#i am in the buildings in the streets and the stores and the sun is upppp...

[petals2fish]

Read on A03

She loved closing shifts. 

They were always quiet, devoid of the demanding patrons that the morning shift had. It was also the perks of being a small surfer town outside of Monterey, most people only came down for the beach on the weekends. But the best thing about the tiny drive-thru coffee shop on Vista Drive was its location for night shifts. 

It stood alone at the far edge of Venta’s old downtown, the very last building on the very last block. From the east-facing sides of the shop, Lily Evans could stand outside and see the snow-dusted Sierra Nevadas, still clinging to a late Spring snowfall and glowing at golden hour. To the west stretched the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean, which she loved to stare at as the sun set because the colours would often turn red or orange. 

She missed England, but the sunsets there just couldn’t compare to California majesty. Right now, though, she was stuck inside the shop’s cramped one-room kitchen, ready for the closing shift to end. She’d have to lean out the drive thru window to see any more of the lessening daylight. 

The radio had already cycled through Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Sabrina Carpenter six times in a row. The drive-thru had been quiet since noon, and now it was five minutes to closing. Lily had already checked off every task on the nightly list. All she had to do was make it to 5:30, and she’d be free to jog down the beach as the stars covered the endless black sky, before heading back to her dorm for the night.

“ I’ve got a blank space baby, and I’ll write your name. ” The radio crooned. 

Lily yawned and flipped the radio off, then reached her arms overhead in a long, aching stretch. Her muscles still burned from yesterday’s snorkel down near Santa Barbara. She’d spent over three hours in the water collecting algae samples with Professor Kettleburn. The rougher California waters made her miss her chill tropical dives in the Caribbean from her last summer study abroad. 

A sudden chime in her headset startled her upright. Someone had just pulled into the drive-thru, three minutes to closing. That was weird. All her regulars had come and gone. 

She pressed the speaker button, cleared her throat, and slipped into her usual cheerful tone. “Welcome to Bluefin Café. What can I get started for you?”

There was a brief crackle of static, then a hesitant voice replied, “Hi, erm… could I get a brown sugar and cinnamon latte?”

Lily blinked. The accent hit her like a wave. It was unmistakably Scottish, thick and musical in that charming, clipped way that carried memories of damp stone streets and secondhand book stores tucked beside cozy cafes. She hadn’t heard anything like it in months .

“Sorry—wait, are you from Scotland?” she blurted, leaning instinctively toward the speaker.

A warm chuckle filtered through the headset, and when he answered, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Aye. Am I meeting another UK transplant, then?”

Lily nodded even though he couldn’t even see her. “You are. Midlands, technically. But I spent a summer in the Isle of Skye during my first year studying the seal population. That accent's unmistakable.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still amused. “It’s not every day I meet someone who doesn’t mistake me for being Irish.”

“I can only imagine,” she said with a soft smile, already reaching for the syrup bottle. The scent of brown sugar drifted up as she measured out the flavour into a measuring cup. “One brown sugar and cinnamon latte coming right up. What’s the name for the order?”

“James.”

The name slipped off her tongue like muscle memory. “James,” she repeated, loving it. “I’m Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, Lily,” he replied, still smiling. She could hear it, plain as day,  the warmth behind his words.

"It's lovely to meet you, too." She said. 

And just like that, something loosened in her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until she heard her name spoken without the flat, nasal vowels she’d grown used to in California. No harsh American twang. No lame American British jokes. Just Lily so gentle and familiar, like home.

She leaned a little on the counter. Was he a student too? Maybe around her age? There was a brief, comfortable pause. There was no rush, no honking cars behind him, no impatient orders queued up so she could take the second to day dream…and then she blinked, remembering where she was.

“Right, um—five-fifty at the window,” she said quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face as she reached for the to-go cup. Grabbing a sharpie, she wrote his name with a curving flourish, looping the J a little more than necessary, her handwriting softer and slower than usual. She even drew a smiley face next to the name, the smile on her face hard to replicate with a sharpie. 

She didn’t normally bother, but this felt like seeing a long-distance friend. 

“See you up here,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady as she slid the cup onto the bar.

“Thanks!” came his cheerful reply through the headset.

Lily turned toward the brewer, grateful she hadn’t dumped the last pot of coffee yet so she could take some home. She grabbed it with one hand, balancing the cup in the other, and began to pour. The rich, dark liquid flowed smoothly, but her focus drifted. She couldn’t help it. She glanced toward the drive-thru window, curious to catch her first glimpse of the mysterious voice. She saw him drive up, and promptly turned away quickly from shock.

He's hot. 

And that’s right when it happened.

The cup slipped from her hand.

Hot coffee splashed down the front of her light blue sweatshirt in a wave, soaking the fabric and searing her skin beneath. “Shit—!” she hissed, recoiling instinctively. She yanked the sweatshirt away from her stomach, the sudden heat biting at her like a slap. Her breath caught as she staggered back a step.

Of course. 

Of course this would happen now…minutes before closing, and the only remotely interesting customer she’d spoken to all week was watching. She blew out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the rising heat in her cheeks.

“Perfect,” she muttered, grabbing a towel from under the counter and pressing it against her damp sweatshirt. The coffee had already soaked through the front, clinging to her like second skin. No use—she’d have to take it off once he left. She’d do it now, but under the sweatshirt was just her navy blue bikini top, ready for her run along the beach. 

With a grimace, she tossed the ruined drink in the sink and grabbed a new cup, forcing her hands to steady as she remade the latte. Brown sugar, cinnamon, espresso, steamed milk. Easy. She’d done this hundreds of times. But now each motion felt too loud, too deliberate, like her hands didn’t quite belong to her anymore.

She could feel his stare. It burned the back of her neck. She was acutely aware that she’d not washed her hair since her swim that morning and her red hair was a whirl of swirling red instead of nicely brushed. And she was wearing jogger shorts, nothing nice, not like the other girls who worked here. Lily didn’t even own a pair of jeans. 

When she finally turned to the window, latte in hand, she braced herself. And there he was, and she once again almost dropped the cup over how cute he was.

Leaning slightly out of the driver’s side window of a beat-up, sun-faded Jeep, with wind-tousled black hair that curled around the tops of his ears and square glasses perched on his nose. He looked amazing in the California light. He had olive skin, freckled cheeks, and a slightly crooked grin. He wore scrubs, a stethoscope, and had black lined tattoos up one arm. 

She opened the window and handed him the drink with a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the wait. I, um… had a bit of a coffee-related accident.”

James blinked, and for a moment his gaze flicked to the faint brown stain on her sweatshirt as he handed over his money. “I—oh. Sorry.”

She laughed, flustered. “No, no. That was entirely me getting distracted.”

He took the cup from her, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second, and it sent an embarrassing jolt through her spine as she placed the cash on the register. “Well,” he said, cheeks slightly pink behind his glasses, “then I’ll try not to be too distracting next time.”

Oh, so he was arrogant. She loved a good laugh and this man seemed like he’d offer some if she just played along. 

She beamed mindlessly at him, “I hate to disappoint, but the distraction wasn’t you.” 

“Damn,” god, his accent was so attractive. “Knocked my ego right down a peg.”

“Next time, don’t be so presumptuous about why I spill coffee on myself,” she teased and leaned against the window sill. 

"Presumptuous is my middle name."

'Is it really?"

"No," he grinned, "It's Fleamont."

"Your parents must hate you."

"Adore me, actually." James tasted the coffee and then lifted the cup at her. “Just what I needed, cheers.” 

“Cheers,” she said lightly, then added, “Enjoy the latte, James Fleamont.”

He chuckled deeply, that grin still lingering. “See you around, Lily.”

And then he was gone, the Jeep easing forward into the golden haze of early evening. Lily shut the drive-thru window slowly, the soft click of it locking sounding louder in the sudden stillness. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal frame, letting out a long breath.

All she could think about were his square glasses, the way his messy black hair caught the breeze, and the way he’d said her name—like it was his to say. Like they were old friends who’d just rediscovered each other, instead of strangers trading cash and lattes through a old drive-thru window.

She glanced down at her sweatshirt, the light blue fabric now stained with a fan of coffee. She sighed. “Yeah. That’s coming off.”

Moving on autopilot, she locked the register, tucked the night’s cash into the safe, and shut off the lights. The tiny shop settled into a soft quiet, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound as she grabbed her bike helmet from its hook by the back door.

As Lily stepped outside into the warm, salt-laced air, the scent of the ocean wrapped around her like a familiar hug. Her mind lingered on James.

Would he come back?

Ugh, she smelled like coffee now. It overpowered the salt laced air, bitter and familiar. Lily had grown accustomed to the smell after weeks of working the tiny window shop, but she still didn't love smelling like it after every shift. Her poor sweatshirt was probably doomed to smell like coffee forever now. 

She tugged at the hem of her soaked sweatshirt, fingers curling into the fabric. With a swift motion, she peeled it upward, the damp cotton sticking to her skin before finally giving way. The summer air kissed her bare stomach as she wrestled the sweatshirt over her neck and head, the tag catching on a lock of her red hair and yanking a little too hard.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, trying to untangle it as she shook her hair free. She flipped upright, ready to toss the sweatshirt into her bike basket—

And froze.

James was standing two feet away, leaning casually against his Jeep, arms crossed like he’d been there long enough to see… everything .

The golden light of the setting sun poured over him, catching the edges of his messy black hair and haloing him in amber. His glasses glinted just enough to hide the full intensity of his gaze, but not enough to hide the way his eyes traveled, slowly, from her flushed face down to the curve of her shoulder blades and the navy bikini top that did little to hide her curves. Then, the hazel eyes traveled back up, meeting her stare like a cat who’d caught the cream. 

They just stared at each other. Lily's heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin burned hotter than the spilled coffee ever had. He was so fucking attractive, that arm sleeve of tattoos swirling up his skin in ways she’d love to trace. She spotted tattoos of a stag, a dog, and a rat. There was a swirling galaxy and a soft section of waves. She could spend hours looking at the way the black lines swirled on his skin. 

“Well,” she said, voice higher than usual. “If I’d known you were waiting out here, I’d have put on a show.”

James blinked, clearly caught off guard—then laughed, the sound low and sheepish, with a flicker of nerves hiding behind it. “I swear I wasn’t creeping,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I was just... watching the sunset. Trying to get one last bit of peace in before I’m stuck in my apartment all night studying.”

Lily arched a brow, then ran her fingers through her red waves, gathering them over one shoulder as she tried to slow her pulse. “Right. And I was just… finishing up. Didn’t expect an audience.”

“Didn’t expect to be one,” he said with a half-smile, glancing away for a second like he didn’t trust himself to keep looking at her. “You, uh… startled me.”

She laughed lightly, grateful for the flicker of awkward charm between them. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

James glanced at his watch, then back toward the darkened shop. “Makes sense why it was so quiet. I was wondering why no one else was desperate enough to beg for caffeine this late.”

“It’s a little late for anyone this time of night,” Lily said, nodding solemnly.

“You mean I’m the only crazy one to grab coffee at six?”

 “You’re currently drinking the coffee I was going to drink on my way to the beach,” she shrugged, “so, not so crazy.”

He grinned. “I feel like if you hadn’t spilled the first cup, there would be enough for both of us.”

She smirked, the corner of her mouth lifting playfully. “I’m choosing to ignore that jab.”

“Smart,” James said. His eyes drifted to her surf shorts, the sun-kissed curve of her freckled chest, then back to her knowing face. “I can always share, if you want a sip.”

She wrinkled her nose, “no thanks.”

He laughed, “do you not share drinks?”

“Not with strangers.”

“Damn,” he whistled, “I am a stranger, aren’t I?” He grinned even wider. “Guess we’ll just have to change that. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” She said. “And you?”

James’ hazel eyes crinkled, “fancy that, mine's green too.”

Lily laced her hands behind her back, the movement casual, but deliberate. It pulled her posture straight, her shoulders back—just enough to make it obvious that she knew his eyes were drifting, knew exactly what kind of effect she was having. She dipped her chin slightly, teasing.

“So,” she asked, watching as his gaze slowly climbed back up from her bare feet, “what are you studying?”

James blinked like he’d forgotten words existed for a second. Then, clearing his throat, he replied, “Medicine. Pediatrics, actually.”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, you’re smart.”

He chuckled. “I guess that depends on the day. Most of the time, I’m just tired and trying not to fall asleep on my notes.”

“Relatable,” she said with a grin. “Marine bio. Grad student. Summer session.”

He gave a low whistle. “So we’re both willingly drowning in higher education.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lily shot back, a playful glint in her eye. “I’m knee-deep in actual seawater half the time. Marine science specifically requires you to be able to swim, not drown.”

James laughed a warm, full sound that echoed slightly in the open space between them. He reached out, bracing one hand against the side of his Jeep like the moment caught him off balance. It made that tattoo arm flex and she traced the way it swirled up past the sleeve of his green scrubs.

“Nice tattoos,” she flirted so easily with him. “I really like the rat.”

He chuckled, flexing his arm. “My mate Peter chose that one for me. I prefer the stag.”

“Is it highland stag?” She enquired, “like in Cairngorms National Park? They’re so gorgeous.” 

“God,” he said, rolling his hazel eyes back, “I forgot what it was like to hear someone talk about home with a proper accent.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, eyes meeting him. “Me too. It’s weird, isn’t it? How you don’t even realize what you’ve been missing until someone says your name or home, the way it’s meant to sound.”

His smile stayed, but it changed, touched by something more wistful, like he felt the same ache she did. He nodded slowly. “It’s the little things, right?” he said. “The way people say things. The way they see you.”

“Well currently you’re seeing all of me,” she joked, motioning down at her body. 

Then his gaze flicked downward again—not with the slow, stunned awe of earlier, but with a flicker of sheepish concern. He scratched the back of his neck and motioned vaguely toward her.

“Hey, uh—I’ve got a shirt in the backseat. If you want to borrow it,” he added quickly, “no pressure. Not that I’m complaining about my coffee barista in a bikini,” he said with a crooked grin, “but I figured I’d offer. Y’know. In case you’re cold or something.”

Lily blinked, then let out a soft laugh, part surprise, part gratitude. “That’s... gentlemanly of you.”

He smirked. “I can be semi-respectable in a crisis.”

She tilted her head, eyes shining with amusement. “Are you calling me a crisis?”

His grin deepened. “You did spill coffee and then start undressing in front of a customer.”

A breeze stirred between them, brushing against her bare shoulders and carrying the faint scent of salt, ocean wind, and lingering coffee grounds. The sun was lower now, edging toward the horizon. It would be colder by the water. And if she took his shirt... Well, that meant she’d have a reason to return it. A reason to see him again.

“I’ll take the shirt,” she said at last. “But only because I try to stick to two crises a day. Any more and I start to lose my edge.”

“Right,” James said, already turning toward his Jeep as he opened the back passenger door. “The crisis-avoiding marine biologist slash coffee shop barista.”

“You forgot mermaid princess,” she replied, crossing her arms loosely as she watched him rummage through a duffel bag. 

He snorted, “is that so?”

“It’s a delicate reputation to maintain,” Lily said with a mock-serious tilt of her head. “Can’t have the locals thinking I’m a boring brit.”

James chuckled over his shoulder as he bent into the backseat. “Wouldn’t dream of calling you boring, love,” he called back, the affectionate lilt in his voice making her stomach flutter.

When he turned around, a soft, tie-dye shirt in hand—swirls of blue and faded pink like saltwater taffy—the sun caught the edges of his hair, setting his unruly curls aglow with hints of copper and gold. He looked like he belonged in the fading light, like it had been waiting just for him. A spotlight to remind her just how touch starved she was. 

She hadn’t been in a relationship in over two years. 

This felt like it could be something. 

Something more. 

He stepped forward, the shirt dangling loosely from his fingers as he held it out to her. The fabric hovered in the small space between them, and then, with the subtlest shift, he nudged it gently into her personal orbit, his knuckles brushing against the inside of her wrist. The touch was light, but it sent a flicker of warmth up her arm.

She took the shirt slowly, her fingers brushing across his, lingering just long enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. Her skin hummed where they touched. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little quieter than before.

James’ softening smile made her go weak in the knees. “Anytime.”

Lily took the shirt from him with a quiet nod and slipped it over her head in one fluid motion, the fabric cool against her sun-warmed skin. As the collar passed over her face, she inhaled instinctively…scones and clean cotton, with the faintest trace of something like cedar and sea air. It smelled like comfort. Like a Sunday morning in the redwoods up North.

When her face emerged again, framed by waves of tousled red hair, James was still standing there, watching her like the world had narrowed down to just her. The shirt hung loose over her body, the hem landing just above her thighs, sleeves nearly swallowing her elbows. She didn’t bother adjusting it. Somehow, it felt more like hers than anything she’d worn all day.

James let out a breath, almost a laugh, low and under his breath. “Well… you’ve done it now.”

She raised a brow. “Done what?”

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair and gave her a look that was part awe, part surrender. “You’ve somehow managed to get even prettier—in my ugly old t-shirt....”

A flush crept up her neck, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled as she straightened the fabric and saw she had LA JOLLA BEACH spread across her chest. “I just look like a tourist.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but the moment you open your mouth everyone knows you don’t belong here in California.”

“And where do I belong?”

“Isle of Skye seems proper,” he said. “It seems like the place where a siren like yourself would flourish.” 

“Careful,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice as she tilted her head, eyes steady on his. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start thinking you fancy me.”

James grinned, wide and unguarded now.  “You know,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets, “I should probably eat something before I lock myself in with a stack of med school notes.”

“Yeah,” Lily replied, smiling back at him knowingly. “And I should probably unwind after a whole day of pretending coffee is a personality.”

They stood there for a beat, the fading sun casting long shadows across the pavement, the soft hush of the ocean not far off. Then James tilted his head like a golden retriever, a glint of boldness sparking in his eyes. 

“What would you say,” he began, stepping just a little closer, “to letting me take you—and your bike—down to the beach for fish tacos and churros?”

“I’d say…” she drew out the words, her gaze flicking from his eyes to the soft curve of his smile and back again, “that you’re dangerously close to becoming my favorite customer.”

