#well the little we talked in those comments was awesome. sniff

[gorillaxyz]

im actually so obsessed with that guy on deviantart. he draws ship art of himself and celebrities like taylor swift BUT ALSO? katie britt... i fuck with it so much and i love him hes one of my favouriye people on the internet and well. on deviantart. who is rhe only person he watches? ME. the only comment hes ever made..? replying to ME. im his number 1 fan. we are basically for lifers

[countlessrealities]

@petalsxfallen sent: “As you all know I hate everything about Christmas so far but you guys celebrate it so here.” Petal said as she shoved their presents towards them. Inside Morty’s held a video game he wanted along with a graphic novel. It was labeled “Batman Arkham: Poison Ivy”. It was a slightly larger book that contained several of her stories over the years. For Summer, her gift was a couple items of clothing she eyed at a back alley market Petal took her too. Along with a couple weapons from there as well. For Rick it was simple. A large bottle of alcohol wrapped in a boy and a huge sack of weed. She would’ve went for more hard drugs but it wouldn’t be family friendly.

Saying that the presents were completely unexpected would have been a huge understatement. Not only Petal had always been vocal about her distaste for Christmas, but convincing her to agreed to come over for Christmas had take Morty a lot of effort. In the end, the teen had managed to lure her with the promise that the four of them would get away from the family to share some of Rick’s special, extremely strong eggnog.

However, her present was the most Morty had expected to get out of her, so being faced with presents, not just for him and Summer, but for Rick too, was a bit of a shock.

For a moment no one moved. Or rather, the teens just stared at the packages, while Rick rolled his eyes and stole a long sip from his flask. Eventually, it was Summer to break the lull, reaching out to take the two boxes addressed to her.

“Wow, thanks!” She said, started to rip the paper. “I’d say that you didn’t have to, but, like, I love getting presents, so I’m glad you did.”

A wide grin opened on her face as she saw the denim jacket she had been begging Beth to get her for over two weeks and that cool black top with a skull that had caught her eyes the last time she and the Gem has been out shopping. Useless to say, when she opened the box with the weapon, she perked up even more.

“Are those throwing knives? Rad! And I finally have my own switchblade. Nothing like that lame thing Dad tried to give me for my birthday.” She rolled her eyes. It had been lame as fuck and Beth had taken it away even before she could have a good look at it. “Thanks, Petal!”

“Uh, y-yeah, it was really cool from you to get us stuff, s-since you don’t celebrate an-and all,” Morty chimed in, reaching out for his presents. “An-And you really didn’t have to, but...w-we appreciate it. A-A lot.”

With that, he shot a look at Rick, who however completely ignored him. The boy rolled his eyes, but he didn’t comment, choosing to focus on unwrapping his gifts. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw the videogame and the hint of a blush touched his cheeks at the sight of the comic. He remembered all the comments that Rick had made when he had compared Petal to Poison Ivy, and he was still a little embarrassed by it.

“O-Oh, Bioshock 2! Y-You remembered! I...I wasn’t even sure you were listening w-when I was talking about. An-And, I mean, it would have been fair.” Cue to an awkward chuckle. “T-Thanks, it’s awesome. Uh, an-and the graphic novel with...Ivy too.”

“T-Trip over your words a little more, will you, M-Morty?” Rick interjected, finally pushing himself away from the workbench and approaching the other three.

The mockery earned him a glare, but he pretended not to have noticed it and grabbed a hold of the weed and the bottle instead. He took a few moments to give the former a thorough sniff, humming under his breath in satisfaction once he had made sure that it was the good type, and then looked at the label of the liquor. It was from Earth, but it wasn’t cheap shit.

“D-Damn, an-and here I was thinking that you’d get me some random shit j-just to keep up appearances.” A snort. “W-What, are we friends or something now?”

[ppersonna]

half baked - pjm | m

baby we two distant strangers. i know you don't speak my language, but I love the way she's talking to me - love talk, wayv

↳ summary- park jimin gets a job at your bakery, and you can’t help but find yourself annoyingly attracted to the cocky man.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- park jimin x reader

↳ word count- 5.2k

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, lightly dom!jimin, sub!reader, slight enemies2lovers, sex in a kitchen, please god don’t fuck in a kitchen its a health code violation, spanking, nipple play, cum play, fingering

↳ a/n- ahHH!HHHHhhh!H! i blame this 100% on @wwilloww​ for merely putting the idea in my head and i had to take it and run with it.  also thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ my babe/my loml for the amazing banner! i truly do not deserve u but ily so much.  and thank you to @chimoona​ @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ for being the best mf squad a lady could have and beta-ing this for me! i love you all so much! i hope you enjoy silly cocky jimin!

 Two cups of flour, one and three quarters cup sugar, 2 cups of butter.

You know the recipes by heart.  In fact, one might postulate that the recipes themselves are the sole contents of your heart.  

You live and breathe baking. It is your solace and your truest love.

Which is why it is all nearly thrown into catastrophe when Park Jimin comes into the picture.

It starts on a rather busy day.  You’re hard at work in the kitchen, prepping the finished products and presenting them in neat little boxes, when your best friend and co-owner of Wake ‘N Bake, Willow, lets out a frustrated squeal..  You turn your head to find her covered head to toe in flour, making you snort as she shoots you a playfully ominous glare.

“Shut up,” she sniffs as she attempts to pat some fine dust off of her, to no avail. “I only have two hands and about fifty things to do with them at the same time.”

Your lips part to reply something equally sassy when the bell over the front door rings, notifying you of a paying customer.  Grabbing a towel, you quickly wipe off cookie debris and throw it at your best friend to do her best to clean off as she follows behind you.

You pause as you take stock of who stands there. A handsome man arrives at the cash register and peers around, presumably looking for an employee.  He is gorgeous—ethereal even and looks like someone who walked out of the pages of a magazine. His bone structure screams model, and you can’t help but feel the stirrings of desire for the beautiful stranger.

“Hi! Welcome to Wake ‘N Bake!” Willow sings cheerfully, despite being coated in baking flour.

The man eyes her with a glint of humor in his eye, and Willow’s cheeks turn a hue of pink when she remembers her current appearance.

“Hi,” he speaks. His voice is smooth like butter, and gentle. It makes you feel weak, like you’re warming in the very ovens that your pastries rise in.

“I saw your shop from down the street and I had to stop in. Your desserts look amazing.  Is the owner here by chance?”

Your smile fades as he looks around the room for someone else, someone beyond you and your best friend.

Of course.

No one believes that two young women could start and maintain their own business. Everyone assumes that some older, well-off man was at the helm while you and Willow toil for minimum wage.

Your arms cross over your body in clear displeasure.

“We are the owners.”

“Oh!”  The man looks surprised but not put off. “Awesome. I was hoping I could… talk to you about, err—… a job?”

His face is sheepish and Willow nearly coos at the sight.

Unfortunately, it appears you and your best friend have warring ideas.

“Yes!” She chimes at the same moment you dead-pan a resounding ‘No’.

Your heads spin to stare at each other—Willow’s eyes wide in disbelief and yours in annoyance.

“We need the help!” She huffs.

“We can do things on our own, like we always have,” you remind her.

Willow gestures to her flour covered clothing in desperation.

“We clearly could use help with how successful we have gotten!”

To your chagrin, she has a point. It might be nice to have someone to help in the front while the two of you manage the kitchen in the back.  It would increase your productivity by double what you’re able to do now.

But there’s something about his attitude coming in that rubs you the wrong way.  Like, he’s too pretty. Too confident. Too nice.

“What’s your baking experience?” You ask as you turn back to the hopelessly lost, yet ever eager man.

“Oh, err—,” he stutters. “I worked at my friend Jin’s restaurant. That served desserts, too?”

You shake your head in disdain while Willow claps her hands in excitement, a puff of white flour dust pluming into the air.

“Perfect! So you could do sales!?”

“Yeah! I can do sales, no problem.”

You turn your gaze back to Willow who stares at the man like he is her knight in shining armor.

“Willow?! Can I talk to you in the back?”

She knows that tone—the one that tells her you’re not pleased with her decisions. She nods once and politely excuses the both of you from the man before heading back towards the kitchen.

“What in the world is wrong with you?!” She asks the moment the swinging door closed.

“Me?!” You’re incredulous—hands flying in the air. “You’re over here trying to hire the first Joey Hot-Lips who walks in off the street!”

Willow’s anguished face falls and turns into a devilish smirk as she leans back on her heels.

“Aha! You’re attracted to him,” she notes as if she figured out the world's greatest mystery. “That’s why you don’t want him here.”

“What? No!” Your defense crumbles around you. “Did you hear him? He totally acted like he didn’t believe we could be the owners!”

“Oh, come on, that was a simple mistake and you know it!  You’re just being protective.”

You ‘humph’ a non-committal response—unable to argue.

You are protective of your bakery. It’s your combined love child with Willow. What started as a dream between cocktails with your best friend became a real brick and mortar reality.  You had been through enough trying to open it you can’t help but feel skeptical of anyone trying to get involved. Many tried to discredit your ability to maintain such a successful shop, and you’d rather continue to run it with no one else than see it fall at the hands of another.

“Just as I thought,” Willow hums. “In that case, he’s hired!”

You’re given no chance to reply—the flour-covered girl pushes through the swinging doors and announces to the handsome man that he’s hired and free to start the following day.

“Great!  Thanks!” His smile is sincere��blinding and breathtaking, and you hate how much you want to see that smile again.

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, waving goodbye as he exits the chiming door.

“Now, you need to deal with whatever issues you have about letting others into the shop,” she says pointedly, pushing a finger into your arm gently. “And whatever issues you have with wanting to bone him.”

“Willow!” You gasp. “I do not want to bone him!”

“Sure, babe. You think you can fool me but I know you too well. Just try not to fuck him in the kitchen, alright? I don’t need the health inspector up our ass.”

The next early morning starts at 4:30 am, with you elbow deep in cookie dough for a catering order.  You’ve nearly forgotten about the new employee starting until the man himself strolls into the back kitchen as if he’s worked there for years.

“Hey!” He says cheerfully, two cups of coffee in his hands. “I got you a coffee. Willow said you’re a nightmare without some in the morning.”

Your eyes narrow at the man. It’s unfair how delicious he looked so early; while you look like a frizzy mess who rolled out of bed and walked into work (which you did), he looked polished and crisp and clean. It’s infuriating as much as it’s glaringly attractive.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you pick cookie dough off your hands and pull off your plastic sanitary gloves. “Every girl loves hearing she’s a nightmare.”

He chuckles behind his steaming cup and places yours on the workbench next to you.

“Those were her words, of course. I’d never call you a nightmare.”

You easily flush, then chastise yourself for allowing him to make you feel so weak so early in the morning.

“To be fair,” he continues. “I don’t even know your name.”

“___,” you sigh as you grab the coffee and bring it to your lips. “And you?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin.”

The first sip of coffee is like a soothing hug. He somehow knew how you took your coffee—two creams and two sugars.

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just guessed.”

“Good guess.”

Jimin smirks and looks proud of his accomplishment.

“You seem like the type of girl who likes balance to her sweetness.”

You stare at him curiously over your own steaming paper cup, unsure of what to make of his comment.

“Good morning to the love of my life!” Comes the voice of your best friend entering through the back door.

You roll your eyes in amusement as she teeters in, peppy and perky as she always is this early.

“Oh! Hi, Jimin.”  Her cheeks turn a familiar shade of rose as she realizes he heard her. “I didn’t know you were here yet.  That’s just a… thing we say to each other every morning.”

“Cute.” Jimin smirks at you, making your stomach lift with unwanted butterflies. “Where do you want me?”

Underneath you, beside you, above you, any possibly way...

You shake your head quickly to push away the sexual thoughts of the gorgeous man taking you from any position. No, you refuse to let your mind wander there.

Willow finishes washing her hands and putting on her apron before she nods to the fridge.

“If you can get the milk, eggs, and butter out, we’ll use you for creaming.”

Your cheeks heat impossibly as Jimin smirks even wider.

“Oh, I’m fantastic at creaming.”

Your hands pause from where they massage dough while you close your eyes and breathe, before lifting to glare at your best friend who wears a faux-innocent look.

“I’m sure you are, Jimin,” she chimes virtuously, before getting to work.

The next few weeks were a haze. You’re so caught up with graduations, birthdays, weddings and major events that your time spent at the shop overtakes your time sleeping, breathing, existing in any way that isn’t baking.

Even Jimin was busy.  Despite your initial hesitancy, he was proving to be an excellent third member of your team.  He’s a pro at sales—you’re sure his good looks and the mostly female clientele helps—and he pitches in in the kitchen without fail. He even tries his hand at decorating cakes, with only one frosting-based spill.  You would never give Willow the satisfaction of telling her outright, but she made an excellent decision in hiring the dazzling man.

But it doesn’t stop your annoying heart from fluttering every time he comes close to you—rubs elbows as he helps you roll out dough or smiles at you from across the workbench as he stamps out sugar cookies.  You refuse to allow yourself any thoughts on what it would taste like to lick dough off his fingers or how he would look bending you over the countertop to take you from behind.

You only allow such thoughts at night, safely tucked into bed with your vibrator cranked to the highest setting.

It doesn’t help that Jimin solidifies himself in your life by introducing his handsome and dopey best friend Jungkook to your gorgeous and clumsy best friend Willow.  The moment they laid eyes on each other, you knew you were doomed to have Jimin in your life with or without the bakery.

And you weren’t sure how to handle that notion.

Was Jimin flirting with you simply because you were there?  He seemed to have no problem flirting with the customers.  Sure, the shop has never made more money than when Jimin works his charms and seduces women of all ages to buy the extra cookies, cannolis, and cakes—not that you watched or glared or hated every second. No, of course not. It was for the good of your business and the angry jealousy demon inside you would need to stay firmly locked away.

Except, it’s on a particularly crowded day at the shop that your jealousy gets the best of you.

You’re up front assisting Jimin by boxing and bagging the treats he rings up.

You know he’s flirtatious, but it’s when he goes the extra mile for an extra pretty girl that you lose your cool on him the moment the customers leave.  

“Do you have to eye-fuck every single co-ed that walks in this place?!”

Your hands fly up in frustration, and Jimin watches you with a soft gaze.

His silence and knowing smirk makes you continue.

“Seriously? What the fuck was that about?! You’re acting like you’re about to bend her over right here in front of us! Jesus!”

Willow hears the commotion from the back and comes forward.

“What’s going on here?” She asks suspiciously.

You point towards Jimin who maintains his poised demeanor.

“I’m reminding Jimin that work is not a place to sexually engage our customers!”

Willow rolls her eyes as she pulls her apron off and grabs her coat from the hook.

“Whatever, you’re being ridiculous. Jimin’s never been inappropriate. Plus, he’s making us a fuck-ton of money,” she sighs. “You two can close up without killing each other right?”  She eyes you in particular.

You cross your arms and huff, glancing at the clock to find you have two hours still until closing. “Why? Where are you going?”

Willow’s annoyance fades away as if it never existed.

“Jungkook is taking me to the Museum of the Printing Press!”

You can’t help but choke a laugh while she pushes your arm.

“Shush! You know how much I love them! And he totally surprised me with tickets!”

Willow can’t shake that lovesick look in her eyes and your heart melts a little. She’s your best friend and you’re thrilled she’s found someone who wants to indulge her in her nerdy fascinations.

“Go have fun, babe,” you smile sincerely. “We can take care of closing. Now, go fuck on a letterpress or whatever!”

Willow snorts and hugs you tight, bids goodbye to Jimin, and exits the store.

Now that your quick anger is gone, you feel sheepish around the man who has yet to reply to your tirade—but you refuse to stick around under his piercing gaze.

“I’ll be in the back,” you mumble under your breath before slipping into the kitchen before he can get any word in edge wise.

You spend the rest of the evening monologuing an apology as you prep ingredients for the next morning and clean your workstations.  The shop is closed, doors locked, and Jimin is somewhere at the front of the house finishing his duties.

“‘Hey, I’m sorry for the way I acted’,” you practice out loud. “Hm—no, not humble enough. ‘Hey Jimin, I was a real bitch’, too degrading?  Maybe something like, ‘Hey Chim, can I call you Chim? That was fucked up, wasn’t it? Haha.’ God!” You throw your rag down in a huff, frustrated at your inability to form a decent apology.

“You can call me Chim, if you want,” a voice speaks from behind you.

You squeak in surprise and turn around, clutching your apron in your hands as you find Jimin leaning against a wall with a smirk on his face.

“Only my closest friends call me Chim, but I think we’re close enough.”

You swallow hard and nibble at your lip.

“I’m assuming you heard that whole… thing,” you mumble anxiously.  His nod confirms that he heard your entire play-by-play of the apology you would deliver to the handsome man.

“Yeah,” he licks at his lips. “You know, you’re really cute when you’re jealous.”

“J-jealous?” You nearly trip over your own tongue.  “I wasn’t—, I’m not jealous!”

Jimin begins a slow approach towards you, striding as he keeps his sparkling eyes on yours.

“Oh?”  He quirks his head, making his soft hair fall into his face.  You desperately want to push it away, cup his cheek, kiss those ridiculously plump lips.

He can tell you’re staring at this mouth and it makes his smirk turn nearly feral.

“So, you weren’t jealous? Not a single bit?”

He inches closer and you can feel your heart tighten in your chest and your stomach twists in on itself in excitement, in nerves.

“N-no,” you whisper, unconvincingly.

“You didn’t want to be the one I was making eyes at?  The one who ‘gets bent over the counter’ as you said?”

“I—,” Jimin cuts your words short as he stands a breath away from you.

“I guess if you weren’t jealous, then I don’t have to tell you you’re the one I really want to bend over the counter.”

You’re sure your heart stops beating—positive that it will fall from its place in your ribs into your feet.  

“What?”

Jimin cups a hand to your cheek and smiles as he steps even closer.

“If you’re not jealous, then I don’t have to reassure you you’ve got nothing to be jealous over.”

Your lips run dry, throat parched as if you’ve never had a sip of water.  Jimin is standing so close to you you can feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

“Jimin—,” you breathe and he continues forward until he presses you against the countertop and crowding you into the metal and wood.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

You gulp, eyes seeking his for an answer, for any information.  Is he playing you? Does he know you’re hopelessly attracted to him?  Does he find it humorous to tease you when Willow isn’t here to insert herself into your flirting.

“I was jealous,” you admit slowly. The words are hard to release, but once they do, the floodgates open. “I wanted to be the one you flirted with.  I was jealous because I want to be the one you notice.”

Jimin smirks, then pulls your face in quickly for a heated kiss.

His lips are just as plush, just as soft as you imagined.  They’re puffy and sweet and he tastes like one of the treacle tarts you made that morning.  He must have had one with lunch, and you find yourself addicted to the way he tastes with your creations on him. You wonder what he’d taste like with your arousal coating that tender, plump mouth.

He bites at your own lip and tugs, chucking under his breath as you mewl your desire at the slight hint of pain.

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re angry like that,” he breathes as he presses his forehead to yours.  “I nearly popped a boner while you were yelling at me. I could tell you were jealous, and it made me want you more.”

It’s hard to hear him speak so candidly—it makes you groan.

“Jimin—fuck,” you sigh. “I’ve been attracted to you since you walked into this goddamn place.”

He smirks and snags your lips up in another desperate, yet quick, kiss.

“I know.  It’s why you didn’t want me to work here.”

You grumble after he pulls away, tired of the teasing and wanting nothing more than to stop talking and start doing.

“I didn’t like you because you assumed I wasn’t the owner.”

He smiles and rubs at your arms, a softer expression crossing his face.

“No, but I hoped you were.”

It’s silent for a moment and you let his words wash over you as he continues.

“I was attracted to your authority.  I could tell you were important here somehow, just didn’t know in what way.”

You swallow your growing guilt.  You had clocked Jimin entirely wrong.

“Jimin, I’m sorry,” you start.

“Hey, hey, I already heard your apology, remember?” He smiles.  “Although, I could think of a great way to mend the wounds if you’re interested.  No pressure.”

His soft smile becomes a devilish grin instantly and your body lights with instant arousal.

“What did you have in mind?”

His lips press to yours again and you nearly lose yourself completely in his embrace.  Your arms circle his neck and he holds you tight at your waist, before pulling away from you, yet again.

“I happen to be very good at creaming, if you’ll recall.”

You can’t hold back a snort of laughter, that quickly gets covered by Jimin’s hot lips, one’s he will not pull away from you any time soon.

“You want to, right here?” You ask as he trails a hot line down your throat.

“Yeah, do you?”  

You vaguely remember Willow’s threat of not fucking in the kitchen, but find you can’t seem to care an ounce.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

Jimin needs to hear no more.  He pulls you close and kisses you with the remaining amounts of pent-up passion and emotion he feels for you.  He’s grown to love the way you take charge, the way you move through the building like you own the place—because you do.  He loves the power you radiate and wants nothing more than to make you give up that power for a single night, to him.

“You wanna do this… all the way?” He asks, re-assuring himself that he’s not throwing himself at his boss.

“I want you, Jimin.  I want you to bend me over this workbench and fuck me until I’m crying for more.  Please.”

He grins and lays a hand on your neck, fingers tracing the gentle lines.  

“I might not let you boss me around,” he warns.

“Take control.”  Your eyes are blazing with need.  It makes him smile, and he gives the moment a slight pause.

“Then, get on your knees and show me just how sorry you are for yelling at me.”

You’re sinking to your knees quicker than you can comprehend.  Jimin is almost thrown at how instantly you caved and submitted to him.  He watches as your eyes stay fixed on his and your hands work at the button of his tight jeans.  

“That’s right,” he murmurs.  “Right where you belong.  No one else.”

You preen—heart warming at the idea that you’re the only one he wants kneeling before him and tugging his cock out of its confines.  

It springs forward, and it pulls your gaze from Jimin’s magnetic eyes.  It’s long and thick, just like you suspected all those nights with your vibrator stuffed where he should be.  Your mouth waters at the sight and you lean towards it to mouth at it gently—pressing soft open-mouth kisses to the tip.

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasps.�� Your fiery mouth feels like heaven on his cock.  It’s something he’s equally dreamed about—spent many nights fisting his cock to the thought of you.

You take your time, licking tiny stripes around the head and down the shaft, until Jimin becomes weary of the teasing.

“Please, take it all.”  His request is so genuine, so needy, that you’re loath to deny him.

He slips into your mouth with ease, slicked up just enough by your trailing kisses that he slides in and hits the back of your throat in seconds.  His eyes close as he feels his cock-head hit the back of your throat—a tighter and more constricting feeling in your already impossibly tight mouth.  It feels like absolute bliss, and he’s gasping for air after mere moments of you holding him inside your mouth to the hilt.

He doesn’t need to speak; you know what to do.  Your mouth works him in and out, tongue swirling around any open real estate of his cock.   His moans echo around the tile of the kitchen walls and he’s sure that the sight of you on your knees with his cock disappearing in and out of your mouth will have him cumming in no time.  

He steels himself, makes his body behave because he wants to enjoy this and the way you feel.  As good as your mouth feels, he’s desperate to know what it’s like to slide into that cunt he’s spent too many nights dreaming about.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as you make delicious, slurping noises from the gathering saliva.  It’s a wet squelching sound that makes him even harder than what he believes is possible—all blood in his head now completely rushed to his dick for his pleasure.

“B-Babe!” He calls as he feels his balls tightening.  He doesn’t want to cum, not yet.

He grips your head by the scalp of your hair and pulls you off his cock that is seconds away from losing control.

“Please, I’ve got to fuck you,” he nearly begs.

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand and smirk, licking the tip of his cock teasingly before standing up to his full height.

Jimin’s hands fly to your expensive leggings that you insist on wearing to work while he kisses you.  The kiss is feverish, frantic. It’s full of tongue and teeth and desperate moaning against each other as he pushes down the pants and delicate panties, and cups your cunt in one hand.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper against his mouth as the pad of his finger slides against your clit.

“You’re fucking soaked.  All from sucking my cock?”  He’s cocky and sucks a mark onto your neck as he massages the bundle of nerves.

“Don’t be arrogant now,” you warn with a smile.

He presses his tongue to your ear and licks a stripe and chuckles.

“I think you like it when I’m arrogant. Your pussy sure seems to like it.”

He emphasizes his words by slipping two fingers into your channel and fucks into you, scissoring you open.  He cuts off any chance for you to retort by launching his lips back to yours and prowling around your mouth with his tongue.

His fingers are small but fill you so deeply, and you’re sure his hand is drenched with your arousal.

“J-Jimin, please,” you gasp as you pull your mouth away to breathe in deep.  “Please, just fuck me already.”

He growls into your ear.  

“I thought I told you you’re not in charge.”

He spins you easily until your back is pressed to his chest.  He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts, throwing the shirt away and quickly making work of your bra clasps to join the shirt on the floor.

His hands cup your full breasts and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling of his soft and warm hands.  He feels so good against the chilled skin of your chest and he tweaks and thumbs your nipples until they stand perky and erect.

“I’ve always wanted to bend you over this counter,” he muses in your ear as he pulls a nipple harshly.  It makes you squeak out at the pain, then moan as the pain turns into a sizzling, pleasurable spike that runs through your veins.

“Every time I would catch you staring at me, I just wanted to fuck your cute little throat until you were gagging around me.”

Your eyes close as he continues his abuse on your perky nipples and whispering his deepest thoughts about you.

“I wanted to lift your cute dresses and eat your cunt until you’re wailing loud enough all the customers can hear.”

“Jimin,” you nearly cry.  “Please, fuck me.”

You can feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your sodden folds to cover his length in your slick juices.

“I like it when you beg.”

He kisses at the juncture of your neck before letting his teeth graze over the spot and bites down—right as he pushes your face down to the workbench and slides his cock into your spread heat.

He bottoms out easily.  You’re soaking wet and he buries himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.  He groans out loud—stunned by the heat and wetness of your pussy and how tight it grips him.

“Oh, holy shit,” he gasps as he gives himself and you a moment.  His hands grip at your waist, one hand coming to rub the tender skin of your supple ass.

“Jimin, fuck, you’re so big,” you whine.  

He brings his hand up, then slaps it down on your ass hard, hard enough that the crack echoes around the large kitchen.  You cry out in delight, in pain, as the reverberation of the stinging wraps around you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, princess,” he whines as he sets a pace.  Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust, and he punctuates every few pumps into you with another hard slap to your ass.  He wants you screaming his name, crying out for him loud enough that the neighbors know who he is.

He’s relentless in his pumps—gripping your hips tight as he fucks you deep and senseless.  Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body.  Your tits rub raw against the wood of the workbench and you’re weeping fat tears of pleasure as Jimin continues his plight.

