#handsome men in glasses are my kryptonite

[lisutarid-a]

[petri808]

Stingue for @theguildawards Secret Santa, @twicesix giftee 🎄🎁🤶🏻 Happy Holidays!

Is his taste in men that bad or just his judgment that he keeps picking the ones who hurt him in the end? Rogues only had three if you count the one in high school, but once their true colors came through, so did the fact they were hiding something. Trevor lied about his grades which he only found out about because he couldn’t graduate with their class on time. Such a minor thing, but the fact he lied is the problem. Then there was Antonio who he met in undergrad. What didn’t the guy lie about! Not a fellow college student, but seventeen-year-old high school dropout, who claimed to work as a server at a restaurant, was a busboy, and always forgot his wallet at home. Total scammer that Rogue dumped within a couple months, though too bad that he was good in bed. Finally, this latest one. Tch, this might be the best one yet.  

A long-winded whooshing sound of warm air escapes Rogues lips as he slowly blinks and swirls the honey-auburn contents of his glass. 

“Well, that was sad a sigh if I’d ever heard one.” The soothing upbeat alto voice remarks.

Rogue turns to the stool beside him and realizes a handsome blonde male has taken it. He’s been so lost in his own thoughts; he didn’t notice a newcomer to the bar. The man looks around his age, eyes which normally would look almost black, its blue hues shine through from the bar’s backlit liquor display in front of them. 

Leaning against the bar top with his chin resting on his propped hand, “It’s Christmas Eve,” the stranger continues with a warm smile. “It hurts me to see a raven beauty like you so blue.”

The unexpected compliment takes Rogue by surprise, enough to make him forget for a second the reason he’s drowning his sorrows in this bar. He turns away to hide the blooming warmth on his cheeks. “If I’m ruining your evening, feel free to change seats.” Rogue responds in a curt monotone. It’s nice to be complimented, but he isn’t in the mood. 

Undaunted, the stranger turns the comment around. “On the contrary,” he sits up. “Meeting you has made my night all the sweeter.”

Oh, brother, this guy, and his lines… Rogue rolls his eyes internally— too bad it’s working, or he’d have gotten up by now. 

“Name’s Sting,” the stranger prompts, “and you are?”

“Rogue,” he responds without looking at the man. 

“Rogue…” Sting mimics as he turns a little to the side and looks up as if in thought. With a half-lidded, one brow slightly raised, side-eye glance, his voice grows husky. “Are you as naughty as your name?” He teases. 

Rogue turns to retort, but when he sees that damn sexy side-eye slash kryptonite, he quickly reverts to staring stiffly, straight ahead at the bar back. “Are you a prick like your name implies?” He retorts.

“Nah,” Sting relaxes as if knowing he’s won that round, “but I’d be happy to pierce your heart.”

“Pfft.” That genuinely pulls a tort laugh out of Rogue before he can stop it. “Twice pierced in a day, yeah, no thank you.”

Sting’s brows furrow, head tips in confusion as he leans closer in concern. “What do you mean, twice?”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend this afternoon. Hence,” Rogue tips his head slightly back as he gives the man a side glance, holding up and gently shaking his glass, voice dripping with sarcasm, “drinking away my broken heart.”

“Oh…” is all Sting can muster for now as he holds in his true intentions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Rogue cuts him off. “You couldn’t have known.”

An awkward silence drifts between the two men, juxtaposed against the merriment in the bar itself. Sabers Bar & Lounge is a favorite amongst the gay community for being comfortable yet entertaining. Everyone is welcome, gay, straight, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re respectful and don’t cause trouble. In fact, this is where Rogue had met his ex a year ago, which is why it’s also where they’d planned to meet up tonight for the holiday. It’s a special place… Was a special place. Maybe he’s an idiot for coming here after all.

All around the silent strangers, Christmas music is flowing along with the drinks. Singles and couples on the dance floor or singing along to the music in impromptu karaoke contests. Festive holiday motif has thrown up all over the bar with strings of multi-colored lights around the room, a Christmas tree set up in the corner near the door decorated by what appears to have been children based on the lack of design, even a mannequin dressed up in Mrs. Clause drag, all fierce in her candy cane stockings and fur-lined red mini. And of course, mistletoe boughs hanging randomly from the ceiling over the dance floor. Such an awesomely gaudy holiday party. Only thing that would make this place perfect is cutting off the damn Mariah Carey from being played over and over!

It’s just easier to zone out watching the festivities going on than ruminate on misery in an empty apartment. Rogue knew he should’ve seen this coming, or maybe he had an inkling for some time now that his ex was cheating on him and just didn’t want to believe it. Until he couldn’t ignore it. A photo is tangible proof he cannot deny no matter how much he wants to. The only curiosity is, why he’s not as upset as he should be after a breakup. He’s upset sure, but not enough to break down into tears and while it’s true he’s not the emotional type to begin with, shouldn’t he feel a little bit more annoyed? Rogue motions his empty cup to the bartender for a refill. Or maybe the alcohol is doing its job of dimming his response.  

Hesitantly, Sting places a hand on Rogue’s shoulder. “Hey, um,” he breaks the silence, “do you wanna talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

Rogue turns to the man with a brow raise. “You really wanna know?”

Sting shrugs. “They say talking about it makes it easier to move on.”

“Is that so…” Rogue turns back to staring at the backlit bar in thought. Guess it doesn’t hurt to talk about it. Not like he really has anyone else to vent to since he hasn’t even told his co-workers about this one. See! Somehow his intuition had already sensed something wrong not to mention it at work. Course, he did tell his friend Minerva who’d told him the guy seemed flaky, but he didn’t listen. Oh well, it could be handy if others overhear the conversation and know to stay away from Rufus, the cheating bastard. 

“Alright. Since you wanna know,” Rogue replies. With his refill, he begins in a low, emotionless drawl. “I’d already suspected, though I hadn’t actually seen or heard anything, it was just… a feeling that he was hiding something from me.” He lets out a winded exhale. “He made excuses of why I couldn’t go to his place because he didn’t want to bother his roommate. PDAs were a total no, no, not even holding hands which I thought was a bit too 1950s, but fine, some people just aren’t the showy type. And he could never stay the night. That one bugged me the most.”   

“So, how’d you find out?”

The ice in Rogue’s glass clinks against the side when he put it down a little too hard on the bar top. “What kind of cell do you have?”

“Cell? Uh,” he swivels slightly and looks towards his back jeans pocket where his phone is, as if he’s forgotten he even has one. “Ah,” then he turns back to Rogue. “Um, a Samsung.”

“I’ve got android too, but he has an iPhone.” Rogue turns to look at Sting. “Did you know that the camera on iPhones have a feature called live?” Sting shakes his head, so Rogue continues. “When it’s turned on, it captures 90 extra seconds of the scene before and after you snap the pic.”

“Oh, wow, that’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah….” Rogue semi-shrugs. “Anyway, this morning he texted a good morning pic from inside a bathroom, I assume ‘cause the mirrors behind him.” Rogue takes out his phone, swipes for a few seconds, then shows the photo to Sting. “There’s a woman in lingerie here,” he points at the photo. “Right there in the mirror during those 90 seconds at the beginning.”

“Whoa…” Sting leans in to look closer. “So, she’s right there by him.”

Rogue takes a good gulp of his drink. “Yeah. I questioned who is she and he tried to say his sister is visiting. Tch!” The inflection in his voice spikes in anger. “Such bullshit. After badgering him, he finally told me the whole truth. That’s his damn wife in the picture.”

“Wife?!” Sting spits out his drink. “He bi? Down low? What a dick to string you along a whole year.”

Just saying the words makes Rogue shiver with disgust. “Down low. He doesn’t want people to know he prefers men, which is fine, but don’t fucking lie about it and make me think we’re in a relationship!” His head droops. “I was such a sucker.”

“Hey, hey,” Sting places a hand on Rogues shoulder, “don’t beat yourself up over this. It happens sometimes. At least you caught on before it got any more serious.”

Rogue’s shoulder slump. “I know… Still hurt though.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Sting grins when Rogue looks up at him. “Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle meeting tonight!”

“Pfft,” Rogue snorts a laugh. “Suuuure. So, who’s your employer, Santa?” 

“Nah, I’m the white snow angel here to bring you Christmas cheer. And you,” Sting points at Rogues chest, “are the grinch whose heart I’ll make grow bigger to accept a new man—” he raises his arms with exuberance, “me!”

Openly rolling his eyes, Rogue huffs and turns his head away in annoyance. “What are you, trolling out of boredom or to tease lonely saps on Christmas Eve?”

