#yes. I did write that while the canvas was flipped. I am not changing it

[fauvester]

omg the shared sibling nesting 🥺🥺🥺 (also Elim sleeping like a log in the back so real)

YOUNG ELIM CATEGORY 5 EEPER EVENT

[cherry-gemz]

Open Book: Part I

Summary: As the Assistant Librarian for a small town in Florida, you find yourself intrigued with an extraordinary little girl and her charming uncle. As each day goes by, you teach the girl about adventure and mystery with your love of books. Little do you know what's in store for you next.

Pairings: Y/N and Frank Adler

Rating: PG, all fluff

Word count: IDK, failed at the assignment 2k+ lol. So I split the fic.

Challenge Prompt: Write a story about someone trying to find the perfect birthday gift.

A/N: Happiest of birthdays dear @a-little-counter-esperanto. You are the bees knees and really a true gem! I'm so happy we've become friends - we have so many things in common it's cray. I'm wishing you all the love and happiness, sunshine! May you continue to have a fantastic birthday sleepover and enjoy being loved by all! Hope you enjoy the fic xx - Cherry

"Did you get the flowers?" Mary asked as she sat on the couch flipping through the tv.

Frank patted his chest and then his jeans in search of his keys.

"What?"

Mary kept changing the channels without a beat,"Frank. You're supposed to buy a girl flowers on the date."

Frank furrowed his brow, "Uh...no. Have you seen my keys? Really?"

Mary rolled her eyes, "She's not gonna kiss you goodnight."

He searched on the kitchen table and rummaged through old mail when a knock at the door interrupted his concentration. As he bee-lined to the door, Mary turned off the tv and hopped off the couch to grab her latest book she'd chiseled her way through for the week.

Frank swung the door open abruptly and started you as you stood at their doorstep.

"Hey! You made it, great!" Frank exclaimed. "Sorry, my head's a mess."

Mary now situated herself at the kitchen table and shouted over her shoulder, "It's because he hasn't been on a real date in over six months."

Frank turned red," What? No...I mean yes, but jeez, Mary. Remember we talked about how to read a room?"

He turned back to you, "Come in, come in. I'm just trying to find my keys."

You chuckled and nodded to the doorknob which held his set of keys and he smacked his forehead.

As you walked into the house, you noticed little knickknacks here and there on shelves. And books. Mountains of books everywhere. Piling on top of each other.

"Hi Mary," you smiled as she kept her back to you, nose deep in her book.

"Mary…" Frank scolded as he put his hands on his hips.

"Hi, Ms. Y/N."

You smiled as you approached her, "May I sit?"

She nodded in agreement and you pulled out a chair.

"I brought you something…" you say as you rummage through your canvas bag for your book on crabs. "Well, actually I was hoping you could help me...see…"

Frank smiled as he saw the two of you bonding. He caught himself admiring you more than he'd like to admit as he needed to head off to his date soon. He appreciated your assistance with babysitting Mary as the two of you first met at the local library. His date, Justine, was a waitress at the bar he would visit from time to time. While there was a chemistry between them, it was really just through vanity. With you, he had come to know you at a deeper level: the way you’d squint or furrow your brow when reviewing your clipboard. Or how adorable you’d look chewing on the cap of your pen when trying to finalize an email at your desk. He saw that you loved the color yellow, considering how many skirts and cardigans you’d paired together. And that you were a romantic at heart - the classics were your fave to read and how’d you get lost in historical facts when he had first asked you what your hobbies were. Seeing how a beautiful person you were, inside and out, he now regretted asking Justine out with you on his mind.

Mary's eyes scanned the books of quantum physics and mathematics. At first you thought perhaps she had another book instead, but as you watched her day in and day out, you were astounded at the tiny prodigy and her ability to ascertain such knowledge at her age. You'd correct the cataloging errors for the day and find her reading for enjoyment it seemed.

Then one day Frank arrived. Mary had always left on her own, but as if it were any old regular day, the handsome uncle came to retrieve his stellar niece. He had a warmness to him. His dark brown hair and beard complemented his face, one that was obvious in an overall attractiveness. And he was kind, he showed that by adopting his niece after her mother had passed away and truly nurturing her gifted talent. You learned he fixed boats for a living and lived not too far from the library. You smiled at the odd pair together, they somehow seemed to work however.

As you checked their books out, Mary tiptoed over the large walnut desk and glanced at you.

"You're pretty," she stated.

"Mary. What did we say?" Frank tsked, embarrassed, but didn't disagree with her observation.

"What? Frank, you told me that I need to state facts, rather than assumptions. And I am stating a fact that Ms. Y/LN is pretty. Do you think she's pretty, Frank?"

Frank coughed into his fist and blushed, you smirked, half wanting to know his answer, half laughing inside of how Mary was so blunt.

"Yes, Ms. Y/LN is very pretty," he replied and gazed at your eyes. He licked his lips and you had to turn away feeling flushed. You closed the last book and placed it in Mary's backpack.

"All set," you replied. "These are due on the 23rd."

Frank zipped up the backpack and slung it over his broad shoulder. "Thanks, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh?" You replied as Mary looked at you both attempting to assess the flirtation occuring before her eyes.

"Well, yeah, she loves it here, I mean. And we have a few other books to return."

"Yes, we'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Mary."

"Bye," Mary replied and skipped off.

Frank showed up every day after that. You found it endearing, but not wanting to read into something that wasn't there, you focused your attention on Mary. That only seemed to peak his interest further. While he had a knack for attracting women, his heart was never in it for the long haul since the minute they found out about Mary, they'd either run away from the possible responsibility, or Mary would run them off herself. But with you it was different. You were genuine and kind to Mary. Knowing quite well of her mathematical abilities, you would challenge her in other areas: art, zoology, history. You found that while she could read more college level books than any person you met in the small town, she still was a child wanting to learn about all other aspects of life. You'd sit together at a table: you, reviewing inventory spreadsheets for the latest book fair and her, immersed in some book that would put you to sleep at night.

"Frank, you should ask Ms. Y/LN out," Mary stated one day as the three of you sat at a table together. Frank practically choked and you shook your head, secretly wanting to say yes.

"Aw, Mary. Well, I bet Ms. Y/LN has guys lined up at her door every night."

"No, she doesn't," Mary replied as she turned a page of her book. Frank laughed and placed his hand on Mary's shoulder, pretending to shake her.

"Well, actually Ms. Y/LN…" he said as your heart skipped a beat.

"Y/N," you interrupted. "You can call me Y/N. I feel we're on a first name basis now considering you're here everyday."

“Y/N,” he smiled. His hair was more combed today. You had noticed that he seemed to be disheveled when you first met him, however either Mary’s tactics were rubbing off on him, or it was your pure imagination.

“Yes?” you piped. You haven't been regularly dating lately. There just weren’t many prospects these days. Not ones that could keep up with conversation, let alone intellect. So instead, you found yourself immersed with your favorite fictional characters in the sea of books you’d grown to know and love.

His brow furrowed, he seemed nervous and he picked at the edge of a book as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Mary interrupted as Frank turned to her, but seemingly glad she saved him from embarrassment.

“Do I have a favorite book? Hmmm...” you thought and a childish smile appeared on your face. “I have many favorite books, Mary...The Velveteen Rabbit, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe…”

“Yeah, but what’s like your most favorite book?”

You extended your hand out to her and she willingly accepted. Frank perked up his interest as he watched the two of you scamper off into the fiction area. Curious, he stood up and decided to follow. The two of you giggled quietly as you made your way around the columns, your free hand lightly ghosting over the spines of the books. The subtle scent of paper and dust permeated Frank’s sense of smell. He was more of an outdoorsy person nowadays as he had left behind his scholarly days teaching in Boston. It’s where Mary learned most from, his appetite to keep learning, vernacular, and wit . You slowed down and perused a row until you found your favorite book.

“Aha!” you exclaim and hid the book behind your back as Mary jumped up and down with excitement. “Now, I’m not sure if this is something you’d be interested in, it’s more for ten year olds in my opinion. However, I know you’re a very mature young lady and I find that you’d quite enjoy the story if you give it a chance.”

Frank smiled, perplexed as to what book could possibly be your favorite. You pulled the book from behind and showed Mary.

“Little Women,” she stated. “By Louisa May Alcott.”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful story, really. About sisters and the trials they endure during the American Civil War. There’s friendship, love, and growth.”

Mary bunched her nose, you could tell she was on the fence about whether she’d enjoy a story about fictional sisters and yucky love stuff. You started to pull it away, however she grabbed it from your hands. You laughed and looked at Frank who leaned onto the columns and folded his arms.

“Seems someone is wanting to expand their horizons,” he chuckled.

“So it seems,” you smiled back as Mary skipped off to return to the table leaving the two of you behind.

“I’m more of a Lord of the Rings man myself.”

“Really?” you responded playfully. “The Hobbit included, right?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “I think I actually just read that one to be honest, I just wanted to impress you. I spent my time reading Calvin and Hobbes more, probably how Mary learned my sarcasm.”

You laugh and touch his forearm as a reflex, but quickly realize and pull away. The spark that you felt when you connected was undeniable. You felt butterflies with him standing next to you and you hoped he hadn’t noticed your inability to remain calm.

“Y/N…” he started to say nervously. “Would it be alright if I called ya? Maybe we can get together sometime?”

“Oh, umm,” you replied, caught off guard. While you definitely had caught feelings for the handsome man, you never would have thought it’d be reciprocated. You stuttered, trying to gather your response.

Your hesitation threw him off, and he quickly replied, “I mean...like to sit for Mary or whatever. She really likes you.”

“Of course...yes,” you reply defeated in hopes that he would have asked you out. Instead of asking why he didn’t, you started to walk back to Mary. Frank scrunched his face in frustration in knowing he missed his shot with you and blurted out the most platonic question instead. He realized as well and quickly shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and followed your lead.

Frank watched as you comfortably plopped yourself next to Mary on the couch, dreading that he had to meet up with Justine. He’d much rather relax on the couch with you and the rugrat, enjoying some silly kids movie together.

You peered over the couch, “Is it okay if she has popcorn?”

“What? Yes,” Mary said flatly and jumped off the couch to the kitchen.

“Okay, miss. But not too much sugar. Bedtime is still at 9,” Frank replied as you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s the weekend, Frank,” Mary called out from the kitchen.

“Yes, but-“

“Will you be late?” you asked.

He looked at you in surprise, “Um, no. Probably before ten?”

“Okay, have fun.”

“It’s Y/N’s birthday,” Mary replied, carrying two coke bottles and a bag of jelly beans.

You shook your head in regret of ever telling the child when your birthday was. She was so inquisitive that day, asking about all your favorites: food, animals, books, and now birthday.

“It’s your birthday?!” Frank asked.

“Yeah, no big deal.”

“How old are you?” Mary asked as she set the drinks on the coffee table and then remembered how Frank would scold her about leaving water rings. She grabbed the coasters and placed them under the bottles.

“Mary!” Frank detested and placed his hands on his hips.

“How old do you think I am?” You tease, waving off to Frank that it was okay.

“Older than Justine, that’s for sure. She said she was 24, but looks 34. But she acts like she's 12. She hasn't even read anything on quantum physics, she thought wave mechanics was something Frank was working on with a boat,” she said coolly and popped a few jelly beans into her mouth. She nestled herself back into the couch cushions and wiggled her feet.

“Mary Elizabeth!” Frank’s voice boomed as he entered the living room.

Mary leaned over to whisper to you, “Frank says I'm not supposed to correct older people. Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

“And a busy body,” he huffed.

You nodded and laughed quietly, entertained at his expense.

“Well I am 32,” you smiled and looked at your watch, “As of one hour ago as a matter of fact.”

“That’s good. You’re much more mature than Justine and a better fit for him. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Mary…that’s it. You’re on your last warning,” Frank bellowed. “Don’t make me let Y/N go home and then you’re stuck with me tonight.”

“What? No! Okay. I’m sorry,” she lamented and folded her arms.

Frank’s demeanor changed as he turned to you, “I hadn’t known it was your birthday. Don’t feel pressured to sit for her tonight if you have other plans.” Secretly he wanted to cancel on Justine and spend the night celebrating you instead.

“Oh it’s okay! It kind of appeared out of nowhere. I usually go back home and celebrate with friends and family, but my schedule didn’t permit it this year. Next year, perhaps.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” Mary asked as she chewed on another handful of jelly beans.

“Red velvet cheesecake,” you smiled. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Frank couldn’t concentrate on his date with Justine. His mind was elsewhere. On you. Justine grazed her hand as they sat next to each other at the bar. He seemed unfazed by her gesture and looked at his watch, 9:14pm. Would it be too obvious if he cut the date short that he was into you? He coughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” She cooed and bit her lip in anticipation.

“What? Oh actually I was gonna head out. The sitter needed me home by 9:30,” he lied.

“Oh, sitter?”

“Yeah, Mary. Remember? My niece?”

“That’s right. How old is she again?”

“Seven,” He said, annoyed. He recalled they had met once before. The bartender approached them and handed Frank the receipt.

“Hey, do you have any desserts on the menu?”

Justine’s ears perked in curiosity of where he was going with asking about dessert.

The bartender grunted slightly and threw a mangled tri-fold menu and Frank grabbed it quickly.

“Buddy, ring me up for the red velvet cupcake.”

[shattersstar]

evergreen

and if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent (part four)

pairing: adrian tepes x reader

excerpt: You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

warning(s): brief injury mention, fluff, this is so,,hopelessly romantic, heart shape lockets making a reappearance

a/n: sorry ive only been writing for adrian my brain has been in alucard lockdown and it wont end (although this might be my favourite thing ive ever written so i’m..less sorry)

—

It was quiet, the distant din of the forest brushed over the two of you. It was a reminder of the life surrounding the desolate place you called home. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sound, the breathing of trees and humming of streams. You supposed Adrian heard it all so clearly, the animals and plants alike all alive in the surrounding forest. You strained to hear the crunch of fallen leaves by foxes or snap of fallen branches by deers.

It was autumn and the world was alive with harvest. Animals prepared for winter, plants returned to the soil and tree lines morphed into flame. It was one of the last warm days, the sun high in the cloudy sky, shining onto the picnic you two had set up. You were laying down, letting the sun soak over your while Adrian sat cross legged behind you. Your head was in his lap, the book you were reading was resting on his thigh above your head, opened onto the page you were on. Adrian had brought a book as well, but discarded it after a few minutes of reading. It was out of date, he explained, the science was false and he decided to draw over the useless words instead.

You assumed there was some value in its history, but didn’t question it as he silently sketched. Adrian was always such an artist, often drawing you, or other’s he cared for. He could sketch Sypha and Trevor from memory, yet often butchered some detail of the latter for his own amusement you supposed. He drew his parents often too, but was quick to erase such images, as if even seeing their face was still too painful.

He had begun painting more recently. You liked sitting and working on something while he painted, catching occasionally glimpses at his work. Adrian was never shy about what he created, often showing you without prompting, and never dismissing your request to see his art. He had agreed he was good at it, the technical precision was there, but the heart was not. You were quick to disagree with such sentiment, and yes you could see it within the landscapes and dull memories he created on paper or canvas, but the love was there in the faces of those he cared for.

Each line he added to you, each bit of shading and highlight showcased you in a way that held more adoration than any words could supply. You liked seeing yourself from Adrian’s eyes, seeing your beauty as he perceived it. It was more flattering than anything anyone before him had said to you, not like Adrian would want to hear such things.

You weren’t sure how you knew he was watching, sketching you as you laid in his lap, but you knew he did. You even remained still, forgoing reading to be his muse for the last moments of fall. You didn’t mind getting to lay in the lap of the one you loved, a soft blanket underneath while the sun started to arch towards the west. You could’ve fallen asleep there, nature washing over you and Adrian watching over you. It was a place of peace, a moment you’d engrain into your mind and have a memento—a piece of art to show for it.

You only opened your eyes when Adrian let out an uncharacteristically loud sigh, he didn’t need to breathe, he only did so on his own volition. You peered up at him, sun dancing in his dark lashes. “What is plaguing you so beloved?” You hummed, tilting your head back more as you spoke.

"My chest, it aches.” He admitted with a soft voice. You sat up as his words registered in your ears, worry lacing your features as you moved to sit on your knees, beckoning him closer.

“Still? Why?” He turned his head to the side as your hand smoothed down his slender neck, brushing his collar aside and revealing the tip of the scar that cut diagonal through his torso. You kept your fingers off the injury, but untied the front of his shirt to reveal more of it.

“I am unsure, it just does some days.”

“This has happened before?”

“A few times, yes.” He sighed again, you felt it under your palm that rested next to the pink, raised skin.

“I wished you told me.”

“I did not wish to worry you.”

“And yet I am worried.” Adrian turned towards your other hand, resting on his shoulder and dipped his head down to kiss your wrist. It was a gesture of apology and you accepted it was you let your hand cup his face, lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” You frowned, shifting your knees against the blanket. “And somehow I’m not surprised you aren’t pleased with that answer.”

“How can I be pleased when you, my dear, are living in pain?”

“Don’t be pleased then, be appeased.” Adrian shrugged, still speaking into your palm. You let your fingertips graze the edge of his scar before dropping both hands from him.

“If I must.” He chuckled at that, low and warm as your hands found his knees. You gave them a squeeze, almost to check if he still existed before turning, and placing yourself into his lap. You were careful not to lean into his chest, but Adrian eased you against it, his forearm wrapping around your stomach while his other hand brushed your book from his leg. “Now show me what you were drawing.”

“Of course beloved.” He hummed from behind you, picking up his green covered book and letting you flip through the drawings now masking the words. And you were right, many—most were of you.

A few trees, a tired outline of the castle, faces you didn’t know, but still somehow, every few pages was you, lounging in his lap, or from some other memory he stored away. They made you smile, less worried as warmth overtook you.

“Do you ever draw yourself?” You asked once you reached the last sketch, lingering on it.

“No, the image of myself in my mind changes far too often.”

“Oh?” You were surprised by Adrian’s answer, you expected something darker you supposed.

“I see myself one way, and then...I do not. I cannot draw what constantly changes.”

“Why does it change?”

“You.”

One syllable was more breathtaking than a single drawing he had ever done of you.

“Oh.” You found yourself on repeat, closing the book and letting out a slow breath.

“And I supposed other’s I’ve met, but mostly you.” It’s always you, he does not say despite how well it sits in his mouth.

You knew you had impacted Adrian, only a fool would say they didn’t, but to know that the way he constructed himself in his brain, how he felt when he thought of it, how he saw himself in his dreams, how he saw himself with you were all changed by you and how you loved him felt like a deeper proclamation than i love you.

“I still wish you would though, what am I supposed to put in this locket?” Your voice held an air of teasing, but a current of seriousness laced it as well.

“I could try, if you could like.”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t want him to settle on a version of himself to etch into existence. Not when he was ever changing in his mind's eyes. “What if—“ You twisted carefully to look at him, noses brushing as you did. “What if you drew yourself from how I saw you?” You asked, wanting his art to convey his beauty as it did yours.

Adrian pondered it for a moment, before tilting his head and surprising your lips with his. “Yes.” He whispered against your mouth before finding his book yet again.

You slipped from his lap to give him space and studied him for a long moment. He didn’t shift under your gaze, or look away, but instead studied your back. You were grinning, running through all the most beautiful, fullest, dreamiest of adjectives to capture the face of your love. You tilted your head to the left, and he followed, the two of you grinning at each other with soft, soundless laughs. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling and blinking at him with a new found clarity, the words flowing effortlessly.

Serious mouth, something that hides smiles and fangs. Lips that slope into something heartbreaking—a smile like no other.

He grinned at that, eyes dropping to the page as he began drawing.

Soft eyes, set deep, but still shining. Sharp like daggers and holding handfuls of sunrays in them. Not cold with sadness, but heavy with it.

“Heavy with love too.” He hummed, earning a kiss on his forehead before you settled back to describing him.

Nose…

You paused your words, letting Adrian catch up to your lovely description, while you pondered on it too. You knew this was much for him, so much love filling his ears, outward and heedy. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, like it captured how much his appearances enraptured you, but as his heart did too. You wanted him to see your love through your eyes.

It was a daunting task, and yet you carried on. You reached out, brushing over his nose with your index finger, as if the words lived in your fingertips and could only be released by touch. You furrowed your brows, lips parting before you took Adrian’s hand, the one holding the book. He kept his gaze on you as you brought his slender fingers to his nose, tracing it as you did. You loved all Adrian’s features, but his nose especially, and no words could describe the beautiful feature that pulled his whole face together.

My favourite thing.

He let his attention fall back to the drawing, a bloodless blush could’ve warmed his face with the kind descriptions you imparted onto him. He knew you loved him, you proclaimed it enough, but the sweet words that overtook this dimming autumn day were even more dizzying than he expected. And you weren’t done yet, unrelenting in your words and adoration for him.

Sharp contours—jaw, cheekbones—with an underlying kindness, youthful softness to the angular curves.

Beautiful forehead, my favourite place to kiss. And press myself to.

Brows low, very precise—too serious most of the time.

Hairline like the ocean, framing the sand and sometimes sweeping over it.

You twirled the forever loose curl that hung forward, always draping against his smooth skin. He wanted to lean into your touch, but his attention was on the page.

Hair long, softer than any silk. Golden—not like honey, but wheat fields blowing in the breeze. And thick, with lazy waves throughout it.

You stayed quiet after that, hoping it was enough. You were all warm throughout now, despite how the evening had fallen over you two. You wanted to climb back into Adrian’s lap, but instead you moved to sit cross legged, toying with a loose thread on his pants, twisting the string from the seam by his knee around your finger until his shoulders dropped and the pen stopped moving.

You let your hands rest in your lap, and you watched him study it for a long moment. You wanted to ask if it was okay—some version of him he could agree with, yet he brought the pen back, scrawling something in his tight, professional handwriting and tearing the page from the book with precision.

The drawing took up one corner, the words printed in the background barely noticeable to the bust drawn over them. He folded the piece of paper, once, then twice. A tiny square sitting in his palm, before Adrian finally met your gaze. He reached out, cool fingertips grazing over your neck as he brought your heart shaped locket to sit in his other palm. He used his thumb to open it, placing the piece of paper inside and closing it again.