“God, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns.  “Cum on my cock, princess.”

You slide a hand down to your clit, eager to add the ultimate piece to what makes you unravel.  He grins and pumps into you harder, slaps your ass repeatedly until he knows it’s going to leave bruises.

“That’s right, baby, rub that pretty little clit,” he urges.  “God, I can’t wait until you you sit on my face and let me eat this fucking cunt for hours.”

You blubber a response of desire, nearly begging him for more and more, as you swirl your fingers around the tight bundle.  You’re peaking towards the summit of your climax, ascending to a point you’ve never gone before.

“Fuck, Chim!” You scream. “Gonna cum!”

Your warning falls on deaf ears—you’re cumming and pulsating around his thickness instantly and Jimin moans mix with your own to create a symphony of pleasure.

“Good fucking girl,” he coos.  “Your cunt is so good to me, baby.  Mmph—let’s frost this cake, now.”

Instantly, he’s groaning as he pulls his cock free from the vice-grip of your cunt and jerks himself twice to completion, allowing his hot seed to splatter against the tender flesh of your ass where he’s left a clear print of his hand.   The warmth soothes the battered skin and you shake your ass teasingly as he continues to stroke himself through his climax.

“Ohhhhh, my god,” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the wooden workbench as your breathing slowly settles back to normal.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper with a smile.  Jimin bends down to press soft kisses to your spine, before grabbing a towel to gently clean his cum off your beaten ass.

“Willow’s going to kill you for fucking me in the kitchen,” he warns with a laugh as he kisses the same spot he came on.

“It takes two to bake a cake, buddy,” you tease.

He laughs and brings a hand down to your untouched asscheek, making you squeal with delight.

“That’s not how the saying goes, but sure, doll.”

The next morning, you’re hard at work making a five-tiered wedding cake with Willow at your side, when Jimin throws open the door.

“Good morning to the loves of my life!”

Willow chokes on her own air while you hide a giggle behind your cake covered hand.

Jimin approaches the pair of you while she splutters and gasps.

“What?”  What happened last night after I left?”

Your cheeks heat and Jimin wears a face of pure cockiness.

“Oh my god,” Willow gasps as her eyes open wide, snapping your tender ass with her rag.  “You did NOT fuck in my kitchen!”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

taglist -  @preciouschimine​ @nyamjinnie​ @unicornnomore​ @bangtansbun​ @theneighborhoodfangirl​ @cyberbunny21​

[kar-krashew]

life could be a dream [AO3]

Alec navigates first dates, second dates, and general panic, while accidentally making a friend along the way. He's not sure how to feel about any of that, but it seems to be going okay.

Rated T for language and implied sexual content.

@arsenic-creator for you, my lovely ❤ This is an interlude, of sorts, between the Cars AU and the planned Cars 2 AU :D

Alec is ninety percent sure whoever came up with the concept of first dates was a sadist; who else would devise a concept so nerve-wracking and excruciating? Currently, he’s in a random hotel in Spiral Springs, aptly named as he’s spent the last hour spiraling into insanity as he tries to figure out what normal people wear on first dates with people like Magnus Bane. He can’t even call Izzy, because she’s off on some “important work trip” with Jace. (That basically means that they’re going to be mysterious and vague during phone calls the whole time— and that’s only if they answer. He knows better than to ask.)

Thus, Alec has two options: suffer, and show up to his first date with Magnus in his normal shitty worn-out jeans and shirt, or suffer more, and ask someone in town for help. Unfortunately, the only other people available to him are Raphael (Alec is pretty sure he’d be found dead the next morning if he asked Raphael about dating advice), Ragnor (the man dresses like a reclusive British hermit, Alec really doesn’t think asking him will help), and Simon.

Shit.

“Do I really need someone else’s help?” Alec asks his own reflection in the mirror, “I look fine, right? And it’s not like Simon’s got a better idea of how these dates work.”

He looks great, honestly! Probably. He’s fine, as long as he ignores the suspicious fraying of his collar and the faded white patches on his jeans, and okay, he lied, he does not look fine.

Also, Simon’s had like three pretty steady girlfriends already. The kid must be doing something right.

“Shit,” Alec groans again— out loud this time, for intended effect— before taking a deep breath and grabbing his phone.

Fine. If it takes talking to Simon, he’s going to talk to Simon. Besides, how bad could it be?

---

Really bad. Like, really fucking bad; Alec had forgotten how annoying Simon is, and he’s regretting this decision wholeheartedly now.

“No one’s really asked me for dating advice before, you know,” Simon says from where he’s rummaging through Alec’s suitcase, “And of the people I would expect to ask me, you’re, like, last on that list. Not in a bad way or anything, it’s just weird, you know?”

Alec does know. This is the third time Simon has said this.

“Sure, totally,” he grits out, watching Simon carelessly toss his neatly folded clothing onto the hotel bed. Alec is going to have to reorganize the whole case after this is over, because these sorts of things have systems and the kid is ruining it. This was definitely more trouble than it’s worth.

“Yep. Anyway, wow, I’m no expert, but you really don’t have a lot of options in here.” Simon whistles, pauses for a minute, then upends the entire suitcase onto the mattress before Alec can intercept. God, Alec’s going to strangle him. “That’s better! So, you seem to only have, like, one decent button-down, and those always look nice. Maybe pair it with a tighter pair of jeans? Your jacket would look nice with this, too, though I’d leave it out in this weather.” Simon tosses the articles of clothing towards Alec as he speaks, hitting Alec squarely in the face, but he’s already been distracted by something else before he can register the glare being sent his way.

“Okay,” he says after another moment, “Show me what you got.”

Alec’s skeptical, to be frank, but he decides to indulge Simon anyway, so he heads to the bathroom and tries on the outfit and—

Oh.

Simon’s really not bad at this thing. Izzy probably could’ve picked something a little more flattering, but this is way better than whatever Alec was wearing earlier; he didn’t even know he’d remembered to bring this shirt when he’d packed his bags.

“Hey, man, you look great!” Simon beams. “I wasn’t totally sure that would work out, but you look awesome! Magnus is going to love it.”

“Thanks, Lewis,” Alec replies, and he’s surprised to realize he means it. Simon’s grin stretches out wider, somehow, and Alec doesn’t even feel that annoyed.

(Oh no, does this mean he tolerates Simon now?)

“It’s gonna go great, Alec, don’t worry about it,” Simon responds, oblivious to Alec’s internal turmoil— Alec is seriously having a breakdown over the fact that Simon has somehow made it onto the short list of people Alec doesn’t want to punch on sight, because what the fuck does that say about Alec’s standards? His reputation is on the line. “Magnus has lived here for a while, which means I know him well enough to tell you that you make him really happy.” Alec stares at him blankly.

“I— That means a lot, actually,” he manages, then they both just kind of. . . stand there for a minute. Alec isn’t sure how to process the fact that they seem to be having a moment when he was preparing to initiate anti-Lewis measures just seconds ago, so it’s almost a relief when Simon ruins it with the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“I feel like a proud mother sending her kid to prom. Do I need to give you a sex talk? No one actually gave me that speech when I was younger, but I did improv in highschool, so I could probably work something out.”

Scratch whatever he said earlier; Alec hates him.

---

The trauma Simon inflicts on him is almost completely worth it when Alec sees the way Magnus checks him out for a moment. The other’s standing outside the entrance to some obscure Chinese restaurant, smiling warmly and turning Alec’s knees to jello with his low-cut blue tunic and shimmery eyeliner (not helped by the fact that he has managed to find pants that are even tighter than his usual leather ones— Alec’s going to die of a heart attack before they can even enter the establishment).

“Hey,” he says, trying not to look stupidly overwhelmed at Magnus’s answering smile, “You, uh, you look amazing.”

“I could say the same, Alexander. This shirt is definitely doing you favors,” Magnus replies, and Alec blushes.

“Would it be completely unattractive if I admitted Simon picked it out for me?” he asks, half-serious, but Magnus just laughs, taking Alec’s hand in his own.

“Of course not. Remind me to thank him next time we meet.”

The rest of the night goes by in a blur: Alec’s sure that the restaurant and everything was amazing, but it’s hard to notice things like ambiance and food when one has a front row seat to the wonder that is the gentle tilt of Magnus’s mouth. He spends the night being regaled with far-fetched anecdotes in between shameless bouts of flirting and giggling, and it’s nice, it’s really nice; alone, away from cameras and parents, just the two of them tucked away in a cozy little corner booth together.

It’s kind of the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

Maybe first dates, Alec thinks, lying in bed later that night, the taste of lip gloss still faint on his tongue, aren’t too bad after all.

---

“Oh my gosh, are you going on dates and making friends? I’m so proud, my baby brother is all grown up,” Izzy sniffs over the phone, “Do we need to talk about safe sex?”

“Why is that the conclusion everyone draws? Do I look that repressed?” Alec groans, thinking back to Simon’s earlier pursuit to educate him on the carnal pleasures of the world. He’d managed to cut the kid off after the first use of the word “penetrative,” but it had been enough to fuel his nightmares for a solid two days afterwards. “Also, I’m older than you.”

“Details,” Izzy dismisses. “Speaking of which, spill! How was it? I still can’t believe you ran off to Spiral Springs without telling anyone. Mom must be absolutely livid, I just wish I was there to see it.”

Alec rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see it over the phone— the sentiment is there, and that’s what matters. “You would be here to see it if you weren’t off doing lord-knows-what in god-knows-where every other week with Jace,” he replies.

“Import-export business, Alec,” Izzy says, “I’ve told you this.”

“Right, the same way you’ve told me you can cook without poisoning everyone. We both know it’s a load of bullshit.”

“We’re getting off topic!” his sister exclaims, which is Izzy-speak for “We’re not talking about this for another year or so,” as she artfully changes the subject. “I believe I asked for specifics about your date with Magnus, hermano. You are not getting out of this.”

Luckily for her, Alec is easily distracted by even the vaguest thought or mention of Magnus, because he’s a total fucking sap and Izzy knows exactly how to use it to her advantage. He would say he hates her, but, well: he’s thinking about Magnus now. That’s infinitely more important, obviously.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he sighs. The exhale’s got this kind of pathetically lovesick quality to it, but he barrels on, praying Izzy won’t comment on it. “We ate, then he walked me back to the hotel and kissed me at the door before he left. It was amazing. God, Izzy, I like him so much.”

In a perfect, normal world, this would be an opportune time for Izzy to realize that Alec is kind of horribly vulnerable and honest when it comes to Magnus, and for her to be gentle and supportive about it. However, because normalcy is a pipe dream that Alec’s siblings are hellbent on crushing, he is treated instead to an inhumanly high-pitched squeal, followed by frantic shuffling before a voice that sounds suspiciously like Jace’s floods the phone speaker. Given that the most-definitely-Jace-voice is currently yelling something about condoms and endowment and the logistics of same-sex intercourse, Alec decides that hanging up is the appropriate course of action here.

(God, they’re the worst. He’s never going to talk to them again. Or at least, he’s not going to pick up their calls for the next week. Okay, maybe, like 3 days. Probably.)

Great, he thinks, mentally patting himself on the back. Now that that’s settled, he can get back to other matters, like fucking losing his mind because he had totally forgotten to ask Izzy how to plan a second date so he’s now screwed but he’s definitely not calling her back especially now that he knows Jace has her phone and that means he’s been left to his own resources to plan the perfect second date for Magnus and he’s going to have to do it all by himself and he’s going to fail spectacularly because he’s never had to do anything like this before and no one can help him unless—

Unless. . .

“Shit,” Alec says— out loud, for intended effect again, as a horrible flash of deja vu strikes him— which is how, minutes later, Simon ends up sprawled out on the hotel bed next to him at 4 pm on a Wednesday afternoon.

Alec should really start looking into better coping mechanisms before this becomes a problem.

“Okay, so the first thing about this is that you’re approaching it all wrong,” Simon says, sitting up to peer at Alec over his glasses. “Dates are about spending time together, not about being perfect, so don’t stress! What did you initially have in mind?”

That’s the issue: Alec didn’t have anything in mind, because when he had said that he’d organize the next date, he wasn’t exactly operating on full brain function. Impaired thought processes tend to be a common side effect around Magnus, now that Alec thinks about it— he should probably get that checked.

“I really have no clue,” Alec groans. “There’s so much that could go wrong! What if I take him somewhere that reminds him of his ex? Or I stumble and spill slushie all over his shoes and they’re brand new designer ones and he ends things with me on the spot? Or he hates the food there and realizes that my tastes are shit and he decides to cut his losses instead of being forced to eat shitty food everyday that he hangs out with me? Or—”

“Alec, jeez!” Simon interrupts. “Man, you’re kind of a mess about this, huh?”

Okay, rude. Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean it needs to be pointed out. Alec just groans louder, and lets his head fall heavily against the headboard. “I’m so fucked.”

Simon shakes his head, standing up to pose solemnly. “Don’t lose hope yet, young padawan! Come on, you gotta have something. What do you know he likes?” he says, and because Alec is a sucker when it comes to talking about Magnus (as established earlier), the tactic totally works.

“Okay, well,” he starts, “I know he likes expensive wines with names I can’t pronounce. He likes late nights and old classical music, but his ringtone changes every week to a different Britney Spears pop song. He’s kind of a horrible romantic, but I really like that about him. I. . . like a lot of things about him.”

Simon blinks for a moment, and Alec hurries to wipe the besotted smile that’s inevitably found its way onto his mouth. It’s too late, though— Simon’s already grinning back at him, looking too excited for his own good. “That’s so cheesy,” he coos, “But in, like, totally a good way, I promise.” He pats Alec’s shoulder, once, then stands up. “I think I have an idea of what would work. Any ideas in terms of the venue?”

“Oh,” Alec says after a moment. He’s still thinking about Magnus, which means he’s thinking about their previous meetings, which means he’s thinking about—

“Yeah,” he replies, “I have the perfect place in mind.”

---

“So, where are we headed?” Magnus asks. He’s beautiful like this, in the light of the passing streetlights, silver chains glinting like stars, silk tunic flowing like water, hair mussed from the wind. If Alec didn’t have a plan for this evening, he’d probably do something very dumb like slamming the breaks on the car and kissing him senseless. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought, not by a long shot.

Maybe he can fit that part later into the evening.

“You’ll see,” Alec replies, beaming a little at the pout it brings on Magnus’s— stupidly kissable— mouth. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Magnus frowns, but he still leans forward as they pass by a familiar waterfall. Alec can see the moment he processes what that waterfall means, his face lighting up completely as he does so. “Are we going to the Dumont?”

Alec shrugs, trying to be mysterious, but he’s grinning too wide for it to mean anything but a yes. It’s fine; if ruining the surprise means that he gets to see Magnus’s bright smile an extra few moments earlier than planned, it’s totally worth it.

When they finally pull up next to the old sign, Magnus has already noticed the changes to the hotel. “Oh,” he gasps, stepping out of the car, “Alexander.”

Lights are strung up around the outdoor courtyard, with a singular table in the center, a candle and plates arranged across its surface. Simon’s standing there, dressed in a black dress shirt, grinning at the two of them as music plays softly from some unknown corner. It’s horribly cheesy and romantic, and, judging by the way Magnus is excitedly clutching Alec’s hand as they approach the table, it’s worked like a charm.

Alec could marry Simon after this; the kid’s a fucking genius.

“Good evening, sirs!” Simon grins, “Welcome to the Hotel Dumont. We’re so glad you could join us this evening.” He bows, pulling out a chair from behind him, and Magnus laughs delightedly.

“This is absolutely lovely!” he exclaims, settling down. “Did you come up with all this?”

Alec blushes, sitting down right beside him. “Well, Simon did most of the work,” he replies, and Simon shakes his head.

“He’s totally lying; he did, like, all of the decorations and set up, and most of the plan, too. I’m just glad to be of help, man.” He hands them menus, then steps back. “Alright, I’ll leave you two alone for a moment while you decide. Don’t do anything too scandalous!”

Alec rolls his eyes— because really, what could they get up to sitting like this?— but then Magnus places his hand on Alec’s thigh as he leans closer and okay, maybe there’s a lot they could get up to, and maybe Alec is now thinking about all those things in a setting he really should not be, and maybe he should’ve let Izzy give him that talk after all.

“Alexander,” Magnus smiles, leaning closer still, “All of this is amazing, I don’t know how to thank you enough.” He tilts his face up invitingly, and Alec’s helpless to the pull of it, pressing his lips against the other’s. It’s supposed to be just a light brush, but then Magnus shifts nearer and opens his mouth up a little further and fuck, Alec’s libido is suddenly making a desparate appearance in this very public locale. That’s an issue, probably. Whatever. He can’t really bring himself to care right now.

“Mm,” he hums between kisses, “we should really decide on what to eat— hm, before Simon comes back,” but then he chases after Magnus’s mouth right after saying it, so that undermines the message a little. Though no one can really say it’s his fault: kissing Magnus is temptation incarnate, and Alec is a weak, weak man.

They do, eventually, unfortunately, break apart, which is exactly when Simon finally shows up with some expensive drink that he’d sworn Magnus would like. It seems to fill the has-an-impossible-to-pronounce-name quota that Alec had mentioned earlier, so he’s rolling with it. He’s also rolling with the menu, because Alec had planned on pre-planned meals for this thing, so he has no clue where Simon had managed to get proper menus with a selection of food (though the Spanish-themed cuisine on the menu and the passive-aggressive text he receives the next day from Raphael might be able to explain that).

Simon’s left them and they’re finally finished with their courses when some even sappier song starts playing on the speakers, and Alec, being a total dork, stands up and invites Magnus to dance with him. Alec’s kind of shit at dancing, so he’s not sure why he does that, but they end up pressed against each other, swaying slowly, and he can’t even regret it, not even when Magnus laughs at him for stepping on his toes.

It’s perfect. Alec has no clue how he’s going to live up to this on future dates. He’s also, like, halfway to proposing on the spot.

“I reiterate my statement from earlier: this is absolutely lovely, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs after a while. His head’s pressed against Alec’s shoulder, so the words brush Alec’s ear softly as he speaks. “I have quite a bit of planning to do for our next date if this is the standard we’re setting already,” he teases.

“We could eat takeout on my couch while watching some boring regency-era movie and I’d still love it,” Alec replies bashfully, “I got a little nervous this time and went really big, but I promise you don’t have to go this hard to impress me.”

“And you thought you did?” Magnus asks. He pulls away slightly, looking Alec in the eyes. “Darling, the same goes for me. This is stunning, but I genuinely just like you and your company, and that takeout thing sounds more than enjoyable. Though we might have to revisit your opinion on regency-era movies.”

Alec grins. “Why, Mr. Bane, don’t tell me you enjoy watching such long-winded pieces of media, filled to the brim with such stuffy, superfluous dialogue?”

Magnus gasps, seemingly affronted. “How dare you!” he exclaims, “It’s about the drama, the yearning! I’m sure you just haven’t seen the right ones. Next time, I’m making you watch my entire collection.” Alec laughs in response, and it seems to soften something in Magnus’s eyes, because he pulls close again, tilting their foreheads together.

“You know, Mr. Lightwood,” he murmurs, “I’m not the sort of gentleman to invite someone into my home on only our second evening together, but I’m sure I could make an exception for someone of your stature, especially given the amount of time we’ve spent together outside of these official meetings.”

Oh fuck, this is really happening. “How scandalous, Mr. Bane,” Alec somehow manages, then Magnus is giggling and kissing him, and yeah, Alec is so on board with this plan. He’s even more on board with the plan when Magnus leads him to the car, and then leads him up the stairs to his loft.

He’s not even annoyed when he wakes up to Simon’s strangely supportive “Congrats on the sex!” text, because there’s a man lying against his chest who he thinks he could easily fall in love with, and literally nothing else matters right now. It’s him and Magnus against the world: everything else can wait.

(Alec replies to Simon with a single middle finger emoji. He likes the kid, but Simon doesn’t need to know that.)

(The Star Wars movie marathon the two of them end up doing a week later kind of gives it away anyway.)

[hollyhomburg]

(reposted au- because i deleted it on accident)

(a special thanks to @atulipandarose without who i would literally be lost without <3 seriously you're a lifesaver)

 I have this little idea in my head where like hybrids are allowed to come into work with their owners. New company policy and at first Jungkook is like great! Awesome! He can bring you (a cute tiger hybrid or something like that) into work and you’ll just sit and play on your computer or your phone while Jungkook spends the day coding sometimes you’ll lean your head on his lap and just purr- all and all like his favorite way to work honestly you’re his favorite person.

And then things change when the coworkers who he’s had a crush on forever starts to pop by his office more to see you and Namjoon’s always been so self-assured with miles of dimples and honey skin that Jungkook daydreams about kissing

and his partner hoseok, jungkooks boss, is only worse for jungkooks concentration. He’s always being quietly dominant over Jungkook, pulling out his chair for him at meetings or bringing him a cup of coffee in the mornings in exchange for his hard work.

Both men have take sort of an interest in you, petting you and complementing the dress that Jungkook picked out for you today, and of course, you know about jungkooks crushes and send him a shameless smirk as you whine and scent mark them much to their chagrin and jungkooks expense- blush lighting all the way from his collar to his hairline.

you’re always rushing over yourself saying things like “oh you have to come to lunch with us! There is this awesome ramen place across the street That Jungkookie loves” and of course Jungkook just blushes when Namjoon and hoseok turn their eyes on him and say “of course we would love to if you don’t mind kookie” Namjoon teases while hoseok gives his partner a wink

and Jungkook pulling on your tail and hissing at you while the two man gather their coats to leave “why are you meddling baby?” And you just giving him a feline grin and saying “just getting you that date you’ve been wanting for the last 2 years kookie”

and of course like, maybe hoseok and namjoon have a hybrid of their own- maybe panther Jimin who growls the first time he meets you and goes full on possessive because you’re his mate and now he won’t let you out of his sight and won’t let you leave their apartment, and maybe Jungkook is all blushy and shy and namjoon and hoseok really don’t know what to do because like honestly Jimin isn’t like this normally and he’s not even close to his rut like at all, but because of that he sleeps over at hoseok and Namjoon’s penthouse and like- their relationship buds from there or something.

Okay slight addendum to this that was triggered by a comment from @kamen-tenshi!!

What if I stead of a tiger hybrid the reader is a house cat hybrid or even like a teacup variety like extra small and fluffy and cute and Jungkook found her when they were young and mad his parents adopt her and has always called her ‘catcat’ since he was small. And it’s kind of a cutesy nickname he has for her, when they cuddle at night when they kiss sleepy and drowsy in the morning's hands itching under clothes so that they can get even closer. Her tail twines around his wrist and she calls him ‘bunbun’ all the time.

And then maybe Namjoon and hoseok pick up on this and tease him about it too, but they just can’t resist how he always blushes whoever they call him bunbun too even though they’re kind of starting to date like imagine they’re all shy at first kinda spoiling both you and Jungkook.

And maybe like!!! What if we through tiger taehyung into this too, and say that like Namjoon and hoseok have grown to like expensive things and that means their hybrids, who are both bespoke exotic breeds, are both reflections of that as well as both being dominant alpha hybrids who are as possessive of their masters as their master are of them, though there is a fair amount of love in their relationship as well like- oh, sometimes when hoseok gets stressed out he’ll just get attacked by grooming tongues determined to get all the yucky smell of anxiety off of him and namjoon will just smile and set about making hot chocolate for the four of them and they’ll cuddle on the couch together until Hoseok starts to feel and look more like his in control self.

Of course it was because of their two hybrids that hoseok and namjoon made the new policy for a hybrid friendly work place, because while Jimin does have a fairly lucrative job working as a model for a luxury brand that has a special line for hybrids, taehyung doesn’t have the most enriching life and wants to come by more and see what they do when they leave the hybrids at home all day.

And at first- neither tae or Jimin go in to visit the company because like Jimin is suddenly busy with a photo shoot during the day but when they come home they’re both kind of curious because- what is that strange super sweet smell coating their humans necks? And why does it make both of their tails stand on end and goosebumps erupt on their forearms and tempt them to lick and bite wheerever you happen to have rubbed your sweet scent on that day. Like they might recognize jungkooks scent a little (kind of like oranges and cream- like a cream ice pop) but yours in just- intoxicating and might trigger a rut in both of them the verry first time they both smell it in hoseok and namjoon.

Both hoseok and namjoon put two and two togeather and reach the conclusion that your first irl meeting will probably be notable at least if their hybrids are already going crazy for just your scent- because seeing you irl is 100 times more sweet and they know that- Namjoon can’t resist giving you pets or scooping you up in a hug when he sees you by jungkooks desk, and hoseok is always stopping by for just a chirpy purr in delight from you, your head suddenly shooting up from jungkooks lap before you get up to greet hoseok on you tippy toes to rub a cheek against his neck. And he’ll just chuckle and run a hand though your hair while he asks Jungkook how the project is going, used to the way that cat hybrids both big and small greet people they like.

when Jimin and tae finally meet you it’s just after dinnner when the four of you come back to hoseok and Namjoon’s apartment a little tipsy Jimin and taehyung just pounce- literally on you. And the humans are kind of shocked and too drunk to handle it- and it’s not like Jungkook didn’t know that Jimin and taehyung didn’t exist like- he’s seen pictures and everything. But this, both of them cageing you in their tails swishing back and forth and both of them growling when you take a step back- your ears pinned back against your head- is exactly the opposite of what he’s expecting and all you have to do is whimper before Jungkook gets you out of there while hoseok snares both of their hybrids by the collar when they try to follow and namjoon apologizes profusely.

And of course, Jimin and taehyung are suddenly very interested in coming into work with Namjoon and hoseok, but they know enough to have Namjoon surpervise a lunch visit where you can all be formally introduced.

It progresses from careful sniffs to purrs as each of you get better reads on your scents as Namjoon and Jungkook enjoy an intimate lunch on the roof of the company, their hands brushing over the top of the table and both of them giggling as jimin moves his chair so he can sit closer to you and get one of your hands in both of his and Taehyung continues nuzzling his nose acros your neck until he gets to your ears and nibbles and both Jungkook and namjoon have enough sense to chide “be gentle tae” before they look at each other in suprise, blush, and giggle.

There are other moments where Namjoon mentions a vintage store and coffee shop that Jungkook is curious about, and takes you and Jungkook on a spontaneous not date- date where you and taehyung fall asleep in the window of the shop while Namjoon and jungkook sit closer than they should and Jungkook listens to Namjoon talk about his obscure interest in old fashion love letters his heart beating so rapidly as He recited his favorite at jungkooks urging and finds himself enraptured.

