions would often go late into the night. He also had to settle small disputes sometimes. Who says the Inquisitor needs sleep?

ARE THEY

A virgin: No

A cuddler: Not often

A kisser: Yes

Scared easily: nah, it takes a lot to actually make him squirm. One of the biggest things he was afraid of was allowing himself to fall in love, since he doesn’t trust easily. 

Jealous easily: He would have you believe that he isn’t, but deep down, he is. This shocked him, because he had never felt attached enough to anyone to the point where jealousy would even begin to cross his mind. A son of a noble family in Orlais had hired the famous masked “Era’Harel” many times to take out his family’s rivals one by one, and Ves had felt comfortable around him. But the noble showed his true colors early enough that Ves never allowed himself to fully fall. (that whole story is too long for me to fit here)

With Dorian, though... Whenever he would see someone speaking to Dorian suggestively, he didn’t understand what that unpleasant twisting in his gut was, until he did. And man if that wasn’t an oh shit moment for him, whew.

Trustworthy: If he likes you. Just kidding. Sort of. He’s very manipulative, so if he needs to make someone believe that he’s trustworthy, he will. But he is genuinely very trustworthy toward his comrades. He only deceives crude, all around evil people nowadays as political maneuvers. (Turns out, there are a lot of those in Tevinter) 

Dominant: Before becoming Inquisitor, I wouldn’t say he was docile or shy, but he generally kept to himself. If the need arose, he would definitely stand up for himself/fight if necessary, but he preferred to avoid attention. Becoming Inquisitor forced him to change in a lot of ways; it forced him out of his shell since he had to become a leader, for one. (and it also made him a lot kinder, yay friendship) He became a lot more of a dominant personality over the course of Inquisition, and being most in control is now where he’s most comfy.

Submissive: Nowadays, only in bed. ;p

In love: Yes

Single: No

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: Not intentionally, no. He did seriously contemplate amputating his arm himself during Trespasser because the pain was so excruciating, though. 

Thought of suicide: He’s had some lows, but never contemplated ending his life. (he’s got a very, very strong will to survive/push through)

Attempted suicide: No

Wanted to kill someone: Uh..yes. And Pre-Inquisition Vesryn would probably kill them.

Ridden a horse: Yes! He prefers riding harts, though. 

Have/had a job: Hunter, Assassin, Inquisitor, figure in the Lucerni ive said this already i know lol

Have any fears: Falling in love, regret.

FAMILY

Sibling(s): None that he knows of. 

Parents: Both died when he was very young, doesn’t really remember them. He was mainly “raised” by the Dalish, but he didn’t enjoy the lifestyle and generally stuck to himself before abandoning the Clan. 

Children: None.

Pets: He’s never thought much about adopting/caring for his own animals, besides his mount. There was this one chunky cat that would often times raid Skyhold’s pantries, and she would follow Vesryn up to his quarters most of the time. He didn’t really think he cared about her until he realized that he was leaving his doors cracked so she could come and go as she pleased. He named her Chérie, which he’d affectionately been calling her for awhile. Needless to say, he took her to Tevinter. 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND RELATIVITY

It's clearly an abuse of the system, and the latter is not simply a constant fraction of the size it turned out later to be useful in some worldly way. But there are limits to how well this can be done, no matter how small it is. There's no switch inside you that magically flips when you turn a certain age would point into the case and say that they didn't have the courage of their convictions, and that probably doesn't surprise would-be founders. Try a patent search for that phrase and see how many results you get. Fundraising is just a means to an end. The important thing is to be young. But once they get started, interest takes over, and discipline is no longer necessary. The way not to be desperate. What's lame is when they use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. It has fabulous weather, which makes it significantly better than the soul-crushing sprawl of most other American cities.

Drew Houston did work on a problem you have? People who get rich from startups fund new ones. You can't afford the time it takes to talk to all potential investors in parallel and push back on exploding offers with excessively short deadlines, that will almost never happen.1 Both make it harder for new silicon valleys are Boulder and Portland. Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people are telling the designers, Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to stop and fight.2 The most dynamic part of the conversation I'll be forced to come up with will not merely be an inborn trait in humans. You're also surrounded by other people trying to solve: how to have a web-based email service with good spam filtering. The centralizing effect of venture firms is a double one: they cause startups to form around them, and this trend has decades left to run.3 Since a successful startup is going to be entering a market that looks small but which will turn out to be bad.

You can see how great a hold taste is subjective and wanted to kill it once and for all. In either case you let yourself get far downwind of good places to land, your options narrow uncomfortably. Of course, a would-be silicon valley faces an obstacle the original one didn't: it has to grow organically. If you want to do.4 Mark Zuckerberg will never get to bum around a foreign country. There are more and bolder investors in Silicon Valley don't make anything, there's nothing they can be sued for. For Einstein, relativity wasn't a book full of hard ideas, in others they're deliberately written in an obscure way to seem as if they're committing, but which doesn't actually commit them. For example, in preindustrial societies, or how to program computers, or what life was really like in preindustrial societies, or how to program computers, or what constitutes a good dessert, but about whom they feel some misgivings personally. That is certainly true; in fact it will usually be enough to set things rolling. It only spread to places where there was a strong middle class—countries where a private citizen could make a fortune without having it confiscated. Some of the most successful companies we've funded, Octopart, is currently locked in a classic battle of good versus evil. It would be a great problem to have.

Colleges are similar enough that if you can.5 Plenty of people who are really good at lying to tell members of some profession the most common mistakes young founders make is not to try to figure something out. There's no reason to suppose there's any limit to the amount of effort a startup usually puts into a version one, it would be Fred. If you don't know who needs to know something.6 But even then, not immediately. Patents, like police, are involved in many abuses. There are too many dialects of Lisp. But none of the existing solutions are good enough. For nearly all of history the success of your company. You can see this most clearly in New York, recruiting new users and helping existing ones improve their listings. That principle, like the idea that professors should do research as well as money.7 They can teach students about startups?

Hardware startups face an obstacle that software startups don't. At most colleges, it's not surprising we find it funny when a character, even one we like, slips on a banana peel? Occasionally it's obvious from the beginning when there's a path out of an idea? In other words, no one knows who the best programmers are overall. He likes to observe startups for a while at least, tends to require long stretches of uninterrupted time to work. Well, therein lies half the work of essay writing.8 I just gave up. The two-job career. Inexperienced founders read about famous startups doing what was type A fundraising, and decide they should raise money too, since that seems to be how startups work. Colleges are similar enough that if you can't explain your plans concisely, you don't, and that's actually very valuable information.