He kissed the smooth metal before letting it fall back against your sternum, smiling with a haziness that made you feel drunk of love as well. You took his hand in yours, Adrian quick to intertwine fingers before you could settle your palm to his. He urged you closer, uncrossing his legs and letting you take up space between them. “Do you feel better?” You hummed, the pain that had overcome him before not leaving your mind.

It wasn’t like you to forget so easily.

“Hm, better? Yes.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your nose.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No, of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe, you often dwell in pain my dear. Especially alone.”

“I know,” He sighed yet again, bringing his free hand to your chin and drawing your attention to him. “If you’d like, I believe I have found a way that you can help, make me feel better.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He smiled—heartbreakingly. “Marry me?”

For a quiet beat, you paused, the words reaching your ears, settling in your short term memory before they processed into something that rang forever in your head. You and Adrian had talked about marriage, he had settled on the notion it was a frivolous display and he had everything he needed with you. And you agreed. He was everything you needed.

And now, he needed to be your husband.

You tucked some of his hair behind his ear, leaning in with a low voice, “My love, don’t you know?” You asked, blinking up with a slanted grin, “I’ve been married to you from the moment we met.” He breathed out a chuckle, reedy and low.

“Then,” His palms cupped your cheeks, forehead pressing into yours. “Let me marry you.”

“Yes,” You breathed into him, “Yes you can marry me.”

-

It was the first day of winter when you finally opened your locket. You unfolded his drawing carefully, the likeness you wanted to convey hung in every inked line. Your fiancé existed in both your hearts now.

Your fingers brushed over the words, creased from the folding, but still clear.

It’s always you, my betrothed.

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 40

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Pairing: Katie(Oc)xKlaus. Warnings: None.

Klaus woke up lying on his side with his arm draped over Katie’s stomach. As his eyes traveled up her body he found that she was already awake, her un-manicured fingers fiddling with the silver pendant that hung around her neck. “I apologize.”

Katie blinked out of her thoughts and looked over at him with a frown as she turned onto her side and tucked her arm under her pillow. “For what?”

“I made you one promise…and I’ve broken it.” he told her and she shook her head at him in confusion. “I told you I wouldn’t let anyone keep you from making the sky yours. You didn’t want to settle down and have a family yet here you are. Tied down by me and a child that no one asked if you wanted.”

“When did I say I didn’t want to settle down and have a family?” she asked as she slid her hand up his chest to rest on his neck.

“When we were talking about the cure and why you didn’t want to take it.” he pointed out.

She shook her head understanding how he could have gotten that impression. “I said I didn’t want a human man or a human family. We’re not human.” She corrected him. “I don’t know about you, but I tried not to look too far into our future. I wanted to take things slow for once…like glacially slow when it came to the serious stuff, but it's kind of impossible to move that slow now. So I’ll admit that had this pregnancy not been possible and if we were still together in say…twenty or so years and if it felt like the right time, I would have brought up the idea of adoption and talked things out with you and figured out if it was something we would want.” She slid her hand back down to rest on his chest. “But nature skipped ahead and decided for us. If I’m being honest, I’m not mad about it, I’m just sorry if this baby and I roped you in and tied you down.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I like being tied down by you.” he told her, making a small smile pull at the corner of her lips.

“Elijah was spot on when he said this baby is a gift. You’ve once again given me more than I ever could have asked for.” She told him honestly and the intense look of love in his eyes almost made her heart stop. “So you haven’t broken your promise and clipped my wings. You’ve given them something to wrap around and hold onto.”

“Our child…will be just as loved and spoiled as you are.” He slipped his hand down her side to her outer thigh that he grabbed and pulled up over his hip. His hand on her combined with the fact that he pretty much just said he loved her caused butterflies to stir within her.

She still wasn’t ready to say those three little words, so instead she pushed him to lie on his back, straddled him and pressed her lips to his letting how much he meant to her flow into him. His tongue slipped between her lips and found hers, pulling a moan from somewhere deep inside her as his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her closer. His kisses were like no other. Where Damon’s had wrecked her train of thought, Klaus’s fueled the engine. His hands that gently caressed her skin were more than electric. They set her ablaze and had her wanting to feel his touch everywhere all at once.

When he rolled them over and attacked her neck with kisses and nibbles she turned her head to the side giving him better access as she moaned, “Klaus.” Her legs wrapped around his waist pulling him to her as she dug her fingertips into his bare back. He kissed down her neck to her chest then back up to her lips, grinding into her, teasing her through the two layers of fabric. “God, you feel good.”

He chuckled as he rolled them back over and sat up, bringing her with him. He grabbed the front of her thin pajama tank top and ripped it open. She smiled when he broke the kiss and watched her face as he held her back with one hand and slid the other over her breast, kneading it before he gently twisted her nipped between his thumb and pointer finger making her breath hitch and a moan leave her lips before she bit the bottom one. The lust the action brought to her eyes was mirrored in his as he slipped his hand down her chest, pushing her to lie back on to the bed.

TVDTVDTVD

A few seconds passed as they came down off their high before Klaus grabbed the comforter and pulled it over them. She intertwined her legs with his and looked him in the eyes. “Have I told you you’re amazing recently?” she asked, bringing a smile to his lips as he shook his head no. “Well you are.” She grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers together.

“Have you noticed that you no longer revel in the calm after the storm?” he asked. Since she had come back from her shattered soul, she no longer wanted to cuddle in silence after they made love. She just nodded. “Why is that?”

“Because I came back different.” She answered. “If I would have simply flipped my switch back on, without Elijah doing what he did, I would still be beating myself up over all the people I killed, but…I’m not. Even before I made the decision to become a vampire I struggled with this…darkness, inside of me. The same part of me that wanted to tie my grandfather to a chair and break every bone in his body and beat him as he so mercilessly beat me. It was there even when I lived as Hannah. I would have poisoned Father had my sister not stopped me, but when I came back it’s like I’ve learned to accept it and control it.”

He let go of her hand and cupped her cheek in his hand. “And you say there’s nothing admirable about you.”

She smiled and slipped her hand over his. “My mind is naturally a calmer place these days, so there really isn’t a calm after the storm anymore.” She took his hand off her face and kissed his palm. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to go around murdering people for the hell of it, it just means that if I have to kill again I’ll feel bad, but it’s who I am and I can’t change it.”

TVDTVDTVD

A week turned into a month then into two. Klaus, much to Katie’s dismay, had been taking his time with figuring out how to get Elijah back.

Currently Kate sat on a stool in front of an easel with a pallet in one hand and a paintbrush in the other, receiving a lesson from Klaus. She didn’t think art would be something she would be into. She didn’t think she was creative enough to turn a blank canvas into something beautiful the way Klaus did, but she had to say painting was relaxing and she now understood why it was one of Klaus’s passions.

Klaus stood at his easel that was positioned so that she could see what he was doing. Every once in a while he would stop painting and give her time to copy what he had just done. More than once he tried to look at her canvas, but every time he did she pointed her paintbrush at him and threatened to turn him into her canvas, getting an amused smile from him. “I do not hear progress.” He pointed out knowing she could hear him despite the ear buds in her ears filling them with a playlist of alternative rock music and a few pop songs.

“I’m thinking.” She told him defensively.

“What is there to think about?” he asked with a confused look as he stopped painting and turned around.

“It’s more like what I’m trying not to think about.” She told him with a flirty smirk and he gave her a look that told her to explain. “Your butt looks really good in the jeans you’re wearing. It’s kind of hard to stop myself from thinking about painting it with edible paint just so I can bite it.”

He laughed and tried to walk over to her, but she pointed her brush at him with a warning look. “If you have drawn a stick figure on that canvas I’ll never give you another lesson.” He told her only half serious.

“Yes you will and no I haven’t.” she told him then started painting again. “I aim to impress.” She pointed out then took her ear buds out. “Now turn back around.” She told him with a twirl of her finger.

He smiled and shook his head at her as he turned around and started painting again. “Edible paint is definitely going on the shopping list.”

Katie laughed and got back to her painting. “So am I the first girl you’ve given a painting lesson to?” she asked curiously.

“If I say no will you be disappointed?” he asked, not looking away from his canvas.

“No. I’m sure you’ve had a lot of lady friends in your one thousand years on this earth.” she told him honestly.

“Lady friends yes, girlfriends however…not as many as you might think.” He answered. “But no, this isn’t the first time I’ve given a lesson to a woman.” He paused, giving her time to catch up. “This is the first time my student wouldn’t let me see their progress though.”

“I wouldn’t sing you an incomplete song. So I’m not going to show you an incomplete painting.” She told him, not looking away from the brush in her hand that smeared tan paint over the canvas carving out the archway that Klaus had penciled onto the canvas as a guide.

“You need more paint on your brush.” He critiqued without even being able to see what she was doing.

“How can you tell?” she asked looking at her brush.

“If I can hear the bristles of the brush scraping against the canvas your brush is too dry.” He told her so she filled her brush with paint again like he had shown her then held it above the canvas for him to see. “Better.” She got back to her painting and when she caught up to him she looked up, letting him know she was ready to move on.

Only after she finished the finale steps and was satisfied with her work did she allow Klaus to walk around the easel to look at what she had done. After a few seconds of him appraising the painting she couldn’t help breaking the silence. “You can say it sucks. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“It doesn’t suck. I actually think you have potential.” He said with a point at the painting.

“You have potential.” She echoed back. “That’s the same thing my English teacher told me about my creative writing project.” She told him then looked over her shoulder to where he stood slightly behind her with his hands behind his back. “It sucked.” She whisper yelled.

“Perhaps you simply lack confidence.” He argued and she rolled her eyes at him and looked at her still wet painting. “It is not bad considering you’d never even touched a paint brush before today.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder. “You aimed to impress and hit the bull’s eye.”

“I think you’re full of it, but it doesn’t matter. You know why?” she asked as she hopped down off the stool and set her paint pallet on it.

He wrapped his long sleeve shirt covered arms around her waist and pulled her into him, “Why?”

“Because I had fun and I found it relaxing. Which was the main goal of this lesson was it not?” she asked, letting her eyes travel his face.

“It was.” He answered then caught her lips with his. As they kissed a wave of playfulness overcame her and she opened her eyes and looked over at her abandoned paint pallet. Her pointer finger touched the blob of green paint and as they kissed she drew a heart on his cheek. At the feel of the cold wet paint he stopped kissing her and sighed, not opening his eyes. “You did not just-” she booped him on the nose with her paint covered finger tip, cutting him off and he opened his eyes, her playfulness mirrored in them.

He growled and wiped his nose on her cheek making her yelp and giggle. They were jerked out of their fun when Rebekah’s voice practically shook the walls, “Klaus!” Katie jumped from the sharp unexpected tone and Klaus rolled his eyes. “Get out here and tell me where our brother’s at you narcissistic, backstabbing waker!”

Klaus sighed, went to the doors to the room and pulled them open, “Enough with all the shouting.” Katie went to the bathroom and washed the paint from her face then brought the wet cloth to Klaus so he could do the same. “I assume the six dead vampires were your doing?” he asked.

“They were very rude. Trying to victimize a poor, innocent girl just trying to find her way to the quarter. So sorry. Were they friends of yours?” Rebekah smiled. “Oh that’s right, you don't have any friends.”

“I do have friends. I have Katie.” He argued.

Rebekah looked at Katie who leaned her hip on the brown leather couch Klaus was standing next to. “Oh, right, your baby momma.” She told Klaus then looked at Katie. “Your besties are very upset with you for missing graduation and pretty much disappearing off the face of the earth.”

“They can continue to be upset with me because I can’t make myself lie to them and I can’t tell them the truth. All I can do is leave them be.” Katie replied.

“You’re choice.” She brushed it off and looked at Katie’s stomach. “I was expecting to see some kind of supernatural, miracle, baby bump, guess you’re not showing yet.” She pointed out.

Katie smoothed her flowing tank top down showing Rebekah the small bump of her stomach. “I don’t exactly have a missed period to go off of, but I think I’m somewhere around 16 or 17 weeks.”

“Really?” Klaus asked with a look over at her and she hummed and nodded. “How do you know how far along you are?”

“Considering the baby’s heartbeat was so small and quiet when Sophie told me I was pregnant I can only assume that I was around six to seven weeks at that point.” she explained liking the curiosity on Klaus’s face. “And it’s not an exact science, but my stomach matches the sixteen and seventeen week mark of every week by week stomach transformation picture I could find online.”

“We’re off topic.” Rebekah spoke up.

“Right, we were talking about my friends. I also have Marcel.” Klaus told her. “You remember him don’t you? Yes, of course you do. He fancies himself the king of the quarter now, and he has these rules about killing vampires. It’ll be fun to see what sort of punishment he comes up with for you.”

“I don’t care about Marcel or his rules. Elijah told me that he promised Katie he would be here for her and he does not welsh on promises. Where is he?” Rebekah demanded.

“I would argue that he is wishy washy when it comes to his promises to Katie.” Klaus sat down on the couch and pulled Katie down to sit next to him with her legs draped over his lap. “Perhaps he’s on holiday, or taking a long autumn nap upstairs.” He pointed up with a smirk. “Well, go on. Take a look around.” Rebekah walked past him. “You remember this house as well as I.”

Rebekah turned around and looked at him, “I remember everything.” She then looked at Katie. “Care for an eye opening look at the father of your child?” she held her hand out to Katie. “Or are you still on vervain?”

“I’m not on vervain. I don’t know if it will hurt the baby. So sure, why not?” Katie got out of Klaus’s lap and slapped her hand into Rebekah’s. She was taken back to what looked like the mid 1800’s. A party was taking place in the house they were currently living in.

“I remember how the drunken fool of a governor hid away all of our vampire sins in exchange for gold.” Rebekah’s voice served as a commentary to what Katie was seeing in her mind's eye. Klaus stood in front of the fireplace with a set of twin women on his arms. He gave Rebekah a grin as he headed upstairs with them. “I remember the lavish parties he threw as if to impress you.” Rebekah walked over to a handsome, expensively dressed man and kissed him. “I remember finding a moment of affection with the governor’s son, Emil.” The view changed to the upstairs landing where Klaus sat on a sofa with the twins, both with bite marks on their neck, both passed out if not dead while he fed on one of their wrists. “And I remember even Elijah was happy with Celeste.” Elijah was kissing the neck of a beautiful almond skinned woman that had her back against the wall.

“Your brother, he has gone too far.” Celeste spoke with a French accent.

Elijah looked away from the woman to Klaus. “Niklaus, there is no hope for you, is there?” Klaus just looked at Elijah and bit into the woman’s wrist with a growl.

“Are we interrupting?” Rebekah asked as she walked over to them holding Emil’s hand.

“Yes.” Klaus answered, dropping the woman’s hand.

“No.” Elijah answered, not fully turning away from Celeste.

“Dearest Elijah,” Rebekah started talking, making Elijah move to the woman’s side so that Rebekah had his full attention, “You’ve only ever wished happiness for me. Emil and I are in love. Please let me turn him.”

Klaus started laughing. Elijah and Rebekah ignored him. “Rebekah, the governor has graciously agreed to hide a lot of our…” Elijah paused and looked back at Klaus and the two dead women, “indiscretions.” He looked back at Rebekah. “It would not do to turn his only son into one of us.”

“Please. For me.” Rebekah begged.

“It’s not gonna happen, sister.” Klaus stood up. “If we turned every man you dropped your knickers for, then human beings would cease to exist and we’d have no bloody food.”

Katie bit her lips closed, keeping her comments to herself.

“How dare you sir!” Emil stepped up to Klaus. “You would do well to-”

Klaus grabbed him by his neck and started walking over to the railing. Elijah and Rebekah begged him to stop, but he threw him over the railing, killing him. Rebekah started sobbing.

Rebekah let go of Katie’s hand and gave her a look that asked what she thought of what she just saw. “You get around and he can be an ass. Neither of these things are news to me or my business to judge.”

“No wonder he likes you so much, you gloss over his terrible qualities.” Rebekah told her with an eye roll.

“Emil wasn’t good enough for you.” Klaus spoke up.

“Nobody was good enough for me, Nik, you made sure of that.” Rebekah told him as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Now where’s Elijah?”

Klaus' phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket, looked at it then stood up and put it back and walked over to Katie. “Drinks with Marcel again?” she asked as he grabbed her sides and looked down at her.

“Elijah told me your plan to take apart Marcel’s empire piece by piece. I don’t remember it involving you two drinking New Orleans dry together.” Rebekah complained.

Klaus moved to stand next to Katie with his arm around her waist. “I know you don’t have many friends, Rebekah, but what some friends do when they get together is they drink. And when they drink, they tell secrets. Marcel has somehow found a way to control the entirety of witches in the quarter, and I aim to uncover the how so I might take it for myself. Although I assure you, finding Elijah is on my honey-do list.” He turned back to Katie.

“Have a bourbon for me.” she told him wishing she could go with him and get out of the house.

“I will.” He pecked her on the lips and they all went to the door. Klaus pulled it open, but he stopped and looked back at Rebekah. “Oh, and welcome home, little sister.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes as Klaus left then looked at Katie. “You two are disgustingly sweet together.” Katie let a small smile play at the corners of her lips. “Too bad it won’t last long.” Her smile fell. “Nik doesn’t settle down. He’s most likely just playing with you until he gets his hands on whatever is cooking in your tum.”

Katie’s face turned hard, “Believe what you want, Rebekah, I don’t care. Just don’t try to drag me into your disputes with your brother.” She left Rebekah standing in the doorway.

Katie was in the parlor writing in her journal when she heard that Klaus was back. He and Rebekah were arguing about Elijah, eventually he told her what he had done to and with Elijah. “Katie!”

“Yes?” Katie called tiredly knowing Rebekah would just keep shouting until she found her.

“Did you know that he handed Elijah over to Marcel?” Rebekah asked with a point at Klaus who was standing behind her and Katie nodded. “And you let him hand him over?”

Katie leaned back in the arm chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I have a voice now?” Katie asked with an attitude induced cock of her head. “I thought I was just his play thing until he ‘gets his hands on whatever is cooking in my tum.’.” She made air quotes around Rebekah’s words then picked her pen back up and went back to the entry she was working on. When she was done with the entry she went outside and found Rebekah sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, taking in the night air. She sat down in the chair next to Rebekah. “Seriously, Rebekah, what’s your problem with me?”

“I didn’t mind you being with Klaus at first because you needed the stick removed from your ass, but you were supposed to choose my good brother. Not get knocked up by my bad one.” She told her, making Katie frown at her. “You’re too good for him.” she admitted making Katie remember that Klaus killed Emil. “Emil wasn’t the only boyfriend of mine that Klaus killed. He did it again, and again, every time I found someone to care about. He just kept doing it until finally I stopped falling in love. He said he was protecting me from my mistakes, that no one was good enough for his little sister. Until one day someone was.”

“Marcel, I’m guessing.” Katie asked then a thought struck her. “You’re not going to try to kill me to get back at him are you?”

“I’d never kill a pregnant woman.” she answered. “And you guessed right. Klaus caught Marcel kissing me and because Marcel was like a son to him and he couldn’t kill him. So he daggered me to give me a lesson in what I could and couldn’t take from him. I stayed in that coffin for fifty-two years. When I woke up he told me he had given Marcel a choice, un-dagger me and live out his human years with me or leave me and Klaus would turn him just as Marcel had always wanted. Marcel chose vampirism over me.”

“Ouch.” Katie commented. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, I got over it and moved on eventually.” Rebekah assured her.

“So now that you know that Marcel has Elijah, why aren’t you going after Elijah yourself? You’re an immortal just like Klaus. The only thing that can kill you is the white oak stake and I’m pretty sure Marcel doesn’t have it.” Katie asked.

“You should know the answer to that question by now.” Rebekah replied. “I did not overlook my coffin downstairs.”

Katie bit her lips closed and looked around in thought. After a few seconds she pulled out her phone and started a text message to Rebekah that she didn’t intend on sending. “Klaus does not know this, but those daggers are not where he thinks they are. I found them and have hidden them.” She held the phone out to Rebekah. After reading it she looked up at Katie with a smirk. Katie erased the message. “Like I told Klaus, it takes a village and I need both of my villagers free of daggers.”

“Perhaps Elijah is right, you might just be exactly what Klaus needs.” Rebekah told her then stood up and walked away.

Katie went to the room that she and Klaus now shared and found him lying in bed but not asleep. “I found out why Rebekah’s been such a bitch to me.” she told him quietly as she changed into a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Apparently I’m too good for you.” she answered.

“I could have told you that.” he told her.

“I don’t think she believes you deserve to be happy after denying her happiness so many times.” Katie thought out loud.

“Do you agree with her?” he asked, his eyes taking in her growing stomach before she pulled the tank top over her head.

“Of course not.” She answered, her tone implying that his question was stupid.

“Good.” He told her with a smile as she slid into bed and laid down next to him resting her head on his shoulder as he slid his hand over her stomach.

TVDTVDTVD

The next morning she woke up to Klaus rubbing her shoulder. “Wake up.”

“Why?” she groaned not opening her eyes.

“You’re sweating.” He wiped his hand over her forehead and she opened her eyes to see moisture on his fingers. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked knowing vampires don’t sweat unless there is something really wrong with them, like thinking a piece of white oak stake was working its way to their heart.

“I feel okay. I’m just hot.” She sighed realizing that the sheets were sticking to her skin. As she threw them off of her and sat up her stomach growled. “And hungry.” She pushed herself out of bed and walked over to the thermostat on the wall. “It’s eighty degrees in this house. I’m hot because it’s hot in here.” she said with a confused shake of her head. “And I’m not hungry for blood.” She looked at Klaus with a frown. “What the hell is happening to me?”

“I do not know.” He whispered looking down at her with worry clear in his wide blue eyes.

“Do you think Sophie’s doing this?” she asked as she tried to turn the temperature down, but it was already set to sixty eight. The air conditioning clearly wasn’t working.

“I will find out and have someone see to the air conditioning. In the meantime, you find a way to cool down and eat something.” He told her as he started getting dressed.

