#and like we managed. WE MANAGED. the buffet was never even half empty at any point like yes there was always something that was empty but

[vampmilf]

hold on im still too mad at this one fucking guest to take a nap i need to be a hater for a minute

[flashnthunder]

luztoye end of the world au

(snippet under the cut)

The truck rattles along the empty road like an ant marching along a cracked sidewalk, meandering its way with quiet purpose down an endless path. Joe has the windows rolled down, and the midsummer heat of Georgia buffets them with heavy air. It feels better than trying to drive anywhere with the windows up and wasting even a few ounces of gas on something so trivial as the AC had long since become a thing of the past.

Music plays loud enough to let him lapse into silent thought as he drives. The double standard of the air conditioning lies with the radio. The radio and its attached cassette player neatly tucked under the half-cracked display is always on when George is riding. No amount of scolding and dirty looks ever prevented the inevitably of it getting turned on, and only George had the patience to coax the busted volume knob into working. Right now, Joe is subject to a second playthrough of a well-worn Billy Joel album and a private performance by George in the passenger seat. If he had known the world was going to end when it did, he would have made sure to have had a better selection shoved in his glove box.

Green trees flash by outside the window, and the grass that had turned into a jungle on the roadside almost falls over onto the faded asphalt. The summer peace is only interrupted by George leaning towards him across the bench seat and crooning the chorus with a surprisingly accurate imitation. He’s had more than enough time over the years to really nail it down and never was one to miss a chance to practice. Joe does his best not to smile, but the corner of his mouth must twitch because George dissolves into miming a saxophone with the determination of a man who knows how to crack his audience. Joe shakes his head and lets his fingers drum on the warm paint of the truck door from where his hand hangs out the window. They have another twenty minutes at least before they’ll be back, sparing any stops. As long as they get there before George can rummage through the glove box again, it'll be fine.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts again by a tapping sound on the window behind his head. He glances back, catching sight of Bill with his hand still up to the window to get his attention.

“Open the window for them would’ya?” he shoves at George from where he had halfway squirmed out of his side of the front seat to crowd into Joe. He had only stopped his invasion to avoid having to sit on the busted leather of the middle seat. George cuts off his performance with only mild complaint, reaching to turn the radio down first. The volume knob, predictably, takes some fussing before the sounds of the music finally quiet. He turns to tug the sliding window open, grinning at Bill when he leans forward to yell into the cab.

“Are you trying to break my back here, Joe? Jesus why do I always end up in the bed, one more pothole and you’re gonna get me laid up. How much further we got?” Bill’s scowl grows deeper when they take a curve in the road a little too fast. He grabs the edge of the window to keep from sliding around in the back of the truck.

“Aw wouldn’t want to hurt princesses’ butt back there with no padded seat. We're almost there, maybe fifteen minutes if you stop asking,” Joe eyes him in the crooked rearview mirror. Bill rolls his eyes and swats at George’s head when he laughs.

“Oh I don’t wanna hear nothing about princesses when you got your certified passenger princess up here hogging the front,” Bill says, and George manages to duck away from the second pass at cuffing his ear. He’s forced to retreat in full to his respective side of the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the door.

“I’m in charge of the radio and the map, don’t be mad I’m useful,” George half sing-songs. If Joe wasn’t so bitterly fond of the stupid face he was making, he would have joined Bill in his attempts to smack him. The road curves back into a straightaway, and he urges the truck along. For the sake of not rousting Bill anymore, he avoids the larger potholes that pocket the sides.

“Bullshit you are,” Bill says, leaning further in the back window, but still not getting close enough to George to grab him.

“No, Bullshit is in the back with you, I’m up here,” George snarks, feeling relatively safe from his current position. Malarkey’s head pops up from where he’d been slouched down in the back. He looks distinctly less disgruntled than Bill, but still sporting windswept hair from the journey. Both he and George had lingering pink on their noses and cheeks from being in the sun all day. Joe knows that means George will be looking to go take a nap as soon as they get back. Hopefully, that comes after they get the truck unloaded.

“For the love of it, just get us there in one piece, Joe. I ain’t dying three years after the last real traffic jam because we end falling into a crater on this road here,” Bill says, abandoning George so Malarkey could lean in to hear what they were saying. They’re close enough to town now that the gripping dies down and the music goes back up. He leaves the window open, slowing enough that the buffeting of wind out of the cab isn’t quite as annoying. If he has to sit through more singing, Bill can too for all his bitching.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and the green melts back into a pleasant background whizzing by. The outer fence of town comes into view first, old rusted barbed wire and an even shittier padlock and chain holding the gate closed. He throws the truck into park as they roll up to it and stop. The keyring with the padlock key lays on the dash, having only slid a little since he’d tossed it up there as they left this morning. He’s not sure why he ever expects George to jump up and get it. When he does look over, he’s met with an overly innocent expression and no hint of any intention about grabbing the keys. Joe huffs but swipes the keys off the plastic of the dash without comment and slides out of the truck.

“Not even pretending that he doesn’t got you whipped,” Bill yells from the truck. Joe flips him off without looking behind him. He can hear Malarkey laughing because apparently, all his friends are in on a collective conspiracy to make his life hell. Pulling the chain free, he jerks the gate wide enough to get the truck in before making the three-step journey back to the driver’s side.

“My knight in shining armor, I didn’t want to get my silk dress in the mud,” George says, batting his eyes in exaggerated motions once he’s back in and shifting the truck back into drive. If he had been prone to blushing, his life would be a whole lot worse. He gets by with a dismissive grunt and resolutely ignores the extra heckling from his traveling peanut gallery. He pulls through the gate and turns to jam his hand with the keys still in it out the back window, waving it between Bill and Malarkey.

“Like hell, I’m getting out before we’re back,” Bill says, and any further argument is spared by Malarkey grabbing the keys and jumping over the side of the truck bed to go lock the gate. Joe scans down the fence line and ignores the bickering.

“See Bill, chivalry is alive and well,” George lounges out a little further if at all possible, legs spread and back sliding down against the worn leather seat. In letting down his guard, Bill finally manages to poke him in the ear and George shoots Joe a withering look when he doesn’t fall over himself to defend him.

Malarkey swings back over the tailgate of the truck, his boots landing in the small space between the crates of supplies, “Alright, we’re all good to get going.” He settles back down in his spot near the window next to Bill, and they start moving again. There’s a relatively short distance between the outer fence and the inner one that encamps the buildings in town in some amount of security, and Joe takes the distance slowly. He's in no rush to come careening up to the second gate. Singing and complaining or not, he enjoys getting away from this pocket of their world sometimes. Supply runs were a necessary evil in the eyes of people too scared to poke their heads outside, but to Joe, it teased some level of freedom he missed. George making it his god-given mission to follow along didn't hurt either.

Babe must have been on the watch patrol today because as soon as he hears the truck’s engine, he comes jogging toward the inner gate. He’s got a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and as the truck rolls in he saves the argument of who is getting out again as he pulls the gate open for them. He gives a lazy mock salute, his free hand still curled around the rifle strap. Joe’s mistake is slowing to a near stop, which gives Bill time to vault over the side and land on his feet near Babe. No doubt to gossip about whatever it was they managed to talk about. George groans, head flopping back to give Joe a mournful look about having to unload supplies with three guys instead of four.

[hopelesshawks]

Can I request a Compress x Reader? Babytrapping + Breeding?

Ohhh interesting, of course you can! I rarely write for the villains so this will be fun. You didn’t specify but because baby trapping I did fem!reader. I also just realized you might’ve meant reader baby trapping Compress but I wrote Compress baby trapping reader so I hope that’s what you wanted 😅

The following request contains dark content. Check the warnings before reading

Warnings for vomiting, pregnancy, manipulation, non-violent sexual assault (baby trapping), breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), minor dumbification? (reader is very no thoughts, head empty during the smut), minor size kink, minor pain kink

Three years.

Three years together and yet you never would’ve guessed that your boyfriend is the notorious Mr. Compress of League of Villains infamy.

You first met Atsuhiro while working at a hole in the wall theater company. He came up to you after performing one night and had been so effortlessly charming that you’d instantly been put under his spell. He was more intelligent than all of your exes combined and could make you laugh like no one else could. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall totally and completely for the charming man you met that night.

But all of that came crashing down around you when he came home from a “business trip” with a prosthetic arm and no amount of half-assed excuses about an accident on stage could assuage your suspicions. He managed to dodge a confrontation with you for almost a week before you’d finally put the final pieces together and went to him to demand an explanation.

“You’re a terrorist Atsu!”

“That’s just what the heroes want you to think my love, don’t fall for their propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda it’s just a fact! People have died because of your actions!”

“And how many more have suffered or died because of heroes and the society they created.”

“You’re deflecting. I have always indulged your rants about hero society but this is too far! The man I fell in love with would never stoop to this level!”

Atsuhiro crosses the room to you in two quick strides, cradling your face gently with his hand while you feel the cool metal of his other find your hip, fingers slipping under your shirt.

“I’m still the man you fell in love with (y/n), I can assure you of that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How could that possibly be?”

“Let me show you.”

He pulls you into a gentle kiss, reassuring in its care. As his lips move against yours, gently coaxing them to open so he can deepen the kiss and slip his tongue inside, you struggle to maintain your earlier anger. It’s a distraction and you know it is but it’s hard to resist as he starts to move you both back towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of your clothes and by the time your back hits the plush of your mattress you’re both already naked. His mouth finally releases yours to travel down your body, leaving bruises in his wake as he marks you as his.

“Atsu, wait we should, ah-” you start but he quickly shushes you before licking a long stripe up your waiting sex.

“Just relax Angel, let me take care of you. Let your thoughts drift away,” he all but purrs.

You try to focus on the conversation you know the two of you need to have but it slips from your fingers like grains of sand as he brings one hand to your swollen clit and starts rubbing slow circles. Your hands tighten in the sheets as he draws a low, keening whine out of you. His hazel eyes dance with smug satisfaction as he watches you try and fail to form a coherent thought. He doesn’t let up the pressure on your clit for even a moment as he drops his mouth to your waiting cunt and plunges his tongue inside. Your hand flies down to his curly hair on impulse, tangling in the brown locks and gripping tight. Your nails scratch along his scalp and your tight grip tugs at the roots of his hair but he loves the pain of it, knows it’s a sign he’s doing well as he brings up his free hand to add two fingers inside you as well. After so long together he knows your body just as well as you do and it takes no time at all for him to find that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your climax builds and builds until you finally crash through the peaks of your pleasure, walls fluttering around your lover’s tongue and fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

You’ve barely had time to recover from your orgasm before you can feel his erection pressing at your entrance. “W-wait, Atsu, condom,” you pant, shifting in the bed to reach for the bedside drawer but Atsuhiro stops you. “We don’t need it baby, wanna feel closer to you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your face as he eases you back down to laying flat on the bed. “But what if-” “You’re on birth control right?” he cuts you off. “I mean yea but-” “Then it’ll be fine, you worry too much.”

Any further protests you might’ve had are immediately silenced as a snap of your boyfriend’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. You gasp as your body attempts to adjust to his girth. “You’re taking me so well baby, isn’t this so much better? Feel how close we are. Nothing between us, just as it should be,” he coos and it does feel good, good enough that despite the voice in your head telling you you should be cautious, you only nod and beg for more. The grin Atsuhiro gives you is almost blinding right before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you greedily as he slowly withdraws his hard cock before pushing back inside you again. You whimper and whine into his mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, each thrust more brutal than the last. Eventually he leans back and away from you, shifting your hips so he can plunge himself in deeper, but with his lips no longer occupied with yours he’s free to let his thoughts spill out and into the room:

“Gonna fill you up so well, fuck, my beautiful Angel.”

“You and me forever baby, gonna look so good round with my kids.”

“Taking my cock so well, can’t wait until you’re full of my seed.”

The words wash over you but barely register. There’s no room in your brain left for anything else as Atsuhiro takes over every corner of it. Language becomes a foreign concept to you, barely able to articulate your own pleasure in more than the sinful sounds dripping from your lips, let alone trying to process your boyfriend’s ramblings. His thrusts start getting sloppier as he brings one hand between you both to stroke your clit and push you over the edge with him. “I’m so close angel, I’m so close. Cum with me. Want you to finish with me while I stuff you full of my cum,” he pants and all you can do is nod as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. As you clench harder around him he goes toppling over the edge first, crying out your name as he spills his load inside you. You never would’ve anticipated enjoying it so much but it’s that feeling that sends you over the edge, falling apart around his cock as he finishes filling you with his cum.

He helps you come down from your high with sweet kisses and whispered words of encouragement, but as the haze of lust fades, you start to remember the fight you both were having before. As much as you would like for this to be the kind of thing you can just kiss and make up over, it’s not and you know it’s a conversation that needs to be finished. Looking at your boyfriend as he settles more comfortably on top of you though, you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Sleep is weighing heavy on your eyelids anyway so you resolve yourself to bring it up the next day.

Except the next day ends the same way.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Every time you try to bring back up Atsuhiro’s secret double life as Mr. Compress he manages to distract you just long enough to get you back into bed. At first you tell yourself it’s not a big deal that the conversation’s been delayed a couple days, but then it turns into a week. A week of very hot sex, mind you, but if the existence of Atsuhiro’s double life was a red flag then certainly his insistence on avoiding discussing it is an even larger one. After two weeks you finally resolve yourself to talking to him the next morning over breakfast, no distractions and no avoiding the issue with sex. Cooking helps with your nerves, giving you something to do with your hands and a task to focus on to help you ignore your roiling stomach. You end up making almost an entire breakfast buffet by the time Atsuhiro emerges from your shared bedroom to join you in the kitchen.

He barely has time to tell you good morning before you’re rushing him to the table and setting plates full of food down. You know you have to tread carefully so you use the time you both spend eating to organize your thoughts. This time for sure you’ll talk to him. You finally open your mouth to confront Atsuhiro once and for all but as you feel bile start to crawl up your throat what comes out instead is “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

No sooner have you said the words are you shoving away from the table and rushing into the nearest bathroom. You get to the toilet just in time, fingers clutching the rim of the bowl as you violently eject the contents of your stomach into the water below. It burns your throat coming up and your eyes sting, but a warm, comforting presence is by your side in an instant, one hand coming up to rub your back gently as the other pulls your hair away from your face. Only once your stomach is thoroughly emptied does the heaving finally stop and you’re able to sit back and catch your breath. “Are you ok my love? What’s wrong?” Atsuhiro asks with gentle care as he pulls you close. You shake your head, unsure yourself of what had turned your stomach. Sure, you were nervous to talk to Atsuhiro but not that nervous. It can’t have been something you ate since all you’d had was the breakfast you made and you know everything was cooked properly. You rack your brain for an answer only to go rigid when you start to settle on one.

“Atsu what’s the date?”

“The 22nd baby, why?”

Your blood runs cold.

You’d been so preoccupied with figuring out things with Atsuhiro that you hadn’t even noticed how much time was slipping past but there’s no doubt about it. Your period is two weeks late.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” you whisper. No way in hell you’ll leave this up to a drugstore test. There must be another explanation for your sudden nausea. Sure, you and Atsuhiro had pretty much abandoned condoms. Every time you started to reach for one, he’d remind you how good it felt not to use one the first time and convince you to forgo it again. But you’re on birth control! This isn’t supposed to be possible.

God bless him, Atsuhiro doesn’t press you any further on why exactly you want to go to the doctor instead of trying to find something at home to settle your stomach. He simply helps you off the floor and then grabs the keys to your car so he can drive you to the doctor himself. You’re incredibly grateful that he doesn’t seem to share your nerves. He’s a calming presence next to you as your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

You’d asked Atsuhiro to take a seat without you while you checked into the urgent care. You didn’t want him to hear you describe your symptoms to the nurse waiting there. The kind woman immediately suspects the same thing you do and leads you to the bathroom so you can pee in a cup. She’s sympathetic and reassuring as she tells you to return to the waiting room while the doctor runs the pregnancy test but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. The air in the waiting room feels oppressive and when your name is finally called to go back and see the doctor, Atsuhiro’s hand in yours is probably the only thing that keeps you grounded. You take a seat on the examination table and instead of moving to sit down in one of the chairs in the room, Atsu stays by your side, whispering reassurances into your ear. “Whatever’s going on I’m here for you my love.”

The doctor strides into the room shortly afterwards, greeting you warmly even if somewhat absentmindedly as she moves to the computer to check for your details. She confirms your date of birth and then after scrolling for a bit her eyes finally land on the results of your test. She smiles and your heart sinks. “Well it looks like congratulations are in order, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims, beaming at you. A lump forms in your throat as tears threaten to fall, anxiety making your hands shake as the weight of the situation starts to crash down on you. The doctor misinterprets your reaction and as she leaves the room to get you pamphlets on what to expect and how best to take care of yourself during your pregnancy, her reassuring words that promise you’ll make a great mother are anything but.

As soon as the doctor leaves the room you break, tears cascading down your cheeks as your chest heaves. Atsuhiro pulls you into his embrace, letting you fall apart in his arms as you come to terms with the news. “I’m not ready to be a mom, I can’t do it on my own,” you cry, hands clenching onto his shirt. “I know my love, I know, but you’ll never be alone as long as you have me. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” he assures you, pulling you in even closer.

As you continue to cry into his chest, murmuring hiccuping thank you’s between heaving sobs, Atsuhiro can’t help but smile to himself.

He’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Garaki for the fake birth control pills later.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

[wolken-himmel]

In which (Y/n) takes Ruggie to the Mostro Lounge to buy him some donuts after she convinced Azul to put them on the menu.

It's time to treat the hardworking hyena for some donuts. Spoiling the always-hungry boy is something we all want to do, right?

Request by @pompazu.

"(Y/n), I still have a lot of errands to run..."

Ruggie had been whining and crying for you to let him go ever since you had appeared while he had been picking dandelions around the track field and just dragged him off without any further explanation.

You rolled your eyes once you arrived on the other side of the Octavinelle mirror, your fingers still tightly interlaced with his. He tried to half-heartedly pry your fingers off his hand, but he never succeeded with how you always recaptured it whenever he had an ounce of freedom in view. Eventually, he just gave up his struggles and decided to submit to his fate, which couldn't be that bad anyway if you had such an excited smile on your lips.

"All of that can wait!" you chirped, grinning deviously.

"Why?" he cried out, frustrated that you still wouldn't give him an answer; instead, you continued dragging him towards the Mostro Lounge. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ruggie let out an exasperated groan. He still had so many things to do and so many places to be, and here you were, messing up his schedule like you owned him — alright, maybe you did, but he would never openly admit that to you. Grumbling complaints under his breath, he shot you a glare. "Ugh, this better be worth my time!"

"It is~" you cooed, possessing a certain energy and excitement to your steps — you were practically bouncing and beaming. Your giggles managed to calm down his frustration quite a lot, and it even managed to ease that vicious scowl off his face. "I managed to make Azul put a special item on the menu!"

Ruggie immediately grew excited at your ambiguous words, and a thousand possibilities flooded his mind. If you turned around right now, you would be able to see his excited tail wagging and forth in utter excitement. "Oh? Do you think you could convince him to do an all-you-can-eat buffet?" he asked, his eyes wide in happiness.

A chortle escaped your lips; and yet, you shook your head — much to his disappointment. "No, I don't think so," you replied, laughing your heart out. "I'm not a wizard, after all."

Ruggie exhaled, his eyes in dim in utter disappointment. He lowered his gaze to the floor, and his movement became a little bit less excited and more sluggish. "Aw..." he whined, sobbing in utter sadness. His tail even tucked itself between his legs, and his ears pressed themselves flat against his head.

You bit your lip upon seeing how sad he was; yet, you were sure that your surprise was just as good — if not even better — than a buffet. "But what I made them do is just as amazing!" you cried out as you pushed the door to the establishment open and pulled the reluctant hyena inside.

Your eyes darted around the area, in search for the reserved table that Azul had promised you. Business was quite busy this time of the day, and you had a hard time finding the unoccupied table amidst the crowd of students and waiters. The pressure that Ruggie gave you with his constant whining didn't help at all. But alas, you finally found the designated table for two: Ruggie and you.

"Nothing is as good as a buffet," Ruggie kept on complaining while you pulled him towards the table at the far end of the restaurant.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him down into one of the two empty chairs at your table. "Just you see and watch, Ruggie," you cooed arrogantly, grinning from ear to ear. Once he was situated in his seat, you plopped down in the chair across from him, taking his hand that openly lay on the table to prevent him from escaping back to his duties and errands.

Ruggie huffed in defeat when Jade strode over to your table, a notepad and a pen in his hands. As polite as ever, he smiled down at you, his smile possessing an eerie twinge. "Hello, (Y/n), what can I bring you today?" he asked, his eyes curiously darting back and forth between Ruggie and you; what an interesting combination of land-creatures.

You hummed and turned your gaze to Ruggie, just so you could see his reaction, which you knew would be priceless. "I'd like ten donuts!" you chirped, beginning to laugh when Ruggie's eyes immediately lit up.

"Donuts!?" he screamed out, his tail wagging back and forth in utter excitement at the mentioning of his favourite dessert. His hands shaking, a few whines and desperate cries escaped his dry throat. "Yes, yes, yes! This is an amazing surprise!"

Jade let out a few chuckles, his hair sweeping into his face and covering parts of his eyes. "What's a 'donut'?" he asked while tilting his head to the side innocently. You furrowed your eyebrows in scepticism, knowing he was playing with you — somehow. Staying silent, you watched him with suspicious eyes; eventually, Jade's eyes lit up in feigned realisation. "If you mean those friend round cakes with holes in the middle that we recently out on the menu, I only know them as a 'cake-o-hole'."

A groan escaped your lips and you buried your face in your hands, hissing, "Jade..." The waiter merely chuckled into his fist, grinning at your despair. You narrowed your eyes at him and growled, the stupid and silly name — just how the princess of the sea had named land utensils back then — annoyed you somehow, probably because it was Jade that had corrected you smugly. "Fine, get me ten of those."

