#ridiculously attractive man who should be holding my leash

[norcumii]

for the ask meme: Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Werewolf/vampire AU / Sick/injured / Stranded Due to Inclement Weather / Huddling for warmth

For this trope mashup meme.

This was CLEARLY influenced by seananmcguire's Newsflesh series, which was the last zombie related media I interacted with, and I regret NOTHING.

(Meanwhile, much worldbuilding was done by Dogmatix, who I was foolish enough to let near the plunnies again ^_^)

*****

The problem with zombies, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but muse, was that they stopped thinking. Oh, there was some low-level intelligence left in there, but it was mostly focused on consuming the living. Not tactics, for the most part, not unless the bastards were very fresh or in large enough groups, but that also meant that when some brilliant asshole declared “oh, the zombies wouldn’t/couldn’t ever do that,” no one consulted the zombies.

Thus, an early morning patrol in an area that “never saw more than one or two zombies” turned into a clusterfuck retreat. Though ‘patrol’ was rather a gross overstatement for just the two of them taking an idle walk because some days, Rex was too jittery for sleep and too damn self-sacrificing to admit that he missed early morning runs.

There was always enough fog coming in from the river that they should have been fine.

There also shouldn’t have been an entire pack of at least a dozen, dozen and a half zombies in the area. Where the fuckers had even come from was an unpleasant mystery.

“Rex?” Obi-Wan murmured into the man’s ear. “Are you with me?” he asked as if he couldn’t make out the glacially slow beat of his heart.

Rex groaned, head lolling to nestle further in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. He mumbled something that was probably a curse, which left Obi-Wan in the unenviable position of having to close his eyes and take his own steadying breath. Yes, on the one hand he did have an unfairly attractive boyfriend draped across his lap, straddling his hips and feeling like he was several seconds away from some serious necking.

On the other, they were also treed a good thirty feet above a pack of damned zombies, which had already tried seriously munching on Rex, and ‘necking’ could have serious consequences when one of them was an actual vampire.

Speaking of. Obi-Wan shifted in the cautious little jig in an attempt to nudge Rex more to the left. If he could just free up his arm enough, then he could move around while not tossing them off the tree stand or dislodging the thick emergency poncho that was the only thing keeping Rex from turning into a charred crisp. It was not sized for two, but there hadn’t been time to be more careful and drape it over just Rex instead of just plonking it down over the two of them.

“If you refuse to leave base again without your entire damned armor because of this, I’m going to be very put out,” Obi-Wan informed him, getting another incoherent unhappy noise. The armor was good at keeping the soldiers bite free – not that they needed to worry about the zombification business, but it still hurt them and fed the damn undead. It was also effective at keeping the soldiers touch starved and isolated in ways Obi-Wan had difficulty standing.

Another careful shift, and he could just barely dig out one of the small, squishy packs he kept in his jacket for emergencies.

Since his luck was shit, as soon as he pulled it free, the bastard caught on a loose thread, and with his claws he didn’t dare grab too hard for it, and down it tumbled. One of the zombies lunged, snapping at it, and blood exploded all across the remains of the bastard’s face.

Not being too intelligent, the rest of the pack turned on it immediately. Obi-Wan tried to tune out the disgusting carnage, being much more careful on his second attempt. He didn’t have many packets to spare. This one, he managed to juggle up in front of Rex’s face, jostling it a little. “Here. Drink,” he ordered, hoping that would be sufficient. He hated trying to insert the little sippy straws – Anakin had loved juice pouches back as a child, and they’d had similar fiendish straws. Anakin had learned how to insert the little bastards without a problem, but he always asked Obi-Wan to do it for him – because Obi-Wan had never quite managed to master the process, and Anakin was a damned brat.

Bad enough when it was juice.

One way or another, Rex was conscious enough to shift and bite down on the plastic packet. It was always a wonder to watch the soldiers’ regenerative powers at work. As the level of mostly artificial plasma lowered, color drained back into Rex’s face, the nasty burns along truly unfair cheekbones fading as muscle and skin reknit. He could smell the distressing blood-and-raw-meat stench fading, and only then did he start to relax.

When things had started to go to hell around the globe, the powers that be had huddled together around their failing infrastructure and went looking for fantastical solutions to unnatural problems. Obi-Wan could only imagine the levels of exhaustion and terror that had led someone to the conclusion that vampires might be immune to the infections that spread the zombie virus. The sheer potential of that going horribly wrong was at least one movie franchise long, if not several, yet somehow they’d dedicated enough science to make artificial vampires. Oh, technically it wasn’t vampirism, but ‘drank blood, super fast and strong, sunburn to death within minutes, resting vitals dropping down far enough to pass as dead’ was close enough for everyone but petty bureaucrats and pedantic assholes.

Even at the time, Obi-Wan had cynically noted how that meant both a short leash, and a strong vested interest in keeping as many people from going zombie as possible. He’d also noted the infuriating demographics of those who were selected for and survived the process of becoming vampires.

He tried not to think on that much nowadays, because the heightened blood pressure and carnage bothered Rex.

The packet slurped dry in a way that always raised Obi-Wan’s hackles, then Rex blinked up at him a few times in confusion. “You’re fuzzy,” Rex accused.

“That’s called a beard, dear,” Obi-Wan drawled in his most obnoxious tone, pretending he didn’t also have fur sprouting most places, nor the partial muzzle of a transformation enough to give him speed and jumping ability enough to get to one of the safe perches they’d set up weeks ago.

The Powers That Be might have created vampires, but they had also somehow missed the small but stubborn population of entirely naturally occurring werewolves (and affiliated were-creatures) around the world. Some, like Obi-Wan and his pack, were doing their damndest to both keep a low profile and help the poor bastards trying to protect the last of humanity.

Some, like Obi-Wan, might have become unwisely open to certain non-lycanthropes due to unfortunate feelings – not that Obi-Wan was ever about to complain about that.

Either his sarcastic tone or the guttural noises of thwarted zombies sank in, because Rex stiffened and glared down. “Fuck!” he hissed, thighs clenching in a way that Obi-Wan both very much did and very much did not appreciate. His eyes damn well crossed at the wiggle that followed – he could only guess that Rex was going for a weapon that he didn’t have.

“Stop that!” he snarled, letting the wolf out a little more. He needed the muscle and mass to keep Rex in place, longer paws digging into the tree trunk for a slightly more secure hold that was notgroping his idiot boyfriend.

His idiot boyfriend leveled a flat, unimpressed look at him. “Really?” Rex grumped. His eyes flicked down, then back up. “Right now?”

“So sorry, but some of us don’t need to ingest extra blood to get it up, and under less fraught circumstances this might be my idea of a good time.” He tried for a drawl, but it was much more strained than he meant. Oh well, it wasn’t like Rex didn’t know he could be ridiculous. And it really wasn’t intentional.

“Less fraught meaning less zombies?”

“And less daylight.” Obi-Wan didn’t mean for his tone to turn sharp, either, but it did even as he very carefully wrapped his arms tighter around Rex. He made certain not to disturb the poncho, but he, at least, wanted the reassurance. He still wasn’t over the terror of having to go mostly wolf to grab Rex from the pack he was trying to slow down, nor the horror of slinging him over a shoulder to go pelting through the trees. Madcap desperation to find a tree stand before a foggy dawn was not his idea of fun. “Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than an inconvenient hard on.”

Rex huffed a laugh, leaning in to rest his cheek against Obi-Wan’s. “Stop being charming.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to happen approximately never. So sorry.”

For a moment, it was just them – two idiots cuddled together, healthy and alive on a genuinely beautiful, bright Spring morning.

Then a terrible gurgling noise broke the moment, and Rex glanced down at the pack still mingling around the tree, groaning their displeasure at not remembering how to climb. “Was that a zombie?” he asked, as if he damn well didn’t know the truth.

“Shapeshifting burns calories,” Obi-Wan reminded him primly. “As does marathon sprints lugging around idiots like potato sacks.”

“That explains the bruises on my stomach,” he muttered, shifting about to rummage in one of Obi-Wan’s pockets. “Jerky?”

“Please.” All in all, now that matters were calmer, Obi-Wan almost hoped that a rescue would take its sweet time. This was almost nice – all things considered.

~end

[mashiraostail]

Hiiii, i was wondering if i could request some vlad king and gang orca taking care of their s/o pets. Like if the reader was out of town and asked them to take care of their dogs👉👈 i feel like vlad is such a good doggy dad that the dogs play together and i feel like gang orca would be lost but doing his best and if he was taking care of a cat i like to think it would love being around him because cats love fish and he would just always have his s/o cat cuddling on his lap. Im sorry for ranting lol i love your work you're doing great💕

awwehehe this is so cute since you mentioned dogs for vlad and cats for kugo that's what i went with! also indulged myself and included kugo/ jiro/shoji content bc that seems like such a GOOD FUNNY AND WHOLESOME trio and i wanted more content than we got smh 

Sekijiro Kan/Vlad King: "Hey Sek, I need a huge favor.” You look up from your phone at the taller man who is currently scrunched into the corner of his couch scrutinizing a piece of paper with really terrible handwriting on it.  “Sounds dangerous.” He replies without looking up and you snort dropping to the cushion beside him.  “Only a little, but I think you’re good for it.”  “Alright then, so what’s the favor?” His eyes flick up to you. “I need to go visit a friend out of town.” You sigh, “she had a baby last month, I used to work with her husband and she asked if I wanted to spend some time back home with her for her birthday next week, I should be about five days.” You rest your hands on his knees, “so while I’m out there..would you mind watching Kilo for me? I hate to leave him behind but It’d be a pain to travel so far with him I know he hates trains.”  “That’s a huge favor?” He raises an eyebrow at you, “sure I can watch him. I bet they’ll get along fine.” He glances at his own dog curled up under a chair.  “But only If you can figure out what the hell Monoma tried to write here.”  For all intents and purposes, Kilo was a good dog, a little stupid, but a good dog nonetheless. To be honest, he’s really honored you trust him with the task, you’re the only person he’s met that seems to love your own dog as much as he loves his. Plus it also meant that Kilo had to like him a fair bit which was also a relief, as a dog owner he knew any potential partner was only as compatible with him as they were with his dog, and his dog loved you, he was sure you felt the same way, any partner that Kilo didn’t get along with would be impossible for you to get along with, he found it more than a little reassuring that Kilo seemed to enjoy his company. Past all that, and maybe even most important this was a perfect opportunity to introduce the two dogs. He was sure it was no secret to you but this wasn’t exactly a casual fling, with the way things were going it felt pretty inevitable that he’d ask if you wanted to move in together; but if the two didn’t get along well then..that’d be an issue. Though he was sure if things got tested out now you’d have some time to at least try to get the dogs to be comfortable with each other or hopefully think of some sort of workaround. In his eyes, this was a blessing for him as much as it was a favor to you.  “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping Kilo at your place?” Sekijiro is slightly embarrassed to say how early he arrived at this park, he wanted to tire his own dog out before introducing the pair, he’d advised you to do the same so you were walking to the park, you'd called him on your way.  “Of course I don’t mind babe.” He tosses a ball from his seat on the bench and watches his pudgy bulldog trot over to it, “it’ll be easier this way, right?”  “Yeah that’s true, I just don’t want Kilo wrecking any of your stuff, he always means well but he gets into trouble sometimes-”  “Don’t worry about it, he’ll be a model student by the time you get back.” He hears you laugh into the receiver at that. “I don’t doubt that, I’m almost there, I’ll see you in a few okay?”  “Yeah sure thing, can’t wait.” You huff out another laugh at him before hanging up.  “Sekijiro!” You chirp brightly at the sight of the man, he’s too busy taking you in to respond. Kilo’s trotting a foot or so in front of you on his leash, that old joke about dogs looking reminiscent of their owners was certainly true in your case, you both looked delighted to see him and beyond that, you were practically glowing... Maybe he just had a thing for people who were good with animals.  “Hey Sek?” You lean down in front of him.  “Hey! He welcomes Kilo between his knees, the mixed breed was a bit larger than his dog who was currently bounding back to him with a ball and sufficient slobber hanging from his mouth, the size difference in mind though Kilo was a hell of a lot less bulky, he was practically streamlined, Sekijiro had seen how fast the dog could run with his own eyes. He could see why you took so much pride in the dog, he was definitely beautiful his coat was long, wavy, and shiny and he had big blue eyes and admittedly the cutest pink nose and spotted tongue Sekijiro had ever seen.  “Thanks so much again for doing this I really-” An excited bark pulls your attention downwards, “look who it is!” You sing, crouching down to pet the panting dog, “you sure look tired. Sekijiro is working you too hard.” You frown at him as he hops up to rest his front paws on your thighs. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Sekijiro laughs, “but he is worn out, I guess Kilo is too though.” Kilo’s head is on his knee, the larger dog is panting too.  They seem to notice each other, and approach with a lazy curiosity. They sniff around each other for a bit but after that return to their respective activities, seemingly unbothered by each other and the proximity of the other dog to their owner. Kilo didn’t mind your cooing at Vlad’s dog who didn’t seem to mind Kilo’s head in his owner's lap. With that little bit of reassurance, you hand him Kilo’s leash and a bag of his stuff; food dish, some toys and treats and the like, and then you part ways after promising to call him when you get to your home town safely.  All in all the coming days are pretty uneventful, Kilo joins them on their daily walks, eats at the same time with no trouble, finds a comfortable place to sleep each night.  “Is Kilo alright?” Your voice is nervous in the receiver.  “He’s better than babe, seriously they’re getting along great.”  “God that’s such a relief.” You sigh, “the pictures you’ve sent are cute..gosh I miss him.” You pout a little. “Gee I miss you too babe.” He mutters it with a playful edge to his voice and you gasp,  “I was going to say I miss you too but forget it!”  “don’t be mean!” He complains back, “I was kidding! And anyway I miss you. How’s it been out there?”  You go off on your usual tangents before ending up back at square one.  “Oh! I called you for a reason actually!” You remember, “I’ll be a little bit late getting back on Sunday, one of the trains is going to be down so I’m taking a later one, I should be back around midnight now would you mind-”  “Of course not babe, I’ll get you from the station so-”  “No no! It’s okay you’ve already done so much that’s not what I was going to ask! I just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t mind keeping Kilo around for the extra time...I can get a taxi, seriously don’t wait up for me!”  “Well just come to my place when you get back right?”  “I wouldn’t wanna wake you up-”  “It’s been way too long since I saw you last, so I don’t mind, if you won’t let me pick you up from the station at least come right here.”  “You’re convincing.” You laugh a little, embarrassment heating up your face, “I guess that’s fine with me then...” A distant sounding voice pulls you away from the receiver, “Sek I have to go, I’ll call you again soon though!”  “Don’t worry about anything babe.” He reassures you as you hang up.  There is one minor spat over a rope toy but it’s resolved easily enough and the pair seem to get on swimmingly after that, even sharing a couch cushion and occasionally resting their heads on each other, they become incredibly fast friends, which is probably the biggest relief on the planet to Sekijiro. Watching the two of them play tug of war in his living room or witnessing their schemes to get leftovers off the counter on Thursday night essentially cement his vision of a future with you.  If you were being totally honest it was embarrassing how attractive you found Sekijiro getting along with your dog to be, you’d never got the obsession of handsome guys holding cute babies but seeing some of the photos he’d sent to you over the almost 6 days you were gone made butterflies crop up in your stomach the likes of which you’d only felt when he was actively trying to fluster you...but this seemed totally unintentional. To say you were incredibly eager to go home and see him (jump his bones) felt like an understatement. It’s past midnight when you get back and the place is mostly dark, you see a vaguely bulldog shaped blob partially under a blanket on the couch, but the snoring it emits gives away it’s identity easily. You leave your bag at the door and venture into the apartment, poking your nose into the bedroom.  Of course, Sekijiro is there, dead asleep on his back, and who’s with him but Kilo, his head resting on the blood hero’s chest one of his hands resting on top of it.  “Oh Vlad-” You coo, you practically sing it at him.  “Wha-whatsitwhat-” He rubs his face as he picks his head up, “oh, hey welcome back ‘s good to see you, missed you-”  “You’re so sweet-” You’re already at the side of his bed, leaning down and kissing him.  “What’s-” Sekijiro takes a minute to process everything before he realizes it’s Kilo’s head on his chest making you act like this.  “Oh no way, he’s been a total angel-”  “I’m so glad he likes you so much-” You murmur it between kisses, to his lips and various other spots on his cheeks and jaw, “you guys are adorable together.”  “I’m glad you think so-” He cuts himself off with a yawn and turns into your lips, kissing you again before speaking, “you weren’t kidding about that late train huh? It’s almost 1 AM, you must be exhausted, there’s plenty of room for you in here so come on.” 

