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dawnsbreaking · 2 years ago

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Lottie couldn’t fathom why the coffee shop she worked at was even open. Snow was pouring down outside, the roads were abysmal, every other barista on the closing shift had called out for the day, and even the owners had taken off early. - marilottie coffee shop AU, holiday exchange fic prompts: chocolate, "I'll do it, but only because you asked."

holiday exchange fic for @aislinnstanaka pairing: marisol/lottie (litg) word count: 2,302 read on ao3

Staying open for a handful of broke college students that lived within walking distance couldn’t possibly be worth paying the electricity bill for the lights and espresso machines, let alone Lottie's salary.

To cope with having to close the shop alone, Lottie reminded herself that the slow business meant that she was technically being paid to read a book behind the counter and play games on her phone. With free coffee.

There were worse ways to spend an evening.

Peaceful silence, though, was meant to be broken. The bell rang, signalling that someone had entered the café and Lottie looked up to see who it was.

The girl was bundled to high heaven. Lottie had to stifle a laugh to remain a level of professionalism. She was at work, after all, even if she had been scrolling through social media in an empty café for the past three hours.

“Cold out?” Lottie asked, maintaining a pleasant enough tone that the girl would likely miss her sarcasm.

“It’s dry snow, at least.” The girl took off her glasses, cleaning them with the hem of her sweater before replacing them. “I’m going to take off my coat before I order if that’s alright.”

Lottie shrugged, glancing pointedly at all of the empty tables. “Take all the time you need.”

She returned to her phone, feeling awkward watching the girl take off her coat. Despite being a little dorky, the girl seemed nice enough. Lottie only resented her for the fact that she’d have to actually make a drink.

“I’m glad you’re open,” the girl said when she returned to the till, “I was worried I’d make the trek down the street for nothing.”

“That makes one of us,” Lottie said, “you’re the first person I’ve seen in ages.”

“Sorry to disturb your evening, then.” The girl blushed, then shook herself. “Could I get a mocha, please? For here. The largest you’ve got.”

Lottie held up a large ceramic mug, nearly the size of a cereal bowl, that she sometimes offered to customers when she was feeling either silly or generous. She was feeling neither at the moment, only a desire to avoid making loads of drinks for this girl. The giant mug front-loaded all the labour.

The girl giggled. “Sure, that’ll do.”

“Anything else?” Lottie gave her a pained smile.

“No, that’s all.”

“Can I get a name for the order?”

The girl quirked an eyebrow. “There’s no one else here.”

“Protocol.” Really, Lottie was just curious, wanting a name to curse in the back of her mind for making her actually have to do her job. And whether or not the girl knew that, she didn’t particularly care.

“Marisol,” the girl said. Marisol paid for her drink then dropped a few crumpled notes in the tip jar as a peace offering.

“Be right out, love.” Lottie watched with a frown as Marisol returned to her table and began unpacking her things. It seemed she was preparing to be there for a while.

A meager tip couldn’t buy Lottie out of her bad mood, though. She flicked on the milk frother, nearly scalding herself with steam in her hurry. Two pumps of the chocolate syrup made it into the mug, but the third landed squarely on Lottie's sleeve.

This girl had her in such a tizzy, no one would guess she'd been making coffee at this exact machine in this exact shop for the last year.

Marisol. She thought the name with a nasty intonation.

"One mocha for Marisol," she said, sweetly, emphasizing the alliteration.

Marisol thanked the barista, Lottie, according to her name tag, for the drink. She was appreciative of the larger mug, but part of her worried that she’d spill the drink on the way back to her seat.

Lottie’s intense aura was threatening enough to make Marisol instantly self-conscious. It didn’t help that she was the only person in the café. There was nowhere to hide in the rows of empty tables.

She did her best to ignore Lottie, laying out her textbooks next to her laptop and opening her bag of pens and highlighters. At least it would be quiet. These places were usually packed during finals week, but the snow had kept everyone at bay.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Lottie called over, “I’ll just be over here.”

“Got it!” Marisol smiled back, giving an appreciative nod, even though she sensed a sarcastic tinge to Lottie’s kindness.

It wasn’t as difficult to ignore Lottie once she put on her headphones and pressed play on her studying playlist. Marisol, in the last year of her pre-law degree, had three finals for the next week. And all of them were for some of the most difficult classes she’d ever taken. It would be a miracle if this finals season didn’t kill her.

I'm a paying customer, Marisol reminded herself when she felt Lottie staring at her again, I have every right to be here.

She looked up at Lottie, smiled, and returned to her studies.

The coffee, once it had cooled enough that Marisol could drink it, was good, at least. Despite the menacing glares from the artisan who had crafted it, the mocha was done just how she liked it. She'd forgotten to ask for one less pump of chocolate syrup, intimidated by the barista, but it still hadn't been made too sweet.

She took a sip of the drink for every page she read, powering through the designated chapter of her textbook with renowned vigor. She'd made it through half the chapter—and a quarter of her drink—when she was interrupted with a tap on the shoulder.

“I’m going to sweep the floors,” Lottie told her. “Would you mind if I got under your table?”

Marisol huffed, annoyed at having been derailed when she was finally starting to get some work done.

“Sure.”

“Thank you,” Lottie scooted the chairs out. “Sorry to bother you.”

Wordlessly, Marisol returned to her studying, pressing play on her music again. She blushed, trying her best to ignore the barista sweeping under her feet. It was odd, the way she reacted to Lottie’s presence.

Marisol wasn’t a nervous person, usually. She prided herself on her poker face, knowing she’d make a good lawyer someday because of her ability to keep cool under pressure. All it took, turned out, was one snippy barista to have her completely unraveled.

She turned to look out the window, letting her eyes settle anywhere but on the witch with the broom at her feet. She startled when a streak of black jumped out of the snow.

“What?” Lottie frowned down at Marisol’s outburst.

“There was something in the snow.”

The blush creeping across Marisol’s cheeks worsened and she hoped that the thing would reappear, keeping her from feeling totally stupid. As if the universe had granted her one wish, the thing jumped out from the snow again, pouncing on a falling snowflake.

It was a cat.

“Oh my god.” Lottie laughed, surprised. “I won’t lie, I thought you were losing it.”

Lottie watched the little black cat through the window as it rolled in the snow, giggling, despite herself at the sight.

“It’s cute,” Marisol said, discarding her headphones to go to the window. “And probably cold.”

“Well, I’m not letting it in.” Lottie put a hand on her hip.

As cute as the cat was, she wasn’t keen on cat hair getting on the tables.

Marisol pouted. “But it’ll freeze.”

“What if I get in trouble?” Lottie said. Truthfully, the owners probably wouldn’t mind unless a patron complained. And Lottie would be surprised if anyone else came in for the rest of the night. They were already only a few hours out from closing and the snow was still coming down.

“Tell the owners it followed me in.”

Lottie frowned. “What if it hops up on the tables?”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Marisol pleaded. “Please?”

“Urgh, fine.” Lottie stomped to the door and flung it open, letting the cat in along with a gust of cold air. “Only because you asked nicely.”

Really, Lottie wasn’t sure why she’d given in so easily. A few minutes ago she’d started sweeping the lobby of the café just to annoy Marisol into leaving, and now she was letting a stray cat in just to keep her from pouting.

Where had her backbone gone?

