#speaking of actual clutter though can we place just give up on live

[netbug009]

....I know people don't like that the new dash is more cluttered and twitter-like, but I kind of like being able to access my blog sideboard without scrolling all the way back up hahaaaaaaaa

[gravedwe11er]

Co-existence

Another rarepair prompt, a bit late but better than never. Thanks to my betas @jayden-writes and @showstopper35, your help means a lot!

Pairing: Starscream/Wheeljack

Cw: a bit of injury, but nothing serious

Wordcount: 2.5k

Continuity: IDW

Summary: Five times living together was a bit of a hassle, and the one time that made it all worth it.

“Wheeljack.”

Lifting his helm up and away from the microscope before turning his head towards the sound of Starscream’s voice, Wheeljack finds his lover standing behind him with a scowl on his faceplates and his arms crossed, claws tapping out an irritated rhythm on his own plating.

“Oh hey, you’re back early. Something happen?”

Starscream snorts. “You really should check your chrono more often, it’s evening.”

Ah. “Suppose I should!” he chuckles. Losing track of time has always been a common issue for him, and he doubts that’s gonna be changing anytime soon. “So, what’s got you making that face? The council stepping on your toes again?”

“Stepping on my what-? Nevermind, don’t tell me,” Starscream mutters, shaking his helm at the earth word before carrying on. “But no, they’ve actually managed to be marginally more tolerable than usual today.”

“So?”

“So,” the seeker huffs, gesturing towards the completely cluttered table Wheeljack is sitting at, “you do know this isn’t a lab table, right?”

Ah. Well, Wheeljack did sort of forget about that, actually. Back in his old apartment, he hadn’t really kept a distinction between refueling table and lab table – his equipment took up nearly every horizontal surface aside from his berth, not to mention he usually ate in his lab anyway and had no need to keep it tidied away.

Though it made sense that Starscream, being…well, Starscream, might not see things the same way.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he shrugs sheepishly. “I’ll clean it up soon, yeah? Just lemme finish this up real quick, it shouldn’t be moved at this stage-“

“You can have one half,” interjects Starscream. “One half of the table exactly. And keep anything caustic in your actual lab, this thing wasn’t cheap.”

Wheeljack stares at him, optics wide. Avoiding his gaze, the seeker crosses his arms again. “We talked about compromising, didn’t we?” he mutters.

“So we did,” says the engineer, pleasantly surprised. “Still, thanks.”

Humming in response, Starscream sidles up next to him before throwing him an expectant look.

With a grin hidden under his blast mask, Wheeljack pushes the microscope closer to his partner. “So, what I’ve got here are ore samples from the Helex area…”

Now, Starscream understands the value of personal possessions, of course, and understands that Wheeljack would want to bring them over from his apartment when moving into his own penthouse. But why must they all look like…that?!

“I had this place professionally decorated,” he complains, with a completely justified whine to his voice, as the engineer shoves a battered, stained monstrosity of a desk into a corner of their berthroom.

In the living room already sits an eyesore of an armchair, completely clashing with the rest of his carefully chosen furniture. Little holo displays with photos of Wheeljack and his various autobot buddies haphazardly litter the shelves, scattered around Starscream’s nicely arranged models and knick-knacks. By the entrance, a few boxes hastily labeled as various lab equipment still wait to be unpacked.

“Uh. Sorry?” says Wheeljack, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess the table does look a bit grimy. I could give it a wipe down if you want?”

Scrubbing a servo down his faceplates, Starscream abruptly turns on a thruster and marches away from the unfolding disaster before he ends up saying something he regrets.

Primus, the things he puts up with for this mech.

Wheeljack wakes slowly, his systems taking their time to boot up in the face of just how utterly comfortable he is. As ridiculously huge and ostentatious Starscream’s berth is, he’s absolutely beginning to see its appeal.

And speaking of the mech- he lazily throws an arm out to the opposite side, finding it empty but still faintly warm - must have gotten up just a bit before him.

When he eventually drags himself out, his frame’s demands for fuel overpowering the wonderful softness of his lover’s fancy sheets, he finds Starscream on the couch, sipping his own morning cube in stormy silence. The room is dark, unusually so for this time of day, and Wheeljack spends a few confused moments thinking about unexpected dust storms before noticing the blinds drawn across all windows and the glass balcony door. Making his way over to the nearest one, wanting to see natural light at least once per day, he’s quickly halted by his partner’s voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says Starscream, tone acidic, “not unless you want to see your faceplates on the front page tomorrow.”

Stopping in his tracks, he turns to look incredulously at his seeker. “Say what?”

“It would seem that there’s nothing more interesting happening these days than my ‘scandalous paramour’ moving in with me and making things official. The camera drones have been lurking outside all morning.”

Wheeljack sputters. “Wh- that can’t be legal! Isn’t this private property?”

“Well, it’s not illegal, unfortunately,” scowls Starscream, taking another sip of his fuel. “They’re technically not on my property, and there’s nothing preventing them from hovering just outside of it. I’d shoot them down, but,” he shrugs, “that would be bad for my image.”

“Primus,” sighs Wheeljack, ambling over to the dispensary and getting himself a cube before sitting down next to the seeker. “This happen a lot?”

“More than I’d like,” grunts Starscream, before giving him a sideways glance. “I’m afraid it’s something you’ll have to deal with as well, now that you’re here. I hope it’s not too much of a deal-breaker.”

Sensing the thread of anxiety in his partner’s field, Wheeljack throws an arm over the seeker’s shoulders with an easy grin. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll manage. And besides,” he says in a fake-conspiratory mumble, “I don’t think I could bear recharging anymore without these blankets of yours, they’re really something special.”

Sure, he’s not exactly a fan of being examined by the masses like a specimen under a microscope, but seeing Starscream laugh like that, at something he said, makes it all seem pretty bearable.

As Starscream flies home, zig-zagging between Metroplex’s towers in his altmode, he can’t help but miss the war, just a tiny bit. Primus, what he wouldn’t give for a chance to simply hold the council of worlds at gunpoint, to make them actually listen to him for once. But no, in this new, civilized age, he has to hear them squabble over everything for hours on end, wasting everyone’s time and still getting nowhere.

Doing a few loops in the air to properly stretch his wings, his thoughts begin to stray towards the recent addition to his penthouse. It’s been a few chords since the move, and while living with Wheeljack has certainly had its difficulties, so far it’s been surprisingly… pleasant. He’d almost forgotten how nice it was, being greeted by a mech who was actually happy to see him after a long day of work, work, and more work.

Buoyed by the thought, he transforms once he reaches his tower’s balcony and makes his way inside with a small spring in his step, only to bump into the engineer standing right behind the door. Steadying himself on Wheeljack’s chestplate, he barely manages to note the anxiety in his lover’s field before he’s hit with a verbal barrage.

“Right, so, first, I wanna say that it was an accident and I’ll clean it all up. Most of it should scrub out I think, but some of it got on the sheets and the wall above my desk’s a little burned and-“

“Wheeljack!” shouts Starscream, smacking a servo over the engineer’s mouth to try and parse out what he’s just heard. “Slow down! You said something about an accident- are you alright?”

“What, me?” says Wheeljack, stepping a bit further away. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just a bit dirty,“ he reassures, waving his concerns off.

Now that Starscream can properly take him in, he sees the soot and odd colored stains littering his entire upper half, though, to his relief, he can’t see any signs of injury. With that out of the way, his processor manages to register the rest of that frenzied rant, and he quickly shoulders past the contrite looking engineer, marching his way into their berthroom.

It’s a disaster. Wheeljack’s already beaten looking desk is currently covered in soot and chunks of unknown origin, as are the nearby walls, the floor, and their berth. The explosion, as that’s surely what it was, also seems to have broken various other vials that were on said desk, whose contents are currently spilling all over the floor and making it look like an abstract artist’s canvas.

“I swear it was an accident, really,” calls out Wheeljack from somewhere behind him.

Starscream suppresses the urge to scream, field flaring out in frustration. For a moment, he wants to yell at Wheeljack, to complain about his ruined furniture and make him repeat the house rules for explosives ten times over until they stick. He’s already had a bad cycle and he feels close to snapping as he turns to the engineer, but then he just- falters.

Wheeljack looks anxious, wringing his servos together, a genuine, openly apologetic expression on his faceplates, and Starscream feels all the fight going out of him. He should have expected it, really, when he brought this brilliant disaster of a mech into his home. Everyone knows that ‘explosions’ and ‘Wheeljack’ are a package deal, and while that joke was certainly funnier when it wasn’t his home being wrecked, he can’t seem to get properly mad at him for it. Anyone else, he’d happily screech their audials off, but… not Wheeljack, it would seem.

“It’s alright,” he sighs, watching his lover relax a bit. “I suppose accidents happen, especially around you.”

“Yeahh, I know. Sorry again, I’ll go clean it up.”

“Hmpf. You better.”

Wheeljack wakes in the middle of the night, the last vestiges of a fading nightmare leaving him feeling bleary and cold. Somewhere next to him, he can hear the near-silent hum of Starscream’s systems as he recharges, a faint heat emanating from his plating. Wanting nothing more than to return to his already too few hours of rest, he’s in the slow process of turning towards his lover when a sharp object meets his optical glass with a resounding crack.

He rears back with a yelp, one servo covering his stinging optic while he onlines the other, just in time to see Starscream jump up onto his knees, gun in hand and aimed at the door.

“What happened?” the seeker shouts, shattering the last vestiges of the night’s peace as he frantically looks around for an unseen danger.

Doing his own sweep of the place and really wishing he’d kept a weapon in his subspace, Wheeljack fires back, “My optic’s busted, but I don’t know- oh, wait,“ he cuts himself off, quieter now, and points at one of the seeker’s flared out wings. “Star, look.”

In the near-complete darkness of the room, the tiny glowing smudge of processed energon on the pointy tip of Starscream’s wing easily stands out. As the seeker turns his helm and freezes at the sight, Wheeljack’s recharge-addled processor manages to put the pieces together and he slumps, feeling exhausted now that the fear has passed.

“Looks like I’ve just had a little accident,” he chuckles, running proper diagnostics on the optic to see how far the damage goes, “no assassins here or nothing. Still, what kind of luck is that, huh?”

No reply is forthcoming. When Wheeljack looks over at Starscream, he finds his partner’s gaze flicking between his stained wing and his own busted optic with a guilty expression.

“You okay, Star?

“I hurt you,” rasps the seeker, an unexpected amount of self-reproach coloring every glyph.

“What? No, if anything I hurt myself, and it’s not like you poked my eye out on purpose,” he laughs quietly, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, it’s just a crack in the glass, the actual optic under is fine. I’ll pop over to the clinic in the morning, get it replaced, no problem. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

Starscream nods, shoulders relaxing a little, though his field still remains drawn close to his frame. “That’s good. Still, you’re hurt because of me, and that’s-“

“I know, I know. Seriously though, it’s fine,” says Wheeljack, scooting across the berth to put an arm around his seeker’s shoulders, lightly petting down the edge of one wing. “Wasn’t your fault. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” repeats Starscream, the tension finally leaving his frame as his field unfurls, gently meshing with Wheeljack’s. “Though perhaps you might benefit from inventing some sort of harder optical glass,” jokes the seeker dryly, “sounds like a nice potential side project for you.”

“Hah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As much as Starscream generally loathes the colonists and all the problems that come with them, he has to give them one thing: their entertainment programs are excellent. Not in terms of actual quality, Primus no, but they’re so over-the-top dramatic he can’t help but enjoy them.

It’s been a quiet evening so far, screaming protagonists in the show notwithstanding. Metroplex is stable, he’s caught up on his datawork and Wheeljack is a warm weight on his side, their fields comfortably intertwined.

“Wasn’t the red one over there conjunxed to that backstabbing emissary?” asks the engineer idly, looking up only for a moment before returning his attention to the tablet in his servos.

Starscream snorts. “That was two episodes ago. Besides, the whole thing was a sham in order to spy on the grand chancellor.”

“Seriously?” laughs Wheeljack, nudging him playfully. “And they call our relationship weird.”

“I think you should lay off the tabloids, dearest,” he says dryly, rolling his optics. “Just yesterday, they were accusing me of having a sordid affair with the mistress of flame, so I wouldn’t really put much stock in their opinion on anything.”

Wheeljack puts the tablet down, looking at him incredulously. “They said what now? Really?”

“Yes, really,” hums Starscream, before leaning over his lover with a teasing grin. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Why would I want some preachy old crone when I have you?”

Smiling up at him, Wheeljack throws both arms over his shoulders. “Y’know, sometimes I’m not sure why you’d want me either. Really glad you do, though,” he says, before retracting his mask and leaning in.

As their lips meet, the show’s characters start up their third shouting match of the episode, but no one’s really paying attention anymore.

[bigboomboi]

Kindered Sparks

This is my entry for @gg9183’s soulmate collab - Oof, I was almost late for your birthday ( I know that I'm technically no where near late, but I put this out so much later than I would've rathered. Sorry, I'm a Virgo, mate.) Anyhoo! Happy Birthday! And congratulations on your amazing Milestone! Thank you for organizing this collab too and allowing me to be apart of it! Honestly, I love soulmate pieces so much, so I was so excited seeing this prompt (I'm excited to read the others as well!) My friend helped me put together an idea for a SM connection and I really enjoyed writing it, hope you do as well :) Happy reading!

Fem!reader x Denki Kaminari

Soulmates au; People are born with a dream realm connecting them to their Soulmate. Warning; harsh language, Hurt/comfort, pretty fluffy, cursing. Implied readerxfemale relationship. BakuKiri relationship (I got bullied last time I didn't say that was a pairing, so, just being safe)

Word count; 4.6K

“Another lonely night in this stupid world.” Y/N grumbled staring up at her dreamy night sky.

A sky she was supposed to share with someone else.

In this wonderful, bittersweet world, you were tied to another person. Destiny decided from day one of your birth who you’d be with for the rest of your life and then set you in a special plane of existence only accessible when you fell asleep, once you turned the ripe age of fifteen. The kindred-plane.

A place specially made for you and your soulmate to meet each night when you fall asleep. It was a place to get to know each other without the prying eyes of all those around. A shared dream land you could even decorate and make your own. It was your partner’s and your safe space.

It was a place you guys could explore together, where your imaginations combined like an amazing world of minecraft. Some people made completely different lives in their heads at night. Others used it to see their long distance lovers. Hell, there was a blog story sharing what sounded like a whole scripted tv show where a woman’s soulmate had set off to save her from an uncompromising kingdom.

Sadly though, your shared safe space could be destroyed in a matter of moments. It wasn’t unheard of for your soulmate to reject destiny’s plan and divide your dreams. You could absolutely reject your soulmate and quite literally lock them out of your dreams. All presence of them would disappear from your dreams within a few nights, sometimes even faster, and you’d be left alone with only your creations.

Of course, being divided from your soulmate hurt. But something hurt much worse.

Your soulmate being unintentionally stolen from you. A divide where you lose your soulmate despite neither saying they’d like to divide. A situation where your soulmate dies.

Y/N sighed at the reminiscent of her once was soulmate. So sweet and kind, someone Y/N fully imagined meeting one day in the daylight. Yet, now at the sad age of seventeen, Y/N had no dreams of ever seeing her soulmate ever again.

She only had the one year of memories they made…

“Class, This Y/N. She will be joining our class for her final year of hero training, treat her well.” Aizawa introduced her to the class of 3-A.

“Thank you, Sensei” Y/N bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you all.”

Not even a moment of silence was granted before the class erupted in questions. Half about her quirk, the other half about where she was from. A few off hand questions about why she transferred. All a mess.

“Enough!” Aizawa shouted, hushing the entire class. “You all can get to know her later, on your own terms. For now, Y/N please take your seat.”

Y/N nodded and scurried back to the only free seat in the back. Between a pretty pinkette and sweet looking round faced brunette. Before she was even seated, Aizawa began his lesson.

Y/N quietly sat through the classes of her day, ignoring the judging looks aimed her way, as the new girl. She could hear the quiet whispers going around, speculating what type of person she was and tried to ignore those as well. She was well aware of the fact that she appeared very off-standish.

Dark eye bags, complete resting bitch face that quite literally screamed ‘I will stab you with a pencil if you speak to me’, earbuds tucked into each ear and a hunched over form that could rival Quasimodo. Thankfully, the aura she set into place actually warded off her new classmates for several days.

Up until a week later in the common room where her bubble was invaded.

She didn’t look up at the person sitting next to her and subtly tried to turn up her music. She felt the presence of several others join her and they all stared at her silently until finally, the pinkette she sat next to on her first day, plucked her book from her hands. Y/N slowly looked up at her dully and raised an eyebrow.

She reached out for her book, but the girl pulled it back out of her reach. She tried again, reaching forwards further, but the book was yoinked by a strip of tape, pulling it across the coffee table. Gritting her teeth slightly, Y/N stood up to reach across the table and the music in her ears paused.

The girl had unplugged her headphones.

“You just have no regard for personal belongings of others, hm?” Y/N sighed, sitting down.

“We just want to get to know our new classmate!” The pink girl grinned. “I’m Mina!”

“Hi, Mina. Now give me back my shit.” Y/N tried to grab her phone, only for someone behind her to tug her ear buds away. “Seriously?”

“We’ll give you back your things if you let us get to know you.” Mina smiled.

“Or, you could just give it back.” Y/N tried to grab her earbuds from the bright blonde behind her.

“Nope.’ He said, a grin on his face as well. “I’m Kaminari Denki, nice to meet ya, beautiful.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “Or, I could just take my stuff back.”

“You could but there’s five of us and one of you, good luck.” A bitch faced blonde mumbled, flipping through her book.

“Fine. Here’s one thing about me.” Suddenly she appeared behind the bitch blonde and snatched her book. Another one of her appeared behind the one who taped her book away and grabbed her book mark. Two other Y/N’s came into existence on opposite sides of her seating couch to grab her phone and ear buds. All while the original Y/N sat in her place. “Don’t touch my things.”

“Woah, you can make multiple you’s!” The redhead gasped excitedly. “That’s so manly!”

“That’s so cool! They feel so real!” Kaminari said, poking the side of the one near him. It yelped and swatted his hand.

“They are real! Don’t poke me, I’m ticklish!” Y/N snapped, rubbing her side.

“Woah, can you feel this?’ The tape one reached out to pinch the clone’s arm.

Y/N’s other clone smacked him with her book. “Yes, I can feel that! Ow!”

“So your quirk is duplicating yourself? Boring…” Bitch face rolled his eyes, another Y/N appeared behind him and swatted the back of his head.

“My quirk is omni-replication. I can create continuous versions of myself and others. But they can act on their own.” Y/N sighed, bringing herself her book.

“Woah, make another me!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

“G-Get off of me!” Y/N shoved him away, ignoring the literal spark between them. “I can’t make one of you now!”

“But you just said-.” Mina tried.

“I have to know your ins and outs. Otherwise I’d just make a weird melty blob of you.” Y/N sighed. “I need to know more about you guys before I can make you. I need to know you, how you fight, how your quirk works, I need to know how to play the game before I can participate.”

“So, what I’m hearing is…” Mina smirked. “You need to get to know us to succeed.”

“Oh god…” Y/N groaned. “I have no choice in this do I?”

“We have a specialty of making friends with people that don’t want to be friends.” The red head threw his arm over bitch face’s shoulder.

And thus a new friendship was born.

“Bakugo, why do you keep moving my pillow in our dreams, it’s so not manly.” Kirishima whined.

“Neither is the massive rock sitting in the middle of nowhere, dude.” Bakugo argued.

“It’s not just a rock.” Kirishima mock sniffled. “It’s a boulder.”

Y/N snickered at the reference that earned the kind redhead a smack to the back of his head. “Are you delivering pizza on it?”

“Yes!” Kiri grinned.

“No! Don’t encourage him!” Bakugo shouted.

“Aye, don’t shout at me. Your boyfriend is a literal rock, he’s encouraging himself.” Y/N laughed, throwing a fry at him.

“Oh yeah, what trash has your soulmate cluttered in your dream world?” Bakugo argued back.

Y/N’s laughter silenced and immediately her lips curled into a scowl. A light switched on and they remembered the one rule they had set in place. No one talks about Y/N’s soulmate. Or lack thereof.

“Bakugo!” Mina snapped.

“Shit, I didn’t-.” Y/N didn’t give him the time to apologize and stood up from the lunch table.

“Wait, no, Y/N! He didn’t mean to!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

She flicked him in the forehead and pulled away. “No, it’s fine. You guys talk about your soulmate shit, I’m going to the training field.”

“Wait, Y/N, really!” Mina tried. “It’s just, we’re so used to casually talking about it!”

“I don’t care if you guys talk about yours, but you know I don’t have one, so we don’t bring up mine!” She huffed, before taking a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”

Y/N ignored her friend’s protest and stomped out of the dinning hall. She rushed to the training area, stopping by the locker room to change and grab gear, briefly.

Activating her quirk she began fist fighting her clone, taking her anger out on herself. Very early on into her friendship with the group she told them she didn’t want to talk about the soulmate shit. At least not her own. She told them she didn’t have one, leaving them to believe she never did.

They were incredibly understanding after they found that it upset her. So much, to the point that she copied Kirishima to punch himself when he kept asking. After that ordeal and several days of being ignored, they respected her wishes of not bringing it up.

She knocked herself down and punched herself in the face. She turned off the connection to the clone so she wouldn’t feel the pain herself. Disconnected clones only had a few minutes to live really and faded away with enough damage. Once that one faded, she created another in its space and continued pounding away.

“Stupid soulmate bullshit.” She huffed each word with a punch. “Stupid divide rule.” Another clone. “Stupid. Fucking. Erg- Everything!”

Y/N beat her final clone to death and didn’t bring a new one out. She sniffled, the tears she’d been holding back for years now finally breaking her dam. She hated the horrible lonely feeling she had been surrounded by for so long. She missed out on so much sleep, just to avoid going to her dream world. She set alarms to wake her up every hour or so to stay away from it and at this point, she was losing her mind.

She cried more thinking back to the last time she had been in her kindred-plane. She’d avoided it for a few days before exhaustion actually hit her like a bus and made her sleep. This time her plain little dream seemed to have adopted new items in her absence.

A bundle of comic books, a guitar, even a really, really big pikachu plushie.

Not that they were placed anywhere in particular. The guitar was outside of the little home she had reimagined, laying haphazardly on the ground. The pikachu was placed in front of a tree, facing it and the books were strewn across her loveseat couch. It was like her dream realm had become a lost and found for thrown away items from other planes. Which, honestly, Y/N could believe, as she didn’t use it so much.

She wished she could just give away her realm and dream of nothingness.

“Y/N?” She jumped, hearing her name and quickly wiped away her tears, ignoring the way they stung her open knuckles.

“Kaminari, I’m not really in the mood to talk.” Y/N muttered.

“Okay, that’s fine. We both know I talk enough for the both of us.” He joked, coming to sit in front of her.

Y/N turned to look away from his seating and ignored him, but he set off into a spiel about a new game he got. He did what he did best when one of his friends were upset, he talked. And normally that worked, but minutes into his yabbering, she started crying again.

“Hey, no! No crying! Crying is sad!” Kaminari tried.

“I am sad Kami!” She snapped. “I am really fucking sad! Everyone gets to have stupid fucking soulmate but me! And all because mine fucking died!”

Kaminari immediately paused his frantic attempts to calm her. “Huh, I thought you said you didn’t have one?”

“I don’t because she died! My god damn soulmate died literally months after meeting each other damn it!” Y/N yelled, sinking her fingers into her hair. “And now my kindred-plane is empty and lonely and shit keeps getting piled into it like a fucking trash can!”

Kaminari was silent for a moment while she cried. He slowly crawled over, closer to her and pulled her into a hug. This wasn’t a moment for talking randomly and he knew that. So they sat for the rest of the lunch period in silence, save for her soft hiccups.

After that, somehow, Y/N started talking to her friends the next day. She rationalized that it wasn’t their fault she was sensitive about the subject, they didn’t deserve the aggression. So with a tense apology, she was back to sitting with them at lunch and hanging out.

Y/N was determined to not let her disrupted dreamland destroy her outside reality.

“Okay, really?” Y/N blinked at the ugly rug that appeared draped over her bookshelf. “How the hell did you even get there?”

She tugged it down and stared at it in disgusted contemplation. “Guess you get to go in front of the fireplace…”

Y/N walked towards the warmth and paused, noting that it felt like it took a few more steps than usual. She looked around and found that the picture she carefully centered on the wall was no longer centered. Was her house getting bigger? More and more shit was popping up out of nowhere and her place felt spaceyer…

“What the actual fuck universe?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and laid down the new rug.

An odd whooshing noise sounded behind her and she turned around to see a lamp fizzled into existence, a hand accompanying it this time. Y/N fumbled over own feet trying to hurry and grab it. Someone was putting shit in her realm and she was about to find out who.

Actually she wasn’t.

The moment she grabbed the hovering wrist, it was like she had rubbed her socks across her new rug a million times and then touched an outlet. The hand shocked her, hard. She yelped and fell backwards on her butt, accidently taking the lamp down too, except when it fell apart it fell backwards toward the floating hand and disappeared from her plane.

Y/N gasped sitting up out of her bed, the shock kicking her out of her own dream. “Ow, what the hell?”

Y/N looked over at her clock, finding that it was five in the morning. She sighed and climbed out of her bed, grabbing her ear buds and phone. There was no school the next day, it was Saturday so she aimed to sneak down to the common room and spend her day dead on the couch, fighting off sleep again.

Not ten minutes after snuggling into a comfy spot on the couch, it dipped slowly as someone sat on the other end of it. She looked up from her book, to find Kaminari on the other end. He held up a bag of doritos in exchange for her company.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, pulling out her ear buds.

“Got startled awake by something in my dream world.” He answered, holding the bag out to her.

“Ah, that sucks.” She hummed apologetically.

“What about you?” He asked carefully.

Y/N snorted. “Kami, you know I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been up for the past few days.” He sighed, remembering seeing her in the kitchen at three am. “You’re going to trash your health if you don’t sleep.”

“Eh, it’s alright.” She crunched on a chip, before yawning. “Plus, you stay up every night gaming, bite me.”

“Gladly.” He winked. “But seriously, a lonely dream realm can’t be all bad.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was going to continue this topic of conversation. And he did. “I mean mine’s pretty lonely and I think it’s alright.”

“What?” She furrowed his eyebrows.

“My kindred-plane has but just me since like, forever, and I don’t think it’s that bad.” He shrugged.

Kaminari didn’t have a soulmate? That didn’t make sense, he’d tell them about all the adventures he’d run on in his dream. “You said you were helping some Jill girl fight zombies and stuff, just the other day.”