Kugo Sakamata/Gang Orca: “Hey, Kugo...” You approach him from behind and wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning against the back of the chair he’s sat in.  “Yes?” One hand comes up to cover your forearm the other stays dutifully at work.  “You love me, right?” You rest your head against his and he pricks up at the inquisition.  “Of course I do, why would you ask a question like that? Is something wrong?”  The way his hand subtly squeezes your arm isn’t lost on you.  “Hmm..no nothing's wrong.” You lean into him and close your eyes as he sighs good-naturedly. “Then what? Did you just want to hear me say it?” He leans back into you, “I guess I could entertain that...” His thumb swipes a long stroke over the skin of your forearm, “I love you, dear.” He can feel you prickle up at that behind him. “I love you too Kugo.” You squeeze him tighter and he huffs out a quiet laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. Now is that all you needed?” He puts his pen down to bring his other hand up to your arms, “I’m a bit busy. You’re welcome to stay there if you like though I just need to finish some paperwork and make a few phone calls. After that, we can do whatever you like for the night.”  “Well, now that you mention it there was just one more thing. I’ll be fast I promise.” Your hand slides underneath his lapel and into his jacket.  “Don’t worry I can make a bit of time for you then, what’s the matter?” You make eye contact with him through his darkened computer screen.  “My boss invited me to this big conference next week, it’s a pretty great opportunity and I could meet some important people..” You explain, biting your lip, “it could be really good for me to branch out even she thinks so, and getting some more experience will be great, and it’s pretty close to my hometown so I figured I'd stop in and see some old friends after I got done..It’d be about 5 or so days and I’d really like to go.” You sigh and he seems more than a little confused based on his reflection.   “That does sound like a great opportunity for you, you’re right..what’s the problem then? Do you need advice about something?” His confusion doesn’t quell even as you kiss his temple. “I probably will later but for now the problem is Luna.” “Your cat?” Kugo piques, “why is she a problem?”  You sigh, “if I’m not around no one will be there to feed her and make sure she stays out of trouble.”  “Oh is that it? That’s no problem at all dear, I can look after her for you. Is that what you were going to ask me?”  “You don’t mind?” You perk up, “I don’t want to trouble you...and I know I could just as easily leave a key under my mat and have a neighbor do it but I trust you so much more and-”  “It’s no trouble, really.” Kugo laughs a little, "I pass by your apartment all the time on patrols, I’m sure the interns won't mind if I make a stop and head up to check on her every now and again.”  “Oh! You can totally bring them up if they like cats!” He laughs at that too.  “Was that all?”  “Mhm.” You nod and use the motion to nestle into him a bit, “Thank you Kugo.”  ”It’s really my pleasure. Leave it to me, alright?”  All things considered, Kugo’s also pretty honored to be trusted with the task of watching your pet cat, he knows how much you love and worry about her, you dote on her all the time, and if the copious amount of photos you send him of her say anything she’s definitely your pride and joy. For the most part, you spent the bulk of your time with Kugo at his own home, due largely to the fact that he was larger than average and he existed a fair bit more comfortably there, but he paid you visits in your apartment from time to time and had met the cat, she seemed to like him plenty which was a relief as well.  You stop at Kugo’s before you leave and give him a list of things to double-check when he stops in, though you reassure him that there shouldn’t be any problems, Luna was pretty independent and mellow she didn’t like going outside so he didn’t have to worry about her escaping or anything like that. He tries to stop in at least 3 times a day, before, during, and after patrols, he knows that’s probably overkill, you spend all day at work and have never had an issue but he hates the idea of something happening to the feline on his watch. Plus even if he wouldn’t readily admit it he saw this as a perfect time to get on the cat's good side, you said she already loved him but he wasn’t convinced. He knew how much you loved her and any vision of your future that he had always featured the mellow feline so in his mind it was imperative they got on well. On top of that, he was glad you trusted him with something as small and delicate as Luna, she fits pretty comfortably in his hand and was as fragile as she was petit, but you never seemed off-put by the idea of him holding her or petting her, in fact, you encouraged it. The way you even wanted him near her when you weren’t around to supervise put him at ease about his strength and size, he always worried about breaking delicate things, but that wasn’t a worry you seemed to echo.  “Is something going on in that building?”  Shoji looks up at your complex as he pauses by it, “you’re stopping here a lot since yesterday.”  “Huh? Oh. Actually no... well nothing of importance to you. I’m...catsitting.” Jiro holds her breath the hold in the laugh, “Catsitting?”   “Yes...my partner is away at a work conference, the cat in question is theirs.” Kugo nods, “if you like cats you can come up and meet her, she’s actually quite friendly.”   Kugo was pretty used to Luna at this juncture, but whenever other people met her it was easy to see why you were so proud of her, she was quite the stunning cat, a long dark grey and black coat with big green eyes and a swishing tail, her paws were colored as if she was wearing boots.  “Wow...she’s really pretty, I’ve never seen a cat like this.” Jiro was crouched on the ground, stroking her neck.  “I was surprised too.” Kugo confesses, “they found her in a box on the side of the road about a year before we met. She was only a kitten then. Her name’s Luna.”  She seemed to like the pair equally alternating between them, rubbing against their legs and shuffling her head into their palms.  “She is very friendly.” Shoji remarks as she purrs at him, attempting to climb into his lap.  “She’s good at getting into trouble, but she usually means well. You can stay with her for a minute.” He sets off to double-check the usual; food, water, litterbox, the loose window that she’s always wiggling open despite having no desire to climb out of it, he waters a few plants and straightens up anything she knocked over as well. When he returns she's overturned on Shoji’s lap.  “You’re getting along well.” He swipes a pillow she’d knocked over up and replaces it on the couch.  “She’s really sweet!” Jiro is scratching her stomach. “I’m glad to hear it.”   “Hey..sorry if this is too personal or whatever but I didn’t know you were.. dating someone... We didn’t snoop or anything though!” She swears, holding both hands up, the cat looks disgruntled at the loss of attention.  “It’s alright I trust you.” Kugo waves her off, “Luna looks too comfortable anyways, you’ve clearly been petting her this whole time.” He adds with a small chuckle. At the sound of her name, she rolls over and winds around his feet, circling through his ankles and pawing at his pants until he lifts her up.  “To answer you though yes I am seeing someone.” He holds Luna with one hand, his ring and middle finger scratching the patch of grey fur on her chest.  “Are they a hero too?” She wonders, straightening up.  “No...no they’re not, I’m not very public about this sort of thing.”  Shoji contemplates that, “they have a nice apartment.”  “That is true, it’s a good job, and they do have a pretty keen eye for decorating” He agrees, looking around amicably.  “Have you guys been together for a long time?” Jiro blurts out before feeling color float up to her cheeks, “sorry I don’t mean to be rude... I just never pictured you like this I guess I’m curious-”  “It’s okay, most people don’t, and yes, we’ve been together a while now.” Kugo raises a hand to calm her, “but like I said before I’m not very public about things like this which is why you wouldn’t have heard..though either way, even when we do go out together... most people don’t assume I do that sort of thing, and to be frank, we aren’t the most...visually compatible pair..” He says that with a distinct fondness in his voice and then continues, “like you said, you don’t really picture me in this sort of light, most people don’t so hero gossip tabloids tend to leave me alone for the most part, I get a fair bit of freedom when it comes to this sort of thing because of that. There are probably plenty of photos of us together out there, though people usually assume they’re my manager or a secretary or just a friend.” Luna is purring loudly in his hand, her body largely slack against his chest. He walks her over to the couch and sets her down, which she warbles angrily at, “to be honest though I prefer it this way. I’m a private person.”  “That makes sense...well, their cat sure likes you.” Shoji points and Kugo chuckles.  “I’m fond of her myself.” Kugo admits, “everything is as it should be here so we can head out again, sorry for the tangent.” He scratches Luna’s neck and sighs, “as for you I’ll be back tonight. So try to behave until then, for my sake alright?”  Jiro tries not to laugh at the sight. “I didn’t think you’d actually bring them up! Did they like her?”  You sound delighted about it over the phone that night.  “I may have knocked a few intimidation points off of myself, but yes they thought she was cute.” He was sitting with her, contemplating staying the night here. He was embarrassed to say it but this was the longest you’d spent apart in a while and despite any appearances, he had gone soft and was starting to miss you, being around your stuff was nice even if he didn’t fit too well in your bed.  “I don’t think you’re very intimidating at all.” You peep back thoughtlessly. “Well, I’d sure hope not.” He chuckles and leans against the couch, “she’s been good too I was,..expecting her to break more.”  Truthfully Kugo wasn’t sure what he was expecting, he never had pets growing up and hero work didn’t give much free time to consider one, it took a day to get comfortable with her, and even now he was watching his every step for her. “I’m glad to hear that!” You laugh, “she’s a pretty great cat isn't she?”  “I have to agree..” Kugo wouldn’t mind having her around all the time, the longer he sat on your couch and contemplated it the more he realized he wouldn't mind having the both of you around all the time. Was this some sort of emotional sign to ask you to stay with him? He’d give that more thought at a later date.  “Kugo are you listening?” “Of course I am.” He was not. You don’t seem perturbed though, chuckling and then sighing fondly, “I’m gonna go shower then call it a night, I miss you two though.”  Kugo looks down at the cat on his lap and he nods, “we miss you too. I’ll be up for a bit longer so call or text me if you need anything.”  “You shouldn’t stay up so late Kugo it’s bad for you-”  “I know, I know, I’ll turn over a new leaf when you get back.”  “Sure you will.” You snort, “I love you Kugo.”  “I love you too, I’ll see you soon.”  You wanted to see Kugo first thing when you got back but you were so exhausted that you can’t help sulking to your own place, things had gone well enough but all the commotion and travel really drained you. You were sure it wasn’t anything spending some time or even a night with Kugo couldn’t fix though. When you shoulder your door open though there’s Kugo, sitting on your couch.  “Kugo, you’re here?” He’s holding some papers in one hand, the other is holding Luna’s back, keeping her against his chest.  “I was just checking in on her but every time I tried to leave she started..making a weird noise.”  “Weird like how?” You chuckle, suddenly feeling much better.  “Sort of like screaming. But cat-like. I sat down and she clawed her way up here, then fell asleep and almost fell off, but I caught her and she hasn’t moved since.”  “And... how long ago was that?”  “What time is it?” “Half-past 6.”  “2 hours ago. I didn’t want to wake her.”  “Kugo.” You laugh and sit beside him, “you’re so sweet.” You wrap both of your arms around one of his and lean into his shoulder, “I missed you so much.”  “I missed you too.” Kugo sets the papers down on the pile by the arm of the couch, “It's sort of embarrassing but I even stayed here a few nights because of it. I can’t remember the last time I went even 2 days without seeing you.” He appreciates the way you seem to melt into him at that.  “That’s not embarrassing it’s sweet, you’re so cute Kugo...” You lean up and kiss him, “such a big softie aren’t you?”  A soft hum is his reply as you pull away, “was she any trouble? Be honest.” “I was worried at first that I’d screw it up somehow but it went fine.” He confesses as he lifts the cat off his chest and she’s sleepy and limp in his big hand, purring contentedly.  “She was acting up the 2nd day but I think she was just confused about not seeing you. Then she got used to me and was alright.”  “That’s cute..” You yawn and clamber onto his lap, “god all that traveling tired me out...you’ve been stuck here for 2 hours but I might have to trap you a little longer to take a catnap of my own. I think Luna’s onto something...” You nestle into his shoulder, grateful to feel his arms come around you.  “Don’t worry about me.” He hums as Luna curls up in the sliver of space between your bodies, “I just want to finish reading over some things. Then I'll bring you both to bed.”  “You’ll stay tonight?” You yawn again and he hums, you can tell he’s smiling even though you can’t see him. “Would you like me to?”  You nod into his shoulder, “yeah, I would...”  “Alright then I will. Now go to sleep, you need it.” 

[ferylcheryl]

Three-Time

“Come, I’ll show you.” His hand extended.

“I don’t care to learn.”

“You just don’t want me to lead.” A quirked eyebrow, an incremental lift of the lips beneath his thick, neat mustache. How his eyes soften imperceptibly from sharpness to sly warmth. Cornelius rises to his feet.

“Once you learn,” Billy continues, “you can lead. Now, put your hand up on my shoulder—there—good. The waltz is a simple dance.”

“Where did you learn, then?”

“Never you mind. Now, this—”

“You’ll tell me one day.”

“Jesus, Cornelius. I may as well tell you now, else you’ll dog me to death about it.”

“Oh, I was just curious.”

“Please. I can see you turning green, ridiculous man. ‘Twas a neighbor girl. Taught me to amuse herself.”

“It’s certainly stuck well.”

“It’s—a nice, neat thing to know. I’d practice when I was alone.” This is true. In a hazy shaft of light in his garret bedroom, stooped so as not to strike his head, he’d sometimes trot a methodical box-step. It was neither the romance nor the grace of the thing, but its order; the mercy of its repetition. One might enter a space outside of time; each turn twin to the one before. It was as though there was always, somewhere, a room in which he might be found waltzing and he only had to step into it to meet himself there. (His mother characterized him as a lonely child, but she was wrong: he was a solitary one.)

“And when you weren’t alone?”

“Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Cornelius. You get a face like a kicked pup. All stung-looking and wide-eyed.”

“I’ll show you a kicked pup—I know a fine long greyhound could use a swift boot to the ribs.”

“Oh, darling. I’m not in the mood. And anyway, there’s no one else now, is there?”

“Is there?”

“As though you’d not trade me for that roustabout marine in a moment.”

“Not a bit, Billy. Truly.” He pauses, and then, his eyes dancing, “I do like a head of curls though.”

“The waltz,” Billy says sharply, sliding his hand down into the shallow tuck of Cornelius’ waist. “I step forward, like so—my left foot. And you, with your right, step back. Good. We move in three-time.”

“We’ve no music.”

“We’ll make the best of it. Three-time.”

———

Cornelius kisses the inside of his thigh, his knee, the freckled hillock of his shoulder, but nearly never his mouth. It’s not a gesture Billy misses until it’s Cornelius who doesn’t do it. Cornelius who talks of making him his bride when he’s hilt-deep in him, Cornelius who promises him wedding rings. It feels like so many coins thrown into a well.

Not that he doesn’t think he means it: but he’s a hard little man, and no matter what he wishes for it comes back to him as an echo, a splash.

Three-time. Their breath falls into three-time when they fuck, and Billy likes to imagine it as a kind of waltz. Parquet floor, heavy velvet curtains tied back with gold cord. A quartet playing. We’ll make do, he’d said, but to tell the truth he misses music terribly. He’d not heard it often but when one dances one should have it. He did not like things done in parts: when one fucks, one should kiss. When one kisses, it should be the upon the lips. And if men are to know each other they should do so wholly; they should be naked together. They should know one another’s bodies so they don’t mistake one another other for beasts. All Billy knows of Cornelius is his neat pink prick, its coppery nest, the luminous, dwarf-like handsomeness of his face. His hand, his boot.

Later, when he’s stripped for his lashing, Billy is astonished by Cornelius’ dense, clustered musculature. He’d thought he was all skin and bone under there, all rib and rope. Belly like a tea saucer. Instead, he’s compactly strong—sleek and rippling and certain, like a dog with a cruel master.

“Shh,” Cornelius hisses now, slowing the neat, hard pistoning of his hips. He’s got his hands spanned over the taut dip of Billy’s waist and now, as though to give teeth to his words, he clenches in with his nails. “Someone’s coming.”

There’s a shuffling step on the ladder, and then here’s Lt. Irving, peering into the dark with eyes smothered hot, like candles just blown out.

———

Lieutenant Irving has his hand on Billy’s knee as he tells him all about Cornelius Hickey, the devious seducer. What he says is not altogether true and it’s not quite false; like all fated things there was a compulsion to it that transcends blame. From the moment they met, Cornelius striking up conversation over a shared cigarette above board one of the fair, early days, it was clear what would happen. Yes, Cornelius had this way of looking at him, a gaze warm and sly and inviting, but Billy—Billy recalls moments of looking back at him the same way, heat in his cheek and his gaze (which he normally kept studiously shuttered) softening. He knew even as he gestured at resisting him that it would happen.

He’d dreamed, in those early days, of standing in a high open window, the wind singing at his knees and nose, tipping forward, forward. Or like this: the thing about waltzing in three-time is that the beat falls an eyelash short of time enough to execute the steps, so between the two partners vibrates this small, bouncing pull and if one will waltz at all one must move in this broken surging beat, even as, to untrained eye, it seems a stately and slow dance. It seems clear who is leading. But the dancers know better.

Not that any of this would matter to Irving. Irving asks what, exactly, they do together; how it works. He starts to sweat, leans in closer. His hand weighs heavy on his knee.

———

Tozer’s many things Billy’s not: muscular in a proto-masculine kind of way, one evolutionary step from pounding his chest in a jungle somewhere; he’s commanding in the grunting, stomping way of a beast too. His attractiveness is of the conventional kind—broad, milk-fed. A whiff of the rustic about him, as though despite his evident vanity one might faintly scent manure in the nooks of his body.

He’s also dumb. It pains Billy to think that that’s what Cornelius wanted all along, somebody lovely and stupid and easily cowed, for as much as he adores him he’d not be any of those things—especially the lattermost. Most infuriating are Tozer’s attempts to fake being the one holding the leash. One should not deceive oneself about the kind of man one is. Like out there alongside the boat, preparing for the walk-out. You’ve just given me permission for a good shove. Idiot. Billy nearly laughs aloud. But then Cornelius gives Tozer that disgusting up-and-down, charting the bulky sullen fact of him as he french inhales. Peacock. He never tried to court Billy so.

False, Billy chastises himself. Only after it was over between them did Cornelius slip that mysterious ring onto his finger, his eyes all dancing.

Later, huddled against one another in a tent beneath one blanket, Cornelius sees the ring around his neck. He lifts it to the light of the guttering candle, turns it in his fingertips. He can feel the scant, damp warmth of Cornelius breath on his lips and it is very nearly a kiss.

“I meant it when I gave you this, you know.”

“What, exactly, did you mean by it?” He makes his voice as glacial as he can manage for the roar of his blood.

“Well, for one thing, I’m sure Sol’d be a terrible dancer.”

“It’s too late for this.” <I>Too late. If you kissed me now you’d taste copper in my teeth.</I>

Cornelius cocks his head, smiles softly, lifts his mouth to Billy’s. A single, chaste glide of the lips.

“Dance with me, Billy,” he says, standing up and extending his hand.”

Billy thinks for a very long time before he drops his gaze to his knees. “Don’t be stupid, Cornelius,” he says. “We haven’t room.”

“We’ll make the best of it.”

Billy stands, stooping so his mouth grazes Cornelius’ hair. He lets Cornelius lead, and is touched he remembers the steps. They waltz a few tight rings, Cornelius humming off-key. Then he kisses him again and leaves the tent.

(In the morning, there’s a new bruise on Tozer’s neck, a plummy, amorphous shadow in the shape of an open mouth.)

———

In the dream they cling together tightly, their bones interlocked like key’s teeth and lock tumblers, and he can’t tell if they are in flagrante or in a mortal struggle or just pressed together against the cold, or maybe they’re just dancing in a crowded room: yes, that’s what they’re doing. They’ve got their quartet at last, their curtains with braided cord. But from the far end of the room comes dark like seeping watercolor, a rolling streaky blackness, and when he wakes it is not darkness at all but pain, pain, pain. A crystalline pinching in his knees and elbows. He goes to see Goodsir.

Rather, he goes to see the man he understands to be Goodsir. This man in their camp is not the awkward, genial stammerer who gave him his physical; not he who enthused over crustaceans with carapaces no man had seen before: he recalls him once pulling him aside to show him, waving one over-sized claw angrily, a crab with a shell the speckled cream and red of some kind of yardbird. Showed <I>him,</I> Billy, because he was there and he was brimming with love for it, this new quick thing caught in a bucket. (Billy had given him a tight smile and walked on, Irving’s bedding wadded and wet from the wash on his hip.)

Now with a gaze immeasurably indifferent, and a queer trace of pleasure in his voice, Goodsir delineates to Billy the agonies of his imminent death. Billy doesn’t mind. He deserves it because he did not love the crab, perhaps, or because he did love and choose badly, or because—his brain is fevered, his thoughts like: he can think of nothing. He stares emptily past the good doctor. He has never been vain, exactly (though he was once—it feels a lifetime ago—possessed of a certain fastidiousness that might be mistaken for vanity) but now he wonders if he looks as wretched as he feels. Carved, hollow: once he saw an egret’s ribcage predators and the wind had picked clean. For a moment he mouths at something, but then Cornelius is there.

He thinks of nothing as he gazes down at him, his eyes the color of surf, except perhaps—how lovely you are, little and glittering. And, I wish I’d kept you. Easy to say, now that Irving’s gone, one hopes, to his gracious and beloved maker. His bones turned up like broken china beneath the shale. Billy wonders, not for the first time if it wasn’t, in part, an act of vengeance—did Hickey care enough for such a thing? Then: Hickey’s eyes swim as he peers up at him, like, like: it feels like—dizzy, he feels, as Hickey disappears, for just a moment; when he returns it is with a knife neat through his ribs—what was it he felt when he looked in his swimming eyes that last time? It was pain, it was love, it was pain.

[victorineb]

On a moonlit Halloween night… 

“This is ridiculous. How are we getting away with this?” Will had adopted a theatrical whisper that, in Hannibal’s opinion, was more likely to draw attention than their current, admittedly fairly dramatic, appearance.  

“Most people do not share our intimate familiarity with the substance,” Hannibal whispered back, leaning into the side of Will’s throat to breathe in the scent of blood and sweat. “Nor your particular fondness for it, my love,” he added, just to see Will blush like he hadn't ravished Hannibal next to a still-warm corpse not half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” Will said, elbowing Hannibal in the side as if irritated, though the smile he couldn’t quite rein in put the lie to that idea. “They’re so content in their blindness. We’re dripping in viscera and yet the guys in the giant Pikachu suit got more attention than we have.”

