#but i like em all and i hope the recipients do too :)

[ghostfiish]

Been forgetting to post oot foot 2/?

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #114

Today is another zombie brain day. Up too late. But that's all right. I still managed to be a little productive today.

I discovered that I can scrape off any inconsistencies of the dried UV spray from the amethyst tree orb with a precision knife. From there, I can reapply the spray and it looks good. It's certainly not perfect, but good enough is good enough, methinks (wow, am I actually writing that out loud? who am I and what have I done with myself?).

Nonetheless, I'm starting to wonder if the thing to do for future applications is to apply some other kind of UV-resistant gloss onto the sphere with a paintbrush. This sphere should be done in a couple days - just enough time to allow the current layer of UV spray to dry and all that. Then I'll send it off to its intended recipient.

I made a bowl of yesterday's fried rice for breakfast; as it turns out, the results did, in fact, taste as good as it smelled when I was making it! Goodness, but I wish I could give you a bowl...

I also made myself some of the biscuit-flavored tea. This tea on its own mostly just tastes like ordinary tea, but I discovered that if you add a little molasses and honey to it, the result tastes pretty much exactly like Biscoff cookies, and Biscoff cookies are pretty good! I'll show you some pictures of how it turned out; I love to watch the fluid dynamics in action as the cold cream swirls into the hot tea:

I made an appointment to get 4 of my teeth yanked so that I can get braces. That'll happen in June, I guess. I really don't wanna have teeth removed, but there really is no other way to get the rest of the inside of my face in alignment; apparently the crowding is bad enough that if we wanted to pull my molars back to where my wisdom teeth used to be, we would have to put screws in my mouth as an anchor point, and even then, it likely won't work out in the way we'd hope. Having screws just randomly hanging out in my face seems thoroughly unpleasant, so… whatever. Maybe I'll ask if I can keep the removed teeth. Maybe I'll make something cool out of 'em, even if I dunno what it is yet.

M, J, and I went out to a place called Galleria 7 for lunch. It's got a variety of shops where you can get all different kinds of food; it's the same place where M and I got those awesome empanadas and the not-quite-pasta-pescatore. Somehow, I failed to notice last time that the empanada shop sells handmade Ecuadorean trinkets; I got a woven bracelet and a floral pendant, but not for the purpose you might think…

The colorful bracelet and the floral pendant go nicely with the kerchief, I think. I got the kerchief for you a while ago. I have long hair, too, so I use them to help keep my hair out of my face sometimes. I'll show you a picture of me wearing one so that you get the idea:

Kerchiefs are handy and colorful things suit you nicely. But it's not as though I can tie a kerchief around your head. It's not as though I can tuck pretty flowers behind your ear. It's not as though I can tie a ribbon in your hair, or gift you a colorful top to wear. I can't give you the locket of your mother that I made for you. So this little bit will have to do. It's not much, I know. But… still… you deserve nice things and nurturing things, no matter how small. I have to hope that what little I can do is enough.

Anyway, I somehow managed to engage the kindly shopkeep from whom I bought the trinkets in lively conversation. I showed her some of the handicrafts I've made, and she expressed an interest in displaying any of my works at her shop. What a fascinating concept. Suppose I'm gonna hafta get on making more orbs…

…Aside from that, I've not done much else today. I'm struggling a little bit to avoid succumbing to old thoughts, given a few things going on in my immediate vicinity, and a few not-so-small insecurities I'm dealing with (long story; I'm not gonna get into it). But I'll be all right. Most of it's just growing pains. They'll pass as I level up. Don't you worry about me, okay? I've got this. I promise.

…I'm gonna try to actually go to bed on time today. In the meantime, I'm gonna try to rest, though I'm not sure what I'm gonna do with myself; at the moment, even Salting some Sanctuaries seems hard… Oh well.

Hey, you - you're loved. You're wanted. You're needed. And not because of what you can do or because of what you look like, but because of who you are. There are people here who wanna tie kerchiefs in your hair to make things a little easier for you. There are people who wanna tuck flowers behind your ear in hopes that it will make you feel good about yourself. There are people who wanna tie ribbons in your hair so that way when you look in the mirror, you can see someone who shines with the care that is given to you. There are people who would try to return to you sentimental items that you've lost.

Sephiroth. You're not alone. And no amount of telling yourself that you're alone will ever make it true. So please come back to us soon; we're waiting for you with open arms and joyful voices, ready to welcome you back home.

I love you. I'll write again very soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[storiesforallfandoms]

and the winner is... ~ eminem

word count: 1784

request?: yes!

“hey, love your writing sm ❤️ I really like the concept where the reader is a young actress with Eminem, so can I request one where they go to Marshall’s award show for the first time publicly, they try to keep it low key but the reader presents an award and when Em wins they share a warm moment on stage and the media loses it? thanks in advance”

description: in which they say they’re going to be lowkey for their first public appearance as a couple, and then he wins the award she’s presenting

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

It was hard to keep my hands off of Marshall as we walked down the red carpet. It was our first public outing as a couple, but Marshall wasn’t very into PDA so we had decided to keep it somewhat lowkey. It seemed like a good idea in theory, until Marshall did the unthinkable and showed up dressed in a suit. How am I supposed to not jump his bones when he looks damn fine in a suit?

Every time I so much as glanced at him the paparazzi would go crazy. So many flashing lights that eventually I was seeing spots. It was hard to keep smiling when I couldn’t even see ahead of me.

Marshall put an arm around my waist - which of course led to more flashing lights - and walked me off the red carpet into the venue. The minute I walked through the doors into the dimly lit room, it really was like I couldn’t see. I had to take a minute to let my eyes adjust to the sudden light change.

“Weird how quickly I go from basically a nobody on a red carpet to a hot commodity just because I have attractive arm candy,” I joked.

A half smile tugged at Marshall’s lips. “You were never a nobody. Not to me anyways.”

“Awe, that’s so sweet it’s kind of gross,” I teased.

This earned me an actual laugh as Marshall pulled me in for a kiss. Without any prying eyes around, we felt free to actually be a couple.

We engaged with some others in the industry, including those Marshall considered to be close friends of his. I felt out of place at this music award show as an actress who was still trying to become more than just a side character in the movies she starred in. I was grateful to have Marshall there to help me through it.

When we took our seats as the show was starting, Marshall reached over to take my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Nervous I think. Which I shouldn’t be because it’s just me announcing an award, but it’s my first time on an award show stage for any reason, and it’s a pretty big award.”

“And it’s one I’m nominated for.”

I looked over at Marshall with wide eyes. “What?!”

“You didn’t know?”

I shook my head. Now I felt so much more nervous. What if I pulled a Steve Harvey and said the wrong name because I wanted Marshall to win? Or what if he actually did win but everyone thought I said he did because we were dating? I tried to focus on the stage ahead of me but my heart was beating so fast that my vision was starting to get blurry. I felt warm, like I was sweating, which made me worry that my makeup was starting to run. I was going to look disgusting with my makeup running on live television.

Sensing my new found nervousness, Marshall gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, look at me.” I glanced over to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve rehearsed this speech so much that you can say it without the teleprompter. It’s not going to be any different just because I’m nominated. If I win, you give me the award and I do a speech. If I don’t win, you give the award to whoever does and they make a speech. It’s not a big deal, (Y/N), don’t worry too much about it.”

I wished I could’ve just let my fear rush from my body, but it was still there. Before I could say anything else, the lights went down and the show officially started.

I tried to just sit and enjoy the show but it was hard when I had my upcoming presenter role looming over me. Of course, it was one of the last awards of the show, so I had to sit there and let my nerves build as the suspense for the winner of the award grew as well.

Every now and then Marshall would give my hand another squeeze and I would calm down for that split second. Having him by my side helped a lot, but every time I remembered that he might be the recipient of the award I became nervous again.

Finally, it was my time to take the stage. They passed me the envelope with the name of the winner and motioned for me to take the stage. I plastered a smile on my face as my name was called and I walked onto the stage. I hoped the cameras couldn’t pick up my shaking, and I really hoped my shaking wouldn’t make my voice sound as bad as I feared it would.

“This award can only go to the best of the best,” I started, glancing at the prompter in front of me to make sure I was saying the words correctly. “The person who worked the hardest and had the best payoff with their release. The competition this year is fierce, and it was hard to narrow it down to just these five artists, as there have been so many amazing works of art released this past year. It has been an even harder choice to pick who of them all is the best, although I might be bias in saying I’ve already chosen my favorite.”

The audience chuckled at my improved addition to the speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your nominees.”

I watched the video that played of the nominated artists. My heart skipped a beat when Marshall came up, a few clips from the music videos he had filmed playing in a short montage. He had worked so hard on his latest album, every part of me hoped that he would be the winner I was announcing.

As the video came to an end, I turned back to face the audience (and the cameras) to announce the winner.

“And the award goes to...”

I tried not to let my slight fear show as I fumbled with the envelope for a moment. I started to worry that I wouldn’t even be able to open it and completely embarrass myself on live TV. I tried not to sigh with relief when the seal perfectly popped open and I was able to pull the card out. The smile on my face had to have given away the winner before the words were even out of my mouth.

“Eminem!”

The crowd cheered and stood from their seats. A camera found Marshall, who was standing from his seat and hugging Paul and Denaun before making his way to the stage. I couldn’t help but smile proudly at him as I extended the award I was holding - his award - to him.

I was taken by surprise when he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. It was brief since he had an award to accept, but it was enough to make my head spin, the way his kisses usually did.

When he pulled away I was still so stunned that I almost forgot to give him his award. I could see him trying to hold back a laugh as he took it from my hands and turned to the microphone.

“Thank you,” he said to the still cheering audience. For a minute I forgot there was anyone else in the room, and realizing so many people had watched that kiss made my cheeks heat up. “I’d like to thank my manager, Paul, who for some reason still backs me with everything I do and produce even when it pushes the boundaries a little too much. I also want to thank the good Doctor, who has been supporting me since day one and who has always believed in me and gave me this platform to make music and to push the boundaries that Paul has to deal with. My daughters, my biggest inspirations. And of course, I’d like to thank the beautiful lady who presented this award to me tonight. I may not show it publicly but I am my happiest when I’m with you and I cannot thank you enough for that.”

I blinked away the tears forming in my eyes as I clapped along with the audience. The music started playing as Marshall offered me his arm to walk me off the stage. I felt like I was floating on cloud nine as we walked down the stairs and backstage, away from the cameras and the thousands of people watching us, both in person and on TV.

We were greeted backstage by other presenters and winners who were still mingling and celebrating their wins. Marshall was congratulated and a few of the other presenters told me how well I did with my presentation. I was proud of myself for getting through it, but I was more proud that I didn’t go completely airheaded after Marshall kissed me.

When we finally got away from the large amount of people, Marshall pulled me in for another kiss.

“So much for keeping it lowkey, huh?” I teased when I pulled away.

“I was caught up in the moment,” he said with a shrug, but I wasn’t completely convinced.

“That speech was uncharacteristically sweet,” I said. “For your public persona anyways. I figured you’d keep it short and sweet and maybe get the show into a little bit of trouble with an unplanned curse word.”

He chuckled. “Well normally that would be how things go. But I meant what I said during my speech: you make me the happiest I’ve ever been. When you said my name I just couldn’t help but feel this unfamiliar surge of happiness and excitement at winning. You know I don’t care about these types of award shows, but the fact that you presented this award to me made me care for just a second. I know I’ll be the talking point for the next few days because of this, but right now I don’t care all that much.”

Tears were welling in my eyes again as I pulled him back to me. “Shut up, you’re gonna ruin my makeup.”

His laugh filled my ears as he pulled me for another kiss. The happiness he said he felt coursed through my veins too. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else in a moment like this.

