#to keep my hand from forgetting how to hold a stylus

[cuteniaarts]

Okay google play Dead Mom from Beetlejuice the musical

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

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Masterlist

[training4theapocalypse]

Thirsty (Adrian Chase x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: SMUT, Mutual pining, Romance, Canon typical descriptions of murder and violence, Dubious consent (they are both kind of drunk), Oral (fem receiving), P in V, Safe sex (male condom), Multiple orgasms

Summary: Your job restocking vending machines takes you to businesses all over Evergreen - including Fennel Fields where the cute busboy keeps making eyes at you. (Based on this ask by @kpopgirlbtssvt)

A/N: There’s a part where Adrian picks the reader up over his shoulder but he is a very strong boi, I am confident he could shoulder carry any thirsty MF. PS My toxic trait is that I slip a reference to Scotland in literally everything I write.

Masterlist

Tag list: @likeficsinthewnd, @she-wolf09231982,

Chapter text:

The muscles in your forearms ache as you drag your hand cart, stacked with cases of soda and water, up the ramp at the back of Fennel Fields. 

You wheel your final delivery of the day straight into their break room, as usual, and park your cart beside the vending machine, ready to start your restock. You’re greeted amicably by the staff, who know you well enough that they’re not surprised to see you. 

But one particularly familiar face spots you from across the room and practically leaps off his chair. Adrian Chase looks forward to your weekly trip to Fennel Fields, and today he can’t help but notice the glow on your face from hauling your delivery. He wonders what else makes your face glow like that. He bets he could.

“Hey, stranger,” you say, and he blinks at you as if snapping out of something.

“Stranger? It’s me, Adrian.”

You grin. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not but either way, you find it sort of cute. And, yes, Taylor warned you to stop flirting with the hot but kind of dorky busboy because he’s gonna end up catching feelings, but there’s something fun about getting him all flustered and making his cheeks burn.

“I know, Adrian. I could never forget that pretty face,” you tease. He turns slightly pink. There it is. “Thirsty?” you ask.

“Yup, and wait til you see what I got you.”

This has been your routine at Fennel Fields for a few months now. You pick up some speciality soda while you’re delivering beverages across Washington and Adrian brings you something- usually a snack or anything else he thinks you might like.

“Three… two… one.” At the same time, you pull the soda out from your bag and Adrian hands you a small, blue rectangular box.

A cassette tape. Aqua- Aquarium. 

“Adrian! This is so sick- it’s so hard to find tapes these days.” You flip it over to read the tracklist. “I fucking love Barbie Girl.”

“Me too! And I noticed your Walkman, so I thought you could use some more music.” He looks down at the orange and blue soda can in his hands, reading the label. “IRN BRU?”

“This is the weirdest soda I’ve found yet. It’s like bubblegum cream soda but it burns.”

He cracks it open, takes a sip and looks confused. “I think I like it?” He takes another sip. “It’s like my mouth hates it but needs more.”

“I know, right?” You put the cassette in your bag and open the vending machine.

“Thanks for the soda.” He nods at your tired arms as you start loading in your delivery. “Sick forearm pump, by the way.”

“Uh, what?”

“Yeah! You can totally tell you’ve been working on them- they’re huge.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s probably meant as a compliment, but you’re not sure how you feel about Adrian talking to you like you’re one of his bros at the gym. 

“I mean- not huge! Like normal. But nice. And-“

“Have you seen Taylor?” You decide to step in before he can dig this particular hole any deeper. “I need him to sign for this.”

“What’s up, Cuz?” Taylor appears from around a corner. 

You hold out your electronic POS and stylus, awaiting his signature. “Just need you to sign this, then I’m done for the night.”

“Nice!” says Adrian “You got any plans after this?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” you tease him, a small balloon swells up in your chest with excitement. You’ve never been sure whether Adrian’s always so excited to see you because he likes you or if he just really likes soda. 

“Uh, me,  Adrian. Remember?”

“Hey man, what did I tell you about hitting on my cousin?” Taylor gives him a stern look. “Don’t you have a pregnant girlfriend to be worried about?”

You’re surprised, to say the least. The fact that Adrian has a girlfriend (a pregnant one at that) but he still goes out of his way to exchange gifts with you every week is kind of disappointing. It reaffirms your belief that there are no decent men in this town.

“Yes! I mean, no. We, uh, we broke up.”

“Because of the party you tried to throw her?” asks Taylor.

Aw, that’s kind of sweet.

“Uh, yeah, she did not appreciate the abortion party.”

What the fuck?

Taylor signs for the delivery and hands you back the device, giving you a meaningful look- I told you so. The balloon of excitement in your chest feels well and truly punctured.

“But I mean, I’m not hung up on her or anything. I actually dumped her.”

Yup, no decent men alright.

You and Taylor exchange glances. You can practically hear the wet raspberry of the balloon deflating completely. 

“I’d better go. Thanks for the tape, dude,” you say a little more coolly than you’d intended in your hurry to hide your dismay before wheeling your cart out of the break room.

“Hey, let me help you with that,” Adrian’s voice calls from behind you, but Taylor grabs the door before he can.

“I got it, man.” 

Taylor walks with you to the van. You lean up against the cab door in exasperation. Taylor offers you a cigarette which you go to accept, but he retracts the packet.

“Nuh-uh, let’s hear it first.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “You are so full of wisdom, as always, and I will forever heed your dating advice from now until the end of time,” you concede to Taylor, snatching a cigarette. He grins and lights you both up.

“Y’know what the weird thing is? I don’t think he ever had a girlfriend.”

You exhale a puff of smoke in surprise. “What was that about then?”

“I dunno. I caught him out here celebrating one night, and he made up a weird abortion party story. I think he was really out here dancing because Peacemaker came into the restaurant-“

“Peacemaker?! Jeez, isn’t that guy in jail?”

“Musta released him. But I think Adrian was being an excited fanboy and got embarrassed when I saw him. Dude’s a serial liar- I thought he’d come clean if I asked him about it in front of you.”

You lean your head back against the van. “Where are all the decent men in Evergreen?” You lament and start rhyming off, counting on your fingers. “They’re either obsessed with capes, racists, racist capes or racists who are obsessed with capes!”

“Well, speaking of capes, it’s getting dark. You better hit the road before you run into that nutcase, Vigilante.”

“Yeah, or the escaped gorilla,” you laugh, stubbing out your cigarette. 

“Put that in the trash or you’ll end up with a bullet in your head for littering.”

“I’ve charmed my way out of worse situations. Besides, maybe he’ll be the one to sweep me off my feet.”

“Vigilante? Or the gorilla?”

“Honestly, at this point, I’d take either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following afternoon, your delivery route sends you off down the highway. It’s not a glamorous job, stocking vending machines at different businesses all over the place, but it’s easy, and you can listen to your own music. It takes you all across this little corner of Washington, and the more you see, the more grateful you are that you get to live in this beautiful, rocky state.

Even if there isn’t a single eligible man to be found on your entire route. You still feel a little crestfallen thinking about Adrian Chase. Why was he so intent on lying to Taylor yesterday? How deep does his Peacemaker obsession go if he was that embarrassed?

You pull up to the back of the Glan Tai bottling plant on the outskirts of Evergreen, put on your headphones and turn on your Walkman. You want to keep a low profile because the clients are much weirder here than the rest- Adrian Chase excluded.

They weren’t always like this. The facilities manager at Glan Tai was a friendly old man - Clive- who let you use their bathroom, and gave you filter coffee from a polystyrene cup to ease your two-hour journey home. Until one day recently, Clive wasn’t so friendly anymore. New management, you expected.

Head down, you drag your cart through the service entrance and make your way to their storage room. Aqua blasts in your ears as you wheel your way along the corridor. There are loud bangs and the ground vibrates slightly, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary in a site with heavy machinery. 

You get to the room where they keep the IT equipment, files and vending machine and start unloading. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder and pull your headphones down around your neck.

“Oh, sorry Clive, I didn’t see you-“ 

You freeze, icy fear spreading through your veins as you find yourself face to face with - you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me - the escaped gorilla from the zoo.

You scream. Loudly.

Two people burst into the room, startling the gorilla. It backs away from you. For a second, you think they’re factory workers running to your rescue. But they slam and bolt the storage room door shut behind them.

“No! Unlock the door!”

They whip around and point their guns at you. You drop the case of water you’re holding and hold your hands up in surrender.

One of them, you recognise from the news. A man in a black and teal suit, armed to the hilt, with his face almost entirely obscured- except by a red visor covering his eyes.

It’s him. It’s Vigilante. And a blonde woman you don’t recognise. 

He lowers his gun and nudges hers away from your direction.

“Shoot her before she kills us both!” snaps the woman, irritated. 

“She’s not a butterfly,” says Vigilante, his voice muffled behind his mask. “I know her.”

He knows me? How?

“I’m just delivering water, I swear!” You beg her, looking between them. 

Just then, the gorilla appears from behind the shelves and launches the blonde woman across the room.

An involuntary yelp of shock escapes you again and the gorilla returns its attention to you. Thinking fast, you tip your cart forward, and the giant ape trips up on the cascade of cans and bottles.

“You didn’t think to tell us there was a gorilla in here?!” Comes the annoyed blonde woman’s voice from behind a broken table.

“I was preoccupied with the guns in my face!” 

The door to the storage room is blasted open and another woman bursts in, followed by none other than Peacemaker.

Adrian would lose his shit right now, you think to yourself.

Peacemaker looks at you through the eyeholes of his helmet “She’s clear, Adebayo” and the other woman lowers her gun. The gorilla gets up. “Oh shit!” says Peacemaker as it sends a swipe in your direction, sending you tumbling off your feet and onto the floor.

You cower in the corner as they fight the gorilla. Vigilante stabs it but it bats him away easily and does the same to the woman called Adebayo. Peacemaker launches himself onto the gorilla’s back but the beast throws him off onto the hard floor.

“Die, human!” 

Did that gorilla just speak? What have you gotten yourself into?

The gorilla raises its fists, ready to crush Peacemaker, when a man with an oddly patchy beard runs through the door, chainsaw in hand and proceeds to kill the gorilla, sawing it almost in half and sending blood splattering everywhere. 

A small winged creature crawls out of the dead gorilla’s mouth. The blonde woman gets to her feet and shoots it casually. What the…? Was that some kind of parasite?

The gunshot leaves your ears ringing but hearing your name whispered in your ear brings you back to reality. You blink stupidly at Vigilante, who is now crouched down inches from your face and you try to make out his eyes through the red visor. You know those eyes. But how? How does the mass murderer of Evergreen know you?

He hooks his arms under yours, lifts you to your feet and wipes the smattering of blood off your face. Your heart is racing as you continue to stare at him silently, dumbfounded. You know you should be scared of this masked man, who’s wanted on multiple counts of murder. But here he is, claiming he knows you, making sure you’re okay.

“What do we do with her?” asks the bearded man with the chainsaw. 

“Who, me?” you try and sound nonchalant. “I didn’t see anything. I’ll just get out of your beard- hair! I mean hair.” You go to put your headphones back over your ears but the blonde woman rips them off.

“Hey!” Vigilante steps between you and her. “Look, she’s cool. She says she didn’t see anything, so she didn’t”

“How do you know she’s not a butterfly?” she challenges Vigilante.

“X-ray helmet,” interjects Peacemaker. “No butterfly in that pretty little noggin.” He winks at you and Vigilante bristles, folding his arms in an irritated sort of way.

“Listen, I’ve got like four more deliveries today so…” You trail off as your body starts to go on autopilot. There’s an awkward silence as they watch you bustle around, stacking the blood-covered cases of water and soda back onto your cart.

“She’s clearly in shock,” says Adebayo, more gently than the blonde. 

“Hey, let me help you with that,” says a muffled voice from behind you.

‘Hey, let me help you with that.’

In the exact same cadence as yesterday. 

“A-Adrian?” you say hoarsely and you turn back around in time to watch Vigilante drop the case of water. “Adrian Chase?!” you repeat, your voice slightly hysterical. 

“No!” says Adrian unconvincingly but at the same time Peacemaker says:

“Godammit Vij. How does she know you?”

Adrian groans in frustration. “She delivers drinks to my job too!”

“That settles it- she’s a witness and she knows Vigilante’s identity. Adebayo, you need to end this. Don’t make her beg for her life like the other guy,” commands the blonde woman, clearly in charge of the team.

“Nonononononono,” Adrian stands in front of you with his arms folded. “No way. I am not letting you kill her.”

“That’s an order, Adebayo. Vigilante- move.”

“Wait,” says the guy with the beard. “She might actually be useful, Harcourt.”

Harcourt raises her eyebrows. “Well?”

“We’re looking for other leads, right? Other places where the butterflies are?” He looks at you. “Hey, water girl. Does this company have any other locations?”

“Y-yes,” your throat feels dry.

“Can you tell us where they are?” he asks.

“Will you let me live if I tell you?”

Everyone looks at Harcourt. She groans. “Fine. But we’re gonna need to figure out what to do with her to keep her from blabbering.”

“C’mon, she already said she was cool!” says Adrian.

“And you trust her?”

“One hundo percent.” He gives you a reassuring thumbs up.

“I wouldn’t trust his judgement,” says Peacemaker and you immediately feel faint. It must be obvious on your face because he backtracks. “No! Not that we should kill her! Definitely not. But Adrian would trust any hot girl. We can’t just let her go.”

Harcourt pinches the bridge of her nose as she thinks. 

“Vigilante,” she says finally. “I’m telling Murn that water girl is your responsibility. You’re going to keep her with you 24/7 until the mission is over. Any fuck-up, if she does or says anything that jeopardizes our objective, she’s dead and you’ll be doing black ops in Belize. Got it?”

“Cool, got it!” says Adrian enthusiastically, as if that isn’t the most horrifying thing he’s ever heard.

“Wait, don’t I get a say in this? I have a job! I have people who will be looking for me.”

“Do you want to cooperate or do you want to die?” 

“Which one do you wanna do?” asks Adrian.

If you hadn’t already figured out that Vigilante was Adrian Chase, that would have been the dead giveaway.

A few moments later, Adrian is leading you by the hand back through the factory to where your van is parked while you cover your eyes with one hand. He had suggested it after your knees almost gave way when you saw the pile of bodies at the door. And he liked that you had rejected Peacemaker’s offer to hoist you over his shoulder and carry you out.

“Oh, no… Clive,” you whisper, making the mistake of opening your eyes and seeing the old man crumpled on the floor, next to the coffee machine. You cover your eyes again.

“Watch you don’t slip in the blood here,” says Adrian gently, guiding you to side-step.

You groan. You think you might puke. 

“I can’t believe you killed all these people,” you whisper, wishing you could disassociate from this whole thing.

“We didn’t, not really- I promise. I’ll explain on the ride home.”

Harcourt instructs Adrian to drive your van, following theirs back to Evergreen. When you’re both out of earshot and in your van, Adebayo sits in the driver’s seat turning to Harcourt, Peacemaker and Economos. “Isn’t it kind of weird seeing Vigilante like this?”

“Like what?” asks Economos.

“Like, compassionate, sweet… not all hell-bent on murder?”

Peacemaker shrugs “He’s like this all the time. You should hear the way he talks about this other girl, his friend Taylor’s sister, or cousin, I think. He’s just a sucker for anyone who’s nice to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, you’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, waiting for Adrian to finish up in the shower.

On the drive to their headquarters, Adrian had explained all about their mission and how an alien race called ‘the butterflies’ had taken over the bodies of (and, therefore, killed) all those people in the factory long before Adrian’s team had arrived.

At headquarters, you had told them everything you knew about your clients at Glan Tai and had given them the coordinates for their other delivery location- a small farm thirty miles north of the factory. Murn seemed to be satisfied with your intel and approved of Harcourt’s plan to have Adrian keep you under close surveillance. Great. 

Adrian grabbed his go-bag from his Sebring and drove the two of you in your van back to your apartment, where you immediately ran to the shower, to try and rid yourself of all the negative feelings from today.

He now appears in your living room, fresh out of the shower in a pale blue t-shirt and jeans, looking much less out of place than when he was in his full combat gear. But he still stands awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Thirsty?” you ask him. “I’ve got wine.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”

You find two wine glasses and place them on the coffee table. He sits on the edge of your couch. “What am I gonna do, Adrian?” You open up a bottle of red wine and start pouring. “I could barely stand seeing all that shit at the factory. Do you really think I’m gonna kill you?” You slide a glass towards him and start filling your own. 

He looks down at the wine but doesn’t touch it. You raise your glass. “To forgetting the worst day of my life.”

“The worst day of your life? Today was awesome!” He looks genuinely surprised that you’re not sharing his elation. “We killed a ton of butterflies, and now thanks to you, we know where they keep their cow.”

It’s a sentence that wouldn’t have made sense to you a few hours ago. And you hate that it does now.

“We’re saving the world,” he continues. “And you helped!”

You push his wine glass closer to him. “To saving the world, then.”

He takes a sip and screws up his face. “Do you have any beer? Ooh, or soda!”

“It’s in the van. And most of it’s covered in blood now.”

“Then this is great,” he says, a little too politely. 

“If you’re not used to it, the first glass tastes like acetone,” you tell him, draining yours. “But the second one…” You pause, pouring yourself another. “The second goes down real smooth.”

Adrian copies you and gulps down the red wine. You refill his glass, and he takes another sip.

“The second one isn’t so bad, actually.” He sounds surprised. 

You sink down on the couch next to him. “So now what?” you ask. He looks confused, so you elaborate. “What do you usually do with hostages all night?”

“You’re not a hostage!” He looks offended. “I’m more like your bodyguard.”

“Oh yeah? Who are you guarding me from? Your friends?”

He looks up over his glasses in thought. “Well, just Harcourt. And Murn. But it’s mostly to keep you safe from the butterflies.”

You take another drink of wine. Studying his face, you think he’s telling the truth. He really doesn’t consider you to be his hostage. As you look him over, you realise you’ve never noticed how curly his hair is before- he’s normally wearing that dorky little Fennel Fields hat. 

You’ve always thought he was cute in a wholesome kind of way but now that he’s out of his work uniform, you can appreciate that he’s, like, ridiculously, conventionally handsome. You wonder if he knows it. You wonder a lot of things about Adrian, especially now that, come to think of it, everything you know about him is probably a lie to keep his secret identity hidden.

“Truth or dare?” you blurt. 

“What?”

“Go on.” You gesture towards him with your glass. “We’ve got a long night. I want to find out more about you. Adrian. Vigilante.”

He looks excited. Maybe it’s the prospect of playing a game, or maybe he’s just happy someone wants to know more about him. Both sides of him.

“Truth then.”

“Does your pregnant ex-girlfriend exist?”

He groans and leans his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “No. I was just trying to cover how stoked I was that Peacemaker was out of jail.” 

You laugh, but your eyes linger on his exposed neck and the way his Adam’s apple moves when he talks.

He turns his head to look over at you through his wire-rimmed glasses. “I don’t think Taylor likes me.”

“Taylor likes you just fine,” you lie, sipping your wine.

“Truth or dare?” asks Adrian.

“Truth.”

“Has Taylor ever told you that you shouldn’t date me?”

“Ugh, fine. Yes. He told me not to give you my number.”

“Why?!”

“If you want to ask a follow-up question, then you need to take a drink. That’s the rule.” He does so- quickly. “Okay, fine. He says he doesn’t trust you because you’re always lying about things, and it kind of annoys everyone because you’re a bad liar.”