Marisol watched with a smile on her face as the cat pranced into the shop. The cat stopped at Lottie’s legs, brushing up against her black jeans.

“Aw, she likes you,” Marisol cooed.

Lottie had always attracted cats. Strays followed her home from work more days than they didn’t. She wasn’t amused, though. This cat wasn’t going to get on her good side so easily.

“Are you going to take her home? Because she’s not welcome here after hours.”

“I might do.” Marisol crossed her arms. “I don’t want to leave her out in the cold…”

“Right.” Lottie sighed. “Just… Keep her off the tables.”

Before long, the cat—Marisol had taken to calling her Mocha after the drink she kept lunging after—had fallen asleep on the bench seat, resting its head in Marisol’s lap. Mocha’s company was much preferable to the moody barista’s, though Lottie had seemed to soften since letting the cat in.

There was something going on between them that Marisol couldn’t quite put her finger on. First they’d been at odds and tense, then, enter the cat, and something shifted. Lottie was trying to keep up the grumpy and aloof mood of before, but Marisol kept catching her smiling at the sleeping cat.

Another hour passed, of Marisol working and Lottie pretending not to fawn over Mocha, and Marisol pretending she didn’t see Lottie’s smiles.

Finally, Marisol grew tired of the charade.

“Do you have lots of work to do? You could come sit over here, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Lottie said. Which wasn’t ‘no’.

Marisol gave Lottie a friendly smile, trying her best to communicate that there was no more ill will between them. “You’re ogling the cat.”

“I’m not ogling…” Lottie huffed. “Fine.”

She tossed a dish towel aside and picked up her book, bringing it to the table where she sat on the bench seat. She sat gently, so as not to disturb sleeping Mocha.

It was so clear to Marisol that Lottie was much softer than she let on. Which was a strange observation to have of a stranger, but something about Lottie just made sense to Marisol. She could see right through her. And just beneath the surface, she was a secret sweetheart.

“Isn’t she sweet?” Marisol asked, because she didn’t know Lottie well enough to say anything more substantive. Even if she felt like she knew Lottie a little. Even if, dizzyingly, she realized that she wanted to know Lottie better.

“I suppose she is.” Lottie reached out, tentatively petting the soft fur on Mocha’s back. “She’s also loitering.”

“She had a sip of my mocha if that helps her case.”

After a beat, Lottie laughed. She seemed surprised that Marisol was making a joke. “Did she really?”

Marisol giggled. “No, but not for lack of trying.”

The girls sat in silence for a moment, Marisol caught Lottie’s gaze. She almost sighed audibly at the way the girl’s eyes twinkled. Lottie was pretty when she wasn’t being rude.

“Have you thought of a name for her?” Lottie asked, looking back down to the cat. There was a pink tinge growing on her cheeks, though Marisol could almost convince herself she’d imagined it.

“Mocha,” Marisol said, “for attempted mocha-stealing crimes.”

“That’s cute.”

“I thought so.”

Lottie hummed, patted Mocha again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

For just a moment, Marisol was unsure whether Lottie was speaking to her or to Mocha. She shook her head and returned to her work. Surely, she meant the cat.

- I hope you enjoyed this, Iris! I would have never written this pairing if it weren't for the prompt, so I hope I did them justice <3

thank you to Sarah and Margot for organizing this exchange, I'm so excited to read what everyone's put together!!

#litg #litg fic #marilottie #marisol litg #lottie litg #love island the game

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

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mistletoe magic | stiles stilinski

word count; 10,490

summary; stiles learns that his cute neighbour might be a witch after accidentally getting her spellbooks delivered to him instead.

notes; I know a witch!au isn’t a huge au for stiles, because he’s had evident races of magic throughout the series anyway, but just enjoy it!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, use of magic

It had been a pretty regular Monday morning for Stiles.

At six sharp, he’d been up and awake, barely functional but stumbling through his apartment and clicking on the coffee machine, before hopping into the shower for a quick wash. When he’d emerged, the machine had just finished grinding, as always, his routine functioning like a well-oiled machine now, and he’d moved it all across into a to-go cup and left it on the counter before going to get dressed.

He’d stumbled around to find his school books and shove them into a bag, eaten two cinnamon pop tarts that had burned the tips of his fingers when he’d grabbed them straight from the toaster, and had still been chewing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and sipped at his coffee, straight into the elevator at twenty to seven.

It was a fifteen-minute walk across campus to his early morning lecture on a Monday, leaving him with a few minutes to spare, in case he saw the sweet older lady from two floors down and wanted to say ‘hi’, or the cute neighbour who lived across the hall that always made him fall over his own feet, or maybe even the kid who delivers newspapers and is always falling off of his bike. He made it on time, took some great notes, and was feeling a little more alive and welcome into his day.

At exactly ten past one, he’d been home, having gone to the library to get some study in and find his new books, and get lunch at the diner he always ate at after classes, a cheeseburger and curly fries, and grabbed his letters and a parcel from the mail slot with his housing number printed on, tucking the package under his arm and heading upstairs and back to his flat, ready to flick through his bills.

All according to plan. One year and four months away at university and he knew every day like he’d been doing it for a decade, so he was only half-way to the kitchen when he remembered the package he was clutching under his arm, coming to a complete halt, throwing the usual assortment of envelopes away to the counter, and producing the neatly wrapped bundle.

He didn’t question it, not even bothering to look at the front, figuring it was just an early delivery on the textbooks that he wasn’t expecting to get here for another three weeks, finger slipping under the folds of the brown paper and tearing it away, fingers dancing over the covers of the books, before his brows were furrowing once again.

These were definitely not his ‘intro to psychological profiling’ textbooks.

Beautiful swirls in gold, carved into dark leather across the front, Latin words he didn’t understand before he was opening the cover, brushing off a layer of dust and letting one brow arch up. The text inside was English - though, no modern - and paper that he was cautious to take care of, simply from what appeared to be the age of it, stained and worn, finger marks clear on the corner from being passed down through generations. It was handwritten, drawings in old ink that had leaked onto the paper a little, rough and coarse, and labelled doodles with names he had never heard of before.

At a glance, he would assume it to be some kind of witchcraft.

He felt on edge, suddenly. He’d left Beacon Hills to come to somewhere that no supernatural would follow, where things like werewolves were still a myth, something to be laughed at, and he swallowed thickly, looking around his apartment as though someone was going to jump out. He loved his friends, he really did, and he didn’t so much mind the supernatural when he was with them all because they protected him, but alone out here, he and his bat didn’t stand a chance.

Now, it was Christmas, he knew this from the poor excuse of a tree up in his living room, and the snow outside, and the fact that for the last six weeks, his usual mochas had been a gingerbread-spiced mocha, on the insistence of the barista who served him whenever he ventured into the little coffee shop joint, and he was growing find of it. So, he tried to be optimistic, in the spirit of festivities and all that, and texted the group chat, waiting to see if any of them had sent him the books as a present, maybe even his father or Melissa. He even texted Parrish.

Except, they all said no, and now, he was stumped. Then, as he was being extra nosey and flicking through the book, he came across a page marked with a small slip of card, the item falling out, and he cursed, having no idea which page it came from, but as he picked up the piece of paper, one of the questions in his puzzle finally gained another piece towards the jigsaw.

‘(Y/N), the spell you’re looking for is here, but be careful, it’s a strong one.’

So, the books are for his hot neighbour, the next number up from his, and it now made sense as to why he had these books - they were a mistake. It opened a new question, however, as to why you would be getting them.