"Very well." He scribbled something down onto his notepad before vanishing off into the crowd again, leaving behind an excited hyena boy and a frustrated human girl.

"(Y/n)!" Ruggie cried out, unable to stay in his seat with how much adrenaline pumped through his veins. He had already taken both of your hands into his, squeezing them so tightly that you almost couldn't feel them anymore. An adorable smile had etched itself onto his face, and he was practically beaming. "You're the best!"

"I know~" you cooed, laughing along. "You deserve to be spoiled, Ruggie."

Ruggie seemed taken aback for a little while, his one hand retreating, so that it could hide his blushing face. Letting out an embarrassed yet flattered groan, he shyly whispered, "You're the best girlfriend ever." You giggled at his words and couldn't help but grin. Finally, he removed his hand from his face to flash you a big toothy smile. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your heart beating wildly with how happy he seemed. "Aw, I love you, too," you cooed, your eyes closed in delight. He nodded along vigorously, his tongue almost hanging out a little bit. "Hehe~ I should buy you donuts more often if you're this adorable!"

Ruggie's eyes lit up in utter ecstasy. "Buy me donuts on a daily basis and I'll make sure you'll never have to work again!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his words, how eager he seemed to repay your kindness. Yet, you didn't want him to repay you; this was a gift from you to your hardworking boyfriend, after all! Hand covering your mouth, you laughed your soul out. "Aren't you adorable?" you asked, your eyes soft and warm. "Your tail is wagging—"

A let out a little howl. "I'm just so happy!"

You opened your mouth, about to further tell him about how adorable he was — but you were interrupted by a plate of still warm donuts being slammed onto the middle of the table by none other than another eel waiter. "Here is your order, Mr. Suckerfish Bucchi and Mrs. Shrimpy Bucchi~" Floyd cooed, shooting you two suggestive looks before he walked back to where he came from immediately.

Ruggie immediately let go of your and began working down the treats. "Donuts!"

Meanwhile, you were still thinking hard about what Floyd had called you. Silly laughter spewed from your lips, and you once again repeated to yourself, silent and soft, "Mrs. Shrimpy Bucchi."

[nightingaelic]

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Stare Enough

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 4034

Summary: Bucky's got a new stare. Sam spends all afternoon and most of the evening working up the courage to meet it.

Both Sam and the food are the main attraction at this party and the problem with that situation is that it takes so damn long for one main attraction to get a second to enjoy the other.

He’s grateful—god, is he grateful—for the turnout. Friends, neighbours, the kind of people he and Sarah call family without there being any actual relation by blood, they’ve all shown up. Since the Blip, Sam’s felt like he’s always around, but this feels like a real homecoming. No sadness, nothing bittersweet. It’s a celebration and he’s at the center of it. Him and the food.

At last, Sam’s done the circuit with his plate, spooning creamy salads and grilled vegetables, stacking shellfish pink as a sunrise. There’s a fresh-baked roll perched atop a scoop of sweet potatoes and caramelized onions that smells so fucking warm and mouth-watering he has to resist walking with his nose buried in it. He collects a set of utensils furled in the middle of a paper napkin (courtesy of an efficient assembly line of old ladies, chatting and twisting neat rolls of cutlery), plate bowing into the palm of his other hand, and that’s when his damn phone vibrates in his pocket.

Sam halts and makes a sound of frustration. Nobody’s come to this thing empty-handed, so there are dishes crowding the surface of the tables, no place to set his plate down. His phone vibrates again. A teenager comes up to peruse the spread in front of him and Sam sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.

“Here,” he says heavily, offering up his beautifully arranged and wonderfully fragrant meal. The cob of corn shining with the butter he lovingly smeared over it nearly rolls over the edge. “You’re the luckiest kid in the world.”

Quickly, Sam turns away, sliding out his phone and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t want to witness the boy digging in. His stomach growls as he greets Joaquin Torres.

“Sam,” Torres says. “Uh, I mean, sir. Mr. Captain Am… Captain Wil—”

“Take it easy,” Sam laughs. “You know me, Torres. Don’t get starstruck now.”

“Honestly, I never really got over you being the Falcon. Now that you’re Captain America… Apologies if it takes me a little while to be cool about it.” After a pause—taken while Torres attempts to become cool with Sam being Captain America, Sam assumes—he asks, “You celebrating?”

Not far from where Sam’s standing, there are two little girls singing along to their clapping game. At a table behind them, a trio of elderly gentlemen are arguing over which one of them it was that caught that 50-pound snapper off the dock back in 1978. There’s a sear of meat and fish being rotated onto and off of the grill and, bouncing over everything, music from a speaker someplace.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a broad grin. “Yeah, we are. I’d save you a plate, but I can’t even manage to hang onto my own.”

He doesn’t mention that Torres is responsible for that situation; he’s aware that, besides being a fan, the Lieutenant is a little bit infatuated with him. Sam’s trying to be gentle until the day he can respond to Torres with friendly smack-talk, the way he would Steve or Scott or Bucky. Maybe not exactly like he does with Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Torres cheerfully insists. “I wasn’t calling for that, I just wanted to give you a heads up about something.”

“Alright. Let me just…”

Sam strides away from the heart of the party towards the water, seeking quiet. Kids dart in front of him and that’s nothing unusual, but when he follows them with his gaze, he sees they’re running towards Bucky. Bucky, who has his Vibranium arm extended and two kids dangling off it already, one of whom might be Sam’s nephew. Of course, Mr. Casual, Mr. Smiles, Mr. Social Butterfly, is carrying on a conversation like his arm isn’t being used as a jungle gym. A conversation with Sarah.

For just a moment, Sam stops in his tracks, considering whether he should go over there and break up any potential flirting. But then he watches them. Bucky’s just talking to her, not flicking his gaze up and down while he checks her out. And Sarah, she’s relaxed and smiling, totally at ease, like Bucky’s another member of their community. That makes him a friend. Family.

That’s one thought too far and Sam jerks himself into motion again, walking until he’d be swimming with another step.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to watch as much of the coverage of the fight outside the GRC vote as I can, trying to get a sense of how they’re spinning Walker’s reappearance, the legacy of the Flag-Smashers now that Karli and her inner circle are gone… Anyway, there’s a lot of footage and you’re at the center of most of it.”

“Guess the new suit draws the eye. And the cameras.” It’s no surprise to Sam. Part of the job of being Captain America.

“Yeah, but…”

“What is it, Torres?”

“Bucky’s in the background a lot,” he explains in a voice that tells Sam there’s more Torres isn’t saying.

“Makes sense. He was in the thick of it as much as I was.”

“He’s there at the end too. When you were talking to the Senator about power and the common struggle. Man, that was a great speech. Do you think—”

“Torres. Please. The point.”

“Right, for sure, man. Bucky never takes his eyes off you.”

That flusters Sam for a second. He wasn’t expecting the blunt delivery, especially of those words. He squints down at the water where it’s lapping the side of the dock. He knew Bucky was there; they spoke right after, when Bucky tried to feed him that bullshit (and he knew it was bullshit at the time) about texting and missing the exact speech Torres is apparently still hung up on.

“So Bucky was actually listening to me,” Sam says carefully. “That’s a surprise, but it isn’t really the kind of thing that’s significant enough for you to bother notifying me about, is it?”

“I’d say that depends on what you consider significant.”

“Torres.”

“I know, but he’s not just listening! It’s how he’s looking at you!”

“Like he’s wishing I would wrap it up?” Oh, Sam remembers Bucky’s miracle from their session with Dr. Raynor.

“Like he’s totally into you! Major heart eyes. Sir,” Torres hastily adds.

And Sam should reprimand him for this. Calling with a trivial piece of information when he must know Sam’s already being very selective about which of the hundreds of recent calls (and it’d be more if more people had this number) he chooses to pick up. Calling to speculate on how Bucky was staring at Sam that night in New York.

“I don’t need to tell you this is gonna be one of those investigations we keep between you and me,” Sam states.

“For sure. I just thought maybe you’d wanna know.”

“Uh huh. You get any real news, you pass it along.”

“I will.”

Sam ends the call and turns. He looks to his right: the sparkling river. His left: his people, all the way down to the squirt with the glasses who’s hanging off a metal arm, and the man that arm belongs to.

He’s felt it, the way that Bucky stares. It’s not like it used to be though, when it irked Dr. Raynor at the police station in Baltimore, or confused Walker and Hoskins in the back of that jeep in Germany. This new stare of Bucky’s isn’t one Sam’s ever caught him doing. Bucky hasn’t quite let him. That’s actually how Sam noticed it was happening—Bucky would immediately glance away instead of leaving that dead expression on his face when Sam met his eye. Now that he has proof of it, proof he’s certain Torres would send him footage of in an instant if he asked, he’s scared to look.

Instead, he watches Bucky look at other people. Like Sarah. Like kids from the neighbourhood. His literal hangers-on disperse as Sam observes, scattered after Bucky leans towards them to say something. Sam sees half his smile and even that much has his heart swelling up in his chest. Bucky weaves through the tables and standing groups, the dancers and the kids who’ve broken out a skipping rope. (After eating from that buffet? Kids are crazy. Gonna make themselves sick.)

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam returns to the noise and the smells, trailing Bucky with a stealthy eye on his ass in those jeans. There’s no friction here between him and everybody else Sam cares about, he can see that in every short, friendly exchange someone engages Bucky in as he walks. Things flow as smoothly as the butter oozing off the corn Sam reluctantly gave up. Clearly, they remember Bucky from when he was here helping with the boat. They respect him. They like him. They’ve gotten to that last thing faster than Sam has, which makes Sam feel a little embarrassed as well as a little overwhelmed by how much the two of them have actually been through. He’s seen Bucky as a mindless killer and it almost brings a genuine tear to his eye—here on this glorious day in front of all these folks—to see the dork who rushed out to get his hands on a copy of The Hobbit in 1937 return in his current form as the dork who’ll take a fake punch from AJ and blush over brazen old women telling him how handsome he is.

Bucky stares different? Well. Sam feels different about the staring.

Sam keeps his distance until Bucky reaches the food, then his stomach gurgles a reminder than he hasn’t eaten yet. No ass is nice enough to distract him from his meal. He sidles up beside him and Bucky seems unsurprised, not even glancing over.

“Anything important?” he asks.

“What?”

“Your phone call,” Bucky clarifies, adding a heap of glossy green beans to his plate. Damn, those are some of Sam’s favourite. Bucky better not take all of them. “They need us somewhere?”

“Oh. No.”

Bucky shoots him a suspicious look after this stilted response, but he doesn’t say anything until Sam grabs a plate of his own, hungry eyes roving the feast that’s diminishing now that people have started coming back for second helpings.

“Put that down,” Bucky instructs. He doesn’t wait; he takes the plate out of Sam’s hand and tosses it back towards the pile. Thankfully, the plates are made of paper.

“Buzz off, man,” Sam tells him, reaching for the plate again. “I’m starving.”

“I figured.”

Wait.

“That’s for me?” he guesses, gazing longingly at the plate Bucky’s preparing.

“Yep.”

When Sam doesn’t reply, Bucky pauses with the plate in one hand and a serving spoon in the other and sighs.

“I didn’t want you to miss the good stuff. This party’s for you.”

“I think it might be for both of us.”

Bucky seems too self-conscious to say anything to that. He goes back to loading up Sam’s plate while Sam quietly feels his throat close up with emotion as he watches. He clears it gruffly.

“I woulda had to eat the cake you brought,” he jokes. “Pretty sure only the really little kids have eaten any. You know, people who don’t know better.”

“I was tryin’ to be a good guest.”

“I can’t believe you brought a store-bought cake,” Sam says, laughing as he grabs a set of cutlery for the second time and continuing to shuffle along next to Bucky.

“Have you ever seen me cook?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Trust me, what I did was kinder.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what, Sam?” Bucky demands challengingly, turning to face him. “I do say so.”

Sam’s eyes go from the plate Bucky’s holding between them up to Bucky’s face. He’s close. And he’s got this look, this dancing look in his eyes that undercuts the shit out of the hard line of his eyebrows. Trying to seem all stern. All Sam can think for several seconds is that, if he just grabbed Bucky by the chain around his neck and hauled him forward, they’d never get the food stains out of their clothes. But their laundry would smell delicious.

He clears his throat.

“Then you better stay for a while.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches up and he hands Sam the plate he’s prepared for him.

“I plan to.”

When Sam picks a table to sit at, he makes sure there’s enough room for Bucky too. When Bucky sits next to him, he sits so close that their thighs press together and claims that’s all the space there is. Bucky talks and laughs when other people at the table talk to him. He’s easily drawn into conversation now and Sam feels weirdly proud of having brought this great guy home to meet everybody, even if he’s not here like that. People tells stories about last week and last century interchangeably, one old smartass making Bucky howl with laughter when they toss out a memory of Little Sam Wilson streaking from his house to the river for a naked swim. This is the danger of welcoming Bucky into the community. Sam, suppressing a smile, doesn’t really mind.

Elbows up on the table so he can eat, talk, and gesture emphatically with his fork, Sam feels Bucky’s stare creeping up on him. Slow, like the sun slides across the landscape when the clouds blow past. Bucky didn’t make this food, but Sam can feel his satisfaction as he watches Sam accept what he provided. Feels like there are grasshoppers springing around in his stomach. He still has a roll on his plate, one side soaked in family-secret barbecue sauce, and he tears it in half. While the rest of their table are caught up in some story being boisterously told by overlapping voices, Sam turns to Bucky and wordlessly offers the bread, edges dimpled where he gripped to split it. They watch each other chew and Sam’s closed mouth is smiling.

Inevitably, somebody pulls Sam back into the conversation and he does his best to laugh and heckle, covering the fact that he wasn’t listening, that he dropped the thread. The voices rise and rise and fall like water slopping over the side of a bucket.

In the next quiet moment, Bucky inclines toward him slightly and says, “You wanna talk later?”

And Sam says, “Sure.”

The day feels long, long, long, and Sam’s face gets sore from smiling, tired from talking. He does not confess that to Bucky, who’s almost always at his side. Lights go on overhead and beers come out of coolers, leftover food packed up and redistributed among neighbours, small children with drooping eyelids toted home. At first, Sam thinks Bucky’s leaning into his side because he’s drained from so much socializing too, but when he meets his eye, he just sees an invitation.

“Where are you two goin’?” Sarah asks when they slink past her carrying a too-big Cass in her arms.

“Just walkin’,” Sam tells her.

“Gotta stretch our legs,” Bucky contributes.

She looks from Sam to Bucky and back, smiling knowingly.

“Uh huh,” Sarah says.

Sam grabs Bucky by the shoulder to turn him forcibly away from his sister’s insinuations and just… forgets to let his hand fall as they wander along the water. Bucky’s steps angle towards his until his arm’s bumping Sam’s side, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders. Is this still the body language of a couple buddies on a warm Delacroix night? Is it now, when Sam drops his arm and brushes the back of his hand across Bucky’s?

They leave the party lights on the horizon with the lazily setting sun, scrabbling off the end of the dock and onto the riverbank. Sam reaches up to give Bucky a hand down, so he won’t step in the soft mud and sink to his ankles. Bucky clasps his hand firmly and jumps.

The sound of people drops off down here and the sound of wind in grass, frogs hiding between reeds, rises.

“Are there alligators in here?” Bucky wonders, scanning the river’s edge.

Sam laughs.

“For sure.”

“And you swam here when you were a kid?”

“Even then,” Sam boasts, puffing his chest out, “my courage was legendary.”

“Yeah, and your nudity. Is there anyone within a mile of here who hasn’t seen your bare ass?”

Their eye contact holds. Oh right. Sam breaks away with an awkward, hiccupping laugh, directing his gaze at the dirt.

“The gators haven’t gathered too close to the dock in decades,” he promises Bucky. He stares out at the undisturbed water, enjoying the sun on his face. “Got skittish of the boats. Most of ’em, anyway.”

“Consider me not entirely reassured.”

“You scared of a little Louisiana lizard, man? Didn’t you grow up with Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Nah, that was after my time.”

“Damn, you’re old.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, refusing to look at him.

“You wanna take a dip?” Sam goads.

“No.”

But by the time Sam’s pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky’s peeling off his socks. Sam spares him a smile and keeps going, the ground soft underfoot. It could be like the few times they’ve changed in proximity to one another before, but it’s not. He senses Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Face hot, he takes a quick look in Bucky’s direction as he’s unzipping his jeans. His heart feels like his new suit—wings just waiting to unfurl.

When they’re down to their underwear, they wade in.

God, it feels nice. The water’s cool and the sun’s clinging to the horizon.

“Just don’t get any water in your mouth,” Sam instructs, then dunks his face and comes up squirting water at Bucky from between the gap in his front teeth, a trick he perfected as a kid. “That arm ain’t gonna rust, right?”

“You asked for this,” Bucky warns. He points a menacing finger and plunges below the surface.

Sam twists as he treads water, trying to see what’s going on down there, searching for a ripple or bubbles of released air. His legs move in twitchy kicks because that’s where he’s expecting Bucky to grab him. But the idiot is playing some kind of psychological game first, making Sam wait a full minute. Two minutes. Three.

He’s opening his mouth to call out Bucky’s name when he breaks the surface. Sam’s ready to swap the concern he was about to form into words into a taunt instead—did Bucky get down there and decide the scariest thing he could do was let Sam’s imagination take over?—until Bucky shakes his head and slicks his hair back. Then the words get caught in Sam’s throat and he just kinda stares.

“There was a really gross fish down there,” Bucky informs him. “Do you guys have eels there? Mighta been an eel. Maybe we should get out.”

“Alrighty, scaredy-cat, let’s get you to shore.”

Bucky propels himself out in front, arms moving in powerful strokes, and Sam’s hand darts out on instinct, fingers closing around Bucky’s hard calf muscle. Bucky jerks and Sam burst into loud laughter.

“Did you think that was an eel? Did you?”

“You’re lucky I…”

I’m lucky you what? Sam wants to ask when Bucky trails off, but he just swims after him.

During their game/possible eel panic (there’s no way it was an eel), they weren’t always fighting the current, so they’ve drifted downstream some. Bucky takes sloppy, sloshing steps out of the water, underwear that might’ve been light grey now dark and plastered to his ass. Sam feels like he’s choked on river water, though his mouth is dry. He lumbers out too and they begin the march back in the direction of the dock and their clothes. The water tickles as it runs down Sam’s legs; must be bugging Bucky too because he plucks his waistband away from his skin before letting it snap back. Clenching his jaw, Sam stops himself from trying to see too much.

This end of the dock is made of old boards before it transitions to pavement farther down, wood smooth on Sam’s feet when he and Bucky haul themselves up, dropping their collected clothes and shoes into a single pile. No point getting dressed until they’re dry, so they sit on the edge of the dock, feet swinging. Feels good. Feels home. They don’t speak until the sun’s set, the sky orange, then grey, then rich, velvety blue.

“You know, don’t you?” Bucky asks softly.

“Know?”

“Yeah, you know. Whenever you don’t know something, you talk and talk—”

“Sometimes I can work through a problem better if I vocalize,” Sam explains.

“But when you do know,” Bucky goes on, ignoring Sam’s input, “you’re quiet.” He looks at Sam. “You’re quiet.”

What else is Sam? Nervous. His skin’s prickling with it, and because even the warm air feels cold when he’s just climbed out of the river. There’s a wet patch spreading around him that he can barely see with evening rapidly deepening into night. He lifts a hand from the dock and sweeps it up his neck, brushing water droplets away.

Without glancing over, he says, “You’re doing that thing you do.”

“What?”

“Staring. That new stare you do.”

“Maybe,” Bucky acknowledges. A bird starts calling, the sound drifting in and away like the sway of a hypnotist’s watch and Bucky’s silent until it’s over. “Maybe I’m staring for the same reason you’re quiet.”

Sam waits. Bucky doesn’t add anything, so Sam turns to look at his face, hung with cool shadows.

“You’re not gonna say it, are you?”

“I thought you would say it,” Bucky argues defensively.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me like that for a week. You should go first!”

“Please, you don’t even know how I’m staring at you, I only do it when you’re not looking.”

“Do it now then and see what happens,” Sam dares him.

“Fine.”

Just like that, Bucky locks in like Sam’s attention is the only handhold on a sheer cliffside. Vital and stable, a last chance, the one thing around him that wants to help him higher instead of watching him fall. A lot of that’s familiar from his regular hard stare, but then something opens up behind his eyes. Some fragile thing (that might be Bucky’s sense of caution) breaks. Suddenly, Sam’s seeing what Joaquin saw in the news footage and amateur cell phone video. Except he’s seeing it two feet in front of him. It’s intense. It makes the air a little harder to breathe.

Bucky’s lips curve into a smile, then part as he says, “I love—”

Hopefully, he wasn’t going to end that sentence with ‘store-bought cake,’ because Sam can’t really take back his reaction. The finger slipping behind Bucky’s ear as he cradles his face, the mouth sealed to his. Especially that. Thankfully, Bucky kisses him back, just as hard, and then harder.

“Thank god,” Sam pants when they break apart.

“You interrupted me.”

“I got you to stop talking? Guess we’re in my miracle.”

“I’d complain…” Bucky shrugs. “…but your miracle is pretty nice.”

“Not bad, right?”

He sighs and looks out over the water. Bucky pushes up on his fists and sits closer, offering his hand for Sam to interlace their fingers.

“Hey,” Sam prompts when it hits him that it’s super dark outside and they aren’t gonna dry much more like this, “did you book a hotel room again?”

“You kiddin’ me? I spent all my money on that cake.”

Sam laughs.

“Right, well, I guess you need a place to stay tonight then.”

“You know anything nearby?” Bucky asks with a soft smile.

Getting to his feet and bracing to pull Bucky up after him, Sam uses his free hand to motion towards their clothing pile.

“Put your pants on,” he says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

[jeongi]

cabin fever | jjk (m)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | fluff. smut. mild angst. exf2l au (?)

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, unprotected floor sex (dongs better be wrapped irl), light dirty talk,  very soft, fluffy smut. jungkook is sad, soft babie.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a cabin with your ex-best friend jungkook, you’re forced to overcome the fallout between you two. 