“Everyone?! I thought we were talking about Taylor?”

“If you want to be liked and have a secret identity, you need to be a better liar.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” admits Adrian, twisting the stem of the glass between his fingers. “Your turn, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

He thinks for a couple of beats. “I dare you to finish your drink.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“It was the only dare I could think of that wasn’t a sexy dare.”

The newly formed idea of Adrian asking you to do something sexy for him makes you pause. Warmth pools deep in your tummy as watches you, waiting. God, why does red wine always make you feel so slutty? You raise your eyebrows over the rim of your glass, and you drain the rest of the liquid. “Why don’t you want to give me a sexy dare?” you ask, setting your glass down.

“I dunno, don’t you think there’s kind of a power imbalance?” 

“That’s true. You are my bodyguard after all.” You nod contemplatively. “And I guess it would be awkward since you need to stay here for a few more days.”

“Oh, I meant-” Adrian cuts himself off. What he really meant would sound incredibly childish now. 

You get up from the couch to retrieve another bottle of wine from the breakfast bar that separates your kitchen from your living room. “Go on, what did you mean?”

“No, I meant what you said.” 

No, he didn’t. What he meant is that you have all the power because he has such a huge crush on you. And the way the wine is going to his head, he’s not sure he trusts himself to give you a dare without it having an ulterior motive. Adrian watches as you twist the corkscrew into the bottle with precision. Your chest jiggles in your tank top with the recoil of your arm extracting the cork, and it makes Adrian blush bright red. He discreetly adjusts himself in his jeans.

You bring the new bottle of wine over to the couch and sit down cross-legged, your back leaning against the armrest so you can get a better look at him without constantly straining. Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this, you think, as he gets comfortable, changing position so he can look at you too. In the soft light of your living room, you can make out that his cheeks are pink again. “Does wine usually make you flush like that?” you ask. 

“Uh, I wouldn’t know. Can wine do that?”

“To some people, yeah. For me, it just makes me feel kinda sexy.” You clap your hand to your mouth, watching Adrian’s eyes widen. “Ugh! Sorry, I wouldn’t have said that if I hadn’t had two glasses already.” You scoff and shake your head. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

The wine is making you feel bolder. “Have you had sex in your Vigilante costume?”

“Today?”

You almost choke on your newly poured drink with laughter. 

“Okay, that answers that question. In which case, I have a follow-up,” You take a sip, pointedly. “What’s Vigilante’s favourite sex position?”

“Oh, uh…” Adrian thinks back to when he last had sex as Vigilante, with Amber and Peacemaker a few days ago. “Any, I guess.”

“Any? C’mon, you picked truth!”

“It is the truth! I don’t take my mask off, or my suit if I don’t have to. So it always feels the same. Fun, I guess, but sorta uncomfortable. Funcomfortable.”

You smile and rest your head on your hand, elbow leaning on the back of the couch. “What about Adrian?”

“Is that another follow-up question?”

You acquiesce and take another drink but before you can even swallow he says “Missionary.”

“Boring,” you tease but he doesn’t seem fazed.

“It’s not. Not when you really like someone anyway. Missionary is fucking great - when you can kiss them, hold their hand, stare into their eyes…” He pauses, his green eyes burning into yours. “Boring is not being able to even taste someone because of my mask.”

You realise you’ve been holding your breath. You look away and exhale slowly, trying to steady the growing arousal burning hot, deep in your pelvic floor. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-” When you raise your head again, he’s still looking at you intently. “I just realised I haven’t been fucked like that in a really long time.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah right! I bet you go on tons of dates.”

“I do,” you admit with a tilt of your head. “But did you know that like 90% of women don’t orgasm on a one-night stand?”

Adrian’s eyebrows knit together “That doesn’t sound right. Women always cum when I-”

“That’s what all men say, Adrian. But honestly, I don’t think a man has made me cum in, like, the entire time I’ve been single.”

“I could,” he says, matter-of-factly. It’s not a boast, it’s a simple statement. 

Honestly, you're not sure if it’s the alcohol or the vivid image you have of Adrian making you clutch at your bedsheets and moan his name, but something’s making the blood rush to your face and other parts of your body that you’re still desperately trying not to think about. 

“I’ll do it right now if you want?” 

He’s asking if he can try to make you cum as casually as if asking if he can help you restock the vending machine. It’s bolder than you’d expected from the shy busboy. Then again, you’d never expected him to be Vigilante either… maybe you should review all the preconceptions you have of him.

Your abdomen clenches. Fuck, you can feel how hot and sticky your underwear is as he blinks at you behind his glasses, waiting for your response.

You look at his face hungrily, eyes lingering on his lips, now stained with red wine. “Adrian, listen. I’m sure you’re very good, blah blah blah. But I just… I don’t want to set you up for disappointment. It’s kind of hard to make me cum.”

“Let me give it a shot. And if I can make you cum, you let me take you on a date.”

You stare at him, feeling your chest pounding as you contemplate his offer. There’s something about his voice that’s so sincere and so fucking desperate for you, your brain can’t think of a reason not to say yes.

“Truth or dare?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Truth.”

“Do you want me to go down on you? I’m really good at it.”

Yes! You want to scream- already stupidly soaking fucking wet at the mere idea of it. 

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and nod. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Yeah?” His tone makes you think that he wasn’t really expecting you to say yes.

“Yes, Adrian.” You laugh in disbelief. “If you make me cum, you can take me on a date.” He grins and you shift inelegantly, not sure how to proceed. “So… how do you wanna-”

Adrian pounces on you before you can ask the question, his red-stained lips crashing against yours. You kiss him back- hard. You’re thirsty for him, you realise, as you taste the alcohol mixed with the slightly metallic taste of his saliva. You want to drain him, drown in him.

He groans when you grab the nape of his neck and suck on his bottom lip. He can’t believe that you’re kissing him like this- like it’s you who’s been pining after him and not the other way around.

You pause, lips barely touching his. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you like this for so long,” you whisper.

“You- you have?”

“Adrian, I spend half my week trying to find you new kinds of speciality soda just so I have an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Realisation dawns on him. All this time he just thought you were really, really into soda. 

Adrian gives you one last deep kiss and pulls away. He gets on his knees on the floor, and the sight of him there, with his hands on your hips and his body between your legs, makes your cunt clench. You bite your lips in anticipation.

His fingertips hook the hem of your sweatpants. “Can I take these off?” You lift your hips, permitting him to remove them.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring at your pussy.

“Adrian…” You mumble, suddenly self-conscious. Exposed. You try to bring your knees together, but he places a hand on each of your thighs, holding them firmly open. 

“You’re wet already,” he says, in a self-satisfied sort of way that makes your skin feel like it’s on fire. “When did that happen? Was it when I said I’d make you cum?”

You shake your head. “When I was wondering what kind of sexy dare you wanted to give me.”

He grins “I wanted to dare you to take your top off.” He traces a finger along your hot, wet folds. You gasp, feeling the calloused texture of his fingertip brushing up and down against your skin.

“Like this?” You lift your tank top up and over your head, tossing it aside and then you squeeze your tits together. 

He sits on the floor, lips parted slightly in awe. You feel like he’s looking at you like you’re the most-

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Now you really are embarrassed but before you can respond, he dips the finger that was sliding along your folds into your pussy. You bite your lip to stifle the vulnerable, blissful sigh that leaves you.

“It’s okay- you can moan for me.” He reassures, pushing a thick finger in and up. You feel your walls squeezing around him in response. “God, you’re so tight around my finger.”

“Fuck-” you plead, as he teases you, gently stroking your g-spot. His lips haven’t even touched you yet and you already feel like you’re having to consciously stop yourself from cumming.

“You needed this, huh?” he asks and you watch as he kisses your inner thigh, sucking the sensitive skin there. You have to look away- just the sight of his jaw muscles moving as he traces his tongue along the crevice where your thigh meets your body almost sends you over the brink.

“Adrian, I’m- fuck-” After all your warnings about how difficult it would be to make you cum, you’re are shamefully close already- and Adrian knows it. Everything below your waist is hot and shaking and swollen as his finger curls up inside you, tapping rhythmically. 

“Wait not yet- I’ve got to taste you. I want you to cum on my tongue.”

Warmth envelopes your clit as Adrian opens his mouth and slowly glides his tongue over the bundle of nerves there, tasting you for the first time. He barely moves at all but you’re so close that just the pressure of his mouth on you sends the crashing wave of your orgasm rolling across his hot tongue. Your back arches and your walls clamp down around his finger. 

He lets out a groan, sending pleasant vibrations across your clit. 

“Shit, Adrian-”

Blinding lights appear somewhere between your eyelids and the centre of the universe. Your thighs tense as the pleasure shoots through your body, your pussy flooding his mouth between your legs. 

When you finally stop twitching he removes his tongue from you, giving you a moment’s respite. 

“That was, like, really easy,” he smirks as you run your hands through your hair in disbelief. “I didn’t even have to take my glasses off.”

“I’ve never-” You try to catch your breath, blinking at him. You’re not sure you’ve even made yourself cum that quickly before. “That’s never happened -so fast- ever.”

“I shoulda asked what two orgasms would get me.”

“Literally anything. Do whatever you want with me-” you babble, staring up at the ceiling. You pause to look down when you feel him remove his finger from inside you. 

And he takes off his glasses, ready to make you a fucking mess.

It’s the singular hottest action you’ve ever seen anyone do in your entire life- Adrian Chase is going to be the end of you.

He hooks his arms behind your knees, lifting your ass off of the couch and pulling you towards him. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, mesmerised by the way your chest still heaves in the aftershock of your orgasm. Adrian buries his face between your legs, delving his tongue between your lips and exploring your entrance.

He pulls back for a second “I knew you’d taste so fucking good.” 

Fuck. 

You watch as he sucks on two of his fingers and sinks them deep inside you, up to his knuckles. When you repeat his name over and over, he answers by flicking his tongue over your clit.

You gasp at the sensation and grab a fistful of his thick, curly hair. His tongue rolls gentle circles around your clit as his fingers work in and out, softly stretching your pussy. Adrian takes his time now and it’s agonising. 

For so long he’s been having sex as Vigilante. Adrian’s missed this, the freedom of having his mask off. Of taste. And he can’t believe that it’s you that he’s devouring. 

Fuck, and you could lie here like this forever, just enjoying him exploring you, like he wants nothing more than to make you gush all over him and cry his name again. Normally you’d feel under pressure to perform, to give him that second orgasm he’s so determined to draw from you, but the way he’s taking his time, lazily swirling his tongue in circles, and curling his fingers into you makes you dissolve into a puddle.

“Fuuuck,” you whine helplessly, feeling the familiar sensation of you losing yourself, the heat that’s been slowly building deep in your core threatening to boil over. “Can we do this, like, the whole time you’re here protecting me?” Your eyes try to find his but he’s staring at your tits. His other hand is on your hip, fingers not quite stretching up towards you - as if unsure what the boundary is on touching you when it comes to this silly little deal you’ve made.

You pull his hand to your chest, encouraging him to squeeze you. He moans needily between wet, sloppy licks. The sound of him being so turned on just from touching your body, when you haven’t laid a hand on him yet sends ecstasy searing through you.

And it comes, whipping through your core and cracking like thunder. You squeeze your thighs around his head and he lets you set the pace, as you grind yourself wildly onto his tongue, his lips, his chin. Adrian groans in encouragement when you grip the back of his head, his fingers still pressing into your g-spot as you press yourself against his mouth. 

You cum hard again, your rocking hips eventually shuddering to a halt as he gives you a few last long, slow licks. The faint prickle of embarrassment you feel from letting yourself come undone like that vanishes when you see Adrian’s face light up, his lips swollen and sticky, totally enamoured by your now slightly dishevelled appearance. 

His mouth looks irresistible. You slink down off the couch to join him on the floor so you can kiss him desperately. Fuck, why did you ever listen to Taylor? You needed this. Needed him. You taste the sweet, salty juices on Adrian’s lips and on his tongue.

“I’ll admit-” you breathe, pressing your forehead against his. “- you’re like really, really fucking good at that.”

“Told you.” He leans on the couch and gets to his feet. “So, where’s your bedroom?”

“Uh, down the hall, across from the bathroom. Why?”

“Two orgasms and I can do what I want with you. Deal’s a deal.” Before your brain can catch up, he hoists you to your feet and over his shoulder, making you squeal involuntarily with delight.

Oh my fucking god.

Adrian slaps your ass and carries you through to your bedroom, tossing you onto your bed where you burst into a fit of giggles. He smells warm and clean, like your favourite shower gel he must have used earlier. He crawls on top of you and plants tiny kisses all over your lips, your cheeks, your nose- every inch of your face and neck peppered with his affection. 

He pulls off his T-shirt and - Jesus Christ, he has abs. But you also notice his torso is covered in scars and bruises, the evidence of his double life painted across his body. A streak of white scar tissue here, a purple welt there-

“Don’t girls usually ask about all these injuries?” You ask, tracing your hand down his chest.

“I usually keep my suit on.” He shrugs.

And that’s when you realise- he doesn’t just happen to have sex as Vigilante. He only has sex as Vigilante. You feel a pang of understanding, thinking about the way he so wistfully described missionary earlier. You’re the only one who’s seen him like this. Both sides of him.

Adrian undoes his belt buckle and looks down at you lying spread out of the bedsheets in front of him, still flushed and glowing. He knew he’d be able to make you glow like that.

He pauses. “Do, uh, do you have a condom? I wasn’t expecting to…”

You find a condom in your bedside drawer while he undresses and then you help to put it on him as you kiss the small trail of dark hair below his belly button. He’s big- bigger than what you’re used to. You’d really, really like to suck it, you think. But Adrian has other ideas. He guides you back to lie on your pillows and climbs on top of you.

Wanton anticipation bubbles over inside you, you sigh needily as he kisses your neck and brings his calloused hand between your legs again. He slides his fingers into your folds and you hear the wet sounds of him rubbing your slick on his cock. It’s greedy but you’re already impatient for him- you want to cum for him again.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks into your eyes. “You okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Fuck me- please.”

The way you plead makes him twitch- he can’t take it anymore. The erection he’s had since you opened that second bottle of wine is throbbing. Adrian’s hips press into you and you feel his cock pushing through your folds, into your centre. A soft whimper escapes your lips as you feel him filling you up, the walls of your pussy struggling to accommodate him.

Watching your reaction, he double checks “Sure you’re okay?” 

You nod. Because it aches - but in the best kind of way. 

“Good,” he says. “Because you feel so good. Your pussy feels so fucking good around me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. Fuck, he has such a slutty little waist, you think to yourself as he grinds into you, pushing deeper, the head of his cock pressing into your g-spot. You slip your hand between your bodies to touch yourself and he moans quietly in your ear.

“Oh my god, yeah. Fuck, rub your clit because I’m not gonna last long.”

He clasps your other hand, fingers intertwining with yours- half holding it, half pinning it to the bed. Your body writhes under him, leaning your head back into your pillows and he takes the opportunity to suck at your freshly exposed neck.

“You look so good taking it so deep like this,” he groans, tilting his head down to watch his cock slide in and out of you. “I can’t believe I’m fucking inside you.”

Everything he says makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand up. You feel so, deliciously full- the indecent slapping and squelching noises as he picks up pace and pounds into you only makes you wetter.

Your legs squeeze around his waist as your whole body tightens like a spring coiling, ready to be released. The friction of his body moves yours, driving you into your mattress, and putting even more rhythmic pressure on your fingers against your clit. 

“Adrian, I’m- ah, fuck- I’m gonna cum again.”

“Fuck, look at me. I want you to cum when I cum. Let it all out for me.”

You try and keep eye contact with him while bliss rockets through your body as his hips slam into you harder. It spreads from your centre right down your legs, now in a vice-like grip around him. You curse his name incoherently, your pussy tightening and releasing as you cum around his cock. 

“That’s it- fuckfuckfuckfuck-” His full weight collapses on you as he empties himself. You feel Adrian’s cock pulsing inside you as he groans your name and comes to a halt.

You both lie there for a few moments, Adrian breathing raggedly into the crook of your neck, his heartbeat and yours pounding against each other. Your euphoria is interrupted only briefly when he pulls out of you and disposes of the condom. 

Adrian returns to your bed and pulls you into his chest. 

“I am never listening to Taylor ever again,” you say, face pressed against his pectoral muscles.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, unless…” You tilt your head up to look at him. “You still want to take me on a date right?”

“Are you crazy? Of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nevermind.” The dating scene in Evergreen has sucked so hard for so long, your first thought was that he might not want to see you again.

He grabs your face with both hands, trying to drum sense into you. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for months. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Adrian plants a kiss on your forehead.

Maybe there is a decent man in this town after all.

[blazenfire223]

[ID in undercut]

This was originally going to be for a school project on a creative way to demonstrate overfitting for my Data science class but the project ended up being scrapped due to time constraints. I still wanted to finish it because I thought the idea was funny + it features a pretty Ario.

[ID 1/3: A comic on 'How to draw a human.' First page is 6 panels long. Panel 1: 1. Look for reference. A character holds up a phone with Pinterest on it. Around the phone are yellow expression lines and sparkles. On the bottom right is a simple blank character smiling. Panel 2: 2. Keep looking for the perfect reference. The character is curled up with puckered lips while scrolling through the phone. They have their left leg down and their right leg up in the sky. Panel 3: 3. Get distracted while looking. The character is now sitting with their legs criss-crossed. They are gasping while looking at the phone. In a text box beside them is a picture of a Borzoi dog, the dog with a long snout, looking directly into the camera. Panel 4: 4. Remember what you were doing and find a reference. The character is still sitting criss-crossed and now has a smaller expression. Off to the side is the text box with a picture of a woman in a dress posing. Her hands are holding her dress up in an elegant way with her left leg straight and her right lifted a bit and pointed. Panel 5: 5. Draw a circle with some guidelines. In the middle is a red circle with two lines crossing to make an plus sign. Panel 6: 6. Draw the side of the face, chin, and neck. The drawing now has a full blank face. /End ID]

[ID 2/3: Part 2 comic of 'How to draw a human'. There are 6 panels. Panel 1: 7. Get hyperfixated on the face. Now the face of Ario is on an iPad with a hand drawing it with a stylus. It has a full eye, a nose, and part of an eye drawn. Beside the tablet is a +5hr. Panel 2: 8. Draw line of action. Now it is Ario drawn in red with a full face and 3 lines. One line down the middle indicates the spine and the 2 others indicate the arms. Panel 3: 9. Draw rough shape for body. Now Ario has a rough, plump body shape. Panel 4: 10. Draw hands, legs, feet, and arms. Now the legs, hands, feet, and arms are roughly drawn. The arms are out to the sides and look like they would be holding the bottom of a dress. The left leg is straight and holding the body weight of Ario while the right is straight and off to the side a bit. It creates an elegant looking pose. Panel 5: 11. Suddenly get tired. The character from before is sitting with their knees up. They have the tablet in their lap and a stylus in their right hand while leaning on their left hand. They look very tired. Panel 6: 12. Take a "short" nap (sleep for +10hrs). The character is now fast asleep in bed. Their mouth is wide open and they're drooling and snoring. /End ID]

[ID 3/3: Part 3 of the 'How to Draw a Human' comic. There are 6 Panels. Panel 1: 13. Wake up and forget drawing. It has a character sitting up in bed with the covers bunched up in their hands they are sweating profusely. Beside them are words that say "+ still tired, + sweaty, + pain all over, + out of breath," and "+ heart palpations". Panel 2: 14. Remember drawing suddenly while doing schoolwork. The character is now at a desk and doing paper school work. To their right is a thought bubble with the sketch of Ario in red. Ario currently has no hair or ears but has hands that are out to his sides as if they are holding up a dress. His left leg is straight and holding the body weight of Ario while the right is straight and off to the side a bit. It creates an elegant looking pose. Panel 3: 15. Yearn to draw while doing schoolwork. The character, still sitting at the desk thinking about the drawing, is now crying because they want to draw but can't. Panel 4: 16. Finish schoolwork. The panel shows a backpack that is open and a binder that is being put inside the backpack. Panel 5: 17. Get back to drawing—add the finishing touches. Ario's base sketch is in red while the details of the dress, hair, shoes, ears, and earrings are added in on top in a bright cyan color. Panel 6: Profit 🩷. The sketch of Ario is now cleaned up and fully rendered. His hair is long and fully white, his dress is light blue, and his shoes and added gloves are black. Behind him is an orange drop shadow and around him are orange hearts. /End ID]

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Find the Word Tag Game

Absolutely No Angst Edition!