“Yeah, Jill Valentine. From Resident Evil.” He laughed. “I figured out a long time ago that I could just make her up in my dreams if I played the game until I fell asleep. She’s not my soulmate-.”

“You don’t have one…” Y/N whispered, sitting up.

“Nope, never did.” He offered her more chips, but Y/N just looked at him with sad eyes.

She cried in his arms about her soulmate dying and it turned out he never had one in the first place. “Don’t look so sad, Sunshine. It’s okay.”

“Denki, you don’t have a soulmate. That shit sucks.” Y/N flailed her hands.

“Yeah, but at least I didn’t get attached to mine and then they died. That sucks even more.” Kaminari argued.

Y/N slumped back against the couch. “This soulmate business is quite literal shit.”

“Yeah, but other people are pretty happy with it, so it’s okay to me really.” Kaminari hummed, nonchalantly. “Plus, no one can yell at me for my taste in decorations. That can really make or break a relationship ya know.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh yeah, totally. If my soulmate tried to decorate our space with half the shit that seems to appear in my room I’d have to throw hands.”

“Stuff appears in your dream?” Kaminari asked. “What, like, someone’s statue of Scooby doo?”

“Kaminari Denki, please tell me you don’t have a statue of Scooby doo in your kindred.” She tried not to laugh.

“No!” He said quickly. “I have a statue of Scrappy Doo.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t!” She gasped.

“Yep! There’s a pond in front of my house and he’s in the dead center of it.” He grinned proudly. “And he looks amazing there.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Y/N snickered. “Bet he pulls the whole place together.”

“As a matter of fact he does.” Kaminari declared smugly. “What about your plane? What’s one big special thing you’ve got in it?”

Y/N hummed and thought for a second. “There’s a really big oak tree just behind my house and it’s covered in string lights, with a small ladder up the trunk. There’s a flat area in some of the branches so I can sit up there and read.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Kaminari said, fondly. “I have a tree kind of like that in mine too.”

“Does yours have a massive Pikachu in front of it?” She taunted, laughing.

She just barely missed the furrowing of his eyebrows before he answered. “I’m not entirely sure, I think, I’d have to take a look. I hope I do though, otherwise, I’d have to come steal yours.”

“Absolutely not! He’s my friend!” Y/N gasped and shoved at his leg. “Stick with your Scrappy Doo statue.”

Kaminari smiled. “Fine, fine. But if I don’t have a Pikachu in my dream, you owe me.”

“Mmhm, sure.” Y/N grinned.

For the next few months, Y/N and Kaminari grew closer, having bonded over their lack of soulmates. While they grew closer, not only did Y/N become happier, her kindred-plane seemed to get brighter, despite all the random things finding purchase in her realm and the fact that it was still growing. It was nice, she didn’t hate spending the night there anymore. She didn’t run into the disembodied hand anymore, but that was okay.

With what was happening in reality, she wasn’t too bothered by her dreams anymore. Instead, she focused on her friends, they were a wonderful reminder that life didn’t go to complete shit. For the first time, she actually let these people get close to her and drag her out of her hole she kept herself in.

… And out into the living room to watch the boys yell at each other over Mario Kart.

Y/N cursed and pushed Kaminari’s face away from her own as he laved his tongue across her cheek. “Denki, I swear to god if you don’t stop licking me, I’m going to bite you!”

“Ooh! Promise?” He flirted, smirking. “What else are you gonna do with that mouth?”

“Hurt your feelings, Sparkler boy.” She laughed, squishing his cheeks.

Kaminari threw himself into her arms, taking her to the floor. “So mean, I thought you loved me!”

“Oh yeah, she totally loves you with the way she made you beat yourself up today.” Bakugo snickered.

“Yeah, dude, she used your quirk against you better than you.” Kirishima pipped up.

“Hey, hey, clones don’t get fried when they use their ultimate! They just disappear and another one pops up!” Kaminari argued in defense.

“Jesus, Denki, you’re heavy!” Y/N shoved at his body, half heartedly. “Get off, you loser.”

“Uhg, fine, only because I have a race to win.” He rolled off her, to grab his switch controller.

“Oh thank god, I was going into the light for a second there.” Y/N gasped, dramatically.

Kaminari pinched her leg in retaliation. “Hey, I’m not that heavy!”

“Your head is though.” She stuck her tongue out.

“So mean.” He pouted as she turned to lay her head in his lap.

Y/N giggled as she pulled out her phone, to scroll through Tumblr for a fic to read. Moments went by before a snapchat notification popped up. Tapping on it, she found a common message from Mina.

‘You guys are too cute.’- Pinkiepie

‘We’re just friends, Mi.’-Y/N

A snap picture appeared in their feed and she tapped it open. There she was laying in Kaminari’s lap and there he was looking down at her, sweetly. ‘He’s giving you major heart eyes.’- Pinkiepie

‘Stop taking pictures of people, it’s stalkery.’- Y/N

‘That’s why you took a ss.’ -Pinkiepie

‘Oh fuck off.’- Y/N

‘Oh come on, just give him a chance, neither of you have sm’s so your not stealing him from anyone.’- Pinkiepie

‘You’re*’- Y/N

Y/N sighed and looked up to Kaminari’s face above hers. It apparently hadn’t been uncommon knowledge that Kaminari was Soulmateless, probably why the group had been so confused as to why she was so upset about it. It was normal to them, because it had always been Kaminari’s story.

Would it be so bad to make her own soulmate? Most divided soulmates stayed by themselves for the rest of their lives, but would it be alright if they didn’t?

“Oh, guys! I meant to tell you; I think I actually do have a soulmate!” Kaminari blurted into the air.

His admission quite literally derailed the entire room. Bakugo drove off the map in Mario Kart, Kirishima completely looked away from the game and Mina choked on her spit and her eyes flew to Y/N who paled significantly.

Sero was the only one who appeared unaffected. “Guys, he’s probably just saying that to throw us off, he’s in last.”

“I’m gonna blow you up, you put me in fourth with your little stunt.” Bakugo threatened.

“No, I’m serious!” Kaminari argued. “Over the last few months my dreams have been changing and stuff. Like it was making room for another person. My house is super spacy now, new decorations have been showing up for no reason, like there was a vase of flowers on the floor near my door, and my curtains changed colour, they’re a cute lavender colour now. Plus there’s a really big pikachu next to a beautiful oak tree in my yard.”

“Woah, dude, really?” Kirishima paused the race and turned to his friend.

“Yeah, totally.” Kaminari nodded, subtly looking down to meet Y/N’s wide eyes. “I was super confused for a while.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious.” Sero laughed. “Have you met them yet? Or are they just leaving surprises for you?”

“Well, I’ve seen her a few times, but I haven’t got the chance to talk to her yet, she wakes up pretty fast.” Kaminari shrugged.

“That’s so good Denki, I’m so happy for you.” Mina said softly as Y/N sat up.

“Me too, Denks. But speaking of waking up, I’m tired, so I’m gonna go take a nap.” Y/N hummed, yawning.

“Okay, see you later, Y/N.” They all chimed as she walked away.

“Yeah, see you later.” Kaminari called, carefully.

Y/N tried her best to contain herself and all but ran to her dorm. Along the way, her phone buzzed, no doubt a message from Mina. Once she was in her room, she flew to her bed, never had she been so eager to fall asleep before.

She quickly responded to Mina, ensuring her that she was alright and actually wanted to sleep. Y/N even sent her a reassuring picture of her smile with a short caption ‘I’m off to go see a Pikachu.’ After that, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but it was too long.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, finally appearing in her kindred-plane and spun around, trying to identify things in her dream house. She hurried to open the door and looked over to her tree, with the ever so famous Pikachu there. She turned and jogged in the opposite direction for the one thing she needed to see to make sure she was correct.

There it was. Scrappy Doo. In the middle of her pond.

Y/N jumped up and down, squealing to herself. It was happening, oh my god, it was happening. Now she just had to wait.

And wait she did. She had run back to her tree and climbed up to sit and await her soulmate. The soulmate she actually had again. Someone to share her dream world with again.

She had a soulmate.

Quietly for the next hour, Y/N sat and read one of her books, waiting almost patiently for him. She’d made it through the third chapter when a voice startled her away from the pages.

“Sorry, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me.” Kaminari said, smiling.

Y/N bit her lip and grinned. “I thought you missed my cue for a bit there."

"No, I was just a little too excited to fall asleep." He crawled up into her tree nook. "You see, I suddenly got a new person roaming my world almost like, uh, a forever person or something. What's it called?"

"Mm, I don't know. Kinda sounds like you've got a soulmate there, Denki." Y/N whispered as he came closer.

"Fucking finally." He muttered, leaning forwards to connect their lips.

But before he could make contact he ran into her hand first. “But, really, we are going to have to talk about your decorating choices.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that after this.” Kaminari chuckled and moved her hand to kiss her.

[works-of-fanfiction]

Together - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham takes care of the reader after a particularly hard couple of weeks.

Warnings: Literally none - straight up, good old-fashioned fluff.

Word Count: 2.8k

Side Note: I haven’t written since 2019 or something like that, so forgive me if this isn’t the best!

————-

Sometimes you wonder whether your job is actually worth the exhaustion - your hand comes up to turn out the office light, exactly two hours and seventeen minutes later than you’d expected. Maybe it’s too much to ask for the work day to end at your contracted time. You scoff at yourself at the sheer thought, like your managers would ever treat you like a human being.

The tube ride home feels longer than usual, and you’re completely unable to focus on the book balanced in your lap. You’d always tried to be one of those leave work at work people - ‘don’t take your work home with you’ everyone says… but it’s impossible. You were good at your job, no doubt about that, but that came with the downside of being taken advantage of. People aren’t going to do their own dirty work when the overachiever down the corridor can do it for them. Though, how could you ever refuse? Why would you risk saying ‘no’?

Swinging the apartment door open, you drop your bag onto the ground and nudge it further to the side with your foot. Your loud entrance does not go unnoticed by your droopy-eyed boyfriend sprawled on the armchair. The first thing you feel when you see him is guilt. You don’t want to be the reason he forces himself to stay awake. You don’t want to be so fragile that he feels he can’t go to bed without seeing you first to make sure you’re alright. Once he catches sight of you, a weak smile spreads across his lips as he drags himself to his feet and shuffles over to where you’re standing. You paste a fake smile onto your face, hoping you can lie and pretend you had a good day so he can finally get some sleep.

“Hey sweetheart.” Graham mumbles, holding out his arms for you to fall into. You do just that, your head sinking onto his shoulder, inhaling his scent like it’s the last chance you’ll get. He holds you tightly in the doorway, supporting your body weight as you limply cling onto him. You claw at the back of his shirt, gathering the fabric between your fingers as if he could slip away any moment and disappear. His only response to this is to squeeze you as his chin rests on your head. “Hard day?” He finally asks, separating the two of you and holding you at arms length.

You don’t want to be a burden and you’d already come home from work two nights out of five this week feeling like this. You begin to shake your head, hoping that the lie will be easier to tell if you don’t speak, but as you stare into Graham’s eyes, you know he doesn’t buy it. The look on his face is all too familiar; he can read you like a book and he knows damn well that you’re not OK. Your head shake slowly evolves into a nod, and you don’t hold back the first sob that leaves your lips. Graham immediately catches you in his grasp again, holding you as you cry into his chest. He doesn’t waste time trying to find the right words to say to you because he knows that’s not what you need. You don’t need a soppy, motivational speech or a string of “it’s okay”s. Instead, you’re comforted by the beating of Graham’s heart and the warmth from his body as he carefully steps back and begins to guide you into the living room. You stand up straight and slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together in that perfect way that just feels right. No matter where you are, as long as your hand finds his, you know you’re safe and that everything is going to be alright.

As you go to sit down, Graham stops you and helps slide your coat off of your shoulders. You sniffle, quietly thanking him as he tosses it over the back of the armchair. You sink onto the sofa, the throw blanket from the back already slipping off and bunching up behind you. You adjust, your fingers pinching at the stray hairs sticking to your tear-stained cheeks. All you can do is stare at your feet, your eyes tracing the triangular patterns on your socks - Graham’s socks that you’d put on in a hurry that morning. The extra bit of fabric hanging off the tip of your toes makes that evident. You’re too focused on the ground beneath you to hear Graham go into the kitchen.

He boils the kettle, reaching into the very back of the cupboard to find your favourite mug - a round cream-coloured cup with a black cat’s face painted onto it, wearing a pair of red glasses. He’d bought it for you in Camden as a silly little gift, but you fell in love with it the moment you saw it and have treasured it ever since. Though you barely use it, as you can’t trust your own clumsiness and you’re too scared you’ll break it.

Graham makes your tea just the way you like it and carefully carries it into the living room. He remembers to bring the half-eaten packet of custard creams with him too. He’s not sure you’ll want them, but he usually sneakily dips one into your tea when you’re not looking so they won’t entirely go to waste. With one hand, he pushes all the clutter on the coffee table to one side, and places the cup down in front of you with the cat facing in your direction. You look up, a small smile on your face as you spot the mug. Graham squeezes through the gap between your knees and the coffee table to sit down beside you.

“That was the last teabag, so drink up.” He gently teases, pointing at the cup. A small exhale of air from your nose is all you can muster to show your amusement as you reach forward and take a slow sip. It’s perfect, and that feeling of sad happiness washes over you. You’re happy to have Graham; happy that he’s there for you and happy that he remembers your particular taste in hot drinks. Who else would know that one sugar is not enough but two is too much? Who else would measure one and a half teaspoons and make sure it’s stirred in completely?

But the sadness still remains. You’re sad that he’s making the tea to try and cheer you up; sad that he’s used the last teabag and he’s going without a drink of his own. You’re sad that he’s sat here watching you cry one time too many.

It’s silent for a while. It’s clear he’s waiting for you to speak first but you’re not sure what to say. You feel like you’ve said everything a thousand times already, and the last thing you want is to be the broken record constantly spinning in the room.

You gulp down half of your tea before putting the mug back on the table. You turn to face Graham who scoots forward, eager to be there for you and ready to listen. He sits cross-legged, his sleeves rolled down to cover his hands with just his fingertips poking out. Your own fingers pick at a stray piece of thread hanging from the hem of your shirt, wrapping it around your forefinger then unwrapping it over and over. “I really really don’t like that place, Graham.” You whisper, part of you not wanting to hear your own admission. You’d fought hard for that job and were ashamed and embarrassed that it hadn’t gone the way you’d planned. Graham nods in understanding, moving closer to you to wrap an arm around you. He pulls you into him, your head resting on his shoulder as he rubs your back lovingly.

”I know, love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. Just having him beside you and feeling his touch is enough to calm the heavy beating of your heart and steady the shaking of your knees. “But hey, it’s Friday night which means tomorrow is Saturday. We have the entire weekend to do whatever we want! The entire weekend to not think about work for a single second.” He encourages, standing up and holding his hand out to you. “Come on.”

You reach over to grab your mug and quickly finish the rest of your drink. You grab a biscuit and bite half of it, feeding the other half to Graham. Crumbs fall from his mouth and he tries to catch them in his other hand but fails. You smile sadly, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before taking his hand and letting him lead you to your bedroom. He sits you on the bed and grabs a fresh towel from the wardrobe. “First, let’s wash off the day, hmm?” He smiles and you nod in response. He leans over and kisses your forehead, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before disappearing into the bathroom to run a bubble bath. He fills it with your favourite coconut-scented bubbles and fumbles around in his pocket to find his lighter to ignite the candle on the windowsill. It’s almost completely melted away, but he’s certain there’s enough there for it to stay lit for tonight.

He hangs the towel over the radiator to warm it up and tests the water before calling you in. You shiver as you shuffle past Graham, then lower yourself into the water. You hiss at the heat at first, but you’re soon submerged and used to it. You look over to Graham who’s knelt on the floor beside you. “Aren’t you getting in?” You ask, lying down and covering yourself with the bubbles. He shakes his head, rolling his sleeves up and pushing his glasses onto the top of his head.

“This is for you, love. You deserve to relax.” He reaches into the bath and strokes your shoulder softly. He spots a hair tie on the counter and grabs it, then stands and leans over to help tie your hair back. He scrunches it all together and ties it into a messy bun on the top of your head. It doesn’t look the best but it does the job. You look at him and smile, grabbing his arm and giving it a loving squeeze. In that moment, all you can think about is how lucky you are to have Graham. Even something as simple as him tying your hair up makes your heart swell. You wish you could stay in this room with him forever and never face any responsibilities.

You sit up to grab the soap but he beats you to it, the sponge in his other hand. “What did I say about relaxing?” He starts, eyebrows raised. “Let me.”

“Graham, you don’t have t - “

“I want to.” He cuts you off, dipping the sponge into the water and rubbing it together with the soap. You lie back down and he slowly starts to wash you, leaning over the bathtub to reach your legs. You watch as the water spills over the side a little and dampens his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind. His fingertips lightly brush your thigh and you flinch as it tickles you. Graham laughs, doing it again on purpose until you’re practically kicking your feet like a paddling dog.

“Graham!” You squeal, grabbing his wrist and using all your strength to stop him. He splashes you in the face and you splash him back, just missing him as he ducks out of the way.

“You’re going to be the one cleaning that up later.” He jokes, gesturing to the small puddle behind him. You cover your mouth with your hand, laughing quietly as he shakes his head and continues his path up your body with the sponge. He’s gentle throughout, making sure not to scrub too harshly. You move so he can wash your back last, before he wrings out the sponge and places it back on the edge of the tub. “All clean.” He smiles, drying his hands on his jeans. You lie back, not wanting to get out just yet.

“Tell me about your day Graham, tell me something good.” You say, closing your eyes and letting the bubbles cover you again, or what’s left of them at least. He pushes his glasses back onto his face and ruffles his hair, sitting against the door with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“We rehearsed a couple songs today. We didn’t get through the whole setlist as Dave wasn’t feeling too well, and what can we do without the drummer, eh?” You keep your eyes closed as you listen to Graham talk. You could listen to him talk about music and the band for hours. You’re unbelievably proud of him and you know you’ll never get tired of hearing about every new song, music video or ridiculous lyric Damon has come out with. “Alex bought everyone lunch which was nice. Damon thought he’d broken something and was trying to butter us up or bribe us with the food!” He laughs, the sound so infectious that you can’t help but laugh with him.

“Was he bribing you?” You ask, opening your eyes and looking over at him. Butterflies dance inside your stomach as you admire Graham under the glaring white light above his head. Even in poor bathroom lighting he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever laid eyes on. His sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows and you can see little pen scribbles on one of his arms, most likely rushed notes from rehearsal. He never did allow himself the time to just find a piece of paper. His hair is sticking out a little at the front, probably from where his glasses were sitting previously. His cheeks are a rosy pink colour, as are yours, caused by the humidity in the room.

“Nope! He was just being nice.” He grins, standing to grab the towel from the radiator. He holds it out for you and you get up, quickly getting out and wrapping yourself in it. You mentally praise his genius for leaving it on the radiator, thankful for how warm it is. It’s exactly what you need, especially on a cold night in the middle of February.

He leads you back into the bedroom and runs over to close the window to keep you warm. “Alright, pyjamas or - “

”Can I have one of your shirts?” You interrupt, looking towards his set of drawers in the corner. “I don’t want the one you’re wearing, you’re all… soggy.”

He laughs at your choice of words before rummaging through his middle drawer to find the right shirt. He tosses it over to you and it’s one of your favourites; red, long-sleeved and fleecy on the inside. You slide it on with your usual stripy pyjama pants and let your hair down. Graham strips off and takes your laundry into the bathroom to put into the basket. Whilst there, he roughly dries the floor and blows out the candle. He then does a quick scan of the apartment to make sure everything is switched off and the door is locked properly before getting into bed with you.

It pours with rain outside but you love the sound against the windows. Graham hoists himself up against the bed frame and you lay your head on his chest, throwing your left arm over him. Both of your legs wrap around one of his and he keeps you close with his arm around your back. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” He asks, his hand drifting upwards to play with the ends of your hair.

“Can we go to Covent Garden and get cinnamon waffles and ice cream?” He chuckles at your response and the specificity of it.

“Ice cream in this weather?”

You nod, your hair tickling his bare chest. He pulls you in closer and adjusts the blanket so you’re covered properly. “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He kisses your head, and you sit up a little to face him. You stretch upwards to kiss him, his hand staying in your hair as he kisses back. You can still taste the sugar from the biscuits on his lips, and you smile into the kiss before lying back down and closing your eyes. You both whisper “I love you”s before you press one last kiss on his shoulder. Graham’s soft breathing coupled with the rain outside begins to lull you to sleep. He stays awake, stroking your hair and watching your feet fidget beneath the covers.

“You don’t have to go back to that job next week. I’ve got things covered until something else comes along.” He whispers, and you barely register his words as you hum in response and nuzzle your head into his chest. In that moment, everything feels OK and Graham knows that as long as you’re together and you have each other, that nothing can bring either of you down for too long. Once your breathing evens out, he closes his own eyes, but not without telling you how lucky he is beforehand. You’re not awake to hear it, but that doesn’t matter.

[lulu-zodiac]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jeremy Bradshaw

Tags: Early seasons Dean, pre-podcast Professor Bradshaw, denial, unresolved sexual tension, bickering, smut, gratuitous owl references, case fic

Summary: It's the fall of 2006, and a string of grisly deaths linked to local lore brings Sam and Dean to the village of Bridgewater. There, Dean finds himself working closely with the frustrating and unexpectedly compelling Professor Bradshaw.

---

Dean feels about as comfortable in old colleges as he does in churches. There’s the same sense of exclusivity, that same reverence of things Dean has spent his life stuck on wrong side of. This campus even feels a little like a church, with its old architecture and sprawling ruby ivy and slit windows like narrowed eyes. His footfalls echo heavily along the cold stone corridor, making him feel uncomfortably aware of his own existence.

The door he’s looking for is old and made of oak, nestled in an alcove near the staircase, with a small plaque on it that reads Professor J Bradshaw.

Dean pauses for a moment, then knocks abruptly, suddenly noticing his knuckles are still smudged with earth. From within, a muffled voice instructs him to enter, and he does so, wiping his hand surreptitiously against the side of his leather jacket.

The first thing that hits him is the sheer volume of books in the room; they clutter every available surface, piled high in front of the big bay window like a strange line of defense. There are stacks of loose papers everywhere too, haphazard but clearly organized, some held in place by empty coffee mugs or odd-looking artefacts. The air is bright and warm, like this room catches the sun when it’s slow and mellow in the afternoons.

The second thing that hits him is the man sitting at the desk.

He doesn’t look up at Dean’s entrance, continuing to scribble away in a leather-bound notebook with intent dexterity, seemingly utterly lost in his own thoughts. He’s not what Dean expected; surprisingly young, maybe approaching forty, with a sharp jaw and tousled hair that just brushes his broad shoulders. When Dean clears his throat awkwardly, the man finally looks up with striking blue eyes that immediately pin Dean in place.

“Yes?” his voice is inquiring and several octaves deeper than Dean would have imagined, low and gravelly. He sets down his pen, looking at Dean with piercing focus.

“Uh – hey. Professor Bradshaw?” Dean feels distinctly self-conscious.

“Who wants to know?” the man closes his notebook with a snap and stands with surprisingly fluid ease, eyes still intent on Dean as though he’s cataloguing him.

He’s wearing a faded navy-blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, slightly crumpled shirt tails poking out at the hem, just visible.

Drawing on years of sizing people up, Dean guesses that the guy probably has no one to go home to at night. If he goes home much at all, that is; the office has a distinctly lived-in look. It’s strangely reminiscent of the makeshift home feel of the impala’s interior.

“Um – Dean. Dean Collins,” Dean answers hastily, suddenly realizing he’s spent a little too long looking. “I’m uh – a student in one of your classes,” he lies the best way he knows how: with a charming smile. “I was wondering if you’ve got a moment? I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your work.”

“Come in, please,” Professor Bradshaw sits back down behind his desk, and gestures for Dean to close the door. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Dean shuts the door and awkwardly removes three hardback books and a small, slightly drooping fern from the only available seat in front of Professor Bradshaw’s desk.

“Sorry – let me –” Professor Bradshaw leans over the desk to relieve Dean of the books and the plant. Close up, Dean can see faint lines softening the corners of his vivid eyes, and when he breathes in, he catches a hint of peppermint and the musk of warm skin, strangely compelling. Their hands brush for a moment as Professor Bradshaw takes the items, and Dean flinches, jerking away and planting himself firmly on the chair.

“So – Dean, yes?” Professor Bradshaw settles back into his seat. He’s still looking intently at Dean, gaze startlingly blue.

Wordlessly, Dean nods. He doesn’t know why he can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re not in any of my classes, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, with a slight edge to his voice. He reaches for a half-drunk mug of tea on his desk, expression skeptical.

Dean feels his stomach drop. “Uh, yeah – I’m new, just transferred a couple weeks back,” he bluffs quickly, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He feels strangely flustered, visible.

“No, I don’t think so,” Professor Bradshaw says, flatly. “I believe I would have noticed,” he adds, wryly, with a kind of impatient warmth in his expression that makes Dean’s cheeks flare with heat all over again. Professor Bradshaw merely swallows a mouthful of tea and sets the mug back down, still looking at Dean. “So. Who are you?”

“Alright,” Dean puts his hands up in mock-surrender, smiling wide even though he feels stupidly on edge, knocked off course. “You got me. I’m – uh – a journalist. My boss has me writing a piece on local legends, and I was hoping to pick your brains. Heard you’re the expert on all that stuff around here, and thought I might be in with a better chance of talking to you as a student instead of some annoying reporter.”

“I see,” Professor Bradshaw leans back in his chair, contemplative. A shaft of sunlight filters through the bay window behind him, illuminating a hint of tawny in his dark, untidy hair. Dust motes hang everywhere like suspended snow. “Well, luckily for you, Dean, I find that my students can be just as annoying as reporters. And I still talk to them on a daily basis.”

Dean grins a little awkwardly, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I do get paid to do that,” Professor Bradshaw adds, dryly. “But perhaps I do them a disservice. Some of them are really quite inspiring.” He pauses, raising his mug to his lips. It has an owl on it, Dean notices absently. An overly fluffy one, with a slightly threatening glare. “I daresay I can spare five minutes. What is it that I can do for you, Dean?”

“Uh, so you study the supernatural, right?” Dean asks, clumsily. His hands are sweating where they’re shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Ghosts and demons and all that shit?”

“I study the lore and mythology of supernatural beings, and why it’s important to humans to create such stories,” Professor Bradshaw clarifies, shortly.

“Right, got it,” Dean agrees, hastily. “But you’d know a bit about the Bridgewater coven?”