He had absolutely no patience, barley remembering to flick the catch on his door so that he’d be able to get back inside, before he was striding across the hall in one, two steps, and knocking on the wood. He could hear you shuffling around inside, the soft and muffled notes of the classic rock music you’d been listening to getting turned right down to low. It only took you a further few seconds until you were opening the door, but it felt like years to him with his impatience, fingers tapping against the books agitatedly, biting the nail of the other thumb, and his foot was tapping against the floor.

When you opened the door, though, he felt like it was too soon, like he wasn’t prepared for what to say, his breath hitching in his throat as his heart leapt in his chest, eyes sweeping down along your body and widening at your bare legs, only a t-shirt hanging on your frame, rising up to reveal the edge of a pair of white lace panties as you opened the door, and he forced his eyes back up to yours, wincing as he bit down a little too harshly on his nail, and pulled it from his mouth, shaking it as his dropped to his side.

“Hey, neighbour.”

“H-Hi. Hello. Yes, hi.” He already wanted to die a little bit, he hadn't stuttered this much in front of a pretty girl since junior year in high school, even Lydia had lost this effect on him, and college really had been a growing experience for him. He’d had a fair few hook-ups, and experimented, and he wasn’t shy about flirting when he wanted to, but you always through hi right back through loops, like he was still that kid with a buzzcut.

“What can I do for you, four-A?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.” He waited for the usual reaction, the cringe, the eyebrows shooting up, the scowl, something to indicate that you had actually heard the pronunciation, but you only smiled a little wider.

“I know. After I introduced myself and you fell over and didn’t give me your name, I checked the mail in your post-slot. I was curious. There was a lot addressed to Mieczysłav, but then one with a handwritten address to Stiles.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing your arms, and while you might seem casual, at least his degree was coming in useful for something, as your body language read an entirely different reaction, insecurity and worry rolling off of you in invisible waves of tells.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, laughing slightly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

Silence fell between you both for a second, and he couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lower lip was a little reddened, and he figured you must have been nibbling on it while working, and your hair was messy, an attempt to pin it back that seemed to have come loose and entirely ineffective, presumably from dancing, because you looked a little flushed. When you raised your brows at him a little, he realised you were waiting for him to explain himself, why he was on your doorstep, and he flushed with embarrassment shaking his head clear.

“I got your spellbooks by mistake.” He held them out, eyes widening even more, before his jaw was dropping open. “Book. Regular books. Not spell books, because that would imply magic, right? And, that’s dumb. Just regular books. I didn’t look at them, at all, not even a little bit, I promise.”

“You don’t believe in magic, then?” You took them from him, a coy smile on your lips, and you placed them down on the counter beside the door, pushing a bowl of potpourri getting pushed aside, along with your car keys and what looked like an incense burner.

“Do you?”

He was testing the water, seeing where your mind was at, and as a whistling came from your kitchen, you glanced back over to the kettle on the hob, and he thought this conversation might be about to come to an end. “Well, I think there’s always a little magic in life, even if people don’t notice it. You have to believe in magic to be able to see it. It’s like the supernatural that way.”

“And, you believe in the supernatural, huh?” He felt bad for the way he said it, because it was mocking, but he had to be sure that you weren’t messing with him, or spying on him, he had to try and find out who you were, but you only looked away as the whistling got louder, opening the door a little more and waving him inside as you walked away, and he stumbled after you and closed the door before his mind had even caught up with the movement of his feet.

Your apartment was littered with plants. The windowsills were lined with them, all brought green and blooming, even though he was sure it wasn’t the right season, and there was even a set of cactuses along a shelf near the corridor. There was a homey feel to your place, almost earthy, neutral tones and soft accents, a smell that was so calming he felt his own muscles begin to relax, and the music had changed from classic rock to some country song he was sure he’d heard in a movie somewhere but couldn't quite place it, and he followed you to the kitchen.

Rows of cookbooks and recipe folders stacked up on top of a lower cupboard, and he swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from the way your lace panties hugged your ass deliciously as you reached up for a mug, bringing back two, and pouring them both full of the herbal concoction you’d been making. On a mismatching saucer, you offered it to him, and he sniffed it carefully, but remembered his manners, mumbling a ‘thank you’, because his mother raised his right, even if he was a little suspicious of you.

“Relax, Stiles, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t be giving you tea made of Valerian and Lemon Balm. Do you want any honey, honey?” You grinned a little at your joke, but he shook his head, watching as you stirred a spoonful of the sticky sweetener into your own, and taking a tentative sip after blowing on the surface. It wasn’t all that bad, he had to admit, and he found his tensions slipping away a little. “It’s for relaxing, and helping with sleep.”

“It’s good.” You smiled, blowing lightly on your own, and he decided that he could busy himself by checking out your posters. An interesting arrangement, one was a band poster, the other was a chart with the phases of the moon, a third with diagrams of plants and little facts underneath, and the fourth, with symbols and drawing he didn’t quite understand. “So, you’re really embracing that whole witch thing, then?”

“Well, seeing as I am a witch, I would think it’s only appropriate.” He tried to hide his grin behind his mug, shaking his head a little, not believing that they really existed, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, clearly, because there was a playful kind of offence flashing across your face. “You can’t tell me you think I’m insane, not when there’s so much of the supernatural all over you, Stiles.”

“The supernatural? Really?”

“So, you’re not the emissary to a pack of werewolves?” You challenged, his jaw dropping at the accuracy of it, and it was your turn to laugh at him. “It’s literally stitched into your aura, I sensed another supernatural the second you walked into the building.”

“I just associate with a lot of ‘em, but I’m not supernatural myself.”

“You sure about that?” He stilled, memories flashing behind his eyes of a time when he once was, and you seemed to pick up on the slightly sour mood he’d taken on, then again, he wasn’t really sure where your abilities lay, being that Scott or Derek would have simply sniffed it out on him. Your hand on his arm snapped him back to the moment, fingers squeezing lightly at his bicep. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There was a possibility, once, but it’s gone. There’s a dark chapter in my past, and the spark I was told I once had disappeared when I got through it.”

It went quiet again after that, your fingers slipping down from his arm to take his, and you placed your cup down, the steaming brew barely touched, but he followed suit, letting himself be pulled along as you directed him back to the living room. You were distracting him, it was an obvious ploy, but he was excited to learn, and he let the sadness of remembering his possession fade away as the thrill of new knowledge took over. “I can tell you have a lot of questions, so, what do you want to know first?”

He rubbed at his chin, settling down onto the couch at the edge of the room, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and you were busying yourself around him, a little water jug in your hand as you nurtured the abundance of houseplants you owned. “How did you know about my pack? And how much do you know about them?”

“It’s in your aura, I suppose. I can just pick up hints of different things when you’re around. The wolves are obvious, I’ve been around a lot of wolves. I also get death, and I've never met a banshee, but I assume that’s what it is. I knew you were the emissary because you’re the only magic in there, I would sense other traces on you, and there’s something else I can’t quite place.” Your face screwed up a little bit as you thought about it, nose wrinkling adorably before shrugging. “Like a werewolf, but not quite. I can’t get it.”

“She’s a werecoyote.”

You paused your pouring, turning to look at him, eyes flicking lightly around his being, before smiling slightly to yourself, and going back to your task. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Have you been a witch your whole life?”