(tw: lovey shit and lengthy snippets I’m sorry)

tagged by: @sleepyowlwrites!! my words: stab, sharp, send, slip, slender, spring tagging: @drippingmoon, @ashen-crest, @drabbleitout, @sleepyowlwrites, anyone who wants to, and Frankie. boy I sure hope he made it to Hollywood. your words: take, fight, turn, smoke, blush

stab jab (Rebirth)—

"You're not responsible for everyone in the galaxy." Warren slid closer. "You don't need to keep proving that you've got the biggest, kindest heart here."

Thrive exhaled deeply, a grin tugging at his lips. "So I can go back to my true nature of being a wretched bastard, then."

Warren chuckled and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Couldn't even say that with a straight face." He cleared his throat. "You should take full advantage of this break, however short it may be. Go to the Skywaste show, ingest alcohol, sleep. A lot."

"Else you'll manipulate ——— into kidnapping me and forcing me to stay against my will in a deserted paradise?"

"Yeah," Warren said. "Yeah, I fuckin' will. Don't you forget it."

To his surprise, Thrive jabbed his fingers into his sides. Warren yelped and attempted to back away, but Thrive grabbed him around the waist and captured him in an unbreakable hold against him. Warren struggled to get free, giggling uncontrollably at the intense barrage of tickling to his waist, until he hooked his leg around Thrive's calf and they both went crashing to the floor.

sharp (Meridian)—

"Tournaltis has three moons," Thrive said. "One is a mining satellite, but the other two can be used as refugee camps should they be needed."

"That's unnecessary, sir," Sinkship said. "Efthim's people are being housed elsewhere in Andromeda."

In a surprising beat, Thrive broke out into a wide grin at that, slapping a stylus against the palm of his hand. Warren caught the lack of mirth in that grin, and could only imagine the vitriol he had to keep shielded from Delegate Talyssa and the other silhou in the room.

"Okay, first," Warren said when they were released into sentry custody again, "how did you clock that she was bullshitting you?"

Thrive sighed. "They always do. Not to mention the only planet in Ashva open to refugees is R'lis, and they don't have the resources to house that many at once. They would've had to turn away more than four fifths of Efthim's population."

"Second...I had plans for us but that look you gave Sinkship kinda tipped me over the edge…"

Thrive hummed, interested. "I'd invite you onto the royal starship, but I've so missed the close quarters of your apartment—"

Warren shook his head sharply. "No fuckin' way. The docks are closer. I'm not gonna have to jump up with a leg cramp at a critical moment, no thank you."

Thrive laughed and they were escorted once again to the tram.

send (Eternal)—

He didn't care if anybody else saw them at the moment; he gratefully let Thrive deepen the kiss, shifting his hands to his waist and pulling him closer. Thrive cupped his jaw and passed his tongue over Warren's bottom lip, sending a chill through him that was shared through their connection.

"Fuck," Warren whispered, pulling back only to catch his breath. "You're getting way too good at that."

"Thanks to you," Thrive murmured. "I've missed you."

Warren embraced him and buried his face in his throat, pressing his lips to every inch of skin that the form suit allowed. "I missed you too, so much."

"Hey, goopy dumbasses," Guetry called, and though his tone was teasing it also contained a hint of affection. Mercury's arm was tight around his waist and he had a steaming cup of something perched in one hand. "My gag reflex isn't up to par these days, d'you mind? Put it away for the big battle or something."

"Sorry," Warren called back. "Can't wait that long. Might have him take me right here."

"Well that's upsetting and hugely unnecessary. Unrelated—Scotty, go ahead and start recording vid for me please."

slip (Rebirth)—

"There are six Morrite guards below you," Scotty said. "They have been required on pain of death to stay at their post."

Warren quirked an eyebrow. "So we can drop down for a surprise visit."

"Essentially, yes."

"Osillo, get a head start and out of the vent if you can."

"Understood," they replied.

"On the count of three," Warren instructed. "One…two…three!"

They all opened fire into the floor, turning their faces away from the shrapnel of marble and the sparks that followed. They made a grandiose commotion that surely would've drawn attention to them, and the corridor quickly filled with heat from both the blasts of energy and the guns steadily becoming too hot to continue being safely fired.

Warren's magazine ran out first, followed by Emnophene's and Guetry's. Varussa, having used a smaller weapon, decided to cut out early.

When the smoke began to sting Warren's eyes he found himself delighted that he opted to keep the breather on. The air soon cleared to reveal a hole in the floor only large enough for a single person to slip through.

"...Alright," he muttered as they all replaced their mags. "It's...it'll be a very gradual surprise visit."

"We're so close," Guetry said, holding his rifle straight up in the air over his head. "Too close to fuck around. I'll take what we can get." He stepped forward and gracefully dropped into the hole feet-first, padding to the ground below with his balance intact. "My medical bills send their regards!"

A cacophony of more gunfire and Morrite yelling followed.

Warren sighed, turning to Varussa after a beat. "You ever have regrets?"

slender delicate (Aurora)—

"You know...the Consortium say they've got a lead on the Emmuli."

Thrive rolled his eyes and sighed from the recesses of his core.

For the past while, he and Warren watched with interest as Corin and Gouna worked together behind a sheet of clear plastic at the far end of the lab, bent over a table with strange instruments and devices around them. They worked diligently, delicately, and it was odd but comforting to watch Corin so focused and intense alongside his brother. The sight made Warren very confident that everything would turn out alright.

"I do not, by any means, intend to trivialize the situation," Thrive murmured so only Warren could hear him and he wouldn't disturb Gouna and Corin, "however...I am, one could say…"

Warren looked at him. "Sick to shit of the Emmuli?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly it."

"Me too." Warren failed to stop the amusement pressuring its way onto his face. "Yeah. I kinda feel like a poor little mouse who's been doomed to be the cat's plaything for the rest of its life."

Thrive rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "...I'm not familiar with any of those things."

Warren swiveled. "What? Really? Out of everything you've learned about Earth and humans and our idioms, that somehow got left behind?"

"I've had limited opportunity to brush up on my knowledge since leaving."

spring sprang (Rebirth)—

"Won't my outdated appearance compromise your little covert operation here?"

Guetry's gaze became more fixed over Warren's shoulder and he tensed up, shifting as if ready to leap into action. "Here's the thing...there ain't nothing covert about this."

He immediately sprang out of his seat and dead-sprinted down the wide walkway, his coat billowing out behind him as he chased the escaping allegiant away from the table. He whipped something out of his pocket, and a loud crack and a series of blinding flashes startled the Node residents around them.

Thin smoke filled the corridor, clearing out after some commotion to unveil Guetry with his boot-clad foot on the felled allegiant's back while bystanders gave them a gracious berth and stared in alarm. He talked into a device strapped onto his wrist and gave Warren a thumbs-up high above his head.

A few members of security moved in around the incapacitated and bound nuaclan and Guetry made his way back to the table.

"Now," he panted, pocketing what appeared to be a large handle with a metal cap. "About that date."

Warren slowly blinked. "Fiercely taken."

"Monogamous?"

"Yep."

"Damn. Worth a shot. So what's the story?"

[blackkatmagic]

Dooku/Nico, where they each have one of the Skywalker Twins as a padawan

“You what?” Luke says a little too loudly, voice echoing across the Archives.

Nico can see the instinctive, predatory way Jocasta snaps to attention, head coming up like a nexu scenting a wounded nerf, but before she can move to engage he clears his throat delicately, drawing her attention. Jocasta looks over, entirely unimpressed, and raises a brow at him, and Nico raises one back, flicking a pointed glance over at where Dooku is leafing through past mission reports from the planet he’s been assigned to. Half of his attention is trained on Luke, though, and from the suspicious slant to his expression, he’s still convinced that Leia is a bad influence.

Which is ridiculous, honestly. It’s Nico who’s the bad influence. Leia just helps things along.

Jocasta gives him a gimlet stare from across her desk, but after a long moment she rolls her eyes and clearly surrenders to the nonsense that’s about to invade her Archives. That might as well be permission, so Nico smirks and goes back to his diagrams of the palace of the most recent Hutt crime lord to think he can encroach on Republic space and sentient rights, counting down in his head.

It only takes until a count of thirty before there's a scuffle, a yelp, a hiss, and then Leia promptly drags her twin out from a bank of computer terminals and frog-marches him straight towards Nico.

“Master!” she says, not quite too loud, but only because she’s run enough missions with Jocasta working alongside them to have a deep respect for Jocasta’s aim and the vase full of rubber balls she keeps at her elbow at all times. “Master, Luke wants to come with us on our mission.”

Across from Nico, Dooku freezes.

Nico does not stroke his mustache as he sits back, if only because Tae says it doesn’t hide his smirk at all. Instead, he gives Luke a kind smile where the boy is hovering behind Leia, looking hopeful.

“Come with us?” he echoes, perfectly innocent. “You are always welcome on our missions, Luke, and I truly love having the company of another skilled swordsman, especially as few are your sister’s match. And we could likely use the help, given our target. But I'm afraid the decision lies with your Master. I cannot take another Jedi’s padawan without permission.”

“And you aren’t going to get it, Diath,” Dooku says pointedly, turning and rising to his feet to loom over Nico's table. Nico would be more intimidated if he didn’t remember Dooku before he hit his growth spurt, and he raises a brow, deliberately leaning back in his chair. Slouching insouciantly, his old Master might have said, but if anyone has earned insouciant slouching by being an insufferable asshat, it’s Dooku, so Nico has no regrets.

“I won't?” he says, feigning surprise. The way that Jocasta presses a hand over her eyes says he’s going it badly, but Leia is the only one who would call him on it and she currently looks impossibly smug, because she knows precisely what’s happening. “Training with other Masters is an important method of growth for young Jedi, Dooku. Would you really deny your padawan a learning experience?”

On cue, Luke fixes a beseeching look on his Master, all wide blue eyes and tentative hope. Clearly Leia isn't the only one who’s realized what’s happening here.

“A learning experience, no,” Dooku says precisely, looking down his long nose at Nico. “What you run, however, are not missions, Diath, they are disasters. I will not have my padawan getting involved in such things.”

Leia scoffs, folding her arms over her chest, and levels a dark look at the back of Dooku's head. Nico doesn’t waver, simply raises a brow at him and deliberately turns his diagram of the Hutt’s palace around.

“It’s on Nar Kreeta,” he says, perfectly mild. “I do so remember how you love Nar Kreeta, old friend.”

Dooku's face does something complicated, finally settling on contained rage. “You are not dragging my padawan to Nar Kreeta alone, Nico, I refuse—”

Jocasta drops her head onto her desk and quietly thumps her forehead into the wood, radiating disbelieving despair.

“Oh?” Nico says, pouncing on the opening. “Then you’ll come, how delightful. All right, Luke, Leia, off you go. Get your things and meet us at the upper landing platform—”

Dooku splutters. “Diath, I am not—”

It’s entirely useless. Luke and Leia bolt for the main doors, moving faster than Nico can recall seeing them do so before. They're gone in an instant, and Dooku takes one step after them, looking helpless, and then freezes like he just realized he showed a weakness.

If he thinks that’s the sort of thing Nico is bothered by, he forgets that Nico used to grind his face into the mud in the gardens and somehow still appreciates it as a nice face. Snorting, Nico shoves the chair on the other side of the table out with one foot, waving Dooku into it.

“If you keep making that face, it will stick,” he says, more than a little smug. Dooku gives him a dark look, and Nico smirks in return. “Really, Dooku, if you ever let your padawan do anything interesting, you wouldn’t have this problem—”

Dooku settles primly in the seat, snatching the diagrams out from under Nico's fingers. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take advice from someone who had to be rescued by his former padawan and a bounty hunter two weeks ago, along with his padawan,” he says acidly. “If you’re letting her cavort with Jango Fett—”

“I rather think it’s Boba Fett she’s more interested in cavorting with,” Nico says, and pegs Dooku between the eyes with his stylus. Jocasta isn't the only one who cultivated perfect aim during their padawan days. “And it’s bold of you to throw stones when your grandpadawan is Anakin Skywalker, Dooku. I heard all about the run-in with Captain Ohnaka.”

Dooku's grimace is deep, unhappy, and pained, even as he deliberately tucks Nico's favorite stylus into his pocket. “Close your mouth, Diath,” he says, and Nico laughs in his face.

“Back to Nar Kreeta,” he says, raising a pointed brow at Dooku. “Force, but it’s been…twenty years?”

“Fifteen,” Dooku corrects automatically, and then freezes like he’s been caught out.

Nico isn't tasteless enough to keep harping on his victory when they both know that he’s won. Well. He’s not tasteless enough to do it every time, but considering how often Dooku is wrong that has to count for something. “Fifteen, my mistake,” he corrects easily, and when Dooku glances up, eyes narrowed, Nico catches his gaze and holds it. Taking Anakin as a padawan, to fulfill Qui-Gon’s last request, was a good change for him. Nico will admit that without hesitation. Everything that’s come after has only helped. “Do you think that beach is still there?”

Dooku doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his fingers tighten on the edges of the map, and he looks away.

“Yet more proof that you treat the sacred role of the Jedi as nothing but a joke,” he says derisively. “It’s no wonder your hellion of a padawan is such a bad influence.”

“I seem to recall,” Nico says, “that we were hellions in our own right once. Back before you abandoned your sense of adventure on a mission and never went back for it.”

“You mean when I finally acquired a sense of taste?” Dooku shoots back, and Nico scoffs. He’s out of styluses, but he reaches for a thick book as Dooku starts to rise threateningly—

“Oh, for the sake of the Force and all who dwell in it,” Jocasta says, vastly annoyed, and rounds on them. “Get out of my Archives and flirt somewhere else, the both of you!”

[On AO3]

[chevrolangels]

though the stars walk backward

#24: You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you, 4.1k

From this prompt list

For @princessjimmynovak​  This was requested approximately a million years ago and I finally finished it!! Happy belated birthday darling 💜

Feat. Space Ex-Boyfriends who are bad at talking to each other. So, canon. But in space. (Dean has always wanted to be an astronaut, lbr)

read on ao3

“New crop of cadets coming in today.”

“I know.”

Charlie bites into her apple, munching as she scans her screen.

“Hope they’re better than the last ones. Half of ‘em couldn’t tell the difference between a spectrometer and an ammeter.”

Castiel doesn’t comment. He’s too on edge to indulge Charlie today, so he just shrugs, swiveling his chair back in front of the control panel.

Everything’s on autopilot, like always, but he likes to check the nav-console by hand, every once in a while, if nothing but to prove his usefulness. Wouldn't do to have the computer shift a few degrees without anyone noticing and end up halfway to Alpha Centauri.

“I mean, what do they think we do up here? Run pretty tests for fun?” Charlie continues. “Like, one leak is the difference between life and death.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal noise and starts typing in the complicated sequence with his stylus, the starmap projected before him, their course pulsing with gentle blue light.

“I mean, they’re gone for all that time, least the Academy can do is make sure they’re prepared.”

Castiel bites his tongue, typing with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. He loves Charlie, but her ranting is really starting to get to him. Castiel might be the best pilot this side of the Pleiades, but hey. He’s only human.

“If they send me one more programmer who asks me how to do an abstraction, I’m going to��”

“Charlie, do you mind?” Castiel snaps. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

He regrets it immediately. Charlie does go quiet, but makes a thoroughly overdramatic roll of her chair into Castiel’s eyeline. She raises an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanna share with the class there, bud?”

Castiel exhales, rolling his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just...need to focus.”

“...Right.”

A decidedly sneaky look crosses her face, one that Castiel knows spells trouble.

She leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands.

“Is it because you gotta do the whole ‘Captain Thing’ later?” She asks. “Shake hands, greet the greets, that whole deal?”

Castiel acquiesces.

“Partly.”

He quickly finishes the rest of the code and enters it into the nav-console, sinking back in his seat. Charlie purses her lips.

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the teaching staff is coming back, huh.”

Castiel keeps his face carefully neutral, even as he feels the back of his neck grow hot. He fiddles with the stylus in his hands, turning it over and over again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie taps her chin, looking thoughtful.

“What’s it been, two years?” She whistles, drawing it out. “Long time.”

Castiel just grunts. He should be getting up, to change into his uniform for the new batch of arrivals, but he makes no attempt to move.

“Dean’s coming back, too, right?”

Castiel snaps the stylus in half.

Charlie grins.

Castiel looks down at his hand, shoving the broken stylus into his pocket.

“If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says loftily. “And whether he does or not certainly doesn’t affect me.”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Didn’t they send the transfer roster last week?”

Castiel glares at her. She smirks back, giving him a cheeky wink.

Castiel abruptly pushes back from the console, standing.

“I have to go change,” he says shortly.

Once he gets to his quarters and the door slides closed behind him, Castiel sinks back against it, dropping his head in his hands.

Two years. Two years since Castiel chose to stay, and he chose to leave. Two years, of long lonely nights in front of the computer, of avoiding the Observation Deck, of throwing himself into his work. Two years in which Castiel thought he’d successfully ridded every last trace of Dean Winchester from his life.

After that night, Castiel had thrown away everything he’d ever given him. Every trinket, every gift, every scrap of paper―pathetic trophies of infatuation that Castiel had saved like a fool, pressed between the pages of his books.

The rest of the ship noticed, of course, because how could they not―Charlie, especially, had been particularly persistent in trying to get Castiel to tell her what happened. But Castiel resolutely refused to talk about him, and glowered sufficiently at any mention of his name that eventually people just learned to stop bringing him up.

But time marches ever onward, and the training cycle at the Academy is complete. The institution that Dean fled to in the first place is now spitting him back out, thrusting him back into Castiel’s life.

Castiel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. How is he going to stand in front of nearly three hundred people and shake his hand? Just the mention of his name made Castiel want to throw something, bringing back all those memories Castiel tried so hard to forget. It may have been two years, but everything that made the man named Dean Winchester the best part of his life is still imprinted in Castiel’s memory, like a brand.

It’s times like this when Castiel wishes he could be like one of Charlie’s computers, erasing all information at the touch of a button. There would be no pain, no memories―like he had never existed in the first place.

Castiel exhales, looking down at his hands.