“I am familiar with the legends, yes,” Professor Bradshaw replies, reaching for his mug again. There’s an ink stain on the side of his index finger, smudged deep blue. Dean fleetingly wonders if it would rub off easily if he touched it, if it would leave a ghostly imprint on his own skin.

“Yeah – uh – so there’s been quite a lot of interest in the coven recently,” Dean blusters, annoyed with himself for how stupidly flustered he feels, “You know, since those bodies were found last week? At the burial site in Bridgewater Forest that’s associated with the legend? Yeah. Well, anyway, I was – hoping you might be able to tell me a little more about the legend of the coven.”

“I don’t see what the recent tragedies could possibly have to do with the legend,” Professor Bradshaw narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Right – yeah – nothing, I’m sure,” Dean lies hastily, “But the location of the crimes has definitely raised awareness about the existence of the legend, and that’s what we really want to provide for our readers.”

“Well, certainly, I can tell you the history,” Professor Bradshaw replies, briskly, “In fact, I teach an undergrad course on witchcraft in history and my lecture this Wednesday actually covers the legend of the coven. If you want a more detailed, nuanced version, you’re more than welcome to come along then – it’s at 11am in the Milton building. But I’m happy to give you the short version now, if that would be helpful?”

“Thanks – yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says, gratefully. “On a bit of a tight schedule today.”

“Well, the local legend about the Bridgewater coven has existed for almost two hundred years,” Professor Bradshaw starts, and immediately Dean can picture him talking in front of a lecture theatre full of kids. He’s a natural, something inherently captivating about the way he speaks. “In the 1800s, this village was an important site of religious pilgrimage. However, according to the legend, the village was also home to a small coven lead by a witch named Iris. Iris’s coven was said to have lived in secrecy in the forest on the outskirts of Bridgewater for years, and not to have troubled the village people. However, by 1816, the legend claims the coven had become very hostile, specifically towards the church. There were fears the coven had begun indoctrinating – or bewitching – members of the congregation.”

Professor Bradshaw pauses, swallowing another mouthful of tea. The muscles in his throat work, drawing Dean’s attention to the way his pale blue shirt isn’t buttoned up properly. He’s filled with the sudden, inexplicable urge to button it up correctly.

“More and more people started disappearing in connection with the coven,” Professor Bradshaw continues, setting his mug back down on the desk, and Dean jerks his gaze guiltily away from the line of his throat, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his leather jacket. “The rapidly diminishing congregation lived in terror. The remaining members of the church all turned against each other. Then, at the height of local hysteria, Iris is said to have murdered Blanche, the minister’s daughter, in what is portrayed in the lore as some kind of statement of the coven’s power over the church.”

“Bet that didn’t go down too well,” Dean remarks, sardonically.

“Quite,” Professor Bradshaw catches Dean’s eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, according to the legend, the tragedy of Blanche’s death united the warring members of the congregation. They captured Iris and entombed her alive, using her own magic against her to keep her trapped. Iris’s death broke the spell on the members of the congregation who’d been indoctrinated against their will, and peace was restored to the village. The few remaining members of the original coven fled and were never seen again.”

“Wow,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “Very love-thy-neighbor.”

Professor Bradshaw snorts, “Yes. Religious leaders in the 1800s were renowned for sitting down and resolving their problems through compassionate discussion,” he remarks, dryly.

“Okay, but what about the other versions of the legend?” Dean asks, trying to remember the things Sam had told him to ask about, but drawing a total blank. His brain feels weirdly scrambled. It’s hard to remember what happened before walking into Professor Bradshaw’s office. “The other stories about the coven I’ve come across so far all seem pretty different.”

Professor Bradshaw frowns slightly. “It’s true, there are many conflicting accounts. Which is often the case with legends, being human constructions of the past,” he regards Dean slightly disapprovingly over the rim of his owl mug, a kind of skeptical stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “It’s not about knowing which ‘to believe’ – it’s about looking at why historically people have favored one version over the other and what that tells us about them.”

“Right, yeah, but aren’t legends often based on fact?” Dean pushes.

Professor Bradshaw pauses, contemplatively, “Yes. That’s certainly true in some cases.”

“Do you think it’s the case in this one?”

“Possibly,” Professor Bradshaw replies, haltingly. His expression is serious and he hesitates for a moment before elaborating; “In fact, I’m currently writing a paper about the historical figures who feature in the legend of the Bridgewater coven.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Dean presses. He’s used to having to fake interest to get information out of people like Professor Bradshaw, but for once, he finds he’s genuinely interested. There’s something compelling about Professor Bradshaw’s evidently obsessive quest for obscure answers, something that resonates with all too much familiarity.

“Iris, predominantly,” Professor Bradshaw replies. “I’m very interested in the historical reasons women were condemned as witches. Often, it’s as simple as jilted male lovers using accusations of witchcraft as a means of revenge, or the women using herbal remedies that threatened contemporary male ideas of medicine and the body. Sometimes it’s to do with female homosexuality and society’s unacceptance of same sex relationships or women as sexual beings. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for gay men to be condemned for witchcraft either. But statistically, more homosexual women died as a result of such accusations.”

“Uh – right –” Dean swallows, looking away. His hands are sweating again, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the insides of his pockets. Clearing his throat, he changes the subject, suddenly remembering the other thing Sam had told him to ask Professor Bradshaw about, “What about the runes?”

“Ah yes, the runes on Iris’s supposed tomb,” Professor Bradshaw’s gaze is suddenly inscrutable in a way that makes Dean’s heart thud uncomfortably in his chest. It sweeps over Dean, lingering and unnervingly blue for a moment, before he continues, “Very interesting. I’ve been studying them a great deal as part of my research. The true nature of them has always remained a mystery, and any attempts to discern their meaning haven’t fitted with the legend at all. I believe they may be key to understanding the history behind the creation of the legend. But,” he smiles, wryly, “It’s not an easy task. They’re unlike any runes I’ve come across anywhere else before.”

“Can I see?” Dean asks, partly out of interest, and partly for some way of distracting himself from the way his heart is still thumping uncomfortably fast.

“You’d have to visit the forest burial site to see them in person, but I do have a couple of sketches of the lines I’m working on at the moment,” Professor Bradshaw gets to his feet and crosses to the cabinet by the window, pulling the top drawer open.

The fall chestnut trees outside smolder amber behind his silhouette, midday sunshine pale gold and still where it filters through the window. Time seems strangely irrelevant. Dean watches as Professor Bradshaw flicks through a green binder, fingers quick and dexterous, skilled and uncalloused in a way Dean’s have never had the chance to be.

Dean swallows and looks away, ignoring the thud of his heart as he stares around at the rest of the room. He clocks a bunch of compendiums of mythology on the bookcase nearest him, and two other eccentric and slightly neglected looking plants. There’s a thick plaid rug on the couch in the corner, not quite concealing a plate of half-eaten toast. On the windowsill, there’s a little tin mug with a toothbrush in it that makes Dean wonder again just how often Professor Bradshaw goes home at all. He finds himself wondering whether Professor Bradshaw has always had nothing but an empty house to return to, or whether that’s a more recent development. He’s definitely old enough to be going through a divorce. The thought sits uncomfortably in Dean’s chest for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to identify.

“Here we are.” Professor Bradshaw’s gravelly voice, suddenly much closer, makes Dean jump. He glances around to find Professor Bradshaw standing beside him, holding out a sheet of paper. The smell of warm skin and peppermint catches Dean off guard, stronger this time, and still strangely compelling.

“Uh – thanks,” Dean says awkwardly, taking the proffered page. He feels Professor Bradshaw’s fingers brush against his fleetingly, warm and ink-stained.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to focus on the page in front of him even though his cheeks are hot with something he doesn’t want to think about. The sketches are good, a few strange vaguely Norse reminiscent symbols drawn hastily with accompanying, scrawled notes in the margins. There’s something about the runes that niggles at Dean’s brain, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like something he’s known his whole life but can’t put his finger on.

“These are interesting,” Dean he frowns, tracing his finger along the two last symbols.

When he glances up, he finds Professor Bradshaw looking at him intently, blue eyes inscrutable. “Yes,” he says, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Those are the ones which struck me too,” he’s speaking a little quieter, low voice distracting Dean from why the runes are so familiar. He hopes he can remember them, that Sam will be able to place what he can’t about them.

“So, uh, this tomb. The one with the runes on it – that’s definitely where that guy’s body was found last week? It wasn’t just nearby or something?” Dean forces himself to ask, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly thumping again. “And the girl found the week before – she was directly linked to the burial site too?”

Professor Bradshaw clears his throat, unfolding his arms. “I believe so, yes.”

“And that doesn’t seem – I don’t know – a little strange, to you?”

“Human beings committing violent acts against each other is generally something I find a little strange,” Professor Bradshaw replies, in clipped tones. “But beyond that – no. Now –” he breaks off, glancing at his watch. “I’m afraid I have a seminar to deliver in ten minutes,” he confesses, and there’s something unfinished about the way he says it, something almost reluctant. Like he half wants to stay here talking with Dean.

“No problem,” Dean stands, and takes a last glance at the sketches before handing them back, trying to commit them to memory. “Thanks, Professor.”

Their eyes meet as Professor Bradshaw accepts the page, and the room suddenly feels very airless, a pause suspended between them. Neither of them moves away.

This close, Dean can see miniscule flecks of grey like tiny stars lost in blue of Professor Bradshaw’s eyes, the way that his full lips are slightly chapped, like maybe he worries them between his teeth when he’s thinking. They’re soft pink and warm-looking, and Dean wonders fleetingly if they taste like peppermint tea.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, gently, and his eyes are so blue.

“Uh – yeah – you too. Thanks. I’d – uh – I’d better get going,” Dean stammers, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing the way his cheeks are suddenly flaming with heat. His thoughts churn unsteadily; he ignores them the way he’s learnt to.

Still feeling strangely wound-up, he nods awkwardly at Professor Bradshaw and turns reluctantly towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Dean –” Professor Bradshaw’s voice halts Dean in his tracks as he reaches the door, and Dean turns expectantly, heat thumping a little painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Here – you’re welcome to borrow a couple of books on local history,” Professor Bradshaw is pulling a couple of books down from the overflowing cabinet by the window. “They should have a bit more about the legend of the coven that you might find interesting. Divergences of the legend and so forth. I’ll need them back by Thursday morning as I’m teaching a class on them in the afternoon, but you’re welcome to borrow them until then if they’d be helpful.”

“You sure?” Dean takes the proffered books awkwardly, and swallows the strange disappointment sinks in him like a stone as Professor Bradshaw steps back again. “Thanks.”

“As I said, I’m also giving a lecture on Wednesday where I’ll be examining the history behind the legend of the coven. I meant what I said - you’d be more than welcome to attend,” Professor Bradshaw says, sincerely. His eyes are intent, and there’s a hint of something almost like hopefulness hidden in the depths of his gravelly voice. Working on long ingrained instinct, Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see what my schedule’s like,” Dean replies, haltingly.

“Of course,” Professor Bradshaw agrees. He turns back to his desk.

“Can I ask –” Dean pauses, watching Professor Bradshaw stuff another notebook and a stack of handouts into his briefcase. “You said you’re writing a paper about the runes at the forest burial site– do you go to there much?”

Professor Bradshaw glances up, distractedly. “Yes, I spend time there every week.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything – I don’t know – anything unusual when you’ve been there recently?” Dean ventures.

“Unusual how?” Professor Bradshaw closes his briefcase with a snap and looks up at Dean properly, eyes narrowed with sudden skepticism. It’s stronger than the hints Dean has caught at other points during their conversation, sharp and blue, a world away from the observant warmth of a few moments ago.

“I dunno – odd noises, sudden drops in temperature, shadows –”

“Just what are you asking me?” Professor Bradshaw demands, voice clipped and defensive.

“Have you seen anything like that?” Dean presses, stubbornly. Irritation prickles his skin.

“No, I haven’t,” Professor Bradshaw says, bluntly. “And you know why? Because yes, I study the supernatural – but it’s not real, Dean. I don’t know what kind of sensational article you’re writing about local lore, but I can assure you, lore is all it is.” He winds a striped scarf haphazardly around his neck, and grabs his briefcase off the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

-

Sam is eating some gross looking granola yoghurt pot with a plastic spoon when Dean eventually clambers back into the car, feeling distinctly frustrated.

“You took your time,” he remarks idly, raising an eyebrow as Dean adjusts the mirror with an unnecessary amount of force and turns on the ignition.

“Goddamn waste of time was what it was,” Dean mutters mutinously, pulling out of the space and then immediately being forced to hit the brakes when a cluster of students cross the parking lot in front of him. He grinds his teeth and resists the urge to honk the horn. “Thought I was getting somewhere but he completely shut down the minute I asked him if he’d noticed anything weird at the burial site.”

“Suspicious?” Sam frowns, through a mouthful of granola.

“No, don’t think so. Just really damn touchy,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as he waits for the students to move, “And a bit of an asshole. I dunno, suppose working in his field he’s probably used to people thinking he’s just some lunatic who believes in the supernatural.”

“And does he?”

Dean snorts. “No way. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. You’d think someone who’s spent the last twenty years with their head buried in books about ghosts and covens and demonic possession might be a little more open to the idea,” he shrugs, and gives in to the temptation to lean on the horn, reveling in the brief satisfaction of making the students jump and scurry out of the way, “But no. The guy’s absolutely blind to it all, and could rival you on stubbornness.”

Sam purses his mouth in annoyance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Get anything useful at all?”

“He did lend me a couple books,” Dean admits, nodding in the direction of the backseat. “Have to take them back on Thursday morning, though. He needs them for some class.”

“He leant you his books?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, skin prickling in annoyance, “What of it?”

“Dunno, that’s just,” Sam swallows a mouthful of yoghurt, “Pretty trusting. Academics usually treat their books as if they’re their first borns.”

“Don’t mess them up when you read them, then,” Dean says, dismissively, as they pull out onto the main street. “You find out anything useful about the victims?”

“Not really,” Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh, “Both from middle class, religious families. Seem to have been pretty well liked by people. Hard to establish any link more than that. The wife of the guy that was killed last week seemed a bit cagey, though,” he shrugs, “Might be worth a second visit to see if she’s holding out on us about something.”

“Right,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as they wait for a light to change. It’s starting to drizzle, tiny flecks of grey hitting the windshield. “Are we still definitely thinking ghost?”

“Seems like it,” Sam affirms, “The way the victims died definitely points to a vengeful spirit. But the place they were killed – connected to the burial site associated with the coven? I don’t know, I was thinking maybe it’s no ordinary ghost. Maybe it’s the vengeful spirit of a witch, and that’s why it’s so powerful?”

“Hm,” Dean mulls it over, flicking the windscreen wipers on as they continue to wait. They squeak slightly, repetitive and familiar. “You could be onto something there.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor Bradshaw was telling me about the local legend of the coven. Apparently, its leader was entombed alive by a bunch of angry churchgoers,” Dean steps on the accelerator as the light finally changes, and the rain-slicked village slides past in a blur. “That’s got to be some pretty good vengeful spirit material right there. And you said the victims were both religious, right? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why now, though?” Sam frowns. “It’s been what – two hundred years? There must have been plenty of churchgoers who walked by the burial site before now.”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs, staring out at the rainy smudge of fall colors. The chestnuts trees lining the street are the same smoldering hue of amber as the one outside Professor Bradshaw’s window.

They drive in silence for a few moments, wipers squeaking.

“Okay,” Sam says, at length, “So I’m thinking – we go check into a motel, get through as much of these books from your professor as we can while we wait for the rain to stop, and then check out the burial site later this afternoon before it gets dark?” Sam asks, chucking his plastic spoon in the empty yoghurt container.

“He’s not ‘my professor’,” Dean says defensively, and suddenly has to step a little too hard on the breaks to avoid running a red light.

“Alright,” Sam says, slowly. “Okay.”

“Anyway, yeah,” Dean blusters, hastily, ignoring the weight of Sam’s gaze on the side of his face, “Works for me. But first,” he flicks on the indicator and pulls into a space near a little line of local shops. “Food. Not that yoghurty shit you’ve been eating. Real food.”

-

The forest is steeped in quiet in the way all ancient places are, fall singing the leaves on the gnarled branches that claw their way towards the fading gold of the late afternoon sun. Dean breathes in the wet, cloying smell of moss and follows Sam’s careful path through the trees. There’s a chill in the air, but the handle of Dean’s blade is hot in the palm of his hand.

“How much further to this place?” he hisses at Sam’s back, swatting a frond of bracken out of his face and casting his gaze edgily through the twisting branches and burnt amber.

“Nearly there, according to –” Sam stops so abruptly that Dean nearly collides with him, throwing out a cautionary arm.

“What?” Dean whispers urgently, instantly drawing his blade. His heart is racing now, whole body tense, coiled, ready to attack. His gaze flickers rapidly through the mess of branches and he stands on his tiptoes, trying to see past Sam’s stupidly large frame. “Sammy,” he hisses, impatiently, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer, “What is it?”

“There’s something there,” Sam breathes, almost inaudible. His posture is still, alert. Dean can see Sam’s hold on the gun in his back pocket tighten.

“What kind of something?” Dean whispers, craning his neck to try and see. The light seems somehow dimmer already, the fading sun sliding further towards the ground. When he breathes in, the smell of wet leaves is stronger, now that they’re in the heart of the forest. His heart is thrumming so fast but everything else feels suspended in time, unnaturally still.

“I think it’s a person,” Sam murmurs, and somewhere close, Dean hears the brittle rustle of dead leaves, loud and unnerving in the wooded quiet. He watches the quickened rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders as his breathing suddenly sharpens. “They’re holding something. They – shit, Dean, they’re coming this way.”

Dean reacts immediately and on nearly twenty years of protective instinct; he shoves Sam out of the way and stumbles out into the clearing, blade brandished in front of him.

---

[micheswife]

Confessions

MICHE ZACHARIAS X SHY CADET

Miche finally tells his crush he likes her. That's it

Miche watched her from Erwin’s office as she left the headquarters to enjoy a well-deserved break. The evening sun highlighted her brunette curls, stopping just below her delicate shoulders. It was a shame really, her hair used to touch her waist when she first joined. She was so incredibly shy and anxious back then, struggling to find her place among younger people that were much stronger than her. He remembered back when she declined the promotion for the sake of her happiness. It had been 3 years since y/n joined the survey corps at the age of 20. She was a late beginner, but her analytical skills, a fateful emotional meltdown and a background in research had soon gotten her a place under section commander Hange. Y/n was not good as a fighter, but she was observant, more than Erwin and Hange. Miche could not help but notice her, she was cute after all. She had flaws, just like everyone else, but the veteran soldier was drawn to her in particular. He couldn’t remember when he felt like that for the first time. Maybe it was when he saw her for the first time, clutching a soiled handwritten application and trying her hardest to put on a brave face. Who knows? Who cares? The important part was that he liked her, she did not know and he was not going to tell.

“What are you looking at Miche? “

“N-nothing, Erwin. Go on…”

Miche went back to focusing on the meeting. y/n had already disappeared in the next lane, so there was no point looking outside. The meeting would go on for hours, as usual, veterans had no holidays.

Meanwhile, y/n made herself comfortable near the quiet riverbank. It was one of the few attractions in the little land of Paradis, especially after the fall of Wall Maria. The serene river glowed red under the now darkening sun rays. Y/n had about 30 minutes to draw something, after which it would get too dark. Problem was, y/n had no idea what to draw. So she just sat there, wondering about her life. It seemed self-indulgent to refuse work only to get out and ponder about herself, but she needed it. The chaos inside the headquarters hardly did her any good. She wanted quiet and peace, but what she had right now was just pure loneliness. Y/n had friends, but nobody close or free enough to sit under the open night sky. So she sat all alone over the wall, the cold breeze ruffling her hair. If only there were someone to hold her.

“Bottomline, all of you must prepare your squads for next month’s expedition. We can’t afford to compromise manpower. Pay attention to the weak members, we need them to come back alive. You all are dismissed.”

Miche walked out of Erwin’s office and went straight to his room that he shared with Dieter, another squad leader. He felt tired, as though he knew what was about to come. A lot of action and a shit ton of casualties, not to forget all the rigorous training he was about to deliver on the cadets.

“What a long day..”

“Tomorrow’s going to be longer, Ness.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you will make it through the expedition?”

Miche scrunched his nose at the odd yet totally reasonable question. Him and Dieter served the scout regiment since their teenage years, yet they never quite got used to the anxiety before impending doom. Against his overbearing stress, Miche gave him a positive answer hoping to lift his spirits.

“I will make it out alive, Ness. The most damage I will end up with is a lost limb, after which I will retire and live a peaceful life. Don’t worry.” Miche finished with his signature scoff, masking his true emotions. The shameless, pretentious display of cockiness was all worth the little chuckle from Ness, the most sociable, tender man among veterans.

They made their way to the dining hall after chit chatting and freshening up. Their tables had the usual serving of bread, soup and vegetables. His eyes scanned the place for the owner of those beautiful, crazy curls, y/n, she should have been back by now. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Usually it was so easy to spot her in her corner seat. Perhaps Hange assigned her some work, but he couldn’t risk revealing his crush by asking the overly-energetic squad leader. So he quietly finished his plate, feeling just a little hint of emptiness because he missed y/n.

“Nifa, find y/n and tell her I want her in the lab tomorrow at 6am sharp.” Mike overheard Hange speaking from a couple of tables away.

“Yes captain.” Nifa quickly finished her meal and left the dining hall and eventually the headquarters. Her face made it clear that she had done this several times now and Miche was not surprised. Y/n was often in her own head and stayed out for a long time. Miche just found it unusual for her to stay out this late. It was cold outside, no person in their right mind would stay out past 8pm. He wished he knew what was going on inside the girl’s head that made her personality so withdrawn, but he did not have the time. He needed to draft a schedule for this week’s training and tests for the cadets. Just the thought of sitting in an office doing paperwork with a candlelight flickering throughout the night made him feel calm. He was extremely skilled on the field, but he liked doing paperwork too. His studious side was something only his immediate squad and other veterans were familiar with. Sometimes he couldn’t help fantasizing about sharing his study with y/n. Aside from his feelings, y/n had the brains to draft a perfect test that tapped into all the necessary skills for the next expedition. After all, that was what she had been doing before joining the survey corps, albeit in a different field. Miche stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him. He felt dumb, so dumb. He had drafted so many tests, all by himself, fully knowing that there was someone that could probably do it better than him. Fully knowing that y/n had been a psychology student, and she had perfected the theory subjects after joining the survey corps. He turned around and approached Hange.

“Would you mind if I borrow one of your soldiers for a while?”

“That depends, Miche, who are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I need her help drafting the tests tonight. I think she can do a good job.”

“You are right.. I’ll let her know.”

“Tell her to be in my office by 9;30 tonight.”

Miche left for his office to begin work, he wanted to finish as much as he could before y/n showed up. Because work was not the only thing he was concerned about. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was dubious, but he needed to do it. It was funny how a few hours ago he thought he’d never confess his feelings, but later created an opportunity to do that exact thing. He couldn’t believe himself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was 9;30 sharp, and Miche heard a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked, and take a seat before me.” He said without lifting his head.

Y/n made herself comfortable and glanced over three open books and a single page. Miche was writing down questions.

“Alright y/n, I need your help drafting the question papers for tomorrow’s tests. Of course, you will be exempted from actually taking the test as a reward.”

“Understood, sir”

“Good, now I want you to create 30 questions that combine the concepts of formations, weaponry and strategy. Make them difficult, and make sure to base it upon the last 5 expeditions.”

“Alright-”

“You have 2 hours to finish this.”

“Okay..” y/n walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed a heap of books. Miche raised his eyebrows in confusion,

“How are you going to refer to that many books and finish it within time?” Miche questioned her.

“I will, don’t worry.” y/n’s sudden confidence took him aback.

“Well good luck.”

Time flew by quickly as both of them were engrossed in their work, the only sounds coming from the candle and turning of pages. It wasn’t peaceful to be precise, y/n was turning pages with such aggression it made the section commander steal glances at her. She would flip through the pages and write down important points, constantly checking the time as she worked. Her handwriting got messier as time flew by and Miche couldn’t help but notice. He could tell that y/n totally had the plan to give those cadets a hard time. She had a weak, but cocky smirk the whole time, and Miche was just glad that he was not one of the people that would need to take the test. He knew that expression and aggressive handwriting very well. She always wore that smirk while writing exams, and everytime she came out on top. Miche knew she was overcompensating for her sub-par physique and iron-deficiency that interfered with her ODM skills, but that semblance of confidence on her face always turned him on. Her hair was still messed up, she struggled to keep that twisted fringe out of her face.

“Where’s the ruler?!” Y/n asked loudly, shaking Miche out of his trance.

“Wait…” He fished out a ruler from the clutter in his drawer and handed it to y/n.

“What are you drawing?”

“A wrong diagram of the latest formation.” Y/n replied curtly.

“I see.. Good.”

Miche was organizing his drawer after finishing his work when y/n handed him the tests. It was 11;30 sharp. The ink had somehow gotten between y/n’s fingers. Miche went through all seven pages of three extremely complicated tests and shot a glance at y/n, who looked like she was awaiting his praise. She was sitting with her back straight, wide eyed and messy hair. Miche chuckled, and y/n smiled. She knew she had done those cadets dirty with her questions.

“You have a naughty side, don’t you?” “Kitten” , was the term Miche refrained from using at the end.

Y/n nodded with a cheeky grin. The section commander squinted and got up from his chair, towering over her. A faint blush crept over her cheeks as she broke eye contact with him, staring down at her feet instead. Her delicate shoulders now looked tensed up under her transparent, embroidered shoulder shawl. The pile of paperwork didn’t allow him to notice her beautiful blush pink dress. She had embroidered little flowers to accentuate her figure all the way down to her hips.

“You look beautiful in that dress.” Miche blurted out, causing her to blush harder and breathe unevenly.

“Thank you, sir..”

“Look at me when you speak.”

“O-okay..” she slowly raised her head, still not wanting to make eye contact.

“I will be straight to the point y/n… I like you, not just as a comrade.”

“Understood.” y/n was taking quick, short breaths, causing the tall blonde to get on his knees. She had gone back to her timid mouse state and he could no longer read her.

“Are you scared right now?” Miche tried hard to not sound like a creep.

“No, I like you too!”

“That’s -” he began to speak but got cut off.

“More than a comrade, if you were wondering…” she trailed off shyly. Miche kept staring at her, dumbstruck at her honest confession. This whole time he had no idea about her feelings.

"When were you planning to tell me ..?" Miche asked, pulling a chair behind him. He was still leaning towards y/n with an expression of pure shock.

"I… Never planned on saying anything." Y/n's expression saddened as she looked at him with her doe eyes.