“Since the day I was born, but I didn’t know or start practising until I was older. It just kinda’ happens, comes out of nowhere at a certain age, you start to realise you have abilities.” You had moved onto using a dropper to give little drips of water to cacti and succulents, standing on a small step stool as you did.

“Do you have to go to a school, like Harry Potter? Do you have a wand?”

You laughed at that, a genuine and hearty laugh, and you finished up your tasks, legs folding underneath yourself and you smirked a little at him as you sat down and got comfortable. “You wish, Stilinski. It’s not like that, it's more of an earthly connection than magic. It’s why my plants are so healthy. I can brew stuff, make little potions-” You motioned a hand over the jars lining the shelves on the walls, his eyes scanning over each one, picking out the neatly written titles across the fronts. “-I can cast very light spells, but it’s not the sort of thing where you can curse people, or teleport.”

“So, you can’t curse people to turn into frogs?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He was sure your giggle was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and he dared to twist himself around a little more, inching slightly closer to you across the couch. “I can do some stuff, like make your skin break out or give you a rash that won’t go away until I let it, and I can even give you headaches and such, but I don’t like to dabble in that sort of stuff. I much prefer protection charms.”

“Protection charms?” His heart skipped a little beat at the way your face lit up as you nodded, and he was intrigued, interest piqued. “I could use one of those, y’know, I’m incredibly clumsy and often get into supernatural trouble when I’m home. Hasn’t been so bad since I got here. Will you make me one?”

Your eyes left him, bottom lip nibbled between your teeth, and for a second he had worried he’d messed up, unsure on how witch spellcasting etiquette worked, but then you were moving across the room, opening up the cabinet on the other side of the room, and inside the doors and wooden frame hung what must be close to a thirty different decorative charms. Some were dreamcatchers or garlands hanging on the inside of the door, others were handcrafted little ornaments sitting on the shelves and filling them up, and your fingers were flittering over them all.

When you found what you were looking for, you lifted it out, a dream catcher that was bright and colourful and a little odd-looking, before bringing it back over to him, and presenting him with it cautiously. “You already made me one?”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let the cute guy from across the hall get any more injuries. I watched you fall over five times in your first week living here. You’re really clumsy.”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and yet he couldn't help the goofy grin that travelled across his features, not mentioning the fact that he noticed you sitting considerably closer to home when you took your seat once again. He was embarrassed for two reasons, the first being that you had noticed his innate penchant for ridiculous injuries, but more overwhelmingly, the second being that you still thought he was cute. College might have helped him bloom a little, but when he had a crush, he was still a bumbling mess, and he didn’t know quite how to respond.

He busied himself with taking in the details of the dreamcatcher. Somehow, despite this being the first real conversation that the two of you had ever had, passing and fleeting chats in the halls and elevator not counting, you had managed to capture his entire essence, he could already tell. The strings were made of wool, chunky and all different colours, a mix of yellows and blues, woven in together and tangled in strange patterns, but beautiful nonetheless, and the little accents were what made it complete.

A button that had fallen off of one of his flannels, he recognised the distinctive wooden piece, and it was woven into the design, along with a blue ribbon in the same colour of the jeep that was tied in a bow, and a wooden twig tangled in it. Dangling on more pieces of wool from the bottom was a keyring he was sure he’d lost after leaving it downstairs overnight, the Yoda on it looking cleaner than he remembered, and you must've cleaned it. There was also a black feather, and a sprig of some kind of dried herb that he didn't recognise, but enjoyed the smell anyway.

It was intricate and personal, and he felt chuffed just to know that you’d made one for him, a little security and peace washing over him to know that someone was out here looking after him, completely unmaliciously, simply because you wanted to.

“This is incredible.” You let out a breath of relief, he recognised it in the way your body slumped a little, and he placed it down carefully on the coffee table beside you both, reaching out to take your hand in his, and daring to lace your fingers together and squeeze in gratitude, and you held onto him yourself, gaze dropping down to your connected hands. In a bold move of your own, you lifted your other hand, holding onto his with both of yours, and his thumb lifted out to brush lightly over your skin. “You’re the reason I don’t get papercuts and splinters anymore.”

“And you are very welcome for that.” You teased him back, and an easy kind of harmony fell between you both, your presence being more comfortable simply having only just really begun to meet you than he ever had been with someone new. It was strange, to feel so relaxed and at home with you, the way you put his fears at ease and soothed every worry without even trying, making him feel welcome and accepted, like he’d known you for years, not just shy of an hour. “Will you tell me about your pack?”

“You really want to know?” He couldn’t mask his surprise, and you nodded, excitement gleaming in your eyes, and he felt a surge of pride swell up in his system at the idea of getting to boast about his friends completely honestly for the first time in his life. There was no threat, he wasn’t showing off their skills as a way to try and ward off a threat or intimidate someone, but he simply wanted everyone else to be as awed by them as he was, and he didn’t have to hide any supernatural secrets from you. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Is it a long story?”

“Very long.” He confirmed, a shy laugh leaving you, before you were shifting again.

“How about I go and make us some fresh tea, then?” You were on your feet, wandering away to the kitchen as soon as he’d offered his affirmations of the idea, and he decided to follow after you, already beginning to blather about Peter Hale.

Hours seemed to pass by, as he spoke to you, two more pots of tea being made, and you’d broken out your snack-store for him, before the two of you had ordered pizza. He’d made himself at home, too, keys and phone sitting abandoned on the table, shoes kicked off on the floor, and feet stretched out along the couch. You were sitting at the opposite end, your legs stretched out in his direction, and one of his hands was sitting on your ankle, fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin there absentmindedly as his other hand was used to gesture wildly around himself.

He told you it all, confessing right from the beginning as he encountered Derek Hale, who liked to lurk in the woods, which had made you crack up as he told you about how the man was basically now the alpha, even if Scott was officially the alpha, and he’d told you about Jackson’s kanima phase, which had made you crack up even more as you claimed he deserved it.

You’d been shocked by his homicidal English teacher, and comforted him when he spilled his heart to you over the nogitsune incident he hated to think about, accepting your hush happily, and revelling in the smell of your hair when you’d pressed in close to him, before retreating to your seat.

He told you all about the benefactor and the dread doctors, and about Allison’s death, which he still blamed himself for when he was on a low day, and you’d used your thumb to clear away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, leaving him blushing and breathless for a second when you’d pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone just after.

You had scooted closer to him and stayed there near the end of his tales, tucked under his arm, playing with his fingers over your shoulders as he rambled about how alone he’d felt while taken by the Wild Hunt, thoughts that he’d always kept locked up in his own mind, never having shared with another person before.

“You really got the short end of the ‘supernatural encounters’ stick then, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is the understatement of the century.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, your feet nudging together on the coffee table, the reindeer themed fluffy socks on your feet playing with the patchy and worn door knitted socks he’d had for years, worn to keep warm during the winter, even though your apartment was nice and toasty, the heaters running and the radiators on, and it was much cosier than his place had ever been.

The Christmas lights on a timer had come on, flickering around the place once the light had started fading, hours flashing by in the blink of an eye, a hazy glow cast over the apartment and creating a whole new range of shadows. “Do you want me to make charms for your friends?”

He watched you for a moment longer, trying to discern whether you were serious, and when he caught no gesture of ill-will, or hesitation, or hidden-motives, he smiled. “You’d do that?”