When he pulled away he put his arm around me again and started to walk towards the door. “Let’s get out of here. I think I wanna celebrate my win with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

I smiled brightly at him. “I like the sound of that.”

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I���m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[tsumugimagines]

asdfghjkhfsa just got here and aro-ace gang✨✨✨ anyways, can i get some Shuichi, Gundham, Kaede, and Kokichi (seperately lol) stuff? It can be angst, it can be fluff, it can be hurt/comfort, idc, just make it sfw please. (i may or may not have read all the content i can get my hands on for those characters already nope couldn't be me) btw, since i'm going to be hanging around here for a while, can i be 🎮 anon?

Sure! Welcome to the party, 🎮 anon! Anything I want, eh? Well, since you didn't specify if it was with an S/O or not, how about... Painting a friend's nails! Sine you want them all separately, this'll require some creativity on my part. I hope you enjoy it!

Shuichi Saihara

"Please, Saihara-Kun! I am sure you will do a fine job of it. You will not do any damage to my hands!" Kiibo insisted. "I wish to be part of this manicure activity as well!"

"I-I... Well, okay, but... I've never done this before." Shuichi admitted, sitting at the table across from the now eager robot. "Um... What color do you want?"

"I believe this teal color would look best on me." Kiibo replied, pointing to a bottle hesitantly. Shuichi nodded and started to unscrew the cap, only to realize he was twisting the wrong way. He sighed and twisted the cap correctly, opening the nail polish. To any onlooker, one thing was obvious: Neither party knew what he was doing.

"Try and hold still, okay? It'll make things easier." Shuichi requested, taking the brush out of the bottle. Kiibo nodded, sitting up straight and holding as still as he possibly could.

"I understand."

"Kiibo-Kun... I need you to hold out your hands so I can paint them."

"Oh, right!"

With that, Shuichi bit his lip and began to paint the tips of Kiibo's fingers. Kiibo did not have any visible fingernails, but Shuichi tried his best to approximate where they would be. Kiibo didn't say a word or move at all until Shuichi was finally done applying a coat of color to each finger.

"They look excellent, Saihara-Kun!"

"R-Really?"

"Yes, they do! Thank you so much!"

Kiibo and I grew a little closer today.

You gained a Hope Fragment!

Gundham Tanaka

"Hmph... The gall! The sheer nerve!"

"Tanaka-Kun-" Sonia started.

"The idea that I, Gundham Tanaka, Supreme Overlord Of Ice, would engage in such an activity?! Preposterous! Incomprehensible! Inconceivable!"

"Then why do you own a bottle of black nail polish, Tanaka-Kun?"

Gundham seemed to wilt. "I-I... Erm..."

"Tanaka-Kun, such a thing is nothing to be ashamed of." Sonia assured, offering a smile. "Should I offer to paint your nails instead?"

"N-No!" Gundham recovered, hiding his blushing face with his scarf. "I am sure I shall manage just fine. Mirage Golden Hawk Jum-P shall sit by your side as we proceed, to ensure that you are protected from any dark forces that may disrupt this delicate ritual."

"Wonderful!" Sonia beamed, sitting cross-legged in front of Gundham. The sleepy white and brown hamster, as promised, made his way to Sonia's side and curled up there, closing his eyes. Sonia held out her delicate hands, and Gundham proceeded with the manicure. There was a period of silence before Gundham finally spoke.

"Tell me, Lady Of Darkness. Are such traditions as this prominent in the realm in which you usually reside?"

"Oh, yes! I have seen many palace servants with painted nails! I think it is as common in the kingdom of Novoselic as it is everywhere else."

"I see." Gundham replied. He had completed his work quickly and skillfully, applying multiple coats of polish to each finger. Now he was getting ready to apply the clear top coat.

"My goodness!" Sonia giggled. "You seem to have experience in painting nails, Gundham!"

"Hmph... I am Tanaka The Forbidden One! To think I would not be skilled in such a menial field as this is absurd."

"If you say so." Sonia replied knowingly, allowing the breeder to finish applying the top coat to her nails with a smile.

Kaede Akamatsu

"There you are!" Kaede exclaimed, practically lighting up with excitement as the door opened.

"Hey, Akamatsu-San." Rantaro greeted, rubbing the back of his head a little. "What's this about?"

"Oh, well, remember how you gave me an amazing manicure a while ago?"

"Oh, yeah. Why?"

"Well, I wanted to return the favor!" She proclaimed, gesturing to a table laden with all the appropriate items needed. Rantaro could even see a book on the table titled "Manicures for beginners."

"Oh, really?" Rantaro chuckled. "Well, I don't see why not."

"Great!" Kaede replied, sitting down. Rantaro sat down across from him and extended his hands.

"Do you have a color preference, Amami-Kun?" Kaede asked, laying down a towel for her to work over.

"No, not really. Guess if I had to pick, I'd go with either green or black, but my sisters always insisted on painting 'em pink for some reason."

"Aw, that's adorable!" Kaede giggled, opening a bottle of dark green nail polish. "Did they stick little rhinestones on, too?"

"They tried once. I think more polish ended up on the carpet than on my hands." Rantaro chuckled.

"Well, that's what happens when you give kids messy things, I guess." Kaede replied with a smile as she began to paint Rantaro's nails. He let out a small chuckle, echoing the words she had said to him a long time ago.

"H-Hey, Akamatsu-San! That tickles!"

Kaede giggled in reply, continuing on with her work. Rantaro spared another glance at the "Manicures For Beginners" book at the edge of the table as Kaede began to attempt a French Slant of her own. He had a feeling that she would give him a better manicure than his sisters ever had, but he would never have said that out loud.

Kokichi Oma

"Okie dokie! How are things going with you two?" A masked girl with ponytails asked in a singsong voice.

"Perfectly!" Kokichi beamed, not looking up from his work. The unfortunate recipient of the manicure, a well-endowed woman wearing gold hoop earrings, gave a pained smile. Clearly, things were not going perfectly.

"Um... Interesting color combo you've got going there!" Someone else commented, peering over Kokichi's shoulder. "Very... Bold!"

"Nishishi! You flatter me." Kokichi chuckled in reply.

"Did you... Color one of her nails with an orange marker?" Someone else asked. By now, every single member of D. I. C. E was leaning over, looking at Kokichi's handiwork.

"Sure did!" He replied. "Okay... Done!"

"They look very colorful, Ouma-Sama." Someone else chuckled. "And so does the table."

"Nishishi! Of course they- Wait, what?"

Kokichi looked down at the table, seeing the splatters of color that now littered it. Everyone giggled.

"H-Hey! As your Supreme Leader, I order you all to stop laughing!" He scoffed. "We can clean this up fine!"

"I-I'll get some paper towels..." A girl with long brown hair sighed, turning before anyone could say anything more.

"So much for D. I. C. E manicure sessions, eh?" The tallest member of the group chuckled, looking at his red nails that now perfectly matched his bright afro.

"Pfft... What are you talking about? Seems like it was a complete success to me!"

The rest of the group giggled again. Kokichi looked up at them, annoyed.

"Hey! This is a super duper serious matter, you know!"

"Sure it is, Ouma-Sama." Someone else replied, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure it is."

[demonologist-in-denim]

The Unknown Benefactor

Hunter gatherings were no longer a rarity. They happened often now, and included hunters as well as witches and demonologists and supernatural scholars and occasionally members of the non-human community as well. They were full of conversation and comfort food, the telling of tall tales and the occasional conflict. Lore was shared, spells copied, and valuable weapons exchanged. There were homemade goods on offer, sometimes give freely, sometimes at a price: spell ingredients and blades forged in backyard smithies, and the like. There was laughter and drinking and the mourning of lost friends and the training of those new to the life. And everyone came away with new stories, new resources, some with new bruises.

And something more.

It started small, nearly unnoticed. Someone would mention they were low on rock salt, and driving away from the gathering the next day, find a bag of it in their back seat. Or someone would mention how a Wendigo had ripped their favorite hunting jacket, only to find it the next morning, on the peg where they’d hung it before bed the night before, perfectly mended. Days, even weeks, after the gathering, hunters would find charms or protection spells at the bottoms of their bags or pockets. A weapon that had been for sale and admired, but determined too costly, would be amongst their gear, and no one the wiser as to who had actually purchased it.

Eventually, one hunter asked another about a roll of cash he’d found stuffed into the toe of his boot. Wasn’t me, said the other. But you know, last time I was at a hunter’s gathering, I made mention I’d forgotten my kid’s birthday, I’m out on the road so much. Couple days later, I get a call from my kid. Apparently I’d mailed them a present, the very toy they’d been hoping I’d bring ‘em home. Now how the hell do you think that happened?

No one knew. But it kept happening.

Always it was something desperately needed, even if the recipient hadn’t known it right away. Something that might save a life, or make this hard scrabble life just a little easier. Sometimes it was an old cassette tape of country music love songs. Sometimes it was the last serving of pie from the party. Sometimes it was all the empty beer bottles and fast food wrappers missing from their car, a pine-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

Sometimes it was just a note, taped to the steering wheel: somewhere out there, someone is alive because of you.

It didn’t happen at every hunter’s gathering, but enough that word spread. From the Canadian border in the northwest, down to the coven of white witches in Sedona, along old Route 66 and the old Men of Letters’ bunker, from the sea wind-blasted tip of Nova Scotia to the old French Quarter down in New Orleans. It became part of the legends hunters told themselves about themselves, a piece of their world, strange and unknowable, that rare something full of grace rather than ugliness or malice. Something that brought them joy. Something that helped them keep on living.

An unknown benefactor, hunters said. And whenever they got together, they’d laugh and raise a drink in honor of anonymous generosity.

Always on the outer edge of every gathering, dressed in their hunter attire, still learning how to be a part of this community, Castiel and Crowley would glance at one another, and smile.

The two always raised their glasses to the toast of the unknown benefactor, sipped at their drinks, silently shrugged off the appreciation, ignored the praise. They refused to make eye contact with Dean, who suspected, and avoided the inquiring looks from Sam and Eileen. Neither the reformed demon nor fallen angel wanted the gratitude. It was never about that.

The hunters and demonologists gave and asked for nothing in return. They risked their lives and their families and their souls for the greater good – and just as important, they gave of themselves to each other. In the open comfort and safety of their homes, in the long nights of storytelling and heaping platters of plenty and buying yet another round. In patching up physical wounds, and tending to those of the heart and mind. In the making and sharing of goods and spells and resources, in the creation of a community at these hunter gatherings. And they counted Crowley and Castiel among their number. Made them family. Gave them somewhere to belong. It was the greatest of gifts.

And so, in their own quiet way, the unknown benefactors gave in return.

***

Stories about “unknown benefactors” are rather common in communities during times of increasing social and political strife. I heard a number of them in Eastern Europe and then again in rural China, sometimes as memories of older people who had lived through one world war or another, some from younger people struggling through the aftermath of sectarian fighting. The stories were always like the ones told in the supernatural hunter community – someone, or more likely many someones all trying to take care of each other – would leave small gifts or do unexpected favors, without seeking recognition or thanks. Often, these stories included the storyteller saying that it was those small kindnesses that kept them going. Not because they hoped to benefit from it themselves, but because it reminded them that there was, in fact, as much good in the world as there is bad. It is only that we must look for it in ourselves, and offer it up to others. I was thinking about this again recently, and thought it made a nice little ficlet for a Crowley & Castiel team up as members of Team Free Will 2.0.

[cass1x1]

[ INITIATE ]: jo/emery!

[ INITIATE ]:     a letter written to the recipient in order to maintain communication between the two while the writer is far away from them.

