#now I’m sitting here on the concrete without my wallet or nothing but my phone and headphones and pissed asf

[kitsuna21]

KMS RN

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window. 

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'. 

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate. 

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain. 

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts. 

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by. 

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered. 

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove. 

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?” 

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.” 

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said. 

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room. 

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless. 

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment. 

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…” 

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice. 

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

[writethelifeyouwant]

Paint It Black

Pairing: Sam x Dean 

Rating: 16+

Tags: wax play, unholy thoughts in church, incest, making out, angst

Word Count: 3.8k 

Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Wax Play Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Locked In | @first-time-wincest-fest 10x16 Paint It Black 

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

The dreary grey of the Worcester sky matches the mood Sam is in as they trudge into the church on the main drag of the historic town centre. Dean is so convinced there is a case to be had here, but so far, Sam hasn’t seen any concrete proof. Just – as he had predicted – some unfortunately angled nude selfies on one of the deceased's confiscated cell phones. He had been less than pleased about that – to Dean’s endless amusement.

Sam leaves Dean with Sister Mathias to do what he does best, though Sam does have doubts about whether his brother’s charms will work on a woman sworn to celibacy in the service of Jesus Christ. Still, she wouldn’t be the most unlikely person to have succumbed to Dean’s flirting – Sam definitely holds that prize. Shaking himself from those thoughts – what a place to think about your weird incestuous crush, Jesus – fuck. Sorry, God – Sam follows the EMF meter in a circle around the perimeter of the congregational hall. The readings are consistent but low level, like a background energy of spiritual activity which, for a church, is not actually all that concerning to him. When a stronger surge registers at the entrance to a side chamber, Sam pushes at the door, happy to find it unlocked, and he ducks into the dark room after checking over his shoulder and seeing Dean standing quite a bit closer to the nun than strangers should be to each other.  

Inside, Sam can’t find the light switch, so he grabs his phone and turns on the flashlight, aiming it at the EMF metre to get a look at the readings. The spike that had registered outside the door a moment ago has died out, and only small blips are twitching the needle on its face. He shrugs to himself, but figures he may as well check out the rest of the room now he’s here. In the short beam of light from his phone, he can see stacks of bibles and hymnals, boxes of hosts, and piles of candlesticks – your typical Catholic accoutrements. A creak behind him makes Sam spin around, only to find Dean ducking into the room, looking furtive.

“Hey, man. Find anything?” Dean keeps his voice down.

“No,” Sam shakes head, holding up his EMF reader to demonstrate his lack of supernatural evidence.

“Yours broken?” Dean looks quizzically at Sam and reaches to retrieve his own from his pocket. “Mine was reading off the charts outside…” but he trails off when he sees his own metre is just as blank as Sam’s.

“Weird, right?” Sam shines his light towards Dean and makes his way back to his brother, when the light on his phone flickers and goes out.

“Dude, turn the light back on,” Dean demands in a hushed tone. Sam shakes his phone frustratedly, but he can’t get the light to reignite. His whole phone has gone dead.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters to himself, shoving it back in his jeans and carefully stepping the rest of the way to Dean. “Mine’s dead – try yours?”

“Mine’s in the car.”

“You didn’t bring your cell phone?” Sam asks, incredulous and exasperated. Dean is such a fucking idiot sometimes, it astounds him.

“Shut up,” Dean scoffs. “Let’s just get out of here.” He turns to open the door and step back into the church vestibule – but it’s stuck.

“Dude, open the door,” Sam shoves at Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m trying, dude. It’s locked.”

“You locked us in?” Sam hisses, resolving to smack Dean’s head against the door to get it open, if that’s what it takes.

“I didn’t lock us in, douchewad. I think this place is haunted – spook must’a blocked the door somehow.”

“Well, un-block it.”

“I’m trying, it won’t budge.” Dean hammers at the door, jangles the knob, kicks the baseboard – nothing. “Find some light, will ya? Can’t see a damn thing.”

Sam huffs, annoyed, but turns toward the table with the stack of candlesticks he’d seen earlier and grabs for a couple tapers. He passes one to Dean and pulls a packet of matches out of his wallet to light his, then taps the flame to Dean’s candle. Sam drops against the table, brooding, and not wild about being trapped in a small, dark room with his brother.

Things had been tense between them since Dean’s return to humanity. Sam isn’t precisely sure why, though. From his perspective, he’s relieved to have Dean back after spending so long separated and worried about whether the brother he had known had permanently dissolved into a demonic version of his former self. Dean, on the other hand, hasn’t been acting very relieved to see Sam. Sam isn’t sure what’s running through Dean’s brain these days, but whatever it is, it’s something he’s trying to keep off his brother’s radar, that much Sam’s sure of.

“So what’s your plan of action here, Rambo?”

“I don’t know, use some of your hair gel to grease the lock?” Dean snarks, crouching down to peer at the keyhole. Sam laughs reluctantly at the jibe, then hisses as a pearl of hot wax drops onto the back of his hand. Dean turns, concerned at Sam’s outburst, to see his little brother shaking his hand agitatedly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam flexes his fingers to break off the wax that’s drying there. “Just dripped some wax on my hand.”

“Kinky,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Sam grimaces, hoping it’s too dark for Dean to see the blush creeping up his neck. Please, God, do not let him know about…

“Ooh, touchy subject?” Dean pouts, tauntingly. “What Sammy, got a wax kink?”

“Dean, shut up,” Sam realises too late that denying it is the wrong move. He absolutely just confirmed for Dean that he does have a wax kink.

“Well, well, little brother,” Dean grins, eyes glinting like a wolf’s in the dark of the small cupboard. “Someone is more adventurous than I gave him credit for – guess church is the place for confessions, heh?”

“Dean, I swear…” Sam grits his teeth, coming up blank on a decent threat to follow up with.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sammy.” Dean is stalking closer to Sam now, his resemblance to a predator more and more pronounced with each step towards his brother, who is inconveniently trapped against the table he’s sitting on. The candle in Dean’s hand is dripping down its body, the trails of wax building over themselves, the rivulets driving their way towards Dean’s skin. “S’just a little wax, nothing scary.”

“I’m not scared, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but his hackles are up. He’s not scared of the wax – he is scared of how his body will react if Dean drips wax onto him as he’s threatening to do right now.

“Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Sam is genuinely nonplussed.

“Hold out your hand.” Dean’s voice rumbles through the small space left between them, and Sam can’t explain it, but he obeys. Like Dean is a magnet and his body is no longer under his own control. His hand extends towards Dean, stilling in the pool of light flickering beneath the candlestick in the older man’s hand. Slowly – cautiously – Dean tips the candle, directing the flow of the wax to Sam’s outstretched fingertips. The first drops sizzle against Sam’s skin, his nerves burning from the heat of the wax and the heat of the arousal that’s blooming in his belly. Dean moves the tip of the candle to drizzle over the tender skin of Sam’s upturned wrist without needing his eyes to guide its path, because the green orbs glinting in the warm candlelight are focused solely on Sam’s hazel ones, which are watering with the effort of not flinching.

“So” –Sam can feel Dean’s words against his cheek– “do you confess?”  

Sam gulps. Looks down to the pearly splashes on his skin, outlined in blush. He looks back up to Dean, who’s standing taller than him for once because he’s still leaning against the table, and he takes a deep breath.

“Agents?” A knock sounds at the cupboard door and it creaks open, dousing the brothers in light. They fly apart, and Dean drops his candle, the flame going out against the stone floor.

“Father,” Dean squawks, brushing his hands against his trousers like he’s cleaning them off, and pushing them in his pockets. “What time do you hear confession today?”

Sam hovers to the side of the confessional, trying to look like he isn’t eavesdropping, which is difficult because he is listening to everything Dean is saying about ‘Gina’ to the surely perplexed priest. They’d agreed, after connecting the dots on the murder/suicide victims’ relationship preferences, that Dean confessing his womanising ways to Father Delaney would be decent bait for this spirit. Sam had helped Dean work out a brief ‘script’ based on the infidelities of the previous victims, and he was pleased to hear that so far, Dean had mostly stuck to plan. He surreptitiously sneaks his EMF metre out of his pocket to check if the readings had picked anything up. Small jumps are registering and disappearing so fast Sam isn’t sure he’s actually seeing them but that has to mean a spirit is listening in – right? – even if they aren’t nearby right now, maybe they can still hear Dean, who has been in there for a while now, it occurs to Sam.

Sam sidles closer to the wooden partition and listens. Dean’s voice is quieter now but he is still talking to the father.

“–there’s things, people... feelings, that I- I want to experience differently than I have before. Or, maybe even for the first time.”

What on Earth was he talking about? That was definitely not part of the script they’d agreed on, so those words must really be Dean’s. Dean’s actual confession.

“–just starting to think that … maybe there’s more to it all than I thought–”

Well, that could mean anything, Sam told himself. More to what? He jumps back to Dean’s first statement in his mind. People and feelings that he wants to experience differently. Sam can’t help but think – me. He wants to experience me differently. He wants to experience his feelings for me differently. He remembers all the times Dean has shown his utter devotion to Sam, to their bond, their family of two. How do you experience that depth of love differently? Sam can only think of one answer, and his heart jackrabbits against his ribs at the thought. Could Dean actually want him the way Sam wants Dean?

The confessional door squeaks open and Sam breaks out of his reverie and moves towards the doors of the church, but not before Dean clearly noticed that he had been standing close enough to the wooden booth to be listening in.

“How’d I do Samwise?” Dean asks under his breath, smirking as they make their way down the aisle of pews.

“Well, hopefully, jerks like you are just what our ghost is looking for,” Sam smiles tightly, distracted by his own thoughts racing around his mind, and follows Dean back to the car.

Ghost roasted to the recommended internal temperature, and promiscuous nun left permanently behind them, Sam steers the Impala onto the freeway exit and starts them on the long drive from Massachusetts back to the Bunker. Dean had opted for the passenger seat when they packed up their gear at the motel, which was Sam’s first indication that something was most definitely not right. His mind flashes back to the confession he overheard the day before. People… feelings, that I want to experience differently… or maybe even for the first time. Sam hasn’t been able to keep his brain from playing the words on a loop since he’d heard them.

“So,” Sam hums, needing to fill the silence but not knowing how to keep himself from blurting out what he desperately wants to ask, “just back home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, looking over at Sam. “You know, unless we find something else to do along the way back,” he shrugs. Sam’s brain unhelpfully supplies, I know something else we could do, before he shuts that back down again. He glances away from the road and towards his big brother, sitting sullenly beside him. Seemingly of their own accord, his eyes scan downwards, coming to rest on the view of Dean’s hand in his lap, fiddling with a loose thread on the seam of his jeans next to his zipper. They go over a pothole and Sam’s eyes slam back on the dark highway in front of them.

“You know...” Sam tugs the corners of his lips into a tight smile, trying to inject a casual levity in his voice. He can’t just let this hang, he needs to know. “You were in that confessional a long time.” He looks back to Dean, trying to judge the stony face for a reaction. Dean’s mouth gives a half hearted twitch as if to say ‘yeah, so?’, so Sam tries again. “Look man, I’m just saying… I’m your brother. If you ever need to talk about anything, with anybody, you got somebody right here next to you.” If Sam could just make Dean see that it was okay to have emotions and feelings, and it was okay to need to talk to someone about them, maybe Dean would pick him to do that with. And even if talking is all it ever is, that’s fine with Sam. All he’s ever needed is as much as Dean is willing to give him.

Sam looks at Dean again, waiting for some kind of response, but all he gets is a short, dismissive, “Okay.” He doesn’t know why he expected more from Dean the Wordless Wonder, but he decides to try again from a different angle. Whatever these things are that Dean wants to ‘experience differently’ or ‘for the first time’, Sam knows why he’s worrying about that right now.

“I heard,” Sam starts again, “what Sister Mathias was saying about, you know, hiding pain by taking on a mission and, I- I know that’s what you’re doin’, a little bit, and it’s okay” –Sam’s rambling now– “I mean, it’s fine. I get it. I’ve done it before, too. But… I don’t buy for one second that the Mark is a terminal diagnosis. So, don’t go making peace with that idea.” Sam can’t have Dean make peace with that, he can’t have him sitting back waiting to die on him, that’s not gonna happen. “There has to be a way. There will be a way, and we will find it. That’s what we do. So believe that.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean looks at Sam forlornly, no doubt knowing he’s causing Sam some amount of pain, but not knowing how to fix it without giving up his own surly conviction that this Mark is gonna end him. Sam knows Dean isn’t ready for that, yet, but he can’t help pushing him.

“You wanna—” Sam scoffs, feeling like he knows the answer, but resolving to ask anyhow “— uh, try that again like you mean it.” I need you to mean it, he thinks to himself. He looks at Dean again, letting the puppy dog eyes surface in the vain hope Dean might give him what he wants. Dean blinks at him blankly, but then the crease around his eyes soften, just a touch.

“Okay,” he grunts, going back to staring at the road ahead.

It’s a twenty three hour drive from Massachusetts back to Kansas, so Sam pulls them over at a motel sometime in the middle of the night to get some shut eye and rest up for the next leg of the journey. Dean hasn’t said much since their last conversation – if you could even call it a conversation – so Sam has had a few hours to stew in the tense silence that swarmed the cab of the impala and think through all the possible permutations of meanings that could be behind Dean’s admission to Father Delaney.

As much as Sam doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he really really doesn’t want to give his inner depravity even the slightest hit of open air – not after he’d spent so long burying it in the deepest recesses of his mind – he cannot come up with any explanation for Dean’s words than the one he so desperately wants to believe is true. That Dean wants him the same way that Sam has wanted Dean for so long, that Dean wants to know what it’s like to be more than brothers. And as soon as Sam let that thought form in his mind about a hundred miles back, he couldn’t shout himself down. And if it’s true… if Dean wants him… he has to know.

Sam watched Dean sling his bag onto the foot of the springy motel bed and slouch off to the bathroom to piss after their long drive. When he’s done Sam scurries into the bathroom, wondering how he’s going to do this. Because if he doesn’t ask, he knows he’ll never get to sleep. He splashes some water over his face and drags his hands through his hair, tugging hard, hoping the pain would help ground him. Then he takes a deep breath, and pushes back into their room.

“Dean,” Sam starts lamely, not knowing what he wants to say and floundering to the first thing he can land on, “are you sure you’re okay?” Fucking great, Sam, you know he’s not gonna answer that.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean grunts, tugging his t-shirt off and chucking it on the floor.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam sighs and steels himself, “what you said, in the confessional—”

“I knew it,” Dean points his finger at Sam accusingly. “I knew you were listening in.”

“Why shouldn’t I have been, it was supposed to be a fake confession,” Sam defends. Dean huffs, full of derision, and turns away from Sam. “Talk to me,” Sam pleads, moving closer to Dean. “Tell me what’s eating you. Because I know something is. You’ve been different with me since you got back, so just... tell me,” Sam reaches out for Dean’s shoulder. Dean spins and catches Sam’s arm in the air, the Mark shining against the skin of his forearm.

“You wanna know what I was talking about, Sammy?” Dean growls, grip tightening on Sam’s wrist. “You want me to tell you just how much this thing on my arm has messed me up? All the shit that’s been in my head since I was a demon? All the fucked up things that demon made me think? About my own brother?”

Sam’s breath catches in his chest. “Tell me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Dean’s face. On his lips.

Dean surges forward – man of action over words that he is – and kisses Sam violently. It’s not tender, or loving, like Sam had dreamt about since he’d been a boy. It’s hungry and desperate, and Sam doesn’t have a problem with that. If Dean wanted to eat him alive he would let him. They break apart, chests heaving, the last pieces of them touching are Dean’s teeth clawing at Sam’s lower lip. Sam’s eyes peel open slowly, as if this will all evaporate when he looks at Dean, as if this is all still in his head. The pain in Dean’s eyes is radiant, and Sam realises that Dean thinks he’s ruined things now. Dean thinks Sam will leave him for this.

Dean backs up slightly, putting even more space between him and Sam, waiting on tenterhooks for the outburst that he’s clearly expecting from his little brother. Sam approaches Dean cautiously, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. He raises his arm and Dean flinches, but he continues to reach forward and lays hand against Dean’s neck, his grip stopping the older man’s further retreat. When Sam kisses Dean it’s slow and measured. He tries to pour every ounce of reassurance he can muster into Dean’s body, tries to tell him it’s okay. Tries to tell himself this is okay. Because even if they both want this – does that really make it alright? But when Dean kisses him back, Sam decides he doesn’t care anymore.

Sam starts to back Dean towards the bed, pushes him down on the edge, straddles his lap, doing everything he can to be just that little bit closer to his brother, just a little more connected – together.

“Wait, Sam,” Dean pulls back, his hands on Sam’s chest. “Wait, don’t you wanna talk about this… or something?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head and ducks in for another kiss, scared that Dean will manage to talk himself out of this if they stop now.

Dean pulls back again to protest. “We aren’t moving kinda fast here?”

“No,” Sam insists, kissing down the side of Dean’s neck. He can feel Dean is hard beneath his own arousal and grinds them together, sending both brothers into shaking groans. “Want you, De,” Sam pants against Dean’s lips.

“Okay, little brother, okay,” Dean gives Sam another kiss, his hands running comfortingly up and down Sam’s back. “But you’re sure you don’t want me to make our first time a little more special? You know, I could take you out to dinner, get you a little tipsy, do this right.” Sam pulls back to look at Dean, thoroughly confused as to where this romantic side of his brother has come from. “I could even get some candles, huh? Really set the mood.” Dean raises his brows and grins at Sam as if to say ‘Huh? Yeah? My idea rocks, right?’, and when Sam realises Dean’s making fun of him he reaches for a pillow and whacks him over the face with it.

“Fuck you,” Sam tries to pointedly shut the teasing down, but he’s knows he’ll never be able to get Dean to let this one go.

“Oh, I plan to fuck you, don’t worry,” Dean grins, and in a flash he’s flipped them over and pinned Sam to the bed beneath him. He pulls Sam’s shirt off and begins to kiss down his brother’s body, keeping his eyes on Sam his whole descent. “We can keep our first time vanilla, but don’t for a second think I’m gonna forget about that wax kink, baby brother,” Dean winks and mouths over Sam’s erection through his jeans. Sam wants to protest, but the heat of Dean’s mouth feels so fucking good, his head is already starting to go fuzzy. He settles on trying to catch Dean off guard instead.

“Only let you do it to me, if I can do it to you too,” Sam’s voice is far breathier than he’d hoped it would be. Dean glances up at him through his lashes, not at all nervous or off-put like Sam had been aiming for.

“Oh, you have so got yourself a deal.”

Tag List: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett  @sonofslaanesh69 @akshi8278 @deandreamernp  @stoneyggirl��@delightfullykrispypeach @lyarr24​ @lovealways-j​ 

[reinerispretty]

groceries. (sokka x f!reader) modern AU

hello!!! i have been wanting to write this for a while. this is based off of one of my favorite songs :) i am sorry if you don’t like modern au’s but i just thought it would make more sense with the song!! it is called groceries and it’s by mallrat!! give it a listen :D

read part 2 here!

Real sorry about your broken heart I'm trying to walk on broken glass Do it all again for art Like had to write a song about it

(Y/N) walked up the concrete steps and four flights of stairs to Sokka’s apartment. By the time she reached his hall, her legs were aching, but she pushed through and walked down the hall to the dark grey door with the golden 4D loosely hanging from a screw. She knocked hard against the door, just in case he was listening to music, and tapped the hanging metal to make it swing. 

The door slowly opened to reveal Sokka, wearing a baggy light blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. (Y/N) smiled sadly as she stared at him. His eyes were puffy, like he had been crying, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the bag that was slung on her shoulder. 

“Can I come in?” Sokka shrugged, letting her into his apartment. It was oddly...clean. She had been here many times before and had never seen it this clean: no take out boxes strung across the counters, no clothes strung across the floor. It was like he didn’t even live here anymore. 

“Katara told me what happened,” she said quietly as she took a seat on the couch. Sokka scoffed. 

“Katara needs to mind her own business.” 

“Your business is her business, Sokka. She cares about you.” He stood with his back to the door, still not looking at her. She stood, dropping her bag on the floor and moving into the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything?” 

He shrugged. “I need to go to the store.” (Y/N) opened his fridge to find a single papaya on the top shelf. 

“I’ll take you.” She slung her bag over the shoulder. “Come on, it’s only a block away.”

���You don’t have to do that.”

“It looks like I do.”

I'll go if you go, if you're cool with that I'll go if you go, I have hope that you know that I'll go if you go, if you're cool with that I'll go if you go, I have hope that you know that

Sokka sighed, grabbing his keys and wallet before they both went down the stairs. When they got outside, Sokka winced at the bright light. “When was the last time you went outside?” He turned his head away from her, avoiding her gaze again. It broke her heart, seeing him like this. Sokka was normally the sunshine in everyone’s day. Funny, outgoing, optimistic. She couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t smiled at her. 

They walked down the sidewalk side by side. She could tell that his mind was elsewhere, as she had to pull him out of the way of people on multiple occasions. “Thanks,” He mumbled as he pulled his arm away. (Y/N)’s fingers curled into her palm, which dropped to her side. She checked her phone to avoid having to start conversation. A message from Katara: Is he opening up yet? 

(Y/N) dropped her phone back into her bag as they walked into the grocery store. Sokka grabbed a cart, slumping over the railing as he followed (Y/N) through the store. She grabbed him the usual: bread, some cereal, fruits and veggies. She turned back to look at him. “What else do you need?” 

“Um...” He gestured lazily to the other side of the aisle. “Fruit snacks.” (Y/N) smiled, just a bit. 

“Mott’s or Welch’s?” She held up both boxes. Sokka thought for a moment before answering. 

“Welch’s.” (Y/N) scrunched her nose in disgust. “What’s wrong with Welch’s?” 

“Nothing, if you have bad taste.” She tossed the box into the cart, laughing at Sokka’s hurt expression as they moved onto the next aisle.

I just wanna get groceries I'll pray you wanna get close to me I'll give it some, give it some, give it some time But I think we're supposed to be And if you wanna get groceries And if you wanna get close to me Just gimme some, gimme some, gimme some sign I think that we're supposed to be

They moved onto the freezer aisle. (Y/N) grabbed almost every frozen meal under the sun. She returned to the cart with her arms full, dropping the meals on top of the rest of the groceries. “That’s a lot,” Sokka said. 

“It’ll be easy to pop in the microwave,” She explained. “From how your apartment looked it seemed like you couldn’t be bothered to feed yourself.” 

Sokka looked down at his hands. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” (Y/N) stared at him for so long that an old lady grumpily scooted her cart past them. 

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said quietly, but she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to Sokka or the old lady. 

They checked out at the front and then carried armfuls of groceries back to his apartment. As they walked up all the stairs, (Y/N) wished that Sokka would move to a building like Aang’s, with a nice elevator. Instead he chose the building with the most stairs in the universe. 

They finally reached Sokka’s apartment and placed all of the groceries on the counter. (Y/N) began putting things in their proper place. She had been here enough times to know where he liked his things. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. She didn’t turn back to look at him this time. 

“I know. I want to.” She moved to the stove and put a teapot on the burner. “Sit down, I can make us some tea.” 

He would normally argue playfully with her, but this time he didn’t say anything. He sat on the couch quietly and pulled his feet up, resting his elbow on the armrest. 

“Why’d you come?” 

“Because Katara called me. Asked me to check in on you.” 

“But why you?” (Y/N) cleared her throat. 

“She knows I care about you.” The teapot started to shout, so she took it off the burner and poured it into two cups with tea bags. She brought one over to Sokka and sat in the rocking chair beside the couch. There was so much space in between them. It wasn’t normal. They used to be so close. She remembered sitting on that exact same couch with him, laughing at one of his jokes while something on Netflix played in the background. Now it felt like she was sitting with a stranger. 

I wish that I could let it pass I don't mind that you put it last I made it worse, I put you first We're laughing like it didn't hurt I'm in the dirt, I'll make it work though

Sokka stared at the mug in front of him. It was a cheesy souvenir shop mug that read “World’s Best Boyfriend” and as sad as it was, it brought tears to his eyes. He used his sleeves to wipe them away before (Y/N) saw, but he was too late. She came to his side immediately and sat close to him. She didn’t want to encroach on his personal space, but she wanted to let him know that she was there. 

“I didn’t read the mug before I gave it to you, I’m sorry,” She whispered quietly. Sokka shook his head. 

“It’s fine, really, I’m fine.” He gave one large sniff before turning toward her, but he still wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Sokka...” She pulled her knees up on the couch. “It’s okay to not be okay.” 

“I just-” He wiped his nose. “Why did she have to leave?”

(Y/N) let out a large sigh. The distance between her and Sokka wasn’t without reason. After years of pining, he and Yue finally started dating. They were a cute couple, (Y/N) had to admit, but it hurt her too much to see them together. She had been in love with Sokka for as long as she could remember. They had even kissed once, a year ago, at Zuko’s birthday celebration. There had been alcohol involved, but (Y/N) had thought it might change things. A week later, he and Yue started dating and (Y/N) stopped coming around Sokka’s place as much. She would see him at gatherings and act like she was happy, but on the inside her heart was heavier than ever. She separated herself from their friend group for a while and whenever anyone asked she just claimed she was really busy from school. It was easier that way, not seeing anyone.  

But just as quickly as they got together, they separated. Yue packed all of her belongings and left without so much as a goodbye. And while she felt a little relieved when Katara had told her their relationship had ended, she couldn’t help but feel so sad for Sokka. He was the kindest human she had ever known and he didn’t deserve to feel like he had done something wrong. 

“Maybe she needed a fresh start,” (Y/N) said. 

“Without me.” He played with the frayed edges of his sleeves. 

“Sokka, Yue loved you a lot. Loved you so much that sometimes it made me sick. But sometimes, people need to leave to get their own stuff figured out. I guarantee it wasn’t because of you.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because you treated her like she hung up the moon and stars for you.” (Y/N) felt a lump forming at her throat. Whenever she thought about them, it made her sad. “You’re a good person, Sokka. And Yue knows that. But take it from me, maybe it just wasn’t the right time.” 

Sokka looked into (Y/N’s) eyes for the first time that day. He stared at her for a few moments and she stared right back, her gave immovable. Sokka was a go-with-the-flow kind of person, but (Y/N) was more of a rock. She especially needed to be a rock for him right now. 

“I’m glad Katara called you today,” He admitted. “I missed having you around.” 

A smile rose on (Y/N’s) lips. “Me too.” 

This sucks, I'm lovesick, too important to rush this I'd miss our kiss if it ever left my lips No one I know is sticky on my mind when I go Except ya, but you're just friends with Miss Independent And this sucks, I'm lovesick, too important to rush this I'd miss our kiss if it ever left my lips No one I know is sticky on my mind when I go Heart broke, but I spend it, 'cause I'm Miss Independent

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss , @aimee1602 , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @mdgrdians 

[astralaffairs]

so hear me out- mafia!thom where mc is a spy! working with the rival group or the government (probably run by hamilton) and gets caught? I’m just a simp for e2l~

ok but this prompt is FUN !!!!! ugh the tension

in which thom is a meanie >:( and james isn’t a softie

-------

“...one of Hamilton’s soldiers. Yeah, we found her down by the docks with a couple others; looked like they were trying to make a hit where we planned our drop.”