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | cabin fever

“We're lost!” Seokjin shouts dramatically from behind the wheel. “Hopelessly and forever lost!” The van’s radio crackles and pops as the soft ooze of music sits underneath your friends’ bantering.

“You're such a baby,” says Namjoon as he smacks Seokjin with the map he's holding. “Relax. I know my maps.”

“You've only been here all of one time—” Seokjin spits back, his fingers clenching the wheel harder. You chuckle under your breath at their bickering, your body immediately tensing as you feel Jungkook adjust himself next to you. A part of you wonders if he’s still alive; you have no idea how he’s managed to sleep through the endless bickering- yet, there he sat, still snoring away. If you remembered correctly, Jungkook was almost impossible to wake up.

You ask yourself why you still felt somewhat nervous in Jungkook’s presence, and for the upteenth time, your memory reminds you of that giant nothingness that now separated you two.

Hoseok giggles behind you and your mood dampens further. His excessive, unwarranted giddiness irritates you on any given day, but today it seems extra warranted. How could you not feel irritated when your ex boyfriend is sat behind you, practically playing grab-ass with his new girlfriend?

You ask yourself again why you ever agreed to come on this trip, let alone agree to be stuffed in a van with an ex-boyfriend and an ex-best friend. And once again, you come up empty. You're sure there must be a reason.

“Hey, focus on the road!” Jyo-en shrills from the seat directly behind Namjoon. “Some of us want to arrive alive and unharmed.” Jungkook once again shifts in his seat, his shoulder pressing against your own and his mouth wide open. You can faintly hear the purrs of soft snoring escaping him.

Alas, your motives come to light. Frankly, you knew you were doing this as a favour to Jyo-en more than anything else. Her undying, one-sided pining after Seokjin had her on her knees begging you to go on this trip with her. There wasn't much that could ever reduce Jyo-en to such a state, but her affection for Seokjin's masculine wiles had been too much for her to bear. The fucker was just too damn charming and you couldn’t blame her either. From the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders, to the plump of his pink, full lips, you figure the chaos that naturally comes from his presence is usually heavily subdued by the sheer epitome of beauty that is Kim Seokjin.

Nonetheless, you had agreed to come on this trip, much against your initial refusal.

“Pipe down back there,” Namjoon shoots. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, “Namjoon could be driving.”

Involuntarily, you snort. It isn't so much the humour that prompts such a response, but the bitterness you can't help but feel. However, that response is lost amidst the sea of laughter that now fills the van, save yours, Namjoon’s and a sleeping Jungkook’s.

Namjoon turns in his seat and glares at Hoseok. “Just because I don't have a license doesn't mean I can't drive.”

Seokjin chortles. “You literally almost drove us straight off a cliff the one time I let you drive.”

“You’re being dramatic. It wasn't even that tall a cliff…”

Beside you, Jungkook smacks his lips in his sleep, and sinks his shoulder further into yours. You absentmindedly wonder what he’s dreaming about.

Do you even care? Probably not. But the mental exercise in speculation offers some respite from the storm of emotion slowly and undeniably building within you. You glance back at Hoseok and Nancy, their disgusting buffet of PDA having no regard for anyone but themselves. You know for a fact you and Hoseok would have never done this. Turning away, your eyes once again fall on Jungkook.

You hope it's a dream better than this.

2:04pm [You]: ugh.

2:05pm [Yoongi]: Lol. What’s wrong?

2:07pm [You]: remind me again why i couldn't come tomorrow with you guys?

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Dude we've been over this, you couldn't swap spots with Jimin because he works tonight. It's the entire reason we're leaving tomorrow

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Is it that bad?

2:14pm [You]: between hoseok munching on his new gf and jungkook literally speaking to everyone but me,,, i’d say this is the car ride from hell

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Yikes

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Sounds about right, but I don't know what I can do from here...

2:25pm [You]: it’s whatever, tell jimin and tae i miss them dearly

2:26pm [Yoongi]: I’ll probably forget

2:27pm [You]: you’re the fucking worst.

You sigh heavily and lock your phone, haphazardly flinging it back into your lap. The van door opens with a whoosh and your eyes immediately squint against the intense albedo that now renders you temporarily blind.

“Did you just fucking hiss?” Seokjin asks, no trace of humour in his voice. You shoot him a silencing glare and he plays along to it, his hand shooting up to his chest as he fakes a few stumbles back. The effort to make you smile is that of triumph, the edges of your lips quirking up to a faint smile. Nonplussed, Seokjin continues. “Well, this is it!” He says with far too much enthusiasm for have driven nearly six hours. He reaches down towards the duffle bag by your feet and you swallow the bubble of discomfort that fills you when Nancy squeals behind you.

“This cabin is huge!” Her voice reminds you of Polystyrene rubbing together. It pierces your skull, scorches the skin on the back of your neck and you internally scream. Hoseok chuckles beside her and you can’t help but want to gouge out your eyeballs with a screwdriver.

When Seokjin swings the navy blue bag over his shoulder, his eyes briefly glance towards the still sleeping figure next to you, his face static in the grips of slumber.  

“Hey!” Without warning, a red glove speeds past your face and smacks Jungkook in the nose with a surprisingly satisfying thwack. Immediately, Jungkook jolts awake, shooting you an accusing glare so icy, the snow around you may as well be a sunny beach. Before either of you can react, the glove’s partner in crime follows and smacks him in the face again. “Well, good morning, sleepy beauty,” jeers Seokjin. “Now that you're alive, how about you start helping us move our stuff?”

Blinking in the new light before his eyes, Jungkook sighs explosively, half yawn, half exclamation.

“It’s sleeping beauty, you imbecile.” You think you hear him grumble under his breath. A part of you wishes he’d acknowledge you again like old times. Another- and you convince yourself, a greater- part of you simply cannot be bothered to care anymore.

“I think that’s the last of it!” Namjoon yells from the trunk of the van. You hear him close it with a loud thud, one arm holding a cooler, the other locking the trunk. Seokjin stands by the porch of the cabin, nodding approvingly at the progress. He checks his watch.

“I’m hungry,” he says, “Should we go into town?”

You groan in protest. “Dude, we just got here. You want to hop back in a stuffy van and drive, again?”

“Yes,” he answers without a beat.

“Yup!” echoes Namjoon. You have no idea how he heard this.

“Ah, food would be so good,” Jyo-en says as she comes up from behind you, a hand patting her stomach and a frown adorning her face. You can't help but roll your eyes; she’s not hungry at all.

“Food it is,” Seokjin confirms. Despite the peckish feeling that jabbers at your stomach, you're not certain your appetite can handle another car ride with them so soon.

“You guys go ahead without me, I had a big breakfast this morning,” you lie.

“Suit yourself,” he says with a simple shrug of indifference. Turning away to head inside, you hear Seokjin yell for the others. You’re not sure where Hoseok and Nancy scurried off to, though the list of possibilities is disgustingly short. As if on cue, they near stumble out of the room they had chosen for the night, their lips swollen and clothing frayed. You think you’re going to be sick, and a subsequent twist of your innards does everything but confirm the sentiment.

You need to get out of here. You desperately need to get out of here.

As quietly as you can, you pull your boots on and stuff a spare water bottle in your jacket. The door before you opens, and with a breath, you crunch your way into the snow covered trees. You should have worn something warmer, you scold yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and blow out a huff of air.

The air is still- too still, you think. Even the melody of chickadees sound too far away. Your breath comes out in stiff clouds, hanging seconds in the air before fading away. You shove your nose deeper into your scarf as you aimlessly wander, allowing your thoughts to get as lost as you’re about to be.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost be convinced it was four years ago. The way the wind nips your face reminds you of waiting for the train at the worst possible hours of the morning, despite the fact you only had the one class that day.

The rest of the day was for the squad.

This could mean anything from half-attempted study sessions (in reality, a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about your classmates and munch on overpriced cafeteria food) to skipping down to the neighbourhood village just down the street from your university for the far better food that was just as expensive. It could mean sneaking off between classes to a quiet staircase and into Hoesoek’s arms for as many fleeting moments the two of you could steal in a day. It could mean a walk down to the university bar for curly fries and maybe one too many drinks. Sometimes it was the train ride home, hand in hand and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders.

The wind was just as cold as it has always been, but you haven’t been. Somewhere along the line, something had changed. A whole lot of somethings. At some point or another, it all just started to come crashing down until now you stand, here, in a snowy field standing ankle deep in fading memories.

You’d ask yourself how it managed to go to hell so much, so fast. But you don’t feel like opening that vault again— you’ve had it closed for good reason.

The piercing caw of a crow snaps you back to reality. Your eyes open, and the freezing train stations and too-warm classrooms fade away with the snowfall. You feel the first snowflake hit your cheek and when you look up, another hits your nose. Whichever way you go, whether it’s memory lane or the slow, cold walk back to the cabin, it’s going to be a bitch either way. It doesn’t take long for your boots to become soaked, and it takes even shorter for your toes to begin freezing. Your only regret is you find yourself wishing you’d have noticed it earlier; you were too preoccupied with watching the sun’s last stretch across the mountaintops.

Your laugh is what Jungkook remembers the most as you two walked towards the train station on those cold winter mornings. The light fragrance of your perfume that overpowered the icy winds had always made you feel like home to him. And your laugh, the thing he missed the most. When was the last time he’d seen you smile? When was the last time he’d even talked to you? It seems a lifetime ago now.

Jungkook’s fingers hesitantly hold the black pen against his sketchpad as he allows the natural skill of his hand overtake the paper. The desk he’s sat on faces towards the blanket of white snow against a crisp blue sky. He sighs, the view of the mountain sheathed in nothing but white bringing him back to old memories of you.

He can almost taste the pork bulgogi he’d always order at lunch with you. One look is all you had to give in order to silently invite him to eat after class. It was that cocked eyebrow, the slight tilt of the head and he was already transferring money into his bank account. And your scent- soft and subtle against the cold winter air. Even if his lungs were crystalized by the cool winter air, your perfumed scarf still lingered to his nose. You’d always felt somewhat like a distant lover than an old friend. What happened? He happened.

Just as Jungkook blasts his Spotify playlist through his earphones, you walk through the front door. Unbeknownst to you or him, the cause of your melancholy sits on the floor above you in his room. Your hands are freezing, a soft curse escaping your mouth as your teeth clatter and you stomp your way inside. You’re covered head to toe in snow, a sudden icy flurry hitting you on your way back. Perhaps a spontaneous walk down memory lane was one of your dumber ideas but if anything, it was nice to get away from this bullshit for even a little while. And by the looks of it, you’ll be able to escape a little while longer as you stand in the foyer of an empty cabin. You’re alone with your thoughts once again. How did you get here? You ask yourself a million times over.

Shrugging off the weight of your coat, you unravel your scarf and land with a loud sigh against the brown suede couch. It’s a cozy cabin, you’ll have to give Namjoon that much credit but his need to treat everyone as equal despite obvious differences landed you in this more than miserable situation. Your fingers hesitantly uncurl, the heat already uncoiling the ice in your veins. You reach for your phone, the only notification being a “Merry Christmas” email from your dentist. You almost laugh at yourself.

4:04pm [You]: yoongs, entertain me

No reply, instead a big fat, red “not delivered!” pops underneath the message. You frown, annoyed at the world and mostly Jyo-en for dragging you along this getaway from hell. On top of this, the three people you’ve been wanting to see and talk to the most in the world won’t be arriving for another excruciating twenty-four hours. Old Man Winter chuckles to himself as he prolongs your misery.

Jungkook is mindlessly working upstairs, watching the flurry of snow coat the mountains and area around the cabin further. If it weren’t for the gentle ooze of Keshi in his ears, he’d be concerned by the rapid snowfall. His hand works diligently, his sketch near finished as he watches the sun set outside. Somewhere between the last of his shading and perfecting does the lamp in his room suddenly give out.

Silence.

You freeze as the world surrounding you goes absolutely still. The sound of heat coming through the vents stops, the lights flicker off and you’re approaching darkness as the sun settles outside. Fuck, you think to yourself. This could not be happening.

Reaching for your phone, your fingers clamour as you hastily give Namjoon a call.

Straight to voicemail.

You try Seokjin; it doesn’t even ring.

Panic settles over you, your flight or fight kicking in as you think of what to possibly do. You scour the main floor for a landline, anything that could be of use in this situation. Surely there was a maintenance number somewhere? It’s when you’re in the kitchen that you hear the footsteps above you. You freeze again.

Now you’re almost positive it’s an intruder ready to murder you. Like in those horrible, terrible horror movies. Although you’ve played a lot of Outlast, you doubt you could handle whatever the fuck has spawned upstairs. As the footsteps shuffle some more, you grab a knife from the counter and decide if you should wait to be murdered or move towards the sound like every idiot in those movies. But just as you’re deciding, the steps move rapidly down the stairs until you’ve panicked and dropped your knife, shrieking out of pure terror with your eyes shut.  

Jungkook stares at you in complete bewilderment.

“_____?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows strewn together in genuine concern. His eyes fall to the knife on the floor, further confusion littering his mind. “Are you okay?”

The voice sounds familiar, too familiar and it pangs you to know exactly who it is.

Your heart plummets to your stomach when you tentatively open one eye and see Jungkook’s big doe eyes staring right back at you.

“Jungkook? What the hell are you doing here?” You put your hand to your chest and sigh a heavy breath of relief. “I fucking...thought…” You look back up at him, the furrow in his eyebrows suddenly flooring you with emotion. You haven’t really looked at him in ages, it feels.

“You didn’t go with the others?” His lips form an innocent pout as he asks. You haven’t realized how much you missed his boyish charm. It’s then that you find yourself observing him head to toe for the first time in a long time. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and (unintentionally, you convince yourself), the plaid red pajama bottoms you got him for Christmas three years ago. Is that how long it’s been since you’ve last spoken? He looks different, more confident, more tone in his body. Although his hair remains the same shade of brunette, it’s slightly longer and rests in natural curls. His jawline is even sharper, you note. From the small mole just under his lip to the faint cleft in his chin, you find yourself completely absorbed in how good looking Jungkook has gotten.

“N-no,” you’re suddenly stuttering as you catch yourself out of flagrant staring. “I thought you did—”

“Nope.” The tension brews around you two, both of you stood across from one another as sudden realization dawns on you.

“The power’s out,” you say and Jungkook nods in agreement. You really didn’t think this day could get any worse yet here you were. “I-I tried calling Namjoon but it wouldn’t go through.” Jungkook taps his pointer finger to his lower lip in consideration.

“Phone lines must be out too,” he said half to himself. “Must be a hell of a blizzard out there.” You shudder involuntarily as you remember the way the wind tore through you on the return journey to the cabin, and with the memory comes the bittersweet nostalgia…

You mentally stomp the memories out. Not the time, not the place. Not anymore.

“Well, I don’t want to starve,” you say as you start to feel your stomach glare at you hungrily. Maybe you should have gone with them after all. An image of Hoseok and Nancy sucking face flashes before you. You shudder again. It might still be hell here, but at least it isn’t a hell so deep as watching them. Besides, this is the most Jungkook has spoken to you in years.

“Fortunately, they left us with the food,” Jungkook says to you. “If memory serves correct there should at least be a box or three of smokies floating around somewhere.” He pulls on a sweater and rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

“What about the fire?” You ask.

“What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Can you start one?” You know for a fact you might be able to, but this isn’t the time for you to test your skills.

“Probably. It isn’t exactly rocket science,” he replies with a smart grin. There’s a small door just under the staircase that Jungkook opens with little to no hesitation. You had always admired how unafraid of the world Jungkook had always been. Perhaps those values washed away when he too walked out of your life.

You snap yourself out of it and roll your eyes. “Jungkook, you’re the least handyman person I know.”

“At least I’m remembered for something,” he replies as he dips below the stairs to search for wood.

You damn near have to stop yourself from smiling.

You’re not certain if it’s just the natural dynamic you shared with him, or if it’s completely circumstantial, but one thing was for certain; like it or not, you found the pair of you swiftly falling back in step with one another in more ways than you’d care to admit… and more ways than you’d care to remember.

It’s almost as if he hadn’t just chosen to vanish from your life for nearly three years. It’s almost as if it were like old times. What had happened to you guys? Why did he stop calling you?

For the umpteenth time, you snap yourself away from this. It’s too late. There’s no use in thinking of the past. You sigh and return to the kitchen, scouring, searching every cabinet and square surface for candles and matches.

A heartbeat or three passes, and a clonking of feet on wood alerts you to Jungkook’s return.

“I've got good news and bad news,” He huffs as he steps back onto the main floor from the cellar.

“Oh, god,” you start. You feel a slight panic coming on again.

“Good news?” He hefts a frayed and worn burlap bag. “I found firewood.”

“And the bad news?” You ask tentatively.

He feigns sadness before he brings out two giant bottles of cabernet sauvignon from behind his back. “There's all this wine, and nobody around to drink it,” he finishes. “Except us, naturally.”

For however brief a moment it was, you knew for certain that the flash in his eyes, the quick smile he now wore, you hadn't seen for years. It seems as though, if only for a split second, the old Jungkook had returned. Somehow sensing your revelation, the moment passes as swiftly as it came, and then a stone faced Jungkook returns.

“I-if you want to, anyway.” The coolness returns without indication, a coolness you are now determined to thaw out.

“I’m insulted you even think you have to ask,” you return playfully. A hint of colour returns to his cheeks, and a fraction of a grin returns. Silently, he sets about starting the fire while you work on opening the wine.

It takes you a second to realize that the wine is in fact corked, and you had not a corkscrew between the two of you. You glance at Jungkook, his back still turned to you, rubbing two sticks together or something. You really don’t know, and he doesn’t share; in fact, he seems quite absorbed in his work.

You glance back at the wine bottle. Taking the lapse in effort, you ask yourself if this was really worth doing- if this was even a good idea.

“Aha!” You hear a whoosh followed by a golden radiance that now permeates the space. “And that,” Jungkook turns towards you, grin wide and proud, “is how you start a fire.”

You’re not only warm, but impressed- leave it to Jungkook to be perfect in literally every department. You suppose he hasn’t lost that talent yet.

Though the feeling of pride quickly fades as you see the can of body spray in one of his hands and a lighter in the other. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, silently calling him out on his middle school arson methods.

“It was ah, taking too long,” he adds sheepishly, rolling the can of body spray towards the corner and playfully tossing the lighter at you.

“Seokjin is going to kill you.”

“What for? Theft of his lighter, or his outrageous body spray? If anything, I’m doing him a favour…how are you making out with the wine?”

“We… don’t have a corkscrew,”  you reply somewhat dejectedly. That half-serious face comes about his visage once more as you see him wracking his brain, trying to solve the problem.

His grin returns. “Don’t worry,” Jungkook says after a minute. “I have an idea.”

“What a waste of a fucking match, oh my God!” You’re sure to sound extra exasperated as you watch Jungkook wrap the loose piece of twine around the neck of wine bottle.

“Do you want to drink or not? Let me work my magic…” Jungkook wears determination on his face, a tongue poking out, eyebrows scrunched together as he ties it once, twice until you’re sure even a wine bottle could choke. You watch as he carefully takes a match and strikes it with the expertise of a pyrotechnic turned for the better. With little hesitation, he lights the twine on fire, a burning noose around the neck of the wine bottle. It doesn’t take ten seconds for the glass to crack open. He’s two for two; at this point, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more.

You’re honestly mesmerized. “How…?” You ask. He lets out a soft chuckle, barely audible.

“It’s magic,” you hear him say as he shrugs. “I don’t have to explain shit.” Another eye roll later, you’re returning to the kitchen and opening the cabinet above the sink in search of wine glasses. To no avail, you find stainless steel coffee mugs instead.

“Is this even safe to drink out of? I won’t choke on microscopic shards of glass?” You ask Jungkook after your third and fourth glasses. It’s a little too late to be asking such a question but you’re sure at this point, your words are a little slurred and nothing quite makes sense. Inwardly, you realize it’s a moot point anyway, and with that realization comes that for the first time in longer than you can remember, you’re just trying to strike up a conversation with him.

It’s hard not to when Jungkook has planted a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the fire, the pair of you sat and drinking potentially lethal wine. Before you lies half-finished board games you two attempted to play yet failed due to sheer anger at the game itself or each other. You’re sure if you were sober, this would be a lot more difficult.

“Magic, _____.” Jungkook slurs, his cheeks flushed and that half grin he does so well. Despite a certain flutter in your chest, you scoff into your mug of wine, small bubbles splashing back onto your upper lip.

“Magic?” You nearly spit. “This isn’t Harry Potter, Jungkook. How exactly do you personally quantify magic?”

A quiet moment passes as he swirls the final dregs of wine in his cup thoughtfully.

“I’d define it as the things you do to me, actually,” he replies before downing the rest of his cup.

Are you hearing things right? Did that actually come out of his mouth? Is this happening? You glance at your own cup. What the fuck is this wine, anyway? You’re drunk. Both of you are.

Jungkook stands and reaches for the bottle, filling up his cup before topping up your own. You still sit in a stunned silence, observing as he tosses another log into the fire, a shower of sparks floating up the chimney.

“Wh… Where did that come from?” You manage. He waves his hand dismissively, breaking eye contact a moment.

“Next question?” He asks as he sips.

Feeling bolder now, you pursue. He isn’t getting away that easily.

“Okay. I’ll put it another way.” You pause to sip, the confidence now flowing nominally through your system. “What exactly happened to us?” There, you’ve asked it.

A silence now spreads the two of you apart, despite the lack of inherent distance between you two presently. Now it seems to be Jungkook’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing this entire time,” he replies. The stone is slowly creeping up to his face.

“You can do better than that,” you egg him on.

“What, now you believe in me?” He shoots back. The venom in his words would take you off guard if it weren’t for how earnest his was before you. He drinks again, gulping this time. He must be on his sixth glass now. You can see the same sentiment in his eyes that you hold in your heart; a universal now-or-never. This is the chance to lay the cards on the table. You know it’s going to hurt, but you know it’s necessary. He rises slowly to his feet, swaying ever so slightly from the wine.