Sting leans forward, pulling Rogue back by his chin, and fixing him in a grinning stare. “You wanna know the truth?”

“No, lie to me.” Rogue rolls his eyes. “Of course, the truth!”

Sting relaxes back, propping his leg over his knee and resting a hand on it, “I saw you around when you were with that guy in the pic.” He gestures mildly in accentuation. “Thought you were my type and since he’s blonde,” he shrugs, “I had a chance if one presented itself and surprise!” He winks at Rogue, “my wish came true.”

“Pfft.”

“Okay, seriously, for real,” Sting’s brows furrow as he reigns in his exuberance. “I’m telling the truth. I’ve been watching you from afar for months now biding my time. Ya’ can’t blame me for jumping at the opportunity.”

“Months, huh?” Rogue straightens his back. Is this guy for real?! Sure, seems like it. Stalker much? Should he be concerned? He’s leaning towards no, but as we established earlier, his judgment isn’t the best of men. “Are you always this flirty and chatty? ‘Cause considering what I just ended, I don’t want another player tricking me—”

“I am not a player,” Sting cuts Rogue off matter of fact, “and I only flirt when I’m interested.”

“Okay, okay” Rogue puts his hands up in defeat from that curt response. It was a genuine and quick retort from Sting filled with anger at being labeled a player. This makes him think it’s true. This man is hot and okay yes, blondes are his type. Even the one-sided earring was endearing, and based on his slim figure, yet v-shaped top half, there’s likely some nice, toned muscles including a six-pack hiding behind the fabric. Okay… tempting… Plus, Sting is funny and sweet albeit the tooth-rotting sugar kind. What could it hurt to give him a chance? “You win. But slow it down,” he laughs. “First step is exchanging deets, second step dates,” emphasizing the ‘s,’ “to get to know each other— and don’t think I’ll be jumping into bed with you anytime soon.”

“Aww,” Sting teasingly trails a finger over Rogues leg, “I promise I won’t bite too hard.”

Suddenly, Rogue hops off the stool in a serious manner. “I change my mind, goodbye,” he turns to leave.

“Wait!” Sting grabs his arm. “I’m kidding! Just kidding!” He holds tight to keep Rogue from leaving, not that Rogue is trying very hard to pull away. “Can we at least cuddle,” he whines. 

Rogue holds back his snickering at teasing the man. “I’ll think about it.”

“You won’t regret it. Hey,” Sting blurts out, “I noticed that coffee shop around the corner is open tonight too. How about you forget about your ex and let’s start fresh. We could go there instead?”

Rogue thinks for a moment before responding. Earlier he had wondered if coming here was the best choice, and while meeting Sting may have turned out to be a plus, he’s also right that staying is keeping him linked to his ex. It’s time to cut Rufus out of his thoughts completely and continuing this conversation in a new environment with a new man will do the job. “That’s a good idea. I wouldn’t mind something to eat too.”

“Great!” Sting smiles big and sticks his hand out at Rogue. “Sting Eucliff. 26. Taurus. Fashion student and part-time aspiring runway model.”

That makes Rogue laugh and reciprocates by shaking his hand. “Rogue Cheney. 25. Graduate student in chemical engineering. I work in a lab.” He lets go. “Isn’t this an odd pairing? Fashion student model and a scientist?”

Sting shrugs. “They say opposites attract.” He grabs Rogues hand, entwining their fingers. “To new beginnings.” 

Rogue laughs again. “To new beginnings.”

The new couple settle their bar tabs then head out into the chilly night air. For winter, the temperature is still tolerable where they live, and any snow that collects on the ground rarely lasts longer than a few hours once the sun is out. The cafe will only take them around seven minutes by foot, so they walk slowly hand in hand for warmth, and close enough to brush up against each other. Now that Sting is mellow, the idle chatter morphs into a bit of twenty questions as they pass by all the closed storefronts along that street towards the one beacon of light from the cafe. It’s the most relaxed Rogue’s felt in a long time. Passersby wouldn’t even know they’d just met by how comfortable they appear. 

When they reach the cafe’s brightly lit picture window, Sting turns to Rogue. “Can we take a selfie with the cafe as a background,” he asks in a mischievous tone. “Then you can send it to your ex with the word ‘upgraded’.”

“No.” Rogue states plainly, uninterested in anything more to do with the guy.

“Awww,” Sting whimpers and throws on the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. “Please!…

“No.” Rogue reiterates.

“But you deserve to show off.” Sting wines and holds onto Rogues coat like a child. “Make him feel bad, he deserves it!” When Rogue doesn’t answer for several seconds, he gives up. “Bummer,” shrugging, “It was worth a shot.”   

“It’s not worth my time,” Rogue simply states. “Besides, if he gave a damn in the first place, he wouldn’t have lied to me.”

Sting pulls out his own phone. “Okay, okay, but I still wanna take a selfie.” 

They pose with the festive glow of the cafe behind them, then head in, finding a seat for two across each other next to a wall. The place is a 24-hour cafe, but it’s still surprising to see anyone there at this late hour of 11 pm, let alone because it’s Christmas Eve— well, technically Day in less than 60 minutes. The cafe usually doesn’t pick up again until the bars get out at 2 am, when the need to sober up, craving munchies, or just doesn’t want to go home yet crowd shows up. Which is good for the new couple. They’ll have a quiet place to talk for at least a couple more hours. 

He isn’t much for sweets, so Rogue orders a hot, pumpkin spice chai latte and a couple of blueberry scones, while Sting chooses a hot peppermint flavored mocha with dark chocolate flakes grated on top the foam and a gooey cinnamon roll. The poor server looks tired and ready to go home for the day. Can’t really blame them, Rogue reminds himself to leave a couple extra bucks as a tip for having to work on a holiday. In contrary to the bar’s decor, the cafe is warmly lit with a fresh Christmas tree decorated with white lights, a purple garland, silver bells, lilac-colored mirrored balls, and white glitter covered snowflakes of different designs and sizes. Each table has a centerpiece of a reindeer, elf, or Santa standing in the middle of a nest made of wound-up white fairy lights. Finally, lighted icicles hang along the windows tops which have been frosted around the edges. It really helps him to relax from the day’s events. Once their food and drinks arrive, the conversation shifts into what their plans are for the next day. 

With school on break for the holiday’s, Sting didn’t have any specific plans. He explains how he’s from a town in the northwest who moved to California for school and for a modeling contract. A recruiter found him when he was 17, convincing his parents to let him sign on to an agency. “I don’t always go home for the holidays; it depends on my schedule. Plus, they’re still getting used to the fact I came out of the closet to them last year. I don’t think it bothers them, just that it was unexpected. So, I’m giving them breathing room for now.”

“Let me guess,” Rogue queries, “your mom was hoping for grandkids?”

Sting laughs, “probably. Gay or straight I never had plans for kids anyways.” 

“Same, though if my partner wanted to adopt, I might consider it.” Rogue adds. “But that’s a big maybe.”

“What about you?” Sting asks, “does your family know?”

Rogue leans back. “My parents died when I was young from a car accident, so my dad’s brother and his family took me in. You could say I’m one of the lucky ones, ‘cause they figured it out before I did.”

“That you’re gay?” Sting verifies.

“Yeah. So, when I came out to them, they were not surprised at all.”

“Lucky.” Sting teases. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

Rogue shakes his head no. “You?”

“Maybe, depends on you.”

“Me?”

“Since we’re both free we can spend it together. Isn’t that better than being alone on Christmas?”

“I guess…”

“How about I make us dinner? I’m pretty good in the kitchen,” Sting leans in over the table with a smile. “Maybe some white wine shrimp scampi and linguine or bacon wrapped beef tenderloin? What would you like?”

“That actually sound pretty damn good.”

An hour into the conversation, things are going well between the two. They really are quite different in terms of careers but have enough in common to talk about and Rogue must admit, his last relationships never started off this smoothly. It’s as if they’ve known each other for a while but only just now decided to turn their friendship into a romantic one. Stings exuberance and smile pulls you in. This must be one of the reasons he can perform as a model. 

Then just as Rogue orders a refill of his drink, a notification on his phone pings. He pulls it up to see a what’s app message from his ex with a photo attached. Oh, this better not be some sappy apology or something— Eh??

“Sting, did you post the selfie we took??” Rogue demands. Guess he can’t be too surprised that his ex is a follower of Sting on Instagram considering he’s an up-and-coming model.

“To my Instagram, yeah, why?”

Rogue shows him his phone and the message. “Cause my ex is accusing me of fabricating it, like colluding with you somehow.”