“Really? What happened to the others?”

“Got away. She was stationed closest to us, but by the time we got our hands on her, everyone else was starting to split.”

“Some loyalty.”

When Y/N found herself gradually beginning to drift into consciousness, disembodied voices polluting the dank, cold air around her, she found a splitting pain in her head and a dull ache in her shoulders. Cautiously, she cracked an eye open, squinting in the low light as she found herself in some clichéd, nondescript warehouse. Figures.

Her ass was getting sore from the metal folding chair she’d woken up tied to (seriously, they couldn’t have sprung for anything more luxurious?), and the harsh metal of the handcuffs around her wrists was digging into her skin. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out, if only vaguely, two — likely male — figures standing leaned against the wall, chatting about her circumstance as casually as if it were the weather. She sniffled, her nose running in the cold, and she itched to wipe at it. She sniffled harder.

“...She awake?”

“It sounds to me like she is.”

Y/N’s pulse began to accelerate as she heard footsteps echoing across the concrete floor, headed in her direction. She didn’t dare lift her gaze. She searched for any way out of the bind she was in — even if she could pick off the handcuffs, her ankles were tied to each of the chairs’ legs.

“Glad to see you conscious.” The voice was flat, cold as he finally addressed her, and Y/N swallowed hard. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer, head still bowed, instead responding with, “Where am I?”

Her tone was gruff, as menacing as she could manage with as small, weak as she felt, but the man who’d addressed her laughed. “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours. Surely, you understand the concept of a quid-pro-quo?”

“You first.” Her glare was burning as she forced herself to look him in the eye, and while the man next to him looked annoyed, he remained entirely undeterred.

“I’m rather surprised that you think yourself in a position to be making demands.”

She scowled. “C’mon, what d’you have left to lose, telling me where we are while I’m your captive? God knows you’re just going to end up moving me, assuming I live that long.”

“A bold assumption,” one of the men said, tone dry and irked, but the man directly in front of Y/N gave him a tired look.

“Aaron,” he warned. “I’ll handle this.”

“Then handle it”

He visibly rolled his eyes as he turned back to Y/N, and the other man (Aaron, apparently), retreated to the outskirts of the expansive room, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“Anyway,” he went on, and Y/N huffed, yanking at the rope binding her arms to the chair. She knew it was futile, but it was more for her discomfort than any genuine attempt to escape. “It seems to me you have even less left to lose than we do. And you must know that we have other, less pleasant means of getting what we want, so it is in your own interest to comply.”

Y/N hesitated a moment — surely, once they’d taken her captive, they’d rooted through her belongings, opened her wallet, screened her for weapons, and checked her ID. Was this just some kind of intimidation technique? A power play? He was unfortunately correct; she didn’t have much to lose.

“My name’s Y/N,” she grumbled, finally. “As though you haven’t already torn through all my documentation.”

“How perceptive of you. Most try a few pseudonyms first.” His smile was serene. “This just might be fun.”

“What might be fun? Torturing and killing me? Throwing my body out to sea?” she bit back, the fury in her gaze never wavering, but he raised an eyebrow.

“What would make you think such a thing?” Mocking offense saturated his voice.

“I know you’re part of Jefferson’s fucking mob.” She yanked at her handcuffs; they clanked loudly against the chair. “I’ve heard about what you do to people.”

“Oh, have you? Thomas will be pleased with our notoriety.” As if on cue, three pairs of footsteps echoed behind Y/N — one of them must have been Aaron’s, as he was suddenly nowhere to be found, but the satisfied smile the man in front of her wore told her that she wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Her eyes widened. Surely, they didn’t bring Jefferson himself to come see her, right? Dealing with captives was grunt work, not the responsibility of a mafia boss. She tugged and picked aggressively at her handcuffs, desperate to find a lock she’d be able to release.

“James.” The voice came from just behind her, a sadistic mirth in the man’s tone as he addressed the man who stood before her (James, apparently). The footsteps stalled at the exact moment Y/N grunted, throwing her shoulders forward with the link of the handcuffs caught on the chair’s edge. To think that she might actually be able to break her hands free was a desperate hope, but the man behind her laughed — not a taunting, mocking laugh, but one that made it clear how genuinely entertaining he was finding her pathetic struggle.

“I gotta say, when you told me you got one of Hamilton’s crew, I didn’t believe you at first.” A chill ran down Y/N’s spine when he circled her, and though she didn’t have any desire to look him in the eye, her curiosity overwhelmed her. When he reached her front, Thomas Jefferson, in the flesh, blood, and magenta business attire, crouched before her, and she swallowed roughly. He still managed to dwarf the chair to which she was tied. “But that mark is unmistakable, huh?”

Her skin burned as his gaze fixed on her neck, where she’d been branded just above her collarbone upon being sworn in as a member of Alexander’s mob. She turned her head away from him.

“She isn’t just any of his soldiers, either.” While James’s voice came from her left, Jefferson didn’t move, watching her with pleased intrigue. “She’s a Hamilton by blood.”

His eyes flashed with delight; his grin widened. “Oh, is she, now?”

With her head turned, Y/N inadvertently met James’s content stare, and though she didn’t waste a moment in tearing her gaze away, Jefferson occupied the remainder of her line of vision. She couldn’t help it when he caught her eye, and she couldn’t seem to look away. The way he watched her was predatory.

James hummed in confirmation. “His sister.”

“No.” His surprise was unmistakable, as was his perverse triumph. When she sneered back at him, he finally drew himself up to his full height, giving a satisfied chuckle. He turned to James. “Where would I be without you?”

“Same place, worse administration.”

“You got that right,” Jefferson said. “Just think about everything we’re gonna be able to do with her. She’s just the leverage we’ve been lookin’ for.”

“We searched her when she arrived, but nothing she had on her person gave us any new information. Her phone was a burner.”

“Normally, I’d call that disappointin’, but,” —Jefferson glanced back at her with a smug smile, if only for a fleeting moment— “we don’t needa dig up any of their communications when we’ve got the primary source all to ourselves.”

“If she’s really a Hamilton, I doubt she’s just going to talk that easily.” A feminine voice came from behind Y/N; she’d assumed Jefferson had entered flanked only by men. “Don’t get overconfident.”

“‘Course not, Maria. I know the limits of my own strength.” Y/N resisted rolling her eyes. “But I can tell she’s gonna be fun to break.”

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut; she wasn’t sure if she was more disgusted by the words they were saying or by how they were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there to listen. Maria scoffed. “Be careful. We need her responsive if we’re going to use her as bait.”

“Please. Bait’s thinkin’ too short-term. We can do a whole lot more with her than that.”

“Seriously? But if we keep her around—”

“I’m sitting right here, you know.” Y/N cut them off forcefully, looking up unabashedly with rage in her gaze. No one seemed so much as taken aback by it, hardly reacting to her outburst, and Jefferson met her eyes with an entertained smile, taking a step toward her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart, we know.” As he leaned down, Y/N could feel him looming over her, and any of her confidence in her actions was leveled. He hooked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and she grit her teeth.

“No one’s forgettin’ about you, here. After all, you’re the guest of honor,” he cooed, and his soft, condescending tone made her skin crawl. When she tried to jerk away from his touch, he gripped her chin. “And such a pretty little thing, too. ‘S a shame you’re a Hamilton, ‘cause I wouldn’t mind havin’ you all to myself.”

“Get your hands off me,” she snarled, and he laughed.

“You’re adorable, actin’ as though I’m gonna listen to a word you say.” He plastered on a pout, and she was shaking when he reached up to cup her cheek, run his thumb across her bottom lip. “Y’know, it’d do you well to learn who’s in charge here. As of today, I own you, and you’re lucky I like a challenge.”

“You don’t own shit,” she spat, but her voice trembled, and he raised an eyebrow. She could feel her eyes welling up. “My family’s coming for me. And when they do, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Now, don’t tell me you really think that?” Mocking pity saturated his voice, and when Y/N only stared back at him blankly, he went on, “Nobody’s comin’ for you. If they really cared about you, they wouldn’t have fled so easy at the docks at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn’t have abandoned you there.”

“Excuse me?” was all she managed to say in a shaky, breathy whisper. He nodded sympathetically.

“That’s right. I know all about how your family left you for dead.” Her eyes stung when the first tear rolled down her cheek, and Jefferson brushed it away. Despite his contrived pout, satisfaction shone in his eyes. “Aw, no need to cry. ‘M sure all that hurts to hear, but you’re with us now. Your family’s the least of your worries.”

“I fucking swear,” she said, and despite the determined look she wore, her tears were now falling freely, “I swear, no matter what you do to me in here, I’m not going to break. I’m not going to let you break me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no need to be scared. I have every confidence in you,” he assured her, “but I don’t intend to try and break you.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed, and he smiled.

“I’m sure you aren’t.” He leaned in closer to her, and as he eyed her expression, he smoothed a piece of her hair back, wiped the tears from under her eyes. “And you don’t have to be. If you can be a good, obedient little girl and behave yourself, I think you’ll be surprised at just how gentle we can be.”

“And if I don’t?”

"You will.” The words were spoken with a degree of authority that sent chills down her spine; he spoke as though this were an inexorable truth. “I’m not gonna have to break you, and I won’t bother to try. You’re gonna give in to me all on your own, and it’s gonna be so much sweeter that way.”

“You’re delusional,” she seethed, and the smile that split his expression was wide, confident, but above all, unsettling.

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, he finally pulled back from her, looking beyond smug as he redirected his focus to the group, but he quickly adopted a harsh tone. “James, Aaron,” he barked, nodding toward the chair she was bound to. He caught her eye one final time, and while panic flashed in her gaze, he was beyond satisfied. “Set up a room for our guest. Looks like she’s here to stay.”

[anarchyduck]

Spiders on Alcohol

AO3 Link Here

CW: Underage Drinking, but that’s about it

-----

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Mr. Parker.” 

Tony’s first thought is the kid is hurt. The rational side quickly takes over, reminding him that if the kid was hurt then he would receive a message from his AI Karen. The kid could be - has been - on death's door and wouldn’t call. 

His second thought is how late it is. The time on the stove read 12:30 in glowing blue numerals which is way past the kid’s curfew. 

A third rapid thought is it’s also Peter’s night off. His suit isn’t active; FRIDAY would have told him the second it became active. 

“Patch him through.” Tony says as he rinses off a plate and puts it into the dish drainer. 

“Yes sir.” FRI replies. 

There is a brief pause then Tony says, “You’re lucky I don’t need sleep. What’s up?” 

When he doesn’t immediately receive a response, he frowns and turns off the water. Paranoia tugs at the edges of his mind and Tony shoves back the worst case scenarios that try to pop into his mind. He opens his mouth, the kid’s name on his tongue, when Peter finally speaks. 

“Mis’er Stark?” He sounds confused. “Why… Why do you have Happy’s phone?” 

It’s Tony’s turn to be confused. “Because you didn’t call Happy, you called me.” He grabs a nearby dish towel to dry his hands. He can hear what sounds like a car honk and Peter’s breathing. He’s not at home, clearly.

“Oh… Shit.” Peter mutters something Tony doesn’t quite catch. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean… Meant to call Happy. Not-Not that I don’t like talkin’ to you, Mis’er Stark. You, you’re cool and uh…” 

“Yeah, I am cool. What’s going on, kid?” 

“Uhm…” Tony hears the hesitation and for a split second he thinks Peter may hang up on him. “Can, uh, can you…can you like, come get me?” The request is so small, so quiet, and Tony knows something is wrong.

“Yeah,” Tony says immediately. His heart rate spikes with anxiety. Damn kid is going to be the death of him one day, he knows it. God. “Yeah, I can get you, where are you?” 

Peter sighs with relief. “Huh? Uh I’m uh, what street is this… I don’t, hold on-” 

Tony slips on a pair of loafers (grandpa shoes, as Peter calls them) as the call shifts seamlessly from the overhead AI to his phone. He grabs his wallet and keys on his way out the door, and is in the garage by the time Peter comes back on the line.

“Fifth and, uh, Fifty-Nineth.” 

Tony nods to himself as the car revs to life. “Okay, Fifth and,”-- and he pauses as it dawns on him --“Wait, Fifth and Fifty-Nineth? What are you doing so far out of Queens?” 

“I don’t have to stay in Queens all the time.” Tony can practically hear those brown eyes rolling. “I can like go other places, have gone other places! There’s like, a whole big ol’ world out there Mis’ser Stark and yeah Queens is big too I guess and like-” 

Tony frowns lightly and glances toward the dash as he drives. Peter is still rambling and his words are going together and it sounds awfully familiar in a terrible way. 

“Peter are you drunk?” 

The kid blows a raspberry in response. “Whaaat? No! No, I’m not drink, drunk.” His voice cracks and raises a couple octaves as Parker lying syndrome kicks in. “I’m totally, one hundred percent not drunk!” 

“Oh my God.” Tony breathes out a breath. “FRI, find the quickest route. Kid, you stay put. I don’t want you to move an inch off that sidewalk. Got it? Find a bench and park it.” 

----------

He finds the kid exactly where Peter said he would be. He’s laying on a bus bench, one arm hanging over while the other is crossed over his eyes. For a split second, Tony thinks he’s asleep (passed out) but he sees Peter’s leg bouncing where his foot is planted on the concrete. 

“Hey, underoos.” Tony calls as he climbs out of the vehicle. The kid stirs, arm uncovers his face as he looks at him with a goofy grin. 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter sits up and practically jumps from the bench. He sways a little on his feet, takes a step back, then bounds forward, damn near skipping as he meets Tony at the car. “Hey, man, wow, you’re here. Cool.” 

“What, did you think I wouldn’t come?” Tony circles around the front of the vehicle where the teen is leaning against the passenger door. He doesn’t look hurt. No blood, no bruising. However, the closer Tony gets, the stronger he smells alcohol, particularly on Peter’s breath. “Wow, damn kid you smell like a brewery.” 

Peter’s brows pinch together as his eyes widen. “Really?” He puts a hand up to his face to check his breath. “Wow.” 

“Yeah, wow. Okay, come on let’s go.” The kid doesn’t put up resistance as Tony puts him into the car. Peter leans back into the leather, eyes wide as he stares up, unaware as Tony buckles him in.

He breathes out and giggles. “Feel like I’m floatin’.” 

Tony snorts with amusement and shuts the door. He rounds the car back to his side, gets in and takes off onto the road. At first, he thinks of heading straight for Queens and depositing the kid at home. But the penthouse is closer and the more responsible side of Tony’s mind says he shouldn’t leave a drunken teenager alone. 

“All right,” he starts. “So spill. What are you doing over here.”

“Got invited to a party.” Peter runs his hand against the bit of smooth metal on the door. “And like,” he sighs as he nestles into the seat. “It was so weird, Mr. Stark because I didn’t know no one, anyone, and it wasn’t anythin’ like Liz’s party. Ned wasn’t there and MJ wasn’t there and it was so weird, Mr. Stark.” 

“Yeah?” it’s all Tony can say to that as the kid barrels on forward. 

“Yeah! Liz, Liz didn’t have alcohol because we were all underage anyway and her dad would’ve killed us. He tried to kill me, ya know? Like… a few times. God what if the dude who owns that house back there is like, this… big super villain who I gotta fight later and how weird would that be? Get invited twice to a party where the-the guy tries killin’ me later.”

“I would say that would be very weird.” Tony agrees. “And that you probably shouldn’t put that out there in the universe.” 

Peter groans and Tony glances over to see him fumbling at the side of his seat. It takes him a second to realize what the kid is looking for.. “FRI, lean his seat back.” 

The kid’s eyes go wide as the seat reclines back and he laughs lightly to himself as he lays back. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.” He drags a hand over the side of his face and pokes at his cheek with another laugh. “My face feels weird.” 

Tony chuckles. “Yeah, bet it does. How much did you drink?”

“Uhhh…” Peter trails off as he keeps poking his cheek. “More than one?”

Oh yeah, the kid was going to be feeling it later. “Just promise you won’t throw up in the car.”

----------

To Peter’s credit, he didn’t puke in the car. They make it back to the penthouse and by the time they walk through the door, Tony is almost carrying the kid. Peter rambles the entire way, making comments here and there; talking to Tony; talking to FRIDAY; talking to himself. He’s leaning heavily, stumbling in his steps, and giggling. 

“Okay webs,” Tony sets the kid down on the bed in the guestroom. “Stay here, don’t move, I’ll get you some water.” 

“‘Kay.” Peter says as he flops back onto the bed.

Should he remove his shoes? Tony tries to think back to what others did for him, but comes up with nothing. God what he wouldn’t give for Pepper to be here. She would know what to do. Luckily the kid makes the decision for him and kicks off his shoes as he curls up onto his side. 

“Going to get you some water. Don’t move.” Tony says again, pressing his voice a little firmer to drive his point across. Peter doesn’t do much more than hum in reply and he feels confident enough the kid will be fine for at least a couple minutes. 

Tony runs a hand through his hair as he breathes out a sigh. How did he get stuck babysitting a drunk teenager? That said, it couldn’t be any harder than babysitting a stabbed teenager. Least the kid doesn’t have to worry about needles. May Parker crosses his mind as he fills a glass from the tap and he takes his phone out of his back pocket to send her a message. 

Your kid is staying over at my place for the night. Don’t worry, he’s ok. Working?

Tony receives a reply much quicker than anticipated. 

Double shift 

Trouble?

Well that certainly explains how the kid snuck away from home. He can’t see May letting her sixteen year old nephew go to a party where alcohol would be served. Hell, he’s still wrapping his head around the idea Peter willingly went to a party on his own. He types out a reply:

100% grounded. 

The phone pings with another quick reply.

Totally

Ty tony 

Tony sets the phone down and picks up the glass of water as he rounds the kitchen island to head back into the room. He fully expects to see the kid right where he left him, curled up on his side or maybe on his back again. Humming or singing to himself, complaining about the room spinning. Instead, he finds an empty bed. 

He sets the glass on the bedside table while glancing about the room. “Kid?” he calls, eyes even stealing a look toward the ceiling because who knows at this point.

It’s the sound of gagging and retching that directs him to the bathroom. Door is left open, lights off, and when Tony flips them on, he finds Peter vomiting into the toilet. 

“Yeah, that’s about right.” he sighs.

Peter gags and spits into the bowl. “It went through my nose.” 

Tony grimaces sympathetically. “That’s gross,” he says. The kid heaves again. Tears run down his cheeks as he gasps for breath, no doubt fighting the nausea and contracting muscles. It’s a fight Tony himself knows all too well and lost far too many times. The nights when he was caught in another bender, coming home from some nameless party with or without some nameless face, and always ending up exactly where Peter is now. 

How many times was someone there for him? How many times was he alone?

“I’m so s-sorry.” Peter lets out a strangled sob. “I never… I didn’t mean to be, so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Tony says as he wets a washcloth in the sink. “A dumbass, yes. But not stupid.” 

“Never should’ve gone to that party. Bad idea. Dumb idea. Didn’t… I didn’t even know no one there and I jus’ wanted to be cool.” 

Tony scoffs. “By drinking a shit ton of alcohol? Yeah. Real cool.” He frowns to himself at the firm undertone and adds, “But I get it.”

Peter spits another sting of bile and takes the offered washcloth to wipe his face. He manages to flush the toilet and attempts to stand on his feet, only to sway backwards and hit the wall with a thump. 

“Ow…” the kid groans and Tony is sure he’s being tested by some form of higher power. 

“Okay,” he sighs. “Let’s get you up before you decide to pass out in my bathroom.” He grabs the teen by his arms to pull him up, finding himself doing most of the lifting despite Peter’s clumsy and fruitless attempts to stand. 

“‘m not gonna pass out…” Peter sniffles as he leans against Tony. He’s still clutching the washcloth. 

“You know,”--Tony maneuvers them back into the bedroom and sits Peter on the edge of the bed-- “for a scrawny kid, you’re solid as hell.” 

“Not scrawny.” 

“Uh huh.” Tony picks up the glass of water. “Think you can hold down some water? You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t, believe me kiddo.” 

Thankfully the kid manages to take a drink without spilling it on himself. Even manages to put it back on the nightstand without slumping over. “Okay, spider baby, bedtime for you.” Tony eases him down onto the bed on his side, ignoring any and all mumbled protests (“I’m not a baby.”). He draws the blankets over him and leaves just long enough to grab the trash bin from the bathroom. 

Peter hasn’t moved from his curled up spot, but Tony knows the kid isn’t asleep yet. He’s staring at the wall ahead of him, seemingly unaware. Part of him is impressed the teen hasn’t passed out yet. 

“Penny for your thoughts, kid?” 

Peter slowly blinks then frowns. “You’re like… super rich, Mr. Stark. My thoughts are worth way more than a penny.”

“A quarter then.” 

“Cheap.” The kid mutters with a small hint of a smile. It’s gone alarmingly quick as Peter begins to worry the edge of the blanket between his forefinger and thumb. “Jus’ thinking… my Uncle Ben said he’d buy me my first beer. Said it’s like… a dad thing or whatever, but since I don’t have one, he said he’d do it.” 

Ben was a rare subject and one Peter didn’t bring up lightly. It wasn’t fair for the kid. The universe kept throwing more and more shit at him and it wasn’t fair. Anyone else would turn bitter but not Peter. He was good and kind and unlike anyone Tony had met. He’d do anything for this kid.

“Well,” Tony sniffs and clears his throat as he sits on the edge of the bed beside Peter’s legs. “My dad never did that stuff with me either. I was already at MIT when I was your age, going to parties and sneaking into bars. Doubt the man would have done it anyway.” he adds with an undertone of bitterness before charging forward. “Anyway, I’m just saying when you’re older, and I mean when you turn twenty-one, how about I buy you a beer?” The blankets shift and Tony feels eyes on him. “Unless it’s overstepping, which I completely understand and-”

“Yes.” 

The words stop dead on his tongue and Tony finds the courage to look at the kid. There are tears in Peter’s eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah?” he presses and the teen nods. A strange weight lifts from Tony’s shoulders to the point he finds himself smiling in return. “It’s a deal then. So no more drinking until then or else I’ll find another intern to dote on.”

“No you won’t.” Peter yawns and settles against the pillow, eyes drooping close. “‘m your favorite.” 

Tony smiles and brushes back some wayward curls from the teen’s face. “Yeah, you are.”

[pocminiseries]

Concrete Rose

➵♣️Pairing: Choi San x OC ➵♣️Warnings: Mature, Adult Content, Explicit Language, Gang Relations, etc ➵♣️Genre: Romance, Fanfiction, Smut, Interracial, Urban, Non - Kpop Related ➵♣️Synopsis: He was everything she needed and feared the most.

Yelloasis - Don’t Know Why U Wonder

---

Her scent was the first thing he noticed.

An elegant, sweet floral scent mix with strawberries that seemed to put his mind at is.

It was refreshing, especially at a bar where the smell of cigar smoke and loud cologne always seemed to linger.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the mystery woman take up the chair beside him, placing her clutch on the marble countertop in front of her. He could only see the side of her face but from that alone, he could tell how beautiful she was.

Her skin was a warm shade of copper, smooth and so feminine. She wore her hair in soft curls that cascaded past her shoulders and down her back. Her glossed lips were pulled back into a small smile that she geared towards the bartender, who seemed to be in the same trance as he was. And though he didn't know much about makeup, he thought the shimmery gold look on her eyes was perfect.

"Whiskey sour, please." He heard her speak, finding himself to even be attracted to the symphonic sound of her voice.

When she turned her attention to her phone, San took the opportunity to take in her figure, feeling his dick twitch in his slacks as his eyes swept over the olive green dress that hugged her curves so deliciously. The jean jacket she wore hung loosely off of one shoulder, displaying a floral tattoo that went from her shoulder onto her chest which he felt only added to her sexiness.

He no longer cared that he was checking her out so boldly but he honestly couldn't resist it.

She was almost too perfect.

"Thank you." She whispered once her drink of choice was placed in front of her. He watched as she begins to go through her clutch for what he assumed for money but being the man he was, he wasn't going to allow her to come up out of her own pockets.

At least not while he was present.

"Allow me." He offered, nodding his head towards the bartender who immediately put it on his tab.

Talayeh sat back in her chair, eyeing the stranger next to her curiously. Trying her best not to ogle him too much. "Preciate it." She thanked him, seeing no point in denying a free drink, especially with the type of day she's had.

San smiled at her, a smile that always made him seem more innocent than he actually was. .

If only she knew that she was in the presence of someone so ruthless and incredibly dangerous.

A comfortable silence fell between them while he downed the rest of his own drink and she chewed on one of the cherries from hers.

She saw her phone light up a few times but chose to ignore it knowing who was contacting her and why. Still, she didn't care to answer. The whole reason she even came here was to have a moment to herself and she doesn't even drink alcohol like that to even be at the bar. However, the soft music and easy atmosphere were way better than the loud, hot ass, crowded nightclub she left her friends at only blocks away.

"Why aren't you answering your phone, if you don't mind me asking?" San questioned, his slightly accented voice making her wonder if he was a foreigner here on US soil.

"No need. They know where I went." She shrugged, taking a nice sip of her drink, shivering a bit at the coldness.

Besides Talayeh knew that Meka and Devyn would probably be headed home with some random men tonight, with the exception of Nastasia. Anthony would snap her neck if she ever thought about another man and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Not much into parties?"

"Depends on my mood honestly." She answered. Some occasions she's ready to turn up and let loose, tonight however just wasn't one of them. Her mind had been too occupied with shit that's been affecting her for the last few weeks to enjoy much of anything.

"Why are you here?" She asked, leaning her arms on top of the bar, turning her head to look at him more clearly. He had that type of face that made someone simply say 'damn' because of how attractive they look. Flawless in every sense of the word.

San's eyes settled on her, allowing himself to really bask in her beauty. "Business. Nothing special." Technically he was telling the truth but his type of 'business' didn't consist of what most thought it did.

Talayeh could sense something in the way he said business, like there something more to it but she wasn't about to pry. Though he was easy on the eyes, she didn't know who he was or what he was capable of. Still, it didn't make him any less intriguing to her though. He had this aura of mystery behind him that peeked her curiosity.

However, she thought he looked pretty young, almost younger than her. But she knew that with Asians, sometimes it could be difficult to determine their true age. All she knew for sure was that he was at least 21 since he was sitting at the bar ordering drinks.

"Are...you here alone?" She asked, hesitant at first. The question felt almost foreign on her lips. One could determine it any sorts of ways and she honestly didn't know why she asked.

Or maybe she did but didn't want to admit to it.

She had only been in his presence for twenty minutes, yet she could feel something in the way he looked at her. The attraction between the two was clear as day, that much was obvious. She's been eyeing him, in the same way, he's been doing to her the moment she sat down.

San raised an eyebrow at her question, almost surprised that she asked to begin with. "I am." He nodded as he let his obsidian eyes glide over her slowly, from head to toe and back up again.

Talayeh rubbed her lips together feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze while her heart raced wildly inside of her chest.

"I would ask you the same but you would've chosen to go home to him and not be here with me instead. Correct me if I'm wrong?" He says confidently, already knowing his words to be true. A man would have to be stupid to let someone so gorgeous go wandering about alone. She was the type you'd kill for...

And he would.

She chuckled a bit, emptying her glass, picking the last cherry from the ice. "I've been lonely for a while now." She told him, confessing the very thing that's been eating away at her mind. A humorless laugh erupted from her throat at the fact that she was only twenty-four feeling this way, making her feel so pathetic.