"I can understand.". he was telling the truth. The realisation that their confessions were a result of his impulsive decision dawned on him. He couldn't take his eyes off her form. She looked anxious, fondling with her pendant in one hand.

"Do you want to take this further?" Y/n asked with a shaky voice, and his answer was immediate.

"Yes."

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?" The 35 year old man felt like a teenager trying to walk on eggshells. The woman before him giggled and nodded in approval, finally lifting her hand from the pendant. She was starting to settle down, although the butterflies in her stomach made it difficult. Miche was about to lean in when she stopped him and got up from her chair.

"I forgot to lock the door." She said naughtly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, I really wanted to turn this into a smut, but I am too chicken. 🙈🥺

[swaps55]

Mnemonic

This is an AU version of a standalone scene from Cantata that I rewrote with kissing. Because there was a lot of UST and I am weak. 

Ao3

14 June 2180, Hades Gamma, Farinata System, SSV Myeongnyang

For a biotic, the armor never really comes off. What they carry under their skin is like a live wire, a current always in need of grounding.

Standing face-to-face with half a dozen L2 biotics holding the chairman of the Parliament Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies hostage on the MSV Ontario makes it a lot easier for Kaidan to see how much he takes for granted having a safe place to do it. And knowing how.

Reparations for the L2 side effects are a pipe dream. But a pipe dream Colin Daggett and his people needed to cling to, whatever the cost. And it had almost cost them everything.

Shepard doesn’t say much as they arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the Madrid’s brig and the engineering crew arrives to secure the Ontario for the trip to Arcturus. He says even less on the way through the airlock back to the ‘Yang, and the rest of the squad take their lead from him.

When they’re back on board the ship he disappears, sucking the air out of the room with him. They kit down without him.

“You’re an L2, aren’t you?” Pendergrass asks as she shoves her arms through the sleeves of her uniform, armor plating in a heap at her feet.  

Beaudoin jabs her with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Kaidan murmurs, fingers tracing the amp port on the back of his neck when he removes the protection plate. He flexes his fingers, gravity well jumping into his touch. As he reaches for his chest plate to store it in his gear locker, an electric shock passes through him.

When 23:00 rolls around, Kaidan shows up in the mess as usual, figuring he’ll keep it simple tonight and just make some pasta. Shepard is there waiting, as usual, picking at a spot on the table while Kaidan pulls out a pot and finds a container of pasta. The entire time the water boils Shepard doesn’t say a word, stubbornly lost in thought.

Kaidan tells himself he’s not going to do more than olive oil and garlic – it’s been too long of a day for effort – but by the time he gets it to the table there’s parmesan cheese, parsley, and even a little red pepper in the mix.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or do I get to guess?” Kaidan asks when he sits down across from him and hands off a fork. He spent too much energy on going above and beyond with the red pepper to bother with a second bowl. They’ll just have to share.

Shepard looks up, almost in surprise. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking ever since you got Chairman Burns through the airlock. Maybe you should think out loud.”

The gravity well churns as Shepard stirs eddies in it, in tune with the twirl of his fork in the pasta bowl. “Everything that happened on that ship hinged on what Daggett did with his pistol.”

His toying intensifies, until blue energy shimmers around his knuckles. This one’s been chewing at him. A snap of electricity skips between his finger and the fork, and he drops it with an annoyed mutter. He looks up.

“You pulled the gun out of his hands,” he says.

And Shepard had put a bullet between his eyes. The fight had gone out of the rest pretty quickly.

“He wasn’t going to put it down,” Kaidan says. “We all knew it.”

“No. He wasn’t. And if you hadn’t been there, that standoff turns into a clusterfuck where everyone dies.”

A soft smile tugs at Kaidan’s lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there.”

Shepard picks up the fork again, staring at it with an unfocused gaze before he stabs it back in the bowl and twirls more pasta.  

“I couldn’t have done what you did. I can’t refine a field like that. I was prepared to shoot everyone in that room. But you pulled the gun right out of his hands.”

Only because Shepard had given him the chance. Whether Shepard had done it with purpose or actually hesitated is a question he hasn’t been in a hurry to examine too closely.

“We work together, remember? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Shepard huffs. “Yeah. We have.”

“But you’re just gonna get bent out of shape about not being able to do everything yourself, anyway.”

“Have you met me?” Shepard says with a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. He pushes his chair back. “Come on, then.”

Shepard casts him a suspicious look. “Come where?”

“To the gym.”

“Alenko—”

“Come on.” He nods towards the elevator and starts walking, smirking a little when Shepard’s chair scrapes against the floor and his feet hit the deckplates.

“You’re just dying to give me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you,” Shepard grouches when they board the lift.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Apparently not when it comes to taking people’s pistols out of their hands.”

Shepard chuckles, though he tries to choke off a smile by looking down at his feet. When they get to the gym Kaidan digs a canteen out of his locker and sets it down on one of the sparring mats.

“I’m guessing that your training didn’t include a lot of control drills,” he says.

Shepard shakes his head. “Tulak wasn’t big on control. Overwhelming tidal force tends to be the krogan approach.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Alenko.”

Kaidan grins and points to the canteen. “Start simple. Just lift it off the ground.”  

Shepard rolls his eyes, but taps into the gravity well, corona enveloping him in a shroud of snapping blue tendrils. The hairs on Kaidan’s arms stand on end.

It’s so rare he gets to just watch Shepard work. All unrestrained power, from the loose, angry snarl of his corona to the sweeping mnemonics, make him seem larger than life. When he swipes the canteen off the floor he does it with his entire arm. The canteen leaps into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before Shepard wrangles it. He only holds it still for half a second before sending it skidding to the other side of the gym.

“Hm,” Kaidan says.

Shepard gives him a withering look before marching off to fetch the wayward canteen. “It’s small. I don’t do well with small.”

“Not sure the size trips you up as much as you think it does,” Kaidan muses. “That mnemonic of yours applies some pretty impressive force automatically, so you’re already playing catch up if you’re trying to control the speed or direction.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or giving me shit.”

“Both.”

“Har.”

Shepard resets the canteen and comes back to Kaidan to try it again, standing close but not so close their fields intersect. Kaidan watches through three variations that all end almost the same way, too much force being applied to the canteen, making it nearly impossible for Shepard to control where it goes, or where it doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter that he’s not accomplishing what it intends. The way the gravity well cants under his touch, the way his corona lights him ablaze like a flickering star, the way it caresses every nerve in Kaidan’s body like a swash of silk is mesmerizing. Kaidan swallows before trying to speak.  

“Good news is, if we ever need someone to punt a suspicious canteen into space, I know who to call.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “And if you’re not around to yank pistols out of terrorist hands?”

“Well, first, I will be around. But second, as for the pistol, yanking it towards you isn’t so different from kicking it away from you.” He cracks a grin. “In your case you just need to be prepared to duck.”

“Have I mentioned that separating the pistol from the person holding it wouldn’t end well for anyone?” Shepard says. “If you were to go hold that canteen in your palm and ask me to do what I just did, you wouldn’t like me very much.”

I doubt that.

“One problem at a time,” Kaidan says. “Let’s work on controlling the canteen by itself, then we’ll add clutter.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You need a new mnemonic. You’re fighting yourself by adding force and trying to take it away at the same time.”

“I’m sensing a metaphor.”

Kaidan smirks. “Think that says more about you than it does me.” Before Shepard can protest he raises an arm. “Watch me. You don’t have to use my mnemonic, but I want you to see something different so you can visualize it.”

Shepard folds his arms across his chest, but does what Kaidan asks. A nervous thrill runs through him at the undivided attention.

Kaidan waves a wrist, a hard-learned, hard-fought mnemonic that now feels as natural as breathing. Dark energy rushes through him, responsive and willing, as his fingers flex and settle a field over the canteen. Very little mass-shifting needed to pick up a light-weight canteen, which makes it tricky to keep from doing exactly what Shepard did – send it spinning out of control. But Kaidan has spent years perfecting his ability to do exactly this, so the canteen rises off the floor until it reaches eye level. Kaidan closes his fist and holds it still, floating almost motionless in mid-air.

“That mnemonic is so damned subtle,” Shepard says with an appreciative shake of his head. A flush builds at the back of Kaidan’s neck.

“Easier for me that way.”

Shepard grunts and unfolds his arms. “I was never good at levitation.”

“Because your mnemonics always apply force.”

“Need force to yank that pistol.”

“Sure, but if you want to control it, you need to learn how to hold it still.”

“I’m not good at still.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, lips curving into a smile. “So come here and let me show you.”  

Shepard strays a step closer into Kaidan’s biotic field. The blend of auras creates a low keen through his nerves, familiar but always striking. The canteen wavers before falling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Shepard mumbles, but doesn’t back away.

“It’s fine,” Kaidan says, lifting the canteen again with another float of his palm.

Their eyes lock for a moment before Shepard clears his throat and looks down at Kaidan’s hand.

“You put everything in your wrist.”

“Yeah,” he manages. “You do it all with your arms.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe, if you’re looking for finesse, try to create a mnemonic that’s a little, uh, smaller.”    

“With my wrist.”

“Right. Um, I’ll show you. Here.” He steps in front of Shepard, angling his body to align their right arms. He takes Shepard’s right hand guides it to his wrist, tingle running down his spine when his fingers close around it. Shepard glances at him with soft eyes that stop the breath in his throat, but doesn’t object.

“Hands-on teacher?”

“Best way to learn,” Kaidan replies, gaze flicking to Shepard’s mouth before going back to the canteen. “Just follow my lead. Don’t act on the canteen. Concentrate on what my arm does. Visualize it.”

“Sure,” Shepard murmurs.

Kaidan reaches into the gravity well, his own corona unfurling, a steady candle to Shepard’s flaring torch. Goosebumps rise on Shepard’s arm, a subtle reminder that he’s human after all, one Kaidan is almost never close enough to witness.

He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist, Shepard’s fingers loose and feather-light against his skin. A crackle of dark energy passes between them before he snares the canteen and turns his wrist palm-up to lift it off the floor, Shepard close enough his breath washes over Kaidan’s cheek. The canteen wavers but Kaidan keeps it afloat for several seconds, the mingle of auras, ripple of kinetic energy and closeness of Shepard enough to make him dizzy.

He lets it go with a clatter and puts space between them.

“Does that help?” he asks, trying not to sound breathless.

“Yeah. It does.” Shepard’s gaze stays on him, still and steady. “Might take a while to hard-wire my brain for something in the wrist.”

“Doesn’t have to be that. It could be something else. But you associate those big movements with force. Take that away, you might have more luck with leaving velocity out of the initial execution, so you can add it how you need it. Have more control over it.”

Shepard’s mouth crooks in a half-smile. “Sure I’m not a lost cause when it comes to control?”

“I’m sure.”

Shepard breaks his gaze and focuses on the canteen, brow furrowed in concentration. Twice he catches himself using his arm, then nearly wrenches his wrist trying to restrict the movement.

“It’s so ingrained,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s why they work,” Kaidan says with a smile. “Here.” He steps close once again, positions reversed with his hand on Shepard’s wrist this time. “Let me help.”

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” Shepard says with a laugh.

Hastily, he loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shepard says with a grin.  “Go on.”

Gently, Kaidan closes his fingers again. Shepard trains his eyes on the canteen, though they dart to Kaidan ever so briefly.

Shepard’s corona is so bright, so fierce, it’s a wonder he can wrangle it at all. Kaidan breathes in deep, letting his own kindle, the snick and crackle as they blend together forming a resonant hum that hovers just under his skin.

When Shepard’s arm moves, Kaidan tightens his grip, keeping the motion small. Instead of his usual languid, fluid posture, Shepard’s arm is stiff and resistant against him. The canteen spins in a circle but stays on the ground.  

“Breathe, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly. “Just let it happen.”

Shepard inhales deep, like someone trying to relearn how. This time they move together, Kaidan picking up the slack when Shepard falters, until the canteen hovers briefly in the air. It’s more under Kaidan’s control than Shepard’s, but it’s a start, and that’s what matters.

They gutter out and the canteen falls, but Kaidan doesn’t let go and doesn’t step away, not yet, not quite yet, not while the remnants of kinetic energy are still sharp in the air and he has to remind himself to breathe, too.

“How do you do that?” Shepard murmurs. “You worked around me, without…taking over. How do you do that?”

Their eyes lock for just a moment. God Kaidan could get lost there if he’s not careful. “Practice. Years of it.”

Let go.

He means to. He means to. In his head he loosens his hold on Shepard’s wrist, drops his hand away and puts space between them. That’s what he tells himself to do. That’s what he intends to do.

But while he does loosen his grip, instead of fall away, Kaidan’s fingertips brush Shepard’s knuckles, the pad of his thumb running along the round muscle of his palm.

It’s an accident. Just an accident. So many of their touches are, but rather than move or pull away, rather than let it be just another one of those excusable, explainable slips, Shepard exhales, the breath fluttering out of him, then splays his fingers wider, as if making room for Kaidan’s to slot between them.

Let go, let go.

But instead he explores the open space Shepard has left for him, fingertips light, hesitant, ghosting Shepard’s skin as he finds where they fit, hovering, hoping, but never daring to rest. Never giving up the ruse.

It’s an accident. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

Shepard stays still as a stone save for the rise and fall of his chest. They’re close enough now their cheeks almost touch, though whether Kaidan moves or Shepard does to close that gap he can’t say.

The next time Kaidan’s fingers trespass through that open space, Shepard closes his around them and traps them there.

Kaidan’s breath hitches.

The gravity well sighs as Shepard calls to it, glow of dark energy limming their hands, accompanied by a soundless hum that strums every nerve in Kaidan’s body before settling in his groin. Without thinking his other hand comes to rest on Shepard’s hip, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

A soft sound stirs in Shepard’s throat. Kaidan’s hand doesn’t stay on that hip for long, because Shepard seeks those fingers out, too, lacing them together. Kaidan folds both arms until Shepard is surrounded by them. There’s no imagining any space between them now – their cheeks rest against each other, Kaidan tightening his hold until Shepard is snug against his chest.

Shepard turns his head, but after briefly meeting each other’s gaze, his eyes drift down to Kaidan’s mouth.

Kaidan can still let go. There’s still a way out. Chalk it up to adrenaline, nerves leftover from the standoff on the Ontario. They can walk it off, laugh, pretend it never happened, continue on like they always have.

But he doesn’t let go, and then the millimeters between Shepard’s lips and Kaidan’s no longer exist and the window is gone.

Shepard’s mouth is warm, soft, lips tinged with the salt of his sweat. They start out slow, cautious, neither of them daring to think about it too hard, but that’s not a problem for long, because soon there’s no room to think about anything at all.

Nothing else matters but this.

Slow and cautious becomes deep and headlong, Kaidan pushing his tongue between Shepard’s teeth, Shepard sighing into his mouth and taking him in. His fingers tighten around Kaidan’s, the glow of dark energy rippling out from their joined hands until it swallows them whole. Kaidan gasps at the sensation.

Shepard kisses him harder.

God.

Kaidan wants to spin him around, throw his arms around his neck and meet him head on, give in to everything, all of it, but he can’t bear the thought of turning loose of that hand.    

They part when they run out of air, both straining to catch their breath, fingers still entwined, Shepard still firmly ensconced in Kaidan’s arms as his corona fades.

Shepard rests his cheek against Kaidan’s, ensconcing himself a little further.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Shepard’s fingers flex within his, twining and retwining, never letting go.

“You…don’t seem surprised.”

Kaidan closes his eyes, breathing him in, a star he’s somehow pulled down out of the heavens and trapped right here in his arms.  “No. Felt it…for a long time now.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

Their coronas may have faded, but the mingle of their biotic fields is a constant, soothing whisper under Kaidan’s skin. A small, contented sound slips from Shepard’s throat.  

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Kaidan huffs. “To be fair, I don’t think either of us are very good at this kind of thing.”

Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s fingers and pulls them to his chest. The race of Shepard’s heart thrums under their joined hands. If Kaidan had any illusions about letting him go, they’re gone now.    

“I think I’d like to learn,” Shepard says.

Kaidan’s stomach flips. “Me too.”

They stay still, Kaidan content to hold him, Shepard content to be held, until their lips find each other once more. Kissing Shepard is easy, effortless, like it’s something they were meant to do, a safe place for the live current running under their skin to go to ground.

Shepard, against all evidence to the contrary, is…safe.  

Shepard gazes at him when they part, and butterflies cut loose in Kaidan’s stomach.

“You’re very good at that,” Shepard murmurs.

“We’re very good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah. We are.” He draws Kaidan’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan admits. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A shiver runs down Kaidan’s spine, the euphoria of that one, single word enough to make him lightheaded. So simple. So complicated. They’ll have choices to make, all of them with compromises and consequences. But that’s something for tomorrow. Right now there is only the truth.  

“I want that, too.”

Shepard releases Kaidan’s hand to turn until they’re face to face, then runs his fingers through the hairs growing over Kaidan’s right temple. All the while those glittering eyes search Kaidan’s face, as though reconciling all the things he knows with the things he’s learning for the first time.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face, pure, open, and full of possibility. “Taste of my own medicine, huh?”

“Well…” Kaidan shrugs helplessly, and Shepard’s grin only gets deeper.  

“Seems like I should have let you teach me a few things a long time ago.”

Kaidan flexes his fingers, a curl of dark energy igniting in his palm that draws out goosebumps along Shepard’s arm. “All in the wrist.”

Shepard laughs. It’s like music. “You and me.”

“I like that,” Kaidan murmurs, before kissing him again. “I like that a lot.”

[pascalpanic]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Javier Peña x f!Reader)- Chapter Ten

Summary: you finally get to visit the boys at the embassy. You and Javier finally get to consummate the relationship.

W/C: 6k+ (I’m sorry it’s the FINALE I had to)

Warnings: language as always, mentions of injury, SMUT! (18+ only), oral (m and f receiving), overstimulation if you squint, p in v sex, Javier Peña is his own warning when it comes to sex

A/N: YOU GUYS. this is it! I’m so honored that you guys love it as much as you do. This series was originally only supposed to be a oneshot but I just fell in love. I’m so glad I get to share it with you all! BIGGEST thanks to @remmysbounty for being my Colombian culture expert in this and helping me with my spanish phrases, listening to my ramblings, and generally being my editor and idea helper.

previous chapter | epilogue

“Ana, phone for you,” Lorena calls as you walk past the nurses’ station.

You nod, but you’re carrying a tray of medicine for a patient. “Can it wait?” You ask.

Lorena asks the person and then looks back up at you. “He says it’s quick.”

Sighing, you walk behind the desk. “Will you take this tray for me? Room 429,” you ask, and she nods dutifully, walking off with it after handing the phone to you. You answer the phone with your name, sitting in the chair Lorena was just in.

“Hey, it’s Steve,” a familiar southern voice says from the other end. You panic for a moment, wondering why he called you, but his voice seems relaxed. It can’t be anything too bad.

“Hey, what’s up?” You ask, twirling the phone cord around your finger, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk.

Steve chuckles. “Not much. Just Javi bein’ a dumb fuck.”

“What’s new?” You sigh, but you both know that both of you have affection behind your teasing.

“Exactly,” Steve says in agreement. “Anyway, Javi’s back at work, as you know. The bandage he has is falling off, and he says it’s fine but I know enough from Connie to know that’s not good. She said you get off work soon, would you bring some stuff to the embassy?”

You look at the watch at your wrist. He’s right. You get off at noon, and it’s about 10 right now. “Yeah, of course. Could I bring you guys lunch too? Eat with you?”

There’s a small snort from the other end of the line. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds great. Listen, though, there’s some real shitty guys around here. You’re gonna get hit on and Peña isn’t gonna be happy about it.”

“I’ll be wearing scrubs, Steve. What is there to talk about?” You ask dryly, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Lonely and horny men desperate for an American woman aren’t above much. Just… lettin’ you know now.”

“I think I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, knowing he can hear it in your tone. “I’ll be there at 12:30 with lunch and supplies for Javi, alright?”

“Sounds good to me. Thank you, kid.”

“I’m, like, a few years younger than you. You act like you’re my dad.”

“Whatever,” he laughs and hangs up the phone.

-

After your shift, you enter Valeria’s diner. Her eyes light up as she sees you, rushing your way. “¡Ay, mi hermosita! ¿Quiubo, chiquita?” She asks, grabbing your arms.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you tell her genuinely with a smile. “I didn’t know if… the bombing, if it affected you. I’m so glad it didn’t.”

“And me with you! Especially that Javier, dios mio,” she shakes her head.

“Actually...” you chuckle a little. It’s a nervous laugh, afraid to tell her what happened. “Javi was injured. He and his partner were very near the bomb. He’s okay now, but he lost a lot of blood and had to have emergency surgery. He’s got a big scar here,” you tell her and trace along your abdomen where his injury was. “He’s back at work already, but he spent a few days in the hospital and about a week or two at home.”

Valeria frowns. “Oh no. I’m glad he‘s alright now. I worried so much about him, but I figured he lived since there were no American casualties.”

You nod. “Exactly. I’m actually on my way to the embassy now, bringing him some bandages, and I wanted to pick up lunch for him and his partner.”

The woman claps her hands together excitedly. “And here I am, blabbering on! I’ll go get an order in for you. What would you like, dear?”

You put in an order that you figure Javi and Steve would both like, waiting contently at a booth Valeria seats you at and sipping a coffee she brought to you.

The little restaurant makes you smile as you think about the memories. Laughing with Javier for hours in the early morning, sharing life stories and experiences. You realize now that you think you loved Javier even then, on the night when you sat a few booths over, wrapped in his leather jacket while his mustache collected little grains of sugar and cinnamon.

Not long after, Valeria comes to your table with two large bags of food. “I couldn’t help myself- I threw a few extra desserts and snacks in. Javier needs to eat more, tell him that I said that and that’s why there’s so much.”

You laugh happily and stand. “Well, thank you. I’ll make sure to pass the message along.”

She takes your payment and hands you a large to-go cup of coffee- you deserve it after such a long shift, she tells you- before sending you on your way. The embassy is a distance away, and you hail a taxi to make your way there. The car fills with the scent of the fresh food, making your stomach rumble. When you arrive, you pay the driver and head inside.

A receptionist sits just inside. “May I help you?” She asks politely and without much interest.

“Uh….” you hadn’t expected this step. “Yes. I’m here for Agents Murphy and Peña?”

She nods, grabbing the phone. She dials a number and talks, making a face of annoyance as she switches to speaking English. She must’ve dialed Steve. She hangs up not long after. “Murphy will be here in a moment,” she tells you with a nod, and you back away to allow the next person to talk with her.

Steve finds you about a minute later. “Hey. That’s a lot of food,” he chuckles as he looks at the large bags you’re carrying.

“I went to Javier’s favorite place. This one waitress there absolutely adores him, so she gave me extra because he doesn’t eat enough,” you inform him with a smile. “She even threw in some free desserts.”

“Jesus. We could feed the whole embassy with those,” he shakes his head, taking one from you to lighten your load.

You walk through hallways and several sets of stairs, before entering the office area and finally reaching the two desks, one messy and one neat. Javier sits at the cluttered one, looking up and eyes lighting as he sees you. “Hey,” he laughs and even dares to smile: a rare sight when he’s at work. “What are you doing here?” He asks, rolling his chair back from his desk and taking your hand.

“Steve said you needed bandages,” you shrug and hold up one of the bags.

He gives him a dirty look and the blonde man simply shrugs, sitting at his own desk.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. What’s all this then?” He asks, referring to the bags you and Steve carry.

You set one on a free space in his desk and untie the top of the bag, setting a takeout container in front of him. “Lunch,” you say simply, opening the styrofoam to release a drift of a delicious smell.

Javier sighs at the scent. “Did you see Valeria then? Is that why there’s so much food?” He asks with a little laugh.

You nod. “Exactly.”

Javier sighs and grabs a fork from the bag. “Here,” he says, pulling you to sit on one of his thighs. You squeal at the movement, laughing and grabbing the desk once you’re seated.

“At least warn me, huh?” You laugh and he steals a quick kiss from you, earning a whistle from a man who walks past.

“Wow, Peña has moved on from fucking the informants,” the man chuckles. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

You both glare at him, though he finds yours more intimidating than Javier’s. “Mm, we’re projecting our sexual frustration, are we?” You ask, taking a bite of food in your mouth with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry about us, run on home to the wife who doesn’t want your dick anywhere near her,” you say with a sweet smile, turning back to Javier’s desk and sipping your coffee.

The man walks away with wide eyes and Murphy laughs genuinely. “Holy shit,” he shakes his head and smiles.

“What? It’s clearly true,” you chuckle, looking back at Javier and taking another bite of the food in front of you. He’s got his heart in his eyes, barely managing to hold back a grin.

“I fucking love you,” Javi laughs contently, waiting you to finish chewing. When you do, he kisses you passionately for a moment, releasing you a few seconds later.

“You got some observational skills, kid,” Steve snorts and shoves a bite of food in his face. “We should get you working here.”

You roll your eyes. “What is your thing with calling everyone kid, Murphy?” Javier laughs, and you nod enthusiastically. You were just about to ask the same thing.

Steve opens his mouth to answer but the phone on Javier’s desk rings. “Peña.” He makes several noises of agreement before hanging up a few moments later. “Trujillo needs something. Be right back,” he tells the both of you and presses a kiss to your head. You stand to allow him to, and he kisses your lips quickly before speed-walking up the steps from the bullpen area and out to somewhere else.

You sit back down and both you and Steve continue eating your food. A minute or so later, a woman walks past but stops as she sees you. “Oh my God, Steve, is this Connie?” she asks, leaning against his desk.

“No, this is Peña’s girlfriend. She and Connie work together,” he informs her. Her face sours at the word girlfriend.

You tell the woman your name and shake her hand with a smile. “Peña has a girlfriend? My god,” she laughs lightly. Javier walks back down to his desk and the woman’s eyes light up. You stand so he can sit again. “Javier Peña, all settled down.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckles and sits, pulling you back onto his lap. You squeal again at the sudden movement, more so for the amusement of the woman in front of you. Laughing, you steady yourself on his desk. “Javi, warm a girl!” You chuckle, turning around to kiss him quickly. You’d discovered recently that you couldn’t get enough of it now that you were allowed to do it.

The woman shakes her head and chuckles as she walks away, heels clacking on the tile floor of the embassy.

Steve rolls her eyes. “Ah, Carolina. Last woman at the embassy Javi hasn’t fucked, and she’s been going after him for months.”

“Bullshit,” you and Javier say at the same time, laughing and turning around to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Bullshit to the fact that she’s the last woman here I haven’t fucked. Yeah, she’s been all over me,” he admits and nods.

“Well that’s too damn bad for her, isn’t it?” You laugh and offer Javier your cup of coffee.