“Are you disappointed, mylimasis? Were you hoping to instil terror amongst the crowd, to watch as they shrank from your magnificence, to bask in their fear as they recognised the hunter in their midst?”

“Shut. Up!” This time Will grabbed Hannibal and shoved him against a convenient wall, immediately pissed off that the fond, amused smile on Hannibal’s face didn’t falter for a moment. He shoved his leg between Hannibal’s thighs – causing a symphony of plastic squealing as their murder suits rubbed together – and that got a reaction, Hannibal’s eyes fluttering as he snatched in a breath. Will let him wait for a moment, making no move other than to gently rock his leg against the stiffness he could feel rising beneath it. He watched Hannibal with the sharp gaze of a predator awaiting the moment their prey breaks from cover, and when Hannibal’s lips parted slightly, he surged forward to devour them.  

He allowed himself the span of two minutes to work Hannibal up, biting at his mouth and pressing against his body, hips rolling just enough to have Hannibal straining against his hold. Then, mercilessly, he pulled back completely, watching with satisfaction as the dazed look in Hannibal’s eyes turned dark and wanting. Will grinned.

“Now, behave. Or I will put a leash on you and teach you obedience.”

With a smack to his thigh just short of truly painful, Will turned from his panting cannibal and began sauntering off, pausing only to check that he was being followed and finding Hannibal peeling himself from the wall with a hungry gleam in his eye.

“Down boy,” he teased as Hannibal stalked towards him. “Blood’s one thing but a public sex show will attract an audience, even on Halloween.”

Hannibal stepped straight into his space, sliding his face into the crook of Will’s shoulder and breathing deep. “As if I would allow another’s eyes to behold you as you writhe in ecstasy,” he growled, biting tenderly at the tendon in Will’s neck. “Slaughter thousands in the clear light of day and I would only watch in admiration, but your body and your pleasure belong only to me, beloved.”

Will grinned, sharp and amused, then grabbed Hannibal’s hair and yanked him upwards. “Likewise,” he said, and once more crushed his lips to Hannibal’s, blood smearing and sliding messily between them. And when they parted this time, it was only to rush with hurried footsteps back home, hands clasped tight in promise of the closer touch that would-

“Murder husbands!”

Will tensed and froze mid-step. Hannibal suspected he would have already bundled the young man pointing at them into the nearest available alley had he not been held in place by Hannibal's grip on his arm. It wouldn't do for Will to go off half-cocked (the consequences tended to be messy) and, besides, it wasn't fear with which they were being regarded. The young man – early-twenties, clearly inebriated, dressed in a swirling black cloak and clutching a bright red sword of some sort – was beaming at the pair with enthusiastic delight.

“You're the first to correctly identify us,” Hannibal said, his tone affable and pleased and giving absolutely no hint that he would snap this young man’s rather scrawny neck at the first sign of a threat.

The young man grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, I bet most people think you're a couple of Patrick Batemans, with the plastic get-up and the blood. Dummies. Obviously you're them, Will and Hannibal; Bateman had a raincoat, not a onesie!”

Will fidgeted as their admirer rambled, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Hannibal, for his part, though not exactly pleased by the description of his hunting suit as a “onesie,” was rather amused by the young man’s familiarity with his story, allowing him to give a semi-factual account of their previous life he had clearly put together from Internet chatrooms and the ever-lurid speculation of one Freddie Lounds. Until:

“I mean, your costumes are almost perfect.”

Hannibal frowned. “Almost?”

“Yeah, I mean, obviously the real Will Graham's a lot shorter than your friend. Like, you should be towering over him, but I guess you can't do anything about that.”

“Indeed, I could hardly be said to dwarf my dear husband.”

“I mean, I guess you could wear lifts like Robert Downey... oh wait, you're really married? I thought maybe the rings were just part of the costume…”

“Mmm, for almost six months now,” Hannibal replied, squeezing Will’s arm and smirking at the glower he got in response.

“Ok, cool. So, also, your husband's way too built to be Will – the real one’s all scrawny and delicate, no muscles on him at all. The hair’s good though, and the scowling - it's amazing nobody realised Graham was a killer for so long, every photo of him looks like he'd murder everyone in a ten mile radius just for existing.”

“Might still,” Will muttered, so low that even Hannibal barely heard it. He smirked and tried not to get distracted by the image of Will cutting a bloody swathe through the throngs of be-costumed revellers. Instead, he delivered a small pinch to the inside of Will’s elbow and returned his attention to their admirer.

“Forgive me if I'm not too disappointed that my husband is a more impressive specimen than the actual Mr Graham,” he said, with a wink that automatically caused Will to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, don't blame you,” the young man grinned in response. “And you're pretty much dead on. I mean, you're not blond and your eyes aren't red but you've got his cheekbones, for sure. And the accent. Just one thing, though,”

“Oh?” Hannibal raised a brow.

“Well, it's just that Lecter would never go around being so obviously affectionate. I mean, he's an evil sociopath, right, so he can't feel love? Whereas you guys, it's so obvious that you're totally into each other, no way Lecter and Graham would behave like that. Especially you,” he said, gesturing towards a rapidly-less-amused Hannibal, “you were pretty much draped all over your ‘Will’ here, Lecter’s way too much of a cold fish for that!”

“Cold… fish…” Hannibal said, slowly, leaning into the young man’s space. “You know, your manners could be considered somewhat lacking, my friend…”

The young man’s expression faltered for the first time, the always-satisfying first gleam of fear flashing in his eyes. But just as Hannibal was about to kick his feet from under him and teach him the true meaning of horror, he heard a snicker from behind and felt Will pull him back to his side, nuzzling them together.

“Come on, babe, he already complimented the costumes, you don’t have to give him your scary Doctor Lecter impression too. Besides,” he added, leaning in to kiss his still-coiled husband on the cheek, “you know he’s right. I’d never have fallen for that uptight, pretentious, emotionless asshole. Not even if he does look fine as hell in those suits of his.”

Hannibal peered down at him, inscrutable. “Fine as hell, is that what you think?”

“Guilty secret, huh?” the young man asked, apparently recovered enough to watch them with the amusement of one who has no idea how close he is to death.

Will winked at him. “One of many, I’m afraid.”

“Ought I to be jealous of this fine young cannibal?” Hannibal purred, the monster already tucked back safely beneath the sheen of avuncular friendliness.

“Absolutely, I’m going to abandon you, my brand new husband, and run off with the fancy cannibal who has a habit of cutting into his boyfriends. What can I say, I can’t resist the lure of a romantic gutting.” Will grinned sweetly at Hannibal. “Come on, what kind of fool would do that?”

“Will Graham?” the young man suggested, clearly having bought Will’s lie hook, line and sinker.

“And I am most definitely not Will Graham,” Will said, nodding at him in agreement.

“Lucky for me, I guess,” the young man said. “Hey, any chance I could take a selfie with you?”

It was Will’s turn to tense at the suggestion – albeit it more out of a hatred of being photographed than any sense of danger – but thankfully Hannibal had never met a fool he couldn’t charm the sense out of. “Ah, but then you might be tempted to post it where the good people of the FBI could see and we couldn’t have that, could we?” He wagged a finger gently at the young man and Will thought that was spreading it on a bit thick but it seemed to work with the professorial persona Hannibal had adopted because the young man laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Ok, ok, I can take a hint. Wouldn’t want to wind up on your dinner table, right?”

“Definitely not,” Will agreed. “It’s from Ikea, it probably wouldn’t take your weight.”

The young man gave this a bigger laugh than it probably deserved, which meant he missed the fleeting, outraged glare Hannibal gave Will for even daring to suggest he would shop at Ikea. “Ok, well, I gotta go, lot of tricks still to be treated, you know? Have a good night!” He stood back and took one last look at Will and Hannibal, shaking his head and saying, “Man, those costumes really are almost perfect, glad I got to see them.” And then he turned and disappeared along the street, cape flowing out behind him.

“Fascinating,” Hannibal murmured.

“Dangerous,” Will countered.

“I suppose now would be your opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’”

Will’s head whipped round and he glared at Hannibal. “Yes it is and yes I did and if you thought I’d be above saying so then you know me about as well as that kid does.”

“At least he does not believe you to be such a cold fish that even a modest amount of public affection is wholly out of character.” Hannibal was actually pouting and Will melted like he was looking at the last puppy in the pound.

“Please, if our best disguise involves you acting like my own personal boa constrictor, I'm not gonna be unhappy about it. Besides,” he said, lacing his fingers together with Hannibal’s, “I think I'd rather keep the real real Hannibal Lecter my little secret.”

“Oh? And which Hannibal Lecter would that be?”

“The one who is both a bloodthirsty, brutal, beautiful killer and a heart-eyed, loved-up, hopelessly besotted little love bunny.”

“Will…”

“The one who both fucked up my life, manipulated me and tried to force me to be something I wasn't and who saw the real Will Graham and freed me from an existence that was slowly killing me.”

“Will…”

“The one who is both a gigantic, fussy, pretentious pain in my ass and the love of my fucking life. And I'm the only one who gets to see him. All of him.”

“All?” Hannibal echoed, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Will stepped in close and brought his lips to Hannibal’s ear, delivering a nip to the lobe before murmuring, “Yeah, but only if you can manage to get us home without any further incidents.”

Which, of course, Hannibal did, and in less than ten minutes to boot. For which trick, Will rewarded him with a quite magnificently big treat indeed.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Begin Again (Mortician!Steve and Baker!Bucky Modern “Moving On” AU)

Twenty-Five:

Normally, Steve didn't wake up an hour early to groom his beard and style his hair. Nor did he typically start the day by doing push-ups in hopes of making his muscles seem more pronounced. Even Vinnie was annoyed by his behavior as he flopped back down on the bed to sleep just a little bit more.

Somehow, even Vinnie knew just how ridiculous Steve was being! After all, it was just the first morning run with Bucky. It shouldn't have been as big of a deal as it was. Especially not with Bucky being engaged…

Yet, there Steve was, trying to make himself look better. For Bucky. For Bucky who was engaged. For Bucky who was engaged to his former wedding planner. The wedding that never happened.Thank heaven!

Steve tugged on a tight t-shirt. Was it too tight? Possibly. But Steve wanted to look his best. Even if it was just a casual run with his crush through the park with his dog.

Jesus, what am I doing? Steve chastised himself as he fixed his hair.

Trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong, Steve grabbed his running shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. As he laced up, he glanced over his shoulder to Vinnie, the bed-hog. Smirking, he encouraged, "C'mon, sleepy head. Wanna go for a run?"

The Weimaraner's head perked at that, but he remained laying in the middle of the bed. Steve rolled his eyes and stood from his spot. Walking out of the room, Steve called over his shoulder, "Fine, I'll run by myself!"

Just like Steve knew it would, Vinnie hopped out of bed and rushed towards the door. Nearly knocking Steve over in the process. Steve wondered what Vinnie would do once he realized that Bucky, his favorite treat-maker, would be there. Imagining that he'd probably slobber all over the attractive brunet in a more literal way compared to Steve's figurative way.

Clipping his leash to his collar, Steve led the hyper Weimaraner out of his apartment. Being sure to greet the few neighbors who were up and about at the early hour. Briefly debating whether he should drive to their meet-up at What's the Batter With You. After all, Steve didn't want to get too winded and have to call it a short run. But he didn't want to arrive all sweaty either. But he didn't want to seem lazy…

Choosing to walk as a warm-up, Steve was still early once he reached the cake shop. Not that he minded. Simply stretching as he waited while Vinnie laid down on the ground like the lazybones he was.

That was when a low whistle came from behind Steve, causing him to pause in his stretching. Glancing down at Vinnie, Steve found the dog practically vibrating in his excitement as his tail waggled back and forth. Turning to find Bucky exiting the cake shop with a smug smirk on his face as he teased, "If you stood out here all day doing that, I'd probably get a lot more customers."

Steve's eyes roamed over Bucky, wondering how something so ordinary as a loose t-shirt and basketball shorts could be so attractive. Blushing, Steve dropped his gaze and wistfully joked, "But then you'd never get any work done."

"True," Bucky chuckled in his agreement while he locked the cake shop door. Facing Steve, Bucky bent over, flipping his shoulder length brown hair over and twisting it into a messy bun. Tying it with the purple scrunchie on his wrist, he straightened out and warned, "You'll have to take it easy on me. It's been a while since I've been running."

"You're lucky that Vinnie is lazy today," Steve feigned annoyance. But failed at keeping up the façade when Bucky playfully rolled his eyes and crouched before the happy dog. Being as trained as he was, Vinnie restrained himself until Bucky started petting him, then the dog started licking all over his face.

The park with the running trail wasn't far, so the pair casually walked the few blocks there. Steve's imagination ran wild with hope-filled fantasies of holding hands. Of playful, intimate touches. Of grins and bright eyes. Of having a person to do this with every morning.

Once arriving at the park, Bucky picked up a slow jog. Warming up for their run. So, Steve matched his pace, allowing Vinnie to do the same. Vinnie enjoyed it enough as his tongue lulled out of his mouth. Happily taking in his surroundings like he always did.

Eventually, Bucky picked up his pace. Bucky's stance was strong, his technique one that was precise. It made Steve wonder if he had done sports while he was in school. From the way he ran, Steve assumed that he had been.

After checking out Bucky's technique -- and possibly his impressive, firm glutes -- Steve sped up his pace as well, to catch up with the brunet. Vinnie was more than ready to run faster and Steve decided to give him some more slack on the leash, giving the dog the illusion of running freely.

"Race ya?" Bucky propositioned when Steve fell in step with him.

Positive that he'd do anything that Bucky suggested, especially with so much mirth in his tone, Steve questioned, "To where?"

Bucky looked around and smiled at Vinnie. Deciding, "The Falls? Then we can take a break at the dog beach?"

"Sounds good," Steve confirmed, "Ready, set, g--"

"Go!" Bucky gleefully shouted, taking off just a second before Steve.

"That's cheating!" Steve called after him, but had no actual qualms with the brunet taking off first. Giddily chasing after the man while Vinnie tugged him along.

Since Steve was used to running, he managed to easily catch up with Bucky. Then, because he wanted to win, he pushed himself even more. Thrilling in the way that Bucky pushed himself harder in an attempt to beat Steve, and how he grabbed the back of Steve's athletic shirt in hopes of slowing him down. Steve couldn't help but laugh at the brunet's efforts, but didn't stop.

"Ouch! Fuck!" Bucky abruptly let go of Steve's shirt and fell back.

Hearing Bucky's outburst, Steve skidded to a stop to find Bucky standing there with an agonized expression on his handsome face. His hands were on his hips as he balanced his weight on his left leg.

Giving the leash a slight tug, Steve doubled back with Vinnie keeping up beside him. Trying to catch his breath like how Bucky was trying to catch his, Steve asked, "Everything alright?"

Still breathing erratically, Bucky opened his eyes and nodded. Stretching out his right leg, he reassured, "Just haven't done this in a while."

"Well, we can take it easy," Steve offered, running his hand through his slightly sweaty hair.

"Sorry about holding you back," Bucky apologized, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Revealing an impressively toned abdomen that Steve had difficulty tearing his eyes from.

Steve thickly swallowed and dropped his gaze when Bucky dropped his shirt. Reassuring, "Nothing to apologize for." Then, remembering how Bucky had yelped in pain, Steve asked, "You're alright though? You didn't hurt yourself?"

"I'm fine," Bucky assured, reaching down and lifting his shorts enough to show his knee and the scars there. Bucky clarified, "Acts up every once in a while."

Before Steve can think, he questioned, "What happened?"

"Old track and field injury," Bucky explained, forcing himself to hobble along the path. Still heading for the Falls, Bucky continued, "Blew out my knee at a meet. And I mean, destroyed it. Torn just about every ligament I could and had to get surgery for it."

"Ouch," Steve lamely commented and immediately regretted it.

"Yeah, ouch," Bucky good-naturedly chuckled. He tightened his messy bun and confessed, "I think what hurt the most though was losing my scholarship."

Steve's attention snapped over to Bucky. It all clicked for Steve then and he found himself stating, "Jimmy Barnes, George Washington High, class of 2009?"

Bucky's brows furrowed and he confirmed, "Yeah?"

"Class of 2010," Steve revealed, then immediately blushed.

Redirecting his attention in front of himself, he couldn't believe that Bucky was Jimmy Barnes. Sure, they had never spoken before since they didn't have any classes together and Jimmy Barnes was one of the most popular guys in school. Hell, how many times had Steve passed a plaque with James B. Barnes with a new record broken in long-distance or hurdling while on his way to the principal's office?

Really, Steve probably should've put it together sooner. Even if there were a lot of Barneses. Even if Bucky -- Jimmy -- had shorter hair back then. Had been slimmer with a clean-shaven, baby face.

"I, uh," Bucky faltered, bashfully keeping his gaze off Steve, "I'm bad at names… and faces. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve sincerely assured. With a shrug, he clarified, "I didn't… I didn't look, like, um… this." Walking past the Falls to the dog beach, Steve added, "Plus, we didn't run in the same crowd."

Bucky physically flinched at that as he admitted, "Yeah, well, that, 'crowd,' was full of assholes."

"Yeah, I know," Steve chuckled as he confessed, "I think I fought about half of 'em."

Bucky looked at Steve. Really looked at him. Studying him with narrowed eyes. That was when it clicked for Bucky, "Peeved Steve?! You're Peeved Steve?!"

Blushing, Steve's brows furrowed as he grumpily muttered, "Didn't know they had a nickname for me."

"Oh, sorry," Bucky bit his lip as he reminded, "Always putting my feet in my mouth."

Steve didn't say anything, just nodded and unclipped Vinnie's leash so he could run into the shallow water. A small smile crossed his face as he watched his good boy having fun.

"I'm sorry for offending you," Bucky apologized.

"It's okay," Steve shrugged and conceded, "I was an asshole back then, too."

"From what I remember," Bucky started, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets, "You were sticking up for those who couldn't -- or wouldn't -- stick up for themselves. Doesn't sound like an asshole to me."

The blush on Steve's cheeks wasn't from embarrassment now. No, now it was from being complimented by his crush, so he playfully mused, "Peeved Steve. It's not that bad. No, Hot Steve, but I think it fits better."

Giggling, Bucky teasingly argued, "I don't know about that…"

[prairiesongserial]

10.13

The cool air off the gulf plus the comfort of a cold beer went a long way after a long day of work, and people were starting to crowd the waterfront. Some of them might have noticed a nun dangling off the edge of the balcony of one of the many bars lining the street, but if they did, Friday didn’t give them time to do anything about it.

She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she was taller as she adjusted her grip on the floorboards above. Inside, Mary Justine and Mary Rose, God bless them, were staging a fight as a distraction.  Friday could cry with how badly she wanted to watch two nuns get into a bar brawl, but sadly, she was the reason for the distraction, and she knew she had better use her seconds wisely. She took a deep breath, and looked down at her feet, which were swinging a good five feet above the ground. Friday dropped off the balcony, her ankles taking the drop the hardest.