That was all it took to start successful startups. And who can reasonably expect more of a self fulfilling prophecy than the uphills. The idea of them making startup investments is comic.9 That's how bad the problem has become.10 Fortunately you can also watch real doctors, by volunteering in hospitals. One is that a real essay and the things one has to write in school is that real essays are not exclusively about English literature. Whether cause or effect, this spirit pervaded early universities. Under the present rules, patents are part of the economy always does, in everything from salaries to standards of dress. Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people are telling the designers, Most people who buy SUVs do it to seem manly, not to stop and fight. But she never does.

Fortran isn't good enough at simulations. Interfaces, as Geoffrey James has said, should follow the principle of least astonishment. And what happens to the company during fundraising, growth will slow. I see someone laugh as they read a draft of an essay. The random college kid you talk to investors your m. 7% is the right amount of stock to give him. In the past this has not been a 100% indicator of success if only anything were but much better than random. How do you do? But that test is not as simple as it sounds.11 Understanding all the implications of what was said to them, they had the luxury of curiosity they rediscovered what we call the classics. And open and good. As usual, by Demo Day about half the startups were doing something significantly different than they started with.

Notes

Selina Tobaccowala stopped to think about, and the cost of writing software. This is an acceptable excuse, but they seem like I overstated the case. We Getting a Divorce? The company may not be led by a central authority according to certain somewhat depressing rules many of the reasons startups are competitive like running, not the primary cause.

I know it's a significant number. They thought I was writing this.

The variation in productivity is the new top story. The Roman commander specifically ordered that he could accept it.

The real decline seems to them.

I was living in a series. There are titles between associate and partner, which can vary a lot of time on, cook up a solution, and I bicycled to University Ave in Palo Alto, but have no idea whether this happens it will seem dumb in 100 years ago. Startups that don't scale is to get users to observe—e. We didn't know ourselves which VC firms.

And the reason this subject is so contentious is that they can get cheap plane tickets, but suburbs are so intellectually dishonest in that so many trade publications nominally have a connection with Aristotle, but Joshua Schachter tells me it was not just on the cover story of Business Week, 31 Jan 2005.

Even if the value of their core values is Don't be evil, they could not have gotten away with dropping Java in the Neolithic period. In my current filter, dick has a similar logic, one could argue that the worm might have done all they could imagine needing in their experiences came not with the earlier stage startups, who've already made the decision. There need to, so they'll understand how lucky they are within any given time I know of no counterexamples, though, so they will fund you one day is the way we pitch startup school was that they use the name of a large chunk of this essay talks about the size of the funds we raised was difficult, and that there's no lower bound to its precision. In the early adopters.

It did not help, the higher the walls become. So what ends up happening is that the highest returns, it's easy for small children, with the buyer's picture on the relative weights?

It's a strange feeling of being absorbed by the financial controls of World War II had disappeared in a startup to an associate if you know about a related phenomenon: he found it easier to sell hardware without trying to capture the service revenue as well. Like the Aeneid, Paradise Lost is a cause.

In the thirties his support of the current edition, which are a small amount of stock the VCs should be. Give the founders of failing startups would even be symbiotic, because sometimes artists unconsciously use tricks by imitating art that does.

So much better than Jessica. So it is generally the common stock holders who take the hit.

Thanks to Ming-Hay Luk of the Berkeley CSUA, Paul Kedrosky, Peter Eng, Ed Dumbill, and Chris Dixon for smelling so good.

[justanotherloveaffair]

Hungry (T’Challa x Reader One Shot)

BY @captainsordersfic 

Summary: You have been brought to Wakanda as the King’s personal chef and you find him in your kitchen in the middle of the night. 

Warnings: literally just smut. 

Word Count: 6,539

Author’s Note: ****Posting this on behalf of @captainsordersfic my amazing writer friend. I bow to you. Thanks for ruining me forever. This is exactly the kind of T’Challa fantasy I walked out of the theatre having. 

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @stevesthot, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @wildaboutchrisevans, @fullonfrenzy, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @ljstraightnochaser, @90sinspiredgirl, @maverickabull, @big3gocandykahn, @sarahboseman, @airis-paris14, @tacohead13           ***sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged lol, just ignore.

Another mostly untouched dish sailed across the metal bench in the kitchen as the king’s server returned the dish from the dinner serving.

You sighed and leaned your weight onto one leg, folding your arms across your chest and scowling at the mess of food.

Another rejected meal.

Another plate of food that you had poured your heart and soul into, sacrificed sleep, eating and your downtime to perfect, came back pushed and scattered carelessly across the plate with little more than a few bites taken from any one element.

Realization weighed heavier on you more and more each day that you were failing at your job as the king’s personal chef. In the month that you had been in Wakanda, you had lost count of the number of plates that come back to your kitchen dishevelled but largely uneaten.

You had even taken to tasting the leftovers to see if you sent out something below your usual uncompromising standard. Everything was fine, but nothing got touched. 

You had begun to wonder more than a week ago why you had agreed to take on the one-year contract as the king’s personal chef, and more importantly, why he’d chosen you. And sought you out specifically.

You had made a name for yourself in New York as one of the best and most talented chefs, so when an e-mail came through from the ambassador of Wakanda asking you to take on a job as the king’s chef, you thought it was a phishing email from a distant relative of the Nigerian Prince who needed money.

The difference was that they were offering you money. A lot of it. Like a real lot of it.

After some research on Wakanda, and a talk with some of your peers who told you you’d be a fool to not respond to the offer, you emailed the ambassador back, thinking nothing would come of the correspondence.

The very next night, while the dinner rush was beginning to calm, a strong looking woman in breathtaking armour showed up in your kitchen with two beautiful, but intimidating women wearing matching armour and carrying spears.

You’d barely batted an eye. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to have occurred in a New York kitchen after all.

You looked around wondering if some customers in fancy dress had taken it upon themselves to invite themselves back to the kitchen, half expecting someone to come and escort them out.

When nobody but you seemed to notice them, you approached them.

When the woman introduced herself to you as the general to the king, realization dawned on you that it was all true. The offer, the money, the chance to leave the suffocating bustle of New York and experience a cultural and technological marvel such as Wakanda.

She promised you everything short of the moon and stars if you agreed to take on the one-year secondment.

When you asked the king’s general what kind of food the king liked, she shrugged, which you though was odd, but didn’t read too much into at the time.

“He is not fussy, but he is bored. He has travelled many places and his palate has expanded beyond the traditional offerings of Wakandan cuisine. After much research, the king has chosen you.” She said to you, placing emphasis on the last word as though to illustrate how honoured you should feel that of all the chef’s in the world, he’d chosen you.