“Seems like you all need it.”

He shrugged a little, smiling when you rested your forehead against his, fingers playing together still, but feet stilling in their game of footsie. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get to know you. You’re, like, the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

His eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't’ help it, noses bumping together as you both simply drowned in the moment, in what the moment was leading up to, where you both knew this was going but were revelling in the simple but exhilarating tension that was crackling with electricity in the millimetres of space between your lips and his. You were so close to him that he could feel it more than hear it when you whispered some words he didn’t quite understand, your breath fanning over his face in a dreamy sigh, and it took his hazed brain a second to catch up, before he was pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, one hand coming up to rest over your cheek as he turned to face you fully.

“Oh, my God. Did you just cast a spell?”

“Look up.” He was hesitant to pull back much further, but did so anyway, and he chuckled slightly as he spotted the little green plant beginning to sprout from the ceiling. Vines were still strengthening along the beam, and the leaves were beginning to form right before his eyes, white berries hanging between the green stems, and Stiles shook his head, in complete awe as he looked at it.

You were staring up to, eyes focused on the plant as it bloomed and he assumed you were concentrating on its development, but he couldn't hold back anymore, two hands on your cheeks, pulling your face back to his, and your lips barely parted to speak before his mouth was colliding with your own. A squeak left you, and he wanted to grin at being able illicit such a sound from you, but the temptation to kiss was just enough for him to contain himself. When your mind finally caught up, you were kissing him back just as eagerly, a soft sigh leaving you. “You are fucking adorable.”

The words were whispered into your mouth, he felt you shake with a soft laugh under his hold, before you were holding onto him just as tightly in return. One of your hands wrapped around his wrists, the other sliding over his bicep to his shoulder, before slipping down underneath, and smoothing over the front of his chest. He puffed out a little under your touch, pulling away for a quick breath, groaning slightly at the way your nails dug into his skin as he did, and then, he was diving right back into you.

Your hand slipped down to rest over his heart, the organ thudding under your hand, and he felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest, but as he pressed a little further into you, a shock like an electrocution was racing right through his body, a kind of jolt that was thoroughly exhilarating, and he pulled away, eyes wide as he stared at you.

You looked just as shocked as he expected he did too, his hands dropped down as he watched sparks and electricity crackle between your fingers and his, your brows raising at him. “Thought you said you had no magic left after.. y’know..”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it, your fingers weaving with his, a loud snapping sounding as a particularly bright flare went off, and he flinched a little, jaw dropping and a whine slipping from him as you contained it all the sight disappeared before his eyes. “So, there really are sparks flying between us, huh?”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, expecting to see on your face the same kind he’d always gotten from Malia or Lydia when he made those kinds of cheesy puns that only he enjoyed, even Scott daring to fix him with a bored or blank look, and Derek would simply glare, but much to his surprise, you laughed. It was fond, with a roll of your eyes and a huff to preempt it, but you laughed nonetheless, and he felt himself somehow manage to brighten even further. “That was cheesy.”

“I know.” He beamed, shifting a little, hands sinking down to your hips to pull you closer to himself as he settled back into the couch, and your hand pressed to the cushions beside his head, the other one coming up to weave into his hair lightly.

“I loved it. I am quite a fan of puns.”

“That’s good, because I usually have a lot of them.” He leaned up, daring himself to be bold enough to close that gap once again, and he could feel your lashes tickling his cheeks as you nuzzled into him a little more. “If I kiss you again, will those sparks happen this time, too?”

“If I stop controlling it, they will.”

“Stop controlling it, sweetheart.” He felt you move to nod your affirmations, but dipped his head in time, proud of his own reflexes as he caught your lips, feeling the hand in his hair tighten, and he was so glad he’d decided to grow it out all those years ago, because right now, he was losing all sense of himself in the way your nails would scratch across his scalp, or the delicious burning that flared over his skin for a split second when you pulled on his hair, before you were rubbing it softly, fingers working in tandem timing with your lips, teasing over his own.

That same feeling took up, a sparking that felt like fireworks, like energy surging through him, escaping at his fingertips in every place that he touched you, one palm smoothing along your back to somewhere that was definitely too lose to be respectable, as the other held onto your cheek still. You were taking control, your tongue darting out to trace over his lower lip, bribing him to part them but he needed no convincing, letting your tongue meet his own only a second after you’d made the request, equally breathy and needy noises escaping you both at the slow and wet drag of the muscles over one another.

His lungs were burning, lips beginning to sting as his assault on your mouth continued, his neck straining to hold this angle, and yet the more you kissed him, the more that the hazy feeling of getting to be with you like this raced through his body was the more he became addicted to needing more, chasing a high that he didn’t even know he wanted until now, like an addict finding his next hit.

You seemed to pick up on it all, as though you’d read all of his thoughts, because the second he’d had the lingering thoughts, you were settling yourself across his lap, a leg on either side of his own as you seated yourself down, and he couldn't help the way his hips bucked up a little to meet you, or the way his hand slid down fully to rest on your ass.

After all, as much as he’d gone through the make him grow up emotionally, physically he was still a horny-teen college boy, and you were one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, sitting half-naked in his lap and sucking on his lower lap while doing something with your tongue that was making him feel like he couldn't even breathe properly for how aroused he was.

Maybe you could feel the growing erection underneath of you, maybe you couldn't, but he’d stopped caring about being embarrassed around you about three hours ago when he’d had to tell you all about the time he’d once dropped a condom in Coach’s class in front of the entire classroom, and you’d laughed so much your face had gone red and you’d hidden it form him by pressing into his shoulder.

You were something he felt like he was dreaming up, like any moment now he’d wake up in a small puddle of his own drool with his face pressed into the desk of his lecture hall, the lights turned out and another note left by his kind professor to get more sleep at home, and to lock up when he left, before you were giggling a little at him, pulling away and stealing a few more pecks as you did, and he wondered if you really could read his mind, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Are you reading my mind or something?”

He felt stupid even as he mumbled te words, especially when it only seemed to heighten your entertainment, but you shook your head. “I can’t read your mind, I can just kinda’ sense your mood, I guess. It’s the connection, you were clearly thinking something funny, and I don’t know what it was, but I got a sudden rush of amusement.”

“That’s pretty fucking incredible.” He whispered, letting you peck his mouth a few more times, simply sitting there with puckered lips as he tried not to smile too much, before he was tucking hair away behind your ears and finally you were opening your eyes, and at this point, he really should learn to stop being surprised by new developments with you. “Holy shit, your eyes are glowing!”

“So are yours.” You winked, the bright purple being a shade that was so captivating and beautiful on you that he couldn’t look away, even when you leaned away from him to grab his phone, raising it up to snap a picture for him, and forcing his gaze down to it. Much like you’d said, his eyes were beginning to hint in with a faint purple, the neon shading beginning to drip into his irises and take over from the usual golden-brown that resided there. “You never made out with another witch before?”

He pinched at your ass for your cheeky comment, taking his phone and throwing it away to the side, grinning when you yelped at his painless attack. “I didn’t even know witches really existed before today. Besides, what makes you think I'm one? I had a spark once, but as I said, that died out. Nothing truly magical.”

“I don’t know, you’re having a pretty strong connection with me right now, aren’t you?” Your arms looped around his neck, snuggling in a little closer to him, and he bit back a groan as you shuffled in his lap. “I think you’re underestimating yourself, you just don’t know how to tap into your magic, you have to believe in it to see it.”