“Oh no,” he said, mock-serious. “Not the top spot?”

“You haven’t bought me a churro yet,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in mock defiance, eyes gleaming.

James held out his hand, palm up like he was making a solemn vow. “Then let’s fix that. Immediately.”

“Only if you give me a five-star rating on Yelp for the coffee shop,” she replied, slipping her fingers into his with an easy grin. "It might entice the owner to give me a raise."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Five stars wouldn’t do you justice,” he said as he turned toward his Jeep, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve neverbeen to a café with a bikini-clad barista before and I’ve gotta say, it’s been a life-changing experience.”

Lily snorted. “Glad to know I’ve raised the standard for drive-thru customer service.”

“You really have,” James said, popping open the back of the Jeep with a grin. “Now go grab that bike so I can impress you even more over dinner."

"How?"

"By naming more species of shark than you, Miss Biologist.”

Lily let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow as she turned to unlock her bike. “Oh, is that the plan? Should’ve majored in marine biology then, huh?”

She wheeled the bike over toward him, the tires clicking softly over the pavement.

"Oh, I can't even swim." James took the handlebars from her with a dramatic flourish. “I’m not trying to steal your mermaid princess status—just respectfully want to challenge your shark knowledge with my highly refined Animal Planet education.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “Let me guess—every Shark Week since 2002?”

He placed her bike carefully into the back of the Jeep and dusted his hands off like it was a sacred task. “Since 2001, thank you very much. I was six and emotionally bonded with a great white named Mathilda. Changed my life.”

Lily laughed again. “You can’t swim, but you have a favorite great white?”

“Exactly,” he said proudly, closing the hatch. “I’m a land-based shark enthusiast. It’s a niche community.”

“Very niche,” she teased as he opened the passenger side door for her and offered a hand to help her in. “Especially coming from a Scot.”

James smirked but didn’t reply right away. He closed the door with a satisfying thud, and she turned to buckle her seatbelt—only to jump slightly as he leaned in through the open window a second later, catching her off guard. He was close. Closer than before. The golden light slanted across his face, highlighting the light dusting of freckles that trailed like constellations across his cheekbones. His eyes, hazel and steady, met hers with a spark of something she was feeling herself. 

Was there a chance? 

A fragment of hope in his eyes as she felt her lips curve up? 

“You’ve clearly forgotten,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “just how passionate Scots can be.”

Lily blinked, her breath catching, just for a second longer than she meant to let it. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the space between them electric and impossibly still. Then, slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. A 'yes please' if there ever was one. 

“I guess I’m about to get a reminder,” she murmured.

James’s gaze flicked downward to her mouth and lingered. That was all the confirmation she needed. Her heart gave a stuttering kick, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered just go for it . No overthinking, no hesitation, no playing it cool. It'd not everyday a Scottish bloke rolled up to her work and flirted with her. 

Fuck it, she thought.

And she leaned in, her nose brushing against his playfully. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she fluttered her lashes at him, “you forgot to tip me in the drive-thru.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Want me to pay you now?”

"With tax." 

He laughed and then he leaned in, closing the gap between them with no hesitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was warm, certain, and just rough enough to make her heart skip. Lily’s fingers instinctively tangled in his curls. His hair was as soft and wild and just as glorious as she’d known it would be. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the moment, her breath catching through her nose as a smile bloomed across her lips.

That made James smile, too and in their shared grin, their teeth bumped together with a soft, surprised laugh between kisses. She twisted in her seat, angling closer, deepening the kiss with an eager pull of his hair. The world outside the Jeep seemed to fall away as James practically climbed up the door to grab her chin while his tongue tasted the roof of her mouth with a flourish. 

Passionate, indeed. 

He pulled back then, boots hitting the blacktop with a solid thump. His fingers were still curled beneath her chin, so even though her grip on his hair had slipped, her hand slid down, curling tightly around his tattooed arm, refusing to let her touch disappear entirely. She felt like she’d taken a shot of espresso, but in the best way possible. 

“Let’s go grab dinner,” he said, voice unmistakably rough. “I have a feeling we’ll close the restaurant down–just like we closed your shop down.” 

“I’ve always loved a closing shift.” 

And it wasn’t a lie. 

This was the best closing shift ever. 

[my-hyperfixation-stories]

Lost In Your Eyes

Summary: Dean Winchester has the worlds most beautiful eyes. You find yourself trying to get a good look but Dean can’t hold still for one second so you make him. Needless to say he was confused yet a little turned on by your determination.

Warnings: Flirting, PnV, Oral Sex(f! Rec), unprotected sex, Switch!Dean, Dean being in love with Reader, heavy heavy eye contact, Dean Winchester(he’s definitely a warning), dirty talk. Lmk if I missed anything

The words of your computer managed to blend together. The crease between your brows was so deep it was starting to ache from the amount of tension lying beneath it. You and Dean had been researching for about an hour. Usually your study partner was Sammy (the one who actually gave a shit about what you were reading) but he had a few leads to follow up on. This left you and Dean alone in the motel to piece together the mysterious monster you were dealing with.

Except Dean has yet to look at a single document, and instead he’s been spouting off on random shows he’s been watching and mixing in flirtatious comments here and there. All the while stuffing his face with some pie you had picked up on your way back from the crime scene.

You find yourself massaging between your brows trying everything to release the tension building in your head. “You alright over there? Don’t tell me you’re worn out all ready, we just started.” Dean teased with his infamous grin. A deadpan expression crossed you face as you look up at him. “‘I..’ ‘I.’ There isn’t a ‘we’ Dean. You’ve been talking for the past hour or so while I’ve been nose deep in every source I can find.. if Sam wasn’t gone I would send you to the drug store to get me some ibuprofen..” You set the computer aside and stretch out your hunched over back. A few cracks sound out providing you a split second of relief before a throbbing sensation shoots through your head.

“Here since you’re clearly better at this than I am, I’ll walk over to the gas station across the street and see if I can find anything for you. That alright sweetheart?” For the most part he sounded concerned but the last part had a teasing undertone about it which sent your eyes rolling. The ache strengthened by the action sending your eyes shut. “Please.. I need something if I’m going to find more answers..” You groan, pushing against your temples to stimulate some relief. “I’ll be right back, don’t miss me too much!” He shot you a wink as he headed out. On his way out you noticed how the sun glistened over his eyes. You could’ve sworn you saw the most breathtaking shade of green radiate from them but it could be the agonizing pain in your head making you hallucinate.

You loved Dean to hell and back but shit was he annoying when it came down to researching. He almost never paid attention to the words and mostly listened to the key points you or Sam dug up. Nonetheless he was incredibly aware of when you needed a break. Which is why he was marching over to the gas station to find some medicine to kill the headache you have. When he got back he decided it was time for him to take over. Despite your displeasure he practically forced you down on the bed and snatched the laptop. He sat down beside you to read out some information that you had been desperately trying to find. Around an hour later your headache finally subsided.

You move your eyes to gaze up at Dean. He was propped up against the headboard staring intently at the device. His chin rested in between his fingers as he scanned the sources. The glow of the laptop brought out the same green hue in his eyes. The green flannel he was wearing seemed to make his eye color truly pop. And it was affecting you badly. Maybe it was the way he’d taken over for you, or how he was still occasionally rambling yet staying on topic. But his eyes really sealed the deal for you. You were completely infatuated by the view.

“Right.. so if we are dealing with one, then it says silver is effective in killing it.” He scrolls a little farther before your voice quietly calls his name. “Bullets preferably but blades also work.” He continues “Deann..” You call out again but his entire focus seemed to be on the screen. “Oh here it says-” you cut him off by grabbing his cheeks with one hand and forcing him to look at you. A confused look crosses his features before amusement arises. “What is this about it?..” He says muffled as his lips form a pout from the way you were holding his face. “Did I ever tell you I love your eyes?.. you really need to wear green more often.. it suits you..” You whisper but feel the heat beneath your fingers grow. You had managed to fluster THE Dean Winchester.

His hand reached up and lightly grabbed your wrist. “Oh sweetheart, I love it when you get so dominant.” A grin spreads throughout his face. The look makes you press your thighs together. “Oh really? Do you now?” You tease making him raise a brow. “Oh I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. From experience.” A smile finds your lips before you move to close the laptop on his lap. “I don’t know about you, but I for one want to take a little break from all those articles.. don’t you?” You didn’t give him time to answer before you move yourself to straddle his waist. A huff leaves his mouth as you add pressure to his hips. His hands find your waist as you settle yourself. “I could use a refresher..”

A satisfied look crosses your face while Dean goes to add in some cheeky remark. Before any words leave his lips, your head dips down and captures his lips with yours. A low groan escapes his throat as your hips roll against his.

It has been a hot minute since you and Dean had done anything intimate. It was hard when you constantly had Sam lingering or a case that was needing to be solved. But since you gathered all the information you could, nothing really needed to be done. Giving you the perfect opportunity to have your way with him.

You push away his unbuttoned flannel before running your hands underneath his shirt. The skin beneath your fingers tenses at the sudden coldness of your hands. He pulls back to take a breath but in the haziness of the kiss, your lips travel to his neck. “I affect you this much huh? My ego can’t handle this you know that?” He chuckles before letting his head fall back giving you more access to his neck.

He loved the warm feeling sprouting beneath your lips. When you pull away his hand travels up your back before settling on your nape. He pulls you down into another heated kiss. This one was full of pawing hands and desperate attempts to remove clothing.

He’d managed to remove your shirt leaving you in a fitted tank top and shorts. Next, you had worked on removing your shorts throwing them off to the side. Your hands find themself resting on his chest feeling the quick beat of his heart.

You lean down to his ear as you find the bottom of his shirt with your hands. “I want you looking at me the entire time.. right with those pretty eyes of yours.” The whispery tone finds Dean before you pull off his shirt. His necklace lays against his bare skin as he looks up at you. His breaths were heavy and his lips slightly part in shock.

His green orbs follow you, not once leaving. “The things you do to me..” He says breathlessly earning a scoff from you accompanied by a pleased smile. “What about the things you’ll do for me?..” He watches your gaze trail his body before reaching where your bodies touch. Your hand moves gently up his body before stopping at his chin. Your finger graze along his bottom lip. “Put these to use for me?.. if you really want to help me relieve some tension.” A look of hunger consumes his expression. His eyes look up at you half lidded before he begins trail your figure. Stopping when we sees the wet patch between your thighs.

A groan leaves his lips as he closes his eyes. When he opens them he looks back up to you. “I’ll do anything that makes you happy..” He says ready to do anything you please. A smile finds your lips before you move off of him. He swiftly swaps positions with you so he can kiss down your body. “You’re so beautiful..” His lips press against the skin peaking out from beneath your tank. Your hands raise letting him know you want it off. He puts his hands under the tank top finally pulling it off.

His eyes find your chest before lowering his head to press a hungry kiss against your breast. He lightly sucks the delicate skin leaving a mark behind. He goes to give attention to the next one but an unexpected groan leaves his lips as you lightly pull back his hair to make him look up at you. “Eyes. on. me. pretty boy.. I want to see those eyes.” This time when he lowers his head to kiss your other breast his eyes stay directly on yours. He watches your features change with each movement he makes. His favorite part might be the way your breath falters when he lightly sucks on yours skin.

He lets his hand find your panty line. His fingers loop along the side. He moves them along the outer edge before pushing them to the side. He lets one finger run along your folds feeling the wetness that coats his fingers. “All for me?.. It’s very flattering” You playfully roll your eyes. “You gonna do something about it or just sit there lookin pretty?” Your voice was laced with a seductive tone only making the tent in Dean’s pants grow. He begrudgingly leaves your breast venturing further down. “Is this where you want me? Right here sweetheart?” You shoot him a warning look reminding him that you’re the one making the calls this time.

“Soaking fucking wet.. just for me..” He says to no one in particular. His mind racing as his eyes stay on yours. When you go to make another comment, his finger dips inside of you. A moan leaves your lips at the unexpected penetration. “Fuck Dean..” You let out a shuddered breath. His thumb moves to rub against your clothed clit. The texture leaves a shot of pleasure up your body. “Like that?.. Oh baby i know you do.” You shoot him and angry look but in return his mouth dips down to lick between your folds. His eyes stay glued to yours. “This is what you wanted? For me to devour you? Am I doing it right? Or was it like this?” He takes off your panties and lightly sucks your clit letting a moan escape your lips. “There it is.” He chuckles before returning to lick between your folds.

A groan leaves his lips sending vibrations through you. “You’re such a fucking tease” You gasp out as your legs squirm. His free hand grips your thigh pushing it to the side. “Be good for me and I’ll be good for you.. keep these spread.” His words make your heart beat quicken. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Dean Winchester was between your thighs telling you that he will be good for you, while looking up at you with his fucking beautiful ass eyes. That was enough to push another moan through your lips. “Oh you like that? When I talk all sweet to you? You like feeling like a good girl don’t you?” He laughs before moving your legs up over his shoulders. This gives him closer access to what he desires most.

His tongues dips into you before he turns into a man starved. By this point moans were practically flowing from your lips. “Fuck Dean!..” You groan as your eyes press shut. “Ah ah, I look at you, you have to look at me.” He says pulling your attention back down to him. “I fucking hate you.” Your moans quickly disprove your words. You feel his shitty grin against you. He feels the way you squirm beneath him letting him know your close. While his tongues dips into tortures your hole he lets his fingers rub against your clit. The pleasure only seems to build along with the pressure in your lower stomach. “Fuck Dean just like that.. fuck!” You moan out before everything seems to snap. “Shit! Fuck..” You moan out as your orgasm overcomes you.

Sinful sounds escape Dean’s lips as he cleans up the mess. “So filthy.. so messy making me clean up for you.” He clicks his tongue but you’re too caught up in your emotions to respond. He moves back up so he’s hovering above you. His necklace hangs from his neck falling between the valley of your breast. “You gonna let me treat you good now? Or are you still feeling demanding? Your choice princess.” He waits for a response only for you to flip around ontop of him.

His brows raise caught off guard before your hand pushes against his chest to keep him down. “I still have a few things in mind.” You say checking out his flustered state. A pink hue seems to cover his heated face. “Oh yeah?.. mind telling me what that is?.” He raises a brow. You let out a sweet smile before leaning forward. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you..” You move to the side to give him room. With a satisfied look he undoes his belt and pushes off the jeans. They fall to the ground with a clank. “What’s the plan?” He puts his hands behind his head as you move back above him. Your hand reaches down grabbing his length. Slowly pumping it to spread his precum down it.

“I’m going to ride your dick until all you can remember is my name.” The filthy words escape your mouth going straight to his length. “Fuck you know how to charm a man.” He huffs out a chuckle before a low moan leaves his lips. You lowered yourself onto him. Both of your moans meld together. You move along half of his dick giving yourself some time to adjust to the full length. Eventually you bottom out letting his hips touch yours.

Your hand reaches down to hold yourself steady. It finds its place on his pubic bone sending all sorts of feelings through Dean. His eyes couldn’t help but take it the full sight. The way you were bouncing yourself on the length of his dick. The looks of pleasure tainting your expressions. The way your lips part to let out moans. God he loved you. Everything infront of him was perfection. Down to the imperfections. Somehow you made everything work, and turned it ten times sexier. A groan leaves his lips as he feels you tighten against him.

“Look me in the fucking eyes Dean.. those eyes are what started this.. keep them focused.” You demand with moans occasionally cutting you off. Eventually you shift into rocking your hips against his to stimulate any sort of pleasure. Your legs were growing weak. You knew if you gave up Dean would tease you relentlessly. “Y/n.. shit!” He moans out as you shift positions. Now your body is pressed against his as your lower half slaps against his. The sound was filthy. He couldn’t focus on anything but the way your breast pressed against his chest. The skin sticks together from the heat radiating from your bodies.

As your eyes move back to meet his, you have the urge to press your lips against his, so you do. The other kisses didn’t compare to this. This one was full of lust and passion. Both of your tongues clashed together needing to feel everything about each other. Your moans mush together against each other’s mouths. Your hips move faster trying everything in your power to push through. Pain fills your thighs from the constant movement making you falter. Your moans only increase into desperation.

Dean seemed to clock this immediately because before you know it he is pounding up into you. His arms lock around your waist keeping you steady as he thrusts up relentlessly. “Fuck Dean! Holy shit! Please please please I’m almost there!” You whine out as grunts fill his mouth. Both of your eyes have completely shut as pleasure consumes you. His pace doesn’t change once. “I fucking love you.. I love you so goddamn much..” He grumbles out as he feels himself coming undone. Your heart swells from the intimacy of the situation but your thoughts are cut off by the band snapping inside of you. Upon feeling this Dean is quick to follow. Loud tortured moans escape your lips as the two of you move to work through your orgasms. Soon enough the only thing that fills the air is both of you gasping for air.

Dean takes a moment before pulling out of you. Your body lays against his having no energy to move. “Shit.. I think that was the hottest thing we have ever done..” Dean announces pulling a laugh from your lips. “No shit..” The two of you finally catch your breath before you move off of him. You tuck yourself against his side letting him wrap an arm around you. “So.. what was the thing with my eyes about? That’s never been a thing before.” He asks as embarrassment engulfs you. “I don’t know.. you were walking out the door earlier and.. I guess the sun hit you just right and your eyes looked like the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen..”

Suddenly you pull back and look directly at him. “You better not let any of that get to your head!” You warn him making him genuinely laugh in return. “Ok ok!” He playfully puts his hands up as his eyes follow yours. “They are like.. the perfect shade of green.. speaking of.. we need to buy you more green shirts, it really makes the color pop.” You admit making his smile grow. “So you’re saying if I wear more green then you’ll do more stuff like that? Done deal right there.” You playfully hit his chest before slumping back down onto the bed. “We should definitely get dressed before Sam gets back. It’s bad enough that the motel is going to smell like absolute filthy sex when he gets back, might as well spare him the visual.” You announce and as if on cue that sound of the impala fades in.