“Pfft!” Sting laughs so hard tears form in the corners of his eyes. “Woooow! Is he that pathetic to think you couldn’t catch someone like me?! Okay now you gotta let me get him back, please!”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, I do,” Sting snatches the phone from Rogues hand, then moves around the table, quickly bending down next to the man and planting a kiss on his cheek as he snaps another photo. Rogue tries to take it back, but Sting keeps it away, going back to his own seat as he responds to the ex’s message with one of his own.

Rogue just sits there stunned as he watches his boyfriend with the most Machiavellian grin plastered on his face. 

Sting also sends the photo to himself and posts it to his Instagram tagging Rogue and including a message naming him his new boyfriend and if certain exes can’t take the heat, get out of the fire. “Posted!” He cackles like a mad man. 

“What did you say to my ex??” Rogue demands. So, Sting hands him back his phone and he read the message out loud. “Don’t ever talk to my man again or I’ll out you to my million followers and your wife. Love, Sting. Oh…” He looks up. “That’ll shut him up.”

Sting leans back all proud of himself. “Told ya. Now he’ll leave you alone and we can move on together.” 

“You’re crazy,” Rogue must laugh at how things are turning out. “But you really are my white Christmas angel.”

“I’m protective of what I care about,” Sting winks. “Now, back to dinner. What’s your pleasure?”

Rogue tips his head up slightly in thought, “Mmm, the scampi.”

Sting grabs Rogues hand over the table, leaning in and placing a kiss on the knuckles. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

[stokingthemidnightflame]

Xanthorrhoeas: Fire and Flame (1/6)

(AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173700/chapters/61005721#main)

So I did a thing...wrote a fic. I hope you like it! 

Xanthorrhoeas

It’s a little known fact that lingering in the ashes of fire, the beautiful Xanthorrhoeas can spring up again.

Six years after a nasty breakup, Nesta Jia Archeron and Cassian Ramirez still can’t seem to get away from each other.

As Nesta seeks to make sure that life-saving healthcare ends up in the right hands, and far away from Hybern’s hands, she begins to attract threat after threat. Underneath carefully curated pearls, stilettos and tweed jackets, Nesta’s a viper waiting to strike. But she’s fresh out of law school, and the Archeron sisters are wading into dangerously flammable territory.

Where flame appears, heat follows close behind.

Cassian Ramirez is ex-Marine. After two tours, a breakup, and one honourable discharge, Ramirez Securities is a leading digital and personal security company. Nesta has always been his kryptonite; and when he gets the call, there’s no question - he’s always going to have her back. Semper fidelis. Always faithful.

And maybe, just maybe, something else will bloom too.

----

Chapter 1: Fire and Flame

She wanted to be here about as much as Rhysand seemed to want Keir to be here. His arm was curled protectively around Feyre, both dressed to the nines as they greeted each guest with smiles and hugs. The gala was yet another one of Rhysand’s obligations as the CEO of the massive technology conglomerate, Velaris. There were perks to being a thirty something heir of a recently deemed Fortune 500 company: thousands of employees, a healthy salary and almost anything money could buy, but it did not preclude Rhys from having to deal with pompous old white men and their entitled children. Tomas being one of them. Nesta didn’t want to think about her ex, who she saw with two women wrapped around him in a corner.

Unfortunately, she was about two seconds away from pouring her virgin margarita on his smarmy face. He grinned as he saw Nesta and gave an arrogant half-wave, half-beckon, still ensconced by the two blondes, each wearing a tiny scrap of a dress. She ignored him resolutely.

That fucking asshole. Two years, and all she had for it was a shitload of trauma and therapy - six months and still counting.

“Nesta, there you are.” Helion, smoothly said as he finally arrived, wrapping a soft, manicured hand around her elbow. In the nick of time too, as Nesta’s fingers tightened around the half-empty margarita glass.

“You’re late,” she replied stubbornly, trying to be offended by Helion’s charming smile and dazzling beauty. Her date for the night, Helion looked like he had stepped fresh off the runway in a black, double-breasted satin tuxedo. Fuck. She needed to get laid. It had been months since Hybern Co. had started a massive patents war with Velaris, and Feyre had asked her for help. She had never been able to refuse Feyre, which was how she had ended up working the case with a bunch of overqualified associates with half a brain between them. And how she ended up with exactly no time for herself.

Harvard grads were not all they were cracked up to be.

“My apologies. I only just came from a meeting, darling,” he responded smoothly as he continued to guide her gently across the room. They moved further away from Tomas and his oh-so-punchable face. With a start, she realised that he had guided her all the way to the middle of the dance floor. Screw Helion and his charm.

“May I have this dance?” A voice came from behind her. Startled, Nesta whirled around and came face-to-face with Cassian Ramirez. Formerly known as fiancé. But that was a long time ago, Nesta.

She arched a single brow, nodding to Helion as he let go of her hand.

As Cassian offered an open hand, she composed herself, trying not to think about how handsome Cassian looked in his slick burgundy suit. She was a sucker for a good suit, and his hair was tied back, making his dark brown honey eyes all the more prominent. It didn’t help that he had worn that exact suit on their second date. It had been so long, but she could still remember him in exacting detail.

Nesta hasn’t laid eyes on Cassian Ramirez for at least a year and a half. Not since Tomas started getting violent. And even before then, they were on tenuous terms. Things had never been the same after she had stormed out of their apartment six years ago, her heart savagely ripped out and stepped upon. Nothing good ever came after that. It was all tortured glances from the other side of galas, avoiding bubbly messages from Feyre and Elain and Rhysand and Azriel to go out with them! and the unending ellipsis of unsent texts. Over and over again.

“She’s all yours,” Helion said, quirking his eyebrows. Nesta reflexively pinched Helion, and he winced before hurrying away. Cassian in the meantime, was gazing into her eyes, She could feel her hands start to sweat under his intense gaze, and as she tried to wipe her hands discretely on the thorned roses stitched into her stiff silk dress, Cassian offered a hand that Nesta took.

“I uh - ” as he stood in front of her, he suddenly seemed lost for words. Cassian's hand was warm and calloused and still perfect for her. Once, these caresses had been as natural and fluid as breathing. Even with the rift that stood between them, it still felt so right.

She smiled serenely and ignored Cassian’s fumble, patently aware of Tomas in the corner. “We should probably dance.” The words hover in the air, an olive branch that she wonders if Cassian really deserves. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. They can’t make a scene tonight.

And if she’s telling the truth, she doesn’t want to either. After Tomas...Nesta craves the kind of blissful innocence she had with Cassian. Lingering kisses and slow mornings, late nights with coffee and curled up with each other.

“Uh-yes.” Cassian blushed, his olive skin flushing a cardinal as bright as her dress. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He grasped the olive branch, as Nesta slid into his arms, his hand drifting to a respectable, brotherly place on her waist as he guided her into a delicate spin. Her skin was as delicate as ever, and her as her hair grazed his hand, he shivered.

“Good.” The overture is gone as fast as it came. Her tone is brisk and terse, an end to the conversation. Why did he have to ask that of all questions? Unbidden, her eyes fall upon Tomas again, and she felt her lips purse tightly.

Cassian, perceptive as ever, gracefully glances over, his eyes darkening as they landed on the arrogant lawyer in the corner.

“Yes, I heard that you got together with Mandray,” he said tightly.

Nesta’s fiery gaze slid back to him, as she hissed, “That’s none of your business. Why are you here anyway? Last I heard, you had left for San Francisco.” You were the one that left me. Again and again and again. The thought bubbled up, and Nesta squashed it, willing her tone to remain firm and steady.

He grimaced but didn't fall for Nesta's bait. “You know why I’m back.” His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze firmly upon her as they kept on dancing. Nesta forced yet another smile with gritted teeth.

“Fuck Azriel. That’s not his right and he goddamn knows it!”

“Hybern is dangerous. Don’t be stubborn. You know better than that.” Impassive and cold, his words ignite a fury in Nesta.

“Stubborn? You have the nerve to call me stubborn? After that stunt you pulled-”

His brows furrowed in pain and she felt the urge to dig her nails into the pad of her palm. Anything to stop herself from apologizing for the gaping wound she had re-opened with half a sentence but before she could say something he cleared his throat and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was - a poor choice of words on my part.”

Nesta scoffed, her fury blanketed again. She didn’t say a word.

“We really do have to get you a security detail,” he pressed instead.

“You mean you.” She accused. He doesn’t object. Azriel would never have just asked anybody to protect Nesta.