Friday took off into the crowd at a gentle walk, her ankles smarting. She smiled at everyone she saw, dipping her head in a pious little bow, and whenever someone made eye contact for two seconds too long, or accidentally sloshed their beer on her, she chirped a nun-like greeting. She couldn’t stick to the same name, since that was the most fun part. Within three minutes, she had introduced herself as Sister Mary Sebastian, Sister Mary Eden, and Sister Mary Chastity, with designs on Sister Mary Margarita next.

Friday trotted cheerfully along, searching for the familiar street which had taken her and the nuns most of the way from convent to bar. She didn’t think it had been so far, and she usually had a good sense for that kind of thing. She was starting to get worried, not that it showed on her face. There was nothing worse than looking vulnerable, and Friday was well aware just how fine the line was between sweet, young sister of the convent and easy pickings.

Without warning, a tall man placed two powerful hands on her shoulders, spinning her around. Friday gasped - a real gasp that might have sounded very cute and nun-like to the man squaring off with her, but which was really the sound of Friday regretting not having her knife.

“Good evening, sir,” Friday said sweetly, forcing a smile. The man’s face was mostly hidden by a beaten up baseball cap, and he wore a dusty, moth-eaten coat, the collar popped up to hide as much of his face as possible. The fading light didn’t help, either, not that Friday needed to know who this man was. He was an out-of-towner, just like her. Chances were, he was after the reward.  “I’m Sister Mary M - ”

“I’m looking for Friday,” the man said hastily, his voice low. “You’re not in trouble. Just tell me where she is, and head back to the convent. It’s important.”

Friday’s brow crinkled. She slowly reached out and tipped up the man’s baseball cap, revealing Val’s brown face and violet eyes. He didn’t recognize her yet. And why would he? She must look like a terrified little mouse - she certainly felt like one. Relief spread through her posture, and she smiled at the absurdity.

“Is that you, Father Lecter?” she said in her mousiest voice yet, trying not to break into a full-out grin. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, Sister,” Val said, heaving a beleaguered sigh. “Look, where’s Friday? Sister Mary Paul told me she took a few of you girls into town, God knows why, but I need to speak with her right away.”

Friday tipped Val’s baseball cap back down over his eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to play with him just a little.

“Oh, Father, it was terrible!” Friday said, casting her eyes to heaven and clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I was awfully frightened. When I left, all the other girls were drinking, smoking, gambling, taking the Lord’s name in vain…” Friday started to count on her fingers, fighting down a smile.

“Where?” Val yelped. He gripped the hand she had just been counting on. She was always surprised by his calluses.

“Val, it’s me,” Friday said, dropping her voice to a more comfortable octave.

Val roughly shoved the baseball cap up again, staring down at her with confusion.

“You look ridiculous,” Friday commented. She started walking down the street, forcing Val to follow.

“I look ridiculous?” Val sputtered. “Where are - what did you do with my nuns?”

“Lower your voice, Val, you’re attracting attention,” Friday said sweetly, making eye contact with a passing couple. “That get-up makes you look like a murderer.”

Val kept sputtering until they reached the street Friday had been looking for. It wasn’t a main thoroughfare, but she remembered the name from the walk down. Simple, unassuming Gibson Lane. They could talk more freely there.

Val kept pace with her, grimacing under his hat. He looked just about ready to explode, grinding his teeth as he chose his words. Friday just couldn’t help herself.

“You don’t think I cut a nice figure as a nun?” Friday said. “I think I could get used to the pious life.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Val muttered.

“This pinafore thing is pretty cute,” she went on. She sighed. “You really do need to change. People are looking at us through the windows.”

Val looked up in alarm, trying to spot the spies.

“Don’t do that,” Friday said. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“What do you mean, I should change?” Val snapped. “I can’t go around in my regular clothes, there are - ”

“Posters,” Friday said. “I saw.”

“And you think I should go through town showing my whole face? With bright purple eyes?” Val shoved his hands in the coat pockets, scowling straight ahead. “I wouldn’t have had to go into town looking like a murderer if you had been at the convent where you were supposed to be.”

“I’m not supposed to be anywhere,” Friday argued, but her heart wasn’t in it. She did have some regrets.

“And you put the sisters in danger,” Val snapped.

“Now, hold on,” Friday said. “I didn’t know about any posters when I left. We were having chaperoned, wholesome fun.”

“Playing pool?” Val asked.

“Pool is fun.”

Val was rolling his eyes under that baseball cap, she just knew.

“Those girls are fine on their own,” Friday continued. “Seriously, you should have seen Mary Justine handle the situation. Slick as oil.” Friday sighed. “She...all of them are good kids. And they deserve a longer leash.”

The hot summer day had become a cool summer night. The breeze off the gulf chased them up the street, rustling through Friday’s skirts. It felt good. It was a gentle reminder that she didn’t always have to react in kind.

“The convent is not a leash,” Val said. He didn’t sound so angry anymore. That was good. Friday tried to match his tone before she spoke again.

“What I meant was, the world isn’t so dangerous that they can’t make their own choices to come and go, without feeling like it’s dirty, or wrong, to be a part of the world,” Friday said. “I’m just thinking aloud here, but… I needed help tonight, and not just anyone would have pulled that off for me. Keeping all the good girls locked up in a convent means there’s less good for the rest of us.”

Val grimaced. Friday smiled and flicked up the brim of his hat.

“They’re not locked up,” Val said, even more subdued. “They chose the convent life.”

“Then you should really get a couple pool tables,” Friday replied.

He rolled his eyes at her, and her smile widened. The road was getting more steep as they left the waterfront district well behind them. Night was falling, and the convent was a barely visible shadow in the distance.

“Alright,” Friday said. “This is fun, but are we in life-or-death danger, or what? Where are the boys? What’s the plan?”

Val filled her in, and she found that there really wasn’t much of a plan at all, at least not yet. The route they would take out of town had yet to be decided on, and it sounded like supplies were up in the air as well. But at least they would be away from the convent while they made their plans. There was no knowing how soon the gangs would descend.

The little house on the edge of the city crept up on them, but clearly Val had been here once already. Friday followed him around back. The door was opened for them before they could knock, both of them ushered inside by a tall, broad woman with a snake tattoo. Friday looked around. John and Cody were sitting at a small kitchen table, eating something that smelled like chicken stew. Another woman stood at the sink, washing up pots.

“You found her, then,” the woman said, abandoning the dishes. She wandered over, drying her hands on a towel. “There’s soup, if you’re hungry.”

Friday didn’t know if she’d be able to keep it down. Her stomach was full of butterflies. Everyone was here. Their stuff - not all, she noticed, just what would fit in their backpacks - was set by the door. They were really leaving tonight. Together, this time.

10.12 || 10.14

[svt-writers-club]

... okay I lied. This is the last one heh. Ask games #5: 13,17 for Jicheol in Nanny AU

guys, just know that i literally beg soojin to send me asks so you guys should do her a favour and check out her blog if you’re caratarmy or just, also, have an obsession with jimin like most of the world (he’s not my bias but i too have a bit of an obsession with park jimin and that’s just a part of life)

#13: “Choose. Piggyback or princess carry.”

#17: “Dammit! I should’ve snapped a picture!”

It’s a week before the end of the summer holidays that Jihoon finally manages to get the whole Choi family together for a picnic at Han River. Between Seungcheol and Jisoo busying themselves with a new play, Wonwoo and his part-time job at the music shop (it had been a long argument between Seungcheol and Jihoon – between Seungcheol keeping his eldest son at home and pampered like the trust fund baby he is versus Jihoon’s practical views about teaching the young man the importance of earning his own money… and also getting Wonwoo out of the house sometimes so he can have his own personal time), Mingyu with his basketball team (a team he only joined to get closer to his new crush but ended up being pretty good at it) and Hansol with his piano lessons, it’s been hard to get all four Chois in the house at the same time.

Honestly, Jihoon is impressed he managed to pull it off. And he didn’t even pack any wine this time. (Jeonghan made a strong case for it, though, but Jihoon doubts there’ll be any shenanigans happening on this trip. It’s just a picnic, for god’s sake. What’s the worst that could happen?)

Well, not even Jihoon could have predicted that big dog bowling him over honestly.

When he says big dog, he means big. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought it was actually a small horse that pounced on him and slobbered all over his new shirt. (It’s not like he bought the shirt just to impress Seungcheol or whatever – don’t be ridiculous. Lee Jihoon does not have the hots for his boss.)

“Oh my god – I’m so sorry!” the dog owner cries out. Running behind the wolf-dog is a guy that looks like he’s barely out of high school.

He’s half a head shorter than Jihoon, which is why he isn’t surprised she lost control of the beast. At this rate, he’s convinced it’s mostly wolf. His dog’s leash is dangling from his hand, the end of it frayed from where it had given under the veritable strength of the wolf-dog currently sitting on Jihoon’s ribcage.

“It’s fine,” he wants to say.

Instead, all he manages to come up with is a warbled, confused, “Eh?” He sounds vaguely like a beached whale.

“Holy shit,” someone laughs, somewhere above Jihoon’s head. He thinks it might be Jeonghan. Jeonghan, who’s laughing at him a little. Honestly, fuck Jeonghan.

“Dino, down!” the kid cries, physically lifting the wolf-dog off Jihoon’s chest. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, damn.

Finally, Jihoon feels like he can breathe normally, although his head feels fuzzy. The weight lifted off his chest is a relief, but it only brings all his aches and bruises in sharp relief.

“That’s a hell of a dog,” Jihoon croaks, sitting up gingerly.

The kid literally holding the wolfhound from slobbering all over Jihoon grins sheepishly. “She’s usually better behaved, but it’s been a week since I got to walk her…” The kid blinks, holding out a hand to help Jihoon up, because he’s still lying on the pavement like a dumbass. “I’m Chan.”

“Jihoon.” He bites back an amused smile. It’s not every day you meet a guy by having his dog run you over. “After-school walk, huh?”

“School?” Chan lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m thirty-two. I’m way over school.”

Jihoon flushes, trying his best not to sputter as he does a double take. In the loose jeans and hoodie, Chan looks like a regular college student. Maybe Jihoon spends way too much time around kids if he can’t even tell the difference between a teenager and someone who’s only five years younger than him.

He accepts the proffered hand. “You look a lot young – ack!”

Jihoon stumbles forward, almost bodily slamming into Chan as his ankle buckles under him. He’s lucky Chan is a lot stronger than he looks, or he’d be flat on the ground again.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks, lips pursed in worry as he steadies Jihoon.

“I’m…” Jihoon trails off as he gingerly applies weight on his right ankle. He lets out a hiss as pain travels up his leg. “Ah, fuck.”

Dino is an exceptionally good wolf-dog, because she doesn’t go around trying to tackle other unsuspecting characters. She does, however, sniff Jihoon’s ankle and proceed to cover her snout in shame. She even lets out a little whine. Cute little bastard.

“Puppy!” Hansol exclaims.

Jihoon turns and sure enough, there Hansol is, tugging on his dad’s hand impatiently.

And, of course, there Seungcheol is, looking stupidly handsome and – and concerned, in his denim shorts that show off muscled calves and a black t-shirt that clings to Seungcheol’s broad shoulders.

Jihoon definitely does not have a thing for his boss.

“That’s not a puppy. It’s bigger than you,” Mingyu sighs, all sassy and long-suffering at the age of sixteen. He eyes Jihoon critically, melted ice cream making sticky rivulets along his fingers as he holds out his ice cream.

Wonwoo meanders behind, his eyes covered by his expensive sunglasses so Jihoon can’t figure out what he’s thinking.

“Getting friendly with the dog walkers, hyung?” Wonwoo calls out, pulling his shades down low so Jihoon can see the disapproving look he’s shooting him.

“Don’t be rude, brat,” Jihoon retorts, but he feels a telltale heat creeping up his neck. He is inappropriately close to Chan – a literal stranger – but he really doesn’t want to faceplant on the pavement. (Especially not with Seungcheol watching…)

Jihoon turns to Jeonghan, but he has the brim of his cap over his eyes, arms crossed. He looks like he’s napping, which is pretty much the only time he’s not causing trouble. Jihoon could’ve sworn the butler was awake a minute ago, though…

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, eyes flickering between Chan and Jihoon.

He has a hand on Jihoon’s elbow, almost possessively. It’s a strange feeling; Jihoon standing in the middle of Hangang Park with a strange man’s arm around his waist and his boss’ possessive hand on his elbow. Maybe he knocked his head on the way down.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon says. Unfortunately, he voids his statement by wincing when he attempts to put weight on his injured ankle.

“I think Jihoon-ssi might have hurt his ankle,” Chan pipes up. “I’d love to bring him to a clinic, but I have an, uh, an appointment to get to.” He shoots Jihoon a warm smile. “I’m really sorry about Dino. She usually only bowls over cute guys.”

Jihoon sputters at that, ears absolutely burning red as Chan winks at him before grabbing Dino by the collar and muscling the giant dog away. Jihoon’s just about to take a step towards that brat and shake his fist at him, but his ankle twitches and all he can manage to say is, “Oh, shit – ”

Before he can eat concrete, there’s a strong arm around his waist and his face is mashed into a broad chest. He swallows down a squeak, hands spread out in front of him so they’re resting on Seungcheol’s stomach.

Seungcheol, damn him, is grinning down at Jihoon with eyes that are honest-to-god sparkling. “Can’t have you falling for me now,” he jokes.

“I would never,” Jihoon sputters indignantly. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt. He breathes in deeply (the scent of honey and expensive cologne teases his nose) and lets out a frustrated noise. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“You should kiss him better,” Jeonghan hollers.

Jihoon turns to shoot his friend a dark glare. Jeonghan clearly wasn’t napping; he just wanted to watch Jihoon make a complete and utter fool of himself.

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says sharply. There’s a pink blush spreading across his cheekbones and he can’t seem to look Jihoon in the eye.

It’s okay, Jihoon tells himself. He shouldn’t want Seungcheol to find him attractive anyway. He definitely does not want Seungcheol to find him attractive. Not even a little bit. (Maybe a little bit – just a smidge!)

“It’s okay,” Jihoon protests, pushing Seungcheol back even thought it’s actually really nice being in his arms. “I can just... hobble over to the first aid centre?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seungcheol sighs, a fond smile playing on his pink lips. “I can walk you there.”

“I’m fine,” Jihoon insists stubbornly. He tries – stupidly – to walk on his bad ankle again and nearly goes down. It’s only Seungcheol’s proximity and Jihoon’s reflexes that saves him from a broken nose.

“Choose. Piggyback or princess carry.”

“Seungcheol-ssi!” Jihoon says hotly. His ears are definitely red. “I’m – that’s not – ”

“Princess carry it is, then.”

Jihoon doesn’t even have the time to kick up a proper protest before he’s swept off his feet. He lets out a yell, throwing his arms around Seungcheol’s neck just so he doesn’t go flying.

Their faces are unbearably close. Jihoon can make out every single individual hair on Seungcheol’s lashes. He’s probably breathing a little heavily onto Seungcheol’s face, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Seungcheol actually has the gall to smirk. Jihoon’s tempted to throw himself into the river just to get away from his infuriatingly handsome boss.

“Well, if I’d known carrying you would make you a lot more agreeable, I’d have done it sooner.”

“If you try this again, I’ll chop you in the neck.”

Seungcheol chuckles, even though Jihoon is a hundred percent serious. As Seungcheol makes his way over to the first aid centre, Jihoon has to admit that the princess carry is a lot more comfortable than the piggyback.

“You’re a lot lighter than you imagined,” Seungcheol comments.

Jihoon shoots him a mulish look. “Are you telling me you think I’m fat?”

“I’m just wondering where you keep all that food you put away,” Seungcheol replies hastily, stumbling over his words a little.

“You’ll never know,” Jihoon sniffs. He definitely doesn’t try and burrow closer. (Savour it while it lasts, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Soonyoung whispers in his mind. It’s still not a crush, though. Nope, definitely not.)

“Dammit!” Jeonghan says five minutes later, covering Hansol’s ears. “I should’ve snapped a picture!”

Wonwoo sighs heavily. “Hyung,” he says gravely, “you’re a dumbass.”

Feel free to ask me more of these ship asks here!

[bugtothefuture]

Can you write a one shot with V and Eve at a party or in a club and V is seducing Eve by dancing seductively.

Damn, IDK what this is - too much blah blah and not enough dancing I guess. Sorry :) 

xxxx

They hadbeen undercover for three weeks now. Moving from country to country, from cityto city, from hotel to hotel. The truth was – Eve felt stressed. They hadkilled a man in Rome and Eve couldn’t get over it. As exciting and necessary it had been in the moment, Evewas still haunted by the image of his dead body and – to be quite honest –  by her own moral code. The thought of spendingthat much time alone with Villanelle had excited her before, but now everythingfelt different than she had expected. She had taken someone’s life and she wason the run – from her former boss, from the police, and from God knows who elsewas involved in all this mess.

Eve couldsense that Villanelle was worried about her, but, so far, Eve hadn’t quitemanaged to open up to her. She was in a dark place and she needed to get out ofit. To settle down somewhere.

At first,Eve had been quite opposed to the idea of going to Berlin, considering thisplace was still very much connected to the fact that Villanelle had murdered oneof her best friends in that city, but Villanelle insisted that it was a greatcity to hide because it was just full of people being so focused on themselvesthat no one would pay attention to them. A city full of wannabe artists andextroverts, the majority of them on a journey of finding themselves and gettinglost in the process.

Theychecked into a cheap hotel in Berlin-Mitte, a sketchy fetish club right aroundthe corner.

Eve was staringout of the spotty window. “Are these people actually wearing that in the middle of the day?”, sheasked, not really expecting Villanelle to reply as the answer was obvious. Therewas a guy with a dog’s mask on another guy’s leash waiting in front of the club– and it was 3 p.m. Another guy pushed them out of his way, an insane look inhis eyes, yelling something about “virgin vampires”. He was clearly on drugs.

“Peoplepartying in the afternoon is normal in Berlin”, Villanelle explained. “Actually,I think they always party. I like it.”

“It doesn’tlook like my kind of party…”, Eve replied dryly as she lay down on the bed. Sheclosed her eyes and started massaging her temples.

“What isyour kind of party then, Eve?”, Villanelle asked. “Do you like dancing?”

There wassomething so innocent about the way Villanelle asked that question, Eve thoughtit sounded almost hopeful.

“I… I don’tknow.”

“How do younot know if you like dancing?” Villanelle frowned.

“I haven’tdone it in a while.”

Villanellehopped onto the mattress next to Eve and crossed her legs. “Looks like Niko wasa real party animal, huh? Your marriage must have been so exciting…”, she addedwith a wink.

“Let’s nottalk about Niko.”

“Okay, let’snot. Let’s talk about you, Eve Polastri.” Villanelle came a little closer,using her index and middle finger to walk up Eve’s leg.

“What’s EvePolastri’s idea of a fun night?”

Eve thoughtabout it for a second. What did shelike? She had been so focused on work these past years, partying hadn’t evencrossed her mind. But what did she have to lose? She was in Germany with a womanwho fascinated her and she didn’t have a job anymore. She might as well let gofor a night.

“I likebass”, she said after a while. “I like feeling it in my veins. I like closingmy eyes and moving to the beat, with a good drink in my hand. I feel like Ihaven’t done that in ages.”

Villanelleraised her eyebrows, a surprised smile on her face. “Look at you, Eve. That soundsless boring than I thought. We should go shopping!”

“What? Why?”Eve asked confused.