Thank you to everyone who took time to read this! Dean Winchester has been clouding my thoughts as of recently and I just need to let it all out somewhere. I hope you find this just as entertaining as I did. If I missed any warnings or anything is misspelled please let me know and I’ll work to fix it. THANK YOU AGAINNN!!! ❤️

[ovrgrwnivy]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[rowdyluv]

DAY OUT

summary: in which ellen and y/n spend the day together shopping.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: use of y/n, insecurities that may be triggering,

notes: i am not proud of this part. heavily debating on re-writing it but wanted to get something out :)

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the quiet downtown streets. Inside the car, Y/n sat unusually quiet, her gaze lost in the reflection of passing buildings and people on the window. Her thoughts swirled like leaves in the autumn wind, each one heavier than the last. Each store they had visited had been a letdown, a sea of fabric and lace that seemed to mock her rather than offer a solution to her dilemma. She had hoped that dress shopping would be an exciting adventure, a bonding experience with Jack's mom, but it had turned into a tiresome quest with no end in sight.

Ellen, noticing the weight of her silence, offered a gentle, "You okay, sweetie?"

Y/n sighed, "I don't think I'm going to find anything. Nothing seems to look right on me."

Ellen, with a knowing smile, reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You've got to be positive about it, darling. If you go in thinking that way it’s going to be even harder. You’ll be stuck on negativity."

"But it's true," Y/n protested, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried on so many dresses, and none of them looked right." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I knew if I wore any of those I would only embarrass Jack.”

Ellen's smile didn't falter. "You could wear a paper sack and Jack would still think you're the prettiest girl in the room," she said, her voice filled with the warmth of a mother's unconditional love. "Trust, my son is as smitten as a kitten with you. Has been from a young age. Learning that the two of you finally started dating was a celebration for Jim and I.” Ellen sighed.

Y/n felt guilty for lying to Ellen about her and Jack’s current relationship status but that was Jack’s provocative. If he wanted his family to be under the same impression as the public.

Ellen parked the car with a hopeful smile. "This is it," she said, pointing towards the last store on their list, a quaint little boutique nestled between a bakery and a bookstore. "I have a good feeling about this one."

Before they could even step out of the car, she turned to Y/n with a sparkle in her eyes. "Listen to me," she began, her voice filled with a gentle authority. "Jack loves you for who you are, not what you wear. But I know how much you want to look amazing for him, and I'm here to tell you that you do. In every dress you've tried on today, you've looked beautiful. It's all about finding the one that makes you feel like the beauty you are, okay honey?”

She nodded and offered up a small smile towards Ellen.

Ellen could see the doubt still lingering in her eyes, so she took a moment before they got out of the car to speak from the heart. "You know," she began, "Jack's always had a way of seeing the best in people. And you, my dear, are the best he's ever seen, even when you two were little. You're smart, kind, and you have a spark that lights up any room you walk into."

Her eyes searched Y/n's, hoping her words would resonate. "Now, I know you're feeling down about the dresses, but let's go in there with an open mind, yes?" She offered her hand and led Y/n to the storefront entrance, her own excitement for the search not waning. The bell above the door jingled sweetly as they entered the boutique, and the scent of fresh flowers and fabric softener greeted them.

The store was a treasure trove of gowns, each one more exquisite than the last. Y/n felt the weight of her own inadequacies lift as they were greeted by a kind saleswoman who offered them individualized help. As they explained what they were looking for, the woman led them through racks of dresses, holding up each one with a hopeful smile.

Y/n's eyes scanned the rows of dresses, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last, but none of them seemed to be 'the one'. She felt her hope dwindling with every step they took, every dress that was deemed 'not quite right'. The pressure to find the perfect dress for devils event grew heavier with each passing moment.

Ellen noticed her growing discouragement and took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the store with renewed determination. "Let's try this," she said, leading Y/n to a secluded rack at the back of the store. "These are the last ones we're looking at."

Y/n's eyes fell upon a dress that was unlike any she had seen that day. It was a stunning blend of elegance and boldness, with the top half in black that flowed into a fiery red at the bottom. It was as if the dress had been painted by the very emotions she was feeling - the uncertainty of black meeting the passion of red. The irony of it being Devils colors too playing on the back burner.

Her heart skipped a beat as she whispered to Ellen, "Look at that one," pointing to the mannequin that held the captivating dress.

Ellen followed her gaze and nodded approvingly. "Ah, that's a unique choice," she murmured. "Let's see if it's available in your size."

“That’s the only one actually.” The sales rep says, having overhead the conversation. “We only received two of them and never got any more of them. A young lady came in two days ago purchased the other one for a charity event.”

Defeat tumbles into Y/n like a freight train. The unlikely chance there would only be two and the other would be purchased for a charity event too.

“But if you’re wanting a red dress, look at this one.” The sales rep says happily.

Y/n’s eyes followed over to where the sales lady had moved to, and fell upon a simple yet elegant red midi dress. It was modest yet held an undeniable charm that called to her. She walked over to it and gently touched the fabric, feeling the softness of it beneath her fingertips.

"This one," she murmured to herself.

The sales rep handed Y/n the red dress with a knowing smile, as if she had read her mind. Y/n slipped into the dressing room, her heart racing as she pulled the garment over her head. The fabric was like a second skin, hugging her in all the right places, the silky softness a comforting embrace. As she turned to look in the mirror, she gasped.

The dress was a vision of understated beauty, with a neckline that whispered sophistication and a fit that accentuated her figure without revealing too much. The way the fabric fell around her, it was as if it had been designed just for her. Y/n felt a surge of hope, the kind that lights up a room after a storm.

It was surprisingly comfortable, not a single pinch or tug. It was like the universe had conspired to put this dress in her path, a beacon of light in the sea of frills and lace she had been navigating. She stepped out of the dressing room, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Ellen's eyes widened as she took in the transformation. The young girl she watched grow up entered the dressing room timidly but exited with confidence that exuded from her body like none other.

"Oh, honey," she breathed, "you look absolutely stunning."

Y/n twirled around, watching the fabric dance around her legs, the dress was perfect it was so right and so her it had letting out a small giggle.

The dress was simple, a compliment to her, yet it had a certain charm to it that seemed to call out to all who looked at her. It truly was, as if the universe was pulling them to this boutique for this moment.

The sales rep, a petite woman with a sharp eye for fashion, clapped her hands together in delight. "It's like it was made for you," she exclaimed. "The way it hugs your curves and makes your skin glow, it's absolutely divine!"

Y/n couldn't help but beam at the reflection in the mirror. "It is," she murmured, still in awe. “I’m sorry I’m just excited because I didn’t get to do this in high school. I feel like this my senior year moment.” She smiled.

Ellen's eyes twinkled as she stepped closer to her, wrapping her in a warm hug. "You deserve every bit of this, and more," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Jack's going to be absolutely speechless."

She flushed at the thought of when Jack sees her in a red dress. Especially when she is repeatedly thinking about how he said ‘my girl looks good in red’ It may have been for show but it’s still something on repeat in her mind.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest as she looks back at Ellen, the kind that comes from knowing you're loved and supported. She nodded, her eyes misting over. "Thank you, Ellen. For everything, for coming when my mom couldn’t, for being there when he left, for this."

Ellen squeezed her shoulder. "It's what we do for family, or hopefully our future family," she said simply, her voice thick with emotion and a smile as she hands the cashier a card.

“No wait! I can pay. Don’t do that.” Y/n argued searching her bag for her wallet.

Ellen gently took her hand and held it in hers. “Jack insisted. He wanted me to use his card for anything we buy you. And right now, this is what we are buying you.” She said with a firmness that didn’t allow room for argument.

Y/n felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as she looked at the red midi dress in the clothing bag. It was more than just a piece of clothing; it was a symbol of the love and support she had found in Jack's family, even when Jack had left for the league. "Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick and trembling with emotion.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Holiday Spirit

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You don't have much reason to enjoy the holidays until a generous man walks in the door.

Character: Captain Syverson

Day Thirteen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i just can't wait until the holidays are over 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the snow gather at the corners of the large window pane with dread. The longer it falls, the more your anxiety rises. How on earth are you supposed to get home? Not too mention the more important question, how are any customers supposed to get in the store? 

Your phone jingles at the very thought, your manager calling as if she could hear your silent plea for rescue. You grab your phone but don't answer until the fourth ring. You don't want her to know you've been doom scrolling the weather forecast. 

Gloria greets you without formality, "what's it look like there?" 

"Um, bad," you answer honestly. "Snowy." 

"I mean customers. What are the numbers?" 

"Oh..." you blink and look around the empty shop. "I think most people are staying home. There hasn't been anyone since I started." 

"What about the walkway? Have you shoveled it?" It's as much an accusation as a question. "They won't come in if they can't get in." 

You wish you had the courage to mention that it isn't just the sidewalk, you haven't seen car drive by in over an hour. Those you can see are parked and not going anywhere as the snow piles over their windows. You frown and again, look at the windows in horror. 

"Go out and clear it and maybe you'll sell a few pieces. No point having the lights on if you're not doing anything," she snips. 

"Meredith closed up across the street--" 

"I don't care what that old crone did. Get out there. The shovel's in the back room." She commands. 

"Okay," you agree meekly. 

You know you shouldn't be such a pushover but you need this job. Even if it isn't much. It's a small independent shop that sells candles, lotions, and random nicknacks. You're not really sure what to call it. 

You hang up and go into the backroom and grab your coat. It's not the best. A sherpa thing you go used at the Good Will. Your boots are a couple years old and you can tell. You wear three pairs of socks just to keep your toes from hurting as bad. 

You pull on your thin gloves and grab the shovel. You approach the front door and gaze through the glass. Look at it! You'll be lucky if you don't get lost. 

You go to push through the door. You have to shove your shoulder into it just to get outside as the wind blows angrily. The door slams behind you and you plant the shovel into the thick snow as you look around. Ugh, where do you even begin? 

This time of year is always too much. Who decided the holidays needed to be in the middle of winter? It's not fair, but life just isn't. 

You scoop up the snow bit by bit. Your muscles ache as you try to heave into out of the way but as the powder builds, it's only more and more difficult to do so. As you final get clear of the door, you look back and see a new blanket of white. It doesn't matter, you'll be outside all night if you try to keep it clean. 

You work your way across the store front as the sky continues to dim. It never really got light as the sun stayed hidden in the clouds. You put your head down against the swirling flakes and you grip the shovel tight. You groan and grunt each time you lift it. 

"Now what they got you out here doing all this for?" A grizzly voice draws your head up and you bat your lashes as snow catches in them. You stare up at the burly man in his heavy brown coat and black toque. His beard is sparkling with flakes. 

"Um, I... work in there," you nod to the store. "Gotta make sure people can get in." 

"Y'all should be at home," he tuts. 

"It's just me," you shrug. 

"That's a shame. Damn big shame," he shakes his head, "lady like you shouldn't be out here in the cold." 

"Well, it's my job, I guess," you say. 

"Here," he puts his hand on the handle of the shovel, "you go in. Get warm." 

"Oh, no, I couldn't--" 

"Do you know what my mother would do if she knew I just walked on by a little lady like you struggling in the snow?" He argues. 

"I... thank you, that's too kind. But, you probably have somewhere to be." 

"I'm just walking," he assures you. "I like the snow." 

"Oh, right, uh..." you let go of the shovel reluctantly. "Thanks, I... I feel bad." 

"Don't. I feel bad seein' ya shiver your nose off. Go on." 

You scrunch up your mouth guiltily and push your shoulders up. You back away step by step as you stare at him. It's been a while since you met a single person who wasn't demanding or just downright rude. Maybe holiday cheer isn't dead. 

You retreat inside with a sheepish smile and let out a brr as the door swings shut behind you. You rub your hands together then peel of the wet gloves. You tuck them into your pocket and unzip your jacket. You go to the back room and chew your lip. 

You're not the Christmassy type or whatever other special occasions are going on. You hate it all. It's too shiny and loud. Too greedy the way people will argue over something as simple as a three-wick candle or face scrub. 

What family you do have aren't very cozy. You haven't talked to either of your parents in two years and your sister never really answers your texts. It's just you and it isn't so bad. Other people just make things complicated. Without them, you have the control. 

You put your things away and tramp back out to the till. You can see the snow flying through the windows. The man effortlessly throws chunks of it out of his way. Somehow, he looks even bigger from there. 

You feel awkward, especially with no one else around. You go to a shelf to distract yourself, turning the jarred candles label out to appear busy. The bell above the door jingles and you look over your shoulder at the man. He pauses before he enters to shake the shovel off then leans it against the wall. 

He looks around as you retreat from the candle display and watch him. There’s not much for him here. You’re sure he’ll be off soon enough. He rubs his hands together then strips off his mitts. He slips them into his pockets and gives a curious glance over the table of bath bombs and salts. 

“You know,” he brushes his fingers over his beard so some of the melting snow falls away, “I’m looking for a gift.” 

“Oh? Well, we have lots here,” you keep your distance. You’re not sure you believe him. He’s probably just humouring you. “Thanks again for shoveling. You know, you don’t have to stick around. Actually...” you peer through the windows again, “should probably head out sooner than later.” 

“I got time,” he argues. “She’s real pretty. Girl I’m buyin’ for. So she probably wants somethin’ smells pretty too.” 

“Right, uh...” you twist your fist around a finger. You might as well get a single sale. It’s more than you hoped for. “We have some nice seasonal candles. Apple crisp, or candy cane, oh, the fruitcake is kind nice.” 

“You like candles?” He asks. 

“Sometimes. I don’t get the big ones.” 

“Ah,” he comes closer and you make room for him to browse. He picks up a smaller one and sniffs it. It looks tiny in his beefy hand. All of him sticks out among the dainty aesthetic of the boutique. “Mm, caramel brulee.” 

He reads the side and his eyes scan the shelves again, “what else do you like? Think maybe you know best.” 

“Oh, um, I...” you have to stop yourself from saying you don’t shop here. It’s too expensive. You get the discounts on dupes down at the mall. “Bath bombs are popular right now. Especially these snowflake ones. Oh and, we sell hot chocolate bombs. Those are edibles, these ones aren’t.” 

You point to the table as you pass him. He follows. You laugh nervously at your own lame joke. 

“Makes sense. I like hot chocolate. It’s the perfect weather for it, huh?” 

“Yeah, it is,” you agree. 

He comes to stand beside you as you gesture to the merchandise. You’re not used to that. The rare customer is a bit oblivious to physical space but more often they stay around the other side of the table. He’s right there. 

“Face masks too. It could be a little self-care kit if you wanted,” you suggest. 

“Mm, it does sound nice,” he says. “You think it’s a good present?” 

“Well, I get paid to sell this stuff,” you shrug, “but yeah, it’s hot bath season.” 

“Makes sense,” he nods. 

You step back and give him space. He hums and circles the table as you go back to the counter. You check your phone. *Extreme Weather Warning*. You should call Gloria back and let her know. If the county says you should go home, you’ll insist on doing so. 

“Cherry blossom or... vanilla coconut?” The man asks. 

“Hm, vanilla,” you smile at him then quickly look at your phone again. You type out a text to Gloria.  

He surprises you as he approaches and puts down a selection of items. The candle, a few bombs, some face masks, a shampoo bar, one of the little lotion and balm kits, and a spa headband. It’s a lot and it’s all very cute. 

“Think that’s good, don’t you?” He asks. 

“I think so,” you scan each item. “A very special lady indeed.” 

“Sure is,” he taps his fingers on the counter as his eyes bore into you. “I’m Sy, by the way...” he reads your name tag aloud and you’re surprised until you remember you’re wearing it. 

“Sy,” you repeat back. “Need a bag? Sorry, we’re all out of wrap or I’d offer that.” 

“Bag is just fine, think my girl’s easy to please. She appreciates the simple things,” he grins and grips the edge of the counter. 

“Alright,” you unfold a paper bag and gently place the items inside. “I hope likes it all. I’m sure she’ll love it.” 

“Me too,” he takes out his card and swipes. 

The machine dings and the receipt prints. You tear it off and hand it over, sliding the bag across the counter. He takes the slip of paper but leaves the purchase as it is. 

“Um, did I forget something?” You search the countertop, worried something rolled away. 

“It’s for my lady,” he gently nudges the bag back across the counter. 

“What?” You frown, confused. 

“S’for you, sugar. So you can warm up tonight.” 

“Tonight? Sir--” 

“Sy,” he insists, “best get home before the storm gets worse.” He turns to look out the windows. “No one coming out in this. Might as well close down.” 

“Sy, this is very nice of you but I’m fine. My boss wants the store open--” 

“Your boss?” He turns back to you and tilts his head, “ain’t a good one if they aren’t thinking about you gettin’ home safe.” He stares you down and looms over the counter, “’sides, a lady’s only boss is her man. So you go get your coat and things and we’ll be off.” 

“Sy, that’s... that’s not—I'm not your lady--” 

“Not?” He narrows his eyes. “I know you ain’t got another man, you wouldn’t be here if ya did.” 

“I-- no—but--” 

“You come with me or I stay,” he crosses his arms and leans his elbows on the counter. He plumes a snarl out of his nose, “up to you, but you’re not goin’ out in this alone, sweet thing. Need me there to dig ya out, don’t you?” 

You flinch and shake your head, “I don’t-- I don’t know you--” 

“Sure ya do, I’m Sy,” he grins. “And I know you. You’re the most pretty girl I ever seen.” 

You stare at him. He’s as formidable as the heaps of snow building outside the shop. As dangerous as the patches of ice forming on the road. He is a storm in man’s clothes. He’ll bowl you over just as easily as those winds.  

Just like the blizzard blowing in the street, you can’t escape him. 

[drdemonprince]

Thousands of people did not just suddenly stop using headphones one day because they felt like it, or because they stopped caring about people with sensory sensitivities like me. No, people stopped using headphones because cell phone manufacturers stopped including headphone jacks in their products. 

My sensory-processing issues are a physical element of my disability that would absolutely still exist in a world without capitalism. Like my poor fine motor control and reduced muscle tone, my sensory processing issues debilitate me: there are tasks I simply cannot perform because of how my body is wired, and this makes me different from most other people in ways that are non-negotiable.  Still, my physical disabilities are worsened quite clearly by capitalism: Because large corporations have both a profit motive and a vested interest in reinvesting those profits into advertisements, and because the internet does not receive public financial support, my daily life is bombarded with bright, noisy, flashing, disruptive advertisements, which makes it far more difficult for me to process relevant information and can swiftly bring me to the verge of a meltdown.  If the internet were funded as a public utility and was therefore not sandblasted in ads, I would be less disabled. If my local streets were less plastered in billboards and littered with junk mail advertising chain restaurants, I would be less disabled. 