“How about you tell me what happened to us, _____?” Jungkook almost shouts. “We used to be close. We told each other everything. I used to stay up late just to make sure you got home from class or work, I made sure you ate your meals, that your homework was completed. I cared. We both did. Maybe a bit too much...” With this, he sighs explosively and flops down onto the dusty couch behind you, his chin resting on his hand. “We used to be something. I don't know what, but it was there. And now?” He waves an arm absentmindedly towards the window. “Nothing but cold.” The irony, you think. But it's an irony that's been a long time coming, and a certain sick irony that could only come from him.

But the question sticks with you, more than you'd care to admit. Something had slapped you deep inside, and even still it reverberated within you.

No, you're not going to stand here and take this.

“You tell me what happened, Jungkook.” You uncross your legs and rise to your feet, striding towards him. “You stopped texting, calling. You stopped wanting to hang out, and suddenly there was this wall between us. You never even told me what I did.”

For a moment, he looks hurt, as though a thousand predisposed assumptions has just come hurtling down. He regains his composure, though barely, and through shaken words, he continues.

“No, _____.” His face softens. “It isn't what you did. It isn't anything you did, not really.” He's nervous now; his knee bounces, his jaw clenches. You're fairly certain he's beginning to sweat.

What isn't he telling you?

“Tell me,” you whisper. No venom now, merely curiosity, and perhaps a hint of something more. Your hand finds its way onto his own, and your fingers slowly curl around his palm. Contrary to your assumptions, his hand remains there. Even more surprising, his hand reverses and his fingers interlace with your own. A heartbeat passes, and his eyes meet yours.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, _____. I don’t think either of us did anything wrong. Passing ships in the night? Too little, too late? Just bad timing, is that all? Hell if I know.” He takes a deep swig of the wine. “We vibed. Hard. Everything about us was natural and made sense.” You have to agree with this, even now, not talking after so long- you two felt real, felt right.

“No, Jungkook, that’s bullshit and we both know it!” You insist. “You stopped putting in the effort, you stopped wanting to be in my life, you….” It hurts you, a sinking feeling in your chest as you choke out your words. “You wouldn’t even look in my direction the past however long ago it was that you decided to walk away from my life without a single warning.” Perhaps it’s because you’re drunk that tears spring. It’s a deep-seated memory that you’ve brought back, a confrontation that you had always convinced yourself would never happen. “And I don’t even get an explanation why?” This whole situation had to have happened for a reason, you drunkenly tell yourself. If fate really was real, this moment would be its poster child.

Jungkook is staring at you with a look you can’t quite read. You can’t quite decide if he’s about to cry with you or angrily escape this situation. Instead, he places his cup on the wooden coffee table and stands up. His walk towards you in confident, as if he’s ready to expel whatever it is that riddled him in shades of torture for as long as it did. He takes your hands, a slight shake in the way he grasps them.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you with him,” he blurts.

A moment passes, your eyes unleaving as you try and process the weight of his words in your scrambled, drunken mess of a mind. You with who? Hoseok?

“Him?” You find yourself repeating. “Why would you…”

Jungkook sighs and lets your hands go, his fingers moving up to rake his brunette locks away from his face. He’s definitely sweating, you note.

“Wasn’t it obvious, _____?

“B-but what about after we broke up, you could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” He laughs humorously. “Could have gone back to the way it was before?” He cranes his neck to the side, the palm of his hand rubbing against the skin. “It doesn’t work like that, _____. I’m selfish for you but not that selfish. Staying away was better anyway... neither of us would get hurt.”

But you were hurt, hurt more than the break up itself because at the end of the day, all you wanted was your best friend and even he had left. “You’re such an idiot.” You can’t help but say. “Stupid, stupid idiot. How could you do that?” You want to punch him, slap him as hard as you can for him to feel any amount of equivalence in physical pain that he gave you in emotional pain. All those nights you had laid wondering what you did wrong had all been for nothing?

Your frown deepens, more questions than ever before emerging. “You liked me?” Had you ever even thought of him as more than a friend? You’re not sure you should even be asking these questions with vigour liquor coursing through your veins yet, you remind yourself that the liquid courage has brought you two here thus far.

Jungkook laughs once more, no strain of humour in the vibrato. “That’s an understatement.” He then mumbles and you’re left racking your brain. For a brief second, it makes perfect sense before you completely lose your train of thought.  “Besides,” he continues. “There’s no point in thinking what could have happened, I just—” There’s a pause as his chocolates in his doe eyes search yours for something. “Will you just let me kiss you right now?”

This takes you wholeheartedly off guard, your eyes widen as you speak with hesitance. “Y-you want to kiss me?”

“I’ve always wanted to, _____.” How does this phrase create such a powerful flutter in your chest? You wonder if it’s the alcohol or maybe, just maybe, a deep-rooted longing you;d never known you had in you.

Without answering his question, you kiss him first.

As your fingers reach for his face, Jungkook grapples your waist. You feel tiny in the palm of his hands, he thinks as he feels your lips against his for the first time. Jungkook feels as if he’s dreaming- perhaps the alcohol has something to do with that.

Red wine is what you taste the most, mixed with a subtle sweetness of mint. You drown in him, melt against him as he carefully engulfs you into his arms. The fireplace warming the space around is nothing in comparison to the sudden inferno in your chest. It’s then that you realize, this is what you’ve wanted all along.

Your hand slides down Jungkook’s face to his chest. He feels broad underneath your fingertips, a certain firmness to the touch that you hadn’t expected. He only brings you closer, arms wrapping around your torso as his lips press against you harder. His tongue is soft with your own, a gentle roll with your own as a certain heat builds up in your core.

Suddenly, it’s messier. Jungkook’s tongue swipes your bottom lip before planting a soft bite. It releases a whimper from you, earning a quiet groan from him. You’ve never thought this day would come. Are you dreaming?

When you pull away, Jungkook’s full attention is on you only. He runs a thumb over your wine-stained pout, his eyes large and completely enveloped in the sight of you. “I never thought I would get to kiss these lips.” He says.

You moan and lean in for another.

No matter how much your lips fuse together, how much you press yourself against his stronger hold, you cannot get enough nor do you want this to end. It feels right, comfortable to be in his embrace like this, his mouth against yours and chests connected. It’s not long before you’re both succumbing to the fall on your knees against the self-made bed Jungkook made of old blankets and pillows. It’s cozy, neither of you wasting time to run upstairs to a proper bed. You think this is the most romantic setting you could have ever hoped for.

It’s when you’re suddenly on top of Jungkook that you feel a growth settle underneath your core. You feel the sheer girth of it as your kissing intensifies, two large hands coming to rest upon your thighs as they persuade your hips to skim over it. You gasp at the feeling, sure that you’re already soaked beyond measure. It’s not hard for you to already feel him like this, the thin veil of his pajama bottoms being the only barrier away from you having it in you. The thought arouses you far too much, leading to a harsher grind that has you both moan out. You haven’t been touched in a long while.

Jungkook’s hands travel up your sides until he’s cupped both of your cheeks in each palm. Your lips are guided once again to his own as he places a hard kiss against you. With each fleeting moment, your want for him intensifies. You can’t help but think this was meant to be, that you’ve wanted this somewhere deep within you. Perhaps the old you was looking out for the future you.

It’s with both hesitance and confidence that Jungkook inches your sweater up. His hands feel warm against your bare torso, a shiver running through you when they lazily travels up and down your sides. As you pull away, Jungkook gives you that lopsided grin you hadn’t realized you’ve missed dearly until this moment. It almost feels as if nothing has changed, as if there hadn’t been a giant nothingness between you two for so long.

“You look so beautiful.” Jungkook whispers, his right hand reaching to push a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you guide your shirt off before a thumb strokes your cheek, and then your lips. You softly bite it and receive a contempt groan in response.

“Yours too,” you gently urge as you play with the hem of his white shirt. Jungkook grins and lifts his torso before pulling the fabric over his head. He does not hesitate to kiss you again.

With each kiss, the intensity grows until you’re sure you’ve caused a puddle in your pants as you shamelessly grind your cunt against a very erect bulge in Jungkook’s pants. He feels so firm, more built than you could have ever imagined as he pulls you tighter against him. You’re slowly losing your mind before you decide to take the initiative.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Let me taste you.” Jungkook nearly unravels just from those words alone.

“Yeah?” You nod, a coy smile spreading across your face as surely a heavy blush riddles your cheeks in a crimson red. Jungkook merely chuckles, planting a feverish kiss against your mouth. “You’re so adorable.”

You trail kisses down his torso, the definition of muscles in his abdomen driving you absolutely mad. You’re still unable to fully comprehend what exactly was happening yet you’re equally unable to stop yourself.  Jungkook helps you get rid of his pants, your mouth instantly watering when his erection lands against his torso with a soft thwack. It glistens against the golden aura surrounding you. He cocks his head to the side. “Think you can take it?”

If that’s a challenge you hear in his tone, it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You might even think Jungkook remembers how competitive you are. You move down his body with ease before placing a tentative lick against the head of his cock. Jungkook’s hands immediately surrender to your hair, moving it out of your face until he’s made a makeshift ponytail out of his own hands.

“Fuuuck,” he drags out shakily when you take the whole of his head in your mouth. You suck just under his head, a certain ball of nerves that drives Jungkook absolutely mad. The hold he has on your hair acts as an invisible guide, in motion with his hips lifting does he simultaneously move your head down. “Just like that, baby.” You groan against his cock as you take more of him in your mouth. Jungkook is thick, girthy with a prominent vein that sits right where your tongue can trace it. He’s losing himself further and further into you as you begin a steady motion of sucking. Your hand holds the base of his cock as your mouth works wonders, earning you whimpers and curses from him. “So good, so good.” Jungkook gasps when you pick up the pace. It’s when he feels himself really about to lose control that he pulls you away from his cock, a satisfying pop following the disconnect.

“C’mere,” he murmurs before smashing his lips against yours. Though your lips are coated in saliva, his kisses have become sloppier, rougher as he cradles your torso with one arm before flipping you until you’re underneath him. “These have to go.” He pulls at your pants and you giggle with agreeance.

“That would be ideal.”

Jungkook undoes the buttons before tugging them down your legs. You’ve now got nothing on but your bra, a pale violet with a lacy trim on the top. Did you subconsciously know you were going to get fucked by none other than Jeon Jungkook today?

He pulls your legs apart, a satisfied hum escaping him as your glistening folds welcome him. “Fuck, _____.” He whispers as his thumb skims over your wetness. You suck in a sharp breath, the callous on his thumb sensitive against your cunt. You want him to touch you there.

It’s as if he can read your mind, the thumb now dragging over your clit. The sigh of relief you give only fuels Jungkook’s satisfaction more. He too would like to taste you.  

You cry out, hands grappling for his torso as he begins circling the thumb over your sensitive nub. “So wet,” he groans.

“J-just for you.” This makes Jungkook move faster with his thumb. He wants to feel you. Jungkook slowly slides the defts of his index and middle finger into you, your cry filling the space. He takes his time, feeling your walls clench around his digits as his thumb simultaneously circles over your clit. He’s amazed by how each thrust of his fingers causes you to coat them farther in your arousal. And you’re amazed by how soon you’re about to come. It only makes his own erection angrier and your cunt clench tighter.

“You coming, baby?” Never would Jungkook have thought he’d get to call you baby. You nod with vigour, each pump of his finger along with the relentless rub of his fingers causing your legs to shake.

“S-so fucking close...oh my god.” You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re— “Jungkook!”

He dips his head in between your thighs, his mouth instantly suctioned to your clit as his fingers continue their torture. With his tongue replacing his thumb, you come undone almost instantly, the wave of pure white, hot filth overtaking your entire body. You shudder, legs trembling as your fingers thread through the lush of Jungkook’s brown locks. Jungkook continues licking against your clit, flicking and sucking until you can no longer take it.

“F-fuck me, Jungkook- please,” you beg as your cunt craves for more. You want absolutely all of him.

Jungkook’s cock is ready, heavy against his palm as he takes ahold of the base and spreads your legs apart. His mouth is wet with your arousal, his chest littered with beads of sweat. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” He remarks, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly again. Jungkook’s cock feels amazing, full as your tightness grips with so deliciously, even he has to hold himself back from not undoing quickly.

“Fuck.” You let out as you place a hand on his chest, letting the feel of his cock overtake your entire body. He stops when he’s reached the hilt, careful to rock his hips out before slamming them back into you. You can’t help but cry his name out. “You feel so good.” You’re whimpering, the hand on his chest and moving to the back of his neck as you push his head forward to kiss you. He follows suit, beginning a rhythmic pace of his hips as you lose yourself further and further into him.

Jungkook kisses you feverishly, hot and wet against your mouth as he continues to rick in and out of you. His breaths are laboured, filthy words and curses escaping him as you clench around him with each thrust.

“Yeah, baby?” You’re losing your mind, already close to a second undoing. You know you’re going to come again soon. Jungkook takes your legs and places your ankles on his shoulder, plummeting into you with a force so delicious, you’re about to go delirious. You’re so tight, Jungkook can feel himself edging closer to his own end. “Fuck, turn around for me.” You do as requested, turning to your stomach. Jungkook pulls your ass up towards him and lines himself up once again. Without hesitation this time, he pushes into you, a new type of fullness that overtakes your innards. He feels so fucking good.

It’s a steady rock, your ass hitting against his pelvis as he continues a continuous motion with his hips. He’s relentless in his movements, the new position allowing him to reach deeper, feeling you clench tighter.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook is moaning out. He grabs a handful of your ass, using it as support while he rams into you with no plans of slowing down. The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping and your deep breath and moans. Jungkook knows he’s so close.

He reaches forward, first and second digit immediately gravitating towards your clit. As he rubs, the familiar rubber band stretches in the pit of your guts. You’re going to come again, you feel it.

It’s when Jungkook whispers into your ear how much he wants to come inside you, that you give out. It washes over you, makes you tighten your grip on the blanket underneath you as you clench so hard around Jungkook that he too comes with you. You feel the spurts of him fill you to the brim until you’re nothing but a puddle underneath him. You lay still, letting his fluid mixed with yours dribble out of you as Jungkook pulls out. It burns to have him away from you. You want him to hold you all night.

“Was that okay?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. You nod in reassurance, twisting your head around so he can kiss your lips.

It’s then that your phone blares, taking you both by surprise. You rush to your feet, arms reaching for your phone when you see Namjoon’s name flash across your screen.

“Hello?” You answer with no thought.

“_____! Oh my god! Are you okay? There was a huge storm, we’re trapped in town until Monday- did I ask if you were okay? I think Yoongi—” The line fizzles out.

There’s a pause as you look at a curious Jungkook.

“It looks like we’ll be here a while.”

a/n: hey babies! so sorry for the long wait for this one! i really hope you liked it! it’s been in the works for a little while haha. this is my first fic back in a WHILE! and more to come soon! let me know what you think as per usual. i love you so much!!!!!!! and happy holidays to you, your friends and families ✨💞

[alecmagnuslwb]

Marriage is a Contract and My Signature is Unreadable

Read on AO3

John’s never seen a bride wear fishnets with their stunning white dress, but Dinah Lance is pulling it off somehow. Admittedly though John hasn’t seen that many brides that weren’t ghosts or the earthly demonic embodiment of some sort of hell beastie so maybe his experience in weddings and bridal wear is a bit skewed.

Of course he’s also a bit skewed because in his eyes no one at this wedding, not even the bride no disrespect to the woman who’s by far one of the few supers he can truly say he likes, is as stunning as his date. Zatanna sits beside him at their table, the reception in full swing now, her legs crossed the deep navy-blue asymmetrical dress she’s wearing showing off a tantalizing bit of her leg. Her tattoo, the twin to his peeks out from the front of the dress right next to the silver lining at the edges where the dress straps around her neck. She’s a fucking vision his Zatanna.

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Zatanna says gliding her silver French tipped nails with little crescent moons on them along her glass of champagne. “I really thought Lois and Clark would be the only ones to take the plunge.”

Supers aren’t known for tying the knot, their world is so complicated and their relationships so wild they never find the time to actually get around to it. The fact that Dinah and Oliver managed to not only successfully get engaged, but plan a real wedding and have the ceremony without any major incidents happening in the middle is a miracle if John’s ever actually seen one.

“Who do you think’ll be next?” John says surveying the room. Every hero he’s ever met and ever butted heads with is here out of costume and all dressed up to the nines. There’s a congregation of Green Lantern’s by the bar, Superman is on the dance floor poorly attempting to floss as Nightwing laughs his fine ass off at him, the Flash is somehow dancing with his girlfriend and eating every item on the buffet simultaneously.  “Seems like two in a row will make a domino effect, yeah?”

Zatanna hums in thought her piercing blue eyes with the glittery navy blue and silver eyeliner around them shimmering in the light as she tilts her head in thought. She carefully scratches at the space beside the cluster of tiny rhinestones artfully placed around her right eyebrow and settles her eyes to a table across the room with a smile.

“Wally and Linda for sure,” she says tilting her head their direction. John swivels to look at them. Unlike Barry who’s still zooming back and forth from Iris to the buffet, Wally is wholly engrossed in every movement Linda makes as she talks rapidly her hands moving all about as she speaks to Mia Dearden on the other side of the table. That is a man wholly in love, enraptured by the woman he gets to call his own. John understands the sentiment as he looks back to Zatanna her dark blue painted lips still resting in a beautiful smile.

“What if it was us?” John asks leaning in closer to her a wicked smile on his face.

Zatanna snorts, a harsh indelicate thing that on anyone else would be unattractive.

“Aww, love you too, Zee,” John says faux offended falling back against his chair. He knew it was an absurd suggestion the moment he said it.

“I’m sorry, you know I love you,” she says holding up a hand attempting to hide her laughter. “It’s just look at us, we’re coming up on our first and only three-year anniversary. We’re not exactly known for being good at this.”

It’s a valid point. Despite the fact they have technically been together for over a decade they’ve gone through their fair share of ups and downs, break ups and make ups and even a few trips to hell and literal deaths. John has screwed up more times than he can count and even Zatanna has bungled it once or twice. Complicated has at almost all times been their relationship status, but the past three years, ever since John got his head out of his ass and finally decided to sort out this one particular aspect of his life they’ve been good, solid.

“Okay, true, but you’re stuck with me and we can’t act like there aren’t benefits to the whole marriage sham,” he says stretching his arms behind his head.

“It’s extremely comforting you called it a sham,” Zatanna says giving him a fondly exasperated look. “But you know maybe you’re right the tax incentives alone are a real benefit.”

“Now, the tax incentives would be appealing if I had ever in my life filed my taxes,” John says with a laugh.

“You’ve never filed taxes?” Zatanna says with a slightly startled look.

John just shrugs tossing back the remainder of his champagne. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any real upstanding type of job that would require me to fill out a W4 or whatever.”

“It’s a W2,” Zatanna corrects. “And John you live with me, our landlord made me put your name on the lease because he saw you there so much. You could totally get caught.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” John says with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “The fact that I’m not technically a citizen of this country is probably a bigger issue than the tax thing anyway.”

“John!” Zatanna exclaims with a laugh.

“What? You can’t have thought I actually went to a baseball park and held my hands up and did the national anthem or whatever,” he says kicking his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

“Clearly you haven’t considering that’s not at all how citizenship works,” Zatanna chuckles. “But hey there’s a potential benefit of marriage for us, citizenship.”

“Ah the romance of marrying not for love, but so the government pricks don’t send your ass packing,” John reaches out a hand tangling his fingers with Zatanna’s on the table his thumb running small circles into her hand.

Zatanna hums. “I guess lack of romance aside it wouldn’t matter since I can always just portal you back into the country on a whim anyways.”

John nods in agreement trying to come up with another benefit they might be able to actually take advantage of. “You couldn’t testify against me in court, that could be incredibly useful down the line.”

Zatanna raises one jeweled eyebrow, “Is there a crime you’ve committed lately you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

John thinks for a moment genuinely scanning his memories in case there is something he forgot to tell her about. “No,” he settles on confidently. He’s pretty sure at least. “I’m just thinking in general considering my track record in the past.”

Zatanna pats the top of his hand with a smile. “As if any prison could hold you long enough for me to even be asked a single question.”

John just laughs again, “Alright so maybe there aren’t that many marital benefits for us to take advantage of then.”

“No parents to satisfy,” Zatanna sighs. “And of course making medical decisions for one another doesn’t really matter when you use magic and superhero doctors that definitely don’t accept any sort of co-pay,” she adds on with a contemplative bite of her lip.

“Half your friends hate me,” John says thoughtfully with a chuckle.

“And half your friends are dead,” Zatanna says ruefully tapping a nail to her chin. “The wedding party would be abysmally uneven.”

“I haven’t bought a new tie in years,” John says tugging at the red thing around his neck. He looks hilariously basic compared to Zatanna’s ensemble essentially wearing what he wears any given day of the week the only difference being Zatanna had forced him into a subtly lace patterned black jacket for a change and repainted his chipped nails for the first time in two weeks. “It’d make the pictures look horribly out of place.”

“Plus let’s be real I’m a show woman, I’d probably hate having to share the spotlight with you for one day,” Zatanna smiles teasingly. John smiles back shifting so that he’s scooting his chair closer to hers. He lifts a hand to her face twisting a long dark hair that’s slipped from her twisty updo held in place by two sharp silver hair pins with crescent moons at the end to match her nails and tucking it back behind her ear.

“So, basically there’s not a benefit in this world or a thing that would change if we got married,” John says letting the silky hair go.

“The only thing I can think of is that I like shiny jewelry and you look hot when you wear silver rings,” Zatanna says reaching back and pulling the two pins from her hair letting it all fall across her shoulders, the one stand out streak of navy blue appearing as it falls.

“And we can buy each other jewelry anytime without a reason,” he says brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into her eyes away.

Zatanna smiles at him once before standing holding out a hand that he instantly takes. She guides him to the dance floor twining her fingers behind his head slowly.