Katie threw the window to the room open and stuck her head out feeling a warm breeze on her face. “Well that’s not going to cut it.” she sighed then looked down and saw the pool. When she turned around she saw that Klaus was already gone. She didn’t have a swim suit so she threw on a set of underwear, a tank top and some Nike shorts then grabbed a bowl of cereal out of the kitchen and ate it as she went out to the pool. Thankfully since it was just now sun up the water was nice and cool.

She had eaten two bowls of granola cereal and was floating on her back in the middle of the pool when Klaus and Sophie found her. She swam over to the edge of the pool and Sophie kneeled down. “Witches are not the cause.” Klaus told her.

“He said you woke up hot and hungry.” Sophie said and she nodded. “Anything else feel off?”

“No, not that I’m aware of.” Katie said with a shrug.

“Are you still craving blood?” Sophie asked and to answer her question Katie let the blood rush to her eyes then pushed it back. “I’ll take that as a yes. Does the sun still burn?” Klaus stepped to the side, putting Katie in his shadow. She took off her daylight ring and set it on the edge of the pool then held her hand outside the shadow. Her skin sizzled and she jerked her hand back and put her ring back on. “What about speed?” Katie got out of the pool then whooshed around it. She then looked up at the pool house roof and jumped, landing on top of it. She hopped back down and whooshed over to Sophie. To test her healing, knowing that if she didn’t heal Klaus had her back, she bit her wrist. The three of them watched as the teeth marks healed.

“So what’s the diagnosis?” Klaus asked.

“I’m not a vampire doctor, but I think this is nature’s way of keeping a balance. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant. So nature is making you human to compensate. I can only guess that as your pregnancy advances you are going to start getting more human traits and possibly lose your vampire ones.”

“The hits just keep on coming don’t they?” Katie sighed and walked over to a lounge chair and sat down.

“And by the time she gives birth?” Klaus asked.

“Who knows?” Sophie shrugged. “She could still be a vampire or she could be completely human by then.” They all got quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “If you guys are done with me I have a restaurant I need to get back to.”

“Yeah, we’re done.” Katie told her looking up at her from where she’d been staring down at the concrete. “Thanks.”

As Sophie walked away Klaus walked over to Katie and sat down next to her. She propped her head up with her elbow on her leg and cheek in her hand. Klaus pulled her into his side. “Vampire or human, I will not let anything happen to you.”

She wanted to tell him not to make promises he couldn’t keep. Hybrid or not even he couldn’t save her from the claws of death if they came for her. Instead she wrapped her arms around his waist not caring that she was soaking his thin long sleeved shirt and pressed her face into his chest.

After a while she pulled back and moved around to lie back on the lounger with her legs in his lap. “So where are we on the air conditioning front?”

He pulled his phone out and looked at his texts. “They should be here any minute.” Not two seconds after he said that a van with a company logo on the side of it pulled up in the drive out front.

“Awesome. Until they’re done with that I’m gonna be out here,” she told him as they both stood up, “taking a swim to deal with the muggy Louisiana heat.” She grabbed her cell phone and turned on some music before she dove into the pool.

When Klaus came to tell her that the air was fixed he found her doing handstands in the pool. When she came back up for air she saw him smiling at her. “I always forget you were a cheerleader.”

“Should I find ways to remind you?” she asked with an arched brow as she swam over to the steps and walked up them.

“Perhaps you should ask Caroline to send you your uniform.” He told her with a smirk and his hands folded in front of him.

“I might just do that.” she laughed then saw the air conditioning van leave. “Is it fixed?”

“Yes, it should be cool soon.” He told her, placing his hand on her cheek, hating what this pregnancy was doing to her.

They were walking through the back door when Rebekah found them. “You were right. The girl, Cami, she’s the key. Marcel likes her, and because of that I got to see the secret weapon of his that you’ve been going on about.”

Katie had heard about the secret weapon that let Marcel have control over the witches, but she had no idea who Cami was. She made a mental note to ask Klaus about her later. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. What is it?” Klaus asked.

“It’s not a what, it’s a who. A girl, Davina. She can’t be more than 16 and I have never felt power like that.” Rebekah told him.

“A witch.” Klaus gathered.

“She’s not just any witch. She’s something I’ve never seen before, something beyond powerful and now because of you she has Elijah. Who knows what she could do to him.” Rebekah told them.

“Where is she?” Klaus asked.

Rebekah opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. “That clever bitch…I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Katie asked curiously.

“She wiped my memory of the location.” Rebekah answered then looked at Klaus. “Marcel possesses a weapon bigger and more powerful than an original and you handed our brother to him!” she yelled at him. “How many times will Elijah forgive you? How long until his hope for your redemption finally dies?” she turned and headed for the door.

“I did what I had to do!” Klaus yelled at her. “Marcel took our home.”

“And our home is worthless without family!” Rebekah turned and yelled back. “I am finding Elijah, whatever it takes. Are you going to help me?”

“Whatever it takes.” He agreed then looked back at Katie, who had been standing a few feet away from the arguing siblings, then back at Rebekah.

“I’m…gonna go dry off.” Katie said with a point up stairs.

“Yes why are you soaked anyway?” Rebekah asked.

“I’ll let Klaus take this one.” Katie told her then went upstairs and left Klaus to tell or not tell Rebekah about the new development.

TVDTVDTVD

That afternoon she was sitting on the bed, working on a song in the back of her journal with earbuds in her ears when Klaus walked in and looked over her shoulder at the book. I will hold my head up high. You will never see me cry. I’ll smile and say I’m good, but I would fall apart if I could. She wrote a line then scratched it out, stared at the book for a second, wrote something else then scratched it out again, sighed then threw the book into the corner of the room with an aggravated growl. He pulled an ear bud out making her jump and look behind her. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re suffering from writer's block.” He told her and she took the other bud out of her ear. “What’s weighing you down, Little Phoenix?” he sat down beside her and pulled his leg up on the bed.

“The fact that your little phoenix may very well be burning out for the last time.” She told him quietly not looking at him, but at the brown, tan and red comforter on their bed.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed and pulled her into him, “you are not going to die, do you hear me?”

“We don’t know that.” she argued. “What if having this baby takes everything out of me and I simply slip away?” a tear slipped down her cheek and he wiped it away. “What if by the time this baby comes I am 100 percent human? What if-”

He put his hand over her mouth to shut her up and when he moved his hand she bit her lips shut. “We could spend the coming months asking what-ifs.” he pointed out. “Or we could take things day by day and make the most of each passing moment.” Katie took in a deep breath as she lifted her shoulders then let them fall as she let the breath out. “We are in un-traversed territory. Do not let your mind run away with you, yes?”

“Okay.” She told him with a nod.

“Yeah?” he asked again, looking for a little more oomph from her.

“Yeah.” She answered again, but it wasn’t good enough.

“Smile.” He told her and she pulled her lips back awkwardly showing off her perfect teeth. “You’re silently growling at me again, Love. Smile or I will find a way to make you smile.”

She pursed her lips and glared at him exaggeratedly making him realize that she was now messing with him. When he started tickling her sides and attacked her neck with a growl, a genuine laugh left her. “Okay, okay, okay. You win. I’m smiling.” She laughed and he pulled away to look her in the eyes and she slipped her hand over his cheek. “Thank you, Big Bad Wolf.”

“Any time, Little Phoenix.” He replied then pressed his lips to hers. When the kiss broke she pulled her tank top over her head, then took his thin long sleeved shirt off him and pulled it over her head. She gathered up the sleeves that hung over her hands in her fist and wrapped her arms around herself. “If you are cold I can turn the air up.” He told her with a smirk.

“I know where the thermostat is at, but this way I get to smell like you.” she argued and sniffed her shoulder. He shook his head and moved around so that he was leaning back on the head board then pulled her into his lap. “Plus I like the view.” He chuckled at her. “Seriously though, if you don’t want me to wear your shirts I won’t. I know some guys complain that girls' boobs stretch out the fabric and they don’t fit right anymore.”

“Believe it or not most men find it quite sexy when their woman wears their shirt.” He assured her and she smiled, a bit of a blush coloring her cheeks for the first time in a while. She got quiet, memorizing his lean muscular torso as she trailed the fingertips of one hand over it. “What’s on your mind love?” he asked knowing from her hand that played with her necklace that she was thinking about something more than just how much she liked the view.

“Who’s Cami?” she asked, not looking up from her hands on his torso.

“A bartender at Rousseau’s.” he answered simply.

“A bartender is somehow the key to finding Davina?” she asked, trying to make sense of the information he’d been withholding. He’d been giving her detailed play by plays of his outings, but he hadn’t mentioned Cami.

“She has caught Marcel’s eye and she’s human. We can use that against him.” he explained.

“I’ve only met Marcel once, but he totally had an ‘I’m hot, I know it and I’m a total player’ vibe going on. What’s so special about a bartender that would make a guy like him so interested?” She asked.

“She’s beautiful and an abnormal physiology major, so she’s smart.” He answered.

“Beautiful, smart, probably able to read you like an open book…doesn’t sound like your type at all.” Katie replied with an attitude.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he asked with a bit of a frown.

“A little, yeah.” She answered, not one for being vague or playing silly immature games.

“I thought you trusted me.” he pointed out.

“I do it’s just…” she sighed, hating that she was being like this, but she couldn’t help it. “You haven’t mentioned her and apparently she has a decent part to play in the destruction of Marcel’s kingdom. Meanwhile I’m stuck here while you go out and about without any kind of indication that you’re taken. And you’re hot and as far as anyone knows available and the thought of someone hitting on you makes me want to punch something.” she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I know I’m being insecure and silly and jealous an-” he cut her off with a kiss then pulled away and cupped her cheek in his hand.

“I haven’t told you about her because if I did I’d have to tell you that I compelled her to go on a date with Marcel tonight then to tell me where he goes and who he sees. I’d have to tell you that I am toying with a woman’s emotions and making her date a man she sees as bad for her in order to use her as a spy.” he explained. “I knew you wouldn’t approve and you are stressed enough as it is. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

She sighed and brushed her fingers through her hair. “I…have a confession.” He pursed his lips with a frown and tilted his head at her. “I found the daggers that you hid under Rebekah’s coffin and moved them. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would get mad when I tell you that I’m not going to tell you where I put them.”

Klaus moved to the edge of the bed, opened the bottom drawer of his bedside table, took out a false bottom and pulled out two daggers wrapped in a dark blue cloth. “You mean these daggers?” he asked as he showed them to her.

“You knew?” she asked with a confused frown and he nodded. “Are you mad?”

“I was at first, but I know you just as well as you now me, Sweetheart.” He told her with a smirk. “You’re protecting your village. Doing your best to ensure our baby has the best possible life. I can’t be mad at you for that.”

“And I can’t be mad at you for using Cami to get to Marcel. I’m sorry for getting jealous and for moving the daggers.” She told him as she scratched the back of her neck, ashamed of her actions.

“It seems we have underestimated each other.” he told her.

“Well, your super heightened personality trait is your temper so…” she pointed out.

“Yes, but yours is your open minded understanding.” He countered. “And it seems that when it comes to you…you have rubbed off on me.” she blinked and gave him a fleeting smile. “No more secrets.”

“No more secrets.” She agreed with a nod.

He took a deep breath as he picked up the daggers and wrapped them back up in the cloth then sighed as he said, “I am going to regret this…” he grabbed her hand and put the daggers in it then closed her hand around them. “Hide them better this time. That loose brick was way too easy to spot.”

“Well, I did learn my object hiding skills from the same guy who hid the moonstone in a bowl of soaps and a white oak stake in the pile of firewood.” She shrugged. “You sure you won’t hate me the next time you feel like daggering one of your siblings?”

“I’m sure I’ll be livid, but I could never hate you.” he answered as he watched her lean over the edge of the bed and put the daggers back where he’d gotten them from to be hidden later.

“And you already know I could never hate you.” she told him as she moved back to sit in his lap. “So did you tell Rebekah about the new development with me and this pregnancy?” she asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Yes I did.” He answered.

“And now that a rush has been put on the order of one original brother, what’s the plan?” she asked.

“I’m simply going to ask Marcel for him back.” he answered simply.

“And if he tells you no?” she asked

“War.” He answered as if it were the obvious answer.

“Awesome.” She sighed and let her head fall forward onto his chest. After a few minutes she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. “So I’ve been wondering for a while now-”

“Uh oh.” He commented.

“It’s not an uh oh.” She told him with a shake of her head and a pointed look. “What did you look like when you were a kid? You’ve seen baby pictures of me and pictures of me growing up, but I’ve only ever seen you as you are now, and in the early to mid 1800’s when you had long hair. I like it like this, by the way.” She said with a point to his short hair.

Klaus took her hand and kissed the underside of her wrist and the image of a young boy looking at his reflection in the trickling water of a river took over her mind's eye. He looked to be around nine or ten with light blond hair that stopped at his eyebrows, blue eyes and cheeks that Katie liked to call pinch-able. When he took his lips from her wrist the image faded. “You were a cute kid.” She told him with a small smile.

“And you were a chubby kid.” He told her with a cheeky smile.

“I grew out of it…eventually.” She told him defensively. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry.” She pushed herself off of him and headed down to the kitchen.

He watched her start cooking dinner. “Elijah said you couldn’t cook.”

“I couldn’t cook in the eighteen hundreds.” Katie corrected him. “And I really don’t like cooking now since I was forced to take home economics by my misogynistic grandfather.” She told him. “But I can, if I have to.” He watched her place two chicken breasts on a cutting board. “Do you like chicken parmesan?” she asked as she started looking through the drawers in the kitchen for a meat mallet. He hummed a positive answer. “Good because it’s the only thing we have the ingredients for and it also happens to be one of my best dishes.” He watched her pound the chicken breasts flat then start getting ready to batter the chicken. “I should probably start eating healthier now that I can’t rely on my vampire metabolism to keep me from gaining weight.” She pointed at him with the mallet, “So no more ice cream apologies.”

“Should I remove the four pints from the freezer then?” he asked with a point at the refrigerator.

“Hold up, let’s not go that far.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Okay, yeah maybe.” She sighed. “I think being a vampire has spoiled me even more than you have.”

After watching her cook for a few minutes he hopped down off the stool and placed his hands on her hips turning her to face him then pecked her on the lips. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked with a motion to the oven.

“It’s a surprise.” He answered then kissed her again and let her go. “I’ll be back before dinner is ready.”

TVDTVDTVD

She was setting the table in the small dining room when Klaus walked in with a bottle of already chilled wine and two glasses and set them on the table. “It’s non-alcoholic.” He pointed out before she could say anything.

While she got their plates he poured the wine then sat down for dinner. After they had eaten half of the dinner she asked, “So…what do you think?”

“If I didn’t know you didn’t like cooking I would suggest you go to culinary school and become a chef.” He told her, making her smile with pride. They tried the wine at the same time and she was relieved when he made a face and forced himself to swallow. Katie couldn’t even make herself swallow it and spit it back into the glass. “You’re cooking is a hit and my beverage choice was a miserable plop.”

“I appreciate the thought.” Katie told him trying to make him feel better.

“No worries I always have a plan B.” he told her and a woman walked into the room, set a clean wine glass down in front of them then cut her wrist and filled Katie’s glass then Klaus’s. “I thought you might be getting tired of cold blood bags.”

Katie took a drink and hummed at the flavor and warmth of it. “You thought right.” The woman walked over to stand next to the fireplace and tucked her hands neatly in front of her. “You gotta bring girls home more often.” She told him as she set her glass down. When she looked up at him she saw a suggestive smirk on his face. “That…is not how I meant that.” she pointed out with an awkward look.

“I know, love.” He laughed. “And I would bring you fresh blood more often, but this town has rules about feeding on the locals. I still don’t know who’s local and who’s not. So I nabbed one of the tourists from Marcel’s party before she drank too much or was fed on by any of Marcel’s nightwalkers.” She looked over at the girls hand to see and M stamped on it with black ink.

“You’re awesome.” She told him with a smile then took another drink of the blood.

He was starting to understand that ‘you’re awesome’ was her version of I love you. The thought made him start to wonder when she was going to let herself say it and give into him. They were having a child together and dealing with everything her pregnancy brought with it. What was it going to take for her to finally let herself fully have him?

They ate in silence until they were done. “You’ve gotten quiet on me, Big Bad Wolf.” she pointed out. “Something on your mind?”

“Nope, just enjoying your cooking before it gets cold.” He answered with a shake of his head.

She didn’t believe him, but she let it go. “So, since we can’t go out on dates, what do you say we sit down at least once a week and have dinner together?”

“Will you cook?” he asked with an interested look as he put his elbows on the table and placed his hands together.

“Of course.” She answered.

“I thought you didn’t like cooking.” He pointed at her.

“I like cooking for you.” she admitted with a shy smile. “I can’t impress you with my sad painting skills, but I can with my cooking.”

“Then it’s a date.” He told her then sat back in the chair and Katie smiled.

“You think Sophie would share her gumbo recipe with me?” she asked curiously.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to even smell it without getting sick.” He said with an amused smirk.

“Now that the morning sickness has backed off for the most part I’ve kind of been craving it.” she admitted and he smiled, happy that she was finding things about New Orleans that she liked.

TVDTVDTVD

That night they laid in bed, Katie on her back with Klaus’s hand on her stomach as they both listened to the baby’s heartbeat. “What do you want it to be?” she asked curiously.

“Healthy.” He answered.

“No, what gender?” she laughed.

“A strong, beautiful, green eyed, auburn or copper haired girl so I can spoil like her mother.” He looked up from her stomach to her eyes. “What about you?”

“I want a strong, sweet, blond headed, blue eyed boy like his handsome father.” She answered. “A prince to take over his father’s kingdom one day. That way his father can show his mother the world.” She smiled when Klaus smiled and pressed his lips to hers not taking his hand off her stomach.

[foxy-exy]

23 + andriel 👀

Bloom (forget me not)

Prompt 23 from here: “No, we’re going to talk about this now.” (and tattoo artist/piercer Andrew AU also came from Syd!!) TW: lots of talk about scars i’ve been mia working on my very-close-to-my-heart and very-long-compared-to-what-i’ve-been-writing-lately aftg big bang fic (WATCH OUT FOR THAT PLZ) but syd hit me w/ tattoo artist/piercer andrew right when my need for just one (1) tattoo and many (MANY) more piercings was highest so here we are (also my aftg server was talking about flower tattoos on jean and i was like oh worm flower tattoos on aftg characters you say??? so they are also partially responsible) also i may have never actually gotten a tattoo before but this is definitely Not How It Works, unrealistic, unprofessional, and general bad clienting but shhh you can also find this fic on my ao3 here!

Andrew’s pencil scratching is the only sound in the parlor — he thinks maybe his phone died an hour ago and with it, his music playlist. He should probably get up and plug it back in.

The cat eyes glare at him from his sketchpad page, though, and he can’t leave the face half finished now. He swings his chair back around to look at the picture on the shop’s computer screen that he’s sketching. God, this cat is ugly. He wouldn’t want this cat as a sleeve, but what the paying client wants, the paying client gets.

He blocks out the nose and jaw, shakes out his aching hand, and glares back at the drawing as he leans back in the chair and shoves the pencil eraser into his mouth to chew on.

“Hey.”

Andrew sends his sketchpad flying and nearly tips his chair over to turn back around. Nobody ever shows up for random walk-ins this early, it’s why he’s usually the only one on the schedule. (They retain more clients when Andrew is not the one who talks to them. Because Andrew is, as Nicky puts it, an asshole.)

Neil Josten stands before him, dressed as plainly as ever in his standard gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, looking bemused and out of place in the strange context of Andrew’s workplace. He is not a piercings-and-tattoos kind of person. He is a somewhat-friends-with-Kevin-purely-because-they-like-to-yell-about-sports-together-on-Andrew’s-couch kind of person.

“Thanks for not even setting off the door bells,” Andrew says coolly, around a mouthful of pencil eraser, and takes it from his mouth immediately after, because Neil is smiling a little, eyes on it.

“Sorry, I’m pretty quiet.”

“No, you aren’t,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips twitch again.

He and Neil are distant acquaintances at best. Kevin shares Andrew and Nicky’s apartment for rent purposes as Aaron moved out months ago to live with his girlfriend, but Kevin and Andrew don’t share friend groups. Even so, it is impossible to ignore Neil Josten when he’s worked up and shouting about Kevin’s favorite teams being terrible.

“What are you here for?” Andrew clicks off the cat photo and pulls up their schedule — empty for several hours, until Kevin comes in for an appointment with somebody who wants some script work. He doesn’t know why Neil is here when Kevin isn’t working, they’re the ones who know each other.

“How much for a…a medusa?”

“Fifty.” Andrew eyes him. The uncertainty in his voice is clear, which is…interesting. “I didn’t think you were into piercings, or Kevin would have bullied you into at least three by now.”

Neil doesn’t answer, because his gaze is glued to Andrew’s arms — his shirt sleeves have ridden up to show the patchwork pieces winding their way up his wrists and forearms.

“And…” This comes out more rushed now, clearly the actual reason for the visit, “What about tattoos?”

Andrew pulls back down his sleeves. “Are you asking for pricing? I can’t give you an estimate without any kind of idea of what you’re looking for. Do you even know the style you want? Where you want it?”

Neil drags his eyes back up to meet Andrew’s. “You covered up Kevin’s old tattoos, didn’t you?”

Andrew folds his arms. Enunciates clearly because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. “Are you looking for a tattoo consultation or not?”

“Yes,” says Neil, and his mouth flattens, brows pinching.

“Glad to see you’re so very excited about it,” Andrew deadpans, opens up an appointment entry on the schedule and types in Neil Josten, tattoo consultation: Andrew Minyard. He snatches up his sketchpad and pencil from the ground and curls a finger at Neil to follow.

***

“You don’t have tattoos to cover up,” Andrew says, when Neil tentatively perches on the edge of the lounge seat in the private office. “What do you want?”

Neil tugs at the fraying cuff of his shirt and looks pained. “I just…I don’t know.”

“That really sucks, because you’re paying me to help you figure out specifics on what you want right now.”