She has tried the dating world but shit never moved in her favor, always getting the bad batch filled with men who would never be faithful.

San was surprised hearing her speak such words but then he remembered that most men nowadays were anything but that, men. Yet he couldn't talk much. He's had plenty of "relationships" with women but none have managed to capture his heart in the way he wanted.

Well, with the exception of one.

But he was a great lover, that much the women he's been with could never deny.

"What's your name?" He asked, deliberately placing his hand close to hers just to feel her skin against his, even if it was minimal.

Talayeh noticing the gesture, boldly interlocked her hand with his, loving the way it felt to her. "Talayeh."

"San." He introduced himself, bringing their hands up and turning it to place a kiss on the back of hers.

Her eyes fluttered and her cheeks became heated from his simple kiss, making her feel like a school girl. She shouldn't be behaving this way. Being smitten by a man she just met but she was. It has never been this way with anyone she has met before. Although she knew that she be tread carefully, she was willing to throw all caution to the wind, at least this once.

"Can I ask you for a favor San?" Maybe it was too soon to be asking him for anything at all but tonight, she was taking chances.

She'd suffer the consequences later if any at all.

"Anything." He said with no hesitation, ready to give her whatever she wanted.

Talayeh debated if what she was about to do next was a good decision. Her mind was hazy and heart heavy. The intelligent side of her should be somewhere requesting an Uber to take her half tipsy ass home, not here doing what she about to do. But at the moment, she was no longer giving a fuck.

"Would you mind keeping me company tonight?" Her nights were usually spent alone in the confinement of her house but she didn't want that tonight. She wanted, no, needed to be held by him. To be kissed on and touched with hands other than her own and he was more than willing to oblige.

To be and do whatever she needed.

"My place or yours?"

"Yours."

Without another word, San briefly let go of her hand to pull out his wallet from inside his jacket's pocket. He swiftly pulled out a crisp fifty dollar bill, placing it on the bar. "Keep the change." He told the bartender, standing up from his chair.

"Come on." His tone was gentle as he helped her up, allowing her to grab her clutch while she slipped her other hand into his waiting one.

Only the sound of her heels could be heard with each step she took, following close behind him. Tingles shot through her veins with both excitement and nervousness. Here she was doing something she said she would never do.

Unaware of how this night was going to change her life forever.

[orangeseoks]

Trouble Maker // j.jk

part two - part one here

[ disclaimer! ]

this is of pure fiction and is NOT to be taken seriously!

genre ;; fluff, smut, angst | hybrid au

pairing ;; jungkook x reader, hybrid!jk x reader, (kinda) namjoon x reader.

notes ;; jungkook is a horny mf, reader is a virgin *cOuGh*, mentions of abuse, a few fights happen here and there, namjoon is a complete dork, (y/n) and namjoon are besties uwu, eventual smut, jk randomly finds porn, masterbation, (y/n) fights with her family + daddy issues, highschool is hard, jk has a virgin kink, surprise heats, jk has wet dreams (ovo; ).

warning ;; there may be quite a bit of fob in here, idk

[ unedited ]

[ all rights reserved @orangeseoks ]

Shivering, I clutch the bags in my hands tightly, waiting silently for Namjoon to return from the bathroom - I kinda wish the shopping centre didn’t have toilets located outside of the large building. Maybe it was so its easier for costumers of the clothes store to access a restroom without having to waddle back inside?

I shrug the thought away with a huff, watching a cloud of smoke appear in front me, “hurry up Namjoon.” I whisper to myself, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, “first a bus stop and now outside a public restroom?” A voice chuckles - instantly catching my attention.

“O-Oh, um! I’m actually waiting for a friend of mine, he’s - you know..” Smiling awkwardly, I sniff and look up at the person speaking. “Wait, bus stop?” My mouth literally hangs open at sight of the person standing before me. “Your the guy from last night, right?”

The man nods, giving me a wide smile, “so, do you need help carrying those bags?” He asks out of the blue, fiddling with his beanie before gazing back at me. Clearing my throat awkwardly I shake my head, “no I’m fine. My friend, he should be out soon.”

“You sure? It looks like you’ve been standing out here for awhile, your lips are practically blue, you know?” I instantly gasp, transferring some bags from one hand to the other to touch my lips. “No way! They aren’t are they? Please tell me your lying!”

Panic washes over me as I rub furiously at my lips, attempting to warm them with the constant friction. The man before me merely laughs at my actions, “it was a mindless joke. Don’t be so serious,” he chuckles, shifting in his spot to lean against a pillar. I huff and drop my hand to my side, “that wasn’t funny.”

The man hums, eyeing me up and down with a questionable look, I gulp at his odd action and avert my gaze from him. “Are you always filled with so much anxiety?”

What?

Raising an eyebrow, I glance at the man, “sorry?” I retort, grasping tighter onto the bags in my hands. The mans quirks a brow, wetting his lips before speaking yet again; “you’re always so anxious. Its intoxicating,” he says. Confusing me even more, fazed I blink once - twice.

What?

“Nevermind,” he utters, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the concrete beneath him. Nodding, I glance at the mens bathroom, relieved to finally see Namjoon walking out; his hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his coat.

“Ah, (Y/n), sorry to keep you waiting - there was a, erm, a line.”

“Its fine, c-can we just go? Its really cold,” Namjoon nods slowly, his eyes flickering towards the man lent against the pillar. “Did something happen?” He asks, taking a handful of bags from me. I simply shake my head and smile, “no.”

“You sure-”

“Nothing happened, he was just keeping me company while you were busy.”

Namjoon hums, “okay. Thanks man,” he murmurs the last part, walking off leaving me to trail behind him. The faint echo of the mans goodbye filling the oddly quiet parking lot.

Waddling back into my small home, I dump the bags I was carrying onto the couch, flopping lifelessly onto the floor with a faint oh my god. I’d purchased so much while out with Namjoon, maybe a bit too much.

My poor wallet.

Sighing, I roll onto my back and stare up at my boring ceiling, “your bunny (Y/n).” Namjoon sputters from above me, crouching over my thighs and holding the wriggling rabbit in his hands. “Found him buried under your kimono, he wouldn’t stop smelling the damn thing.”

Giggling, I take Jungkook from his hands, placing him onto my chest - the ball of fur quickly hopping over to my neck and beginning to sniff and lick the area. “Gosh you,” I say between laughs, “you’re so clingy.”

“He likes you.. alot, I think I’m jealous.” Namjoon laughs, walking into the kitchen to boil the jug. Grinning, I sit up, being sure to keep Jungkook in his spot since he seems to comfortable there. “Is that a confession Mr Kim?”

Snicking, Namjoon leans against the tall island between the kitchen and living room - his brows raised. “Its whatever you want it to be,” he says, tossing me a wink. I instantly break into a fit of giggles, a raging blush colouring my cheeks.

“Fuck you,” I shriek, listening to the jug flick off, Namjoon shuffling toward it and pouring the hot water into his cup. “Can you make me a hot chocolate please,” I ask. Pecking Jungkook’s forehead gently, “yeah.” Is all Namjoon says in response. I thank him in return, deciding to gently run my fingers through Jungkook’s fur.

Dumb move.

Flinching, the bunny in my warmth drops from his spot and into my lap with a grunt, frowning I pick him back up and coo, “sorry my little baby.” I apologise, noticing Namjoon walking over with both our drinks, I mouth a thank you and take my mug from his hand.

“So,” Namjoon starts taking a long sip of his drink, “who was that guy earlier?” Sighing, I look up at Namjoon from my drink, “an acquaintance? I dunno, we only met last night.”

“Where?”

“At the bus stop.”

“The bus stop?” He gawks, leaning forward in his seat, “yes! The bus stop, I was sitting and eating!”

“Seriously? You could’ve waiting until you came home,” Namjoon spits gulping down his drink with a sigh. “True, but I - I dunno, he seems like a nice guy anyways.”

Nodding, Namjoon settles into his seat, completely relaxed, “he kinda gives off this weirdass vibe - you know?”

“Oh, so now you read vibes?” I jokingly press, a grin crossing my features - “no you idiot. Just something about him reeks of mystery, lies.” He retorts with a huff, “its like he’s hiding something under all his charm or whatever.”

“Boring~!” I complain, placing my cup beside me and laying on the flat of my back, “no wonder why you’re failing your exams.”

“Hey!”

Rolling my shoulders back with sigh, I wave Namjoon off as his car pulls out into the road - leaving me alone in the cold night air. Shivering, I rub my arms and make my toward the unit, “was that your boyfriend?”

Jumping, I glare up at my sister, her phone clutched tightly in her hand - an ugly pimple coming exposed when she turns her head slightly.

“No you dumbass, it was Joon; we finished my project and went shopping.”

I watch as my sister raises a brow at me, “so when are you going to kiss him?”

“Ew, what the fuck!?” I screech, making a puking motion with my hand, she merely laughs. “Whatever, dad said to get your ass inside.”

With a scoff, I walk back to the unit, slamming my door shut and locking it - pulling the curtains behind. “Jungkookie~!” I call, the small bunny I’d called for instantly running over to me, my kimono dragging behind him.

“Wahh,” I coo, sitting on my knees as Jungkook engulfs my legs with his - his ears twitching and rubbing against my bare skin. I giggle and pick him, pressing a chaste kiss atop of his head.

He flinches and lowers his ears over his face somewhat, “ah is my Kookie shy?” I sing, kissing him again. 

And again.

And again.

And again.

I kiss him to the point I end up laughing my brains out; so here I lay on the ground, cradling the male bunny in my arms as the final set of giggles pass my lips.

“I hope you’ll like your new home, Kook.”

[thesentientelf]

Flat White

Charlie Barber x Reader (kinda?) 3rd person. 12.7k. NSFW

Ok, here’s the deal. I don’t write fanfiction anymore. I sure don’t write smut anymore. This is Hope’s fault, ok? She posted a Thirsty Thursday prompt that led to this Coffee Shop AU that plagued me so bad it culminated into this.

And I have no shame. Well, actually a lot of shame, considering this is the first time my writing has seen the light of day in six years.

@callmehopeless​​​, I hope your happy. I’m so sorry your eyes must lay sight to this.

It was a cold morning in New York, the bitterness set in as Charlie Barber walked frozen city streets. Cell phone was pressed to his ear with his shoulder, and lips pursed as he scribbled notes into a small pocket book. He looked up periodically, making sure he wouldn’t run into others traveling opposite, and brown eyes focused on both his book and the concrete as he tried to avoid icy patches in his path. 

“Alright, thanks Mary Ann. I’ll be there soon,” he said, quickly bidding goodbye as he tore the sheet of paper from his notebook. He tossed his phone in his jacket pocket, notebook following it, and then took a sharp turn left as he headed towards the coffee shop everyone in the theater crew loved so dearly. He gazed up at signs, and then once it came into view, darted left and opened the door with gloved hands. 

The intoxicating smell of fresh brewed grounds hit and warmed his nose, thawing him to his core as he unfurled the scarf from his neck and went to stand in an ever growing line at the register. He stared at his scribbled notes of everyone’s drinks, mind lost in a world of his own as his own writing sent him to a different plane. 

“What can I get started for you?” The voice startled him to attention, and he glanced up and searched for whoever caught his eye. 

He froze. Sparkling eyes stared back at him, bright smile catching him off guard as he stared at the woman with her arms crossed on the pastry display with her chin resting on her wrists. Her hair was pulled up out of her face, and her smile made him stop. 

Oh, his heart fluttered. Oh, this was bad. 

“I have a list,” he said, suddenly breaking himself from the daze he put himself in. He fumbled with the paper, stepping up to the register and pulling his gloves off his hands. He handed her the paper, now crinkled in his hand, and gave her a smile. “I’ve got eight, uh actually nine. Can you add a flat white to that?” 

“Sure. And the name?” Bright eyes looked from him to the list, and he blinked several times before he again managed to unstick himself. 

“Charlie.” He flashed her a smile, hands fumbling at his wallet in his back pocket. 

“Sure. Jared will ring you up,” she said, taking one last look at the list before handing it to her coworker at the register. 

Charlie paid quickly without a word, and then stepped to the side as he watched this woman work. He caught himself staring, and then sheepishly looked down at his feet. Eyes caught the gold band on his finger, and heart sunk. 

He’s with Nicole. It didn’t matter if their marriage had been on a downward spiral, he was still married. He probably shouldn’t even be admiring her from a distance, let alone from over the counter that separated him. 

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited patiently. He rocked on the balls of his feet, long fingers toying with the gloves in his pocket. He couldn’t help but watch the woman work behind the counter, moving so fast he didn’t even see her finish his massive order. Before long, she was scribbling names on the side of cups, not even needing the reminder of his list he handed her. Before long, she caught his eye as she headed to the counter top with two drink holders full of mismatched sizes of coffee balanced in one hand, the other holding the odd one out. 

Eyes darted to the floor when their eyes met, and he sheepishly smiled as he took one large step to meet her at the counter. 

“You have a good day, alright?” 

Her voice caught him off guard again, and there was that smile that could drop him to his knees. She wasn’t from here, didn’t sound like a New Yorker. He smiled, and took the drinks from her, fighting a flinch as he brushed her hand in the transfer. He smiled in return, barely scraping out a ‘you too’ before lingering his gaze for one second too long as he headed for the door. 

He balanced the drinks as best he could as he exited, a smile on his face that wasn’t there when he first walked in, and a warmth in his chest he couldn’t quite pinpoint to the heat of the coffee shop. Feet guided him to the theater company not far up the street, and quick steps took him swiftly as he didn’t want the drinks to go cold before he even got to the building. 

He pushed the door open with his back, and darted into the theater, already running late. He bolted through the hallways, and then smiled at his team as he met them in the auditorium. 

He handed Donna the carriers, and took a sip of the coffee in his cup as he tore his scarf from his neck. Even untouched, it needed nothing. It wasn’t too bitter, and it was just like he never knew he wanted. 

“Damn, Donna, you were right,” he muttered under his breath before he set it on the lowest rizor. He took the carriers back, and started to pass them out. “This coffee’s good as shit.”

Brows furrowed when he saw how beautifully written the names were, and he smiled at the little drawings with each name. Frank had a crescent moon on his black coffee, Donna had a small flower on her cappuccino, Nicole had a smiley face on her macchiato. Mary Ann’s cat face made him chuckle, and Beth had a different flower than Donna’s. 

He glanced down at his cup, heart stopping when he saw a heart drawn beside his name. He smiled, and immediately tried to suppress it when he felt Nicole look over his shoulder. 

She said nothing. His smile dropped. 

***

“Come on, Henry, we’re already running late,” Charlie said, hand firmly grasping his son’s as they walked through the city streets. He adjusted the bag thrown over his shoulder. He had toys for Henry, and a pile of his own work he needed to get done. 

“Why couldn’t I stay home with mommy?” Henry said, gaze down at his feet as he dragged his shoes against the concrete. 

“Because mommy has to run errands, and daddy has to go into the theater for a little bit today, and then we’ll go see a movie, ok? You can play on the stage if you want, I know that’s your favorite,” Charlie said, gazing down at his pouting son with a scowl on his face. He hated lying, hated concealing that he and Nicole had yet another fight about her going to L.A, another fight about the impending divorce that they were careening towards, and that he truly didn’t know when she would finish packing for her move to California. “Come on, you always like playing on stage.” 

“I know, but I want to stay home.” 

“Well that’s not an option today, ok? We won’t be there long,” he said, large hands leading his son towards the coffee shop on the corner. He walked in, nose filled with the smell he loved oh so much. 

“Hey Charlie!” He wasn’t even in the door before he heard her greet him. He looked up and smiled, heart warming at her toothy grin and bubbly face. He’d been there just about every day for the last two months, and she always greeted him so warmly every single time. 

“Hey-” he said her name like a song, flying from his lips. “Just me today, you don’t have to make everyone’s.” 

“Flat white, coming right up,” she said with a smile, tilting her head to the side. Her bangs fell in her face, and she brushed them out of the way as she turned to grab a cup. “Is that your kid?” she said, glancing over her shoulder as Charlie walked up to the register with card in hand. 

“Yes, this is Henry. Can you say hi to the coffee lady?” he said, gently tugging on his son’s hand as he pulled him into view. 

 “Hi, coffee lady,” he said, less than enthusiastic as small hands grasped the counter he peered over. 

“Hi Henry. Do you like hot chocolate?” 

His eyes brightened as he nodded wordlessly, and Charlie almost laughed at how excited he was. She did laugh, and shot Charlie a smile as he handed his card over to Jared to pay, other hand stuffing a twenty clipped with a sticky note with her name on it in the tip jar. He always left her one when he visited, regardless of if he bought one cup, or eight.

“Whipped cream?” 

He nodded even faster, and Charlie chuckled and shook his head as he guided his son out of the line. He watched her work, heart fluttering as his mind went off in a different direction completely. Sometimes he would come here to work on new plays, or just to get away from the stress at home. She was always here, always talked to him when he would sit at the bar right in front of the machines she expertly worked, always laughed at his jokes. 

He’d never felt more alive watching her. Sometimes he wondered if he was just another tip in the jar, or someone she genuinely enjoyed talking to. He smiled as she approached, bracing for his fingers to brush hers, because it always sent a shock down his spine. Brows furrowed when he realized she had two cups in hand, one his large flat white, and another small cup. She drew her finger to her lip, eyes sparkling as she handed Charlie his drink. She leaned across the counter and whispered a ‘hey kiddo’ to Henry. 

He perked up and eyes grew wide as she handed him his own cup. 

“What do you say, Henry?” Charlie said as he nudged his son. 

“Thank you, coffee lady,” he said, grin on his face as he grasped the cup with both hands. Charlie reached for his wallet, but she shook her head and put up her hand, again placing a finger to her lips to keep him quiet. 

“Thank you,” he said, running a hand through Henry’s unruly hair. “Wait, don’t drink it yet, bud, it’s hot,” he said with a chuckle as Henry put the cup to his lips. He looked back up, enamored as she reached over to ruffle the hair on Henry’s head, a chuckle on her lips as she watched his happy smile. “I hope you know you spoil me, right?” 

He caught her eye as she headed back to the next drink order, a sheepish smirk on her face as she glanced at the ticket, red hue creeping up her neck. 

“Anything for my favorite customer,” she said, unable to look him in the eye as she scribbled the name in sharpie. He swore he saw her lose her breath, and teeth scrape at her lip. She set the cup on the counter to grab another, and Charlie glanced just long enough to see her handwriting a mess, and not a single drawing on the paper. He looked down at his cup, seeing her signature flawless cursive with a heart, and now another one dotting the i in his name. A smirk curled over his lips, he stood frozen to his place as his heart fluttered in his chest. 

And then it sunk. He was still with Nicole. He felt guilty, shivered the gross feeling off his skin, and then held out his hand for his son to take. 

“Thank you,” he said her name with a smile, hands grasping Henry’s as he headed towards the door. 

“See you tomorrow, Charlie! Bye Henry, it was lovely meeting you!” she said with a wave. 

“Bye coffee lady!” Henry said, making Charlie chuckle as they walked through the doors. He inhaled the cold, bitter air, and like magic, it was like life was sucked from him again. Smile fell, teeth grit together, and one hand flexed at his coffee cup as the other readjusted his grip on Henry’s hand. 

“Dad, it’s hot,” Henry said, sticking out his tongue as he reeled back from trying to take a taste of his hot chocolate. 

“Well yeah, buddy, that’s why it’s called hot chocolate,” he said with a chuckle as they headed towards the theater. “Is it good?” 

“Yeah! It’s better than mommys,” he said, going back to take another sip. “It’s got….cimnimon?” 

“Cinnamon?” He chuckled as his son went for another drink. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Don’t tell mommy that, she might not be too happy,” he said, putting his elbow out to open the door to the theater. “And don’t tell her, but mine is better than mommy’s too.” 

***

Charlie once again walked the same familiar street, dressed in the same familiar suit, in the same familiar city. Part of him was glad he was home from the disaster that was LA, the other part missed his son so deeply that nothing could put a smile on his face. 

He was running late again, having just stepped off the plane at the airport before heading directly for the theater, his safe haven. It was much needed, especially after his trip. But first, he headed to that same little coffee shop down the street, the one slice of heaven he could always count on healing his hurt soul. Fingers fumbled with the tip he already had saved in his pocket, nails playing with the paper clip that held her name to the bill. He smiled as he walked through the doors, but then it immediately turned into a frown. 

Her familiar face wasn’t there, and his brows furrowed as he took another hesitant step inside. Gaze darted, searching, seeking, praying. He needed her smile, her soul healing cup she always made him. He needed her laugh, her silly stories that put his aching heart to ease. 

He approached the counter, frown still plastered across his lips. “What happened to Y/N?” he asked Jared, still grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. He knew he had the orders stuffed somewhere on him. 

“She moved to the early morning shift a week ago,” he said, fingers tapping at the screen before Charlie even got his list out. “She got another job, had to change her hours.”

“Any idea where?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could catch it, and he shook his head as he realized he didn’t have his crew’s orders on him. He froze. He never needed to remember them. She always did it for him, never even asked anymore. He’d walk in the door and she was already making them. “Never mind, sorry. Uh, I’ll be right back, I have to go ask my guys what they want,” he said with a faked chuckle. 

“She wrote it down for me a week ago in case you showed back up,” Jared said with a smile. 

Charlie froze. “Oh…” Fingers stuffed the twenty wrapped in a note back in his wallet, and he fished out the cash for his crew. “Th-thank you.” 

“No problem. It’ll be right out.” 

Charlie, in a daze, stepped to the side, hands slowly folding his wallet back up as he moved to the coffee bar. He sat on a stool, fingers tapping against the granite as he waited for his drinks. 

He took in a deep breath, mind wandering to places he always feared. This divorce was already making it hard, especially with him going weeks on end without seeing his son. His empty apartment made him reel at night, the empty feeling that all was going wrong consumed him, and now his one slice of heaven was gone as well. 

His name being called snapped him from thoughts, and he stood quickly, grabbed the order, and headed out the door with carriers balanced on top of each other, and his cup grasped in his right hand. Or so he thought. He went to take a swig as he hit the streets, nose curling and tongue reeling as he realized that was not his cup of coffee. He glanced at the name, Donna scribbled in chicken scratch. 

His heart sank. Why? She was just a barista, she only made his coffee. 

She was just a barista. 

***

Darkness fell quickly enough in the dead set of winter. Charlie followed his crew down the well lit streets as they headed for a new jazz bar down the street. Mary Ann suggested they celebrate the MacArthur grant he won, and while he didn’t seem interested, he still decided to go. Maybe getting out would help his soul. 

He tailed the group a good few feet behind them, hands shoved in his pockets and nose bundled in the scarf wrapped around his shoulders. He made small talk with his crew, fake smiles and forced laughs pushing through as he tried to hide from his own skin. The word ‘Nicole’ seemed taboo, no one wanted to ask him how his life was going. Walking the streets of New York once made him happy, made him feel at home. Now it felt like a shell, something once so pure and innocent, ruined by bad memories and failed loves. 

As he stepped into the bar, it warmed him instantly. The schmoozey red carpet and leather seats made him feel somewhat at home, low hanging lamps kept the place dark and sull, and with a deep inhale of cigarettes and alcohol, he tried to push things away from his head. It was mostly empty on this Tuesday night, save for the twenty members of his theater group. For a while he sat at the table, chain smoking with his crew and laughing at jokes, but at some point, he slipped from his chair and headed to the bar across the way, needing something much stronger than a beer. He slid into the bar stool, legs too long to perch from it as he tapped on the dark wood. He took a deep breath. 

“Double scotch, neat please,” he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Any preference?” 

He froze, eyes flying open as he recognized the voice. He looked up, soul soaring when he saw her. He smiled, eyes quickly glancing over the button up white collared shirt, rolled up sleeves and black vest she wore. Her hair was down, curled. She was dolled up to the nines, staring at him with a glint in her eye, and a smirk on her lips that made his jaw drop. 

Oh. Was that his heart pounding away in his chest as he stared at her, unable to speak? Was that his hands growing clammy, his stomach turning and flipping like a goddamn butterfly? What was he, twelve? 

“We’ve got Lagavulin, it’s one of my favorites,” she said when he didn’t answer, giving him a smile. “It’s got a nice smoke to it, very earthy. Considering how you like your coffee, it’s right up your alley.” 

Oh, was he staring? His eyes dipped down, then back up. She never broke her gaze. He found it entrancing, the way she’d tilt her head to the side and make her hair fall over her shoulder. 

“What, do you just specialize in making drinks for people?” he said, finally able to get words from his throat. “First a coffee shop, now a bar?”

She laughed, and eyes gazed down at the bar as she leaned against the wood. “Something like that,” she said. Eyes flicked back up to his, catching his gaze in a look that froze him to his core. 

“Lagavulin’s fine,” he said softly, the pads of his fingers tracing circles in the bar top. 

She tossed him a black napkin, and she turned to the bar to grab a whiskey glass. He watched as she reached high to the top shelf, grabbing a bottle two thirds full of pure honey colored scotch. She met his gaze as she poured him a double, and then an extra splash for good measure. She slid the drink over to him, slowly as she placed the bottle on the bar top. 

“I missed you at the coffee shop,” she said, resting her palms against the wood. “I haven’t seen you in what, two weeks?”

His heart fluttered. “I was in LA visiting my son,” he said, eyes flicking downward as he grabbed the drink and shot it back, taking the whole glass within a few seconds before he set it back down on the bar. He took a minute, letting the aftertaste hit his tongue as he savored the liquor. He nodded his head, and then let his finger trace the lip of the glass. 

“Henry? How’s he doing?” she asked, glossing over the fact that he was in LA, and no longer in New York. 

“Oh you know. He’s eight, he barely has a problem in the world,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “His biggest issue is that he can’t decide what he wants for his birthday coming up, you know.” He let out a chuckle, but his fake smile fell. Hands tapped the glass on the bar top, absent-mindedly biting at his lip as he forced himself to pull his thoughts together.

“What’s wrong, Charlie,” she asked after a long pause of silence. She reached to the bottle of scotch and poured him another drink, and he held his glass still long enough for her to give him a double. 

“Nothing. Nothing.” He shook his head and forced himself to keep his eyes locked to the wood bar top. He took another sip, and placed the glass on the napkin as he readjusted in his seat. “You ever feel like your whole life is just falling apart and there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” 

He finally looked up, and what little smile he did muster fell when he saw her with her head tilted, brows knit together and lips pressed into a thin line. He looked away when she nodded her head, and muttered ‘all too well,’ under her breath. 

He took another drink. “I went to LA to see my son, and instead got served divorce papers.” He drummed his fingers on the glass. “I already knew it was happening, but...now it’s real.” He paused, and then shook his head as he snapped himself from his somber thought “Sorry. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.” 

“Nonono, please. I’ll listen,” she said, leaning against the bar as she folded her arms over her chest. “Come on, I’ve been making your coffee now every day for a few months,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll be a friend. That is, if you want me to be.”

He flashed a smile, but it dropped quickly. He tapped on the glass again, considering her words. He could see her own nervousness in her stature, fingers gripping the table like it was a lifeline, hanging on his breath as she waited for something, anything. He knew. He’d been like that for months now with her, hanging on her smiles and little gazed over the pasty display at the shop. 

He swallowed hard. Fuck it. Why not.