They sway slowly to some sappy love song John vaguely recognizes their eyes locked on one another.

“You know,” she says after a while her fingers pulling through the hair that’s getting a bit too long at the base of his neck. “Just because I don’t want to get married doesn’t mean I don’t want you for as long as I can have you, right?”

He does know that. It’s inexplicable to him why someone as bright and vibrant and good as her wants him, but she does and he intends to keep it that way till the demons or the cigarettes kill him.

“I know. I’m happy how we are, knowing us, and by us I mean me, marriage would end up mucking everything up anyways,” he says pulling her in closer his hands moving from their grip on her waist to the exposed small of her back. “We can just keep going to everyone else’s weddings and raiding their open bars.”

Zatanna laughs then leans up kissing him once soft and slow not even smudging her lipstick in the slightest. She stays close when she pulls back resting her head on his chest as they continue to sway.

“We really need to get your name off of my lease though, I don’t need the government showing up and trying to audit me,” she says softly. “I’d be a nightmare for Mistress of Magic brand.”

John laughs loud and bright leaning his head down to kiss her once atop the head already planning a minor break in to the landlord’s apartment. It’ll be okay if he gets caught, married or not he knows she won’t testify against him.

[sserpente]

Pastel Blue (Chapter 6)

A/N: I hate how I have barely had any time to write lately! In all honesty, moving to a different country is quite  the challenge! 😂 I hope you enjoy the new chapter, I can’t wait to dive back into writing excessively, haha! ♥

Jess breathed out, watching how the warm air turned into fog. It was way too chilly down here. She had asked Mobius to install some radiators months ago but he wouldn’t listen. Loki on the other hand seemed to have no problem with the cold at all. He strutted next to her like he owned the place, with his head held high and a dark expression on his face.

M had a point. Despite the collar, it was a risk bringing Loki to a party of all things. But then again… she would be sure to laugh if he jumbled up the celebrations. Dave deserved it, kind of. Frankly, he could be a dick sometimes.

Loki smirked to himself. Her dress was green, with thin shoulder straps and a heart-shaped neckline. He offered her his arm when they stepped into the cafeteria, bathing in the mistrustful looks the whole of TVA eyed them with.

Mobius was stood at the buffet table, holding a glass filled with vodka and a green olive swimming in it in one hand while the other was buried in his pocket. The tawdry music, the chatting and the constant clattering of plates and cutlery made it nearly impossible for him to make out what the senior manager was saying now.

Warily, Loki glared him down. He was either oblivious to his excellent hearing, stupid enough to discuss such clandestine matters in the hallway or… or he meant for him to eavesdrop. Loki held on to the thought. He trusted him to feed him pathetic bits and pieces of information to keep him on his toes, to throw him small bones like a starved dog.

What if he was cleverer than he assumed he was? If he had incited Jess to spend time with him, make him believe she was on his side when she secretly ran off every day to tell Mobius about his behaviour like a child in day-care? If he used her to keep him on a leash in this godforsaken place? Loki gnashed his teeth.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” He mocked when he spotted him. The Trickster narrowed his eyes at him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Jess rolling hers. Either way, he would not allow them to manipulate him and instead turn the tables. He was the master of mischief, after all.

“Enjoy yourself while you still can, Loki.” Dave added. “There’s a high chance you’ll kick the bucket next week.”

Jess rolled her eyes once more—or perhaps she was still rolling them, Loki was unsure. His eyes darted over to Mobius again, noticing with both dismay and an odd feeling of satisfaction making itself comfortable in his guts how the senior manager studied their interlinked arms.

A thin smile formed on his lips. Oh yes. Whatever your play is, I will turn it against you and I will burn this entire place to the ground until all you have left is a pile of ash and Jess—lovely and delicate Jess—will help me do so whether she is willing or not.

“Suck it up, Dave.” Jess barked. “Do you drink coke?” She continued sweetly then, directed at Loki.

“I beg your pardon?” He leaned forward slightly—close enough for her nostrils to be filled with his scent like she was some goddamn predator sensing its prey. If anything, Loki would be the predator in this scenario. She was but a lamb compared to him—a lamb who could kick his shin but a lamb nonetheless.

“Coke. Black fizzy drink, very sweet, spiked with Whiskey—not normally but definitely tonight.” She cleared her throat and winked at him and, much to his own surprise, his heart skipped a beat upon the flirty gesture. Perhaps this was the very reason he let her grab his arm and drag him away from both Mobius and Dave to plunder the bar.

“Don’t let her get drunk!” He heard Mobius call after him. Loki frowned.

Whoever was playing bartender tonight and doing a terribly slow job with that, Jess paid them no attention. Unceremoniously, she leaned over the counter, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of Whiskey. Granted, Loki knew nothing of Midgardian drinks and how there were properly mixed, he had a feeling, however, that more than half of the glass filled with Whiskey was not the proper way to mix a delightful alcoholic refreshment.

At least, so he had to admit, the view was a rather delectable one, with her backside wiggling around right before his eyes. He suppressed a dark chuckle.

Once she had tapped the faucet pouring a dark brown liquid to mix with the Whiskey and handed him one, she grinned, heaving herself up onto the counter completely and resting her feet on the barstool.

“Skål!” She announced, winking once more. Loki took a sip to conceal how thickly he had to swallow. As expected, the coke-Whiskey-mixture tasted horrible. His face distorted, making Jess laugh.

“There’s no Asgardian ale in this place, I’m afraid. Do you dance? You’re the God of Mischief, you must be dancing.”

Loki raised his eyebrows in response. “Is that all you will do at this so-called party? Drink and dance and then drink some more?”

Jess shrugged. “Never let anyone tell you that alcohol is not the solution. I’ve had some amazing nights forgetting my own name. So?” She downed her drink, slamming the empty glass on the counter so forcefully he feared it would break under the impact. “Do you dance?”

The music, whatever it was, was too slow for Jess’ taste. She’d much rather listen to some techno hits, and some Hip Hop and Dubstep hits to move her body to. It almost felt a little like space. A place to lose herself in, utterly and wholly, a place making her stronger rather than taking her energy away from her.

But Dave had always had a very uninspiring music taste and, given it was his anniversary, the music was unlikely to change anytime soon. Loki’s lips parted when she took his glass from his hand and downed it too. Neither of them expected the jolt of electricity rippling through them when she took his hand and entangled her fingers with his to pull him towards the middle of the cafeteria where Minutemen of all departments, scientists and even some of the security were moving to the music.

“That’s an interesting development after all, don’t you think?” Loki heard Dave say. Jess swirled them both around, her blue eyes closed in an attempt to dream herself into a reality where she could go out with her friends and lose her mind in a dimly lit nightclub surrounded and desired by both men and women alike. She would drink until she had forgotten about her parents and until she had lost her grasp on reality to enter space and be free and independent. Jess did not allow herself to dream often these days, for when she did… the urge to escape this place once more and turn her back on Mobius rose to an extent it brought her physical pain to resist.

“Well, he is charismatic. That doesn’t mean anything, does it? Jess has a weakness for bad boys and Loki is pretty much the definition of that.”

“Please. Thor’s little brother, how strong could he possibly be without his beloved sceptre?” Dave snorted.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, especially not this variant. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t think he’d be of use. He’s smart. He doesn’t trust us.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mobius shrug. “We have a good reason not to trust him either. Not yet, at least. I’ve studied his entire life, remember?”

“You are not seriously thinking about removing that collar at some point, are you?”

Loki growled, lest he could not decide whether it was because of how good his palm felt against the small of Jess’ back or the way Dave and Mobius kept talking about him behind his back.

“Now I thought you said he couldn’t possibly be that strong without the sceptre?” Dave replied nothing to that. He did not need to. Mobius had made it clear enough that he was the figure of authority here. There was no way, however, he was going to be able to concentrate on this devilish bureaucrat and his ridiculous attempts to manipulate him as long as Jess’ body was rubbing against his in the most wicked ways. This woman, human or not, knew exactly what she was doing, regardless of the alcohol already clouding her system.

He smirked when another song ended and there was a moment of silence in his heart upon the lack of a loud bass reverberating in his chest. Jess opened her eyes in an almost luscious manner and took his hand once more to pour herself another drink.

He liked the way she took charge. Apart from Sif, she was so unlike all the Asgardian women he had known during his time in the realm he grew up in. Jess was neither offering him her devotion nor was she withholding her affection. His heart jumped upon remembering how she had hugged him in the bathroom. Peculiar.

While she emptied another repulsive coke-and-whiskey-mixture, his eyes caught another buffet table positioned at the other end of the room—one he had not seen upon first entering this absurd get-together.

“What is this?” Jess spun around.

“What is what?”

“This.” He pointed at the table. The cooks had outdone themselves with the number of bowls full of fruit neatly chopped up—the highlight, however, was the massive chocolate fountain bubbling away peacefully and luring every passer-by into tasting it.

“Have you never seen a chocolate fountain before?”

Loki frowned, making Jess chuckle. Heavens, if he keeps doing that, his face might stay like that, she thought.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Once within reach of the buffet table, she treated herself to a strawberry that she stabbed with one of the provided plastic toothpicks and coated it with chocolate. She grinned when Loki’s smirk returned and copied her with the sole difference of picking a grape instead.

“How does this thing operate?”

“Well, I’m not an engineer but as far as I’m concerned, you pour molten chocolate into the fountain, which is electric, and the pump inside will make sure to keep it flowing. Apparently, Asgard is not as advanced as I thought it was. Chocolate fountains are extremely important for one’s emotional wellbeing, you know.” Jess downed the Whiskey glass she had taken with her. “And so is alcohol. Are you gonna stay here all evening now?”

“I just might.” Loki winked.

“Suit yourself.” She announced, holding up her empty glass. “I’m getting another drink.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes and snatched her upper arm, holding it tightly enough for to gasp—and not in a terrified or intimidated way, so he noticed. But either way, he was not going to let her poison herself.

“You’ve had enough, don’t you think?” He snarled, snatching the glass from her.

“Excuse me? Give that back.”

“No. I said you’ve had enough.”

“I’m supposed to supervise you, not the other way around! Now give that back.”

Loki scoffed. “You’ll do a marvellous job with that, all drunk and out of your mind.”

Heavens, not again. Jess gasped for air—a desperate sound swallowed by the loud music and the bass vibrating in her chest. Loki caught it nonetheless. There it was, this figurative magnet, this invisible rope tying him to her like a bloody lap dog.

It was genuine concern purling in his stomach, he did know this much. Regardless of Mobius’ half-hearted request, Loki certainly did not want Jess to get drunk and damage her liver beyond repair. Mortals were fragile as was and yet here they were, stuffing themselves with ridiculous amounts of sugar and fat, spending all day watching silly TV shows and pouring alcohol down their throats like it was water from Mimir’s fountain itself.

“I dare you…” He murmured, his composure on the edge of a steep cliff threatening to overwhelm him, rip all control from him. Jess leaned back some more, a feeble attempt to escape his advances that she did not wish to refuse altogether. “I dare you.” He repeated, jumping in at the deep end if anything to quench the curiosity and feel what his body and, for Heaven’s sake, even his mind had been longing for. What had he to lose? “Kiss me. I know you have been thinking about it.”

He pulled her close again and this time, he was certain to have heard a whimper. Loki’s cock stirred, even more so when she turned her head away and his nose brushed against her cheek.

“Is it Mobius?” He purred. Jess struggled to form a proper sentence in response or even breathe evenly. Eventually, she nodded. “I believe… I believe we have both had enough of this party, have we not?”

Jess bit her lower lip and glanced behind herself. M was engrossed in a conversation with Ravonna Renslayer, the badass time judge she never interacted with much. Well… she certainly was none of her concern now.

“Quick,” she breathed out, “before they notice us leaving.”

 ~*~

You are a grown woman. Loki is a handsome man. It’s obvious the chemistry between you is right. You’re sexually attracted to him and he just confirmed that the feeling is mutual. This is not your first one-night stand. It might not be your last. God, I hope it’s not my last. That man is literally not from this world.

“What are you doing?” Jess snapped herself out of her thoughts when Loki stopped in front of one of the control rooms. The walls were made entirely of glass, revealing a bored security officer staring at about a dozen computer screens in utter darkness. “He’ll see us!”

Loki narrowed his eyes and huffed when he found what he was looking for—the camera monitoring Jess’ unit. Ah… this was indeed perfect. Just like he had suspected. He could see the sofa and the unmade sheets on top of it, and the coffee table with countless peanut bags on it. But even without his powers, nobody would see him sneak along the wall and into Jess’ bedroom.

“Loki?”

“There is a dead angle in your unit.”

“So?” He winked again, making her lower regions clench. When he simply kept on walking, she rushed after him like a cat knowing it was about to be fed.

~*~

A/N: Muhahaha. In case anyone is interested what song Loki and Jess danced to, you can find it right here!

[monomas-a-smug-bih]

unexpected comfort (kurapika x reader)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒

Kurta eyes. The posh man was talking about Kurta eyes.

The bloody anger in Kurapika’s eyes began to seethe and brew again. You tried your best to stop it, though you weren’t sure there was much to do once he’d gotten like that.

You and Kurapika had landed a job together, you didn’t care much for the details since it wasn’t very dangerous for once, and it almost had seemed like a nice night out until now. You had come to be filled in for those you were hired by on the latest information they’d been concerned with, but were much too occupied to come receive it themselves apparently. Although you and Kurapika were both bodyguards, you arrived as a spoiled relative and he kept his position, but as your bodyguard.

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

The man’s voice that was practically selling the eyes of one of Kurapika’s ancestors had brought you back to crude reality of the situation. The bustling energy of the ballroom seemed to muffle as soon as the older man had revealed something of his he shouldn’t have. At least not in front of your “body guard.”

You gulped, wondering how you should answer. Staring over to Kurapika, you realized, yes his eyes were indeed beautiful. But to have them floating aimlessly in a jar? You cringed at the thought.

“Yes, they are quite beautiful.” You bit your cheek, not enjoying the words in your mouth, or his stare from behind you on your conscious. Before the snob could start his rambles on luxuries and riches, you cut him off. “So why are they in a jar?” You we’re trying to bite down your own anger now, understanding the reason for Kurapika’s constant fuel for his anger. It was these people.

“Well, sweetheart, the value doesn’t lay with the container, rather...”

“It’s not- when you see something beautiful, is your instinct really to kill it and shove it into a jar with a price tag?” You couldn’t help yourself, were these people really this blinded by something as trivial as jenny? “Shouldn’t it be left alone because it’s beautiful, because we fear of disturbing its grace? I...I don’t think beauty is something that should be locked up, do you?” You’d gotten too into this conversation, your true feelings shining through. The rich man before you and Kurapika both wearing varying shock on their faces.

You had to maintain the character you’d brought here, or your cover would be blown! You were a woman who liked to think of herself as respectful, but instead thought of something a bratty, spoiled girl would say and tried your best to act the part. You feigned hurt as if you’d personally taken offence, adding an obnoxious sniffle or two. “Why! D-didn’t you just call m-me beautiful?” Your bratty facade was working, he was probably used to working with pig-headed brats, the man flew to your aid.

“N-no milady! I didn’t mean anything like-“

“I’m hurt terribly Sir, truly, and going to the tables now.” You falsely crossed your arms in a pout, turning to Kurapika and winding your arm into his closest to you. Sure, you’d made a fool of yourself, but you smile at the fact that waiter might be fretting over your ‘hurt feelings’ all night. You turned to Kurapika, wondering how the silent boy was after that ordeal. Though his eyes had calmed, you still saw a ring of crimson, hiding subtly at the edges of his eyes. He was wearing contact lenses, but that didn’t stop a the thin sheen of blood red that peeked through when he was troubled. “Hey.” You rubbed his arm in an attempt of comfort, but to not much avail. After a squeeze, he finally looked your way, and he seemed to let his face thaw, his eyes slowly returning to a more true silver. Kurapika had seen you in action before, it was nearly amusing how harmless you could seem to strangers. You sighed in relief.

On your way to the buffet, you both turned into the kitchen you two knew would be empty, you were to await a call from you employers somewhere alone. “What’s your favourite food?” You leaned back on a counter, feeling the need to fill the silence after minutes had passed.

“...I don’t know.” Kurapika stood straight up, almost as if he was refusing rest. You’d always admired his soft almost angelic features, and equally soft and angelic looking blonde hair, but he always carried a heavy sense of either exhaustion or intimidation with him, his sleek black suit adding to the second. He gave off exhaustion only when he felt he could let his guard down, at least partially so, you assumed. From the way his muscles seemed to untense at the shoulders whenever it was just the two of you in a room together. For some reason, that gave you comfort around him.

“Ah, me neither really, though I do love dango. The ones with a lot of flavour...” You tried to focus more on the imaginary dango and less on Kurapika’s hard shell.

“What’s the point of this small talk?” He questioned, eyes on the ground for whatever reason, did even raising his eyes make him tired? Your heart sank a little, the look on his face hardened again.

“It brings me comfort, most of the time others too. I don’t like it much either, but it helps the silence.” He seemed to ponder on that, sliding down to take a seat in the floor himself with a meek sigh, his hands pale against the sleek gray floor.

After no call for another few minutes, you’d figured the two of you had been early, or perhaps your employers had their hands full with something. Kurapika’s thin yet smooth voice surprised you, breaking the silence. “Talking to that man, were you being honest?” Kurapika had been wondering about that conversation ever since it happened. It was the most assertive you’d ever done from what he’s seen, that is before you backed off and sauntered away with him, safely so to his relief. But he still couldn’t help but think whether honesty or fear made those words form in your mouth. Did you say that because you believed it, or because you feared being on anyone’s bad side? To him you were an enigma, a tricky one at that. Kurapika never put much effort into reading other people unless they were his opponent, yet you’re usually unknown and unspoken thoughts had always peaked his interest.

“I was.” You declared.

“Really?” He sounded sceptical, or maybe just indifferent.

“Really, so honest I almost busted our cover.” You sent a smile his way, and Kurapika wasn’t sure what to make of it. You could tell he wasn’t fully convinced.

Later, after waiting for what felt like hours, you reached under a cart nearby, hands landing on small bowls. Rice! You’d be lying if your stomach wasn’t writhing this entire time, you hadn’t eaten for most of the day now. Placing them on top of the cart, you searched for cutlery, eventually finding a couple sets of chopsticks.

“I’ve been starving. How about you, Kurapika?” You asked gingerly. The stoic boy simply looked up at you, leaving no reply. You frowned and slid a bowl over to him anyway, hoping it would brighten his mood a little. Feasting on plain rice, you enjoyed every grain, finally fueled up again for any fighting you may encounter. Kurapika’s eyes seemed to catch something on your face, though you weren’t clueing in at all. He closed his eyes and sighed, stretching his long legs and striding over to you, who was still perched on the counter. He approached so he was standing between your bent knees, you fought your surprise when he swept his thumb across your cheek, a sticky grain of rice falling off as a result. His face was close to yours, and you couldn’t help but be lost in those marble eyes, light glinted against the red earrings beside them. You murmured something too muffled to hear. He hummed for you to respond. “...I wasn’t lying.” You managed, the only way he’d really believe you, might be face-to-face. You wondered if through your eyes he could see your thoughts with his own colourless ones. “You’re eyes...they really are beautiful, even just like this.” Actually, you decided, you preferred them like this. The lack of striking red meant Kurapika’s was a little more at ease, you preferred him in his less troubled state, no matter how stunning his scarlet eyes were. The boy was taken aback, but your hands landed softly onto his cheeks, so he remained as close to you as he was, so he couldn’t back away. “They don’t deserve anything like that.” You finished sternly with your eyes on his, you heart practically pounding, the tone of the room quite saddened. Surprisingly, when Kurapika’s hands travelled hesitantly up your arms to the hands on his face, it wasn’t to yank them off. His hands were on top of your own, and he shut his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lips, seeming to relish in the rarest feeling in his life:

Calm.

You were shocked by the allowed closeness, Kurapika’s lithe form leaning into your own. It seemed he’d finally broken down a little at that, though no noise of defeat came from him. Silently and carefully, his head of blonde hair had descended onto your shoulder, and you felt his weight sink into your arms. Your fingers combed through his light hair as you leaned back slightly onto the counter, allowing him to relax into your embrace. It was peaceful, so peaceful.

You prayed the phone wouldn’t ring, at least not for a while...

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒

ummmmm hiiiiii ummmmmm I wrote a bit of this a while ago but just finished it up and it is 11 pm on a school night hehe haha hoho, hope someone enjoys this rando piece of writing, also don’t ding me if it’s not accurate to the manga I made half this up, is he still a bodyguard? Mafia boss? Who knows? I don’t 😳 anyways he needs hugs

[halfway-happyyy]

Until We Meet Again

this is absolutely something that nobody asked for, but here it is. short ‘n sweet and full of fluff.

A grotesque concoction of alcohol- some variant of overpriced vodka and lemon liqueur if she had to guess, set the delicate lining of her throat ablaze and she winced as she set the empty coupe glass on the tray of passing waiter. She glanced down at the watch face on the underside of her wrist and frowned at it.

An hour late to the event, and an hour left to go.

Eliciting a dejected sigh, she gazed past the expansive tent above her and at the night sky beyond it that blanketed the fountains of the Pacific Design Center in West Hollywood in inky darkness. The cacophonous roar of hundreds of conversations and pulsating music was unbearably loud and she cursed herself for leaving her phone at home. She could picture it now, lying face down on the glass coffee table just inside her front entrance and in total darkness and for a fleeting moment she found herself inexplicably jealous of it. She had given up on trying to locate her friends fifteen minutes ago- though she thought she had just spotted Keane through throngs of expensive suits and dresses in a straight bee-line for the bar and thought that she ought to head there. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the crowd before her in search of him, but stumbled back awkwardly when the bottom of her gown caught on something and ripped.

“Oh my gosh, I just ripped your dress. I am so sorry.” She peered up at the man towered above her, at the glassy blue orbs that somehow still glittered lively under the minimal lighting from the chandeliers around them. Everything about him was immaculate. From the perfectly combed back sandy blonde hair, to the blonde mustache that grew above his pink upper lip, to the black silk bowtie that sat snug against the base of his throat.