He’ll just have to make it quick. It really wouldn’t do for the captain to start a fistfight in front of the entire crew.

x

Roughly thirty minutes later, Castiel finds himself standing stiffly at the end of the receiving line of officers, the collar of his uncomfortable dress uniform cutting into his neck. Something must be off with the temperature regulators in the receiving deck, because he’s sweating, a few locks of hair slipping loose from his hat. He attempts to comb them back into place until Naomi hisses at him to stop fidgeting.

Charlie is beside him as Chief Engineering Officer. She cranes her neck above the crowd, looking at the small group that’s just disembarked from the transport ship.

“Showtime,” she says, adjusting her gloves.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathing in. He can do this.

The new ones pass through first, freshly graduated, young and starry-eyed. Castiel can appreciate their eager enthusiasm. It’s important work they do here on the ship, and they need the best crew to make it possible. They shake his hand vigorously, hopefully interpreting his tight-lipped stare as stoic strength.

Then, the officers.

Hannah, who Castiel has always liked, gives him a warm smile and clasps his hands, telling him how much they missed him. Castiel agrees with the sentiment, but he can barely focus during their conversation, continually darting his eyes towards the end of the line.

The procession inches forward, painfully slow. Cain, Chief Military Strategist, is next, then Billie, and Linda Tran. Crowley, a truly despicable human being, but perhaps the most brilliant Flight Engineer Castiel’s ever worked with, passes with a slimy smile―and then, a face Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Captain Novak,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel smiles back, unable to help himself.

“It has,” he agrees, taking his hand. Despite whatever may have happened between him and his brother, Castiel always liked Sam. “I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you during your absence.”

Sam nods, dropping Castiel’s hand.

“Believe me, we missed it here, too,” he says, smiling. “You never know how good you have it until you have to spend time way out in the boonies.”

Castiel chuckles. He remembers. The time at the Academy might be necessary, but it certainly couldn’t be called comfortable.

Sam turns, indicating the cadets behind them.

“We’ve got a good group for you here, Cas,” he says, dropping the nickname with easy familiarity. “I think you’ll be happy with them.”

“Good to hear,” Castiel replies. “I’m sure they benefited from having you as a teacher.”

Sam shrugs, ever modest.

Naomi clears her throat from behind them, not-so-subtly encouraging him to move it along. Sam smiles and gives Castiel a small little salute, moving away.

Castiel sighs, tugging at his collar. To his left, he hears a low chuckle.

“Still hate that uniform, huh?”

Castiel stiffens.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slowly lowers his hand, looking up into the face he tried two years to forget.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, smiling.

His eyes are bright, shining, like he wants to be here. Funny. Castiel seems to remember he went halfway across the star system just to get away from him.

He extends a hand, holding it out for Castiel to shake.

Castiel clears his throat, but doesn’t move.

“Dr. Winchester,” he replies stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Dean chuckles.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I gotta call you ‘Captain Novak’, now, huh? Sorry.”

He looks up, that soft smile returning.

“Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs.

His hand is still extended, in the distance between them. Naomi must be practically foaming at the mouth at such a lack of decorum. Castiel couldn’t care less.

Dean looks exactly the same, perhaps a few more lines around his eyes, still that perfect shade of green. Dean's eyes always reminded Castiel of Earth.

Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines. He looks Castiel up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on the few locks of hair Castiel knows must still be stubbornly escaping from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Dean continues. “Even after two years.”

“And three months, six days,” Castiel says coolly.

Dean’s smile fades a little.

“Right.”

He pulls back his hand, awkwardly picking at the edge of the hat in his hands.

Castiel’s heart is beating wildly, but he keeps his face still as stone. Dean shifts uncomfortably, then seems to make a decision.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

“Look, Cas, you know I always hated this formal junk,” he murmurs. “Can we talk later, maybe?”

He sounds so cavalier, so oblivious, and Castiel hates it.

“Catch up?” Dean asks. “Away from all these people?”

Castiel gives him his coldest stare.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Running this ship is a full time job.”

Dean blinks, and he stares at him, looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. The monster of heartache and pain inside Castiel roars with a vicious triumph.

“I have enough on my plate as it is,” he continues dismissively. “I simply don’t have time to indulge every junior officer who wants to waste my time.”

He straightens, looking away disinterestedly.

“You’d do best to remember that.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak, merely staring at Castiel, his mouth open in disbelief.

Then he remembers himself, and with a glance at Naomi, he stands up straight, placing his officer’s hat back on his head.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, lowering his eyes. “Well.”

There’s an awkward cough from Charlie to his left. Castiel ignores her.

“It’s good to see you, again, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Really.”

Somehow, he makes it sound genuine.

He exits the platform, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Castiel watches Dean go an uneasy curl in his throat. The brief flare of vengeful satisfaction is already leeching away, leaving him feeling brittle and hollow.

Naomi is already busy shooing the officers into the reception hall, for the welcome banquet. Charlie finds Castiel’s arm and squeezes it, her eyes sympathetic.

“Cas?” She asks quietly. “You okay?”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Think I might have to get back to you on that."

x

Later, after the banquet, after three hours of restless tossing and turning, Castiel slowly gets up, not bothering with shoes.

Wandering the hallways used to be his favorite pastime. The quiet, the stillness. He still does it, on occasion, when he finds sleep isn’t easy in coming. The lights that try to mimic some semblance of a day and night cycle are dimmed low, the halls empty, most retired to their chambers.

Castiel makes his way up to the Observation Deck, taking a brief look around. There’s no one there, no one to spy on the captain of their ship, stealing away in the night for some much needed solitude. He walks the ramp to the very top part of the observatory, leaning his arms on the handrail. Castiel used to spend hours here. He would sit and watch the stars turn, feeling at once very small and very infinite. He sits now, staring out at the vast darkness before him. It’s utterly quiet, the electric hum of the ship the only sound in the gloom.

Unbidden, his thoughts turn to the last conversation he had here.

Castiel had just learned he had been chosen to be the next Captain, a highly selective process that he had stressed about for weeks. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean.

But Dean had come with news of his own.

A teaching job at the Academy. Highly prestigious, second probably only to Castiel’s role―but that meant―

“Two years,” Dean said to his hands, his voice flat. “That’s how long I’d be gone.”

Castiel felt his brief taste of happiness deflate like a suit after a spacewalk.

“Two years?” He echoed, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dean nodded mutely.

“That’s…”

Castiel bit his lip.

“Wow,” is all he managed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke.

“So…”

Castiel hardly dared to say it.

“I’m guessing you knew that when you applied,” he said flatly.

Dean nodded mutely.

“Didn’t really account for you becoming the Captain,” he muttered.

Anger flared within Castiel.

“What, because you think I wouldn’t get it?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, looking up. “God, no, Cas, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” Castiel shot back.

Dean shut his mouth angrily.

“I guess...I guess it’s just hitting me how long two years really is,” he said finally.

Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned.

“You’re not serious,” he whispered. Dean dragged a hand down his face, avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know, Cas!” He said, voice rising in the quiet. “I mean...you’ll have your job, Cas, I'll have mine...who knows if you’ll have any time for me―”

“Oh, I won’t have time for you?” Castiel repeated scathingly. God, he should have known, it’s just like Dean―shove the blame off himself and project it onto Castiel instead of owning his feelings like an adult.

“Just say you don’t want to be with me and get it over with,” he snapped.

“Cas…” Dean started.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean sighed, breath shaky.

“I―”

Castiel looked up.

He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and he didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him break his heart.

He ran like a coward.

Castiel wipes angrily at his eyes, banishing the memory. He can’t change the past, so he might as well not dwell on it.

He looks up, at the wilderness of the stars. They shimmer gently against the blank expanse, his constant companions. Castiel can tell you the distance between Betelguese and Rigel, can calculate the time it would take to travel to Sirius and back, but he could never navigate his own life so surely.

If only humans could be as constant as the Heavens.

Behind him, the floor creaks softly. Castiel goes still.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Dean is standing at the end of the platform, in his sleep pants and shirt. He looks so different out of his uniform. Softer. More like himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, unable to stop the name from coming to his lips.

Dean responds with a bashful smile, one hand twisting nervously into the hem of his shirt.

“Figured I'd find you here."

He glances out at the stars, then back to Castiel.

“You mind if I join you?”

Castiel swallows, but looks away, saying nothing.

Dean seems to take that as permission, and sits, legs hanging over the edge of the deck, next to Castiel.

There once was a time when they’d sit close enough for their knees to knock, their hands lacing over the railing as Dean told stories, weaving grand tales of the constellations and their histories, while Castiel listened, enraptured.

Now the distance of that memory feels vast, lightyears away. They’re both quiet, not speaking a word. The silence is thin, fragile as glass.

“Cas―”

So Dean will be the one to break it.

He pauses, brow furrowing as he searches for words. Castiel bristles, waiting for it.

“Look,” Dean says, turning to face him. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. But―”

“You’re right,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “I don’t.”

Dean goes silent beside him. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look up, Dean is staring at him, hopeless and broken.

“Can you at least let me explain?” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

Castiel is torn. Half of him melts, seeing Dean so desperate. But the other half, the rational part of him that remembers the danger of falling for Dean Winchester cautions him, telling him the smartest thing he can do right now is walk away, and never open his heart again.

He lowers his head, exhaling heavily.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Dean, I just…can’t.”

“You’re angry,” Dean says softly. Castiel scoffs.

“You’re damn right I'm angry,” he mutters. “And I don’t care about any half-assed apology you have for me, not now. Too little, too late.”

He moves back from the railing, pushing himself up. Tears are starting to come to his eyes, hot and bitter, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Dean see him cry.

“Cas, wait―”

He reaches out, grabbing his hand.

Castiel freezes, rooted to the spot. Dean is frozen too, looking down at their joined hands. He doesn’t let go, though.

“Just...slow down, will ya?” Dean says, and there’s a hint of a laugh there, the way he always sounded when he would talk Castiel off the ledge. But now, it only ignites the rage inside him, and Castiel rips his arm from Dean’s grasp, whirling on him.

“No!” Castiel yells, shattering the silence. “You left, and you don’t get to do this now, you don’t get to come waltzing back into my life like everything’s fine―”

Dean’s eyes widen, he holds up his hands.

“Cas―”

“You broke up with me, remember?”

“No, I didn’t, Cas, will you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

Surprisingly, Castiel does. He blinks, slightly stunned at Dean’s words.

What is he talking about?

“Look,” Dean says quickly, probably to prevent Castiel from shouting again. “I only applied to the stupid Academy because Sammy was too―he was freaking out about the process, so I did it with him, just to show him it was nothing. He’s the smart one, so never in a million years did I think they’d choose me, too.”

Castiel crosses his arms, huffing under his breath. Even if he does hate him right now, it always hurts to hear Dean undersell himself.

“The moment I found out, all I wanted to do was talk to my best friend about how fucking scared I was.” Dean sighs. “And then you said you were picked to be Captain, and it all just...seemed too much.”

He looks down, twisting his hands.

“I panicked. God—somehow had it in my mind that the minute I told you you wouldn’t want to be with me, that there wouldn’t be any room in your life for me anymore. And seeing your face in that moment, you were so excited, and then it just slid off your face…"

Castiel remembers. Shit, he had been so happy, so proud—and when Dean told him…

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, not with Dean.

He turns over their last conversation in his mind and all at once it seems to click, now that he knows what Dean must have thought.

“I jumped to conclusions,” Dean admits quietly. “I was...so afraid you wouldn’t want to do the long distance thing for two years so I….kind of...let you break us up before I could.”

Castiel stares at him, a painful bubble of emotion rising in his throat. Oh.

Dean continues.

“If anything, I wanted you to ask me to stay.” He lowers his head, dragging a hand through his short hair. “Which was wrong. I get that now.”

He looks up, huffing out a feeble laugh.

“Believe me, Cas,” he says lowly. “It took me all of about an hour to realize how badly I fucked up. But by that time the solar flares were surging and we had to go.”

Dean bites at his lip.

“I looked for you. I tried. But you had locked yourself away in a meeting and I didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t let me,” he finishes, a sad bitter note in his voice.

Castiel cannot speak, in shock. He never knew. He’d always thought...after that conversation, that Dean had left without so much as a glance back.

“You…”

He eventually trails off. He has no words.

Dean takes a tentative step forward.

“And you know what it’s like out there. The distances are too far, so they restrict communication.” He shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I tried to send transmissions back,” Dean says, rushing out the words. “Every day for a month. They kept telling me personal messages weren’t allowed. I even tried to break into the control center after hours.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, awed and horrified all at once. “You didn’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Nearly got myself tossed out of the airlock for that one.”

His teeth return to his lip again, his green eyes hesitant.

“Sam said I was crazy. I just told him he’d never been in love.”

Castiel's throat goes dry.

They’d never said, not even before Dean left. But Castiel knew he was. Only love leaves that big and jagged of a hole.

“That’s why,” he says softly. “Why I never heard from you the whole two years.”

“And three months, and six days,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I was counting, too.”

He sighs, spreading his hands.

“So, yeah. I messed up. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again, I just―”

Dean never finishes his speech because he doesn't need to. In three swift steps, Castiel has reached him and pulled him in by the front of his shirt.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise as Castiel presses their lips together, but he quickly gets on board, pulling Castiel in by his waist, kissing him back. And he no longer needs to dream about Dean’s warmth, his lips underneath his, the dry rough touch of his palm coming to cup Castiel’s cheek. He’s here, and he’s real, and he’s never going to let him get away again.

Dean pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s

“Damn,” he breathes. “I missed that.”

Castiel tightens his grip.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “So am I.”

He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s.

“I was an idiot,” he murmurs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. Castiel shivers.

“I should have just told you,” Dean finishes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bumping their noses together. “You should have.”

Dean laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Castiel’s ever heard.

“There’s the asshole I remember.”

They both grin, just basking in their closeness, breathing quietly.

“So.”

“So.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“So, this whole time, we wanted to be with each other and we just...weren’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Sounds like it.”

“Wow.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Dean laughs again.

“Sums up the last fifteen years of us knowing each other.” He reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing Castiel’s. “Don’t you think?”

Castiel smiles, turning his hand up so Dean can thread their fingers together. He knows they so much they still have to say, so much to catch up on to fix everything that’s broken between them.

By a backdrop of stars, Dean kisses him once more, and well, that’s as good a start as any.

[saritawolff]

(Animorphs Spoilers!)

“Just keep demorphing.” Tobias told me. “We have to get after Visser Four. Forget security, we don’t have time to worry about it. Hey! Any of you guys know what year this is?”

“Why, it’s a colored girl!” the third guy said.

He looked down at me with concerned blue eyes.

“I’ve never seen the like of this!”

“Hey, guys, help us out, okay? What year? What country?”

“Don’t answer him, he could be spy!”

I was almost entirely human. I stood up, shaky.

“Sorry,” I said, ���I know it’s kind of gross to watch.”

“How did you do that,” the man with the southern accent demanded. And then, like some vile punctuation, he added a word I won’t repeat.

It was like a slap. I couldn’t answer. I just gaped.

“What did you call her?” Tobias asked.

The student shoved Tobias hard against his chest and sent him sprawling back. “I’m not addressing you, little boy; I’m talking to this creature, here.” He grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me. “Speak up when a white man asks you a question.”

“Hey, this isn’t Alabama, Davis,” the short student protested.

Davis ignored him. “Don’t tell me how to deal with coloreds, Friedman. Most likely this is some kind of runaway slave.”

I shot a glance at Tobias. In his human morph he could do little. And he’d have to pass through his hawk form before getting to what Marco would call “serious firepower.”

But that was okay. This small battle was all mine. I didn’t want any help.

“You don’t like black people, Mr. Davis?” I said pleasantly. “No problem. I can turn white. Watch me.”

Most of the time I’d probably have let it go. I’d been called names before. I’d run into racism before. Mostly I figured people like that were just sad, weak-minded fools. So most of the time I just avoided people like that.

But I had been in three wars since breakfast. I had seen Jake shot down. I’d just learned that Rachel, my best friend, was gone.

I was sad and ashamed and filled with rage, all at once. So this wasn’t “most of the time.”

White fur began to grow from my face. Actually, it was clear fur, hollow needles of fur that were designed to keep the polar bear warm. But the fur looked white, taken altogether.

My hands swelled, big as dinner plates. Long, raked claws extended from the fingertips.

I was growing whiter. And bigger. Much, much bigger.

“It’s some kind of voodoo trick!” Davis wailed.

Tobias was back on his feet, arms crossed over his chest, looking on calmly. “You two guys may want to step back out of the way because I don’t think Davis here is going to be having a very good day.”

I loomed larger and larger.

Davis began to back away, pressing against one alley wall. But sheer amazement and disbelief kept him from running until it was too late.

Finally, he broke and ran. I slammed a pile driver front leg into the wall and blocked his way.

<Don’t you like me?> I asked.

He turned the other way. I slammed my other front leg to block his escape.

“Nah, nah, don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!” He looked at Tobias. “Don’t let her kill me.”

Tobias shrugged.

With a sudden movement I opened my jaws, twisted my head sideways, and clamped my mouth over the guy’s face.

“HhhhhRROOOAARRR!”

Davis’s cheeks vibrated from the sound waves. His hair blew back.

“Personally, I’d apologize if I were you,” Tobias suggested.

Davis babbled his apology into my open mouth. He kept apologizing even after I let him sink to the ground.

- Megamorphs #3: Elfangor’s Secret, pages 138-141

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been wanting to illustrate this scene for a while, and this just seemed like a great time to do it. Also hey, as the Harry Potter fandom jumps their rapidly sinking ship, Animorphs has just received a surge in popularity due to having writers who AREN’T absolute pieces of polar bear chow. So don’t worry, the Animorphs fandom is still alive and strong and we welcome you with open arms. Come to the dark side, we have child soldiers, body horror, PTSD, and discussions of genocide and maple-ginger-flavored chemical warfare. Enjoy your stay. There’s also a movie in the works apparently? Cautiously optimistic about that...

(I am also still working on more Animorphs aliens, fyi. Just... whenever I’m not too depressed to hold a stylus. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

[mamusiq]

You Should Listen to CDs

If vinyl is for hipsters and streaming is for everyone else, maybe the forgotten format is for you.

Gilad Edelman 12.23.2021

CDs are dead. In 2020, revenue from sales of compact discs in the US added up to $483 million, a 97 percent drop from the format’s peak in 2000. Only 31.6 million CD units were shipped in the US last year. By contrast, the Bee Gees alone have 16 million monthly listeners on Spotify. How dead are CDs? Deader than disco.

Cause of death: the unbelievable convenience of streaming platforms. For a modest monthly fee, Spotify offers instant access to what feels like every song ever recorded. Its recommendation algorithms, built on constant surveillance of users’ listening habits, consistently deliver top-notch suggestions. It’s amazing. Listening to good music could hardly be easier.

It is, in fact, too easy.

Streaming platforms just aren’t designed with the serious music fan in mind. Back when you had to buy a physical album to listen to it, you really listened to it—even the songs you didn’t like at first. Eventually, some of those tracks would become your favorites. (Other tracks simply sucked, of course.) You paid good money for that CD, after all. Skipping half the tracks felt like an admission of failure.