“You really think so?”

He was vulnerable and he knew it showed, he’d gone his entire life being unsure as to where all his energy and twitching came from, as to why he’d always felt a draw to the earth; the preserve and the woods, and justice and balance, and why he’d somehow fit into a supernatural world with far more elegance and ease than he ever had the normal one, and maybe this was the explanation. “I really do, Stiles.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then to the spot below your ear, before flicking his tongue out a little to drag over the sensitive patch that lay there, before moving down your neck. He didn’t want to mark you without your consent, he wasn’t sure what was going to come of all of this and where it would go, but he was more than happy to lick and bite lightly at your skin, finding the sweet spot that made your hips roll down into his own and a sound of need and desperation to leave you that was like music to his ears, before his hips were bucking up to meet you once again.

“Y’know when you said that you could feel what I was feeling?”

“Uh-huh?” You were distracted, your reply seeming somewhat faded and distant, and he chuckled lightly, before making his way back up to your mouth now that you’d both had a chance to catch your breaths once again.

“Does that mean everything?”

“Are you asking if I know just how much you want to fuck me right now? Because yes, I do know.” He choked a little on his breath, your hand in his hair pulling his head back so that you could meet his gaze, your lower lip held between you teeth, flesh going a darker pink, and he longed to be the one biting that lip for you. “Trust me, the sentiment is returned.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wasn’t used to women being so confident with wanting him, being so unashamed of it, or of even wanting him at all. Most of his hook-ups had been slightly drunk make-outs and sloppy grinding, or booty calls and meetings in closets at parties. He got more action than he ever did in high school, he’d finally grown into his limbs and his looks, but that didn’t take away the surprise that still happened every time someone as pretty as you even offered him the time of day.

“Like, right here? Right now?”

“Been thinking about how much I want to ride you on my couch for like an hour and a half, now.” Stiles couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, lips parting as you ran a finger over his swollen lips, a cheeky glint flashing over purple eyes as you looked at him.

“You might just be perfect for me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A toothy smile was offered to you, before he was pulling you back in towards him, hands slipping down to lay resting on your thighs as soon as your lips had found his once again. The heat seemed to have passed, and while the kiss was still completely intoxicating, there was something a little more tender about it, too. It wasn’t nearly as rushed and frantic, the sloppy kisses you’d shared as you learned one another’s ticks had passed, and as your lips worked slowly with his own, Stiles found that he much preferred this kind of kiss.

This was the kind of kiss that he could picture himself sharing with you in many settings. A sleepy, early morning kiss, when you were still between the land of consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness. Or, late nights, when he’d fall asleep while studying, and he would let you drag him to his feet and to bed. Or, simply when he would finish a lecture, or get you coffee, or meet you for dinner. The point was, Stiles already knew he wanted to kiss you at all times of the day, and to hold onto you, and to watch you brew little spells at the stove while holding onto you from behind.

Your lips were wet when you pulled away, eyes sparkling as you looked at him, a bright shade of royal purple, like silk and rich violet on flower petals, and you looked utterly ethereal. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”

“You’re sweet-talking me.” You teased, bumping the tip of your nose against his, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m just being honest with you. I’ve been into you for a long time, even if I didn’t quite have my mind in the right place to actually say it.” You huffed out a little laugh, your eyes averting from his own so that you could try and hide your bashful little expression, but he didn’t miss it.

“Well, I’ve been admiring you a little, too. I should’ve had my deliveries sent to you sooner, if I knew it was going to end like this.” As if to punctuate your words, you rolled your hips down into his, reminding him of the solid erection pressing into his jeans, his fingers digging a little firmer into your skin, and he pushed your shirt up higher, the soft cotton of your panties revealed to him.

“These are just fucking sinful. Do you normally wander around your house in underwear and band-tees?” He tugged at it a little, before daring to tuck his hand underneath the fabric, trailing up, and a poorly-concealed groan left him as he found no further obstructions, fingers closing over one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he palmed at your chest. “Well, clearly not all of your underwear.”

“I tend to, I keep it warm in here, for all the plants.” Your back arched up into his hand, one of your own closing over his outside of your shirt, as your other held onto his shoulder, fingers leaving crescent-moon shaped marks he was sure, and the rocking of your hips into his own only seemed to increase.

“I’d love to see you in one of my flannels sometime, just like this.”

“Give me your shirt and you’ll see it sooner than you think.” You teased, his brows raising, before he was pulling his hands back just long enough to lean into you, stripping the garment off as best as he could, leaving him in a thin black t-shirt as you took the item from him. He wanted to whine out as you stood up, choosing instead to replace the pressure of your core over his with his hand instead, palming at his cock through the thick denim, and you grinned as you watched him, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

You stood before him, draping his shirt across his spread knees as he slumped further into the cushions, getting himself comfortable and popping the button on his jeans, swollen lower lip being nibbled as you played with the hem of your shirt. Your hips were swinging to the beat of the song, and then, you raised the garment up and over your head, letting it drop away to the carpet, his jaw dropping as he looked at you.

You picked up his flannel, pulling it up your arms, and leaving it open at the front, just barely covering your tits. You were an angel and also the devil, tempting him to do so many wrong things. Stretching his hands out toward you, he beckoned you back into his lap, an act you were more than happy to take as you bounded over to him, a pep on your few short steps, before you were settling back into his lap.

“Perfect.”

He let his hands find the flaps of the flannel, pulling it open wide enough to be able to admire your tits fully, letting you push your hair back away from your shoulders for his unobstructed view. Sealing one hand around your waist, he dragged you up closer, until you were almost pressed to him fully, before dipping his head down. His tongue dragged over a hardened nipple, taking the taut peak into his mouth and sucking harshly, as your hand wound into his hair. You tugged, roughly, a groan that vibrated along your entire body leaving him and making you shiver, and you made the prettiest little noises above him.

He switches sides, making sure to give the other half of your chest that same kind of attention, leaving wet marks and stinging watches along your skin that would become bright purple marks in the morning to match the colour of your eyes, and he just hoped you kept him around long enough to see them when they did become beautiful and prominent. He wanted to see his good work, he wanted to see the way he got to mark you up and leave his touch all over your body.

“Stiles..”

“I do love how you sound moaning my name, princess, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last when you're making noises like that and grinding yourself all over my cock like this.” You grinned, letting him kiss his way back up your chest and throat until he was taking your lips with his own. Your hands were moving down, tugging at his zipper as far as it would go, hid hips bucking up into his hand as he felt you drag a nail along his covered erection, breathy sounds between you both when you pulled away.

He only had to lift himself up for a moment, before you were tugging at his jeans, helping him to get them just far enough down his thighs for his boxers to be able to follow. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and desperate for you, leaking precum along his skin, and he gave himself some form of relief. You were watching him, eyes wide as he pumped his length in one hand, the other dipping under your skirt rubbing over your core, and you bundled up your shirt for him.

“Y’know, all those times I thought about us, a quick fuck on your couch wasn’t how I had wanted our first time to be, but then again, I didn’t expect the cute chick across the hall to be a witch, wither, so..”

He used his thumb to drag your panties to the side, your sodden folds revealed to him, and he slipped two fingers into your dripping core with ease. “I’ll let you take it slow next time, I swear, but right now, I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.”