She found his visage oddly familiar, but could not place where she might have known him from if her life depended on it. She found herself shrugging. “Honestly don't worry about it. It's one of the many reasons I try to shop thrift before big events.”

Though he offered her a shy smile, his glassy blue gaze remained unsure and it was obvious that he still wasn't convinced. “No really- is there any way it can be fixed? I can get someone over here right now to look at it for you...”

She glanced down at the sizable rip in the fabric and knew with a slight pang that the damage was irreparable. “No, please. It's really fine.”

He chewed at edge of his lip as he mulled something over and cocked his head to the side, his gaze narrowed. “At least allow me to pay for it?”

She had purchased it off the rack at one of her favourite thrift haunts on Melrose for thirty bucks, two weeks ago. She couldn't, in good faith, agree to that. “Listen- this dress has probably had a fantastic life, you know? She finished it this evening at an Emmy award after party. How many other dresses can say that? She's good. This is the end of the line for her.”

They stood in thoughtful silence for a moment, the only sign of his defeat came in the form of a resigned sigh. “Alright. But please know that I still feel slightly terrible about it.”

“I can live with slightly terrible,” She smiled knowingly at him. “Are you having a good night, then?”

He gazed at her, a funny expression coloured his features and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. “I am having a great night, actually.” He eventually confirmed. “Are you having a good night? That is- despite the gown crisis.”

She hugged her arms tight to her chest and glanced around in awe at the sheer sumptuousness of the tent in which she was currently in. Massive, golden lion statues guarded pillars around the room and gilded archways had been erected over ponds so that guests could traverse them at their leisure. No matter how many evenings she spent this way, she doubted that she would ever grow accustomed to it.

“I've never really been one for big parties, but it's been alright so far I suppose. Even despite the gown crisis.” She found that she enjoyed the way a subtle, rosy hue tinted the apples of his cheeks at her slightly teasing lilt. Her stomach gurgled warningly just then- a gentle reminder that she had not consumed an adequate amount of food and she eyed the lavish, twenty-foot replica of a dragon above her head with mild contempt. “God, I'd fight that dragon for a plate of fries right about now. Every year I tell myself I'm going to be on time for one of these events, and every year I let myself down.”

He dropped his head to his chest and elicited a hearty laugh. “You missed out this evening I'm afraid. It was Wolfgang Puck on the buffet.”

“Damn it,” She giggled under her breath. “Every single year.”

He gestured out at the mass of conversing industry people and raised his voice so that she could hear him. “You work for HBO?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Nah, I snuck in an hour ago under the guise of free food and booze.”

“Neither of which you have yet to receive…” He grinned.

“Not exactly,” She giggled. “I snuck a cocktail minutes before the old dress debacle. Tasted somewhat like what I would imagine lemon pine-sol tastes like.” Genuine laughter rose up from the base of his throat like a favourite song and she waited for it to subside with an unabashed smile on face. “I'm a freelance photographer.” She admitted, eventually.

He cleared his throat, poised to ask her another question when his gaze lit up and he cocked his head to the side in thought. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I think I've found a way to repay you for your dress.”

Her eyes widened in mild horror and she shook her head in protest. “Oh- no. Please don't…” But her objections were for naught as she watched his imposing figure vanish into the thickening swarm of people. She chewed anxiously at the soft flesh of her inner lip as she awaited his return and when ten minutes elapsed, she began to grow skeptical.

Too tall. Too Scandinavian. Too beautiful.

But then, and to her pleasant surprise, she spotted his face through the crowd and her heart thrummed in her chest as he approached her. There, in the flat of his palm and high above the heads of everyone else so as not to drop the dish- was a plate heaped high with piping-hot French fries. “This is akin to Christmas,” She sighed longingly once he had rejoined her. “But somehow a little bit better. Thank you very much.”

Wiping the proverbial sweat from his brow, he managed a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, they were exceedingly difficult to procure, but I was persistent.” He handed her the plate with a lux serviette underneath and a fork on the side. “Wolfgang and I uh… we go way back.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a vacant table a few yards away and decided to be brave. “You know… If he supplied you with a second fork, I'd be happy to share some of these with you.”

His gaze followed hers to the table and he smiled sadly. “Alas Wolfgang let me down and I was not offered a second fork, but I would be delighted to sit and chat with you for a few more minutes.”

Sinking into the refuge of the chair beneath her, she was suddenly aware that she had barely been offered a chance to do that all day long. She was content to listen to him speak while she tried not to inhale her entire plate of perfectly fried potatoes.

“I'm sure your date is probably wondering where you've wandered off to.” She offered, after a few moments of comfortable silence had lapsed.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m sure she’s used to it by now. Probably been wondering that very same thing for most of my life.”

She cocked her head to the side, and narrowed her gaze at him. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar.”

His expression dimmed and that same shy smile that he had given her half an hour earlier presented itself again, causing butterflies to take flight in the pit of her belly. 

“I don't believe so,” He gave his head a half-shake. “I would have remembered your face anywhere.”

Utterly grateful for the dim lighting around them, she opened her mouth to counter his last statement when a man she didn't recognize appeared at his side, in a hurry and out of breath. “Alex- you need to take this back now. I am sick of people congratulating me for it and I am entirely out of answers as to how it came to be in my possession.” Without another word, the man placed an Emmy award unceremoniously in front of Alex's amused figure and hurried away.

She nodded at the unsuspecting statuette of a woman laden with a golden atom and quirked an eyebrow in mild amusement. “You are having a very great night indeed, hm?” She simpered.

Sensing that her cue to leave had arrived, she rose from the table to bid Alex goodnight.

“Your company has been a pleasure this evening… I am sorry about your dress.”

She glanced down at the French fry plate, the few scattered crumbs the only indication that something had once been there. “Your penance was plenty.”

“Two questions before you go,” He murmured.

She peered up at him expectantly.

“A photographer without her camera?”

She shrugged and offered him a wry smile. “Everyone gets a night off every once in a blue moon. Next?”

His gaze travelled to the fabric napkin poking out from beneath the empty plate, then back to hers. “Thanks to Paul, you now know my name. What's yours?”

She tilted her head to the side, a half-smile tugged at her lips. “It's Grace.”

“Grace,” He repeated it in a whisper and she ignored the way that it caused goosebumps to bloom in patterns over her bare arms. “Goodnight Grace.” He rose from the table with his award at his side but faltered and turned back to her, remembering something. “Oh- and Grace? Maybe don't leave behind the serviette.”

Puzzled, she watched a hive of bodies swallow his frame, and when he was gone, she reached for the weighted crème fabric, smiling softly to herself. There, in loopy black script from a fountain pen was Alex's name and phone number and a short note that read,

“Until we meet again…”

[ichorizaki]

02. just one glance

warnings    obscene language, child abuse

word count    3.8k

It was one of those rare days that Tadāo felt weirdly generous. When you woke up, he was still asleep in his half of the bed. When you were making breakfast, he was still in bed. When you were done and waking Tarō up, he was awake and trudged to the kitchen with a somewhat fresh face. Your son was walking on eggshells as he crept to the breakfast table, eyes watching his father carefully like the façade could drop any second. It was a Monday, so that meant that Tadāo was bound to be back in the office, which was why it was a surprise to everyone at the table when he asked what time Tarõ’s daycare ended. You fought back the urge to bite back, to reprimand him that he should know as his father, so you gave him a practiced smile instead.

“He usually ends at noon sharp,” you looked at your husband, trying to look out for even the slightest twitch on his face that told you he was just asking out of curiosity and nothing more. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to take him out for a couple of hours and spend time with him, is that so wrong?” There was an edge in the tone of his words, sharp and jagged to shield what may be the guilt of being absent in Tarō’s life catching up to him. You almost couldn’t believe it. Your eyes quickly flit to your son who was already staring nervously back at you from his seat next to his father. You felt the weight of your heart sinking down to your stomach. His earthy eyes that were once filled with the flames of mirth and mischief were now dampened with trepidation. “What, I can’t take my son out to spend time with him?”

Tadāo’s voice snapped your focus back to the table as a whole. Of course there was nothing wrong, you just didn’t trust him around your son without you around. He called for your attention once more but the way his twisted words somehow sounded like you and Tarō should be thankful that he even suggested it at all.

“Tarō, is that okay with you?” Stuck at a crossroads, you asked your son what he thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t be okay with it—why would he be?—but he and you had a system to protect each other when the other isn’t around. He despises his father with a burning passion but you couldn’t exactly fault him. His brows furrowed, very clearly against the idea of being alone with your husband.

“Give your mother a break. Lord knows she needs it. Right, Y/N?” Tadāo’s eyes found their way to yours and you swallowed thickly. What the hell were you even supposed to say? “Right?”

“Yes,” you quickly responded, your heart tripping over its own feet.

That was how you found yourself sitting in the exact same mall Tadāo had brought your son to with your two best friends by your side. The three of you were cosied up in a 4-star Michelin restaurant for afternoon tea and a lunch buffet. You were supposed to be relaxing but it stressed you out when you tried to. The table was empty, with you occupying one seat as the other three were temporarily homing personal purses and shopping bags.

Mai and Kame had gone ahead to grab some drinks and light starters. Your phone screen was facing you, placed by your plate where you could easily reach it in case Tarō called you. You didn’t even notice that the both of your friends had returned until you realised that you had a strawberry cheesecake parfait set on your plate. Your e/c eyes slowly drifted up to meet Kame’s piercing gaze. Behind the icy grey you knew she meant well, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she sat down across you.

“We know you’re worried for Tarō, Y/N.” Mai’s voice was gentle and soothing as she took your hand in hers. She cupped them both and your eyes trailed from your hands to her face, where a smile akin to a spring flower greeted you. “We can’t do much, but we’re in the same mall as they are, which means if Tarō ever needs help, we’re all here able to rush to him immediately.”

“She’s right,” Kame chimed in. She had already started eating her gyōza and chawanmushi with shrimp. “Plus, did you forget that I’m a taekwondo teacher or something? I can knock your bitch of a husband out, just say when.” While her intentions were nothing but pure, her violent comment did not go unnoticed by the table of pompous middle-aged women behind her.

“Kame, we’re in public!” Mai took the opportunity to kick her in the shin underneath the table upon releasing your hands. The auburn-haired woman scowled childishly and you couldn’t help but smile. Even when you’re all so different, your personalities complement each other well. They were right—there’s nothing much you could do. If you wanted to worry, you could, but you were just putting yourself in a state of pure unbridled worrying. The three of you were finally meeting up after three weeks, with Mia being busy with grad studies and Kame with running her classes.

So you tried your best to ignore the unsettling sensation brewing in the pit of your stomach like a hexing potion. You paid attention to the food, to the conversation, to the atmosphere, and soon you found yourself relaxing. The tension in your shoulders disappeared as you laughed for the nth time that afternoon. The three of you were reminiscing about your college days, making jokes, recalling old classmates and even joking about said classmates. While it had been hell for you as a public relations and business major, the experiences outside of classes made it worthwhile.

Then your mind couldn’t help but wander to Futakuchi Kenji and the incident that happened sometime last week. Your relationship with him extended a little further than just in-laws. He was a business major attending the same university both you and your husband did. Thanks to that, most of your classes happened to overlap and you just happened to be around him a lot. You nearly fainted on the day you found out that they were cousins—they were nothing alike, until you realised how similar they were in terms of their appearances.

Being classmates with Futakuchi was by no means a walk in the park. For some reason, during discourse sessions, it always ended up the both of you being at each other’s throats. Actually, it wasn’t just discourse sessions. If there was no discourse session, he would create one. Discussion panels would turn into debates and the both of you would end up being the last ones standing, too stubborn to stand down until it was just a battle of wits and personal attacks. Oh, how he loves attacking Tadāo. 

“Your strategy is great, but what happens if the media suddenly turns it into something else completely? You know how they can get when they want something newsworthy. They’ll try to shove words down your throat like that crummy boyfriend of yours.” You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Of course Futakuchi Kenji had brought up his cousin. You were beginning to wonder whether he had forgotten about him altogether.

The scoffs, snickers, and snide comments made by your classmates fell on deaf ears. While they were used to it and obviously desensitised, it got annoying when Futakuchi drags out the lesson even by just a minute.

“First of all, thank you for acknowledging my strategy’s worth. Second of all, you’re making up situations entirely based off of biases about the media. You know damn well the journalists in our uni are trained to be professional specialists. Lastly, that’s my fiancé, you sick son of a bitch.”

You couldn’t help but miss those classes. As much as he slandered your husband, he was actually a decent person. He helped out when you struggled, offered you notes, and he always arrived in class early with your favourite drink. The both of you were close, but at the same time barely knew anything about each other. Kame had mentioned something about one of the parties that all three of you went to and had to go streaking but managed to weasel her way out of it, which made your whole table erupt with laughter. However, your happiness was cut short by a loud ringing from your phone.

The caller ID on your phone was enough to send your heart racing against your chest. Tarō would never call you for no reason. The phone that you gave him—a model a whole decade older than he—was for emergency purposes and that only. Your thumb swiped the green icon across the screen and the second you put your phone to your ear, you could hear his laboured breaths.

“K-Kāsan,” his voice came out in choked sobs. “Tōsan is . . he tried to hit me. Please- Please come get me, Okāsan.”

“Where are you, baby?”

“Kiddy Palace in the mall nearby. Please hurry–” The last that you heard before an empty line were angry shouts in the distance. By the end of it, you had already gathered your items and you noticed that so had Mai and Kame, the latter digging into her purse for her wallet as she marched over to the counter to cover the payment.

“Where’s Tarō?” Mai asked, taking your hand in hers.

“Kiddy Palace. That’s the fourth level, right?” She gave you a nod of confirmation and that was all that it took for the both of you to speed out of the restaurant. Kame managed to catch up when you found the lift lobby. The adrenaline coursed through your system like a wave of flood; you could barely keep up with the way your brain was going off on tangents and trying to focus on the steps ahead of you. The worst had come true, and you didn’t want to think that it was just your brain blowing out of proportion.

Kame’s hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles while Mai held onto your other hand. They were telling you that everything was going to be alright, that Kame was beyond capable of putting your husband back in line. They were trying their best to ease your worries but it could only do so much.

The second the doors began to slide open, you had to squirm past and your feet began to carry you to Kiddy Palace. Blood thumped in your ears, the fear sitting on your face like a pillow suffocating. It didn’t take you long to find Tarō, huddled among plush toys similar to a fortress. The second he saw you, he flung himself over to you, throwing himself in your arms. He was babbling and sobbing; you could barely make out any coherent words when you hoisted him up, holding him close against your body.

“You fucking dog!”

“Kenji, don’t get in between my and my son.”

You froze. Kenji? Futakuchi Kenji? Mai had appeared at your side, her gentle words and cooing to calm Tarō down. She offered to carry him so that “Okāsan’s going to fight Otōsan.” He had no problem shifting from you to her before you ran up to where Kame was, separating the two men from biting off each others’ throats. She stood right in front of him, looking him in the eye and ready to shove him back should he step out of line.

You didn’t even know where to go. To Kenji, or to your husband? Between the both of them, it was your husband who looked more beaten up. Kenji looked spotless while your husband suffered a busted lip and a bruised eye. What were you even going to say to your husband?

“What the fuck are you staring at me for?” You flinched at the harsh words. Mumbles and murmurs came from the onlooking crowd who were unsure on what to do or were too afraid to step in. “Come and help me, you useless bitch.” No sooner had the last syllable left his lips had Kame and Keiji both flung themselves at him, profanities running a mile a minute. Within the blink of an eye, Tadāo was tackled to the ground with both your best friend and his cousin on him.

It took you a heartbeat to realise what was happening. Your head was spinning, your body lurching forward until you were begging for Kame and Kenji both to get off of him. Your pleas and cries finally got through to the two. Weakly, you pulled them off of Tadāo’s body. You couldn’t even bear to look at your husband. With this many people watching– shit. You’ve caused a ruckus in the middle of a mall. 

You spun on the heel of your feet and began to bow at a ninety-degree angle in all directions where there was a visible crowd, voicing out your apologies with a tremble in your voice and a shaking heart. Then, you turned to your husband with tears in your eyes and the choke of a sob in your throat. Your heart hammered threateningly against your chest, watching him carefully as he got onto his two feet.

“Don’t come home tonight.”

“Who the fu–”

“You wanna get fucking beaten up, you punk?!” Kame stomped a foot forward and that was enough to make him flinch the slightest. She grabbed Kenji by his arm and you by your hand, leading you away from the scene. You didn’t know why she dragged him, but it would be nice to know what had gone down and why he was even in the mall in the first place. Mai joined you three with a sniffling Tarō whose cheeks were wet with tears. She suggested that you headed out of the mall and to the McDonald’s across the street for some ice cream to cheer everyone up and everyone unanimously agreed.

So there you sat on a public bench, balancing Tarō on your thighs with a handheld fan in his direction while he happily ate his vanilla ice cream. Mai and Kame sat on either side of you, the former enjoying the seasonal yuzu ice cream and Kame a chocolate cone. Kenji sat quietly next to Mai, the only other person he’s familiar with having known each other since they were in high school.

You learned that Tadāo had been rather passive aggressive in his behaviour towards your son. He was impatient to Tarō’s needs and completely forgot—he probably never even knew about it in the first place—about Tarō’s love for wearing dresses and tiaras. He called his son a slur that is now ingrained in the poor child’s brain for the rest of his natural life and threatened to hit him over and over when Tarō was overwhelmed and threw a tantrum. Tadāo would have struck your child if it hadn’t been for Kenji who happened to be nearby. To your dismay, a fight broke out between them right before you turned up.

Perhaps it was time for you to pull up your socks and talk to Tadāo about his behaviour. Guilt found its way around your heart, wrapping its thick tendrils around it and squeezing it tightly like it was trying to milk an apology out of you. But who was that apology for? You? Or was it for your husband? It should go to Tarō, right? Thoughts raced through your mind, fogging up your vision and before you knew it, your mind was but an incoherent blur of emotions and thoughts.

“Uh, I think I’ll take my leave first.” Turning to your left, Kenji was getting up from his spot next to Mai. “Take care, okay? You need to do something about him.” His warm eyes then landed on Tarō and you couldn’t help but notice a certain glint of curiosity in them. Your son squirmed uncomfortably in your laps. You knew how he got around any adult male but it was a surprise altogether to see him hiss at Kenji.

“Oya, I didn’t know my favourite boy was a cat!” Mai immediately stole his attention. Tarō lets out a tiny humph, nose upturned before his lower lip jutted out into a pout. The five-year-old frowned at Mai, who teased him as she picked him up to settle him next to her. “You’re a big boy now and you still wanna sit on your mommy’s lap?”

“I’m gonna sit on Okāsan’s laps even when I’m bigger!”

“Even when she’s old and wrinkly like a grandma?” Tarō was left speechless as his baby browns darted between you and Mai who was laughing her ass off. You rolled your eyes, smacking her in the back of her head before getting up to talk to Kenji.

He had his hands in his pockets, kicking at the rocks that found their way from the asphalt and it reminded you of a small child feeling sheepish. You noticed how his muscles flexed and relaxed underneath the fabric of his fitted black shirt before noticing how he was so casually dressed for a Monday afternoon. Was he unemployed? Or maybe retired, even? You knew he owned his company and he’s earning himself an empire of gold but you didn’t know just how much gold he had in his tavern.

“Kenji,” you called out cautiously, staying a safe distance from him. He turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Did he not expect you to approach him? “Thank you for saving Tarō. Lord knows what would’ve happened without you there.” He didn’t make any move to close the distance between the both of you. The corners of his lips twitched upwards into a lazy smile.

“Guess it’s gotta be pure luck for you, huh?” You scoffed at that. Or at least, tried. You were relieved and you weren’t going to lie about that. You would thank him in some other way, a gift maybe, but you knew your husband would blow it out of proportion and that would be a whole other issue altogether.

“Luck, fate, whatever it is, I’m just glad that you were there, okay? I know what kind of person Tadāo is and what kind of person he can be. The last thing I’d ever let him do is lay his hand on my son.” He must have heard how earnest you were because when he took a deep breath, you saw how his features softened as he looked back into your (e/c) eyes. You didn’t know if he was searching for the right words to say, a delicate response to express that he didn’t mind at all, until you noticed a sleek black car pull up by the curbside. What was it with him being interrupted all the time?

“You know I’d do anything to make sure that that bastard’s out of your life. Hell, that’s probably the only agenda in my book right now,” he chuckled. Kenji lifted his hand to give you a gentle pat on your head. “I’ll get going now. You know I’m just a phone call away.”

You watched as he turned his back on you, waiting patiently as the car door slid open automatically to reveal an all-black leather interior. He ducked his head and entered the vehicle but not before giving you one last wave goodbye, the door sliding over and securing him safely in the car.

That was the longest interaction that he had with you yet ever since he had gotten home from Yokohama. Kenji leaned back in his seat, head rocking back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and the picture of Tarō formed in his head. There was just . . . there was just something about that kid that unsettled him. It was probably the way that he suddenly hissed when he was trying to find the courage to ask if he was okay. The kid didn’t really look like you.

Oh, you. All these years and he thought you’d have left the sick bastard of a human being that he had as a cousin that you have as a husband. Yet again he was proven wrong with the silver band on your ring finger. What bothered him was the lack of a ring on Tadāo’s ring finger.

The entire ride home, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you and Tarō. The dynamic that you both had made him miss his own mother. You were so caring, so gentle and so soft but in that kindness of you was a strength hardened by all of the shit that Tadāo had forced you into. You didn’t let your hardships define you, and that was something that he’s always admired you for.

Kenji fiddled with his phone as he alighted the car, thanking the driver as he made his leave. Maybe he should call his mother. But he already called her two days ago. He knew that she would tease him to no end should he call her any sooner. He only called once a week, but even then, his mother is usually the one calling in a mere day after he had done so.