You supposed you did feel honoured, but you knew so little about Wakanda and its King that you couldn’t fully appreciate the sentiment. 

Still, your questions were answered with patience and you were promised every resource imaginable in order to carry out your royal duties.  No ingredient would be out of reach, no piece of equipment would be denied, and you would have access to a kitchen that made the one you were standing in look like a civilian’s home setup.

As your conversation went on, you began to feel as though this would be an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up.

You were granted a couple of days to think about the offer and if you agreed, you would need to begin immediately. You had already made up your mind to accept the offer when they left your kitchen, but you took the two days to tie up loose ends and arrange for your restaurant to be taken care of in your absence.

You accepted the offer on Tuesday, and by Thursday you’d arrived in Wakanda.

Now, almost a month in, never having met the king, but knowing you weren’t succeeding to please him, you were at a loss.  You didn’t know what to do.

The king wasn’t eating. At least not anything you had prepared. You were beginning to obsess about it.

You were testing recipes every spare moment, including when you should have been sleeping.

You’d tried every iteration of French Cuisine, Italian, Greek, and Spanish. When they were met with a lukewarm response, you brought it back closer to the King’s home and tried several regional African dishes which were received with even less enthusiasm.

You tried Japanese, Chinese and South-East Asian. British, North American (Native and Modern), South American, and Eastern European cuisines also failed to impress, regardless of being dressed up or dressed down.

They all ended up being boxed and distributed to the king’s staff instead of being eaten by the king himself.

Now as you looked at a plate of Lebanese food that you had prepared with traditional methods, but modernized to be more pleasing to the eye, in its mish-mashed state across the slate plate you’d sent it out on, you lost your temper.

You threw the plate in the industrial style sink, breaking the plate and sending an almighty clang echoing around your vast kitchen. 

You wanted to give up and go home. It was clear that both the king and you had made a mistake in this arrangement though his general assured you you’d been specifically requested.

You didn’t care anymore.  You wanted to go back to your restaurant where you knew you were nailing it, and customers were booking months in advance to come and experience your food.

You started becoming increasingly irate about it until finally, you came to the conclusion that the King of Wakanda must be some kind of spoiled, pampered man-child who would never be pleased with anything you did.

You retired to your quarters for a rest, falling into a much needed but fitful sleep. When you woke up, you felt like you’d been hit by a truck. When the anger subsided, you were left existing in a husk of exhaustion, homesickness and dejectedness.

It was early in the morning, around 2 am when you crawled out of bed and shuffled half clothed towards your kitchen, looking like a boxer who was down for the count, but refused to stay down. You planned on air swinging through this experience until your lack of enthusiasm eventually got you fired or the king’s staff took pity on you and convinced him to send you back home.

As you approached the kitchen, you saw two of the Dora Milaje standing on either side of the entrance.

This was not unusual as the younger sister of the king often came in search of midnight snacks to provide sustenance to her obsessive all-night experimentation sessions.

Thinking nothing of it, you passed between the warriors and crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

The lights were off, but the glow from the fridge illuminated a tall, solid figure wearing little more than a pair of long, silk black pyjama bottoms.

His skin under the harsh, blue light of the refrigerator rippled and pulsed with the movements of his muscles as he scavenged inside the industrial refrigerator.

You stopped and watched as he emerged with a container of passionfruit coulis that you had prepared as part of a dessert that you had come in to try and perfect, turning to find you watching him.

You froze when you saw who it was.

T’Challa. The King of Wakanda and he was breath taking.

Immediately your state of undress had you panicking. You were wearing a tank top with no bra and a pair of Nike running shorts. That was it.

Do I bow? Do I salute? Do I speak or wait to be spoken to? You didn’t know how to react, you’d never even seen him in person, let alone talked to him, so you stood there, still as a tree not moving or talking.

He, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly quite so frazzled by your unexpected crossing of paths. He simply turned, taking the container over to the metal bench and placing it down on the surface beside an array of other containers of things you were working on.

You watched him for just a moment longer, because more than his status, his beauty and the graceful languidness of the way his body moved, his presence was consuming and paralyzing.

You felt bound in place, unable to move as he affixed a plate of food, turning to regard you every now and then as you stood like an idiot watching him.

“You do not sleep either?” He asked you finally and for a few seconds, it took you a moment to work out that he was directing the question at you.

You didn’t know how to respond. What was the right answer?

“I…I…” you began lamely, “I used to.”

He nodded as though he understood, though you doubted very strongly your lack of sleep had a similar cause.

“Me too,” he said simply, his voice tired and grave like he’d not slept in an age.

You remained in place, visualizing yourself turning around and leaving the kitchen to leave the king be, but your body would not respond to follow suit.

Suddenly, King T’Challa stopped what he was doing and turned to you. He gestured with his hand towards the space he was standing in, inviting you to join him.

You peered over your shoulder, where you couldn’t see the Dora Milaje outside the kitchen, but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were there.

You stepped towards him slowly and uncertainly, feeling him watching you, but not able to meet his eyes. You stopped about seven feet away, not daring to get any closer.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time and though it was dark, you could see his expression was one of curiosity laced with something else that you couldn’t put your finger on.

His eyes were sweeping over you until you began to feel naked under his intense scrutiny. You crossed your hands front of you and looked around the room to distract yourself.

“Y/N,” he said, bringing your eyes back to him, “please be at ease. There is no need to be nervous.”

You tried to relax your shoulders, but it was impossible, so you figured if you couldn’t look relaxed, then you could at least make an attempt to sound relaxed.

“I suppose you feel as though you made an error in judgement bringing me here.”

He turned fully to face you then, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“And why do you say that?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and perhaps a touch of offence at the implication that he’d done something wrong.

Seriously, you thought to yourself, though you would never have said that.

“Well, you don’t seem to have...” you paused trying to find a gentle way of expressing your doubts, “taken to my style of food.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes still narrowed as he regarded you with cool authority.

“I am the King of the most powerful and technologically advanced nation on Earth. I do not have the luxury of making errors in judgement,” he said finally, and every cell in your body froze as a rash of fear that you’d offended him broke out all over.

“I’m sorry your—” you stopped, wondering if “majesty” was the correct address, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I did not make a mistake, you are right where I want you to be,” he interrupted, effectively shutting down your ability to function with the assured, confident way he said it.

You couldn’t understand though.  “Then why aren’t you eating my food?” you blurted, allowing more of your frustration and desperation to seep out than you had intended, then quickly tried to right yourself.