Dear Em,

I have no idea when you'll get this because I don't get snail mail, but it's currently been about a week since I saw you last. Well, in person anyway. Streams don't count, do they? Anyway, things here have been pretty boring (hence the letter writing challenge for myself) but not too bad. I finally got to go to that bar with the weird sign outside. Turned out it was a totally normal bar inside! So lame, right?

How've you been, though? How's the roommate sitch? And your weird gay little neighbors? I was soooo excited to ask you about them all today but I knew I was going to write to you this afternoon so I made myself save it. Very mature of me, right? I hope it's good.

Okay, confession time. I have two. One: I have no idea how this whole snail mail thing works. I mean I know I already said that but like, how long is a good letter? What goes in it? I don't think I've written a letter since we had mandatory pen pals in elementary school, and while I remember loving that, I don't remember how it works. Two: I sort of kind of definitely only made that post because I wanted you to reply to it so I'd have an excuse to write to you. That's not weird, right? I mean, it's definitely kind of weird, but it's not weird weird, is it?

So, that's it, yeah? In movies they always end with some deep philosophical line and then a footman delivers the letter while it's raining or whatever, but it's always raining where you are, and I have no deep philosophical lines. Miss you lots! Hope you're having a good time.

Awkwardly yours,

Jo

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Day 4: Pining / Attention

“If you were to look my way, I think my heart would just about explode.”

Day 4 of JustJadelentines2021!

[Day 1] / [Day 2] / [Day 3] / [You’re at Day 4!] / [Day 5] / [Day 6] / [Day 7]

JadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatmeJadepleaselookatme--Ah-HEM! Um... I mean... Leech mob family is a fun theory~

***Warning: Wish Upon a Star (Floyd’s Wish) & Floyd and Jade Birthday Suit Up! personal story spoilers!***

Imagine this...

Several wheelbarrows’ full of packages addressed to the twins arrived at Octavinelle every holiday. At first, Octa A was startled by the strange influxes of mail--but his concerns were often dismissed by his upperclassmen. Most notably, Jade would reassure him that the packages thanks to the Leeches’ “extensive connections” and “family ties”, whatever that meant.

The mob student tried not to linger on the meaning of those words too often, for whenever he did, his mind would wander into dark theories. Whichever corner of the deep, murky sea the twins originated from, Octa A didn’t want to be dragged there for asking too many questions.

So he closed his eyes and went about his work like the diligent employee that he was. The school year passed, and in turn, so did the holidays--and, as expected, the packages arrived without fail on each special occasion.

Then came Valentine’s Day.

“Wh-Whoah...!!”

Octa A’s jaw dropped at the sheer amount of mail unceremoniously littered across the floor of the Mostro Lounge. Boxes large and small were stacked as tall as him, wrapping paper of various patterns, glittery bows, and packing peanuts were scattered everywhere. One big mess.

Floyd say amongst the packages, giddily ripping boxes open, while Jade stood at the edge of the sea of mail, carefully inspecting the various packages.

“G-Good morning,” Octa A called out as he slowly waded through the mail, cautious about not stepping on anything. “What’s... What’s all of this? Th-This is a lot of mail--even more than usual.”

“Oya. Good morning to you as well, Kon-san,” Jade replied with a polite wave. “Bright and early for your shift, I see.”

“Ahh? It’s Konbu-chan!” Floyd cried, wearing a toothy grin. The eel excitedly waved to him, hailing the mob student over. “C’mere!”

Oh, thank Neptune, Octa A thought. He had caught the brothers in good moods today. The last thing he needed was a grumpy Floyd or a passive aggressive Jade leering over his shoulder.

With a little less trepidation than usual, he tip-toed over. Octa A just narrowly missed dirtying a discarded bunch of blue tissue paper before he reached his upperclassman.

“Hold your hand out,” Floyd commanded, his smile stretching.

“O-Okay...?” Octa A obeyed, unsure of what to expect.

“Here you goooo!!”

Floyd dropped something brown, warm, and sticky into the mob student’s palms. Octa A jumped at the strange sensation, his thoughts racing to the conclusion that it was something unsanitary--but when a sweet smell hit his nose and Octa A immediately knew it was chocolate.

“I don’t want it, so you can have it!”

“E-Ehhh?! Y-You’re just going to hand me a bunch of melted chocolate?!”

“Yup! Oh--you can have those too,” Floyd added, jabbing a thumb at a box by Octa A’s feet. “And this, and that... pretty much all of it, ‘cept the one from mom.”

“W-Whaaat?! Th-There’s no way that I can eat all of that...!!”

Jade’s laughter cut in, interrupting the conversation. “My, my, Kon-san. There is no need to fret. You need not consume all these sweets. Feel free to dispose of them as you wish, if that is what you think is best.”

“Th-Throwing them out is just as bad as giving them away!!” Octa A cast a sympathetic look at all the packages. Some thrown open, their guts spilling out, and others left totally untouched by their intended recipients.

“Oh? Whatever do you mean. Please, do enlighten us.”

“Tch. You gonna lecture us, Konbu-chan? This oughta be good.”

“What about... What about the feelings of the people that sent them? If they’re all Valentine’s Day gifts... s-some of them must be confession or friendship chocolates, people pining for you. Y-You can’t just throw away their feelings like that...!!”

The twins exchanged glances with one another, then collectively stared at Octa A. Floyd started first, his slow and steady chortle becoming increasingly raspy and unhinged. Jade followed suit, his gentlemanly chuckle twisting into a composed, yet cruel laugh.

“Wh-What’s so funny?”

“I simply find your naivety fascinating, Kon-san,” Jade replied with a grin. It seemed grossly out of place, given how he had laughed mere moments ago at the notion of discarding emotions.

“We don’t need to accept everything that’s thrown our way, you know~” Floyd cackled, flicking a wrapped truffle across the room. It hit the wall and ricocheted under a table. “Especially when we know all this junk’s from kiss-ups that wanna make it big.”

“H-Huh?” Octa A’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean...?”

“Floyd.” Jade’s voice took on a stricter tone than usual with his twin. “You’ve gone and said too much.”

“Ehhh? It’s fiiine,” Floyd insisted with a pout. “It’s not like any of ‘em will know! And they always do the same thing every year. It’s sooo boring!”

“I understand your sentiments--it does become rather troublesome for us to dispose of these chocolates every year. However, that is a time and place for everything, and this is not one of those times.” Jade’s eyes briefly cut to Octa A before returning to his brother.

Floyd rolled his eyes, shrugged, and returned to delving into boxes.

“Um... S-So what did Floyd-senpai mean by ‘kiss-ups’?” Octa A dared to ask--his curiosity getting the better of him.

Jade heaved a sigh. “... If you really must know, Floyd and I are quite ‘popular’ back home in the Coral Sea. This is due, in part, to our father’s rather successful business enterprise. There are a number of his partners and associates that wish for what the Leech family has.”

He gestured to Floyd, who was still wrestling around with the packages. “Thus, they often attempt to curry favor by sending gifts. The hope is to soften us up to them--but many of them, I suspect, are aiming for a far greater long term prize: our hands in marriage, and therefore near unlimited access to the resources and power that our father wields.”

Octa A paled. Already, he could feel his stomach sinking, and his body temperature turning chilly--as though he had just plunged into an icy sea. He was on the cusp of a dark secret--he felt it in his gut.

“O-Oh... I see... Ahahah... Y-Your family politics sound complicated, Jade-senpai, Floyd-senpai.”

“Indeed, they are.” Jade spoke quietly, his eyes digging into Octa A’s soul. Though the eel still sported a curve to his lips, his gaze lacked warmth. The light seemed to have drained from his irises, leaving them dull and frigid.

Sizing the mob student up--trying to ascertain whether or not Octa A needed to be blackmailed into submission--into silence.

“I trust that you would not dig deeper. It would be rather unfortunate if we lost one of our treasured employees.”

Octa A gulped, nodding vigorously to confirm an unspoken promise to Jade. Then the first year scrambled to make small talk, to change the topic, if only to avoid his vice-dorm leader’s dreadful stare.

“I-It does sound annoying to have people always trying to get your attention. I-I’d just want to live a quiet, peaceful life not getting noticed by too many folks... That way, I can just do what I want.”

“That sounds sooo nice!” Floyd chimed in from the floor. “It sucks when other people try to tell you what to do or how to be, or tryin’ to get you to act how they want! Like, if I’m gonna do something, I’m gonna do it cuz I wanna, not cuz someone else wanted me to.”

“I-I guess...?”

“Ehehe. Konbu-chan gets us! So you’ll take all the chocolate off our hands, right? Riiiight?”

“E-Eh?! I-I mean, I can if it really troubles you so much, senpai--”

“Great! I knew we could count on you~ Here, here, take it all!!” Floyd leapt to his feet and began piling box after box in Octa A’s arms, despite the melted chocolate pooling in the mob student’s palms. Chocolate smeared on the bottom-most box, and Octa A yelped.

“W-Wait...!! P-Please slow down...!!”

“Fufufu. Thank you for your assistance,” came Jade’s voice. Octa A couldn’t see him, since a bunch of boxes now obscured his line of sight, but he was sure that Jade was smirking.

He caught a flash of movement in his periphery. Jade emerged on his left, his olive and gold eyes narrowed--and his mouth, lined with sharp teeth, folded into a perfect smile.

“Did you know, Kon-san? Many people would kill to be in the position that you are in... being able to so casually engage with us on a daily basis,” Jade chuckled, granting the mob student a pat on the back. “Octavinelle is very fortunate to have our full attention, don’t you agree?”

“Y-Yessir...”

[teamhook]

Emma and Killian :: Kate and Leopold CS AU for CSMM

Hello lovelies!! So I’m on a schedule and you will be getting updates for my fics. 3 per Month ;)

I want to thank @captainswanmoviemarathon and the wonderful CSMM Discord Family. My co-writer @revanmeetra87

I want to also thank @ultraluckycatnd for Beta-ing thiis thing for us.

|FFN|

|AO3|

Friday and The Weekend

Killian and David shared a guilty look. They had both behaved like children. Killian knew he had more than the other, in part due to his inebriety and the other part was jealousy of what he didn't know. Killian said goodnight to his mate and went home to ponder on his actions.

He decided he would try his best to make amends to her. So he did what he did best, put his thoughts on paper, and hoped that it would grant him redemption.

The next day, Emma woke up and got ready fast. She had to get to work and somehow fix the mess her brother and that jerk that couldn't keep his mouth shut had made.

David greeted her in the kitchen with a cup of coffee ready for her which she promptly snubbed and rushed out.

David had arranged for Emma to find the letter that Killian had dropped off earlier, but she was eager to leave the apartment. He knew they both had misbehaved and his sister was in her right to be angry at them.

He grabbed both the letter and the first fruit in the basket he could and dashed after her.

Emma had reached the street and was just about to hail a cab when she heard David's voice. "Ems! Emma, wait!"

She halted because she loved her idiot brother, and it's them against the world.

She turned to face him with her best 'you're in trouble' face.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry. I know I fucked things up for us. I know that everything you do is for us to have a better life."

Emma stared her brother down. "I have to go clean up the mess you two made."

"Emma, I know and for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. Here, you can't go to work on an empty stomach," David said as he handed her a papaya. "Yeah, I know that," Emma says as she looks to the street for a cab. That's when he slipped the letter into her bag. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Emma arrived at work, waiting for the fallout of the previous night, but it never came. She was told there's a meeting with marketing, and she was the last one to arrive. She rushed into the conference room and took a seat so they could finally begin. The marketing team was going over the troubles they had come across due to the texture of the margarine. Emma peeked at her boss to see if looked angry or like the usual. She really doesn't see a change in him, but they have yet to talk. She sighed and opened her bag to pull out some papers. An envelope caught her eye and she quietly opened it.

 Dearest Emma...