He takes a swig and sighs. “Goddamn, this stuff tastes good. The coffee here is shit. We really need to do something about that,” he says to Steve, earning a shrug in response as he forks more food into his mouth.

The three of you eat in content silence, Javier keeping one arm wrapped around you as he eats. Steve flips through a file as he munches on his food too.

A couple of minutes later, a stone-faced bald man in army green fatigues walks. He raises an eyebrow as he sees you sitting on Javier’s lap.

You bite the bullet and introduce yourself first, telling him your name and offering a hand to shake. “Javier’s girlfriend.”

Javier chuckles at the man’s confused expression. “Yeah. Ángel, this is Trujillo. We work closely with him and his men. What else do you need?” He asks the man, turning the chair toward him.

“It can wait, I suppose, until after lunch. Wonderful to meet you, ma’am,” Trujillo says before walking off.

Javier shakes his head. “Now I see why the two of you can’t get shit done around here,” you tease and kiss the side of Javi’s head with a smile before taking the last bite of your food.

Not long after, the two men finish eating too. You stand from Javi’s desk. “Walk me out?” You ask him softly, and he nods. “I’ll see you later, Steve. Thanks for the invite,” you chuckle, taking Javier’s hand once you’re both standing.

As you walk through the halls, Javier is smiling. It’s a rare occurrence around the embassy, enough to draw stares. You smile proudly, lacing your fingers together as you walk. “So, Superman. I have a proposal,” you offer, looking up at him with big eyes.

“Shoot.”

“You get off work around six?”

“Sure do.”

“And I don’t work tonight.”

Javier chuckles as he looks down at you. “Where is this going, hm?”

You shrug a little. “All I hear about is how good you are in bed. How good of a lover you are,” you ask, looking up at him with a smirk. “Why don’t you prove it to me tonight, hm?” You ask, fingers tracing the seam where his buttons hold his tight shirt together- just barely.

“Oh god, cariño,” he murmurs. “I don’t know if my body is up to it yet, with the incision and-“

“I’m a nurse, Javi. Your nurse. I know medically that you’re stable by now. As long as it isn’t painful for you, we’re safe,” you tell him with a growing smile. “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” You ask in a low voice, your hand sliding across the bare ‘v’ of his chest, exposed by his low-cut shirt.

“Yeah, it has.” Javier licks his lips as he looks down at you, a growing smile. “Your place. Sound good?”

“I’ve been waiting for this,” you admit with an excited grin, placing a kiss to his cheek as you reach the door. “You bring the protection,” you murmur next to his ear before kissing him softly on the lips. You break away and smile at his dazed face. “I’ll see you tonight. I love you,” You tell him and squeeze his hand.

“Fuck, I love you too, ángel,” Javi smiles and kisses your forehead, opening the door for you. “See you then.”

-

Six o’clock rolls around. You know Javier won’t come right from work, but you wait excitedly anyway. You treated yourself to a long hot shower, cleaning up and waiting. You’re dressed in a wrap dress and nothing else, waiting on the couch and trying to distract yourself with reruns of a telenovela. A bottle of whiskey and two glasses sit on your counter.

Surprisingly, a knock comes at your door around 6:15. You shout for them to enter and it’s Javier. “I thought you didn’t get off until 6:00,” you smirk a little as you look at him, closing the door behind himself.

“Steve covered for me. I left at 5, went home and showered, changed bandages and everything,” he chuckles, locking the door.

You smile and stand, walking over to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “How kind of him,” you chuckle softly, an arm around his waist. “Listen, I thought about it. If you’re still in pain, this can totally wait,” you offer, looking up at him with big and concerned eyes.

“I’ve wanted this from the moment I met you, ángel,” he murmurs, putting both hands on your waist. “Nothing could hold me back now.”

You throw your arms around his neck as Javier’s lips crash against yours, in a deep kiss that wastes no time. You make a soft noise of content against his lips and that spurs him on, his hands roaming all across your body. He breaks away, eyes wild and lips swollen already. “How many times have you cum in one night?” He asks, smirking.

You can’t help but moan in response, kissing him again deeply, your mouth exploring his. He breaks away again. “Answer.”

“Uh… three. On my own. Only once with someone else,” you tell him breathlessly, your brain so wrapped up in him that it’s difficult to think about anything other than him.

“Alright, then four’s the goal,” he chuckles, kissing you deeply and pulling your hips against his. His hands grope your ass and you moan softly.

It’s already the best you’ve ever had and he hasn’t even touched you. The passion and love you have for each other is evident in how deep and intense every little movement is, from the way you drag your nails down the back of his neck to the way he smooths his hands over the curve of your ass, feeling no panties beneath the dress. “Fuck,” he murmurs into your lips.

“My bedroom, please,” you whine, breaking away from him.

He nods, glancing in the direction of the hallway that leads to your room. He catches sight of the bottle of whiskey. “What was that for?” He asks, breathlessly chuckling.

“Confidence,” you admit with a laugh. “Don’t know why I thought I needed it. Not with you.”

“Well, it’ll go perfectly with cuddling in your bed after, hm?” He murmurs, kissing behind your ear. You sigh softly at the feeling and he walks you along to your bedroom, backwards, until you feel the backs of your legs pressed against your bed. “Let’s see what’s under here,” he mumbles breathlessly, kissing at your neck as he frantically fumbles to untie the knot around your waist that holds the wrap dress in place. He’s clearly experienced at removing all kinds of clothing, and you can feel your arousal starting to slide down to your upper thighs.

“Javi,” you whimper, and he swears he’s never heard anything sweeter.

“Oh fuck, dulzura,” he shudders at the way you sound, lifting his head and catching your lips in another intense kiss as he slips the dress off of your shoulders and it falls to the floor. “No bra, no panties,” he chuckles as he looks down, finding your exposed body. “Let’s begin, shall we?” He mumbles, his lips trailing from behind your ear to your neck to your collarbone to between your breasts.

“Please,” you whimper and Javier pushes you to lie down on the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees and spreading your legs. “Javi,” you mumble, gripping your breasts.

He looks up at you and swears he could cum in his pants right now, just from the way you look spread out for him. You’re already dripping and he bites his lip as he takes a long look at you. “Fuck, ángel,” he says with a shudder, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. “Play with your tits for me,” he commands as he slips the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest and the large gauze bandage covering part of his equally muscular abdomen.

You nod, though it doesn’t do much at this angle, and he finally gives in. His last bit of self control leaves his body as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, moaning into you at the way you taste. You whimper and your hips squirm softly before Javier brings a large hand up, pinning you down. “Javi… go slow, please,” you murmur. “It’s… been a while.”

He nods. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he breathes out, dark eyes even darker with his widened pupils. He’s just as entranced by you as he was by those heavy drugs in the hospital, his mind foggy from the way you taste. His nose nudges at your clit, causing you to make a soft noise. Javier slips a thick finger inside of you, shuddering at the way your walls flutter around it. “God, that’s gonna feel so good around my dick,” he mumbles, slipping in a second finger and lapping at your clit.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he curves his fingers inside of you, one hand sliding into that dark hair, gripping it. “I lied. You don’t have to go slow, do whatever you want to me,” you shiver and whine out, bucking your hips up only for Javier’s hand to push them back down.

“Patience,” he mumbles, latching onto your most sensitive spot and sucking on it softly. His fingers push in a little deeper and curve against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself, wishing you had him to do it. You knew he would, with his reputation. Of course he would. He already feels like he knows every inch of your body, every sensitive little spot he can stroke to drive you wild. You squeal softly at the movement, your back arching. He smirks but continues, not bothering to stop and comment.

You’re already close, and it’s driving you wild, the other hand clutching at the comforter beneath you. “Not gonna last. Feels so good,” you murmur to him, almost ashamed at how quickly he’s going to make you reach your peak.

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” he mumbles into you, his eyes closing in concentration as his tongue works hard against your clit.

“Thought about this all the time. My fingers couldn’t get anywhere near as deep as yours, Javi,” you coo, brow furrowing. “Just wanted you inside of me, doing this to me. I thought about it every night since I met you,” you whimper. “Nowhere near as good- fuck, I’m about to-” you groan but it’s cut off as your orgasm washes over you, making your legs shake and your thighs clench around his head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the word tumbles from your mouth over and over again as it washes over you. After you come down, there’s a delicious oversensitivity inside of you. Javier doesn’t let up. “Javi,” you murmur softly.

“Gonna get another out of you, ángel,” he murmurs for a moment before going back with renewed intensity. You thought it was perfect before, but the way he continues now allows you to feel every bud on his tongue, every line in his fingerprints inside of you, the way his fingers move at slightly different speeds as they drag against that spot deep inside of you.

Only a few moments pass before you’re there again, whining out his name as you feel something warm gush from deep within you. It’s all too good, all too much, feels like an electric wire threaded through your limbs and core. “Javi,” you shudder as you finally come to your senses. “I- uh, did I just-” you say, eyes widening as you see the damp spot beneath you.

“You sure fucking did,” he smirks, removing his fingers from inside of you and sucking on the two slick digits.

“I’ve never done that,” you admit, biting your lip.

“It means I’m doing something right,” he chuckles a little, sitting up to kiss you softly, slowly. You can taste yourself on his lips and it makes you moan as his tongue probes your mouth ever so gently. “It’s all good, baby. Wanna see if I can make you do that again?” He asks, a cocky grin on his face. “You were promised four.”

You shudder softly, hands on his shoulders. “I was,” you chuckle with the little oxygen left in your lungs. “What do you say…” you trail off, reaching between the two of you and palming at his denim-covered erection, “I take care of you, you get one more out of me, and then we finally fuck, hm?” you ask, recovering your senses.

“How could I say no to that?” he murmurs, kissing you deeply again. You squeeze softly at the bulge, and he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “How- I, what do-”

“Lie down up there,” you tell him and nod toward the pillows. When you stand, you tear the comforter off of your bed and toss it aside. “We’ll just have to sleep without that tonight.” He raises an eyebrow. “You are staying the night, right?” You ask, suddenly taken aback.

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah.” He pushes down his jeans and boxers and his dick springs free. He’s huge, not overly long but very thick, and you bite down on your lip to hold back a smirk. “Oh, you like this?” he chuckles a little, lying down with his arms above his head.

“Fuck,” you laugh softly, already imagining how he’ll feel inside. “Yeah, I do,” you nod and crawl onto the bed, lying down on your stomach between his spread legs.

You slowly trace a stripe along the underside of him, paying special attention to the frenulum and noticing the way his leg jerks beneath you. Adjusting yourself, you make big eyes up at him as you suck on the head, tracing the tip of your tongue against the little spot. “Fuck, you’re gonna have me cumming in seconds,” he laughs breathlessly. “You’re fucking amazing, baby,” he mumbles, his eyes slipping shut at the feeling. “Wait, stop, stop.”

You do exactly that, looking up at him with wide questioning eyes. “Yeah?”

Javier takes a deep breath and smirks. “You can make me cum with your mouth another time. I want this to be about you. Get up here and sit on my face.”

The boldness of his words makes your mouth fall open into a soft o-shape. You’ve certainly never done that before, but the idea is interesting. “It’ll be good, I promise. I already made you cum twice with my mouth, you know that,” he chuckles, stroking the side of your face.

“But…” Javier is much more experienced than you, you know that, so it must be fine, but there’s a little nagging insecurity inside of you. “What if I squirt again and, like, drown you?” you ask shyly.

Javier looks at you for a second before laughing softly. “No, it won’t. Come here, I can prove it to you if you’d like,” he offers, pushing a wisp of your hair back. The fact that you’re less experienced makes him even harder, if that’s physically possible, and you can feel it in your hand. He wants to do this, and that reassures you. You gulp and nod. “That’s my good girl,” Javi mumbles darkly.

You shudder at his words, your skin prickling. He can feel it. “Oh, you like that,” he murmurs. He scoots to lie flat on his back on the bed. “Come on up here, baby,” he says softly, and you agree.

You straddle his legs and gradually make your way over his body, careful to lift your hips as you pass over the incision. You’re hovering above his chest, looking down at him with the question in your eyes. “What if I like, crush your head?” You murmur and bite your lip.

“If you don’t want to, we won’t,” he mumbles, stroking your thigh. “Do you want to?” he asks.

“Yes,” you nod shyly. You’re not used to being this open about your wants.

“Then let me take care of you,” he murmurs, hands on your hips and pulling you gently. Inviting you onto his waiting lips.

You slide your hips the rest of the way and moan as his tongue finds your clit almost immediately. He moans back, entranced by you already. He puts on a bit more of a show, making loud noises and digging his fingers into your ass. He murmurs something into you but it’s lost in your folds as he lavishes your clit with his attention.

“Okay, I like this,” you admit with a breathless chuckle, moaning at the way his tongue works against you, his mustache tickles you, his nose nudges your clit when his tongue is elsewhere. You’re still hyper-sensitive from earlier, and you can tell. Your orgasm approaches rapidly, faster than it has ever before. You fall slightly forward, bracing yourself against the headboard as the tingling sensation builds.

“Gonna cum,” you warn him, panting heavily, your hands gripping the headboard tight. He makes a noise of approval and the vibrations from it cause you to let go, practically wailing his name. Your toes curl in pleasure, whimpering as it pulses through your body. It leaks from you before you can notice it, squirting into Javier’s mouth. He swallows every last bit of it, moaning at the way you taste.

Javier’s been so patient with you, putting everything about you first. He continues to eat you out as you come down from it. Eventually, you lift your hips, kneeling with your still-dripping pussy over his face. “You gonna fuck me now?” you ask, barely any air in your voice.

“Oh God yeah,” he chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your clit before pushing you over to lie next to him.

“Javi!” You squeal out with a laugh, falling next to him, his face by your legs. You’re giggling as you look over at him, hands on your bare stomach. “What if I would’ve landed on you and hit the incision?” you chide, though you both know it’s joking.

“It’d be worth it,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee. He stands with a groan, cracking his neck and grabbing the condom from the pocket of his jeans. He opens it and rolls it over his leaking dick, and you smirk as you look at it, adjusting yourself back where he was lying.

“You sure this’ll be okay with the abs?” you ask him as he walks back to your side, your fingers ghosting over the gauze-covered incision.

He nods. “Yeah. You ready?” He asks, a hand cupping your face to look up at him.

“I’m waiting on the fourth,” you tease, giving his dick a gentle tug and earning a groan. “Now get on top of me and fuck me, Superman,” you say with a seductive smile, licking your lips.

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles softly, propping his arms up on either side of you and nestling his hips between your legs. You can feel his dick pressing against your folds, and you grind your hips up into his. He moans, shivering hard. “Oh fuck. You better know it’s not gonna take long,” he tells you. “Fuckin’ dreamed about this for so long. First time I saw those tits bouncing on the treadmill, your ass when you were doing those squats,” he admits, hand running up your side and pinching a nipple as he finally admires your bare body beneath him.

“Get poetic later, get inside me now,” you beg of him, leaning up and kissing him deeply. He paws at a tit and you whine into his lips, harder when he rolls a nipple between two fingers. “Don’t tease,” you plead, spreading your legs wider.

He finally slides in and swears he’s seeing stars from the second the head is past your entrance. He groans out before he can stop himself, and you involuntarily make a matching sound. “Javier,” you cry, the way he stretches you making your already dripping pussy even wetter.

He nods. “Yeah baby,” he mumbles next to your ear.

“Start moving, I’m ready, come on,” you urge, nipping at his earlobe that dangles just above your lips. He shivers at the feeling and nods, pulling out and pushing back in. The first thrust and he’s already holding back.

He moans your name quietly, starting a slow but steady rhythm, pounding in and out of you. He looks down and bites his lip as he sees the way your tits jiggle with his thrusts. “Oh, ángel,” he groans. You bend up and kiss at his neck, daring to work a mark into the skin. “Yeah, that’s my girl, marking me up. Want that girl at the embassy to see it when I’m at work tomorrow, don’t you?” he grunts, breathing heavily already.

“All mine, no one else’s.”

“All yours, baby,” he nods, thrusting harder. “Give ‘em something to talk about, mark me up,” he groans, his eyes almost rolling back in his head from the feeling. You nod, leaving love bites and hickeys all over the smooth skin of his neck, the skin that smells like aftershave and soap and cigarettes and his sweat.

He reaches a hand between the two of you and rubs circles into your clit in time with the thrusts. “Oh, fuck do I love you, baby,” he groans. “You gonna come again?”

You’re embarrassingly close already, and the fact that he can tell is even hotter. “Yeah,” you whine into the thick column of his neck.

“Good girl, gonna squirt around me?”

“Yeah,” you whimper again, hips grinding against his hand. “Love you so much, Javi.”

“Love you too. Go for it, baby. Do it,” he asks of you, and who are you to deny him of the sensation in the moment? You stop holding back, your walls fluttering around him and your pussy leaking as your whole body tenses.

“Javi,” you cry into his ear, clinging to the back of his head and pulling him down to where you’re now lying flat, limp as a rag doll from his ministrations.

“That’s my girl,” he coos in his gravelly voice, biting down on his lip. “So good, fuck, love you baby,” he grunts in time with sporadic thrusts as he finally spills into the condom, an animalistic cry coming from his throat.

His thrusts slow and he gradually pulls out of you, lying down and pulling you into his side. “Would you believe me if I said that’s the best I’ve ever had?” He pants out, kissing the side of your head.

You drape an arm across him. “It’d be an honor,” you chuckle softly.

“It was,” he tells you honestly, this time kissing your lips. “God, I fucking love you,” he tells you with a dazed smile, eyes slipping shut.

He’s so sexy like this, sweat beaded on his forehead and dark hair stuck to it. He’s fucking beautiful is what he is, like a work of art with those swollen lips and the developing bruises on his neck. He’s your personal masterpiece. You’ve done all of those things to him, made him fill that condom, hell, you put those stitches in yourself before he left the hospital. He’s fully and truly yours. “I love you too, Javi,” you tell him, pressing your lips together in a smile as your eyes water.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks quickly as his eyes open.

“I just love you so much,” you admit with a watery voice. “That was the best I’ve ever felt, and you let me ask stupid questions, and you did this all even though I thought you were gonna bleed out in my arms a couple of weeks ago.” You bury your face where his chest meets his arm, the tears freely running.

“Ángel,” he coos and kisses your head. “You are the entire world, you know that? You saved my fucking life, not just from the shrapnel. I would’ve drank and smoked and worked myself to death if you didn’t come in.”

“And I would’ve died from that cold,” you add with a weak giggle.

“And you would’ve died from that cold,” he chuckles and lifts your head. “I love you so much. No solo como te quiero, como te amo.”

There’s a difference in the way Spanish speakers say “I love you” that native English speakers cannot understand. We say I love you to our dogs, to our partners, to our sisters and parents and to our lovers and spouses. It’s all the same way to say it: I love you. In Spanish, there is te quiero and te amo. Javier might say te quiero to his father, to Connie when she brings him food during a rough hangover. Never in his life has the man said te amo and meant it. Not to Lorraine, not to any girl he ever held in his arms as he pounded her senseless. Never, except to you.

And you can feel it in the way he presses a tender kiss to your face, in the way a tear drips from his eye and onto your forehead. He loves you in the way that inspired the greatest artists to write sonnets and plays and make beautiful art, the way that Escobar would do anything, would kill for his beloved Tata, the way Romeo and Juliet loved and fell hard and didn’t care about the repercussions and died for love of each other.

“Javi,” you coo, looking into his big brown eyes that are brimming with tears. “Te amo también, te amo, y nunca lo olvides.”

thanks for reading!

-

translations:

quiubo- what’s happening, what’s up

Chiquita- girl, girlfriend

dulzura- sweetheart

Y nunca lo olvides- and don’t you ever forget it.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @diogodxlot @wonderlandgabby @yooforia @sara-alonso @dodgerandevans @pedrosmustache @apascalrascal @tanyaherondale @marydjarin @obsessivelysearching @sleep-tight1 @drinkingwhileblogging @pedro-pastel @notabotiswear @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan

[binniesthighs]

hellooo i have read your Han fic and it's so gooooooood you really know how to portray the one and only Han Jisung omgggg. can i ask for a seventeen smut? if it's okay with you. since I'm into Jeonghan these days i really want to know how will Jeonghan react if you two arw bffs since high school then one day things changed, both of you began being so touchy and flirty then he challenges you if you can resist him omgggg like he is so cocky and confident aaaaaah BYE-

aweee thank you so much! I love love love writing for the one and only Han Jisung!! thank you so much for your patience as well anon I’m soooo sorry that this took me an age to get out, but I hope that ya like the product hehe 💕

yjh was here | reader x jeonghan |

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x yoon jeonghan

Genre: fluff n’ smut

Tags: friends to lovers, bit of a comfort fic, bestfriend!jeonghan, cockyandflirty!jeonghan as we love him, lowkey mutual pining, mingyu, wonwoo, soonyoung side characters, coworkers au, mentions of food and mild food dares, mentions of alcohol+getting drunk, mentions of divorce (past), marking, reach-around teasing (r receiving), fluffy unprotected sex, body praising, spicy truth or dare, cuddles

Word count: 4.4k

Yoon Jeonghan had a habit. It wasn’t the worst of habits, but it was the kind that would clutter up your life. Often, you would wonder why he would do it, and why he hadn’t stopped: not even after you had mentioned it so many times.

It had started in high school. High school, that eternity away now. Luckily, your past was riddled with memories of him, and all of the little things that you had shared together; lunches, late nights studying, throwing littler paper wads at eachother from across the room. He would pull at the tie around your neck that was a part of the school uniform just to get a rise out of you. Jeonghan would nap during class, and you would be the one to wake him up with the flick of your finger. On cold walks to school, he would lend you his scarf, and on hot summer nights you’d stay out searching for snacks until sleep drew your eyes down, and he’d let you lean on him the whole walk home.

yjh was here

He wrote it on the first exam you had ever failed in your whole life.

Conversely, he had gotten nearly a perfect score. He was annoyingly good at everything he did. That, or he was just really good at cheating his way through things. When you thought about it, it was likely the latter that was more accurate.

At first you thought it was a joke. It was as if he was taunting you for failing miserably at mathematics II. You were never good at math anyway.

The second time he wrote it was when you had fallen asleep in class. It wasn’t a common occurrence. He’d call you a baby for being scared to fall asleep during class for fear of being startled awake by the teacher. However, this was the week that had been the longest for you: the week that everything fell apart.

Even into your mid twenties, your mother still would never tell you why your father had left that week and you never saw it fit to prod more.

He had written it on a scrap piece of paper after getting you a strawberry milk and leaving it for you on your desk.

yjh was here

Since then, he had taken the opportunity to write it everywhere he could manage. Suddenly his little scribbles filled up the margins of your notebooks; on post-it notes--he’d even etch it onto the skin on your arm in soft blue pen ink. Later, when the two of you had gone on to college, he would sneak into your dorm to write it everywhere he could find. No matter how many times you would erase it from your little whiteboard by your desk, he’d always manage to write it over, noticing immediately that it was gone.

Today, you had noticed that he had slipped it into your legal folder, among other more boring and business-y things and you had no idea how it had gotten there. It must have been sometime the day before, as he had written it on a napkin from the catering company.

yjh was here.

In all the many years that he had followed you from place to place, you must have amassed hundreds of his little notes. You kept the ones that he would give you at work tucked away in a desk, often forgetting that they were kept there until you would stumble upon them, tugging a little smile at your face. The rest of them you kept at home in a little box in your closet, even deeper away, never really knowing why. The act of simply having them was satisfaction enough, in fact, you never really minded a little clutter.

☆彡

With eyes drooping, you scratched away on your yellow note pad, writing a string of nonsense words that sounded important from the presentation. The red setting setting sun reminded you that it was your least favorite time of day: the time where the last work hour of the day would appear to stretch into twenty. Under the table your scratchy cotton work-pants felt even more scratchy than usual. Somewhere above you, the penetrating white fluorescents buzzed like flies.

With a little tap on your shoulder, Yoon Jeonghan was sitting next to you as he always was. Compared to him, you felt as if you looked like an utter mess. Just as he was annoyingly good at everything, there was never a day that he came into work looking less than perfection. Today it was a tweed two piece with a pressed shirt underneath as well as a navy tie adorning his beautifully slender neck. Around his face befell his deeply dark strands of hair which pricked the edges of his rounded wire glasses.

“This is so boring.” He had mouthed to you, adding a pout to the end of his sentence.

You formed the sound on your lips, “Shhhhh”

“I’m just saying!”

“Pay attention.”

You turned your head back to pretend to care about what your boss had to say. Every fifteen seconds or so you would nod your head to make it appear as if you were diffusing the information he was giving out.

Another tap on your shoulder and Jeonghan displayed his pen to you to draw your attention to the margin of your quarterly report print out.

you look really beautiful today, he had written

“Stop it!” You accidentally hissed, garnering the attention of your nosy and equally bored coworker sitting across from you.

This time you mouthed out the words, “No I don’t.”

“~yessss~” Jeonghan curled out his words with his tiny creeping smile

Your knee bumped into his under the ginormous desk.

“Pay attention, ‘Han.”

“Is there something you would like to add L/n?” Your supervisor’s voice cracked in the silence of the room.

“N-no sir.” your head bowed in repentance.

He elder man tsked in a little sound with his teeth. “I know that we’re getting to the end of the day folks, but let’s just get through this all so we can get home...”

Jeonghan’s tweed pants made a little screeching sound against the fabric of yours when you bumped him again under the guise of the desk.

“Screw you.”

Your friend met your remark with a wink, biting the cap of his pen while his eyes wandered down to show you another little message:

yjh was here

and I’m excited for tonight

☆彡

Wednesdays were customary somaek nights where each of you and your coworkers would gather in your cruelly tiny apartment with their own separate dishes for all to share and forget about the troubles of the midweek. As the year was winding down, it was these nights that would get you through the week. With the bodies of the five of you in your tiny living room cramped around your low-set table, you had almost forgotten that the heating in there barely worked.

With each of your coworkers entrance, they would bring in the smell of autumn with them, and the chill of the air outside. On each of their long coats, bits of leaves would cling to the edges of the fabric. Each Wednesday there would be a royal mess to clean up after, but it was Jeonghan who would often stay after to help you. The two of you would end up in your cruelly tiny kitchen, throwing soap bubbles at each other’s faces drunkenly with socks sliding all over the wooden floors. Jeonghan would write another note to stick on your refrigerator, then he would take you by the hands to twirl you around to some unbearably cheesy sounding OST.  

Perhaps it was the way that your head would get fuzzy from the soju and beer, but you loved the way that he would twirl you; it was almost like a waking dream.

“Nobody worry! Nobody! Worry!” Soonyoung burst through your door, case of beer in hand. “I’m not late, I’m actually early! Don’t you know that it’s trendy to appear an hour into the party?” When Soonyoung spoke, he had a habit of speaking with his whole chest.