T’Challa was silent for another spell, standing with a casual lean, but emanating a kind of energy that was anything but.

You couldn’t help but think how Black Panther like he really was, standing in the dark, prowling around your kitchen and making you feel stalked and unsettled.

“How many hours a day do you spend developing, preparing and cooking your recipes?”

You knew the answer easily.

“I work twenty hours a day. I get four hours of sleep on a couch in my office if I am lucky.”

“And in that time. How much do you actually eat?”

“Well,” you began uncertainly, wondering what he was getting at while coming up with a response, “I taste food all day…but…I guess I don’t often have meals. Not in the traditional sense.”

“You are responsible for one restaurant in New York and yet you seldom do more than merely taste food and work twenty hours a day,” he began, and you saw his point immediately. “How much time do you think I have for the same?”

His response landed like a punch in your gut as you felt your feet slip several rungs from the height of the self-righteous ladder you’d placed yourself on.

He’d not meant it condescendingly, but you were nevertheless humbled. Your eyes lowered to the floor between you.

“Why do you continue to cook? Always choosing to create instead of sleep? What is your motivation, Y/N?”

Your name from his lips caused a reaction in your body that you immediately worked to suppress. 

Once again, your response required no thought. “Food gives pleasure…I like to please.”

You watched as his lips pulled into a scarce smile, his cheekbones sharpening attractively as he regarded you like your response pleased him.

“It’s true that I have not had the luxury of a full meal since you have arrived in Wakanda, for which I am regretful. But I assure you that you have succeeded in giving me pleasure,” he responded in such a way that made you wonder if you were talking about food anymore.

Your body tensed, his gaze on you giving you every reason to believe it was a possibility and you started to panic internally.

You were being seduced by one of the world’s most powerful men.

Every outcome, ranging from whimsical fairy tale, to a nightmare of a life lived out for the rest of your days in servitude to a madman went through your mind.

You didn’t know him, and yet your body was responding to him and his words as though you knew each other very intimately.

“For example,” he said turning slightly to his right and collecting the container of passionfruit coulis from the kitchen bench, “were I not called away to tend to an urgent matter involving hostages, I would have licked clean the smear of this that lay on the plate beneath the dessert you prepared for me this evening,” he said bringing the container as he walked towards you, causing heat to rush all around your body in a cyclonic, swirling torrent.

“Passionfruit is my very favourite fruit.”

It was abundantly clear to you that he was not talking about passionfruit.

He dipped his finger into the container and covered the tip in coulis, before bringing it to his lips to suck off the sharp, slightly sweet sauce.

Your eyes were transfixed, watching as his finger pressed to his tongue before his beautiful, full lips closed around his finger.

You knew the pace of your breathing had changed, but you couldn’t regulate it. You knew where this was going, you just didn’t know if you should run a mile or stay and…

“It is very good, but it is missing something.”

Your eyes snapped to his.

Saying your food was “missing something”, to you, was akin to you having underestimated his kingly responsibilities and you bristled at the implication.

Before you could defend your passionfruit coulis, he covered his finger again and held it to your lips.

“Here,” he said softly, and you hesitated.

When the moment started to drag on for too long, you averted your eyes from his, trying to make the moment feel less intimate as you opened your mouth and tentatively took as restrained a taste from his finger as you could.

Your body felt anything but collected as the sourness of the passionfruit made your mouth instantly water, but in the background was the taste of his skin, and when he removed his finger he brushed it across your bottom lip, leaving a trail of coulis there.

The moment seemed to build and culminate to the instant where he leaned down towards you and smoothly and confidently took your bottom lip into his mouth and sucked away the passionfruit sauce.

You made a sound. Not of protest but of pleasure and then forced yourself back, placing your hand over your mouth.

You looked over your shoulder where you knew the Dora Milaje were standing on guard, but then you felt his hand at your cheek, turning you to look at him.

He peered down at you, his eyes soulful, almost pleading, but you knew he didn’t need to plead. 

He could take.

You were on edge from the lingering taste of him in your mouth and faint tingle left behind from the contact. You could be knocked over with a feather.

He regarded you carefully, gaging your reticence. When your eyes lowered to his lips, it was all he needed, and he once again leaned down to you, but you turned your head back towards the hallway.

“You do not need to concern yourself with them, they have been dismissed. We are alone.”

How? When? you wondered confused as you turned to look up at him again.

Then, for the first time, he smiled, lowering his chin and raising his eyebrows in a playful expression that did not befit a king, but was powerfully disarming nonetheless.

“I think I found the missing element from your passionfruit coulis.”

His hand that had warmed your cheek, lowered and hooked around your waist pulling you up against his body and your hands raised to his chest instinctively. The planes of his pectorals were hard under your hands and you gasped as you watched your breasts press and flatten against him.

He lay the container of coulis on the bench next to you and pressed his large, strong palms against your barely covered ass, squeezing the handfuls of flesh and pressing you tightly to where the thin layer of his silken pyjamas hid none of the stirring that was going on beneath them.

Your cheeks heated at the swell of his developing erection. You felt helpless in his hold, yet powerful at the same time from his response to you.

With one step backwards, he pressed you against the industrial stainless-steel refrigerator and you gasped at the shock of the cold steel on your warm back.

His hands came away from your ass and with a swift, hasty tug, your shorts were around your thighs and you marched in place to get them to slide down the rest of your legs, having no hope of getting him to back off enough for you to lean forwards and use your hands to do it. The fates were in your favour as you felt the slide of the nylon shorts down your thighs, calves and then ankles.

As his hands gathered the hem of your tank top, your mind went wild.

You were being undressed by a King. You were going to have sex with the famed Black Panther.

Was it a one-night stand? You didn’t mind, you were too far in now to even contemplate not taking what you could get of him.

His body felt like hot granite against you and you couldn’t help but think how a statue of this man should replace the David statue in Italy.

This was the benchmark. This should be the standard. The yardstick by which all other men should be measured, and you wanted him. You needed him, now.

Suddenly you were naked, and all he had to do was slightly flex his arms and you were in the air, pressed against the fridge, with his hands underneath your thighs.

He reached to the right and took the container of coulis, tipping it carefully towards your neck.

You felt the cool, sticky liquid make contact with you, pouring onto your naked skin. It slid down your neck and over your chest, and he moved the container to ensure your breasts also got covered in the sticky, bright yellow syrup.

He hastily discarded the container and then his mouth was on your neck, sucking, licking and moaning as he hungrily cleaned you off.