“We have noparty outfits, silly. We are in Berlin. People care about fashion here. Do you think Iwant to wear old clothes on our first date?”

“This isn’ta date”, Eve protested, even though the thought alone made her heart beatunexpectedly fast.

“You knowit is.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Zwei GinTonic, bitte.”

Eve eyedVillanelle closely as she accepted the drink from her.

“Is thereany language you don’t speak?”, she asked, not able to hide how impressed shewas.

“Nein, mein Schatz. Gefällt es dir, wenn ich Deutschspreche?“, Villanelle added in what Eve thought sounded like perfect German.

„I have noidea what you just said, but I take that as a no.”

Villanellesmirked and Eve had to admit that the woman looked completely stunning. Theyhad bought a new outfit at Prenzlauer Berg and Eve hadn’t been able to take hereyes off of Villanelle ever since she had stepped out of the hotel bathroom. Shewas wearing a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a bordeaux cropped top with anoversized black nylon blouse hanging loosely around her shoulders. She had completedher outfit with a golden collar around her neck, a black knitted hat and a pairof white adidas classics. The best part, Eve thought, was her red lipstick. Sheloved red lipstick on her - ever since Villanelle had paid her a visit when shehad hired her to kill her.

“Prost”, Evefinally said, holding her glass out to Villanelle.

“To a nightneither of us will ever forget”, Villanelle added, staring right into Eve’seyes.

Eve had toadmit that it felt great to be distracted. These past nights had been just sheand her thoughts and – to Eve’s surprise – Villanelle hadn’t tried anythingwith her. As if she had sensed that the timing wasn’t right. Which wassurprisingly sensitive for a woman who was supposedly a psychopath with no emotions…

Now thatthey were standing in an electro club in Berlin and had already drowned theirfirst drink, Eve realized how young Villanelle made her feel. Dressing up for aparty, buying longdrinks, … flirting…It was intoxicating.

“I want todance with you”, Villanelle whispered into Eve’s ear, her sultry voice sendingshivers down Eve’s spine. Before Eve had a chance to reply, Villanelle hadalready taken her hand, leading her onto the dancefloor.

Eve wasn’tsurprised to see that Villanelle knew exactly how to move her body. The beat ofthe music was intense, as were the flickering lights in the club. WatchingVillanelle dance was probably one of the most sensual things Eve had ever seen.Villanelle’s eyes never left Eve’s, and everyone else in the club seemed todisappear. They only had eyes for each other.

“Let go”,Villanelle mouthed. She came closer to Eve and softly tucked a strand of hairbehind her ear – her hips still moving perfectly with the beat.

Eve couldsmell Villanelle’s perfume now, which was nice, considering the rest of theclub smelled like a mix of sweat, smoke and alcohol. And then Villanelletouched Eve’s hip, bringing their bodies closer together so they’d move in unison.Eve felt her own blood pumping in her veins.

Villanelle’sother hand slowly moved along Eve’s arm, up to her shoulder, finally landing inthe back of her neck to play with her hair. Eve could feel Villanelle’s breathon her face. It smelled like gin.  

“I likethis”, Villanelle told her and Eve realized she could stare into this woman’seyes for days and never get bored.

“I reallylike your body”, Villanelle added, and Eve blushed, even though she found thiscompliment rather ridiculous, considering who it came from. Villanelle was byfar the most attractive woman in this club and Eve wished making complimentscame as easy to her as it did to Villanelle. She deserved to know how stunningshe was.

Eve clearedher throat.

“I thinkyou’re… breathtaking.”

Villanellesmiled, softly leaning her forehead against Eve’s as her hands were slowlymoving up and down the sides of Eve’s body.

“That isprobably the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“I know…but it’s the truth.”

Theirbreasts were touching now and Villanelle’s hands found their way around Eve’sbody. They were still looking at each other when her hands travelled lower andlower, finally landing on Eve’s ass.

“Is thisokay?”, Villanelle whispered into Eve’s ear. Eve nodded, swallowing hard.

“How aboutthis?”, she went on, her hands disappearing in Eve’s back pockets, squeezingher butt a little.

Anothernod.

“And… this?”,Villanelle asked, even though she did not wait for an answer. Eve could feelVillanelle’s hot breath on her neck and before she knew it, Villanelle waskissing her pulse point. Eve felt her knees turn weak. She could feelVillanelle’s tongue, could feel her teeth grazing her skin, and before she knewit a moan escaped her lips.

“Do youwant more?”

“I want allof you”, Eve finally admitted.

When theirlips touched, for the first time ever, everything else was forgotten. Rome… Niko…being on the run… – nothing mattered. It was just them and the music. And itwas spectacular.

Eve had alwaysbeen sure that Villanelle was an excellent kisser, but this? This exceeded allexpectations. Villanelle was shy and demanding at the same time, passionate andsweet, soft and rough. The taste of her tongue, the warmth of her breath, herhand on her cheek – it was so much more than she had hoped for and it made itall worth it.

ThenVillanelle broke the kiss, a little out of breath, searching for Eve’s eyesagain.

“I reallywant to have sex with you, but I don’t want to take you against the wall of a dirtyclub… at least not as long as it’s our first time.”

Eve had tosmile.

“Who wouldhave thought you were such a romantic?”

Villanelleshrugged. “And I don’t want to ruin our new clothes. They’re nice.”

“Of course”,Eve replied, actually laughing now. “Let’s get out of here.”

Villanellesmirked, taking Eve’s hand and leading her out of the club. 

[pickalilywrites]

Zeketra (is that the ship name :-/) where Petra and Zeke are on a blind date. You're the best writer1

You’re the best! And, yes, that’s what @clio-moria and I use as the ship name ^^

Blind Date

Zeketra. Modern AU.

3150 words. 

Petra waits impatiently at the bar, smiling quickly and shaking her head when a waiter stops at her table to ask if she’d like a drink while she waits for her date. A part of her hopes he won’t show at all. She’s sure if he did, he’d only turn out to be a serial killer. After all, what kind of man uses a dating app if not to find potential victims? The only reason she agreed to this was because Hanji had practically begged her to, complaining that they had scoured the edges of all the dating apps in existence in order to find her the perfect and this man, Hanji claims, is certainly the one that Petra has been waiting for all her life. Doubtful, but Petra decided that a drink (only one!) wouldn’t hurt and scheduled a short date at a bar close to her apartment. If things went well, perhaps the date would be more than just a drink. If not…she could just down her drink fairly quickly and dash away. The way things are looking, the date seems to be more of the latter because it’s been ten minutes since he was supposed to arrive, and he didn’t have the decency to text her about being late.

She sighs and checks her phone, thinking that the time isn’t going by fast enough. Once fifteen minutes pass, she can return home and just let Hanji know that she’d been stood up and that no date had taken place. She’s fine with being single anyway. She doesn’t understand why Hanji was making such a big deal about this guy.

Truthfully, Petra doesn’t even know what the guy looks like. Hanji had refused to show her a picture and her friend had been the one to coordinate the blind date. Even though Petra had told her that it would be impossible for her to recognize him when he walked into the room, Hanji told her not to worry. She’d certainly know it was him once she saw him.

Petra looks lazily around the room right now, her gaze glossing over every man that appears to be single in the dimly lit bar. Really, it could be anyone because Hanji had given her absolutely no hint at all about who it could be. It could be the slightly balding man in the corner who’s drinking his third glass of beer, face red and glowing from all the alcohol. It could be the young man who looks nervously about him like he’s not supposed to be here. Petra suspects that it’s either his first time in a bar or he’s snuck in here using a fake ID. Perhaps both. Maybe it’s even the dark stranger with the sour expression sitting at the counter and complaining about his day with the bartender. Or, Petra thinks, that dashing man who had just walked in, his blond hair grown out so that it frames his chiseled face. He even has a well-grown beard and a decent mustache, two things that Petra had never thought of as attractive until now, that make him look like he could be a young Greek god. Ah, but it’s not as if Hanji would ever hook her up with someone that looked as perfect as that.

She looks down at her table again, frowning at her expression reflected in the table’s surface. She traces a finger around a stain, wondering when the last time anyone had wiped it down.

If there was someone Hanji had set her up with, it would probably be someone who looked rather ordinary, right? A guy who looked too good was bound to fool around sooner or later, but Hanji would never accept anyone who looked less than acceptable. Not that Petra knows what Hanji’s idea of acceptable is. Ah, but a guy like the one who had just walked in is impossible, Petra thinks. She laughs to herself, but when she looks up, she’s startled to find that very man standing in front of her.

“Miss Ral?” he asks with a polite smile on his face. She didn’t think it was possible, but he looks even better up close. His blond hair falls in such perfect waves, his eyes a gorgeous green that Petra didn’t know existed, and he stands so tall before her that she’s sure that he’s not human at all. He must be a statue chiseled from the gods come to life. How is it that her name is the one that comes from his lips? “You are Petra Ral, correct? I’m Zeke Jaeger. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting very long.”

She had intended to be indifferent when her date finally arrived and apologized for making her wait so long, but she can only mumble that it’s fine and that she herself had only just got here even though that’s a lie.

“That’s good to hear, although I’d feel better if you allowed me to get you a drink as an apology,” he says to her. She wishes he’d stop smiling at her. She might faint if he doesn’t. Really, it should be a crime that someone as beautiful as he exists. “Is there something in particular you’d like?”

She’s not sure what she tells him to get her, but she must have told him something because he gives her another charming smile before disappearing to the bar to retrieve their orders. Once he’s gone, she whips out her phone to text Hanji.

Hanji, what the fuck? This guy isn’t real. She receives a text from her friend almost immediately.

What??? Did he catfish me? And I thought I was so careful too! I’m sorry, Petra baby ☹

Petra sighs, running a hand through her hair and then regretting it immediately because it would only make it look messier and she had already put minimal effort into preparing for this date. She wishes she had put on a nicer dress at least and worked a little bit more on her makeup. Zeke probably regrets ever agreeing to meet her in the first place.

No, I mean he just looks too good to be true. He looks like he stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine.

Ohhh. Here, Hanji inserts a winky face with a heart. Only the best for you, Petra! And if you think he’s impressive now, you should see him without a shirt. Although maybe you will tonight…

Petra rolls her eyes thinking that Hanji is being ridiculous, but she receives a picture of Zeke on her phone and her jaw nearly drops to the floor.

She’s seen pictures of photogenic people before, but none of them hold a candle to Zeke Jaeger especially when he’s standing on the beach hardly looking at the camera. The sun sets in the background, the sky painted a perfect blend of soft pinks and oranges and yellows, and the ocean reflect the warmth of those colors against its cool blue waters. The background, though, as beautiful as it is can’t match the perfection that is Zeke.

He’s reaching up to run a hand through his hair, giving Petra a good view of his perfectly toned chest. The shirt he had worn deprived her of a sight of his impressive abs, glistening from the water he had just emerged from like a child of Aphrodite. Her eyes follow the water dripping down his chest and she bites her lip when she sees the shorts that are slung low on his hips. Good lord, she might actually say yes if he asks her to sleep with him tonight. Heck, she might ask him to sleep with her.

“Your drink, Miss Ral,” Zeke says as he approaches their table with their drinks.

Petra’s so startled that she drops her phone, catching it right before it hits the ground. Hastily, she turns off the screen of her phone and shoves it into her purse so that he can’t see that she’s been ogling half-naked pictures of him. She giggles nervously to show him that everything’s fine, tucking her hair behind her ears as he places her drink in front of her. She tries hard not to stare at him too hard, but she knows that she’ll spend most of the night thinking about the heavenly body hiding beneath his clothing. Goddamn it, Hanji.

“Just letting my friend know that I’m fine,” Petra says with a forced smile. She feels the need to fidget some more, but she doesn’t want to seem any more awkward than she already is so she sits still with her hands folded on the table.

“Ah, yes, Hanji. I hope you didn’t tell them that I came late,” Zeke says. He lifts his drink – a rum and coke – to his lips and takes a slow sip. Somehow, he manages to make even this simple action attractive and Petra finds herself having to look away, her face flushing. “They mentioned that they wouldn’t hesitate to ruin me if I didn’t treat you to a less than perfect evening. I’ve probably ruined that already by not arriving to our date on time.”

“Oh, I only waited for a few minutes,” Petra lies. She can’t understand how a man like this could be apologizing to her. She reaches for her own glass to give herself something to drink (Is this an old-fashioned? She’s not sure) and says, “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“I do owe you an explanation at least,” Zeke says. “I was helping a woman catch her dog. Its leash snapped, and the silly little thing was running around the park. It took quite a while, but we managed to capture it in the end. The time completely slipped away from me and I had to come later than I wanted to. All disheveled after the chase too. I’m sorry I look like such a mess even though you yourself look so lovely tonight. I assure you that I’m usually very punctual to important dates such as these.”

First of all, she can’t believe that he’s apologizing for how he looks right now because he doesn’t look messy at all to her, his hair just sexily tousled and his button-up unbuttoned in such a way that she can see his perfect collar bones peeking out. Compared to her in a dress she had tossed on lazily with her hair brushed quickly before she ran out the door to meet him, he looks infinitely better. It’s difficult to tell if he’s flattering her to be polite or if he genuinely does think she’s beautiful. Or maybe Hanji paid him. They do have those boyfriends to rent in China. Perhaps they’re making their way over here as well.

Then, of course, there’s the fact that he was only late to their date because he was helping a woman find her dog. It’s probably the only acceptable reason for anyone to be late to anything and Petra can feel her heart melt.

“A dog?” Petra says. “Was it very cute? Oh, I’m so glad you were able to catch it in the end.”

“It was adorable,” Zeke tells her with a grin, “but I wasn’t able to get a picture. I do have pictures of my own dogs if you’d like to see them.”

“You have more than one?”

He slides his phone over to her and shows him his lock screen. There are the dogs he had mentioned – one a gorgeous golden retriever and the other a black Labrador with a sleek and shiny coat. They’re as photogenic as their owner, smiling for the camera like a couple of animal models.

Just when she thought he couldn’t get more perfect he reveals that he has pets. Petra’s honestly afraid that she might find out this is all a dream and that she’s about to wake up soon.

“Do you have any pets of your own?” Zeke asks her.

“Oh no,” Petra laughs. She takes a sip of her drink, thinking that the alcohol might calm her down. She’s surprised by how much it burns down her throat, and she coughs a little bit before answering. “My apartment doesn’t allow for pets although I’d love to keep a dog or a cat sometime.”

“Well, perhaps you can meet mine sometime,” Zeke says.

The more he reveals about himself, the more intriguing she finds him. He has a younger half-brother named Eren and although they have a seven-year age gap between them, they’re quite close. He works as a business analyst at banking company after double majoring in finance and management with a minor in accounting at Sina University. He likes to volunteer at his local library every other week when they hold book sales and borrows books because he already has too many lying around his house to buy any more. He walks his dogs every night and in the mornings on the weekends. He enjoys a drink with his friends every now and again but not all that often.

She thought she would feel dull talking about him in comparison, but he hangs onto her every word and seems genuinely interested in her life. He asks her about what it’s like to work at a publishing house (not very exciting, but at least she now knows everything about supernatural romance novels), her hobbies (reading, watching movies, and baking even though she’s not really good at it), and her favorite places to go when she’s not working (the park because she likes the ambience when she’s going out to read and the mall for the theaters and grabbing a bite to eat afterward, but she purposely forgets to mention the beach because just thinking about it makes her feel like a pervert). It doesn’t take long for her to get used to his gaze and she finds herself being able to converse with him effortlessly without stumbling over herself.

Although she had intended this date to go by much sooner (really, she was planning on just downing her drink in about five minutes if things were going downhill), she sipped her drink slowly and carefully to spend as much time with him as possible. It seems he does the same because it takes quite a bit of time to finish his own drink, only taking sips after she’s finished speaking with him because he wants to give her his full attention when she talks. Still, they finish their drinks too quickly and she regrets not picking a restaurant to dine at.

“How is it that you don’t have a girlfriend yet?” Petra says. The alcohol has loosened her tongue some, allowing her to ask questions she never would otherwise. She swirls the melted ice around in the bottom of her glass, taking a sip and then frowning when she remembers she’s already finished her drink and all that’s left is ice water. “It’s like you walked out of a Jane Austen novel.”

“Ah, Miss Austen,” Zeke says with an affectionate smile on his face. “I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I’m nowhere near as charming as Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightley.”

No, he’s far more divine than any of those men can be because he’s real and sitting in front of her in flesh and blood whereas those fictional male leads will only be words in a book or (if you’re a fan of the movie adaptations) men on the screen.

“Do you really have such bad luck with dating that you had to resort to a dating app though?” Petra asks curiously. He could have any woman on the street if he really wanted, she’s sure.

“My brother says I’m quite picky,” Zeke says with a sheepish smile that Petra thinks is surprisingly adorable. “He was the one to actually set me up with an online profile and suggested you were perfect with me.”

She makes a mental note to thank his brother if she ever meets him.

“Did you want to come inside?” Petra asks, feeling nervous again. Perhaps it’s too early to ask him to come inside her apartment (she’s not even sure the last time she properly cleaned the place or if she has anything embarrassing lying around), but she doesn’t want this night to end. She curses herself for being so practically cynical. Why couldn’t she just be optimistically romantic for once in her life?

He refuses, of course, and she shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but she does until he clarifies, “Only because I need to go feed my dogs. I thought it would be fine since it seemed we were only to go out for drinks. If I had known we were going out afterward, I would have gotten a sitter.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Petra says hastily.

“But another time for sure, if you’ll have me,” Zeke says. Could it be that he’s looking at her shyly? Doesn’t he know by now that she could never refuse him? It’d be a sin to turn down a man like him. “Is next week too soon?”

“Of course not,” Petra says, and then she stops breathing completely because she finds his face so close to hers as he leans down, cupping her face delicately in his hands.

“I’ll look forward to it then,” he replies with that same perfect smile before pressing a kiss against her mouth.

She’s so surprised that she stands there in shock for a second before realizing that this isn’t a dream at all, that this night is all somehow magically real, and melts into him. She thinks she’s never been kissed so sweetly before, the taste of lips laced with a bit of bitterness from the rum and coke he had earlier, and likes the way he firmly plants his mouth on hers. She knots a fist into his shirt to bring him closer, kissing him back but hoping that she doesn’t seem too eager. Too quickly he pulls away and she an involuntary sigh escapes her lips once he parts, making him smile.

“Was that too forward of me?” he asks softly. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know we’ve just met, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Not at all,” Petra replies breathlessly. “That was…perfect.”

“Those are my feelings as well,” Zeke says with a grin. He steps away, hands in his pockets. “We’ll go over details when you’re free and hopefully we’ll see each other again soon. It was delightful meeting you, Petra.”

“Likewise,” Petra murmurs.

As soon as he leaves, Petra runs up the stairs to her apartment to text Hanji.

You’ll never guess what happened, she texts.

You naughty girl! Did you sleep with him already? Hanji sends her a string of suggestive emojis and a lot of…eggplant emojis.

Petra rolls her eyes. No, but I did have the most wonderful evening.

She can practically hear Hanji screaming from the other side. So spill!

So she does.

[jae-bummer]

Something Real

Request: Hi hello! For your prompts can I ask for exo Sehun #17 fluff please? D.o is my bias but Sehun is currently bias wrecking me but in a good way I guess.