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu whined, popping in another strip of galbi.

“You don’t enjoy our presence, ‘Gyu?” Wonwoo’s mouth upturned into a teasing grin.

“N-no,” The biggest man babbled, “It’s just that...Wednesdays are somaek evenings.”

“--Then I am here to help you out my friend.” Soonyoung plopped himself right down on the floor with the poof of his blond hair popping from his beanie. “Ahhhh this all looks so delicious.”

“You better pay me back.” You griped while serving him a plate of the assortment.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love you, Y/n?”

“Nearly every time I do something for you? You still owe me from the last time we went to karaoke.

“--And for covering for your ass last week...some hangover that was, huh?” Jeonghan scooched over his leftover rice to you.

Soonyoung scoffed while twirling his bottle of soju in the air, the admiring the little tornado swirling inside. “-Was worth it though. We always have fun don’t we?” In his affection, he threw his arms around you and Wonwoo beside him.

“-Food’s gonna get cold.” Wonwoo poked his finger in the general direction.

With his full glass raised in the air after a minute of preparation, Soonyoung lead you all in a toast, cheeks already rosy. The second that your glasses collided, liquid came downpouring to the table, but none of you seemed to mind. Before you could bring your drink to your lips, you caught yourself having a moments pause, watching all of your friends before you. If you could have, you wished you could fold up little moments like these as well to put in your drawer to see when you would feel down.

Jeonghan caught your wistful sigh, sending you a wink. In many ways, you knew he must have known your thoughts.

Under the table, his hand brushed up to your crossed knee, letting his hand linger. He let his hand rest there for a moment, as if he was soaking up your essence in the moment. He had never done it before, but his thumb gently rubbed at your knee, and it felt like a waking dream.

☆彡

The night had ticked on, and you and grown more tired than you had expected by pass of the clock hand. As the night would normally progress, drinks would be had, then each of you would take turns updating the others on what you had been doing or working on. All of you would gather advice or support if needed. There had even been times when you would even provide a shoulder for one to cry on, although that didn’t happen most times.

Others, like today, the five of you would simply sit and enjoy each other’s presence with the window slightly cracked open to let the autumnal air cool your burning bodies. Jokes would be cracked every once and a while until yawns would escape your mouths. By then, another joke would be made about how you were all getting to old to be staying up that late.

Jeonghan played with your hair as you had leaned into him, swirling your final glass of soju in your wrist. While you were hot yourself, the heat from his body was still calming, and the way that his chest would rise and fall was a bit like a lullaby.

“I’m falling asleep, we should head out,” Mingyu clapped Wonwoo by the back.

“Another one for the books.” Soonyoung sighed, then rose up with a stretch of his arms, wrinkling up his white button up and loose tie.

“Sweet dreams everyone.” You shift off of your best friend, shuddering a little at the lack of contact, to close the door after them.

“I’m looking forward to next Wednesday!” Soonyoung beams with a little salute, then bows before shuffling away.

“What time is it?” You yawn out the words, rubbing your eyes.

“Too late. We still need to go in tomorrow, remember?”

Dirty dishes clink in your hands as you bring them to your sink. “We really should start doing this on Fridays.”

“I don’t wanna start cleaning just yet, can we stay here for a while?” Jeonghan spreads his arms out, beckoning you to fall back into him. You laugh a little at the motion.

“Why so touchy? We haven’t done this in so many years...I can’t remember the last time...”

You oblige him, nuzzling right up to his chest once more. He smells a bit of the somaek, but mostly of his usual scent: that cheap cologne that you had bought him about a year ago. You had mostly gotten it as a gag gift, but he had worn it every day since.

“Must have been in high school.” His words are long and breathy.

“How come we stopped?”

Jeonghan takes a minute to answer you, and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Instead, he raises a hand to rub at your arm lightly, just as he had done with your knee.

“Dunno. We got older?”

“What does getting older have to do with it?”

You watch in the silence as his thumb continues to rub over the fabric of your long-sleeved button down.

“--Do you want to play a game?” Jeonghan says at last.

“A game? What do you mean?”

“For fun. I’m trying to find something to do so we don’t have to do the dishes.”

“Okay,” You perk up slightly, still not removing yourself from his encircled arms. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare?”

“Psh what are we, back in high school?”

“Seeing what we are doing right now, wouldn’t you say so?” The words escape Jeonghan’s mouth with a growing grin.

You ruffled to top of his head, messing up his perfectly primped hair. “...Fineeee. You going first or me?”

“I’ll go. Truth.” Jeonghan pulled you back into him, settling your back flush with his chest.

“Okay, truth: did you really mean it when you said that you liked Minji’s power suit? I know you thought it looked tacky.”

Jeonghan’s breathy laugh miffed up your hair. “I’ll say anything if it keeps me in the supervisor’s good graces.”

“HA. I knew it.”

“Which do you pick?”

“Mmmm-truth.”

“Not dare? You’re no fun.”

“I said truth!!!”

“Fine, fine.” His slender arms squeezed at your body to situate you better in between his legs. “When was the last time that you brought someone over to your place?”

“Yo-you mean like “brought someone” over?”

“You know what I mean.” In his voice you could nearly see his mischievous smile.

“I’ve told you about all of them so I don’t know why you’re asking. It’s been about a year.”

“A year? Really?”

“--Nope! You don’t get to ask any more questions. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Jeonghan said without a moment’s hesitation.

Your eyes wandered the room for his perfect punishment. “Ah! Take that soy sauce, the one with the wasabi bits in it...and drink it.”

Your friend sighed, but took the tiny cup in his fingers to down it all in one shot. He shivered a little and you could feel his face scrunch up, but he held his reactions back best he could.

“That was such a high school dare. You really haven’t changed.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“Truth or dare Y/n.”

“Truth.”

“Ughhh truth again?”

“ ‘Hannnn--”

“Just say dare! I promise that I’ll go easy on you.”

“Fine then. Dare.”

“I dare you...to take your shirt off.”

“What?!” Your head snapped back to send him your deathly glare. “Are you being serious right now?”

“What? It’s nothing that I haven’t seen? Are you forgetting that we’ve been friends for nearly our whole lives? That and college you were someone who would go to parties and take your shirt off. Remember that?”

“...yes.” You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Fine then.” In one motion, you pulled your shirt over your head, jumping a little once you felt Jeonghan’s hands help tear it off your arms. You hesitated to lay back, but his arms made a decision before you could, and pulled you back into his chest. Now, it was the skin of his fingers on your bare arms that you were painfully aware of.

“T-truth or dare?” You squeaked out.

“Truth.”

“No fair, you made me do dare!”

“I already did a dare. Truth.”

From the other side of your room, your refrigerator clacked with the sound of ice cubes falling into their tray. On the door, dozens of multi-colored post-it-notes had been suck there with clear tape.

“...Why is it that you’re always writing me those notes? “yjh was here?”“

“Hmm.” He breathed out. “I had a feeling that you might ask me that one.”

“...And?”

“--Because I like to. And...”

Your anticipation hung tangibly in the air. You didn’t quite know it, but you had been waiting for his answer for so many years, you had lost count.

“...And I like seeing them around you. -Reminds me that I’m a part of your life. Kind of like how we exist together. They’re little reminders for you as well...to know that I’m around for you.”

“Jeonghan...” You wouldn’t have expected it, but tears singed the corners of your eyes.

“Truth or dare?” He cooed into your ear.

“D-dare.” Your voice shook, realizations flooding you like rain.

“I dare you to take off your pants. Can you do that?” His voice had dropped, low and gravely.

You nodded your answer, and took to unbuttoning your pants, shimmying them off where you sat on the floor. As soon as your bare legs were exposed, he had found a new place to rest his hands; you never would have guessed for them to be so beautiful-looking there.

“I choose dare.” He breathed onto your bare neck.

“I-I dare you take off our shirt too.” Your face felt furiously warm as you uttered the words and he did exactly as he was told. The sensation of your skin on his skin then sent your head spinning with just how close you had been in that moment, closer than ever before.

Jeonghan’s hands explored your bare legs with a touch as soft as butterfly wings. His light touches sent an aching pain to your sex as it had never felt so needy and neglected.

“Truth or dare my love?”

In an attempt to hide your frustration, you could only form the word, “T-truth?”

“Hmm...truth...” Jeonghan began to kneed into your legs, digging his nails in every so slightly. “Have you ever kept secrets from me?”

“Secrets? Why-why would I, I don’t-mmph-have any secrets to keep from you.”

“I think that’s a lie Y/n.”

Indeed it was a lie. You had kept secrets from him. Two secrets to be exact; one of them being near the precipice for the whole universe to see.

“I’ve kept secrets from you, you know.”

“What?”

“Do you dare me to show you?”

Your anxious breath caught in your lungs, full of confusion but even more excitement. Jeonghan’s hands crept slowly up to your hips.

He repeated, “Do you?”

“Ye-yes. I dare you to show me.” Your eyes had closed feeling his hands draw even farther up your body.

Your best friend surveyed your whole chest with his hands, swirling around as much skin as he could touch. He was careful not to tickle you, but rather give every ounce of your being his careful attention. For a moment, his fingers grazed over your nipples, but went to cradle your neck in his hands. He turned it to the side to expose the beating vein there, and placed the slowest and most tender kiss upon it. From the feeling of his fleeting lips, you whimpered at the sensation.

“Dare.” You managed with a dry mouth. “I dare you to touch me...anywhere you want...please...”

Jeonghan chuckled slightly into your neck. “I just had my turn, but...I’m listening.”

Your entire body keened under his fingertips, writhing messily between his legs. This time, he was careful in touching you nearly everywhere: your chest, your nipples--pinching them slightly--and down your legs, to your inner thighs where he traced up to your underwear, now wetting a little with your arousal.

“Tell me the truth.” He bit into your skin. “Am I one of your secrets?”

Your answer was given to him in the form of you forcefully tearing from his grip to push his legs together so that you could straddle them. The way that his shoulder blades flexed under your firm grip was dizzying. Your eyes fell to his lips: your secret.

“I dare you to kiss me,” You breathed onto them.

“I thought that you’d never ask.”

Jeonghan was smiling as he pulled your lips into his, and he never quite seemed to stop. Every bit of your love for him spilled into his mouth where you found the comfort from him that you had craved for years. You had felt first kisses before, but nothing was quite like this one. With Jeonghan who you had known for so long, you were thrilled to get to know him in this new and different way, and you wanted to absorb every little bit of it: the way he would caress the sides of your face so gently, or the way that he would angle your neck to meet his lips. You would never have guessed to feel so complete with him like this, but it also made all the sense in the world. It was you that he wanted, and you that he wanted to stay next to through all those years. He had never let you go, and you had never let him either.

In between kisses, you found both of yourselves giggling hysterically.

“Are we really doing this right now? Are we...?” You bit a laugh into his lip.

“Yes. I think that we are.” He engulfed you in his grasp. “I’ve wanted to do this for years, Y/n.

Jeonghan scooped you up, moving both of your bodies to the couch where he clinked with his belt buckle to remove his pants. “You really do look beautiful. Everyday. I’m not just saying that.”

You practically clawed at him to lay his body on top of yours, then wrapped your legs around his waist to align him with your own. In your unadulterated intoxication of him, you hopelessly grinded up into him, seeking some kind of stimulation from the mashing of fabric together. After a little scoff, Jeonghan’s hand cascaded down your body to rub at your throbbing sex, marveling in the way that you had soaked though your underwear just a little.

“Wow. This is how you feel about me?”

“Do you want me to say sorry?”

“No--it’s just...I wish that I had known sooner.”

Your lust brought his lips back to yours as you kissed him over and over and over, trying to make up for all of the times that you wished you had done before. His touch on your sensitive skin sent you mewling onto his tongue.

“Can I make you mine now?”

As for your response, your widened legs told him exactly what he needed to know.

In one swift motion, he had tugged off his own briefs, letting free his deliciously hard cock, sparkling at the head with his pre-cum. Looking at him like this, all for you, was like a walking dream.

Jeonghan gathered spit from his tongue to glide over his dick, then teased your impatient entrance while he watched your face contort into the most beautiful shapes he thought he had ever seen. He entered you slowly, letting each of you take in the moment as if you could forget it the next. Once you were together, his brows twitched a little as his closed eyes focused only on you. He filled you up perfectly, as if you were made for him--which you had convinced yourself that you were. Jeonghan buried his face in your neck to suck into the skin, marking you as his.  

Your orgasm built much quicker than you had intended, and soon you were begging him to make you cum--which he gladly did. Your heels dug into his back upon your release which gathered more heat between your two bodies. Jeonghan didn’t skip a beat as he chased his own orgasm, fucking you into your own overstimulation and leaving you to melt under him.

“Jeong-han.” You gasped out his name through your teeth as your body quaked from the snap of his hips.

“oh god,” He uttered, tangling his fingers deep into your hair, then smashing his lips back into yours. “you’re so good for me my love...so good...”

Jeonghan let out little grunts as he came and filled you deeply with the warmth from his cum. As he throbbed within you, you knew it really was him you were made for. He lingered inside your walls as your bodies shook together with the aroma of sex fogging the air. After a while, it didn’t take long for both of you to be laughing contentedly into each other’s mouths once more.

Your best friend reached for your hand to bind all of your fingers to his. "No more secrets.”

☆彡

“Do you want the sweatpants from the top shelf or the rack?” Jeonghan called to you through your cruelly tiny apartment. “Wait...i-is this...?”

Once he had returned, in his hand he held the aged strawberry milk carton with the little cartoon fruit on the side and the scrap piece of paper wrapped around it. In the other was your little box of notes.

yjh was here

“I can’t believe that you’ve kept it this long. Why--”

“--I’ll tell you why...it’s my second secret.”

Your best friend cocked his head. “...Second?”

“Ever since that day, I’ve known, Yoon Jeonghan. I love you.”

☆彡

if you’ve got to this point, hehe hello I’m Ro, I write for skz and svt, and I’d love to write some more svt! If you’d like, you can send me your asks

[voiceless-terror]

Hey! If your still taking prompts I would love one where the season 1 crew finds out about Mr. Spider. Any scenario is awesome, but if you need ideas- Jon having a panic attack over a spider, or maybe one of the others losing it on Jon over his skepticism and Jon just breaks down, maybe he snaps at Martin particularly hard for a lecture on spiders when it’s a Bad Day. Anyway, thanks, and no pressure! Writing is hardTM

Hi there! I actually tried to incorporate as many of the bits from your prompt as I could- you’ll have to tell me if I succeeded. Hope you like! :)

Jon’s never had his own office before. Just a desk or a cubicle, a study carrel where he could bury his head in a book and avoid prying eyes. But now he has an office- surprisingly spacious, cluttered as it is. It’s nice for privacy. But it has its drawbacks- specifically, a very mundane one.

People knock.

It’s common courtesy, of course. It is polite to knock. Martin’s is tentative, three soft raps against the door. Tim’s is a booming ‘Shave and a Haircut,’ irritating and playful. 

Sasha’s is a brisk knock knock. No time or gesture wasted. Just knock knock. Simple, unassuming. It shouldn’t bother anyone.

After one week, Jon starts leaving his door open. It’s easier.

Today Martin peers around the doorway, a brief nod in Jon’s direction as he lifts his head from the statement on his desk. No smile, no question of how he’s doing. I deserve that, Jon supposes. Yesterday, he’d caught the tail end of Martin’s mumbling about his ‘ridiculous skepticism’ to Tim and promptly blew up, spitting insults over his research methods and incompetence. It was not his finest hour. By the end of it, Martin looked rightfully hurt and upset, and Tim just shook his head in disappointment as Jon barricaded himself in his office, this time closing the door.

Still, Martin brings him tea. Jon doesn’t know what to do with the feeling that stirs in him.

He moves softly, trying to make as little noise as possible as he sets the steaming mug down on the corner of his desk. Jon turns to him, ready to at least provide a thank you and a half-hearted apology when he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

A spider.

Just sitting there, staring at him from its perch inches away from the mug. The basement’s littered with them, unsurprisingly. Still, he can’t stifle the yelp of fear and disgust that tears its way out of his throat. His hands automatically grab at the nearest weapon - a particularly heavy tome- and his arms rear back, ready to strike. He isn’t expecting a strong hand to wrap around his forearm, stopping him in place.

It’s Martin’s hand. He knows it’s Martin’s hand. But that desperate, childish part of his mind that he tries to keep locked away is screaming black-spindly-leg- spider, it’s a spider, it’s a spider-

“Don’t touch me!” It’s a screech, louder than he meant it to be as he wrenches his arm out of the grip, chair hitting the wall with the force of the motion. Martin’s talking and Jon can barely hear because the spider is there, just sitting and staring and watching-

“I’m sorry! You shouldn’t kill it, though. I’ll bring it outside. C’mere.” Martin’s coaxing the thing into his hand, like it’s not monstrous, like it’s fine. “See? Nothing to worry about!”

Nothing to worry about, Martin says. It’s hard to reconcile that with the tightness in his chest, the quickening breaths that don’t seem to get him much air at all. Martin’s giving him a concerned look, edging closer as if to comfort him but that thing’s still in his hand, why is it still in his hand? He flinches, barely aware of the litany he’s muttering under his breath- please please don’t touch me.

There’s more people in the room, now. When did Sasha and Tim arrive? Why are they looking at him? Martin’s mouth moves but Jon hears nothing, just watches with wild eyes as Sasha ushers him out of the room as soon as she sees the spider. But he can still feel it’s crawling legs all over- light now, not strong. Just a teasing torment. He itches at his skin, fingernails digging into the worn sweater as if trying to reach bone. Tim’s moving forward, hands out as if he means to touch- can’t he hear what Jon’s saying? Why won’t they listen?

“...not going to touch you, I promise. But you have to breathe slower...going to pass out.”

He tries to focus on Tim’s breathing, the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest barely visible through his blackening vision. Tim nods encouragingly and Jon’s heartbeat lowers incrementally as he’s finally able to get a few deep breaths in, labored as they are. He doesn’t know how long they sit there for. 

“Good job, boss.” Tim’s smiling but really, there’s nothing to smile about. All Jon feels now is a bone-deep exhaustion; he doesn’t even have the energy to summon embarrassment. He nods at Tim’s hands when they finally approach, letting himself be pulled to his feet though Tim takes most of his weight.

“There’s a cot in the back of document storage,” Martin’s back, worry clear in his voice. The spider’s gone. Maybe Sasha killed it after Martin let it go. She didn’t like them much either. “Might be more comfortable back there.”

“He’s got a cot here, really?” Tim’s voice isn’t directed at him. “We’re going to have a talk about that.” It’s like he’s not in the room. It’s nice, in a detached sort of way. Jon’s not one for talking right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Martin’s apologizing to him, or maybe around him. He doesn’t like causing scenes, Jon thinks. “I didn’t realize it was that bad, or I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Sasha’s saying from behind him.  “It’s not like Jon comes with a user manual. We learned that the hard way.”

“Just maybe let him kill the spiders from now on,” Tim says as he deposits Jon on the cot, frowning at his refusal to lie down. He doesn’t need a nap, just a short rest. He might close his eyes. He hasn’t decided yet.

Martin’s still talking. “...And that fight, yesterday. I shouldn’t have said those things, set him off-”

“They were true, and Jon was being awful to you. You know his moods-”

Jon wants to interrupt. Wants to tell Martin he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have yelled. That he didn’t mean (most of) those things he said, that being called out on his dismissals makes him feel even smaller. That's how he copes, by lashing out and sniping. What comes out instead is slurred, and altogether more revealing than he would have liked.

“I read a book, once.” 

Tim pauses on his way out the door, presumably to get Jon water or a granola bar or something else he didn’t need. “What was that, boss?”

“A book.” His voice gets louder, and Martin and Sasha go silent. It’s nice when they listen. Jon goes on. “I was eight or so, I don’t know. It was a stupid, childish thing, but it was horrible. A-” he stops here, pauses to take another shaky breath “-A Guest for Mr. Spider. From the library of-”

“Jurgen Leitner.” Sasha finishes, staring at him with unblinking, curious eyes. She loves a good story, nosy thing she is. Jon likes that about her when it comes to research, and not other things. He nods. 

“It felt wrong. Violent. I hated it. You would’ve too, if you saw it.” If Martin read it, Jon wonders, briefly, maybe he would hate them too. “And it wasn’t just a book. It should have been- should have been just a stupid, scary little story about a spider and a fly. But it wasn’t.” He doesn’t want to say the specific words. Doesn’t want to speak the book back into existence, as if the very mention would make it manifest. “He was real, in the end. Mr. Spider. He was real, but he didn’t get me. He got- he got someone else.”

Jon doesn’t cry. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. “I’ve forgotten his name, you know? The one he took. I don’t think I could place him in a crowd, not even if I tried. Not that I could. He’s dead, has to be. He wasn’t a nice person- a bully, really. But he was just a kid. A kid who had the unfortunate luck to have met me.”

He feels oddly calm, even as his three assistants stare on in horror (and fascination, in Sasha’s case. There’s a strange tightness in Tim’s face that Jon can’t quite figure out). He turns his gaze to Martin, because he’s not done yet. He needs him to know why. “The statements, the tapes- I-I don’t know where to begin. It’s like I’m not even talking. It’s like living it. And I can’t do anything about it.” Martin’s face softens to something like sympathy, but he still doesn’t understand. “The follow-up- those are my words. They’re the only words I have control over.” Words have meaning. Words have power. Jon read a monster into existence and it devoured someone whole. What else will he do, given the chance? Given the right words? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t blame him- whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t Jon’s childhood trauma. He’s probably revealed too much.

“That’s…” It’s Tim who’s speaking, his tone unreadable as he draws a hand across his face in sudden exhaustion. “Okay. Take a break, boss. A nap or something. You look like you’re going to collapse.” Jon feels it. “We can talk later. About... all of this. It’s uh, good to know, though. Thanks- thanks for telling us.” The words seem genuine, although his face is oddly hard and serious. Jon nods, finally allowing his eyes to close as he leans into the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. Someone draws a blanket over him, but he doesn’t know who.

“Sorry. I’ll, ah, kill the spiders from now on. Just in case they’re the bad ones, yeah?”

Martin, then.   

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700379

[rouiyan]

𝘌𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘐𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙𝘚 [ 𝘫.𝘫𝘩 ]

⧏ extra follow-up scene for someone to bring home ⧐

synopsis — jaehyun is your brother’s best friend, smart, good-looking, and above all, yours.

✧ medstudent!jung jaehyun x (fem.) reader (featuring older brother!johnny) ✧ established relationship au, college au, brother’s best friend au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 1.6k ✧ disclaimers : discussion of fears, food.

you tilt your head to the skies outside. they're darkening, fast, and you wonder if your ride will be here in time to resuscitate some of the liveliness that has left your soul. surely enough, exam season proved to be the death of you and winter break was the single strand of hope you were holding out for. sighing, you tug the curtain back closed and look to your phone for the nth time that day, your lockscreen comes up blank.

fingers drumming against the handle of your suitcase, you busy yourself with roving your eyes over the lengths of your apartment once more in search of anything you might've missed. another short sigh is uttered and cut off when the rap of knuckles sounds at the door. you're rushing all of a sudden, how did you miss his car pulling into the parking lot when you've just barely parted your eyes from the window?

checking the peephole, something that should be second nature to any female living alone, is long forgotten as you swing the door open just as a second rap is about to ensue. the man on the other side is who you've been needing to see for the whole duration of the afternoon and the weeks leading up to it.

"hey, sorry, i got caught up with a bunch-"

an 'umph' replaces the rest of his words as you fling your arms around him. jaehyun reciprocates well, wrapping his own arms around your frame and bringing your bodies close, a tight-lipped kiss placed on the left of your forehead whilst mumbling into it, "missed me much?" a chortle of sorts escapes your own mouth, muffled by the thick fabric of his jacket, "been thinking about you all day." 

he gives your shoulder a pat, reminiscent of a 'bro pat,' and pulls from you, "we gotta get going, babe." you leave your fingers entwined with his as half of your body reenters your long-forgotten apartment to retrieve your suitcase, of which he takes charge of not a second after. your eyes are on the sky, once again, when the two of you exit the complex, and jaehyun can only question your glances. "something wrong?"

you don't mean to lie to him, but most certainly the words that tumble from your mouth pay no mind towards your sentiments, "nothing, i'm good."

but jaehyun knows you better, likes you more, than either of you are willing to admit. he lets the first half hour of the drive sit in silence. he understands that whatever's sitting on your mind will come to him when you need it to, he knows that you'll share. jaehyun looks over at the cross of your legs and the elbow propped under the window and head propped on your hand. in the faint light that lingers of the sun, he can make out the creases of your brow, the quivering demeanor that sits under the composure you let show. your boyfriend reaches a hand over to your left, lifting it from your lap, finger by finger, and into his palm with tenderness. 

you remove your stare out the window and onto him, his dark hairs falling into place across his forehead, head bobbing to the thrum of whatever song was playing in the background of your thoughts. he squeezes tight at the hand, and really, that's all you need to timidly, reassuringly, voice your worries.

"i'm not scared of the dark."

jaehyun waits for you to go on and, when you don't, shifts some of the weight of the conversation onto his shoulders, "i figured as much."

you find your voice a little while after, "and i'm not scared of driving either," musing along to your thoughts and allowing them to be aired aloud as they come, "it's just...things happen in the dark, and well, things happen all the time, but in the dark- you really don't know much when driving."

he's more just trying to nudge you along at this point than actually curious. "are you scared of hitting someone or being hit?" it's that feeling that comes when you care for someone, and when that someone is in the midst of opening up to you and the only thing you can do is receive them well, to reciprocate, to engage and make them feel heard. jaehyun loves the feeling of being the one with whom you open up to.

"both, i mean, what isn't there to be scared about when you're going 60, 70 miles per hours with little to no idea of what's in front of you?" a small, oblique smile etches on his expression, though facing forward, at the way your fingers halt their little trembles and the way your body is now aligned inwards, in his direction rather than out, towards the window. ever so diligent in choosing his words, he's also a great deal prudent in pronouncing his tone placidly when he supports, "perfectly rational."

kicking off a sandal, you hike a leg up onto the passenger seat, tucking it under your thigh and resting your and his entwined hands atop, "you think so? jieun always tells me it's dumb." 