Later, Jungkook startled apart from him when hoseok stops by to meet them after a late board meeting. And you blush when hoseok stops to press a kiss to taehyungs forehead and then yours, Jimin cuddling up to your side before he even takes his jacket off to a suprised squeek as both the tiger and the panther start to lavish you in their scent (a process that they repeat on Jungkook when your two groups part later on)

And Jungkook dosent want to assume anything at first but then Namjoon and hoseok treat both you and Jungkook to like a spa day (because hoseok lowkey loves being pampered- and like he’s loaded because he owns the game development company that Jungkook works for as well as runs it) and he says “really just come with us, we have enough vouchers because Namjoon and I go like every week- it will be fun”

but like Jungkook has looked up the prices and they’re like- expensive af, but he lets Namjoon and hoseok take the two of you and Jungkook has to admit that it’s super lovely to see you all comefey and well cared for getting your nails done while another woman rubs a softening treatment into your ears. He watches Namjoon air next to you getting a facial, take a video of your purring for both of the larger cats that wait at home (who are both firmly against being wet for any prolonged period of time) but will enjoy the videos and squeal over their Mate being happy when he sends it to them.

“haha you know if you keep doing things like this for us you know where going to take it the wrong way right?” And jungkooks bashful and joking and looking down and he glances over, and all of a sudden hoseok is all infront of him and they’re both in like those robes you put on for the sauna and suddenly Jungkook realizes how undone hoseoks has gotten and hoseok has a hand on either side of jungkooks head and is leaning in close murmuring into jungkooks was

“what if we where trying to romance you? Trying to spoil you for as long as you let us,” hoseoks lips brush against jungkooks neck with his words and it feels almost as sensitive as it does every time you scent mark him but almost more...forbidden. “What would you say to that jungkookie? If we wanted to make both of you ours? Would you let us?” And Jungkook is bright red before hoseok pulls away and tells him to think it over.

Jungkook of course has to talk it over with you first but really, why wouldn’t you say yes?

adding a little bit to this! based off of an ask i got a few days ago, I got to thinking about like, Jimin and Tae and Hoseok and Joon bringing Jungkook and the reader to some fancy meet and greet for Jimin’s hybrid modeling line. Joon and hobi buy you a beautiful dress and a matching-ish tux for Jungkook and end up complementing both of you enough you tuck your face into Jungkooks shoulder and Jungkook just kinda- melts.

And some like fancy snow leopard hybrid who Jimin has modeled with before in the past drops a snide comment about the reader being too drab for him, like a housecat hybrid, with no pedigree and a mixed breed. a hybrid whose obviously not worthy of the two golden boys one of which is the highest paid hybrid model in the industry and both of which have immaculate pedigrees. The slur of “mutt” carries a heavyweight.

And Taehyung and Jimin just like- go a little feral and defensive, with a loud rippling growl and sudden gnashing of teeth, putting themselves in front of you before anyone has a chance to throw down some claws. The room goes still, and suddenly you crumple further under the weight of everyone's eyes, your tail wraps around your waist and you hide your face in Taehyungs wide shoulders.

The snow leopard hybrid’s owner is quick to step close and urge her to apologize to you, which you stutter and accept, much to the ire of Jimin’s and Taehyungs dark-eyed possessiveness. Before you know it you’re getting pulled to sit sideways in Taehyung’s lap his arms possessively wrapped around your waist, hand tightening on your hip and rubbing in a slow pull while jimin feeds you spoonfuls of creme Brule, both of them relaxing a little when you perk up a little, tail swishing, whining a little for more. you feel warm all over as Taehyung runs his hands up and over your arms and shoulders. especially since one hybrid feeding another hybrid is like- some sort of declaration that you will provide for them, one of those old fashion instinctual things that have long fallen out of fashion.

All the while, the humans get a little too drunk to be attentive to the drama that’s going on with their hybrids. Jungkook is all leaning into Namjoon’s shoulder and giggling while Hoseok’s hand tightens on his knee- and Jungkook will be all like- shocked because while the two men tend to be a little intense sometimes but they also make Jungkook laugh so much. There is never a moment that they’re not together where Jungkook isn’t smiling.

That night is probably like the first time he realizes just how happy Hoseok and Namjoon make him- but they’re not even like together yet. and it scares him really, how much he’s grown to depend on them- especially when maybe at the party Jungkook meets someone that used to be in his position- that both Namjoon and hoseok had dated before.

And maybe Jungkook starts to pull back- starts to worry about getting hurt like he has in the past, because Hoseok and Namjoon are together and they might not need Jungkook- there’s a nasty insecure voice inside of him planted there by people who didn’t treat Jungkook right that suspects he might just be a plaything for Hoseok and Namjoon- and it only takes a few days of Jungkook giving them wishy-washy responses and canceling on dinner once for Namjoon and hoseok to turn up in his apartment.

and when ask what’s wrong, plead with Jungkook to tell him what they did to set him off- what happened, he bursts into tears. and Jungkook feels like it might just be because he’s feeling like he’s coming down with a cold (has felt nauseous and headachey all day) or the fact that his computer crashed today at work and he lost a few days worth of coding. But all of a sudden it’s just too much and he holds out his arms for them.

and of course, Namjoon and hoseok spend the next few days taking care of Jungkook when he gets the flu, cooking him meals, and lying with him and stroking his back the few times he vomits. And it’s entirely unglamorous, Jungkook feels less than his best, and will no doubt look back on those days with no small amount of embarrassment. But they never stop looking at him with anything other than aching fondness and worry. And a few days later when you and Namjoon get sick as well, Jungkook and you go to stay at their apartment so that the hybrids and the humans can take care of both of you.

and maybe after that- you and Jungkook only go back to your apartment for one or two days a week- and move in with them.

(after a near death experience with this au i think i will turn it into something more lasting- maybe soon! idk! let me know what you think! 

[fandom-sheep]

Eret Dream SMP

10 APR 21 Delayed Liveblogging Part 1/1

Alright I’m 2 hours late because I missed the notification

But it looks like we’re building an ice highway and talking anime so all’s good.

I love all the people shouting Yuri on Ice. Just everyone shouting for him to watch the gay show.

Their not up for “sexy lamp” females in shows. Understandable.

Cool being with her flower crown.

Yuck. Why is a 14 year old writing a love letter to a 24 year old? IM SORRY THEY FELL IN LOVE WHEN SHE WAS 10?!?

A lot of people shouting about assassination classroom as well. It was actually a pretty good show.

I won’t ask what banana fish is..

Eret’s moving out of the tower?

Not into his castle no no.

Nah into the neato fortress.

Poor being just wants to be near the others.

Time to watch the ye of the poll go ZOOOOM

Given? Haven’t heard of that one.

Yeah I was really late.

Ad and void time let’s go! We love the void.

Multiplayer ad! Let’s get the Eret some extra ad money!

The void art is so cute. I wonder who did it? I’ll have to search and find out.

Let’s vote Bois!

I’m saving up my bits for a water and I’m at 10.8k and I’m always so tempted to use them to unlock emotes but I know I need to wait to get to my goal.

I’m almost better at saving bits than money

Firefighters? Well duh there was a fire.

This poor king. So many concerning things.

Now everyone wants a sad-ist react.

I agree to wait for an animatic stream. It’s always awesome when Eret reacts to all those little animatics that didn’t have a lot of views.

Already back to talking about sexism in anime

Fortress expansion! Woo!

Pretty being deserves to be complicated with the work they put in their appearance.

Ah a sus on the horizon.

Ah. The sonic man is committing arson. That is acceptable to the leader of the lgbt twitch kids.

A combination pop and bonk sound when the bottle opens.

Oh wait my comment got read I forget that happens here. That’s happens to me multiple times at this point. Am I just lucky or do others have that happen?

Oh he said below the age of 13. I thought I said under the age of 30 for a second and I was so confused.

Chat kids. Hons. Dont say your exact age on the internet anywhere for any reason. The only options are adult. Older minor. Younger minor. Maybe only adult and minor in most scenarios.

Ah is sniff here? Sniff’s cool.

Stupidly long songs are almost always awesome songs.

About to switch from watching on my iPad and typing on my phone to doing both on my phone.

Hank Green follows Eret on TikTok?

Alright I’ve swapped to my phone to watch and type

Ah we beat the sub goal.

Defenestration such as “be quiet or I will defenestrate you”

I hear this being quoting a tiktok. I know because I also watched that tiktok.

Overmorrow is one of my favorite words. Everyone forgets it but it’s great.

No headaches. Those aren’t allowed.

Twitter. Be nice to the king.

If any CC should come to tumblr Eret should. He would fit in well.

“Twitter needs to cancel itself” I wholly agree. Twitter is only good for fanart. It’s no fun any other way.

Twitter is the on fire garbage can that tumblr was. Now tumblr is just a chill campfire.

People don’t accept that people learn. People like to pull out old things that don’t reflect their now views.

Eret’s chat is so chill. Even when unhappy about Twitter.

Switching from talking negative things. Nice.

Awww. Everyone chanting about tumblr. We are superior.

Does yahoo own tumblr? I wouldn’t know. Poor tumblr seems like its run by a whole 4 people.

Eret’s chat is also super nice to one another. Like they try to answer each other’s questions about what’s going on and the like.

I love how the chat goes nuts with the appropriate hearts when people come out.

Dress the way ya want. Life’s better that way.

Ooo. I’m going to add a sponge to the kit I keep in case a kid I work with or a friend starts having a panic attack.

Building content is always thrilling. I can’t do that stuff so it’s fun watching building.

The poor rock just saw the verified mark and didn’t stop to think.

And it was his own brand as well. And he didn’t even delete it and try to recover.

Chat just singing along to the song. I love this chat so much. They are so sweet.

I wonder what Eret’s chat “personifies” as in the smp if we do?

This man isn’t encouraging that tattoo but if it happens he demands to see it.

Chat just yelling Bye.

I probably won’t make a post for whoever we raid.

I just don’t think I feel wordy enough for that.

Off we go to the other lgbt mine being!

That last second hype train. LOL

Also poor Eret scared the audience won’t come back. She doesn’t realize that her audience is like a lot of puppies.

She could tell us to wait for next stream and we would wait there for however long it takes for her to get back. Be it a day or several months. We would wait and then be really hyper and happy when she returns.

Anyway. Farewell you all!

[clonerightsenthusiast]

the remnants

[Blaseball, Adelaide Judochop & Kelvin Drumsolo, Gen, 1k words]

"Crappy season, huh?"

Adelaide jumped in her seat and looked up sharply from where she was staring at her cup to see Kelvin sliding into a seat across the table from her. Ze had zir trademark careless smirk and immediately kicked zir feet up and pushed zir chair back to balance precariously on its back legs.

"Um, hi, Kelvin," Addie stammered, taking a quick swig of her drink. The neon purple liquid tasted approximately like getting punched in the face, but nevertheless was hard to stop drinking. Kelvin raised an eyebrow.

"You know you don't have to drink battery acid just because the season sucked, right, Ads?" ze said, raising an eyebrow. "What the hell even is that?"

"It's not -" Addie spluttered. "It's - Mindy likes… drinks, now," she mumbled, taking another sip. Oh, that one was spicy. "And the season wasn't that bad."

"What I wouldn't give to live in your world," Kelvin snorted. "I'm just saying. I finally find my way back - you're welcome, by the way - and Shirai is our leadoff hitter. Shirai McElroy. You know, Shirai? Famously not a batter? Allan Kranch is on the bench, who I haven't talked to in years and was also pitching last time I saw them. Some Canadian asshole is hanging around, Gia and Mira are nowhere to be seen, and Chris and CB seem to have decided that instead of blaseball they're gonna play chicken with the pitcher. A game they're losing, and the way. And now Mindy's into drinks." Ze laughed derisively, kicking off the table so zir chair tipped even further back and somehow managing to catch zirself and land the chair back on four legs again, propping zir elbows on the table. "I mean, what the hell, right?"

[read on ao3]

Adelaide couldn't look at zem. She didn't want to think about what had happened before ze got back. About the looks on Mira and Alto's faces when word came in that she was getting sent to Canada. About the slow realization that her friends had… changed. In ways that seemed subtle until they stepped foot on the field. About Zoey and Jolene, and the tension she could see in them, the pressure they were putting on themselves that she was helpless to do anything about because she was just one person, she wasn't even supposed to be a stand-out player, she couldn't do everything herself -

She tucked her hands under her arms and squeezed. Swallowed down the lump in her throat. She hadn't cried after the election. She wasn't going to now. "I'm glad you came back," she finally forced out. "We needed you, Kelvin."

Kelvin laughed again. "And I bet you never thought you'd see the day when those words came out of your mouth, huh?"

Addie looked up sharply, but there was no bitterness in Kelvin's face. Only a lopsided, self-effacing smile.

"I always knew I was the best player on the team," ze continued, raising a hand to study zir nails. "Just been waiting for everyone else to figure it out." Ze looked back at her. "Don't tell anyone, though. It's bad for my image. I have a reputation to maintain, you know?" And ze winked.

Addie couldn't help it. She laughed. It burst out of her, at first a helpless little giggle, and then all the stress and confusion and grief and fear of the season were pouring out in the form of high peals of laughter and pure relief because despite everything - the heartbreak, the changes, all too fast to keep up with - Kelvin was still Kelvin. Annoying, full of zirself Kelvin Drumsolo. Adelaide had never been so grateful to have zem on her team.

When the laughter finally subsided, her stomach hurt and there were tears in her eyes and Addie felt better than she had in months. She looked up to see Kelvin looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied smile.

"Thanks, Ads, finally somebody recognizes my comedic genius," ze said with a smirk.

Addie kicked him under the table. "It wasn't that funny," she shot back, giving up immediately on suppressing her own smile. It felt too good to want to.

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say, Ads. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Kelvin swiped her glass of experimental juice and took a sniff. "So. New Mindy's into drinks, huh?"

Addie slowly uncrosses her arms and leans forward onto the table. "Mhm," she hums. "It, um, changes flavors? I… think it's on purpose. She just sort of handed it to me and, um, I want to, y'know, support her, and -"

"Mhm, yeah, captain crap, I get it," Kelvin said, waving a hand at her and taking a swig of the juice. "Holy crap, that's sour! This is pretty out there for Mindy, I'm into it."

Addie was too busy spluttering to acknowledge the comment. "That's - I mean - I'm not the - Who said - I mean, if anyone's the captain, it's -" she almost said Gia, but stopped herself at the last minute to instead blurt out, "Jolene!"

"Jolene doesn't laugh at my jokes," Kelvin sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. As if that was the most important criterion. "You're the only one who really gets me, Ads."

Adelaide was pretty sure that wasn't true, because most of the time she was fairly certain she did not get Kelvin at all. "Well, um," she spluttered, "I guess I'll - do my best?"

"There, see, that's classic captain crap," Kelvin said. "You and me, Ads, we're gonna carry this team. But mostly you, because again, if word gets out that I'm good at blaseball, that's it for me. So like, I'll be in the background, being awesome but like, in a way you can't tell. And you can just like, do good where everyone can see. And until we get the rest of the team on board with the not sucking plan, we'll just do it all ourselves."

"That sounds… hard," Addie said, laughing helplessly. "You say that like it's simple."

"Nah, you and me? We've got it on lock." Kelvin winked at her, then raised the juice glass. "By the way, can I have this? This rules. Tell Mindy this rules. She's got a bright future in drink mechanics ahead of her."

"Sure, Kelvin," Adelaide said, leaning back in her seat. She felt exhausted. She felt better than she had in ages. She smiled at zem, and ze smiled back. "Sure."

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

I Know This Is A Little Forward But I Think Our Trucks Are Soulmates

I mentioned that I was tempted to write a bumbleby one shot based off of this post https://blake-belladonna-defence-force.tumblr.com/post/189693694202/eelboy-kaliozzz-two-trucks-finding-their and quite a few of you encouraged me to write it.

I guess it’s a normal au with faunus?

Including little shit Blake who knows you shouldn’t stick a knife in a toaster but refuses to yeld to your rules, a long suffering Weiss and a rather smooth Yang with her little sister just watching the antics with her popcorn.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Just try it! You never know, somebody might have what you need.”

Blake glared at her best friend and roommate, who shrugged.

“Weiss. You’re my oldest friend and I love you.” Blake snorted as Weiss, who still struggled with affection, turned pink. “But nobody on RemnantLog is going to have a fucking black HD hood for my truck.”

“It’s a long shot but you might get lucky.”

“Lucky my ass.” Blake growled, ears pinning. “Okay. You know what? I’ll try it.”

She quickly opened her laptop and logged into her profile as Weiss moved into the kitchen to start lunch.

“If I meet a serial killer, I’m coming for your ass and haunting it, Schnee!” She yelled. “Not that there’s much of it to haunt.”

“What was that?!”

“Nothing!”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blake Belladonna > Vale Truck Heads

Today at 12:30 pm

Hello. Does anyone have a black HD hood to swap for a yellow one? Or possibly a white one? Preferably in as good condition as possible. Thanks in advance.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blake hummed to herself quietly as she uploaded the ad, complete with a photo of her black truck with its mismatched yellow hood.

“Blake? Why the fuck is there a knife in my fucking toaster?!” Weiss screeched from the kitchen.

“Our toaster!!” Blake yelled back. “And the stupid toaster wouldn’t release my toast so I used a knife to get it out.”

“One. Do you have no self-preservation, woman?!” Weiss stormed into the living room and glared at her, eye twitching. “Two. How are you not dead?! And 3…” Weiss inhaled slowly, pressing her hands together as she tried to retain some of her dignity. “How have I not killed you myself yet?”

“I’m aware of your little rules.” Blake smirked, enjoying seeing her friend lose her mind a little. “I just don’t care for them. The knife got the toast out, I was careful and you still have your best friend and roommate. Win, win, win.”

Weiss genuinely looked like she was considering murder.

“Both of those titles are becoming more and more debatable by the second.”

Blake snickered behind her hand as Weiss stormed back to the kitchen, muttering obscene language that her family would definitely not approve of.

Blake stood up and stretched, moving to help and placate her roommate lest she poison her during lunch.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Ruby Rose

@Yang Xiao Long Look, sis! Issa hood for bee!

3 hours ago

Yang Xiao Long

@Blake Belladonna Helloooo! I believe our hoods might be perfect for each other?

1 hour ago

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blake stared at the picture blankly for a moment. It was a perfect match. She shook her head and sent the woman a dm.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blake Belladonna at 6:00 pm > Hello. I believe that you commented on my post regarding a hood swap?

Yang Xiao Long at 6:10 pm > Hey! Yup! I’ve been trying to find a yellow hood for my baby for ages! D:

Blake Belladonna at 6:17 pm > I’ve been looking for the right colour hood for my truck for a while now, as well, so I sympathise. Perhaps you’d like to swap? We could arrange a time.

Yang Xiao Long at 6:25 pm > Hell yeah! Let’s do this! I’m cool with any time so let me know :D

Blake Belladonna at 6:30 pm > Lovely. The sooner the better, in my humble opinion. I have work tomorrow but I’m free in the evening. But I doubt we could get a mechanic to stay open that long.

Yang Xiao Long at 6:37 > Good thing that you’re talking to one then! I can hook the hoods up no problem :) Just give me the time and place and I’ll be there.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The following evening at 6:30, Blake was pulling into the Dusty Ramen parking lot with Weiss next to her. She had, once again, been pleasantly surprised by Yang when she suggested that they both bring along a friend so that they felt comfortable. Though judging by the girl’s profile picture, she could easily handle herself in a fight.

“There, on the right.” Weiss already sounded bored out of her mind.

As Blake pulled in next to her, a very attractive young blonde woman dressed in flannel, ripped jeans and combat boots hoped off the bed of her yellow truck and gave her a friendly wave. Blake quirked an eyebrow and waved back before getting out and walking over to her.

“Hi, I’m Yang. The owner of your truck’s soulmate.”

Blake froze in shock for a minute before a rather unattractive snort left her and she covered her giggle with her hand.

“Okay. Now that’s an introduction.” Blake said through a smirk. “Can’t say that I’ve heard that one before.”

“Well, I would call you mine but that’s a little forward. Don’t you think?” Yang smiled charmingly at her and oh no…

It was obvious by her profile picture that she was pretty. But no photo could do this woman justice. Athletic, strong, beautiful face with even prettier eyes that exuded a playfulness and kindness…

Oh God help her.

“Blake. You’re my best friend and I love you but I’d rather not watch your bisexual panic.”

“Weiss!” Blake turned to her with a snarl.

“I merely speak the truth.” Weiss said to help with a sniff before turning to Yang. “I have no patience for this. She thinks that you’re hot. Either give her your number or reject her so we can all move on with our lives.”

“I will not hesitate to kill you in your sleep!” Blake hissed, heat creeping up her neck as her ears pressed flat to her head.

“Uh.” Poor Yang sounded more than a little confused. “Thanks?”

“Just…” Blake pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we pretend that Weiss doesn’t exist? Please?”

“Yaaaaang! I got your pop-“ a younger voice piped up and they all turned to see a younger girl carrying a bag. “Oh! Is that her? You were right! She’s super pretty!”

Blake blinked in surprise when the girl ran over to her and shook her hand.

“It’s awesome to meet you! Yours and Yang’s trucks are kinda like soulmates!”

“My little sister; Ruby Rose, ladies.” Yang muttered with an embarrassed laugh and suddenly, Blake felt a lot better about herself. “Let’s just get this started.”

As Yang removed her flannel, revealing a tank top and some very well defined abs and biceps, Blake found herself staring. As Yang worked on their trucks and swapped their hoods, Blake found herself definitely staring. And getting causing staring by Yang when she turned to ask them for their help. The whole situation was far more mortifying than it should have been.

“Right, you are good to go!” Yang beamed as she carefully shut Blake’s new hood. “Thank you for this.”

“The same to you.” Blake said, far calmer than she felt. Maybe Weiss was right.

“Here.”

Blake let out a yelp as she only just managed to catch the bottles of water that Weiss threw at her and Yang.

“You both looked thirsty.” Weiss smirked as Ruby giggled in the background.

“Oh I am so going to kill her later.” Blake muttered as she lightly smacked her forehead with the bottle.

“I’ll be your alibi if you be mine when I kill my sister.” Yang muttered back, giving Blake a playful wink when she glance up.

Blake his her smile behind her hand and giggled.

“Sure.” She said with an amused eye roll. “Uh. This was… interesting. But I should go. I have work in the morning and-“

“Oh!” Yang coughed. “Of course. I, uh. I’ll let you go.”

The two women made to shake hands but suddenly, Yang tripped, falling into Blake’s arms. The two women froze; Yang’s hands resting on Blake’s collar as Blake’s hand held her up by her biceps. They were close enough that Blake could see that Yang had freckles. Close enough to see that her lilac eyes had flecks of red in them. Close enough that the rest of the world faded away…

Until a giggle and an exasperated sigh made them jump apart.

“Uh, like I said I’ll just… let you go!” Yang grinned nervously, rubbing the back of her neck as she backed towards her car. “See you around, Blake. Rubes, get your smart ass in the car before I kick it.”

“Yeah. See you.” Blake said distantly, getting into her car and sitting there in a daze until Weiss smacked her shoulder and pointed to Yang’s car.

Yang was grinning at her, as Ruby played on her phone, and pointing to her breast pocket.

Blake frowned and looked down at her button down shirt pocket and reached into it, pulling out a piece of paper with a number on it.

She glanced up to see Yang smirk through their respective windows, wink at her with her hand up in the classic “call me” sign and start her engine before pulling out of the car park.

“Blake?” Weiss asked, tone slightly irritated. “You can start the car now.”

“Oh, that smooth son of a-“ Blake cut herself off with a disbelieving laugh. “She purposely fell into my arms to put her number in my pocket!”

“Great!” Weiss said with sarcastic cheer. “Can we bypass your bi panic?”

Blake gave her friend a filthy look and started the car.

“Look, I’m happy for you, Blake.” Weiss muttered. “I just do not need to see my best friend drooling over a pretty face.”

“First off, I did not drool!” Blake snapped. “Secondly, don’t call her a pretty face. She may be beautiful but I get the feeling she’s more than meets the eye.”

“… this is the part where you ramble my ear off. Isn’t it?”

“Consider it compensation for completely mortifying me.”

“You practically got her number because of me!”

Blake rolled her eyes and ignored Weiss.

But as they drove home, a sudden thought came to mind.

“Wait. How soon should I text?” She asked out loud, ears flicking nervously. “How soon is too soon? If I text her when we get home, does that make me seem desperate? Weiss? Weiss, help.”

“… I regret everything already.”

[snakeboistan]

Based off of this post I made a while back. I would like to thank @nyagisa for helping me come up with some ideas for the plot

The Tokyo sun shone brightly through the windows of the 3-E building, rays of golden washing over the wooden down desks and chairs. The students in the classroom were spending their morning before homeroom as they always did: by chatting away to one another or just minding their own business. The atmosphere of the room was quickly burst when they heard thundering footsteps making their way towards the doorway. Every single head turned towards the classroom’s entrance to find a panting Okuda appear under it, braids swaying and glasses slightly askew.

“I did it,” she announced, “it took me all weekend but I did it.”

“Uhh, what?” Okajima asked, scratching his head.

“Wait,” Fuwa paused, head perking up as if realisation dawned on her. With a widening smile, she asked, “you mean the thing.”

Okuda nodded her head and Fuwa beamed. She raced towards the bespectacled girl and glomped her in a hug, “Oh, Okuda, you scientific genius.”

Okuda turned red and smiled shyly at the praise. Around her, everyone else had no idea what on Earth was going on.

“Hey, mind filling the rest of us in?” Maehara inquired.

“I came up with a brilliant idea for an assassination attempt and asked Okuda to cook something up that would make all of our lives far more easier,” Fuwa explained with a smug grin, “Let history say, children, that being an otaku saved the planet.”

“What did you make, Okuda?” Kurahashi asked, head tilted in confusion.

“Yeah, come on Okuda, tell them,” Fuwa nudged her.

“I-well-I made a truth serum,” she mumbled, cheeks dusted with pink.

“WHAT!”

“Are-are you serious?” Kimura asked in disbelief.

Mimura’s eyes were wide, “like an actual, real-life truth serum?”

Okuda nodded timidly as she pushed her glasses up her nose.

“That-that’s awesome,” Maehara stated, “like seriously, that’s so unbelievably awesome.”

“Can we see it? Can we see it?” Okajima begged, rushing towards her and jumping up and down like an overeager puppy greeting its owner.