“I don’t need a security detail. I’m fine. I know how to kick somebody in the balls,” she said emphatically, trying to resist the urge to rip Cassian a new one. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Not really. Not the way he hurt her. “And if Hybern comes after me in any other way, I will systematically destroy them.”

“As delightfully painful and visceral that sounds, some things require a more delicate touch.” he said, suddenly smirking in a false bravado that Nesta sees right through. “Hybern will be after you in more ways than one. I can help with that. Or have you forgotten my degree in-”

“Cybersecurity and computer science. I remember. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. Elain and Feyre need it more than me.” Her voice is brusque and words to the point. I don’t need this. And even if I did...you would be the last person I ever asked.

His only response was a growl. The smirk disappeared as fast as it came.

“You know as well as I do that Feyre and Elain both have martial arts training. You were the only one who never wanted to learn. Which is fine, but they can protect themselves physically. Unless if you suddenly earned a black belt in the past two years, that kick in the balls and viper mouth won’t keep them down.

“Please, sweetheart,” she hears him beg. Was that anguish in his voice? The nickname dropped so naturally from his lips, but as soon as he says it she flinched, seizing up. You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you? A pretty little thing... The memory comes back so swiftly that she almost reels. Cassian lifted his hands from her immediately, his eyes questioning.

She pursed her lips firmly. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian bowed his head and Nesta sees a glimpse of torment, can just barely hear him curse himself as he bites down on his lip. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” It's not why you think. It's much worse.

They dance along to three more songs, before Nesta announced she was tired. She had made her presence known, and ensured that Tomas knew she was in peak ability for their impeding legal battle. Meeting Cassian had not been part of the plan. It left her with the kind of bone-deep weariness that she hasn’t felt since pulling three all-nighters in a row as a law intern.

“Let me drive you home. You still haven’t bought a car, right?” he offered. There was no denying that. Nesta had never seen the need for a car in New York, but she scowled anyway as she disparagingly asked him if he was drunk.

“Not a drop,” he promised. When they had been together, they had rarely drank. Part of Nesta had always wondered if he had reverted back to his pre-Nesta college days of drinking after their less-than-ideal breakup. She glanced over at Feyre and Rhysand who were still dancing together happily, nodding a goodbye, before waving to Azriel and Elain. All of them...in their lover’s cuddles. A wave of jealousy washed over her before she clamped it down, breathing out quickly.

“Fine. You remember where I live, right?” She asked, letting him drape her matching red coat over her shoulders. Watching Cassian’s hands linger on the ruby red coat before he helped her into it almost made her regret wearing it.

Red had always been their thing.

---

How could he forget her home? The brownstone, with its first and second floors decked out in rich brocade and tapestry, hardwood floors for visitors. But then, her third and fourth floors; soft modern furnishings. Carpet so thick that his feet sunk into it. A walk-in closet, wholly converted into a sunken lounging area, snug and cosy surrounded by her favourite novels. Late nights with Nesta curled into him as he read romance novels to her or they watched some trashy flick.

His tongue suddenly felt swollen. He couldn’t breath for a moment. Instead, he nodded, opening the passenger door for her as the valet pulled his car up.

He had to get a grip on himself.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, looking over to check on Nesta. As he does, his eyes fall onto her monogrammed leather clutch.

NJA.

“So you’re Azriel's girl with the fancy monogrammed bracelet,” Cassian says. He dangles the golden chain with its delicate monogrammed heart in front of her, but frowns when he spots the faint tan line on her writs. Immediately, he feels like an ass for playing around with something clearly so sentimental to the girl.  

Nesta’s eyes look up as he slides over her gold bracelet. “I'm not Azriel's girl." As she glances over at him properly, she glares and adds, "And you’re the trust fund baby. Not sure why you’re talking,” she hits back. She grabs the bracelet and clasps it on immediately. No thank you. She had left it behind in the apartment Azriel and Cassian had shared, and Cassian had taken it upon himself to bring it back to her.

Cassian snorts. “Clearly. As if wearing a monogrammed 24-carat gold bracelet isn't a sign of being a trust fund kid."

Nesta pushes up her glasses, puckers her lips and says primly, “I, unlike you, actually pay for my own things."

Cassian shrugs and then foolhardily remarks, "Not if I take you to dinner." He smirks, the kind of panty-dropping grin that has worked so effectively in the past.

"In your dreams, asshole."

Three months later, he knew he was in love with her. She was it for him. He graduated college, while she continued law school. Cassian had moved into her brownstone, bequeathed by her mother. He had promised to never hurt her, that he would always be there for her.

But somewhere along the line, he had fucked it up. Sent her running to Tomas. His hand clenched, fingers digging into his palm, sending a dull pain through his body. It’s her life. He doesn’t get a say. And he knows, knows that he would never impede upon her choices. But he feels a lot.

“Cassian?” Nesta’s confused voice cut through and he ripped his gaze from the purse.

“Sorry. Let’s get going.” His voice is short. Terse. But Nesta doesn’t question it, instead settling into the leather seat and sighing, her eyes fluttering shut.

He remembered how social events always drained her. She loved dressing up but hated talking to everyone. It exhausted her, having to put on that facade of unthreatening politeness, when she was really a viper. A viper in pearls and stilettos, ball gowns and dripping in diamonds, but a viper nonetheless.

As he pulled up, he realised with a start that Nesta had fallen asleep. Her loose, dark hair was strewn across her shoulders, and Cassian wants more than anything to tuck it behind her ear. To do anything so that the way her forehead was creased, even in sleep, softened and-

“Nesta,” he said abruptly instead. He can’t keep fantasising. It’s not fair for her, not when it’s his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault. When he sees her, all he can see is his mistakes, again and again and again.

Her face reddened as she fumbles with her clutch. “Let me check everything’s okay, alright?” He reassured her.

Nesta nods without a fight, still tired. She passed him her keys without a fuss, following him as they walk up the stairs to the brownstone.

As soon as he unlocked the front door, he noticed the heavy, musk scent. It’s so out of place with the light, lavender and floral scents that Nesta has always favoured. But maybe something changed after you left. It wasn’t until he nearly tripped over the box right behind her door that he realised something was very, very wrong. As he inhaled, he tried to keep his stomach from lurching.

“Nesta, I want you to stay calm, okay?” he said carefully, pulling out his gun. Her eyes widened, her hand trembling as she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Liar. Liar. Liar. It thrummed in his head, making it hard to concentrate. “Just call Azriel, okay? Tell him to bring the Level 1 team. And hurry.” She nodded, pulling out her phone and dialling. As she started talking, he glanced back at the box.

Inside the cardboard box, was a decapitated snake nestled amongst red roses. The same cardinal as Nesta’s dress. It doesn’t take a genius to realise the death threat. Not when he was pretty certain the snake was a viper. The stench wasn’t just from the dead snake, he realised.

The roses had been dipped in blood.

Cassian took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hand. Focus. Nesta needs you.

Because Nesta’s never been one to listen to Cassian, she had, unbeknownst to him, walked over and looked over his shoulder. He only realised when he heard her gasp in fear, hand reaching up to her throat as if she was being choked.

Immediately, Cassian turned around, holding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he promised. “I’ve got you. Do you still have the go bag we made?” He remembers teaching her how to be safe in the old, cavernous brownstone. He had bought her the grey cargo bag two weeks after they started dating. He had probably come on a little strong, but at the time, he didn’t care.

Nesta clutched onto his shirt, but he felt her nod against him. Selfishly, a part of him feels gratified that she still feels some measure of comfort in him. The rest of him hates himself for even thinking that at this moment. “Okay. Once Azriel and my team gets here, we’ll get the bag and you’ll spend the night at my place. Is that okay?”

She let out a sob, and Cassian tightened his grip on her. After what seemed like an eternity, Azriel pulled up, his face drawn and tight. Azriel and Nesta had been friends for longer than even Cassian had known Azriel. They were twin souls of fire and ice, with a deep understanding of each other.

Cassian nodded to Azriel, his eyes a silent order to him. Azriel inclined his head ever so slightly, and Cassian returned his focus to Nesta. “Azriel’s going to get your bag. Then we’re going to get out of here.”

There was a single nod from Nesta as they walked towards the minivan, Rowan sliding open the door for them. Two minutes later, Azriel returned with the grey duffel bag that made Cassian’s heart clench. It hurt more than he could say that Nesta had kept the bag. But it lit a new fire in him too.

Nesta had regained her poise, sitting ramrod straight on the bench, seatbelt clicked into place. As Cassian and Azriel took seats on either side of her, she didn’t say a word. But her hands were clenched so tight, her knuckles were white and her skin was blanched.