Because companies like Apple financially rely upon consumers replacing their phones on an annual basis (despite how unsustainable and murderously cruel continuing to mine cobalt in Sudan for the production of all these new phones is), I must replace my phone regularly. With an updated phone model I lose my headphone jack and have to adapt to a new operating system and layout, and so my sensory issues and executive functioning challenges are exacerbated.  In a world where phones were produced in order to help human beings function rather than to make money, I would be less disabled.  Thanks to capitalism, I cannot exist in public if I am not purchasing anything. I cannot simply be present in a store, coffee shop, or even public plaza, enjoying my surroundings and taking the sight of other people in. I must contribute to the economy in order to justify it. If the brickwork of a nearby building fascinates me and I crave to feel it against my palms, I have to pretend that I wish to buy it, and be prepared to tell anyone who asks that that’s what I intend to do. I can’t even stand on the corner and feel the sun on my face without worrying my neighbors might find it unusual and send the cops.  As an Autistic person, I often can’t fake being a perpetual consumer well enough. My desire to simply elope around my environment and take in new, interesting sensations registers as suspicious or concerningly mentally ill. And so I am further disabled and excluded from public life. 

The full essay is free to read or have narrated to you at drdevonprice.substack.com

[sweet-honey-tears]

▪️I am Your Safety▪️

Villain Deku x Quikless!Fem!Reader

OverView: Villain Deku with a quirkless reader who ends up calling on him for help.

Warning: Swearing, kidnapping if you squint

Inspiration: I recommend watching this short! Give them some love! It’s very good.

-🍯

It was a mistake, a rookie, quirkless mistake. One that could leave you dead, hurt, or worse. To leave the safety of your home for a pointless ingredient for dinner, one you could easily go without but stubbornly won't. Ginger root, a simple ingredient for stir fry, had led you here. Barely 5 minutes from your home, yet in a completely new area.

Hidden behind your cozie apparent laid a maze of buildings, dark alleys weaving between their roads. It wasn't the best part of the city. But with what you could afford, it was the best for you and closest to your work. It was lucky you even found housing in the bustling city of Musutafu. Tho, with the constant casualties, maybe not so much. It seemed the city took an odd turn when pro-heroes DynaMight and Deku left hero society. Intern, causing considerable other heroes from their graduating year to also leave. The news turning many of the streets, especially yours, into less-than-stellar areas.

"You shouldn't live there; I could pay for you to be where the stars are." Izuku had told you, his green eyes shining against his dark circle.

"I'll be fine Izuku! Plus, I know you'll be there to protect me!" you had cooed. It was dangerous, both to live in that area but talk to the leader of the 'New Age' with such a teasing tone. Anyone else would be dead, but not you. Izuku signed, placing his hands on your sides and looking down at you. He searched your face, trying to find any possible crack he could talk you into his idea.

You'll be the death of me, doll." he groaned dramacitly. His wild green eyes glanced back down at you. "Just don't leave the house at night, okay, doll? Promise me." "I promise ZooZoo!" you had so gleefully said, finger fixing his red suit tie.

The old conversation rang in your head; that was before you both got into a heated fight. One that caused you to leave the house in despair.

He had called you weak, and a joking argument turned heated quickly. "I'm not helpless, Izuku!" "buy you are!" It'd been a lonely few days at your small apartment. Sitting on the decrepit couch that had begun to seem too big. Maybe it was your depressed stupor that led to this rooky mistake.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" you whispered. What was the point of getting an ingredient for a dish if you'd never get to even make it back home? You had been too stubborn, and it was only dusk at the time. You had time to run down to the store and grab it before it turned dark, you debated. You had managed to grab the ginger, quickly cashing out and beginning your trek to your apartment. “Come on… come on…” you whispered, begging the sun to go slower. "C'mon!" your feet picked up their base.

"Hey, pretty!" a voice called from the ally.

"Crap". Your feet picked up their pace.

"Come on! We just wanna talk." you waited for the sound of Izuku's voice to help you, to tell them you're both busy, and flash his neon eyes, but there was only silence. Right, he was gone.

"Sorry, I need to go. Have someone waiting for me." it was a lie, but a hopeful one. Maybe if they knew you were expected somewhere they leave, you'd have someone looking for you; you weren't worth the trouble. You were wrong.

"Oh, cmon I'm sure they can wait a bit."

Your eyes squeezed shut as you pressed your hand to the brick wall. In your panic, you had lost track of where you were, instead ending up in a place you knew nothing about, in an ally with a dead end. "Fuck fuck FUCK!" you cried, palm slamming on the wall as you slowly slid down. Tears burned your eyes as you sat on the ground, watching the predators creep ever closer to its prey.

The scruffy ally light above you barely made the two men visbale. You watched one's arms turn sharp as skin-colored blades as he inched closed with a sickening grin. The others, you couldn't tell what their quirk was, if they had one at all, but he held a gun tightly. That was deadly enough to a quirkless user civilian like you.

"Now come on pretty, just come with us peacefully, and ya won't get hurt. I'm sure your family will pay to get you back." "and if they don't, well, take great care of you." you had long dropped your canvas bag and, ironically, the ginger root you ventured out for. Yet they hadn't stopped for the bag, and considering neither held it, their intentions had never been to get the bag. Your body shook, and Li quivered, face becoming hot with fear and horror. You watched as they inched to you, your body caving in more. "Izuku…" you whispered as though a small prayer.b "Izuku!"

You screamed, your throat raw from tears and its pitch. The men seemed to pause at your sudden outburst before appearing to become angered at your choice to yell. "Fucking whore- shut it!" "Izuku!" you wailed, body caving as you waited for pain. "IZUKU," you flinched as you heard a loud pop and felt something small shower your body. The dingy ally light shattering as something sharp and quick hit it. Another boom sounded, a shriek leaving your lips at his proximity to your head. Green light slammed into the wall behind you, sending cracks up the foundation. "Doll…" "Zoo-coo" you rasped out. You opened your eyes, staring at the ground below you, watching it light up with the lumination of green flicker lighting. Slowly, your body sat up, your tears blurring the gory sight before you. He stood there, dressed in a suit vest and shoes, green hair not even out of place. He seemed more displeased and worried than angered.

"I-km sorry! You were right!" you shuffled, body caving again as tears raked your body. Fear still gripping every bone. "I should have listened! I'm sorry I left! I'm sorry I yelled!" you cried. The realization of how helpless you were fully settled itself upon you.

"Sh shh, Dolly, it's okay."

His body bent forward as he effortlessly picked you up. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you squished yourself closer. "I've got you." he calmly coded, kicking a limp arm out of his path as he walked you both out of the ally. "You're moving in with me tonight." it was firm, a demand, no room to argue, not that you could or would. Your tearful state leaving you in hiccups. "I need to keep my doll safe, and you're only safe with me."

[brain-of-rain]

Kaiju no. 8 x Godaigo Daigo

Ya'll I'm going to be honest, I really hate writing. However, I am so obsessed with this concept I can't stop myself from trying. Here's an attempt to slap some ideas together into something comprehensible.

Overcast skies shade the city. It's been cold today, the first undisputable sign of changing seasons. Most citizens groan about the chilly air, not ready to let go of summer yet. Some welcome it, and others have been waiting for this moment all year. The lack of sun and cool breeze do wonders for reducing the rotten stench of a stagnant kaiju corpse.

It's noon, and the Monster Sweeper Inc. crew is breaking for lunch. No one wanders off to buy food as the surrounding stores are abandoned. Buildings were left empty during the kaiju clean-up efforts. Co-workers find seating on grassy hills and benches in a nearby park, unboxing packed lunches and chatting aimlessly as their hour rest ticks by. “Man, It’s been a while since the big guy has dropped in. Guess the defense force is keeping him busy” “Sir?” Reno Ichikawa pauses, looking up from his vitamin pouch, too curious to ignore the comment. “Someone from the defense force works for the company?” “Well…” Kafka peters off, gesturing incomprehensibly. “His situation is a bit… complicated.” Glancing at Reno he's met with a deadpan look. “Ok ok, so Big Guy doesn't exactly work for Monster Sweeper Inc., it's more of a volunteer contract. He comes and lends a hand with cleanup when the defense force lets him go out at least, I swear he probably begs to clean up Kaiju, they barely let him out nowadays.” “So what you're saying is the defense force has a prisoner who prefers digging around in kaiju guts over whatever solitary confinement they have him trapped in at the base. You can’t be serious. How could you see the Force with such high favor if that were true.” “No no, you've got it all wrong! He's not a prisoner… well I guess prisoner isn't entirely inaccurate, but his situation isn’t so simple! He's a prisoner of circumstance, not the defense force! UGH, why is this so hard to describe.” “Jesus Kafka, you could not be any worse at explaining things” Mitsuike grins from his bench, scoffing good-naturedly, sympathetic to Ichikawas’ position. “You're beating around the bush too much. What Kafka is trying to say is that Big Guy is the unfortunate product of human experimentation and is required to stay on base unless deployed by the higher-ups due to his terrifying appearance… Ok, I see why you’re having trouble.” Kafka leaps up, dancing around like he won some important bet “HAHA! See! I-” Thud - a familiar sound interrupts the celebration. Thud - There it is again, followed by another at a regular cadence, getting closer with each repetition. The cold, empty streets echoed with the noise. Ichikawa leaps to his feet eyes locked onto his mentor, vitamin lunch forgotten entirely. “Why aren't the kaiju alerts sounding?” His tone was sharp yet controlled. “Why isn't anyone moving? We need to evacuate.” “Ahhh speak of the devil.” Kafka is looking elsewhere, towards the resounding footsteps. “Looks like we don’t have to explain after all.” His nearsighted squint breaks into a smile as he begins waving. Ichikawa stares blankly at him before another footfall breaks his confusion. He looks up, and up and up until he meets the subject of Kafka’s attention. It’s a man, an unnaturally, tall man, dwarfing nearby buildings and interrupting the cityscape. It stops and raises a hand to return Kafka’s gesture. The figure softens, suddenly familiar, friendly, and human. “Oh.” That is all Ichikawa can muster. “That…” Kafka smiles, “Is Big Guy.”

[separatist-apologist]

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3

Five years earlier:

She wasn’t used to Georgia’s humidity. 

Nesta never wanted to get used to it. Standing just outside the little white house that now belonged to her, Nesta wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The town was small—no more than a couple thousand people, if that. No big buildings, no major downtown, and worst of all, no Chinese food. Not unless she wanted to creep closer to Atlanta and given that Nesta’s car was a piece of rusting junk built a full decade before she was born, she doubted she’d make it.

So much for being a hot shot lawyer. 

Nesta dumped her bag just inside the white picket fence, ignoring the peeling paint and splintering wood. It was the kind of place Elain would have thrived in. With a sigh, Nesta turned her back entirely on the overgrown yard and began walking along the only road in the town to the center—aptly named Main Street. 

There was practically no one out. A few older woman walked with looped arms down the sidewalks while a harried mother pushing a stroller made her way toward the only grocery store. Nesta made her way toward the marble carved library, taking the steps one at a time despite the unrelenting sun overhead.

The air inside was ice cold and empty save of two women who were quietly talking to each other. One of them—the red head—clearly worked there given she was behind the desk. The other sat perched on the counter, a book in her lap. They had been clearly talking with some animation though now that Nesta had intruded, the pair stared with wary suspicion.

Nesta hadn’t come to make friends. Lifting her chin with all the haughtiness her mother had instilled in her, Nesta marched toward the shelves lined with fantasy and romance and began reading the jackets. 

She needed a distraction. All she could think about lately was what would happen if Rhysand ever found them. Surely he was irate…he’d be out for blood. They’d flat out lied, pointing the finger straight at the notorious mafioso and the feds, in their eagerness to put him away, had overlooked all the evidence suggesting otherwise.

But Rhysand would know.

And Nesta wanted to forget him. Mobsters lived short lives, besides—in a year, he might be dead and the whole thing over. She could keep herself busy for that long. So long as the library kept books on the shelves, Nesta could find something to do.

She brought them to the front desk where the red head and the dark haired woman waited. “Library card?” The woman’s name tag read Gwyn. 

“No,” Nesta said, fishing out her new drivers license. Agnes Smith. Sure. That sounded real. “Here.”

Gwyn eyed it for a moment. “You don’t look like an Agnes.”

“Tell that to my mom.”

Gwyn began typing on her computer, glancing at Nesta’s ID. “Emerie,” the dark skinned, dark haired woman said with a friendlier smile. “I think you look like an Agnes.” Gwyn rolled her eyes. 

“You should come by the general store,” Emerie added, glancing at the ID for Nesta’s address. “You moved into the old Brandon house.”

“Grizzly murder happened there,” Gwyn said seriously.

“Did not. He died of all old age,” Emerie said quickly. “It’s been run down for a while. I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Do you like women?” Gwyn asked suddenly and bluntly. 

Taken aback, Nesta said, “Um…not really—romantically, anyway.”

Emerie sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

Nesta almost blurted out that she’d still take friends before she thought better of it. No need to be defensive or obsessive. “Where is everyone today?”

“It’s ten am,” Gwyn said.

“They’re at church,” Emerie replied when it was clear Nesta didn’t understand. 

“But not you?” Nesta questioned.

Gwyn handed her ID back, along with a white library card bearing her pretend name. “We aren’t welcome.”

“Why?”

Emerie grimaced while Gwyn scanned Nesta’s book. “They think I’m a homewrecker…and Emerie likes women. Openly.” 

“Fuck them,” Nesta said without thinking. It was the first smile she’d seen from Gwyn—a small, half formed thing, but a smile all the same. “We should start our own religion.”

“That sounds like blasphemy,” Emerie teased.

“It sounds like witchcraft,” Gwyn added, pushing Nesta’s stack of books toward her. “I’m in.”

Which was how Nesta found herself hosting brunch that Sunday with two strangers in a house that didn’t belong to her.

PRESENT:

“Who is that?” Emerie asked, sitting on Nesta’s front porch holding a sweating glass of iced tea. 

“He’s not local at all,” Gwyn agreed, lowering her sunglasses to take a look at the tall, muscular man making his way toward Nesta’s gate. Wearing mirrored shades and a suit that was bursting at the seams, he looked like he was playing dress up as a cop.

His dark, wavy hair half pulled in a bun didn’t seem regulation, for one. But something about him seemed off somehow. 

“He one of yours?” Gwyn questioned. Nesta had long since betrayed the secrecy she’d been sworn to, telling her friends everything but the most critical piece of truth in order to protect Feyre. 

Nesta scratched her ear. No, this man was definitely not one of hers. 

“Want us to stay?” Gwyn asked, likely thinking about the shotgun mounted in the back of her pick-up truck.

“I can handle him,” Nesta assured them. Gwyn and Emerie stood, leaving behind their cups to slip from the yard. Gwyn nodded at the man once, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. That left Nesta standing at the top of her porch steps wearing a butter yellow sundress, arms crossed over her chest.

“Ma’am,” he the man began as he approached, his expression unreadable. She waited, watching as he took off his sunglasses only for recognition to slam into her. Oh. She knew this man from pictures.  “My name is Cassian.”

Rhysands right hand man. Nesta didn’t move, unwilling to betray she knew who he was. “What can I do for you, Cassian?”

Not even a fake name? Was he that confident she’d never done one google search? He had a mugshot, had appeared in the papers just enough times for Nesta to recognize him. They called him The Lord of Bloodshed thanks to his rumored job of handling the things Rhysand didn’t want staining his hands or his conscience. 

And that man was standing at the bottom of her steps, armed just beneath his suit jacket. 

“I’m here on behalf of your case,” he said like a pretty liar. 

“Oh? Has something happened?”

“An indictment is coming. I’m to escort you back home once Rhysand has been charged.”

Liar.

Still, there was no reason to call him out on it. If Rhysand had found her, he must be still looking for her sisters. She didn’t believe for a minute he’d found Feyre—his bruiser would have pointed his gun at her by way of greeting had he. No, they were monitoring her.

And Nesta could watch them right back. 

So she smiled, hoping she seemed innocent and sweet. “What a relief,” she lied, stepping to the side so he could come up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped here forever.”

“Can I come inside?” Cassian asked, looking around her immaculate yard with interest. “It’s hot out here.”

“Better get used to that,” Nesta said, pulling open the screen door so Cassian could get the lay of the land. “Are you staying here?”

“If you don’t mind. The hotel is…”

Roach filled, she knew. People still went, content to carry out their clandestine affairs in filth so long as no one ever found out. 

“I have a spare room,” Nesta told him. Cassian turned back for his own car—a brand new jeep  that was laughably out of place in her little neighborhood. He returned with two bags slung over his broad shoulders, eyes hidden behind his glasses. The sun hit the golden brown of his skin, making it seem as if he glowed and tragically, Nesta thought he was a good looking man.

He’d kill her if she wasn’t careful…but attractive, all the same. 

Nesta showed him to the smaller room she kept made up just in case Gwyn or Emerie wanted to stay the night, thinking the full sized bed didn’t seem big enough for this man. He had to duck beneath the doorway, putting him well over six foot three—maybe six six? He made Nesta, who stood tall at five nine, feel dainty by comparison.

“Should I call you Cassian, or…?”

“Cassian is fine,” he replied, sunglasses resting atop his head. “This is perfect, by the way. I promise you’ll barely know I exist.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nesta said in a flirty voice as she eyed him. “I think it would be hard not to notice you.” He grinned, unaware that a real agent would have shut her down in seconds. “Well, Miss Agnes, I’ll do my best to keep out of your hair.”

Nesta offered him another smile, mind racing. If she survived tonight she assumed she’d survive as long as he wanted her to—and as long as she didn’t admit she knew what he was. That meant keeping it from Gwyn and Emerie, who wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from treating him like a criminal.