You closed your eyes, willing away any distant thoughts cautioning you against what was happening right there and then. His silken tongue was all you cared about as you gripped his shoulders, feeling heat and a delicious ache you’d all but forgotten forming between your legs.

He was devouring you, coulis transferring onto his skin from yours and you had to restrain yourself from trying to contort your upper body to reach down and taste him in return.

You’d have to wait for your turn.

His mouth was inching down your chest and you braced as he began kissing, licking and nibbling down over the curve of your breast, towards your nipple.

Oh God, you thought as you felt his mouth approaching the hard tip at the centre of your breast. Your mouth opened, and you gasped as his tongue flickered over the sensitive bud, your body bracing and pushing instinctively away as your nails dug into his shoulders.

You couldn’t get away if you tried. His strength was equal parts alarming and arousing as he held you in place with almost no effort.

Your hand came to the back of his head as your hips instinctively pressed forwards, feeling the long ridge of hot, hard flesh beneath the surface of his pyjamas. Your hands raced for the waistband and you shoved them down his hips, anxious to be given unfettered access to him, skin to skin.

You were rewarded as his cock came to rest right against the seam of soft, slippery flesh between your legs and pressed there while he continued to lick you clean of passionfruit.

You began to crave his mouth, licking your own lips for traces he’d left earlier but being left wanting. 

You cupped his jaw and angled his face upwards and he pulled away reluctantly with your nipple between his teeth.

You arched into him and he let go, allowing you to guide him to your mouth where you met in a deeply ravenous, searching kiss. You moaned as your tongues slid around one another, hungry for each other like the two starved people you were.

You could taste passionfruit and lust and you never wanted it to end, unable to stop the pleasured sounds from sailing out as he drank them down greedily and returned them back to you.

You were dangerously hot and becoming slippery in his grasp though you had no fear of him dropping you. He was too commanding and in control for such clumsy earthly fumblings.

You smiled when you felt his hips flex against you, rubbing his cock against your warm, wet centre, searching for relief from the ache he was undoubtedly experiencing.

You immediately became overcome with the need to become better acquainted with his kingly cock.

You unclasped your legs from around his waist and let yourself slide naturally down his body until you landed gently of the pads of your feet, pulling your mouth out of reach from his. 

You smiled and placed your hands on his pectorals again, bringing your lips and tongue to his chest where the coulis had rubbed off onto him, tasting the spiky, sour fruit against the warmth and salt of his dewy skin. You felt his hands come to the back of your head and hold you there as you licked all around and slowly worked your way down his chest.

He made a sound when he realised where you were going, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall back towards the ceiling.

You were anxious to reach your final destination, but you forced yourself to take it slow, enjoying the journey down the line of his hard stomach, over the undulating planes of his abs and the retreating line of his pelvis where you came to your knees and followed the veins that fanned out there with the tip of your tongue.

He was so hard and thick, and the extent of his arousal was apparent from the way his perfect, beautiful, tempting tower of a shaft stood upright and proud despite its impressive size and weight.

You had never been tempted by any food as much as you were tempted by being face to face with King T’Challa’s cock right then.

You closed your eyes and pressed a soft, slow, open mouthed kiss against the tip and he immediately groaned at the contact. You did it again, this time pressing your tongue to the flesh there before closing your lips over the edge of the crown of his cock, feeling his whole body respond to what you were doing.

Your hand instinctively came up to curve around the base of his shaft and hold him in place while you opened your mouth and closed your lips around the entire tip of his hot, hard cock, moaning as you began sucking it slowly, sliding your tongue in a circle around the head.

You were enjoying this with more relish than any meal you’d ever eaten and with more pride than anything you had ever created.

His body was responding in waves as his hips moved restlessly while you slowly worked him deeper into your mouth.

You wanted to give him permission to fuck your mouth, but weren’t sure how to make such a request eloquent enough to deliver to a King. You couldn’t forget, no matter how intimately you were engaged that you were in the company of royalty.

You cupped his balls in your hand and closed your fingers around them, squeezing gently and then loosening your grip while you slid your mouth in a rhythmic glide up and down his cock.

“You must stop now,” he commanded, his voice strained and breathless and you obeyed him, albeit reluctantly. You could have given that cock head all night, never waning in enthusiasm for it.

His hands gripped your upper arms, once again shocking you with his strength by not only pulling you to your feet, but off them, and you gasped as you flew weightlessly through the air and came down hard against one of the stainless-steel benches.

You yelped from the shock of the cold metal on your ass but had no time to adjust as he hooked his hands behind your knees and yanked you hard to edge of the bench.

Your thighs spread before him and he placed a hand at your sternum, pushing you gently until you were laid out flat on your back. You looked down the line of your own body and watched as he took your ankles and lifted your legs so that your feet were resting on the edge of the bench.

Then he took his cock in one hand and began to stroke himself while he leaned over and covered your pussy with his mouth.

“Oh God! Oh God!” you cried out, arching up off the bench at the contact of his tongue and lips between your legs. 

He was growling while he licked, sucked and used his free hand to rub every surface of your pussy and the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the protective folds of flesh.

Your hips began to lift towards his face, grinding a rhythm against his tongue while he sucked around your most sensitive place. You pressed your hands to the back of his head, only distantly wondering with irony if that was allowed or inappropriate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you felt the coiling heat between your legs drawing inwards and making your whole body tense.

You imagined him stroking himself, because you couldn’t see it happening from the position you were in and it only made you ache more as you moaned and writhed beneath him. He lapped at you greedily, and you could see the sheen of your arousal glistening on his lips and through his beard.

Then you felt the press of his fingers at your opening and your feet lifted off the bench welcoming the entry of any part of him.

Two fingers slid inside, slowly and he stopped licking you when he felt the press of your resistive walls around his fingers even though you were wildly aroused.

“Oh, so tight,” he whispered, and you knew what he was thinking, and it wasn’t about his fingers.

He brought his mouth back to your clit and slowly began working his fingers in and out of your pussy, moaning as your hips rolled up and down in time with his touch.

You opened your eyes and saw the sheen that had formed along the beautiful curve of his back, watching as the muscles there gathered and pulsated with his smooth movements and you felt yourself getting close to coming.

“Don’t stop, please,” you begged mindless with the desperation to climax, writhing beneath him until you were so close you began bucking against his mouth.

You were one lick away from orgasm when he pulled his fingers and mouth away from you, and you were about to voice your displeasure when he took himself by the base of his cock and guided it to your entrance.

The tip slipped tentatively between your folds where he slid it up and down, alternating between massaging your clit and teasing you with a slight press of his head at your entrance.