“We’ve got you,” Cassian said quietly as he looked at Azriel over Nesta. Azriel’s face was easy to read: Don’t fuck this up. You better not make me regret my decision to call you.

As Rowan drove, the only thing Cassian could think was she’s in danger again. I have to protect her.

I swear, I won’t fail you ever again Nesta.

I swear it on my life.

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part Two: The Kiss”

Rafael realizes who the reader is related to and emotions are acted on 😱! Check out Part One on my Masterlist. 

Thanks for all the amazing feedback. You guys are the best! ❤️

Rafael sat in his usual seat at Forlini’s bar, drinking a glass of scotch. It had been three weeks since he had first met you. Since then Rafael had visited the gallery almost on a daily basis, always under the facade of looking at a new piece of art when in reality it was to see you. The only problem was Rafael had seen every piece of art several times and he was beginning to run out of excuses to stop by the gallery after work or during lunch.

But did he really need an excuse? Judging by the way your cheeks turned bright pink and the coy smile you gave him when he walked through the door, Rafael suspected the feelings he had for you were mutual. Except what did he know? He had been out of the loop when it came to flirting, relationships, and dating for far too long. Maybe you always behaved that way with clients when you wanted to make a sale, laying on the charm with older men. Still there was something about you that was genuine. Being with you, Rafael didn’t feel the need to have his guard up. He felt safe.

Finishing up the rest of his drink, Rafael ordered another all while racking his brain for a reason to visit you. Perhaps he left a glove at the gallery? That was when he heard your voice calling his name. He turned his head to find you standing at the bar with those pink cheeks and a smile that made his pulse quicken.

*****  

You leapt across a patch of black ice, nearly falling in the middle of the bustling street. The weather man had predicted snow that day. A throng of people surrounded you, anxious to get home and away from the cold. You shivered within your coat, quickening your steps. Forlini’s was just on the next block. You had promised to meet your brother, Sonny, there after work and as usual you were late. While stopped at the crosswalk, you felt your phone buzzing in your coat pocket.

You answered it, already knowing who it was. “Hey, Sonny. I’m sorry. I know I’m late but I swear this time it wasn’t my fault. My boss made me stay past closing to make sure the new art installation was set up.”

“Actually, Y/N. I called to tell you I can’t make it,” Sonny sheepishly replied. He hated letting you down.

“Dominick Carisi Jr., I just walked 15 blocks in the freezing cold because you insisted on meeting tonight and now you’re ditching me!?” You exclaimed.

“I’m sorry. I was busy working on a case and I completely forgot this term paper I have to write tonight on capital punishment.”

“Cheerful topic,” you dryly said, now standing outside Forlini’s. “You owe me. How about basketball this Saturday at the park near my place. Loser has to buy the winner a box of cannolis from Antonio’s.”

“Unbelievable, it’s snowing and you still want to play basketball!?”

“A little snow is not gonna stop me from beating you. So what do you say? 10 at the basketball court?”

“Fine, I’ll bring coffee,” Sonny grumbled, knowing he would give into your every whim. You had your brother wrapped around your little finger.

“Did I ever tell you that you're my favorite big brother?” You teased.

Sonny laughed. “I’m your only big brother. Love ya’, sis.”

“Love you too.” You hung up the phone and went into the restaurant. You were already there might as well have a drink and warm up.

Walking over to the bar, you froze in your tracks. There was Rafael. Immediately butterflies began fluttering in your stomach. His back was to you, nursing a drink, occasionally glancing up at the TV screen behind the bar. The man hadn’t even glanced your way and already you were a wreck.

It had been a while since you had felt this way about anyone. 18 months to be exact when you came home early to find your fiancé in bed with another woman. After that you had sworn off love. You were devastated, your heart all but ripped out of your chest and thrown into a blender. Being alone was easier and less painful but meeting Rafael changed that. There was something about him that made you come alive again. That made you believe that not every man was a misogynist, cheating pig.

So rather than run out, pretending you never saw him, you cleared your throat and stepped closer. “Rafael?” Rafael set down his drink and whipped his head around, meeting your gaze. Those green eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul. You were beginning to experience borderline dangerous heart palpitations. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No, please,” he replied, motioning to the chair next to him. You shrugged off your coat and sat down, ordering a glass of merlot from the bartender. “So what brings you here? Kind of out of the way from your gallery.”

“I was supposed to meet my brother but he ditched me. I can’t really blame him. He’s a detective with the NYPD and going to school at the same time.” You shrugged and took a sip of your wine. “He’s pretty busy these days.”

“That is a lot to take on.” Rafael said, eying you almost suspiciously. Your brother sounded a lot like a certain gangly, obnoxious, blue-eyed detective he knew. But there was no way you were related to Sonny. The NYPD was one of the largest police departments in the country. Surely there were other detectives who happened to be attending school at the same time. It was just a strange coincidence. “I’m an Assistant District Attorney with Special Victims Unit so I work a lot with the NYPD.”

“Then you must know my brother! Dominick Carisi, but everyone calls him Sonny.”

Rafael choked on his scotch, his worst thoughts now confirmed. “Carisi is your brother?”

You arched a brow, watching Rafael cough and sputter for several seconds. “I take it you know him.”

“You could say that.” Rafael’s eyes widened. Amazing. Out of all the people to have a crush on he had to pick a Carisi. There was no way he could pursue you now. He downed his drink and quickly ordered another. Studying your face for a moment, he tried to find any family resemblance. Perhaps there was a faint trace of a Staten Island accent when you spoke but that was it. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to say Carisi was your brother. You two don’t look anything alike.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you teased, but your heart fell. You liked Rafael and the last thing you needed was your big brother getting in the way. “Can we change the subject? I’m sitting at a swanky bar next to a handsome man and the last thing I want to talk about is my brother.”

A smile tugged at Rafael’s lips. “You think I’m handsome.”

“Actually I was talking about the other guy,” you said, motioning to the man sitting next to you on your left side. Rafael peered over your shoulder to see Judge Nelson, drinking a beer and munching on pretzels while watching a basketball game on the TV. Bits of crumbs flying over the counter as he called out the coach for pulling a player. Judge Nelson also bore a striking resemblance to the crypt keeper.

Rafael snorted a laugh, starting to feel a little more at ease now that the initial shock was wearing off.  

“Okay, Rafael. You know where I work and who my family is, so now I want to know about you.” You giggled and set your drink down, turning your chair to give him your full attention. “Tell me everything.”

*****

Now knowing who you were related to Rafael tried to resist temptation, quickly realizing it was a losing battle. You were his version of kryptonite, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes while innocently biting your bottom lip, your leg brushing up against his. A man could only take so much. It didn’t take long before Rafael found himself flirting right back.

You completely lost track of time talking to Rafael. The conversation flowed between you both. You told him how after your father’s heart attack, you realized that life was too short and decided to switch from a business administration major to an art history degree. He told you that he briefly considered a career in theater before ultimately deciding that the law was his passion.

The hours flew by and before long the bar was closing. “I can’t believe it’s so late,” you said, hopping off the chair. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“My pleasure. I had fun tonight.” Rafael held out your coat for you to put on. You silently cursed the cold, wishing you didn’t have on so many layers so you could feel the warmth of his bare hands on your body.

By the time you left, snow was beginning to cover the streets and sidewalks, showing no signs of stopping. “Which way are you going?” You asked.

“Uptown. You?”

“Same. I was gonna take the subway home.”

Rafael rocked back on his heels. “Well since we’re going the same direction. We could split an Uber or a taxi or something,” he suggested.

“Sure. As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Rafael replied, taking out his phone to get an Uber. He wasn’t quite ready to say good night to you just yet, even if it was just a 15 minute car ride home.

*****

The drive uptown was mostly in silence. Rafael glanced down at your hands resting in the middle seat between you both, inches away from each other. He slowly moved his hand closer, his pinky finger barely brushing up against yours. Turning from the window, you locked eyes with him, a soft smile on your lips as you placed your hand in his.

Suddenly the driver came to an abrupt stop, pulling up to the front of your apartment building. Rafael stepped out of the car, insisting on walking you to your door. “Wait for me, please. I‘ll be right back,” he told the Uber driver. The man nodded his head, grumbling that the wait time would be added to the fare.

The heavy wet snow made the sidewalks slick. One misstep on an icy patch and you were about to make a slapstick tumble. Rafael was quick to react, catching you in his arms before you hit the ground.

You looked up into the eyes of your rescuer and blushed. Rafael’s pulse was racing. His face so close to yours, he could count the snowflakes landing on your cheeks. Once you found your footing, he reluctantly let you go. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Nice catch,” you said but your feet had other plans. You tried to take another step and ended up sliding even closer to Rafael, gripping onto the lapels of his jacket to steady yourself.