“Sure,” she replied. She opened up her bag to procure a box. Clicking up the lid, she reached in and then held up a test tube that was half-way filled with a shimmering emerald liquid liquid. The entire class looked at it with awe.

“How the hell did you manage to make that?” Yoshida asked, still unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Well all I did was mix a few centimeters cubed of ethanol, scopolamine, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, midazolam, flunitrazepam, sodium thiopental, amobarbital and a few other chemicals.”

Everyone just stared at her.

“So, is no one going to comment on how she just happens to have all of those chemicals?” Sugaya said.

Maehara shrugged, “Eh, she’s Okuda.”

“Yeah, she carries around actual chloroform with her at all times,” Mimura nodded, “at this point, it’s best to not question it.”

“But seriously, guys this is awesome,” Okano grinned, “imagine if we slipped that into some of his favourite sweets. We could make him tell us anything. Unless he’d manage to sniff it out.” She turned to Okuda, “he won’t be able to, right?”

Okuda shook her head, “he shouldn’t. I made sure that the serum is completely odourless.”

“Haha, yes,” Okajima fistbumped the air, “by the end of the day he’ll be telling us everything we need to know about how to assassinate him. That ten billion yen bounty is OURS.”

As the class cheered, celebrated and praised Okuda for her genius, a certain blonde troublemaker sat at her desk and was watching the commotion in thought, leaning her cheek on the back of her fingers. Slowly, a sly smirk crawled onto her mouth.

….

Karma was in the forest when Nakamura approached him. He spotted her from a mile away from where he was perched on a tree branch, blonde hair bouncing with every leaping bound she took, that ever-present Cheshire cat grin on her face. He watched with amusement and intrigue as she made her way towards him, immediately getting hit with the idea that the two of them were going to have a very interesting day today.

“Yo, Nakamura,” he called, “aren’t you a long way from class?”

“It’s break,” she supplied from her position at the base of the tree, “besides I can say the same to you, mister.”

“As if the octopus could teach me more about algebra than I already know,” he said haughtily as he jumped, landing gracefully on his feet in front of her, “at this point I only show up for the assassinations. Actually going to class would be a waste.”

“Ohohoho,” Nakamura smirked, “betcha I can change that thought.”

“What do you mean?”

It was then that Nakamura held out a hand that she had hidden behind her back, opening it up to reveal a familiar looking test tube.

“Is that…?”

“Uh hu.”

“How did you get it.”

“I have my ways.”

“No kidding.”

“So, Karma,” Nakamura smirked, blue eyes alight with mischief, “what do you say to a bit of fun?”

Karma grinned, horns and tail appearing out of nowhere as the satanic aura around him intensified, “what do you mean?”

“Ohh, you know,” she hummed, her voice had an ‘innocent’ lilt as she shook a vial that contained the green liquid with her thumb and index finger, “just giving this bad boy to our favourite prank victim. Can you imagine all of the dirt we could get out of him? Who he likes, embarrassing secrets, all of the tea he has - it’ll be a goldmine.”

“Ha, perfect,” Karma laughed, “God, could you imagine what we could make him spill? We’ll make that little mouse squeak like there’s no tomorrow.”

The two of them burst into ungodly snickers, doubling over as woodland creatures ran for their lives, as far away from them as possible. Giving each other looks filled with perversity that would make a necromancer faint, they set their plan into motion.

Shiota Nagisa had no idea what was coming for him.

…

As soon as the bell rang, signalling that class was over and lunch break had begun, the students rushed towards the door, most of them practically shoving each other as they piled out of the classroom and towards the wooden lunch tables that were situated outside of the building. Nagisa, as usual, was the last to leave due to him being the slowest packer in the class. Plus, he had a tendency to talk to his desk neighbours, Sugino and Kayano, as he put his things away, which slowed him down as well. However, for some reason, Nakamura had decided to stay behind with him, telling him that she wanted to speak to him in private. So before he could sling his bag over his shoulder, he was dragged out by the golden-haired girl into a secluded storage room, where they kept all of the unused Science and Home Ec equipment. There she proceeded to drill him about whether he had a crush on anyone or not, stating that she had a bet going on with Karma. He tried to tell her that he currently wasn’t interested in dating anyone and that he held no romantic attraction towards any of his classmates but she wouldn’t let up until he managed to stealthily push his way past her and back to the classroom so that he could retrieve his school bag and make his way towards the building’s exterior. Once he reached his destination, he was met with Sugino waving an arm to catch his attention.

“Hey, Nagisa,” he called, “I saved you a seat.” When the blue-haired boy sat down beside him, he asked, “so what was that all about?”

“Oh you know,” Nagisa rolled his eyes, “Nakamura being Nakamura.”

“I see.”

With that, he took out his bento box and opened the lid but before he could grab a piece of his hand-made lunch, he paused. Something inside Nagisa felt weird as a sense of foreboding fell over him. He had no idea why but it felt like his senses were warning him of something, that something was wrong. However, he had no idea what. Scanning the environment, he observed that everyone was acting normal: Fuwa was recounting the latest chapter of her current manga obsession to anyone that would listen, the Terasaka gang were debating whether or not cereal counts as a soup, Hayami and Chiba were doing that thing they do where they communicate with their eyes and the slightest movements of their heads, Maehara and Okajima were engaged in an arm wrestling competition that would determine who would be given Yada’s spare wagashi and Karma and Nakamura were huddled together laughing about something. To be honest something about that felt off, especially since they seemed to be stealing glances in between smirks and snickers, but those two working together always filled him with dread since he was the main casualty of whatever prank they’ve cooked up - but there was something about their current behavior that felt more off than normal, their conscious wavelengths held a form of threat that made him feel apprehensive...

“Hey, Nagisa?” Sugino asked, concern evident in his eyes and in the furrow of his eyebrows, “you alright, man? You seem to be on edge.”

Mentally shaking off that strange feeling, Nagisa gave his best ‘I’m-okay-please-believe-me’ smile, “ye-yeah, I am. I just - just got lost in thought, you know?”

To ease the baseball lover’s worries, he pinched one of his pieces of shrimp tempura sushis with his chopsticks and brought it to his mouth, before chewing slowly and swallowing. It was at that moment he knew that something was definitely wrong. As soon as he felt his food go down the oesophagus and land in his stomach, he knew that there was something very very wrong. His body froze, chopsticks slipping through his paralysed fingers and landing on the grass, as he lost awareness of his surroundings. Dread was crawling up his spine and rushed through his nerves, sending them ablaze with this feeling of numbness. The last thing he registered was his stomach dropping before his surroundings blurred and all of his thoughts turned to mush, leaving him unaware of the way Sugino’s eyes widened with fear when he watched Nagisa’s face slacken into an emotionless stare, bangs falling forward as head hung itself over his bento box.

“Nagisa,” he shoved his shoulder, “HOLY C***, NAGISA!”

His shouting had alerted the rest of his classmates, each of them immediately turning their heads to face the pair. 

“Did he eat it?” Nakamura crowed from her seat, face split into a beaming grin. Beside her, Karma gave Nagisa a cocky smirk, as he regarded the used chopsticks in the blunette’s hand “did he actually eat it?”

“What do you mean?” Sugino asked desperately, frantically shaking his head as he looked at his best friend and the blonde, “what did you do?”

“Karma, Nakamura, what’s the meaning of this?” Kataoka demanded. Everyone had no idea what to do; no matter how many times Sugino shook him or Kayano tapped him on the shoulder, his face remained expressionless as his body swayed like a ragdoll. All of the light and energy that inhibited his eyes, the warm emotions that screamed ‘Nagisa’, had vacated, leaving only desolate orbs of blue nothing. For someone like Nagisa, who was always observing, always hyper-alert of his surroundings, to start acting like a lifeless marionette was troubling to say the least. Nonetheless, there seemed to be two students who were hardly concerned.

“Chill, guys. He’s alright. Cool it, would ya?” Karma said easily as he waved a hand up and down in a careless manner. 

“What did you do?” Kataoka asked sternly.

“We just wanted to test if Okuda’s little serum actually works.” Nakamura shrugged with a mischievous smirk, “you know, just to be sure. What’s the harm in doing a little science experiment?”

“You-you did what?” Okuda asked shakily, horror-struck at the revelation. She made that serum for an assassination attempt, so that she could help save the Earth, yet Nakamura and Karma decided to give an untested concoction to her classmate just to get a few laughs. As confident as she was in her abilities as a chemist, she was aware that she’s not perfect and four times out of ten her experiments end up in a complete disaster. At least, if her serum wasn’t made correctly, Koro-Sensei would’ve been able to handle it the same way he can handle all of the other poisons she made that could make a sumo wrestler drop to his knees in a second. She warned the class that she wasn’t sure that it would work, yet these two pranksters took her work as another way they could have a laugh - and on Nagisa as well. Nagisa, who was sweet and kind and always smiled and made her feel included, who always praises her when she does something right and doesn’t laugh when others make mistakes, who never complains about anything. Koro-Sensei told her that being unable to communicate properly means that people will take advantage of you, yet Nagisa, who always seems to know what to say, somehow appears to be the person who is exploited the most. She felt- she felt tricked. Like that time where Koro-Sensei smiled at her and gave her instructions so that she could make a poison that could actually work for him but she ended up enhancing his abilities instead. However, at least then it was all with good intentions, so that she could learn how important it is to communicate, unlike now where her skills were used to poke fun at someone else. Science is all about progression, it’s about working hard to ensure that the world becomes a better place so that people can be happier, healthier and have a better way of life. That’s why she pursues it because if she can’t help people with her words, then she can at least help them with her chemicals. Her voice came out high as she whispered, “Why would you do that?”

“Oh, come on, Okuda,” Nakamura waved her off, “it was just a little prank.”

“A-A prank?” Okuda repeated, unable to comprehend how on Earth these two could be so callous, “you used my formula for a prank?”

“Alright, guys, I think that you two have gone too far,” Maehara tore his eyes away from the petite boy in pigtails and glared at the two smirking devils with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, guys,” Okano said, “I mean your usual pranks are one thing but drugging your classmate so that he could spill his secrets? Not cool.”

Kayano had moved from trying to gain Nagisa's attention to comforting Okuda, who seemed to have fallen into a well of guilt. Her plaits hung limply as she held her head down, her back was shaking with shuddering breaths and her hands were bunching up the pleated grey material of her school skirt. Meanwhile, Sugino’s shaking seemed to have awoken Nagisa from whatever daze he was in and his head snapped up. He blinked at them sporadically as he shook his head - it almost seemed as if he was rebooting. The light didn’t return to his eyes but he seemed to be more aware of everyone. Then, out of nowhere, he smiled. Not one of his usual soft smiles, filled with care. It was just a smile, plain and simple. It was lazy and devoid of any real emotions and it looked so so so wrong on the boy that was the epitome of helpful. 

“Hey, Nagisa,” Sugino said slowly. Everyone else was watching and waiting with bated breath.

The blunette turned to him and the baseball lover almost flinched at the expression on his face. This wasn’t Nagisa, this was some fraud, an unappealing copy failing miserably at impersonating his best friend. He didn’t know whether to scream or cry or throw up but he did know that he wanted Nagisa back, pronto, “hey, Sugino. What’s the matter?”

“Me?” he blinked in confusion, “I feel great. Well, honestly I’m kind of ticked off that I got drugged but, you know, not the worst thing that’s happened to me. I’ve hidden tons of things that are far worse than this but I guess since it’s normal for me to suck things up, I don’t really much. I mean I know I always say that I’m okay when I’m really not but that’s just because I don’t want to burden you guys with something as insignificant as me.” He could feel something in the back of his mind telling him to say that he was fine but why should he do that? What’s the point in lying when he could just free the chains that held him down and just blurt out everything that came to mind. “But I never say anything because I know that no matter what I say or how uncomfortable I am, it won’t really stop anything in the long run, so what’s the point, you know?” 

Everyone looked at him in shock; most of his classmates' faces were covered in expressions of horror and sadness but why were they upset? He was just being honest and, truthfully, he wasn’t upset one bit. How could he be when every word that left his mouth made him feel even more euphoric than he’s ever felt before? His head was flying up high in cloud nine and he never wanted to go down. Unbeknownst to him, the majority of his classmates didn’t share his newfound state of elation.

“Holy s***,” Terasaka whispered as he stared at Nagisa as if he suddenly grew four heads and was breathing fire.

“It-it worked,” Kimura stated dumbly, “the truth serum - it actually worked.”

“The dude’s got no filter whatsoever,” Maehara observed.

Karma and Nakamura’s eyes widened as they looked at each other before snapping their gazes back towards the blunette, who was still smiling away as if he hadn’t said more words in the past minute than he had over the past few hours.

“This. Is. Brilliant,” Nakamura squealed, “Oh my god, this is too good.”

“Nakamura, that’s enough,” Isogai reproached. He turned to Okuda, “Okuda, how long will this serum last for?”

Okuda bit her lip, eyes glistening, “about an hour. Isogai, I swear I didn’t do anything. If I knew that the serum was going to be used on Nagisa-”

“It’s okay, Okuda,” Yada smiled at her reassuringly, “you were only trying to help us assassinate Koro-Sensei.”

“Yeah, you have no part to play,” Okano was still glaring at the pranking duo, “they’re the ones who thought it would be funny to give Nagisa a goddamn truth-serum.”

“What’s the big idea? I don’t see why you guys are all p***ed off,” Nakamura said defensively.

“Yeah, we’re just having fun,” Karma said, “we always prank Nagisa and he’s fine with it.”

“You guys seriously don’t think that you did anything wrong,” Sugino frowned, “you really think that this is just another harmless prank. Although, to be honest, most of the things you do to Nagisa aren’t exactly harmless.”

“What do you mean by that, Sugino?” Karma narrowed his eyes at the baseball lover, giving the black-haired boy a sneer, “He’s never complained that he doesn’t like what we do.”

“Yeah, come on,” Nakamura scoffed, “he’s alright with us dressing him up, right Nagisa?”

“I hate it,” Nagisa said, still smiling with compliance, “I hate everything about it. Whenever I see the two of you come up to me with whatever new idea you’ve come up with, I get physically sick to my stomach with dread because I know what will happen next. You guys will dress me up and make jokes about how pretty I look and how I should ‘cut it off’ even when I tell you that stuff makes me uncomfortable. Of course, me being uncomfortable is never an issue with you lot so why do I even bother. I know that I’m always smiling and laughing when you all make fun of my looks and laugh at my insecurities but I hate it. I hate it so much and whenever I’m forced to crossdress all I can think about is my home life because, guess what, you’re not the only one who thinks I look good in girl clothes. I’ve been forced to wear them since I was six and I’ve learned that speaking up about it only ends in trouble. In hindsight, I’ve got to say that you guys calling something that causes me to get slapped and shouted at by my own mother ‘comic relief’ is kind of a s****y move but, hey, nevermind I get it - my feelings are a joke to you anyway.” He just blinked at his classmates, who were all staring at him with their mouths open and eyes wide with horror. Yada and Kurahashi had hands slapped over their mouths and looked near tears. He had no idea why they were looking at him like that - all he did was answer a question. Was he not supposed to? He didn’t see why he couldn’t divulge that information. Nagisa shouldn’t have secrets. What’s so great about hiding things anyway? He noticed that the delinquent smirks were wiped off of Karma and Nakamura’s faces and were replaced by uncomfortable squirming. He tilted his head in confusion, “why aren’t you laughing? You always laugh when it comes to my appearance. Don’t look so upset, that’s so unlike you. Go ahead and laugh and joke like you normally do - nothing I’ve said has stopped you before, why should it stop you now?”

“Nagisa,” Sugino breathed out, aghast, “what-I-what?”

“You’re mum does what?” Okano whimpered.

“Oh yeah, she hits me,” Nagisa replied as if he was just discussing the weather. His legs were swinging back and forth as he continued, “and starves me, or locks me in my room if I don’t listen to her. Sometimes she throws things at me. I mean, last week she aimed a frying pan at my head but luckily I managed to dodge. Living in my house for fourteen years really enhances your reflexes, you know. She basically wanted a daughter and hates the fact that I’m a boy so she pretends that I’m a girl so that she can live in her perfect world with her perfect daughter that she always wanted. It sucks, but hey, that’s life, you know.”

“The hell?” Maehara said to himself, “what the hell?”

“That’s awful,” Kurahashi said, tears streaming down her face, “why would - why would anybody?”

“Holy c**p,” Kimura’s head was leaning against the palm of his hand.

“Karma, Nakamura,” Isogai’s eyes held fire, “why on earth would you think that giving him a truth serum is okay?”

“How the hell were we meant to know that he was going to spill all of that?” Nakamura yelled at the onslaught of glares, “we just wanted to find out if he liked anyone or something.”

“Guys, I think that we should stop asking Nagisa questions,” Sugino said wearily, “he can’t control what he’s saying and if he had any willpower there’s no way he’d be comfortable in spilling all of this stuff.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Nagisa asked.

“What?” 

“What’s wrong with me being uncomfortable?”

“Listen Nagisa, I know that we messed up,” Kataoka said, “seriously seriously messed up. But trust us when we say that making you uncomfortable is not something that we want to do.”

“Of course not,” Yada cried, “you’re our friend. We love you.”

Nagisa laughed, it was sweet yet sounded artificial, “no one loves me. All I do is drive people away. You can ask my dad or Karma about that. Trust me, whatever it is you think I am, I’m not. I’m just a burden that only causes trouble. No one would want to be friends with me. Even when they say that they are.” He turned to Karma, “‘cause you know Karma, sometimes you really confuse me. You act like my friend now but you pretended like I didn’t exist back at the main campus. Like I get why you don’t like me - not even my own parents do. I guess you do need me around because I’m the guy that collects information on Koro-Sensei but if you’re just going to get bored with me and abandon me again can you atleast do it now instead of getting my hopes up that you actually care about my feelings. Like seriously, between you and dad, I have a ton of abandonment issues. I guess it’s only a matter of time before everyone else leaves me too, huh. Don’t look so upset Sugino, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to not be around a loser like me.”

“Nagisa,” Sugino’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears, “I would never. You’re my best friend, dude.”

“Please tell me that the hour is nearly up,” Okajima begged to the heavens, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“We’d never leave you, Nagisa, never,” Kayano cried as she hugged Nagisa from behind. He could feel her shaking in her embrace, “you’re the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“We don’t just have you around because you’re useful or anything,” Maehara said, “bro, you’re an amazing person.”

“I just can’t believe this,” Yoshida said, deeply troubled, “like seriously, what other things are there about you that we don’t know about.”

“YOSHIDA, NO!”

“YOU IDIOT-”

“I’ve tried killing myself,” Nagisa said brightly, cutting into their shouts like a knife and dropping the temperature of their surroundings, “back during the whole grenade incident. I didn’t know that the grenade was fake and was a hundred percent ready to blow myself up and end everything right then and there. I mean, I was actually kind of happy to finally get an escape from everything and it’s not like anyone would’ve missed me or anything. So I would’ve saved the world and done something I’ve been meaning to do. You can understand my disappointment when Koro-Sensei saved me. Now I have two failed attempts - man, I’m so good at failing, I can’t even kill myself right.”

“Wait,” Okano’s face was white, “did you just say ‘two’?”

“Hmm, yeah, I tried once when I was ten. My parents were getting divorced and were fighting more and more and I knew that it was all because of me and I hated myself for driving them apart so I decided that it would be in everyone's best interest if I wasn’t around anymore so I overdosed on some of my dad’s sleeping pills. Unfortunately, it didn't work as you can tell but -”

He was then cut off by Maehara, who had decked him in the head, knocking him clean out.

“MAEHARA!”

The golden-haired boy was shaking, “I-I’m sorry, guys. It’s just that - I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted it to stop.”

Isogai placed a hand on his shoulder, giving his best friend a weak smile, “it’s alright, Maehara. I understand. Come on, let’s lay him down in the teacher’s lounge so that he can sleep this off.”

“We are going to speak to him about this, right?” Okano asked.

“I think that we should,” Kataoka replied solemnly.

“Well, I think that we ought to give Nakamura and Karma a few words as well,” Kayano said, “seeing as this is all their fault.”

Everyone watched as Isogai picked Nagisa up in a bridal carry. The tense silence had made them all lose their appetite.

[hermannsthumb]

Hot tub sex??? *eye emoji*

scientists in a hot tub……what will they repress……..

18+/not safe for work below cut!!!!!

————————————-

Hermann is no stranger to shoddy motel rooms at this point in his career–indeed, on the shoestring PPDC budget, it’s more or less all he and Newton can afford when they’re shuttled out for conferences–but there’s a certain veneer to the crumbling Art Deco design and dusty plastic palm trees of this one that’s left him feeling strangely unsettled. It’s as if they’ve stepped into the past. As if the very motel is frozen in time. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” Newton says. “It’s just a stupid gimmick. Hold this, will you?”

He shoves his duffel bag at Hermann and (ignoring Hermann’s indignant hm!) continues, unsuccessfully, to cram a keycard into their door lock. “It’s upside down,” Hermann finally says.

“No it’s not,” Newton says.

“Yes it is,” Hermann says. “Flip it.”

“It’s not upside down,” Newton says.

“Flip the bloody card, Newton.”

Newton flips the keycard. The lock lights up green with a click. “Huh,” he says.

Their room is small, a bit cramped, even, with two twin beds (mercifully, they won’t have to share again, not like they did last time) draped in pink bedspreads, two nightstands, a beaten-up wooden wardrobe, and a single desk jammed in the corner. The pseudo-vintage wallpaper matches that of the hallways and lobby; the carpet, meanwhile, is too faded to make out what the pattern was once meant to be. “How terribly charming,” Hermann remarks, sarcastically. 

“I call bed next to the window,” Newton says, pushing past him to claim it.

Hermann busies himself with unpacking his belongings from his small carry-on suitcase as Newton takes stock of the room: poking around in the nightstand drawers, flicking through the wrinkled Gideons Bibles, fluffing his pillow, sniffing skeptically at the bars of soap resting atop their pillows. Hermann’s nearly finished settling in when Newton–flinging the door to their in-suite bathroom open–startles him with a sharp crow of surprise.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Take a look at that!”

Hermann sets down his last sweater on the bedspread, not bothering to look up. He can’t quite say he fancies finding out what kind of horror awaits them in there. “Roach infestation?” he sighs. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“It’s a fucking hot tub, dude.”

Hermann does look up at that. “Hot tub?” he echoes sharply.

Newton pushes the door open wider. Sure enough, around his shoulder, Hermann can make out pink tile and the deepest, most elaborate bathtub he’s ever seen, complete with its own set of stairs. “There are jets,” Newton says. He lunges for a bottle on the edge of the tub and waves it excitedly. “Look, they gave us bubble stuff, too!”

“Oh,” Hermann says, not quite able to cover up his delight. There are very few things Hermann loathes more than flying: the cramped confines, even with disability accommodation, which leave his leg stiff and him tense and irritable–the fine layer of grime he’s certain sticks to him afterwards–how wretchedly exhausted he is when the whole affair is finally over. He can, frankly, think of nothing he’d like quite more at the moment than stripping down and getting into a hot soak in that tub. However filthy it may be. (And Hermann expects it’s quite filthy.)

He steps up behind Newton for a closer inspection. Pink. Dingy, but less so with grime, more so from age. Curved seats. Enough jets to already make Hermann feel woozy. Newton turns and shoots him a grin. “How many people do you think have screwed in there?” he says.

“Ugh.” Hermann winces.

“I’m serious,” Newton says. “It’s at least a dozen.” He nudges the faucet with the toe of his boot and laughs. “God, it’s so fucking sleazy. Why the fuck did they put this in here?”

“Perhaps the staff anticipated overstressed travelers would appreciate the opportunity to relax,” Hermann sniffs.

“Or perhaps,” (Newton says this in a crude mockery of his accent,) “the staff thought people like us might want a little extra bang for our buck, if you catch my drift.” He waggles his eyebrows.

People like him and Newton. Unable to help himself, and feeling suddenly rather flustered, Hermann blushes. “You’re so crude.”

“Maybe you just have a stick up your ass,” Newton says. He shuts the door. “Anyway, I’m gonna get a burger from the place next door. Do you want something?”

Hermann chooses not to remind Newton that he is a vegetarian. He’ll presumably remember it at some point on the walk to the restaurant–it’s rather a poignant thing to forget about one’s self. “No, thank you,” he says, and then, after reconsidering, because he is hungry, “Actually–yes. A sandwich. You know the sort I like–something with turkey. Or cucumber.”

“It’s a hamburger place,” Newton says, as if Hermann is a particularly dull toddler. 

“Surely they don’t only sell hamburgers,” Hermann says.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Newton says. He scoops up the keycard from where he tossed it on the dresser, pats his pocket for his wallet, and nods at Hermann. “I’ll be back in twenty. Don’t have any wild hot tub sex without me.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause.

“That’s not,” Newton says. “Uh. See you.”

Newton’s not been gone five minutes when Hermann finally caves in and starts the tap for the hot tub. The water comes out hot–nicely hot–and the jets–oh, the jets--Hermann is suddenly frightfully glad he allowed Newton to talk him into packing swimming trunks in the event they’re able to make it out to the beach before the weekend is up. Though tub is just as much a bathtub as a jacuzzi, it still feels strange to enter it nude. Especially after Newton’s lewd comments.

The tub takes the better part of Newton’s promised twenty minutes to fill, and it’s still not quite finished when Hermann–now stripped down to nothing but his bland pair of navy-blue swimming trunks–grips the metal bars at the stairs and eases his aching, tense body into the steaming water. He tilts his head back against the pink tile; he groans, a little louder than he means to. The relief is quite instant.

Perhaps a bit embarrassingly, his prick begins to stiffen.

It’s automatic, of course. Pavlovian by nature. He’s not at all thinking of Newton’s implication that people like them have appropriated the hot tub for other purposes, nor of his slip-up right before he left to get them dinner. It’s only that Hermann prefers to reserve certain personal activities for when he’s in the bath. He’s more relaxed–the undercurrent of pain in his leg less distracting, and indeed, even nonexistent. Anyway, it’s not as if he’s about to start pleasuring himself here, in a bloody hot tub, where Newton could walk in and find him at any moment…

(A small, warm twinge in the pit of his stomach; Hermann parts his thighs just a bit wider, only to make himself comfortable, of course.)

Then there’s a small click in the main room: the door lock. “They literally only had hamburgers, dude, like I said,” Newton is saying. “So I got you–Hermann?”

“In here,” Hermann calls back lazily.

Newton practically kicks the bathroom door down, glaring ferociously, greasy takeaway bags cradled in one arm. “You asshole,” he says. “You’re using it without me!”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean,” Hermann says.