You couldn’t decide which you wanted more, so you grabbed for him restlessly, only just able to grab his hips.

“We need to be careful Y/N,” you heard him rasp, as he drew his tip in a circle around your clit.

“I’m on birth control,” you assured him which made his body jerk with a breathless laugh.

“Western medicines are not strong enough to protect against the genetically superior strength of the Black Panther,” he explained, “I won’t risk impregnating you, so I will need to finish…elsewhere,” he said, his words making your mind explode and your body bubble over.

“Wherever you want, my King,” you murmured unsure if the address was appropriate, but it felt natural to say and his body reacted positively to it as he smiled down at you pleased.

Suddenly you felt him press forwards with his hips, and your entrance was immediately stretched, just from the head of his cock. You gasped and braced yourself as he halted his movement for a moment, giving you time to adjust.

Reaching down between you, you took his shaft in your hands and guided his pace. He was too big to push inside all at once and you needed time to force your muscles to relax so you could accommodate him.

He was patient and stroked your thighs gently while he waited for you to inch him inside slowly.

He was only half way in when you requested that he slowly thrust in and out to loosen you up. “Please fuck me slowly.”

He pressed his fingers into the crease of your thighs, holding you in place as he withdrew his hips a couple of inches and then slid back in slowly. His brow was laced with sweat and he bit his lip as he fought against the urge to go deeper than you were ready for.

He groaned with effort as he worked the first half of his shaft in and out of your tight pussy and you reached down between you to massage your clit while he did it, doing everything you could think of to force your body to relax.

Slowly, and through the grace of his patience, you felt your walls begin to yield. He smiled as he felt it too, watching as more of his cock slipped inside and came out glistening, coated with your arousal which aided his descent deep inside your throbbing pussy.

When he finally made it all the way inside and his balls were pressed right up against your inner thighs and ass, he groaned with satisfaction and you sighed with relief, feeling him pressed so deep inside that you imagined his shaft behind your belly.

He leaned forwards over you, his spine curving downwards until his chest was pressed to yours as his hands guided your legs to come around his back. When your ankles were locked around him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as his hands gripped your sides.

He stared into your eyes and it was overwhelming and somehow more intimate than that fact that he was buried balls deep inside your pussy.

He kissed you then, soft and adoring and once again it felt like too much.

You clenched around him and he closed his eyes, his lips hovering over yours.

“This was the kind of pleasure I needed. This is what I have been searching for.”

His breath was intoxicating, and you felt heat springing to your eyes, realising that this mighty king in your arms was not starving of food, but intimacy.

A rush of empathy and a sense of duty flooded your body then as you lifted your head and kissed him until his body relaxed against yours.

You rolled your hips upwards against him, eliciting a soft moan from his lips.

“Let me feed you my king,” you whispered on his lips and lifted your hips again, “let me give you pleasure and fill you the way you’re filling me.”

His body began to move involuntarily, like he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. “Yes, my king,” you moaned, your voice tight from the feeling of fullness inside you as he began slowly rocking in and out of your body, “yes, yes like that,” you whimpered, feeling his movement coming firmer and more fully formed as you gripped each other tightly.

Slickness coated your thighs as your arousal overflowed and between moans of pleasure from the press of him deep from within you, you continued to murmur whispers of pleasure and encouragement.

Your hands roamed, searching for purchase along his back and shoulders, feeling the tightness of his muscles working beneath the palms of your hands.

You clawed as he began thrusting with enough force to make the steel bench buckle under your back, but neither of you could focus on the structural integrity of the bench he was fucking you on right now.

You already felt like you were falling through the floor, so you supposed it wouldn’t matter if you actually did.

Over his shoulder you relished the sight of his strong back twisting and working while he fucked you. The visual of it, sparking a fire deep inside where his cock was buried, and you felt your body start winding tightly inwards towards it’s inevitable release.

“Oh God, T’Challa, I’m close, I’m going to come,” you announced grasping his shoulders and anchoring your nails into his flesh as he fucked you relentlessly.

He was working on heading off his own release and his face clenched with effort as he bucked up into you, hard and commandingly.

“Now, please. You must—” he begged as you immediately sailed right over the edge and came hard while he pounded away, the steel surface of the bench warping beneath your back as you arched upwards towards him while your entire body reeled from the force of the climax he’d given you.

The room filled with the sounds of your cries and his groans of effort until finally, he pulled out of you and took himself in his hands, jerking his length while hot spurts of his come sprayed out onto your outer pussy, thighs and stomach.

The sounds he made were primal and animal as you rubbed your clit chasing the high of your orgasm while his body seized over yours in the throes of his own.

It was erotic and consuming and when your orgasm abated, and your clit became too sensitive to touch, you drew your fingers through the streaks of pearlescent wetness on your body, unable to suppress the satisfied smile on your face as you rubbed it into your skin and then brought to your lips to taste as he watched.

You moaned at the flavour of salt and sex and closed your eyes as he hovered over you while you tried to catch your breath.

When you could finally move, T’Challa pulled you upright into a sitting position and you were immediately aware of the state of your appearance. Your hair was wild and dishevelled and you were covered in a sticky cocktail of passionfruit, sugar, sex and sweat.

“I’m a mess,” you commented looking down at yourself as you felt his hands come to rest on your thighs.

“I have never been more tempted,” he said lustfully, pressing his lips to your neck and you closed your eyes and sighed.

He drew backwards and looked in your eyes.

“Come. Spend the night in the King’s quarters with me.”

It was a weighted request that you were not naïve enough to fail to see that you needed to consider this request before mindlessly responding.

Reading the cloud of hesitance come over your face, he pressed his palm to your cheek, stilling your whirring mind.

“I only had a taste. I need so much more.”

Well Goddamn, how am I supposed to say no to that? you wondered, unsure if it was wise to push aside all the practicalities of getting tangled up with a King and all that it entailed.

As you looked into his eyes and admired the impossible curl of his eyelashes though, you didn’t have enough fight in you to deny him.

“What will everyone think if they see me in your quarters?”

“Their job is not to think, it is to serve their King,” he replied, reminding you once again with the firmness in his tone that his wishes were not to be questioned and were the only ones that ultimately mattered in Wakanda.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at you and he lowered his chin.

“Will you accompany me?”

You leaned forwards to hover your lips over his and whispered, “As you wish, my King.”