“We weren’t going to do lawyers, but now she’s got this big hot shot holding my entire life over my head like it’s one huge mistake.” He took another swig of the liquor. “She could have anything, I don’t care. She can take what she wants, I just want my son.”

He was quiet, and he looked up at her, heart fluttering at the sight of her sad eyes staring back at him. He was shocked when she reached over the bar and laid her hand on his, giving him a sympathetic squeeze as she took his fingers in her palm. It felt like his skin was on fire, like she lit him aflame from the inside, lighting a candle that had long since blown out in the storm it tried to weather. 

“I’ve got to go back in, what, two weeks? I feel like I’ve spent more time on a plane than I have in my own apartment, and all I can think of is how many more flights am I going to take?” He shrugged his shoulders, eyes lost in the bar top as he vented. “How many times is she going to force me to choose between my son, or my work?” He shook his head, dropping his chin as he locked his lips together.  

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she said. The corners of her mouth turned as she grabbed a rag from below the bar and started to wipe down the wood. 

He tapped on the bar with his hands, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable for talking to what was essentially a light acquaintance.

“Aaaah, that’s enough about me for the night I think. Jared said you’ve moved to the opening shift?” He grabbed his drink and shot it back, clearing the glass as he leaned back in his seat. He sat it back down, eyes catching a small smile as it crossed her face as she walked the length of the bar.  

“Yeah, I got another job to help pay the rent,” she said with a chuckle, fingers fiddling and doing whatever they could find for her to do. “Being a barista is fun, but the rent is not cheap, even outside of Brooklyn.” He noticed it was all she could do to not look at him, eyes fluttering back and forth. Heart stuttered in his chest, and he looked back down at his empty glass. 

God, he hadn’t felt this alive in a long while. Was this what it should feel like? Or was he just pathetically slobbering over the first human that’s given him attention in years? He tapped the glass against the counter, a nervous tick as he watched her work. “You live across the bridge?”

“Yeah, something like that,” she said. He could tell he was forcing herself to hide her smile, albeit badly as she took beer glasses and poured two as a coworker waited patiently at the other end of the bar. 

He stopped talking. This was getting a little too personal. She walked over to him, grabbing the scotch bottle and offering to pour him another. He nodded, and held his glass still. Eyes locked, his breath caught in his throat, and as she withdrew the bottle, he brought the drink to his lips. Breath fogged the glass, lips drew from the honey colored drink, and he dropped the glass from his lips. 

There was a scar on her neck. Was that new, or had he missed it before? He looked down, feeling sick inside. He felt like he was overstepping, or that feeling normal human emotions was sin that needed to be scrubbed from his skin. 

The laugh of his crew behind him pulled him back from the little world that only they existed in. He looked over his shoulder, most of them with heads in their hands as they shook their heads at Frank. He turned back around, catching her gaze just as it flickered away.

“Thanks for the talk,” he said, flashing the best smile he could muster. “Have a good night.” He grabbed the black napkin from the bar top, and she gave him a smile. 

“See ya, Charlie.” 

His heart always fluttered at the way she said his name. He actually smiled this time before he turned towards the booth his company was in, suddenly in a better mood he was in. He would catch himself staring at the enigma, wrapped in a skirt that was just a little too tight, and would snap himself when she caught a glance at him from the bar. It would always make her blush, and quickly gaze back down at the bar as she made drinks. He was shocked that no one in the company called him out for completely unplugging from the conversation, and at some point, she walked by to refill his glass. When they walked away for the night, he darted to the tip jar sitting on the edge of the bar while she was away, and dropped the twenty from this morning with her name on it into the jar, and walked away with a smile. 

***

Feet carried him quickly out of the subway, the bitter cold air stinging his nose as he adjusted bags on his shoulder. It was early morning, maybe a little after three thirty now as he darted through dark streets. Even this early in the morning, New York was still bustling, taxis lined the roads, and he fumbled to get his bags to follow him without hitting others around him. 

His mind was a haze. Nicole’s lawyer had him in a tizzy, threatening to claim full custody if he didn’t get a lawyer in LA. He hadn’t slept, how could he? Instead, he booked the first plane out, which left in two hours. He furiously packed his bags, and was on the first subway towards the inner city. 

Feet carried him to the only place he knew, the only person who could calm him from the panic attack about to rack his chest. He rushed down the street, heart sinking when he saw the neon open sign off, and he stopped in front of the door, hands grasping at the straps of his bag. The lights were off, save for the spotlights behind the bar, and not a single sign of life breathed inside the coffee shop.  

Open at 4. He’d be on his way to boarding a plane to California by then. Of course. He bit his lip, and looked down at his feet. He knew coming here was a risk, he knew she probably wasn’t here. He felt silly, coming all this way for what?

It wasn’t coffee. 

He nodded his head and turned, feet taking him a few steps away before he heard a lock twisting, and the door opening behind him. 

“Charlie!” 

He froze. It was her. He looked over his shoulder, swallowing hard. She hung on the door, her hat low on her forehead, hair pulled up, bags under her eyes, but a bright yet confused smile on her lips. Her smile fell, and he realized he must have looked a mess. He couldn’t even muster the strength to curl the corners of his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Her brows furrowed, and she took a step away from the door. 

He paused, looked away for a brief moment. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. 

“Come in out of the cold, I’m just opening the store,” she said, holding the door open for him to follow her in. 

He hesitated, but then tucked his chin as he nodded and dragged his bags through the door. The shop was warm, already smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and he took a deep breath as it calmed his pounding heart. 

“Hey, what happened?” She touched his elbow, and it sent a shock down his spine. Her furrowed brows of concern made his head spin, and he shook his head as he dropped her gaze. 

“Nicole’s lawyer called. She’s threatening to take Henry,” he said as he looked down at his feet. He heard the small gasp leave her lips, and he shook his head again. “Well she’s threatening to take everything, but full custody of Henry, and I am...I am not ok.” He was aware he wasn’t speaking clearly, the fog of sleep deprivation clouding his mind. Feet carried him to a table, where he dropped his bag and rubbed at his forehead. He opened his eyes as he felt her arms wrap around his waist, head resting against his chest. 

At first he froze, but it oddly calmed him. When his heart stopped pounding loudly in his ear, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and squeezed her tightly. Eyes snapped shut, his heart rate slowed, and the comfort of her filled his chest. He exhaled, and sniffed as he forced himself to keep it together, to keep from breaking apart, and he felt her arms that were wrapped around his chest tighten. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess,” he said with a laugh, voice cracking as he inhaled a breath through his nose.

She broke the hug, and squeezed his shoulder with a faint smile on her face. “Considering you’re fighting for your son three thousand miles away from home, you’re doing better than I would be,” she said as she disappeared behind the counter. 

He froze again. He could smell her on him, the scent of fresh brewed coffee and lavender piercing his thoughts. He placed both palms over his face, wanting to rub his skin raw if he could. He took a few steps over to the bar, where he sat on a stool and leaned his head down onto the cool countertop. The sounds of machines whirred to life, and he looked up to see her making a cup of coffee behind the empty pastry display. 

“When does your flight leave?” she asked, the hair pulled up in her ponytail whipping over her shoulder as she took wide steps. 

“I have to be on the plane in an hour,” he said, lifting his head up. “Part of me doesn’t even want to go if I’m going to be playing lawyer tag. I have a play opening on Broadway. Broadway! And she wants to do this now. She wants to hold my son, my own son, over my head like a hostage-” He abruptly stopped talking and put his head in his hands. She always had this effect on him, he always talked too much when he was around her. 

He looked up to see her staring at him, lips frowning and sad eyes fluttering over his features.  

“Sorry, I-”

“Nono, you’re fine,” she said softly. She walked around the bar with a cup in hand, and slid it to him as she sat in the stool beside him. “Here, it’s on the house,” she said, sliding a hot cover over the cup as she sat, hiding the beautiful cursive underneath the cardboard. 

“Nonono, I can’t-” he said, putting a hand up as he reached for his back pocket. 

“I insist. The register isn’t open anyways,” she said with a smile. She rubbed his shoulder, and stood from the stool. “Just don’t tell my boss,” she said with a chuckle. 

He smiled. Genuinely smiled as he took the cup from the granite counter. “Thank you. For everything. I know you don’t get paid to listen to me complain about my life, but you still do. So far at two of the three jobs you work at.” 

She flashed him a glance, cheeks turning red as she tried to hide behind her machines. “I’d do it anyways,” she said softly, teeth scraping against her lower lip. “Go, before you miss your flight,” she said, another glance catching his gaze.  

He nodded and stood, leaning to grab his shoulder bag off the table and reaching for his rolling bag. He snagged the coffee as he was about to head out of the door, and bid her another thank you for the coffee. 

“I’ll see you around, Charlie,” she said with a smirk as he pushed the door open with his back. He waved with two fingers with the hand he held his coffee in, and then exited without another word. He stood in the cold for a moment, chest warm and fuzzy without even taking a drink of his coffee. He pursed his lips when he saw her writing hiding behind the cardboard heat sleeve, and he fumbled with his bag as he slid it off. 

His name wasn’t even written, and instead her phone number stretched across the cup with two little hearts underneath it. He froze, and then turned back to see that she wasn’t behind the bar, and the little shop was empty. 

His lips curled upwards, and he took a drink to let the hot coffee warm his cold inside. He took steps towards the main street, hand held up as he hailed a taxi. As he climbed into the back of the yellow cab, hands fumbled with his phone as he put her number into his contacts.

He saved it as her name, with a heart right beside it, as she always wrote his name. 

***

Charlie walked through the apartment door, finally home in New York after a dreadful time in California. Tired bones ached, yet he felt numb to everything as he collapsed on the couch, palms pressing into his eyes as he exhaled a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes, and then leaned forward, hands rubbing at his jaw. He already desperately missed his son, already dreaded getting back onto another plane in two weeks for the upcoming and impending trial that was bound to go to court. He tried to decompress, to not think about it.  

He couldn’t. 

It was what, midday? He checked his phone, noting the time as he laid back on the couch, headache forming already as he flipped through his phone. 

He stopped, freezing when he saw her number saved. He’d forgotten all about it, going to that little shop in a haze, what, two months ago? When he got to Cali, he’d been so bombarded with the divorce, with finding lawyers, and when he got back he was so worried about finding the money to be there for Henry at Halloween, that he’d forgotten all about it. 

Eyes stared at the ceiling. He was tempted, oh so tempted to send something, anything. He watched the cursor flash in an empty message for a while, fingers drumming against his chest. 

He was getting a divorce. He was separated from his wife, they weren’t together. This was harmless fodder, wasn’t it? It didn’t feel harmless, and he closed his phone, the guilt too much. He stared at the ceiling, leaning back as he closed his eyes. 

After a moment, he grabbed his phone again. Fuck Nicole. 

He typed the message a thousand times, worried he either sounded too desperate or too needy, and then a few times he felt it was too forward. 

Plane just landed. Can I see you? 

He forced himself to send it, and then snapped his phone shut as he placed it back on his chest. His fingers drummed anxiously against his chest, eyes closed as heart pounding as he waited. 

It buzzed, and he snatched it from his chest quicker than he cared to admit. 

I don’t work at the bar tonight. Meet me at the Rec Room at 7? :)

He smiled at the message, and rubbed at his bottom lip as he tried to calm his pounding heart. 

I’ll be there.

***

One hand was stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips as he walked the streets of Manhattan, breath exhaling smoke every time he took a step. His heart fluttered in his chest as he fought guilty pangs in his chest. He shouldn’t have done this, he should be waiting until the divorce was final. He was still, by law, married, as much as he hadn’t felt like it in years. He shouldn’t be fraternizing with someone he kept pushing his feelings down into his stomach. 

Yet it felt so good. He swore even Nicole never looked at him the way she did. 

He pushed the thoughts from his mind, digging his nose into his scarf as he walked. The brisk November air pierced through his coat, but he didn’t mind. He’d grown used to it a long time ago. He rounded the corner, eyes darting down the street as he looked for the Rec bar that stood at the corner of two very busy New York streets. 

His stomach sunk. Should he be this out in the open with her? He’d doubt he’d run into someone he knew out here, but the thought was still there. He toyed with the lint in his pocket, eyes darting to his feet as he walked up to the front door of the bar. He threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out on the steps as he hopped up them. Hands grabbed the cold metal door, and he threw it open and stepped in. 

It was dark, dull and smelled of smoke. Pool tables sat in the corner, and the place was pretty crowded for a Thursday night. Eyes darted over the place, trying to find the woman who took his breath away. 

As if on cue, he spotted her behind the bar, and there went the air in his lungs. He feigned a smile, and nodded his head as she smiled back, eyes brightening at the sight of him. His pushed smile turned into a real smirk as he looked down at his feet, still hanging in the doorway as she spoke a word to her coworker behind the bar and tapped at the register at the corner of the bar. She started throwing on her coat, pulled a hat over her curly hair, and stepped out from behind the bar as she tossed her small bag over her back. She shoved her hands into some fuzzy purple gloves, and Charlie smiled as she walked over to him with a beaming face and smile so wide it could brighten the room. 

“Hey, how was your trip?” she asked, pulling his eyes from giving her a once over and back to her face. She looked so different when she was able to dress down, in leggings and high rise boots with a denim jacket that looked so warm on the inside. 

“Not great, but what can you do,” he said, offering the crook of his arm for her to take. “I went out and hired my own Beverly Hills asshole, that’s how much I can’t take anymore bullshit.” 

“Well come on. Let’s not think about that for now, hm?” she said, wrapping an arm around his. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a night away from the world.” 

He froze, but followed her out the door with brows furrowed. “How’d you get the night off?” he asked as they stepped into the cold streets of Manhattan. 

“Oh I took it off a while ago. Working three jobs can be absolutely exhausting sometimes,” she said, her free hand going up to pull her hat further down her head. 

His heart was in his throat. He didn’t want to take up her time, not when it was so valuable. “We can do this another time if you want,” he said, stopping his stride, only to have her yank him along. 

“Absolutely not. We both could use the distraction.” She pulled him back to match her stride, and he chuckled. His heart swelled in his chest as she put her head on his shoulder. “I know this coffee shop around the corner, and a friend of mine, Melonie? She makes the best caramel macchiato in the city.”

He chuckled. “Honestly, if it isn’t your coffee, I’m not drinking it,” he said, which made her spin to look at him. “Seriously. You’ve spoiled me. You know I went there right after you moved to the morning shift, and the guy handed me Donna’s separate instead of mine. And could you believe I got angry for half a second before I realized how selfish that was? You’ve spoiled me rotten,” he said, little laughs exhaling from his lungs with a cloud of steam. 

“Oh come on, stop,” she said, rolling her eyes as they made their way down the street, her boots clicking on the sidewalk. “It’s not that good.”

“I haven’t been back because I always wake up too late to catch you. Yes it is,” his said, the words slipping from his tongue before he had a chance to catch them. She stopped them, pulling his arm and dragging his attention to her. 

“Please? Just trust me?” she said, bright eyes sparkling like the galaxies he couldn’t see above them. He forced himself to suppress the smile, but it leaked through anyways. 

“Fine,” he said with a dramatic exhale. She pulled him the opposite way, his stomach in knots as he stared at the smile on her face. She was always smiling, always so happy, so free. So willing to be fluid, so willing to work hard, willing to be different and push him to try something new. So opposite of Nicole. 

They went up the road to the coffee shop, and it took no time for her to speak to her friend and get them orders to go. He paid, much to her chagrin, and they were out and walking into Central Park in no time. 

“See, I told you yours is better,” he said after he finished his first sip. 

“No, you’re just spoiled,” she said, casting him a snarky look with a cocked brow over her shoulder at him. “You’re just upset she didn’t draw hearts all over your cup.”

“Shhhhh,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. He started to laugh, and shook his head as he led her into the park. 

“Do you skate?” she asked, throwing him for a loop, making him furrow his brows and tilt his chin. 

“Yeah, I used to skate all the time as a child,” he said, his sarcasm dry and unwavering. 

“Wait, really?” She stopped, looking at him with a suspicious brow. 

“Absolutely not,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m a director, I don’t tend to get out much if you haven’t noticed,” he said, and took a long drink of his coffee.

“Well come on then,” she said, taking his arm and letting him steer them towards the ice rink set up just in time for winter. “I haven’t skated since I left Colorado five years ago. It’ll be fun.”

“You skate, I’ll bust my ass,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll watch though.” He looked down, and caught her eyes, cheeks growing warm. 

“Oh come on, loosen up Charlie,” she practically begged. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to the overexaggerated pout of her lip and her overwhelming puppy eyes. He rolled his eyes, slammed his coffee, and tossed it to a nearby trash can as they walked deeper into the park.  

It wasn’t long before he was booted up in some pass around skates, leaning against the edge of the rink with one hand gripping the railing, while the other helped him suck down a cigarette, for if he tried to do too much else, all he did was flail his arms before winding up on the cold ice. He damned himself to watching her from the sidelines, skating and zipping around like she was born to do it.

“Where did you learn how to skate?” he asked her as she zipped by, gliding and shifting her weight like a swan on water. She turned, skating backwards as she gave him a smile. 

“I used to compete a loooooong time ago,” she said, circling the rink before she hit the railing full on beside him to come to a stop. “Like twenty years ago, before I went to collage long ago.”

“Well aren’t you still full of surprises,” he said, craning his neck to look down at her as she tucked in beside him. “It’s like I barely know you,” he said with a chuckle as he turned to watch a handful of others circle the rink, each either flailing or skating with some skill. A crowd of them left the rink, leaving the two of them mostly alone along with another couple gliding and giggling over the ice.

“Well to be fair, you do barely know me. I think I know more about you than you do about me,” she said, pushing herself off the edge to rejoin the ice. “But maybe that’s because I’ve seen you on the magazine rack once or twice.” 

His heart fluttered when she smirked at him, and to hide the hot flush that creeped up his neck, he offered her a drag. She took it, holding it between her lips and sucking in for a few seconds before handing it back.  

“Aaah, dating me cause I’m hot shit, I see how you are,” he said, grin wide as he took his cigarette back.

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were a director until after I saw you at the bar.” Her breath was a cloud of smoke as she spoke through the exhale. “If you think that’s the most interesting thing about you, Charlie Barber, you need to rethink your prerogative. Pause, I want to see if I still got it.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder, leaving him hanging as he sucked down the last of his cigarette and crushed it out on the rail. She skated around, slowly building up speed as she skated backwards through the rink. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and watched as she looked behind her, and then launched herself into a spin jump, and landed just a mere hair away from perfection. 

Eyebrows went up, jaw locked, and he watched her pump her arm in celebration as she went to skate back over to him. She slid, skates spraying ice as she came to a stop immediately to his left. 

“Who are you?” he said wildly, ending in a laugh as she burst into giggles and used a gloved hand to cover her smile. “You are so much more interesting than about, what, ninety percent of the people I know.” 

Her laugh seemed to subside, and then her smile dropped, fist lightly tapping on the railing as she lost herself in thought. He furrowed his brow as she nodded her head towards the exit, muttering a soft ‘come on’ as she went. His heart was in his throat. Did he say something wrong? He followed her, and the two turned in their skates and headed deeper into the park without much words spoken. 

“You know I came here to do theater?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as he quickly stepped to catch up to her. 

“From Colorado?” He lit another cigarette. God, was the nicotine even working? It still felt like his heart was pounding in his chest every time he looked at her, and his stomach was in his chest.

“I’m actually from Cali. I moved to Colorado for school, and then headed up here after I graduated.” The two stared at their feet for the most part as they made their way to a bench. She took a seat, Charlie sitting on the other side as the two stretched out. She curled her fingers over crossed legs, and he leaned back, intent to listen to her. “I wanted to be a star,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve been singing since I was a girl, and wanted to do Opera. I was good, too. I could sing Queen of the Winter Night from Mozart and not break a sweat.”

“So why are you working three jobs that aren’t theater?” he said, perking up at their sudden passion in common. 

 “I did work for a theater crew for a while. We wanted to be the next Phantom show on Broadway, and we were headed that direction. Two days before opening, I blew out my voice. My understudy was great, but there's just something about watching someone stand where you’re supposed to be, claiming what you wanted.” She got quiet. Her eyes couldn’t look at him anymore. “A week went by, it didn’t get better. Then two weeks. Then a month. I had to get surgery, and while it fixed my voice, I still couldn’t sing Opera. Never got it back,” she said, a lighthearted shrug hiding the drop in her shoulders. “I’ve just kinda stayed here. Working three jobs to pay the rent as I can. I can’t leave here, I love it too much, but… it can be hard.”

He rolled his head to the side, lips pressing into a thin line. “That's…tough,” he said quietly, eyes locked onto her as she readjusted her stance. He sucked down another drag, nerves dizzy and disorienting. 

She exhaled a cloud of steam, and then he saw her try to play off a shiver. “It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it. And it’s not like I don’t sing anymore. You should see me Saturday nights after the bar closes, well I guess it’s Sunday morning then. The coworkers and I get a little too tispy and I’ll sing Adele on the bar top,” she said with a light laugh. 

He smiled, admiring her strength. She shivered again, and while it took him a split second, he jumped into motion. He started shucking his jacket off his shoulders, cigarette butt perched in his lips. 

“No, I’m fine, really,” she said with a wave of her hand. 

“Yeah, and you’re shivering, liar,” he said, which made her laugh. He motioned her over, and after a moment’s pause, she scooted over, and he draped his heavy jacket over her shoulder. He put out an arm, and before he knew it, she was pressed against his chest and curling her feet under her as she tucked her cold ass nose into his neck. 

“You’re fucking cold, you know that right,” he said, fighting the urge to pull away from her freezing cold hands scurrying under his suit jacket. Instead, he pressed his cheek into her forehead, closed his eyes, and took in a deep drag before throwing his free arm over the back of the bench.

God, he shouldn’t feel like his heart would leap out of his chest. He shouldn’t feel the urge to wrap her around his neck, to kiss her like he hadn’t had this feeling before. His thumb brushed against her shoulder, and he found himself drawing her closer. He’d sinfully dreamed of this before, sitting in Central Park, curled up with someone, anyone other than his wife, to keep cold hands warm. It had been so long since he’d felt this content before, and still there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was so wrong. He’d known her for several months, even spent entire shifts with her at the coffee house when he didn’t have to be at the theater. She was no longer a stranger, she was a friend. 

So why was he nervous? Why did it feel so criminal? The divorce was close to being over. Nicole already had a new somebody, at least according to Henry she did. Why shouldn’t he feel content at finding someone himself?

He took a drag, and leaned his head back to rest on the back of the park bench. He took another, finishing the whole thing in one long breath before he flicked it to the ground and scuffed it out with his toe.

She nuzzled her nose into his neck as smoke leaked from his lips, and he snapped from his thoughts. He turned, pressing his lips to her forehead like a forbidden kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, his fingers were hot and sweating, even in the cool night. He couldn’t even focus on the beauty of the park at night, he was so caught up in his head in an internal war with himself. 

“What?” Her voice pierced through his pounding heart as she lifted her head, and he caught her eyes. She was so soft, so at peace, her cheeks were flush, and he didn’t know if it was the cold or if she was fighting the same war in her head. The taboo feeling of him still bound to a woman half a world away, yet being so emotionally gone from his marriage was consuming him. 

He shook his head, dropping her gaze and turning away. 

“Charlie,” she said, words pulling him back, foreheads touching as he stole the breath from her lips. “I’m here when you’re ready,” she said like a confession, like a prayer. 

That was it. His hand flew to her jaw, drew her close, crashed his lips with hers with such desperation he was sure he knocked the breath out of his lungs. She was so soft, met him with the same fervent need he had. Breaths locked, he met her with open mouth kisses that made his stomach flip. He ripped the gloves off his hands, wanting to feel her under his skin, to feel her breaths against the hands that held her ribs caged. Fingers brushed her cold cheeks, and she shivered under his touch. 

She was straddling his lap in seconds, the air filled with the sounds of their deep breaths and panting as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Fingers glided up her waist, toying with the waistband of her pants to lock her to his hips as he groaned against her kiss. His jacket fell from her shoulders, hands ripped her hat off to join it as he brushed his fingers through her hair. 

She moaned into the kiss, and it was like his whole body slammed to a halt, like the subway hit him head on. He pulled back, heavily breathing and fingers tight on her waist. He was eye to eye with her, there was no escaping her gaze, and no escaping how she definitely felt the hardened rock begging for freedom in his trousers. 

She panted heavily on his lips, lidded eyes locking with his as a smirk curled on her lips. Fingers held tightly on his shirt, nails biting at his skin under the fabric. She dipped to him, brushing her swollen lower lip on his as the two fought for composure. He glanced at her, gaze locked together with dilated eyes and heavy flush speckling their cheeks. Her hair was a mess, he chuckled at that as she ran her fingers through locks to try and re-tame it. 

A heavy breath came out more like a growl as he reclosed the gap between them, this time slower, more deliberate as he ran his tongue over her lips. He broke the single kiss by resting his forehead against hers, hands still tight to her sides. Her fingers rested on his chest, practically clawing at the fabric of his shirt. He took in a deep breath, it coming out as a shudder as the cold hit the back of his neck. 

“I have a place on Cornelia,” she said, breathless as she shifted in his lap, hands dipping to dig his hands from her waist and lace her fingers with his. “Instead of going to Brooklyn?” She knew what she was doing, and he held back the groan that prickled in the back of his throat. He resisted the urge to take her here. Snow was starting to fall now, making it that much colder as it landed on his nose and melted from the heat.  

He nodded wordlessly, and as she slid from his lap, he dipped to grab his coat off the ground. Hands brushed it off as she scooped her hat up, and he wrapped his coat onto her shoulders. 

He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with his, trying so hard to get his heart to stop pounding and his ears to stop ringing. She was leading him through Central Park, her face still flush and lips bruised. 

They took the subway to the West Fourth station, hopping off and walking the rest of the way, silently stealing glances as they made small chat. It wasn’t long before she led him to an apartment complex, and up a flight of stairs. 

Keys hit the lock, and he never felt so nervous. He unlaced his hand from hers as she pulled the door open and let him in, flicking a light switch on the wall to illuminate the room. It was a cute little thing, but there were no decorations adorning the walls. The place was spotless, hardly lived in save for some fruit resting in a bowl on the counter.

“This is probably the cleanest apartment I’ve ever seen in New York,” he said with a chuckle, pulling his coat off her shoulders and setting it on the counter of her kitchen. 

“Well I’m never here, so why even make it home?” 

The words stung his heart, and his smile fell. He spun around, still taking in the small apartment as she locked the door behind them. She still kept her back against the door, and eyes caught hers as she stared at him from the doorway. 

“What?” he said, eyes slanted as he put his hands in his pockets and took slow steps over to her. 

“Just trying to gauge if you’ll make a one night stand out of me,” she said, cocking her chin up as he stood directly in front of her. 

He chuckled, closing the gap even further as he got nose to nose with her. “If I do that, I’ll fuck myself out of some really, really good coffee,” he said, dipping down just enough to capture her lips with his. She let out a moan, back arching against him as he pushed her to the door, pinning her with his whole body. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist to anchor him to her. 

He groaned into a sloppy, open mouth kiss as she grinded her hips against him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands were on her waist, keeping her grounded as he dropped from her lips to her neck. He put a leg against the door, keeping her up as hands started ripping her coat off her body. 