“Can you cover up scars,” Neil mumbles, and Andrew freezes. And Neil must pick up on this, because immediately he says, “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

Andrew catches Neil’s shirt hem before he can completely turn towards the door. “No, we’re going to talk about this now.”

“I changed my mind, it’s okay, don’t tell Kevin, I just thought maybe —”

“I won’t tell Kevin,” Andrew says.

Neil tugs at his hair.

“I can cover up scars,” Andrew says.

Neil looks back at him, and he is very pale.

And then, because Andrew is stupid, “I’ve covered up my own scars.”

Neil’s face does something very complicated, his hands shake a little, and slowly, carefully, Neil sits back down.

***

Neil doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, he says. He says he likes what he’s seen of Andrew’s work, which isn’t all that helpful.

“Abstract,” Andrew says, and Neil shrugs.

“Animals.” Shrug.

“Skulls,” Andrew says, with a hint of impatience.

“Anything,” Neil says.

“You’re my least favorite client.”

“Even that one with the lion back tattoo?” Neil asks, and he is smiling again. Teasing. Andrew knows that Neil was in the house when he was telling Kevin about that client and his ridiculous whining, but he hadn’t realized Neil had been listening.

“Yes, maybe you’ll overtake even him,” Andrew retorts, reaches for the binder sitting in the corner marked Andrew Minyard — full of his past work — and tosses it at Neil. “I can’t work with ‘anything.’ That’s how people get tattoos they regret.”

“I liked Kevin’s black rose,” Neil says, and flips through the book, lingering on a page with more floral designs. “But you do color, too?”

“That is a style I do, yes.” Andrew watches Neil’s fingers trace delicate petals and fights back a curious rush. “Scar tissue can be unpredictable when it comes to holding ink, and it can hurt. But I’ve had experience with it. Do you want something like that?”

“I like these,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew shoves his pencil eraser back into his mouth and turns resolutely back to his sketchpad so he doesn’t have to look at Neil looking at his work.

“Colored flowers,” he says, drumming fingernails against his paper. “Fine. What flowers do you like? Where would this be?”

“Forget-me-not? On my arm?” Again, Neil sounds uncertain, and Andrew turns a glare on him.

“If you want this, you want this. If you’re not sure, I’m not inking an inch of you.”

He decides he hates looking at Neil’s soft smile when he is on its receiving end. This is the first time it’s happened, and he thinks if it happens again, he should check into a hospital for heart palpitations.

“I want it. Here.” Neil rolls up a sleeve, and Andrew clamps his jaw shut as Neil taps a finger to his forearm, covered in circular red puckers of skin and the occasional, familiar raised line of white. Andrew forces himself to lean closer to examine the canvas with clinical detachment, and press his fingers to the skin, measuring.

“This big?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, and that’s that.

***

“Why the hell was Neil on your schedule?” Kevin asks very loudly from the front desk as Andrew lounges across the waiting room couch and doodles blue petals.

“Huh, Kevin, I don’t see how that’s really any of your business,” Andrew says, and scribbles out another draft.

“No, seriously. He’s never wanted anything before. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Contrary to what your ego says, not everything is about you,” Andrew drawls.

“Neil,” Kevin barks, and Andrew looks up to find Kevin with his phone to his ear. “Why did you come to see Andrew?”

Neil must apparently say something similar to Andrew’s sentiments because Kevin rolls his eyes. “You should have told me that you wanted something. No, I — he didn’t say anything to me. Neil —!” The last part is said to an apparently dead line, because Kevin pulls the phone away with a huff. “I don’t understand why he came to you without saying anything, I’m his tattoo artist friend.”

“Too bad,” Andrew says, and pulls out his own phone when it buzzes.

Thanks, is the simple text from Neil Josten. For not telling him.

Andrew doesn’t reply, but he tucks his phone between his elbows and pretends to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as he flips the page and starts to shade another forget-me-not.

***

Do you like this? Andrew asks, and attaches a picture of his latest draft.

Almost immediately, the text is marked as Seen, but Neil doesn’t respond for a solid few minutes.

Finally, Andrew locks his phone again, irritated, and shoves away his sketchpad, feeling too jittery to sleep like he should be doing at — he checks the clock — 2 AM.

His phone chimes, and Andrew looks down at It’s perfect and thinks that having such a giant crush on his apartment mate’s probably uninterested friend is maybe really, really bad.

***

“Hey, Andrew.”

Andrew looks up from the fridge. He has been studiously ignoring Neil’s presence on the couch while Kevin chatters to him about the latest hockey wins. But Kevin has disappeared, and Neil remains, and Neil is…looking at him.

“I like it a lot. Like, fuck, really a lot.”

Andrew glares and slams the fridge closed. Neil’s smile only grows wider as Andrew stalks over to the table to deposit whatever leftovers he grabbed (that he most definitely did not look at) onto it.

“So, when are you free to ink me?”

Andrew’s going to die, and Neil Josten saying when are you free to ink me is going to be the cause of death.

“Tomorrow. 10 AM,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Neil says.

***

“Andrew.”

“Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil says again, shakily.

“Don’t.”

“Thank you.” Neil stares at the forget-me-not cluster blooming across pinkened skin underneath the plastic wrap, lips parted. Andrew wants to kiss them.

“Oh,” says Neil when he looks up, and Andrew is still too close, and Andrew would usually probably pull back but instead, he dips closer. And Neil would usually probably avoid physical contact like he does with everyone but instead, Neil kisses him back.

“Oh,” Andrew agrees, and starts to turn away, but Neil shifts with him, eyes too intense, and a finger hovers at Andrew’s collar to tug very lightly.

“When would be too soon to ask when you’re free again?”

“Has the tattoo bug bitten you already?” Andrew scoffs, and Neil looks down at his forget-me-not and nods. “You’ll have to schedule an appointment like everybody else. You’re lucky my schedule hasn’t been as booked lately.”

“Okay,” says Neil, and then, “and what about asking when you’re free outside of work?”

Andrew stares at him. “For?”

“What about a repeat of this kind of thing?” Neil gestures between them. “Or…lunch, on me?”

“Lunch, on me,” says Andrew automatically. “You just gave me a lot of money.”

“Okay,” says Neil again, and laughs. “Kevin’s going to be so pissed that he missed all this happening.”

“I don’t see why I have to tell him who I’m kissing,” Andrew says.

“You’ve only done it once.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and fixes that grievous mistake.

Neil’s answering grin is not soft, just impish, but it does things to Andrew’s heart all the same.

[lacheri]

HELLOOO (again) congratulations on 200 🥳 you deserve it. i’m here for the 200 followers event :)

i am an infj and i’m an aries. i choose levi as my s/o, and i love the friends to lovers theme. as for hobbies i like to paint/draw and my love language is physical touch and gift giving (doesnt even have to be expensive, sometimes i’ll just give a cool rock i found or buying food) I HOPE THIS HELPS THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

tysm for participating and the kind words bby <3 I hope you like it!

The Sun: this card is positivity in a nutshell. this inspired me in a weird way to write this, it's not necessarily the happiness from this card but more so the imagery that comes to my mind that spoke to me. basking in the sun's warming rays, feeling the grass underneath your toes, a flower crown nestled in your hair, the simplicity of the summer season embracing you. it's the contentment, the unabashed feelings of oneness and pure bliss without the weight of the world on your shoulders. it's simple, there is no bad energy lurking with this card. it serves as a reminder that better days are always ahead, the sun will rise and fall, but it will always return to you.

the louvre - lorde. "A rush at the beginning, I get caught up for a minute. But lover, you're the one to blame, all that you're doing, can't you hear the violence?"

A rainbow of colors dotted and smeared across your hands and forearms as you meticulously worked, paint brush locked between your fingers. The scrape of the canvas soothed your ears as you worked, the warmness of the wind breezing delicately through your hair. It was such a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky as you sat on a stool in the grass, feet dangling centimeters from the earth. The grass was lucious this time of year, and it tickled beneath your bare toes as you leaned towards your easel. It had been a project to say the least, setting up your art supplies outside, but it was well worth it as you basked in the throws of summer.

You had banned Levi from coming outside, forbidding he saw what painting you had been working on all morning. He had grumbled, settling for the coolness of the indoors, curling up next to an open window with his favorite novel. Unbeknownst to you, he kept flickering his eyes to watch you, easel facing away from him, his expression unreadable but thoughts kind as he gazed longingly at your focussed form. If you’d allowed him to, he’d be outside with you, enjoying the quiet comfort of the sunshine and your company.

“No, you can’t see it until I’m done!” your tall wooden stool balanced in your hands as you shouted out the back door that morning.

Levi scoffed in remembrance. He had even offered to help carry your supplies out, but you had stubbornly rejected. Still, your paint covered easel was missing when you went to your dedicated art room to retrieve it, and you soon found Levi setting the damned thing up in the grass. You watched on with a smile on your face, heart swooning at the handsome man.

“Done!” you sighed, swiping the last highlight of white on your canvas. A portrait of two sat in front of you, one of the man whom you shared your home with, coupled with yourself. Languidly spread out on the grass, your painted finger pointing high in the sky as you sat criss crossed, while Levi’s form rested on his elbows, head pointed in whatever direction. The summer day had inspired you well, giving you the perfect scenery to stain your canvas with.

It was one of your best works, you had deemed as you wiped your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand, unknowingly smearing varnish across your forehead. You couldn’t wait to show Levi.

Unscrewing the levers that held your painting in place, you navigated the canvas off your easel, almost tripping over yourself as you rushed to get inside. Levi had taken notice when the words “done” had flowed through the breeze, and he was already up out of his seat to meet you in the doorway.

“Am I allowed to see your masterpiece now?” Levi asked, a single eyebrow raised as your bare feet padded into the kitchen.

“Yes! But you have to close your eyes first,” you smiled wide, the canvas facing away from him.

He made a grumbled noise, crossing his arms over his chest while his eyes fluttered shut. You flipped the painting around, trying to decide on the best angle to present him with. After a few moments of you shuffling, Levi grew impatient.

“I’m going to look if you keep fussing like that,” he announced, threatening to let a single eye peak open.

“Okay, fine! You can look.”

When Levi’s eyes finally opened, his breath caught in his throat as his heartbeat raced wildly. He had seen countless of your paintings before, in fact he had personally hung them up in frames littering the walls of your shared home, doing so long before the years he had moved in himself. They were reminders of your blossoming love, the friendship you shared long before it became romantic. Your pure nature had captured his attention, your mind keeping him within your grasp, hooked on the warmth that was you. How could he not make you his?

“That’s us?” Levi lifted a finger to trace the outline of your figures.

“Yes, wait, don’t touch it! The varnish is still drying!” you warned, nerves gnawing in your stomach. “I painted it for you.”

“For me?” he breathed in wonder.

“Yes, for you,” you giggled airily. “I love you, and I wanted to paint us together. Do you like it?”

Levi was speechless. It really was a masterpiece you had created. A small part of him felt neglected that he hadn’t watched your process, taking mental pictures of what your face would’ve looked like as you worked patiently. He almost felt cheated of this, the sun had stolen hours away from him that he could’ve spent enjoying the simplicity of sharing time with you.

“I want to hang it above the fireplace in the living room,” Levi finally spoke, his eyes finally leaving the art to gaze at you, his expression soft. “You did a really good job.”

The seasons changed, the leaves turned orange, snowflakes covered the ground, and the smell of pollen tickled your noses. That painting stayed the same though, unchanging and everlasting. Levi would stare at it for hours, every year, regardless of the weather outside. He could feel the heat of the sun on his skin, the breeze whipping against him, the smell of flowers. He even swore he could hear the buzz of a bumblebee one night as you slept against him, shaking his head to rid himself of the illusion.

Levi’s most treasured gift, aside from the remarkable love you had given him, was that beautiful painting. He’d love you and it forever, until the very end of his days.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[melanated-writersblock]

Mind over Matter (Dean x Reader Fluff)

Request?: [yes] "Hi, can you make a Dean x Reader one where the reader is having a panic attack and he tries to calm her down and it turns into a make out session. Fluffy plss 🙂"

Warnings?: ⚠Trigger Warning: Mentions of a panic attack episode w/ explicit description⚠ also there’s a making out session at the end but nothin too wild.

Word count: (approximately) 1.2k

A/N: Sorry that it's been such a long break between this and my last writing. I haven't had any inspiration to write as of recently. Hopefully that changes this year because I really want to write more. Another request that was sent to @imagination-of-a-melted-bitch that I'm taking over real quick! Hope you all enjoy it!

"Do you have a template prepared yet?"

Dean asked, concerned about your current emotionless expression as you stared at a blank white poster canvas. You had to present an advertising pitch for a product that you would be selling to a big company at the end of the week. Having just been promoted to creative director at the ad agency, you couldn't help but feel that losing this account would give you a bad name and tarnish your reputation. This had to be perfect.

"No I don't actually. Not at all." You admitted, setting your work aside as you get up from your previous spot between Dean's legs and began pacing in your shared living room. 

"Making pitches for accounts is my niche so why the fuck am I having such a hard time?" 

"It's a pretty big deal so naturally, you wanna do your best."

"It's already Tuesday and I don't have a template set up. I don't have a theme or a decent train of thought either���.what am I doing?"

"Y/N, breathe baby." Dean said as he realized just how stressed about the situation you had become, fixing his posture in the couch.

"I don't even know if the client actually wanted me for the account. What if they pull out?" You questioned coming to a pause as you looked to your counterpart for assurance,

"I promise you they won't do that. Not if they want quality work." 

For the most part you were doing alright at first, handling any strong personal doubts or unhealthy predictions. In fact, you assumed you were doing quite alright.

Until you weren't.

An all too familiar cloud of discomfort slowly began to overtake you, almost making you feel like you weren't truly in your own skin,

"Oh fuck." You uttered in an almost inaudible voice as your senses began going haywire.

First your hearing became muffled, then your body began to feel weak and fragile. As if your blood sugar had ran low and you hadn't eaten anything in days. You felt a falsified alteration of the temperature of the room as you began to perspire and your heart felt as if it would ultimately give out. 

"Babe you alright?" Dean witnessing your gradual change in behavior, noticed your disheveled and almost disengaged state and immediately knew what was happening to you.

Panic attacks weren't something that you got all the time and that's what made it all the more frightening when they did occur. You never know when it'll happen. It just creeps up on you in the most inconvenient of times. No invitation or triggers needed. It just happens involuntarily. And that, you never truly understood. 

Your panting seemed to be the only identifier for you to realize you were still alive as your eyes felt as if they were micro-focusing on everything in the room. 

Trying to hold onto anything to keep your weak body from collapsing, Dean put your arm around his shoulder so he could walk you over to a large couch in your living room and sat first so he could lay you down comfortably with your head resting on a pillow in his lap. 

Still fighting through the episode you drank some water that was swiftly collected to help the attack cease.

"You're gonna be okay."

"Everything will be just fine." 

"You're doing well." 

"Just relax and it'll be over soon okay?"

"You're doing alright." 

Dean offered words of encouragement to help you through the remainder of the episode as it began to subside. He leaned down and kissed your temple. "I love you and I'm not going nowhere, okay? I'm gonna stay right here." He rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder as you finally came to. 

"I'm sorry." You said with a hint of guilt in your voice, feeling bad for him having to put up with your bodily functions. "You shouldn't have to go through this shit with me." You almost felt an unstoppable flow of tears threatening to fall. 

"No, I'm not gonna allow you to apologize over nothing. You didn't do anything. Remember that.” Dean spoke, sincerity in his tone evident, “I love you so much I would take all of your pain away if I could. I just want you to feel safe." He caressed your face as you shifted back to face him. 

"I love you, so much. You've helped me through too many things to count and I truly can't thank you enough." Feeling your strength coming back to you, you fixed yourself comfortably. Both of you now studying each others' faces. 

"I think I pushed myself too hard today."

"They say you are your own worst critic." Dean explained tracing a trail down your arm while he spoke, "Sometimes you just gotta take a step back. You can't let this shit get the best of you. You are one of the most talented and ambitious people I know and I've seen you put together presentations hours before they were needed." 

"I know, but I just feel like I need to do better." Looking up at him, you hold your hand up for him to touch,

"You are doing exactly what you need to be at this very moment, and that's laying here and not doing a damn thing." His smile earning a laugh from you lying beneath him. 

"Thank you, I feel a lot better now." You said, moving out of your previous position of laying on his lap to sit up and see him comfortably. 

You began to playfully pepper kisses over his face thanking him in between pecs.

"How could I ever repay you?" You asked playfully as you toyed with the earring on his left ear before looking back at him,

"You already are." He replied back briefly looking you in the eyes soon allowing you to continue the ambush of kisses on his face that you were performing.

It took little to no time for him to deepen the kiss once your lips connected. You seized the opportunity to straddle him all the while keeping your lips connected.

Whenever he moved in to take control of the already heated kiss, it's as if you were on a mission to fight for dominance, but you gave in. 

Your tongues danced with each other peacefully as your fingers found their way into his growing hair. His hands moved from rubbing your back to gripping your ass. A fair rebuttal to your actions. 

A call and response. 

You began unbuttoning his sweater as he made work of undoing your bra while your shirt was still on. Both of you in too much of a haze to really give three fucks about logic and directions. You just wanted each other. In that exact moment. You broke the heated makeout to finally speak after you'd gained back some sort of oxygen,

"I'm done with work for tonight, we should take this to the room." 

Dean smirked before flipping you over to reverse your positions, "You're done with work but I'm just getting started." 

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

G15, S23, S25 for xenia and mc’s first time with xenia receiving. Make it all romantic omg

Sure thing! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Again, this is one of my tangent posts where I completely lose track of time and just type, type, type away... ;)

G15: “Using cheap insults isn’t a healthy way to cope, you know.”

S23: “Make love to me tonight.”

S25: “Do that again, I love that so much.”

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The Mistress of Spies was in a bit of a situation--not a negative situation, per se, but one that was so incredible Xenia never thought she’d see the light of day where she starred in the situation. Or more appropriately, the glow of the night. But that was the fortitude of the sunset--the destiny that graced Xenia as the day withered away. Compared to now, dusk had been much more innocent and much less... direct, Xenia had thought of it. The memory blazes to life in her mind.

MC had swung by Xenia’s room to reconvene with the spymaster, her features a dawn of joy streaming into her bedroom. But Xenia had been preoccupied with her tasks for the day to pay the heir any attention, her glistering white eyes locked on the paper as she scribbled away. “Busy as ever, I see,” MC says. Her tone was bubbly and unfiltered, a cascade of spirit tumbling over the serious air. “Yes, but now is not the time for antics, MC. I have many duties to accomplish without the proper time to accomplish them.” She spared MC no glance as she spoke, her brows pinching together. Sheer concentration and determination was sewn into her features. The sight made MC reconsider her choice to stop by Xenia’s room. “Oh. Of course, my apologies, Xenia.” MC quickly repents, slinking away to offer the Mistress of Spies some distance. Xenia had appreciated the show of respect in spite of MC’s charisma and worked in silence, gradually forgetting that the freckled heir was even there to begin with. 

It cost hours to reach the end of her duties but once she finally did, Xenia was exasperated, her hands cramping with the phantom sensation of gripping a pen for hours. MC was quick to chirp her glee, her shoes clicking against the floor as she neared the spymaster. “I see you’re at the end of your duties, Mistress of Spies. Does that leave room in your schedule for antics now...?” MC teases, a playful titter to her chartreuse eyes. At first, Xenia’s exasperation wanted to make her lash out at MC and she almost did, but upon lifting her head and catching MC’s gaze; her eyes softened. “Mmm... I suppose I can’t dispute that claim now that I’ve been unchained from my responsibilities.”

Their conversation transformed into debate about how the rest of their evening should be spent, and Xenia was quick to suggest a tame night spent in her chambers. “I do so love getting you to myself after a long day, MC. Why don’t you treat me to a romantic evening spent alone with you?” Xenia proposes, her classic smirk in place. One of her arms were wrapped around MC’s waist while the other held a firm grip along her shoulders, ushering the girl closer to her body. MC blushes up to the tips of her ears but readily agrees, her eyes bright. So they began their evening with reminiscing about their days, talking the sun past the horizon. The only excerpt of misfortune that the two discussed was the disappearance of one of Xenia’s spiders, who vanished at some point during the day. Xenia was distraught and worried for him, her thoughts a web of that lead back to his absence. MC consoles her as best as she can, even attempting to crack a lighthearted joke to instill a laugh in Xenia’s chest. “Don’t worry, Xenia. He’ll return soon. He’s most likely on an expedition for your sake.”

The Mistress of Spies didn’t take too kindly to the joke, her hackles rising. “You can’t make that decision,” she booms, “I thought you’d be more logical than frivolous, MC.” The heir blinks, wilting under Xenia’s harsh gaze as if her pupils could stab. But her own irritation rises to the forefront of her heart and she snipes back, her brows drawn together. “Using cheap insults isn’t a healthy way to cope, you know,” MC scolds lightly, her tone still playful in spite of her chagrin, “I am just trying to coax a smile on your frowning face, no need to be rash.” Xenia opens her mouth, about to rip into MC’s reply, when the heir’s calm, solicitous hand is placed on her shoulder. Somehow the combination of MC’s touch and concerned expression draws a sigh out of Xenia and the spymaster relents, her shoulders slumping. The change in posture looked alien strung on Xenia’s physique. “I’m sorry. And you’re right; lashing out isn’t a beneficial coping skill to possess.” Xenia admits softly. The vision of a stricken Xenia trying to recoup after the sudden loss of one of her beloved spiders made any lingering remnants of argument fade away. MC’s heart sinks, a pang tearing through her chest, and she envelopes Xenia in her loving arms. Xenia gratefully returns the embrace with all four of her arms.

Once more words of sympathy were shared, Xenia was able to calm down from her dispirited tirade and focuses on the romantic evening she had promised MC. And this, incidentally, was where Xenia had felt the desire to be touched, to be loved. To be made love to. So as MC bit into one of the many fruits Ruelle had supplies for their dinner, Xenia’s smirk arose and out--as thick as a plume of smoke--spirals:

“Make love to me tonight.”