He could only nod, heart skipping a beat at the promise of another time. Your legs shifted, muscles clenching as he forced himself to take his touch away from your core and bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your sweet essence from the thin digits. As you leaned over him, he was sure to line himself up, and then, you were sinking down onto him, your forehead flailing to his as your mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered the words, a little breathless and hanging on the edge of his orgasm already, and you seemed just as close, because as you finally sank all the way down and settled into his lap again, he could feel every pulse within your walls as you hugged around him.

It took him a moment, staving off his climax so that he didn’t come just from getting to feel you like this, and you looped your arms around his neck gently to find your purchase. Your nails were scratching lightly at the hairs at the base of his neck, his flannel once again flapping around you, panties pushed to the side to let him have access to your centre, and it was deliciously filthy.

Once you were settled, you circled your hips, a test movement, pleasure spiking in both of your systems and it felt like the temperature in the room was shooting upwards. Stiles could already feel sweat beginning to bead along his skin in a thin layer, and you pressed yourself in closer to him. Each time you shifted your hips you were moving a little more, every rock of your body into his, you were pulling yourself up just a little higher to be able to drop yourself back down onto his cock, stretching and squeezing around him.

You felt like velvet, slick and warm as you sheathed around him. You were precise and deliberate, and he couldn't help the wonton sounds that were leaving you with every drop down onto his cock, before you were taking him up to see stars every time, leaving the both of you resting in the clouds. Panted breaths, a scream in the back of your throat that tried to break out each time as you gave him broken moans of his name, picking up your pace further and further each time.

Once you were stable above him, you were moving with purpose, fast and quick as you rode him, gaining more confidence each time, and he was gripping you so tightly that there would be fingerprints all over your hips in the morning. He helped you go, lifting you up each time, only to pull you back down into his lap, thrusting up with a weak effort to meet you, but feeling you go wild each time. That same energy was back, crackling with more force, surging through him like nothing he had ever felt.

Stiles was in college, he was away from home and the weight of being the Sheriff’s kid for the first time, and he had experimented. He’d gotten drunk, and high, and hungover, but this was a whole new kind of thrill; it was like lighting up with fireworks and adrenaline all at once, like creating a bond with another person, and a tingling spread throughout his entire body as your magic bonded with his own. He hadn't felt this kind of singing in his blood since the day he’d managed to finish the circle with the mountain ash back when he was only sixteen, or breaking through the wild hunt barrier at almost eighteen.

These kind of thrills were rare for him, but they’d never been this strong, and as the two of you moved as one in the most intimate way that two people could, your mouth coming up to claim his as you silenced yourself and him, growing louder and more desperate as you went, he felt that final high beginning to build.

“‘M so close, honey.” His voice had taken on that same kind of scratchy rasp that he had in the mornings before he even broke into his day, “Oh, God, keep goin’.”

He knew his words were beginning to grow slurred, and he could barely buck his hips up into you. As everything within his body began to light up, he felt like all of his muscles were going lifeless, his body going boneless, because the heat was consuming him. He couldn't hold it back, he’d been waiting for so long to feel you this way, and his lips could barely even move back against your own as he went slack-jawed, exploding within your tight heat.

The send that he was shooting over the edge, you were following right after him, crying out his name into his mouth as you kept going against him, until you couldn't clumping down into his body as you trembled, and Stiles felt as though you’d milked absolutely everything from him that he had to offer. There was a crackling along his skin from everywhere that your fingertips smoothed over, sliding down from his shoulders so that you could press your cheek to the spot instead, fanning breaths rushing over his neck as you tried to catch your breath, racing heart just like his was.

You didn’t even bother to move from him, letting him throb within your walls with each flutter you made and each shift, and if you kept it up, he was sure he’d be ready for a second round, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he had that in him. Resting his head back against the edge of the couch, he let you lift yourself up and off of him finally, your legs shaking as you stood, offering him a weak smile as he took in your through fucked out state, before taking wobbly steps away from him, and disappearing down the hall.

He heard a door close, assuming you’d gone to the bathroom, and he leaned over to the coffee table to snatch up a few tissues, to clean himself up with, before sorting himself out too. He did the bare minimum, not even bothering to do up his jeans once he had them pulled back up, but he stretched out along the length of the couch to lay down, an arm popped under his head, and a little laugh on his lips as he did.

He took a moment to glance around, not missing the way that the plants all seemed to be blooming particularly beautifully, seeming more alive than ever. As he lifted up a hand before his face, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together, a spark travelled between the tips, and he felt a little in awe just at the sight of it.

“It's pretty incredible, right?”

He startled, jumping a little, before turning to look at you and propping himself up on his elbows as you lingered in the doorway. You had changed, your hair pulled back and out of your face, missing a few odd strands and you’d buttoned up his flannel along your body, mismatched and hanging unevenly, but still adorable. You took slower steps over to him, waiting for a second as you stood beside him, before he was lifting his arms and making it clear to you that you could lay with him, a smile gracing both of your faces as you flattened yourself along him, cheek pressed over his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You like feeling your magic, then?”

He lifted his palm, holding it to yours and admiring the final dying flares he saw, as the energy began to dissipate and absorb into his body and yours fully. “I’m not used to feeling special myself. I’ve always been a behind the scenes, research, kinda’ guy. I’m not used to being one of the main players.”

“Oh, hush. You told me your story, you were most definitely a key player, Stiles.” He shrugged under you, letting you cross your arms over his chest and prop your chin on them.

“Yeah, but I never really felt that way, and now I feel like I have something to offer.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his jaw with a sweet kiss, and he felt like he could most definitely get used to this feeling. Can I meet them?”

“My pack?”

You nodded, seeming a little shy now, and joy raced through him at the fact that you saw enough of a future with him to want to meet his friends an get to know them, and to once again be able to be completely open and honest with everyone, never having to hide anything from anyone, and being able to let you fully and wholly into his life. It was a surprise, because the more he’d thought about his future late at night when lying alone in his bed, he was so sure he’d never be able to really settle down, because he could never let someone in on his life in every single way, but with you, that wasn’t a problem.

“I would absolutely love that.”

“Really?” You were studying him carefully, trying to ensure that he was telling the truth, and he gave you the most honey look that he possibly could, before lifting his head to meet your lips as he leaned in.

Soft and delicate, like a kiss that was shared between deep romance and longtime lovers, and he rested a hand on your cheek, holding you to him, and rolling you to the side, to sandwich you between the couch and his body Your thigh came up to rest over his legs, his palm slipping from your face to rest on your leg, drawing patterns on the skin until you pulled away to breathe, lips detaching from his as you whined a little. You stayed close, though, a soft look etched onto your features;

“I just want to meet a few more supernatural people, and get to know others who I don’t have to hide from.”

“Well, you definitely don’t have to hide from them, and you’ll love them, just as much as they’ll love you. We’re a pretty odd group, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right about that ‘odd bunch’ thing. I’ve never met a banshee, or a - what did you call it? - werecoyote.” That was an undeniable truth, your head coming back down to rest on his chest as he shrugged, unable to deny that you were right. “Your wolves sound nice, too. All the other wolves I’ve met have been overly territorial and closed off.”

“Well, Derek used to be like that, but we’ve pulled him around a little. He is still broody, though.” You laughed at his joke, a sound that made his heart burst open slightly and bleed with affection, all for you, as you continued to take more and more pieces of his heart with every act, and he was falling in love with you faster than he’d ever known was possible. “Don’t take notice of any of his lurking, by the way, it’s his twisted way of showing concern and care.”