Newton sets the bag down on the sink counter and kicks off his boots. Then he begins to strip out of his t-shirt. Then his jeans. Hermann sits up in alarm. “No, no,” he says. “What are you–?”

“I’m getting in, that’s what I’m doing,” Newton huffs.

“No you are not.”

“I am,” Newton says. He reaches for the waistband of his purple boxers.

“No,” Hermann says, a little louder, and then begins to splutter indignantly when Newton ignores him and slips those off too. “You brought–we have swimming trunks. Why are you–?”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Newton says with a shrug. The motion, full-bodied, causes certain elements of his anatomy to move. Certain elements of Hermann’s anatomy begin to move, too, in response, but for an entirely different reason. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

This is true; Newton’s had enough lab accidents in their career which require use of the emergency decontamination shower that, hypothetically, Hermann should know his body like his own at this point. This does not make it any less alarming. Or any less exciting. Newton’s sturdy bare legs, verging on too-hairy, small scars on both his knees from what Hermann knows to be a rollerblading accident when he was twelve; Newton’s tattooed arms, muscled just enough from the demands of his lab work; Newton’s tattooed chest, his rosy pink nipples; Newton’s pudgy stomach, his love handles; between Newton’s soft thighs, his perfectly sized–well–

Hermann forces himself to tear his eyes away as Newton climbs in across from him. They’re so close their knees knock together. “Wow,” Newton says, and wolf-whistles. “This is awesome.”

“Mm,” Hermann says. 

He chances a small glance over. Newton has slipped off his fogged-up glasses; his body is a colorful blur beneath the bubbling surface of the water, but his chest, and his chest piece, are on full display, and his head is titled back in such a way that his soft throat is bared in a way that Hermann might call sensual. How terribly lovely he is. How terribly light-headed Hermann feels from the hot water–surely it’s why, not even bothering to pretend he’s not ogling Newton, he blurts out “What a marvelous tattoo that is.”

Newton furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” Hermann says, and–for some reason–reaches out and grazes his hand down Newton’s sternum. He hears–no, feels–Newton’s breath catch in his throat. “It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen it properly before.”

Newton laughs nervously. “Oh,” he says. “I thought you hated my tattoos.”

“Of course I don’t,” Hermann says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. “I can’t say I approve of the subject material, but one would be a fool to deny their artistic value.” Hardly believing his own daring, he settles two fingers on Newton’s left pectoral, just above his nipple, and traces the edges of the great green kaiju’s head. “Was it terribly painful?”

“Nn,” Newton squeaks.

“Hm?” Hermann says. 

“No,” Newton says. He sounds breathless. “Hey, uh, you almost done–” The edge of Hermann’s thumb accidentally grazes his nipple, and Newton squeaks again, the rest of the sentence coming out in a high-pitched wheeze, “–uh, feeling me up?”

Mortified, and finally realizing exactly what it is he’s doing, Hermann snatches his hand away. “Ah–Newton–” he stammers, ears going hot, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Newton chooses precisely the wrong moment to glance down. Difficult though it is to make out definite shapes through the water, there is no denying that Hermann’s swimming trunks are quite tented. Newton’s eyes widen. “Hermann?”

“Oh, hell,” Hermann says. He buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Newton, I didn’t mean–”

There are strong, calloused fingers on his wrists, prying his hands away, and Hermann opens his eyes to see Newton’s face above his, Newton kneeling in the vee of his legs. His breath is warm, and smells like the bottle of soda he bought at a vending machine in the airport. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he declares.

Hermann blinks.

Newton’s tongue–pink–darts out to wet his lower lip–pinker. He presses his mouth–soft–to Hermann’s. For a minute, they move awkwardly, chastely, against one another, stiffly, even, and then Newton gives a tentative swipe with his tongue at the seam of Hermann’s lips.

The floodgates of desire open within Hermann all at once. A filthy moan rises in the back of his throat; he seizes Newton’s shoulders, drawing him forward, closer, until their chests are flush together; his mouth parts open eagerly for Newton, and he draws Newton’s tongue forward with his own. “Newton,” he breathes out. Newton tastes like the soda, too–sugary, too-sweet. “Oh, Newton–”

Impatient, over-excited, Newton shoves his hand gracelessly down Hermann’s trunks and wraps around his prick. “Fuck,” he pulls away from their kiss to whine, “were you jerking off before I got here? That’s so fucking hot. God. What were you thinking about? Were you thinking about me?”

Hermann had not been jerking off, but if Newton’s libido will be stoked to greater heights with a little bit of flattery, he can’t see how a small lie could do any harm. “I was,” he says.

Newton begins to slide his hand up and down Hermann’s prick. He’s very skilled at it. The other hand, he settles at the back of Hermann’s neck. “Fuck. Were you thinking about doing me in here? Over the side? Or me doing you?”

“Er,” Hermann wheezes out. “Yes?”

Clearly pleased, Newton begins to wank him faster. “Guh,” he says. “Touch my chest again, that was so hot. Please, please–”

Hermann obliges gladly. He splays his hands over Newton’s pectorals, squeezing, and–once he realizes how terribly sensitive Newton’s nipples are, because twice now Hermann’s only grazed one and produced a full-body shiver in the man–focuses his onslaught on those instead. With every small pinch, Newton cries out. When Hermann lowers his head to take one in his mouth, Newton straddles his right thigh and begins humping his hard prick against it in earnest.

“That’s so debase,” Hermann pants into his chest, blushing. “Really, Newton, you ought to just let me use my hand.”

“Guh,” Newton whines again. “No, no, I want you to touch me instead.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Newton says. “Anywhere, anywhere…”

His hand is flying over Hermann so fast it’s difficult to think, let alone to consciously grope and explore Newton’s body, but–resuming variably grazing his teeth and flicking his tongue over Newton’s nipples–Hermann obliges again, dragging his nails down Newton’s sturdy back, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Newton’s backside and kneading at him gently. Newton’s movements against his thigh turn graceless, and Hermann is excited to feel small slide of sticky precome on his skin before the churning water quickly washes it away.

“I’m gonna come,” Newton pants. His head is tossed back in wild abandon, the image of hedonistic pleasure. It’s a wonder he can even still formulate whole sentences: Hermann imagines if he were as overstimulated as Newton obviously is, he’d black out. The simple handjob is almost too much to bear. “Yeah, I’m gonna come, are you–?”

“Kiss me, and I will,” Hermann says.

Newton stoops down, mashing their mouths together happily, and light fizzles behind Hermann’s eyelids as he spills over Newton’s hand. Newton gives a few more needy thrusts against his thigh; his cry echoes off the bathroom walls, and Hermann feels more sticky warmth on his skin. He slumps on top of Hermann when he’s finished. He’s shaking.

Hermann pats his back. “Well done,” he says, weakly, and Newton giggles just as weakly. He could go for a nap, he thinks. Preferably with Newton curled up next to him. The twin bed will be a tight fit, but they’ll manage.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (10/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Fun fact about why it takes me so long to write stuff. I write everything out of order. The very first scene I wrote of this fiction is in this chapter.

She cannot help but be wary. She has seen what happens when Hans Westergaard shows what he wants and she is all too familiar with that heat and tension. Her body tightens in anticipation of what he means, and does her best to hide her apprehension behind professionalism.

"While I am sure we all are thrilled with the mystery of your offer, it really is critical that we establish exactly what you want as quickly as we can as our timeline is so limited." 

She has never had a client be so withdrawn about their event or purpose before. Most clients could not wait to throw ideas and concepts and colors in her direction or instead all the things they didn’t want. So far she knows he liked the wedding because they danced and that he likes the ocean. She is in no way prepared for an event where that is the center. His lack of forthcoming throws her off balance and makes her irritable. She is not sure if it is just the Hans Westergaard way or if she is actually losing control of the situation. Whatever it is, she does not like it, but she hides her discomfort behind a Mona Lisa smile.

"Of course. Which is why I am going to show it to you as soon as I can. But it will require the wearing of swimsuits and the ability to swim. Are you all up to the occasion?” He is in full showman now, the elegant host, and while she feels more at ease when he is in this space she also likes it less. The conflict leaves her with feelings she promptly ignores and shoves down beneath the mental checklists ticking through her mind. 

“Per your vague instructions I believe we are all prepared for a swim,” she looks around at her team to get their confirmation even though she knows they all packed accordingly. “But really we have so much to cover. I think it will be best if we work through a few more steps before we get distracted.”

“Oh this is not a distraction. I promise.” He peers out over the ocean, shielding his eyes to make out something. “We have ten minutes before we need to get suited up so let’s talk until then.” He leans back and sips his coffee. “I would love to hear more from the team personally. Why do you all do what you do? What part of the events you manage is your favorite?” 

It is an unconventional question, but what other kind can she expect from Hans Westergaard? 

She watches as the team all look at each other with puzzled expressions and she is glad that at least this time she is not the only one befuddled by what Hans Westergaard has to say. 

“I mean - I guess my favorite thing is that I get to work with my family.” Anna chimes in first, smiling at Elsa and Kristoff. “We make a great team and I don’t know many families that can say that!” She turns to Rapunzel and Eugene as well. “And I’ve gained new family members I never knew before. So it is a win all around.”

“As someone deeply acquainted with the complications of family - I appreciate that Anna.” 

It is strange to hear her sister’s name on his lips, to see him smile at her and smile in return. 

Anna nudges Kristoff with her elbow and he grunts before offering:

“I get to work with my hands and make my wife happy. Not much better than that.” He chuckles when Anna throws her arm across his stomach and side hugs him. “Plus there is something awesome when a client sees you build the thing they wanted just like they wanted. Makes you feel like Santa or something.”

“The tables and altar at Eric’s weddings were incredible. You made those?”

Kristoff tilts his head, not one to enjoy outright praise, and then nods. 

Hans returns his nod with a smile. “Excellent work. Truly. I have ideas for you.”

Elsa sees an opportunity and cuts in: “We would love to hear more about those ideas so we can really talk them over and -”

“Hold on,” Mister Westergaard holds up his hand and focuses on the petite brunette across from him. “What is your favorite part of planning events?”

“Oh. I love weddings and I know you aren’t planning a wedding, but they are my favorite.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. “But my favorite part of my favorite weddings is the kiss. You can totally tell who is going to make it and who isn’t by the kiss. When the groom really kisses the bride - or bride kisses the bride - or groom and groom - oh you get it. When they kiss them in the way that you can almost feel it from the back row… yeah. That’s my favorite part because I know we did something to give them their happily ever after.”

Leave it to Rapunzel would say something fantastical. Never mind that it has absolutely nothing to do with her role in the company or what is at the heart of their events, but it is water under the bridge. Elsa sniffs.

“Is everything okay?” It is Mister Westergaard. He is arching his brow in the most annoying fashion because it makes her stomach flutter and her mouth go dry and she screwed up. She drew attention to herself at the worst time possible.

“Don’t mind her.” Rapunzel interjects before Elsa can even force a smile. “It’s just that Elsa has never really been kissed.” She smiles a little too broadly at her boss before looking at Eugene (who is honestly at a loss). 

Elsa is flummoxed by the comment and she can practically see the mischief dancing across Rapunzel’s features. She is living for this, needling her like the second younger sister she never had. Anna is hiding laughter behind her strawberry lemonade where Kristoff’s eyes are wider than she has ever seen them. 

She cannot even look at Hans Westergaard. 

Eugene clears his throat and swoops in while Elsa’s mind sputters at Rapunzel’s brazenness.

“Well to be completely honest I had a bit of a rough start. I didn’t exactly use my super negotiation skills for good, but Elsa gave me an opportunity to do what I do in a productive way and that is what I enjoy the most. I like knowing I can con a deal for my client,” it is a joke and they all force a laugh. “Plus I like parties.”

Even Hans Westergaard manages a smirking chuckle without all of Eugene’s history. Chances are he has files on all them from some sort of private detective or something invasive like that anyway. There is no need for elaboration.

“So what about you, Hans?” Anna says, sipping her drink, deflecting from what was to inevitably be Elsa’s turn to share. “Why E&A Events? What do we bring to the table that you want for your event?”

Elsa could hug her sister for the segway. 

Anything to focus past the horrendous mess Rapunzel insisted on introducing and keep Elsa from having to answer Hans’ time wasting question.

Hans looks at them all and smiles. It is wide and easy, like he has never had any other job besides smiling at them and his response makes her boil. She hates his smile, his calm, that he had somehow gotten her on this ship where her insides are being flipped and churned and turned upside down. 

“I want you because you are unexpected,” he says matter-of-factly. “You aren’t what I thought I would want but somehow you are exactly, wholly, and perfectly what I need right now.” 

Elsa does not need to look up from her tablet to know he is speaking directly to her. She can feel his gaze as sure as she can feel the hammering pulse in her throat. It takes her best efforts to  take rein of her stampeding thoughts and draw a deep breath.

“That is very nice of you to say Mister Westergaard,” she pretends to be very busy taking notes on her tablet. “We are excited to dive into the particulars about why you chose us but right now I think the question we all have is just what exactly we are endeavoring to initiate.” 

He nods and looks again at the horizon just as the ship’s pace slows dramatically. His smile spreads. He looks back at them.

“You’re about to find out. It is time to suit up.”

….

Elsa put on her incredibly conservative one piece in the stark privacy of a marble and gold bathroom. The couples were given other rooms and while she knows the lighting is not flattering all she can do is look at flaws in the mirror. The suit had been specifically chosen because it did not show any of her scars. The navy suit had no cut outs, barely scooped below her collarbones and shoulder blades. The suit is made out the same fabric that swim athletes use. It compresses every inch it encases but it covers everything and is not flashy in the slightest. 

She had told Anna and Rapunzel to leave the bikinis at home.

She hopes they had or else her suit is going to look impossibly old fashioned.

She turns sidewise in the mirror and sucks in. She is not certain why. Her shape is her shape. There is little much she can do about that now. Her swim wrap is her saving grace. It looks much like any of the other dresses she might wear throughout the week though  is slightly sheer. The almost black is burned out with floral patterns and wraps at the waist with a feminine sensibility she normally eschews, but she had nothing else that would serve on such short notice. 

She looks at herself once more, feels her bare feet on the cool tile and breathes. This is fine. She is simply winning over a client that her company needs to impress. That is all. 

She presses her hands against her stomach and breathes. 

She does not tell herself it will be okay. She has not done that in years. Instead she tells herself it will all be managed. It will happen and she will handle it, whatever it is. This is a test and she intends on passing it. 

There are risk to swimming with her condition, but she knows her team has her back. They will watch her. It will be okay.

She tosses her braid over her shoulder, makes sure her personal items and stacked tidily in the corner, forces herself out of the bathroom.

The rest of them are already waiting on the aft desk. She hopes she hadn’t taken too long, not wanting to raise suspicion by her lengthy change. She assesses everyone’s dress as she approaches. The expression of personalities under the instruction of ‘dress appropriately’ is not lost on her with Anna’s tankini beneath a loosely tied robe, Kristoff’s rash guard and the longest possible swimmers available. Eugene trends towards more fashionable Bermuda cuts and Rapunzel’s suit is a one piece that hardly qualifies with all of the crazy cut outs. That leaves Hans Westergaard who stands in shorts similar to Eugene’s and a plain white t-shirt that is too tight to be decent.

She tries to not notice the shape of his calves, the size and shape of his feet, but it is a lost cause. Her rebellious mind grabs onto these facts before she can convince it not to. He smiles as he sees her and it is the same earth shattering power that leaves her shaky and uncertain where the rest of the world went.

“Shall we?” he says to the group before leading them out of the shaded part of the deck out into the bright sun. 

She squints and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as he leads them out past the infinity pool. There are wide steps beyond it railed with stainless steel grips and she clings to them as they descend to what appears to be a small launching platform.. At the base there is a large white space where three crew members wait. They demonstrate general snorkeling protocol that she vaguely remembers from when she was six, before this all began. They offer up equipment. They fit it to them. Then the worst comes. 

Every swimmer must have one buddy. Pick your buddy and know you are responsible for them out in the water.  

And the lines are so clearly drawn. 

She stands fidgeting with her mask and flippers knowing she is now responsible for Hans Westergaard. Anna casts her a knowing glance, but Elsa knows that damage that would be done if she let Anna be her partner. The affront will be obvious, personal, and honestly this is the least of worst case scenarios. 

It is just swimming. They won’t have to touch or speak. All she has to do is make sure that Hans Westergaard does not die. Easy peasy. 

With a return glance she calms her sister’s concerns. It will be okay. This is okay. She is okay. 

Then the crew is distributing sturdy plastic bottles to everyone named with only the words BODY and FACE This time though Mr Westergaard steps up to explain the reasons.

“This is just a little project I’ve been working on - a new line of sunblock. If you don’t mind using this instead of the kind you brought I would love to know what you think.”

Elsa holds both bottles in her hands thinking it is a bit strange, but she would rather have him be strange than charming. She had applied sunblock that morning in her apartment just in case, but the sun is bright and she is not interested in burning. 

She opens the bottle labeled BODY and starts with her legs and feet. The scent and feel of a lotion is pleasing. The texture is not oily or rough but actually absorbs into the skin easily. The scent is not overwhelmingly tropical but instead has the essence of eucalyptus. It is refreshing. She hates to admit how much she enjoys it.

They are all standing fairly close together but the couples have sectioned off into their own little bubbles. She and Hans are on the outside, reasonably spaced. Anna has lost her robe as has Rapunzel. She is next and the idea of him seeing her in something so opposite of what she normally wears makes her heart race. What if he was cataloguing her traits the way she inadvertently was his? What if he liked what he saw? What if he didn’t? 

She reprimands herself. None of that matters. This is a job just like any other job and she needs to stop losing her mind over things that don’t matter.

Her fingers work the tie at her side, thankful now more than ever that they all were wearing sunglasses. If he did look at her she wouldn’t know. She shrugs and the wrap falls to her elbows and then slips all the way to her hands. She carefully draws it in front of her and folds it neatly before setting it next to her snorkel gear and hopes it is bright enough that no one can tell she is blushing. 

She retrieves her sunblock and works her way over all the parts she had missed before until she arrives at  the exposed part of her back that she cannot reach. She is struggling to bend her arms to cover stubborn spots between her shoulder blades, head bent down, and a pair of feet comes into her field of vision. She looks up and Hans Westergaard stands there with his  sanctioned sunblock in his hand. He looks at her with a smile that is nothing but warm, sincere, and if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she is sure that his eyes would hold that defenseless, human look that always rattles her.. 

“Need some help?” He offers. “The back is always the first place to burn.”

Her decline is on the tip of her tongue but she hesitates. She can always just ask Anna for help but how will that look? No matter how infuriating and unsettling this man is he is still her client and she is trying to make a point. She can handle his flirting and still maintain a professional nature.

“Okay.” She gives a stiff nod. 

He circles around her and that is worse. She is standing there in a garment that shows every lump, bump, and irregularity. It is not cut for flattery and she should be glad of that at this moment, but she finds herself wishing she has the more daring choices of her counterparts. Or at least something that doesn’t look like she is about to take a water aerobics class at senior citizens center.

No. She mentally reprimands herself. This is for the best. She is here to be professional, and he cannot create ideas about her interest in enticing him in any way when she is wearing the equivalent of a nuns habit in modern swimwear. 

She hears him open the bottle, make the necessary squirt, and she waits then for the first touch. It takes longer than expected to come, but when it does her entire body stiffens. 

She had expected cold but there is none of that. The lotion and his touch are warm. He spreads the cream over the available skin before he begins the process of massaging it in. She stays perfectly still, not daring to move, and does everything in her power to not consider that he is touching her, she is allowing it, and that the strength of his fingers is enjoyable.

His thumbs trace the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. The slick of the lotion gives his touch a silky glide as his hands work across her skin, tracing the delicate bulbs of her spine. He comes up to where her braid hangs across her neck and pushes it to the side before she can stop him. 

She knows exactly when he sees it. She can sense it in his hesitation. The scar creeping from the base of her neck up under her hairline is a wide pink line, made wider and more noticeable with every cut, and is something she hides with low lying hairstyles and high collars but now… 

She can practically hear his breath catch at the sight. 

His thumbs run in tandem up along the length of her scar in impossible reverence. She is sure that he can feel the rapid rhythm of her heart against his fingertips where they rest on her throat before she pulls away. 

“I'm sure that's good. Thank you.” she flips her braids back over her neck in an attempt to not rub the spot his thumbs had branded and looks at him with a dare to ask her.

It would be a relief in so many ways if he would just ask. If she could just tell him and scare him away before they get any further in this unnamed dance. Behind his sunglasses it is nearly impossible to tell what his intent is until a smile spreads over his face. Instead of probing he hands her the bottle of sunscreen.

“Return the favor?” It is a question as much as it isn't and she can hardly keep from blushing when he strips off his t-shirt. He winks as he turns his back to her and she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.

But that isn’t all she sees.

Her eyes trace the ropes of his muscles as they bunch and pull as he adjusts his posture to do his own application on the front of his torso. A wide smattering of freckles swaths his broad shoulders in frenetic clusters. Despite his fair complexion there is a tawny glow that speaks of his love of being outdoors. 

For a long moment she stands there frozen just staring as he worked his hands down the length of his arms. She watches his hand slip over the enticingly sharp cuts and swells of his shoulder and then down lower. He turns his head a bit to cast a look in her direction with a smirking grin. 

“If you need more lotion, just let me know.” 

Then he is back to it. His short phrase jerks her out of whatever spell she had been under and now it feels like all eyes are on her. Is her sister watching, is Kristoff? Eugene definitely would be and Rapunzel probably was brokering some sort of wager about what is actually happening and what will happen. 

She grits her teeth. 

She knows if she looks to see if any of that is true she will not be able to do this, which is exactly why she doesn’t. She’s spent the better part of today convincing everyone that this is nothing more than a harmless flirtation and that she can handle it. Running away screaming because he needs help applying sunscreen is not going to do much for her case, but she knows she is going to hear about this later.

So she might as well put on a show.

She grabs a nearby bottle and squares her shoulders. The cap opens with a snap. She focuses on each motion as she squirts a generous amount into the palm of her opposite hand. It is too much, she knows, but it is the only shield she has. She rubs her hands together to coat them thoroughly and then, before she can lose her nerve, reaches out to touch. 

Even with the thick creamy coat of sunblock she can feel the heat of him rising to her touch. The broad lines of his back are long with foreign trenches and cords of muscle telling their story of use. His body is not exaggerated in size like her brother-in-law’s, but it is well formed, athletically cut. There is a kind of feline grace about him and the way he moves, the way his calculating eyes watch her move in this game she can hardly remember starting.

She is more rough than she needs to be, pressing hard enough that she feels him brace. She does not take the care he did to make sure that every inch of skin is absolutely slathered and rubbed in. She works from the center of his back up over his shoulder blades and then down close to the line of his swim trunks.

She stares at her own hands moving across his skin and she tries to think of anything but the idea that she is just inches away from dangerous territory. As if this entire exercise isn’t dangerous territory. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding  and steps away.

"There. All set." She holds her hands down at her sides, palms still tingling with his heat.

He turns and faces her. 

"So," he sets his sunscreen on the deck and straightens. "Snorkel buddies? What do you say?"

She has to respect that he is actually asking instead of just assuming. It gives her the opportunity to negotiate.

"We could always triple up. No sense in creating a superfluous twosome."

"There is no possible way that any group you are a part of could be superfluous," he grins. "But it's statistically safer in pairs. Trust me one we get out there you will have so much to see that I promise you will be glad you only have to keep track of one other person."

She is not going to ask for his source on those stats, but instead she asks: “What exactly are we going to look at?” 

She had not thought it possible, but his smile grew three sizes at her question.

“My initiative,” he pulls off his sunglasses, puts them off to the side, and fits his mask over the top of his head. “Ready to see?” 

She looks over to the others and they all have their gear ready to go and are watching them. How long had they been watching them? She looks back at Hans and nods. 

He leads them to the edge of the platform. It is a few feet above the water with a plastic and metal ladder on the side. Hans sits, pulls his flippers onto his dangling feet, and then slides off into the blue water. He pops up only an instant later and swims back a few feet to look up at them. 

“Water’s great!” He treads, powerful shoulder muscles rolling. “Come on in.” 

They all follow suit. Elsa is the last to slip from the safe edge of the boat into the water below. It is cold, not freezing, but definitely not bathtub water. The temperature is jarring at first. Her body cramps and hesitates as she stays submerged, but she manages to kick to the surface. She pops up on a sputtering gasp, reorients herself, and swims to the others. 

“We’re swimming to that buoy over there.” He points to a yellow speck a few hundred yards away. I recommend using one of these to help with the swim.” He raises his arm out of the water and gestures. Several life preserver belts fly over the edge from a helpful crew member and they all grab one. “Also once we are out there it is a strict look but don’t touch policy. Ready?” 

“When will we know we are seeing what we are supposed to be seeing?” Rapunzel asks, her intrepid curiosity shining through.

“I have a feeling you will know.” He smiles and pulls his mask over his eyes. “Follow me!”

[ previous ]

[athina-blaine]

“But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”

“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”

“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”

“Yeah.”

Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.

-

Natalie Wilson just wanted her date to go well.

For @there-is-no-right-way​

Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]

Words: 3,505

Tags:  POV Outsider, Parenthood, Fluff and Humor, Dating, Cryptid Dads Cramping Their Teenage Daughter's Style

~

Taking one last moment to fix her hair in the mirror, Natalie leaned back in her car seat with a haggard sigh.

It was just dinner and a movie. Her and Mia literally ate at a Red Lobster and watched the new Magician’s Crescendo just last week. This was the same thing.

She pressed her face into the steering wheel.

Except that it wasn’t.

They were girlfriends now.

It wasn’t the same thing at all.

Without giving herself time to put the car in reverse and speed into the nearby pond, she shouldered the door open.

Relax. This was Mia they were talking about. Even if the date ended in Natalie absolutely humiliating herself, Mia would just take it all in with that adorable, secret smile of hers. They’d be fine. Their friendship would be fine. It’s fine. Natalie was fine.

She pressed the doorbell, trying to focus on its pleasant chiming as opposed to the panicked dance of her heart. The door opened and Mr. Sims was there.

“Right on time, Miss Wilson.”

Some of the stiffness left her shoulders. Miss Wilson. So posh. Pip pip tickety whatsit, and so on. A hoot and a half.

Mr. Sims smirked, and a heat rose to her face. Was she being obvious?

“Is, uh, Mia ready?”

“Just about. I believe she’s finishing up her hair. Come in.”