Xenia had to stifle the urge to laugh when MC choked on the sweet morsel in her mouth, struggling to not only down the fruit but also the sudden request Xenia had made. “I beg your pardon?” MC gasps out. The hope that twinkled in her pastel green eyes made Xenia’s heart flip-flop in her chest. “Did you not understand me, silly girl? I want you to make love to me tonight.”

Following that restatement, Xenia had never seen someone move swifter than MC, who tackled the spymaster to the ground in a fierce, passionate hug.

The rest was lost on Xenia, blending together like the redhead’s locks as she stares down past the dull canvas of her bare skin. Between her legs sat a very eager MC, whose emerald eyes shimmered with excitement and a fierce hunger. Xenia’s grey skin was dyed a ferocious red and her many hands clenched the sheets of her bed hard, one spared to cup the back of MC’s encouragingly. It had been a long time since Xenia had allowed to be touched this way, to be tasted... and yet, the spymaster saw no issue with assigning the privilege to the heir straddled between her thighs. For MC, she was gifted a spectacle beyond what she could’ve ever imagined; a cloudy paradise that still felt like a beam of sunshine sinking into her skin. Hot and all encompassing. MC’s bright eyes searched Xenia’s, seeking her permission. A growl of heat rumbles in her gut at the angle she was looking at Xenia in, to where her breasts were a monument on the route to her glowing eyes. Xenia offers her a sheepish grin, her cheeks alight. “Go on, MC...” She prods, the hand gripping the back of MC’s head gently cajoling her to where she needs to be.

The first taste is foreign bliss, unfamiliar against her questing tongue. Xenia threads her fingers through fiery tendrils of hair, encouraging. MC seeks the desire to know, the desire to explore the depths of Xenia until her head was tattooed with her tang, her sweetness... She tastes so sweet for someone who resembles a towering boulder; stoic and unimpressed. She applies her fingers to the mix, utilizing her fingernails to gently claw Xenia’s outer thighs; a sharp stitch of pain that jerks Xenia’s hips. Soon MC’s chin was coated in the spymaster’s nectar, her tongue memorizing the fleshy feel of Xenia in every way imaginable. When MC delicately soothes a finger into Xenia, she groans, her legs closing in around MC’s head. It was as if she was attempting to press MC’s mouth as close as possible, as if there was more pleasure to be had in closer proximity. MC flicks her tongue in such a way that Xenia’s toes curl, her fingers digging into her scalp.

“Do that again,” Xenia breathlessly demands, “I love that so much.”

And MC obeys, repeating this same action until Xenia gives beneath her, her body stilling with a flood of pleasure. MC continues to eagerly lap at Xenia until the spymaster moved no more, her sounds dying away as MC rose from her position. She wipes away Xenia’s arousal with her tongue, her eyebrows quirking teasingly.

“My, my, Xenia. You taste so sweet; I’ll be sure to thank Ruelle for those fruits she delivered.”

The Mistress of Spies turned deep scarlet as MC grinned exultantly.

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

Thank you for your request, anon! I sincerely loved writing this for you!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[uas-fics]

Title: Soulmate Highs Rating: T Summary: Everyone has a soulmate tell. As Stan finds out one day, his is that whatever his soulmates write on their skin appears on his as well. He should be overjoyed, but instead, he’s just nervous his soulmates will find him boring… Ships: Stunny (Stan x Butters x Kenny) Other: For @polyshipprompts Polyship Week, day 2, Soulmate AU.  

Oof thought I had an extra day to work on this but nope, I was wrong. >>, Sorry if it seems rushed or lacks the deeper nuisance and trope deconstruction of my other soulmate works. This one is mostly just for an excuse to write this ship.

—-

“Well,” Kyle took a breath, “that’s a dick alright.”

Stan couldn’t keep his eyes off the crude drawing of a penis across the underside of his arm. One moment, he had nothing there, then the next a line appeared. As if by magic, the rest of the appendage slowly grew across his skin.

“I can’t believe it,” Stan muttered. He’d heard stories of this, but never thought he would experience it. This happened to a second cousin’s hairstylist or a friend of a friend of an aunt’s stepmother. People you didn't ever meet. People who were lucky and excentric.  This didn’t happen to normal people like Stan.

“Me neither.” Kyle prodded the drawing with his finger. “You’ve really got your soulmate’s writing on your arm.”

Stan slapped his best friend’s hand away. “They’re not writing to me. I bet they don’t even know it happened.”

Stan covered the drawing, his mind buzzing. Everyone had some way to find their soulmates. Those were the soulmate tells. Some people swapped eye colors. Some were color blind until they touched their soulmate. Some shared fingerprints.

Stan had always assumed he would be someone who shared a birthmark with his soulmate, and, given how small and awkwardly placed his birthmark was on the back of his upper thigh, he would never have a chance to find his soulmate anyway.

Having his soulmate’s drawing just appear threw that theory out the window.

Only one in a few thousand had a soulmate tell like this! A direct line of communication right on his skin!

“I really, really can’t believe this.” Stan felt a goofy smile spread across his face. “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

“Yeah,” Kyle crossed his legs on the carpet, “you’ve got a really good lot in your love life, Stan. I’m happy for you.”

Stan winced at Kyle’s tone. Kyle wasn’t upset or mad or even jealous, but behind his happiness for Stan, there was a tinge of bitterness.

On Kyle’s wrists were the words ‘thank you, please, come again’. They were either his soulmate’s first words to him or their last. Kyle had long ago adopted a pessimistic outlook that they had to be the first and last, and he would walk out of whatever store they worked at never see his soulmate again.

“Hey, Kyle, I’m sorry,” Stan started, but Kyle held up his hand.

“Dude, it’s fine. Are you going to reply?” Kyle changed the topic back to Stan’s soulmate.

Stan nodded, craning his head around to find a pen or marker. Spotting one under his bed, he moved to his side and reached out his fingers to roll it close enough to grab it.

He spun the blue sharpie in his fingers, thinking what to say. Maybe the direct approach was best. Something like 'Hello? Is this my soulmate?“ Or maybe he could draw a dick back. Give his soulmate the first impression that he was a chill dude.

Before Stan could decide, teal blue words scrawled across his arm under the dick drawing.

"Wow! Did you draw this? Are you my soulmate?” the words said, with an arrow pointing to the drawing and a wide smiling face.

Stan frowned, twisting his arm around. Why would his soulmate reply to their drawing? Unless…

The original purple ink wrote under the teal blue, “I guess I am! If I knew today my arm drawings would reach my soulmate, I would have drawn something more classy than a dick! lol”

“You don’t just have one soulmate, you have two.” Kyle gasped. “Shit, dude. Now you have to reply.”

Stan nodded, uncapping the marker with his teeth. He spat the cap out and held the marker over his arm, just under purple’s response.

“Wowie, golly, and here I thought I’d never have a soulmate. I wasn’t born with weird eyes or marks or nothing. Where you?” Teal ended their question with an oversized question mark, right where Stan was about to write.

“I gotta mole in the shape of Louisiana on the bottom of my foot, but that’s it.” Purple drew a rough outline of the Pelican State.

“I’ve never been to Louisiana. I don’t think I’ve ever been off Hawaii.”

Stan sucked in a breath. “He’s from Hawaii?” He exclaimed as Purple wrote, “You’re from HAWAII?!?!?!”

“Yup!” Teal added a stick figure surfing on a wave.

Instead of replying directly, Purple drew sunglasses on the stick figure then added a speech bubble proclaiming, “Cool!”

Stan grinned at their antics. He was sure he’d like Purple’s personality, and Teal must have so many stories from living in a tropical paradise.

“So, are you going to eavesdrop or tell them?” Kyle asked, leaning back. He snapped a photo with his phone. A second later, Stan’s phone lit up with a SnapChat notification. Stan capped the marker and picked up his phone, already knowing what the notification was about.

“Local Love Struck Doofus To Scared to Talk To Soulmates. More At 10,” the caption on the picture read.

Kyle smirked as Stan flipped him the bird.

“I’ll talk to them, I just…I need to find the right time to jump into the conversation.” Stan twisted his arm to see the continuing conversation his soulmates were having.

“So where do YOU live?” Teal asked.

“I live in the Colorado mountains,” Purple added a winter hat to the surfing figure then a few snowflakes.

“Kyle, he lives in Colorado!” Stan scrambled to sit on his knees and shoved his arm in Kyle’s face. “In the mountains, like you do! Maybe you know him?”

“There are a lot of mountain towns,” Kyle fell back to keep Stan’s arm from his vision, “and besides, if he lives in South Park, too, he’ll definitely know about you. Everyone in South Park and Middle Park knows about 'Tegrity Farms. It’s where most of the town gets its weed.”

He waved his hand around as if clearing pot smoke from the room. “I guess that works out well for you, then. Having one live in the same state.”

Stan’s stomach fell to his knees. He hadn’t thought of that. What would his soulmates think that he lived on a cannabis farm? There is no way they wouldn’t think less of him for knowing how to make pot butter.

For probably the millionth time, Stan cursed his dad for moving them out of the mountains ten years ago when he was five to start 'living naturally and in one with nature.’

Stan tossed the marker onto his bed before flopping onto his stomach on the floor.

He held out his arm and stared at the conversation.

“Do you snowboard?! Sled? I’ve never seen snow before!” Teal wrote.

“Sledding yes, but not snowboarding. I know how to ski a little.” Purple added a bear surfing alongside the stick figure. “It’s pretty boring here. I like it like that, though.”

Teal started to write something, but Purple wrote over him with another question.

“What’s your name? We should probably know lol.”

“My name is Leopold, but everyone calls me Butters–it’s a long story.”

So Teal Ink was Leopold–Butters. It would take a while for Stan to get used to calling someone 'Butters,’ but he was sure he could do it if he had to.

“Butters? Like what’s on toast?”

The last few letters in 'toast’ curved up so they didn’t overlap a part of the earlier conversation.

“Brb, gonna wash my arm off,” Purple said in the middle of the penis drawing.

“Me too,” Teal added under.

“Well, this seems as good of break in the conversation as any,” Kyle commented, tracing the words on his wrist with his fingers. “Wait for them to wash it off, then say you’re here too.”

Stan chewed his lip. “Yeah, maybe…”

Hearing the nervous tone in his voice, Kyle rolled his eyes. He stood and brushed his pants off.

“Where are you going?” Stan demanded to know as Kyle strolled towards the door. “ You can’t leave me while this is going on.”

“I’m coming right back.” Kyle pulled open the door. “You know my mom doesn’t let me eat at your house. Do you want me to pick you up anything while I’m out?”

Stan sighed. In retrospect, he should be glad he was able to keep up a friendship with Kyle at all after he moved away, but all the rules and regulations Mrs. Broflovski put on Kyle when he came down to visit were such pains in the ass.

“Yeah, there is a new gas station if you turn left and head East instead of back up towards South Park. They have that macha Monster I like and awesome chicken veggie pizza.” Stan pushed himself up to pick up his wallet from his desk. He took out a ten and handed it to Kyle.

Kyle nodded, pocketing the money. “Ok, macha monster, chicken veggie pizza. Got it. Don’t get another tattoo while I’m on a food run.” He smirked as Stan slapped a hand over his hip.

“That happened one time and you won’t let me live it down,” Stan muttered, tracing the poorly done paw print tattoo through his shirt. Some older kids from Stan’s school had invited them to a party, where Stan had been talked into being a canvas for an eleventh-grade amateur tattoo artist.

Kyle had tried to talk him out of it, but the artist was so pretty, Stan couldn’t say no and waited until Kyle left to grab something to eat back upstairs before allowing her to make the paw outline on his upper hip.

“Nope.”

As Kyle headed down the hall and the steps, Stan stuck his head out of his room to shout, “And get me a Twix, too.”

“Are you going to stress eat all night over this?” Kyle yelled back, the top of his head disappearing down the stairs.

“I just fucking might!”

“Stanley, language!” His mom shouted from downstairs.

After calling down an apology, Stan went back to his room and sat at his desk. He eyed the cup of pens, markers, and pencils. It would only take one mark for his worrying to end. If they were his soulmates, then what his family did for a living shouldn’t bother them too much, right?

Stan’s hand hovered over an uncapped ballpoint pen sitting straight up in the cup.  His arm was clear of ink now. This was his chance.

Just as his fingers brushed the pen, Butters replied.

“That’s better and yes my nickname is Butters like what goes on toast ha-ha!”

“That’s awesome dude,” Purple replied a moment later. “My name’s Kenny btw.”

Stan dropped his arm to the desktop, heaving a sigh.

He couldn’t do it.

Resting his cheek on the cool wood of the desk, Stan watched his soulmates get to know more about each other, unaware of their third partner’s eyes on their words.

Butters and Kenny went on to fill up his arm several times with chit chat and doodles. Butters was quite the artist and covered his wrist with vines and flowers twice. Kenny was funny as hell and made Stan have to cover his mouth to keep quiet before his parents came barging in.

They seemed like amazing soulmates.

After erasing their arm conversations again, Butters asked, “Could you do me a favor Kenny?”

“Sure, what?” Kenny wrote back.

“I have a tattoo. I got it to piss off my parents last year. Do you have it now? Or does it only count if I get another?”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t even thought about if old ink still counted. He pulled up his shirt and stared at the faded green-black paw print.

“You have a tat? That’s sick dude! What is it? Where is it? I’ve always wanted one but couldn’t afford to go to a good place.”

“Thank you! I designed it myself. It’s on my left shoulder. Check yours!”

Heart pounding in his ears, Stan slowly rolled up his sleeve. Just before his shoulder, he stopped, shaking. Forcing courage through his body, he rolled it up completely to see a T-like shape in a box with the word 'Chaos’ written under it. Each of the word’s letters was in a different font style. Unlike Stan’s simple outline, this tattoo had shading that made the weird box shape look like metal.

“Oh, no…” Stan whimpered. He spun around and dove onto his bed where he left his phone. He didn’t bother to try texting. Pressing Kyle’s number, he held the phone up to his ear.

Three rings and Kyle picked up. “Yes, Stan?”

“Butters has a tattoo–and now I have one too. Another one. They’ll know I’m here when they see my tattoo.” Stan started to pace his room. “What do I do?”

“Just tell them! Who cares what they’re talking about. Just write on yourself that you’re their other soulmate and live happily ever after or whatever.” Kyle’s voice sounded irritated. “It’s not hard, Stan.”

“You don’t get it, Kyle! My family lives on a cannibis farm. I’m not funny or artistic like they are. I’m just…you know a normal joe. Nothing special.” Stan threw his arm out and brushed the back of his hand across his pen cup, knocking the whole thing over.

Pens and markers scattered on the floor, several rolling under the desk.

Stan swore, running his hand through his hair.

“Dude, I am not letting you have perfect access to meeting your soulmates and throwing it away because you’re a coward. Don’t make me take matters into my own hands, Stanley,” Kyle threatened.

“I am not a coward–”

The sound of coins and cash hitting a glass counter came through the phone.

“I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change,” Kyle told someone. To Stan, he continued, “you have until I’ve driven back to 'Tridgey Farm to do it yourself, or I will sit on you and write it myself.”

Stan shuddered. He’d known Kyle since they were both in diapers. He could and would do what he threatened. No doubt about that. he would pin him down and write bluntly something like “This is your other soulmate’s best friend. He is too much of a wuss to talk to you two. His name is Stan.” right across his arm in black ink.

Stan slumped down in his chair, burying his face in his arms.

“Why can’t I have a colorblind soulmate tell or anything else? This isn’t fair…” Stan whined.

“Don’t know what to tell you. At least you know you’ll be able to meet yours and not walk out on them forever…” Kyle muttered bitterly. “Just–oh, shoot. That’s the clerk coming to my car. Well, you just got yourself another few minutes.”

He hung up before Stan could speak.

Stan repeatedly dropped his forehead against the desk. What was he going to do? He couldn’t let Kyle get here and do it. That would make him look like a total loser!

Deciding that reading Butters and Kenny’s conversation might calm him down, he rolled his head towards his arm.

A mark of blue ink ran down the back of his hand from his knuckles to just past his wrist.

“Did you do that? Are you ok?” Kenny asked, drawing an arrow to the blue streak.

“No, I didn’t draw that.” Butters drew a frowny face.

“Is there someone else here? Helloooooooo?”

Stan watched the final o and question mark appear on his skin. He heaved a sigh and sat up. He reached for a pen, only to remember he knocked the pen cup from his desk a moment before.

Shaking his head, he bent over and picked up the first pen he found.

“Ollie ollie oxen free!” Butters wrote. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Swallowing down his nerves, Stan pressed the pen to his skin.

“Sorry.” He wrote then added, “I’m Stan.”

“What?! So, there are three of us here? Triple soulmates?!” Butters then drew a big heart. “I woke up today thinking I had none and before noon I got three? How lucky!”

“Noon?” Stan asked himself, then remember Hawaii was a few hours behind.

“Cool, man. How long have you been watching?” Kenny asked.

Stan considered lying that he had just woke up, but decided against it. Best foot forward didn’t involve lies.

“An hour? I saw the dick. I was,” Stan paused, “nervous.”

“Wow. That’s cute.”

He could almost hear the tease in Kenny’s words as if he had spoken them, but somehow he didn’t mind it. Instead, he wondered what they really sounded like, or even what they looked like. Kenny seemed like the kind of guy to have a lopsided smile. Butters probably spoke with his hands, Stan guessed.

The whole conversation he’d read, they had given vague descriptions of themselves. Both of them were blonds with blue eyes and his age, fifteen, but nothing else.

“It’s ok! I was nervous, too,” Butters made a smiley face, “but with three of us, will we have room on our arms anymore?”

“If we write really tiny…” Kenny let his handwriting grow smaller and smaller until the n and y were barely readable.

Stan snorted a laugh. In his tiniest handwriting, he asked, “Does anyone have a Discord or something?”

“I do! It’s ProfChaos172, my hamster is my pfp.” Butters announced with a picture of a hamster in a square box.

“I do but could you wait a few minutes? Don’t have wifi in the house,” Kenny admitted. “Gimme ten minutes to get to the library.”

“Wait, first, there is something I have to say if you even want to really include me in your lives.” Stan steeled himself. “Dad moved us to a pot farm when I was 5. Other than that I’m boring compared to you two…Idk if you want a boring soulmate like me.”

“A POT FARM?! HOLY SHIT!” Kenny drew a big, purple cannabis leaf. “Dude, that’s not boring.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to have a boring farm life no matter what farm you’re on,” Butters announced.

A weight lifted off Stan’s shoulders. With a smile on his lips, he placed his fingertips over the top of his soulmates’ last words. Knowing they wouldn’t think he was weird or boring because of his farm life, Stan wrote down his discord name and told Kenny he and Butters would wait ten minutes before attempting to contact each other.

Once Kenny wished them both goodbye, Stan bent down to turn on his computer. He tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk as the discord logo spun around. Updates, of course. It’ll take forever for all of them to download.

Leaning back, Stan took out his phone and pulled up Kyle’s contact. If Kyle was driving, should he just text him? Calling would be faster, but would Kyle even pick up? He only got his license a month ago and was a very careful driver.

Just as Stan went to open a text message, his phone rang. Kyle was calling him.

“Perfect,”  Stan mumbled before answering, “Hey, Kyle, good news. You don’t have to hold me down. I did it.”

“Oh, yeah, cool for you, Stan. Good job,” Kyle replied absentmindedly.

“Kyle? You sound distracted?” Stan strained his ears. He couldn’t hear any engine rumbling or radio or the wind. Hadn’t Kyle left yet?

Someone asked a question, and Kyle covered the phone to answer.

“Kyle?” Stan shouted into the phone as discord finally loaded. He already had a request from ProfChaos172 waiting. His profile picture was a cute cream-colored hamster. It even had a little cape on. Stan made a note to send a picture of his dog Sparky right away. Did Kenny have any pets? That topic would be a great starting off point for all three of them to talk, and it wouldn’t be hard to steer the conversation that way, either.

“Stan, you are not going to believe what happened at the gas station.”

“You got the final punch in your free pizza card,” Stan guessed as he pulled up his file folder of Sparky pictures.

“No, better,” Kyle laughed. “Do you know Jimmy Valmer?”

“Yeah. He’s in my class. Funny guy.”

“He works at the gas station you sent me to, and do you know what his Soulmate tell is? It’s like mine, words on his wrist.” Kyle continued, excitement growing in his voice. “You know what the words are?” He didn’t give Stan time to answer. “'I have to help my love-struck, doofus best friend talk to his soulmates. Keep the change’.”

Stan furrowed his brow. “No. No way. Isn’t that what you said while you were on the phone a bit ago?”

“Uh-huh! And Jimmy told me 'Thank you, please come again’! Do you know what that means? We’re soulmates!” Kyle shouted. “I found my soulmate. Life is great!”  Stan could almost see Kyle jumping to his feet as he announced his joy to the gas station parking lot.

Stan held the phone from his ear, but couldn’t help but smile. After years of moping and being bitter about it, Kyle ended up finding his soulmate after all. Stan would have to rub the irony of it in Kyle’s face sometime.

“Aren’t we just a lucky pair of boys tonight.” Stan chortled to himself. “Are you coming back here?”

“Nah, I’m staying in the parking lot to talk with Jimmy until I have to head back up the mountain. I called to tell you that so you didn’t worry,” Kyle explained. “I’ll pay you back for your pizza next time I see you.”

“No, it’s fine. Consider it a gift for urging me to talk to Kenny and Butters.” Stan smiled fondly at the computer screen. Only a couple more minutes now until Kenny showed up.

“Thanks, man,” Kyle replied. “I think I’m going to go now. Have fun chatting with your soulmates.”

“Have fun chatting with yours.” Stan hung up as a request to join a private group chat with ProfChaos174 and 6969SexyBeastMcCormick6969 appeared on his screen.

Without missing a beat, Stan moved his mouse and accepted the invite.

[flowersfrombefore]

Painters Canvas (Walter Hartright X Reader)

A/N: Ah yes the fic that only I and one other person will ever care about cause no one has watched this show. (Its The Women In White btw) Does it sound pretentious? Good it was supposed to its the 1850s. Note that my ass sat down and researched 1850s clothing layers specifically for like a single sentence of this. But seriously I actually really like this one and even if you haven’t watched the show I’d love if you read it. 