Not so with on-demand streaming. When you can listen to any song, at any time, at no additional cost, there’s no pressure to listen to something you don’t enjoy right away. This can lead to musical tastes that are both broader and shallower. Thanks to Spotify’s recommendation features, I’ve discovered a lot of music, particularly from Latin America, that I might not have come across without the nudge from an algorithm. This is great. Yet at the same time, I very rarely challenge myself to listen to music that I don’t immediately enjoy. Why would I, when I can so easily switch to something else.

Indeed, the immediate, frictionless availability of something else keeps me from spending as much time as I otherwise would even with music I really love. In the pre-streaming era, I’d buy an album and listen to it over and over. With Spotify, I often discover a new artist, get really excited about them, and three months later forget about their existence entirely. If it doesn’t occupy space on your wall, it may not occupy space in your mind.

There is an obvious antidote to this condition, one that perhaps has already occurred to you: the vinyl record. Many thousands of words have been written about vinyl’s comeback. There’s a natural symmetry to it. Where streaming turns songs into something ephemeral and interchangeable, a record is very much a thing. It’s big. You can hold it in your hands and admire the artwork on the sleeve. If the problem with Spotify is the lack of friction, well, vinyl records are about as frictiony as you can get. They literally require friction to function.

Another way of putting the above is that records are a colossal pain in the ass. I had a turntable for the past decade. As I got ready to move across the country this summer, thinking hard about what was worth shipping or squeezing into my little car, I realized I hardly ever listened to my records. It’s just too much work. Records get dirty; you have to clean them. Ditto the stylus. Records are huge, and shockingly heavy; it’s hard to find room to store and display them. They’re expensive. Halfway through an album, you have to get up to turn it over. And then you have to get up again when the record ends, unless you want to wear down the needle. As WIRED senior editor—and self-flagellating owner of some 1,300 LPs—Michael Calore puts it, vinyl is “an unwieldy music playback format that sounds worse every single time you listen to it.”

The current vogue for vinyl is an overcorrection. You don’t have to listen to the absolute least convenient music format to escape the prison of hyperconvenience. After I sold my turntable, I decided to revisit the listening technology that came in between the spinning wax and the streaming bits: the compact disc. Unsure how long the experiment would last, I bought a CD boom box (you can still find them, though they’re somewhat scarce) and a couple dozen discs from a used music store.

This is not a nostalgia play. Vinyl has the nostalgia market cornered. But if you look past the visual aesthetics, you’ll admit that CDs accomplish the essential function of turntables, vis-a-vis streaming, without the hassle. That is, they allow you to build a library.

Since beginning my experiment, I find myself listening to full albums over and over and coming to appreciate tracks that I would skip if I were listening on my phone. Some of the albums I bought from the discount bin didn’t do much for me at first. I might not have given them a second listen on Spotify. But since they’re in my apartment, in a stack next to the boombox, I listen anyway. Most turn out to contain at least a few gems. The Neville Brothers album Yellow Moon, for example, includes some cringey quasi-rap and ponderous ballads, but also some absolute bangers of late-’80s funky swampy soul. Such are the unexpected joys this experiment has brought to my life.

(CDs also sound better than all but the most mint-condition records. Anyone who insists otherwise is probably rich enough to spend $45K on monoblock amplifiers and diamond-tipped styluses—or is just full of it.)

Note that I’m not predicting that CDs are poised for a comeback. To the contrary, the final pillar of my argument depends on that not being the case. Perhaps the best thing about CDs is that they have gotten ridiculously affordable. Thank you, supply and demand. At the used music stores where I live, almost all the CDs are $5 or less. Even new CDs are far cheaper than they were two decades ago. You could pay $35 to own the new Adele album on vinyl—or $9.97 to have it on CD, with money left over to buy two or three more albums.

So let the masses stay hooked on streaming while the hipsters spin their overpriced records. The CD is dead; long live the CD.

If you buy something using links in our stories, we may earn a commission. This helps support our journalism. Learn more.

https://www.wired.com/story/you-should-listen-to-cds/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

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[nonbinarybrainstorm]

Rodimims with Minimus spiking Roddy?

I hope you like it~

Additional content: fingering, (mild) praise kink, misuse of the rewards system in an office environment

Minimus heads to Rodimus’ habsuite after receiving a message from him that he was struggling with some paperwork and being the mech he is, he agreed without hesitation. When he walks into the room to find Rodimus lounging on his berth with a datapad covering his array and a devilish smile on his face. Immediately, Minimus turns around to walk out the door.

“Wait!” Rodimus shouts and scrambles off the berth after Minimus, datapad falling to the floor harshly.

Minimus sighs and turns back around only to feel heat rush to his face fast enough to make him feel almost faint and his hand instinctively reaches to the door controls to shut the door, effectively trapping himself in the room with Rodimus. Frozen in the middle of getting off the berth, Rodimus blinks curiously at Minimus not seeming to notice or care how exposed his valve his. Covering his mouth to keep himself from saying anything, Minimus stares far too long at Rodimus’ gently blinking valve, his legs spread just wide enough to reveal his softly glowing node and entrance. He stares for too long so that Rodimus notices and a smirk curls up on that handsome face of his finally getting Minimus to look away but it’s too late, the damage has been done. Rodimus leans back on one hand, curving his back to show off his frame and spreads his valve wide with two fingers with his gaze burning into Minimus.

“C’mon Mims,” Rodimus sighs and flutters his spoiler to try and entice him, “Help your captain out?”

Minimus turns and presses his helm against the cool wall, feeling uncomfortably hot very quickly so that he feels like the room is trying to suffocate him.

“This is ridiculous,” Minimus mutters even as his hand reaches to lock the door.

When he turns back and starts walking towards Rodimus, he can’t help the little flutter in his spark when Rodimus grins in a genuinely happy way at him that quickly turns into confusion as Minimus bends down to pick up the discarded datapad. There is, as Minimus suspected, unfinished paperwork and he sighs as he hands it to Rodimus who takes it with a soft frown. Minimus gets up on the berth next to Rodimus and runs a hand over his hip until the tips of his fingers just reach Rodimus’s valve. Rodimus bites his lip and wiggles under Minimus’ touch, trying to move into the feather-light touch but ultimately failing much to his frustration.

“Lie back,” Minimus commands gently and Rodimus does so eagerly.

He rubs his thumb over Rodimus’ node and moves his legs so he’s seated between Rodimus’ thighs.

“What’s the first item on the form?” Minimus asks as he continues to press circles into Rodimus’ node.

Rodimus responds with a small sound of confusion too focused on Minimus’ touch to process the question so Minimus stops cold, getting a frustrated grunt from Rodimus.

“What’s the first item on the form?” Minimus repeats.

Rodimus groans and lifts up the datapad to look over it and grumbles, “Total number of crew members to go planetside, average number of crew members per team, and total number of teams.”

Minimus hands him a stylus from his subspace before returning to his ministrations while slipping a finger to rub around Rodimus’ entrance.

“Fill that item out,” Minimus demands, his voice remaining unaffected even as Rodimus’ hips begin to twitch under his hands.

“Ugh, are you serious?” Rodimus all but whines and looks over at Minimus who gives him a look that makes him roll his optics and he fills out the first item.

Minimus starts thrusting his finger in and out of Rodimus, finding the shallow nodes just at his entrance and says, “The next item.”

Rodimus pants and writhes under Minimus’ hand pinning one of his thighs to the berth. After he doesn’t respond for a while, Minimus stops again and Rodimus keens while moving his hips into the touch, trying to get him to continue.

Rodimus makes a dismissive noise, “Seriously?”

Minimus just stares at him, keeping his hand very still but still pressed firmly against Rodimus’ valve, enough to stimulate but not enough to derive pleasure. 

“Ugh, purpose of venture,” Rodimus admits and Minimus slips two fingers into Rodimus’ valve, feeling how Rodimus’ valve is starting to clench around his fingers.

“And what is the purpose of this venture?” Minimus asks while pushing up into a bundle of nodes that has Rodimus gasp and choking on a moan.

“T-to collect s-s-supplies to make repairs,” Rodimus gasps out with Minimus’ fingers steadily pumping into him.

“Good,” Minimus praises and squeezes Rodimus’ hip, “Now write that down.”

Rodimus’ hands are shaky as he writes but what matters is he’s writing so Minimus adds another finger and bites down the pleasure that shoots to his spike as he sees Rodimus’ hand spasm on the stylus.

“What supplies are being collected?” Minimus asks almost casually, his optics traveling down to see Rodimus’ valve lips stretched around his fingers and lubricant running over his plating onto the berth.

Rodimus gasps and pants, “It’s hard to write like this…”

Minimus hums, slipping his fingers out of Rodimus’ valve, and before Rodimus can complain commands, “Flip over.”

Rodimus complies, flipping onto his front with his knees propped up, exposing his valve fully to Minimus. Minimus lifts up on his knees and pushes his fingers back into Rodimus while running one hand over his thigh appreciatively.

“Now,” Minimus calls over, the definition of authority, “the question.”

Rodimus bites off a moan as Minimus spreads his fingers to stretch his valve then, as best as he can, replies, “Natural pockets of iron, carbon, and copper.”

“Those will be helpful,” Minimus notes and removes his fingers so he can press his stiff spike against Rodimus’ wet folds, rubbing the length against Rodimus’ pulsing node. “Put that in the next section, after that will be what they’re going to be used for.”

“Minimus,” Rodimus groans with his face against the berth, “You’re k-killing me here.”

Minimus stops and Rodimus growls with frustration but Minimus makes no move to continue.

“I’m waiting, Rodimus,” Minimus can’t keep the amusement out of his voice with Rodimus’ shaking under his touch, charge peaking over his frame.

Rodimus scribbles it in quickly and looks over his shoulder at Minimus with a rather upset look that only succeeds in getting Minimus to chuckle.

“Very good,” Minimus coos and pushes his spike into Rodimus’ valve, getting him to completely forget his frustration in favor of the spike pressing against neglected nodes, “Now the next item… What are these materials being used for?”

Rodimus moans into the berth but manages to mumble, “To forge steel to make… to make repairs… repairs after the last gunfight and…”

“And?” Minimus doesn’t fight the smile that forms on his face as he thrusts lazily into the wet heat of Rodimus’ valve.

“And… and for wiring,” Rodimus sighs as Minimus continues to rock into him.

“Excellent, now write it down,” Minimus thrusts in roughly, getting Rodimus to jump with a choked off moan.

Rodimus quickly writes and is about to set the datapad and stylus aside when Minimus stops. He instead tightens his hands onto the items and groans with frustration.

“Oh come on, Mims,” Rodimus snaps, his hips struggling to move in Minimus’ strong grip.

“It’s just your signature now, Rodimus,” Minimus leans down and plants a kiss against Rodimus’ back, “You can do that for me can’t you?”

Rodimus huffs and shuffles so he can sign off the document and tosses the offending items to the side then glares back at Minimus who sighs at the discarded datapad and stylus. Even so, Rodimus did finish it so he deserved his reward. Minimus pushes Rodimus down onto his chest earning a soft grunt of surprise then wraps his hand around his hip before slamming his spike into Rodimus. He holds Rodimus down as he thrusts roughly into him, Rodimus’ valve spasming around Minimus’ spike as his hands grip the edge of the berth. Heat and charge build quickly as Minimus pounds into him, lubricant and pre-transfluid dripping onto the berth. Rodimus cries out Minimus’ name, his hips twitching and pushing back into every thrust.

“Overload for me,” Minimus demands with a sharp thrust and Rodimus shakes as charge erupts from him in overload, his valve squeezing down on Minimus’ spike making him grunt.

A few more thrusts has Minimus moaning into overload, feeling his spike milked for all it’s worth by Rodimus’ valve then settles back with a sigh. Rodimus collapses fully onto the berth, venting heavily.

“That was cruel, Mims,” Rodimus mutters, not moving from his position.

“Well,” Minimus says between vents, “If that’s what will get you to actually finish your paperwork, I might be convinced to help you out in such a way in the future.”

Rodimus is quiet for a moment before he says, “I have some unfinished forms sitting on my desk in the other room.”

Minimus hums in mock consideration then smiles, “Then you better go get them. It looks like we have a lot of work to do.”

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 15

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification,  mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

This chapter contains descriptions of bondage, public sex, genital piercing, ownership, whipping, the question of consent, a detailed non-consensual fantasy and anal sex.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 4.2k

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Most Friday nights you’re chauffeured directly to Sam’s house, but tonight you went home after work in preparation for the “dinner party”.

You can hardly believe you’re going to meet Nick Luster, forget going to his house. Sam is rich beyond your imagination but Nick’s fortune dwarfs Sam’s tenfold.

Sam sent an outfit. You were nervous when you opened the box but it turned out to be nothing more than a strapless black dress that hugs your hips and showcases your breasts. There were no undergarments in his little care package and the dress has its own boning for support, so you take that as a clear instruction. He wants this dress to be the only thing you’ve got on.

-

“You’re quiet,” Sam observes as the car winds up a steep, tree-lined two-lane road.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, looking at where his hand is gripping your thigh. “This is out of my comfort zone.”

“It’s not exactly my cup of tea either,” he shrugs, glancing at his watch. “But who knows, you might see some things that interest you. There’s a lot of activities we haven’t tried.”

You shift in the seat, staring out the window as the car rounds a corner, revealing a massive house set up in the hills. There are thousands of twinkling lights flanking the driveway as you pull up to the main entrance. Sam gets out, offering you a hand and then tucks it over his arm as you walk toward the house.

Just inside the door is a metal detector. Sam steps to the side and a security guard ushers him around, as you are instructed to walk through it. It appears he’s above all this, but you certainly are not. Sam watches you stoically as you walk through the detector and then a man steps forward to pat you down. Once you’ve proven you’re not carrying anything on you, Sam directs you to an ornate table manned by a beautiful blonde who smiles wide as you approach.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s so good to see you again. You’re all set but your guest will have to sign a non-disclosure.”

“Really?” You turn to Sam, nerves stirring in your stomach.

“It’s nothing.” He leans in, one hand at the small of your back. “It’s just to ensure you won’t speak about anything you see or hear inside.”

The blonde leans forward, sliding an iPad and a stylus across the table. “Please sign here. Mr. Winchester is correct. I’m sure he’s explained everything. It simply states that you will not disclose any details of the night, such as any high profile guests you might encounter.”

“This is nothing new,” you mumble, bending over the table.

“Would you like a ribbon for your guest, or will she entertain this evening? Perhaps something more exotic?” The woman asks Sam, showing him a display case with ribbons of every color of the rainbow.

“Red,” Sam responds without pause.

“Here you go. I hope the two of you have a wonderful evening.” She hands him a silky red ribbon and moves her attention to the next guest.

“What is that?” you inquire as he ushers you further down the hall.

“Turn around.” He spins his finger as you turn your back to him. Reaching in front of you he places the ribbon around your neck and you lift your hair out of the way for him to tie it in place. “The color of the ribbons signify what you’re here for. White means available for use by anyone, no need to ask first. Many women here have multiple colors. White and yellow ribbons are a person who’s available for anal sex. You’ll see the whole spectrum tonight.”

“And red?” You touch the ribbon that’s fixed like a collar around your throat.

He turns you around, adjusting your hair as his eyes dart up from your neck. “Red means owned and unavailable.”

“Thank God,” you breathe and he chuckles, slipping a hand behind your back. “You won’t leave me alone here, will you?”

“No,” he snorts, his hand sliding over your hip. “Not tonight.”

At the end of the hall are two doors, twice normal height. They swing open as you approach and you enter what appears to an enormous solarium. There are the same twinkling lights from outside hung from the beams. The walkways and walls are lined with exotic plants.

The architecture is breathtaking but you immediately focus on two things. The first is a statuesque woman with the body of a goddess. She’s stark naked with tiny sliver clamps on her nipples, holding a tray of champagne.

There are several dozen people milling around. Some of the women are dressed like you, but others are in lingerie. One woman is wearing an array of ribbons around her neck and is completely nude save for a thin collar and a chain that's held by an older, portly man.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, unconsciously moving closer to Sam. “This is like...something out of a book.”

“This is just the appetizer,” he sighs, walking the two of you to the other side of the room. “You’re going to see a lot of new things tonight.”

You stay close, following him into the next room. There’s a long dinner table set up, big enough for fifty guests and in the middle are nude women laid out as the guests sit drinking and talking as if there’s nothing going on.

“I’d like a drink.” You speak up, trying to cover your nerves. All he has to do is raise a hand and a woman appears to take your order. In record time you're holding a double shot of vodka.

The lighting is dim and the crowd is milling around but you glimpse a scene in the corner of the room. There’s a man seated in an armchair, he’s smoking a cigar, head tipped back while a naked woman on her knees is enthusiastically sucking his cock.

“What do you think?” Sam asks, sipping a glass of what you assume is club soda.

“I think I’m definitely not an exhibitionist. I mean, I guess I am to some degree, but not like that.” You drink your vodka, unable to look away from the blow job in progress. “Is that something you would want?”

“I have no interest in an audience,” he quips, looking around.

“Sam Winchester!” A jovial voice announces from behind you. Turning you find none other than the gregarious Nick Luster standing in a bright orange velvet suit. He opens his arms as if he expects Sam to embrace him and shakes his head, closing his eyes in dramatic flare.

“Nick,” Sam smiles, offering a hand and Nick takes it with a vigorous shake.

“It’s so good to see you, my old friend!” Nick pats Sam on the shoulder, his eyes falling to you. “And who do you have here? A plus one? What a novelty...”

“This is Y/N,” Sam’s arm curls around your waist, pulling you forward and into his side at the same time. “Y/N, meet Nick.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You bow your head awkwardly, somewhat star stuck.

“It’s my pleasure,” his eyes fall over your body, cocking his head to the side. “Red? How boring.” He rolls his eyes. “You bring us this luscious little creature but you’re not willing to share? Disappointing.”

“No,” Sam’s eyes narrow, his fingers digging into your hip bone. “She’s mine.”

This environment is all about dominance, a room full of powerful men and submissive women. Sam’s making it clear where he falls on the food chain.

“Well, at least we get to admire her from afar.” He examines you one more time before calling over a server and receiving a fresh cocktail. “Follow me. This is just the fluff, the good stuff is downstairs.”

Nick leads the way, stopping to greet his guests as he moves through the crowd. The man has mastered showmanship, you’ll give him that.

“Sam,” you whisper, watching Nick with interest. “Is he...gay?”

“No, just flamboyant.” Sam gulps down his drink, setting the empty glass on a table and grabs your wrist to pull you along behind him.

The two of you follow Nick through the growing crowd and down two flights of stairs into what you assume used to be a vast, underground wine cellar.

To your right, there’s a woman strapped to a table. Her arms and legs are each in restraints and she’s blindfolded with a ball gag in her mouth.  There’s a table beside her with all manner of toys laid out, dildos of varying sizes, clamps and whips. Multiple men surround her, groping her breasts and fingering her pussy.

“Did someone bring her here or is she part of Nick’s show?” you whisper unable to look away.

“It’s hard to say.” Sam watches for a moment, tilting his head before moving on.

The next sight you come upon is arguably the tamest thing you’ve seen all night. It’s a woman in lingerie sitting spread eagle in a chair. She has one hand inside her panties, touching herself as she moans and wiggles in pleasure.

A couple walks up beside you, the man is nothing special but the woman is gorgeous, tall and lithe, like something off a runway. You look at her neck, but she’s not wearing any ribbons.

“What about her?” Your interest is piqued. “She doesn’t have any colors.”