Oh this was so wrong. Oh this was sin at its finest, it was temptation beyond what he was able to endure, and instead he drank from it. He was tipsy, drunk off the feeling of her skin under his tongue, of his cock pressed to her, begging, taunting. It had been too long since he’d laid with anyone, and this feral monster inside him was rearing to be released. 

She breathlessly moaned, and managed to breathe the words ‘bedroom’ and ‘left’ as he left a trail on her throat, and it was all he needed. He lifted her from the door, keeping her steady as he carried her to her room. He tapped the door open with his foot, dropped her to her feet, and within seconds they were pressed up against the wall. Her hands were at his stomach, fumbling with his belt as he raked his tongue against her lips. She had his trousers down and a hand on his already hardened cock in seconds, her hands pulling a groan from his lips as she worked her palm over the head. 

He groaned into her kiss, hips twitching against her thrusts as she dropped to her knees, tongue wetting him down before she slipped him into her mouth. Head tilted, resting on the door as he carded fingers through her hair, holding her as she sucked his head. A string of curses hissed from his lips as she swirled her tongue over the swollen tip, leaving him keening against her lips as her name left his tongue like a prayer. 

Every move she made left him aching, begging, a spluttering mess as she picked up her pace. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell her how fucking much he wanted to pull her off and pound her raw into the wall. His head rolled on his shoulders, getting a good look at her pretty little lips around his shaft. 

She looked up, and his heavy panting hitched in his throat. Oh she was too good. Her tongue was too much, the twist of her hand at the base of his cock made him shudder as she worked up the nerve to slide him all the way down her throat, nose brushing against his stomach as she hummed. He could feel himself climbing, pressure building in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t want this to end. He put a hand on her jaw, stopping her from finishing him off as he pulled her off his cock, it twitching as she released it from her mouth with a smirk. He pulled her up by her chin, finger wiping the spit and precome off her chin as he brought her to his lips. Hands were on her waist, and he walked her backwards onto the king size bed before he dropped too, putting all his weight on keeping her still on the sheets.

 His hands ran up her sides, hands lacing together and holding them above her head as he sucked at her neck. Tongue laved across her skin, savoring the sweet taste as he dropped to her collarbone, then lower. Hands fumbled with the hem of her shirt as his tongue swirled circles over her skin, and she helped him pull it over her head. He pulled her boots off her feet, kicked his own shoes to the floor, and then dropped to the hem of the lace bra as teeth nipped at raw flesh. She arched her back, breathing heavily as he reached around, popping the clasps loose with one hand and tearing it off her body. He toyed with her peaks, sucked bruises into her skin with growls stuck in his throat as he tried to ignore the ache in his trousers. Hands kneaded her skin, her tits perfect for his wide hands. He ran fingertips down her stomach, feeling the goosebumps prickle underneath the pads of his fingers. 

Her hands ran up to his shirt, tearing through buttons as she clawed the fabric, pulling it from his muscular arms the moment it was free. She viciously captured his lips, hand on the back of his neck as she arched her body to his, needy, wanting. Skin pressed together, searing, radiating as he ran his hands down her sides and pulled her pants from her legs. His heart was suddenly in his throat, his hands shook as if he was nervous. For a moment, he stared, taking in every curve of her body, every dip and crevice of ethereal beauty. Lips dipped back to her collarbone, sucking another bruise in her throat.  A growl left his lips as her hands fisted his hair. He looked up, seeing her eyes trained on him with a glossy stare, teeth biting her lip as she anticipated his move, pushed him to do it. 

He moved down, lips leaving a wet and sloppy trail as he moved further and further down. Teeth bit at her thigh, lips lingered on her mound, and then with a deep inhale, he dipped his tongue into her folds. She was already slick, wet for him as he teased her, waiting for a sharp inhale of breath before wide tongue laved against her clit. She reeled against him as a loud moan left parted lips, and his hands pinned her to the bed with firm fingers as he did it again, the heat and slick coating his tongue. He ran down her slit, wide tongue taking long, slow, titillating strokes as he savored her taste. He sucked at her clit, smiling in her heat as she slow drawl of his name left her lips. He pushed her leg up, gaining better leverage as he readjusted himself on the bed, hips begging to thrust, begging for the same pleasure she felt, begging for her pretty little cunt clenched around. 

He got into a rhythm, and she rocked her hips in time with his movements. He let a finger drag across her slit, toying with her opening before he slid a long, slender finger into her heat. She inhaled a sharp hiss, and pushed her hips into his finger as he began to stretch her with another, and got greedy with a third.

Wanton moans dripping from her lips as she sputtered nonsense. He smirked against her, feral as he dipped deep into her. He sucked on her clit again, this time letting his tongue swirl over the swollen nub as his eyes locked with hers. Her head tilted back, the room echoed with the sounds of heavy breathing and her moans, getting louder and louder as she climbed towards her climax. He could feel her clench around his thrusting fingers, and then pulse in time with her orgasm as she rocked into him, firm hand in his hair to keep him put as she rode his tongue to her paradise, jaw locked open and singing sweet moans that left him begging for more. 

Her fingers loosened, her body dropped, a gentle ‘Fuck, Charlie” left her lips as he withdrew with a light pop, her come dripping from her and his chin. He was feral now, cock throbbing as he tossed the rest of his clothes to the floor. He was on the bed in seconds. Deep, heavy breaths were in time with hers as he took her hands and stretched them high above her head, fingers laced tightly together. He could never get enough of the sight of her stretched underneath him, tits taut and back arched as he pushed her a little more. He positioned himself, and rested his forehead against hers asshe leaned up and kissed all the slick off his lips, sucking on his tongue to share the taste. 

He slid in slow, the head of his cock popped in and sent him spinning. He pushed further, her tight little cunt taking him perfectly as he bottomed out right as he pushed all the way in, groaning at the sounds of her high, drawling whine stuck in her throat. He stayed still, letting her grow accustomed to him, and trying to keep his own orgasm at bay. He hadn’t been sheathed like this in so long, and she was so slick and tight that it was all he could do to not fuck her into the bed and come in seconds. 

She rolled her hips and his breath stuttered, and he dropped to the crook of her neck as he moaned her name into her skin. “Jesus fuck, don’t do that,” he said, breathlessly as he panted against her skin. 

“Why not?” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist and drawing him in further, doing it again to draw a hiss and a groan from his tongue. 

He laughed, pressing his lips against hers as he wrapped his arms around her back. “You don’t realize how long it’s been,” he said, teeth toying with her lip. 

She brushed her nose against his and smiled against his kiss. “Shut up and fuck me already,” she said, biting his lip as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The two reeled as he drew back and pushed in, moaning in the other’s mouth as he did it again, and again. 

He wasn’t going to last long with her grinding underneath, that he knew. He unhooked himself, and grabbed her arms and held them over her head as he pounded into her, fingers tight and pulling her taut underneath him, the sound of their songs of pleasure echoing around the room like a chorus. He sat up, pulled her legs flush to him as he continued on, deep and fast as the feeling of his orgasm creeping up on him as he leaned his head back. She grabbed him, pulled him down by the back of his neck, and sucked him into a kiss as he dropped his hand down to her clit, swirling it under the pad of his thumb as he got closer and closer to spilling. Her pitch changed, now octaves higher as she whined into his mouth, shoulder drawing in as she let out a shudder. Her cunt pulsed around him, drawing him deeper. He picked up his pace, no longer able to fight it, her orgasm enough to send him careening for his own.

He grunted into her kiss, broke the contact and buried his nose into her shoulder as it hit him quickly, seed spilling deep inside her as he pushed through his climax. Teeth bit her neck, keeping him from moaning her name too loud as he pulsed deep in her cunt. Cock swelled, he saw stars, and he pushed into her again, stuttering a string of curses as his whole body felt like it would fuse with her. 

When he came down from his own, she was still rocking on his cock, riding through another, and again as he thumbed her swollen clit through his heavy breathing. She finished just as his shoulders dropped, and he barely caught his weight on his elbow as he collapsed on the bed. 

They breathed in tandem, heavy and stuttered as he buried his nose in her breast.

“I-I’m sorry-” he heaved against her, his forehead sticking to her sweat covered body. He felt bad, lasting all of five minutes, and it made him bury his head into her neck. He wished he could worship her into the darkest hours of the night, make up for the years and years of repression, of celibacy locked in a loveless marriage. He wished to give her everything he had, to his last breath of sleep. 

He felt hands at his jaw, pulling him from her skin as she cupped his jaw in her palms. “Shshshhhhh,” she said, placing a kiss on his forehead before pulling him in for a deep, heartstopping kiss that made him twitch inside her. “You’re fine. We’re fine,” she said, looking deep in his eyes. He sat up, moving her legs so that he could withdraw from her. He did it slow, groaning, moaning nonsense as he drew his swollen cock deep from her. His come spilled from her, leaving a puddle of pearly mess on the bed sheets that surely wasn’t just him. He tilted his head back, letting the sting of the room cool his muscles as he collapsed back on the sheets, drawing her in to embrace as he laid his head on her pillows. He buried his nose in her hair as he tucked his legs behind hers, cock still swollen as he tucked himself into her. His hands wrapped around her, held her as close to his chest he could get as he took deep breaths, body still twitching in the aftermath. She let out a deep sigh of content, her arms pulling his tighter as she settled into him. 

Nothing could ever beat this. Nothing could lure him into such a deep sense of belonging like her turning in his arms to tuck her chin into the crook of his neck. Nothing could beat dozing off into a light sleep, her curled up underneath him with a smile on her face. 

Nothing could pull him away from this if he tried. 

Her alarm clock blared to life, jolting him awake long before the sun would touch the sky. He didn’t even remember falling asleep beside her, legs tangled together underneath thick blankets. Her hand was still laced with his, thumb brushing her knuckles as he stirred. He laid still, eyes closed and head in a daze as she worked her way from his arms to slap the alarm clock off. He cocked an eye open, watched as she leaned back into the bed, and snuggled up to him with a smile on her face. She wrapped her arms around his chest, leaned in and kissed him through the sour of sleep. Her clock flashed 3, and his heart sank as he realized she had to get up for work.  

Even in the dark, he could see her messy hair, her bright eyes warm and happy. The smile on her face widened as she settled back into the bed beside him. She kissed him again, and this time he woke, matching her lips with the same deep compassion she always showed him.

He rested his forehead against hers, not needing words to explain to her how he felt. He felt alive, he felt free, unchained. He felt wanted, needed. 

He felt loved for the first time in years. 

She smiled, and propped herself on the pillow when she noticed him staring. She cocked her brow, and pulled the sheets away to curl up as close as she could get, heat fusing together as they tangled together again. 

“You want some coffee?”

[toothpastecanyon]

Mizar the Mediocre, Chapter 1

Alcor gets a summons from a strange Mizar. Maybe there's still something to recognise, here.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

Mizars. Alcor had known so many of them through the ages, and he’d seen that they tended to follow a theme. They were somebody bubbly. Somebody spontaneous. Somebody who stood out from the crowd. He’d seen Mizars who were doctors, lawyers, adventurers, cultists, demon hunters, people who led radically different lives from Mabel… but there was always something to recognise.

And he liked that.

______________________________________________________________

You’d think a place nicknamed ‘Sin City’ would get a lot of visits from Alcor, but he’d been to Las Vegas relatively few times. Maybe he just wasn’t the demon that came to mind when one was down on their luck in the casinos… regardless, he was mildly interested to find a summons drawing him there, and he was  very  surprised when he realised what soul was summoning him.

A Mizar? Huh. Well, he’d better go see what she wanted.

The first thing that caught his eye was the view. They were high up in some sort of hotel room, and the tall windows opened wide to cloudless skies above and the sprawling city below. The carpet was zebra print - it made his eyes vibrate a little - and the two perfectly laid double beds looked like they’d never been touched by a living being, much less slept in. A school bag slumped at the foot of the further one.

Alcor frowned. There were a couple of candles encircling him, but no chalk… and no summoner, it seemed. It didn’t take long to find out where they went; there was a gasp from behind the bed, and he quickly floated over.

“Hello?” Alcor saw his summoner huddled against the bedframe, clutching a metal tray to his chest. “Mizar?”

Mizar was… certainly different this time round. He looked like he was in his forties, balding, dressed in a leopard print dressing gown and pink camo crocs. He squeaked when he saw Alcor floating over him, and cowered under his tray.

“Why aren’t you in your circle?” He pressed himself up against a bedside table. “The website said you were going to stay there!”

Alcor blinked. “Uh… you didn’t draw a binding circle, dude. You didn’t even draw a summoning circle.”

“Don’t blame me! I tried, but it just wasn’t working on the carpet, so I thought I’d wing it, and-”

“You thought you’d wing it? Wing a demon summoning?!” Alcor watched him curl up tighter. He pinched his nose. “Okay, well, I’m here now, and lucky for you, I’m not going to hurt you. What do you want?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Mizar peeked up at him from behind his tray. “You’re not gonna hurt me?”

“No, you got very lucky. You should never summon a demon without a containment plan; other ones wouldn’t hesitate to-”

“Oh, that’s great news!” He popped up and tossed away the tray with a giant grin. “Ashley’s gonna love me for this!”

“Ashley?”

“My daughter! She loves demons - watches that Magical Mizar show of yours all the time. She’s not gonna believe that I got the real Alcor the Dreamlender to show up!”

“She- wait, Dreamlender? It’s Dreambender!”

“Oh, it is?” He tied up his dressing gown. “Huh, guess I misread it. Well, anyway, wait there for a second, will ya?” Then he turned towards the bathroom at the other end of the room and called, “Oh, Ashley! Sweetie? You there?”

There was no reply. The man shot Alcor a nervous smile.

“She, uh, said she wanted some alone time to chat with her friends - but that was a whole fifteen minutes ago, I’m sure she’ll come out any second now! Ashley, darling?”

In the awkward silence that followed, Alcor just stared. This… was Mizar? This was where his sister’s soul had ended up? In this weird older guy whose aura tasted of cheap motel food and desperation?

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. This guy was probably cool, somewhere. He cracked a smile.

“So, uh… what’s your name?”

“Hmm? Oh, I suppose I didn’t introduce myself yet!” The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Martin! But you can call me Mart. Mart the Fart. That’s what my ex-wife calls me, it’s, uh… it’s all in good fun!”

“Okay…” Alcor took his hand, and then frowned when Mart put an arm around him. “Are you trying to steal my wallet?”

“Whaaaat? Noooo… I just, uh, I wanted a hug!”

He rolled his eyes at that, but before he got a chance to reply, a scream rang out from the front of the room. Mart jumped up.

“Ashley?”

“Dad, run!” A terrified teenager had flattened herself against the front door; she stabbed a finger at Alcor. “That’s - demon! Oh my stars!”

“What? Oh, Ashley, sweetie, it’s okay! I summoned him!”

“You…  what?”

“He’s with me, it’s fine!” Mart tried to jump over a bed, but tripped on his robe and fell down the other side. “Ow, uh, yeah! Surprise!”

“Wh- Surprise?!” 

“Cause you like Magical Mizar, right? He’s the Alcor actor!”

Alcor winced at the waves of horror-turning-to-fury coming off of Ashley. He raised a hand. “Uh, just for the record, I’m not planning to hurt anyone. Also I didn’t actually act in Magical-”

“What the fuck, Dad?! You put everyone’s lives in danger just so you could reference some stupid show?”

Mart’s smile froze on his face. “Uh… do you like it?”

Alcor cringed. Bad question. Bad, bad question.

“No!” She snapped. “Absolutely not! I haven’t even watched Magical Mizar since I was, like, six! It’s like you don’t even fucking know me!”

“Sweetie, I-”

“Just leave me alone!”

With that, she slammed the door in his face. Mart stood there for a second, then shot Alcor a nervous smile.

“Uh… teenagers. Wow.” He jabbed his thumb at the door. “You know, she must’ve learned those four letter words at her mother’s place. Which is fine! I just, I didn’t teach her those.” He tried for a chuckle. “Surprising.”

Alcor pursed his lips. “Yep,” he said, in the ensuing silence. “Very surprising.”

______________________________________________________________

They ended up watching TV for a little while. Mart sat on the bed and started flicking through channels, and Alcor - seeing no obvious summons in need of his attention - awkwardly floated in the corner of the room.

“Ugh, golf. Bor-ring. Let’s find something exciting, right, Alcor?”

He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but they kept straying down to the man in the leopard print dressing gown… the Mizar in the leopard print dressing gown.

“Oh, My Strange Curse is on!” Mart pointed to the TV. “You heard of this show, buddy? I saw an episode once where a guy got cursed so that nobody would believe a word he was saying. I thought it was kinda fake, but hey, it’s a fun bit of reality TV!”

“I see.” Alcor stared at the screen, where a guy was talking about how everything he ate randomly turned into Christmas ornaments. “So what do they do in the show? Do they hire cursebreakers to come in and help them?”

“No? They sorta… just talk about how weird their curse is for thirty minutes then say they should do some exercise and eat better. It’s… it’s kinda mean, actually.” He changed the channel. “Let’s watch something else. Ooh, Babyfights!”

Alcor rolled his eyes, but he looked up at the sound of a door creaking open. Ashley was peeking out of the bathroom; her eyebrows raised a little when she caught sight of him floating in the corner of the room, but she didn’t scream again. After a moment, she closed the door behind her, and came walking over to sit on the other bed.

Mart didn’t seem to notice, so he cleared his throat.

“Hi.” He tried for a wave. “Ashley, right?”

“Wh-? Oh, Ashley! Hi, sweetie!”

“Hi, Dad.” Ashley’s eyes flitted over to Alcor. “So, uh, is he just a thing, now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is the big, all-powerful demon floating on the ceiling just hanging out with us now, or what?”

“Oh, Alcor?” Mart looked up at him, and shrugged. “I mean, I’m okay with it! The more the merrier, right?”

Ashley didn’t say anything to that. He gave an awkward smile. “I can leave you guys alone if you want.”

She kept staring at him for a second, her eyes dull, her lips turned down, her aura grey and guarded. Finally, she turned away, and looked to the TV.

“Whatever.”

And they sat there, for a little while. Nothing much happened. Mart looked over at Ashley and smiled, but she was looking down at her phone all of a sudden. He went back to flipping through channels.

Alcor twiddled his thumbs. He looked outside, at the great big city just outside this little room. Las Vegas looked strange in the middle of the day; the neon lights were dulled, the concrete bleached by the desert sun. There was barely any green, barely any relief from the greyish-white that stretched all the way to the mountains far in the distance. Without the cover of darkness, the City of Lights just looked… sad. Bland. Out of place.

Boring.

He looked over at Mart and Ashley. “Hey,” he started, and tried for a smile. “So, uh, what do you guys do here, usually?”

“Huh?” Mart looked up and grinned. “Oh, in Vegas? What can’t you do? It’s my favourite place on earth!”

“Dad likes the casinos.”

“Not just the casinos, sweetie.” He cracked a grin. “Though those are pretty good. There’s tons to do here!”

Alcor cocked his head. “Like what?”

“Well, there’s, there’s a restaurant downstairs. Serves really nice food.” Mart pointed at the phone. “You can even get it delivered up here!”

“Dad, I think he was asking about stuff you can do  outside  the casino.”

“Oh? Oh, yeah, you can do stuff outside too! There’s… um…” he scratched his head. “Oh, there’s like a cool water show every night! I took Ashley there once, it was really pretty, I loved it.”

“It was alright.”

“Yeah!” He grinned at her. “We should do that again sometime!”

“Ehh.”

“No? Oh, that’s okay too.”

Alcor looked over at Ashley. “What do you want to do?”

“Me?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t care. I’ll probably just, I dunno, be here. Why?”

“I was just curious.”

She gave him an odd look at that, but before she could say anything else, Mart suddenly let out a loud laugh.

“Oh, my stars, look at this!”

“What?”

“They’ve got a mini golf tournament on TV!”

Alcor cocked his head. “You like mini golf?”

“Oh, yeah! I used to work at a mini golf course - they even let me sleep in the windmill!” He pointed. “Like one of those! Except it was smaller. And not that clean. And you had to know where to lie, so the nails wouldn’t... the pros always have more of a budget, y’know.”

“I see.” He smiled, despite himself. “So I bet you’re pretty good at it?”

“Am I good? Well, I don’t wanna brag, but I’d say I’m pretty c’est la vie at it.” Mart shot him a grin. “Why’d you ask? You think you can beat me, Mr Dreamputter?”

“He probably can, Dad.” Ashley didn’t look up from her phone. “Don’t start betting stuff.”

“Wha- oh, hah! You know me too well, sweetie. Don’t worry, I  totally  wouldn’t do anything crazy, like… bet a demon fifty bucks I can beat him in a round of mini golf.” He winked at Alcor. “Unless he wants to make things interesting.”

Just the sight of that sleazy grin made Alcor’s demon instincts go into overdrive. He grit his teeth. “I was thinking it’d be… more of a friendly game.” He managed, resisting the urge to take the easiest deal he’d seen in ages. “What do you two think?”

“Aww. Well, I’m still up for it!” Mart sat up and looked at his daughter. “Ashley, sweetie, you got your phone out. Think you could google where the nearest course is?”

“Mhm.”

______________________________________________________________

“Alright, just… move stuff around if you need to.” Mart pulled his seat forward to let Alcor in. “Sorry, backseat’s a bit of a mess. I wasn’t expecting a friend!”

A ‘bit of a mess’ was an understatement, Alcor thought as he shoved a mountain of scratch cards into the middle seat. All the legroom was taken up by crumpled hawaiian shirts and neon-coloured jeans; they gave off a faded but still-distinct stench of alcohol. He was almost afraid to move them aside.

“Alright, sweetie, seatbelts! You good back there, Alcor!”

“Yeah?” Alcor pulled a sleeping bag out of the way. “Why do-”

“Camping! I don’t sleep in my car.”

He blinked. “Uh-”

“Just, heh, wanted to make that clear. I don’t sleep in my car.” He reached over and patted Ashley’s shoulder. “Your old Dad’s doing great for himself, don’t you worry about a thing, uh… mini golf! Yeah! Let’s addios!”

Mart peeled off and took a hard right out of the parking lot, burying Alcor in scratch cards.

“Hey, Ashley! Put on my good tunes, will you?”

“No.”

“Hah, uh, alright! I’ll do it myself.”

A stream of loud pop music filtered into the back seat. Alcor perked up at the voice.

“Is this…?”

“Marcia Sinderson’s greatest hits, volume twenty-one?” Mart turned up the volume. “I found it in a bargain bin a few months back - I don’t even think she was alive when they made half these tracks but I love it!”

The music did contain a lot more  ‘whoaaa’ s than lyrics, but Alcor chuckled when Mart rolled down the window and started singing along. Ashley sank into her chair, groaning.

This was… interesting, he thought. Strange in many, many ways, but somehow… familiar. And he liked that.

He’d missed hanging out with his Mizar.

[timotey]

Ficlet: Silhouettes

Dark Blue Kiss. PeteKao. For @inlovewithjdramas

What if that night, after the incident with Non, Kao came to Pete’s house instead of going home?

💘.💘.💘

When Pete opens the door, Kao’s standing there, looking a little forlorn with his head bent and his bag dangling from his hand, its bottom brushing against the ground. Pete feels a painful pang in his chest but he hardens his heart against anything but anger.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps at his ex-boyfriend, barring the doorway and not letting him in.

Kao looks up at him; his eyes are reddened and glassy. “Pete,” he says quietly. “Can I--”

But Pete doesn’t let him finish. “Wasn’t I clear enough? I’m not interested in hearing any more lies. We’re done!” His voice is harsh and unforgiving and he firmly pushes down any regret he might feel at hearing himself talk like that to Kao. Kao deserves it. He does!

“Pete,” Kao says pleadingly. “I’m sorry--”

Kao’s apologies - all of them empty, meaningless - make the rage simmering in Pete’s chest burn hotter. He’s so furious he could choke on his feelings. His throat thickens so much he can’t get a single word out. He’s never felt so angry before, so betrayed.

He slams the door shut in Kao’s face.

And then he stands there, leaning against the door with his hands and his forehead, just breathing deeply to get himself back under control. Breathing - and listening. Listening for retreating footsteps… or maybe for another knock. But he would never admit that to anyone. He hears nothing, though.

When he finally turns around, his father is standing in the open doorway leading deeper into the house. The expression on his face makes Pete’s chest clench a little. He hates seeing that look on his dad’s face. It’s been so long since the last time his father looked at him like that - with disappointment. 

“What?” Pete asks, probably with more belligerence than he should, considering.

Pon stares at him a moment longer, then he says softly, “Are you sure this is what you want, son? This is how you want it to end?”

“Yes!” Pete states without hesitating, without thinking, really. Because it is. This is what he wants. It is. 

Sighing, Pon shakes his head, then he grabs his wallet and his car keys and heads for the door.

“What are you doing?” Pete asks him, confused.

Pon stops with his hand on the door knob and looks at him. “I’m going to drive the boy home, at least. It’s late.”

Pete frowns, annoyed now. “I am your son, dad. Me, not him.” They used to joke about this. Before. Now, it’s not a joke to Pete anymore. His father should be on his side, always! Especially when Pete’s in the right.

Sighing again, Pon says, “I realize that, Pete. And I love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses before continuing as if to make sure that Pete’s truly listening to him. “And that’s why I worry that one day, you will regret your decision to break up with Kao.”

I won’t, Pete wants to blurt out. But he doesn’t. He clenches his teeth hard to stop himself from saying anything. When he pushes his anger aside, which is not easy, he realizes that his father only wants what’s best for him. Always.

“You look the happiest I’ve ever seen you when you’re with him,” Pon continues in his kind voice. “And whatever that boy’s faults, whatever he did wrong, Kao loves you very much. And I think you do know that.”

Pete looks away. It’s not true. He doesn’t know that Kao loves him. If Kao loved him, he wouldn’t have lied to him. He would’ve responded to his messages. He wouldn’t have chosen that bastard Non over him. 

But he didn’t, did he? the tiny voice at the back of his mind whispers to him. Kao didn’t choose Non over Pete. The whole issue with Non’s never been about that. Not from Kao’s point of view, at least. Kao only wanted to help his family and at some point, everything just got out of hand, very much thanks to Non’s meddling. 

Damn it!

Taking a deep breath and then letting it out again, Pete reaches out and grabs the keys out of his dad’s hand. “I will drive him home,” he grumbles.

Pon just smiles at him in approval and steps aside.

When Pete walks out of the door, Kao’s nowhere to be seen. The driveway is very dark; the warm yellow light from the lamps by the door can’t reach past the bushes lining the way. The night is almost entirely silent, the hum of the traffic nearby is just a soft background noise.

Pete jogs towards his dad’s car, hoping to catch Kao before he reaches the bus stop down the street; there’s little chance he could catch a cab around here this late at night. He starts the car and the bright glare of the headlights floods the driveway. Then he reaches for the seat belt--

And he stops. 

Because there he is, Kao, sitting on the concrete edge of the raised flower bed just a few steps away. He’s sitting there with his shoulders slumped and his head down and his bag is lying on the ground between his feet, its strap dropped from his hand. And now he’s looking away, rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist, wiping away his…

Pete sits there and simply stares at Kao through the windshield, stunned. Kao is crying. In the three years that they’ve been together, Pete’s never seen Kao cry. Not once. He’s seen him sad when they fought and even slightly misty-eyed but he’s never seen him cry. He doesn’t know what to do, what to think, what… The only thing he does know is that it’s making his heart ache.