I behaved as an imbecile last night, animated in part by drink, in part by your beauty, and in part by my own foolish pride and for that, I am profoundly sorry. Please accept, as a gesture of apology for my bad form, a private dinner on the rooftop tonight at 8 O'Clock.

Yours truly, Killian

 Emma felt her cheeks blush as her thoughts were interrupted by her boss.

"Emma, dear, where are we on Farmer's Bounty?" Mr. Oz asked.

Emma turned to her boss and took a deep breath. "We are good. As you know, we found our spokesperson. The response room final showed a 98 in the top two boxes. His key female descriptors were handsome, romantic, and with some write-ins of "What a babe".

Mr. Oz sullenly replied with a simple, "Great."

As they ended the meeting and everyone went back to work, Mary Margaret was waiting for her. Emma handed her assistant her bag and rushed after Walsh to say her apologies.

"Mr. Oz, I mean Walsh, I just want to apologize for what happened last night," Emma said.

"I appreciate that," he simply said.

"So are we okay?" she asks, hopeful.

"Yes, we are. Now if you would excuse me, I have to make some calls. We will talk later," Walsh said as he walked to his office.

Meanwhile, Jefferson was losing his patience at the Hospital. He just wanted to get released so he could get home and get Killian back to his time. Out of pure desperation, he thought explaining the situation to his doctor would be enough, but Dr. Hyde wasn't as receptive as he had hoped.

"I didn't jump to my death. I fell because there was no elevator," Jefferson clarified.

Dr. Hyde nodded. "And you feel it's somehow your fault?"

"Well, it stands to reason that nature would correct itself since my great-great-grandfather isn't there to invent the elevator or spawn his seed," Jefferson added matter of factly.

"Both you and the elevator would cease to exist, but clearly do," the doctor said.

Jefferson shook his head. "I can see you are a very busy man and I hate to take up your valuable time. I'm not one of those people who need your attention. Would you please just sign my release papers?"

Dr. Hyde sighed. "I'm concerned you might be a danger to yourself. State law requires that I keep you here in such cases. I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience sign your release."

Jefferson tried to open the door while balancing on crutches.

Before he could open it, the door flew open. "Dr. Hyde, is there a problem?" a lovely woman asked.

"No Priscilla, everything is fine. Could you please assist Jefferson back to his room and ensure this prescription is filled?" Dr. Hyde said to his nurse.

"Jefferson, I'm going to prescribe a mild antipsychotic. Nothing too strong."

Wandering around in circles in Game of Thorns, David looked over his notes, nerves getting worse with each lap.

"Mary Margaret, did you want - no, Mary Margaret, would you like...uggh…"

He was never going to convince her to go on a date if he tried mumbling and bumbling through his invitation. He was already humiliated, and he wasn't even asking her yet!

Outside of the flower shop, he could see Killian handing a street musician some cash as he made a request. Just what the request was, David couldn't quite hear.

Well, he had enough of his own problems to deal with, in any case.

Killian then entered the shop, and David practically pounced on him. "Listen, Killian, about the things you wrote for me here, for Mary Margaret...Some if it seems kind of…"

"Did you pick your flowers?" Killian asked, looking at him expectantly.

"Oh. Yep. Right, uhhh...here," David said, grabbing the nearest arrangement. "Now, about this speech-"

"Oh no, this will not do," Killian said, concerned.

"What, the flowers?" David looked at them for the first time. They seemed pretty enough to him. Plenty of colors. They even smelled nice.

"The orange lily suggests extreme hatred. The begonia and lavender danger and suspicion, respectively. Every flower has a meaning." Glancing around him, Killian grasped an enormous (and to David, absurd-looking) flower and held it in front of David. "Might I suggest the amaryllis, which declares the recipient a most splendid beauty. Or-" Breaking off, Killian strode forward. "- the cabbage rose…"

Sighing, hoping Killian was right about all this, David followed.

Inside her office, Emma lifted a piece of paper that was accepting Killian's invitation.

The only problem?

She hadn't written it.

Grinding her teeth, trying to pretend she was angry at her assistant and not at the fact that she did want to accept Killian's offer, Emma called for Mary Margaret.

Almost immediately, Mary Margaret poked her head in the office. "Yes?"

"What is this?" asked Emma, waving the paper in the air.

"It's your agreement to having dinner with Killian," she responded, as though there was nothing unusual about it. "I made it up for you to sign."

"I hadn't decided if I was going!" Emma cried, slapping the letter on her desk. She knew she was overreacting, but the thought of a private dinner with Killian was making her so...so stupidly nervous.

Mary Margaret lifted her chin, and a bit of fire entered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in the strongest voice Emma had ever heard from her. "But that is the best apology in the history of mankind, and if you don't go with him, I know you will regret it! Please, just sign it, and we can fax it to him. There is still time."

Taken aback by her usually shy assistant's firm manner, Emma closed her eyes, bit her lip, and grabbed for her pen.

Inside Jefferson's apartment, Killian was cooking the meal for his dinner with Emma. To his relief and delight, he had received the fax confirming her presence.

Taking his eyes from the stove, while still being attentive to his work, Killian watched as David paced the room nervously with the telephone to his ear.

Suddenly, with a little start, David said, "Oh, hi Mary Margaret; it's me, David. I was calling to see if you got my flowers. I mean your flowers. I mean the ones I sent?" He paused for a breath, then said "Good!" to the reply. He then looked to Killian, voice stalling.

Killian gave him a smile and a nod. "You can do this, my friend."

Pressing onward, David continued. "I was wondering if you would like to go to a movie, and then...perhaps accompany me to dinner?" Waving his free hand, he rushed on, "I-I-I-I understand completely if you are otherwise engaged. But, uh, I just wanted to say, umm…" Stopping to consult his notes, a small furrow appeared in David's brow.

"Come on. No need to be ashamed. You can do the speech as written," Killian encouraged silently.

"I wanted to say you've made an impression on me. And...and it's not only because you are so pretty. I mean, you're very pretty, but it's more than that. It's, umm...You're graceful. You know, the way you move, and speak. You just have a way with words. And I really, really like you."

There was a very long pause, during which David looked terrified. Then, responding to what Mary Margaret had said, he mumbled, "Seven? Yes! Yes, seven would be great. Would be fantastic. See you then!"

He ended the call, then jumped straight up in the air victoriously. "I did it! I am going out with Mary Margaret!"

Killian chuckled as David did a small dance.

"I gotta go get ready!" David exclaimed.

Emma arrived home and she would deny it to anyone, but she was a little excited about the dinner date with Killian. She was about to go to her room to get ready when her brother came out of his room looking very handsome. He had a silly grin on his face that she had not seen in a while.

David smiled wide at his sister as he greeted her with a quick kiss on her cheek.

"You look very handsome David. I didn't know you were going out tonight."

"Yeah, I have plans. It was unplanned until earlier today."

"So is this a big date?" she asked.

"Yeah, Ems I really like this girl."

"Who is the lucky lady?"

"Uhm, if it goes well, I'll tell you tomorrow, but I just don't want to jinx it."

Emma nodded. "Okay, good luck, and for what it's worth, she is lucky to have your attention."

"Thanks, and I think you are supposed to say that cause you are my sister."

"Just stating facts, David. You don't give yourself enough credit. You are one of the good ones."

"Ems, so are you. Have fun tonight, okay?"

She smiled. "I will. Now go before you are late for the big date!"

Finally, in her room, she opened her closet. She ruffled through the hangers, trying to find the right outfit. Her eyes landed on a pale pink dress she purchased years ago, and it never felt right to wear until now.

The dress fit perfectly and it made her feel like a true princess. She put her hair in a high ponytail with very light makeup, just enough to heighten her looks. Why was she so nervous?

It was time to make her way up to the roof.

Emma opened the roof door slowly and was astonished at the display in front of her. There were fairy lights hanging, creating a magical environment, and a man was playing the violin. The table was set with candlelight, and she could see a wine bottle next to plates and the tray with the food. Her mouth opened at the effort Killian made to please her.

"This is beautiful! You didn't have to go to so much trouble," Emma said, biting her bottom lip.

"No trouble at all, lass," Killian confirmed as he met her to guide her to her seat.

"May I?" he asked as he grabbed the chair to pull it out for her.

She nodded, unable to speak. He looked handsome wearing his old-timey outfit. Perhaps the atmosphere he created made him appear as if he was the lead in a romantic novel.

Emma stared into the night for a moment. "My mom was a true romantic." She smiled fondly. "She cried for weeks after Prince Charles and Lady Di got married."

Killian furrowed his brows. "I'm not familiar with them."

"Oh, trust me, you wouldn't want to be. A cautionary tale, proof that you can't live a fairy tale," Emma said and added, "I'm not very good with men."

"Perhaps you haven't found the right one," he said hopefully.

"Maybe, True Love only exists in fairy tales."

"My brother told me I had become a blemish on the family name due to an indiscretion from my youth, and now he tries to marry me off every chance he gets. I would be married now if I hadn't followed Jefferson. I was to announce a bride that night."

"Who?"

He sighed. "I don't know, it didn't matter to him. I suppose the one with the most money. Our family fortune is gone, and all we have is the family name."

After they finished eating, Emma stood up to start cleaning.

"What are you doing?" Killian asked.

"Just cleaning up."

"The night is not over yet. Would you do me the honor of a dance? Please?" he asked as he extended his hand for her to take.

"I'm not a good dancer," she said as she took his hand.

"There's only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he's doing." He winked, pulling her close to him as she rolled her eyes, and they started gliding.

"Smee always told me love is a leap. I was never ready to jump until I met you."

"Killian, this was lovely but I don't know if I can leap, even if I am inspired." The lightness she had felt while dancing with him was sinking into harsh reality. And she was afraid. "I'm not...not brave enough."

Then, in the next moment, he was quoting something to her, something beautiful and flowery and perfectly Killian, and she was kissing him, warmth spreading from her chest all the way to her toes.

The next morning, after a wonderful date with Mary Margaret, David woke to the sound of Killian cooking breakfast.

They exchanged hellos, each asking how the other's date went. According to Killian, his date had also gone well.

David was pleased, but something was nagging at him. Emma was so rarely happy these days. And it was great that Killian was helping her to take down her walls, but if things were to continue...well, he wanted to make sure Emma was with someone she could really trust.

"Look, Killian, I have to ask you…" David trailed off. "Who are you? I mean, really?"

Killian spread some jam on toast, seeming confused. "What do you mean?"

"It's been a lot of fun doing the duke act with you, but...Emma's been through a lot, and I don't want her to have to deal with even more."

Killian lifted his hand. "I understand, David."

"So...Who are you?"

With a deep breath, Killian said, "I am the man who loves your sister. Who would go to the end of the world, or time, for her."

And with that, David was reassured.

David showed Killian how to master the dishwasher after breakfast was made. Killian was still in awe of the technology of the time.

"Just make sure Emma sees you push the button. Whatever you do, don't press it until she is awake to see you do it."

"Oh, clever. The proverbial tree in the woods. If a man washes a dish and no one sees it...Did it happen?"

"Exactly!" David said, excitedly.

Emma then made her appearance. Her stomach growled at the delicious scent.

Killian's smile welcomed her. "Love, a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

David watched the pair making eyes at each other and decided not to be a third wheel and made his escape. Perhaps he could call Mary Margaret to make more plans.

Killian got a plate ready for Emma as she took her seat.

"Nine-grain toast with strawberries and mascarpone, my lady."

"Yum, this is really good," she moaned as she took bite after bite.

He hadn't seen anything as beautiful in his life.

Emma took the last bite and turned to Killian with a smile. "What should we do today?"

"Your heart's desire," Killian simply answered.

Emma and Killian get dressed, independently of course. Killian Jones was always a gentleman, after all. They set out to explore the city together.