The heady scent of his cologne stirred your senses. He smelled like citrus and spice, woodsy and crisp. Like the type of man who would read Tolstoy to you and then later fuck you up against his cedar desk. He electrified you. Reaching up with one hand, you cupped his cheek before placing a soft tentative kiss on his lips. You pulled away a fraction of an inch, gauging his reaction.

Rafael stared at you with lust-filled eyes. Your warm breath mingling with his in the frosty air. His nose nuzzling yours. “Oh God, what was he doing,” he thought. “This is Carisi’s sister. Don’t do this. You can’t do this.”

“Rafael,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers running through his hair.

“Fuck it,” he said in a husky voice, pulling you into a searing hot kiss. Rafael’s mouth moved fervently over yours, his tongue gently parting the seam of your lips. You tasted better than he could ever imagine, sweet and tart. You let out a soft, pleasure-filled moan, returning the kiss with vigor, sliding your tongue over his. Rafael ran his hands up and down your back, holding you close. Despite the frigid temperature, a warmth spread throughout your body, radiating through every vein. Your lungs were burning.  It felt like you were going to explode.

Needing to catch your breath, you eventually broke the kiss. Slowly you opened your eyes, meeting Rafael’s gaze, both of you panting hard. He smiled at you, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Would you like to have to have dinner with me sometime?”

You leaned forward, kissing him one more time, your forehead pressed against his. “Yes,” you softly replied.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @graniairish @lolacolaempath @ashley-chi​ @imjustreallynosy​

[dazzlingfantasiesblogs]

Mirror Image P2

Hey loves.

Sorry for being a day late. Lot of shit going on. 

Dean x Reader 

P1 

Warnings: Sexual talk, fighting, depression, self issues. 18+ ONLY.

Don’t place my writing anywhere else without my consent. 

“Look who it is, the piece of shit that runs this dump!” You smiled a bit walking over to the bar, giving Gerald a kiss on the cheek. Smiling down at you, scooping you into a large hug. “So, a whole vamps nest. Rumor has it you saved…” Gerald watched Molly walk in with he two men he was just about to announce. “Winchester.” Laughing slightly you shrugged. “Molly get your beautiful self over here and give me a hug!” With a smile plastered on her face, she ran jumping over the bar. She gave Gerald a huge hug, receiving a kiss on the top of her head. “Keeping this one out of trouble?” Molly narrowed her eyes towards you. “Trying too, you know how hard it can be.” Dean watched the man behind the bar. He looked oddly familiar. “You knew Bobby..” Dean spoke up staring at the man who was in his late 40s. “Correct. I knew your father pretty well too.” Sam tilted his head slightly. “What are you two doing around my girls?” “Your girls?” Dean asked a bit rough. “Yes, I care for these two. I help them with lore, a hunt. Whatever they may need.” “Gerald. Can I get a shot of whiskey please?” Nodding the man grabbed four glasses with one large ice cube pouring whiskey over it. Grabbing the class you deemed yours, you walked to the pool tables and wracked them up. “So your headed to Ely?” Gerald asked walking over to you concerned. “Yeah.. I am guessing Wendigo..” Dean spoke calmly grabbing the rim of the glass. “Molly, how is she doing?” Gerald spoke low, making sure you didn’t hear him. “Same as usual. Kill. Drink till passing out. The occasional lay and then a run in the morning.” Gerald squinted when Molly mentioned the occasional lay. “She needs to be careful. Her liver can not be good.” Sighing Gerald watched as you practiced shooting pool. Hearing the door slam, your eyes looked at the front door at the loud noise that covered the bar. “Shit.. Gerald!” Molly hollard, as she turned she seen your sprinting towards the front door. Dean watched this scene play out in front of him. “Sam grab her.” Molly yelled out. Quickly avoiding Sam’s grasp your fist made contact with the man that walk through the front door. “Fuck Y/N!” The man hollered. As you seen the man on the wood floor holding his face. You withdrew your pistol pushing it to the mans head. “Y/N STOP!” Dean hollard. “We don’t kill humans.” “Stay the fuck out of this. This man.. gave the where abouts to the demon that killed my mother.” Gerald slowly walked up to you putting his hand on your shoulder. Then instant it made contact Dean watched your shoulder relax. “We do not, kill Humans.” Gerald spoke gently to you. Grabbing your handcuffs from your belt loop you tied the mans hands together.

“Ill be in the basement.” “Y/N We do not have time. We must take care of that hunt. People are dying..” Molly spoke rationally. “We can find him later..” “Your lucky I don’t shoot you here Josh…” Hearing a crack you bent the mans hand back, feeling the bone break with ease. Dean squinted, taking a deep breath. “I promise… to make your life a living hell..” you whispered in Joshs ear. The mans eyes were wide, groaning in pain from his hand being broken. “You know, for good measure..” As you grabbed the other hand, you felt a hand on top of yours stopping you. “No. We are not this.” Molly spoke looking you in your eyes. “Mom.. would not want this..”

As the trees passed by your face was focused on the road. “You know why she wanted to ride with Sam right?” Dean spoke looking at you as your drove. “I don’t really give a fuck..” your words harsh and short to the point. “What did Josh do?” “Shut up.” “Come on… We at least need to talk we have three more hours to go.” Sighing your looked over at the man next to you. “He… he gave the location to where my mom was staying.. he led to her getting killed. My mom was an expert in not being tracked. Molly and I where taught spells, sigils and everything to make sure our tracks could never be followed.” Dean watched your lips speak. Something about those Cherry red lips stirred something in him. “So, these tracking spells. Is this why Cas couldn’t sense you when he came to see us.” “Yeah.” You nodded to Dean. “How about some music?” Pushing play on the stereo Aerosmith came on.

Pulling up to the Cabin you and Dean has been singing your hearts out. Sam and Molly watched as you two pulled up. You playing air drums and Dean playing the air guitar. “Are you sure this is not some type of alternate universe…?” Sam asked chuckling at the two of you. “Better than killing each other!”.

Turning off the car, you opened the trunk to grab your bag. “Y/N!!” Looking over you seen a familiar woman running into your arms. “Kelly.” You hugged her tightly. Kissing your cheek she slapped your ass slightly. “I will never prepare for that.” You chuckled slightly. Sam looked at Dean who had his lip caught between his lips, watching the two women embrace. Sam slammed his elbow into Deans arm. “Who are the cuties?” The tall black-haired woman kissed Molly’s cheek walking over to the boys. “Winchesters.” “Ah, Johns boys.” Isabell smiled looking at Sam and Dean. She walked over hugging Sam unexpectedly and then Dean. “Well, I got your call. Three rooms.” “Thanks Isabell. For everything.” Isabell shot a wink to you heading to her office.

“Three rooms?” Molly asked confused. “One for the brothers, one for me and one for you.” “Y/N.. I know what your going to do..” Molly was hot on your heels, following you to the room Isabell prepared for you. “Molly not now. I just spent 4 fucking hours with that Winchester so you can be sweet on the nice one. Let me at least fuck the night away.” Dean stood in the doorway over hearing the fight. “You can take it out me baby” Dean smirked staring at you, giving you a wink. “Fuck off Winchester. Stalker.” “No! There is no substance with these men you bring back! You kick them out right away. Like why is that what you want?” “BECAUSE THE PEOPLE I LOVE DIE. IS IT BAD I WANNA HAVE SEX AND HAVE NO STRINGS?!” Hollering in Mollys face, it fell. She took a step back with watery eyes and walked out the door pushing past Dean.  “Did you need to go off on her like that?” “Why are you still fucking here?” Growling at the handsome man looking at you. “Because. Sammy enjoys Molly’s company. Figured we needed a bit of a change up. Plus, you saved our lives.” Cracking your knuckles, your anger was getting the best of you. Something had you angry since you took out the nest of vampires.