17) Your bias hires you to be their significant other

Member: EXO’s Sehun x Y/N x (ft. Kyungsoo/Chanyeol) 

Type: Fluff

“Money is no object.”

“I heard you the first twelve times, Sehun,” you muttered, not even bothering to glance over your paperwork to make proper eye contact with him. 

“Then I’m not understanding the issue,” he huffed, plopping down in the guest chair in front of your desk. 

“The issue is we -”

“Work for the same company, blah, blah, blah,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. You could feel his glare through the thin sheet of paper you were strategically holding over your face. “I have a point to prove.” 

“What point exactly?” you sighed. 

“So Chanyeol bet me a year’s supply of bubble tea-”

“Nope, nuhuh,” you hissed, finally setting down the documents you were looking at to give Sehun a disapproving look. “I refuse to hear anymore of this. I will not eliminate my plausible deniability.” 

“I’m not even sure what that means,” he said slowly, furrowing his brows. “But Chanyeol bet me that I couldn’t get you to go on a date with me-”

“And he was right,” you nodded. “Listen to your friend.” 

“He’s not my friend, he’s a giant preying mantis who has become a permanent pain in my ass,” he muttered. “I’ve learned to love him though. It was that or move to China, but that’s a topic for another day.” 

“If he bet you,” you sighed, “Wouldn’t paying me to go on a date with you negate the whole point of winning a bet? You’re still losing money.” 

“But winning the bet,” he nodded. “I will pay any price to prove someone wrong.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. 

“And you’re playing hard to get,” he grinned. “Would you just agree to enter a fake relationship with me so we can call this a day?” 

“Whoa, whoa,” you groaned. “Literally two minutes ago we were talking about going on a date. Now we’re talking fake relationships? Don’t you think this is a little...much?” 

“Should I rewind to the part where I said, ‘I will pay any price to prove someone wrong?’ because I thought I made myself clear,” Sehun laughed. His expression was one of confidence and you knew he could bicker with you for hours. 

“So what’s in it for me?” you sighed. 

“I don’t know, a couple hundred dollars a week and the privilege of being able to say your dating Oh Sehun?”

“I’m going to go ahead and pretend like I didn’t hear the second half of that sentence,” you muttered. Reaching up, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. It was true that you worked in the supporting office for SM, completing various and random tasks for idol groups, but you could always use a little more money. 

Glancing up, you bit your lip, and searched Sehun’s face. You were hoping to find any answer in the contours of his jaw and smooth plains of his cheeks. He lifted his brows as he noticed you survey him, a smirk beginning to tug at the corner of his plush lips. Admittedly, Sehun wouldn’t be your first pick for a member in EXO to build a fictional relationship with. It wasn’t that you weren’t attracted to him (cause like...have you SEEN him?) But he wasn’t exactly the person you shared the most common interests with. 

“What do you say?” he whispered, leaning forward. “I can’t be all that bad, can I?” 

“Considering you’re paying me to be your significant other in order to prove someone wrong,” you hummed. “I don’t see how this could possibly reflect on you as a person.” 

“Good,” he grinned. “So you’re in?” 

“Sehun,” you sighed. “Why me?” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Sehun said, a smile continuing to dominate his lips. “But you kind of run this place. You keep everything from falling apart. Overall, you’re a very put together person. Plus you’re crazy hot. For some reason, Chanyeol doesn’t think I can attract someone good looking AND smart.” 

“Well, you aren’t notorious for parading through dates with common sense-”

“I do not parade anyone through,” he nodded. “I simply give them tours of my work place.”

“I’ve seen three girls this month, Sehun,” you grimaced. “And now that I think about it, a couple of gu-”

“And now you’ll see none,” he interrupted. “Well, besides yourself. But I guess you can’t really see yourself...except for like...in a mirror or the little camera on the front side of your iPhone.” 

“If I agree to this, will you please stop talking,” you groaned. 

“I don’t know if that’s a thing I can promise,” he grinned. “But I’m happy to have your cooperation.” 

You took another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth and glanced down to Vivi, quietly enjoying his dog treat you had just slipped him. 

Admittedly, it hadn’t been a bad couple of weeks. 

Not like you had necessarily expected for it to be completely miserable, but you had your reservations. 

Upon unofficially agreeing to date Sehun for the sake of his pride, you had a long discussion about rules and responsibilities in the situation. You would take no less than 450,000 won a week to be at Sehun’s complete disposal. You were to go on dates, show up to support at performances and recordings, and most importantly, appear at the dorms. Although Sehun insisted he had no interest in pursuing anyone else, you made him swear that you would be the only relationship he would be concerned with for the time being, fake or not. You would not be made a fool of. 

Not even if this whole thing was fabricated. 

Which it was. You would constantly have to remind yourself of that. As soon as this whole charade had began, you had to insist to yourself that every memory you were creating with Sehun was make believe. Every shared glance, every cuddle, every hand squeeze was a work of fiction. 

“I’m surprised,” Sehun sighed, finally looking up from his boba. 

“What about?” you asked, absently dropping your arm and running your hand over Viv’s head. 

“That you’ve lasted this long,” Sehun smiled. 

“Believe it or not, you aren’t nearly as terrible of a boyfriend as I thought you would be,” you chuckled. 

Sehun leaned forward, placing his hand lightly over yours. “I wasn’t talking about you putting up with me.” 

“Oh!” you gasped, shaking your head. “So you’re surprised that you’ve managed to grace me with your presence for the past month?” 

“I’m joking,” he laughed. “I promise.” 

“Such a punk,” you grumbled. You continued to pet his dog’s side and began to shake your head. “I don’t know how we put up with him, ViVi.” 

“An immense amount of disposable cash is my guess,” Sehun chuckled.

“That helps,” you teased. Sehun’s face instantly grew dark at your statement. Looking down, he swished his bubble tea, becoming much too interested in the small tapioca flavored pearls in the bottom.

You cleared your throat, attempting to add some sort of noise to the awkward silence. “So, what’s the plan for today?” 

“I think I’m going to go back to the dorm,” Sehun sighed. “Kyungsoo was talking about maybe working on some music with Chanyeol and I...I’m trying to get more involved.”

“Ah, shall ViVi and I tag along then?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. You attempted a smile, but immediately let it slide from your face as you saw Sehun’s expression. 

“Will I have to pay you overtime for that?” he hummed. He shook his head at the end of his sentence, adding a sad smile in an attempt at keeping it light hearted. You knew his words cut much deeper than he had intended, but you weren’t sure how to address his feelings. 

“Sehun,” you whispered. “Is there something you want to talk about?” 

“No, of course not,” he grimaced. 

“You know...this whole crazy thing was your idea. I just-”

“I said I don’t need to talk about anything, Y/N,” he nodded, keeping his words short. 

“Oh...oh-okay,” you stuttered, attempting to shake off his curt words. “I uh...okay.” 

“Come on, ViVi,” Sehun sighed, beginning to stand. He unwound the dog’s leash from your chair and gave it a gentle tug. “Time to go home.” 

“Want me to come over later?” you asked, hopefully. 

“I’ll be busy,” he nodded, biting his lip. “Don’t want to use up those hours I’m paying for on nothing, you know.” 

“What the hell, Sehun?” you whined. You stood as well, allowing for your annoyance to bubble to the surface. “You know, I never asked for this.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, nodding his head. “Thanks for reminding me.” 

You flopped over on your couch for what had to have been the dozenth time in a short hour. Chewing furiously on your lip, you locked and unlocked your phone again, waiting for any text to appear on your screen. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t most anticipating Sehun’s name to appear. 

For as much as you liked to pretend that he was an inconvenience, he had seriously become a necessary part of your everyday life. 

And as much as you didn’t want to admit it...you may have...possibly...maybe considered the fact...

that you were head over heels for the turd. 

You flopped over again and sighed, burying your face deep within the aged cushions. You were. You were completely smitten by the man you had never intended to have any feelings for. When you begun your side job of dating Sehun, you told  yourself you would treat it as that, simply a job. It would serve a purpose in your life that would not in anyway become romantic. After all, how could it? It was Oh Sehun. 

Oh Sehun, the man you had never had a single thing in common with. 

Oh Sehun, the man you had never gone a day without arguing with. 

Oh Sehun, the man who was literally paying you in order to win a bet.

Oh Sehun, who loved his members, his dog, and bubble tea so passionately, that you couldn’t go on without hoping that he loved you with that much passion as well. 

“And I’m going to do something about it,” you whispered to no one in particular. Pushing yourself up, you were quickly made aware of exactly how disheveled your wallowing on the couch had made you. You groaned as you attempted to shake the wrinkles from your clothes, but after a few moments decided to cut your losses and run to your closet to change. 

After talking yourself out of, and into, the trip over to the SM building several times, you had finally made a solid decision. You had to go, if only for your sanity. 

The SM building was a short walk from your own apartment, a facility in which most employees rented out of. The short walking commute was convenient when running late in the morning, or when attempting to meet your fake boyfriend in the evening to profess your very real feelings for him. 

You pushed open the doors leading to the entertainment company’s lobby and nodded briefly at the receptionist stationed at her normal post. She nodded to you as well, knowing you worked somewhere in the building, but not caring enough to know exactly where. You slid your key card against an electronic lock near one of the employee elevators and boarded with little issue. Stabbing at the buttons with anxious fingers, you hit several floors you had no business going to and sighed. You needed to calm down. 

But it wasn’t everyday you professed your affections to someone who probably had no idea you were even harboring them to begin with. 

He thought you were all about the monetary gain...which you were in the beginning. But with time and lowered inhibitions, you had become interested in so much more. 

You heaved a sigh as the elevator finally opened on the correct floor, leading to Kyungsoo’s most utilized studio space. You could already hear the light sound of piano keys being stroked as you continued down the hall. 

“You can do this,” you whispered. “You have to.” 

You couldn’t continue with Sehun’s subconsciously hurt feelings and pouty comments. You couldn’t wrap yourself in his arms without feeling anything anymore. Even seeing ViVi had become an emotional reminder that you had kissed a pair of lips that didn’t think there was a meaning behind their motions. 

You knocked lightly on the studio door as soon as you had found it. The music went silent with your ask for entrance, causing you to swipe your key card once again. You cracked the door open and stuck your head in, holding your breath as you surveyed the room. 

“Y/N!” Chanyeol called cheerfully. “I was expecting you! Whenever Sehun said he was coming by, you’re normally not too far behind.” 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” you hummed, your face growing hot with the attention you were receiving. You stretched your body, attempting to get a full look into the room, but still didn’t see Sehun. 

“Hi, Y/N,” Kyungsoo sighed, resting his hands in his lap. “You’re interrupting, but it’s fine. Your presence is always appreciated.” 

“Yeah, it may get Sehun back on track!” Chanyeol grinned. “His mind has been everywhere since he got here.” 

“You didn’t have to come,” Sehun’s voice grumbled from behind the partially opened door. You heaved a sigh of relief upon hearing his voice, stepping into the small space to be able to see him properly. 

“I wanted to,” you smiled. “Plus, we need to talk.” 

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo exchanged wary glances as they both began to stand. Sehun rolled his eyes before waving them to sit down again. “Go ahead.” 

“Don’t you two want to have a lover’s quarrel in private?” Kyungsoo muttered, clicking absently at his computer screen. 

“You two are working and whatever needs to be said shouldn’t stop that,” Sehun muttered, cutting his eyes at you. “Now what’s so important that it couldn’t wait?” 

You took a deep breath before nodding and taking a short step toward Sehun. “I think it’s time...we clarified some things...about us.” 

“More terms and conditions?” he muttered, crossing his arms. It was apparent that he was still pouty from your exchange that afternoon. 

“Sehun, that’s exactly it,” you whispered. He furrowed his brows as he looked up at your face, shocked that you would want to discuss the intricacies of your agreement. “I don’t want any terms and conditions anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly. 

“I mean, I don’t want the money,” you nodded. “I just want you.” 

“Not to insert myself into your conversation,” Chanyeol said slowly. “But what do you mean by ‘I don’t want the money’? Is he like...helping you pay a traffic ticket or something?” 

“I’ve been paying her, Chanyeol,” Sehun groaned. “I’ve been paying her to date me.” 

“I KNEW IT!” Chanyeol gasped, jumping to his feet. “I knew she wasn’t going to date you voluntarily! I was buying you bubble tea for a month and-” 

“I want to date him though,” you interrupted. “That’s....that’s why I’m here. It’s not a job for me anymore...I...I ended up growing feelings along the way.” 

Chanyeol slowly eased back down into the chair he was sitting in, his mouth having fallen open. Sehun lifted his brows as he uncrossed his arms. “You...you did?” 

“I did,” you nodded. “And look...I understand if you don’t feel the same...and this whole thing was just orchestrated to prove Chanyeol wrong. And I understand if you want me to leave...but I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep going on wondering if you had felt the same.” 

“Well...this makes things complicated,” Chanyeol muttered to no one in particular. “Does this still count? I mean technically she wants to date him...but should that be a backfill for the bet? Should-”

Kyungsoo sent a silencing death glare toward Chanyeol who instantly closed his mouth, watching the scene before him with interest. 

“You actually...have feelings for me?” Sehun asked slowly. He pulled himself up from his chair and took a few hesitant steps toward you. 

“Shocker, I know,” you chuckled, taking a few steps forward as well. 

“And you’re willing to do this...without me having to pay you anything?” he asked. 

“Believe it or not, your companionship is enough,” you smiled. 

“Pfft,” Chanyeol snorted. “Can you pay me to hang out with you then?” 

Sehun ignored his member as he lifted his hand, letting it linger awkwardly in the air for a moment, before placing his palm on your cheek. “You actually...want me...for me?” 

“You’re kind of a mess,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his open hand. “But I’m into it.” 

“Apparently,” he smiled, leaning down to place a light kiss on your lips. You and Sehun had shared a few kisses before, but none quite like this. Previously, there was an unspoken barrier placed between your lips. There was an understanding of the picture you had to portray to those watching. You had a facade to uphold. This kiss, this moment, was inevitably different. There was nothing separating you from each other. There was nothing keeping you apart from how you were both feeling. This was something real. 

“Soooo,” Chanyeol hummed. “I’m guessing you like her too?” 

Everyone in the room turned toward the man, evident exasperation on their faces. 

“Well, he didn’t come out and say it!” Chanyeol gasped. “I’m following context clues here!” 

“Yes, Chanyeol,” Sehun sighed. “I like her too. And I think I’ll kiss her again just to make sure.” 

[darnedchild]

Plus One

@stormflagflying  answered my shameless begging for a short fic prompt idea  – How about a Mollcroft fake relationship where Sherlock gets jealous?

So, here you go.  Currently unbeta’d, I’ll make corrections on FF.net and Ao3 once Lil’s had a chance to look it over.

Plus One

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”  Molly brushed her hand down the bodice of her dress once more. She’d been doing that a lot since she’d (reluctantly) put it on that evening.  It was far too expensive for her taste, far too figure hugging, far too everything.  She never should have let Mycroft’s assistant talk her into wearing it.

“Oh, no.  It’s a horrible idea.  One worthy of my brother.”  Mycroft took a deep breath, the kind that whistled ever so slightly as it was drawn past clenched teeth, and continue.  “Still, needs must.”

And people say Sherlock has no social skills, she thought.  “Doing you a favour, remember?”

“As if I could forget, Miss Hooper.”  He smiled down at her; and while it wasn’t quite as charming as one of Sherlock’s (the sincere ones, not the fake ones he used to try to pass off when he wanted something that first year or two), Molly could see how a person could find the elder Holmes brother attractive.  When he wasn’t being a complete tosser. 

“It’s Molly.  We go over this every time.”  She looked at the other guests in their bespoke suits and expensive dresses, and bit back another wave of panic.  “I have no idea what to say to any of these people.  I still don’t get why you were desperate enough to ask me to come with you. Surely you know someone more used to . . . this sort of thing.”

He sighed, then signalled to a waiter to bring over his tray of champagne.  Mycroft handed a flute to her and waited for the waiter to move on before answering. “I asked you because when a person receives an invitation to an intimate affair here, specifically requesting that you bring a plus one, you bring a plus one.”

She wouldn’t have called a gathering of that many people ‘intimate’; but she couldn’t comfortably fit more than six around her dinner table without breaking out the folding chairs from her garden, so she might have been biased.

“Fair enough.”  Molly sipped her champagne and noted that while Mycroft tilted his flute to his lips, he didn’t actually drink any of the bubbly liquid.  His eyes continued to scan the room, observing the men and women milling about waiting to be summoned to dinner.  “But why didn’t you ask the woman you’ve been seeing?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened for a moment before he quickly masked his surprise.  Not quick enough, unfortunately for him.  Molly had spent far too much time around Sherlock to miss something so out of character for the man standing at her side.  

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.  Surely you haven’t been listening to my brother’s boorish gossip mongering again.”

Molly bit her lower lip to fight back the urge to giggle. Mycroft continued to look offended that she’d dared to even suggest such a thing, and it almost broke her.  She had to glance away to keep her composure, and her gaze landed on a woman across the room.  A woman who turned to her companion as soon as Molly made eye contact.

“Mycroft, is that her?”  Molly inclined her head toward the other woman in what she desperately hoped was a subtle manner.  “Is she the one?”

He didn’t even need to glance in the direction she’d indicated to know who she was talking about.  His eyes closed and Molly thought his neck turned the slightest shade of pink above his shirt collar.  He took her champagne flute from her fingers and passed it and his own to a nearby waiter, before urging her away from the others and out of danger of being overheard. “How do you . . . What do you know? Exactly.  And, more importantly, how much does Sherlock know?”

“He thinks you’ve been rather cagey the last two weeks.  More so than usual, even for you.”  She tried to peek around his shoulder to see if the other woman was watching them again, but Mycroft leaned his weight to the side and blocked her view.  “He figured out that it must be something personal, because you apparently turned beet red after you got a text the other day and almost looked . . . I believe ‘giddy’ was the word he used.”

“I would never,“ Mycroft huffed, clearly disgusted at the very thought.

Molly smiled.  “I thought he might have been exaggerating for the sake of drama.  You know how he is.  Yesterday, he even asked if I knew who the mystery woman was.  Rather pointedly, actually.  As if he thought you and I sat around gossiping about our love lives over brunch every Sunday.”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed.   “Why would he assume you would be privy to that sort of information?  Assuming there was anything to be privy to.”

She gave him a ‘You have got to be kidding’ look.  “Nice save.  I completely fell for that, and am now utterly convinced that you have not been sneaking around like a guilty school boy with that lovely lady across the room.”

He flushed again, the earlier pink returning and climbing higher up his neck this time.  “Keep your voice down.  And not a word to my brother.  He’ll run off to tell Mummy, and then I’ll be inundated with phone calls and surprise visits.”

“Oh.  My. God.”  Molly’s eyes grew comically wide, and her mouth dropped open.  “You really do have a girlfriend!”

“Molly!”  He cast a furtive look around to see if anyone was listening.

“Right.  Sorry.” She cleared her throat and tried again, in a much softer tone.  “So, how long as this been going on?”

“I am not having this conversation.”  His expression was stern for all of a minute, then his shoulders lost their tension and he shifted just enough that they could both see the woman in question.  “She’s a colleague whom I have, on occasion, met for drinks and dinner.  Not my girlfriend.”