Sam leans down so that his lips brush at the shell of your ear and he speaks quietly. “That means anyone here is welcome to do anything they like to her. No limits.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath on your neck.

“What do no limits mean in a place like this?”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Sam contends. “Things that would give you nightmares, I’m sure. Come on, let's keep moving.”

You walk on further coming to the next set up and gasp the moment you realize what you’re watching. There’s a woman bent over a sawhorse. Her arms around bound in front of her, her entire head is encased in some kind of mask. But what takes your breath away is the man whipping her without mercy. Her buttocks are striped with blood as he brings the leather down over her ass again and again. What’s most disturbing about the scene are her muffled screams from inside the hood.

“Can we move on please?” You turn your head away.

“Sure,” Sam doesn’t seem phased at all, that familiar arm around you, guiding you away.

You pass a woman who’s laid out on an examination table. Her feet are in stirrups and her hands in cuffs at her side. There’s a man with rubber gloves, pinching her nipple with what appears to be metal forceps as he holds up a long needle.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, watching in a combination of horror and fascination as the woman has her nipple pierced right before your eyes. She moans loudly, arms tugging at the restraints, hips squirming in place. It’s not a cry of pain, or rather not exclusively pain. There’s pleasure in this for her, you can tell by the way her body is writhing.

“She’s exquisite isn’t she?” Nick Luster is suddenly beside you, staring at the woman on the table, shaking his head in appreciation. “Watch this part.”

The man prepares her opposite nipple, clamping and then getting the needle ready. You watch, slinking into Sam’s side as her second nipple is pierced and she has what appears to be an orgasm at the same time. You’ve got an unobstructed view of her pussy as it tightens and contracts, her legs trying to close but the stirrups hold them in place.

You’re simultaneously uncomfortable, a little queasy, and slightly turned on all at the same time.

The man at the table moves between her legs bringing the forceps with him and you turn to look at Nick. “He’s going to…”

“Pierce her clit? Of course. It’s the cherry on top.” He grins, chuckling at your shocked expression. “Would you like to have a turn on the table? Pierre does great work, there are a half dozen women on the list for this evening but we can fit you in.”

“No,” you mutter, looking to Sam who’s watching the interaction between you and Nick with his trademark non-expression. “I don’t want to see this.”

“What a wholesome little thing she is.” Nick eyes you up and down as you feel Sam’s fingers close around your arm just above the elbow.

“Yes, she is. Please excuse us, Nick. We’ll be back in a while.”

“No worries,” he calls out with a shit eating grin. “Feel free to use anything you like!”

Sam pulls you down the far hallway that winds off, leaving the bustle of the party behind.  

“Was all that…” you pause, searching for what you truly want to ask. “Consensual?”

“Of course,” Sam quips. “You like to be spanked, others have more extreme limits.”

You think about this, and how unphased he seems by everything you just witnessed. Things you’re going to think about for weeks to come, images that are seared into your brain.

“Are those things you want to do to me?” you ask, concerned that perhaps Sam’s expectations are far beyond anything you imagined.

“No.” He stops at a shut door at the end of the hallway, opening and ushering you inside before closing and locking it. You're in a huge, ornate bathroom, big enough that there’s a sitting area with two chairs and coffee table. He turns to you, reaching down to pull your dress up over your hips, exposing your bare pussy. “Sit here.” He backs you up until your naked ass meets the cold marble of the counter. “Spread your legs.”

“But there are other things you want?” You dig deeper, watching as he wanders to the chair and takes a seat, his eyes locked on you. You follow up the question by hopping on the edge of the sink, lifting your knees to open your legs for him.

“I have no interest in inflicting pain on you if you’re not getting pleasure from it.” Sam clarifies, palming his cock through his pants. He’s hard, thick and bulging through his slacks.

“But it turned you on?” you ask, watching him watch you.

“Some of it,” he clarifies, unbuckling his belt, sliding down his zipper and taking his cock into his hand. “You liked it too.”

His eyes drop to your pussy and you touch yourself lightly in confirmation. It’s true, you’re wet. Blushing you bite your lower lip, watching him stroke himself.

“I think it’s the idea of those things that I like. I’d never want you to actually fuck me in front of someone else, or hurt me like that...but I enjoy the fantasy of it.”

“Touch yourself, rub your clit,” he instructs, lazily stroking his cock as if you aren’t in a bathroom at Nick Lusters house.

You do as he says, using your middle finger to gently stroke your own clit, wiggling from side to side and moaning softly. He was right, you are turned on, more than you care to admit.

“I could make you suck my cock in from of them,” Sam offers, his voice low with self-restraint. You look up, blinking as you stare him down. “I could march you back out there, tell you to get on your knees and choke on my dick. And you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod, mouth opening in a soft gasp at the thought of that kind of humiliation.

“Did you see anything out there you do want to try?” he asks, his gaze never leaving where your fingers are working between your shaking thighs.

“The restraints,” you admit, dipping a finger into your own slick. “The cuffs, I’d be okay with you tying me up like that. And the ball gag, you have one but we haven’t used it.”

“I’ll make both those things happen.” His eyes flick up for a moment, watching as your face twists in pleasure. “I want you to tell me one of your fantasies. Something you’re embarrassed by. A fantasy that you’ve never admitted to anyone.”

Despite the fact that you’re masturbating in front of him, the concept of admitting your deepest desire makes your whole body flush with shame. But the moment the command leaves his mouth you’re already sure of what you’ll share.

“There’s one thing I think about…” you shift, starting to become uncomfortable with the position.

“Come here,” Sam gives his cock a final tug, patting his knee.

You shudder, pulling your hand away from yourself and nearly stumbling across the room. When you try to crawl into his lap, he stops you. Two wide hands curl around your hips, turn you around and ease you backwards onto his lap.

“Up,” he grabs his cock as you lift yourself up, notching the head in your pussy. “Take it all.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, sinking down until he’s inside you to the root. Your legs are bent and he slides a hand under each knee, forcing your legs to fall lax on either side of his. There’s no leverage like this, all your weight is keeping you impaled on his cock. One of his hands curls around your chest, urging you to lean back until your head is resting on his left shoulder, his jaw against your temple.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, one hand sliding inside your dress to grab your breast, the other sliding over your belly as he starts to make soft, slow circles around your clit.

“Shit, Sam,” you wriggle, feeling the head of his cock right on the edge of too deep.

“Now, tell me about your fantasy.”

Fuck. You take a breath, trying to think while you’re stuffed full of dick and he’s methodically rubbing your bud.

“I imagine that I’ve done something that makes you mad,” you start, your entire face burning hot, thankful he can’t see it. “You’re so angry and you grab me hard enough that it hurts. We’re in the living room, or the kitchen when it starts, and you grab my hair and walk me down the hall to the bedroom with my arms pinned behind my back.”

“How hard am I pulling your hair?” he asks, his jaw moving against the side of your face as he speaks.  

“Hard, it excruciating.” You nod. Sam begins to slide two fingers along either side of your clit, pressing slowly together and you whimper, tightening around his cock.

“Continue.”

“When we get to the bedroom you force me onto the ground and tear my clothes off.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes, I’m scared because you’re so rough but I’m turned on by it too. It’s making me wet and I’m ashamed that you’re going to find out..”

“Keep going,” he urges, dipping his fingers into the slick of your cunt and going back to stroking your clit with the long, even press of his fingers.

“You force me onto my belly. At one point I try to fight you, but I can’t because you’re too strong. Then you spank me. It’s brutal, harder than you ever have before and I’m crying it hurts so bad. But then you check my pussy and find out I’m really wet. That makes you even more upset.”

“Why?” he inquires gently, his unassuming tone the polar opposite of the fantasy you’re describing to him.

“Because you tell me that I deserve to punished and I’m not supposed to enjoy my punishment. You call me names, a whore, a slut. And then…” You stop, moaning loudly as he grazes directly over your clit. “Then you make me ask you to fuck me up the ass.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. It’s painful. You make me take your cock so deep. I beg you to stop, but you won’t, because I need to learn my lesson.”

“When you’re begging me to stop, do you really want me to?” he whispers, gently pinching your clit.

“No,” you pant, feeling the stretch of his cock in your pussy. “I like it when it hurts. I enjoy it even though I don’t want to. When you cum in ass, I cum too. I try to stop it but I can’t.”

“What happens then?” he inquires, squeezing your breast with his free hand.

“Nothing, that’s when I cum in the fantasy and it’s over.”

He chuckles, shifting under and inside you, making you rock forward.

“Sam,” you start, breathing picking up as his finger moves faster over your clit. “You know that I don’t-”

“Do I understand that you don’t really want me to hurt you or fuck you without your consent? Of course. That’s why it’s a fantasy,” he explains, turning his head to nip at your jaw. “You have to enjoy it, for me to enjoy it. It’s why you’re perfect for our arrangement. We have the same preferences and the same limits.”

“God,” you squirm, feeling the heat of his body behind you. His cock feels unfathomably thick tonight and he’s working your slit faster now, his touch growing insistent. “You’re gonna make me cum like this.”

“No, you’re not,” he corrects you, his fingers still moving causing you delicious torture. “What’s the rule for this weekend?”

You whimper, your fingers curling into the arms of the chair. “I can’t have an orgasm unless I have your cum in my mouth.”

“And do you have my cum in your mouth?”

“No,” you confirm, clit throbbing with each heartbeat.

“That’s right,” he scolds, pulling his hand away right before giving your pussy a nasty slap that makes you yelp. “And right now I want to cum in this warm, tight little pussy. Doesn’t look like you’re cumming any time soon. Get up. I’m going to fuck you.”

He practically lifts you off his dick. You stand up on shaky legs, feeling him behind you. He bends you forward until your palms meet the coffee table. He slaps your thighs apart, widening your stance, then slides his cock back into your pussy and fucks you fast and hard.

“Oh my god,” you moan, biting your lip to keep from screaming. At least you can’t cum like this. While it feels amazing there’s nothing touching your clit and the angle isn’t right for your own pleasure, so you enjoy the sensation of him taking you for what it is.

It's only a few minutes before he speeds up to a fever pitch. There’s the wet sound of your pussy taking his cock and the smack of his hips meeting your ass. His breath goes choppy, he thrusts harder and faster and then he cums with a long, low grunt. Your hips hurt where his fingers dig into flesh, holding on for dear life as he spills inside you, spurting thick until he’s finally satisfied.

“Fuck,” he heaves, both hands grabbing your butt cheeks. “Shit, that was good.” He slowly pulls out, standing back to get a good look at you before removing his hands. You start to stand up, but he places a hand on your lower back to keep you in place. “Don’t move. You’re a mess.”

Bent over the coffee table with his load running your thighs, you watch as he moves to the sink to get a towel and wipe his cock off. Then he rinses it out, and coming back to you, moves behind you to clean your thighs and aching sex. Once you’re clean he reaches back between your legs, thumb pressing lightly over your clit several times before he’s done.

“Stand up.” His hand curls around your bicep, helping you into a standing position. Then he crouches down to pull your dress back into place. When he stands up he gets one look at your face and chuckles, walking you to the mirror.

You look like you’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday. Your hair is a mess, eyes watering and lips swollen from biting into them. You’re sweating, cheeks flushed and still breathing fast.

There’s no mistaking what’s just happened to you. Everyone will know.

“I guess this is the one place we don’t have to worry about someone knowing I fucked you in the bathroom.” He grins, standing tall behind you, admiring his handiwork. “How do you feel?”

“Horny,” you admit, pressing your lips together as you turn to face him. “Are you sure you don’t want a blow job? Because I’d really like an orgasm.”

He laughs out loud, a genuine smile overtaking his face.

“You’re going to have to wait.” Reaching out he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer. “There’s still more of the party and I haven’t decided when I’m going to end your misery.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you snort, grinning despite the fact your entire body is vibrating.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, finding your eyes with his. “Come on, let’s get you another drink and find Nick before he comes looking for us.”

-

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

[sugar-kisser]

Hot Coffee « Choi San

You open the black door, the metal icing the palm of your left hand. A tiny bell chimes as the door closes behind you causing the pool of black and red hair to look up from his book. You approach the counter and the gorgeous barista flashes his pearly white smile, his dimples showing off as they usually do as well.

“Y/N! You’re here earlier than usual,” he smiles, leaning down on the counter, now having to look up at you.

“My last class got canceled today,” you lie. In fact, you just ditched your last class to avoid a group of girls who have been harassing you for the past six weeks now. Today you just needed a break from it, so you decided to ditch. 

“Would you like your usual?” he asks pulling on a large black cup. You nod your head in a fast little motion, a small chuckle leaving San’s lips as he starts making your coffee. You watch him mix the coffee, creamer, and liquid sugar together before handing it over to you. You reach for wallet but he quickly stops you.

“Y/N, you know you don’t have to pay for your drinks,” he waves his hands slightly back and forth.

“San, you need to stop giving me my drinks for free,” you laugh, slightly groaning. You watch the black and red haired boy scrunched his nose up, smiles, and shakes his head.

“You’re my favorite customer so you don’t need to pay for anything,” San smiles leaning on the counter again flashing his smiles once more. A small almost unnoticeable blush rises to your cheeks and you break into a small soft smile. You slightly shake your head turning around to head to your table by the window, San watching you as you go. You would be lying if you say you didn’t at least have the tiniest crush on San. Actually who are you kidding your crush on San is probably bigger than the moon, you just hope that you aren’t too obvious about it.

You pull out your tablet and stylus and start you working on the new logo designs that are due by the end of the night. You turn up the brightness on your tablet as the sun begins to set and San makes sure to bring you another cup of coffee and look over your designs.

“That one is my favorite,” San points to a small floral design on the screen that you have yet to finish.

“Because it’s a logo for your shop?” You ask looking at him from the side of your eye, then back to the design.

“Not just that but it just looks really pretty. All the little details in the flower and the colors you pick are probably going to make it even better,” San explains. You look at him as he explains his reasonings and points all around the design, pointing out the little details and his favorite part on the design itself. But you’re lost in the fact that he cares so deeply about the deign you were just making for an assignment.

“Y/N, yah?” San waves his hands in your face causing you to blink a couple time and turning you head back towards you tablet, a harsh blush rising to your cheeks, “you’re so cute. I’ll be back in a little bit I’ve got a few customers.” You nod your head but avoid looking at the man. You continue about your design, absentmindedly, your mind more focused on how San just caught you staring at him. You take a deep sigh and pick out your first color to for the design, a soft ballet pink.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have her girls,” a venomous all-too-familiar voice breaks your train of thought. Your eyes slightly widen and you look up at the group of four girls.

“Can I help you?” You ask, voice soft and avoidable of any emotion to start quarrel. 

“No,” the front girl, the leader of her so called group, states. She looks around the little shop, her eyes stopping on San who cleans the counter and appliances, not paying attention to what could possibly go down. You don’t want him to know what is happening because you know he would lose it and show up and deal with it himself. You eyes follow the leaders and stop on San. She looks back over at me and I look at San for a moment too long, breaking any cover I try to hide.

“A cute little coffee shop you come to. Barista is really cute too… San was it?” She sadistically smirks.

“Stay away from him,” you warn.

“What’s with the attitude?” Her eyebrows fur together and her grip tightens on the coffee in her hands, “hasn’t anyone taught you to stay in your place and to keep that little trap shut?” Her voice in a low growl. You swallow the saliva building up in your throat, and your heart rate picks up a little.

“Apologize,” the leader demands. You look at her dead in the eyes, then over at San for a brief half second, then back to her.

“No,” You tell her.

“No?” She repeats. You bite down on your teeth and hold your eye contact with her. A burning hot feeling slaps against your skin and a high pitch scream escapes your lungs. From across the coffee shop San’s head snaps up and watches as four girls walking away from your table. San scrambles over the counter tops and rushes over to you hitting more than one chair getting to you.

“Y/N!” He calls. Steam rises from your no longer white, but light brown, shirt.  He helps you up and takes you to the back office and scrambles around for the first aid after helping you sit onto of the desk. Tears stream down your face and your breathing uneven.

“It hurts,” you whisper.

“I know, I know,” San answers as he pulls out the first aid kit and sets it on the table. He looks back up at you and two of his fingers gently wipe away the tears staining your cheeks. He looks down at your neck, the skin slowly but surely shriveling up.

“You’re going to have to take your shirt off for me to see the rest of the burns,” San whispers. You look at his for a moment before nodding your head, not wanting to argue with him and to get the hot shirt off your body. As you pull at the end of your shirt, pulling it one your head San goes over to his bag and pulls out a shirt and hands it to you, all without looking.

“Just so you can cover up, don’t put it on until I get the burns cleaned,” San tells you. You take his shirt and wrap the fabric around your chest, without covering the burns, and whisper you’re good. San turns around and fishes out wipes from the first aid and you make a hissing noise when the cold disinfectant touches your irritated skin.

“I know it’s going to hurt. Squeeze my hand when it really hurts,” San holds out his left hand. You take it and San wraps his fingers around yours before starting to clean the burns again. You slightly squeeze his hand, and when he reaches your collar bone you squeeze his hand tightly and he pulls the wipe away, letting you have a moment. San starts back up again, lightly touching your collar bone. He tosses out the wipe and pulls out a bottle tube of a creamy like medicine and the cool touch on your skin feels relaxing and didn’t hurt. You watched as San focuses on getting you taken care of, you almost forget you’re still holding his hand.

“All done,” San lightly smiles putting back everything into the first aid, “you can put that shirt on.” San turns around to place the first aid kit away and you slowly put the shirt on, avoiding rubbing your burns. San’s unmistakeable smell fills your nose and you look down at the lilac sweater with the word “booze” written across in bubble letters. The shirt is already big on San, so it easily swallow your body in it, and your fingertips barely stick out of the sleeves. You push yourself off the desk to stand, your shoes hitting the floor telling San you’re dressed and he turns back around.

“Had I known you looked this cute in my clothes I would of let you wear them sooner,” he teases before he lightly hugs you, his face burying into the crook of you neck. His hair tickles the back of you neck and cheek. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him despite him already having to slightly bend down to hug you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you where having trouble with people?” he asks, his voice in a quiet whisper yet full of concern.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me so much San,” you answer.

“I will always worry about you,” San declares as he pulls away from you to look at you, “always.” You heart flutters in the thought of it and a blush creeps back to your flushed cheeks. San brushes away the hair that falls in your face and pushes it to the side, a small smile crawling on his lips. You watch him lightly lean in, the palm of hi hand cupping your cheek. You close your eyes and and feel his soft lips touches yours for a brief moment before he pulls away.

“How long have you felt this way?” You ask him.

“After the fourth time you came to the shop. When you drew that small little sketch of me making coffee,” San smiles, his dimples presenting themselves. Your cheeks flush a pink and San giggles at your expression as you remember that day just over a few months ago. San hugs you once more and rests his head onto of yours, his giggles quietly stopping.

“Collect your things and I’ll walk you home. I can close up early today,” San suggests.

“You don’t need to,” you reject.

“I don’t want those girls going after you again. I’ll make sure to take care of it,” San claims, “come on.” San takes your hand and walks back out into the empty coffee shop. He begins locking doors and finishes cleaning up supplies. You grab your tablet and stylus, placing them back in your bag and tossing out your coffee cup. San takes off his apron and puts on his large coat. He pulls his scarf out from his bag and wraps its lightly around you to protect the burns from getting infected. San also grabs your bag, insisting he must carry it because you don’t need any pressure on your shoulders. The two of you leave out into the chilly early evening, venturing back to your apartment where you fall asleep on the couch, your head resting on San’s lap as he writes up and email to your school letting them know the events that happened that day.