Pete lets go of the seat belt and turns off the car’s engine. Darkness replaces light, swallowing both the driveway and Kao. Slowly, Pete gets out of the car and shuts the door with a soft click. Then he walks up the paved way towards where Kao is sitting and stops only a few feet away. 

For a moment, Pete stands there awkwardly and listens to Kao’s hitching breath, staring at his silhouette in the darkness. Then, in a voice much less belligerent than before, he asks, “What are you doing here?” 

Now he truly means his question. Because Kao came to his house in the middle of the night, despite their apparent break-up earlier that evening, and he’s been crying. Because when Pete pushes aside his anger, resentment and frustration, he finds Kao’s late night visit odd and disconcerting. Worrying.

After a moment, Kao takes a raspy breath and says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything, Pete. I’m sorry that I lied to you and I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you about Non. I made such a mess of things and I’m so very sorry…”

Pete isn’t sure how to react, what to say or do. He wants to dismiss Kao’s words as more lies and empty phrases - but what was so easy before has become very hard now with Kao looking so miserable and unhappy and hurt. Pete’s righteous anger simmers down to almost nothing.

“Why did you lie to me, earlier today? About not seeing Non anymore?” he asks, giving Kao one last chance to explain, after all. The very last one. 

Vaguely, he sees Kao raise his head. “I didn’t,” Kao replies.

Pete feels his anger flare up again but he curbs it firmly because Kao seems genuinely confused. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I went to your house the other day and he was there, having dinner with you and your mom!” He can’t help his voice rising sharply at the end, though.

“He-he stopped by with a thank you gift from his father,” Kao explains. “Mom invited him in for dinner before I could say anything. But that was all, he ate with us and then he left.” He pauses, then adds hopefully, “You… came to me?”

Pete frowns at his slip-up. He didn’t want Kao to know he was willing to forgive him. That was then. He isn’t anymore. Or, is he? Is he? He doesn’t know. 

But since he already said that. “Yes. And I sent you text messages. You didn’t reply.” That last part sounds way too hurt, way too revealing. Damn it!

A pause. “I didn’t get any,” Kao says carefully.

“Bullshit,” Pete can’t help but snap.

“I really didn’t,” Kao insists.

Impossible. Unless… “Did Non have any access to your phone?” Pete did send those messages that evening when Non was there, at Kao’s house. Non’s hand in all this would explain everything.

“No,” Kao replies. Then he pauses, though. “Well… he asked if he could use my charger. I told him it was with my phone. But my phone is password protected.”

Pete sighs and rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Kao, your password is all nines. Your frickin’ name means ‘nine’!” For crying out loud, for someone so smart Kao can be really stupid sometimes. 

“Oh,” Kao whispers, lowering his head again.

All of a sudden, though, Pete’s heart feels lighter and his chest loosens up a little. He still wants to strangle Non - or at the very least punch him hard - but Kao did not ignore him on purpose, he wasn’t trying to punish Pete or get back on him. He honestly didn’t know. It makes him wonder where else he might find Non’s dirty fingerprints!

“So… you haven’t seen him since that night? Non, I mean?” Pete asks harshly, hoping against hope. But when Kao doesn’t answer immediately, his heart sinks again.

“I… I did see him tonight,” Kao replies quietly and maybe Pete’s mistaken, it’s hard to tell in the darkness, but he seems to curl up on himself.

The fury that seemed almost gone a moment ago now flares up again in Pete. He clenches his hands into fists and he’s about to snap at Kao, tell him to go to hell, then, but before he can do that, Kao continues and his voice is so soft that even in the quiet of the night he can barely be heard.

“His friend called me, told me that Non got drunk in a bar and there was no one to drive him home. That if nobody did, his dad would find out and…” His voice trails off.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Pete thinks and he wants to grab Kao and shake him. 

Kao goes on. “I brought him home and put him to bed and…” His breath hitches in his throat again, making him pause. “And then he started telling me how much he liked me. And when I told him I didn’t feel the same way, he grabbed me and dragged me to bed with him…”

Suddenly, all of Pete’s annoyance and frustration and irritation is gone, replaced with an unpleasant, cold feeling around his heart and pressure at the base of his throat that’s making it hard to breathe. No. Not even a brat like Non would do this, surely.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Kao continues and says, “And then Non’s father came in and Non let me go. I was so scared I ran away. I didn’t even try to explain anything, I just... I ran away. I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I didn’t want mom to see me like this.” He trails off, his voice breaking at the end, and rubs at his nose.

When Pete realizes that Kao’s crying again, he reaches out without thinking and rests his hand on Kao’s bent head, stroking his hair lightly. “So you came here.” To me, Pete adds quietly. Kao was afraid and he sought out safety with him. Despite their differences, despite all the bad blood between them in the past weeks, deep down he was convinced he would be safe here.

Pete steps up to Kao, so close that his toes brush against Kao’s bag lying forgotten on the ground, and pulls Kao to him. Kao goes willingly, he buries his face in Pete’s chest and wraps his arms around Pete’s waist, and then he cries, whispering, “How did everything go so wrong? I only wanted to help my mom, help… Non. I’ve never wanted any of this. I swear. I swear I didn’t want to hurt you, I love you, Pete. I love you so much…”

Hearing those words, listening to Kao, Pete feels that his heart might burst. He strokes the back of Kao’s head and he wants to curl up around him and hide him from the world and protect him from all the bad things out there. He’s still a little angry at Kao for lying but he feels more willing to accept now that not all of this mess was Kao’s fault, that Non also played his part - and, well, he too, actually, as much as it rankles him to admit it.

“Alright,” Pete says softly, pulling Kao even closer. His own eyes sting a little and he must clear his throat before continuing. “Just… don’t do it again, okay? Don’t lie to me ever again, Kao, I mean it. I get that I’m not always easy to talk to,” he allows a little grumpily, “but… don’t ever go behind my back again, okay? I can take many things... just not lies.”

Kao nods quietly, hugging Pete tighter and Pete feels like he needs it, like he needs to be held because his knees feel a little weak and his head a little light, his relief is so profound. He just got back what he feared lost forever. It doesn’t seem real. 

“I feel a little nervous about what Non or his dad might do next,” Kao admits after a while. His voice is a little muffled by Pete’s shirt and he’s leaning against Pete, letting Pete carry his weight the way Pete’s always wanted.

Pete wraps his arms around Kao and reassures him softly, “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together. I’ll be there for you, I promise.”

Kao lifts his head from Pete’s chest and even in the night darkness, his eyes still glitter a little when he looks up at Pete and says with a smile in his voice, “Then we’ll be just fine.”

[domesticated-feral]

Steo Week 2020, Day 1

Title: Sorry about the puking, but where are my jeans?

Prompt: “So, we meet again,” Rating: Teen Warnings: Drinking, almost getting drugged, vomiting. WC: 3036

You can also read it on my AO3

Summary:

“You seriously don’t remember?” He asks. “I don’t remember anything from last night,” Stiles said. The man turns around and Stiles gawks as he realizes that it was Theo Raeken. “You had that same face when you saw me last night,” Theo said.

or

Stiles drinks one too many drinks and Theo is just a bartender whose shift ended early.

~

Stiles was back in Beacon Hills for summer break. Usually, he’d be psyched to be back, but the summer started with his boyfriend of 2 years breaking up with him. He still had the mood of crawling in bed and downing a whole season of the Office along with a pint of vanilla ice cream, yet he took the grueling 26-hour drive back on his jeep.

This summer break, the rest of the pack was mostly staying back instead of coming back to Beacon Hills, they wanted to explore more of the surrounding area where they were studying. Being alone was alright, but the evening was going on forever. He was idly scrolling on his phone when his best friend, Scott called.

“Hey, Scotty, what’s up?” Stiles asks.

‘Just calling to check up on my best friend who’s going through a break-up. How are you doing?’

“I’m doing great-” Stiles dryly chuckles-“Yeah, life’s just peaches at the moment.”

‘If I were back in Beacon Hills, I’d get you drunk, just like you tried to get me drunk back when we were 16.’

Stiles laughs remembering that night, “yeah, and you couldn’t get drunk cause you’re a werewolf.”

‘Yep, speaking of, why don’t you go to a bar, get a few drinks tonight, celebrate being a bachelor again, maybe find someone new?’

“Eh, I got nothin’ better to do, so maybe.”

‘Alright, anyways, Malia’s calling me, so talk to you later?’

“Sure, sure, bye Scott,” Stiles said, ending the call.

Stiles takes Scott’s idea of celebrating his new-found freedom with a couple of drinks. He takes his jacket and keys which were on the dining table and he heads out.

It was 6 in the evening and the clubs would be open, but mainly empty as the night hadn’t started yet.

Driving up to Nine Lives Nightclub, a newly opened gay bar in Beacon Hills, he parks his jeep close to the bar, that he wouldn’t have been able to do if he came an hour later. He decided to head to the nearby park to waste time there until sundown.

He sits down on a bench and takes his phone out. He had received 30 text messages from his ex, after 2 weeks of breaking up, he wants to apologize and to get back together.

‘I miss you, I was wrong, can we get back together? It was a huge mistake, I did the wrong thing, blah blah blah,’ Stiles read in his mind.

He wasn’t completely over the breakup, but he was at a point where he wanted to get himself together and forget about it all. Stiles already gave him a chance, it was his fault that he ruined it by running off to someone else.

He turns his phone off and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. He can deal with it later. Or never, actually. The evening sun glowed as it inched closer to the horizon, the clouds ranging from yellow to red to a deep purple. In a while, the sun will set, and the night will begin. A night to celebrate his status of being a bachelor, of how he can meet the love of his life any second now.

‘Hell Yeah!’ he thought as he psyched himself up for the night.

With the sun setting, people were going to line up and Stiles wanted to get in before the line got too long, so he walked out of the park and up to the club entrance.

“I.D, please,” the bouncer asks, holding his hand out.

“Nice of you to think of me as underage,” Stiles sarcastically mutters whilst taking his I.D out of his wallet.

He hands it to the bouncer who looks at it for a few and gives it back as he nods. Stiles smiles and walks in the club, putting his I.D back in his wallet. The club had a few people, the DJ was playing some slow chill beats and Stiles headed to the bar to get a starting drink.

“What can I get you for tonight?” the bartender asks.

“Beer, whatever brand is on tap,” Stiles ordered, sitting down.

The bartender nods and pours a pint glass of beer. He puts it on a counter and slides it over to Stiles.

“3 dollars, 50 cents,” the bartenders told Stiles.

“Put it on my tab,” Stiles said.

He drinks it, mainly chugging through the whole pint. “Another pint, please,” he said, sliding the glass to the bartender.

They refill the glass and slide it back over at Stiles. He drinks it, and doesn’t order another one, he turns around to face the dancefloor and seatings. People were coming in and the disco lights were on, creating patterns that were almost hypnotizing if anyone paid attention to them.

He looks at his watch, about 15 minutes to 8. The club was getting packed by the minute. People were mostly getting their drinks, but to dance thy must be drunk.

“A beer, please,” He tells the bartender who nods and goes to get a glass.

After a while, they come and give Stiles the beer which he chugs down. ‘Why just stop at beer, let’s do some shots!’ Stiles tells himself.

“5 shots of whiskey,” He tells the bartender.

Five shot glasses full of whiskey are placed in front of him a while later. Without any hesitance, Stiles downs shot after shot.

It was 8 now, and the club was raring, music blasting through the speakers, people getting drunk and dancing, some people kissing away at either a loved one or drunk stranger.

Stiles stands up, stumbling as his leg is asleep. He shakes it and goes to sit at one of the empty couch seats on the side of the club.

He finds one in a nice area where he can see the bar and the dancefloor. As he sits alone, two hands come from behind and touch his shoulders. They move and sit down close to Stiles.

“Hey,” The girl said, pushing her chest forward as she leaned towards Stiles.

“Oh, hey, oh wow,” Stiles said, and boy was he trying real hard not to look down.

“You want to do some shots? With me?” she asks, inching closer to Stiles.

“S-sure!” He stuttered.

She calls up a waitress and asks for 10 Jager bombs. She brings it up and puts them in front of Stiles and the girl.

Stiles quickly drinks shot after shot after shot, he was getting fired up and quite tipsy.

“Fuck Yeah!” He yells excitedly.

“Here, drink some more, handsome,” She said as she had ordered tequila shots whilst he was downing the Jager bombs.

Stiles takes a shot and empties 5 shots of tequila in 10 seconds. He suddenly feels the need to go to the toilet.

“I will be right back, gotta take a pisss,” he drunkenly said, elongating the ‘s’.

He stumbles his way to the toilet, slightly dancing to the music. He walks in and does his business trying his hardest not to aim outside the toilet. He flushes the toilet and washes his hands.

Sitting back down at the seating, the woman hands him a drink. It looked fizzy, probably sprite with vodka or something.

“I ordered a vodka sprite for you while you were gone,” she said, as he took the glass from her hand.

“Oh, nice, thanks!” Stiles said.

He was about to drink the whole drink when someone quickly comes up and grips on his wrist.

“What the hell?!” Stiles yells at the man since the man’s surprise iron grip made the glass tilt and spill the drink on his jeans.

“Hey! Why’d you do that?” the girl said.

Stiles takes a closer look at who was holding his wrist and recognizes him as a familiar face.

“Theodore Raeken?!” Stiles said to the man.

“Can you leave us alone?” the girl asks Theo.

“Sorry, hon, security is on their way to you,” Theo said to the girl.

“Am I- hic- arrested?” Stiles asks.

“Not you,” Theo said, taking the glass Stiles was holding.

“But I did nothing wrong!” the girl whined.

“I saw you drugging the vodka sprite, so did the cameras,” Theo said.

Two big bouncers came and took her away. She tried to fight, but they easily picked her up and took her out of the club.

“C’mon, get up,” Theo said, pulling him to his feet.

Stiles was too drunk to walk in a straight line so Theo had to lead and somewhat carry Stiles out to the back alley where the employee’s entrance and parking were.

Theo lets him sit down on the concrete, leaning against the dumpster.

“Stiles, how drunk are you?” Theo asks.

“I’m drunk- hic- like a skunk,” Stiles said.

“Stay right there, you need water and something to eat,” Theo said, walking back in the club.

Stiles looked around, his vision was doubled and blurry. He laughed at how distorted everything around him looked.

Theo walks back out and hands him a water bottle and a packet of Doritos. “Let’s just hope you sober up enough to drive home,” he said.

Stiles tried to open up the chip packet but his blurred vision and trembling hands didn’t help at all.

“Damn you, Dori- hic- tos chip packet!” Stiles said, chucking it to the floor.

Theo sighs, “I’ll have to help you, don’t I?”

He squats down near Stiles and opens the chip packet for Stiles. He opens the water bottle as well, knowing that Stiles won’t be able to open it.

“Try not to spill everywhere,” Theo said, handing the water bottle.

Stiles tried to drink water, but he missed his aim and spilled water on himself.

“You are definitely not going to sober up tonight without sleep,” Theo remarks.

Stiles finishes the Doritos packet and drinks water, spilling most of it as he tried to. Theo pulls Stiles up and walks him to his car. He puts Stiles in the passenger seat and puts the seatbelt on him.

“We going to Mcdonalds?” Stiles mumbles.

Theo gets in the car and drives them up to Stiles’ house.

“Isn’t that my house? I thought we were going to Mcdonalds,” Stiles whines.

“You are going to get a horrible hangover tomorrow, but first you need to sleep,” Theo said getting out of the car and letting Stiles out as well.

Stiles takes his keys out but passes out before he stuck the house key in the keyhole. Theo sighs and tries knocking on the door, hoping the Sheriff would open.

It was late, either the sheriff was asleep or not at home. This is not how Theo planned to spend the only night he ended his shift early. He wanted to leave Stiles’ passed out self on the porch, but he also didn’t want to.

He drags Stiles back to the car and drives to his small apartment. He carries Stiles to the couch and lies him down. Stiles coughs in his sleep and turns over, leaning his head out the couch, he does the ultimate worst. He pukes every single drink he drank before out in the middle of Theo’s apartment.

“Fuck,” Theo mutters as Stiles goes back to sleep.

He cleans it, spraying a ton of Febreze on the floor. He had enough, tonight and went to his room to sleep.

-

It was morning, Stiles knows that because he got woken up by the sun shining on his face, blinding his eyes the moment he opened them. His head pounded and his stomach felt like it was tied into a Gordian Knot.

He hears the curtains close shut, and the sizzle of an egg being poured on to a frying pan. He slowly opened his eyes and this was not his room at all.

“Where am I?” Stiles mumbles to himself, trying to get up.

“Yeah, don’t stand up, just yet,” A familiar voice said whilst he was sat up.

The movement of sitting up sent a huge pang of pain through his head. It was like he was getting pounded by a jackhammer. He holds his head as he grunts in pain.

After a while, the pain goes away and he looks over at the man who was making eggs.

“Who are you?” Stiles asks.

“You seriously don’t remember?” He asks.

“I don’t remember anything from last night,” Stiles said.

The man turns around and Stiles gawks as he realizes that it was Theo Raeken.

“You had that same face when you saw me last night,” Theo said.

Theo was shirtless, wearing a pair of basketball shorts while Stiles was only wearing his shirt and boxers. His jacket was on the floor and his jeans were nowhere to be found.

“Did we fuck last night?” Stiles asks.

“No, last night, you got drunk as hell and you were almost drugged and I took you home but then your home was locked and you passed out before you put the key in the keyhole so I brought you here where you puked on my apartment floor,” Theo recaps the night’s events for Stiles.

“Sorry about the puking, but where are my jeans?” Stiles asks.

“Well, when I tried stopping you from drinking the drugged vodka sprite, it spilled on to your jeans and I’m trying to clean the stain out of it, it’s drying in the bathroom,” Theo said, turning around to tend to his omelet.

“You usually wouldn’t do that, or so I assume,” Stiles said, “do you have a painkiller around here?”

“Painkillers can temporarily help the hangover but don’t really help with getting rid of a hangover, here eat an omelet, I might have some apples or bananas in the fridge,” Theo said, sliding the omelet onto a plate.

“So what were you doing at a gay bar?” Stiles asked slowly getting up and walking to the dining table.

“I work there as a bartender,” Theo said, putting a plate with an omelet and a banana in front of Stiles.

“I thought Nine Lives has a full LGBT+ staff?” Stiles asked.

“Well, I’m asexual, so I think I qualify,” Theo said.

“Huh, you sort of always had that vibe,” Stiles mumbled, eating a piece of the omelet.

“Now, eat up, I’ll drive you to the club so you can drive your jeep back. I’m going to get changed.” Theo said, walking into his room and closing the door.

Stiles finishes his omelet and banana, putting the plate in the sink and the banana peel in the dustbin. He felt naked and vulnerable without any jeans, so he had to wait until Theo came out of the room so he could get his jeans.

Stiles being Stiles feels the strong urge to rummage through Theo’s stuff. He might still be doing something sketchy.

‘After all these years? Stiles, you’ve changed and probably Theo did too,’ He scolded himself.

He sits back down on the couch and looks around the small apartment. The living room was mostly empty, with only a couch, a desk, and a chair. It was connected to the kitchen which was also quite petite and had a two-person dining table.

“Your jeans are not dry, so here’s a pair of mine to wear and your jeans are in this plastic bag,” he said, throwing his jeans at Stiles.

Stiles was slightly taken aback by Theo, but he quickly wears the jeans he gave.

Theo was already outside waiting for Stiles to walk out so he could lock the door. They walk down the hallways and Stiles feels awkward walking since he was wearing jeans that were a size smaller.

“The jeans bring out your ass,” Theo remarks.

“I guess I should start wearing jeans a size smaller,” Stiles said tying his jacket sleeves around his waist covering his behind.

“So, why were you at the bar, drinking drink after a drink?” Theo asks as they both get in the car.

“Recently my boyfriend of 2 years broke up with me, so I wanted to forget about it for one night by drinking, then I got carried away with the drinks,” Stiles said.

“I’m sorry that you two got broken up, I probably won’t ever relate, being an ace and all,” Theo mutters, “but, if it makes you feel any better, I tried my hand at flirting and got a glass of water splashed on me once.”

Stiles laughs, but the laughing was cut short because of the headache.

“Well, with me, you won’t have to flirt, assume I’m already attracted to you. Until denied that is.” Stiles said.

“Are you?” Theo asks.

“Am I what?” Stiles asks.

“Attracted to me?” Theo elaborates.

“How can I not? First of all, you look hot as hell, and secondly, I’m a raging bisexual who loves hot bods.” Stiles said.

“Oh, wow, okay, thanks?” Theo says.

“You’re very welcome, Theodore,” Stiles said.

Theo rolls his eyes as he pulls up the Stilinski house driveway. He turns to face Stiles and is met with a surprise collision of lips. Stiles quickly pulls back with eyes as wide as an owl.

“Theo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Stiles said but was cut off by Theo.

“No, it’s fine, you’re a ‘raging bisexual’ who is attracted to me,” Theo said, “I’m flattered by the way.”

Stiles blushes and nervously laughed as he gathered himself.

Stiles gets out of the car and before he shuts the door, he looks at Theo one more time. “Thanks for saving me from being drugged, the ride back, and for letting me stay the night. For everything,” Stiles said.

“You’re welcome, I couldn’t let someone drug you and unfold the worst series of events that could happen to anyone,” Theo said.

“I, uh, should probably head inside, when’s your shift starting tonight so I can give you your jeans back?” Stiles asked.

“I clock in at 7 pm, use the back alley door instead of the front,” Theo said.

Stiles nods and closes the door and walks back away from the car. Theo drives his car back out to the road and begins to drive off. He waves at the car before heading inside his house.

~

[nightklok]

Kloktober Prompt: Day 2-OTP & Favorite Character Whumptober Prompt: No 28: Mugged Pairing: Charles/Pickles Trigger Warnings: Character injury, blood, stabbing Summary: Set after Renovationklok. Charles asks Pickles out on a date in an attempt to pick up where they left off so many years ago. Unfortunately, the date becomes a disaster. 

A tad bit late as this turned out longer than I had expected (like all my future prompts most likely) but I had to do this for the OTP that has brought me the true comfort I needed this year- :’) Link to AO3 is in my reblogs but the story is down below as well!

Having Charles come back from the dead was...surprising. No, that didn't fit. But it was good enough of a word for Pickles to decide on without looking like a smartass. So yes, Charles coming back was in fact, a very surprising thing to happen. There was no real explanation as to why he had died but came back and there may never be one. Charles acted like his usual self and pretended such a thing never happened once he wore his usual suit after the performance. 

Though, to say that things went back to normal was a slight lie. Charles was more open to hanging out with them for once. And Charles even accepted the cheap beer Pickles offered when he found him alone. It felt like somehow that the walls that he had put up between them, personal and professional, had cracked just enough for sunlight to filter through. He even began hanging around with him a bit more often outside of work, something he only did sparingly. It was really only invitations to drink in his office but it felt nice. What was once hidden away by professionalism now turned into something else and it was actually nice to be able to hang out with him like friends again.

Pickles assumed that dying just meant he changed his mind or had a different perspective on things. Things like being professional around people he cared about must've been something he had reconsidered. His old friends that had almost overdosed once ended up turning their lives around because of 'their second chance of life.' But Charles didn't die of an overdose and had died doing something incredibly brave. Though, it did never really enter his mind that it meant their relationship actually going beyond friendship. That was something he had long since buried away with other memories that were hidden away to try to never think about.

He was wrong in that aspect, though. What was thought of as a wall with thin cracks was more of a wall slowly crumbling away to dust.

Pickles was alone in the dining room drinking black coffee when Charles found him. He was trying to figure out how the latest model of his Dethphone worked when he looked up to see Charles enter the dining room. He gave him a relaxed smile as he saw him. It felt exciting to see he was really alive every day, "Morning, chief."

Charles returned the smile, "Good morning, Pickles." He sat down next to him setting down his own cup of coffee, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out this phone. I kinda miss the flip phone; it was much easier to deal with."

"Well, technology's advancing. Pretty soon you'll find that phone much easier to handle compared to a flip phone."

"I guess. It's moving too fast if you ask me," He answered before he gave up and set his phone down. He took a sip of his coffee as he looked at him, "So what are you gonna do today?"

"The usual paperwork and meetings. But that's not exactly important right now. I wanted to ask you something." 

"About what?"

Even though he had mentally rehearsed his lines many times, it still didn't mean he really was prepared to ask something that he would've normally never asked, "What are your plans tonight?" 

"Oh. Nothing, really."

There seemed to be a slight hesitation coming from him for just a moment. Whatever hesitation he had didn't show in his voice, "Then would you like to go out for dinner with me?" 

Pickles looked at him with an expression of utter bewilderment, "Wait, like on a date?"

"I suppose it could be if you wanted it to be."

He paused for a moment. Admittedly, he had always hoped something like this would happen but as the years went by and their popularity soared, it became nothing more than a dream. That dream was something that had always haunted him when Charles died and he was forced to live in regret that he didn't push their relationship to continue. Getting the opportunity again...felt almost too good to be true, "Are you serious?"

"I am serious about this, I swear. I'd just like to take you out somewhere, it doesn't have to be dinner."

"But are you sure? You said we couldn't do something like this because it wouldn't look good to the public."

"Well, I did say that when we were starting out with the band. I think by now it wouldn't exactly matter. You are part of the world's largest economy, after all. We will still need to take some precautions, of course, but I would like to try again with this. I want to make this up to you if you'd let me."

The idea of it was so inviting. He really wasn't quite sure what to say or do about it because he was sure that the appropriate answer would be to kindly reject him. Their relationship had been 'paused' for so long that it was hard to tell at what stage in the relationship they were in. But at the same time, it felt like some reward well deserved for being patient. Maybe most people wouldn't wait for so many years for a relationship to finally continue but he was part of a death metal band that had more money than first world countries combined, "Sure, I'd like to go out with you."

The date was, to put it lightly, a disaster.

They had started off at a fancy restaurant in England and that was the first mistake.

What turned into a fancy night of drinking expensive wine and food had turned into one of the arguments.

No one even knew who started what but it was clear the wine got to their heads and ended up releasing some pent-up frustration both had, whether for their relationship or something else.

"Hey, I wasn't the one who fucking played Jesus for nine months straight." Pickles said not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice, "How could you even think things will be fine after that stunt you pulled?"

"I can't exactly reveal everything without ruining everything I had to disappear for."

"Do you even trust me?"

"Of course I do-"

"Then why aren't you telling me a single truth?!"

"I just can't. Not right now. I promise-"

"Y'know what? Fuck you, and fuck this. I'm outta here." Pickles stormed out of the restaurant before their first course even arrived.

They had lasted half an hour which had to be some sort of record.

Admittedly, he didn't know the streets of London pretty well but he wasn't going to just turn back after making such a scene. Charles was a damn hypocrite and he had no idea how he could expect going out with him without bringing up that topic. It was probably the main reason he was asked out in the first place! 

The more he walked, the more foolish he felt. How foolish it was to think that things could return like they used to. He pulled out his phone and struggled to google local cab companies thanks to his blurred vision and the fact he still hadn't figured out how to work with his phone. He should've learned more on how to use it.

He didn't notice where he was going or noticed and ended up accidentally bumping into someone. He didn't say anything as he tried to continue walking but soon felt the tug of someone trying to take his phone.