His butler greeted him as he entered the threshold of his large and lonely household, a friendly greeting returned along with a smile. He immediately found himself headed into the direction of his library, where not only had he stashed archives of literature works but also archives of his own past. He wasn’t one to keep photo albums in his room, choosing to keep them safely and neatly tucked away in the library with the other books that he had. 

Nostalgia in waves as he settled down in his chair, opening up the album to be greeted with his baby pictures. His phone was set on the table before him, the line ringing on speaker as he waited for his mother to pick up. He flipped through the pages slowly, a fond smile on his face as he watched himself grow. He was such an adorable baby. Cheeks red, full and always stuffed with rice or some of his favourite candy.

Then, he came across a picture that struck a chord through his chest. He couldn’t have been any older than seven years old in the picture, perhaps six. He was at the beach, sporting a gigantic toothy grin. His hair was wet and stuck to his skin, yellow goggles hanging loosely around his neck and the bulge of his tummy ever so visible through the navy blue of the swimming suit he was wearing. He would have been mistaken to be extremely elated to be at the beach if it weren’t for how red his eyes were. Wait a minute . . . this looked all too familiar. Where had he seen this before; this very expression of a young boy grinning with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes? Ah. Then it had hit him.

Masayūki Tarō looks exactly like him when he was younger.

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[deancas-fanfiction]

A Daydream Away - Chapter 4

Word Count: 19k+

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

also available on ao3

Dean awoke to his phone buzzing on the nightstand next to him. He squinted against the morning sun filtering into the room. He could feel that it was still early but he carefully reached for his phone nonetheless. Much like the day before, Cas was practically entangled with Dean. Today he was pressed against Dean's back, with their legs intertwined. Cas' arm was resting over Dean's waist. It all felt very possessive. That thought sent a thrill through Dean. Cas has always seemed like a possessive bastard but knowing he felt possessive over Dean unlocked a lot of complicated feelings that made Dean nearly blush.

The phone buzzed again, and Dean reached for it, careful not to move so much as to jostle Cas. He managed to reach it with his fingertips and dragged it to the edge until he could grab it. Dean unplugged it and saw he had a few texts from Sam.

'I found a potential lead last night at the staff happy hour. Call me tonight and I can fill you in after I finish some research.'

'Don't forget about your dinner reservation tonight at 7. Go to the main lodge and they'll direct you.'

Just as Dean was starting to type out a response, one last message came through. 'Hope you lovebirds are enjoying your honeymoon. Make sure you use protection' followed by a bunch of heart and kissy face emojis.

Dean rolled his eyes and typed out a bitchy response but ultimately assured Sam he'd call him before their dinner reservation. After sending the message, Dean glanced at the clock and saw it wasn't even eight. If they got up now, they may even make it to breakfast in time for the cinnamon rolls Jake and Amy raved about.

"Cas, wake up," Dean half-whispered, shaking him. Cas remained unmoved and fast asleep. "Cas." He said more urgently this time. "Get up." Still no movement. Dean tried a new tactic and shook him a little harder.

Cas frowned and rolled away from Dean, grumbling to himself but still fast asleep. His hair was sticking in different directions and his shirt was bunched up, revealing a tan expanse of skin on his lower back. Dean poked him a few more times but Cas was unmoving and snoring lightly.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to just get the damn cinnamon rolls himself. He wasn't going to miss out because Cas is a grumpy bastard in the morning. To soften the blow of attempting to wake him before 9, Dean started a pot of coffee in the cabin's kitchen for Cas to enjoy when he awoke. Then he threw on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and was off towards the lodge.

Sure enough, Jake and Amy were correct -- this was the perfect time to grab breakfast. There were few couples and families milling around, otherwise most of the tables were empty and there was no line at the buffet. Dean grabbed two to-go boxes and filled them with eggs and bacon for himself, pancakes and syrup packets for Cas, and of course a few of the large mouthwatering cinnamon rolls set up by the coffee station. He was attempting to close the lid on the full box when he made eye contact with Amy.

"I see you took our advice to get the cinnamon rolls," She smiled and grabbed one for herself.

"You two made them sound so good, how could we resist?" Dean flashed her a victorious smile as the lid gave in and finally shut. "Besides, Cas has a total sweet tooth, there's no way we would ever leave without him trying them."

"Yeah, Jake is the same way. If it were up to him, he would have pure sugar for breakfast. Before we started dating, he would have mountain dew and twizzlers for breakfast."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "That sounds like a college student's wet dream."

Amy threw her head back and laughed. "Precisely! I'm going to use that. The man is in his thirties, sometimes I think he even forgets that." She shook her head, a wistful smile forming on her face. "He wanted to have a candy buffet at our wedding. It took forever to talk him down from that idea."

"A candy bar sounds awesome," Dean pointed out. He paused and looked at her expression. "Oh God -- you don't mean as dessert, do you?"

"No, he wanted that for the dinner buffet!"

Dean laughed loudly. "That's something Cas would do. If we had a wedding -- I mean, a large wedding -- I'm sure he would have preferred if we just serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. They're his favorite."

"That's actually adorable. And it would make for a cheap reception dinner."

Dean nodded in agreement as he poured coffee in a to-go cup in case the cabin coffee isn't up to Cas' standards. "Careful, if he were to hear that, he would totally hold that against me and be all pissy we didn't actually do that. Then I would have no choice but to tell Jake his candy-dinner-buffet is genius."

"Okay, okay truce! I won't say anything about the sandwiches." She responded, laughing.

Dean returned her smile. "Good thinking. You wouldn't want twizzlers and mountain dew as your wedding dinner."  He grabbed the to-go boxes and coffee carrier, carefully balancing them in his arms. "Well, I better bring this back to Cas before the cinnamon rolls cool down. I know he'd want to experience them in their warm and gooey glory."

"Of course, enjoy! Tell him I say hi and that's it -- nothing else at all relating to sandwiches." She winked.

Dean playfully rolled his eyes and slowly made his way back to the car, without catching sight of Sam. Probably for the better anyway, he'd likely make some kind of dick comment about bringing Cas breakfast in bed. Which -- okay, may be true. But that's only because Cas refused to wake up this morning and he didn't want to miss out on the famous cinnamon rolls. And sure, if he was with Sam, he wouldn't have brought him anything back and would have just said "you snooze, you lose, Sammy. You can eat oatmeal and yogurt like the rest of the late sleepers."  But that was part of being the older brother -- you get free reign to be a dick sometimes.

And! Cas is his fake husband! This is totally something a married couple would do for each other, Dean reasoned. So it's not weird or a romantic gesture. And okay, maybe there was a moment last night after they went sledding down the hill. At least, to him it felt like there was a moment where he wanted to kiss Cas and Cas -- well, it seemed like Cas wanted that, too. Or maybe it was just part of the case. There's really no way to know, except y'know, talking about it. But that sounded about as appealing as eating one of Sam's "nutrient rich" meals, whatever the hell those consisted of. All Dean knew was that it was mostly of veggies and no meat, so he didn't want any part in it.

Regardless, Dean wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. If he was imagining something between them, he'd never be able to recover from the embarrassment. Besides, he didn't want to ruin their friendship. For the first time, Cas has agreed to stay with them, and Dean refuses to do or say anything that would make Cas uncomfortable, thus driving him out of the bunker and away from Dean. Not for the first time in the last few days, he bitterly wished he knew what was going on in Cas' head.

By the time Dean returned to the cabin, Cas was sitting up in bed, blurry eyed with a frown etched on his face.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Dean chirped, setting the food down on the bed.

"Do I smell coffee?" Cas grunted.

"Sure do. I put a pot on and brought you a cup from the lodge. Here you go," He handed over the cardboard cup and settled next to him on the bed. Cas' frown eased as he began gulping down the coffee. "I tried waking you so we could get cinnamon rolls, but you were not having it."

"Sorry," Cas said sheepishly. "I don't even remember."

"You and your damn sleep," Dean muttered, opening the cartons of food. "Good thing you have a really thoughtful husband who ventures out into the frozen tundra that is northern Minnesota to obtain cinnamon rolls."

"Yes, good thing." Cas agreed softly. He tipped his cup back, draining the remaining of his coffee.

"Jesus, Cas. It's been like two minutes."

"It's good coffee. If you want me to also be a 'thoughtful husband,' then you should be thankful for my high caffeine intake first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, I remember that time we ran out of coffee at the bunker. You were on a warpath. Sam hid in the dungeon because you nearly called him an 'abomination' again."

"Yes, Dean. I recall. I already apologized to your brother for that."

Dean took a bite of bacon, amused. "Hey, I thought it was funny. I'm just glad you didn't turn on me, too."

"You're the one that went to the store to supply me with more coffee."

"Jesus, you make it sound like I'm your dealer or something."

"You may as well be," He pointed out, grabbing Dean's cup of coffee and taking a long drink of it.

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your damn breakfast. Those cinnamon rolls better be worth the trouble."

Cas opened his mouth, surely to respond with some sassy comment but at the last moment thought better of it and took a large bite of the cinnamon roll. The sound that emitted from his mouth was absolutely sinful.

"Oh my God, Dean." He moaned. "This is amazing."

"You want a room for just the two of you?"

"What do you mean?" Cas tilted his head as he chewed thoughtfully. "We have a room, we're in it right now."

"I -- never mind, Cas. It was a joke. It's that good, huh?"

"Yes, you must try it." He tore off a piece of his cinnamon roll and held it up to Dean's mouth. "Eat it." He ordered.

And wow, okay. The demanding tone from Cas was really working for Dean. He hesitantly leaned forward and took the piece into his mouth. His tongue momentarily brushed against Cas' finger and he swore that he saw Cas' pupils dilate. Huh.

"Yeah, 's good, Cas."

Cas looked pleased with himself and continued eating it in silence, the only sounds in the room were his small moans as he finished it off. Dean felt dazed and forced himself to finish his own breakfast.

"Dean, you have --"

"What?"

"Just, let me -- you have icing on your mouth." Cas leaned forward so he was in Dean's space and slowly dragged his finger along Dean's bottom lip. Against his lip, the pad of his finger felt calloused and rough. Cas' gaze flickered to Dean's lips before they focused on Dean's eyes.

Wait. Is he going to -- ? Dean's brain immediately stopped working as Cas held his gaze and put his finger in his mouth, sucking the frosting off it. Holy fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Dean knew his mouth was agape and he probably looked like an idiot but he couldn't find the strength to care. Cas basically licked frosting off of him. His pink, plump lips were wrapped around his long finger and Dean's brain not-so-helpfully supplied a lot of fantasies relating to that.

Cas pulled his finger out of his mouth and went back to drinking Dean's coffee with a little smirk on his face. Asshole.

"I, uh -- I'm going to take a shower." Dean mumbled and hurried out of the room.

Dean hurried from the room and locked himself in the bathroom. He leaned against the heavy oak door and took a deep breath. Was it his imagination or was Cas flirting with him? Why else would he suck the icing off his finger like that? Sure, Cas used to have that whole 'innocent angel' going for him but now he's human and he actually acts like it. Probably Dean's bad influence, but whatever. The point is Cas had to know what he was doing, right? No one in their right mind would clean icing from their friend's face and then lick it off if they didn't want to be more than friends.

The worst part is that it was really fucking hot. Dean was already struggling to suppress his feelings for Cas and that nearly pornographic display was really not helping. But maybe he didn't need to actively suppress those feelings, not if Cas felt the same way. But did he? Dean still couldn't be sure. If Cas truly was messing around or didn't understand the connotation of his actions, then Dean would be fucking mortified. Regardless, he couldn't keep sitting around waiting for something to happen between them. So he'll push their boundaries a little and see how Cas reacts. Hopefully then he'll get a better idea of where they stand.

Dean rolled his eyes at himself for how complicated he's making this. If only he felt comfortable straight up asking Cas, but that's never been his style. At last, he peeled himself from the door and turned on the shower. He undressed and briefly considered taking an ice-cold shower to calm himself down, but he changed his mind. Turning the temperature dial to hot, he decided to address his not-so-little problem. After all, he would need to have his mind clear if he was going to read Cas for any indications of his feelings.

He stepped under the shower and nearly groaned as the hot water washed over him. The water pressure was excellent and soothed his sore muscles. His thoughts immediately turned to Cas as he began to stroke himself. The image of Cas’ pink lips sucking on his finger filled his mind as he expertly flicked his wrist around the tip. He imagined those lips around him instead and within no time he was groaning Cas’ name as he spilled into his fist.

---

Dean and Cas spent their afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. Once Cas became human, Dean compiled a list of movies that Cas needed to watch. Most were movies that came out after Metatron uploaded all of the pop culture references into his mind so that way Cas could truly watch something for the first time. However, Dean snuck a few of his favorites onto the list like the Harry Potter series, Lord of the Rings, and a few spaghetti westerns. When Dean saw there was a Star Wars marathon on tv (another series on the list) Dean declared they would be having a lazy afternoon until it was time for the bourbon tasting.

This brings them to where they are now: sitting with their backs against opposite arms of the couch, legs tangled together under a large shared blanket and the box of chocolates from their honeymoon package sitting half eaten between the two.

Cas grabbed another piece of chocolate out of the heart shaped box, humming happily as he chewed.

"Which character is your favorite?" Cas asked, as he swallowed the candy.

"Han Solo, hands down."

"I should have known."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Dean. The parallels between you and his character are so obvious. You have the whole 'I'm better off alone' thing going for you, even though deep down you're really caring and would do anything to save your family."

Right. Cas has always been able to read him perfectly. "Whatever, man. Han Solo is cool. And Harrison Ford is a good looking dude." Dean snuck a glance at Cas to see if he'd react to that.

"I suppose," Cas acknowledged, tilting his head as he surveyed Dean. If anything, he seemed curious with a glint in his bright eyes.

"So, uh - let me guess. Your favorite character is Princess Leia?" Dean ventured.

"Actually, yes. She's always out for the victory of many, rather than personal gain. Leia is very brave and independent, too."

"Yeah, I can see why she would be your favorite. It's like you -- always working towards the greater good."

Cas smiled at Dean and his eyes crinkled around the corners. He looked so happy and so human in this moment that Dean was almost tempted to just blurt out his feelings for the man. Almost.

Instead, he threw a piece of chocolate at Cas, which he caught in his mouth, looking very pleased with himself. "You're a dork," Dean said fondly, rolling his eyes.

"I know."

"Did you just Han Solo me?"

Cas looked amused and just turned his attention back to the movie. That asshole totally Han Solo'd him.

- - -

By the time the movie ended, it was nearly time for the bourbon tasting. Dean forced himself up from the couch that had no business being so comfortable, so he could get dressed for the day. He quickly threw on some dark jeans, a t-shirt and a blue button down, which he left open. Deeming it satisfactory for the day, he threw on a coat and waited by the door for Cas to be ready.

While he waited, Dean shot off a text to Sam asking how research was going. Sam immediately responded with 'slow' and an eye rolling emoji. Dean was about to reply and rub it in Sam's face that he gets to go drink bourbon while Sam is stuck reading tomes, but it was at that moment that Cas came out of the bathroom. He was clad in black jeans that were mouthwateringly tight and one of Dean's Zepp shirts. He had become so accustomed to Cas' pristine suit and tie ensemble that sometimes seeing him dressed so casually in Dean's clothes, nonetheless, causes Dean's brain to stop working.

"Am I underdressed?" Cas asked, eyeing Dean warily. "Should I throw on a button down like you?"

"God, no." Dean said, internally wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. "I mean -- it's just a bourbon tasting. You don't have to dress up or anything." Besides, it would be an absolute crime to cover those arms. They were tanned and muscly and Cas should always wear t-shirts to show them off because damn. Dean so badly wanted to run his hands along them, feeling the muscles flex under his touch.

Cas threw on his jacket, interrupting Dean's train of thought. God, it's like he reverted back to a 14-year old's body with the way it constantly responds to Cas.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Cas confirmed, sliding on his Grand View mittens with a soft smile.

The bourbon tasting wasn't very crowded. High-top tables filled the room but only about seventy-five percent were filled. Dean and Cas grabbed a table towards the back of the room so they could keep an eye on everyone. Each table only had 2 chairs which were facing towards the front where the speaker would be. Dean realized this must be another 'couples only' event. The room was dimly lit with dark wood paneled walls, making it feel very warm and intimate. Small table lamps were on each table, along with two flights of bourbon glasses with 5 shot glasses each.

"Cas, are you going to be able to handle this? 5 shots of bourbon is a lot, this shit is strong. I don't want to have to carry you out of here."

Cas sat in the chair to the right and rolled his eyes. "I can handle my liquor just fine, Dean. You've taught me well."

"Hell, I suppose that's true." Dean joined him, sitting in the remaining chair. He scooted his chair closer to Cas and rested his arm on the back of Cas' chair.

"Right," Cas murmured. "We better get in character." He leaned in against Dean's side and rested his hand on Dean's upper thigh. It was enough inches above the knee that it certainly wasn't an innocent placement. His hand was a welcome weight on his thigh and Dean moved his arm so as to rest his hand on Cas' shoulder. He got a small smile in response, letting him know that was okay so Dean rubbed his thumb in circles against it. A soft sigh escaped Cas' mouth which was frankly adorable.

"Did Sam say he found anything else about his lead?" Cas asked, leaning into Dean's ear. Goosebumps prickled along his neck in response.

"Not yet," Dean muttered. "He said he's doing research but hasn't found anything concrete. We'll give him a call after this, we'll have some time to kill before our dinner reservations."

Cas nodded. "I feel like we haven't done much to help move this case along. I do not want Sam to feel like he's doing all of the work."

"I know. But we knew we were unlikely to get any information from guests. All we can really do is try to lure whatever it is and go from there."

"I suppose." Cas chewed on his bottom lip and Dean wanted nothing more than to release his bottom lip and kiss it. Maybe bite it, then smooth it over with a swipe of his tongue. What kind of sounds would Cas make?

"Dean."

"Hmm?" Dean dragged his eyes from Cas' lips to his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, leaving only a small ring of blue.  Another look he wasn't used to reading on Cas.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"We need to move the case along. Kiss me."

Right. The case. That's why Cas wants to kiss him. No other reason. Dean sighed, a little dejected. He was hoping to avoid this because he knows once he does, it's going to be torture knowing what it's like to kiss Cas without being able to do it again whenever he wants.

"Are you su--?" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence because with a frustrated growl, Cas grabbed the collar of Dean's shirt and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. It started chaste.  A dry press of their lips, soft and warm and innocent. Then Cas sighed into Dean's mouth and made a small sound in the back of his throat. And that made Dean absolutely feral.

His fingers pressed into Cas' hips as he licked into his mouth. He was warm and tasted like honey and chocolate. The smell of his aftershave surrounded him, and it was all just so delicious. Their lips perfectly slotted together, and the kiss was slow and languid, like they all had night and could take their time exploring each other. Dean always imagined their first kiss would be frantic and rough, filled with the unresolved sexual tension from over the course of ten years. He never imagined it could be so sweet, yet so hot. It was everything he'd been waiting for and so much more. Except that it still wasn't enough. He needed more -- he needed to feel Cas against him, he needed to explore every part of him and kiss him so hard that he becomes dazed and all he can do is chant Dean's name like a prayer.

Distantly, a door slammed shut, reminding the two that they were in a very public place, and not in the privacy of their cabin. They jumped apart, flushed and hearts pounding. Dean stared at Cas, his lips were parted, red and swollen, as he breathed heavily.

Dean momentarily closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he tried to calm his body down. The last thing he needed was for someone to see he was rock hard at a bourbon tasting. He peeked at Cas, who looked just as debauched.

"Jesus, Cas." Dean groaned. One kiss and he was completely hooked. How the hell would he ever be able to look at Cas and his mouth and not think about kissing him?

"Sorry," He nervously licked his lips. "I may have gotten carried away."

"You -- ? No, man. If anything, I got carried away. It's just -- ah, it's been a while since someone kissed me like that. That's all."

Cas nodded, his small smile back. "I'm glad I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Dean laughed humorlessly. In reality, it just solidified his attraction for the guy and he's pretty sure that kiss is going to be the thing that ultimately kills him. "If anything, we just made sure we're target number one."

Something flickered on Cas' face, but it was gone before he could get a good read on it. Before he could analyze too heavily, the speaker greeted everyone and began giving an overview of the brands of bourbon poured out in front of them.

Dean half-listened as he introduced himself and gave his credentials. He told Cas it had been a while since he'd been kissed like that, but truthfully had he ever been kissed like that? He didn't think so.

"The first glass in front of you is Old Forester 1897. From Kentucky, Old Forester is known for making affordable high-quality bourbon," The man explained. "Tasting this first glass, you should note rich vanilla with roasted coffee notes and spiced overnotes. This one is big and bold, with a dark caramel finish. Take the next few minutes to try this one and discuss it with your partner. I recommend trying it in sips, focusing on each of the flavors I mentioned. Enjoy!"

Quiet conversation broke out in the room. Dean sniffed the amber liquid and his mouth nearly watered. Typically, he drinks the cheap stuff because that's what is always around. So, having the opportunity to taste some high-quality bourbon put Dean in an instant good mood. Any awkwardness from the kiss quickly faded and Dean was grateful for the distraction.

"Cheers," Dean said happily. He clanked his shot glass against Cas and drank it all in one go. It burned down his throat into his chest and instantly he felt the warmth spread through him. And now that the guy mentioned it, yeah, he could taste the hint of caramel.

"You were supposed to sip it." Cas frowned. "Not drink it all at once."

"It was just a recommendation, Cas. You can drink it however you want."

Cas didn't look happy with Dean's answer and took another sip of the bourbon. Dean watched as Cas' throat swallowed the bourbon and suddenly he was regretting drinking it all in one go. Watching Cas savor the drink made him wish he had something to distract himself with.

He quickly tore his eyes away from Cas' mouth for the millionth time that day. "What do you think, Cas?"

"I like it. It makes me feel...warm."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, bourbon will do that to you. It's the best drink to have in winter for that exact reason."