He thought she was prey, but Nesta Archeron was a survivor. A predator, just like this man. And she had lived in Georgia for five years—she had guns hidden all over the house. He didn’t need to know any of that, though. Nesta waited while he unpacked some of his things and peeked around her little house, mostly quiet as he cased her. Sitting on her sofa beneath a ceiling fan moving at top speed, Nesta heard him push open the back door and walk through the yard where she assumed he was testing the gate.

He messed with windows when he returned, pushing back curtains to peer out into the street. “You’re wide open out here,” he finally said with a frown on his pretty face. And he was pretty—sculpted and rough in a way that was hard to ignore. Nesta found herself noticing the green in his hazel eyes and the way stubble clung to his strong jaw. A slit cut through his eyebrow while faint scars littered his jaw and hands, betraying a man who knew his way around a fight. 

He was fooling no one but himself. 

“This is where you put me,” she reminded him, wondering if he understood what she was really saying. 

“Maybe we’ll keep the curtains closed,” Cassian said, as if Nesta didn’t do that anyway. The sun was unforgiving and the only way to survive swampy summers was to try and keep things shady and cool. 

“Do you want to take off your jacket?”

“I want to take everything off,” he admitted, shrugging out of what she had to assume was stolen. “Even my own skin.”

“That’s how I felt when I first got here,” she told him. He’d look back on all this and remember—he’d realize she knew the moment he stepped onto her lawn. “You get used to it.”

She was going to kill him, she realized. The knowledge slammed into Nesta’s chest violently, paralyzing her for a moment. She’d never killed anyone…but at some point she’d have to kill this man before he killed her. Cassian, for his part, was unaware of the slant of her thoughts. He must have already known when he came down that he planned to kill her just as soon as he was given the order. She doubted he intended to take her home…and if he did, it would be under duress. 

That was future Nesta’s problem, though. For now, all she had to do was stay one step ahead of him. And that meant pretending like she believed every word coming out of his mouth and ignored all the obvious signs that he was a liar. 

“Hungry?” she asked. 

“Starving,” Cassian agreed. He vanished into the room she’d given him, leaving Nesta enough time to try and steady her nervous hands. By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was slicing up meat for the grill outside. There was absolutely no way she was turning on her oven.

“Can I help you with that?”

Instinct demanded she say no. She didn’t want Cassian anywhere near lighter fluid, for one. He looked so earnest and she was pretending, so Nesta nodded. “I haven’t seasoned it yet.”

“Leave it to me,” Cassian said with an easy smile. And she did, watching him from the corner of her eye while he seasoned her meat and vegetables. He vanished out the back door and when he returned, sweat glistened over his face. Nesta found herself standing there for a moment, staring as he pulled the rest of his hair off his face, biceps straining against the cuff of his t-shirts. 

Cassian was heavily tattooed with black ink that crawled over his arms and up his neck, broken only by the sweaty shirt he wore. 

“Why do people live like this?” Cassian asked, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “It’s horrible.”

“I keep saying it,” she replied honestly. “I would have preferred a colder climate.”

“Next time,” Cassian grumbled. “What are you doing now?”

“Cutting up fruit. Want some?”

Cassian picked a blueberry out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “How do you spend your time, anyway?”

“I’m the town lawyer,” Nesta informed him. “I work in a little office down on Main Street.”

“And when you’re not working?”

She shrugged. “I have friends…but I mostly read.”

He glanced toward her shelves of books in the living room, visible from the hall connecting the two. “Anything interesting?”

“Take a look,” was all Nesta could think to respond. Cassian didn’t take her up on her offer, turning instead to go check on the grilling meat. Had she not known who he was, Nesta might have thought the awkward environment was just because a stranger had invaded her space.

It felt almost normal. 

Almost.

Because Nesta couldn’t forget a killer was sitting across from her, his hands soaked in blood. She kept coming back to it as they ate in relative silence. Why had Rhysand sent him here? What did he want with her? Nesta needed to figure it out.

And figure it out fast.

CASSIAN:

Nesta Archeron was beautiful.

Cassian hadn’t expected it. He’d seen a picture of Feyre only once and had kind of imposed her face on all three Archerons. Walking up to her house had been a surreal experience. For one, all Cassian could see was her tits pressed against the neckline of that sundress she wore. Holy fucking Christ, but Nesta’s body was something out of his most depraved fantasies.

But her eyes were something else. Icy blue and calculated, it was no surprise Nesta had survived five years out mostly on her own. Did she even know her sisters were guarded by federal agents while she was left to fend for herself? 

It irked Cassian. Sure, he was grateful he’d been able to gain access to her life so easily, but surely someone was keeping their eyes on this woman? So the likes of him couldn’t just stroll into her home and do whatever he liked with her? 

But after two days living with Nesta, Cassian learned that no one seemed to care if she lived or died. Which was just as well—because he was starting to care. Just a little, he told himself that second night as he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling fan.

His only job was to get her back to Rhysand in one piece once he’d tracked down Feyre and married her. Nesta wouldn’t even know until it was all too late and the feds would lose their pathetic case.

And then Cassian could go back to his regular life in a place that wasn’t drenched in humidity. How did anyone sleep? Even with Nesta’s air conditioner going at full blast, Cassian found himself shucking off his shirt and kicking the sheets to the floor in a desperate attempt at sleep. 

Thinking the living room might be cooler, Cassian dragged his blanket with him to the couch where he found Nesta, half hidden in the dark with a piece of toast in her hand.

Her little night dress was enough to empty out his mind. Why was she so hot? Cassian could see every curve of her perfect body beneath the silken blue fabric and her hair was loose around her shoulders rather than braided in a crown atop her head.

He wanted to lick the salt off her skin.

He wanted to lick a lot of things, actually.

Cassian was fairly certain federal agents weren’t supposed to have sex with their charges—even if Rhysand was certain Vanserra had something going on with the middle Archeron. Cassian wasn’t anything close to a cop and fucking was his favorite thing to do. 

“I ah..” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper aware that all he wore was a pair of loose shorts. Nesta was looking only at his face with a grim determination—as if she found it very difficult to do so.

You can look at any part of me you like.

Having sex with her would certainly pass the time. 

“It’s hot,” Nesta said, flipping on a lamp on the side table. “I keep meaning to get someone out here to look at my AC, but…”

“I’ll look at it,” Cassian promised. “Before the sun comes up.”

“You’re handy?”

He was, actually. “I grew up with a single mom,” he said, flashing her a smile before making his way to the sofa. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so I learned how to do repairs.” Nesta tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Unwilling to give her a reason to banish him, Cassian made a show of fluffing the couch cushions before stretching himself out. 

“My shower doesn’t have hot water,” she finally told him.

Cassian grinned in the dark. “I can take a look at that, too.”

“I would appreciate it,” Nesta replied. 

“Why don’t you make me a list? I’ve got nothing else to do all day and I feel like a freeloader sitting on your couch.”

That was true. Cassian was used to staying busy and suddenly he had nothing but downtime. It was tempting to go to the library and find his own books to read and treat the entire thing like a vacation. This would help build trust between them, he rationalized.

And Cassian liked having something to do. He liked being useful to people. 

“I could do that,” Nesta said, still standing in his line of sight. Even in the dark, Cassian could see her nipples pointed through the fabric. He wanted to touch them.

“I’m here to help,” Cassian reminded her.

“Of course,” she said, her tone unreadable to him. 

He nearly asked if she wanted to join him. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Nesta beat him to speaking, adding, “Well. Sleep well, Cassian.”

“You too,” he said, disappointment ribboning through him. It was absurd to think a woman like Nesta Archeron was going to crawl in his dirtbag lap.

Still, Cassian could dream. And he did, waking with a throbbing erection he had to discreetly handle in the freezing cold shower. Cassian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t hot given the air was miserable and he didn’t want to take a boiling shower for once. He could hear Nesta in her room listening to music, up with dawn just like he was. 

He found tools out in her garden shed, unused and rusty. They’d likely belonged to the previous tenant, whoever they’d been. Still, they worked well enough for Cassian’s purposes. What she needed was an entirely new unit. Cassian guessed the old one was over a decade long and judging from the rattling, it was on its final legs.

He had money. A lot of money. Would she believe him if he told her the agency had decided to replace it? Nesta didn’t strike him as particularly stupid—if they’d never helped her before, she might not believe they’d help her now. He couldn’t live the way they had been, though, which was how Cassian found himself on the phone with the local repairman giving out his credit card details over the phone.

Nesta was gone by the time Cassian came back into the house, drenched in sweat and slightly sunburned on the tops of his arms. It was a relief to get into the basement and work on the water heater, and by the time Cassian finished, the service guys were there to replace Nesta’s air conditioner. It required them to turn the air off which was actual hell, though once it was back up, Cassian felt instant relief. 

Nesta returned with a scowl on her face, dressed in a pencil skirt that made Cassian’s mouth dry out. How had Archeron managed to create her? Cassian had met him—he was nothing special. An unremarkable man in every way imaginable, including his appearance.

Nesta could have modeled. Could have had her face on billboards, her body in magazines. Had he met her back home, he knew he’d have dogged her steps hoping for just a look in his direction. 

“Any news?” Nesta asked, sliding her keys and purse onto a side table. Cassian watched her kick off her heels and turn her face upwards toward the vents blowing cold air.

“Nope,” he said. What would Rhys do if he kept her here for a year? Kick his ass, likely. “Rough day?”

Holding up a cloth shopping bag, Nesta nodded her head while Cassian rose to take it from her. Inside he found an assortment of peppers, onions, and a rather nice steak he assumed she wanted to grill. Cassian had never grilled before he met her and found that he rather liked it. In fact, he liked the whole little game he was playing. Pretending to be the sort of man who had a house and a wife and a barbeque suited him.

In another life, Cassian would have thrived.

“I’m working on another divorce and her soon to be ex stopped by to tell me what he thought about me.”

“I hope it was to tell you you’re beautiful,” Cassian replied without thinking as he peeled stickers from the vegetables.

“No it wasn’t,” Nesta replied, her tone uncertain. “It was to tell me what a bitch I am.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”

Nesta chuckled. “Not this time…but I wanted to. He thinks if he digs his heels in, he can avoid this divorce but it’s happening either way.”

“This is why I’m not married,” Cassian said, reaching for a knife.

“Oh?” Nesta asked, an amused smile on her perfect face. “Is that the only reason?”

Cassian couldn’t help his grin. “I’m off-putting to women, of course.”

“There it is,” she said with a pretty laugh. “Want any help?”

“Get out of my kitchen, Nes,” Cassian replied, swatting her away. “Water’s fixed, by the way.”

The whole thing was warm and domestic. Nesta thanked him before sauntering off, hips swaying with each step. The only thing to temper Cassian’s hot blood was the hotter grill outside and a reminder that Nesta was off limits to him.

He was merely a guard meant to get her back home before the feds scooped her and her sisters back up again. Collateral, he supposed, for the game Rhys was playing with Feyre. Cassian was grateful for that, at least—if Rhys called him and told him to kill her, he wasn’t certain he could do it. 

Cassian returned to find Nesta in a pair of tiny little shorts and a pink tank top. He wished she’d pull her hair down, still left in its braided crown, though in truth he could have stood at the backdoor and stared at her for an embarrassing length of time.

“What did I say about the kitchen?” he teased, setting his tray of meat and vegetables on the counter beside her.

“I wanted to make a little salad,” Nesta told him, showing him the bowl. “Do you even eat vegetables?”

“On occasion,” Cassian said with an easy grin. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, though. I’m not picky.”

“Tell me about yourself, Cassian,” Nesta ordered once they were seated at her little wooden table. 

“There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ll bet you’re a lot more interesting than I am.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Nesta murmured.

“C’mon,” Cassian cajoled. Nesta sighed, eyes narrowed with that suspicious look he was growing so fond of. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, he wondered? Cassian was starting to suspect he was under its spell. Under hers, anyway. Nesta relented, telling him little stories he figured were probably half true. 

Cassian knew the right questions to ask, at any rate. Careful not to mention her family, Cassian asked her about everything else. Nesta spoke about going to law school and living in Georgia, mentioning two friends she’d made—Gwyn the librarian and Emerie the grocer. He’d seen them on his porch when he first arrived. 

He needed to do a little digging on them, but he figured they were likely fine. 

“What about you?” Nesta asked, their meal long concluded. Cassian began gathering up dishes.

“What about me?”

“Are you from Georgia?” she questioned.

Cassian chuckled. “No, I’m not from Georgia. Just got unlucky in my assignment, I guess.”

“Why did you want to do this work?”

Cassian considered that. “I’m good at it,” he replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the sink. “I kind of fell into it, actually. I guess I succumb easily to peer pressure because when one of my friends suggested I apply, I did it without hesitation.”

That wasn’t entirely true. There had been no application process—he and Rhys had become friends as boys and Rhys’s mother had been like a second mother to Cassian. He’d always wanted to repay them for their kindness and when Rhys asked him to join him as his right hand man, the answer had been obvious.

He couldn’t tell Nesta that, though. She didn’t poke, either, seemingly satisfied with his answer. While Cassian cleaned up, Nesta made her way to the living room, picked up a book, and curled up on the couch. Cassian watched her pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her tanned knees.

“Cold, huh?” he joked. 

“You fixed—”

A gunshot silenced both of them. Nesta jumped clean out of her skin, book falling from her trembling hands. Cassian frowned, his own heart racing with excitement. Finally, something interesting was happening.

His own gun was in his hand before Nesta ever stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered, motioning for her to get away from the window.

“Send the bitch outside!” a man’s voice yelled, filling Cassian with cold rage. He was at the door in a moment, flinging it open so it was his large body filling the space. On the lawn, a man stumbled forward, gun pointed at the sky. He pulled the trigger again, clearly trying to intimidate Cassian.

Cassian had been tied up before, a gun pressed against his lips while his cock was threatened with a knife. Some fucking rural drunk with a gun didn’t scare him. In truth, very little scared Cassian. He’d cheated death more times than he could count and he knew, as he stepped onto the lawn in the fading daylight, that he wasn’t going to die today.

This man, on the other hand…well. Cassian supposed it would depend on what he did next.

“Lower your weapon!” Cassian barked, his voice rough and menacing. The man jerked to look at him, eyes wide and watery. “Put your gun down or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Send out your bitch—”

Cassian didn’t shoot him, but he did hit him in the face. Hard. Maybe too hard given the way the man crumpled at his feet as blood poured from his nose. Only the alcohol kept him from passing out which was lucky for Cassian.

Crouching in the grass, Cassian grabbed the man by his thinning hair and forced his head into an unnatural angle. “What did you say?”

“I called her a bitch,” the man spluttered through the blood. 

Cassian cocked his gun with his free hand and pressed it to the man's cheek. “Try again,” he whispered, fully intending on killing this man on the front lawn. Cassian’s finger pressed against the trigger just as Nesta barked, “Cassian!”

He twisted to look at her, arms crossed over her chest. She was fury incarnate right then, marching toward the pair of them without a care in the world. 

“Get out of her, Brent,” Nesta ordered, pointing her finger toward the gate. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”

“You ruined my life—”

“You ruined your own life by cheating on your wife!” Nesta spat without remorse. “And you’re ruining it by assaulting a federal officer.”

Cassian nearly choked. Did he look like a cop right then? 

“He assaulted me,” Brent protested, shoving out of Cassian’s grip.

“If I see you near her again, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you can utter one fucking word. Do we understand each other?” Cassian asked, rising to his full height. Brent glanced from the gun in Cassian’s hand to Cassian himself before offering a sullen nod. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, clearly trying to save face. Cassian watched him stumble off, forcing himself not to pull the trigger anyway at the man’s retreating back. Nesta came to stand beside Cassian, resting her soft, small hand on his forearm.

“That’s the guy getting the divorce,” she told him, as if Cassian cared who he was. Letting someone who threatened him walk away unscathed felt wrong and Cassian longed to rectify it. Where did he live, he wondered? 

“I can see why,” Cassian muttered, turning back for the house. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“He’s not coming back—”

“He pointed a gun at you,” Cassian growled, the memory filling him with rage. 

Nesta only shrugged, proving that she was still part of the life whether she wanted to be or not. Did she know what a liar her younger sister was, he wondered? Did Nesta know it had been Feyre who killed her father? Looking at her in the warm light of the house, Cassian decided that a woman like Nesta wouldn’t allow herself to live this way if she hadn’t known. If she wasn’t protecting someone. 

Who was protecting her? 

“I’m fine,” Nesta reminded him. But Cassian knew all too well how differently things could have gone if he hadn’t been there. Cassian knew how quickly a bullet could end things. 

“I’ll feel better out here,” he said, setting his gun on the glass coffee table. “You won’t change my mind, Nes.”

She hesitated, eyes moving from him to the window. “Fine.”

Cassian had no intention of sleeping, though. He waited until he knew Nesta was asleep, slipping into her bedroom just to check. She was so lovely even in sleep and Cassian had to resist the urge to touch her face. Not tonight. Another night, perhaps—but not this night. 

The thing about small towns he found himself appreciating was how easy it was to find people. Slipping into a local bar, Cassian mentioned what had happened to the bartender, who helpfully told him where Brent lived. 

He didn’t bother to slip in quietly. If he wanted to be unnoticed, he would have called up Azriel. Cassian liked when his marks were scared, for whatever that said about him. Flexing his fingers, Cassian picked through the dirty, mostly empty house. He supposed Nesta was helping to clean him out.

Good for her.

Brent was waiting in a fraying brown chair, a bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in one hand. “Knew you weren’t no cop,” he muttered. “You got the look of a felon.”

“Have you been talking to my third grade teacher?” Cassian asked, his tone light. “She used to say the same thing.”

“You ain’t foolin’ no one but that girl of yours,” Brent told him, eyeing the gun in Cassian’s hand. 

“She’s the only one I need to fool,” Cassain agreed, coming closer. “I swore an oath to protect her.”

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“But you scared her,” Cassian said in that same friendly tone. “You came to her house and threatened her and I can’t stand for that.”

“Well, I don’t really care if I scared her. Sometimes women ought to be a little afraid.”

Cassian clenched his fingers. “Is that so?”