[trashyswitch]

Appreciating the Classics

[Jameson Jackson listens to some classic 1900’s music, and Chase joins him! While dancing, JJ discovers a cute, little secret.]

Jameson Jackson eagerly grabbed his gramophone (A.K.A Record Player, according to Marvin) and placed it on the table. He grabbed a big black disc, placed it in with the needle through the middle hole, and placed the stylus onto the record. Pretty soon, the music started playing, and the brass intro to You Make Me Feel So Young

JJ started lip-syncing the lyrics as he danced around the room. His feet turned into jazz-type steps, as his arms moved around in a smooth motion.

🎶And every tiiiiime I see you grin,

I'm such a happy...in-dividual!🎶 JJ lip-synced.

As he danced around, he grew more and more distracted by the song, and the joy it gave him! He was so distracted, he didn’t realize that his friend, Chase Brody, had stopped throwing Teabags so he can watch the dapper boy. Chase smiled as he leaned his shoulder against the door, and watched. At the most perfect time possible, JJ noticed the one person audience.

🎶You and I are just like a couple of tots-🎶

JJ took a few dance steps towards the guy, and held out his hand. Chase smiled and took it.

🎶Running across the meadow.🎶

JJ and Chase moved to the middle of the room. JJ bowed, and watched as Chase did the same. Then, they got into the proper beginning position.

🎶Picking up lots of forget-me-nots.🎶

JJ and Chase started waltzing around the room, with a jazzy twist added to their steps. Chase was fairly new to this style of dance, and his red face showed it. But Chase knew JJ was very good at this, and trusted he would lead the way for him.

🎶And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

Cause you make me feel so young.🎶

JJ lifted his hand in the air, and started moving Chase in a couple traditional spins. Chase chuckled as he spun. He rarely did this! And when he did, it was so much fun. They went back to their original position.

🎶You make me feel so young

You make me feel so spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual 🎶

As they danced together, JJ couldn’t help but lip sync the lyrics. Chase really enjoyed that, because he was used to his hands doing the speaking, rather than his lips. his lips were never used for anything other than keeping food in his mouth.

🎶The moment that you speak

I wanna go play hide-and-seek

I wanna go and bounce the moon

Just like a toy balloon.🎶

JJ started spinning Chase again. Chase went wide-eyed! These spins were a lot faster than the last time! JJ watched him spin, and grabbed his hand at the moment they faced each other once again. JJ started smiling wider and silently laughing at Chase, who was dizzy and struggling to keep his balance. He pushed a bit of hair back in its place, and let go of him so he could sign.

‘You okay?’ JJ asked. Chase nodded back.

“I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to go so fast.” Chase replied. JJ laughed silently as he guided Chase back into the rhythm of the song.

🎶You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

And bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung🎶

Chase and JJ moved around across the room, before spinning Chase (a lot slower than the last one) one more time. Then, JJ led Chase into a final dip.

“You’re so good at thi-Aah!” Chase said, before interrupting himself with an instinctive yell. JJ’s face changed from content, to puzzled in an instant. He pulled chase up to his feet, and let go.

‘What happened?’ JJ asked. Chase’s face turned red at that question.

“Nothing.” He quickly replied. Too quickly. JJ decided to try the move again.

“What-“ Chase started, before trailing off. JJ took Chase’s hands, spun him around once, and dipped him.

“I don’t-Wah! Careful!” Chase yelled, as his arms flailed a little bit. Thinking his positioning was causing it, JJ looked at his hands. Both hands were holding him up in the right position: around the sides tightly. JJ lifted him back up.

‘I don’t understand. Was it the way my hands were?’ JJ asked.

Chase didn’t know how to answer. “Uh...kinda?” Was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

‘My hands were in the right position. So unless you’re sensitive there, it shouldn’t have caused a problem.’ JJ signed to him.

“Shit...he knows!” Chase thought. He bit his lower lip as he thought of what else to do. He was trying as best he could, to hide his ticklish body from his duet partner. But the more he tried, the closer he got to the realization.

‘Do you happen to be ticklish on your sides?’ JJ asked.

There it was: the dreaded question, but worded differently. Chase hung his head as he hid his blush. His blush appeared as soon as at the sign for ‘ticklish’ was done. The sign for the word was embarassing. It involved wiggling fingers in the air, which would drive anybody insane, really.

Chase looked at JJ, who had an evergrowing smile on his face. Chase made a break for it. As JJ chased Chase (haha! Chased Chase.), he did the sign for ‘tickle’ over and over again. At one point, they flew past Dr. Schneeplestein, who had been writing on a clipboard in the entrance of his bedroom door. Very soon, JJ caught up to Chase, and tackled him onto the carpet floor.

“Wait! Bro! let’s talk about this like the civil men we are!” Chase offered. JJ thought about it for a moment, before holding his hand out. In a sudden gust of smoke, a big feather appeared in the boy’s hand. JJ gave a cheeky little smirk, before wiggling the feather against Chase’s sides.

“Wahahahait! Nahahahat fahahahair!” Chase yelled as he squirmed below him. JJ was surprised! How did he manage to keep this a secret for so long? Being this ticklish, it would’ve been hard to hide.

Next, he moved the feather to the left side.

“JJ! WAHAIT! Hahahahaha! Nohohoho!” Chase said through his laughter. Damn it all! Why did he have to be this ticklish?!

Up next, was the neck. Wiggling his feather, JJ realized that tickles to the neck caused high-pitched giggles to slip out. Soon, JJ got bored of the feather, and threw it away. Then, he attacked his sides with full, wiggly fingers.

“NAHAHAHAHOHOHOHO! JAHAHAHAY! STAHAHAP!” Chase exploded with laughter. JJ let go and jumped backwards, due to the explosion of laughter jumpscaring him. This gave Chase a chance to get revenge.

“MY TURN!” Chase yelled, before tickling JJ in the sides. Chase watched as JJ’s eyes went wide, and a wobbly, toothy grin appeared on his face. As soon as JJ’s teeth opened up, Chase heard quick exhales leave Jj’s body. Chase couldn’t hear any laughter, but he could feel JJ’s body start shaking with laughter. Even though he was distracted with forced laughter, he still tried to communicate with him.

‘Stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Chase signed as he laughed.

“Oh, cut the bullshit. You’re not sorry one bit.” Chase teased.

Next, Chase tried the ribs. He watched JJ’s back curl up, and his eyes widen. Before long, JJ’s squirming was worse than before, and his signing grew frantic and shaky.

‘Not there! I’m too ticklish!’ JJ signed through his squirming.

“Aww! Is wittle Jay Jay tickwish? Citchy citchy citchy gooo!” Chase teased. He used to use this teasing tactic on his kids, before they left. Now, this worked just as well! The more he teased him, the more red JJ’s face became.

“Hmm...what about those pits of yours?” Chase asked outloud. JJ quickly sat up with wide eyes, and continuously signed the word ‘no’ over and over again.

‘Chase! No!’ JJ begged.

“Um...Chase! YES!” Chase replied, before attacking his buddy’s armpits. JJ’s arms came clamping down. His mouth was wide open, and his whole body was moving left and right. It was an adorable sight to see.

And then suddenly: A snort was heard and a hush went over the 2-person crowd. By now, JJ’s hand was covering his mouth, and Chase was staring at him in awe. 5 seconds later, Chase completly lost it. He came crumbling down into a puddle of hysteria. He was laughing so hard for almost 10 minutes straight! Meanwhile, JJ was recovering from his torture, and attempting to hide his big blush on his face. Soon, Chase managed to calm himself down enough to stop his aching ribs.

“That was...the best noise I have ever heard from you! Ever!” Chase yelled, before dogging his right hand into JJ’s armpit again. Another snort rang through the room, followed by another laughing fit. After Chase calmed down, he tickled JJ one final time, to get one last snort out of him.

It was then, that JJ struck again. But this time, he tried tickling Chase’s neck with his finger, rather than his feather. Suddenly, another sound filled the room! It wasn’t a snort, but a big, high-pitched squeal! JJ smiled as he continued tickling his friend’s neck.

“EEEEEEEP! NOHOHOHO! STAHAHAHAHAP IT! AHAHAHAHA!” Chase screamed. JJ was having the time of his life! He was tickling his friend to bits, and laughing along with him!

Soon enough, this tickle war turned into a snort vs squeal war. Which one was cuter? Snorts? Or squeals? Near the end, both of them were WAAAYY too tired to figure it out.

[3oclockoccultis]

What’s in my bag?

So lately I’ve been ITCHING to do a what’s in my bag. I watch #Refinery29 spill it addition of what’s in in my bag and I am obsessed! I use to watch what’s in my bag when I was little but it’s become a thing again and I’m here for it (especially since it’s with celebs lol). Anyways, I always said that “if I were to get famous” I’d go on Refinery and that’s how I’d truly know I’ve made it because it’s something I always wanted to do. Since that’s not going to happen and I don’t have a YouTube channel because I don’t have a working computer and because I feel like everyone has a YouTube nowadays, I just decided to illustrate one. I still get to talk about what I carry and why.

1. First and foremost, the bag: JanSport mini. I use to be a handbag girl but I had read years ago that putting too many things in your bag was extremely bad for your back and I’ve just been paranoid about it ever since. I didn’t want a big bag and look like a school girl because I look young for a 25 year old (so I’ve been told lol). Plus this little guy carries a lot!

2. My iPad I got for my birthday 💛. My hubby got me an iPad with a data plan so now I can illustrate on the go, where ever and whenever which is great for me because I love to draw and write and all that stuff. I don’t have an Apple Pencil and I’m thinking on whether I should get one because I’ve been using the adonit pro 3 stylus and it works just fine. The only difference is, I guess the pressure sensitivity but that’s not a deal breaker for me.

3. A notebook for drawing and practice drawing. Sometimes as an artist, well for me anyways, I like to have digital as well as paper because sometimes with digital you can kind of cheat with layers. With paper, you really have to think outside of the box. Although I don’t always use it, I still keep it around because before I got my iPad I was practicing with a pen and a piece of paper.

4. I have a Pencil case: I have three pens, one is green, the other is red, and the last one black, I also keep a mechanical pencil with refillable lead plus erase, and lastly I keep my stylus in there because it’s small and I will misplace it lol.

5. I keep a book on me, for some down time. This book is You/Poet by Rayna Hutchison and Samuel Blake which is about writing and understanding poetry. I use to write poetry when I was younger and then stopped for some reason, so I was going to start an IG poetry page, but I keep track of so much many different accounts already that, I’ll really have to think about that.

6. 4Curly Hair business cards, I have a business (hence my other account I keep track of 🙄) and I keep business cards on me for potential costumers.

7. A fine tooth tail comb, especially if my hair is in a protective style and I have an itch?! That thing becomes my best friend.

8. Tissues and a face mask, I got a bunch of cute face masks for my birthday from my mom because I hate getting sick. Also, I carry tissues because I don’t think it makes sense to go and buy pocket tissues at the store. When you go to a restaurant, especially fast food, they give you so many tissues and at one point it was making a mess in my bag. So I found an old Clinique pouch I had in my close (nice and small too) and I made my own pocket tissue.

9. Gum, because duh 🙄 lol

10. Deodorant because I’m forgetful and I love this one because it’s natural. The brand name is crystal, scent vanilla jasmine 💐

11. Hand sanitizer, because I like to be clean lol

12. Pepper spray and multi tool knife, you never know 🤷🏽‍♀️

13. Keys

14. Lotion from bath and body works, I just bought pumpkin spice and it smells so frickin good!!!

15. 4 Lip glosses and 3 chapsticks, just in case I forget to bring one from home. (And a lot of them are sheer but different shades of pink with glitters and stuff.

16. My card holder and change purse, which is perfect because I can also keep money in it too. Also, I needed to be able to grab it and put it in my pocket if need be.

17. Charger because duh again lol

18. AirPods and AirPods holder, my hubby was the one that found the AirPod grips because it would fall out of my ears sometimes. So this device, holds the AirPod and also goes around your ear to make it secure.

19. Ear phones and ear phone jack, just in case I want to listen to something on my phone or iPad.

20. And last but not least, my make up bag. I don’t carry make up per say, but I do carry eyebrow pencil and gel, and eyebrow tint, mascara, toothpicks, aquaphor to moisturize my face, a mirror, Advil, nail oil, eye drops and a little hand sanitizer.

And that’s it. That’s everything I carry in my bad, aka I just spilled it 🤣

[ahgaru]

[Day6 Fic] Don't Stop The Rain

Who missed me on Tumblr? Lol. No one, ofc. But in case you were one of the Once/Twice series readers (That Young K x Reader fic, Once is a coincidence twice is not), or you don't read on other platforms where I posted this (ao3 or aff), here's another Day6 fic. Only this time, it's Jae x Reader. And I'm not sure if it'd be as good as the other but hope you'll enjoy.

Pairing: Jae x Reader (Fluff) Word count: 2,271 Characters: Day6 members, minor mention of Got7

I remembered an anime scene the moment I woke up with the guy and girl sharing umbrella, then I saw a twitter post right after that a rain + umbrella is romantic but.... What if the guy isn't kind at all to share his umbrella with you? 

Chapter 1: Umbrella

It's frustrating when it's raining and you don't have your umbrella with you. But that frustrating moment could turn into a romantic one when there's an attractive guy holding an umbrella beside you--like those in books, movies or dramas, where the guy would offer to share his umbrella. A new love could bloom--or not.

"Aw man, it's raining real hard," the silver-haired guy utters after a groan before glancing at you "You don't have an umbrella?"

"Huh?" you flip your head to look at him, a bit startled, and you can't help but adore his tiny eyes covered by his silver hair. He tilts his head waiting for an answer "Uh, no," you shyly respond with a hope of him to offer his, or at least share it with you.

"That sucks," he just shrugs before looking ahead again and finally taking a step out of the shed.

"What the actual--" confounded with what just happened, you try to gather every ounce of self-restraint to not throw a shoe on him "What a jerk"

Letting out a sharp breath, you hug yourself because it's getting cold and step back so you won't get wet from the rain. You look up to the gloomy sky as you bite your lower lip to stop it from quivering.

It's been almost 10 minutes and you're still hugging yourself, looking down as you wait for the rain to stop.

"Hey! Here," you suddenly heard a not-so-familiar voice. Looking up, you see the stranger from before towering over you with his left arm stretched, holding a spare umbrella.

Maybe he's not a jerk after all. Trying to hide the small smile on your face, you gesture a small bow of gratitude before stretching an arm to reach for the umbrella. "Thank--"

"Woops," he pulls back his arm before you could even have contact with the umbrella. "It's not for free, though" Your forehead furrows "Nothing's free in this world, Lady"

You exhale a sharp breath of surrender before rolling your eyes, "Fine. How much should I pay you for it?"

"Uh-uh", he moves his left index finger left to right as a 'no', "I don't like money. How about a coffee? Since it's cold anyway. Oh! But I don't usually drink coffee. How about a lobster, maybe?"

You squint your eyes in disbelief, "Foget it" A lobster for an umbrella? Man, that's an expensive exchange. I take back what I said. He's really a jerk. A total jerk.

"Okay, then how about chicken? There's a nearby chicken place over there. And I swear, I swear, Man, their chicken is to die for"

"Why don't you just die for it then?"

He shrugs, "I'm sure I'm not the one who'd be dead if I can't go home tonight. I don't have anything important with me that need not to get wet," he eyes the folder, between your chest and arms, containing a lot of files that you need to attend to later. Mr. Park, your boss, would surely kill you if you won’t finish the revisions and of course, if you get those drafts wet and damaged. “I’ll go ahead then.” He says before he turns to take a step away from the shed.

Making a tighter grip on the folder, you take the offer, “Fine! Chicken it is.”

With a wide smile painted on the stranger’s face, he turns around and paces back to finally give you the umbrella he got from a convenience store, a few-minute walk away from the park you’re at.

You walk behind him, struggling a bit with your things, while he, on the other hand, is humming cheerfully as he take small steps with his free hand in his pocket. You glare at him with every bit of annoyance from your system. He doesn’t have a plan on helping me, does he?

“Stop glaring, Missy. I can feel you shooting daggers on me.” He chortles softly “Remember, I just saved your little ass”

“Whatever! And F.Y.I. Mister, my ass ain’t little”

With a smirk on his face, he looks at you over his shoulder, his eyes travel from your head to feet and finally rested on your face. Your eyebrows furrow more.

“Can you not?!”

He sniggers causing his shoulders to move (and causing your stomach to flip and your blood rushing) as he finally faces you and walk towards your side. Your raise a brow and he answers it with a shrug.

“Go,” he motions you to continue walking “I’ll walk beside you. You might go elsewhere to escape if I walk before you.”

Rolling your eyes for how many times now, you sigh and start walking again. The edge of his lips raises again as he take a glance on you without you noticing. He’s so tall that you need to tilt your head almost 75 degrees just to look at his face when he’s just a feet away from you.

He suddenly takes the folder from you which causes your eyes to widen in surprise.

“You walk so slowly. And you might drop these papers and blame it on me and won’t give me that chicken that I want”

You scoff. He’s just so unbelievable, isn’t he? But somehow, you didn’t regret going to the chicken place with him because, yes, he’s actually telling the truth. Their chicken is really to die for.

You both keep eating and your mind becomes busy on thinking of whether to ask anything, say something or just continue to be quiet. You eye him not so subtly and you can’t help but curb yourself from smiling. He looks like a kid enjoying his favorite meal.

You also don’t know if it’s a relief or not that he isn’t saying anything either. You’re about to open your mouth to say something—maybe to ask his name, whether he lives around—but he stands up and utter his thanks before winking at you.

“Gotta go. Next time again”

“There won’t be any next time

He shrugs “We don’t know anything about that. Who knows? We might see each other tomorrow again and the next day after that, and the day after, and the—“

“Whatever. Just go”

He beams, even his eyes are smiling, which causes your heart to make a loud thump. What the heck was that? He mouths ‘See you’ before finally leaving the place.

You finally let go of the breath you don’t know you were holding. You put a hand on your chest and feel that your heartbeat is beating wildly. Why does he need to be cute? You shake your head to erase the thought. No, that’s not right. I mean, why does he need to be a jerk?

“I—“, you get startled by the sudden voice and there he is again standing beside the table. He looks at you a bit with mirth from being surprised. You exhale sharply before glaring at him. “I forgot to tell you, just in case you’ll try finding it later, I’ll take the umbrella with me. It’s stopped raining anyway"

With mouth agape, you just look at his back, your eyes following him as he walks towards the exit. You shake your head again. He’s really unbelievable.

After taking a shower, you take a seat in front of your computer. As if on cue, your phone rings. Your boss is calling you to tell you that he’ll give you until before you live for work tomorrow for the revisions instead of giving it to him first thing in the morning.

You didn’t have a chance to speak because he ended the call right after he told you his concern. You stare at your laptop for a minute, trying to absorb what just happened. You take your phone again to call someone.

“Wonpil!” You exclaim the moment the person on the other line answered “Mr. Park extended my deadline for the revision. And he told me to just rest tonight.”

There was a long pause before he utters a word, “Mr. Park? The Park Sungjin?”