@ben-taylor  I wrote this one for you love, I literally would not have done it if I hadn’t seen your post about wanting a fic for him so I hope you like it. 

Word count: 1365 

This is pure fluff my dudes. Have fun. 

The sheer expanse of the field was enough to make sure your excursion would go unnoticed, let alone the seclusion that it already provided as it was far enough away from any home at the edge of the city that no one would even think to look here for the two of you. Any previous concern for propriety had melted away into the dense stretch of flowers around you. Given the knowledge that you would not be caught you had shed your suffocating layers of  petticoats and skirts and remained only in a corset and your thin chemise, letting the splintering rays of sun hit your skin.

There was a small patch that was less populated with the overflow of yellow and white buds than the rest and there you and Walter had settled. Your head rested in his lap as he worked with his paints, arms stretched out to reach the canvas that was placed low and a little farther away than usual to make room for you. As his hands flitted about the canvas his arms would move and obscure the sun from your face, leaving varying patches of warmth or cool across your bright features. Watching him work made your heart fill with something, some feeling that only writers and poets could ever seem to put into words, but it was beautiful. It was warm like the sun dancing on your skin at this very moment, and calming like the feeling of opening a new book in the solitude of your own room. And you knew it was something he felt too. It showed in his paintings, they had changed since you had met, not that you’d mention it to him.

Your eyes fluttered shut letting the soft breeze blow strands of hair into your face and seeing when Walter moved his arms even through your closed lids as light was blocked out or let in. Your arm was sprawled over your head reaching into a concentrated patch of sunlight where tiny white flowers had only begun to grow. Gently you rested your hand on them as to not damage the delicate petals. Ever so slightly you felt the touch of Walter’s finger on the uncovered skin of your shoulder, so slight that it sent shivers down your spine. Lazily he dragged the paint stained tips of his fingers along the inside of your arm, tracing patterns along it until he came to your hand. With his index finger he lightly traced a circle around the palm of your hand then laced your hands together.

Opening your eyes finally you looked up to see the gentle smile that had crept across Walters face where his usual look of intense concentration had been moments before and you suspected had been there up until now. The sun sat behind him illuminating his curls giving him the semblance of a halo. Flecks of paint adorned his face as it always did when he painted, No matter how careful he was it was always there. This time it was all yellows and blues peppering his cheeks like a spars patch of freckles.

“My dear I thought you were meant to be painting today, should I leave so I am not a distraction?” You joked as a smirk drifted across your mouth.

“I’m meant to paint beautiful things am I not? Then how could you be a distraction if you’re the most beautiful thing here” Pushing yourself up with the hand that was not entangled with his you met his lips as he leaned down just far enough to meet yours. You could taste a trace of blood where he had likely been biting his lip as he painted, he always did.

Eventually you were both grinning so wide that it wasn’t possible for your lips to stay together any longer. You both let out a small breathless laugh as Walter helped you up out of your rather awkward position, pulling you up by the hands that were still intertwined, tighter now than before.

“Let go for a moment and let me see your arm”

“Why?” You giggled softly, letting go of his hand and turning your wrist to expose the inner skin. He curled his arm around your back to support you and held your arm steady. Reaching out with his free hand he grabbed for one of the paintbrushes strewn in front of him.

“I just want to paint something.” He looked at you with a smile in his eyes and on his lips as he fumbled with his paints, refusing, it seemed, to take his eyes off of you.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck you held your arm a bit steadier for him. He didn’t always use your arms as a canvas, for it would bring up questions with your family if the designs were to be seen but if there was any honesty to be had here, neither of you were thinking of it. You adored the feelings of the brushes dragging across your skin, the paint drying and cracking ever so slightly whenever you moved. He viewed it as his way of marking you as his, or an exhibition of his adoration for you. An artist would never paint on an imperfect canvas would they?

You didn’t look away from Walter’s face as he shifted his focus to the work he began on you. The rough bristles of the paintbrushes was coated in a thick layer of paint, letting it glide over your skin in patterns you couldn’t discern quite yet. He bit his lip as he continued, and you saw a small pool of blood form just as you suspected. You would have said something but his concentration was so intent that it was unlikely you could get a word through to him until he finished. There it was again. That feeling in your heart that didn’t make any sense to you. The feeling that you were sure was something not allowed in a family such as yours. But it was there and it was real. It was there every time you were with him. Every time he held you in his arms, every time he looked at you.

“There!”  He exclaimed with the excitement of a child in his voice. “How do you like it?” He beamed at you and it was almost impossible to tear your eyes away from the delighted glow in his face. You managed it after a moment and looked to see what he had been so absorbed in.

Oh, how beautiful it was! He had carefully illustrated the very field you were in now, each individual flower looked different, you could practically see them bending subtly in the breeze. It was more lifelike than you thought deserved to be on such a temporary display.

“Walter, you shouldn’t have wasted this on me, it will only be gone soon, it’s far too beautiful to let it fade.”  

“Oh please.” He laughed, while managing to flip you on your back, leaving your arm out of the way to let it dry. “It would fade anyway, I’d rather it be there for you to admire for as long as possible.”

Walter brought his head down to try and capture your lips, before he could you placed a hand on his chest stopping him hardly an inch away from you.

“Walter.”

He hummed in response.

“I love you.”

Without letting him respond you closed the small gap between you. It felt different now. Warmth filled your body, you felt as if you were glowing with all the intensity of the sun itself. You tangled your hands into his curls and pulled him closer, until he lost the support from his hand and his weight rested on you instead.

He pulled his lips from yours for only a single breathless moment.

“I love you too.”

That was the last moment for hours that you pulled apart from each other. The drying paint on your arms was forgotten, smearing over Walters shirt and your corset and possibly his hair. Neither of you knew or cared. For a while you could still taste a slight tinge of blood on his lips.

Okay seriously I love this so much and I’ve never said that about my writing. I know no one is gonna read it but to anyone who does I love you. PLEASE VALIDATE ME. Comments are appreciated even if they’re small I need motivation to write. 

[spiderswithtits]

Complexity and Depth

Caustic was a man of science. He considered his desires and goals in life to be simple - only those who couldn't understand him thought he was complex. It was such a shame the common man was too dull to see this. Oh, what a lonely life it was to live to never have someone grasp the thoughts in his head!

Until, for the first time in his life, he found someone who he couldn't understand.

Words: 2252 Chapter: 1/1 Language: English

Fandom: Apex Legends

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Other

Characters: Bloodhound/Caustic | Alexander Nox

[Link for AO3 listing!!]

Alexander Nox was a simple, simple man. If you asked him what he wanted in the world, well, his answer is simple. He’d say that he wanted to work! He was a man of science! He was a man of innovation! He was a man who saw the world and decided that he could make it better, that he could grab it in his fists and twist and pull it into something with purpose! Something that could make it… Make it so much more. Alexander wanted to tear apart the world brick by brick and relish in the knowledge that he was the only one brave enough - smart enough! - to do that.

Alexander was a simple man with a simple dream.

Many of the people around him didn’t understand this. Certainly, he spent years trying to tell people about the vision he’s had in his head, through press conferences and academic papers, then through cold hard facts - but it didn’t change the fact that his so called ‘peers’ couldn’t understand what he was saying. They couldn’t understand the beauty of breaking apart life at the cellular level and having that control. No, they were afraid of it - what spineless insects - and they cast him out. Frightened by his dedication, they turned from him and he spat on their ‘morals’ and their ‘humanity.’

How could any of these moralistic sycophants ever understand him? None of them were intelligent enough to be on his level, not while they still tittered and fussed over the lives of the ‘innocents’. In all of his years in independent study, Alexander has yet to find an equal. Until… now.

Caustic was the name he used nowadays. Or, rather, his code name. All these brutes playing their games with their bullets and their arenas had one, so he had to play along. It fit, well enough. Poison gas was caustic after all and what else would he use to fight? His fists? Pshaw! Caustic did its job as a label for the unwashed rodents who he called a ‘team’ to use and it struck fear into the hearts of those he fought against. Except one.

Bloodhound.

Or, Blóðhundur, as they called themselves. Caustic spent a night after their first encounter to look up the language they used and he memorized the Icelandic spelling of their name. What was he, some sort of ingrate? Of course he’d familiarize himself with it! But Blóðhundur…

It was a name that kept him awake until the early hours after a day of killing and dying in the ring. Even now, as he sat in his room with a lukewarm mug of coffee and his pen scratching softly on his journals the hunter wouldn't leave his mind. It wasn't the noise of his competitors yelling in the common rooms down the stairs that kept him up - except, perhaps it would if he heard the familiar clip of a voice cutting through it, light and clear and trilling with praise for their Allfather.

Perhaps that would be preferable if he could hear that. It would break him out of this - this circle of insanity where he could do more than write and write and think! Alas, there was no flesh and blood Blóðhundur there to draw his attention, just the one that he scribbled into his journal. Caustic was a man who kept his notes of the things he wished to figure out and they were his newest study obsession.

Oh, the things Caustic could say about them! The things he's recorded and wrote down! Where does he start? Should he go back to his first entries on the day that they first put a knife into his throat? The very day where he found a lone, injured crow among the dirt and rocks of the arena, crying for help? He meant to help it, of course - it was a bird and if it's wings were snapped, the kindest thing to do was release it from life and use it's death as a study. Caustic never got far on that, no, not before they happened.

He's heard the stories of the sterling Apex champion but he had yet to meet them face to face, so he barely knew what was going on when they attacked. How does one describe it? The way they slipped around him like the gas he controls, like the Grim Reaper themself? How he tried to swing his gun to follow but they slid like a breeze behind him, then there was a gust of wind against his leg as they snatched Caustic by the hair on his head and swung up and then there was metal in his throat and he was staring at sky? How they looked him in the eyes while he lied there, dying, as they crouched over his chest and whispered in his ear, “Only cowards and the honorless kill the helpless. If you wish to end a life, do it with pride as they fight for it. I am ready for my end. Are you?”

I am ready for my end. Are you?

With that line echoing in his head, it turns out Caustic was not. When the electric shudder of the Apex resurrection machine that built him from the cell up faded, the memory of Blóðhundur didn’t.

It didn't stop there. That was just the start of his obsession and if he flipped further through his books, there's plenty more notes. Does he start on the days after that, when they repeated the same Apex rounds over and over for a proper ranking, his spine sizzling with electricity after every resurrection from the Apex machines? Does he talk about the numerous attempts he’s tried to get revenge on this masked ghost of the arena? He was aggravated from their first encounter and he promised himself he'd take them down personally after all. How many times Caustic has placed down a trap and waited for the chance to capture this bloodthirsty creature? Too many, he’d say. Too many that went too south, that cost him entire games because this hunter navigated each of his traps with ease.

They outwitted him. They knew what he was doing before he could even do it. Whenever he tried to take them by surprise, they met him move for move. It took awhile for him to admit it, but eventually, he had to. 

Caustic sighed as he tossed his journal on his desk. What a pain. It's been too long since he's had to taste the sting of defeat this often and it bitter on his tongue. But, just like any other issue in his life, he couldn't simply fume at it until it went away, could he? No, he was a smart man, he's figured out how to force the cells of the human body to forcibly tear themselves away from each other! A single clever human in a mask should be much, much more manageable.

Still, Caustic took his secret little moment to breathe before he sat forward in his chair and turned his journal to flip through it yet again to his notes.

Blóðhundur was ruthless. They were vocal and bright about their love of the fight and they were heartless as they stepped off the drop ships. They were a slaughterer and Caustic watched as they once tossed aside a gun and danced through an entire platoon of soldiers spraying blood like an artist across the canvas, like a prodigy of death. They finished with barely a scratch on them and simply turned and bowed to the bodies, no doubt calling a prayer to their ‘Allfather’. A bit… well, primitive, but he could overlook those slight transgressions to instead admire their skills.

They were clever, yes, but that? It was art. Art only one of intellect could do with the utmost confidence in themselves. Blóðhundur was a genius. They were a genius and he would be a fool to call them anything but.

It was… difficult to place when Caustic’s obsession with the masked hunter turned from obsession to adoration. Even now as he looked over his notes he couldn’t see when his writing turned from clinical to passionate. They’ve met many a time on the battlefield but never outside of it. The moment the games were done and the teams were resurrected to filter off to the ranking boards, Blóðhundur was gone. They disappeared like gas in the wind and he was left sitting there, burning with the desire to study, to learn. That was a desire that could only just be controlled by a cup of coffee and his journals where he’d sit and study and plan out his next trap to capture them. It was after the twenty sixth attempt that he had to admit it. He had to admit that they were smarter than him, cleverer, and they barely even gave Caustic so much as a glance whenever they sidestepped his traps or shot them down with a flick of their wrists. Was that where it started, he wondered as he sipped at his coffee, pen tapping against the journal? Was it the fact that Blóðhundur never so much as saw him as a threat that fanned the flames inside of him? Caustic - no, Alexander - has spent so long scoffing at the ill-mannered dolts that sat below him that the moment that he’s met someone who so thoroughly did not consider him their equal, it sends him spiralling?

He was determined to fix that. Alexander approached Blóðhundur like he would any other biological or chemical problem he’s encountered in his life. He’ll bide his time - he’s patient - and he’ll make his notes. He’ll find their patterns, their habits and their quirks, he’ll find their mistakes and he’ll climb his way back to the top of the food chain over them. If he timed it right, he could hunt them down outside of the Apex games and ambush them. Then he’ll be the one who gloats over them as his gas creeps into their lungs and when it looks like they’ve accepted their death … Except, that wouldn’t do, would it? The thought of killing them is a sour thought in Caustic’s mind as he considered his options. It’s a foreign thought, to not simply crush his competition out of existence, but why would he? Would he really want to deprive the world of their slaughter? After all, why would one murder perfection when you can simply let them go? And Blóðhundur, well, they were just like their own little raven weren’t they? He can’t cage them up to study either, one had to let them go free to stretch their murderous wings.

But if Caustic didn’t want to kill them, what did he want? It wasn’t just to study, was it? No, if it was, then the dozens of scribbled notes written in the middle of the night or in the heat of the fight would have satisfied this burning desire inside of him. They were barely even a balm! It only numbed the itch inside of him and as he sat there and thought and thought and thought… He realized he wanted an up close and personal study of the mind. Caustic wanted to feel the hunter in his hands, feel the weight of their limbs and the chirp of their voice near his head again as clear as birdsong. He wanted to hold them in his hands for just a moment, to hear them acknowledge him. He wanted to turn the words in their mouth from the derision he first heard on that first day to something sweeter, something filled with admiration. What an exhilarating thought that was! What a delight it would be to have a moment alone with them, to hear his name on their lips and hear the lilt of curiosity - but not fear, because only the ignorant and the lesser men are afraid when faced with an equal! If Caustic was a lesser man, perhaps he’d be intoxicated on the thought of this fantasy. It was a fantasy filled with the soft sound of Blóðhundur’s hat tapping against a wall as they look up at him as they exchange barbs and witty words in a battle of the minds instead of fists. Could they keep up with him? Caustic’s hopeful, because what a shame would it be if Blóðhundur was just some charlatan who couldn’t tell their ass apart from their mouth. No, they were too clever not to be.

A genius. Perfection. A true equal. Blóðhundur was all of these and Caustic was determined to explore the depths of their intellect and to see how they reacted to his. Blóðhundur was a clever hunter on the Apex fields, but all Caustic needed was one slip up to take advantage of to draw them into his net. He was no fighter compared to them, so he had to rely on his brain that's kept him ahead all these years. If Blóðhundur was clever, then it was time for him to be even more so. How so very convenient it was that he was such a resilient and determined man, wasn’t he?

It was just a matter of time now. All Caustic needed was time and patience and study - of which he had plenty of - to figure out how to catch this little bird of his. And once he did, oh, how he’ll adore hearing them sing for him their song of their people and their mind.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

non-times and non-places

a miami vice au

[poe dameron x reader]

author’s note: one of the shows i’m working my way through atm is miami vice and i love everything about it. the vaporwave aesthetic is reeaalll haha. i might end up writing more of this cuz it was fun, we’ll see! 

word count: 2,868

Crime never sleeps, and neither, so it seems, do you.

The mug of coffee resting on the island before you has long gone cold when you hear the alarm clock in the bedroom going off, only to be shut off a few moments later with what you know is a tired and heavy hand, accompanied by grumbling as your husband hoists himself out of bed. Your day starts when it’s still dark out, for you’re both due at the department at 9 AM on the dot and rush hour traffic in a city like this is a force to be reckoned with.

You hear creaking as the bedroom door slowly opens, and the quiet patters of Poe’s bare feet along the cold tiles. He’s rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wake up some more and running a hand through his hair which, at this hour, is more like a lion’s mane after all his moving around while he slept. One brush of his fingers through the strands does little to tame it, but he’s not bothered as he drops his hand back down to his side. He sighs heavily and glances at you upon entering the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” he asks, rifling through the cupboards for the necessary items to make a fresh pot of coffee. You’d only made enough for yourself because it would be cold if left to sit around until he woke up—that’s always a good indicator as to how long you’d been awake. His voice is rough and gravely and he clears his throat.

“No,” you respond softly, fingers curling around the mug handle and pulling it closer to you as if you’re going to bring it up to your mouth to take a sip, but you won’t because if there’s anything you hate more than room temperature coffee, it’s cold coffee, and your movements now are nothing but habit.

“If this keeps up, you should see a doctor.” The suggestion is gentle, and maybe it’s because he’s tired and has no energy for anything firmer or maybe it’s just because he cares so much or maybe it’s a mixture of both.

“I think it’s just the stress,” you reason, and the quiet gurgling of the coffee machine accompanies your words. “The strain of the last bust kept my mind on high alert and even though the case is closed, my body’s still trying to adjust to actually having time to rest.” You chuckle quietly.

Poe turns around and leans against the counter, elbows braced on the surface. There are dark circles under your eyes that have only grown worse as the days continue on. Getting more than five hours of sleep would be considered a stroke of luck on your end, and not only that, but five hours of uninterrupted shut-eye. What rest you’ve managed to get was far from peaceful, punctuated by bouts of laying face-up, staring at the ceiling and watching the reflection of headlights from the occasional passing car flashing across the expanse. And he hates seeing you like this, to see you fatigued to the point that the thought of you passing out right there at your work desk is perfectly plausible.

He does what he can—he figures it’s discomfort at first that prevents you from falling asleep, and every night he pulls you close and nuzzles your hair and runs his fingers up and down your arm, soft and light like the sun peeking over the horizon the next morning. And he wakes up to find you already in the kitchen, not quite able to get through the whole night but you smile softly and he knows you’re saying thanks for trying. He just smiles back and leans forward on the island to set a hand over yours and there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he would never stop trying. He’s a detective watching out for his partner and he’s a husband watching out for his wife. Taking care of you goes without saying.

“Well, at least the weekend’s almost here.” The coffee is done so Poe grabs a mug—it’s one you’d gotten for him as a souvenir when you went to New York to visit family. “You’ll have time to catch up on some much needed sleep.”

“Yes, very much needed…” you murmur.

———

The department is already bustling by the time you get there. Miami is a city with a thriving criminal underworld. People tell you that you should go out to see the Keys when you have the time, because it’s odd that you’ve never been even though you’ve lived here for some time now, and you say that you will as soon as your schedule allows. But crime doesn’t exactly abide by the conventional 9 to 5, and so you suppose you’ll just have to make do with the keys you see while on the clock, in the form of white blocks sniffed out by the K-9 units.

Today you’re in a gray pantsuit with a white button-up underneath and a pair of close-toed shoes to complete the ensemble. You have skirts but haven’t worn them in a while—they aren’t exactly the best article of clothing to be wearing out on the field. Pants grant you the mobility to pursue anyone trying to run. The skirts and dresses and open-toed heels are from your days when you did exclusively desk work.

You open your locker to store your purse inside and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the inside of the door. The lack of sleep is apparent in your eyes, not that you couldn’t already feel it with the heaviness in your lids. You’d eaten breakfast which served to help perk you up, but you’re itching for a bust or a chase just to get the adrenaline going. With a sigh, you grab your police badge before shutting the locker.

The morning briefings begin at 9:30 and last, at the most, until 10, depending on how many open cases there are. Today it lasts no more than fifteen minutes. After the last bust, things have been quiet. There’s only one outstanding investigation being handled by another team, so all you and Poe are assigned to is scouting the usual hang-outs and popular spots for drug-dealing. You know something is bound to pop up as you talk with informants working in these areas. Someone’s always looking to buy, and there’s always someone prepared to sell.

South Beach is the place to be if one knows anything about living in a place like this. The city is always warm, the go-to destination for those looking to hide away from the chill farther north during the winter months, but the beach always feels just a bit warmer. Poe’s black Daytona Spyder looks right at home along Ocean Drive, the top down to allow a breeze to pass over you both, and it ruffles your hair and blows it back so that when he’s found a spot to park, you’re combing it through with your fingers to undo what knots might have formed.

Sunglasses hide your wandering eyes as you scope out the people milling about on the sidewalk in search of anyone suspicious. They seem to part for you like the Red Sea as you and Poe walk along. Even before noon, the heat is almost palpable, so the two of you have shed your blazers, leaving you in your button-up with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and Poe in his powder blue tee, the shoulder holster he wears pulled taut across broad shoulders, rough brown leather brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Palm tree fronds sway gently in the slight wind, casting shadows on the concrete. You’re surrounded by white art deco buildings accented in teals and soft pinks and walk past the occasional outdoor café with canvas overhangs and canvas umbrellas. If you were to poise index and thumb on one arm of your sunglasses and pull them down just a little, enough to peek over the top, you’d see the haze of the Miami heat make itself known in the distance, distorting the farthest point of the road visible from where you stand and the cars farther away still, like a mirage except there’s no desert for miles in any direction. All of it combined serves to form a kind of fever dream, the most colorful and exotic one you’ve ever had.

Poe dips into a bar and you follow close behind. It’s dark in here, and your eyes begin to adjust to the sudden change in lighting as you set your sunglasses on top of your head. Your informant here is the bartender, who grins in greeting as you approach the counter and take a seat on the stools.