“Make your threats and get the fuck out,” Brent ordered, taking another swig of whiskey. Cassian saw his gun on a chipped side table. 

“You don’t have much going for you, do you Brent? Wife left you, took all your money…is about to take your house. You’ve got no job, no friends…anyone would lose it.”

“Yeah,” Brent mumbled, eyes glassy. “You get it.”

“If I were you, I’d probably kill myself too,” Cassian added, holding Brent’s gun in his hand. Brent’s eyes found him, big and wide with shock. 

“What did you say?”

Cassian shrugged, making his way closer to the inebriated man. “I don’t think anyone will be surprised when they find you. I’ll bet it takes them days before someone comes checking.”

“Look, you don’t have to do this. I can…I can pay you—”

“No you can’t,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t take your money. This is about honor, of which you have none because an honorable man wouldn’t try and threaten a woman for doing her job.”

“She fucked me over—”

“You fucked yourself,” Cassian interrupted, reaching for Brent’s hair a second time. “And you made a mistake coming after her.”

“I’m sorry—”

Cassian pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Brent’s jaw.

“I know you are,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. “It’s not enough.”

And then he pulled the trigger. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his blood lust slaked. It took another few seconds to arrange the gun in Brent’s hand, letting both his arm and the weapon fall lifelessly into his lap. The bottle of Jack hit the floor with a thud, spilling over stained wood floors.

The scene was practically a work of art. Textbook suicide—no one would look twice at him or Nesta. That didn’t stop him from wiping his prints on the way out, just in case. He found himself back on the couch, face washed of blood, before two am. 

Cassian had been right about one thing: it took them three days to find Brent.

“Suicide,” Nesta said crisply when she learned, eyes focused on Cassian’s face.

He only smiled. 

[malcolmgold82]

I walked down the street, knowing I had to get to work as I was already running late, my manager was going to kill me if I wasn’t at work in the next couple minutes. Since it was 8:45 on a Tuesday the high street was dead, not even one shopper seemed to be about yet. I was just around the corner from the store I worked at when a man in what seemed to be a shiny golden football top approached me.

“Hey bro!” He called cheerfully

I didn’t need this right now, I was sure whatever charity he would be representing would be a worthwhile cause, but I just didn’t have time.

“Sorry I can’t talk, I really need to be somewhere”

“Oh, this’ll only take a minute” He said, a hint of expectation in his voice

He pulled out a gold AC Milan shirt, identical to the one he was wearing, and held it towards me, the shirt shimmering in the morning sun.

“I’m from the Golden Team and we have been looking for some new lads to play join, you look like you’d fit right in with us bro, we even have this shirt you can wear right now”

For some reason the shirt transfixes me, no matter how much I know I need to carry on I just remain stood there staring at it.

“Th-that’s a very kind offer but….im no good at football, I would be a liability to you guys”

The Golden Team member chuckles in response. “Nonsense bro, we take in novices all the time, and they always end up learning VERY quickly, you will be no exception.”

I take in his appearance, seeing how his shirt shines in the morning sun, how it clings tight to his abs and biceps. The sight is almost hypnotising. I think about how I could be like that, sexy and confident in my golden kit. Before I realise it I reach my hand out to grab the shirt he is offering me.

As soon as I touch the shirt a switch flips in my brain, the shimmering gold in my hand, the soft silky feeling of the shirt. I need to wear it now, I need to join the team.

I quickly change into the golden shirt, and as soon as it is fit on me I feel my body begin to change as my muscles build up, in line with the jock aesthetic of the man in front of me, my new teammate.

My mind begins to change to. My old name is quickly forgotten, and in its place I realise that I am Malcolm, #82, a proud defender for the golden team.

I smile at my bro, feeling eternally grateful for his help in recruiting me for the team as we walk onwards together, ready to kill it on the pitch with my fellow bros in the Golden Army

Do you want to join? Contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Did I tell you about the time I accidentally tracked an injured pigeon from multiple city blocks away?

So just after the duck incident, I had this very fresh idea of exactly what rotting bird smells like. I thought I had finally gotten the smell out of the house, but smells to me linger like they get stuck in my sinuses or something...

Anyway so I think it's finally, like gone, gone... and I am out for a walk, and I catch a faint whiff of "rotting bird blood" and I'm like "no". No I refuse to believe this smell is still haunting me, or in my clothes or My hair or whatever. I got that smell out... But I am not just imagining it right? I'm not losing my mind?

I turned back and forth a couple times and the smell got stronger or weaker and I'm like "Okay, if I follow it, I can maybe confirm that smell isn't 'coming from inside the house' so to speak, yeah?" So I do.

Trying not to look like I am obviously sniffing the air and changing my mind about where to walk based on that and maybe pulling off looking more like a crow, or more like I am listening for something, I follow that fucking smell. I follow it long enough that I would be starting to think it's getting silly of me except the smell keeps getting stronger.

So finally I walk back and forth past some store fronts and determine that the smell is strongest right between the buildings. There's an alley there that's maybe 2 feet wide if you're generous about it. And I can hear pigeons cooing. So I stick myself into this little -too narrow to be an alley, you wouldn't want to walk down it really- and there's this pigeon with a fucked up wing. There's blood on the pavement near it, old and dried out. It's mate is there with it and bringing it food. It's tucked away out of they street and it has someone taking care of it, at least, even if that someone is other pigeons. It looks like a cat got at it's wing maybe, or it got clipped by a car. It doesn't want me coming near it.

So there's my answer. The 'rotting bird blood' smell I had just tracked through all the other smells downtown and past main street isn't some big massacred bird corpse stinking in the sun or 20 pigeons that were gunned down with pellets the way it smelled like... It's a living pigeon with an injured wing. The smell that was driving me nuts from blocks away because it was so strong to me and because I knew what the smell was enough to recognize it and be bothered I didn't know where it was coming from.

The fucking look I gave myself.

[Like good job buddy you found the smell! You tracked a little bird! Do you want a reward? Dumbass go back to your errands... Like before the store closes, and tell no one]

It felt so silly. It was silly. Probably, but I did learn something about myself and how human senses are that day.

The biggest obstacle to most people being able to pick up on really subtle smells is a combination of bothering to pay attention, being familiar enough with a smell to recognize it, and having an emotional reaction to it enough that it comes to your attention at all, instead of begin written off unconsciously as meaningless noise. Part of my good hearing and sense of smell might be thin nerve endings and sensitive nerves [connective tissue, hormones and autism], but part of it is also the autistic inability to turn off 'junk' sensory input, and just being an observant person prone to noticing patterns. Maybe I have a particularly strong memory for smells in particular for recognition type recall, even if my proactive/intentional recall is shit.

Real life human noses can just be like that too.

really I prommy.

And that's without conscious training! There are people who intentionally expose themselves to all the smells and "notes" they can to learn to identify things that way, like cigarette brands by scent, or wines, or whatever!

If you have a character who's a "nose" who has had training and lots of experiences or is a spy who was trained -knowing- they have super senses... I am not going to be impressed if they can only manage the kind of party tricks I can!

And that's why my biggest gripe about writers trying to write characters with a super-sense of smell is twofold:

What you have described isn't outside the range of things I can smell myself [okay I wouldn't say I am an unmutated human exactly like I do have genetic mutations, but you know what I mean]

You haven't given the character a -reason- to be familiar with what that smell even is! There is no inborn ledger of what smells are in the human psyche! They have to be familiar with the smell from a known source to know what it is! Stop forgetting that! Your character needs a reason to have noticed what these things smell like! They won't know what radiation damaged flesh smells like unless they've smelled that before! They won't know what liver cancer smells like unless they have smelled it before! The have to know what a person smells like and that the smell on something -was- from that person to begin with -for someone they haven't met- before they can notice their scent on the wind! Otherwise all they are getting is "a human who used hotel soap" or "something off".

It isn't hard to establish a background comparison they can make to what a smell must be. They spent time in hospitals or medical facilities or old age homes and talked to people enough to identify patterns in what smells are, or they worked at a gas station for a while and know the difference between different fuel smells, gasoline and diesel, leaded, unleaded, etc...

Maybe even they smell something and their brain instantly says "a helicopter was here" and they have to take a moment to be like "why the fuck do I know what a helicopter smells like [or what combo of smells registers as 'helicopter' like machine lubricant, the right fuel, the material of the seats, etc...], obviously there's something I am not remembering, because unconsciously I knew what that smell was when I shouldn't"

I have gotten entire memories back, as someone with amnesia and repressed memories -including of being in a car accident- because I unconsciously ordered what used to be my old coffee order and the smell and taste slammed me back 10 years deep into a memory... A lot of human memory is closely linked to smell and even the writers who -think- they are taking advantage of that aren't thinking big enough.

Yeah it's an experience that's hard to fake if it isn't how you live, but like... Try really testing out your own sense of smell sometime, consciously, [I mean if you smoke or keep exposing yourself to corona I can't help you]. Make a habit of picking out smells around you and taking note of what they are. Carry a notepad around and start to notice trends. Maybe ask a friend with a sensitive nose and sensory issues what their experiences are like.

[im-his-druidess]

heyy !! i had an idea about Vincent protecting omega reader (she can be in heat or not) from being harassed by her friend/boyfriend

you can write it in headcanons or however you want :D if you're comfortable ofc

I am absolutely comfortable with this 👀 I'm going to alter this just a bit but I hope you like it! 💙

You were already spiraling headfirst into your heatcycle when you rolled into the seemingly vacant town of Ambrose, your friends desperate to get away from your cloying scent that no doubt smelled sickly-sweet to their Beta noses, and you were unceremoniously left to slump against the storefront of local a pet store while everyone else continued to drive to the gas station. Hoping to find directions to a hotel and a store with some suppressants.

Not that those would help with you already this far into your Heat.

You had suggested that they leave you here in the shade, growing restless and agitated by the way they eyed you sideways and complained at your "lack of forethought". It wasn't your fault that your Heat was a whole two weeks early, but you knew they would never understand so you just grit your teeth against their judgmental looks. Now, with a warm breeze cooling your sweat dampened skin and fresh air in your lungs, you stared lazily at the wispy clouds above. Fuzzy brain trying to make shapes while studiously ignoring the wetness oozing between your jean short clad thighs.

You idly wondered if there was a laundromat in the town.

Movement a few yards away caught your attention and you lifted your head to squint at the store across the street. In the shadow of the alleyway you could make out the large vague shape of someone peering around the back of a hardware store. It seemed they were staring in your direction. It was instinct more than anything that had you dragging your hand up in an exhausted greeting, wiggling your fingers in a wave, and you even smiled shyly hoping that you weren’t about to be made to move from your spot by an angry business owner. The figure zipped back behind the building and you slowly blinked a few times trying to guess if you imagined the entire thing or if it was symptoms of your Heat frying your braincells. Then, much to your amusement, the figure popped up on the other side of the building only a few seconds later.

They were near the front of the store, peeking around the corner furthest from you but now a few feet closer, and you squinted once more at the shape. With the sun obscuring your vision you could only make out that they were tall and had long dark hair, but you still raised your hand in another greeting. Any thoughts that this person might do you harm in your delicate state not once even crossing your mind.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting here,” you called out softly, flushing in embarrassment as you thought about how to explain your predicament, but the figure hesitated before dipping back out of sight.

You blinked again at the quick departure before letting your head fall back against the sun-warmed brick wall of the storefront. Over the sound of crickets chirping and the leaves rustling in the trees, you could hear the faint whimper of puppies inside the store. You wanted nothing more than to go inside and play with them, but the increasingly painful cramping in your pelvis left you glued to the sidewalk.

You didn’t know how long had passed as you stared up at the sky, random incomplete thoughts drifting in your head, and you lazily watched a bumblebee buzzing curiously around a dandelion poking up through a crack in the sidewalk before you turned your head to follow the bee and you suddenly found yourself gazing at a crouched figure peeking out from the pet store corner just a few inches away from you.

Your muddled brain didn’t even let you scream in surprise and instead you just blinked owlishly at the sudden appearance.

This close you could now see it was a man, judging by the broad shoulders and tense muscles stretching the wool fabric of his long sleeve beige sweater, and long midnight black hair fell past his shoulders in gentle, albeit tangled, waves. Long slender fingers were gripping the edge of the brick wall tightly and you glanced up at his face when his entire body seemed to twitch. It was your turn to twitch when you realized that the man was wearing a mask. It appeared to be carved out of a substance you couldn’t immediately identify, but you stared in growing awe at the sheer intricacy of the mask. You could make out sharp cheekbones and a strong straight jaw, an aristocratic nose and full lips pulled into a neat line with an almost invisible sliver sliced between the top and bottom lip for an airflow.

The space for one eye, from what you could see through a curtain of thick hair, was completely black and seemingly empty, while the other peered through the mask in a vibrant shade of bright blue.

“Wow…you’re gorgeous,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself and, because it seemed like you couldn’t shut up, you continued to further embarrass yourself, “your mask is absolutely beautiful.”

The man jerked back as if physically slapped by your words and you winced at yourself and scrubbed a hand over your face. Your brain was turning into mush and your insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart and now mortification had you wanting to rip out your own tongue.

“I’m so sorry. That was rude of me,” you muttered through your hands, unable to look back at the man, and a few moments later you felt warm calloused fingers tug gently yet insistently at your hands.

You jumped at the sudden touch and you felt an answering throb low in your pelvis at the skin contact. You looked up and held back your yelp of surprise when the man was now directly in front of you.

Before you could fully register the man being close enough to block out the sun from his massive frame, or of him touching you, you caught his scent on the breeze.

‘Alpha,’ your inner Omega nearly howled and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched trilling that escaped your throat.

The simmering heat in your veins instantly turned into a boil, the cramping in your abdomen taking your breath away as it turned to sharp stabbing pain, and you felt a surge of wetness slick your thighs through your shorts. An answering croaky purr, sounding almost unsure and hesitant, left the man and you subconsciously leaned towards him.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, but I need…,” you panted, trailing off as static filled your head and stole any words from you, and you rested your head on the Alpha’s broad shoulder.

“I don’t know,” you confessed with a small sob and you felt a large hand sweep gently over your back. You could’ve wept at the tender touch.

The scent of the natural Alpha spice, paraffin wax, and faint fresh lavender filled your nose and turned your already mushy brain into pure liquid. You restlessly burrowed your forehead into the man’s shoulder, clammy and clumsy hands gripping his sweater sleeves, and you felt a cautious nuzzle against your sweaty temple. His broad chest rumbled in a nearly silent purr and you offered little resistance when he gradually helped you to your feet.

“My friends…,” you began in a voice that was slurred and nearly unrecognizable, but the man just hooked one arm beneath your knees and the other across your back and lifted you effortlessly in a bridal hold.

After you were in his arms he stood completely still, almost as if he didn’t think past this part, and it felt like he was hesitating about something. You knew he could smell the copious amount of slick oozing from you, could probably see the wet patch on the crotch of your shorts if he looked closely, but instead he just nuzzled your head again with more confidence and started walking. There was little you could do except go limp in his strong arms, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck where his scent both enhanced the pain in your body and calmed the restless itch beneath your skin.

His long hair felt like silk against your face and you had the sudden urge to drag your fingers through it. As he walked you distracted yourself with his hair and gingerly twirled a curl around your fingertip. Noticed how the thick strands swayed with his steps, how it seemed he had bits of wax and paint clumped in various places as if he wasn’t careful with his hair, and you eventually noticed paint specks and dried wax on his sweater. You felt a pointed nudge against your head and you blearily glanced up to see him jerk his strong chin somewhere over your shoulder. You followed his gaze and realized that you were across from a gas station, your friend’s car parked outside, and they were all inside laughing with a man in a mechanic’s uniform. They seemed completely at ease and in no rush whatsoever and you felt tears well up in your eyes after the shock dissipated at seeing them and humiliation made bile sting the back of your throat.

‘So much for rushing back to help. They literally dumped me on the side of the road like trash,’ you thought bitterly.

You knew your emotions were heightened in your hormonal state, but that didn’t stop the way a small sob escaped your mouth. The Alpha tightened his grip on you in answer. One of your friends finally caught notice of you and you watched with horror as he rolled his eyes and pointed in your direction with his thumb. Another friend looked over her shoulder at you and promptly started laughing although she tried to cover it with her hand. Your breath hitched in your throat and you felt the tears spill from your eyes as shame briefly overrode the pain from your Heat. A hiccupping sob left you and the mechanic finally glanced over, you couldn’t see much of his face from underneath his baseball cap, but the Alpha holding you gave a small imperceptible nod that you wouldn’t have caught if your hand wasn’t in his hair.

There was a silent exchange of sorts between the Alpha and the mechanic before a small ‘chuff’ left the Alpha and he started walking again with seemingly a renewed sense of purpose.

He was walking away from the gas station and you were momentarily confused until you spotted through your tears a large looming house in the distance in the direction he was walking. You sniffled and tried your best to swat away your tears before clearing your throat. Trying desperately to save any dignity you had left.

“Is that a hotel?” you croaked out as you glanced back up at the masked man and it was a few seconds before he finally nodded.

You relaxed back into his embrace, feeling his wide chest rumble with a quiet purr in acknowledgement that had your inner Omega preening, and winced at a particularly strong cramp seizing your stomach. Now doubting that your friends have even asked about suppressants or told anyone about your situation you let your head rest against his shoulder as more embarrassment flooded your frazzled nerves.

“Is there a doctor or a clinic in town? I know you probably already realized it, but I’ve…I’ve started my Heat,” you asked in a small voice while curling and twisting your hands nervously into his sweater without much thought as you kept your gaze on the approaching building.

Maybe the clinic had a spare Heat room you could use so you wouldn’t irritate the other visitors at the hotel. The man took another few seconds to nod and you were suddenly hit with the realization that you haven’t heard the man speak once since he found you. You tried not to take it personal since he’s been so helpful, but you found yourself suddenly curious about his voice. It would clearly have to match his massive and imposing figure and you spent the next few minutes distracting yourself with that train of thought until you heard gravel crunching underneath the man’s boots as he started up the long winding driveway.

“Maybe my friends can stay in a different hotel…or sleep in the car,” you muttered as you eyed the large windows and the calmly swaying trees straddling each side of the building.