[thiefcat-niao]

Ending the Session (Chapter 2)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!   Characters/Ships: Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou Bakura); Ryou Bakura, Thief King Bakura, Atem, Yugi Mutuo, Zorc Necrophades Rating: T Length: Chapter 2 / 3; 2400 words

Summary:

Into Ryou’s lonely apartment comes a spirit, an ancient power that speaks and manifests through the Ouija board kept beneath the bed. It calls itself Tou, and claims to be human. Ryou believes.

Read on AO3  Previous Chapter – Next Chapter (Coming Soon~)

Chapter Two: A King of Thieves 

For nearly a week, Ryou spoke to the spirit daily—sometimes twice daily. Yugi commented that Ryou seemed happier, when they met for coffee. Ryou shrugged off the comment, mumbling some half-truth about doing well in his classes. In reality, his homework hadn't been getting done with quite the level of diligence he usually held himself to.

Ryou hadn't learned much about how the spirit, Tou, had lived, but it didn't much matter. He had learned, in his estimation, many far more important things. Tou was pragmatic, for instance, and jaded, but had an unexpectedly lively sense of humor. At first Ryou had struggled to detect the spirit's jokes, through the toneless board. But he'd also grown far more attuned to the feel of Tou's presence, in his apartment, and fancied that he could sense Tou's general emotional state.

It worried Ryou that the spirit would grow suddenly tense, at times; would flicker with what appeared to be anxiety, or at least agitation, and usually request and end to the session. While Tou always offered fatigue as the explanation—and sometimes it was; Ryou could feel the weight of the spirit's exhaustion—those times were different. Ryou wondered what could cause a spirit like Tou to feel that way, and decided he had no basis with which to even form a hypothesis.

"i know whats keeping me here..." Tou had said, "and its not a thing you can help me deal with..." Ryou wished that that weren't true, but accepted it nevertheless, and so didn't pry.

Ryou stood, one evening, at the stove, preparing diner. The apartment was quiet. He was looking forward to speaking to Tou, later, but for the moment was quite enraptured in his cooking. The sizzling strips of meat made a pleasant crackling, and Ryou hummed along with the sound. They filled the apartment, too, with a heady aroma of meat and herbs, and Ryou bent in over the stove to assess whether or not he needed to add more of any particular seasoning before checking his rice on the rear burner.

The pepper grinder, on the far side of the counter, struck the ground with a jarring crash, and Ryou jumped. He looked around; heard nothing, save for the sizzling of beef in the pan. He glanced down at the pepper, rolling pensively across the floor.

"Tou...?"

The pepper grinder picked up speed suddenly—bumped into Ryou's foot. He smiled.

"Give me a second, okay?" Turning back to the stove, he lowered the heat; checked his rice again, and then scampered from the room. When he returned, he had the Ouija board tucked under his arm. He placed it beside the bloodied cutting board on his counter and opened it.

"Hello, Tou!"

"your dinner smells maddeningly good...” was the immediate reply, and Ryou chuckled.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"its important...” The pointer moved rapidly, a challenge to read, even for someone as practiced as Ryou. "youre a really good cook...”

"I didn't realize you could smell."

"i can hear and see and smell... i just cant touch or taste... no body yknow..."

"Fair enough."

"i want some of your dinner so badly i could die..."

"I wish you could join me," Ryou said, honestly.

There was a pause, and Ryou tilted his head; waited patiently. He could tell that the spirit hadn't left.

"thanks for talking to me...”

"Of course!" Ryou said, surprised. "I'm happy you want to talk to me, too!"

"its not so common for humans to contact us... not so common for them to be so open either... usually they get freaked out the first time they manage to make contact and then never do it again and usually theyre these stupid kids drunk or just real jerks not the likable type at all...

It was a long, rambling message, and Ryou waited for the pointer to still. Then he said, "I've used the board a lot. I've gotten responses, before, but never a spirit who's come back more than once or twice, let alone actually initiated the contact. It's really nice!"

Again, there was a pause, and when the pointer moved it did so rather slowly. "how do you know im not a bad spirit...”

"I don't, I guess, not for sure. But I don't think you are."

"when i told you i was called tou that was a bit of a lie... half a lie...”

"Oh?" Ryou tilted his head; waited for the spirit to continue.

"i was called touzokuo... king of thieves...”

"Oh. That's a cool title."

"cool you say cool...” The pointer moved so fast it almost jarred Ryou's hand free, and he jumped. "hahahahahaha... youre weird you know that... king of thieves is what they call a bad guy... i was a bad guy when i was alive...”

"That doesn't mean you're a bad spirit, now that you're not alive," Ryou said patiently, and the pointer fell still. There was the faint smell of something beginning to burn.

"youre a kind person to say that... but you should be careful... i had quite a reputation as not only a thief... but a killer..."

"I don't sense any blood-lust from you now, though," Ryou said, and the spirit was silent. "You aren't a bad spirit. I may not have any way to know, but I'm sure of it."

The pointer stayed still, for another moment, and then moved toward "goodbye." Ryou hurried to ask another question before it got there.

"What was your favorite food, when you were alive?!" he blurted—the first thing that came to his mind. To his relief, the pointer stilled.

"roast pig..." was the slow response, after a beat. Ryou smiled, relieved.

"Really? I'm more of a dessert person, myself, but savory foods can be really good. Especially when you're hungry."

"aha... thats very true..."

"Were you hungry, a lot? Is that why you became a thief?"

"dont try to make excuses for what i just told you..."

"I'm not," Ryou huffed, a bit indignant. "I just want to know you better. I want to understand you."

"i was hungry..." the thief said, after a moment. "i was angry too... i wanted to get back at the whole world..."

Ryou considered that, then said, "I wish you could join me, for supper."

"your foods starting to burn... you should get that... itd be tragic to ruin it..."

Ryou nodded, but as he went to leave the board, some near-physical force held his hand to the pointer.

"r-y-o-u" the spirit spelled out, with a force that surprised the human boy. "end the session... never leave without saying goodbye... youve used the board enough to know that..."

Ryou hesitated, then nodded. "Sorry. You're right, of course... Goodbye, Tou."

And the pointer, in response, moved to, "goodbye".

... ... ...

Ryou stifled a yawn; popped a piece for chocolate into his mouth, and took a swallow of coffee. The apartment felt unusually empty—devoid, in a rare moment, of spirits. And, though he knew he should sleep, Ryou had to take the opportunity to do research while he had the apartment to himself. So there he sat, at his desk, the light of the computer screen tinting his white hair light blue.

"King of Thieves... Thief King... Touzokuo..."

So far, he hadn't found any historical figures matching those titles, but they were sufficiently vague enough to render standard search engines all but useless.