"Just give me your phone."

"Get your fucking own."

"I said, give me your phone."

There was a struggle with his phone as he tried to pull it away from his robber's grip. They both had accidentally lost their grip at the same time and the phone quickly fell out of their grasp and tumbled to the street where it was immediately crushed by a car. There were pieces of the phone everywhere scattered around but it definitely didn't look like a phone anymore.

"Dude, you fucking owe me for that phone! It was a prototype!"

The man began to attack him, most likely to try and grab his wallet. He struggled and struggled against him until the man pulled out a pocket knife and he realized what was gonna happen.

Pickles could feel the robber stab his arm just as he managed to cover his face. It wasn't deep but it was enough for it to be lodged in and for the burning pain to quickly surface. It felt like someone lit his skin on fire and it was taking him everything to not cry out. He had to think quickly, and he was well aware that he could get stabbed somewhere more fatally. He quickly kicked him as strong as he could and pulled the knife out of his arm. Blood trickled faster down his arm now that he removed the only thing sealing his wound so maybe that wasn't a very good idea. 

He would worry about that later. For now, he had to find a way to fight off the attacker just enough for Charles or someone to come back. He quickly dodged the robber's punch and attempted to stab him only to quickly stumble and miss. With a shove, he quickly hit the hard concrete floor and lost his grip on the knife. He used his foot as the only barrier between him and his attacker as he tried to reach for the knife and dodge whatever punch was thrown at him. The moment he had a hold on the knife, he suddenly felt no weight on his foot and turned to see he was quickly shoved to the side. 

Luckily, Charles had managed to find him just in time. It took just one punch to the face to render him unconscious. He quickly sent a text to a klokateer to handle him while he went to Pickles' side, "Pickles, are you alright?" His eyes quickly looked at his arm, a small pool of blood was formed in the concrete from where he was stabbed. He cursed under his breath as he helped him sit up, checking his head to make sure he didn't hit his head upon impact.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just got stabbed, is all. Not a big deal." He smiled though Charles didn't and instead focused on his injury.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Probably got a few scrapes from falling but I'm fine."

Charles looked at the wound though it was hard to determine how deep it was with the blood still pouring out. He took off his tie to tie it around his wound. He heard him wince in pain at the pressure but it was the only way to stop the bleeding. They had their own medical team but they wouldn't arrive until a long while later and he was worried that the stab was deeper than he could have anticipated, "Let's just get you to a hospital. I'll call a taxi."

As it turns out, it was deep and he required six stitches by the end of it. His pain tolerance was pretty high but he was warned to not try and do anything strenuous with that arm for a few weeks. Which meant another reason for the album to be delayed though even they knew that the album would've been delayed regardless of his injury.

Charles, naturally, was incredibly guilty. He didn't say anything when he was discharged from the hospital. He simply led them to where their private jet plane was waiting for them. He instructed the pilot to take them back

"Pickles, I'm so sorry," Charles said when they had a moment alone.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," He answered with a shrug. If he had felt pain, he would have winced but luckily he was given the highest dose of painkillers possible so as far as he was concerned, he didn't get stabbed at all. He didn't like how he didn't even feel high but he knew he was beyond the realm of FDA-approved painkillers to feel a thing besides what it was supposed to do. He opened the mini fridge the airplane had and took a can of beer for himself. He offered it to Charles who politely declined.

"But it is. I shouldn't have asked you out. This was a mistake for me to think that things would work out." 

That changed Pickles' mood completely enough to set his unopened can down, "What? You think a lil' stab wound is gonna break our relationship?"

"But I was with you-"

"And I was the one that left and made myself be alone. If anything, it's my fault."

"It isn't. It's my fault. I was stupid to think things could remain the same. Clearly, they haven't and I'm sorry for thinking they could and roping you into my foolishness."

"Hey, I said yes, didn't I? Don't you think there is a reason why I said yes to this date? Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

Charles fell silent. Of course. It didn't matter if it was foolish or not but the fact of it remained that they clearly had unresolved feelings for each other. Feelings that they were well aware of but afraid to act upon. Going on the date was only the tip of the iceberg of years of pent up feelings that only escalated.

And he fucking died for Christ's sake. And disappeared for nine months too. How could he think that things would be okay even if he planned everything by the book? He was with Pickles and he was as unpredictable as predictable could be.

He sighed as he leaned back against the seat, "This was a disaster of a date, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, no kidding."

"I know what you said at the restaurant was true and I admit you're right. I haven't been truthful and I'm sorry. But, please know that the reason is nothing but because I deeply care about you. I just want you safe and I couldn't even do that."

"I'm still mad," Pickles admitted as he looked at him. It was easy to see he was still a bit angry at him but there was another look to him, "But I know you wouldn't lie to me for no reason. I'll still be mad but I'll be over it. I just wish you would tell me something, is all."

"I know," he said softly, "I promise when I can, I will. But I promise I'll be honest about everything else."

"Okay. Then why did you ask me on this date?"

"I can't talk about what I did while I was gone. I can say, though, that I have thought of you and us and what could've been. I really missed you and I missed what we had. I guess I was just hoping too much that things could be back to normal but even I don't think that can be possible. It's been too long and we've been through so much. We can't go back to where we used to be."

"I know what you mean. I've been thinking a lot about you too when you died. I really missed you and just wished a lot of times that I could go back and at least tell you how I felt...but are you saying we should break up officially?" He couldn't hide the disappointment in his face and voice.

"No," He said quickly but quickly added on, "I mean unless you want to. I'm saying we should start over from the beginning. Try not to rush things, go on our own pace and see what happens."

"Do you wanna give this another shot?"

"Of course. Do you?"

"In a heartbeat. Then would you like to go out on a date with me? Forgetting the entirety of the last few hours, if you will."

Pickles laughed and nodded, "Yeah, I'd really like that. When do you wanna try again?"

"Whenever you'd like is fine with me, though a two-week notice would be appreciated."

He thought for a moment, "Well, are you doing anything tonight?"

"Not at all."

He knew at least one thing that could at least make their night end off on a high night, "We can try our date again tonight. Meet me at the library in half an hour when we get home."

Charles arrived at the library in exactly twenty-eight minutes. At Pickles' suggestion, he found a long sleeved shirt and his jacket to put on for warm clothing. It didn't take long for him to reach the empty library where the lights were completely off and it had created an almost eerie feeling. He had to hope that he wasn't just pulling some prank on him and decided to ditch him.

The door to the library eventually opened, Pickles arrived about five minutes later, also dressed in warm clothing and had a basket that contained snacks and wine, "Ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"I'll show you. Just follow me." He answered as he led him further down the library.

He admittedly never explored much of the library. He simply didn't have the time to explore everything Mordhaus had to offer. Now that he did, he could see how extensive the library was. Shelves upon shelves of books that nearly reached the ceiling were everywhere. They must surely have more books than what the Library of Alexandria had.

They reached the end of the library where there was a door off in a corner. It was a white door that contrasted the color scheme of the library but there was a nameplate beside it.

Observatory.

Pickles opened the door with one arm and had to use his body weight to push the incredibly heavy door further open. Charles helped him go in first before entering himself and realized that he never did visit the observatory in years. He must've gone with him once when Mordhaus was completely built and then never again. He found no reason to go back to a place that would constantly remind him of what could've been if he had chosen to stay in the relationship with him.

And maybe he still would think those things for a long time. Regret that they didn't continue and now have to start over from the beginning. First dates, kisses, and everything that they had gone through already. He wondered if things for them and the band would've been different had they stayed. Maybe they would've gotten married or maybe they would've waited or seen it as a waste of time. Maybe they would've been a power couple that would get widely accepted considering how unpredictable the audience. At least those answers would be answered now and in a way, it was exciting to get to start over and make things right.

He walked the long flight of spiral stairs with him, the sound of metal against shoes and their breaths was heard in the quiet observatory. The only source of light they had was a red light that only grew brighter until they finally reached the top. A large refractor telescope similar to any other observatory stood in the middle and looked rather well kept. He figured the reasoning being that he had to call upon astronomers to study the stars for any signs of the prophecy. He could read the stars, of course, but knew it wasn't his place.

Pickles seemed to know what to do as he warned him to not lean against the walls and pressed a button. The sound of metal clanking and rotating filled the air until the light from the night sky finally began filtering through. A breeze of cool air and the sound of cicadas and nature-filled the atmosphere now.

"Think we're too late to see if we can find a planet but we can just look at the stars." He spoke up as he looked up.

There was an endless amount of stars scattered across the sky. Even though he had looked at them various amounts of times, it never ceased to amaze him when he got a chance to just stop and look.

Pickles set a blanket down from the basket and sat down. Charles joined him and helped set out the snacks and wine that he had brought.

This time, it was different. There were no drunken arguments at a high scale restaurant or unresolved tension between them. It was as light and free as the stars scattered across aimlessly enough to create a clear image that things might turn out for the better for them. It turned from drinking and eating under the stars to lying down on the blanket, looking at the endless stars as they tried to make out each constellation. Charles wrapped an arm around and Pickles placed his head on his chest as they relaxed completely into the night. It almost felt like they had done stargazing for decades, never stop, and it was only another night for them. Maybe they really can work this out in the end with just a little work.

Things will be alright. One day it won't be and they'll have to analyze their relationship once again but that wouldn't happen for a while or as the stars had told Charles.

They can't focus on what was lost or what will be lost. They can only focus on what's going on at the moment. And at the moment, things are going to be okay.

[inorganicone2230]

Purity (Part 2) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 1 Part 3

Summery: Overhaul meets a quirkless foreigner who holds some very interesting views on his way of thinking. The more time he spends with her, the more he wants to keep her and her purity for himself. And he has no problem with falling to the depths of obsession if it means getting what he wants.

Warnings: some light stalking and yandere thoughts, but nothing too major... yet.

Meetings and problems with Eri’s security had kept him from being able to see you again for the next two days and he was beginning to get antsy. He just couldn’t understand why it was so hard for the moronic filth that worked under him to follow his orders to his exact specifications.

“How hard is it to keep track of one little girl?” Kai was sitting at his desk, elbows propped up on the immaculate surface with his head set on his gloved hands.

“I’ll see to it that someone much more reliable is placed at her door. She won’t be getting out again Overhaul. I’ll make sure of it.” Chrono said, already making a mental note of who to put in charge of the girl.

“See that you do. I won’t tolerate failure and stupidity, not even from you. I have more important things to do with my time then making sure you all can do your jobs properly.” He said, shooting an icy glare at the silver haired man. “Now is there anything else left for today?”

“No. We’re getting the final shipments of Trigger sent out to our buyers and the League of Villains is currently under our surveillance, so far they’ve done nothing but recruit more members. Nothing else to report, unless you have something you want me to do.”

Good. Now that he had the rest of the day free, he could finally go and find you again. He had missed the sound of your voice and was eager to be in your clean presence once more. “No. I have something to do away from the base, so you’re in charge while I’m gone. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Very well.” He answered, shutting the door behind him. He was curious to say the least, but he knew better than to question his boss’s motives. He was loyal to Overhaul and only to Overhaul and he obeyed without question.

Kai removed his plague doctor mask and replaced it with a clean black dust mask. He would have preferred to keep his face cover of choice as it was better for keeping out the filth, but he had a feeling you might find it to be a bit too much this early on. He hoped you appreciated it when the time came, since he was going out of his way to make you feel comfortable around him. He wouldn’t have done this for just anyone after all.

—————

It was almost like fate, the way he found you again.

You were staring at a bulletin board on a relatively quiet street, a small smile on your face as you attempted to read the postings.

“Not lost again are you?” He spoke up, walking towards you as if it was just a random coincidence that he was running into you again.

You whipped around, a big smiles reaching across your face. “No. Not this time.”

“I suppose that’s something at least. I’d hate to find your mangled body on the side of the road, especially since I went through the trouble of saving you yesterday.” He said, coming to stand beside you.

“Well luckily for both of us, I’ve been doing my best to pay attention to my surroundings today. And my friends made sure I turned my phones GPS on, on the off chance I end up being out too late again.”

He nodded, making a mental note of that little detail, just in case it became relevant again later on. He really didn’t want to have to deal with anymore hassle then necessary when it come to this.

“You pulled quite the vanishing act the other day by the way. I didn’t even get the chance to say thank you for helping me.” You said, turning around back to the board to drot some things down in a notepad.

Your movements caused him to suddenly take notice of what you were wearing, a small black dress that came to the tops of your knees and a loose blue flannel shirt to act as a jacket, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. The back of the dress barely covered the curve of your ass and he had an insane urge to grab you and pull you back into his chest, to keep others from seeing what wasn’t theirs. It was a ridiculous notion, the very idea of physical touch usually had him squirming in discomfort, but for some reason, the idea of touching your smooth pale skin didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it might

“Yes. Well your companion seemed to be taking you to task for your absence, I figured that since you had made it back I could just leave.” He was grateful that your back was turned, otherwise you would have seen the way he was carefully memorizing the shape and curve of your slim waist and the way it lead down to your ass and shapely legs. You were far too thin in his opinion, not unhealthily yet, but it was something that would need to be remedied in the future.

“Nell was pretty peeved at me for not telling her where I was going. Made me promise to text her every now and then to let her know that I’m okay.” You said absently, shoving the notepad and pen back into your shoulder bag before turning around to give him your full attention.

“So, since we’ve run into each other again, would it be too much trouble to get my savior's name? So I can thank you properly. It’s the least you can do since you left me hanging yesterday.” You teased him, locking your arms behind your back and making direct eye contact with him. It still amazed him that you could do that without flinching.

This was the real reason he had left the other day, he wanted an excuse to talk to you again, one that would be easy to believe, one that wouldn’t make you suspicious. “My name is Kai, Kai Chisaki.”

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you Chisaki-san. My name is (F/N) (L/N). I would offer to shake your hand, but I’m guessing that those gloves and mask you’re wearing aren’t exactly a fashion statement.” You said, eyeing his gloved hands and sending him another radiant smile as a consolation.

He was right, the sound of your voice speaking his name really was enticing. He felt shivers run through his body and for a brief moment, he wondered how you would sound screaming the name Kai or Overhaul, over and over again till your throat was raw and sore. 

He was also quite pleased that you had taken notice of that little detail about his person. It proved how perceptive and intelligent you were. He valued common sense and intelligence almost as much as he valued cleanliness, and you were proving to have both in spades.

“I was sure I wouldn’t see you again since this is a pretty big city, do you live or work around here?” You said, walking over to a vending machine to pop in a few yen, hitting the button for a bottle of water before taking a seat on a bench and removing your shoulder bag.

“Both. I just happened to be out for a walk when I noticed you.” He followed along behind you, glaring at a few passing street thugs who eyed you up and down and making them flee under the weight of his golden gaze. He supposed it couldn’t be helped, you were an attractive girl, even he could see that, and a foreigner to boot, it was to be expected that you would get some attention. He just hopped you weren’t the type to enjoy attention from the wrong people. That just wouldn’t do.

“I see, well thank you for stopping to say hello. I was certain that after our interaction the other day, you would be a total asshole if I ever saw you again. Turns out you're not too bad.” You took a deep swig of the water you had just purchased and he found himself entranced watching the way your throat moved as you greedily sucked it down. Your lips let go of the bottle, gasping for breath. “Are summers here always so hot or is this day just above average terrible? It’s almost as bad as that time I visited Vegas in the middle of August.”

“Are you not used to the heat?” He asked, hoping to glean some kind of information about you. If he could learn some of your preferences for things, he could better prepare.

You shake your head. “It’s not that I’m not used to it, it’s just that where I come from isn’t a big city like this, so I think all this concrete and asphalt radiating heat is just starting to cook me a little. Still better than the below zero temps we get in the winter time though.” You chuckled lightly, just as your phone started to ring.

“Oh, excuse me for just one sec. Please don’t go disappearing on me again.”

Kai nods his head in affirmation, and watches as you briefly walk away and begin speaking in what he assumes is your native language. It seems it wasn’t just the sound of his own language that he liked hearing you speak, but your own as well. The sound was soft and it was easy to pick up on how much easier it was for you to speak then Japanese. He’ll enjoy hearing you speak it for him every now and then once he’s gotten you better acquainted with Japanese. You needed to be able to communicate with him on all levels first and foremost, how else was he supposed to make this easier on you.

Even with your back turned to him, he could see the way you laughed and smiled at whoever you were talking to, and he didn’t like it one bit. A purity like yours should only be shared with those who are most deserving, and he was the only candidate for that position in his opinion.

He would have continued to stew in his jealousy, though he’d never say that’s what he felt out loud, when he noticed that you had left your bag unattended. He had no shame in making sure you were still completely occupied with your phone call before rummaging through it. There wasn’t much, a few pens, the notepad he had seen in your hand, a book of Japanese writing, but it was your wallet that truly interested him, pulling it out and using his own phone to take a quick picture of your ID and passport before putting it away and stepping back to his original spot.

Just in the nick of time as you turned around and walked back over to him. “Sorry about that. My friends said they found a place for us to eat tonight, so I’m going to get going.” You said, shouldering your bag and giving him another one of those lovely smiles he was beginning to become possessive of. “I’m glad I was able to run into you again Chisaki-san, it was nice getting to talk to you again, even if it was only for a little bit.”

He might have a way to look up information on you now with what was on his phone, but he still felt like he was walking away from this empty handed. How could he ensure that he got too see you again without it seeming suspicious, better yet, how could he get you to be the one to initiate contact with him next time? Then it clicked, he had just the idea, he only hoped you’d go along with it.

“How about I give you my number? You seem to be off on your own a lot despite being in a group, so if you get lost again, or find yourself in trouble, you can call me. I have a fairly loose schedule so I can answer at almost anytime.” He said casually.

You stopped, flustered and little nervous all of a sudden. “I-I don’t… umm… that is to say, I’m not so sure I feel comfortable exchanging numbers with someone I barely know. No offense but I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

He had a feeling this was going to be your reaction, it was only natural, after all. But he had an ace up his sleeve to sweeten the deal. “Oh, you don’t have to give me yours, you can just take mine. If you need to use it, you can. If not, then you don’t.” He didn’t particularly like that he was giving you this bit of choice, but it would go a long way towards ingratiating himself to you should his plan work. And it would.

You seemed to think about it long and hard for a few minutes before deciding. “Alright. I suppose that’s alright then. No harm no fowl, right?” You reach into your bag, pulling out a pen and paper for him. He wrote down the number for a secondary, disposable cell phone he carried with him and handed it back to you.

“Well, I should get going, friends are waiting and all. Have a good night Chisaki-san.”

“You as well (Y/N), have a pleasant evening.”

You gave him a small wave and smile before hurrying down the street and back to your hotel. 

He desperately wanted to grab you and drag you back to the base, to keep you secure and safe and with him at all times, but he still wanted time to try and win you over before he resorted to more forceful means. Not that he wouldn’t gladly use force and threats if it got him his way, but he felt like the prize would be all the sweeter if it came to him.

He hoped you would call him on your own here soon, but if not, he could always stage a little something to happen, something to motivate you to seek him out. He would have to send someone to start watching you at all times. These last few days of not knowing what you were doing or who you were with were just too taxing, best to get some extra protection for you.

He had a lot of plans to see too.

————

As soon as he got back, he summoned Chrono and Mimic to his office.

“What do you need Boss?” Mimic inquired, always eager to do whatever was asked of him.

He had printed off the pictures he had taken of your ID and passport, handing them over to his underling. “Find out everything you can on this girl. I want to know anything you can tell me, I don’t care how minuscule or unimportant you might find it. I want it all.” He left no room for arguments or debate.

Mimic was even better about following orders then Chrono, he didn’t even bat an eye at the strange request. “Sure thing Overhaul. I’ll have this back to you ASAP.” He said and was out the door just as quick.

Chrono on the other hand was just a tad bit more curious than Mimic. “What was it you needed from me Overhaul?” He was immediately handed the same copies.

“Until our next batches of Trigger are made or The League makes a move, I don’t need you for anything around here. You are to go to that hotel written down and watch that girl as closely as you can without drawing attention to yourself or making contact with her. She is to be protected by any means necessary. Understood.”

To say he was stunned would be an understatement. Since when did Overhaul have an interest in anything outside the Shie Hassaikai, let alone that something being a woman? “I’ll follow your orders without fail Overhaul, even this one, but I have to ask. This doesn’t have anything to do with the Shie Hassaikai or our oppression's, does it? This is completely personal for you.”

He was sent an icy glare. “You’re treading on thin ice Hari, and if you were anyone else, I would have killed you already.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “But since I know that you’re only asking so you can follow your orders better, I’ll tell you.”

Chrono waited patiently for his answer.

“Yes. This is personal. The girl there, (Y/N) is her name, and she’s quirkless. I won’t go into detail about how I met her, but let’s just say that she has some very intriguing ideas on my philosophies. She’s pure, and I desire to keep that purity all for myself.” Kai finished, looking at his computer screen to stare at your images.

“So what’s she going to be?” He asked, not judging, he would never even think to do that, but just out of curiosity. This was by far the most interest he’d ever seen Overhaul show anything outside of his research.

Kai just smirked behind his mask. “If I’m going to rule the Yakuza and the underworld, I’m going to need someone to rule by my side. Every King needs a Queen after all.”

Holy shit you guys! I am having an amazing time writing this story, I hope you all are enjoying it as well!

As Always, special thanks to @talpup for all the help with these ideas! I really appreciate it!

[nalu-nalu]

Lazy Ass

author: nalu-nalu

pairing: kageyama tobio x hinata shouyou

rating: 16+ (mild swearing)

chapters: 1/?

word count: 4,707

characters: kageyama tobio, hinata shouyou, yamaguchi tadashi, yachi hitoka, ukai keishin (coach), hinata’s mom!!

tags: fluff, angst, sfw, takes place between tokyo and brazil arc, kageyama is embarrassed, hinata’s mom is my favorite, seriously she’s my favorite character i’ve ever written, more platonic than romantic

summary: following the defeat of karosuno in the spring tournament, some of the team members are worried about hinata, who hasn’t shown up in a few days, and is ignoring everyone. kageyama decides to find hinata himself. 

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409771

an: i really like this and might continue it? though maybe it should just stay as a one-shot, who knows. this is my first haikyuu fic, so be gentle plz <3 

***

It had been a week since the Spring Tournament.

A week since Karosuno had lost to Kamomedai in the quarter finals.

A week since the team boarded the bus for a final time, and drove home in complete silence.

Kageyama remembered the trip in vivid detail. The quiet sniffles in the back from the third years, trying to remain strong, and the constant fidgeting from both Nishanoya and Tanaka. Hinata was seated in the far left corner of the bus, separated from everyone else. His fever still hadn’t broken, and was ordered to sit as far away from the rest of his team as possible. Kageyama expected some sort of resistance from the ginger-haired ball of energy, but surprisingly, Hinata surrendered voluntarily. He had been far too quiet since the moment he left the court, and hadn’t said more than two words to anyone. When Yachi had quietly suggested to him that someone talk to Hinata, Kageyama had merely scoffed and walked away. There was nothing anyone could say to Hinata. His emotions were more valid than those any of his other teammates were enduring. If Hinata had stayed on the court for ten more minutes…

Kageyama shook his head free of the thought and stared at the vending machine in front of him. He stared intensely at his options. Milk or yogurt…His fingers hovered over the two options.

“Hey Kageyama…” a soft-spoken voice came from behind him.

Kageyama whirled around to face whoever had just denied him the opportunity to make his decision, only to find a concerned Yamaguchi standing behind him. Kageyama’s face softened, “Oh, hey Yamaguchi. Sorry I didn’t know it was you.” He turned back around to face the vending machine, and jabbed the two different buttons, deciding fate would make his decision today, “What’s up?”

“Well uh… I was just wondering if you’d spoken to Hinata at all.”

Kageyama knelt down and grabbed the dispensed milk carton. It was always milk. “No, why would I have.” He peeled the straw off the back and disposed of the plastic wrap, stabbing the carton with the pointy end. He brought the straw to his lips.

“Well it’s just that…” Yamaguchi shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, “He’s your friend right? Aren’t you worried about him?”

Kageyama paused, and lowered the carton, “Why would I be worried about him. We had a break this week. No practice until Monday, remember?” In reality, Kageyama had been aware of his noticeable absence the past few days. He hadn’t spotted him in the gym or in the club room. In fact, Kageyama couldn’t remember seeing Hinata anytime after getting off of the bus last week. While this seemed somewhat out of the ordinary, it wasn’t cause for any concern. None of the club members had been spending much time together after a Tokyo, and Hinata — who had taken up the brunt of he blame and placed it on himself — seemed like no exception.

“I guess he hasn’t come back to school yet. We think he’s home, either still sick or…”

“Doesn’t feel like he can face any of us.” Kageyama finished Yamaguchi’s sentence. He glanced over at the gym, which was devoid of any life. The sound of balls being hit and sneakers squeaking on the floor were absent. He sighed and turned back to face Yamaguchi, “Well I don’t know what you want me to do about it. Why don’t you just go and visit him. Or I don’t know, text him? You have his number you know.”

“Well I thought about it, but some of us were thinking that it might be a good idea if you’re the one who talk to him, being his parter on the court and all.”

Kageyama choked on his milk at the mention of being Hinata’s partner. He coughed and cleared his voice, “Just because I pass to him doesn’t make us partners. I just set it to whoever has the best chance of getting us a point.” He shrugged, “Hinata just happens to be that person some of the time.”

Yamaguchi’s eyebrows furrowed, “So you aren’t worried for him in the slightest?”

“Nope, not really. He’s probably just moping because he thinks he’s the reason we lost.” Kageyama turned and tossed his empty milk carton into the nearby trashcan.

Yamaguchi’s ears turned red, “How can you say that? You know it wasn’t Hinata’s fault!”

“I never said it was,” Kageyama replied flatly, “I just said that’s probably what he thinks.”

“So you really don’t care?”

“Nope, not it the slightest.” Kageyama waved him off as his strode back into the main building, leaving Yamaguchi at a loss for words.

But he did find himself concerned. He just couldn’t let Yamaguchi know that. Hinata would never miss a chance to practice, let alone a whole week. Sick or not, they’d usually had to drag him out of the gym kicking and screaming. A mirage of scenarios found themselves doing laps inside Kageyama’s head: Hinata was killed by the fever; Hinata was kidnapped by someone while biking to school; Hinata’s family decided to take a sporadic vacation without notifying anyone; or worse, Hinata had decided to quit volleyball.

Kageyama realized he had stopped walking, and was standing in the middle of the hallway, contemplating the different scenarios. “Fucking Yamaguchi…” He murmured to himself as he reached for the phone in his pocket, and found himself absentmindedly searching for Hinata’s number. He stepped to the side and leaned on the wall, finding Hinata’s contact information. He held the phone up to his ear, listening to the dial tone, while other students glanced at him and walked by without saying a word.

Not even a week ago, the volleyball club were the kings of the school. Everyone either wanted to be them or be with them. Now, it seemed that the members of the club were sick with the plague.

Kageyama listened to the dial tone, and when no one picked up, he listened to the voicemail, “Hey, it’s Hinata! I’m probably at practice or biking or sleeping, so sorry if I missed you! If you wanna, you can leave a message, but honestly I don’t know how to work the voicemail on this thing and-“ His voice was cut off by the beep. Kageyama considered leaving him a message, but changed his mind at the last second, quickly snapping his phone shut. He twirled it in his hands for a moment, and glanced at the clock at the end off the hall.