Mr. Sims led them through their tidy living room and into the kitchen where Mr. Blackwood was crouching over a pan. Looked like fish. The smell of garlic and spices wafted over her and her mouth watered. Man, she was starving. 

“Smells good, Mr. B.”

Mr. Blackwood looked up from the pan and smiled. “Thank you.” Lowering the heat of the stove, he turned towards them, wiping his hands on his apron. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Aw.” She futzed with her short black skirt, which still had traces of cat hair, despite her efforts with the lint roller. “Thanks. The earrings are my mom’s, though. She’s letting me borrow them.”

“It suits you, love.”

Mr. Sims nodded his agreement. “Your mother was telling us about your violinist audition. How did that go?”

“Oh, man.” Her fingers had gotten completely tangled in the last bar and when the scout had said, Good luck on your performance, she had said, Thanks, you too. “I think it went okay. I don’t know, the scout was kind of standoffish. I don’t think she like the song I played.”

“You did fine. She was just battling a bout of indigestion.”

Natalie chuckled, but Mr. Sims’ expression didn’t change. He did that a lot, actually. Just saying these strange things, confident in stuff he shouldn’t be confident in. Perhaps it was just an unusual style of British humor?

Mr. Blackwood nudged his husband’s side.

“Go check on Mia, Jon. She won’t want to keep her date waiting.”

Thoughts of Mr. Sims’ oddities fled her head. Her date. That was Natalie, Natalie was Mia’s date. They were talking about Natalie and Mia. And their date. Their date.

She was so absorbed in the comment that she only somewhat processed the look Mr. Blackwood gave his husband. Something akin to the look her mom gave her when she rambled on too long about her true crime podcasts. Mr. Sims scrubbed the back of his head, the closest she’d ever seen him to looking sheepish, before making his way up the stairs.

Natalie prepared herself for more small talk with Mr. Blackwood, but there was a thumping sound, a yelp, and a moment later, Mia came charging down the stairs.

“I’m so sorry!”

Natalie was incapable of responding at first. Mia had curled her soft brown hair into ringlets and her eyes sparkled. She was wearing the necklace Natalie had gotten her for her birthday last year.

“So,” said Mr. Blackwood, “dinner and a movie, is it?”

“Yep,” Mia said as she rounded the corner, throwing her arm around Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie’s stomach swooped.

“Yeah, uh, we’re going to see that new Haunting’s Row movie.”

“Sounds like fun. Did I ever tell you where my husband took us on our first date?”

“Dad.”

“A library. And not even to the parts where everyone went to make out.”

“Dad.”

Mr. Blackwood laughed, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his husband’s scowl. “Well, you two have fun. Try not to stay out too late.”

“We won’t,” said Mia, herding Natalie towards the door. As Natalie walked down the drive towards her car, though, Mia turned to her fathers in the doorway.

“Be cool tonight, okay?” she said, her voice low. “Especially you.”

“Why especially me?” Mr. Sims asked. The glare he received from both his daughter and husband was enough to scorch Natalie ten feet away.

“I’ll make sure he behaves,” Mr. Blackwood said, clapping a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Have fun, sweetie.”

Mia pouted scornfully for good measure, before leaning up to plant a kiss on both their cheeks and turning with a wave. The two of them loaded into the car and Natalie flipped on her selected playlist for the evening before backing out of the driveway.

“Oh, I love this song,” Mia said, and Natalia flushed at the praise, having carefully curated this playlist over the course of the last five days. Everything had to be exactly right, after all.

 “So,” Natalie started once they reached the highway. “I was thinking of that Thai place over on Victoria and 8th. What do you think?”

Mia was about to answer, but her phone dinged.

“Oh, just a sec.” Her phone clicked at she unlocked it. In the corner of Natalie’s eyes, she could see Mia’s nose scrunch, just a bit, the way it did whenever she was irritated.

“That your old man?”

Mia put her phone away with a sniff. “Yeah.”

Natalie raised a brow, waiting for an answer. Texts from Mia’s dad that got her to make that face were always interesting. Seeming to sense her expectation, Mia huffed.

“Giovanni’s place is doing free cannolis with a large pizza.”

“Oh, awesome,” Natalie said, flicking on her blinker to turn right at the next exit. “Your dad always knows the best deals in town. I don’t know why you get so grumpy about it.”

“I guess it’s not impossible he could have found it online or something. He's way too lame for that, though."

Well, yeah, where else would he have found it? The newspaper? Actually, Mr. Sims seemed like the type to still read newspapers.

“Your dads are awesome. My mom still shows off the doilies Mr. Blackwood made for her last Christmas. I love it when he calls me love, too. It’s so,” she tried to find the words and failed, “British.”

“Why, yes, British people in Britain.” Mia looked out the car window. “Have we moved countries since last I checked?”

“You know what I mean. You Englishmen with your adorable little accents.”

“We don’t have accents. You have an accent.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Say aluminium.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Say it. A-lu-min-i-um.”

Natalie made a face. “A-lu-min-um.”

“You’re missing an entire I.”

“I am not. Americans don’t spell it with that I. We’re efficient like that.”

Mia settled back in her seat with a terse sound. “Efficiency, bastardization, whatever you want to call it.”

They both only lasted a few moments before bursting out into giggles. Their exit was fast approaching, and Natalie checked if the lane was clear.

“So, Giovanni’s?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to say no to a free cannoli.” Then, she added in a low grumble, “Even if it’s cheating.”

Natalie shook her head. She just didn’t get Mia sometimes.

As she drove down the darkening road, she glanced cautiously to her side. Mia’s hand was resting on the center console. Just sitting there. Probably cold, you know?

Holding her breath, Natalie crept one hand off the steering wheel and over to Mia’s (doubtlessly cold) hand. When she touched her wrist, Mia startled, and Natalie flinched back. Dammit. She should have asked first.

Then, Mia smiled and took Natalie’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. Oh, that was smooth. Mia was so smooth. Her heart pounded in her ears as her world shrank to the single point of their joined hands.

“Slow down!”

Whoops.

 Natalie’s only ever been to Giovanni’s once before, when she and the gang were skulking around downtown for carbs after Mia’s soccer practice. It was nicely decorated, and the lowlights set the intimate mood Natalie wanted.

However, the place was nearly empty, on a Friday night, no less. While it suited their purposes, she suspected there was a reason why the desserts were free.

The hostess jumped at the sight of them but led them both to their seats.

“So,” Natalie began, flipping through the menu. “Toppings.”

“Definitely green peppers. Onions, too.”

“No onions.”

“What? You love onions.”

“Yeah, but, you know,” a damning heat rose to her face, “for later.”

“Oh.” Mia’s lips curled as she stared at her menu. She cleared her throat. “I brought mints, okay?”

Oh, mints. Genius.  Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Okay, onions. Pepperoni?” Mia scrunched up her nose. “Oh, right. Miss I-Don’t-Like-The-Best-Pizza-Topping.”

“Look, you wouldn’t be so hot for it either if your dad was telling you about all the crazy butchers he’s run into as a bedtime story.”

“Right, right. The, uh, what was it? Bonepuller?”

“Boneturner. And he was a dickhead. Turned my dad’s bones right out of him.”

“My mom wouldn’t even let me watch that Disney movie about the kid vampire. You ever thinking about writing down some of those spooky stories? You and your dad are so imaginative with that sort of thing.”

“Nah, that stuff’s boring.”

Like a story about an invasion of parasitic flesh worms was boring. No accounting for taste. Perhaps Natalie would have to take it to paper herself someday. “But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”

“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”

“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”

“Yeah.”

Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.

She took after her old man far too much, in Natalie's opinion.

 The movie theater, unlike the restaurant, was packed. They waited in line for fifteen minutes and when they entered the auditorium, only a few scattered seats remained.

How hadn’t Natalie seen this coming? It’s not like Haunted Row 3 wasn’t the most highly anticipated horror event of the summer! She shouldn’t have insisted on that cheesecake alongside the cannoli, but Mia loved cheesecake. What were they going to do now?

Mia’s phone chimed again. Natalie turned, hopeful, like a dog to a bell. Yanking her phone out, Mia scanned the text, lips puckered like she was sucking on sour candy.

“There’s some seats over there.”

Natalie turned around, and, yeah, there they were. Two seats shoved in the far back. Not ideal, but better than nothing. She was equal parts relieved because the night wasn’t ruined, and stunned, because how? She glanced around the movie theater, not sure what she was looking for, but sure, whatever it was, was looking right back at her.

“I’m going to make a call real quick,” Mia said as they claimed the seats. She brought the phone to her ear, turning away from Natalie and lowering her voice to a waspish whisper.

“Hello? Jon! You said you wouldn’t— It was implied— Give Dad the phone. Do it. Dad? Yeah.” Mia nodded. “Yeah. Bury him in a board game or something. Okay. Yeah. Yes, Jon, I love you, too. Okay. Bye.”

She turned back to Natalie with a smile, a smile Natalie tried to return, but she felt it came out rather shaky.

“You said your dad worked with security cameras or something, right?”

“What? Pft. No, he’s a teacher at Frederickson. Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Uh—”

The movie started. Mia shushed her and Natalie glared, but settled in.

 They only got halfway through the before Natalie fled the auditorium with trembling legs and a pounding heart. She splashed her face in the bathroom, trying to control her breathing. The door opened, and Natalie looked up to see Mia in the mirror, and she groaned.

“I told you to wait. You’re missing the movie.”

“It’s Haunted Row. Everyone dies but the virgin and the dog, the end.” Mia put a hand on Natalie’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. “I don’t understand why you take us to these horror movies when you get scared so easily. They always give you nightmares.”

“They don’t always give me nightmares.”

Mia lifted a brow. With a frustrated sigh, Natalie shook off her hand.

“I mean, I guess I just like it.”

“How can you like it? You were about to burst into tears.”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to put into words, how being afraid made her feel. “You know how you like spicy foods, right? It hurts to eat, but it still feels good?”

Mia nodded.

“Well, it’s like that. I just like feeling that way.” She turned to the mirror with a sniff, grabbing a bundle of paper towels. “The bit with the spider was a bit much, though.”

“Don’t tell my dad. He’ll go on for hours on how adorable spiders are and that everyone else is just mean.”

Oh, Natalie was aware of the monologue. With a wet chuckle, she patted her face dry, thankful her mother had suggested the waterproof makeup that night. “Well, let’s go back.”

“You sure? I think they’re playing that new superhero movie further down.”

“I’m fine. I want to see the dog live.”

They took their seats back, and as the movie continued, dread slowly slunk back over her. If she curled up a little tighter into Mia’s side, however, well, that was okay, especially when Mia wrapped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close.

Things weren’t so scary after that.

 Natalie pulled up into the driveway, and that was it. Date over. But her shoulders were still stiff with tension.

She knew what she wanted to do, but how did you go about actually doing it? None of the articles were clear on that tidbit, in her opinion.

“Here we are,” she said.

Mia hummed, making no effort to leave. That was a good sign, right? But Natalie was still frozen in place. Oh, god, this was a nightmare.

“Don’t move.”

Natalie jumped. Mia was reaching towards her with both hands and gently brushed her shoulder. Her face became hot, but when Mia pulled back to reveal a spider in her palm, she leapt back with a shriek.  

“How can you just hold it like that?”

“Dad used to have a pet tarantula when I was a kid.”

Oh. Yeah, that made sense. She wasn’t expecting an actual explanation.

She slumped in her seat. The hysterical giggles started small at first, before they began wracking her entire body. “You’re so cool. I can’t believe …” Sobering, she swallowed down the words. “Well, I’m just glad you wanted to, you know. Do this. Together.”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Mia ran a hand through her ringlets, which had slowly relaxed and fuzzed over the course of the evening. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I think you’re pretty cool, too.”

Mia was still leaning over the console, much closer than before.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?”

Natalie could just barely manage a jerky nod. They had forgotten the mints, but that was okay. It was simple, just two mouths gently pressed together, but it was Mia, therefore, it was perfect.

“I should probably get you inside,” Natalie said when they parted, her insides warm and gooey.

"Yeah, maybe."

Natalie was halfway up the sidewalk when she turned, expecting to find Mia by her side, but Mia was by the car. With her hands still cupped, Mia was furiously whispering at the little speck of a spider. Good grief, she could be a strange one, at times.

Gently depositing it on the ground, Mia straightened, clapping her hands clean. When their eyes met, she smiled, before gesturing to the house.

Strange, yes, but there was something oh so loveable in that strangeness.

“We’re home,” Mia announced as she burst through the front door. Her parents were crouched over the living room table, playing a game with cards and dice. Mr. Sims was so absorbed, Mr. Blackwood had to nudge him with his elbow, and he reemerged with a confused mumble.

“Did you have a good time?” Mr. Blackwood asked.

Natalie nodded. “Yeah, we had a great time.” She turned to Mia. “I should probably head out, I promised my mom I'd come home right away. Study group tomorrow?”

"Yeah, sounds good," Mia said, dropping a kiss on Natalie's cheek. "Remind Greg it's his turn to bring snacks, okay?"

Natalie was too flustered by the kiss to come up with a response, and Mia waved as she raced upstairs. Mr. Sims got up from the table to walk Natalie to the door.

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“Thanks. And thanks for all the, uh, tips. They really helped us out.” She glanced down at her fidgeting fingers. “I really wanted tonight to go well.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m rather in the doghouse for it. Nothing less than what I deserve, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I was wondering, though. About the, uh, movie theater seats?” She scrubbed her arm. How to phrase it? “Were you …?”

Mr. Sims stared. His eyes were so piercing.

“Never mind, it’s nothing. I should probably get going.”

Mr. Sims smiled, and there was a peculiar quirk to his lips. “Drive safely. And, again, don’t worry about the audition, I’m sure the scout loved what you played. Who doesn’t love Adele?”

He always had kind things to say. As he closed the door and Natalie turned to leave, she had a thought.

She hadn’t told anyone she was playing a pop song, not even her mom. It had been too embarrassing deciding to play such mainstream music, but it had been the only song she was confident in playing.

She turned, wanting to know who had told him, when she saw it.

Eyes.

Dozens and dozens of eyes.

The door closed with a definitive click!, but she could still feel it. Her legs were glued to the ground, waiting to be pushed into a fight or a flight. Forcing herself to move, she stumbled back to her car, and she had the most peculiar sensation that she was standing in front of an audience waiting to laugh at her.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel as her chest effused with fear. Real fear, not the pre-packaged popcorn fear from a scary movie, although she wouldn’t have even been able to make that distinction ten seconds ago.

A text tone pulled her out of her stupefaction.

>call me if u can’t sleep tonight, ok? <3

The tension hissed out of her body like a steaming kettle. She looked up and, in the window, she could see Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims arguing over something on the table. The board game, probably. Mr. Sims wasn’t looking at her. In any sense.

An old memory came back to her. It was only a few years ago, just before she started high school. Her dad had come to visit, and it had ended badly, as it usually did, and she had stormed out of the house, as she usually did.

She had walked and walked and walked until her legs hurt and the clouds turned from white and fluffy to dark and menacing. The road had stretched on and on behind her. She couldn't make it in time.

Then, a familiar car had rolled over the horizon and stopped just in front of her, and her mom's head popped out of the open window, crying and spitting fury and fire and ‘what-were-you-thinking’s. Mr. Sims was in the driver’s seat, watching her. Seeing her. His eyes had been soft and concerned.

She blinked. Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims were still in the window, only they were laughing now. Mr. Sims kissed the side of his husband’s head before they moved inside and out of sight.

She didn’t know what she knew, about Mia or her fathers or any of it. But there were a lot of things she didn’t know, right? The ocean was the epitome of unknowable, but she and Mia were still planning a trip to the beach at the start of summer vacation, you know?

Snapping the car in reverse, she craned her neck to make sure no one was coming down the lane.

And hey, her mom used to be in a cult when she had been a teenager.

Every kid’s parent had something weird about them, right?

[thehopefuldandelion]

Not Him

Thank you @tindomrl​ for nagging my lazy butt to write this.

here for ao3. here for fanfiction.net

everlark.

I do not own any of these characters:)

***

“No, not him. Not fucking Peeta Mellark. He can’t be here.” I whisper to Annie while smoothing down my blazer and dress pants.

Peeta Mellark. The epitome to my existence. I am content, I have a steady boyfriend and a soon to be great job. He can’t be here to ruin it.

It all started on a balmy, summer day in 2nd grade. He pushed me off those darned yellow swings causing painful scrapes to appear on my knees and rough mulch to tangle in my hair. We grew up together in Panem, a small town in Oregon. I always liked him even though we never talked. And then that fucker pushed me off the swings. I know what you are thinking, “Katniss you were a little girl get over it”. There were other instances. In middle school, he won the award of having the most attendance which I was second to by 1 singular day. Darned flu. Or in Sophomore year when he spilled punch all over my dress at Homecoming on purpose. It gets even better, though. I was Valedictorian for our Senior Class and guess what he did when he found out. He stole my cap and gown. I’m not shitting you. He did and I will never forget it. This is why I hate Peeta Mellark. He’s a stickup, selfish prick and I, Katniss Everdeen, will never forgive him.

“Katniss, I’m sure he just works here,”she said reassuringly.“I doubt he’s here for the interview”.

“I hope so,” I mumbled under my breath.

My attention is focused on the man who had just come out of an office. No way. No fuckin’ way. How was I supposed to know that the very company I wanted a job at, was CEO’d by none other than Peeta Mellark. He looks around the room and locks eyes with me before saying,“Thank you all for coming today. As you are aware I am in need of a new secretary because my past employee is on maternity leave. Good luck!”

And with that Peeta Mellark walks back into his office, and calls the first interviewee in.

It seems that 2 hours pass until I am called in. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and take a deep breath. Why am I so nervous? What if he remembers me? Oh god. What if he brings it-

“Ms. Everdeen, I presume?”he asks cutting into my thoughts.

“Yes that is correct,”I respond while shaking his warm, calloused hand.

I briefly look up and lock eyes with him. Oh, those blue eyes and floppy curls. How did I ever hate this man. His past slender teenage figure has evened out, shown through the broad shoulders and muscular arms that make up his physique. He is hot. No not just hot, beautiful. Katniss, snap out of it. You have a boyfriend for God sakes. You loathe him.

“Wait...Katniss?”Peeta inquires with a glowing look on his face.

I pause, thinking of how to go about this. Do I pretend not to know him. This could cost me a job. Ah, what do I do?

“Peeta. It’s so good to see you again. How has life been treating you?”

“It’s been what, 7 years? Wow. Everything is going well for me. At least pertaining to the business. My love life is nonexistent and-well, I should probably stop before I get into it. “Peeta stared deeply into my eyes before glancing at his desk,”Anyway, why do you want to work at Mellark Enterprises?”

“My sister, Prim, is in medical school and I want to help her with student loan. Not only that but I need to pay my rent and pay bills and-”

“Ms. Everdeen, Katniss, calm down. It’s ok.” he says while reaching towards my hand and holding it.“Ignoring all the bills to be paid and debts to pay off, why do you really want to work here, Katniss?”

I look at our joined hands and quickly unclasp them, moving my hand to rest on top of my thigh. I can still feel the warmth from his large one. “Honestly, I didn’t even know this was your company. I just want a job and thought that being a secretary was a great way to start.”

Peeta peered at me with those baby blue eyes causing me to squirm in my seat. “Thank you, Katniss. I will go over your resume and get back to you if you get the position.”

As I embarked on the journey from the chair to the door, I heard Peeta say something the made my heart stop, “I look forward to seeing you soon, Ms. Everdeen.” He gave me a crooked grin causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Crap. What is he doing to me.

And with that I left the room.

***

Annie calls me later that afternoon and I recall all that had happened today.

“I can’t believe it was him. Why him? Of all the 7 billion people on this earth he could be my boss.”

“I mean, Katniss, you don’t have to take the job when you get it.”

“If I get it and I need this job, though. No one else is hiring.”I searched for days but not a single business needed another employee. I felt a spark of hope when I saw the neon pink flyer stating a secretary position at Mellark Enterprises was available, that is, until him.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you Katniss. He can’t be that bad. When you get the job just take it. I don’t think you'll regret it,” Annie instructed me.

With a groan, I told Annie bye and hung up.

I hope I don’t regret this.

Behind me, I hear the sound of the door to the apartment opening. Thank goodness Gale was home.

“Hey Catnip,” Gale greets me with a peck while taking off his tie.

“Hey,” I respond unenthusiastically,”How was your day?”

“Great, actually. You know the new intern I was telling you about?”

“Yeah. Madge?”

“Yup. God, she's great, Katniss. I’m so glad I snatched her up before anyone else could get their claws in her.”

“That’s great, babe,” I say while peering at him skeptically. He has shown more and more interest in her since, well, 2 months ago. I trust Gale. Yeah we have our spats and our fiery personalities don’t exactly fit perfectly but I couldn't live without him. He’s my rock. He has been since we were 10 and met in the woods of all places. Both our dads liked to hunt so we always went along and one day we bumped into each other, literally.

I’ve noticed that Gale and I seem to be distancing ourselves form each other. Not purposefully, but we don’t have that connection we used to have. Ugh, just another thing to add to my overflowing plate. There was time when we would kiss passionately until we were exhausted and would go on dates almost every night but times have changed. Is it possible to fall out of love with someone because if it is, I am with Gale. Now, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not breaking up with him. It’s relieving to have someone to talk to but I just don’t feel what I used to. Maybe I am going crazy.

“Hey, babe?” Gale called out to me from the living room bringing my thoughts back to reality.

“Yeah,”I responded hoping he wanted more from me than to bring him dinner.

“Can you get me some milk?”

“Fine,” I unwillingly grumbled back. When I brought it to him he had a dismissive attitude towards me and added on to what he previously said.

“I have a convention for work so I won’t be home over the weekend.”

“Ok, that’s great. I’ll just stay with Annie.” I didn’t want to be alone.

“Sounds good, Catnip.”

He would be the death of me.

***

A week or two goes by with no word from Peeta about the job. I might as well admit defeat. Yet again, Peeta frickin Mellark decides to ruin my life.

After grabbing my yoga mat and putting on leggings and a t-shirt, I go meet up with Annie for our twice a week zen class. The classic “Downward Dog” and “Balasana” always calm me down.

Afterwards, we hit a coffee shop where Annie’s fiancé, Finnick, waits.

“Hey, hon,” Annie tells him lovingly. “Aw, you got me my favorite. Thanks.” She then proceeds to give him a languid kiss causing me to turn away.

Sometimes I wish Gale and I were more like Annie and Finnick. Our kisses aren’t “languid” and he always get me coffee which I hate. I know, I know I could just break up with him but I don’t want to lose his company or friendship. Woe is me.

“So, Finnick, what have you been up to?” I asked him.

“Oh, you know, getting drunk, killing mobsters, giving my beautiful fiancé the best of everything,” Finnick replies, giving Annie doe eyes. “I forgot to tell you, I invited a friend to join us so I hope that's ok.”

“Thats fi-,”I stop myself.

Peeta Mellark, the very same Peeta Mellark who could be my boss, was walking towards the table.

In my trashy t-shirt and ratty leggings with sweaty hair sticking to my forehead I knew I looked awful.

*sniff sniff* And smelled awful.

Shit.

I glare at Finnick and scowl. I hope he feels the pain I’m experiencing.

“Katniss, hey!” Peeta made no comment towards my outfit or smell so that’s a good sign.

I cleared my throat before saying,”Hello, Peeta.”

My cheeks were burning up and I could tell they were a dark pink from embarrassment. He set a drink in front of me. If it’s coffee I swear to god I’ll-

“I didn’t know what you liked so I guessed. Is hot chocolate ok?” he commented shyly.

“Um, yeah it's perfect,”I told him. “So, you know Finnick?”

“We go way back. Freshman year of college we were roommates in those crusty, dilapidated dorms. He was the one who took, no dragged me to parties and set me up on dates. I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

“Hopefully dead,” I grumbled underneath my breath.

Peeta gave me a peculiar look before turning away. So what if he heard me. I doubt I got the job and I loathe him anyway.

Annie gives me a sympathetic glance before telling the table that she and Finnick have to leave for their “couples class”.

I hope she and Finnick die a fiery death. I can’t leave, that would be rude, but at the same time I can’t sit here for another hour small talking to Peeta fuckin’ Mellark. Suck it up, buttercup.

“Oh, Katniss, this is the perfect opportunity to tell you that you got the job!” Peeta declared to me while grinning. Why is he grinning? He’s probably conniving plans on how to torture me. Wouldn't be surprised. “That is, if you will accept.”

I had no other option but to say yes.

“Ok, that's awesome. I’ll take it.”

Those 6 words, I would soon learn, would change my life forever.

***

Waking up and realizing you have a steady job and will be able to pay rent should cause a person to leap for joy. I can’t. Not when the job is at Mellark Enterprises. God, today will be awful.

As soon as I arrive to the 8th floor, Peeta is there, welcoming me. He shows me around from the break room to his office, and finally my desk. Which I forgot to mention is about 10 feet from his. Crap.

I’m in deep shit.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Katniss,” Peeta comments, his eyes soft and grin, again, crooked. His floppy blonde, curly hair is unruly and of course he rolled his button up sleeves up to his elbows causing his pale smooth skin and muscular arms to show. I felt something move south, not caused by my actual boyfriend, and I wanted to moan. Oh, to push him against his desk and him to take me right then and then. To feel his strong arms wrapped around me and his tongue twirling with mine. That’s hot. Wait, what? What is this man doing to me?

“M...Me too,” I stumble over my words still hypnotized by his beauty.

I notice that Peeta was staring off into the distance and has a slight smirk on his face. Hm, I wonder what he’s thinking about. He shakes himself out of it and slams his office door behind him.

I go about my first day at Mellark Enterprises as secretary to the one and only Peeta Mellark. Nothing strange or abnormal happens. I go home, as usual. Gale is passive aggressive, as usual. But my mind is swirling with sinful thoughts of Peeta. Why him? Why does my body react to him this way. My mind loathes him but my heart...I just don't know what to do. He’s the guy that taunted me for years and is now acting like we have been best friends for decades. My emotions can’t seem to stay in check when I’m around him. I’m so conflicted and unsure of what to do.

The next day, after a long night of dreams I should not be having, I quickly make my way to work.

“Mellark Enterprises, this is Katniss Everdeen speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes, I am his secretary.”

“Yes I will leave him with your number ma’am.”

“Ok, bye.”

Ugh, ew. I do not need Peeta’s booty calls asking me about him. What he does is his business. Right? I wouldn't want to be one. No, no way.

His lips on mine, hands roaming.

Me moaning. Lips caressing every part of my neck.