You could hear a dog barking in the distance. It seemed peaceful and you selfishly didn’t want your friends to ruin the calm.

You felt an answering nuzzle on the top of your head, another chest-rumbling purr, and you felt yourself smiling at the actions of the gentle giant holding you. His scent was nothing but calming pheromones, happiness with a hint of panic probably due to being in close proximity with an Omega in Heat, before closing your eyes and breathing in deep. The warm humid breeze coupled with the subtle swaying of the man walking and the shade of the trees eased that panicked anxious feeling in your gut. This was a lot better than sitting on the side of the street.

“I’m glad you found me,” you blurted out softly only to wince when the man seemed to stumble at your words.

Before you could apologize he started purring again, the new rumbling deep enough that it felt like your very bones were rattling, and he squeezed you a bit tighter in his arms.

It seemed he was just as happy.

[viidemoo]

Juggalo Juice

Art the Clown x Juggalo! Reader

An: I was listening to icp and got the best idea ever 🙏🏻🙏🏻 before you read I just want to say that yes I am fully aware Juggalos are not like how they are depicted in icp songs. Real juggalos are just music fans, some of the kindest people you’ll meet, and a family. For the sake of this post though, the reader is gonna act in ways that most songs say Juggalos act

Art walked down an empty alleyway toward the Main Street, his garbage bag dragging behind him. It was after the sun had gone down so he didn’t expect to see many people. However if he did Art already had their fate planned out. As he turned the corner he saw someone, someone interesting. You. You had just walked out of the small convenience store with a bottle of candy apple Faygo. Your makeup wasn’t new to Art, but it wasn’t even close to Halloween yet. So why’d you have it on?

Art continued to stare at the person who resembled him in a few ways. After a little too long you finally saw him. You gave him a smile, and Art took that as an invitation to come “talk” to you. “Oh, um hello” you said, keeping that smile on your face. Art wiggled his fingers at you in response. He pointed at your face then gave you a big thumbs up with an even bigger toothy smile. “Oh my makeup? Thanks dude”

That small interaction would change the course of your life.

The two of you had been going out, if you could even call it that, for almost a year now. Art never once thought he would find someone like you (not that he was looking but still). Someone who also has the appearance of a clown? And can be just as violent at time? You were absolutely perfect!

It was finally Halloween again. Art had the most romantic date he could think of planned out. Going around and killing a few people! You both left his hideout looking for some victims. Art liked to kill anyone his eyes looked upon, you on the other hand would rather kill people who were doing wrong. You made an exception for art on this day though.

Finally you two found a person. Some random man smoking and seemingly a bit drunk leaning against the wall of a building. “Is he up to your standards?” You jokingly said to Art. He smiled and put his pointer finger to his cheek twisting it bashfully. After he stopped he put that same finger in front of your face, telling you to wait. Art reached into his bag which seemed to fit infinite items and pulled out an axe, your axe. He was letting start the night of killing, aww! Art walked up to the man, trying to distract him. Only after a few seconds the guy started to get upset with Art and his strange behavior, leaning off the wall to be face to face with Art. “look dude I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing right now but you pissing me the fuck off.” Art looked at the man shyly, that expression quickly changing to a big smile as he saw you behind the man with your axe, cutting the man’s head clean off.

8 was the total for the night. 8 body’s means a lot of blood, and the 2 of you were drenched. That didn’t stop the 2 of you from walking into a familiar convenience store, going to the drink isle, and picking up a bottle of candy apple Faygo.

[twodogs-twocats]

We Fall Like Stars - A Sleep Token Novella

chapter 13

take me back to eden

WFLS Masterlist [READ ME for cw] I chapter 12 I chapter 14

Read this chapter on A03

“So what exactly are you looking for anyways?”

John drove slowly through the snow. The roads had been plowed, but enough snow had fallen since then that the truck was forced to move at a snail’s pace, lest they skid off the road. Despite the monochrome landscape, it was beautiful to look at. Ground melted into sky, the sun only a faint glimmer behind the clouds. The quiet was persuasive, putting her racing mind at ease.

Noa sat next to John in the middle of the bench seat, Vessel nestled in beside her. It was a tight fit, and Noa tried her hardest to keep her thoughts away from the feeling of Vessel’s thigh muscles against her leg, as they clenched and unclenched with every bump of the road. Apparently, road travel made him nervous.

II, III, and IV were snug in the back seat. They all stared excitedly out the window, although there was little to be seen besides white and the smudge of evergreens in the distance. Noa felt strangely like a mom taking her three children on a road trip. Did that make Vessel her husband in that scenario? No, she would not let her mind wander there. 

“I am not certain. Nothing in particular, but I will know it when I find it.” II answered, his blue eyes locked on the scenery out of the window.

Unsure of what II and Vessel were expecting to find, John and Noa had decided to drive through town along the appropriately named Main Street. They would pass by all of the highlights (a tiny bar, a tiny grocery store, a handful of government buildings), and then loop around and take a country road that ran through the forest on their way back to John’s home.

“It would help us know exactly where to take you if you could be more specific,” Noa said. In all honesty, she really couldn't care less if II found what he was looking for. In fact, maybe she preferred he didn’t. It meant Vessel would be around longer. 

“When my pod and the ship crashed, it was as though all power in the vehicles suddenly shut down,” Vessel responded. “Exactly the same both times. When we reached Earth’s atmosphere, power kicked back on enough for us to activate a few of the safety features on the ship and keep us from burning up on our way down. There’s a chance it was some sort of power source based here in your town that interfered with both of our spacecraft.”

She was certainly no science wiz, but she highly doubted there was anything like that in her town. 

“If that is all you are looking for, I don’t think you’ll find much. We barely have cell service out here, let alone something that could cause a literal spacecraft to spontaneously crash. But I’m happy to humor you if it helps.”

Everyone was quiet. Maybe she had been too blunt.

“It reminds me of home,” II said after a moment, breaking the silence. He was looking out the window still, and Noa agreed that the scene wasn’t too far off from The Front’s stark stone landscape.

Through the rear view mirror, she noticed II’s frown deepen. He looked tired, the corners of his eyes tugging downward. With a bit of a pang, Noa realized he was homesick. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. Perhaps because Vessel was in no hurry to leave, and III and IV seemed quite comfortable. Perhaps because she couldn’t imagine wanting to return to a planet whose queen demanded they enslave others and harm themselves in exchange for power. Perhaps because she was desperately praying for as much time with Vessel as possible.

But it was II’s home, after all. Maybe he suspected they would find nothing, but was desperate to do anything that mimicked progress.

“These forests can hide a lot of things,” she said, softening her tone. “Maybe we will find something. I mean, I have no clue how your ships work, so who’s to say it couldn’t be something really simple. If there is something in town messing with your ship, we’ll find it.”

Vessel took her hand, his smile full of gratitude. Through the rear view mirror, she saw II’s frown fade a bit. 

__________

For being in the middle of a snowstorm, town was awfully pretty. String lights had been hung from light pole to light pole, zig-zagging across the street and painting the snow below shades of red, blue, and green. Wreaths hung on every door, and the small central park boasted a plastic display of Santa’s sleigh and twelve glowing reindeer.

Vessel and his friends had their noses pressed up against the glass windows, taking everything in with wide eyes. They saw absolutely no one. Windows were dark, the roads clear of any other tire tracks. At least II’s assumption that no one would see them had so far proven correct.

John spoke merrily as he drove, providing detailed explanations of the history of the town, the purpose of each building and who owned it, as well as his own, rather lengthy, personal stories.

“That’s where I had my firs’ cigarette,” John said, pointing to a gas station. “I was only twelve a’ the time, if you would believe it. My older brother, god rest his soul, bought a pack and gave me one to try. My mom smacked my brother til Sunday when she smelled it on my breath.”

Even these simple stories sparked a whole host of questions from the group, so their drive through town was filled with lively conversation.

“What is that building?” Vessel asked, interrupting III’s avalanche of questions about the mechanics of streetlights. He pointed to the church.

It was by far the largest building in town, so it was no surprise he noticed it. The church was white, blending into the snow, but bits of its red steeple managed to peek through. As a non-denominational church, most of the town’s residents attended it.

While Noa did not grow up religious, her mother had taken her to this church from time to time in order to “expose her to different faiths.” Her mother claimed that each religion had its own practices to offer that Noa could pull from when she needed them, but Noa had never gotten much from church, other than her first kiss at a middle school lock-in while buzzing on Mountain Dew.

“It’s a church,” John explained. “People attend every Sunday to worship. There is singing and a sermon and, my favorite part – donuts.”

John’s explanation sparked II’s interest.

“Let us go inside,” he demanded.

“What happened to ‘we don’t even need to leave the car?”

“Obviously I cannot explore this place of worship from out here.”

II was asking for a smack in the face.

“We can’t,” Noa said.

“Why?”

“There might be people inside,” but as soon as she said it, they passed the empty parking lot. “And it's probably locked.” And I don’t want to, she thought to herself.

“Well, Noa, actually,” John whispered into her ear, “the church is left unlocked so that people can come pray whenever they like. A volunteer is usually posted, but I doubt anyone came today –”

“Excellent,” II chimed. “We will go investigate.”

__________

Just like the outside, the inside of the church was bare white walls and warm reddish wood. Plain and tidy. The stained glass windows were simple, but beautiful, the air heavy with the quiet that only comes with places of prayer. Soul spaces, her mother had called them.

John had remained by the front door to keep watch, although the chances anyone would show up were low. At least, John’s truck would be familiar to most of the town's residents, should someone happen to drive by.

II, III, and IV wandered around the sanctuary, taking in as much as they could. Even they seemed quieted by the stillness of the church. II perused through a large Bible, while III sniffed at the bottle of altar wine. IV fiddled with the strings of an acoustic guitar. 

“Can you understand what it says?”

She approached II at the altar as he read through a section of Psalms. 

“The translator allows me to understand your written language as well.”

“Why did you want to come here?”

His finger traced over a line of text. The patterns on his hands were captivating – swirls and dots that reminded her of constellations. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if II actually had a map of the stars inked on his skin. Her eyes drifted to the bit of text he read:

In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety. 

He was quiet for a moment, mouthing the words before his blue eyes met hers.

“John mentioned this is a place of worship. I wanted to see what that meant on your planet.”

Power-hungry and deceitful, just like the god on your planet, she thought. But as she gazed around the empty church, she wasn’t sure she really believed that. There was a softness to this space that put her at ease. As she looked at II, who had now returned to the text, his back rigid and brow furrowed, she wondered how he felt about his god and what she commanded him to do. Was it possible some part of him fought against her?

She found Vessel in a prayer room at the back of the Sanctuary. It too had white walls and a few wooden pews that stretched across the center of the space. Vessel stood in front of a stained glass window that took up the entirety of one wall. It depicted a naked Adam and Eve standing next to the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil redolent with bright red fruit. A yellow snake wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

Noa closed the door behind her, the floor creaking as she came to stand next to him. The window diffused the winter light, turning its harsh greyness into something soft and almost golden, speckled with floating dust motes.

“That’s Adam and Eve,” Noa explained. “It’s said they were the first man and woman God created. He made them in his image, and gave them the Garden of Eden to call home. They could eat anything in the garden, except,” she pointed at the tree, “they were not to eat from this tree or they would die.”

“Why would they die?” His voice was quiet and thoughtful. The colors of the window were painted across his eyes.

“I’m honestly not sure,” she answered. “I think to test their faith. The death part was metaphorical anyway.”

“So they did not pass the test?”

“No. This snake here,” she pointed now to the golden serpent, “was the devil in disguise. He convinced Eve to eat the fruit, and Eve convinced Adam. When God found out, he banished them from the Garden and cursed their offspring, which I guess is technically all of humanity.”

Vessel’s brow furrowed.

“How cruel. Just for one mistake?” “I’m not sure the gods are ever very forgiving.”

Vessel was quiet for a moment, his attention still focused on the window in front of him.

“We actually have a story about your planet,” he finally said. “A myth.”

“About Earth?”

“Yes.”

Noa suddenly recalled her first conversation with Vessel, the night he had crashed into her barn. When she had told him this planet was called Earth, he had recognized the name. That moment now felt so long ago, and she had forgotten all about it.

“How is that possible?”

“My kind are star-travellers. It is what we were born to do. The myth says that many eons ago, some of my kin landed on Earth, meaning to take earthlings as slaves for Sleep. Yet, when they arrived, they fell in love with this world and those who lived here. They decided to stay, disguising themselves to blend in. However, Sleep soon contacted them through their dreams, and said that unless they returned to her, she would send her armies to this planet and annihilate it. Rather than put Earth at risk, they returned home, where Sleep tortured them. It is said she buried them alive at the bottom of our ocean, that the roars of the waves are actually their cries of pain. Pain that is a constant source of sustenance for Sleep.”

Noa’s hands had turned to ice. 

“Do you believe it?” “For a long time no. I thought it was a myth meant to frighten us into obeying Sleep. Keep us from becoming too attached to those we were meant to conquer.” He turned to her now, and cupped her cheek, tracing his thumb along her cheekbone. “But now, I understand what may have driven my kind to stay here.”

“Will Sleep ever return here?” Noa asked. Vessel’s touch was not enough to put her at ease. If Sleep had a history with this planet, if she had sent her soldiers to conquer it in the past…

“She has never mentioned Earth to me. I had always thought Earth to be a legend, but if there's any semblance of truth to the myth, which I now suspect there may be, there must be something stopping Sleep from returning. It is not like her to let a failure lie.”

Not reassuring at all.

“Perhaps she does not know where it is,” he continued. “Sleep has very little knowledge of the stars, which is why she needs us.”

Noa glanced over her shoulder, almost as though Sleep might suddenly appear in the room with them. Vessel chuckled.

“Do not be afraid,” he said, his thumb now tracing her lips. “I am still commander of Sleep’s armies. I will protect you.”

But the questions racing through Noa’s mind did not disappear. How long would Sleep wait for Vessel’s return before she sent others to find him? If she took away his powers, could he still protect her? Protect himself?

“Vess –” she began, meaning to voice her concerns, but he cut her off with a kiss.

“I know,” he said. “There is a lot to think about. But for just a moment, let us not think of Sleep. You and I have not had nearly enough time together, and I have other things on my mind.”

“Like what?” she asked, although his gaze lingering on her lips indicated his answer.

“I am not sure I should utter such things in a holy place,” he said.

“This place is not holy to me,” she answered.

“What is holy to you, Noa?”

She placed one hand on his chest, wrapped the other around his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss began in a frenzy, their tongues immediately melding. She wanted more, more than he had ever given her, and she was tired of waiting.

His hands found the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up. He maneuvered so her back pressed against the stained glass, the contrast between the frozen window and Vessel’s warm body tearing at her senses. 

Her legs wrapped tight around him so she sat right against his hips. She had spent a lot of time thinking about what Vessel might be endowed with under the baggy pants he always wore. He was so human in every other way, would that part be any different?

She ground her hips into his and Vessel growled into her mouth in response. His fingers clawed into the flesh of her thighs, and Noa felt something hard press into her center. 

She pushed his robe off of his shoulders, running her hands along his strong arms, his shoulder blades, the ridges of his spine. She had wanted to explore him this way for so long. 

He continued to kiss her deeply, occasionally pulling her lips between his pointed teeth. He adjusted his hands, using one arm to hold her up and brought the other to her waist, beginning a slow journey underneath her clothes. Today it was a grey hoodie with a Miller Lite logo across the front, paired with literal mom jeans that she had to triple roll around the waist.

But she was too distracted to be embarrassed about her borrowed clothes. Every brush of Vessel’s hand set her skin aflame. Eventually, he reached her breast and snaked his fingers under the fabric of her bra. She bit back her moan, afraid to show him just how desperate she had been for his touch.

“Is this okay?” he broke the kiss to ask.

“For the love of god, Vess, please don’t stop.”

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, before he brought his lips to her neck. She sighed with pleasure, her eyes closed as she lost herself to the sensation of his lips leaving their mark on her sensitive flesh. 

“You are so beautiful, Noa,” he said, his strawberry-scented breath tickling her skin. “I have wanted you for so long.”

She raked her hands through his hair.

“I want more of you Vess. All of you.”

He smiled, kissing her again.

“It will be our mutual pleasure.”

He walked them over to a pew and set her down on her back. It was painfully hard beneath her, but the site of Vessel poised over her, bare chested in the sunlight was too much to resist. She didn’t care how it happened. All she cared about was him.

“Noa, you better get out here right now!”

Vessel’s head snapped towards the door. Please ignore them, she thought. They are probably just goofing off. Put your hands back on me and kiss me.

But of course, she could say none of this out loud, for the door to the prayer room flung open, John standing breathless in the doorway. He had enough grace to blush and look away while Vessel snatched his robe and Noa tugged her shirt down.

“I- I’m sorry, but you need to come help. I don’ know what to do.”

They followed John out into the sanctuary. A hollowness snuck into Noa’s chest. Would she ever have the chance to simply be with Vessel? To enjoy his company without the theatrics or the constant threat of him leaving?

She stared at his broad back, following him into the sanctuary. Had they ever really stood a chance?

“III, what are you doing?” Vessel’s voice forced her back to reality. III stood on the altar, his eyes fierce, his hands wrapped around the throat of a woman.

[anitabrassi]

First Lines tag

I was tagged by @applysome to share the first lines of some of my recent stories and/or WIPs. Since I don't want to repeat sentences of my published (very recently) fics, I picked up some WIPs. I love doing these little games.

These are random picks from my folder - some I am actively writing and some are sorta frozen in place.

Also please bear in mind these are not checked and edited at all, and English is not my first language.

Ovation Viper 1979 AU Joshlex story of how Alex got his discontinued Ovation Viper guitar

"You should smile more, Alex. Like this." Taylor flashes her ridiculously huge smile – it's little bit too toothy, little bit hysterical, but Alex fears to be blinded nevertheless. "You're no longer in your gloomy England, you're in California now. Everyone smiles in California, sun makes you smile in California. Give them what they want. Smile through the tears!" She puts up a show, not just for him, but for everyone around. Taylor is a star at Momo's Diner and she can do no wrong – no one dares to say she's embarassing or fake, because the thing is, she's right. She truly is an embodiement of Californian girl and Californian approach to life, although she's from far Tennessee. No one can tell. She's got Californian heat and everlasting sun etched into her skin, her freckles, her beach hair, her smile, her eyes colour of Californian sky. Bunch of colleagues collected around their smoking spot behind the building hums in agreement. She's serious all of sudden. "No, really, you should smile more. Chat with people, make them ease a bit. It helps."