Dean opened the bars door. The smell of smoke, regret and whiskey was strong at this bar. Looking to the stage he seen a beautiful face performing. Taking a seat at the bar he watched a dancer take over the stage. “I only wanna do bad things to you. So good that can’t explain it” “Y/N..” Dean whispered watching you walk out in loose fitting black Jeans, a red laced bralette with a small fitting black leather jacket. He watched someone else come out from the back room. A tall man with blondish hair and covered in tattoos. “Nothings that bad. If it feels good. So you come back, like I knew you would.” “Nails scratchin my back tatt” the blond man sang next to you.  Dean watched as you imitated scratching the mans back as you danced with him. “Oh fuck no!” Molly appearing next to Dean. Sam looking at the stage confused. “I cant explain it I love the pain” The man sang on stage in the backround. “What is wrong Molly?” Sam asked slightly concerned. “Him..” Molly pointed to the man you had your arms wrapped around. A large smile with hazy eyes. “He. He is her kryptonite.” Gritting her teeth she watched as the performance wrapped up. “I fucking knew the moment we got here she would meet up with him.” “Bad boy huh?” Dean asked slightly annoyed at your public display of affection for this man. “It was the one she can’t seem to drop. The who always comes around when she is at her lowest.” Groaning Molly grabbed a shot of Jack, downing it.  Dean watched the two walked down the stairs of the wooden stage to the bar. “Hey Jill, can we get two more?” The man smiled at the bartender. Pouring two more they took a swig. Dean watched her movements. The way she smiled at him with her hazy eyes. The way his hand groped her thick ass. “The sex must be good.” Dean spoke up. “I have a few girls in different cities that I hook up with when I am near. That is what this is..” “Why cant she just find someone to love.. Like… Like.. Idk a hunter like you?” Molly said with a sigh. “Hahahaha… Like Dean..?” Sam started laughing at the thought. “He is just as fucked as she is in that department.” “Right and a Demon was so much better.” Sam looked at Dean with his famous bitch face. “WHOOO Come on Y/N!” Your friend/friend with benefits drug you towards the door to leave. Who knew what hell you would raise in the small down, but fuck it. Why not?

“His name is Colt. As you know we are from here. Colt, Colt is from here too.” “Wait.. Colt as in like gun?: Molly nodded to Deans questions sighing. “It is his real name. He is a hunter too. His uncle taught him everything he knew. For some reason Y/N and him always had a thing going on. They dated in high school. Both obviously struggling because they where never at just one school and not often together. Colt cheated on Y/N. I didn’t hear anything about him till one day I walked into the motel room she got and low and behold the two where doing the dance.” Shaking her head. “I swear she seeks bad things out, honestly.” Rubbing her temples, Sam rubbed her back. “It will get better. Dean has the same issue.” “You are all about throwing me under the bus huh?” Dean sighed tending to his whiskey once again. “Come on Molly, lets go do some research about the wendigos in the area.” Same smiled down gently at the long blonde hair woman. “Alright Sam.” She nodded feeling defeated. “Dean, remember wrap it up.” Sam whispered into Deans ear.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Hey There, Hot Tea

A/N: 3k of Dick Grayson/Nightwing fluff in which Nightwing doesn’t spill any tea but Dick Grayson doesn’t know how to keep secrets. 

When I awoke on that fateful Thursday night to the sound of incessant scratching against my bedroom door, my first thought consisted of several profane words. My second thought wondered what ungodly hour the clock read (barely past three, witching hour). My third thought manifested in an agitated grumble of my cat’s name. Rolling out of bed, I cursed at the sudden loss of my warm cocoon. “This is why you can’t sleep in here, Chip. Because you’re annoying.” I told him, opening my door so he could scamper out into the living room. “You play with my heart and make me think you want to cuddle, but no! You wake me up at three a.m. because you want to sleep in your own bed.” I continued to gripe ineffectively through my mouth guard, squinting through the dim lamp lighting at Chip’s canine sister, Dale, snoring blissfully on the couch. “Why can’t you be like your sister, huh?” “Meow.” I chugged half a glass of water and turned to hightail back into my bedroom and snuggly cocoon, only to be interrupted by more scratching. This time, Chip clawed at the front door to the apartment. A flash of panic ripped through me and my thoughts flew to the baseball bat beneath the couch and the butcher knife in wooden block on the kitchen counter. Dale raised her head, ears barely perking up as she glanced towards Chip disinterestedly. When Chip’s ceaseless pawing was met with neither intimidating banging nor a mafia member from the Bronx ordering me to open up, I crept cautiously towards the door. “Dale, if this is how I die, because Chip wants me to let a murderer inside, please tell my mom I love her.” I squinted through the peephole for several moments before concluding that I was blind without my glasses and that there was possibly a man unconscious in the hallway. Though countless horrific news stories of young women being murdered in their homes played through my head, it was absolutely impossible for me to disregard someone in need. You might call it my kryptonite. Perhaps that was why I chose nursing as a profession, not neglecting the fact that I get to wear absurdly patterned scrubs. I ditched my mouth guard for proper vision and fuzzy slippers, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. Once again, I glanced through the peephole to confirm my suspicions. Indeed, there was a man slumped on the floor of the hallway just outside my room. As a matter of principle, I yanked the baseball bat out from underneath the couch and placed it against the wall near the door. Just in case. With a shameful, sheepish smile, I realized that this presented an opportunity to knock on the door of my devastatingly handsome neighbor, Mr. Richard Grayson, for help. The prospect of spotting him in his pajamas – no matter that my own consisted of panda flannel pants and a worn tee that told the world I survived my first trip to Central City – made my stomach lurch. It seemed that in the past few months, I’d developed a mild crush on my neighbor, something that caused me equal parts anguish, fear, and excitement. I scolded myself for it often, but no matter how intently I tried, I couldn’t quite shake the warm affection I felt when he flashed me that sweet smile or told me good morning in his sleepy urban drawl. Our periodic interactions were barely substantial enough to constitute a friendship, but I took what I could get. We often bumped into each other in the mornings, sharing the elevator, equipped with steaming mugs of coffee and friendly smiles. Though I wasn’t much of a morning person, his gregarious energy and charming mannerisms quickly changed my opinion of seven-thirty a.m. for the better. Once, we even got stuck in the elevator together. We were both half an hour late to work, but I embraced that mishap because it allowed me to learn that he worked as a detective downtown, enjoyed old horror films, and substituted copious amounts of breakfast cereals for proper meals occasionally. He was chivalrous and pleasantly flirtatious and very easily filled the spot in my heart reserved for feeling weak around handsome and polite young men. Plus, Chip seemed to adore Dick. This was impressive because most humans offered him minimal intrigue and Chip would sooner bite your ankle than purr and rub his head against your legs. (Dale believed that no human harbored ill-will, but that’s why she wasn’t a guard dog.) I shoved my cellphone in my pocket, should the seemingly unconscious man warrant a 9-1-1 call and took a deep breath, switching on the lights. I cracked the door open slowly, peeking through the opening not unlike a groundhog. The man, lanky yet well-built, was sprawled out against the opposite wall. He was clad in inky black and…leather? His face was angled towards the wall, dark hair tousled. I broke the eerie silence of the hallway. “Uh...hello?” My greeting received no reply, unless you count his heavy breathing. Gingerly, I inched closer and nudged him with my foot. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “He’s like a rock.” His frame was so toned – or maybe it was this suspiciously leathery suit – that the pressure of my fuzzy slipper against his side barely made him budge. Though he could certainly be a serial killer praying on young, independent women, he seemed groggy enough that if need be, I could dive back into the safety of my apartment and call the police. I kneeled down, arm’s length away, and tapped his shoulder, which was also brick-like. And very, very warm. Something about that shaggy mop of hair and sturdy frame was awfully familiar, nagging at the pit of my stomach, but I was still too tired to register the gut instinct – or, maybe, I felt silly for admitting that the unconscious man before me reminded me a bit of Richard Grayson. Inhaling deeply, I leaned over and tugged his opposite shoulder to flip him onto his back. When he groaned, I gasped and stumbled backwards, banging my head against the wall. “Holy shit.” The man in front of me was, in fact, not my hot neighbor. The blue silhouette of a bird nearly glowed against his broad chest. “Well, Nightwing, I guess I’m glad we’re meeting here, while you’re passed out in front of my door. Not because I’m being mugged in a dark alleyway.” I laughed nervously to myself. He groaned again and I jumped again, but his eyes were still shut tightly. His mask didn’t give much away, save for that sharp jawline and slightly parted lips. Hesitantly, I patted his face. “Um. Mr. Nightwing?” Nothing. Forcefully, I shook his shoulder. “Maybe you should get out of the hallway?” I received a pained sigh in response. “Should I, like, call an ambulance? Do superheroes like their well-being treated institutionally? Do you even have health insurance?” I continued babbling, further perplexed about how to proceed. Inhaling deeply, I did the only thing I could do. I pinched the underside of his arm. A startled yelp left my mouth, but not before a strong hand encircled my wrist and I ended up flat on my back in the middle of the hallway, the breath knocked out of my lungs with a sharp wheeze. “No, no, and...yes.” His voice was a low rasp, one that left me reeling, no matter that my head had recently collided with a wall and the ground in the recent past. I blinked up at the ceiling, paralyzed by both fear and embarrassment. “Okay.” I croaked. He appeared above me, hovering. His gaze was warm and sky blue. When he smiled, it lit up his whole face, even beneath the mask. “Sorry.” He apologized sheepishly, helping me sit up. There was that nagging feeling again in my stomach and I shook my head, more for my sake than his. “Oh. It’s fine. Getting flipped over by a superhero? I can check that off my bucket list.” He helped me to my feet, hand lingering for maybe a moment too long against the small of my back, still smiling bashfully, looking much more like a flustered teenage boy than the savior of this city. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but snort. “Are you okay? You’re the one who was just passed out on the ground!” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Wait! I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I don’t want to seem mean. Thank you, Mr. Nightwing, for protecting our city.” He chuckled lowly. “It’s no problem at all, sunshine.” Sunshine? I squinted at him. The only other person who calls me sunshine and laughs quietly like that is Richard Grayson each time I end up with him in the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask how you ended up…here?” I quirked an eyebrow, smiling at him shyly. He deadpanned, but his mouth twitched playfully. “If I can get a cup of tea, you might just find out.” I pursed my lips. “Deal. But if you, noble Nightwing, try any funny business, my dog will end you.” His laugher filled the hallway with light. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Hey there, hot tea?” He read off the mug. In spite of myself, I blushed. “It was a gift. Would you prefer the cat one?” “No, thanks. This one is flattering.” I didn’t expect to spend the early hours of Friday in my kitchen conversing with a superhero, but my mom and Disney always taught me to expect the unexpected. The sleepiness had faded, but I still felt a little delirious. Chip was perched happily on his lap, purring like Nightwing had all the tuna world. However, I easily learned that Nightwing smelled more like earth and the stars and gracefully worn-out nylon, not like canned fish, as he leaned across the island just barely dancing on the fringes of my space. “I am not in your building because of villainous activity, if that’s any consolation.” He told me. “Right. Because that explains why you were knocked out in front of my door.” He smirked, glancing down at the mug dwarfed between his palms. “I was just…checking in. But I guess I’ve had a rough night. Little aster, lots of disaster.” His eyes flickered up to meet mine, silvery and dancing. “It’s definitely gotten better though.” Is a superhero flirting with me? I cleared my throat, heat rising in my cheeks once again. I turned to put my own mug in the sink and shrugged. “Glad to be of assistance.” “Want to be a nurse off the clock?” “Of course.” And then I froze, gazing at him with wide eyes. “How do you know I’m a nurse?” He wrinkled his nose slightly, before he beamed and placed his forearm on the table, dark gash caked with dried blood. “I’m just in the loop, you know?” I frowned but grabbed the first aid kit from my cabinet. “Superhero connections and all that jazz.” The memory of Richard explaining his vast knowledge of the best coffee shops in the city and their owners played across my mind. “Nothing can top my five-year-old coffee pot and store-bought cream.” He smiled at me warmly. “You gotta try Duke’s. Or Cool Beans.” “Am I supposed to trust your word?” “Yes. I’ve learned all the best coffee spots. Detective connections and all that jazz.” I felt uneasy, but not necessarily uncomfortable. He rolled up the sleeve of his suit easily, wincing. I dampened a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting.” “I’m sure I’ve felt worse than – OUCH! That burns!” I blew against the wound to dry it faster. “I’m sorry! I did warn you!” He huffed unhappily. This fine specimen, radiating heat and masculinity, morphed into someone boyish when he jutted out his bottom lip and, of all things, pouted. I wrapped his forearm tightly in gauze. “It’s not too deep, but it is long, so try to take it easy, okay?” Nightwing placed his opposite hand over my own as I taped the gauze. His skin was warm, fingers calloused, and I couldn’t help the little shiver that ran down my spine. “Thank you.” His Atlantic eyes bore into my own. A few moments of silence followed, but his eyes spoke so many words, deep and dark. Looking at him was like looking at a word search. I knew if I looked close enough at the letters, I might be able to decipher what he wanted me to know. I swallowed hard. “You’re welcome, Nightwing.” He smiled, but this one was sad. “I should get going.” I nodded slowly. “Right. You should. With a city to save and all,” He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again when I walk him to the door. “You sure you don’t want to launch yourself through my window? Wait, actually, don’t. That wouldn’t help your arm.” “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, winking. There was a pause, and my heart jumped into my throat. “Take care of yourself.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You too, sunshine.” He disappeared down the hallway in the blink of an eye and I drifted to sleep to the sound of his laughter ringing in my ears.