Blonde curls falling on his face. Calloused hands unwinding my braid, kissing each strand.

Snap. Out. Of. It.

He’s your boss, my god, Katniss.

After the weird phone call this morning, I avoided Peeta as much as a secretary could do (not well) and quickly scurried home. I told Annie that I had a bad day and need some alone time which she understood.

I decided to make a detour before going home and bought a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the local supermarket because boy did I need it. I unlocked the door and opened it into my apartment. Walking to the kitchen, I set the white wine on the counter and ransacked the refrigerator looking for some carbs. The door to the bedroom was closed, that’s odd. I shrugged my shoulders and sat on the couch, eating pasta and drinking some cheap wine. My ideal night. after about an hour of this, I heard a voice...2 voices to be exact coming from the bedroom. I glanced at the front door-wait those aren't my shoes, or jacket. Opening the bedroom door slowly, with a pan because there could be a murderer in my apartment, I saw what I hadn’t expected to see at all.

“GALE! Who the fuck is that.”

“Katniss, I can explain.” he said hurriedly.

“Who is she?” the blond bimbo said.

“Madge, she’s nobody,” he told her trying to calm her down.

“Wait, Madge. As in your intern Madge?” I said, disgusted with Gale. “How dare you Gale. Damn you. Leave and NEVER come back.”

“Katniss, please, baby, I can explain.”

“I said LEAVE. You too, Madge,” I spit out.

He quickly gathered his clothes and scurried out the door, taking Madge with him. I just can’t believe he would do that. Why? I know things haven't been the best lately, but to cheat on me?

I could barely stand so I sank to the floor and bawled, trying to pick up the pieces of my broken life.

[thisstableground]

I know you've done this before (and I loved it) but I would LOVE some "Abuela Claudia and the barrio kids" wholesome content ^^ Especially with characters like Benny or Vanessa, or Carla and the Rosarios - basically, Abuela Claudia being awesome and crazy big-hearted.

[Under a cut because as always, this got carried away. edit: now also on ao3, please leave a comment if you like it! Content warning for parental neglect.]

***

The only instructions Naomi Garcia gives, when she dropsVanessa off at Claudia’s is, “she’s got a coloring book, she can pretty muchjust look after herself. Do not takeher to the Rosarios. I’ll pick her up on Sunday.”

Vanessa stands there mutely, in her pink backpack andsmudgy-kneed overalls and, despite the mid-April warmth, a woolly winter hatwith a bobble on. She’s clutching her coloring book like she’s ready to beatsomeone to death with it. Claudia gives her an encouraging smile as her momleaves and says, “it’s good to have you here, Vanessa!”

“I ain’t see why I can’t go play with Nina just ‘cause ourmoms is fighting about dumb boring mom stuff,” Vanessa says, scowling. “I’mstill gonna be friends with her no matter what they say.”

She gives Claudia a challenging look, as if to say, and you aren’t going to stop me. Claudiajust says, “¡Bueno! So what do you want to do today?”

“I want to go to Nina’s.”

It’s going to be along weekend, Claudia thinks.

Much as Claudia agrees with Vanessa that a fight betweenparents shouldn’t get in the way of children’s friendship, she’s loathe to directlyignore one of the few direct instructions given by Vanessa’s mom. On realizingshe isn’t going to get her way, Vanessa slouches off to a corner of the livingroom floor and quietly colors in while Claudia goes about her usual morningcleaning, feeling faintly stumped.

This is so strange in comparison to Usnavi, who always thunders right in as though he owns the place, or Nina who always stays firmly by Claudia’s side the entire time she’s there.From the time she’s spent with both Nina and Vanessatogether, Claudia knows that Vanessa is a very headstrong young lady, usually farmore boisterous than this – bossy, even, always taking the lead while Ninafollows her around admiringly. But on her own, Vanessa is silent, hidden downbehind the side of the couch and only speaking up to say “no, I’m fine” whenever Claudiaoffers her a drink or asks if she wants to watch la television.

Her short, terse answers are bordering on what might becalled rude, but when Claudia asks if Vanessa’s hungry and Vanessa hesitates,looking hunted for a long moment before ducking her head back down very close to thepage, scribbling intensely without giving an answer, she realizes that perhapsVanessa is shy. It has, after all,been many years since Claudia looked after her alone without Nina there too,not since the girls were toddlers, and it is much easier to be brave and bossywith a good friend there.

“I haven’t had my breakfast today,” Claudia lies. “I wasgoing to get myself some food, if you wanted to share?”

“…I guess maybe I’m a littlebit hungry,” Vanessa concedes.

“We will make something together, then.” Claudia says, thenspots all the felt tip pen smudges on Vanessa’s hands, and the dirt under herbitten-short fingernails, and adds as they walk to the kitchen, “but first noslaveremos las manos.”

She pushes a chair up next to the kitchen sink so that Vanessacan reach. Vanessa sticks her hands quickly under the water then wipes them offon her overalls, still inkstained and dirty.

“No, no, con jabón.” Claudia rinses her own hands andlathers the bar of soap between them, more thoroughly than she usually would sothat Vanessa can see what she’s doing. “Like this, see?”

“I know!” Vanessasnaps, but she watches Claudia and copies carefully anyway, every movementmimicked exactly.

When she’s done, Claudia moves the chair over to the counterfor her, sets a cutting board and knife down ready, then rummages through thedisorganized cupboards looking past long-expired half-empty jars of pickles andsauces and preserves for the ingredients she needs. She really needs to tidy upin here but somehow it’s so hard to bring herself to throw anything away. “Ay, ¿dónde está?I’m sure I had una cebolla here somewhere…”

“What we makin’?” Vanessa asks, climbing up onto the chair.She picks up the knife and examines it, sharp end very close to herface. Claudia swiftly takes it out of her hands. “Hey!”

“We’re having arroz con pollo.” Claudia puts theknife safely out of Vanessa’s reach and finally locates an onion nestled inwith the bananas and mango in the fruit bowl.

“I usually have peanut butter jelly sandwiches,” Vanessa tellsher. “They’re easiest to make.”

“You make your own lunch?”

“Uh-huh! I do it all the time when Mommy isn’t home.”

“Oh, vaya, that’s very grown up.”

Vanessa beams proudly and Claudia smiles at her, but in herheart she didn’t mean that as a compliment: Vanessa has barely been six for amonth. She’s so young to be spending any time at home alone, never mind feedingherself while she’s there. Perhaps it would have been less surprising back in Claudia’sday when children were far more independent far younger, but Claudia thinks thatthere are many things in her day that she’s glad have gone out of fashion now.

But she says nothing of it, only shows Vanessa how tomeasure out enough rice and rinse it so that it doesn’t all stick together whenit cooking, lets her open the little glass jars of spices and sniff each ofthem individually. Vanessa follows along with an unexpected focus, likeshe’s trying to memorize every instruction for herself.

With the air conditioning barely functioning as ever,Claudia’s apartment is small and stuffy, especially on a day like this. By thetime the pot is full and bubbling away on the stove and it’s time to clean up,Vanessa’s cheeks are bright pink from the heat.

Claudia says, “aquí, why don’t you take that hat off,” andwith the unconscious familiarity she’d show for Usnavi or Nina, plucks thebobble hat off Vanessa’s head. 

Vanessa shrieks, and Claudia sees instantly thatshe isn’t wearing it just out of one of those odd childish whims like she’dassumed: her hair is an absolute rat’s nest, not just messy fromplaying but hopelessly tangled and sweaty like it hasn’t been washed or brushedin weeks.

“No! Give it back!” Vanessa shouts. She stamps her foot onthe chair and leans over on tiptoes making a grab for the hat. Hurriedly, Claudiahands it back before she overbalances and lands right on the stove. In asplit-second Vanessa has jammed it back on her head, jumped to the ground and boltedout of the kitchen, the door to Claudia’s bedroom slamming shortly after. WhenClaudia follows and knocks on the door, she yells, “go away! Leave me alone!”

Claudia taps her fingers against the doorframe and pursesher lips. Dealing with Vanessa, she thinks, is very, very different fromdealing with the children she’s used to. If Nina has ever raised her voice inher life than Claudia wasn’t there to see it. Usnavi wouldn’t even think to beembarrassed about something like messy hair in the first place: the boy wouldbe a walking mud puddle if his parents didn’t intervene.

Hm. Maybe that’s a point. She leaves Vanessa to calm down onher own while she goes to call Camila and find out exactly why it is that Naomidoesn’t want Vanessa going to visit.

The second she mentions Naomi’s name, Camila makes asquawkingly aggravated noise down the phone and says, “ay, do not get me started on that woman. Shesends her daughter round here practically every day and we feed her and look after her forfree and what thanks do we get? She should learn to take good advice when she’sgiven it.”

“What kind of advice?” Claudia asks, and then because sheknows Camila very well, “and how did you give it?”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Claudia, but it wasjustified. I see enough of what goes on there to know that she isn’t fit to be a mother. It’sno wonder the girl is growing up half-wild.”

“Camila!” Claudiascolds. “No es justo, Naomi is still very young herself, she is only trying herbest with what she’s got.”

“Ha! If that’s what you call trying I’d hate to see what happens when she stops. The amount of times Vanessa’s complained about having aheadache here because nobody ever taught her you need to drink water and eatduring the day? El otro díashe says she can’t pick Vanessa up from our place so ‘just let her walkhome by herself’! I ask you, at herage? In this neighborhood? And then I try to talk to Naomi about it and shecalls me interfering!”

Claudia makes a sympathetic tsk noise.

“She might have been young when she had her but she’s anadult now, she has responsibilities,” Camila says firmly. “If she’d rather haveher own pride than listen to me, well, I wash my hands of the whole thing.”

It’s all very well tosay that from the outside, Claudia thinks as she hangs up, as much toherself as to Camila. She’s always felt for Naomi, who moved here with nothingbut a teenage pregnancy and that waste of space she called a husband - what aman of his age was doing with a girl barely out of childhood herself,honestamente – and whose fierce pride and broken heart and sharp temper made it very, very hardto get along with her for very long. But as young as Naomi is, Vanessa’s even younger and wheredoes all of this leave her, this odd, stubborn half-wild half-adult child, whoalready makes her own lunch and walks herself home from school the days hermother forgets to pick her up but was never taught how to wash her hands orbrush her own hair properly?

The bedroom door is still closed when Claudia returns to it.She knocks but lets herself in without waiting for an answer. Vanessa issitting on the floor by the bed hugging her knees, looking furious and ashamed.With some difficulty because her knees aren’t what they used to be, Claudiasits on the floor beside her.

“Don’t want it brushed,” Vanessa mutters sullenly, andscuffs her fingertips against the floor, picking at the fake wood-effectlinoleum.

“¿Por qué no?”

“Mommy used to brush it and she always pulls too hard, and Isaid ow and she told me to stop beinga baby but then I told her it hurts and she got mad and said if I know so muchabout everything I can just do it by myself.” Vanessa gives a heavy, put-uponsigh. “And I tried but it’s too tangly.Anyhow, it’s just hair. Why’s it matter if it’s messy?

“Because if you leave it like that then eventually birdswill start living in it.”

Obstinately, Vanessa says, “maybe I want birds to live in it.”

“Perhaps you do,” Claudia says, “but then they will sing allday and wake you up so, so early en la mañana.”

She makes cheepy bird noises, her fingers tapping against her thumbs like little cawing beaks all around Vanessa’s ears until Vanessastarts laughing then immediately looks outraged about it.

“Can I try to help? I promise not to pull it,” Claudiaswears. Vanessa gives her a suspicious look but then relents and takes the hatoff. It looks even worse up close. Claudia does her best not to react but Vanessaseems to have picked up on it because she bunches her shoulders up so high theyalmost hit her ears and stays like until Claudia tries togently finger-comb it out. She barely touches her before Vanessa hisses andgoes “owww!” in a high-pitched whine.

“Lo siento,” Claudia says, though she knows it couldn’treally have hurt.

“I told you, it’s too tangly,” Vanessa says, with an edge toher voice that means I am on the verge ofhysteria. “I already tried to brush it but it won’t work!”

“What if we call the ladies at the salon and ask what theythink? Daniela will know how to fix it, I’m sure.”

“She’ll laugh at me.”

“I’ll tell her off if she does.”

That makes Vanessa pause. “You’d tell Dani off?”

“Believe it or not, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Vanessa says, “don’t tell her it’s about me?”, something sopitiful and pleading about it that Claudia wants to hug her. She resists theurge and says, “our secret” and with Vanessa’s nod of permission, calls up thesalon.

“I have a very young friend here with very tangly hair,” sheinforms Dani. “Un cepillo will not work. ¿Qué hacemos?

Dani says, “I told Rosa that next time Usnavi gets gum stuckin it she should just bring him here straight away.”

“No, not Usnavi. And nothing is stuck, it is just…ah, descuidado.”

“Oh,” Dani says, suddenly serious and sighing. “It’s Vanessa,isn’t it?”

Claudia makes a noncommittal sound: Dani is closest of allof them to Naomi, and she suspects probably could give her more of an insightinto the Garcia family than anyone, but she did make a promise. There’s a mufflednoise of Dani covering the handset and talking to someone for a second and thenshe says, “Carla says to work a lot of conditioner into it and comb it through,starting at the bottom.”

“Will that work?”

“It’s worked before for some little problemas,” Dani says.“But if her hair’s that bad it might take more time than it’s worth.  Sometimes the only thing to do really is to cutit all off and start again. Do you want to bring her in and we’ll have a lookand see how much we can salvage? Sin cargo.”

“No, no, we’ll try the conditioner first, gracias. Give Carlamy love.” Claudia isn’t going to make Vanessa go and have all her hair cut off ifshe can help it. And so they eat their arroz con pollo then afterwards, she gathers everything and has Vanessa sit on a kitchen chairwith a towel round her shoulders, and gets to work with a comb and a bottle ofconditioner. She does her best to keep up chatter to cheer up a morose-lookingVanessa, but with very little in the way of responses and such a long taskahead, Claudia eventually just concentrates on what she’s doing, making slow,slow progress.

After about ten minutes, there’s a quiet sniff from thelittle figure in the chair, and then another one. Claudia stops what she’sdoing and leans round to see that Vanessa looks seconds away from crying. “¿Esto duele?”

“No,” Vanessa mumbles.

“What’s wrong?

Vanessa just shakes her head, staring at the floor with acrumpled brow and tears in her eyes, and though it may be overfamiliar, Claudia’syears of instinct immediately demand that she pull Vanessa into a tight hug –how could she possibly do anything else? With no noise but one tiny, miserable whimper of breath, Vanessastarts crying silently but hard, face against Claudia’s shoulder.

“Ah, pobrecita, I know,” Claudia murmurs, strokes Vanessa’shair as best she can, her hand sliding over the gloss of conditioner. She mightnot know Vanessa quite as well as some of her other children but one thingshe’s certain is that she’s a proud, independent little thing. This must bemortifying for her. There seems no good way to say to her that it isn’t herfault, that there are many small but crucial things in life that she should be taught to do, not left alone to figure out, and that this is probably only one of many. Telling her that won’t fix anything. But it does remind Claudia of a far-off and absurd memory. Shemoves Vanessa off her shoulder, still holding her by the arms and says, “when Iwas una niñita, we used to curl our hair withstrips of newspaper.”

Vanessa frowns at her. She’s already stopped crying, wipingher face on the towel round her neck. “Huh?”

“You’d take  un pedazo de periódico  in your hand and put yourhair around it like this – “ she makes a wrapping motion in the air, “and leaveit to dry en la noche, and you wake up with beautiful curls. My mama used to doit for me, but one day when I was a little older than you, she was not feelingwell and so I tried to do it myself. I thought, it cannot be so hard, if shedoes it all the time, and so I wrapped all my hair in newspaper and I went tobed, and you know what?”

“What?”

“It looked terrible,”she says. “At the front, too many curls, like the wig of a clown! But at theback, where I could not reach properly, all the paper had come out and so itwas not curled at all. Can you imagine?” She gestures down her back as thoughlong straight locks are still there, then holds her hands up at the frontmimicking the explosion of badly-curled ringlets.

Vanessa giggles at the image. “That sounds silly.”

“It was,” Claudia confirms. “And in those days we did nothave a shower and so I couldn’t wash it out so easily. I tried to get it wetand make it lie flat but it only made it look worse, and because Mama was sick Ihad to go out and run all the errands with my hair so crazy.”

“Oh noooo,” Vanessa says, hands over her mouth, utterly invested in the story. “What didyou do?”

“Well, first I cried very, very hard,”Claudia says,remembering it with a smile because it seems like such a small thing to be so upset over now. “And I wore una bufanda  around my head, because I thought everyonewould laugh at me. And even when I went in to see my Mama in bed I wore labufanda because I was so embarrassed that i did it so wrong. And she did laugh,when I told her what had happened, but then when she was better she showed mehow to do it right, and I still curl my hair that way to this day.” She patsher neat, pinned-back rolls of rapidly-greying curls.

“My mommy wouldn’t do that,” Vanessa says. “She’d just getmad at me for doing it wrong.”

“Maybe,” Claudia says, because it seems even harsher to lie about it, “but I neverwould, if you ever need somebody to tell you how to fix a problem. It’s okay if youget it wrong for a while. Many things take a lot of practice and a lot ofpatience.”

Vanessa mulls it over, then gives a very solemn nod and sniffs hard one lasttime. “Okay. We can carry on now.”

Daniela was right: the whole process takes well over anhour, and they have to move to the couch so that Claudia can sit down halfwaythrough, but what of it? Claudia’s got plenty of time to spare in herretirement and, she reflects a little sadly, it has probably been a long, longwhile since anyone paid Vanessa this much attention.

All worth it in the end, when she announces that they arefinished, and Vanessa touches her own hair with her eyes lighting up. “You didit!” she gasps, as though Claudia had performed a miracle. “You fixed it!”

“We still need to rinse all the conditioner out.” Claudiahesitates about that: if it were Usnavi or Nina she’d simply throw them in the tub. They’re both getting old enough to be left unsupervised for short moments when they’re in there, but thedoor is always open, and she always calls reminders to not forget to wash theirfaces and scrub under their nails. They still need help rinsing out shampoo andclimbing out of the bath. Both of them still let her rub one of her oldfaded-pink towels thoroughly over their hair to dry it, and they still play thegame where she covers their whole faces with it and puts her hand therepretending she is going to scrub away their face just as roughly while theyshriek in pretend-fear and yell “no, Abuela!”. They’re getting too old for suchthings, but what are abuelas for if not to baby the grandchildren? They allknow that these moments are not forever, and why not hold onto childhood justas long as possible?

But Vanessa probably won’t allow anything like that, alreadyso clearly ashamed of the things about her that speak to the age she really is,and she’s already had enough embarrassment for the day. Claudia spares her thediscomfort of asking, instead rinsing her hair tipped upside down over thekitchen sink the way Claudia’s mama used to do for her so many years ago: cleanit all off with warm water and then one last jugful of cold to finish. Vanessa hollersloudly at the shock of cool water, but she laughs about it right afterwards.

Later in the living room, when Claudia is reading thenewspaper and Vanessa is lying on her belly on the floor with her felt tips,there’s the sound of ripping paper, very slow and quiet like she’s trying notto be heard. Claudia looks up to see Vanessa with a strip torn out of hercoloring book, trying to tie it in a knot around her still-damp hair.

She looks sheepish when she sees Claudia watching. “I want it allcurly,” she explains. Her hair uncoils itself from around thebadly-wrapped strip of paper.

“Would you like me to teach you how?”

“You don’t gotta.”

“I would like to.”

Vanessa hmms, and says, “only if you don’t make it go allcrazy at the front, then.”

“I’m much better at it than I used to be.”

Claudia takes the pages of her newspaper she’s finished readingand tears them into strips, and this funny, prickly hedgehog of a girl sitsclose in front of her, allowing her carefully roll her hair up into twists. Vanessaisn’t silent or sulking now: she’s talking about how she wants her hair to looklike Nina’s because Nina has the most beautiful hair, and gives a high-pitchedbubbling giggle as she recounts Claudia’s story about her own failed papercurls. She sounds just like the six year old she is instead of a tiny, furiousadult. Claudia’s back and eyes already ache from bending over and concentratingfor so long earlier, but she doesn’t mind pushing through it for this. Some things justneed a little patience.

[kayteewritessteve]

Fated - 4/8

Description: You’re a rogue werewolf, a bounty hunter. It’s not the most glamourous life, but it keeps you paid well and highly entertained. But when a long time acquaintance resurfaces with a mission and a lot of money to throw around, you finally relent and take a job from him. And then things get crazy when you stumble upon your Fated Mate along the way.

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 4,150 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Werewolf!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Curse words. Sassy, snarky and adult comments and moments. Depictions of fight scenes and fighting, the same as canon stuffs.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

You release a deep sigh as you rub aggressively at your dry, stinging eyes. You’d barely gotten any sleep over the last week, not since the night before you arrive at the tower. Who knew that finding your True Mate would all of a sudden make it impossible to sleep alone anymore?

‘I did,’ your wolf answers smugly in your mind.

You just ignore her comment, though it does cause your eyes to narrow just slightly, looking as if you are glaring at your computer monitor now. Because once again, she was always so damn helpful..

But anywho, yes, you said week. It’s been a full week since your little sparring session with the guys. A full week since you arrived at the tower. And a full week since you’ve talked to Steve. Since you’ve even been near the man.

‘As if I hadn’t noticed that,’ your wolf growls now.

She’s been pretty pissed off at you the last few days, what with you going out of your way to avoid Steve. Every time you’d smell him near you’d run in the complete opposite direction. Always taking the stairs, locking yourself in your room every night, and even going as far as to eat every meal at random times during the day, and usually in your office.

Oh and yes, you now have an office also. Fury had told you to speak to Stark about a space for you to use. So you had, and he’d set you up with a random empty room, so that way you could have a quiet space to work, uninterrupted. A place away from all the hubbub of the tower, the team, and Steve. Though naturally, that last one Stark wasn’t actually aware of.

There wasn’t much to the room, when you walked in the door, there was a medium sized desk centered near the back of the room. It faced the door, and had a large bookcase behind it. On the right wall was a large white board and a fake plant in the corner closest to the door. Then on the left corner near the door were two chairs and a small table—yes, that’s where you’ve been eating your meals the last week.

But the one awesome feature about this little lacklustre office was the fact it was in the Avengers tower. So naturally, it had an insanely futuristic computer. One the likes of which you had never even seen before, let alone imagined you’d be using one day. Though it wasn’t exactly a plot twist, now that you think about it. Stark wasn’t known for being a cheap ass. That’s for damn sure.

You pick up the mug of coffee of your desk and take a few large gulps. The life juice being the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. Your body and mind are protesting the distance you’ve put between yourself and Steve. Begging you to go to him, to be near him. The constant urge to be close to him is maddening. And the fight to stop yourself from caving and listening to those urges, is fucking exhausting.

‘Ya know,’ your wolf starts, ‘this little exhaustion problem could be easily fixed if you just pulled your head out of your ass and let us be near him. That’s all we want.’

‘Who’s ‘we’?’ You scoff. ‘Last I checked, I do not want that.’

‘Simmer Ego-rella,’ she rolls her eyes. ‘I was referring to myself and the Bond. We need to be near him. Don’t you get that? Your body is weakening in protest of your stupid plan to avoid him. You can’t continue on like this,’ she sighs deeply and shakes her head. ‘You’re killing us all.’

‘Okay, Drama-rella,’ you roll your eyes now. ‘We aren’t going to actually die without him, so just dial it down a notch.’

She growls, snapping her jaw at you, ‘speak for yourself.’

You sigh, ‘look, you think this is how I wanted all of this to go down? You think I enjoy avoiding him like a plague?’ You shake your head. ‘I miss him too, okay? But it’s just too painful to look at him and know that he is with someone else. It’s too hard to be around him, and not be able to touch him or hold him, or, or love him. I just,’ you trail off, releasing a deep sigh as you glance around the room slowly. ‘I just can’t be around him right now, I need to focus on this mission. We need to focus on it.’

‘Plot twist, we can’t. Not without him near. If you actually want to accomplish this, you need his help now. Once our Mate enters our lives, there is no going back, nothing is the same anymore. Even if we can only have a part of him, it’s better than nothing at all.’

You nod slowly, you know she is right. It just hurts so much looking at him and knowing he isn’t yours, even though he was made entirely for you. And only you. Just as you were made for only him. ‘Fine, I won’t avoid him anymore. But when being around him hurts us both, because it will eventually, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘Yeah, sure, whatever,’ she replies flippantly, quickly disregards your words, as she bounces around happily in your head. ‘It can’t be any worse than not being around him at all.’

You sigh, praying to the Goddess that your wolf is actually right. But deep, deep down you feel like she isn’t. Like she won’t be right, and you will both suffer greatly for it.

You push those thoughts aside as you hear a knock on your door, your heart rate skyrocketing. You weren’t expecting any guests, or rather, interruptions. You raise your nose high in the air, taking a deep sniff in. And instantly your heart rate levels back out as your muscles relax.

“Come in,” you holler from your spot still sitting at your desk. The door opens and Fury walks in, shutting it behind him. “Wow, I’m honestly surprised you didn’t just walk in like you owned the place, Plankton. You sick or something?”

Fury sighs but completely ignores your comment, and your second Spongebob reference, figures. “Where are we on tracking Heinrich down?”

“We?” You scoff as you raise a brow at him, “I didn’t realize you guys had any leads?”

He narrows his eyes slightly, making his way closer to your desk, before shaking his head. “That’s because we don’t.”

You nod, a small giggle leaving your lips, “that’s what I thought.” You turn your attention to the computer screen, “I, on the other hand,” you say smugly as you type on your keyboard, “am just waiting on a contact to get in touch. If all goes well, that should be sometime later today.” You glance back up at him, “once I hear from him, I’ll find ya,” you wink, tapping your nose with your index finger, informing him you will sniff him out. Then you turn your attention back to the screen and to the leads you were currently working on.

Fury nods once, then turns to leave. He was never one for long visits, thank Goddess. He was always a get to the point kinda guy, and you actually respected him a little for that. You weren’t a fan of idle chit chat. Not when there was a job to be done.

‘I personally wish he just wouldn’t talk at all,’ your wolf comments, ‘I rather enjoy when he isn’t around.’

You giggle to yourself at her words, rolling your eyes fondly, before you focus your mind back on the task at hand.

Since becoming a rogue, you’d found that other rogues were actually your best allies. You’d always assumed rogues were nomads, loners who hated all other wolves and wanted nothing to do with packs or the hierarchy system. But oooh how wrong you were.