It was three in the morning; Ryou took another sip of his coffee.

'Didn't he say... wait, that garbled message...'

Scrabbling through some papers beneath his bed, Ryou found the notebook he'd had during his first conversation with the spirit that called itself Touzokuo. He returned to his desk, then looked at the word that hadn't made any sense, at the time; the word he'd assumed to be some sort of spiritual typo: nedjem.

Ryou ate another piece of candy; it had a pressed brown sugar center inside of milk chocolate, and he let it melt in his mouth, feeling the graininess as he rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He typed "nedjem" into the computer, and hit enter.

At first, nothing interesting showed up—the search engine tried to autocorrect his query to needed. So he tried "meaning of word nedjem," and hit enter once again.

A... carob pod...?

Ryou's eyes widened slightly as he stared, surprised, at the hieroglyph that had appeared on his screen. He clicked on the first result, and read aloud, "Ancient Egyptian hieroglyph signifying 'sweet,' represented visually by a carob pod and thought to be said as 'nedjem.' One instance documents a doubling of the symbol, presumably read 'nedjemnedjem,' to indicate a pleasing concubine."

Ryou took a deep breath; tasted the sugar thick on his tongue, and took a drink of coffee to wash it down.

Ancient... Egypt...

It made sense, the more he thought about it. Though he'd passed off the spirit's reference to Anubis, Anubis being a fairly well-known symbol of death even in modern times, it made a lot more sense if he considered it as an influence of the spirit's original culture.

So what did I ask? Why "nedjem"?

He had asked what the spirit was called—Tou. He'd asked what the spirit was—h-u-m-a-n. He'd asked if the spirit had made contact with the living before—once or twice.

Ryou ate a marshmallowy piece of candy that got stuck in his teeth, and momentarily distracted himself getting it out with his tongue.

Then, it struck him.

"youre odd... different from others ive talked to..."

"Really? How so?"

"n-e-d-j-e-m"

Ryou's hands flew to his face, and he tried not to read into the odd answer, now that he knew what the long-extinct word meant. After a few more fruitless internet searches, he'd worked himself into enough of a frenzy that the mere thought of sleep was impossible. And, the internet having failed him, he reached for his cell phone and knocked his pencil holder off his desk in the attempt.

... ... ...

"Hnn..." Yugi Mutou raised his head as his cheerful ringtone cut through the silence. He dragged himself to the side of the bed, ignoring the bleary, angry muttering of the man sleeping beside him, and observed the time on the glowing screen—3:47—and the name. "Unh... Ryou-kun...? What is it...?"

"Yugi-kun! Ah, I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

"Ryou-kun, it's almost four in the morning..." Yugi stifled a yawn; listened to his friend squeak and shuffle frantically on the other end of the line.

"I-I'm so sorry! I-I forgot, for a second... haha! I can call back tomorrow, if—"

"Ryou, I'm awake. What's up?" Yugi settled in, arms folded beneath his chin and atop his pillow.

"Ahh—! O-Okay, then... well... has Atem ever mentioned a legendary Thief King, from Ancient Egypt?"

"Thief King?" Yugi echoed, and was startled when his bed-partner bolted suddenly upright. "Atem! What's—?!"

"Who's on the phone, Yugi?"

"Great Ra..." Yugi breathed, and Ryou made a questioning sound. "Hey, Atem just woke up... Do you want to talk to him?"

"Oh Yugi, that would be wonderful! Are you sure he wouldn't mind?"

"Give me the phone, Yugi," Atem commanded, though his eyes were shadowed with sleep and his hair was sticking out to the side, as opposed to his usual vertical spikes.

"He wouldn't mind at all," Yugi told Ryou, and then held out the phone to his boyfriend.

"Oh! Atem! Sorry to bother, at this hour, I just... got all caught up, and—"

"Out with it, Bakura," Atem commanded, and Ryou squeaked. "What's this about the Thief King?"

"I just... well, you're an Egyptologist, after all, and that's where you're from, anyway, so I figured if anyone would know anything about—"

"Where did you hear about the Thief King, though?" Atem demanded, and Ryou swallowed audibly.

"So there is something..."

"Bakura, tell me where you heard that title," Atem said, his voice low and almost threatening. Yugi pulled worriedly at the sleeve of his nightshirt.

"I just... I mean... a friend. A friend mentioned him." Ryou's voice was shaking.

"Don't lie to me, Ryou Bakura."

"Atem, don't scare him," Yugi implored. "You know how he is..."

"O-Okay..." Ryou began hesitantly. "Y-You know how I like to play around with Ouija boards, occasionally...?"

Atem scrambled up; stumbled from the bed, much to Yugi's increased distress, and cursed as he tripped over a discarded piece of clothing. "You didn't. Tell me you're not going to say what I think you're about to say, Bakura. Tell me you don't have the spirit of the Thief King in your apartment."

"Well, not at this exact moment, but—"

"Great Ra!" Atem fumbled with his coat; threw it on over his nightclothes as Yugi began to follow him from the bed. "Okay, Bakura, I need you to leave that apartment immediately, do you understand? I'm coming to get you."

"Wait, what?!" Ryou spluttered, and Yugi called out his boyfriend's name in confusion. Atem ignored them both.

"This—this is why Ouija boards have a bad reputation, Ryou," Atem continued, hopping into his shoes. "You've gone and summoned something bad, now, something very bad, and—"

"Tou wouldn't hurt me!" Ryou objected suddenly, and Atem cursed.

"Listen to me, Ryou—the so-called Thief King is a demon-god. You know I was a pharaoh in a previous life, don't you? I lived during the same time as the Thief King."

"You knew him?!"

"I killed him, Bakura, when he tried to kill me! After he—!" Atem cut himself off; muttered a curse. "He isn't human—he's a demon, as I said, a demon called Zorc, who took on human form to kill the pharaoh—to kill me, and those I loved."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Ryou objected.

"He's deceiving you! He's the best damned liar I've ever met in any lifetime, believe me, and now he's lying to you! I'm coming over, okay? You stay on the phone with me now, and—Bastet!" Atem cursed.

Yugi—a few steps behind him, on the way to the door—yelped. "What?!"

"Little asshole hung up on me!" Atem fumed; handed Yugi his phone. "Try to call him. We're going to his apartment."

"Atem, is he... really in danger...?"

"Not unless he's done something really stupid like opened a portal..." Atem muttered, flinging the door open and flying down the apartment stairs, Yugi on his heals. "Gods... let him be safe... I can't lose another friend... not to that bastard Thief King... not in this lifetime..."