Bad Cop, Good Cop it's just Milex smut and it's, well, 18+

He'd just opened the entrance door - home, sweet home - when staccato of swift trot filled his ears and hot, yet breezy breath spoke against freshly shaven skin on his nape, "Miles Kane? You're under arrest." Taken aback in moment of surprise, he could hear and feel the metal hoop of handcuffs locking around his right wrist, along with birds chirping gleefully in the street, oblivious to the injustice going on at entrance of his own home, and then Alex pushed him through the door into the hallway. They'd talked about this, a long long time ago. So long the idea had even exited Miles' head completely already, but it was hammered back in when Alex pressed him against the wall with full force of his body and locked the other half of handcuffs around his left hand. It emitted sharp metallic sound, loud ktktktktk as the mechanism of the cuff locked itself in place. He did it very quickly and very experiencedly. This was the moment when Miles was probably expected to start fighting back - but he was just too shocked and little bit out of focus too, feeling like he's a main star of some nowadays Truman Show.

work title: Cargo a mysterious Milex/Joshlex fic, very AU

Two days prior, he gets a small envelope with key inside and an instruction "Just for a case of emergency". He doesn't know what that means or what the key is for, but he doesn't ask, because it's part of his job - you do not ask questions, you do not talk shit, you follow orders. You just drive. He waits for his employer outside the bank. The money he'll see in a leather case in Mr Kane's hand will be for him, a nice fat pack of cash he can put under his pillow later and have a sweet dreams laying his head over it. He weighs the key in his palm - it's small, black, very simple. Light almost as feather. Mr Kane gets out of the building, good mood written all over his face. Josh slips the key back into the envelope and puts it into inner pocket of his suit jacket. He's a jolly fellow, Mr Kane, or at least on the very first glance; gets into the car, greets Josh swiftly and takes off his sunglasses. Offers him a mint gum, but Josh has his own stored in a slot behind the shifter, next to coffee in small paper cup. "For you, sir," Josh says and hands the coffee cup over to his employer. "From Savorini's." Mr Kane is careful not to burn his fingers. "Thanks. You're fucking best, you know that?"

work title: Bang it's Milex AU

"Oi! The fuck! Ya bloody wanker! Stop the ca–" An inevitable impact. There is a loud bang, deafening crash, the sound of crackling glass followed by hysterical, piercing and endless sound of a horn. Miles stops shouting at the rear-view mirror and jumps out of his old Ford. He runs through the puddles although he got his expensive shoes on, the only pair he's got for occasions like running errands in the town and attending family celebrations. An unknown car is wedged into his old green tractor all of sudden and people are already getting out of their homes, the horn still yelling, rallying curious bystanders. "Ya fucking madman!" Miles keeps ranting on, the rhythm of it joining the beat of his quick run towards the crashed car.

Everyone of my writing mutuals was already tagged, so don't forget to do that!

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Is this a prison sentence? No, if it was a prison sentence, you would be in a cell, bound and chained. 

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t have had the ropes removed from your wrists to shake hands with Bang Chan, Jarl of Miroh. 

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t be being led throughout the keep by the Jarl’s squire to your room. 

And if it was a prison sentence, you most certainly would not be thinking about if you were allowed access to the collection of books that decorate every shelf in the building.

“Miroh is pleasant this time of year,” Jeongin’s voice brings you out of your head. “The Harvest Festival is in a few weeks.”

Erbus had only two festivals: one for the Summer Solstice and one for the Winter Solstice. Even then, the celebrations were scarce. 

Based on what your mother used to tell you, the celebrations used to be poem worthy. People would dance in the streets, food covered every inch of the tables, songs would be sung for the entire night and into the next morning.

Not anymore. Now they were merely a formality. Some shopkeepers would set up their wares outside the store. A few taverns would serve a special dish, perhaps charge half price for ale. 

Once Elves were banished, everything took a turn for the worst in Erbus. 

“I have never heard of The Harvest Festival.” You answered Jeongin. You might as well attempt to be civil with him; you still feel bad for that nasty kick to the stomach. 

Also, if this is your new life, may as well make friends. 

Jeongin looked over at you surprised, “Really? I thought all kingdoms on the continent celebrated The Harvest Festival.”

“Nay, not in Erbus.”

Jeongin nodded, “Do you enjoy celebrations?”

You thought for a moment, keeping your eyes in front of you to watch where you were walking. “I do, I enjoy them very much.”

“Then you will love The Harvest Festival.”

A small smile creeps over your face. “I trust your word then.”

After climbing a set of steps, Jeongin takes you down a hallway with doors lining the walls.

“This is where higher level positions of the court sleep. Lord Minho, Felix, and Sir Changbin’s rooms are here as well.” 

Looking at each door, they all looked the same. Except for one door that had a floral wreath on the front of it. Orange and purple flowers blooming on the ring. 

“Is that Felix’s room?”

“Aye, perceptive, my Lady.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “I am no Lady. Please refer to me casually.”

Jeongin smiles and nods. When you look at him, you see the little dimples in his cheeks and it makes your heart melt. He looks so boyish when he smiles. 

“Here we are then.” He says, opening one of the doors. The door directly next to Felix’s. 

“I am to sleep up here?” You asked incredulously. 

Jeongin blinked at you, “You are the Jarl’s mercenary, of course.” 

He said it like it was the most obvious statement ever. 

Truly, you were expecting to be put into a shared room littered with cots and one chest to put your belongings. Maybe if you were lucky there would be a divider between beds for some privacy. 

“I…” your voice got caught in your throat, “I have my own room?”

Jeongin just stares at you as if you have three heads. His hand is still on the doorknob, keeping the door open. 

“Yes, Y/N.” He smiles, it reaches his eyes, “You have your own room.”

Finally, you look away from him and into the room. The sun is setting, bathing the space in a brilliant orange and pink light. From your position in the hallway, you’re only able to see the foot of the bed and straight to the grand window on the opposite wall from the door. 

It overlooked the heart of Miroh’s capital. In front of the window there was a cushioned bench tucked against it, creating a perfect nook to sit in. Various throw blankets draped over the red pillows. 

Jeongin watched your face with a hint of his own amusement before stepping into the room and motioning for you to follow him. 

Slowly, you let your feet bring you inside. It’s already warm, but not in an uncomfortable way. In a ‘blanket wrapped around your shoulders’ way. 

That warmth was coming from the small fireplace inside the wall opposite the bed. 

The large bed sat against the left wall, jutting out into the room. A large, fabric canopy covered the mattress. You had seen drawings of beds like this in books before. Usually princesses slept upon them.

The softest of linens covered the mattress with at least eight pillows on top of it. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden chest, a circular rug underneath it. 

On the other side of the bed, to the left of the window, was a vanity. A plush stool tucked underneath it. 

Reds and golds decorated every cloth in the room in a regal manor. 

Your feet carried you towards the bed, fingers reaching down and running over the blankets. It’s so soft you could cry. 

On either side of the fireplace were two large bookcases. The shelves were scarce, which, to you, meant endless possibilities. A wardrobe against the wall next to the door. 

The flames in the hearth lick up the walls and crackle in a comforting manor. 

Is this truly Miroh? This is the same Miroh that you were warned about? 

Back when you were a child, when you would play pretend with the other kids, the evil monsters were always from Miroh.

“I never had my own bedroom before.” You whisper quietly, keeping your hand on the blankets. “Even as a youngling, the house my family lived in had one room. There was one table, one cooking spit, and one bed.”

Jeongin stands by the door, his lips press together in a thin line as if he doesn’t know what to say. He only watches you move around with a sympathetic look to him. 

“Up until today, I slept on a bedroll every night, the night sky was my ceiling. Most summers I would save my coin so that I may pay for a room in the inn on those blustering winter nights where I just couldn’t take the cold.”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, you let yourself feel the softness underneath your body. 

Every night, you’ll get to sleep on this bed every single night. 

Your fingers glide over the fabric, it feels so luxurious and divine. The pillows look so soft. 

“Well,” Jeongin grabs your attention, “I will leave you to decompress. I believe you’ve had a long day.”

The joke pushes a laugh from your chest. 

“If you are looking to train at all, you could always join us on the training grounds tomorrow. The guards and soldiers all train together at first light.”

“You train with the guards?”

“Aye, even a Jarl’s squire needs to practice his sword arm.”

You smile at him, “I’ll consider it.” There’s a pause. “I apologize for the kick, Jeongin.” You apologize bashfully.

The squire simply laughs, it sounds so genuine. “No need, really. If anything, I should be appealing to you to teach me some of your abilities.”

“If I decide to show my face on the training grounds, I’ll practice with you as my apology.”

Jeongin smiles back at you and nods. “I’m holding you to that.” He laughs, “I will leave you to it then. If you ever need to find me, my quarters are down by the armory.”

You watch him turn to leave before a thought comes to your head. “Oh, Jeongin!” You catch his attention, he whips around to look at you. “Do– ah– are we able to get food somewhere?”

He chuckles, “The kitchens are always open. Help yourself.”

You nod a thank you and he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. 

There’s a few moments where you sit there, listening to Jeongin’s footsteps fade away. 

Is this real? Are you going to wake up any second now and you’re going to be chained to a torture table to be drawn and quartered? 

Quickly, you reach over and pinch your arm. 

No, this is real. The small sting of pain fades almost immediately. 

Your room. This is your room. 

Your body falls backwards onto the bed and your hands cover your face. A bright smile stretching over your lips no matter how much you try to stop yourself. Bubbling laughter comes from your chest and you cover your mouth to stop it.

How is this even possible?

The plushness of the mattress keeps you there for an undetermined amount of time. It’s like the furniture came with invisible arms, keeping you wrapped up in its tight embrace. It’s the comfiest thing you’ve ever laid on.

The sunlight in your room begins to shift and darken as the day passes. You simply lay there with your eyes closed. Not quite sleeping, but also not quite awake. 

Three quick knocks at your door brings you out of your dream-like state.

Slowly, you stand up and make your way towards the door. Who could that be?

When you pull open the door, you peak outside warily and you’re met with with a ray of sunshine. 

Felix’s smile immediately brings the sun back into your room and you open the door a bit wider to greet him. 

“Y/N,” he smiles even brighter, “I believe I promised you the safe return of your belongings.”

When you look down, you notice a bundle of armor with a sword on top. A small sigh of relief comes out as you grab everything from him. 

“Thank you very much, Felix.”

“It is no trouble at all. I am relived to see you in front of me, I have to say.”

“Oh?” You ask, turning around. You walk back into your room, leaving the door open for Felix to come in. The cleric follows after you, but sticks close to the door. 

“Aye, some part of me worried that you would not take kindly to the Jarl’s offer.” He admits. 

“It is not like I had a choice,” you mumble, setting your armor down on top of the chest. “It was either take the deal or be tried and hung.”

Felix makes a noise that he agrees with you, a small laugh coming after it. 

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you as you take your sword in your hands, pulling it from its sheath slightly to inspect it. 

Sliding the sword back in, you lean it against your bed. 

“Y/N.” Felix’s voice catches your attention. 

Without turning to look at him, you answer, “Yes, Felix?”

“Are you certain you took a tonic?”

Your heart thuds against your chest, a chill ripping through your arms. But you don’t show any sort of reaction, you take it in stride. 

“Quite. I had picked it up from an alchemist a few weeks ago. It proved quite useful, no?”

“It is just…” When Felix trails off, that’s when you choose to look at him. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes watching the fire dance. “In my years of study, I have never seen a regenerative tonic have effects longer than an hour. If you were to have taken it before-“ he cuts himself off, sighing and finally looking back at you. 

Those blue eyes. It looks like they see right through you. It’s a miracle you don’t begin squirming. 

“Do you remember which alchemist you purchased it from? Perhaps I can study it?”

Quickly, you shook your head. “I’m afraid I do not. They were a traveling merchant I met on the roads of Erbus.”

The lies fell through your teeth too easily. This was more than lying, though, it was self preservation. 

Felix stares at you for a long moment, an emotion flickers behind his eyes briefly, his eyebrows twitched and his lip quivered. 

“I see. I fear it may be hard to obtain this tonic again, then. You see, I never travel to Erbus, I go out of my way not to.”

Your eyebrows pull together and your body turns towards his. “Felix?”

“Have a great night, Y/N.” 

Without another word, Felix turns on a heel and quickly walks out of your room, closing the door behind him. 

“That was… odd…” you whisper to yourself, staring at the door.  ----------------------------------------------

You waited until the moon was in the sky for at least 4 hours before venturing out of your room to find the kitchens. If you waited any longer, your stomach may have eaten itself. 

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. Every single hallway in this keep looked identical. 

Sconces with lit candles sat between windows that allowed moonlight to stream in. Deep red curtains hung on either side of each window.

Occasionally you would see a small table with two chairs on either side, a candle or a bundle of flowers would be on top. 

And of course, shelves upon shelves of books. 

Most of the titles you had never even heard of. Some were in different languages and others appeared to be sold old as if they were stolen from tombs of the ancient. 

You were stopped in front of one of the many windows, looking outside to what looked like the gardens. 

Even at night, some of them seemed to glow. Perhaps Felix had some part of that, they looked like the flowers that hung in the healing ward. 

A large stone fountain sat in the middle of a light cobblestone path, lined with beautiful rose bushes. The flowers were no longer in bloom, but you were able to identify them, even from this distance.

When you turned on your heel to leave, you accidentally smacked right into a body. A startled yelp leaving your lips. 

“By The Six, I apologize. I usually have my bearings.” You say quickly, looking at who you ran into. His hands hot shot out to grab your arms to keep you steady. 

He was tall, dressed in the same black leather armor that Minho was wearing earlier. Straighter brown hair hung over his forehead and stopped right above a sharp set of eyes. His lips were pulled in a straight line. 

“You must be the mercenary then.” His voice is low, and if you’re being honest, much softer than you were expecting. 

With the way his eyes track even the smallest movement you make, you expected his voice to be harsh.

“I am. I hope what you’ve heard is not too cruel.”

He takes his hands away, but you can still feel the warmth of where he grabbed them.

“What I heard is that an outsider came into Miroh, slaughtered four men in an extraordinary fashion, and was then offered a job.”

“I—“ you open your mouth to defend yourself but he cuts you off again. 

“I must say, I could not wait to see you for myself. It is not every day we have such excitement within the keep, nonetheless receive a new court member.” A smirk crosses his face and your mouth snaps shut. “My position is similar to yours, except when the Jarl sends me on jobs, no one knows about it.”

“A rogue, then?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Your arms come up and cross over your chest. 

“Aye, you may call it that.”

“You and I are two sides of the same coin then.” A smirk on your face mirrors his for a moment. His sneaky, playful nature seems to have rubbed off on you rather quickly. 

“It seems that way.” 

The two of you study each other for a moment.

“You have a name?” You ask.

“Seungmin.”

“Can you do me a favor, Seungmin?” His response to you is a lift of the brow. “Can you please show me where the kitchens are in this maze of a castle.”

A soft chuckle comes from his chest and the corners of his lips twitch. “Aye, I can do that.”

Without another word, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks in another direction. “Let’s go, Y/N.” ----------------------------------------------

“Erbus? I do not see why you were so adamant on returning there.” Seungmin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was leaning against one of the countertops in the kitchens. 

The staff went to sleep hours ago, leaving the ingredients to you. Instead of actually making something, you chose to sample some of the bread and cheese that was available.

“Perhaps it is not the best, but it is where I was born and raised.” you answered, taking a bite out of the loaf of bread in your hand. 

Seungmin was holding the other half in his. He took a bite. “I have heard naught but cruelty and stories of woe from Erbus.”

“I have only heard the same of Miroh. My father used to tell me that the former Jarl was going to come get me during the night if I did not finish my chores.”

The rogue laughs under his breath. “We had similar stories about Erbus. As a youngling I was told that one of the villages was constantly bathed in flame.”

You bite your bread, “We do,” you tease, “it is awfully hot there this time of year.” The quick joke falls from your lips and is well received by the rogue, who lets out another easy chuckle.

“Are you always awake this late Seungmin?”

“Nay, I was departing for an assignment when I ran into you.”

Your jaw falls open, a bit shocked at his statement. “I apologize, I did not mean to distract you.”

He held up his hand to stop your rambling. 

“It is quite alright, a quick detour to the kitchens will not cause my quest to fail.”

You let out a small breath before taking another bite of your bread. “Are you able to tell me what your mission is?”

Seungmin only smiles, “Of course not, silly mercenary. I would not even want to tell you and bore you with all the details.”

He pushes his weight off the counter and walks towards the door, passing you on the way out. Seungmin’s shoulder brushes lightly against yours as he passes you. “I trust you can find your way back to your chambers?”

“Probably not, but I will find it eventually.”

“Have a great night, Y/N. Speak soon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to your own thoughts once more. Every time you enter a new part of the keep, you’re met with a new face. 

With the bread now in your stomach, you turn and fill a mug with some fresh water and take a long sip.

It’s your first night in Miroh. The first night of many to come it seems. When do you suppose that the Jarl will give you your first mission? What sort of quests is he going to send you out on anyway?

He’s the Jarl of the entire hold, what would he need you for that he cannot send out guards?

It wasn’t until you finished the mug of water that you realized how thirsty you were. When was the last time you had a sip of water? Most likely this morning when you and Guatier came to the hold.

That was another thing, what ever happened to him?

You assume he was killed based upon what they tried to do with you. But killing him seems too nice for what he did to them.

Perhaps he was down in their dungeons.

That was a question for another day.

Tomorrow, you’ll take Jeongin up on that offer to train with him and the rest of the guards. 

But, for right now there was an enormous, cozy, warm mattress in your own personal bedroom waiting for you to rest your head in. 

That was if you ever found your room again.