Killian stopped at a market table full of sunglasses.

Emma snorted. "Oh no, no, no, no, no, no," she said as she took the glasses away from him, scrunched her face, and put them back on their display.

Killian looked so sad as he faced her.

"Make that face all you want, but those glasses were so inappropriate for you."

He quirked an eyebrow and they resumed their walk.

Killian gasped. "Emma, love. Emma, come!" he said excitedly as he pulled her toward a house.

"Killian, what are you doing?" she hissed.

He had gotten them inside the house; it appeared to be a museum of sorts.

"Bloody hell! This is where I lived. Good Lord. A portrait of my parents, my brother... and me." He pulled her up the stairs.

Emma looked at the portrait and gulped as she passed it. She still tried to find logic and deny what he told her was true. "Killian, I don't think that we should just be barging around here like that."

Killian held her hand as he pulled her all over the house before he stopped and stood in front of one of the rooms. He faced her with a smile. "Emma, this is my old quarters," he said as he walked to his hidden spot.

Emma looked around frantically. "What are you doing?"

He put pressure on a spot, then they heard a crackling sound. "Emma, this is the place where I put everything I most cared for. Things I didn't want Liam to touch. Like our mother's ring." He showed her a beautiful ring that he somehow knew its hiding place, and she hated to think what that truly meant for them, so she ignored the nagging pull in her heart.

Emma smiled. "Oh, it's breathtaking."

Later that evening, Emma and Killian finally end up cuddled on the sofa together after their day exploring the city.

Emma had her hand on his chest, playing with the hair there. She felt so comfortable in his arms. She sighed. "Do you..."

"Hmm, What would like to know, love?" he asked as he gently caressed her back.

She sighed and shifted in his embrace to see his face. "Do you miss where you're from?"

"Ah, I suppose I do in a way. There are things I miss, such as its rhythm."

"Is that slower like today?"

"Aye, quite a bit slower." He smiled.

She groaned. "That means that tomorrow is Sunday. I don't want it to be Sunday. What I do want is more of this." She snuggled closer to him.

He laughed heartily.

"Ooh, Monday is when we shoot your commercial so that's something exciting." She hummed comfortably from her cozy little bubble.

Not long after that, she drifted into sleep.

Killian kissed the top of her head and took out his mother's ring. He knew she had fallen asleep and it was now a lost moment. He picked her up and took her to bed, and tucked her in affectionately.

Emma said sleepily, "You're tucking me in."

"Aye."

"Huh, you're my Smee."

"Yes, I am Your Grace."

"Hey, hey, you don't have to... don't go upstairs. Stay."

He nodded and got in bed behind her, spooning her. He whispered, "I love you, Emma," in her ear before drifting off to sleep himself.

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4  @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615  @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713    @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes  @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @cocohook38 @zaharadessert​​

[keepingupwithpotters]

go ‘head ruin my makeup

Inspired by that photo. Yup, that one.

Thank you @frustratedpoetwrites for turning this chunk of words into a readable mess. Can also be found on ao3.

“— if you would just stop moving around—“

“Oh, this isn’t moving around Evans. This is a basic bloody reflex. Happens when someone pokes your eye repeatedly with a sharp object - can even be called survival instinct, really.”

Jamie can tell her audience is not appreciating these smartarse responses from the way she huffs while passing the eye pencil she holds from one hand to another. She’s even willing to bet that Lily is currently rolling her eyes in exasperation, but she finds it a little hard to care much for her annoyance at the moment. All her thoughts are focused on how nervous she is, how sweaty her palms are, and how much time she has left until her date. She realizes what a bad idea it was to even think about the date as her right leg starts jumping up and down again. Right… Better not open that can of worms and focus on the present then - which honestly starts to seem much worse for her nerves because Lily has decided to stop the shaking leg with a firm press of her hand.

A breath held. For one second, two maybe. Her leg stilling so abruptly... The hand has left her thigh. She really doesn’t know how long she can keep doing this.

“Did you forget the part where you asked for this Potter? I thought you wanted to look Muggle for tonight,” huffs Lily while she turns her back to the sitting witch beside her and rummages through the impromptu makeup counter in front of her, trying to choose her next product.

When she turns back she has an admittedly slightly less dangerous pointy stick in her hand but a much, much more wicked smile. “Well, this is how we do things – á la Muggle.”

Jamie can’t tell if she is terrified of or excited with the promises behind that smile, those two feelings that become so interchangeable whenever she’s around her.

“Okay, I need you to close your eyes,” instructs Lily while leaning into her face slowly, causing Jamie’s mind to short-circuit completely, rendering the dazed witch unable to follow the simple command.

She is still looking a little stunned and not even blinking - which is, you know, the opposite of what she ought to do - when Lily’s face clouds with worry as she feels the need to add, “so I can smudge the pencil? A little hard to do when your eyes are open without you screaming bloody murder about maiming and survival instincts.”

This, Jamie can understand and readily comply with – thinking that maybe not seeing the girl standing oh so close to her can help with some of her worries at the moment. Which are mainly concentrated on not making a fool out of herself, as they always are. She realizes how wrong she was, and what an idiot she had been to even think otherwise when Lily’s hand comes out of nowhere and holds her head in place.

Now, logically Jamie can understand that the said hand did not actually come from nowhere – she just had the misfortune of having her eyes closed and had no time to prepare herself for it. She also understands the necessity of holding her head in one place as she is prone to fidgeting around whenever Lily becomes too close. The problem is however, her warming cheeks, out of rhythm heart, and swooping stomach did not seem to get the same memo as her brain. 

The swooping stomach, she’s used to. It has become an almost permanent feeling whenever she’s around Evans. Considering they are roommates who have the same schedule, it was safe to say that this was a daily occurrence – which you’d think would give her some time to get used to it. But every time Lily laughed, smiled or yelled at her at questionably high volumes, it came back - strong as ever. So Jamie learned to live with her butterflies’ residence in her middle, their daily flutters not resented but expected.

Her heartbeat is a rhythm she is prone to pay attention to for many different reasons. It pounds in her ears under her invisibility cloak, with the adrenaline of almost getting caught after a good prank. It beats out of her chest, just before the starting of a Quidditch match, blocking her ears to the screams coming from the stands. And now it stops and it starts again whenever Lily decides to call her Jamie, whenever she leans in to her while they are sitting like this is just something they normally do.Whenever she recalls something that Jamie mentioned ages ago – never expecting her to pay attention, never expecting her to care. She doesn’t know how many missteps her heart can take, she can take. She supposes it can’t be healthy, to have a heart that loses its rhythm this much around one person, but she never was one to take the doctor’s orders was she?

The quickly rising temperature of her cheeks, she is trying to will into disappearing to no avail. At first she thinks it’s because her eyes are closed - she was just hyper aware of the soft and small hand on her face, barely covering her cheek. As she feels the warmth spreading from her cheeks to her neck as Lily strokes her face slightly –she’s stroking her face!- she realizes that it is actually a blush blossoming on the highs of her cheeks, wherever the pale skinned hand touches.

 Jamie wants to open her eyes desperately, needs to see Lily’s face. She needs to gauge what’s going through her mind because it is impossible to do so with your eyes closed, and she has to tell her that she is not just holding, but actually stroking her face, because Jamie really isn’t sure the redheaded girl realizes what she’s doing or how she is affecting the subject of her gentle touch. She also doesn’t know which option is worse – Lily doing this intentionally, knowing exactly how it makes Jamie dysfunction momentarily, or Lily just casually stroking her face without any thought, dare she even think because she wants to?

 Unfortunately Jamie is not able to solve any of these mysteries because she still can’t open her eyes so she decides to focus on a problem she can solve – her traitorous cheeks.

Blushing always used to be Evans’ thing. Her face waiting for any moment to betray her and display the many emotions she was feeling at that moment for the whole world to see. Jamie adored Lily when she was angry and her face matched the colour of her hair, adored her when she was embarrassed and her cheeks lit aflame with emotion, when one of Jamie’s many suggestive lines left her speechless with the apples of her cheeks burning bright. 

Lately though it has become Jamie who’s rendered speechless, who is staring at Evans’ back, dumbfounded with a blush forming on her cheeks. Jamie who can’t form coherent sentences and stammers over every word, where she used to be able to speak even if the recipient was not always fond of the sentiments. She doesn’t know what to think of this new update, just hopes that Lily is as observant about this as she used to be.

When Lily finally tells her to open her eyes, with one last lingering feather light touch, she is still at square one on her mission to get rid of her red cheeks. At least now she has the opportunity to observe Lily closely, looking for clues in her face about the presence of her ever persisting blush. It’s hard to do so as thoroughly as she desired because Lily removed her glasses at the beginning of this makeover, and she isn’t able to make out much of her facial expressions unless she comes real close to her – not that she is complaining, she thought it was a brilliant idea to help her control herself around the fluttering girl.

Squinting her eyes, she tries to look at Lily as distinctly as possible.She is very sure that Lily is in fact not aware of Jamie’s blush, because there is no bloody way that she would be able to hide the self-satisfied smirk she gets anytime Jamie blunders in front of her. The sort of smile that makes you feel like she is in on a joke that you are not part of, so you better catch up to her. And Jamie is trying so hard - to catch up, to be a part, to not blunder. Just as she relaxes in her chair she sees Lily slyly putting the unused pink blush back in the makeup bag, never to be mentioned again.

And she realizes, once again, that she is an idiot.

Lily decides to talk to her again as she is leaning against the table casually, her whole posture relaxed. “I was thinking something golden obviously, for your eye shadow”

Obviously?

Jamie is sure she is missing something entirely, a glaring fact that is probably right in front of her face. But she had already made a fool out of herself too many times to count, and she is not going to be the butt of the joke this time. And so she repeats back the sentiment confidently, 

“Obviously.”

Her desired duh effect seems not to convey to the other side, as the word out of her mouth sounds like a question more than anything and Lily is raising her eyebrows again.

“Are you fishing for compliments here Potter?”

“Ah, is it because gold complements my tan complexion perfectly?”

“Yes, like a drop of sunshine gliding across your face,” she says with a straight face. She only hesitates for a moment before adding, “To bring out the gold in your eyes.”

“My eyes aren’t golden,” Jamie retorts quickly before she can stop herself.

She is met with another eye roll, “I didn't say they are golden, did I? Just that they’ve gold flecks in ‘em.” She tilts her head to the side as she ponders over something before saying, “They come out when sunlight hits your eyes, or when you—“

This time she does stop herself abruptly, looking like she already said too much before finishing her sentence, “or firelight. Any light really, just stand under a big candle next time you want to impress someone.”

Jamie knows she was not going to end her sentence this way, and she knows Lily is aware of that. But right now she looks so bloody uncomfortable that Jamie can’t find it in herself to push for more answers, not when all she wants to do is make her relax again.

“Well, I am ready Evans. Go ahead, make me a pretty girl.”

This does seem to bring the smile back on her face. “Don’t act like this makeup shindig is not just me indulging myself,” she scoffs,” you’re already drop dead gorgeous.”

While putting on the eye shadow, Lily allows Jamie to keep her eyes open, on the condition that she only looks down.Which means her hands on her lap are the only things in her line of vision. She can see them start fidgeting clear as a day when she feels Lily’s warm breath on her temple.

The standing witch manages to tolerate it for three seconds before snapping. “I swear to Merlin if you don’t stop fumbling your bloody hands around I’ll sit on them, you know I will.”

 Jamie lets herself think about the possibility for one glorious moment before gripping the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turn white. She can’t see Lily’s face but she can feel the smugness radiating off her. Whatever, she can have this round. She can win any round really, as far as Jamie is concerned.