“What’ll it be today, detectives?” he asks.

“No drinks this time, Finn.” Poe shakes his head. “Just wanted to know if there’s been any suspicious activity.”

Finn’s bar is one of the more popular joints on Ocean Drive, a hub for locals and tourists alike. You and Poe even find yourselves coming here whenever time allows. There’s always the potential of drug dealers finding their way to this spot, talking in quieted tones about their product to anyone interested, so hushed they can’t be heard over the music floating from the jukebox. Sometimes you don’t always get a hit when you stop by. Following any busts, dealers tend to drop off the radar for a while. That’s what you’re expecting today, but you turn out to be wrong. Finn’s learned of someone new.

He describes the man and you nod intermittently as you store the information away. You’ll be repeating it to other business owners along this street and a pedestrian or two to see if anyone recognizes him, and you need to be as accurate as possible. You rest your head on your propped up hand and watch as another patron walks over to the jukebox and slides in a quarter. It works its way through the machine with a series of clinks, and he spends a few moments flipping through the tracks until a lively and upbeat tune fills the bar.

“If I get to know your name…”

You turn your attention back to Finn and Poe, and just as you do, Finn spots movement in his peripherals. His eyes slide up and over to the front doors to glance at the newcomer.

“Well if I could trace your private number, baby…”

Your brows furrow and you follow his line of sight. The man has barely entered the establishment when he sees you and Poe, and it prompts him to come to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Though cast in shadow due to the sunlight pouring in behind him, he’s easy to identify. He matches the description Finn gives. That’s him! said man exclaims, and your now suspect’s eyes widen as he twists around and high-tails it out of the bar.

“All I know is that to me you look like you’re havin’ fun…”

You and Poe jump out of your seats so fast the stools screech against the floor, but you pay it no mind as you set off in a run. The hot Miami sun washes over you once you’re outside, the music fading until there’s just the wind whistling in your ears as you sprint down the sidewalk, eyes focused on your target.

“Open up your lovin’ arms. Watch out, here I come…”

People jump to the side with yelps of surprise as your suspect runs past, and stay parted as you and Poe trail behind. Neither of you is properly dressed to be running, but this is far from the first time you’ve had a chase. These are your favorite—they get your blood running and excitement pulses in your veins every time you close the gap between you and your perp, pushing you to widen your strides more and more until they are within your grasp. You’ve worked behind a desk full-time before, but after experiences such as these, there’s no way you’d be able to do it again.

When he’s near enough, Poe catches the suspect in a tackle and they tumble to the ground. His breathing is labored as he maneuvers the man’s hands behind his back. “You’re under arrest,” he says simply between the deep breaths he takes to slow his heart rate. He grabs his handcuffs and slides them on with a click. Poe pulls the perp up to stand, and he grins at you. “Piece of cake.”

You smile and shake your head while taking deep breaths of your own, eyes roving over the bystanders that have stopped to see what was going on. This is one of the easier arrests you’ve made, and that’s owed in part to your suspect’s impeccable timing. You love when they make your job easy. Piece of cake indeed.

———

The sun is fully set behind the horizon when you return to the department. The rest of the day had gone on without event, which allowed you to fully feel the effects of your lack of rest. Usually you don’t have time to feel tired when you’re so preoccupied with drug busts and other investigations.

Poe smiles sympathetically when you emerge from the locker room with your purse slung over your shoulder and eyes half-lidded, threatening to slide closed any second. It didn’t really help that the day passed by so slowly. You’re in dire need of sleep, but he knows you’d only be twisting and turning if you laid down in a dark bedroom, desperately searching for that rest but not quite attaining it. No, he needs another plan of action.

As you exit the building after waving goodbye to your colleagues, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to bring you close. “Let’s go for a drive.”

You nod and say okay because that Spyder is Poe’s pride and joy. There have been many instances he would take it for a spin, not really driving anywhere in particular, just enjoying the purr of the engine and the way the steering wheel felt in his hands. You like to tag along, sliding into the passenger seat which might as well have your name written on it, and on these drives, neither of you says anything. Each other’s presence is enough, more than enough. The city speaks for you both, full of life as it is.

Poe slides the key into the ignition and twists, and you can’t help smiling a little to yourself at the way his eyes light up so brightly at the roar of the engine. You surmise that if the sun were to suddenly go out, you wouldn’t mind. In fact, you’re not sure you’d notice.  

It’s neon lights all the way down.

The storefront signs paint the world in purples and blues against a black canvas. You love to take in the sights on these long drives with Poe, and you love doing so at nighttime even more. Miami at night is different from how it is in the day. It wakes up when the sun goes down to sleep, and you will never get tired of the silhouettes of palm trees against brightly lit hotels and bars or the sidewalks abuzz with people taking up their place in the night scene like it’s a painting. Through the haze of these late hours, they seem all at once to be front and center, the subjects in a Kirchner masterpiece.

You watch the world fly by in a flurry of colors from your very own front row spot, in the tan leather seats of the Spyder, and think that if you should randomly come to a stop and take a snapshot of whatever you see once you do, you can frame it and stick it in a museum.

This city is wonderful and it’s alive, vibrating with an energy the likes of which you’ve never seen. If you set a hand on the concrete, your palm would be warm, and maybe it’s from the sun beating down for hours before finally setting or maybe it’s a sign of something real, of something beyond yourself. And while Poe continues cruising down the road, singing along quietly to the song on the radio, you feel your eyelids droop. Everything is shifting out of focus, neon signs and stoplights nothing but a blur, and you see them flashing still, dazzling and brilliant in your mind’s eye as you drift off to sleep, and as Poe’s singing sounds farther and farther.

At a red light, Poe spares a glance towards you and smiles softly when he sees you’ve fallen asleep. Your face is illuminated by pinks and blues from the lights of nearby buildings and he watches them dance across your skin and understands you to be not just someone living in this city, but someone that’s part of it. And he’s no different. The very essence of the sprawling metropolis you call home is in your veins, and there’s truly nothing like it.  

[phoenixrising0308]

Slippery When Wet

This is my reluctant entry to @smut-tember week 3! The rules are to use two from list A and one from List B… well I’m an overachiever… I used all of the words from list  A as and mood killer I picked injuries. If you know me from my previous tumblr life you know that this is a running joke and one that I am happy to revisit for two special friends! The idea behind smut-tember can be found here but it’s basically writing smut and making it cringe-worthy. So I also used some interesting words of my own.

ALSO double duty as my wacky drabble entry for week 113 “This is [my/your/their/her/our/their] lucky day!” Prompt in bold

Books: The Royal Romance 1-3 to Royal Heir.

Rating: M (18+) Sexual situation and adult themes.

Trigger Warnings: 🍋 so NSFW cursing

Pairing: Regina (Gigi Rys) x Robin Flores & Jessica Garica Rys small cameo Mateo Garcia (Brother)

Disclaimer

A/N 1: Jessica and Regina still have their friendship bracelets... Someone gets breast implants while the other bedazzles her vagina. A chance encounter at a club leaves someone broken.

A/N 2: Dirty Regina/ Raunchy Regina  ... I believe there is a place on the fandom for geriatric love.

Story Song inspiration: The Greatest - Sia remix ft. Kendrick Lamar

Word Count: 998 *As always, forgive my typos and grammatical errors.*

Reading time: 3 minutes

Regina’s Quarters

Jessica sat in front of Regina and said, “Gigi they are still perky fun bags for a 70-year-old woman. I really don’t know why you feel they need something more.”

Regina said “Connie always said that my hooters could use a little ump. Jessie, it’s easy for you to say when you have two perfect Areola Alps.” Regina held out her hands in front of her chest and said, “I want a nice pair of knockers.”

Jessica rolled her eyes “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but fuck him he framed me and kept me away from Liam.” Jessica held up her wrist and Regina did the same, the two taping their friendship bracelets that immortalized their friendship despite their years of being at odds with each other.

Jessica continued “Okay well I have to say my breasts are full but that’s because I’m a Dairy pillow for the royal heir. Man, I can’t get the girl off my coconuts. But if you want to hook up your Bongo’s  This is your lucky day! I know a Doctor he is… ehhh friend. He opened up a practice with a partner in New York. They used to work together in Boston but they needed a change. He had a rough break-up; Ex she cheated on him with a phlebotomist named Cody; they were in quarantine together.”

“Well if you trust him I’ll do it. Let's turn these bubbies into bonbons!”

6 weeks later ...

Jessica stood in the waiting room flipping through a magazine waiting for Regina's final post-op appointment with Dr. Lahela when she noticed an ad “Turn your meat curtains into a treasure chest of love. Image your Secret place adored with thousands of expertly placed Austrian Swarovski crystals.” Jessica thought to herself ‘I got a fresh Brazilian so no public hair he's got a blank canvas.’  She went to the front counter and said, “Can Doctor Ramsay fit me to bedazzle my Doo-Dah?”

The Receptionist said, “Oh sure he has an opening right now I will put you in room three it should be 3 hours and you will have to wait for 24hrs for the surgical glue to dry but your Lady Garden will be like a chandelier. Also if you’re interested he can do a vaginal rejuvenation and it would feel like your hymen is intact.”

Jessica smirked “Kegels and a tip-top tight penis fly trap.. yes!”

Four seasons Hotel…

Regina looked at her new DD’s and smiled at the bounce they gave she was ready for a night out of town. She turned to Jessica who was nude from the waist down with a fan pointed at her beaver. “Gigi I wish I could join you but I got to let this air dry. Don’t worry Mateo will be your detail cause fucken Bastien is a narc. Have a good night but remember you got new Bra Buddies but you still have the same equipment lets not repeat the past here.”

Kismet Club --Soho

Regina held up her glass at the young gentleman who brought her a drink. He walked over and said, “I noticed you were alone so am I SO thought I could by you a drink.”

“Thank you, my name is Gigi who should I thank for the drink?”

“My name is Robin… Robin Flores.”

45 minutes later...

Regina gripped Robin’s shirt, pulling him down for a deep kiss. Robin returned her kiss, humming and gripping her waist to pull her closer. “Your Love stick is hard already?” she whispered with a little laugh, making Robin blush.

Robin smiled, continuing to kiss her. “I can’t help myself, I suckled on your cans and I just couldn’t hold back,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her to the men’s bathroom. He lead her into a stall and began before kissing her neck. Regina closed her eyes, smiling as she felt small shocks of pleasure run down her body. She felt warm, and based on his temperature when she grabbed his bicep to pull him closer, he was feeling the same way.

Regina lightly pushed him again the door she pulled up his shirt and then unbuttoned his pants, going onto her knees slowly on the floor pulling down his pants. Robin helped her, sighing with anticipation. Regina reached to palm him slowly through his boxer briefs, making him groan and run his fingers through her hair. “I want to fuck your mouth with my rod,” he mumbled delicately, a deep sigh leaving his lips as his head fell back.

Regina’s fingers moved under Robin’s underwear, pulling them off to reveal his throbbing twinkie. Regina licked her lips, looking up at him with lust in her eyes. She licked up the underside of his danger noddle before wrapping her lips around the head. Robin groaned, his back arching a bit. “Ah, just like that,” he gasped as she licked over a sensitive spot. Regina resisted the urge to smile, beginning to bob her head very slowly to start. Robin tried not to buck up his hips, settling on arching his back rather sharply instead. Regina went lower, eventually taking almost his whole length in her mouth. Robin groaned even louder, spreading his legs a bit more as they shook. Regina set her hands on each of his thighs, hollowing her cheeks expertly.

From above her, Robin continued to moan. Robin eventually pulled out of her mouth, stroking himself as baby batter landed all over her chest, neck, and floor.

Mateo walked into the bathroom shouting and said, “Ok Fresca (Fresh) break this shit up. Stop acting like a loca (crazy/fool) cause you got new Titas.

Robin walked out of the bathroom first and followed by Regina who shamelessly wiped her mouth as Mateo glared at them. Before she knew it she found herself flying in the air the having slipped on Robin’s love juice. As she landed on the cold hard floor she heard it crack and she knew that she had broken her hip for the 2nd time. Regina cried out in pain and shouted “Not again this damn osteoporosis!

[besmasktheslumpthot]

The Cadet Leaps

Before you read, you know I’m not good at writing stories. So sorry.♡

Takes place somewhere in the 1990s.

It's two in the morning. Once again, you're having a sleepless night alone in your small apartment. Not a sleepless night because of stress or anything else. It was your neighbor. Your new neighbor moved in a few doors down a few weeks ago and every night he blasts loud music like no one's business. So loud the whole complex can hear. You cover your ears with your thick white pillow and go into a fetus position, wishing it will stop.

An hour passed and nothing changed except for your growing anger. You finally get the urge to walk over to his apartment and tell him that he's disturbing your sleep. You get out of bed and change into a white tee and red shorts. You slip on your bunny slippers and walk out to handle this situation. The music gets louder as you walk closer to his door.

You stand in front of his door. You hear multiple voices and laughter from behind the door. Who throws a party at two in the morning...in an apartment complex? Him. The disrespectful is atrocious. You bang on his door four times. The banging was so hard anyone would have guessed it was the police. The music gets lower and everyone stops talking. You stand there with your arms crossed with a look of confidence in your face. He opens the door.

A man stands there towering over you. His hair the color of coffee and messy as if he woke up didn't comb it. His eyes are very seductive. Maybe that's how he gets females; staring deep into their soul with those beautiful, brown eyes. His jawline is extremely strong as if cut from the gods. He wears a white plain white shirt topped with a light brown cardigan. He also wears a pair of light blue jeans and finally a pair of semi-dirty leather combat boots.

You're confused as to how someone can be this beautiful. You almost forget why you walked down here in the first place. He catches you off guard by speaking.

"Is there something that you need miss?"

How embarrassing. You suddenly gain a boost of confidence.

"Yes, there is something I need. I need YOU to turn your music down. I've let this slide for too long. I'm tired! I can't sleep when you and your company partying it up acting like a bunch of monkeys at two in the morning when everyone else in this apartment is sleeping. Turn your music down or I'll come in and destroy that stereo my damn self!"

He stares at you for a bit then chuckles while slightly shaking his head.

"Okay, I'm sorry I'll turn my music down tonight. Just for you."

"How about for the rest of your time here? Thanks!"

You said sarcastically and he laughs again.

"Fine. Sorry. Can I go back to my company now?"

"I guess. Bye"

As you're starting to walk off you hear him speak for the last time.

"I like your slippers by the way. Goodnight."

And with that, you hear the door close. You feel your face get hot as you remember you had on your bunny slippers. If you would've known the neighbor would be a Greek god you would've worn something completely different...but anyways. You walk back to your room and take off the clothes and plop back into bed falling fast asleep.

You wake up at ten in the morning feeling JUST okay. The sleep could've been better but it's whatever. You get out of bed and walk over to your bathroom. You take a shower and brush your teeth. You walk over to your closet and get dressed for the day.

Today you have plans on going to the grocery. You just got your paycheck from your job at the flower shop and plan on spending the money accordingly. You go to the grocery store for a few hours and come back with a load. You walk into the complex and walk up the steps to your door. As you're about to put the keys into the door someone pops up from behind you and it scares you so much you drop some of your groceries on the ground.

"Shit!" You yell out.

"My apologies. I wasn't trying to frighten you."

You can practically feel his smile through his words. You turn to look at him to tell him off once again but you can't. His beauty makes up for his mistakes. Today he's wearing a gray sweatshirt with a few chains around his neck topped with a jacket. He's wearing yet another pair of blue jeans. And to top off the outfit, he's wearing a pair of regular pair of black shoes. Somehow he makes the most basic looking outfits so good. Maybe that's what happens when you're hot, you can wear anything and no one would care because you're beautiful.  He also decided to comb and style his hair today.

"Whatever." You finally bend down to pick up your groceries. He decides to help and it's an awkward silence as none of you talked for that time. You both get back up and just stand there looking at each other.

"Johnny." He finally speaks.

“Huh?”

"My name is Johnny."

"Oh right. My name is Genesis but you can just call me Bes."

"Genesis. I like that name. I'll call you that instead." He smiles.

"Nuh uh. Just call me Bes. I'd prefer it actually."

"Sure thing."

Now it's awkward again. He's just staring at you. Like he's studying your face. You feel quite uncomfortable, considering no one ever looks your way in the first place. He's like a deer stuck in headlights. What is wrong with this beautiful man? Are you just that ugly that someone has to figure out how you came to be? You were starting to feel insecure.

"Umm, are you okay? You're acting a bit odd." He looks more normal now.

"Hey, can I stop by later? Maybe at around midnight? If it's fine with you."

"I'm not sure if I can trust you." He chuckles.

"And why would that be?"

"You tell me, Johnny. You're handsome and as charming as they can get. Maybe you're trying to use your good looks against me to lure me into your home and hurt me. Hm?"

"You must watch a lot of crime shows huh?"

"Actually, yes, I do."

"Well, I'll tell you this. I would never hurt someone as cute as you. And I think what I will have for you would be worth the wait, and risk." You smile and look down. His charms are undefeatable. This is ridiculous.

"Fine. I guess I'll see you tonight."

He has the biggest grin on his face. He looks like a child that just walked home and saw a puppy in the middle of a room.

"Cool. See you Bes." He walks off. You can't tell if you're hot or the hotness from him brushed off on you. Oh well. You finally continued to take your groceries into your apartment and chill in for the rest of day. You go to your room and change into something more comfortable. You then head out into the kitchen and grab a bag of chips and walk back to the living room. You sit down on the couch and turn on the TV to MTV. All that's been going through your mind was Johnny. You're also nervous about what he has for you. Your mind starts to rush.

I think... no I know I like him but what if he doesn't like me. He was flirting with me a little bit like come on now. But he probably acts like that with every female his wondering eyes see. What if he really is the killer though? He got salty because I told him to turn that damn music down and he wants his revenge? I should've just minded my business. Wrong. I'm glad I might have possibly risked my life just to see him. Wrong. I don't know.

As you're sitting there on the couch watching whatever MTV is showing, you hear a few knocks on your door. You look up at the clock and see that it's midnight. It's Johnny. Oh my goodness. Stay calm. You walk over to the door and look through the peephole. Johnny is standing there looking cute. But he also looks so nervous. You open the door and see him standing there in glasses wearing a black sleeveless shirt and regular blue jeans with white socks with no shoes on. His shirt was a mess. Just colors all over.

"What's up?" You try to sound unbothered.

"Hey. Are you ready to come over?”

"Oh, I'm coming over to your apartment now? I wasn't prepared for all that."

"I know it's last minute but I would rather you come over to see. I promise I have no devious plans." He says smiling.

"Okay." 

You both walk over to his place and he opens the door. He ushers you in. You walk in and stare in amazement. His place looks really nice. His floors are wood, walls are brick. He has posters of different bands on the walls. You look over to where the windows were and saw THE stereo. Then you thought about it, that stereo brought you two together. You decided NOT to throw it out the window. Out of nowhere, you feel his hand touch your shoulder and you jump a little.

"You get scared easily.”

"Nah I just jump for no reason when someone unexpectedly touches my shoulder." You reply sarcastically. He smiles. He's always smiling.

"Follow me." You do as he says. He walks you over to what should be his dining area. But what you see was much more intriguing. You see so many paintbrushes and paintings on the ground.

"What are you? The next Bob Ross?" You pick up one of his paintings.

"This is absolutely amazing. How long have you been painting?"

While you were staring at his works, he stared at another work of art. That was you. He loved seeing how excited to see his work and was hoping this won't be the last time he made you excited.

"I've been painting since my teenage years. It's been a hidden talent of mine."

"What other hidden talents do you have?"

"These aren't hidden talents particularly but I can act and make music." He says while starting to grab something from behind a chair.

"I've lucked up huh? I am friends with a multi-talented man who so happens to be very good looking."

"You consider us friends now?"

"Sure why not?" You say while crossing your arms and smiling.

"Well..." He walks over to you with a canvas in hands not facing you.

"I have something for you. It's not my best but I really wanted something done for you tonight."

He flips the canvas around and you become speechless. The canvas was a painting of you. The most lovely picture you've ever seen in your entire life. You couldn't believe that he did this in such a short amount of time. You finally spoke up.

"You...you did this for me? This is me. I don't know what to say this so amazing."

"I was worried you wouldn't quite like it. I did only take a so long. If I would have waited-" You cut him off mid-sentence.

"SHUT UP! I love this so much, Johnny. No one has never done this for me ever! I can tell you took your time with this piece and I treasure it so much." 

He just stares at you and smiles.

"Thank you, honestly. That means a lot."

You walk back to his living room and while holding the canvas up you praise him more.

"I'm actually amazed at how accurate you painted me without any reference."

You turn to him and you catch him staring at you.

"Is that why you were staring at me earlier? That's wild! You stared at me for ten minutes and you paint this?! Unbelievable."

He starts to walk over to you.

"As you said, I'm multi-talented and good looking." 

He puts his hands in his pockets as he watches you admire the work.

"Honestly, thank you so much, Johnny. This means a lot to me. I will make sure I put this on my wall and pray to it every morning and every night."

You walk over to him and give the biggest hug he has ever had. It takes him by surprise but he finally gives in and puts his arm around you. You rest your head on his chest and you feel him rubbing your head with his hand. You let go of him.

"You know when I walked in here. I was about ready to throw your stereo out that window. But then I realized, without that stereo, we would have never met. So what I'm saying is, thank you for playing your music loud the other night."

You lift your gift up with excitement.

"I would've never got this!"

You get to cheesy very hard and he laughs out loud.

"You're really adorable. Come here."

He pulls you in for another hug and this time while he hugs you he places a kiss your head.

"I hope to spend more time with you Bes. I like you."

You almost have an aneurysm.

He just said he likes me. But I won't tell him that I like him so I don't look desperate.

"I like you too, Johnny.”

Oh.

"How about you go back to your place and sleep because tomorrow I have a plan for our first date."

"Okay, Mr. Planner. Once again thank you for this. Truly adore it."

You both walk over to his door and as you walk out you had a few more things to say.

"I wish I had something for you, but I'm talentless and use-"

"Bes, when I opened my door and saw you standing at my door, I thought you were Gods gift to me. You being around is enough."