Mycroft’s ‘not my girlfriend’ looked their direction once more. He nodded his head, and she acknowledged him with a brief upward tilt of her lips.

“So why am I here with you instead of her?” Molly asked.  

“As I said, we are colleagues.  That . . . complicates matters.  Considerably.”  Mycroft deliberately turned away from the other woman, and froze as his gaze landed on a waiter making his way around the room with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.  “He wouldn’t dare.”

Her eyes followed Mycroft’s toward the familiar dark-haired man, who was very clearly not a real waiter.  

He stopped in front of Mycroft with a smile that came nowhere near reaching his eyes and offered the tray.  “Shrimp puff?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft seethed.  “What are you doing here?”

“I never could resist a good party.”  Sherlock tilted the tray toward Molly.

She helped herself to one.  “You resist every party.  You even tried to sneak off before Mrs Hudson’s birthday do, and we held it in your sitting room.”

He yanked the tray out of her reach with a grimace.  “I said you could have it at my place, I never agreed to attend.”

“Utterly fascinating.”  Mycroft’s tone made it clear that it was, in fact, nothing of the sort.  “But why are you here?  Now. Where you very clearly should not be.”

“I’ve come to see if Molly is bored to tears yet.”  Sherlock tsked at his brother.  “Really, Mycroft.  Who brings someone to a stuffy political dinner for a first date? You’re lucky Molly hasn’t excused herself and tried to slip out through a powder room window to freedom.”

Molly really wished she still had her champagne.  Or something a bit stronger.  “Pardon?”

The brothers ignored her.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. “You went through Miss Hooper’s phone.”

“She left it out, and a text from ‘Mycroft’ popped up; what else would I do?”  Sherlock said it as if it were obvious.  “Why did you just call her Miss Hooper?  That’s a bit stuffy, even for you, brother dear.”

“Because I respect and appreciate her, which is more than I can say about you, brother mine.”  Mycroft bit off the last two words.  “I promised her an exquisitely prepared meal simply for the honour of her company this evening.  When was the last time you even bothered to thank Miss Hooper for the time and energy she devotes to catering to your ridiculous whims?  And all for what?  A packet of crisps and a set of puppy dog eyes every time you feel the need to take advantage of her good nature.”

Sherlock straightened to his full height and—somehow—she found herself holding the tray of hors d’oeuvres.  He glared down his nose at Mycroft.  “Molly knows I appreciate her. Unlike some people, I don’t need to bribe her with food just to get her to spend time with me.  And I do not take advantage her.”  He shrank back ever so slightly, his voice losing some of its harshness.  “Not anymore.”

Mycroft smirked, and it was nothing like the handsome smile he’d given her earlier in the evening.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Molly had had enough.

“I cannot believe you went through my phone, Sherlock,” Molly growled through clenched teeth.  “I’m not even going to ask how you got past the lock screen because that would be a waste of my breath, but why would you even think it would be acceptable to go through my texts?”

There must have been enough barely leashed menace in her voice to finally register with the other two because they both turned to her with equal expressions of surprise, as if they’d somehow forgotten she was there during their brief battle of wills.  She shoved the shrimp puffs back into Sherlock’s hands.

“And you.”  She turned her attention to Mycroft.  “I don’t care how complicated it is, you march over there—right now—and you talk to her.  Get her a drink.  Something. Go!”

Mycroft looked as if he wanted to argue.  After a moment he silently squared his shoulders, gave her a sharp nod, completely ignored his brother, and did as she’d ordered.  Molly watched him cross the room to stand next to his . . . whatever she was.  

“Molly-“ Sherlock started.  

She held up her hand and jerked her head toward the closest exit. “Not another word until we’re out of sight.  I will not have you embarrassing Mycroft here.”

As soon as they were in the hall, Sherlock dumped his tray on a table next to a tastefully lavish arrangement of flowers.  He quickly pulled the bowtie around his neck loose and dropped it atop the shrimp puffs, then anxiously tapped his fingers against his outer thighs.  “Am I allowed to speak, yet?”

“I should say no and tell you to bugger off.”  Molly leaned back against the opposite wall and took her weight off one aching foot.  She never did like wearing heels that high.  “Why did you break into my phone?  Why would you follow your brother and I here?  And, for God’s sake, why couldn’t you have stolen a tray of champagne instead of those horrid puff things?”

His mouth tilted up into an unexpected grin, before he quickly sobered.  “I told you Mycroft has been acting odd.  It was quite obvious that he’s become involved with someone; and then he started texting you, and I-I had to know if you were the one.”

“The one?”  Moly frowned as her mind tried to make the same connection Sherlock’s had.  Surely he didn’t think that she and Mycroft . . . “That’s what you meant by ‘first date’.”

He grimaced, as if the very thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You have figured out that the woman I sent him off to talk to is the one he’s been seeing the last few weeks, haven’t you?” Molly prompted.

“I have now, yes.”  The way he refused to meet her eyes as he nervously tugged at his cuffs mellowed her earlier anger.  

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”  He continued to fidget for a moment, before tucking his hands behind his back and raising his head and finally, finally looking directly at her.

“Were you jealous?”  She bit at her lower lip as she waited for his answer.  Molly fully expected him to say she was being silly, and that he’d only come looking for her because there was a case he needed immediate help with (whether he was lying or not).  She definitely did not expect him to take a deep breath and hesitantly nod.

“It was different, when you were seeing other men.”  He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the curls even more than usual, before fluttering it dismissively.  “I knew the others were idiots.  No matter how attractive you found them, in the end you would never be happy with a man who couldn’t keep up with your intellect.”  

Oh.  

“But Mycroft is . . .” Molly trailed off, unsure of where she was planning to go with that thought.

“Mycroft is Mycroft.  Smarter than either of us.  More than enough to keep you mentally engaged.  If anyone would be able to look past his-“  Sherlock waved his hand, gesturing toward his face and body.  “His everything, it would be you.  You put up with all of my faults, after all.”

“I do,” she agreed.  Slowly, Molly pushed away from the wall and closed the small distance between them.  “I like Mycroft.  But I like you even more.”

She reached for his hand and he hesitantly allowed her to take it. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

His answer was immediate and concise.  “You.”

Sherlock’s fingers tightened around hers as he gave her a soft smile.  “Come to Baker Street.”

Molly answered with a smile of her own.  “I’d love to.  I’ll ask Mycroft to have the car drop me off as soon as we’re done here.”

He jerked back as if he’d been shocked, dropping her hand in the process.  “You’re staying?  Here? With Mycroft?”

“Of course.”  She stepped toward him—closing the small distance he’d created between them—and put her hand on his chest, just over his heart.  Her pulse sped up when Sherlock put his hand over her own and held it there, even though his face made it clear that he was displeased.  “Mycroft asked me for a favour.  How silly would I be to give up a chance to have the British government owe me in return? Think of all possibilities.”

Sherlock blinked several times, then slowly grinned.  “Oh, I always knew you were clever, Molly Hooper.”

[calamity-bean]

Any meta thoughts on wig wearing and Turn characters? Particularly in the wake of Hewlett in photos with his real hair? Culpers seem to wear them the least (then again, Richard never wears one), and Hewlett always wore one until he was kidnapped. Andre had his brief debut in one and then never again. And Simcoe--well, what do you think? Does wearing a wig/false hair signal anything to the audience about characters on Turn?

This is SUCH a fun question, thank you! Disclaimer: I am soooo not a fashion or military historian. I’m not any kind of historian, in fact, and as such, I feared I wouldn’t be able to answer because I simply don’t know enough about wig-wearing habits of the 18th century. INCREDIBLY, though, I actually DO know a totally concrete answer to at least ONE of these character’s situations, because JJ Feild told USA Today last year:

[Andre] did have the wig early on, but Feild was able to ditch it after asking executive producer Craig Silverstein, “‘Do you really want that for your seducer/lover for the next three years? And he said, ‘No, not really.’”

So, where Andre is concerned, the answer is — yes! His wiglessness was much more a narrative choice than a historical one, and it absolutely signals something to the audience! It signals, “You Are Supposed To Fall In Love With This Man And His Sexy Hair”!

(pictured: HAHAHA NO.)

Feild also said that he wanted to ditch the wig because he wanted the audience to see Andre, born to immigrant merchant parents, as an outsider among his fellow officers, who are largely of gentle birth. This is more of an in-universe explanation than the sexiness principle, but it was still definitely a conscious choice intended to influence audience perception. So overall, I suppose the question is: Does TURN give its men wigs based on historical accuracy to their social class, military rank, etc.? (Aka, an in-universe justification?) Or is TURN more concerned with the overall impression of a character’s costuming than with strict historical accuracy?

…TURN being not particularly known for its historical accuracy, I kind of already have my suspicions. But I’m also not discounting the historical element entirely; I think that does play a part. Let’s see…

Powdered wigs were expensive and troublesome to maintain. As such, I would expect to see them only on men of means, status, and/or a keen sense of fashion, and broadly speaking, TURN … kind of holds true to this principle. Most of the civilians we see are wigless, as are the Continentals. Makes sense; these are colonists, after all, provincials, many of them country folk. Even GWash powders his own hair for formal occasions rather than donning a peruke. A notable civilian exception is Rivington and a notable Continental exception Lafayette; I think both can be justified in-universe by Rivington’s pretentiousness and Lafayette’s status as foreign aristocracy. (There’s also Freddy! Who’s just stylish.)

Where things might get a little shakier is the British army. While there are background redcoats who wear their natural hair, I’ve seen it opined that TURN honestly features far too many wigs being worn by soldiers who would have more likely just treated their own hair with grease and powder and styled it into some sort of queue or plait. Again, Hewlett and Simcoe we can forgive on the basis of their social class, but what about orphaned Baker? What about all the other background common soldiers in their expensive, troublesome-to-maintain perukes? 

The overall trend — though with definite exceptions — seems to be a not strictly historical effort on TURN’s part to associate wigs with British rule and wiglessness with the colonists. More abstractly, these expensive, fussy wigs are associated with the old-money wealth, social hierarchy, and pomp implied by British rule, while the colonists are made to seem more down-to-earth, more egalitarian, less pretentious. It’s alllllmost a way of coding Good Guys vs. Bad Guys, at least in s1, when that was more clear-cut — but that’s a complicated issue. Again, there are practical, in-universe reasons for this. I mean, the Continentals are broke, they couldn’t afford wigs even if they wanted them! But I really do think that the general principle goes back to what JJ Feild said about Andre. Andre is allowed to go wigless even from the beginning because we’re meant to dissociate him from the wealth, status, and pomp (and … villainy?) of the rest of the British army. Rivington, although a colonist (an English immigrant, but still a colonist), does wear a wig because he’s pretentious and at least ostensibly a Tory. Lafayette’s wig likewise signals wealth and status.

Okay, what about the other exceptions, then. Simcoe and Rogers. British soldiers, yeah. But wildcards. They— and the Rangers in general — are Irregulars, with a sort of wild, woodsy, feral lawlessness that sets them apart from the fussiness and ceremony of the Regulars. Also, as far as I can tell, historical Rangers just legit did not wear wigs. But I still think it fits the theme, especially since historical Regulars apparently probably wouldn’t have either. Certainly Simcoe’s shift from Regular to Irregular is essentially one in which he’s let off his leash, free from the constraints of regular military hierarchy that kept him somewhat in check in season 1.

And then there’s Hewlett. Of COURSE I have thoughts about Hewlett.

Honestly, ever since the photos of him with natural hair came out, my mind keeps going back to that JJ Feild quote. Like, I don’t want to sound like a crazy shipper fangirl here, but the evolution of Hewlett’s wig situation over these four seasons has been notable, and I think that it’s very much been about influencing audience perception of him. I mean, look:

Season 1: The Worst Wig. The poofiest wig. I can’t look at it, it’s so tragic. But it’s also no better than I’d expect, because at this point, Hewlett is essentially a non-villainous antagonist whom we’re meant to find a bit ridiculous — and, of course, the absolute epitome of that upper-class old-money fussiness that’s being contrasted with salt-of-the-earth ‘Merica.

…But then suddenly. Holy shit. Suddenly, someone decides that this guy should be a love interest. A love interest for a major protagonist. And like JJ Feild said, you can’t have your love interest looking like … that. You have to make him attractive! You have to give him a much more dignified, more understated wig that flatters the shape of his face!

And is it coincidence that part of season 2′s process for making Hewlett more likable involves revealing that, oh, actually, he’s not the epitome of old-world wealth and status? That he’s a gentleman, sure, but his family’s broke, and he’s just trying to support himself and his parents, and actually he’s big into the kind of Enlightenment thinking that (particularly in Scotland, which is where he’s, uh, from, suddenly?) was concerned with social progress? …Weird.

As part of this humanization, s2 also gives us our first glimpse of his actual hair, which I am … more than okay with, even considering the circumstances.

Season 3 is either the same wig or a very similar one, which makes sense given that Hewlett does not have any major beats of character development between 2 and 3. But then season 3 smacks him with some MAJOR disillusionment and personal tragedy, and thus … The Hair!

I still suspect that the in-universe explanation for this is that he’s been demoted to some extent, if we’re to believe what he said about resigning his commission and being cashiered. But I seriously cannot shake the sincere suspicion that this development is FAR more about making him more appealing to viewers than about anything in-universe. It’s another step in the same progression of character development that has, since 2.01, been continually positioning Hewlett as more sympathetic, more down-to-earth, more at home in the colonies, and — critically, if my theory about the overall wig theme holds true— less certain about his devotion to the British cause. And if there’s Annlett this season, the hair will also be part of his progression as love interest.

Again, I’m definitely coming at this from the perspective of a storyteller, not the perspective of a historian. I would love to hear from anyone who can give a better opinion on TURN’s wig accuracy and how much of a role historical fact plays in determining which characters wear wigs. But the more I think about it, the more I think that there is some sort of general characterization trend here and that the costumers are conscious of how audiences will perceive men who wear wigs versus those who don’t.

[the-sapphiresky]

A Dog's Life

‘I feel ill around her, almost dizzy, and when she touched my arm in passing it was like I had been burned. I can’t stop thinking about her. Wondering what she is doing, if she’s thinking of me, what it would be like to hold her hand or even kiss her.’

Blackbeard cocked his head and studied his pensive human. ‘Sherlock’ is what the other bipedals called him. Or ‘Git’. Blackbeard wasn’t sure which was the right appellation.

He loved His Human, though, whatever his name, and promised to be his Protector ever since His Human rescued him from the Bad Men.

And today something was tormenting His Human. He had not moved in hours and was wearing his Serious Face.

‘I suppose it was inevitable.’

Blackbeard whined sympathetically and rested his snout on His Human’s leg. Sherlock looked down at him and sighed with a smile, rubbing the spot behind Blackbeard’s ear that never failed to make his tail thump happily.

‘I’m in love, old boy.’

Blackbeard blinked up at him.

Well, this was an interesting development.

oOo

A few days later, Blackbeard was in the middle of his afternoon doze when the downstairs door opened.

The Biscuit Lady was fighting with the air monster downstairs and Sherlock was staring into the large metal contraption at the food altar.

Blackbeard lifted his head and perked up his ear as he sniffed the air.

Soft footsteps. And the overwhelming scent of Doggie biscuits.

Molly!

Blackbeard jumped to his paws and barked excitedly as his second favourite bipedal hurried the last few steps into his home and greeted him with a hug and ruffle.

‘Oh, hello there handsome,’ Molly gushed. Blackbeard basked in her attention, his tongue lolling out in happiness. He could almost taste the biscuits she’d stashed in her bag.

‘Who’s been a good boy?’ She teased with a smile.

Me, I’ve been a good boy! He preened when she agreed enthusiastically.

'Ah, Molly,’ Sherlock interrupted them, to Blackbeard’s disappointment. 'I wasn’t expecting you today.’

Molly stood up and Blackbeard sat back on his haunches, sighing now that he was no longer the center of attention.

But then he breathed in and forgot all about his disappointment. There was a strange scent coming from Sherlock. Blackbeard cocked his head and looked His Human over carefully. If he didn’t know better, he would say Sherlock was attracted to Molly.

Blackbeard tilted his head up to look at Molly.

Then back to Sherlock.

He took another sniff and a second scent, similar, hit his nose. But this time, it was coming from Molly.

I’m in love, old boy. 

Oh. Ooooh. Blackbeard’s heartbeat quickened in excitement and he jumped to all four paws as his tail whipped back and forth in a blur. His Human loved Molly! And Molly loved His Human! 

Oh, oh, this was the best day! She would live here and take Blackbeard for walks in the park with Sherlock, she would cuddle with him and bake him those pant-worthy biscuits every day and call him a ‘good boy’ and, and, and so much more! Blackbeard could barely contain his excitement.

‘-and three fingers. I tried to wrangle an extra liver, but I’m already pushing Stamford’s understanding. Maybe next month?’ 

Molly held out a cooler. One sniff and Blackbeard knew it was one of the Experiments that he would avoid at all costs. One unfortunate incident during his first week at Baker Street and he’d learned a hard lesson to avoid the coolers and their contents. 

‘That’s more than I expected, thank you.’ 

‘Just make sure they don’t end up in Blackbeard’s bowl,’ she giggled. 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. ‘I rather think he learned his lesson.’

Yes, I did. Blackbeard shook his head and hacked in remembrance. Molly laughed and scratched his ear.

‘Poor boy.’

He looked up at her pitifully, hoping for more attention. But she was already walking into the kitchen. Sherlock followed her and watched as she deposited the cooler on the counter.

Blackbeard padded along with a whine. Sherlock absentmindedly patted his head, but didn’t take his eyes from Molly.

‘I, er, I was about to take Blackbeard out for a walk.’ 

His ears perked up at the word and he began panting again. A walk?! Yes, please. Oh, please please please!

Sherlock felt around the table for Blackbeard’s leash. With an awkward smile, he asked, ‘Care to join us?’

‘I would love to!’ Molly eagerly accepted. 

oOo

It was hopeless. Blackbeard shuffled along beside his Human Idiots as they walked back toward Baker Street. They had spent the majority of the walk to and through the park in silence, each looking at the other when the other wasn’t looking.

'I had a lovely time,’ Molly said when they stopped outside of Baker Street. She was looking at Sherlock balefully. Blackbeard glared at His Human. For a brilliant man, the Git was being remarkable stupid. If that lovely Shepherd mix from down the street ever looked at Blackbeard the way Molly was looking at Sherlock, they would be expecting a litter by now.

But instead of seeing what was right in front of him, Sherlock looked away toward the street. 'Yes. We should… do it again?’

Molly smiled, her eyes dimming in disappointment. 'Sure. I’d like that.

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded. 'Good. That would be…good.’

And then they just stood there! Blackbeard looked from one to the other. Then back again.

Oh for the love of doggie kibble! Having had enough of their moony-eyed shyness, Blackbeard sprang to his paws and started running around them. 

‘Whoa, boy!’ Sherlock called out in surprise as his arm was yanked by the leash and he fell forward right into Molly, who yelped in surprise when the leash wrapped around the backs of her legs and she stumbled forward, bracing herself on Sherlock’s chest. 

‘Blackbeard, stop that! Sit!’ 

For once, Blackbeard ignored his Human’s orders and ducked under his leash and ran around them again.

‘Blackbeard, halt!’ Sherlock commanded loudly, just as Blackbeard reached the end of the leash slack.