“Look ahead for me now Potter, I need to see if both sides are equal”

She happily obeys, realizing she can now stare at Lily without getting noticed as she crouches down to her eye level in front of her.

Jamie uses this time wisely, drinking in the sight of her as she concentrates on the task - trying to keep the eye shadow the same level. She seems to find her work satisfactory enough, leaning back slightly to give her a once over.

“Did it work?” Jamie asks with excitement in her voice, finally free from the intoxication of having those green eyes so close to her face.

“Yeah, sure. You are officially a pretty girl.”

“Not that, Evans. And you said I was drop dead gorgeous, no take backs now” she counters quickly. “I meant the gold flecks, did they appear?”

She gets a contemplative look on her face that is disrupted by the warm smile on her lips, eyes lightening up with affection and something else that Jamie can’t place. “Yes, it worked. I am clearly a brilliant makeup artist.”

The smile is still on her face as she gets up from her position on the floor to walk back to where the rest of her makeup products lay. She quirks an eyebrow as she asks, “How do you feel about false eyelashes?”

“Uh, scared? Fear seems to be the general emotion, yeah.”

Lily sighs like it pains her so, “Fine, we’ll stick to mascara like a boring little wuss.”

She doesn’t even have the time to object to that slander before Lily is right back by her side again, asking her to keep her eyes open as she applies the mascara. She needs to slightly bend towards Jamie’s face while she does it, the height difference when one of them sits down makes it impossible not to.

The slight tilt of her posture causes the wide neck of her shirt to dip a little, just enough to give Jamie an eyeful of constellations across her chest – spreading down, down and down. She counts one, two, three freckles starting from her collarbones before she realizes with a start where they are headed, snapping her eyes up immediately as she stops connecting the little dots before her.

While she has the opportunity to see if her ogling was noticed by Lily, she is too embarrassed to do so – choosing to focus on a spot over her shoulder instead. When she gathers the courage to look at her face again, she is already gone from her side – seemingly done with her lashes for now.

But she doesn’t jump on the next product she plans to use immediately like she had been doing until now. She doesn’t even pick up a new brush with clear glee in her face. What she does appear to be doing is staring at Jamie’s face with a thoughtful look on her face, like she is trying to calculate what her next move should be.

Jamie quickly trıes to go through all the steps she knows about makeup in her mind, frantically trying to figure out if this is the end of their little moment. If it is, she knows that means it is time for her date and she also knows she is still not ready to think about that yet.

She tries to cling on to their time desperately, “Well, is that all then?”

“No,” Lily hums, “we still have to put on some lipstick of course.”

Of bloody course, Jamie had never been more relieved to hear those words as she did now.

“Trying to pick a colour for me, Evans? I’ve been told I look absolutely smashing with a pink lip you know?”

Lily lets a small smile interrupt her pensive face for a moment, “I’ve chosen a red lipstick so you can keep representing Gryffindor pride for the rest of the day.”

The unsaid question lies in the air - Jamie doesn’t open her mouth to ask what the hold-up is, but she has a feeling Lily is about to answer it anyway.

“There is just something I want to do before I have to worry about messing up your lipstick.”

And Lily Evans is kissing her… again. Jamie was a fool to think that nothing could top their first kiss she realizes, as she feels Lily’s soft lips on her own, tries to breathe her in, tries not to die. The warm feeling in her belly still has not passed since they went on their first date. Since they walked under the snow until their cheeks turned to poppies, since Lily decided that she actually couldn’t wait for Jamie to make the first move and kissed her. A soppy smile has not been far from her lips ever since that day, widening when she looks at snow, widening even more when she gazes at those green eyes.

When Lily came to her with all the excitement of the world in her face, asking if she could take her to Muggle London for their next date - how was Jamie going to say no, really?  Not when she prattled on giddily about after that how their next date could be in somewhere magical again, talking about taking turns planning dates – like Jamie hadn’t been planning them since 5th year, like it escaped her notice she basically confirmed at least four dates in their future in one breath.

The maddening effect of talking to Evans’ has left her body completely this afternoon, when it finally sunk in that she was going to Muggle London - a place she had never been before. The pressure on her poor nerves only rising when she turned to Sirius for some advice, wear corduroy trousers with no knickers Prongs, that’s what all Muggles in London do I swear.

So that’s how Lily finds her when she walks into their dorm – standing around a big pile of clothes, talking about how it is completely barbaric to not put on knickers.  Thankfully she catches on swiftly that Jamie is seconds away from spiralling into a panic and she comes up with the great idea to help her with her makeup – in the latest Muggle style, no less.

To no one’s surprise, her plan works swimmingly - Jamie, no longer thinking about corduroys or knickers, focused only on Lily as she usually is. And now her whole body relaxes once more, as she is still kissing her with all she’s got. She feels Lily’s hair slipping through her fingers like silk, counting her blessings while getting lost in all the soft sounds she makes.

She is still dizzy from something purely Lily when they stop kissing. They both take a moment to just breathe each other in before Lily steps away from her, a fact she only knows because her warmth is missing. She opens her eyes just in time to see Lily’s bashful but pleased smile – a smile she is getting used to now.

From all those moments her brain was low on oxygen – at least that’s what she wants to believe- the first words to come out of her mouth were, “Does that mean you won’t kiss me after you put my lipstick on?”

“Let me make that decision after I actually put it on, “Lily said while not taking her eyes off her, “We are already late as it is.”

Lipstick proves itself to be the hardest part for Jamie - Lily is both holding her face and leaning in to her, and this time Jamie’s eyes are free to roam her face as she pleases. She has a hard time breathing as she stares at the freckles on her nose, trying not to think about the others she saw not too long ago. Just as she is starting to think she is about to turn into a puddle under the intensity of Lily’s eyes on her lips, it’s over and Jamie can breathe again.

“And one last finishing touch,” Lily breathes as she goes to bring Jamie back her glasses, handing them over as fast as she can.

Jamie takes a moment to drink her in when her vision finally clears up, thinking if it’s possible for her to have gotten more beautiful somehow while she was partially blind. She keeps her eyes on Lily’s face to not miss any emotion this time, “Well Evans, what’s the verdict?”

The same wicked smile spreads through Lily’s lips, “Looks like I’ll be kissing you for a very long time, Potter.”

[whorefordazai]

oh em gee heyyuh segc thing 😏💋 congrats once again on the milestone sweetie 😘👏🏻 can I get uhh one match up with a guy joo-say-oh? *why do I think I know who you'll give 🤔*

my pronouns are she/her, no zodiac cause I don't believe in those 🥲 i have shoulder-blade length black hair with flat bangs (imagine Yosano but uglier) and am 5"2 (157 cm to he exact) rip

Hobbies include analysing so many things (I'm pretty sure I'm slightly decent at recognising people's qualities), writing, reading, and drawing. I'm a musician but it's ages since I've played. I love talking with my baes too! Youll immediately know I like you if I keep pestering you lol. Oh and you know who my kins are bae 😚🍀💗

My love languages are (as the recipient) Acts of Service and Quality Time and I also love giving Words of Affirmation to my babies ☺ Lifting their confidence is literally one of my favourite things to do and I'm a super ride or die person. I literally squared up to defend my friends several times 🤪

My aesthetic is all over the place 🤧 Is it light academia? Is it street style? Is it soft? I have no idea. I like cute stuffs tho, like those kinds of pretty Korean outfits. Fave colours are uh lilac or tosca or soft brown

My dream date is to visit a theatre/orchestra and book stores oh my god. Those calming stuffs like that 👉🏻👈🏻

I hope I make sense 🥲 And I hope this isn't too much? Uwhduwus im so sorryyyy if it is 😢❤ Once again congrah too lay sheons baybee 🤪🎊

I match you with...(you already know so lemme make this fun for both of us 🥲)

Sakunosuke Oda! ´ˎ˗

(surprise shawty 🥲🎉)

👾 oda doesn’t befriend many people, so I feel like you guys would be friends before lovers. you mentioned you can understand people pretty fast, so if you confront him about himself, he’ll probably be standing there like “damn, woman 👴🏻.” he’ll probably be reluctant to tell you he’s into writing stories (he’s a little shy okay) but once he realizes you’re also into writing stories, he’ll low key be so excited to talk to you about it (he won’t outright show his excitement tho) the least he’ll say is “oh? oh that’s nice🙂🤝” don’t be fooled, he’s jumping on the inside.

👾 you might pester him a lot, and he might not give much of a reaction but really, he’s super glad that you haven’t become bored of him and his rock personality 😚 I feel like his love language is also quality time, seeing as though he works in the mafia and doesn’t get much free time. the time you guys spend together is probably at book stores or definitely with the orphans.

👾 this man is kinda touch deprived okay🧍‍♂️he didn’t realize how much cuddling he needed until he saw you in a pretty comprising position where the orphans where sleeping with you, all cuddled up by your body. mans almost dropped his grocery bags and just stood there like “🧍‍♂️💗” he thought to himself “I must obtain this thing humans call...cuddling🧍‍♂️”

👾 lemme sayyy—oda isn’t one to talk about his feelings, not because he thinks they aren’t important—more like he doesn’t wanna bother you with them. so your love language being words of affirmation and boosting confidence is perfect for him ☺️ you always notice when he’s feeling a little glum, so just grab his cheeks, place a big kiss on his nose and assure him that he’s the best man anyone could ever ask for 🥰

SONGS ´ˎ˗

- come a little closer | cage the elephant

- young and beautiful | lana del ray

- carolina | harry styles

- yellow | coldplay

- runaway | aurora

MESSY LAYOUT ´ˎ˗

[izzyfandoms]

Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.  

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.  

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.  

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

hi

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

ha

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu  

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck  

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

hm

one day  

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.  

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.  

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.  

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

[bexo-tic]

Breath Play - Spencer Reid X Reader

Spencer Reid X Reader Slow Burn

Season 10 Episode 17

Word Count: 3234

 The sound of heels clicking overwhelms my senses. I can’t believe I’m here, in the BAU office. Sure, I’ve been here plenty of times during my childhood to visit my uncle, but this time I came to work. My heartbeat slows as I take in the familiar smell of coffee brewing. It’s almost nostalgic, reminding me of the times I’d surprise Uncle Aaron with a visit. My heart aches a little as I think of Aunt Haley, but I push the thoughts from my mind. This is my first day and I need everything to be perfect. 

“Y/N,” he smiles warmly as I peek my head into his office. I hadn’t seen Aaron since I left for college, I was too busy working on my degrees. We still called once a week, and that is why it didn’t feel forced or awkward to slide into conversation with him after 8 years.

“Well, everyone is at the table because we have a new case, I can introduce you there.” He leads me out of his office and into a small room filled with only a round table and a screen where the team waits. Their presence makes me nervous. They have all this experience with their job and probably only remember me as Aaron’s little niece if they remember me at all. 

“Team, we have a new intern, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s my niece on Haley’s side.” He clears his throat after mentioning her and I can tell he isn’t as over it as everyone would assume. “This is Derek Morgan, Kate Calahan, Jennifer Jereau, David Rossi, and Spencer Reid. And our Tech Analyst Penelope Garcia.”

“Save the pleasantries, Aaron. She knows me,” David says as he gets up to hug me. The smell of his cologne fills my lungs, but not in an overbearing way. He cups my face in his hands. “You’re all grown up; it’s hard to believe.”

“I don’t think I believe it yet either,” I laugh as I sit down and he goes back to his seat. 

“I hate to interrupt the joy, but we need to get to Wisconsin, also known as the lovely badger state, home of milk and cheese,” Penelope says. She goes into explaining the case and how the bodies of 3 women had been discovered as late as this morning. I tense my body to keep from shivering at the sight of their photos. 