"that's just because it doesn't apply to her, not because she doesn't think it can't apply to you." you wonder how your boyfriend articulates himself so well, even as his eyes are set forth and his other hand swerving the car into the lane beside. you nibble, unconsciously, on a fingernail, also looking out into the vast night before you. "then why did you say it's rational? you're fine with driving in the dark." you can't see a thing but you can hear jaehyun's low chuckle reverberate above the consistent hum of the engine and the whipping of wind, "because unlike your best friend, i have enough heart to pay regards to your fears."

at the lilt of his voice, you revert your sights from the black ahead and onto him. jaehyun doesn't look back; he's driving after all, but the little smile that plays on his lips tells you enough. "hm, i'll have to bring that up to her." there's this back and forth that passes between the two of you, something under the current of your conversation and something that you'll only pick up on when remembering back to this episodic memory. it's sure to be episodic. 

jaehyun doesn't respond, not for awhile, and you know him well enough to understand that silence is also a love language of his as well. it's a month that you've known him. you wouldn't say it felt like years, there were still years worth of things to discover about each other. rather, it feels like the only thing you understand, mutually and in the undercurrent, is that whatever it is that's playing between the two of you isn't just something in the moment, it's the knowledge that it'll be of the long run ahead.

it's like the feeling of when you first meet someone and you already know that they'll be your best friend. like the first chord of a song that you just know you'll never get sick of. the first whiff of a cologne that you know you'll never mind inhaling for the rest of your livelihood. the first month of a love you know will never fade, no matter the years, the miles apart, the fights, the fears.

you wonder if this is what it feels like for everyone else in the world whose first love is also their last. at least, this is what it feels like for you.

your eyes are on the moon when jaehyun breaches the silence, "you know, i'm sorry about today." head snapping to him at the sound of him speaking, you're pleased to see the moon so lovingly glints in the strands of his hair, his irises, the rings on his left hand, and his hand on the wheel. "what do you mean?"

the seeming afterthought of his seems to have been thought out quite well, for he answers almost instantaneously, as if it were at the tip of his tongue, waiting, "for picking you up late, of course." and though you are unrehearsed, you discern and voice your answer in a similar pace, "no, i'm glad you did."

"why is that?"

"because if you didn't then...we wouldn't have had the talk." 

this time, the smile that lights his features is in the crossroads of knowing and loving, understanding and reminiscence for a scene that passed less than an hour ago. jaehyun's hand is now clammy in yours, or yours in his, and he squeezes your palms together then, mortifyingly gross but somehow tolerable in the hands of only each other. a silly smile etched on your face, you glance down to note that the rings that clutter his left hand are absent on his right and that your left hand is bare of any such accessory whatsoever.

he catches the gaze and his smile morphs into one of adoration, affection, unadulterated fondness as he muses, the sound of his voice almost getting caught in the bleakness of silence, "a few years, love, i'll put something on that finger of yours, a few years."

and in a few years, indeed, johnny stands while jaehyun sits beside him. a fork is clinked to the rim of his champagne glass and the gazes of a hundred or so guests turn with intrigue in his direction. he really could go on about how his sister, the bride, had come to this point in her life where a ring would be slid on that finger of hers by none other than his best friend. he could go on about the pumpkin pie, the blanket, the text, the hand soap, the yogurt, the game night. but he doesn't.

instead, johnny, best man to the groom, jung jaehyun, simply announces into the echoes of the reception hall, "i called it."

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — about an hour later than promised but it's all good (i'm supposed to be on a break anyways, remind me to never say that again because it will probably never hold true). anyways, i hope this tied it all together a little neater than i had left it; i'm quite pleased with how it turned out hehe. okay, have a splendid day, i'll see you around!

[wannabe-fic-writer]

WandaNat x Reader : Kiss The Chef

Summary: Food is the way to the heart! In this case at least.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,883

* * * * * * 

“I said minced, this is chopped.” You resist the urge to shout, instead choosing a mild anger.

The man frowns, eyes glancing at the garlic on the cutting board and back to you.

He clearly doesn’t know the difference.

A deep sigh wracks your body before you fan him aside, picking up the chef’s knife and a fresh garlic clove. Then mincing it yourself and making sure he sees the difference.

“Now you certainly don’t sound like someone who loves their job.” 

Setting the knife down, you wipe your hands off on your towel, and turn to your long time friend and pain in the ass, Mister Tony Stark. 

“Why are you in my kitchen Anthony?” You ask, passing him, and stopping at the sauce station to taste test.

Tony feigns hurt, hand over his heart,“ that is no way to greet a friend.” 

You simply look at him, a bored expression on your face. In short telling him to get on with it because you have a kitchen to run.

He nods,“ alright alright. I’m here to cash in that favor you owe me.” 

“Did you not do that already? Cause I’m pretty sure I catered your second wedding my friend.” You remind him.

Clicking his tongue, he tells you,“ you got paid. That was a job, this is a favor.” 

The urge to groan is high but you don’t. A deal is a deal.

“What is it?”

* * * * *

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you eye the large facility, before heading inside with a sigh.

Tony is waiting at the door for you with an all too familiar smug grin on his face. If you were the violent type you would’ve smacked it off. 

“Don’t look so proud.” You huff.

Chuckling, he throws his arm around your shoulder and begins the tour of his compound. He takes you around to the gym, shows you his lab, and the living quarters where your temporary room is, then finally shows you the way to the kitchen.

As you walk you memorize where you’re going, since this’ll be the route you take most often for the next month. 

Once inside, you survey the room with narrowed eyes, checking all of the equipment it’s fitted with. It’s all state of the art, which Tony brags about, and it’s not a problem but it does mean you’ll have to get acquainted with it all. 

Tony also informs you of F.R.I.D.A.Y his fully automated A.I. He let’s you know how it works, how to order fresh ingredients, and how to pull up recipes(mainly his favorite meals but also those of his teammates. 

“And the pièce de résistance.” He jokes, then grabbing a f/c fabric and shaking it out.

‘Kiss The Chef’ is written across the front of the apron in white and Tony happily places it around your neck, despite the blank expression on your face.

The man always finds your stoic and aloof personality amusing. Especially since, while cautious, he proves to be the exact opposite. Still you two are friends. 

You’re expecting Tony to leave. With it being well past six you decide to prepare dinner and the man knows you’d rather he not hover. But he does. 

Still you move through the kitchen with the same grace as you do your restaurant. 

With this being your first day as their chef, you want to make a good impression, so you fix a meal you’d perfected long before you’d become a professional chef. 

All the while you’d had to stop Tony from dipping into the food you made. Snapping at him more than once and slapping his hands away from the food. Until eventually you kicked him from the kitchen with a task to go get everyone. 

Using that time to set each plate on the table, with white wine as it’s a compliment to the pasta dish. Making sure they all look presentable and that the table looks nice but not cluttered, you go back into the kitchen to give them their space to eat.

You don’t even try to hide your proud grin when you hear their reactions to it. First their awe at the set up and then the silent chatter about how much they enjoy the meal. 

As you wait, you nibble on the leftover food and drink a beer. Until Tony comes in to bring you to meet everyone.

“Guys this is a friend of mine, Y/n. Y/n this is Steve, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Natasha, Carol, and Rhodey.” You nod to everyone, eyes lingering on the brunette Wanda and the red head Natasha. 

They look familiar you just can’t place where you’d seen them, so you move past that.

“Y/n is the chef who prepared this meal. As a favor to me, she’s agreed to be our chef for the next month, hopefully by which we can have the position filled permanently.

Everyone nods at his information and the man you now know as Rhodey speaks up,“ well thank god for that. This was incredible. I’m assuming you have experience as a chef.”

Nodding you tell him,“ I’m head chef at a restaurant in Manhattan called-”

“Pezzo di Paradiso.” Wanda interrupts with wide eyes.

Beside her, her redhead girlfriend holds the same expression.

How had they not noticed? You work at their favorite restaurant. And this is a dish they’d thought tasted familiar. 

They’d seen you more than a few times there. They even considered asking to thank you after a meal on more than one occasion but always became flustered at the idea of having an actual conversation with you.

Mainly Wanda. The young woman had developed a crush on you that grew with each visit to your restaurant. A crush that Natasha had continuously teased her about, despite her own attraction to you. 

Now you’re to be in their home for an entire month.  

That seems to fly by quicker than anyone liked.

Over the next couple weeks the team finds themselves loving absolutely everything you cook and growing to like you as a person in general, which admittedly takes a moment since you’re pretty closed off. 

Some nights were spent teaching one of them a certain recipe or valuable techniques. Your two main “students” being Wanda and Natasha.

At first the women weren’t sure about invading your environment as you worked but you’d assured them you didn’t mind showing them some stuff. Especially since you allowed their teammates to learn from you.

What everyone had begun to notice was your approach to the women. While with everyone else you were stern and slightly frustrated, you were much more patient and forgiving with them.

On more than one occasion Tony found you smiling or chuckling softly at Natasha’s mistakes with meals or Wanda’s curiosity toward the meals you made.

He’d teasingly asked you why didn’t snap at them for hovering or being in your space and when you stumbled to answer him he knew. Your month in the compound had lead you to develop feelings for the women.

Which had ate away at you. 

The women are in a relationship. Clearly in love with one another. You knew that your feelings for them would amount to nothing as they are obviously happy together.

But that doesn’t make leaving any less hard.

Your month is up. Tonight is your last night as their chef. So you plan to go all out, as both a thank you and a goodbye. 

Using F.R.I.D.A.Y, you pull together everyone’s favorite meals. It’d been a while since you yourself cooked eight different meals but you still give it your all. Even when you set the table. 

You have F.R.I.D.A.Y call everyone down after you’ve set name cards around the table. You know there’s a chance that you’ve overstepped, having left red roses at Wanda’s and Natasha’s spots.

It’s your way of telling them that they are indeed special to you, without the risk of saying the words to them and having that blow up.

As had become usual, you hear their excited chatter as they sit down, and even their comments pointing out the difference in their spots to Wanda’s and Natasha’s. 

You present them all with a three course meal. Starting simply with salads for everyone, again being special with Natasha and Wanda as you give them soups from their countries of origin. 

The second the smell of the Shchi hits Natasha her mouth waters and while she is mesmerized by the food, she finds herself mainly focused on you as you place a bowl of Zöldségleves in front of Wanda.

Both women then look at you. 

It’s clear you’d paid more than enough attention to them as they spent time with you in the kitchen. And you’d noticed the few times the women mentioned missing the taste of food from their homes. 

Which is further proven when you serve them their favorite meals from their home countries. Chicken Paprikash for Wanda and Pelmeni for Natasha. 

By the end of the night everyone is stuffed, not leaving though until they toast to you and thank you for your services. 

Natasha and Wanda, set on one particular goal, wait for everyone to leave, before going into the kitchen. 

They find you putting away the leftovers from each dish, named sticker labels pressed to the side of the tupperware. As always they’re flustered and attracted to the sight of you moving in the kitchen so elegantly. Like this is truly your element. 

“Oh,” you finally notice them, taking a hardly noticeable step back in shock,“ is there something I can help you ladies with?” You ask, ignoring the heat that’s begun to rush up your neck at the realization of your situation.

“In fact there is.” Natasha says, a smirk tugging at her lips.

You’re almost positive this is the moment they tear you a new one for leaving the roses and obviously making their meals more special than the rest of the teams.

“We were hoping we could give our compliments to the chef.” Wanda speaks slowly, a small purposeful step forward.

Fighting a confused frown, you nod,“ um, well, compliments received.” 

The women take notice of your nervous state. It isn’t often that you act this way. As you usually keep a cool and collected air around yourself. 

And unbeknownst to you, this gives them every bit of information they need. Their thoughts that you are attracted to them as they are you had just been confirmed by you.

“Actually, Wanda and I believe our actions could speak much louder than our words.” Natasha’s voice drops to a flirty tone.

You aren’t sure if you heard her right, but it’s clear you did when Wanda nods and takes yet another step forward.

Hesitantly, she reaches for your hand, and releases a breath when you let her take it.“ We’d really like to show you are gratitude.”

Her innocent words hold a suggestive tone and you swallow, glancing at Natasha who simply smiles reassuringly. So you nod and let them pull you from the kitchen.

You aren’t sure if this will be more than it’s implied to be but you’re eager to find out.

* * * * * * 

[pretty-setter-bois]

elephant in the room

request; none! this idea popped into my head n i thought it was funny. also, this takes place during episode 4 ღ

summary; sexual tension between you and our resident ‘innocent boy’. but daisuke’s there too.

word count; 2611™

warnings; suggestive themes (no nsfw!), daisuke bby cuts his finger while cutting potatoes, maybe haru not being as innocent as we deem him to be ☛☚

prequel

     DAISUKE’S PHONE RINGS as he walks along the roads on the private property he owned, eyebrows knitting and lips pursing as he looked at the contact calling him, answering nonetheless. “what?”

“you got some time right now?” haru asks. 

wasn’t it his day off?

“yeah.” he leans forward in anticipation. “hurry up and get to the point.”

“sorry, to do this while you’re off duty, but could you help me with something? well, it’s not like absolutely need your help, but...” haru rambles.

“i don’t mind coming over, however...” daisuke looks at the road ahead of him, knowing the journey was long. “why didn’t you ask (L/N)-san? she lives much closer than i do, and-” a small, repetitive beep continued for a few seconds, cutting him off.

haru had hung up.

     DAISUKE HAD SPOTTED haru on the bench, beginning to fall asleep. “hey. what do you need?”

“hey. sorry about this.” he jolts awake.

“hurry up and get to the point.” he replies, arrogant. “is something wrong with that child?”

the kid runs towards them, pointing towards daisuke. “is this the man?”

“yeah.” haru confirms with a nod.

“mister! please, can you find shiro for me?” he begs.

“what’s going on?” he turns to haru.

“shiro has gone missing!’ the boy exclaims.

“well, basically, a puppy named shiro has gone missing.” haru explains. “can you use your AI butler to find him?”

that was how daisuke got roped into this mess, following a wild goose chase in the shape of a white dog, without HEUSC.

he fools the kid into running off to find his dog, the smug smile playing on his face disappearing as haru drags him after the kid.

they meet an old woman on her yard, finding out that the dog the boy thought was shiro, was actually a cat.

they leave the yard defeated, taking tsuyoshi (the boy) to the police station to find out where he lived, and take him home.

     THE DETECTIVE DUO were in the grocery store, daisuke pushing the cart as haru gathered the ingredients they needed for dinner. daisuke dangerously eyes the natto haru placed in the shopping cart, not wanting it near him at any cost.

you, on the other hand, completely oblivious to them, were happily shopping among the tiny store. you placed all your items in your basket, unknowingly standing behind them in line.

you had to admit, the crisp-ironed white dress shirt and dark, navy blue vest looked completely familiar. “kambe-san?”

“(L/N)-san,” he turns around casually, revealing haru behind him.

“what are you doing here?” your voice quiets down a little, shocked at the sight of the man behind him as you addressed daisuke.

“shopping. i wish you a pleasant experience while shopping in this... grocery store.” his nose crinkles while he tries to remember the name of the building he was in.

“yeah, you too...” your voice wavers, and you want nothing more but to return to your timid ways.

“you should have dinner with us. it would be nice to partake in an activity together outside of the office. this is what you would call a hangout, am i correct?”

“yeah.” you giggle at his formality and absence of knowledge for casual words, not yet noticing haru’s strong stare towards you.

     “WHEN I SAID ‘yeah’, i was agreeing to your question about hangouts.” you jog on the side walk, trying to keep up with the tall men in front of you (though you would soon find out that daisuke was a lot closer to your height than you’d originally thought).

“i apologize, would you like to go home?” he asks as formally as he does bluntly.

“she’s already here, so she might as well eat with us, right?” haru says, and it’s the first sentence he’s spoken that was addressed to you.

his voice is so much softer, so much higher compared to the octaves it dropped to last time-

you squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath and opening them as you try your hardest to focus on whatever the pavement was made out of and nothing but.

he was thanking whatever higher power above him that he was walking in front, as every single on of the features on his face was a telltale sign that he was on the verge of breakdown. 

daisuke stops in front of the building, admiring it (or so you thought). you stop behind him, as the pathway to the stairwell was blocked, and you were more interested in what he had to say than being in haru’s line of sight.

“what are you doing?” haru turns towards him.

“this is where you live?” he asks.

“got a problem with that?” haru exclaims.

“no.” daisuke blinks, before the three of you set foot inside haru’s humble abode.

“it’s a bit cluttered, but don’t worry about it.” he motions.

“so you really do live here?” daisuke asks again, and you think about getting involved before haru kicks him out and it becomes just the two of you.

“stop pestering!” he becomes agitated, but leads you both to the kitchen. “i have to cook some rice first... alright, can you chop up the carrots and potatoes over there?”

haru hands his fellow detective a potato, as daisuke stares at it intently. you decide to intervene, feeling bad that you’d ended up in his house without him being able to make a decision. “i’ll help!”

haru nods, taking things out of his shopping bag as you focus on his eyes. they had returned to their usual, golden yellow, and his pupils were normal again. 

they had darkened to a gorgeous light brown hue a few nights prior, his pupils largely dilating to a radius you’d never seen on eyes before-

you move to one of his drawers, the one he kept knives (and corkscrews, which you’d learned earlier) in to help daisuke with cutting vegetables.

daisuke noticed that you’d known exactly where it was without guidance, but brushed it off and focused on the task at hand.

once you’d found one, you stand next to him and begin to cut potatoes effortlessly, humming a small tune you’d heard somewhere on the bus.

daisuke looks over, trying to copy your actions, failing with difficulty. how did you make it look so easy? 

“need help?” you ask with a smile, to which he nods, primarily focusing on the potatoes.

“like this...” you unknowingly stick your tongue out in concentration, sturdying his left hand around the vegetable and guiding his right hand with your own, all while standing beside him.

haru couldn’t keep his eyes off of the both of you, mentally cursing daisuke for using the opportunity to get closer to you. why was he jealous?

“ah!” he yells, being too distracted to notice the hot steam that tickled — and almost burned — his hand.

“are you alright?” you ask, peaking your head through the door.

you’d gotten comfortable with the situation, knowing that you’d be here for a while. might as well suck it up and act like an adult, right?

“yeah...” he breathes, ears twitching at your voice.

it was just as harmonious as it was when he’d heard it then, had you always sounded like an angel? you didn’t even have to speak words, incoherent noises being more than enough proof-

he tries to shake the thoughts out of his head, counting the grains of rice to distract him from being distracted. he was doomed.

you, completely unaware of his thoughts, decided that daisuke had had enough practice cutting and could do it on his own. not even a minute later, he speaks up.

“the first aid box.”

you look up, confused.

“i injured myself. bring me the first aid box.” he repeats.

“huh? like i’d have something like that. just lick it, it’ll heal.” haru shrugs.

you inspect daisuke’s finger, noticing that the cut was larger than an average cut you’d get from cutting vegetables.

you nimbly make your way to the shelf, opening it and reaching for the band-aids. damn it. even on your tippy-toes you weren’t tall enough to reach it.

you feel a presence behind you, one you recognize. you recognize it because it’s the only one capable of making your heart race, the speed of your mind competing against your heart with thoughts-

“(L/N)-san?” daisuke asked, eager for your return as he would not be able to cut the rest of the potato.

“yes?” you squeaked, glad he couldn’t see you trapped in between the sink and haru.

“where are you?” he continues with his question.

“i’m getting band-aids, give me a second.” you manage to speak.

so you knew where the band-aids were, too. he thinks. 

at the mention of band-aids, haru gets them from above you and places them in front of you. you let out a small ‘thank you’, and get back to daisuke.

realizing that you had to get back to the kitchen to return them, and you couldn’t bare another awkward interaction, you place them on the table and continue with your work.

     “THIS IS ALL you have?” daisuke asks, stepping out of the shower in haru’s clothes.

you couldn’t help but marvel at his appearance, how does his hair feel like? is it as fluffy as it seems? he looked absolutely adorable.

“you know, you’ve been complaining this whole time.” haru points out, and daisuke crosses his arms on his chest behind him.

you were also glad that daisuke took short showers, as being alone with haru made the elephant in the room grow bigger.

said man put your food on to plates, and the three of you carried your plates to a table, you being on either side of them.

“thank you for the food.” you nod, before beginning to eat.

you had to admit, this was much better than the packet-ramen you had originally planned to eat.

he looked at you while you were distracted, devouring something from hunger as he began to-

-eat his own food, shaking his head again. the three of you had finished your food, and you washed the plates and spoons as a token of gratitude for the meal.

you’d arrived at the table after finishing, only to be greeted by an awkward question from daisuke. “have you been here before?”

“what do you mean?” not quite comprehending it.

“haru’s apartment.” he tilts his head towards you. “have you been here before?”

your eyes widen, a shaking fist making it’s way towards your chest as you blushed red. “wh-why would you say that?”

“you know where everything is. the knives, the ban-aids, the sponge.” he bluntly deducts.

you looked at haru, who gulped and tried to avoid your stare. so this is how the night was going to go down?

“n-no, not at all!” you nervously chuckle. “all houses look the same in this area, so it was easy.”

“do all people put their belongings in the same places too?” daisuke asks. what he meant as a simple question became more evidence against your lie.

“um...” you shy away from the question.

“i got something you might like.” haru says, and like that, the conversation is dodged. for now.

dry-cured ham was thrown into the mix (and spit out by daisuke, to which you tried and failed to stifle a laugh).

haru gets up and goes to the kitchen, throwing in a bunch of ingredients to make something he referred to as a ‘kato family special’.

“a can of tuna, bean sprouts... pour some soy sauce with tons of wasabi in it... and lastly, some bonito flakes.” he explains as he cooks.

he serves it to daisuke, and you watch intently as the millionaire takes a bite. was he going to enjoy food that us commoners eat?

“are you going to have some, (L/N)-san?” he asks.

“ah, no thank you. i’ve had some befo-” you cut yourself off, realizing what you had just said.

“you’ve been here before.” he bluntly shrugs. “why hide it?”

you don’t respond, instead excusing yourself for water (and a change of dreaded atmosphere). after you return, you announce, “i think i should take my leave now... it’s getting late, and if i wait any later, i wont be able to leave.”

“your phone.” daisuke simply points out.

damn it. it had died earlier, and thankfully, you had a charger (so you wouldn’t have to ask haru for one). you’d come here walking, and since it was late, you didn’t want to leave without your phone at least at a decently charged number.

“i guess a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt...” you awkwardly chuckle.

     “INSPECTOR ASANO, YOU are ordered on indefinite leave effective today.” the tv announces, the movie you’d been roped into watching coming close to an end.

haru and daisuke sat behind you, the only difference between you three is that you were the only one sober. you didn’t want another repeat of last time.

haru began rambling about justice, about how some people lived a life with everything given to them. daisuke, on the other hand, was on the verge of falling asleep.

his subconscious self made his way to wherever he ended up, saying that he wanted to sleep. you yourself had gotten up, knowing that you had to get going yourself.

as you were getting up, you felt something tug at your wrist. a drunk haru. “don’t leave. it’s late.”

“well, i kind of have too...” you nervously giggle while rubbing the back of your neck.

“why?”

“well, i can’t sleep here. there’s no where i can sleep.” you shrug; a lie.

“then sleep on the bed.”

“i’m pretty sure daisuke’s sleeping on the couch, and i’d hate to kick you off of your own bed-”

“i’ll sleep on the bed too.”

your face gets red, your arm gets limp in his and your brain can’t comprehend anything. “wh-what?”

“i said i’ll sleep on the bed too, why should it matter.” his words are slowly spoken. “i mean, we’ve done it before, right?”

haru was always bolder when drunk (proven by last time), and it only left you blushing and limp.

“b-but... daisuke’s outside, how-what is-”

he cuts her off, pulling her towards him as she falls forwards. their lips, the only thing on their minds, being a mere inch away, connect themselves as if having minds of their own.

what was meant to be an innocent kiss soon turned into a heated one, and then a make-out session, and then you staying over. you’d dreaded the repeat of last time to happen, but now that it had, you couldn’t be any more grateful.

extra;

     YOU’D WOKEN UP early, lazily putting on whatever you’d discarded the night before. you dashed to the bathroom to at least try and wash up, before daisuke caught you and questioned you again.

you open the door quietly, almost letting out a shout of surprise. in the bathtub, daisuke was sleeping soundly yet in an uncomfortable position. you quickly scramble for your phone, thinking that he couldn’t get any more adorable than he was now.

you snap a quick photo, deciding that it was all the waking up that you needed, and made your way to haru’s room. you woke him up softly, watching as his eyelashes slowly blinked awake.

you give him a quick kiss on the cheek, before he mutters something incomprehensible and goes back to sleep. maybe one day, the elephant in the room would be addressed.

NOTES ☀♕❣⁂ღ

so um, this was a ride. i’m glad i finally have a haru imagine! our bby deserves some love! also, daisuke with his hair down, a whole BABY.

[clandonnachaidh]

The Fireballs

Read on AO3

“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”

Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.

It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.

A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.

Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.

Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.

Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.

Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.

Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.

“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”

That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.

There was only one thought in her mind.

What the hell was a ‘scurry’?

The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.

“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”

***

“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”

Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.

With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.

No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.

“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”

Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.

Silence descended over room.

If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door. 

Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.

“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”

Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.

Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.

But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.

The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.

Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.

“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”

She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”

“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”

He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.

Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.

“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”

“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”

Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.

“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”

“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.

There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.

When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.

“Can I help you with something?”

He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”

Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”

“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.

“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”

The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.

“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”

“Excuse me?”

“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”

“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”

“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.

Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.

“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”

Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.

“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”

“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.

Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.

She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.

And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.

While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.

With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.

She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.

“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”

His voice made her spin on her heel.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.

He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”

The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.

“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”

For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?

He noticed her gormless expression.

“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”

“I haven’t been to the High Street.”

It was his turn to balk.

“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”

“For the love of God, tell me what?”

He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”

When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.

“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.

Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.

Viking indeed.

He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”

“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.

The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.

“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”

“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”

He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”

He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.

“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”

“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.

Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.

“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”

“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.

He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.

Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.

“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”

Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.

“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”

The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.

“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”

His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.

“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”

Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.

Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.

Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?

Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?

Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?

Geillis: He’s an arse man!

Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!

Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!

Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.

Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.

Geillis: Affa good hands 😏

Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.

As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.

Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.

Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.

“Doctor Beauchamp?”

She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.

“Please call me Claire,” she implored.

“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”

“What?”

“Och, nothin’.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.

“Sexy.”

The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.

Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.

She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.

A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.

“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.

Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”

Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.

She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.

“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”

“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”

When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.

“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”

Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.

“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”

Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.

Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.

“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.

She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”

Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.

“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”

“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.

She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.

Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.

“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”

Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”

“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”

She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.

Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”

“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”

Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.

Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.

“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.

Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.

They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.

The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.

Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.

“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”

Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.

[sushiandstarlight]

Lockdown Voicemails

Read this story on AO3

There was an extremely annoying sound blaring outside his cocoon of blankets.  No matter how much he growled and hissed at it, the sound wouldn’t cease.  In fact, it was only getting louder.