Panting and excited, he sat on his haunches and watched delightedly as Sherlock struggled to untangle them, his face turning bright red and trying to avoid looking at Molly. A rather difficult feat, considering they were tied front to front. 

But Molly didn’t move. She was watching Sherlock flush and stammer and avoid her gaze entirely. And for a bipedal, she was also remarkably bright but rather blind to some obvious things. Like Sherlock’s feelings. But Blackbeard watched with smug satisfaction as she saw Sherlock and finally, finally realised what she had missed all along. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached up to pull his face toward hers. Their lips met awkwardly, as Sherlock blinked in surprise. He seemed to be struggling to understand what was happening. But then, with a great sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and kissed her back.

Blackbeard laid down in the shade and smiled to himself. Yes, this was the beginning of something beautiful.

oOo

Six Months Later

'Are you sure? I mean, I would love to, honestly,’ Molly was saying as Blackbeard woke up from his afternoon nap. He indulged in a deep stretch before he padded over to his Humans who were sitting on his bed. Well, they called it a sofa. But that was neither here nor there. He nudged his way past Sherlock’s legs and sat down between them, resting his snout on the cushion.

Molly gave him a good scratch behind the ears and his tail thumped against the wood floors. Yes, this was the best life. Molly was here almost every day and Blackbeard was in doggie biscuit heaven. She would take him for a walk in the mornings if she stayed over or stop by for a nice, long ear scratching when Biscuit Lady was watching him while Sherlock was away.

'But I’m not sure how Blackbeard would take it. I don’t want to intrude.’

Sherlock scowled. 'Don’t be ridiculous. I love you and you wouldn’t be intruding. I want you here.’

Blackbeard whined. Sherlock’s tone was very sharp. He didn’t like it when Sherlock was angry.

Molly sighed, but then she smiled. 'I love you, too, you sentimental git.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. 'And I’d love to move in.’

'Good,’ Sherlock declared and kissed her head. 'And just think, this will be our regular afternoons. You know, unless you’re on duty or I have a case.’

Molly sighed contendly. 'Sounds just about perfect.’

Sherlock patted his lap for Blackbeard to join them. Excitedly, Blackbeard laid across their laps and settled down for a nice long petting. He rested his nose on Sherlock’s leg and let out a happy snort. This was the life. Molly would soon be here every morning for walks and every evening for couch cuddles and he would die happily of consuming too many of her delectable doggie treats.

Blackbeard barely paid attention to their conversation, lost in the bliss of having his ears scratched and that one spot on his back he always had trouble reaching, as visions of doggie biscuits danced around his head.

That is, until Molly said, 'Toby will love having the run of the back garden. My current landlord doesn’t allow cats outdoors.’

Blackbeard’s eyes flew open.

Cat?!

[ilgaksu]

@badacts is an enabler, @crumplelush is also an enabler, and I’m a loser for history. Here’s part of the ridiculous overblown gay Regency-era aftg AU literally no one asked for, set in Bath, England for the full Regency Experience. For reference: Neil is the son of a Hatford and a Wesninski and orphaned heir to the fire-destroyed Hatford estate. Andrew is an illegitimate boy from the London slums who fled to Germany with his long-lost twin brother after a childhood of abusive orphanages/the death of their mother, then moved back to England, now comfortably middle-class and having erased all evidence of their earlier lives, and works training horses for the gentry. Neil and Andrew now live together in Andrew’s townhouse as housemates (which would have been seen as common for bachelors), and Aaron has moved across town after marrying Katelyn against his brother’s wishes. There’s some historical notes at the end because I’m that kind of person. 

 (cw for period accurate classism, whorephobia, homophobia and riko moriyama, who deserves his own special warning) 

“Good evening, Neil,” Riko says, eyes shining under the light like the opaque buttons of his waistcoat; slippery and miniscule, the black mother-of-pearl of them winking like dead men’s eyes. “I’m surprised you’re showing your face around so soon.”

“I finished my observance in July,” Neil says tightly. In the summer of the city, peeling himself out of the layers of mourning clothes - the blackened shell of them on the floor like snakeskin - had held with it all the relief of rebirth. Neil Josten, his skin singed, his hair catching the light, and Andrew’s eyes watching him careful in the mirror’s reflection, the cool of them like the glass of the same  mirror under Neil’s fingertips. The smudge of them against the silver silent affirmation: I am not Nathaniel. I am not my father’s son. I am still alive.   

“Yes,” Riko says, syllables cut. “That wasn’t what I meant.” His eyes are light on Neil’s face when he says, “After all, we do have ladies present. Their constitutions might be upset by -”

“You know, it’s true,” Neil replies. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. Speaking of which, I thought I saw your father about the town earlier this week. Is he still alive, then?”

Riko’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptible but for the blaze of the candlelight nearby and Neil waiting for the scent of a single drop of blood in the water. He says, “My father was visiting, yes. It must be difficult to imagine, what with your own circumstances, but -”

“You’re right, I never needed to crawl to my father so he could bail me out,” Neil retorts, “I was raised to live with my own mistakes.”

“It shows,” Riko spits back. By now, they’re attracting glances. Neil can almost sense Matt standing from the other side of the ballroom. When he risks a look away from Riko’s eyes to check, Matt is sure enough heading their way, making slow but determined progress through the dancers.

Neil breathes in, and then out. He remembers everything Matt has ever said about picking your battles and everything Renee has ever said about graceful retreat, and he especially remembers Andrew stood, cold-eyed and remote, in the corner of their room, saying I need to know if you’re going to keep living like it’s something to throw away. Andrew hadn’t said I can’t live like that or I can’t watch you live like that or I’d rather walk now than have you set yourself on fire, than not make it to you in time to put it out - but he hadn’t had to. So Neil breathes in, and then out, and then closes his eyes, and then turns around and takes a step away.

“Take care,” Neil says, “I’d hate for something to happen to you before the Devil gets his day.”

Riko steps after him. In the reflection of the ballroom’s wide windows, dappled and blurred by candlelight, he’s a shadow spreading over Neil’s back.

“Strange,” he murmurs, voice low but unmistakably clear. “I heard Minyard had gotten his teeth into you, but I didn’t realise you’d walked into the leash.”

In the beat between each word and the next, the shadow becomes a weight, pressing invisibly down on the back of Neil’s neck until he can’t breathe. There’s a word for it: collared. Neil almost has to laugh.

“Don’t say his name,” Neil snaps, which isn’t what he meant to say: he meant to say I’m not his dog or I don’t know what you’re talking about or I’m going to rip your fucking throat out. His voice is a violin string, torn taut and slowly being ripped away from the body of the instrument.

He should’ve expected this. Riko Moriyama made a study of weak spots, and Andrew was less of a weak spot and more of a mortal wound. The hook of him always leaving Neil’s whole life spilling out copper over his own hands. Collared, helpless: it’s the same thing, isn’t it?

“Can you even imagine,” Riko says, keeping his voice pitched low and pleasant. He’s amused, Neil realises. “Nathan must be rolling in his grave.”

“I’m counting on it,” Neil grits out. I am not Nathaniel. I am not my father’s son.

He needs to walk away. He needs to keep walking away. He needs to wait for Matt to come and get him. He needs to find -

“Don’t let me keep you,” Riko tells him now, “Go on, I imagine your friends are beside themselves seeing us so close together. Not to mention your new master.” Riko puts a hand on Neil’s upper arm. It barely grazes him before Neil shrugs him off violently. “It’s a shame. Living on your knees, and you’re still not learning your place.” Neil turns to glare at him. Riko laughs.

“Call me a whore to my face,” Neil says, slowly, “Unless you’re scared I’ll make you answer for it.”

“Oh, Neil,” Riko says, “A century of careful breeding, and then they came up with you. Nobility can’t be whores. It’s not in your blood, though I’m sure you’re trying.” He pauses. “Bastards, though? They’re born to it.”   

It takes Neil a second to hear him, and then a second to properly hear it, through the sudden gutting absence in his head. It’s the second his mother stood there, poised in escape, before she fell through the smoke and down the stairs until she was dead at his feet. It’s Andrew sitting alone in a field from daybreak, the day circling around him, waiting for another stray to come eat out of his hands, the silent admittance in the stillness: I have been scared too. It’s Aaron’s voice in Neil’s memory, Andrew killed our mother, and Neil realising that on some level he had already known, had known all along.

Neil breathes in, then out. And then punches Riko in the stomach. Then he pushes Riko into the side-table with all his weight, sending glasses shattering around him, a splay of broken crystal as Riko crashes to the floor. Someone screams. Riko is on his feet again, whiplash fast; his fist crashes into Neil’s jaw so hard the bone aches, a dull throb, under his heartbeat. Neil, who spent two months in a men’s boxing ring after closing watching Andrew and Renee swap jabs, as perfectly matching as two parentheses, gets in another hit of his own before he feels someone grab his arms and pin them behind his back. The ease of it should be suggestive - wild and out of mind as he is, the arms could be anyone’s. Neil bites them, hard.

“Christ Alive, Neil,” Matt swears, dropping his hold. Neil wrenches away, stumbles free, swings for Riko once more. “Neil, have you gone mad?”

Neil doesn’t pay him any mind, too busy fighting with the buttons of his glove. The leather is a little slippery, damp with a smear of blood. He’s not sure where it’s from. In the end, he yanks it from his hand. Matt, a beat too late, grabs for his arm.

“Neil, don’t you dare -”

Neil throws the glove at Riko. It hits him in the chest, then falls to the ground. Around them, Neil realises, it’s gone entirely silent, a kind of awful, bated-breath silence.

“Pick it up,” Neil snarls, then again, louder. “Pick it up.”

“You’ve never had any manners,” Riko hisses. “You’re a waste of your family.”

“You’re a waste of a body,” Neil tells him. “Maybe if they cut you up, they’d get some use out of you. Pick it up.”

Slowly, Riko bends down. The second he takes hold of the glove, Neil feels all the air leave his chest, almost like relief. Matt goes, “No. No, Neil, you surely can’t -”

“Tomorrow,” Neil says, “I’ll send you the place.” He takes a breath. “I’ll give you the night to find someone to be your second. Start in the gutter. I’m sure you can buy a man.”

Riko smiles, all teeth. Neil keeps his eyes on him as Matt drags Neil away, backwards and through the crowd, anxiety roiling off him like a storm.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve consented to?” Matt asks, all horror.

“I always know what I’m consenting to,” Neil replies. Matt gives him a bleak look.

“This isn’t funny, Neil. Did he hit your head?”

“Scared I won’t make it till dawn?”

“No,” Matt says, “I’m sure you won’t. Renee’s already gone and told Andrew.” The twist of his mouth is telling. “Good luck living through the night.”

*

Historical notes:

The mourning period (or observance) for the death of a parent was typically 6 months to a year, and required wearing particular clothing. 

Hell is empty and all the devils are here is a line from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. 

Duelling in Regency Era England

Body parts for medical study and dissection were in high demand during this era, especially fresh corpses, which led to body snatching - which is what Neil’s referencing towards the end where he insults Riko (’You’re a waste of a body...’). 

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Begin Again (Mortician!Steve and Baker!Bucky Modern “Moving On” AU)

Fourteen:

Ding, the bell over the door chimed as Steve entered the seemingly abandoned cake shop. Chairs were overturned on top of tables, and Steve took a step back to check the hours on the door. Realizing that What's the Batter With You was supposed to close in five minutes, Steve instantly felt bad and turned to leave the shop. Probably confusing Vinnie entirely as the dog watched, leash tied to the bench directly outside the --

"After dinner sweet treat?"

Turning around, Steve found the one person that he had been hoping to run into. Of course, the chances had been extremely high since it was his cake shop after all. Still, Steve couldn't help the pleasant joy that spread through his chest and tinted his cheeks.

"I didn't realize your hours. I can come back another time," Steve reasoned, his hand still on the door handle.

Playfully, Bucky waved Steve's concern away, "Don't worry about it. This is the perfect time. I have leftover cupcakes and I might just be willing to give them to you at a discount."

Then, he winked.

Steve's heart leapt and his cheeks burned as he tucked his joy away for something more casual, "You do this for all the stragglers?"

"Only the cute ones," Bucky winked, again. Turning to the sink in the counter behind him, Bucky started washing his hands. Over his shoulder, he gestured outside as he offered, "Your friend want a pupcake?"

Melting, Steve pushed himself off the door and started heading over to the counter. Glancing over at the ever-obedient Vinnie, Steve conceded, "He was definitely more of a good boy today."

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, drying his hands and joining Steve with the display case between them. Steve nodded and Bucky conversationally questioned, "Why's that?"

"The funeral was draining today," Steve affectionately grinned at the dog through the large window.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bucky immediately rushed. Steve redirected his attention to the handsome brunet to find him worrying his lower lip as he started to ramble, "Ya know, I doubt anyone will eat these if I take them home. So, if you want them, you can have them. No extra charge at all. I'm just so sorry for you loss. It's never easy, but sometimes sugar helps. At least, that's what I've experienced --"

"It wasn't my loss," Steve quickly reassured. Eyes wide and hands up to placate the man in front of him who looked as though he might cry just from the sheer amount of his empathy. Steve clarified, "I'm a mortician and Vinnie is a certified emotional support dog."

"Oh," Bucky nodded, placing his hand over his heart, as though that would stop it from shattering. Flashing a small, genuine smile, Bucky suggested, "Well, in that case, Vinnie can come inside."

Steve's brows continued their route up his forehead as he asked, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Bucky confirmed, his grin growing all the while. As his steel blue eyes assessed Steve, he admitted, "You look like you've had a rough day. If he comforts you, he's allowed inside."

"Thank you?" Steve's brows briefly furrowed, but his own smile remained on his face as he backtracked outside to untie Vinnie's leash from the bench.

Leading the large dog inside the shop, Bucky requested, "Mind flipping the sign for me?"

"Sure," Steve nodded, flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED.

For a moment, Steve just stood there as Bucky walked out from behind the counter and crossed the narrow aisle to the closest table. Removing the chairs from on top of the small, circle table, he gestured for Steve to take a seat. And who was Steve to deny someone so kind as Bucky?

"So," Bucky started as he crossed back to the counter. As Steve took a seat, along with Vinnie, Bucky opened the back of the display case and questioned, "Any allergies?"

"None," Steve readily answered.

His heart racing by the grin that stretched across Bucky's face as he confirmed, "Perfect." Steve swallowed thickly, finding the expression and tone to be a bit too tantalizing for himself. Especially when Bucky asked, "Any preferences?"

And, okay, yeah. Maybe it had been awhile since Steve had been propositioned by anyone that he was mildly interested in, let alone an attractive man with a silky smooth voice that, admittedly, did things to him. But this was different. Steve needed to get a handle on what the gaze and grin and voice did to him.

Jesus, Steve chastised himself before answering Bucky, "Nope. I'm game for anything."

Despite internally cringing, Steve was glad to find that Bucky took it at face value, and looked over the cupcakes as he decided which one to give Steve. When he finally chose the dessert, he plated it and prompted, "So, what made you want to become a mortician?"

When Bucky's eyes locked on his, Steve blushed and averted his gaze to the table his hands were resting on. Shrugging, Steve answered, "Family business."

"Ah," Bucky assented. Surprising Steve by taking a seat across from him at the table, Bucky set a small purple plate with two cupcakes in front of Steve and said, "I get it. Maybe too much. It's why I got into baking."

Nodding, Steve noticed that Bucky had a plate of cupcakes himself. Suddenly, Steve's stomach filled with fluttering butterflies. Which was ridiculous. This wasn't anything special. It was a cupcake. It was an empathetic man trying to comfort another man who had a hard day. It was kindness. Nothing more than that.

Maybe that was why those damn butterflies kept flying around in Steve's belly. They were confused. They mistook kindness for interest, and started convincing themselves that this was an unofficial date.

Around a large bite of cake and frosting, Bucky correctly assumed, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that your job isn't what has you lookin' like someone shit in your ice cream."

Startling a chuckle out of him, Steve felt more at ease as he confirmed, "Definitely isn't my job."

"Knew it," Bucky smugly grinned as he took another bite of his cupcake.

"You seem pretty cocky for a guy with frosting on your upper lip," Steve teased as he pulled down the paper liner of his own cupcake.

Blushing, Bucky grabbed a napkin from the center of the table and wiped at his lips. Locking his eyes with Steve, Bucky asked, "Did I get it?"

Throat feeling tight, Steve nodded and, in hopes of stopping himself from squeaking out the answer, he took a large bite of cupcake. Of course, the way the marshmallow buttercream brought out the flavor in the chocolate cake nearly made Steve moan.

"Good, right?" Bucky leaned forward with bright eyes.

Crunching on the graham cracker crumbs that the cupcake had been rolled in, Steve nodded again. Realizing that he had devoured the cupcake in two bites without even realizing it, Steve licked over his sticky lips and questioned, "What's the name of that one?"

"'Hold the Weenies,'" Bucky named. When Steve choked on his own saliva at the possible innuendo, Bucky smirked and explained, "Because it's a s'mores cupcake. And I don't know about you, but when I think about s'mores, I think about bonfires and therefore --"

"Hotdogs," Steve finished.

"Exactly," Bucky pointed at Steve and winked once more.

When his cheeks burned again, Steve turned his attention back to the plate and unwrapped the next cupcake. Admittedly, it was a bit more difficult considering how sticky the treat was. Syrup drizzled over top the chopped up bacon bits and cream cheese frosting. Nonetheless, Steve was determined to devour that one just as he had the previous.

Bucky seemed to be thinking the same thing since he had already removed the lining from the cupcake and was taking a large bite out of it. So, Steve followed suit. That time, Steve was too involved with the maple cake to withhold the moan. He probably should have been embarrassed, but the cupcake was so good, too good, that Steve couldn't do anything but allow the simple pleasure to fill him completely.

"I'll mark, 'Lumberjack Lust,' a success," Bucky commented.

Opening his eyes -- when did they close? -- Steve found that same arrogant smirk on Bucky's face. Pleasantly surprised that he didn't mind it this time, Steve's mind caught up to Bucky's words and he chuckled, "'Lumberjack Lust'?"

"I had a thing for guys in flannels, what can I say?" Bucky shrugged, licking a smear of frosting off the back of his hand.

Averting his eyes because that was an innocent thing to do, but Steve's mind was twisting it into something sexual and very much not innocent. Feeling like a scumbag for thinking of this man like that when they hardly knew each other, and especially not like that, Steve decided to disclose, "Me too."

"Yeah?" Bucky smirked, clearly amused as he looked over Steve. Steve's blush grew under the intense stare of Bucky's arresting steel-blue eyes. Finally, Bucky said, "I assumed you'd be the one to wear flannels."

"Well, you know what they say about assuming," Steve trailed off. Scratching at his facial hair though, Steve pressed his lips together in an attempt to hide his smile. He failed as he reasoned, "It's the beard, isn't it."

Loudly chuckling, Bucky nodded his confirmation while adding, "And the shoulders."

"Oh god," Steve chuckled and hid his face in his hands in hopes of masking how red his face was.  And it probably would've worked if his ears weren't burning hot too. Those damn things always gave him away.

Peeking from between his fingers, Steve found Bucky softly smile while he affectionately pet Vinnie. His heart stuttered in his chest, as though shifting to its correct place that had been long-since abandoned. And, yup, Steve was in trouble.