The bourbon man clapped his hands together to gather everyone's attention. "I see most of you have finished the 1897, so I'll move forward onto the next one. This next one is perfect for the colder months - "

Dean lifted his eyebrows at Cas as if to say��see, I told you so. Cas smiled and turned his attention back to the speaker.

" - it is another Old Forester bourbon, but this one is the 1910. It has notes of cherry, dark chocolate, maple syrup and a hint of spice. For those of you who prefer sweet to spice, this is the bourbon for you." He continued sharing trivia about the Old Forester brand and the barrels used to make these bottles. "Now that I've given you all time to clear your taste pallets, enjoy the 1910!"

Dean focused this time on savoring the glass instead of drinking it in one large gulp. He had to admit, Cas was right. When he took the time to savor the flavors he could actually pick up on the cherry and dark chocolate. Before all he tasted was the burn of it.

"I really like this one." Cas announced. His cheeks were a little pink from the alcohol which Dean thought was endearing as hell. "I like the maple syrup flavor."

"When we get home, I'll have to introduce you to the finer bottles of whiskey I've been saving for a special occasion. You'll love it."

Cas titled his head. "But you said you're saving it for a special occasion?"

"Hell, Cas. We saved the world and we're all together. It can't get more special than that."

"I suppose not."

The rest of the tasting continued the same. The speaker would explain the bourbon they were tasting and include some interesting facts (all bourbon is whiskey but not all whiskey is bourbon) and sometimes some gross ones (like before there were strict FDA regulations, distilleries used to include substances like tobacco spit and dirt in their whiskey barrels for flavor) and by the time they finished their fifth and final glass, Dean and Cas were feeling the effects of the bourbon. Cas more so, his speech was a little slurred but he could hold himself upright just fine. He was in that perfect tipsy zone and Dean wasn't far behind him.

The lodge offered a free shuttle service for everyone back to their cabins so the guests wouldn't have to stumble back to their cabins in the cold. Dean happily took them up on that service because he knew he wasn't in the right state to drive. The shuttle was a small bus with only a few rows of seats. They grabbed a seat in the back while a few of the other couples from the class climbed in.

With a low rumble, the shuttle started and lurched forward. It headed along the road towards Dean and Cas' cabin, making stops along the way for the other guests. Cas leaned into Dean's side and sighed happily, nuzzling his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder.

"Mmm, 's nice." His voice was muffled against Dean's coat. "You're warm."

"You're drunk."

"Just a little," He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Dean's breath hitched. Was this part of the act or was this Cas with his guard down? He leaned more into Dean and gripped Dean's arm. To any onlooker, there would be no doubt they're a couple. That thought sent a little thrill through Dean, secretly pleased by that idea. Who knew he was so possessive?

The bus stopped at the access road leading up to their cabin, so Dean nudged Cas and ushered him off the bus. They stepped out into the cold and Dean felt it sober him up a little. Cas must have felt the same because he was holding himself up straighter and his eyes seemed a little less cloudy. They trudged up the road leading to their cabin and Dean grabbed a hold of Cas' hand, noting the small smile which formed.

"Should we call Sam?"

"Yes, good idea." Dean pulled out his phone with his free hand and dialed Sam's number. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. "Did he reject my call?"

"That seems very out of character for Sam."

Dean tried again. On the second ring he picked up, sounding out of breath. "Dean?"

"Dude, did you reject my call?"

"Uh, sorry. I was - uh in the middle of something."

Dean and Cas exchanged a confused look. "Why are you out of breath? I know you're not running in this weather."

"No reason. I just -- what's up? Are you guys alright?"

"Dean and I drank bourbon at the tasting and now I feel really warm," Cas announced.

"Are you guys drunk?" Sam sounded amused.

"No!" They both said in unison.

"Just, tell me about the lead you found."

"Oh, right! I don't really know much yet. But last night at happy hour the staff was talking about local legends and there was this one that targets young people in love. I don't remember the name of it, but it sounded like it fit the bill. The locals didn't know much that sounded helpful so I'm having Donna look into it."

"That sounds promising," Cas agreed. "Do you remember any other details?"

"Not any that are helpful. I had to really sift through a lot of stuff that isn't our kind of thing. You know how these legends get so twisted over the years."

"Well, keep us posted if Donna finds anything."

"Yeah, will do. Just hang tight until --"

A loud crash echoed over the phone and a woman's voice carried through, saying something intelligible.

"Sam." Dean warned. "Who's there with you?"

"Um --"

"So help me -- if you are with another woman I'm going to be pissed. Eileen is so beyond your league and the fact that you're even willing to risk that..."

"Shit." Sam sighed over the phone. "Switch to facetime."

Dean did as Sam said and was greeted with Sam's anxious face. "So uh -- Eileen is here." He turned the camera and was greeted by Eileen smiling sheepishly.

Cas signed something to Eileen and she laughed in response. Dean focused the camera back on his face so Eileen could read his lips. "What are you doing in Minnesota?"

"My hunt in Iowa wrapped up early, so I came up here to join Sam."

"I thought your hunt was in Ohio?" Cas questioned.

Eileen had a look that was equal parts sympathy and panic on her face as she handed the phone back to Sam.

"Sam, what the hell? Was Eileen not actually on a hunt?"

"No." He admitted. "She wasn't."

"Then why the hell did you send us on this hunt when you two could have done it?"

Now Sam just looked uncomfortable and Dean suddenly realized what was going on. "You've got to be kidding me." Sam opened his mouth to respond but Dean cut him off. "Nope. Not discussing this with you. Not now, not ever. We have to go, keep us updated on the case."

"Bye!" Eileen yelled from the background before the screen went black.

"I don't understand what just happened." Cas said, looking genuinely confused. "What did Sam do?"

"He set us up! To take this case when he and Eileen could have done it."

"But what did he set us up with?"

"Each other, Cas." Dean said strained.

"Oh." He squeaked and blushed furiously.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe he wasn't going to kill Sam after all.

[catargott]

so i hit like 100 followers a month ago but i couldn’t finish any of my fics so i was dying but i finally finished something so here it is:

Lena slowly swirls the scotch in the bottom of her tumbler, watching as the dark liquid lightens where the liquid thins and darkens where it builds.

She hears the sound of boots tapping against her balcony and her wrist stops its rhythmic twirling motion as she sighs.

She turns around to be met with the sight of Kara in her suit and frowns, irritated.

"What do you want, Supergirl? I thought I told you I didn't want to see you ever again."

She immediately begins to regret her decision when she notices Kara's stiff posture and the way her lips curl into a sneer, but the alcohol hampers her logical thinking and she pushes forward again impatiently.

"Supergirl. Earth to Supergirl."

Lena, in all her drunken glory, steps forward and waves her hands in front of Kara's face.

Kara finally seems to react, the sneer dying down and a sinister grin replacing it.

"Miss Luthor. It's nice to see you, too. Apologies. I didn't realize you were royalty. Then again, with how you act, I wouldn't be very surprised; high and mighty sitting on your throne of glass."

She bows mockingly before straightening up again, her posture stiff and unwelcoming.

Lena sighs unhappily but there's confusion, too. This Kara is nothing like the one she knows.

"What do you want, Supergirl?"

Kara's grin widens and her eyes glint... red?

"What? Can't visit my favorite villain?"

Kara smiles teasingly, her expression dark, foreign, dangerous.

Lena flinches back, closing her eyes for a moment to settle herself before opening them again, forcing her expression to remain blank.

Kara doesn't seem to notice (or care) and keeps talking.

"It doesn't matter. I'm here because I want you to join me."

Her smile is less teasing now and she looks more serious.

"Join you? To do what, kill my brother again?"

The smile is back, pearly whites glinting even in the darkness of her office. Lena regrets not turning the lights on, but there's nowhere to go now, not when this Kara is so... unstable.

"No, of course not. Although, that is on my to-do list..." Kara muses, staring off into space.

"No, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about joining together. Let's take over, conquer the world. None of them are half as powerful as us. We'll be unstoppable together."

Kara spread her arms, basking in the imagined success of world domination.

"We can take over together. Think of what we could do. We could make the world a better place. Together. That's what you wanted to do with Myriad. I was too blind to see that you were right. We can do that now! You can make the world good and they will bow at our feet. We'll be gods, Lena."

Kara sounds like an excited child talking about a new friend. The eager tone is starkly different from the plans she's speaking about. Kara wants to take over the world. Kara wants Lena to take over the world with her. Kara wants to conquer the world.

Lena can't stop her face from twisting into horror.

Kara looks back towards Lena, the corners of her mouth turned up into a genuine smile, her eyes squinting with laughter as she asks Lena to join her in taking over the world.

"What do you say? We'll run together. Nothing will stand in our way. Just you and me. A Super and a Luthor... Kara and Lena. It'll just be us."

Kara's eyes are softer, warmer now, and she stretches her hand out to Lena as her eyes glow with laughter.

Lena takes a step back, bumping her hip on the edge of her desk as she whispers in horrified fascination.

"What happened to you, Kara?"

Kara smiles even wider, her eyes crinkling.

"I'm powerful. I'm unstoppable. I'm a god."

The godlet follows Lena, taking a step forward, leaning in and offering her hand even closer.

"I don't what that," Lena whispers, staring dumbstruck down at Kara's palm.

"What did you say?" There's a hint of a warning in Kara's voice, but Lena disregards it.

"I don't that that. I just want Kara. My Kara."

Kara's brows furrow slightly and her hand drops. Lena forces herself to remain in her place as Kara begins to pout.

It's not her. It's not her. It's not her.

"But it is me. It's Kara. It's just me, Lena. It's you and me. Together forever. Isn't that what we promised? It's just you and me. Kara and Lena."

Lena closes her eyes and forces away the flashes of promises on rainy nights and couches as they shared burgers and donuts.

"Are we going to have to kill people?"

Lena is caving. She knows it. Kara knows it. But she can't bring herself to open her eyes and see the victory painted across Kara's face.

When Kara speaks again, Lena almost cries at how soft she sounds, at how caring and Kara she sounds.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. I'll do everything. I just want you to stay with me. I need you to be at my side. Please?"

Kara leans in until Lena's can feel her, trembling and nervous and so Kara that she almost gives in.

Almost.

It takes her every last bit of energy she has, but she manages to draw the word up and out, expelling it in one go.

"No."

Kara's brows furrow and her smile falters.

"What?"

"I said no. I don’t want that. I don’t want you. I don’t... not this you. I want Kara. I want the Kara I know, the Kara I love."

Kara tries one last time, holding her hand out desperately.

"It is me, Lena. Please."

Lena shakes her head, a final refusal, and crosses her arms.

"No. This isn't you, Kara. Come back to me."

Kara pulls her hand back so quickly Lena doesn't even see it happen. When she looks back up at Kara, she's a completely different person, her shoulders stiff as she regains an air of indifference and danger.

"Fine, then. Have it your way."

Kara spins around, her cape snapping in the empty space where she was standing a moment ago before she stops.

She turns halfway back, looking Lena directly in the eye as she delivers the final blow.

"You know, I really thought you cared about me. I thought you of all people would understand. But that’s all it was. Just thoughts. False hopes that would never be true. That aren’t true."

Kara's voice wobbles when she breathes in, shaky and uncertain.

She turns back around fully, stepping forward again.

"Just like I hoped you would love me back."

Lena is pressed up against her desk and she's completely frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

Kara's hands crush the plastic of her desk and Lena flinches instinctively. The office is silent for a moment more and then the tears come.

"I thought I knew you. I thought..."

Kara chokes on her own sob and she shakes her head.

"I should've known better."

Kara moves away, retreating back into her own space as she turns away from Lena again, facing the open balcony door.

"I just thought you would understand. Clearly you don’t. I shouldn’t have ever come here. Stay out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll fight you if I have to..."

Kara turns her head slightly, eyes still glistening with tears, but now her face is set with determination as her eyes glint in the light of the streetlights below.

"I don't think you can say the same, can you?"

Lena doesn't get a chance to respond before Kara steps out onto the balcony and shoots off into the night, the resulting wind buffeting all of Lena's documents onto the ground.

She slides to the ground like the stacks of paper and stares unseeing at the balcony door.

Then, slowly, she pushes herself back up, strides over to the glass door, and shuts it.

She walks back over to her desk and picks up her phone, dialing the first name that comes to mind.

"Alex? Yeah, it's me, Lena."

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Oh hai; more of the sci fic weirdness that is eating my brain.  No Dean here but maybe plot?

Given how little had resulted from the autopsy, Castiel went with the only lead he had; that of the former Councilwoman’s successor, Balthazar Severin.  To his annoyance, the flamboyant civil servant was currently not in his offices nor at his home; he was instead traipsing about with donors and other hangers-on in an over-priced, gaudy ballroom in one of the grander buildings downtown.

He bit back an annoyed groan as he called out the address.  The car’s communication screen flickered and announced pleasantly, “Please buckle up for safety,” before sliding into the fast-paced traffic of the early evening.  

As he rode, Castiel pulled out his case tablet, flicking through the information he’d gathered. Rebecca Errol had been hounded by scandal in the last few terms of her Seat.  Everything from purchased votes to greased palms over development deals.  Little wonder why Severin had managed to be win by such a large gap.  Not that Castiel saw much difference.  The Council had long since been a localized but fully corrupt replacement of local governments.  Only really shocking concept was that states continued to function at all.

A half hour later, he arrived at the ballroom.  He left the car and it dinged as it sped away, searching for a parking space. Given it was Friday and relatively early, Castiel believed his car would simply end up circling until he called it back after his interview.

I hate the city, he admitted.  He ignored the valet’s look of superiority and flashed his ID screen.  The man’s face paled and he gestured rapidly.

At least some things still work.  The wide entry to the ballroom was brightly lit and full.  He didn’t stifle the look of disgust.  All this opulence and for what?  Ego stroking?  The amount of money spilling from the crystal chandeliers and elaborate buffet tables would certainly be better served elsewhere.  Not that he could voice such an opinion.

He asked about quietly, seeking the newest councilman.  He found him rather by accident, talking with a tall brunet nearest the open bar.

Both men turned at the same time as Castiel stepped close.

“Councilman Severin? Might I have a word?”

Before the man could respond, the younger, taller one held out a hand.  “I’m Sam, his attaché.  You can make an appointment with his office in the morn-“

Castiel held up his ID screen.  “It’ll take only a few minutes.”

Balthazar tapped Sam on the shoulder and inclined his head to the left when the man looked back.  “I do so love it when he’s aggressive.”  He grinned at Sam’s annoyed squint.  “What, Agent Novak, might I do for you this fine evening?”  He sipped his drink, pale eyes on Castiel’s.  

Maybe I just hate people, Castiel grumbled.  He pulled out his case tablet.  “Last night, Rebecca Errol was murdered at her campaign headquarters.”

“So sad,” Balthazar muttered.  He waved away Sam’s groan of protest.  

“Might not be the best reaction,” Castiel pointed out, hiding his smile at Sam’s look of no shit he threw at Balthazar.  

“You’d have a harder time finding someone who liked her over someone who didn’t,” Balthazar drawled. He shrugged.  “In any event, I don’t know why you’re bothering me with this news.”

“Councilman Severin, you have to understand why I’d be asking.”  Castiel fought back a yawn.  He didn’t truly believe the man had anything to do with her death.  Even the idea of hiring an outsider appeared laughable. Balthazar was many things but from what little Castiel knew of him, he was too lazy to engineer assassinations over something as small-time as a Council Seat.

“Please, call me Balthazar. You make me sound so old,” he wheedled.  

“Fine.  Balthazar.  You’re an obvious suspect given your past in regards to Errol.”

Balthazar pulled a face. “Oh, yes; she and I were fond of our public tête-à-têtes, were we not?”  He held his half-empty glass loose in be-ringed fingers.  His gaze wandered the room, flickering about like a moth distracted by a wildfire.  One could think him well beyond the intoxication of the socially-acceptable; but Castiel could see the pale blue eyes that roved were still sharp and clear.

Balthazar caught his look and smirked, before swallowing the last of his drink.  “My condolences to my predecessor but you’ll no doubt find I have not been in her presence – or in fact, near her base of operations – in nearly a fortnight.”  He didn’t lift his gaze from Castiel’s as he replaced his glass with a full one from a wandering waiter.  He looked away then to peer at his drink, shifting it under the myriad lights of the ballroom.  “In fact, I would believe she has been rather naughty these last few months.” He let the glass dangle from his fingers.  “Perhaps those avenues are better traveled?”

Castiel ignored the question.  “Have you ever actively hired Alters?”

Strangely, Balthazar glanced at Sam before answering.  Any sly humor had tempered as he responded.  “I don’t seek them out, no.  I may have hired them in the past but not with any intent.  Mods are rarely so useful to require purpose.”  His flirty, drunken behavior vanished entirely.  He stood straighter, glass forgotten in his hand.

The man was a chameleon. Castiel could see why he’d been able to win the election so handily, even with Errol throwing money at every corner. Balthazar appeared to be expert in behaving exactly as expected or desired, no matter the venue.  But beneath that shifting exterior peeked a cunning awareness that Castiel found far more interesting.

“Why?” Balthazar asked, tone low.

“Her killer is thought to be one.  He, uh, removed her mods.”  She didn’t have many.  One in her left ear for communicating with staff and cash card chips on the back of her right.  He showed the crime scene, her right arm ending in a bloody stump and the left half of her head torn away, exposing bone and brain.

“Bloody hell,” Balthazar breathed, his face pale.  That reaction alone was enough to convince Castiel that Balthazar had no hand in her death.

The other man took effort to tear his eyes from the photo.  He cleared his throat and pushed Castiel’s tablet down and out of sight.  “I may not have liked the woman but I never wished her dead.” He turned to Sam and leaned in, whispering low.  

The other man frowned but nodded.

He turned back.  “Why do you think an Alter is involved?”

Castiel flicked through his tablet, pulling up the same distorted image he’d shown the shop owner at Winchester Station earlier.  “This.  This was the last person seen around her compound before the morning when her body was found.”

Balthazar grimaced.  “Unfortunate looking soul,” he muttered.  He shook his head.  “I am genuinely sorry she suffered like that, but I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer.”  He held out his empty hand.  “Nor have I seen that man before.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Sam took the tablet from him, frowning at the image.  “Do you think her mods had anything to do with it?”

“Not at present, no,” Castiel replied slowly.  He retrieved the tablet.  It was an avenue he was considering and found it interesting that a councilman’s attaché had clued in so quickly as well.  Everything about the crime scene spoke of a serial killer with intent.  This wasn’t an assassination.  He’d taken his time with Errol.  Careful and methodical.  Though, his superiors were quick to indicate anything but.  To them, the easiest and cleanest answer was a political argument turned bloody.  Castiel feared it something more.

It resembled two other unsolved cases he had.  In far too many ways.  The grotesqueries.  The destroyed mods.  The time.  He hadn’t exaggerated when speaking with the shop owner; he was certain this killer targeted Alters.  And given Errol’s demise, apparently even ones with minor mods.  Which meant more than half the population at this rate.  

He eyed Sam, watching his reaction.  “Do you have information?”

Sam blinked in surprise. “Er, no.  Sorry.  I just . . . her body getting damaged like that.”  He drew his hand along his mouth and shuddered.  He coughed and looked toward Balthazar who watched him carefully.  “I’ll, uh, have flowers sent to her office in the morning, Councilman.”

Balthazar nodded, a slight smile on his lips.  “So thoughtful, Samuel.”  

Castiel turned off the case tablet and returned it to his coat pocket.  “Chances are, it’s as you intimated; an enemy of hers.  Possibly angry over her election loss.”  He tugged on the collar of his coat.  “I’d be more suspicious of you, Balthazar, if she’d died before votes were cast.”

Balthazar’s grin was cold. “Indeed.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Well, if I’m no longer needed?”

Unwilling to consider the avenue closed, Castiel nodded.  “For now.”

There was no missing the narrowing of pale eyes.  “Do help yourself, Agent,” Balthazar purred, gesturing to the excess around them.  “As a dutiful servant of the Council, you’re more than welcome.”

Castiel worked a hollow smile.  “Thank you, but no.  I’ve still plenty of work to do.”  He touched two fingers to his temple in a false salute.  “I’ll be sure to leave a message with your office when I’ve more to discuss.”

“Until then,” Balthazar murmured, raising his glass.

Castiel felt two pairs of eyes on his back until well out the ballroom’s false opulence.  He glanced over his shoulder as he headed toward the street and noted both men were now huddled together, the taller one’s hands motioning quickly in agitation.

He frowned.

Something there.  Something to pursue.

Outside, the cold musty air a boon compared to the stuffy confines off the ballroom, he tapped a code on his wrist.  The medallion he wore there vibrated and quite quickly he heard the soft hum of his car as it approached.

He slid into the vehicle with a grunt and directed it to home.  A fruitless day, in the end.  He’d done little more than unearth new questions.  He tapped a code into the console of his car, opening his private computer link.

“Yes?”  The soft, male voice filled the cab of the car.

“Run a search on Winchester Station.  I want to know who owns the building, who runs it, anything.”

“Yes, sir.”  A click and the AI disconnected.

He rubbed his jaw, wondering why his instinct wouldn’t let him risk the public channels.  Why only the ones provided by his old friend, Gabriel. Paranoid, maybe?  Yet, some quiet part of him knew it a wrong turn to use the Department’s servers.  Given their insistence on this being an assassination and Castiel knowing it spoke of worse, he figured he may as well give in.  For now, at least.

He sighed and ground his knuckles into his eyes.  “I’m turning into him, probably,” he muttered.

Thinking of Gabriel reminded him that he owed his friend a visit.  Maybe Gabriel had heard something.  Or knew who might have performed the killer’s mods.

Or knows who performed the shop owner’s.  He sat back in his seat, eyes unfocused as street lights and head lights turned into streaks of brilliant white and gold.  Something very strange there.  Mods so well hidden were expensive.  And if that were true, why would someone with that kind of financial access work in a backwater repair store like that?

He sighed and shut his eyes, settling in for the long drive home.

“What I wouldn’t give for an ordinary murder.”