That might be the part that always gets to me, seeing the photos of the victims happy and smiling. I can’t imagine their faces once they realized what was going to happen to them. I watch as they discuss the case, their energy, and ideas building off each other. It happens so smoothly and effortlessly like they aren’t talking about murders. But to them this is normal, maybe they’re a little desensitized to it. 

“Whether he knows the victims or not, he’s hit his stride and he’s not gonna take time to cool off. Wheels up in 30,” Aaron says, distracting me from my thoughts. I grab the “go bag” I left in my uncle’s office which is better described as a suitcase on the edge of exploding. It was my first trip and I didn’t know how long we’d stay so I panic-packed what was probably too much clothing. As I leave the office I bump into something hard. I look up and see Derek.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry. I didn’t even look and-” He holds up a hand to stop my rambling.

“It’s fine, it takes more than a suitcase to knock me down,” he says with a smile. I let out a relieved sigh and he continued talking.

“Rossi says you’re fresh out of college. What degrees do you have?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Psychology and a Masters in Criminal Justice.”

“And you’re how old?”

“26, I just took a lot of summer classes,” I shrug.

“Sounds a little like Reid,” he laughs. “Real smart guy, been here since he was 24. He graduated high school at 12.” I feel my jaw open and quickly try to close it. 

“That’s um- wow.” 

“Insane, I know. Let me help you get to the jet.”

“Yeah, thanks. I was going to ask my uncle where to go.”

“So is having Hotch as an uncle the same as having him as a boss?”

“Mm, I’d say yeah. He’s pretty reserved, but once you’ve known him long enough you can read him like a book. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you, it’s more like he’s too busy thinking to remember to talk to you.”

“Sounds about right,” he chuckles. “Set your bag here and just through that door is the jet.”

“Oh, thanks again for showing me.”

“No problem, Y/N.” He walked onto the plane. It felt strange hearing him call me by my first name when everyone else was referred to by their last name. But maybe I was reading too much into it. It was my first day and we couldn’t have made a bond as he had with everyone else in the 5-minute walk to the jet. I took a deep breath to calm my thoughts and walked through the door.

Already they were discussing the case again. Hearing them bounce ideas off each other and analyze was almost comforting if you forgot they were talking about a murderer. Their dynamic was so in tune like they all held the same vibration. Part of me didn’t want to speak and mess up the flow of the conversation. 

“Alright Dave and Reid, go to the Medical Examiner with Em. Morgan and Kate go to the newest crime scene. JJ and I will interview friends and family at the station,” Aaron announced. My fingertips began to tingle with anticipation. This is happening! A part of me was excited to be here. I’d always admired my uncle when I was younger for putting away the bad guys and here I was beside him. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I tried desperately to calm down. It was my first case and I was determined not to mess this up. I didn’t want Aaron thinking I couldn’t handle this and sending me home, so I was determined to keep a calm demeanor. 

<<< >>>

“Cartilage around the windpipe was damaged, but the COD was actually a crushed trachea,” the examiner says as he leads us to the victims’ bodies. 

“I’m surprised Emma didn’t go into cardiac arrest before then,” Spencer says, looking back at me and David. I nod in agreement because I don’t have anything to counter with. I question why Aaron even sent me with them to the M.E. when I don’t have enough experience to be much help here.

“Nobody has sex for 6 straight hours, not even sting,” David says, pulling my attention back to the report. That’s where it should be. “Maybe he’s interacting with them beforehand.”

“Nonetheless, it’s an endurance test. He’d have to be in pretty great physical shape,” Spencer says. I try to form my own ideas as they talk, to just bring something to the table and not feel like I’m useless and watching from the sidelines. 

“Well, do you think strangulation is just the dispatching method, then?” David asks.

“Erotic asphyxiation,” I call from behind them. They both turn to look at me and I feel my heart move up my throat. “I mean, the bruising from repeated strangling and releasing is similar to that.”

“If that’s the case, isn't the pleasure usually all for the recipient?”

“Maybe not for him,” Spencer answers. “Cutting off his victim’s air supply might be how he satisfies his own urges.” 

I sigh, I might have just contributed something. I don't want them to think I can’t do anything to help. My eyes wander to the other victims. She has the same bruising as the other victim except her hair is blonde, Donna Rayburn. She almost looks like me, but her eyes are blue, not the dark brown I got from my dad. Noticing all our similarities makes me itch and I feel exposed. I jump when a hand touches my back.

“Hey, we’re heading back to discuss everything with the team,” David says. “Are you alright?”

I can feel Spencer’s eyes burning into me from behind, he’s not very good at acting like he isn’t listening to our conversation. I can’t help but wonder if he thinks I’m even qualified to be here; his intelligence is a little intimidating. He could probably profile circles around me.

“I’m fine, just nervous. First day jitters,” I smile in what I hope is a convincing way. David leads me to the car and I sit in the back on the way to the station. Looking out the window keeps me distracted and I let my mind wander. I wonder how the people who live here feel about the news. Everyone says “It could never happen here”, but somehow it always does.

“Six hours is a long time, especially late at night, for someone to be held and no one to hear anything,” Aaron says as David, Spencer and I make it to the table. Again they delved into a conversation trying to connect the victims. So far, the only thing they had in common was their interactions with the unsub. After what seemed like hours of discussion, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and got up to find coffee. 

I found my way to a small kitchen with two coffee pots in it. I grabbed a guest mug and poured in the steaming liquid, leaving enough room for the cream and sugar packets on the counter. A voice behind me makes me jump.

“Did you know Hawaii is the only state in the U.S. that grows coffee?” I turn and find Spencer standing there with his thermos in his hands.

“Um no?”

“Yeah, the ideal coffee growing conditions require high altitudes, rich soil, and tropical climates.”

“Do you start every conversation off with facts?” I ask with a laugh.

“Mostly,” he smiles. “Oh, and I wouldn’t drink that coffee if I were you. Hotch just said we’re heading back to the hotel and regrouping in the morning.” 

I checked the time on my phone, 11:33 PM. No wonder I was so tired, with the jet ride and busy day we had. The ride to the hotel felt like it lasted a few minutes, so I must have dozed off in the car. Aaron handed me the key to my room which I shared with JJ. I barely had time to shower before I fell asleep in the white sheets of the bed.

<<< >>>

I couldn’t believe the unsub killed again last night. I knew he would kill again, but it didn’t feel right that I hadn’t noticed. How did we all fall asleep so easily when the murderer we were trying to find had claimed a new victim? And here I was walking around Lynn Boyd’s house as everyone scurried around for evidence. I find my way into her bedroom.

“The bindings, the silk scarf, the rough sex. He’s using ‘Bare Reflections’ to choose his victims,” Rossi says. Finally, another step forward. Last night we concluded the unsub would be a married man, but it didn’t give us much to go off of. A call to Garcia would help us understand more.

‘If this book is mainstream, then his victim pool is large.”

“Garica, did any of the other victims besides Lynn own a copy?” JJ asks.

“Mary Healy had it on her tablet. Donna Rayburn checked it out from the library twice. Emma and Lynn both purchased copies locally.”

Although the book tied our victims together, who even knew how many other married women in the comfort zone owned the book as well. The list of possible targets would be too long to help us tie it back to the unsub.

“And- hey, a lot of the saucy texts are direct quotes from the book,” Garcia says. “Oh! Speaking of texts, I culled them from that he met Mary via message board, Donna at a coffee shop, Emma at the gym, and Lynn, he met Lynn using a fake profile on a discreet dating website for married people.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Rossi said, ending the call.

“Profile?” JJ asked. He nodded in response. The ride back to the station passed in a blink. Maybe it was the satisfaction I was feeling. My fingertips tingled because we were so close to finally catching this guy.

“Based on area demographics, we believe that we’re looking for a physically fit white male in his mid-30s to early 40s,” Aaron starts.

“He’s a homicidal dominant with an interest in role-play,” Callahan continues. They build off each other so smoothly, and the rest of the team keeps it going.

“We believe his charisma has allowed him to latch onto women who are interested in a popular erotic romance novel called ‘Bare Reflections’.”

“In it, a sheltered female teacher falls for a handsome mogul with a dark past who forces her into a submissive role.”

“Despite her initial worries, Amber Stone finds she can’t live without Carson Bare, warts and all.”

“We believe the unsub and his victims are consensually recreating a scenario from this book.”

“In that scene, Carson introduces Amber to BDSM by binding her to a bed as they have rough sex.”

“The unsub uses this role play to get his victims into a vulnerable position before his fantasy takes hold.”

”This has provided the unsub with a victim pool who have dropped their guard.” 

“His first victims were single, but his last two were married. This escalation indicates that he may be married himself and probably has a family.”

“This unsubs M.O. takes patience and caution, and is firmly rooted in a need-based desire, which means he won’t be stopping anytime soon. Thank you.” Aaron says, ending the profile presentation. I look back at the crime scene photos trying to piece together the puzzle. I notice Reid quickly skimming through the pages of “Bare Reflections”. 

“Are you even reading it?” I ask.

“I can read 20,000 words per minute, so yes.” He doesn't even have to look up when he responds.

“Robot,” I say under my breath as I roll my eyes, but from his smirk, I can tell he heard me.

“There’s not a single mention of erotic asphyxiation anywhere,” he says as Rossi and a detective approach us.

“It’s the unsub’s fetish then.” Rossi’s brows furrow. 

“He’s a charmer that knows that some people lose themselves in the moment and others stop at nothing to please their partners,” my thoughts come out loud as I walk towards them. “Somehow he makes his victims feel safe enough to abandon their hard limit.”

“What’s a hard limit?” the detective asks.

“It’s a common BDSM practice. Hard limits are anything that’s an automatic no-go. It differs by person and taste,” Rossi states.

“And a soft limit is an in which a submissive hesitates or places strict conditions on,” Reid pipes up.

“I had no idea that world had so many regulations. Where does he find somebody like-minded?”

“In “Bare Reflections”, Carson Bare takes Amber to an event called a munch.”

“Which is?”

“According to the book, it’s a social gathering for people interested in BDSM.”

“Where the heck do you find that?”

“We should call Garcia.” Reid nods at Rossi.

“I found one,” he says, showing his simple google search. While Rossi and Callahan go to the munch, the rest of us stay behind to go over the case files.

<<< >>>

“He knew crossing state lines would make it more difficult to link the crimes,” Aaron says about the three prostitute murders Garcia has just brought up. 

“That’s a very different cooling-off period. I wonder what was so special about those dates,” Detective Pierce questions. Reid grabs an expo marker and turns to the nearest board.

“First kills were in 2000, 2007, and then he went dormant until last year. What triggers him?” He writes all the dates on the board.

“Deaths in the family,” Aaron asks.

“He could keep losing jobs?”

“These are sex crimes so what interferes with sex drive? Children,” Callahan offers. “The addition of a child would disrupt even the happiest of couples.”

“More specifically the births,” Reid nods and you can see the gears in his head turning. “What if each of these kills corresponds to the births of the unsub’s own children?”

“Garcia, how many men in the hunting zone had a child in 2000?”

“16 and because I already know what the follow-up question is going to be, 5 had their second child 8 years ago, and two had their third last year.”

“Were either one of them busted for something like peeping or exposure?” I ask.

“Yes and no, there's a Patrick Jon Murphy. He’s a physical therapist, here’s the thing he was never actually arrested. I do have some sealed family court docs, though, that I’m about to unseal and learn … Oh, when he was 12, he witnessed his neighbor strangle his wife to death in a sex game gone bad.”

“Even though he was only a witness, that moment created a single event imprint on his love map and probably started his interest in breath play.”

“Is his wife interested in BDSM?”

“Uh, no, doesn’t look like it. The Murphy’s have been in and out of couple’s therapy for years.”

“The therapy roller coaster may have been due to intermittent periods of frustration then bliss surrounding the murders.”