The next time I woke up, it was to the sound of my alarm blaring beside my head. Barely raising my head, I fumbled around before I managed to slam my hand down on the OFF button. I debated skipping out on my morning jog, but Dale woofed encouragingly, and I didn’t want to break the two-week streak I had going. I must have pleased the powers that be, because I had the day off from work. I washed up and almost convinced myself that last night was a weird dream until I walked into the kitchen and the flirty mug was in the sink and my first aid kit remained on the counter. There was a little frost on the window, but once I was outside and running, I found that the cold air was refreshing. I welcomed each deep exhale, crisp air creating a slight burn in my lungs. I allowed the run to sort through my jumbled thoughts, plagued with charming smiles and sparkling eyes. By the time I dragged Dale and myself up to the eighth floor, we were thoroughly winded. “Good work, Dale.” I congratulated her, the memory of the unconscious superhero barely bothering me as I lugged myself down the hallway. Until the door across the hall swung open to reveal a humming Richard Grayson, carrying a basket of laundry and, maybe, the key to my heart. The humming ceased and he looked almost startled to see me. I wondered if it’s because he was hoping to break into song and I disrupted that, or if it’s because I look like a hot mess after several miles of jogging. Self-conscious, I ran a hand over my hair, hoping to quell the disobedient flyaway curls. “Hi, Dick.” I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. The leash fell from my grip and Dale bounded over to him, tail wagging furiously. He set the basket down and leaned over to rub her ears and coo her name. I approached them slowly, praying that I put on enough deodorant. He glanced up at me through warm honey eyes and I froze. “Hi, Y/N. And hello to you too, Dale.” I nodded at his pile of clothes, trying to disregard the plaid boxer briefs at the top. “Long day of laundry ahead of you?” He smiled affectionately and my stomach churned. “Three more loads after this. I’m lucky I’ve got the day off.” “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” “Says the nurse who works the late shift. What are your plans for the day?” “Nonexistent. I think I wanna crawl back into bed after a hot shower and some oatmeal.” He smirked. “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” Dick mimicked me and I could only blush in response. I clicked my tongue at Dale. “Dale, let’s leave our nice neighbor to do his laundry.” “Dale, you can keep me company anytime. And your sweet mom, too.” My face burned, and I ducked my head. “Well, maybe, if you’re not busy tonight and you want some company and like Chinese, there’s this – ” I started asking if he wanted to grab dinner, but then I saw the gauze wrapped around his forearm. My mouth ran dry and I could not stop from staring, though I knew I really needed to. He followed my line of vision and cleared his throat. “Chinese is good. You have good taste. I trust your opinion.” I snapped out of it and blinked at him. “I, uh, yeah. Chinese. For dinner maybe?” I sounded breathier than I would have liked, but last night’s events were playing over again in my head rapidly. He smiled, but it was tense. “I’ll let you know.” Disappointment flooded my chest. “O-okay.” We were silent for a few moments. He stared at me, calm and level, but I practically gaped at him. The hallway was empty, and I couldn’t help but wonder. My voice was shaky, but I still asked. “Dick, how’d you hurt yourself?” His gaze remained measured, but his eyes flashed intensely. My insides twisted. “I had a rough night last night.” All I managed was, “Oh.” He straightened his posture, glanced right, glanced left, and promptly yanked me inside his apartment. I yelped, stumbling forward into his chest. Dale sniffed curiously around the kitchen while I stared at my neighbor, paralleling her curiosity – but I was tainted with rising panic. I breathed deeply, all earth and stars and cinnamon. Richard Grayson might be Nightwing. So what? I scolded myself, talking down the instinct to panic. Dick ran a hand through his thick dark hair, stepping back from me only a little. His bangs flopped onto his forehead, cheeks flushed. “When I told my dad that I wanted to get to know the cute nurse across the hall better, this isn’t exactly what I meant. This is a disaster, emphasis on dis.” He told me bashfully. I continued to look at him, perplexed, but then his words registered. “Wait, what?!” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Got any more of that hot tea, hottie?” “If I can get an actual explanation, you might just find out.”