“Yes. He gave me until before I leave for work tomorrow.” A cough can be heard from the other line. You’re pretty sure that Wonpil, your Animator best friend who also works in JYPSoft, is surprised by what he just heard. The CEO, Mr. Park Sungjin, can be approachable and nice but for him, a deadline is a deadline.

“For real?” He confirms in disbelief “But the 3D artists need your concept tomorrow for them to start modeling the characters”

“I—I don’t know. Shall I just ignore it and work for it tonight instead of resting like he said?”

“Yes.”

With a sigh, you called another person.

“Dowoonie,” you bite your lip for a second “Did Mr. Park call you?”

“Nope. Why?”

“Aren’t you going to work with the characters tomorrow for the new game we’re making?”

“Yes. And the non-organic modelers will also do the assets. We would also like to start right away so they’d be textured and give them to the riggers so the animators could work on them as early as possible, too. Why? What’s the matter? You’re having a hard time with the concept revisions?"

You let out a long sigh before shaking your head as if he can see you. “No, no. It’s nothing. Anyway, thank you. I’ll hang up now.”

Forgetting about the call, you pick up the stylus and move the drawing tablet closer to you.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

Erase.

Scratch.

Flip.

Scratch.

You groan as you put your stylus down and slump your upper body and arms on the table. Without permission, someone’s face enters your mind. That slender young man, with his mischievous smile, silver hair, tiny eyes—his overall features that make him look as if he jumped straight out of a comic.

You sit back straight and move the drawing tablet away. You take a blank paper and a pencil and start scribbling. Your hand moves as if it knows exactly what it needs to do. Sometimes, you feel more comfortable drawing traditionally than digitally. You feel more of you are invested to it. That’s why every time an idea comes to mind, paper and pen are your best partners.

You start striding towards Mr. Park’s office the moment you dropped your things on your desk. He is quite surprised to see you peeking through his office door.

“You still have until 5pm. What makes you come here?”

“I’m actually done already, Sir”

He furrows his brows and motions you to continue. You walk towards his table and place the revised concepts. When he sees the first page, his eyes squint before he takes a look at you.

“Why does this character seem familiar?”

Your heart suddenly starts beating fast. “Pardon, Sir?”

Mr. Park just smirks and shakes his head. He… smirked? “You can go rest for today. You can go to the Rec room, grab some coffee, have a date or whatever”

“Sir…?”

He lands a glance on you again. This time it’s a firm glance. “You heard me. Now, go before I change my mind”

The moment you step out of his office, you go straight to Wonpil right away to tell him what just had happened.

“He told you to go to the Recreational Room, where you can play or chill, when you actually need to meet a deadline today?” He asks “Are you sure? I mean, yes, we can go to the Rec Room anytime we want especially when we need our minds to rest and gather some creativity but not on the day of the deadline. You know that”

“Exactly! That’s why it’s weird. He even told me that I can go grab some coffee or have a date or whatever”

Wonpil suddenly grabs your arm and leans closer to you to whisper, “Maybe he likes you? And maybe he’s hoping you’d ask him for coffee?”

“What? That’s ridiculous, Pil”

Brushing aside your best friend’s remark, you spend the day trying to work on more concepts even when you don’t know if your revisions were already approved or need a few more revisions again. The CEO didn’t tell you anything. And it’s almost time for you to leave work but he hasn’t called you for more modification or change. Maybe it was approved?

 You open your bag and check your stuff, taking the umbrella out of your bag, getting it ready just in case it’s raining again. You don’t exactly hate the monsoon season. You don’t really dislike the rain either. It’s just that, sometimes, it really is a hassle.

You are about to leave your desk, bag already slung, when Wonpil calls your attention causing you to put your umbrella on your desk.

“Dowoon said they’ve already worked on with the new characters for the Fortday. So I think the new concepts were approved?” He shows an assuring smile before tapping your back “Now, go ahead. I’ll stay for a little bit more”

You happily walk out of the building. You’re only strolling for 3 minutes but it’s already starting to rain. You halt for a bit, look up to the murky sky and heave a sigh. You open your bag to get your umbrella but it’s nowhere to be found. That’s when you realize, you forgot to get it back from your table. With another sigh, you walk fast towards the shed where you also took covering from the rain yesterday.

“Told ‘ya! We’ll meet again”, the silver-haired asserts with a smug.

Chapter 2: Chicken

Also on: * AsianFanfics * archiveofourown * twitter

Fics masterlist: Daelisix’s Fics

[elfenbensord]

chapter four // records

A/N: Thanks to @wizardingworldwaitforme for helping me find a good song and for beta reading a few scenes, and for being wonderfully excited. Enjoy this chapter, it’s a good one.

FWAAF Masterlist / Masterlist / Requests

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL / CHAPTER FOUR / RECORDS

---

The moon visits

licks his skin red

he forgets her

and wishes he was dead.

His eyes are once again un-used to the brightness of the sun -- or is it the moon? -- he really can’t tell as he stumbles through the deep woods. Spruce needles cut his skin like metal ones, sticks from eyelevel trees blow into his sight. Tears fall red from his ever changing eyes, they hurt and sting from the terrible events of the night. His clothes are shredded, he would’ve been embarrassed if he only felt a little more human. With a humanly calloused heart and inhumane thoughts about himself, he starts to stumbles his way through the dark. He has to make a phone call.

---

Parkside street, London

May 29th, 1980

The shiny second-hand phone feels strange in his fumbling hands. The note from the night more than one year ago has been folded, crumpled up, flattened and caressed. Her number is forever imprinted in his mind. His fingers find the buttons, press and pulls it in a half moon shape. It clicks and registers the number. Click, click, click.

He’s not ready for her voice, “Hello?” It’s an anxious voice, an eager one. Although he could never imagine it, she’s been waiting for his call.

“Hi.”

Her breaths make him forget a lot, almost all of it.

“Is it you, Remus?” The hope in her voice won’t go away. “It is you, isn’t it?”

He wants to punch himself, “I’m- Of course it’s me. Hello.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

He fumbles a bit more, the words are tangled out in his head but get stuck and tumbled up once they’re meant to leave his tongue. “I bought… I got this new record.”

It’s midnight.

“So tell me about this new record of yours.”

“Well, there’s this song that… that kind of makes me think of you.” The phone between his ear and shoulder, his hands fumble to get the lp out of its thin sheath. It gets stuck halfway through paper case, Remus utters a few swears into the phone and earns a few laughs from his dear friend.

“Having problems over there?” She teases him, meaning no harm.

His smile can be heard all the way through, “... Shut up.”

The old record player collects no dust in the corner of his room, his movements are smooth as he carefully places the record on the slipmat and finds the centre spindle, presses the right buttons and drops the stylus arm onto the music. His many records are cared for and well-played. The sound of the speaker’s dull crackling can calm him down within the matter of seconds. Her voice is a close competitor now, though.

He presses start, the record starts to play. The intro he knows far too well now begins, he’s already closed his eyes and is now imagining the two of them dancing together in that in between cyberspace which can only exist through phone calls.

The phone crackles, “I can’t hear anything -- where did you go?”

He lifts it to his ear again, “Hmm? You can’t hear it? Hold on a sec.” He raises the volume by turning a big, round button. “Can you hear it now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

The song plays through the phone line.

“Hands, touching hands

Reaching out, touching me, touching you

Sweet Caroline

Good times never seemed so good…”

He just has to speak to her, “What are you doing right now?”

“Hmm? Right now, I’m in an incredibly important phone conversation with a very special person.”

He smiles a crooked smile, “Are you now?”

“And when I hurt

Hurting runs off my shoulders

How can I hurt when I'm holding you…”

“Dance with me”, he proposes, keeping the phone between his shoulder and ear, his left hand playing with the coiled phone wire. “Please.”

“But we only dance at weddings.”

“Well, let’s break that tradition, because I wanna dance with you whenever.” A smile creeps up her lips as he convinces her, “So, may I have this dance, please?”

“Alright.”

He sways to the music, thinking of her.

She thinks of him and whirls.

“Sweet Caroline

Good times never seemed so good

I'd be inclined…”

“I really miss you tonigh-”

“To believe they never woul- woul- woul-”

He stops moving, cursing once again into the phone, “Fuck me, there’s a scratch in the record!”

A few outrageous words almost leave her mouth as a reply. Instead, she speaks kind words to him, “Well, it was a lovely song. I didn’t think you were a Neil Diamond kind of guy.”

He just can’t help himself, “So what kind of guy did you think I was?”

“I don’t know… maybe, like... What do blokes listen to? Michael Jackson? But you’re a real softie -- Neil Diamond and The Beatles, huh? All ancient music.”

The hum of the night tunes in with her voice. He falls down onto his bed, the sheets wrinkle ever so slightly. His window is wide open, the mischievous breath of spring plays with his hair as her voice plays with his heart. “And what kind of music do you listen to?”

“Neil Diamond and The Beatles, of course.”

“Oh, I love it when you speak 60s to me.”

“Shut up”, she groans, and you can imagine how she leans back, her eyes gleaming with the feeling of him. She falls down into her armchair, her body resting horizontally over the armrests. The window to her living room is cracked open, the mischievous breath of spring plays with her hair as his voice plays with her heart. “Shut up.”

A fox-like smile is sewn onto his lips, “Alright, I will shut up.”

She didn’t think of him as serious, but the silence which follows is about to be eternal. “... Please say something.”

“Anything?”

“Hmh. Anything.”

A deep breath, “Do you wanna go see a movie someday soon? With me?”

“Sure.” The word contains all joy and fondness she associates with him. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“So, is 28th of May fine for you?”

“Remus”, her phone cord stretches all the way to her window as she looks at the stars above and thinks of him, “28th of May was yesterday.”

He just can’t stop himself, “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…”

“... Shut up.”

---

Parkside Street, London

June 1st, 1980

Sirius Black sits leaned over an armchair in his friend’s flat. He brought a six-bottle-pack of butter beer to share with his friend, to drink and to talk. One of the six bottles now hangs loosely in his hand, every now and then lifted to his lips.

“Cheers”, they clink their glass bottles together. The sound they make once they collide is music to their young ears, it speaks of spirit and soul. “To life.”

“To life.”

Remus looks good, Sirius notes. Maybe a little too good, considering that the full moon was only a couple of days ago, he reminds himself. He still knows the moon’s life cycle by heart, he still marks his calendar; heart for dinner out with friends, circle for moon.

“Are you alright?”

“Never been better.” His eyes are shiny, clearly reflecting the naked light bulb hanging from the roof. A smile is constantly hiding underneath his skin, it leaks out of his fingers every now and then.

Bottles are emptied, jokes are exchanged, thoughts are outspoken as laughter fills the flat all through the afternoon.

  The bottle drops from Remus’ sweaty fingers. They laugh at it, but they don’t realise that they’ve set a fixed point in time. The stain on the unprotected wooden floors will smell of sweet beer and company even years after the fall.

“Bloody fucks… I’ll go get a rag and clean up this mess”, Remus swears and Sirius grins. Sirius is left alone with his thoughts for a few seconds too long. His own butter beer is finished so he picks up the one on the floor and finishes that one as well. As his hand travels across his chin, he notes, Could do with a shave.

“Here we go”, his friend makes an entrance once again. “So, you’ve been at the Potters’ house recently?”

“‘Course. Every other day.”

“How’s... everyone?”

“They’re good, Lily’s growing like crazy”, he gestures to his stomach, trying to emphasise how a little life is growing larger day by day.

Remus can only laugh, “Lily would strangle you if she heard you say that.”

“You’re right, she would”, they can only laugh together. They laugh until the afternoon comes to an end, when the beer is gone and the words are few.

“Lily and James thought we could have a good ol’ family dinner tonight. The old Hogwarts gang, just like the golden days. What do you say?” Sirius gladly invites his old friend. He expects a loud “yes”, another laugh and more talk of the past, present and future.

“Sorry”, the pale boy scratches the back of his head, a habit Sirius has known ever since childhood. “Sorry, but…”

“But what?” he’s still a little drunk, he finds it funny to intervene.

“I can’t join you for dinner, because I’m busy tonight.”

His friend, the tall, dark-haired one, lets out an unexpected laugh. Surprise paints his face, wonder glaces his eyes. “You’re busy with what?”

“I’ve got a date.” He barely can’t believe himself as he tells his friend, those are words he have never uttered with such joy in his eyes.

“You’ve got a what?”

“I’m going on a date. With… with (Y/N).” Remus almost looks guilty, his shoulders heaving up and down in many failed attempts to act casual.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Well, you better, because I’m meeting her by the Victoria theatre in about”, he checks the time on his wrist, “half an hour. And she bet 25 pence that I’d be late.”

“Well then, better run fast. Can’t lose those 25 pence, eh?”

As Sirius is about to leave, a creaking sense of worry creeps through his veins. “But, Remus”, he has to catch him, it’s now or never, “don’t disappear again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?”

For the first time, he feels almost nervous as he tries about speaking to his friend, “You kind of… let yourself slip away entirely. Since you met her, you haven’t visited as much, you haven’t answered our calls…”

Remus leans against the nearest door frame, arms crossed and a bothered look crossing his face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything”, he’s halfway through his jacket, halfway out of their afternoon, “I’m just… I’m asking you not to -- I don’t know -- use her as an escape.”

“Are you saying that you believe I don’t care for her, that I’m only exploiting her? Because if you are, then-”

“You’re not listening -- I’m just telling you to take it easy. Don’t get yourself all tangled up-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Sirius-”

“Alright, alright, I’ll shut up. I’m leaving, I’ll see you… I don’t know when anymore.”

Sirius chucks his leather jacket on, he still wears the same one his friends saved up and bought for him on his seventeenth birthday. It’s been patched up several times, it’s a bit tight by the shoulders, a bit short in the arms. The door creaks and loudly thuds after him, he can’t remember if it was he or Remus or the mischievous spring wind who slammed it. For a second, his concious and reason urges him to go back, to mend the ancient bond. His will is stronger, it drags him away from Parkway Street and brings him to the Potters’ merry house. They’re by the dinner table, his friends chatting away, bathing in warm, friendly light. A real smile trails up his lips, he convinces himself that Remus needs time, and then goes to rings the doorbell.

Lily’s smile is bright, James is right behind her. “Sirius! Come on in, we were just wondering if you’d show up. Oh, so Remus isn’t with you? What a shame -- we haven’t seen him for so long…”

---

“You owe me 25 pence”, she leans against the cinema’s outer wall, arms crossed and heart slightly open. The boy with the key runs up to her, trying to catch the breath he’s lost from running and seeing her. “What? No, no, I don’t.”

The dress she’s wearing is optimistic about the weather, but still aware of spring’s mischievous personality. He might’ve lingered his eyes on her for a little too long, but she finds it flattering. She knows that Remus would never be anything less than over-polite, he’s a true gentleman.

She grabs his arm, and he believes she’s about to do something as she only checks the time on his wristwatch. “You’re… two minutes late.” The way her hand remains wrapped around his wrist ever so softly makes him feel something.

“I’m perfectly on time.” The way he nervously run his fingers through his hair makes her feel something.

“If you say so.” Her hand lets go of him, he already misses her touch. He’s too shy to reach out.

The classic tinted light bulbs above cast a warm light on the couple, the half moon shaped red carpet makes it easy to restlessly, maybe a little nervously, roll on your heels. The framed posters clashes with her dress, with the situation, ‘Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back’. Remus feels underdressed, though he overdressed for a cinema date. A casual button up shirt, his favourite tweed jacket. He looks intelligent, like a writer or deep philosopher or dreamer, she thinks. He’s handsome.

His hands find his trousers’ pockets, “Do you want to hear my two excuses for taking you to the cinema?”

“Gladly.”

“Alright, so either Sirius and I were gonna go but he cancelled, or I really like you and bought the tickets for you.” His tweed compliments the roses growing on his cheeks.

“Can I pick which one to believe?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think that…” Remus holds his breath -- what happens next?, “I think that Sirius definitely cancelled.”

Her laugh, her laugh, her laugh, is all he can think about. It doesn’t hurt him that she’s gently making fun of his heart, he knows she means no harm. And her laugh is so beautiful against the night sky. “Whatever you say. Now take my arm”, he offers her his arm.

She loops her in his and he can feel her warmth as she leans in to say, “But now when I think about it, I think I prefer the latter reason.”

Her freckled nose barely brushes against his cheek, his breath is stolen once again. The pair doesn’t look like they’re going to watch space adventures; their clothes state that they’re going to a fancy restaurant. But with her arm in his, they enter the dark of the movie theatre.

---

“Sir, the possibility of successfully navigating an asteroid field is approximately 3,720 to 1.”

“Never tell me the odds.”

The Millenium Falcon sails across the screen, avoiding asteroids and the laws of physics. Explosions grace the stars’ home as John Williams’ music plays in the background.

“You said you wanted to be around when I made a mistake; well, this could be it, sweetheart.” “I take it back. We're going to get pulverized if we stay out here much longer…”

The action is better than ever. Yet, Remus might’ve been a little distracted. He misses the feel of her arm in his. Their hands are nowhere quite as near each other as he’d like, hers resting in her lap and his own anxiously moving around. They find rest for awhile, and suddenly he feels a small something. The back of her right hand touches his for the slightest second. Her fingers grace his knuckles; soft, warm skin. Explosions blast on the screen in the background as he answers her, his fingers unfolding from the fist they’ve been enclosed in. His hand opens the slightest, and her fingers brush the flat of his hand as her hand trails in to hold his.

“Oh, this is suicide!” “There. That looks pretty good.” “What looks pretty good?” “Yeah. That'll do nicely…”

“... I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Her hand rests in his, their fingers clasping onto one another through the in betweens. His eyes wander off the picture, the roses on his cheeks are blossoming once again. Her lips are painted red, he didn’t notice that earlier. The look they share lasts for only a second or so, but it leaves them both with colourful gardens in their chests, the main attraction is their dancing hearts.

---

Their hands are still intertwined when they leave the dark of the theatre. They’re too tender to pretend they’ll have to let go soon. Stars from the film and the night sky scatter his eyes, her freckles create constellations. The small crowd leaving the cinema bump into their shoulders and their thoughts, they stand closer to avoid being apart for more than a moment. The heat of his arm and body leaks into her, but she still shudders. Spring is mischievous; the night has turned cold around them. Once the few left-over people around them have disappeared into the dark, only visible by the consistent street lights, she leans up to mumble something into his ear.

She’s thought of what she should say all through the two hour movie, she won’t mess it up this time. “You- you can…”, Damn it, she curses herself, then breathes deep, “You can spend those 25 pence you owe me on a phone call tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”

“A phone call?”

“Hmh. You’ve got my number, don’t be late.” Her lips brush shyly against his jaw bone, then a courage never known before catches up to her, and she presses her painted red lips against his cheek, right where roses have grown the entire evening. Only then feels the thought of letting go of his hand nearly bearable, and he is no longer holding her hand. The memory of her lips on his cheek lingers on as he watches how she slightly shuddering disappears into the dark, off to the nearest bus station.

I should’ve given her my jacket, he realises once he gets home.

---

FWAAF TAGLIST:

@wizardingworldwaitforme

@trashyemonerd

@maralisa124

@daydremus

@i-am-not-the-real-alice

@fuckedupamericangirl

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@rocking-like-a-ravenclaw

@kapolisradomthoughts

@siriusement

@electraheart-isdead

REMUS LUPIN TAGLIST:

@wizardingworldwaitforme

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to be added to any of the taglists, comment and tell me a good joke and which taglist.