“And his urges increase during periods of non-intimacy.”

“If the unsub’s trigger was the birth of his kids, why change the victimology and accelerate the kills now?” I ask.

“I think the guilt he’s felt has been alleviated by ‘Bare Reflections’, and the intense female interest in it has justified his impulses,” Reid answers. Our phones beep as Garcia sends us his address and we race out the door. His house isn’t even that far from the station, it’s crazy that he’s been under our noses the whole time. JJ and Reid come out of the house looking defeated.

“He’s at the nanny’s house, we’ve gotta move!” We don't even have time to buckle up before we're barreling down the road. When we arrive at the house I can see a girl standing at the front door. 

"You two take the front of the house, I'm going around back," Morgan declares. I can see him run after the unsub on foot as Callahan grabs the girl inside the house. That must be his daughter. The rest of us storm inside, clearing each room as we make our way through the house. Calls from upstairs lead us into the bedroom where we find a woman tied to her bed. Immediately we untie her as a medic comes in to check her out.

<<<   >>>

“So, how was your first case?” Aaron asks as he sits across from me on the jet.

“Um, intense,” I nod and he laughs. “But I really enjoyed helping solve it.”

“I knew you had it in you.” He squeezes my hand. “Want some coffee?”

“No thanks, I’m gonna try to sleep before we land.” I curl into my chair and try to let the tension release from my body as I fall asleep.

[wesimpforxiao]

Congratulations on hitting so many followers. You deserve all of it. Your Xiao fanfiction really is amazing and I am always so exited for every new chapter. Also I really hope your meds help you to feel a bit better and I hope you have a wonderful day ☺

Aww thank you!!! ;-; Have a great day too!!!!

I accidentally sent my meds to my previous college address I-

They better give em to me and if I don’t get there before the new recipient does then I hope they are nice and would be like “hey these aren’t mine” instead of uh...selling or consuming them...that would be bad and I hate human interaction sooooo

Yeah im stressed about losing my meds and having to contact my pharmacy for a new order heh *shakes like a leaf*

Also it is going to be very busy these next 3 weeks, I have finals and a few final projects to do so there will be slow updates IM SORRRRRRYYYYYYY

but in the meantime you guys can reread eheheeheh

[rainofcolours]

Flipside (YGO – KaiJou)

Flipside (1242 words)

(1/? the mundane life of 海城 ) | [Ao3] [DW] | Full a/n on Ao3

※ This takes place over a decade after the original series when both characters are in a stable relationship, and are in their late twenties/early thirties.

“Dude, sick flip!” Katsuya hollered, fingers tipped in a two-finger salute towards the direction of the skate park.

Unfortunately, Seto was caught between Katsuya and said park, and given Katsuya’s historically terrible aim, ended up being the recipient of a rather unpleasant, and frankly quite startling bellow directly in his ear.

Instinctively clicking his tongue in displeasure, Seto gingerly rubbed behind his ear in attempts to ease the ringing away. He glowered non-too-subtly at the blond beside him, scowl deepening as he realised Katsuya instead had his sights glued on the skate park beyond them, eyes already tracing the next gravity-defying stunt in view.

Biting back his gripe in favour of a disgruntled snort, Seto reduced his pace before rounding behind, and repositioning himself on the other side of Katsuya. He matched his speed with the other man soon after, but not before leaving a deliberate gap between them.

“Man, look at him go!!” There was an almost child-like twinkle in Katsuya’s voice as he cheered the pair of skaters railsiding down a bar, his grin easy and laughter light as the skating duo returned their appreciation with equally enthusiastic waves.

Mere parlour tricks, Seto thought irritably. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Katsuya let fly another roar of delight, enthralled by a new wave of stunts the group was practising.

He widened the distance between him and Katsuya a little more.

Seto snuck a quick glance towards the skate park, flummoxed at why Katsuya was this enraptured by the group’s antics.

The skaters could not be older than sixteen. Brazenly rambunctious, their voices broke the stillness of the late afternoon air, flagrant in their desire for youth and life. They spun; they flipped; they flew; they fell — knees bruised from exertion, lungs sore from exhilaration, they continued accelerating, revelry melding into the uneven quiver of their wheels.

How utterly unproductive.

Supposing this was their idea of honing their craft, it’d take the better part of the millennium before they could reach a level of competence any global organisation would even consider competitive.

Where was their discipline? Their hunger? Unless they drastically overhauled their lackadaisical excuse of a regime, they were better off finding something else they had more proclivity and ability for.

But then again, people these days had a strange predilection for squandering their youth and time away.

Faltering interest long dissipated, Seto picked up the pace in hopes Katsuya would get the hint.

Of course Katsuya didn’t.

If Katsuya noticed Seto’s dour mood, he did a fantastic job of not showing it. While the brunet continued his unvoiced diatribe against the group, Katsuya was more than happy to ignore his surly partner in favour of spectating the skaters’ endeavours.

He moved closer to the fence that separated him from the park — much to the exasperation of Seto — reaching out to lightly run his fingers along the fence’s cool metal weave.

He inhaled the memories loosened by the clockwork rattling of wheels against concrete — feeling upon his face the rush of cool air as a younger him manipulated the momentum of his skateboard, intuitively riding out the uneven ridges and crevices of the carpark complex as he repeated his routine for the hundredth time.

He spun; he flipped; he flew; he fell — knees and ankles weak from repeated strain, bruises and scrapes tender from constant impact, he continued accelerating, the encouragement and support of his friends the axel upon which he dedicated his training.

It felt like freedom.

It didn’t matter how more often than not, these sessions would end with him fatigued, lying on the floor in a pool of sweat, his progress towards nailing a 360 heelflip no more achievable than the week before.

(Katsuya mused it had been over a decade, and he was still no closer to being able to master it.)

But that never really mattered.

He still returned, as did his friends, week after week. Stage lit, curtains drawn; they gave him an unconditional, unwavering limelight. They marvelled even when all he could perform were unremarkable ollies, and celebrated the most unexceptional of his flips — he was their Paul Rodriguez, thrifted skateboard and repatched sneakers be damned.

They gave him the gift of respect and agency when no one else did. Even now, Katsuya was, and still is immensely grateful for that.

After spectating — not eavesdropping — on the group moving into a series of Rock ‘n’ Roll and Rock to Fakie practices, Katsuya reluctantly pulled himself from his reverie, and jogged to catch up with his partner.

“If you’d gawked any longer, I’d have gone back without you.”

Katsuya fell in step next to Seto, and flashed the latter a toothy smile. “Nah, ya wouldn’t.”

Seto raised an immaculate brow in response. “Is that a challenge?”

Preferring not to push his luck further, Katsuya laughed sheepishly.

“Besides, I gotta let a bro know he’s got skills!”

“You call that skills?” Seto snorted. “I’ve seen children perform more complex tricks blindfolded.”

“I thought it was cool,” Katsuya shrugged. “And some people gotta stop bein’ so stingy with their compliments!” Katsuya shot the brunet a pointed look.

Seto folded his arms in defence. “And some people,” he returned the stare, “Need to learn the importance of having standards.”

“Your standards are whack! Ain’t our fault if we weren’t born geniuses!”

“Thank you for recognising my brilliance,” Seto countered, his mirth betrayed by the slight quirk of his lip.

Katsuya chuckled at his partner’s unabashed response, and threw a playful punch at Seto’s arm.

Seto saw it coming, but chose not to dodge.

“Seriously though, bein’ average is hard.” Katsuya sighed, and laced his fingers behind his head. “And that’s why ya gotta compliment people more!”

“So I can encourage further mediocrity?”

“No!” Katsuya peered at Seto incredulously. Katsuya posited if most of Seto’s brain was hardwired to feed the latter’s intelligence and ego, no wonder his partner had the emotional capacity of a duel disk.

“Ya gotta motivate and encourage others! So that they’ll try harder!”

“Like how I bribe you with katsu curry?”

“That’s different,” Katsuya retorted. “Ain’t a bribe, that’s a necessity.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t take much effort ta compliment someone. Ya dunno their story — they could be havin’ a rough time or somethin’. Maybe ya words can make ‘em feel better. Or give ‘em a reason ta continue, ya know?”

Seto could taste the rawness of Katsuya’s words; he saw it in the pull of the blond’s jaw, and felt it threaded between the rigidity of his spine. It was a baring of Katsuya’s lived history, a display of unhealed scars past the obfuscation of his carefree nature.

It was a defence as much as it was a plea.

Seto brushed his fingers against Katsuya’s in wordless understanding.

He wished he could pull the appropriate signifiers to lavish upon his partner, to furl the other in the appreciation and admiration he didn’t know how to express. But until he learnt to temper the edge of his tongue and the sear of his cynicism, he hoped his presence alone would suffice.

When they finally arrived at their waiting ride, Katsuya gave the skate park one last wistful look before tucking himself into the warmth of the limousine.

As the car pulled away, Katsuya turned to Seto with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Just wonderin’… Ya don’t happen ta own a secret skate park, do ya?”

“No.” Seto replied flatly.

“Bummer.”

---------

Original prompt: “It only takes a little bit of effort on your part to compliment someone. You don’t know if that’ll make their entire week or not.” (@witterprompts)

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

I can't tell you how much the Knowing Tree means to the hermits who live in the forest. Every Sunday, one of them comes to my treehouse and shouts my name with two cupped hands. Usually, I'm asleep. They don't stop until I'm up and accompanying them.

At the Knowing Tree, the hermits are gathered around the great trunk. None of the hermits have washed themselves, but thankfully maybe half of them look like they do wash themselves every now and again.

Fifteen of them in all. Fifteen voices greeting me in tones both pleasant and acrimonious. I don't bother nodding my head at them. Instead, I press my fingernails against the handholds I've carved into the tree, and I start to hoist myself up.

The Knowing Tree reveals itself on the third-highest branch. Sitting precariously up there, I plug my arm into the hole that divides the trunk. It takes a while. You have to grope inside the trunk, waiting for the slab.

This time, I feel the writing on the slab immediately. Its a script you feel with your fingertips—an ancient art that you learn in the city if you had the fortune for it. The hermits begin to clamour, having already realised that I can feel the slab.

I raise a hand and ask them to calm down. What does the slab say?

"Which of you is named Porphy?" I ask. I figure I knew everyone's names by now, but there's always new ways to be wrong.

"What's it say?" One of the hermits answers. It's Tuni, the one with the hunch and the soiled white hair.

"Are you Porphy?" I ask. "It says—"

"Just tell me what it says, and don't take that name again!"

Once you run your fingers across the slab, you can't re-read the message it contains. The slab only moves in one direction. This is an inconvenience when you've forgotten what the message was, in the moment it took to find its recipient.

"It's a message from your former lover. Do you remember..."

I don't remember the name.

"Look, it just said that wherever you are, he hopes you're happy and content. He hopes you still look at the moon and think of him."

"Are you sure it was a he?" Tuni asks.

"Well, it had a masculine name, I think. Carde, or..."

"Cardenne!" Tuni shouts. "Get the name right! Did you even get the message right?"

I sigh. "Look, can we move on to the next message? I'm already doing all of you a favour. I could just leave if I wanted to."

The crowd makes a noise, equal parts annoyed and grateful, and I'm not sure if it's enough. What I don't realise is that my hands are already running over the next message, until it's too late.

"Barton!" I shout out, echoing the last word of the message.

"Yes?" Barton replies, twirling his moustache. "It's for me?"

I look at him from up high. "Barton. This one just said to wish you a great year, and that..." I had to come up with something. "Your family is doing just fine."

Barton shakes his head and turns away as one of his friends pats his shoulder. "Who could send me something that cruel?" he asks, leaving the Knowing Tree.

Meanwhile, the next message is already running under my fingertips.