For a moment, he weighed his options. He could continue on with his day and forget about Hinata. This seemed like the wiser option, considering the other would be far more embarrassing; making it seem like he had legitimate emotions for someone other than himself. Not that he didn’t, he’d just rather have others believe otherwise.

But before he had made a concrete decision, he found himself walking back out of the building and into the chilly January air. Kageyama cursed under his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, beginning his descent to the main road. He’d never been this spontaneous before, except maybe on the court. Although even then, he was still thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.

When Coach’s store came into view, Kageyama paused. God what the fuck am I thinking. He turned to head back to the school when he thought about Hinata, either lying dead in the trunk of someone’s car, or pathetically wallowing in his own self pity. He rolled his eyes and continued heading down the path.

He wandered into Coach’s store, where Coach sat with his feet propped up on the counter, a cigarette hanging limply out of his mouth. He glanced up from the magazine he was flipping through, a look of concern flashing across his face, “Hey kid, didn’t expect to see you in here today. Something up?”

Kageyama shook his head nonchalantly, “Just came to grab a couple pork buns.”

Coach glanced at his watch and his eyes narrowed, “School get out early or something?”

“Optional early release.” Kageyama shrugged and fished for his wallet in his back pocket.

Coach chuckled, “Of course it is.” He noticed Kageyama’s wallet in his hand, “It’s on me kid, put that cash away.” He turned to grab a bag for the pork buns, “Did’ja say a couple of ‘em? You meeting up with anyone?”

“I’m a growing boy,” Kageyama replied shortly, “guess I’m just extra hungry today.”

Coach slid the bag of pork buns across the counter towards Kageyama, “Alright…” He sounded unsure, “Hey, just don’t make this a habit, okay? We don’t need you being suspended, or worse, banned from club activities.”

Kageyama gave a halfhearted nod and grabbed the bag, “Yeah, Coach. I won’t. Thanks for these.” He nodded, and headed for the door, waving at Coach before being blasted by the frigid air once he stepped outside.

Probably wasn’t the best idea to stop at Coach’s store, he thought to himself as he shivered into his jacket. Continuing the down the path, Kageyama reached for his phone with his free hand, checking for any messages, specifically a reply from Hinata. Nothing. Not that he was surprised.

“Now that I’m going soft, might as well…” he muttered under his breath as his contemplated giving Hinata a second call. The phone rang three times before sending Kageyama to voicemail, “Hey, it’s Hinata! I’m probably at - ” Kageyama flipped his phone shut and stood at the bottom of the large hill Hinata biked up and down daily. What a fucking tryhard, he scoffed as he began he trek up the hill.

Once he reached the top, he was completely out of breath. Panting, he suddenly wished he had bought a water while stopped at Coach’s. He slowly began his descent, thoroughly winded, and somewhat impressed that Hinata managed this journey not once, but twice a day.

Despite being the best workout Kageyama had received all week, and his newly increased lung capacity, he swore to never climb up that hill again, and vowed to take the bus home. He stood at the bottom of the hill with his hands held behind his head, trying to catch a breath, and hoping the pounding muscles in his legs would sooth soon. He paused, and realized that he only had a vague idea of where Hinata lived. He remembered something about Hinata living near a park, and his block number being relatively low, but he lacked the information necessary to find his place from his current position.

Kageyama swore under his breath and took a seat on a bench to his right. He looked at the sky momentarily, taking notice of the slow, but prominent movements of the clouds, as they seemed to swirl around each other. He sighed, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Now who can I call without being thoroughly judged… He wondered. He scrolled through his contact list, pausing every once in a while to consider the consequences of contacting one person over another, before finally spotting a name that he’d been looking for. He called up the number, hoping they would pick up.

One dial tone, two dial tone, three dial tone. Kageyama was losing hope quickly, and coming to the realization that this was the dumbest thing he had ever done, when the phone clicked and Yachi’s voice came through the speaker, “Hello?” She whispered softly.

Fuck. She must be in the middle of class, “Uh, hey Yachi. I didn’t mean to disturb you or anything, it’s just - ”

“What’s wrong?” Yachi interrupted abruptly, “You’ve never called me before. I didn’t even know you had my number saved. I saw you calling and immediately excused myself to the restroom. Now what’s wrong?”

“Why does anything have to be wrong in order for me to call you?” Kageyama countered bitterly, “What if I just wanted to say hi?”

“Haha, very funny. Tell me what’s going on.”

He took a deep breath, “You can’t tell anyone okay?” He took the silence on the other end of the phone as an acknowledgement, and he continued, “Yamaguchi came up to me at lunch today

and - ”

“You talked to Yamaguchi?” She interrupted again.

“Well yeah and - ”

“I can’t believe he actually went through with it… We talked about it, but no one ever actually agreed to approach you…”

“Who is this ‘we’ everyone keeps talking about?” Kageyama questioned angrily, “Why is everyone talking about me behind my back?”

“No no,” Her voice dropped, possibly trying to avoid being heard by anyone else, “we were just worried about Hinata and well, you seemed like the only person that he respects enough to - ”

“Well congrats, Yamaguchi guilt tripped me into it.” He cut her off. “Now do you know where he lives or not?”

Yachi’s end of the line went silent for a moment, and Kageyama could almost hear the smirk on the other end of the line, “Yeah.” She relayed the information to Kageyama, and he mentally took note of her instructions.

“Hey can you just, not tell anyone about this?” Kageyama unceremoniously pleaded.

“Yeah sure, but will you tell me what he says? He hasn’t talked to me either and… well I’m just really worried about him.”

Kageyama nodded, “Yeah, sure. That is if he even wants to see me.” He paused, “Thanks for the uh, help, I guess…” He sheepishly and bitterly acknowledge, and said a quick goodbye before snapping his phone shut.

He stood, the searing pain in his legs already dying down after his odyssey over the hill. Yachi’s instructions were at the forefront of his mind and he walked the path that Hinata biked everyday.

“Walk along the main road for a while, and then take a right at the intersection where you see the big cherry blossom tree with a wooden swing. Then, take a left at the yellow house with lots of flowers. If you keep walking down that road, there’s a dead end sign, so just follow that, and Hinata’s house is the last one on the street.”

Kageyama paused, and stared up at the aforementioned house in front of him. What the fuck am I doing, this is so stupid. He took a step forward, then another, until he reached the front door of the medium sized light blue house. He raised his closed fist, and knocked softly, praying that no one would hear, or that no one was home.

His delusion however, was thwarted when a short, stout blonde woman opened the door almost immediately. She was a good foot shorter than Kageyama, who seemed to tower over her menacingly. He slouched his shoulders, in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. The woman’s facial features were soft, and round, and her hair was cut short. Upon first glance, she didn’t appear to resemble Hinata in the slightest, but upon closer inspection, Kageyama realized that they seemed to shared the same light brown eyes.

“Hi,” she smiled sweetly, “can I help you?”

“Um…” Kageyama sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “is Hina - I mean, is Shouyou here?”

The women’s light eyes darkened, and she gave Kageyama a once over, “Shouyou hasn’t been feeling too well the last couple of days.” Her eyebrows furrowed, but her eyes softened a bit, “Wait a minute, you must be Kageyama.”

“Uh, yes ma’am - ” He felt his arm pulled as Hinata’s mother dragged him into the house. She gave him a light shove into the kitchen as she closed the door behind them.

“I have heard so much about you Kageyama!” She began rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out plates and cups, “Shouyou will just go on and on about how wonderful you are.” She paused and looked thoughtfully into space, “Although I do remember a time where he wasn’t quite as fond of you… Something about, a middle school game?” She waved her hand and filled one of the glasses up with orange juice, “Would you like orange juice sweetie? We also have water or milk, I could make you some tea as well - ”

“Um,” Kageyama cleared his throat, the throng of information he had received from Hinata’s mother overwhelming him. “juice is fine I suppose.”

Hinata’s mother smiled, and poured the juice into a second glass as well. “Now Shouyou tells me that you’re one of the best setters he’s ever seen. Said you were even invited to a fancy training camp in Tokyo for the best of the best, is that right?” She pulled fruits and veggies from the fridge, and began to create a platter.

“Uh, yes ma’am.” Kageyama shifted his weight awkwardly, his cheeks and ears reddening.

“Oh no need to call me ma’am sweetie, just call me Machi, or Obāsan.” She grinned and continued preparing the platter in front of her. “You can take your shoes off as well if you’d like! Just set them down over there by the others! Set your bag down too! There’s slippers as well if that’s something you like!”

“Oh, uh, thanks ma’am - I mean Machi.” Kageyama slipped his shoes off and grabbed them by the heels, setting them next to the plethora of other shoes stacked near the door. He set his bag down next to them, but kept the pork buns clutched in his hand.

“I wish I could’ve seen you boys play in one of the tournaments, but Shouyou made me promise not to come, said something about me embarrassing him.” She waved her hand, “Ah but that’s silly, I would never embarrass him. Now Natsu on the other hand, well she could do some damage.” She pulled a large tray out from under the counter, and placed the glasses and the platter of fruits and vegetables on top. She carefully held the tray out to Kageyama, “Shouyou’s room is up the stairs and to the right, and the rest in right across from him. Make sure he doesn’t only eat the fruit, he needs some vegetables as well.”

Kageyama gingerly took the tray from Machi, careful as to not spill the glasses full to the brim with juice. He set the bag of pork buns on top, and hesitated momentarily, “Thank you, Machi.” He thanked her uncomfortably.

“Of course sweetie!” Machi stared up at him, a sudden look of concern in her eyes, “Shouyou hasn’t been in a mood to talk, but maybe you can try to convince him to go back to school soon? I worry about all of the lessons he’s missing, not to mention the ramifications from the vice principal. I would hate if Shouyou somehow ended up on his bad side.” Her look of concern transformed into one of hope, “I bet if anyone can get through to Shouyou, it’s you! He really looks up to you, you know.” She smiled warmly at Kageyama, her face closely resembling Hinata’s, before turning around and beginning to clean up the food she had taken out, “Just holler if you boy’s need anything. I’ll be here!”

Kageyama was frozen in place, trying to comprehend the overload of information that had just been shoved down his throat. He did his best to smile, although he was sure he looked more menacing than thankful, and turned around to climb the set of stairs leading from the kitchen. He carefully held the tray steadily, thankful for the years of hand training he had, and slowly ascended the wooden staircase.

Once he reached the second level, he turned to his right. The door was shut, and decorated with small dinosaur stickers that were beginning to peel off. Kageyama smirked, hoping these stickers were a recent addition and not some left over child memorabilia. He balanced the try with one hand, while prepping himself to knock on the door. His hand was curled into a fist, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually knock. God this was such a stupid fucking idea. But before he could stop himself, his fist beat three times against the door.

He heard a groan coming from the other side, authorizing Kageyama to enter. He turned the handle and enter Hinata’s room.

Hinata’s room looked exactly like Kageyama had imagined it, not that he had actually imagined it before. The walls were plastered with professional volleyball team’s posters, with the two posters Yachi had designed hanging above his bed. His desk was empty, except for the bottles of empty sports drinks littered atop of it. The closet was wide open, showcasing what looked like an explosion of clothing, with every drawer open, and seemingly every piece of clothing pulled out, including his underwear. Kageyama found himself blushing and looked away. Hinata’s duffle was sat next to his bed. It was half open, and Kageyama could see that it clearly hadn’t been cleaned out since Tokyo, spotting Hinata’s uniform, and shoes hastily shoved inside.

Hinata was curled up in his bed, facing the wall. It wasn’t too cold in the house, but he was bundled up completely in blankets. The only movements he seemed to be making was the rise and fall of this body, and indication that he was still breathing.

Phew, well now I know he’s not dead.

“What is it ma. I already told you, I’m not hungry.” The lump on the bed mumbled.

Kageyama awkwardly cleared his throat, and tried to find an object to look at that wouldn’t seem weird if Hinata caught him.

After an odd moment of silence, Hinata turned around slowly. His signature ginger hair was sticking up in odd directions, and seemed to be in need of a thorough washing. He had deep bags under his eyes, and his cheek bones seemed more pronounced than usual. In fact, his whole face had a skeletal sort of look. His eyes — which Kageyama had entirely determined to be the same as his mother’s — were sunken in to his face, and seemed to be more dull and lifeless than usual.

Kageyama cocked his head and stared at Hinata, who had just come to the realization that Kageyama was actually in his bedroom. Upon said realization, Hinata threw his covers off and quickly threw the piles of clothing spilling out on to the floor back into the dresser’s drawers, and shut the closet door. He kicked his duffle under the bed and grabbed the sweatpants hanging on the back of his desk’s chair. He quickly pulled them on, to Kageyama’s relief, as he had only been wearing boxers, and the shirt that he had purchased at the Spring Tournament.

Hinata, red in the face, quickly blurted, “What are you doing here?”

Kageyama shrugged cooly, “Dunno. Heard you were being quite a baby, holing yourself up in your room and refusing to go to school.”

Hinata furrowed his brows, “Who told you that? My mom?”

Kageyama moved the empty bottles of sports drink to one side of the desk, and set the tray down on the other, “Nope. You just did.”

Hinata found himself at a loss for words, flustered and confused, “Okay, but what are you doing here.”

Pulling the desk chair out, Kageyama took a seat and grabbed a carrot from the tray, taking a bite out of it. He chewed and swallowed, paused, and gave Hinata a pointed look, “Everyone’s saying that you’re ignoring them. Thought you could be dead.” Another shrug, “Forced me here, saying that I’m the only one to motivate you to get your lazy ass out of the house and back on the court.” He popped the rest of the carrot into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully, “But honestly, now that I’m here,” he gave Hinata a once over, “I can see you are perfectly happy isolating yourself from the rest of the world.”

Kageyama grabbed the bag of pork buns from the tray and tossed them to Hinata, “From Coach,” he muttered, “he thought they might cheer you up I guess. They probably aren’t warm anymore though, so I’m not sure how appetizing they’d be.”

Hinata opened the bag and inhaled the intoxicating smell, greedily stuffing his hand inside and pulling out a room temperature pork bun, and taking a large bite out of it. He smiled while chewing, before remembering who else was in the room with him, and put a scowl on his face.

After an uncomfortable amount of silence, Kageyama finally broke, “So are you coming to school Monday or not.”

Hinata looked down at his feet as he continued to chew on his pork bun.

“I mean,” Kageyama continued, “I’m sure if you decided not to come to practice, we could replace you with someone else. Yamaguchi is tall enough to be a decent middle blocker, or maybe we’ll get a talented group of first years that could take your place…”

“No!” Hinata exclaimed, standing up abruptly, “You can’t replace me!”

“Sure we can,” Kageyama grabbed a second carrot, “anyone can be a decoy.”

“But -” Hinata started.

“Anyone who thinks that their problems are bigger than the team doesn’t belong on a team anyways.” Kageyama cruelly taunted, “I mean, do you really think we lost in Tokyo because you’re the best player on the team? Do you think that without you, our team is terrible? Because honestly,” Kageyama shrugged, “you’re one of the worst players on the team. Just because you can get from one place to another quickly, doesn’t mean you’re any good.” He sighed and toyed with the carrot in his hand, “We lost because the other team was better than us. Plain and simple.” Kageyama stood and stretched his arms upwards, “If you’re really gonna act like this any time another team is better than us, then maybe you shouldn’t stay in the club. We don’t need whiners bringing the rest of the team down.” He walked back to the doorway, and stood for a moment, hoping that being harsh with Hinata was the right move.

As usual, he was right. Hinata grabbed Kageyama’s arm and turned him around, “I’ll be there on Monday,” he said, determined, “and I’ll kick your ass in practice.”

Kageyama snorted, and challenged Hinata with his eyes, “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.” He yanked his arm out of Hinata’s grip and grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut as he walked away, “Oh,” he paused before the door was completely shut, “don’t tell anyone I was here today. I don’t need my reputation hurt.”

“But I thought you said that - ” The door was pulled shut in Hinata’s face before he could finish his thought. He sat down softly on his bed and smiled to himself, before pulling a second pork bun from the back and taking a massive bite out of it.

Kageyama made his way back downstairs and into the kitchen, where Machi was impatiently waiting, pretending to wipe down the already impeccably clean counters. She pretended to be surprised when she saw Kageyama approach.

“Oh! Done so soon? I hope Shouyou was playing nice, he can get a bit rowdy…”

Kageyama gave her his most realistic looking smile, and thanked her for the hospitality, “I really do have to go though, but mother wouldn’t be too happy if I wasn’t home in time for dinner.”

Machi smiled back, before her look turned to that of concern again, “Do you think that…Shouyou will go back to school on Monday?”

Kageyama slipped his shoes back on and grabbed his bag from beside the door, “I don’t think there’s any doubt.” He thanked Machi again, and exited through the front door.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally exposed to the fresh air again. Hoping he’d never have to do something that embarrassing ever again. He stepped off of the sidewalk, but paused when he remembered he had no clue where the nearest bus stop was. He smacked his forehead and recoiled into himself, realizing what the quickest solution was.

He awkwardly walked back up the steps to the front door, and knocked for a second time that day. Machi appeared almost instantaneously, looking puzzled.

“Sorry to uh, bother you again, but could you tell me how to get to the nearest bus stop?”

[chronicallyobsessedwriting]

Out To Get You (Dean x Reader)

70: Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying

Prompt will be listed in BOLD

Warnings: Some mild angst, mentions of violence, blood mentions, kidnapping, Dean probably being an ass

Characters: Sam Winchester (slight), Dean Winchester, Reader, OC William

Word Count: 2376 words ----

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound was the soft snores that came from the two Winchester brothers as they slept in the two beds in the motel room, while you took the small couch that inhabited the small corner of the area. The boys had offered to get you your own room but you denied the offer, feeling safer when you were in a group.

Normally the three of you would be up to the crack of dawn doing research, running purely off black coffee and energy drinks, but you had recently finished up a pretty rough hunt that involved a vampires nest and everyone was tired. Which did include you, but you were too on edge to manage to get some sleep, mindlessly staring at the ceiling as you let off a small sigh.

Something didn’t feel right in the last week. It felt like you had another pair of eyes on you besides the Dean and Sam. You couldn’t find any concrete proof on the theory someone was watching your every move, nothing was being moved around in your room and you weren’t getting any weird or creepy phone calls. It was just the feeling of being stared at.

Usually as a hunter you had learned to push these feelings aside. Especially when it came to being a hunter with the Winchesters. Something was always watching your every move whether it be an angel or a demon. Usually those would sort themselves out or the brothers would find out before anything malicious would happen. This time though it didn’t happen like that; when you voice your concerns to the brothers, they would stare at you like you had two heads.

They would explain that without evidence, there was nothing they could do, and explain that being a hunter that being stared at was a risk you would just have to take. They didn’t believe your worries. More so Dean was more dismissive than Sam, admittedly Sam had tried to help you find any evidence that someone was following you. But whoever or whatever it was; they knew how to cover their tracks well.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice that the eldest Winchester had gotten up to use the bathroom until you had heard the noise of the toilet flush and the sound of the water from the sink running. Quickly before he could come out and see you were awake; you silently positioned to try and look like you had been asleep the whole time. Closing your eyes as you heard the tell tale sound of him leaving the bathroom.

You heard the soft steps of bare feet upon carpet slowly creep closer to you before you felt the small nudge of a hand on your shoulder. Causing you to flinch a bit and turn your head slowly. “I know your not asleep (Y/N)” His voice sounded thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep Dean.” You opened your eyes a bit to stare him in the eyes. His own emerald green eyes staring back at you, clearly still glossed over with the hope of sleep. But he also didn’t look amused with you.

Completely ignoring your statement he let out a small sigh. “What are you even still doing up? We have to leave back to the bunker early in the morning and I don’t need you complaining about how tired you are tomorrow.” His voice was curt, but in a hush so he wouldn’t wake up Sam. Your eyes flickered that way and Dean seemed to notice. “He won’t wake up, he's out cold unlike some people here.”

“I don’t need your attitude Dean, I just can’t sleep right now.” Your ran your hand through your own hair and sat up slowly. “You wouldn’t understand it.” You muttered and his eyes seemed to soften a bit. A confused look flashing across his face.

“What do you mean I wouldn’t understand?” He sounded as if he was a bit offended but in the heat of the moment you chalked it up to just being exhaustion. “Maybe I would understand if you simply talked to me instead of going to Sammy with every single issue you have,” He crossed his arms over his chest, continuing his rant as his entire demeanor switched back to being harsh. “Its like you don’t even trust me.”

Your eyes widened a bit at the claim. “Of course I trust you Dean, we have hunted together for about two years now, you’ve given me every single reason to trust you!” Your voice raised a bit, causing the younger Winchester to stir a bit, but he didn’t wake up.

“Then why won’t you talk to me about what has you so on edge that you won’t even go to sleep?” His voice was curt; slowly it was starting to eat at your patience with him. “You claim to trust me so much, but won’t even tell me the small issue that seems to be bugging you so damn much!” Glancing at him for a moment you noticed how his fists were clenched. Better not to poke the bear while he's angry.

Standing up you grabbed your jacket, slinging it over your arms as you put it on. “Because every time I bring it up, you treat me like I’m a child. Sam at least treats my claims seriously.” You sent a glare his way as you walked passed him. Grabbing your personal keycard off the dresser, stuffing it in your pocket with your wallet.

You could feel him sending a glare straight into your back.

“Are you seriously not sleeping because you feel someone is watching you?” He let out a small scoff. You could basically imagine the eye roll that accompanied it. “Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying”

Grabbing onto the door handle you jerked the door open as quietly as you could, trying to mask how angry you truly were when he had said that. While you were angry at Dean, taking that out on Sam would not be fair.

“Nevermind Dean, just forget about it. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk to you about it.” Shaking your head and looking back at him you sent him a disapproving look. “We both need a breather, I am just gonna get out of your hair for a moment so we both can calm down.”

He made no moves to stop you as you stepped out of the motel room, a spark of anxiety crawling up your spine as soon as you had. “If this was Sammy making these claims, you would treat them seriously. Wouldn’t you?” He remained silent, you knew you had your answer. “I’ll be back. I have my phone on me.” Closing the door behind you, a little harder than you wanted you heard the tell tale sound of the door latching. Unable to see the small flicker of regret that was plastered to Deans face.

Running your hand through your hair you sighed realizing you were still in the cheap pair of pajamas you had recently gotten from a local Walmart. The little llamas and rainbows dancing around a pastel blue background. You sighed in annoyance, cursing yourself for at least not changing your clothes.

Starting on your walk you considered where to go, and so far the only thought to get your mind off what Dean had said was the bar. Not the healthiest option but it was the only place that would be open at one in the morning.

--------

You sighed as you held the small plastic glass in your hand. The dark brown liquid sloshing gently as you carefully paced yourself. You wouldn’t drink too much, but enough to take the edge off.

Bringing the cup to your lips you glanced at your phone that sat on the bar counter; you felt the whiskey burn the back of your throat ever so slightly. Dean hadn't bothered to call or message so you had assumed he had gone back to bed. Which was reasonable, but part of you was disappointed that he hadn’t tried to stop you from going out or at least try and contact you to come back.

“What’s a pretty little lady like you doing here all alone?” Looking up you saw a tall man with blonde hair, brown eyes to accent his features. He looked like he kept himself trim, but he looked a bit too clean to be in a cheap motel bar like you were.

Swallowing thickly you looked around, noticing that the bar was nearly empty for its time of night. Something wasn’t sitting right.

“Nothing. Just needed a drink. I was just about to leave.” You swallowed thickly as you tried to down the last bit of whiskey you had in your glass. Your anxiety at an all time high as soon as this guy had approached.

“I can walk you back to your car if you’d like!” He seemed all too chipper at offering that up. “My names William”

Standing up from the bar stool you steadied yourself by holding onto the stool. Feeling a bit dizzy from the sudden change of position, noting how the barkeep made an announcement for last call, before the other 3 residents simply left the bar.

“I’ll be fine.” You grabbed your things, momentarily noticing how the bar keep had wandered to the back to most likely take stock, probably knowing no one else was going to get a drink. You were alone in this room with a stranger. You went to grab your phone, contemplating calling Dean. All your alarm bells were going off and you had no weapons on you, which in all honesty was a mistake on your part in your rush to leave.

You hurried out to get back to the motel room. Opening the door to the outside of the bar, stepping out into the cold air as it nipped through your pajamas despite the coat you wore. You could hear the man you met trying to follow you, so you increased the space between your steps.

Reaching in your pocket you felt your wallet, but no phone. Looking back you could see it sitting on the bar counter still, the phone momentarily lighting up with a notification you couldn’t see.

You cursed yourself silently, keeping on walking as you abandoned the phone, walking faster as you took certain streets to delay getting to the motel room. William still following behind you. “Come on (Y/N), your really being no fun!��� You could hear him chuckle behind you; he was staying hot on your tail.

Feeling your breath catch in your throat you made another turn and kept walking through empty streets.

Looking back you didn’t see him, so you managed to crutch in an alleyway behind a dumpster, searching for something; anything you could use a weapon. Finding a small piece of wood you picked it up. It wasn’t sharp, but it was thick enough to do some damage if used as a blunt object.

Hearing the crunch of rocks to shoes you turned around. Holding the piece of wood in front of you; standing your ground as you hoped that Dean was at least searching for you, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea.

“You know, I have had my eye on you ever since you came into this little town. Took you a week to take down that nest and god,” He let out a laugh as he stepped closer. “It took forever to find an opportunity to get you away from those damned Winchesters.” He walked forward more, stepping under the light of a flickering street lamp. He blinked, eyes flashing black.

Demon.

“I do admire it though, your insistence to be near at least one of them. It was admittedly hard to keep my distance enough so they wouldn’t detect me, I bet that made you feel crazy huh?” William chuckled.

“What the hell do you want?” He was getting to close for comfort as you were realizing that the piece of wood you held wouldn’t do much harm to the demon that stood in front of you, and you weren’t as skilled in memorizing exorcisms like Sam had been. Much like Dean sometimes would, usually you needed the book in front of you. Usually a well placed trap would help as well.

“Oh I want really what any person of my kind wants. Leverage against the Winchesters. You my friend are perfect bait.” Standing close enough you took a swing, landing a hit square against his cheek, his head whipping to the side as he stumbled back for a moment. A thick line of crimson trailing down wis face from where the wood had pierced the skin.

“For a lady, you really do pack a punch.” He chuckled before cracking his neck. “But we both know that measly piece of wood won't work against defeating me sweetheart.” As if knowing your next move he grabbed the wood before you could finish the next swing. Driving his foot forward kicking you square in the stomach with enough force to send you backwards. Hands digging into concrete to break at least some of your fall. A small groan escaping your lips as your vision blurred slightly from the force he had used.

Standing up you stumbled a bit, still prepared to try and find an opening you likely wouldn’t find. “For a demon you really don’t put up much of a fight.” You spat out, breathing heavy as you prepared to at least fight with your hands.

Rolling his eyes he stepped further towards you and managed to again catch you wrist. Holding tightly in a grip that would most likely bruise. You drive your knee forward, kicking him in the shin which barely made him flinch. “Sorry sweety,” Twisting your arm back you gasped at the tension it created against your bones. It didn't break, but he used enough force to get you down onto your knees. “Nighty Night” You barely had time to respond before his knee collided with your head, filling your eyesight with a quick but painful blackness.