Yes, rogues were usually lone wolves, who liked to remain isolated or in very small groupings for safety and support. But rogues as a whole were honestly more like a pack of their own. Not formally, no, but they looked out for each other. They helped each other like a pack would. If a rogue was having troubles or issues, the others nearby would stand with them. Would fight with them, solely for the fact they themselves were rogues as well.

It was like a brotherhood. Like they all had such a pivotal moment in their own lives that linked them together forever. Rogues weren’t just wolves who abandoned or betrayed their own packs, and then were kicked out for it. Some had actually left for similar reasons to your own, some had left due to issues with a mate or being rejected by one. Some had left to seek a better life, or a mate that they hadn’t found yet. And some just left because they honestly wanted no part in the pack ways.

All of your stories were so different. Yes, some were similar, but no two stories were the same. Though, you all had one major thing in common, you were all now label Rogue. That was enough to pull you all together, that was enough to form a loyalty to each other.

Yes, some rogues wanted no part in any of that, but the majority did. The bulk of you still yearned for that connection, for that sense of family. So you had made many friends over the years, in your various travels to hunt down your ‘paydays’. You had contacts all over the world, and right now you were waiting to hear back from one such connection.

Though he was honestly more than just another ‘connection’ to you. He was actually more of a friend, you’d worked alongside each other in the past. He was also a bounty hunter, but stuck mainly to working in Europe. The UK, specifically. But he also took jobs in Russia, Germany, the Ukraine and everywhere in between.

He spoke a few different languages fluently, and anytime you needed a translator you’d contact him first. If your bounty ever fled to that part of the world, you’d get in touch and see if he was available to help. It was a two way street friendship though, if he ever ended up in your neck of the woods, he’d do the same with you. Contact you for intel, local connections or assistance in apprehending the ‘payday.’

At the beginning, you would pay each other for your services, as it was the only way either of you would even consider helping the other. But over time, your partnership blossomed into a friendship. And now, you both helped each other for nothing. It was a mutual agreement that if either needed help, the other would be there. No money needed to change hands, as the deal was now just for simply swapping assistance. Being there for each other, no matter what.

Your cell rings on the table beside you, and you glance down at the screen to see John’s name. A smile pulls at your lips as you quickly pick up the phone and answer.

“Hey loser, whatcha got for me?” You grin cheekily, though obviously he can’t see it. But you know for a fact he can hear it in your voice.

He scoffs, “what, no hello dearest John, how are you? How’s life? Or I duno, maybe a thanks for sticking my neck out for you,” he pauses for effect, “again?”

‘And you call me dramatic,’ your wolf rolls her eyes. Though you both know she adores John just as much as you do. He is like the older brother you both never had.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt the big bad wolf’s feelings?” You laugh, “oh my bad, let’s try that again. Hello dearest John, how are things?”

“Pfffft,” he drags out the sound playfully, “too late to ask that now, ya dick. You already hurt my feelings. We might as well just get on with the real reason why I called.”

You laugh, “alright, alright, I’ll do better next time. I promise.” You laugh a little more at the disgruntled and disbelieving noise that comes through the phone. You know he is just messing around, he likes to play this stuff up. It’s exactly why you bug him in the first place, just to get a reaction out of him. But he always gets you back, tenfold. “So what’s the scoop?”

You hastily make your way down the hall, a manila folder clutched tightly in your hands. Heading towards the main meeting room, the very same one you’d asked Friday to have the whole team meet you in, 5 minutes ago.

John had managed to track Heinrich, and some of his men, down to an abandoned facility nestled deep in the Carpathian Mountains. A location almost smack dab between Dârmoxa and Broșteni, in Romania.

How John had managed to hunt him down, was beyond you. But you figured his wolf played a pretty substantial part in his search efforts. As he had originally been the top tracker for his old pack, before a disagreement on morals caused his Alpha to banish him. Something about John not wanting to use his tracking skills to hunt down smaller packs just so his Alpha could attack them, and take all their territory. John was never a violent man, and killing innocent wolves never sat well with him. He’d have rather been a rogue, than a merciless monster. And he sadly got his wish.

Though in the eyes of every pack member, rogues were the merciless monsters. If only they could see the truth. If only they knew the real facts. But teaching old dogs new tricks was a waste of time, and never worked out. So let them believe whatever they wanted to, you could honestly care less what any of them thought of you. And John was exactly the same.

But anyways, back to the issues at hand. Now that you knew where Heinrich was, you just had to brief the team on the intel, ship out so you could pinpoint his exact location in person and then hopefully take him down, smoothly and without too much hassle.

After the call with John, he had sent you an encrypted email with the long range photos he’d taken of Heinrich. As well as maps pinpointing the exact location. So you quickly printed all of that off and now clutched the hard copies within your fingers.

You reached the door to the boardroom and took a deep breath in. You weren’t nervous about telling them this information. Not at all. You were nervous because Steve was sitting behind this very door, and this would be the first time you’d actually see him up close in a week. Let alone been stuck in the same room with him. So yeah, this was gonna be a royal pain in the ass for you. Fingers crossed you can get through this debriefing without getting too flustered by him. Here’s fucking hoping.

‘Oh Goddess,’ your wolf sighs happily. ‘I can already smell him. Hurry up! I need to see him!’

You sigh deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to beg the Moon Goddess for strength, then with a final deep breath in you push the door open.

Your eyes instantly snap to Steve, sitting at the large table in his glorious Captain America suit. Damnit! Why does he always have to be such a fucking snack?!

‘More like a 10 course meal,’ your wolf purrs. ‘I’d happily eat the fuck outta that man. Any day of the week.’

You inwardly groan then flick your eyes to the other side of the room, where Fury currently stands.

“Leela,” you nod your head once to the man. “Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to be here,” you smirk.

He shakes his head, but just as he goes to speak a sexy voice behind you speaks up first. “I understood that reference,” Steve mumbles proudly behind you.

You glance over your shoulder and the smug look now on his face makes an involuntary smile break out on your own, thanks to just how fucking adorable this man truly is.

‘Look at his little face!’ Your wolf coos. ‘Oh gosh, go pinch his cheeks! Cooome on! Just do it! Do it now! I beg you!’

You shake your head, hearing Tony groan loudly at Steve’s words, before your eyes flick to the former and see him roll his eyes playfully.

Steve looks gleefully around the room before his intense blue eyes lock onto yours. Which causes you to quickly break the contact and turn your head back to Fury. Just his direct attention alone makes your heart skip a beat and your tummy flutter with excitement. Goddess, you really are doomed.

Your wolf scoffs, ‘the only thing we are doomed with, is getting to have amazing, otherworldly coitus with that mountain of a man for the rest of our lives. Though I, myself, would personally count that as a blessing. Just look at him,’ she growls lowly in your mind, the noise sounding a lot more sexual than normal. More like a purr.

Fury clears his throat to gain everyone's attention, “okay, what do you have for us Y/N?”

You smile widely at him, “the exact location of Heinrich’s current hideout,” you say smugly as you open the folder, and then hand everyone around the table copies of the photos and maps that you’d just printed off.

Fury nods looking down at the pages in his hands, “excellent work, Y/N.” He glances around at the team, “alright everyone, we leave in 30. Pack everything you’ll need and let’s go get our guy.”

“Wait, hold up,” you quickly say just as everyone is starting to stand, halting all their actions. You playfully widen your eyes as you stare at Fury, “did you just praise me!?” You gasp, “say it again! Oh please, just once more!” You glance around still wide eyed and see everyone grinning at you, a couple team members laughing quietly. “Did you guys just hear that? The highest of praises!” You throw both fists in the air like you’d just won a dang Olympic gold medal. But you guess that a praising comment from Fury was basically just that. If not even a larger privilege in and of itself. Compliments from that man were few and far between, that’s for sure.

Fury just shakes his head and sighs deeply before exiting the room without another word. You and the others following suit and heading off in your different directions to pack and prepare for the flight to Romania.

You make your way up the Quinjets ramp, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder. Glancing around you realize you are the first one to arrive, everyone else clearly still packing. You would have taken longer to pack yourself, if you actually needed to bring more than a few days worth of clothes and your weapons. So basically what you’d brought with you to the tower in the first place, and as you hadn’t actually unpacked, what with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be in the tower long, your bag was basically always ready to go.

You made your way further into the aircraft, dropping your bag with a thud on the floor and sitting down on a build on bench against the outer wall of the plane. And the moment you did, you noticed one of your combat boots was untied so you promptly leaned forward to fix that little issue, and as you did you heard loud footsteps coming up the ramp. You instantly tense up and take a quick inhale of the air to determine who it is.

But the second the familiar smell hits your senses, you relax and finish tying your laces before glancing up at the newest member of the ‘Fast Packers’ club.

“Hey bestie,” you dragged the words out cheerfully, a smile on your lips.

His deep chuckle only makes your smile grow just a little more. “Hey Doll,” he replies, shooting you a handsome grin along with his friendly words. Bucky makes his way towards you, dropping his bag on the ground and plopping down in the spot beside you.

“Light packer?” You ask nonchalantly as you glanced down as his medium sized duffle bag on the floor.

“Don’t really need much,” he shrugs glancing over at you. “Growing up in the 40’s, we were lucky if we had more than one outfit per occasion. Still stuck in the mind set, I guess.”

You nod, pulling your phone out of a pocket of your tactical pants to check the time. “Makes sense,” you say back as a comfortable silence falls over you both. Upon seeing the time you notice that you still have about 10 minutes before everyone else should be here, so you tuck your phone away again and lean back onto the wall with a sigh.

Bucky follows suit, leaning back on the wall with you, the back of his head resting against it. After another moment he breaks the silence, “So, where ya been all week?”

You roll your head to the side to glance at him, seeing him staring back and then you shrug, turning to look forward again. “Around. Just been following any leads I can find, and drinking way too much coffee,” you chuckle.

He nods, clicking his tongue in agreement. And now you can almost feel the stifling presence of the question he wants to ask but hasn’t.

“If you have something to ask, just ask,” you say, breaking the silence this time. “No questions are off limits, but I just may not answer them all.”

He sighs, giving you a side glance, “it feels like you’ve been avoiding us all week.” You can tell it’s a statement, but also a question.

“That’s probably because I have been,” you reply, nodding.

“Why?” He turns to look at you fully now.

You shut your eyes, partially due to the exhaustion of the sleepless week, but also because you’re not exactly sure how to respond to that question. You weren’t avoiding everyone, just Steve, but sadly the others sort of came as collateral damage as they all seemed to aways be around him. And with eating at different times and alone in your office, you barely ran into anyone in the kitchen.

Keeping your eyes closed you reply, “honestly, I’m just not used to working on a team anymore. Normally it’s just me now, sometimes I’ll bring someone in to assist me here and there, but that’s not often. I guess I’m just used to going it alone and sort of suck in my ways. It’s nothing personal to any of you, just the way I am now.”

“I can get that. But try not to be such a stranger anymore, all of us here really like you, and enjoy when you’re around,” he chuckles lightly. “Plus I’m getting real sick of hearing Steve ask everyone where you are, or if anyone has seen you lately.”

‘Look what you’ve done, woman!’ Your wolf chides you in your mind. ‘The poor man is clearly missing us!’ And once again you just ignore her, not wanting to get into another argument with her over this exact topic.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future,” you reply, giggling sleepily at the thought of Steve annoying everyone as he incessantly tried to track you down all week. That very thought both warms your heart and yet also hurts it, at the same time. You know the Mate pull has probably been affecting him all week, nowhere near as severely as it has to you though, but most likely enough to be a little bothersome. You feel slightly guilty now, mainly for the fact that you hadn’t even taken into account how your absence would affect him. Which honestly was kind of selfish of you, maybe you weren’t entirely ready for your Mate’s arrival in your life. Maybe you needed more time to figure yourself out, and prepare. But, too late for that now, as here you were.

“That’s all I ask,” he says back, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

A bunch of loud footsteps and voices ring out through the silent space and you know that everyone has arrived now, meaning you will be taking off soon.

“I’m gonna get some shut eye, wake me up when we arrive?” You ask, cracking your right eye lid to peek at the super soldier beside you and seeing him nod.

“Of course, Doll. Have a good sleep.”

You hum in thanks, smiling as you shut your eye again, excited to finally get some much needed sleep. Knowing that you’ll need to be a little more rested for the days to come, and for your upcoming encounter with Heinrich.

And thanks to the fact that Steve is somewhere close by, on this very aircraft, you should be able to actually sleep now. That should be enough to allow you to get some much needed rest. Because even though you haven’t actually laid eyes on him just yet, the Bond knows he is close. The Bond can sense him—well that and his glorious smell that is slowly taking over the Quinjet. But you’re not complaining one bit, his smell alone instantly calming your worries, your mind and your soul.

And as the darkness takes you, your last thought is, next stop, Romania.

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

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @jessiedaeum

[littlemissvincentvega]

I promised I would eventually have a request for you and here I am, with a request lol. Any of these would be awesome with Mr. Brown bc I LOVE HIM and he DESERVES SO MUCH MORE LOVE I adore this dorky man - 80, 82, 73, and 1 I love you babe

YAYYYY THANK YOU BBY love you to pieces beautiful ♥ i’ve done this as one fic but used each number cause i wanted to include all of em!! hope thats okay sweetness :>

also this flits back and forth in time a bit so SORRY dsakcdjakljDJCAJ ALSO THIS TOOK FOREVER BUT HERE U GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I LOVE U

-

You lean back in your seat, lightly tipping your cigarette ash into the ashtray. With the exception of Brown and Pink, you & the guys are enjoying a smoke after a pretty good haul from the heist you’d managed to pull off that morning. You cock your head at Brown, whose gaze is on you. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, Miss Crimson,” he chuckles nervously. “I’ve never seen you wear a dress before. That’s all.”

A flattered smile growing on your lips (you like the attention the boys always give you), you look down at your outfit. Having acted as bait for the heist, Eddie had taken you to get an appropriate dress. You had decided on a blood-red cocktail dress that had hugged your curves in all the right places in the changing rooms. It didn’t hurt that it matched you alias, too! “That’s a strange insult,” you tease, smirking at him.

“What? No– nonono!” he gasps. “I didn’t mean it like– I just meant, y’know, that–”

Pink sniffs. “Spit it out, Brown, Jesus Christ.”

“–it just looks really cute on you, you look really nice, that’s all I meant!”

You smile at him, taking a drag from your ciggy. “I know what you meant,” you giggle, “I was just messin’ with you. Thanks, babe.” He blushes at you calling him that, even though it’s just a bit of flirty banter. You do it with all of the boys; even Pink sometimes appreciates it.

-

Panting, you stumble down the street as quickly as you can, eyes fixed on the olive-green vehicle parked on the curb. Adrenaline rushing through your veins and a breeze rushing through your hair, you yank the car door open, jump into the back seat and, before Pink can shut it behind you, the vehicle speeds off. As Brown sends the car swerving round the corner, Mr. Pink sets the briefcase full of cash at his feet. “Nice work, you,” he comments. You go in for a high-five and (surprisingly) he obliges.

“We’re goin’ to that abandoned shack down Victoria Avenue, right?”

“Christ, Brown, who’s the fuckin’ getaway driver here?” Pink frowns, shaking his head. “Yes, it is.”

“Hey, man, chill, I’m just makin’ sure! Crimson, you did great.”

“You didn’t even see me in there!” you giggle. “Thank you though, sweetie.”

He smiles at you through the rear-view mirror and concentrates on driving. Luckily, the cops hadn’t arrived when you were fleeing the scene, and hopefully they still weren’t there. There had been a fair few prank calls from the local fuckhead teenagers lately, so it wouldn’t surprise you if they assumed it was another one of those. “Do you think we’re gonna go to Joe’s bar after?”

Pink rolls his eyes. “I think there’s more important shit to be worryin’ about in this moment in time, man. Y’know, like getting to the fuckin’ rendezvous alive? That’d be fuckin’ helpful.”

“I was only asking–”

“Ladies, ladies,” you interrupt, trying to diffuse the argument before it spirals out of control like it usually does. “Pink, stop being a miserable cunt, and Brown, focus on getting us there. We’ll find out when we get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Brown mutters. Pink gives you the side-eye and rests his cheek against his hand, sulking. You’re not offended, though; sometimes he needs to be told. Sighing, Brown takes one hand off the wheel and rolls his window down, the breeze hitting you nicely. It’s a warm morning.

-

As the three of you sneak into the shack, you decide to make small-talk. Not small-talk, just not heist-talk. That usually doesn’t do anyone any good; not when those two are in the same room. “You guys have any nice plans for this week? Y’know, assuming we get out alive and well?”

Brown shrugs and looks at you, his mind seemingly elsewhere. He usually daydreams, and you can usually tell, though just not what about exactly. “I was thinking of goin’ to the arcade downtown,” he finally says, staring into space, “but I got no one to go with. So I dunno.”

“That’s probably ‘cause grownup professional men don’t do childish shit like that,” Pink scoffs, his hand stuffed into his trouser pocket, presumably trying to locate his Zippo.

“Shut up, man, arcades are fun!”

“You need to lighten the fuck up, Mr. Pussy,” you smirk, and he stops fumbling around for his lighter and places his hands on his hips, looking at you offended.

“Who asked you?” he huffs, looking you up & down like a bitchy schoolgirl. You can’t help but stifle a giggle at that. Sometimes he’s so dramatic it hurts.

Mr. Brown shares a playful smile with you then digs out a candy bar from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You wanna go halfsies?”

“Sure.”

Pink rolls his eyes at you two as you scoot over to Brown and pipes up. “I gotta take a piss, I’ll be right back.”

“What a lovely thought,” you reply, shaking your head ever-so slightly. You and Mr. Brown lean against the wall of the shack, not bothered about the mucky floor. The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips as he unwraps the bar of chocolate and you watch him in admiration, unknowingly growing a smile.

He hands it to you for the first bite and you grin at one another as you take the first bite, the sweet chunk melting a little at the warmth of your tongue. God knows how long that bar had been in his pocket, but it still tasted good to you. Not even a minute passes and you two have demolished the snack– who could blame you? “Thanks,” you smile, looking up at him to meet his gaze and spotting a brown smudge just beside his lips. You nudge him and giggle. “You’ve got a little somethin’.”

Brown looks utterly perplexed. “What?”

Shaking your head, you lean over and wipe the chocolate off with your thumb and he watches you in complete awe. “You had chocolate on your face,” you giggle, and a grin appears on his lips as he realises.

“Oh, oops. Thanks.”

After wiping the chocolate from your thumb with a tissue (you always keep an emergency pack on you), you return your gaze onto him. His cheeks are pinker than Eddie’s when he’s laughed for ten minutes over a dumb joke. “Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”

“Like what?” He seems to be zoned out staring at you.

“Like that,” you say, prodding him between the eyebrows.

Before he can protest, Mr. Pink comes back from his bathroom break, cigarette between his lips and zippo in his palm. “Longest piss I ever took,” he remarks, pacing slowly in front of you both and craning his neck forward to light his smoke.

“Spare us the details,” you sigh.

Brown can’t help himself but press further. “Where’s the little boys room?”

“Eh, there isn’t one, dumbass. I just pissed in a bush outside.”

“Oh, Pink,” you shake your head. “I’m gonna go see if they’re nearby, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, you meander over to the doorway, wooden slats letting glimpses of sunlight into the shack.

-

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” you sigh, Brown’s arm slung around your shoulder. His other one is around Orange’s, but he’s pretty tipsy as it is. Sure, Mr. Brown hadn’t smoked with the rest of you (except Pink, though you’re sure he sneaked out to have one at some point) but he’d had plenty to drink. And by plenty you mean not much. He’s a lightweight. “Orange, walk in a damn straight line!”

“Oh, sorry baby,” he mumbles, throwing you a salute, eyes half-lidded. He’s probably the quietest of the group; just not when he’s had a drink.

Going to Joe’s bar may not have been the smartest idea considering everybody but you and Mr. White got absolutely hammered in the span of about two hours, but you weren’t gonna complain. You had fun. “Just a few more feet, let’s go,” you urge, and you & Orange manage to drag Brown into the backseat of the getaway car. “Alright, you get in too,” you say to Orange, then motion for Pink and Blonde to join. You figured you’d save White (and Joe for that matter) from Ed & Blonde’s drunken antics.

Blonde sits slumped in the front with you and, after lots of boozy ‘goodbye’ yells, you set off to take each of them home. Over at one of the stoplights, you peek in the rear-view mirror and smile to yourself– both Pink and Brown are resting their heads on Orange’s shoulders, eyes lightly closed. For once they actually look peaceful, it’s a breath of fresh air from all the bickering you’re used to. “I ever told you how pretty you are?” Blonde asks, nudging you.

“Yes, sweetie.”

He looks lost. “Oh.”

“Just let me drive,” you chuckle, continuing your journey to his place. Your memory is a little foggy since you haven’t visited in a while but you’ve a good idea of where abouts it is. “Close your eyes for a bit, we won’t be long. Almost home now.” He mumbles an incoherent ‘mmkay’, rolls down the window a touch and rests his chin on the door. 

It doesn’t take too long to pull over at his place, a rather luxurious-looking townhome. “Here we are,” you say, tapping Blonde’s shoulder gently. He stirs but shakes his head, his eyes stubbornly closed. With a smile, you get out of the car and walk round to his side, opening his door for him. He almost falls out of the damn thing. In fact, if he would have, he’d have smacked his face on the pavement. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

Blonde grumbles as you help him out of the vehicle but complies nevertheless. You help him stagger up to his front door, help him unlock it and help him inside. A lot of helping involved. Anyway, you manage to get him to bed (he flopped on it and almost threw up) and return to the car having locked him safely inside, of course. Honestly, these dumbasses cause you so much grief but they’re worth it.

“Where you been at, sweet thing?” Orange coos, hoisting himself forward so his head’s sticking over the front seat.

“The grocery store.”

He gasps. “Did you get any snacks?”

“No sweetheart, I didn’t buy anything,” you smile, starting the engine and pulling off once again.

-

It’s close to an hour later when you finally arrive at Mr. Brown’s place, a messy apartment full of endless crap. Pink was easy (but grumpy) to get to bed, Orange kept trying to run back to the car when you were doing your best to get him in his apartment complex and Brown was surprisingly quiet. You had had to support him over to the elevator, him almost keeled over, and only just managed to get him to his bathroom in time for him to throw up. Delicious.

“That’s it sweetie, get it all out your system,” you encourage, patting his back as he hurls. “Lovely, that smells lovely.”

He can’t help but giggle as you say this, spitting the remains of vomit from his mouth into the toilet. His breathing is calming now, thankfully. “You feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” he nods, staring down at the mess. 

“Alright, just–” you dab at his mouth with a tissue and help him sit upright against the bathroom wall. “–just let me flush the toilet, okay?” You do so as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Christ, you’re sure some of that candy bar is in the toilet right now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, tossing the bit of used tissue into the toilet. “I just don’t wanna stay here by myself tonight, I rewatched The Exorcist the other night and–”

You chuckle at his dumb antics. Typical of him to do that. “Brown, chill out. You’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get you to bed, huh?” you say soothingly.

He agrees and you give him a hand to stand up, stumbling against you to his bedroom. It’s full of movie posters, stacked up VHS tapes, peeling wallpaper and piles of clothing over the floor. “Wow, nice room,” you observe, helping him onto the bed.

“Thanks, I made it myself.”

“You made your room?” you smile, fishing a blanket from the floor and tossing it over him. “Don’t you mean you decorated it?”

Brown looks up at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s what I said!” He’s obviously still a little tipsy; it’s cute.

“Alright, alright,” you say, perching yourself on his bed. “Will you be okay if I go home now, sweetie?”

“No.”

You weren’t expecting that response. “…No?”

“Can’t you stay?” He sits up as he says this, a hint of panic in his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been joking about being too scared to stay there alone. As you pause, trying to think of a response, Brown looks at you with the eyes of a petrified child. “Sleep over? Please?”

-

It’s the next morning (or should I say midday?). Brown is still dozing and you’re up & about, admiring his place. It’s just what you had expected– not too clean, not too dirty. Now you think about it, you and Brown are probably the closest in the group but you’d never visited his place before. 

Lost in your thoughts, you wander to his kitchen, taking in the dirty pots & pans sitting beside his sink. There’s toast crumbs on his tiny dining table (he lives alone, why bother with a normal-sized one?) and the kitchen roll slightly unravelled. It looks as though he had attempted to wind it back up and failed horribly. That’s something to ask him about once he gets up! You grin at the thought and proceed to poke around the cupboards looking for something to eat when you hear footsteps.

“Crimson?”

You spin around, hand still on a cupboard handle. “Brown! Good morning!”

“Morning,” he smiles, rubbing his eyes. He yawns and cups his hand over his mouth. “What’cha doing there?”

“Just robbing you. I was gonna take off with these–” you squint at the box in your hand. “–these outdated pop tarts. Yum.”

A grin grows on his face despite how tired he looks from last night. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Can we do breakfast though? Please? I’m starving.”

“I don’t blame you, you must have thrown up a week’s worth of food last night,” you reply, stuffing the pop tarts back in the cupboard. “What’re you wanting to eat? I’m good with anything.”

“Pancakes? Bacon? Maple syrup?!” His eyes light up more with each suggestion.

“YES! You get the ingredients, I’ll sort out the stove.”

Brown nods and does just that, and a minute later you’re standing side-by-side in front of the saucepans. He lays a few strips of bacon down, a satisfying sizzling following it, and you take care of the pancakes. Breakfast doesn’t take long to cook. Although Brown is usually chatty (too chatty that nobody can shut him up), the two of you manage to make breakfast without having to say a word. It’s just pleasant. The kitchen lit gold from the morning sun and the just-right warmth hugging you both, not to mention the smell of the food. It’s just good company in a wonderful environment.

“Voila, bon appetit,” he grins, waving his hands around to mock Pink.

You giggle and swat at his hand. “Siddown! I’m hungry. It smells too good.”

“Wait, wait,” he says, and before you can object he vanishes out of the room. You begin cutting up a pancake anyways– he’s not the type to get offended by that shit but then again neither are you. A minute later he returns with a pathetically small tealight and a gas-lighter, setting it between yours & his breakfasts and lighting it. You can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“What the fuck is that?”

“S’a candle. It makes us look fancy.”

“If you say so,” you smile, tipping some maple syrup over your pancakes. He takes a seat and tucks in, having already drowned his own breakfast in syrup. The two of you continue to chat about the events that transpired the previous day (this mostly consists of bitching about Pink being a miserable cunt) when he suddenly looks up at the candle and then to you. “Wait… are we on a date right now?”