Crowley reached out and grasped his phone, swiping the alarm off without even looking.  He drug his now-cold arm with the phone back into the warmth of the blankets and sighed.  Maybe five more minutes.  What was five more minutes after months of sleeping?

He gave up on it two minutes in, an antsiness spreading out into his limbs making them want to move and slither.  He pulled the phone up in front of his face and blinked a few times to clear his vision only to startle and sit up, throwing the blankets back.

There were 24 missed calls, all from Aziraphale.  His heart started racing, thinking something had gone horribly wrong while he slept.  But, really, if it was something so bad surely Aziraphale would have popped over and woke him up, right?  He jabbed the first voicemail:

“Ah, I see I did miss you.  I had hoped, well... I had hoped to catch you before your nap,” and here Aziraphale’s voice waiver and lowered a bit, “It is just a nap, I hope.  I hope you won’t be gone until July.  Just... er, just call me back when you get up, I suppose? Okay.”

Crowley stared at the phone.  So, Aziraphale had been okay on May 2nd.  That was good.  He tapped the second message:

“I guess you were telling the truth about your nap until July.  That’s okay, really.  I mean there’s not much to do, is there?  I was enjoying my baking... The whole process and, of course, the tasting.  I don’t know.  It’s lost a bit of it’s shine, I’m afraid.  I thought about leaving some of my cakes on the neighbor’s stoops.  Not sure how well that would be received.  Is that a thing humans do anymore?  Unprecedented times, they keep saying,” there was a long pause where Crowley could hear him breathing, “I suppose that’s it then.  I hope you’re resting well.”

He scrolled down a few voicemails and tapped the one from the last day of May.

“I spent some time reading human accounts of ‘ancient Rome’ today,” Aziraphale began without preamble; Crowley thought he sounded tired, “not all accurate, but they do a pretty good job for what information they have.  Doesn’t quite capture the feel of the time.  You can’t capture the feeling if you haven’t experienced a culture though, can you?  Do you... do you remember the oysters?  I thought they were divine, but I remember your face when you tried them.” There’s a soft chuckle and then, “I miss our dinners.  Ordering in isn’t the same, even if I can get whatever I want these days.”  There was another pause and then a click.

Crowley’s heart was doing a funny little sideways wobble.  That was the end of May.  He was a little afraid to click the next few messages.  Maybe... maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to leave Aziraphale behind just to skip a few months.  He scrolled past a few more voicemails and tapped one for the middle of June.  There was hardly a sound at first, but an occasional soft sigh or the creak of floorboards gave away that someone was there, pacing.  Crowley held the phone closer.

“... the thing is, as you say... I miss you, Crowley.  I don’t miss our dinners so much.  I can order in what I like.  I don’t miss the plays; I can ‘stream’ those.  A lot of museums are putting so many interesting things on the internet for me to visit.  I can have the majority of the world right here in my bookshop with me.  Imagine, human ingenuity,” Crowley swears he can actually hear Aziraphale swallow hard over the phone, “But you’re over there sleeping and I miss your company.  Which is silly, isn’t it?  We’ve gone longer apart, I know...” there’s another near-silent pause before Aziraphale seems to collect himself, “Do give me a ring when you wake up, dear.”

Crowley rubbed his eyes with his free hand because they were itching from being closed for so long.  It’s the brightness of the phone, that’s all.  Still, his chest is aching solidly now.  There were a couple more messages before the last one and he skips those, opting to listen to the one from two days ago.

“It’s- It’s nearly July now.  I find myself a bit excited to hear from you.  I hope you don’t hit the snooze,” the laugh that follows sounds hollow and a bit forced, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though.  Especially if you check the news before your phone.  Things are not...  they’re not as far along as we’d hoped.  I mean, the world is trying to open back up.  Humans treat economies like living things, you know.  Some of the sellers on the street have lost their shops.  And, one of them got sick.  She’s still in hospital.  I would like to visit her... maybe help... but they aren’t allowing visitors due to the infectiousness of the virus...” there’s another one of those long, painful pauses that gnaws at Crowley’s chest before, “When you wake up you’re more than welcome to come here now.  I should have... I should have let you pop over to begin with.  It’s still hard to remember, sometimes... that there aren’t rules for us now.  Not even human rules, really.  You can drive as fast as you like in London.  We can’t get sick.  You can come here.  I wish.  I wish you’d come here.  Call me when you’re up, won’t you?”

Crowley tossed his phone and the blankets aside, sliding to the edge of the bed and rubbing his face with both hands.  Taking a nap had been a mistake.  He should have insisted and tempted the angel into giving in.  That’s what he always had done, wasn’t it?  Spin words differently until something that had sounded impossible started to sound like something allowed.  It was just that, after everything, he had wanted Aziraphale to invite him willingly.  But, what had that stubbornness really accomplished?  With a snap of his fingers he was clean and dressed.  He grabbed a few of his things and a bottle of wine and headed for the Bentley.

Strangely, a knock at the door of the bookshop door yielded no answer.  Crowley had seen plenty of humans out and about on the streets on his way here.  Maybe the angel had gone out at last.  Still, it was being advertised as a bad idea, so he didn’t think that was the case.  He snapped open the door and crept inside, locking it again behind him.  The bookshop was dark and still inside.  He kept walking through the maze of books and the collected clutter of all the angel’s lifetimes.

He found Aziraphale in a pool of light in the back room.  He was curled up at the end of the sofa where they’d spent so many nights talking and drinking.  A blanket was draped over his lap and a book that had been in his hands was now on the floor.  He was sleeping, unbelievably.  Crowley had never seen him sleep before.  But, here he was: asleep with his silly little glasses still on.

Crowley set the wine down on a side table and stooped down to pick up the book, closing it gently and setting in on the sofa beside Aziraphale.  He didn’t stand back up, instead crouching there and observing his friend: his face was lax in sleep, all the fussy lines smoothed out.  Crowley found he would rather have those lines back if it meant he could see his eyes.  He reached out and gently shook the angel’s knee.

Aziraphale startled which made Crowley jump, losing his balance and pitching backwards to sit on the floor.

“Crowley!”

“Yes, it’s me!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale flustered, going about straightening his bow tie and his collar, “How did you... Did you really pop over here?”

“You were asleep.”

“Nonsense, I don’t sleep.”

“You rarely sleep.”

“I don’t sleep at all.  You sleep.  For months.”  There was a hurt edge to his voice that cut where the voicemails had ached.  He had.  He had left him alone here for months.

“Okay, you weren’t asleep.  I just snuck up on you.  Very sneaky, me.”  He was back up on his knees now, unsure what to do with his hands.  He wanted to touch, but that hadn’t seemed so welcomed a moment before.

“That isn’t much better, is it?”  Aziraphale was fiddling with the edges of he blanket in his lap, “Did you have a good nap?”

“Nothing to speak of, really, I was unconscious,” Crowley wanted to rest his hands on Aziraphale’s knees at least, some form of grounding connection, instead he tried to use words, “I’m sorry-”

“I do apologize-”

They shared a long look.

“I’m glad you didn’t oversleep,” Aziraphale swallowed glancing from Crowley’s eyes to his own lap, “It’s been a long couple of months...”

Crowley placed a hand on one knee and when that wasn’t met with more than a cautious gaze he grasped the other and gave it a squeeze.

“I would rather have been here.  I’m glad to be here now, with you.”

“I’m relieved you’re here.  I missed you terribly, Crowley.”  Soft, impossibly warm hands covered his own and Crowley’s heart gave a lurch.

“Next time,” Crowley watched more lines cross the angel’s face, “if there is a next time, I mean.  Next time I’ll set my phone so you can ring through.”

“Oh, would you?”

“Anything, Angel, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Maybe next time- if there is a next time,” Aziraphale pulled back his hands and fussed with them in his lap, “Next time you could just sleep here.  So I... So I know where you are.”

“I could do that, too,” Crowley’s voice sounded rough even to him.  The distance between them, though scant, was still unnerving him.  He stood slowly and sat beside Aziraphale, knee pressed against his thigh, “You sounded so sad on the phone.  I should’ve been there to answer.  I won’t make that mistake again, I promise.”

There was a pause.

“You believe me?”

“I do.  You haven’t lied to me yet.”

Crowley felt his shoulder’s relax for the first time since he’d started listening to the messages on his phone.

“So, tell me: you’ve been here all this time wishing I was here, yeah?  What would you like to do?  I brought some wine!  We could play some board games.  Promise not to cheat... overly much.”  Crowley smiled at him, hoping to draw a smile from the angel.

Aziraphale smiled a little and then a worried shadow crossed over his face.

“Whatever you want, I’m at your disposal: a fully charged demon.”

“I... you don’t have to, you know?  It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale was rambling on like Crowley usually did and that was unnerving to say the least, “Could I... well, could I hold you?”

Crowley’s brain fizzled to a stop.

“You can say no,” Aziraphale’s breaths were coming faster now and he was blinking rapidly, “you don’t have to.”

Crowley sat up and threw a knee over Aziraphale’s lap so he could settle into it.

“Oh.”

“Whatever you want.  I meant it.”  Crowley watched for a moment as Aziraphale took him in, drinking him in really.  Then the angel was reaching for him and pulling him into a tight hug.  Crowley snuggled closer to him, burying his face in the angel’s shoulder.

“You’re what I want,” one warm hand was on Crowley’s back while the other was stroking up into his hair, “I missed you and now I only want to know you’re here.”

“m’here,” Crowley murmured into the shoulder he was pressed into, arms looping around Aziraphale’s neck, “Not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale squeezed him again and Crowley felt the tension in the angel’s body drain out, taking his along with it.

[anyarally]

Sanders Sides Secret Santa Gift!

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

For: @authorgirl0131  Wish 1: Intruloceit Christmas fluff Wish 2: Sympathetic Deceit whump Wish 3: Logan and Deceit Christmas fluff Ao3 (it’s formatted better on there lol)

Janus, Logan, and Remus Have the Best Christmas Ever

Janus is upset after SvS Redux, so Remus and Logan try to help. Plus Christmas fluff!

We are ethically compromised if we give him a seat at the table

Snake

Liar

Rude

Spiteful

Jealous

Evil 

Villain

The Light Sides’ words haunt Janus every night, only getting worse once Virgil leaves. The worst part is… he knows they’re not lying. Every insult, every implication, every rude remark, every single one was true. At least, to those who spoke them it was. 

He sits alone in his room every night, Remus usually coming to check on him. Tonight, though, is special. Janus just fought with all the Lights, and told them his name! It was one thing when Remus did it, he’s crazy and unpredictable! When Janus does it… it’s serious. 

Remus knocks aggressively on the ornate gold door, “Hey, ‘Anus?! You wanna hang out some? We could decapitate some of Roman’s dumb unicorns in the imagination, I sensed some trespassing earlier!”

Deceit startles on his bed, throwing back the covers (which he really shouldn’t be under this early in the evening) and mumbles just loud enough to hear, “Not tonight, Ree, I’m too tired.”

“Is it because of something they said again? I told them not to get to you, just because we’re different doesn’t mean we’re bad.”

“It doesn’t matter, Remus, just go take care of those unicorns. Maybe tomorrow we can hang out, ok?”

“Oh, um, ok. See you at dinner?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be up to it. Sorry.”

“Alright, let me know if you need anything?”

There was no response. Remus sighed, slumping away to his room. 

This went on for weeks. Every day, Janus would come out for breakfast, unhinge his jaw and eat enough for the day, even though he used to eat the same as Remus(in moderation, he refuses to eat eyeballs and pubic hair). Eventually, after about two and a half weeks, Remus had had enough.

When Janus slouched into the kitchen for his daily meal, Remus slammed his hand on the table, “You are coming with me to the imagination!”

“No, Remus. I’m too tired.”

“Nope, nuh-uh, none of that ‘tired’ bullshit, you’ve said that every day for the last month!”

“Re-”

“Nope nope nope! Come with me!” Remus yelled, grabbing Janus’s arm with an unsurprisingly terrifying grin on his face. 

Remus dragged Janus to the sickly stone mirror with green ooze globbing out that leads to the imagination, the snake complaining and protesting the whole way. 

Once they got there though, none of the things that usually made him happy worked. When Remus had him attack Roman’s unicorns, he only said he didn’t want to make their relationship with the Light Sides even worse. They visited Janus’s giant golden two-headed snake, Eilonwy and Ethelinda, and Janus couldn’t even look her in the eyes(either set of them!). Remus even tried having him watch live musicals by sneaking into Roman’s side of the imagination, but it only reminded him of the movie nights everyone but the Dark Si- now, just Janus were invited too. Remus had stopped going, but still.

After the day spent trying to cheer Janus up in the imagination had no success, Remus decided to bring in the big guns. 

The next day, Janus surprisingly didn’t get any visits from Remus. Just one text of a .gif that was weird as hell. 

The day after that, however, Janus heard three precise knocks at his door, at precisely 9:00 am. He yelled out, “Remus! Just stop already! I’m fine!” The only response was another precise three knocks at his door at 9:01 am. He only grunted and curled into his heated blanket more, assuming it’s just another one of Remus’s dumb pranks. 

After three knocks every minute on the minute for half an hour, Janus caved and opened the door, immediately protesting, “Remus, I swear to Thomas, I-” he stopped dead in his tracks when he looked up and saw who he was objecting to, “Logan?”

“Hello, De- Janus. Remus informed me he was concerned about you, so I have come to see,” Logan pulled out his notecards, “What is up?” 

Janus chuckled, pulling the door open wider, “Okay Logan, you can come in.” 

Janus puts his hat on as they walk inside, Logan looking around and noticing so much clutter. From what Remus had told him, Janus was a very organized person, almost obsessively so. Plus, the room wasn’t very warm at all, which cannot be good for someone cold-blooded. 

When Logan comments on this, Janus simply brushes him off, saying he hasn’t had the time to clean up and his usual heaters would be a fire hazard with the mess. 

They sit on some large extravagant armchairs in front of a fireplace, Logan favoring the black one with gold beading while Janus takes the deep yellow one with shiny black beading. 

As they sit down, Janus lights the fire with a wave of his hand, trying (and failing) to subtly change his outfit into a clean one from his closet. Logan notices, but decides not to comment. 

“So, what did Remus send you for again?”

“Well he didn’t exactly send me, per se, I reached out to him because I hadn’t seen you in a while, he said he would handle it, then he got me when that didn’t work.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, of course. I tried to bring it up to the other Light Sides, but they would not listen. Therefore, going to Remus, and consequently, you, was the best option.”

“Wow, uh, thanks, Logan, I really appreciate that. I assumed none of the Light Sides thought about how things would make us feel.”

“Granted, that is a fair assumption,” Logan quieted down, facing Janus’s bookshelves and silently reading the titles he has, mentally comparing it to books he’s read. 

Janus wanted to question Logan about that, but decided to try and get to the point gradually instead, saying, “Logan,” said Side looked up at Janus, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

This made Logan pause and think. After about fifteen painfully silent seconds for Janus, Logan started speaking again, “I apologize, but I do not understand. What are you sorry for exactly?” 

“For, ya know, the last video.”

Logan stares at Janus.

Janus groans, “You’re really going to make me say it, huh? Okay, I’m sorry for taking your place earlier in the video.”

“Oh. Yes. That.” Logan stops, trying to formulate a response, “It is quite alright, Janus. While I was a bit hurt in the moment, I appreciate you figuratively beating some sense into the others.”

“Are you sure that you’re actually alright, though?”

“I… well, I do wish you had simply told me.” After Janus sends Logan a questioning look, Logan adds, “I know I would’ve been happy to step down and even let you disguise yourself as me, you didn’t need to knock me out. With those two, it’s very… difficult to get them to actually consider things, I know that first hand, so I entirely understand why disguising yourself as me was the most efficient way to get through to them.”

“Oh, I… I’m so sorry Logan, I hadn’t even considered that. I’m just used to expecting a no, I…”

“As stated before, it’s quite alright. Besides, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“What do you mean?”

Logan sighs, looking down at his shoes, “I should’ve spoken up sooner. About the Lights’ treatment of you, I mean. They were unnecessarily cruel to you, and I just stood by. I was… scared. I almost spoke up when Virgil hissed at you when you came to get your hat back from Roman, but I don’t know the whole story between you and Virgil, and I didn’t want to impose. Additionally, I…” Logan took a deep breath, doing a round of the 4, 7, 8 exercise Virgil taught them, “I was scared of being left out. I know I’ve said I don’t have feelings, but I was,” Logan chuckles, “deceitful, in that aspect.”

“Logan,” Janus seemed to be on the brink of tears of relief, “thank you so much. That means so much to me, I… hey, uh, would you want to come over for a movie night this Friday? I know movie nights with the Lights are on Saturdays, so…?”

“That sounds delightful,” Logan started to get up, “I will see you then. I apologize, but I must go. Thomas needs me at my best, I sense he’s about to start editing a new video.”

“No worries, Logan, I’ll see ya Friday.” 

And so, Logan came over that Friday, and the Friday after that. After weeks of being holed up in his room, Janus started to come out more often, and Remus was very happy to see more of him. Logan started coming over every Friday, and as time went on, he even started coming over more often just to enjoy Remus and Janus’s company. Sometimes, he would visit Remus’s side of the imagination with them, other times, he would exchange books with Janus and discuss them, and eventually, he would even start inviting Janus and Remus over to view the constellations with him as he explained them and showed them the stars with his telescope. 

This went on for months, and eventually, the Light Sides noticed. Whenever asked, though, Logan only stated he needed more time to himself. They laid off for a while, but eventually, it got a little suspicious, especially when they started hearing other voices coming from his room. 

Finally, Patton decided to investigate. He heard the voices in Logan’s room while getting him for famILY dinner, and leaned up against the door before knocking. 

“And here you’ll see MACS 2129-1, often referred to as the ‘Zombie Galaxy,” Logan happily explains.

“Oh fuck yes!” Remus yells, in turn causing a chuckle to emanate from Janus. 

Logan chuckles as well, “Fuck yes indeed, Remus,” Patton gasps almost involuntarily but stays quiet enough so no one notices, “This massive, disk-shaped galaxy spins twice as fast as the Milky Way does, but it's still not nearly as active. Hubble observations of the distant galaxy reveal that it hasn't made stars for approximately 10 billion years. MACS 2129-1 is what's known as a ‘dead galaxy,’ since stars no longer form there. Scientists believed that galaxies of this sort had formed by merging with smaller galaxies over time, but MACS 2129-1's stars didn't form from these sorts of explosive mergers; they formed early on, in the disk of the original galaxy. The findings suggest that dead galaxies somehow internally rearrange their structure as they age rather than changing shape because they combine with other galaxies. I, er, I’m sorry I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

Janus shushes Logan, “No, Logan, we’ve been over this,” Janus gently places his hand on Logan’s slowly reddening cheek, “We love to hear you talk, especially about things that make you happy. Isn’t that right, Remus?”

“Hell yeah, Lo! I love hearing you get so excited about stuff, and I love learning about the stars with you, you’re a great teacher!” 

By now, Patton had decided he didn’t want to intrude, he was proud of his kiddos. Logan, for reaching out and making more friends, and Janus and Remus for making Logan feel loved in a way that Patton just couldn’t seem to. He leaned back from the door and walked by, deciding to text Logan to let him know about dinner so he could come if he wanted but he didn’t have to cut his time with the Dark Sides short. 

Meanwhile, Logan looked down at his phone and sighed.

“What is it, Lo-Lo?” Remus tilted his head so far to the left his head broke off.

As Remus smacked his head back in place, Logan sighed, “Patton says dinner’s about to start. I really should go.”

“You don’t have to, Logan, you know that right?”

“Yes, I’m aware but I haven’t gone all week and I’m concerned the Lights will think I’m not eating at all. I wouldn’t want Patton to get… upset.”

“Okay, okay, we all remember when Patton went all Hop Pop.”

Logan looked at both of them again with a small, but genuine, smile, dropping it as he sank down to the Light Side’s dining room. 

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least. 

Patton tried to break the ice, “So, Logan, you’ve been spending a lot of time in your room?”

There was a long, long pause.

“Apologies, I now realize that was a question. I assumed it was a statement. Yes, I have been spending a lot of time in my room.”

“May we ask why?” Roman sarcastically asked.

“I find that I’m more productive when I stay in my room.”

“Well, I’ve heard some other voices coming from your room…” Patton hesitantly added. 

“What are you insinuating, Patton.” Logan harshly said, not asked, eyes harsh and cold.

“Well, I, uh-”

Virgil gently cut off Patton’s scrambling, “You know that we won’t be mad if you want to hang out with Remus and Janus, right?”

“Right!” Patton started, “We were actually talking about it some earlier, and we’d love to start having them over for famILY meals too!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Is Roman on board with this?”

Roman sighed, “I may have some issues with my brother, but a true prince wouldn’t stop other relationships from forming just because he didn’t like the other party. I know Remus, and he won’t hurt you,” he thought back to the shuriken, “well, not permanently at least.”

Logan smiled, the first genuine smile he had shown the Light Sides in months. “I can tell them.”

“Wait, Logan,” Logan looks back at Patton, “Christmas is this Friday, and well I can’t think of a better day to expand our famILY!”

Logan chuckled, “I’ll let them know,” he started to head back to his room but paused and turned to look back at the Lights, “Oh, and I’m staying with them on Christmas Eve. Apologies.”

“No problem, Logan! Thanks for letting us know!”

Once Logan got back to his room, he gave the Dark Sides the news. “Remus, Janus, I have some news.”

Remus popped up from where he was looking at his newest dagger under Logan’s covers, “Oooh? What is it, Wolverine?”

“Patton, and subsequently the other Light Sides, have invited you two and I to a famILY meal on Christmas,” Logan noticed how Janus and Remus’s eyes lit up but ignored it in favor of finishing his announcement, “I have informed them that I will be with you on Christmas Eve.”

Janus smiled, “That’s great! So, you told them about us?” Logan sat at his chess table with Janus, “Well, technically they guessed, but yes. They asked about me spending time in my room, then stated they did not disapprove of our… relationship, I suppose.”

Janus smiled, “That’s great, Lo.”

That Christmas Eve, the trio sat around the fireplace in the Dark Side’s living room. They cuddled together under a Big Hero 6 blanket while watching Die Hard, which they all of course agreed was the best Christmas movie. They had stayed up pretty late, and once the movie was over, Remus started excitedly jumping up and down, “It’s after midnight! It’s officially Christmas!”

Logan sleepily checked his watch, “You are correct, but I do not see how this is currently relevant?”

“Now I can give you guys my presents!”

Remus kept bouncing on the balls of his feet until Janus happily sighed, “Alright, what did you get us?”

Remus squealed, “I’ll show you!” while running to his room.

Janus and Logan chuckled together until Logan spoke up, “I, ahem, got you gifts as well. Would it be adequate for me to go get them?”

“Sure, I actually got some for you guys too. We’ll all go get them and meet back here.”

Logan smiled, nodded, and sank out.

When they all returned, they all had light blushes on their faces. “Who would like to go first? In handing out their presents, that is.” Logan awkwardly asked. 

“I do!” Remus excitedly shouted. Logan and Janus were very much not surprised, and they all sat down on the carpet in front of the couch. 

Once they were seated, Remus yeeted the presents at their recipients, both of which catching their present with ‘oof’s. 

Janus ripped his open to reveal a long black cape with golden lining. He was about to start thanking Remus for the warm fabric when the clasp on it caught his eye. He looked closer, seeing a beautiful silver clasp depicting a snake and eight tentacles wrapping around a unicorn. Not trapping it, it felt more like… hugging. Protecting. He flipped it over to see an engraving, ‘J.L.R.’ “Thank you, Remus! I especially like the clasp, and the warmth and style are both surprisingly practical!”

Logan respectfully undid the poorly done tape and placed the wrapping paper to the side, opening the box to see some soft black and white fabric. When he took it out of the box and unfolded it, he saw it was a new unicorn onesie, this one black with stars instead of white, with a rainbow horn, lining, and wrists. Logan started to tear up, holding it back when he addressed Remus, “Thank you, Remus, this is… perfect.” 

Despite how calmly it was stated, Janus and Remus both knew how much something had to mean to Logan for him to call it perfect.

Logan went next, getting Janus a new heated blanket with his yellow two-headed snake logo on it, which he loved. Next, he looked at Remus, “So, I did some research, and I got you something. But before I give it to you, I require confirmation that you will not use this on another side.”

“Ooo! Is it a torture device!?”

“Yes. But you cannot have it until you at least promise me that you will not use this on another side. You can use it on as many of yours or Roman’s unsuspecting imaginary townspeople as you wish, but not. A. Side.”

“Jeez, Wolverine, I promise, okay?! Now gimme.” Remus made grabby hands at Logan.

Logan reached behind his back and emerged with a metal dark grey and green pear-shaped object. He holds it out to Remus and he grabs it, “Remus, this is a Pear of Anguish. The first known account of one is in the 17th century, and it is operated as so,” Logan gently pulls the device back from Remus’s hands and twists the circle at the top, making it pop out into expanding segments, “This simple pear would be placed inside the orifice of a person and then gradually expanded. The kindest use was in a person’s mouth where it would ultimately shatter the skull, causing death. More gruesome is when it was used on parts in the lower half of the body which was rarely fatal, but excruciating.” 

Remus giggled at ‘lower half of the body’ “Thank you so much, Logan! I can’t wait to try this out, you’re the best!”

Janus went last, giving Remus a silver tentacle-themed ear cuff, which he enjoyed very much, putting it on right away. Next, he gave Logan a gigantic telescope with stars and math equations all over it, with Logan’s logo big on the side. Logan teared up at the thoughtfulness and hugged Janus tight.

The three ended up spending the whole night and day following snuggling together watching cheesy Christmas romcoms, and drinking hot chocolate. 

That evening, on the Light Side of the mindscape, the Lights once again did a Secret Santa. Sadly, Janus and Remus weren’t included since their attendance was decided so late, but Patton made sure to get them each something.

Logan got Roman this year, so he got him a journal full of prompts in which he could write, draw, or brainstorm. Patton got Logan, and he made him a bunch of cupcakes with the Logan’s Berry Crofters Jam, which Logan was eternally thankful for. Roman got Virgil, and he got him a grey weighted blanket which he altered by sewing on purple plaid patches with white thread to match the emo’s hoodie. Virgil was thankful he got Patton, getting him a better gift than before by hand sewing small toys of all of them, sheepishly adding he’d make Remus and Janus too “I guess.” Patton got Remus a stuffed animal of a green octopus with a mustache and he got Janus a stuffed animal of a yellow snake with a bowler hat that had a small heater inside.

Everyone loved their gifts and had a great time, but Logan couldn’t decide what his favorite part of that Christmas was; unwrapping presents with the Dark Sides at midnight or eating Crofters-filled cupcakes with them late Christmas night when all the Light Sides had gone to bed.