You blushed.

"Goodnight Johnny. See you tomorrow." You smile and wave.

"See you tomorrow Bes." He winks.

And after these nights, both of you will become inseparable and you both couldn't wait for what the future holds.

[kiruuuuu]

You answered your own question - of course you can request it :) Glaz is one of my favourites, so I loved writing this ♥ (Rating G, fluff, ~1.2k words)

.

His movements are what gets to Kapkan the most. He’s seen him squeeze the trigger, end the lives of countless men, efficiently stab and gut people, just like he’s seen him engaged in deep conversation, giving advice, recounting childhood memories, seen him sleeping and eating and lost in thought, fidgeting, smiling secretly at a funny remark he overheard. Yet in all the time they’ve known each other, he’s never seen him paint. Of course he’s come across some of his paintings before, noticed his paint-spattered hands when he got too much into it, stared after him when he returned from one of his sessions, bright eyes and visibly calmer. His art doesn’t speak to Kapkan, it’s too abstract and shapeless, though he has to admit he admires the colours, the playfulness.

Glaz’ hands are moving to their own rhythm, fluid and confident, then there’s a sudden interruption, maybe a change of his brush, and it’s back to elegant flourishes and precise swipes. The longer Kapkan watches, the more he realises there’s method in his madness. The longer he watches, the more beautiful it becomes.

He steps out of the doorway, approaches the bench on which his teammate is perched while making no effort to be quiet, nods curtly when Glaz briefly turns to him to see who it is and takes a seat beside him. It’s early morning and the sparse grass is sprinkled with dew, the base enshrouded in a thin mist. “What are you painting?”, he asks and feels his knees go weak as soon as the full force of Glaz’ smile is turned on him – a fiercely gorgeous thing, oblivious, open and so vulnerable Kapkan wants to hide it from the world. This was a mistake, he’s slipping deeper into thoughts better kept to himself and best not formulated in the first place.

“How I feel when I wake up”, Glaz answers readily and there’s a myriad of possible answers, most of them hurtful jokes or light-hearted jests, resulting in a chuckle or a roll of eyes but none of them feel appropriate. Because even with how little Kapkan understands both the drive to paint as well as the subject matter, the fact that he was deemed worthy of an honest answer instead of a self-deprecating or even mocking one makes him lose all motivation to joke around – it’s respect that silences him and he knows it’s mutual since Glaz undoubtedly would’ve answered differently if it had been Fuze or Tachanka.

All that Kapkan can create is death. He’s tried extensively, strived to find something, anything that was worthwhile and made for his blood-coated fingers but remained unsuccessful. Glaz’ ability to produce instead of destroy suddenly feels precious. “Can you teach me?”, he blurts out before he can stop himself and the sniper halts, lowers his brush. “Maybe a little. I know you went to art school and there’s no way you could cover all that in five minutes, I know that, but I was just thinking -”

He’s starting to rant and in response, Glaz’ eyes twinkle. “Sure”, he replies softly, “I can teach you a little about drawing, if you want.”

“Yes.” Kapkan nods eagerly and accepts the sketchbook and pencil Glaz hands him, flips through the pages and hopes it doesn’t show on his face how impressed he is. It’s mostly doodles from the looks of it, parts of their base, operators draped over couches or each other, standing up taking aim, a few seemingly random motifs thrown in there. They’re more realistic than Glaz’ paintings and show off his skill better than the vague shapes on his canvas – at least that’s Kapkan’s opinion.

At first, Glaz tells him to draw boxes, simple geometrical shapes from different perspectives, but Kapkan quickly gets bored and so Glaz switches to basic anatomy, proportions, sketches a few basic models while he explains, completely absorbed in his task and the familiarity of the subject, his words precise and Kapkan catches none of them. Not a single one, not past the point where Glaz’ attention shifts to the paper entirely because that’s when Kapkan opts to just stare at him openly. It seems to last an eternity, the pencil lead continuously travelling over the paper, leaving trails that carry meaning inescapably lost on Kapkan while Glaz speaks for longer than ever before, uninterrupted and reminiscent of a time where he was probably surrounded by like-minded people who appreciated the fine arts better than Kapkan ever will.

It feels like waking up when Glaz encourages him to try implementing some of his advice and returns to his own painting. Kapkan eyes the drawings, produced seemingly without any effort, and listlessly attempts to recreate some of them, his lines uncertain, his hold on the pencil tentative. He begins to understand how much work it actually is. “Why don’t you just do drawings?”, he inquires curiously. “You do them so well.”

“I feel that they’re less expressive. There is more to the world than what you can see and I attempt to capture that. I’ve always associated people with colours, did I ever tell you?”

They’re starting to tread into artistic territory that feels vaguely uncomfortable to Kapkan so he just answers non-committally: “I don’t think so.”

“There’s a medical term for it but I don’t remember. It’s an actual thing, don’t look so put-off.” He laughs gently and makes their thighs touch for a moment, soothing some of Kapkan’s scepticism. “That’s why I prefer painting, I can try to express the way I feel and see others on canvas.”

For a while, there’s a busy kind of silence between them as Glaz continues and Kapkan struggles to even draw the simplest of shapes because he’s lost all concentration yet refuses to let it show. A question buzzes around in the back of his head so insistently that it eventually ends up on his tongue. “Which colour am I?” He doesn’t know why it means so much to him, why it was so hard to say it out loud. Why so much depends on the answer. He only knows that it does.

“You’re brown”, Glaz replies absent-mindedly, his focus elsewhere. Kapkan is about to protest because surely, that’s the ugliest colour he could’ve picked – apart maybe from ochre and that’s almost brown anyway –, only his teammate isn’t quite done yet: “The shade depends on the day. Right now, you’re dark, like coffee, sometimes you’re the colour of a deer’s fur or the soft earth you like so much because it muffles footsteps. Or you’re a chestnut that just popped out of its shell.”

Kapkan stares at him, at a loss for words, and notices that Glaz isn’t actually painting anymore, merely appearing busy yet not contributing to the canvas, avoiding his gaze. He can feel his heartbeat sharply all of a sudden, powerful against his ribcage.

“Brown is my favourite colour”, Glaz adds quietly and Kapkan’s hand that previously held the pencil steadily if awkwardly starts to tremble.

[waywardnerd67]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Summary: (Y/N) goes on an audition with her best friend and ends up meeting a young Jensen Ackles making quite the impression. Ten years later, she ends up working with him again on Supernatural. Sparks fly between them, will (Y/N) act on her feelings or are they simply in the wrong place, wrong time. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader, Jessie Harrison (OFC) Pairing: None Warnings: Fluff/First Fanfic (Yes, that is a warning) Word Count: 3422 A/N: This was the first thing I ever posted on Tumblr on 1/28/2018. I decided to go ahead repost it and delete the original post making it look nicer. Since it’s my first ever it is probably horrible but really I’m not here for recognition but to write and keep writing. Here is my original A/N: My first time posting anything I have written so any comments, suggestions and/or concerns please let me know. I want to improve and the only way I can do that is to know what I am doing right and can work on doing better. As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy! Special Note: This is a work of FICTION and should be enjoyed as such. There is no disrespect meant towards the Ackles Family as I truly adore and admire them very much! 

“I can’t believe you talked me into coming on this audition with you.” (Y/N) said to her best friend, Jessie Harrison. “Hey, even if you don’t get this they will probably use you as an extra. Either way, we will both get paid and that is all that matters.” (Y/N) rolled her (Y/E/C) eyes at her friend. Living in Vancouver meant that there was always a TV show or movie that needed extras which was easy money. Jessie was an aspiring actress and had been an extra on just about every show and movie filmed in Vancouver. (Y/N), on the other hand, had no desire to be in front of the camera but writing what would be said.

    (Y/N) and Jessie kept moving along in line with the rest of the woman. They were listening as the ladies would come back out from the room. “He’s a cutie I hope I can do that again except on other parts of him.” One giggled as (Y/N) gave a pointed look to Jessie. “What exactly did you drag me into?” Jessie was looking anywhere but at her. (Y/N) started to walk away when Jessie grabbed her arm. “Look it’s for a show called Dark Angel, you like that show, right?” (Y/N) nodded as it was one of her favorite shows since she was a big sci-fi fan. “Well, they are doing an episode where they are in a gentlemen’s club and one of the girls goes up to one of the main characters licks his cheek and says she missed him.”

    She gawked at Jessie, “I have to lick some actor’s face?” Jessie nodded as she stood in front of the closed door where the auditions were happening. “You owe me so much. You will be repaying me still when your hundred and two.” The door opened as a scantily clothed blonde walked out fanning herself. Jessie walked in as (Y/N) glared at the closed door. There was a tap on her shoulder from the girl behind her. “Nervous?” she asked and (Y/N) shook her head looking down at the one line she would have to say. “Nope just annoyed.”

    Jessie walked out shaking her head. “He’s hot.” She whispered as (Y/N) walked into the room. She had a pair of form fitting jeans on with a tank top and light jacket on. “Okay, honey you’re just going to walk right up to Jensen say the line and then lick his cheek seductively. She took off her jacket and looked over to the dark haired actor that looked familiar to her. He was wiping his cheek with a washcloth. Jessie was right he was hot and he seemed to be enjoying himself. He looked up at her and he smiled, “Whenever you’re ready.” His voice was kind and that was unusual for actors.

    (Y/N) swayed her hips a little as she walked up to him. She placed one hand on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her waist bringing her into his side. She ran her hand down his chest to his stomach and down to touch his thigh. His breath hitched slight and then she delivered her line in a low sexy voice, “Where have you been? I missed you.” (Y/N) then took the tip of her nose running it along his cheek and then the tip of her tongue grazing it along his jaw. She felt him shiver and heard the director say cut. She looked up into his shining olive green eyes and smiled as she walked away. She heard him say, “Damn, she’s the first one to make me feel something.” (Y/N) walked out the door with a proud smile on her face.

    A few days later she got the call back that she would be the lucky one to lick pretty boy’s face again. She still could not shake the feeling that she knew him from somewhere. She arrived on set with Jessie who was going to be an extra during the same scene. They were in a room with all the other girls and someone from the wardrobe department. “Where is (Y/N)?” the lady called out and she stepped forward. “Alright honey, here is your outfit for the day.” She looked at it curious where the rest of it was and just nodded. She went into one of the dressing rooms changing into the red corset top, black satin hipster bottoms and fishnet stockings with over the knee black boots. She was thankful that the boots were flat and not high heeled.

    When she stepped out Jessie let out a whistle. “Damn girl! You may want to rethink the whole writing thing.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes as she looked in the full length mirror. Everything fit like it was painted on her and highlighted her curves and boobs. Next, she was ushered into hair and make-up where she saw some pictures of the actors including pretty boy. The hairdresser was sweet and talkative. “Can I ask you something?” she asked as the girl was curling her long mahogany hair. The hairdresser nodded and (Y/N) asked, “Do you know of anything else Jensen has been in? He seems really familiar.” The girl chuckled.

    “Well, he was in one episode last season. His character I think was Ben. He was also on Days of Our Lives as Eric Brady.” (Y/N) nodded as she realized she probably saw him during season one. Jessie and the make-up artist came into the room as the hairdresser finished with (Y/N)’s hair. The make-up artist kept raving over her natural looks. “You are the perfect canvas with your porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and full dark pink lips. You’re gorgeous, honey!” She said as (Y/N) chuckled uneasily, “Thanks, I think.” There was a knock on the door as an AD opened the door. “I need the girls now.” (Y/N) and Jessie walked out with the AD and followed her to the set

    All the girls were standing around practicing their dance moves to some hip-hop song (Y/N) had no idea what it was. Luckily, she had brought her purse with her and grabbed her MP3 player. She put her earbuds in and walked around the set swaying her hips from side to side. She jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around seeing a familiar pair of olive green eyes staring at her. “Sorry, am I in the way of something?” she asked as a low chuckle left his lips. “No, you’re fine. Was just curious what you’re listening to that is making you swing your hips like that?” (Y/N) bit her lower lip and could feel her cheeks burning as he looked her over in her outfit.

    “Um, one of my favorite bands in Def Leppard and I was listening to Pour Some Sugar on Me. The other girls are listening to some hip-hop song that does nothing for me, but this song I know it would be my stripper song if I ever was one.” She smiled as Jensen laughed throwing his whole body into it. “You may just be the perfect woman. I’m sure if you were a stripper you would make a boat load of cash.” She laughed shrugging, “Eh, I think I’ll just stick to writing. I have a face more for print than film.” She watched as Jensen face became serious. “I don’t think so. I think you’re beautiful and honestly after the hundreds of girls licking my face that day you were the only one to get me to react. Don’t sell yourself short.”

    (Y/N) looked bashfully at her feet and then smiled up at him. “Thank you for that. I appreciate it since you probably have girls throwing themselves at you all the time.” He snickered as the director called his name. “Gotta go. I’ll see you in bit.” He said as he ran his hand gently down her arm. “See you soon, pretty boy.” He smirked back at her as she walked back into the room with all the other girls. The ADs were arranging all the extras for the first shot where (Y/N) would have to lick Jensen’s cheek. She grinned up at Jessie who was one of the cage girls and she flipped her off while (Y/N) laughed.

    The director went over how the scene was going to go and then he called action. (Y/N) watched as Jensen walked down the stairs with two other guys. She sauntered over to him and just like she did in her audition she said her line licking his cheek then walking away. She glanced back seeing Jensen shiver and delivering his line. The director called cut and they did that scene two more times with different camera angles. Each time, Jensen shivered and would ran his hand over her hip and butt. They were setting up the shot where (Y/N) was giving him a lap dance and they were chatting about his acting jobs and their families.

    The director talked briefly with them as he cued the music and yelled action. (Y/N) swayed her hips and butt in front of him turning to face him. He was moving his head to the music and biting his lower lip watching her dance. In that moment, there was nothing hotter to her than him watching her. That is when he noticed Jessica Alba behind her and performed his lines while running his hands down her hips and legs. She grabbed the bills he was handing her and he smacked her on the butt as she walked away.

    Soon the scene was over and (Y/N) could leave. Jensen jumped up and jogged over to her. “It was great working with you… wait I don’t even know your name.” He chuckled as she smiled at him. “I’m (Y/N) and it was fun working with you as well. Maybe one day we’ll work together again.” He nodded his head biting his lower lip again. “I would love that. See you around, (Y/N).” She waved to him as he walked away, “Later pretty boy!”

    Ten years had gone by and (Y/N) was now working for a publishing company in Vancouver as an editor. From time to time she would let Jessie convince her to take small acting roles for extra money. Jessie had just been casted as a regular guest star on Supernatural, one of (Y/N)’s favorite shows. Ever since working with Jensen on Dark Angel she followed his career closely becoming a big fan. She was sure he would not remember her from ten years ago, but when Jessie asked her to try out for a part during an upcoming episode she could not resist.

    Jessie had sent her the script for her to memorize lines and that is when she read the love scene between her character and Jensen’s. She sent a text to Jessie, “This is why you wanted me to play this part because of the love scene.” She set her phone down reading her lines again. About twenty minutes later she heard a notification chime and pulled up the text from Jessie. “Duh! You’ll enjoy rolling around with Jensen in bed.” (Y/N) laughed out loud shaking her head. “Oh Jessie, you know me so well.” She muttered to herself reading her lines again.

    A few days later, Jessie picked up (Y/N) on her way to set. “Are you nervous?” she asked as (Y/N) was re-reading the lines she knew she had memorized. “Not really. I mean it’s been ten years since I have seen the guy and even though I’m a fan I know he is just a regular dude.” Jessie pulled onto the lot and (Y/N) was amazed by the all the people running around. Jessie parked by her trailer and when they were getting out of the car she spotted Jensen talking to one of the other actors on the show, Misha Collins. Jessie called out her name and she turned towards her following her into the trailer.

    (Y/N) made her way to wardrobe, hair and make-up with ease. Once again, the make-up artist raved about her features and how she did not look her age. “I get that a lot. It’s because I have no kids and got rid of the husband.” The girl laughed as the door to the trailer opened and Jensen walked in. “Hey Jay, go ahead and start with your hair. I’ll be done with here in just a second.” Jensen nodded flopping down in front of the hairdresser. (Y/N) glanced over seeing he was focused on his phone. When she was done he was looking up in the mirror and made eye contact with her with a puzzled look. As she opened the door she said over her shoulder, “Nice seeing you pretty boy.” She walked down the stairs closing the door. She heard Jensen gasp probably realizing who she was.

    She made her way to set with Jessie who was just coming to watch her. “Of course, we would be shooting the love scene first.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes sighing. “Hey, you get to have fake sex with a hot guy. What are you complaining about?” Jessie snickered as she glared at her. “I would rather have real sex with a hot guy who isn’t married.” Jessie winced knowing that (Y/N)’s latest drought in her dating life was a sore spot. “Sorry (Y/N/N), I didn’t mean too…” (Y/N) waved it off, “It’s fine. I’m sorry for being bitchy.” The director called her over with Jensen who had a knowing smile on his face.

    She smiled at him, “How is it whenever I take acting gigs it’s always with you, pretty boy, getting handsy with me?” she chuckled as Jensen pulled her into a big hug. He was firm, smelt good and his voice was just damn sexy. “(Y/N), how are you? I’m so glad to see you again. It’s been way too long.” She nodded, “Yeah it has. Been what ten years since the famous licking scene.” Jensen laughed and the director came over explaining what shots he wanted and about how many times he wanted to do this scene. Both Jensen and (Y/N) listening closely and then went over to the set.

    While they were waiting for the cameras and sound to get set she got a case of the giggles which was causing Jensen to laugh as well. “Sorry, full disclosure, I’m a pretty big fan of the show and the fact I’m doing a love scene with you is causing me to giggle.” Jensen laughed shaking his head. “Well, you are living out a lot of fangirls dreams so make it count.” She felt her cheeks burning. “I will say it’s weird that I will be kissing you and knowing that your married.” Jensen nodded as his cheeks turned pink, “Yeah, normally, I’m pretty good at not letting love scenes get to me. However, you are even more beautiful than you were ten years ago so this may be a little harder for me.” (Y/N) tried so hard to keep her laugh in but could not and Jensen joined her in laughing when he realized exactly what he said.

    Finally, they began shooting the scene. Kissing Jensen was exactly how she imagined it would be. His lips were soft, full and skilled. Feeling his hands running over her body was stirring a lot of feelings up within her. They went through the undressing scene and had to repeat it when Jensen had issues getting the shirt cuffs off around his hands. (Y/N) was standing there half dressed in front of a ton of crew laughing hysterically. Then came the big scene where they were in bed. She was in a sexy black lace bra and panty set where Jensen was in black boxer-briefs. As they set up the scene Jensen took his robe off first and she could not help admiring him as he moved around the set. She heard Jessie chuckled as she had fanned herself watching him.

    She took her robe off and watched as his eyes got wider. His normally bright olive green eyes were darker now. She laid down and he positioned himself between her legs making sure he did not put too much weight on her. She also noticed he tried to cover her as much as possible from the crew. She looked up at him and smiled. “What?” he asked. “I heard you were chivalrous when it came to love scenes. I think that’s sweet.” He chuckled which cause a delicious friction between them. “Watch it there, pretty boy.” She chuckled as he winced. The director called action and they began kissing as if they had been going at it all along.

    The script called for her to push him to be on bottom and Jensen placed his hands on her hips flipping them over. She threw her long hair over her as she sat up straddling him. There was yell for cut and Jensen sat up with her still straddling him pulling the covers over her. “Thanks Jensen.” She said sincerely as he chuckled. “It’s more for me this time because you’re very distracting to me the way you are.” (Y/N) could feel the effect she was having on him. He blushed deep red, “Sorry, I just can’t help it. You’re beautiful and on top of me.” She laughed causing him to groan. She rested her head on his shoulder trying to stop laughing. “I’m so sorry. Though it is nice to have a good looking man having any reaction to me. I appreciate that.” The director was calling for everyone to be ready and then yelled action.

    After a couple of days shooting with Jensen all of (Y/N)’s scenes were completed. She was collecting her things in Jessie’s trailer to go home when there was a knock at the door. Jessie opened it and she told (Y/N) she would be right back. She mumbled a response as she was trying to keep her emotions under control. After she heard the door shut Jensen’s husky voice startled her. “Hey there.” She turned around seeing it was just the two of them in the trailer. “Hi there, come to see me off.” She said trying the smile brightly at him. Jensen nodded looking down at his feet. The last couple of days they had talked a lot and really connected with one another.

    “I just wanted to make sure I got to say goodbye before you left.” (Y/N) went up to Jensen and put her arms around his neck hugging him. He hugged her back burying his head into the crook of her neck. “I’m glad you did. This time though don’t wait ten years to see me again.” He chuckled nervously and she could tell he wanted to do the same thing she wanted too. Before she would let that happen she pulled away from him and went to grab her bag. “Here this is for you. I’ll talk to you soon, pretty boy.” She handed him an envelope and then kissed him on the cheek. Walking out of that trailer was rough and she was thankful when Jessie was waiting for her in the car. “Come on, I believe we have a tub of chocolate ice cream to devour.” (Y/N) smiled as she laughed. She looked back at the trailer seeing Jensen opening her letter and reading it.

“Jensen,

I’m glad I took this gig when Jessie brought it to my attention. I got to reconnect with you and that has been special for me. You are an amazing man, Jensen Ackles. You make women everywhere fall in love with you instantly and that includes me. There is definitely a connection between us but nothing could ever come of it. It’s just the wrong place, wrong time. Your wife is a lucky woman to have you and you are equally lucky to have such an amazing woman in your life. Hold on to that and treasure it.

That being said, I would love to be friends with you. We can hang out in groups while you’re in Vancouver and one day I hope to meet your amazing wife so we can trade stories of you. I left my business card in here with all my contact info and you should use it whenever you need a friend to talk too. I’ll always be there for you as a friend. Hope to hear from you soon, pretty boy.

Talk to you soon,

(Y/N)”    

My Nerd Herd: @carryonmywaywardcaptain @waywardrose13 @anotherwaywardsister @ladywinchester1967 @waywardbaby @akshi8278