“I’ll remember that, and if I ever catch him hiding behind a tree, I’ll know that it’s real friendship.”

“He does that, I’m serious, don’t underestimate him. I think my dad arrested him for stalking, once.”

“I think your dad would be who I am most scared to meet.” A fond tone in your voice, before he was pressing a kiss to your forehead, humming under his breath.

“He’ll love you the most, don’t worry.”

Silence fell between you both then, and he busied himself with tracing illegible drawings into your skin, simply enjoying feeling so close to you. It was irrationally domestic, and you were the final piece in his college life and college experience that was missing. Despite not being a wolf, he was unequivocally part of a wolf pack, and being surrounded so closely by such a tight-knit group of friends for those years had made him dependent on company and reliability, and he had been feeling so alone since leaving for college.

Scott had Malia, Lydia had rekindled things with Jordan, and even Derek had been (begrudgingly, to begin) hooked up with a deputy by his father, and they’d been on a few dates.

The last time he’d been home, he’d felt like a fifth, seventh, or was it ninth wheel, when Liam and Hayden were taken into account? He had been feeling awfully lonely lately, and he was glad to finally find someone that fit him perfectly, matching him like a glove.

“When I do introduce you to my friends, my pack, y’know, and my dad..”

You lifted your head, a little crease across your cheek from the fold in his shirt, and he rubbed the spot with his thumb gently, an attempt to remove the mark. “Yeah?”

“What should I introduce you as?”

“A witch.” You deadpanned, and he knew immediately that you’d clearly know exactly what he meant, but were playing with him, and he pouted, fixing you with a mock glare, before you were laughing to yourself over your joke, something so undeniably cute that he couldn't even pretend to be mad about it. “What do you want to introduce me as?”

Nudging your jaw a little with his, he puckered his lips, tempting you down to kiss him, and you were more than happy to press a series of sweet and short kisses to his lips. “I’d really like to formally claim you to be my girlfriend?”

He mumbled the words into your mouth, feeling your lips flick up at the edges in a smile as you gave him a kiss that was a little more firm, a little more loving and powerful, before whispering your reply; “Then we’re on the same page, because I’d like to introduce you to my coven back home as my boyfriend.”

“You have a coven?” He pulled back, a gasp of shock, and you giggled at him.

“That I do. Maybe I should tell you about them?”

“You absolutely should.” He insisted, his craving for knowledge taking over, and he couldn't have been more glad to whatever deity was watching over benevolently that he’d taken the choice to stay the first time knowledge had been offered, because it had led him to where he was now.

“It might take all night, maybe you should go and get a change of clothes. Get comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” You only nodded, letting him roll you back over onto your back as he kissed at your neck. “I’ll buy you take out if you cuddle me later?”

“Cuddling and dinner? Glad I get to call you my boyfriend, now.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to call you my girlfriend. My little witch.” His lips sealed over yours, silencing your laughs against his mouth as you teased him for the nickname, and he pinched a little at your sides. The mistletoe overhead grew a little more, a few of the berries dropping away and bouncing off of his back as the plant became bolder, just like the rest, that energy beginning to grow once again, as you got lost in each other’s touch.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x reader smut #stiles stilinski/reader #stiles stilinski/reader smut #stiles stilinski teen wolf #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #dylan obrien teen wolf #dylan obrien stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Into The Woods

Warnings: noncon sexual acts; vaginal, anal.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re sent to make a delivery to the man in the woods.

Note: This is for @imanuglywombat and @nellblazer‘s Lumberjack Challenge. I couldn’t see if they were accepting dark fics so if they aren’t, I guess it’s just another fic lol. But anyways, the challenge inspired me.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“You sure Dezy isn’t going to make it?” You asked as you helped Gerry load the crate onto the trailer.

“I’m sorry, I got all the other deliveries sent out with Milo but this one’s too far for him.” Gerry grunted as he closed the back of the open-top trailer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dezy. Second day in a row and yet I hear he’s down at the Horse every night.”

“Well, he’ll run out of beer money sooner than later,” You sighed as you pulled on your gloves. The air was starting to bite as the brief autumn was turning. “You sure you can manage without me?”

“Slow day in the shop,” He shrugged. “You just be careful.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best.” You climbed up onto the four-wheeler and fumbled with the thick key with the grizzly bear charm attached to it. “Maybe next time give me the easy ones.”

“I’ll tack an hour of overtime on your pay, how about that?” He chuckled. “You need to get out anyway. I know this place is small but you can’t spend all your time reading those harlequins in the dry good section.”

“They’re not harlequins,” You turned the engine and raised your voice as you gripped the handlebars. “They’re fantasy, Ger.”

“Sure, sure,” He backed away. “You go or you won’t make it back by sundown.”

“Never far off these days,” You mused as you revved. “See ya, Gerry. Don’t forget to down stock the fishing wire.”

“Which one of us is the boss?” He called after you as you pulled out, the small trailer rumbling behind you.

You turned off at the end of the street, past the business fronts that looked like cabins. The town looked straight out of Western but with more snow. The first of the annual powder had yet to fall but you could feel it coming. You headed over the lumpy tundra past the sparse trees that grew thicker the further you got. The paths turned narrower and you steered slowly through the damp forest.

You only went so far out when your uncle took you ice fishing and rarely in this direction. You slowed as the path grew more uneven, carefully traversing the thick roots and deep valleys. The noise of the engine bounced off the trunks of trees around you. It was more than an hour before you reached your destination. At least, you thought you were in the right place. Weren’t too many cabins hidden in these trees; well not many still inhabited.

You pulled into the clearing and killed the engine. You hopped off the ATV and stretched your legs, your thighs tingled from the rumble. You went to the trailer and open the door and slid out the heavy trunk. You braced yourself before you lifted and gave a grunt. You’d packed the load yourself. You carried it past the old motorcycle and the neat stack of wood which marched the way to the broad front porch. You slowly ascended the three steps up and set down the heavy crate beside the door.

A bench made of logs, likely by hand, stood just a few feet from the front door, a woven blanket folded over the seat. The curtains were drawn within and you started to wonder if there was anyone there or if this was just another forgotten scene. It all seemed so eerily still.

You knocked and waited for an answer. Nothing. You tried again with the same result. Then, after a cold silence, you heard a door open and snap shut but it wasn’t the one before you. You turned as a man appeared beside the far corner of the porch. He appeared disturbed by your presence as he emerged from the old shed, his flannel jacket marked with patches of dirt and his dark hair poking out from beneath a woolen cap.

“He usually just leaves it there,” He clapped his gloved hands together as he brushed away the filth. “Thanks.”

“Uh, sorry,” You turned and ambled down the steps. “I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be sorry,” He stayed near the corner, kicking his foot up onto the stump where an ax waited to be used. “Better get going before the sun beats you.”

“Sure,” You went back to the four wheeler. His eyes bore into you as you climbed up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just--”

“Thanks,” He said again. “Driving out here all this way. Appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You turned the key. “Have a good day, sir.”

The engine roared to life and you carefully turned around, the empty trailer clattering behind you. You couldn’t help but feel him watching you still. You wanted to look back, but didn’t. You twisted the throttle and delved back through the treeline. You hoped Dezy would get his shit together, you weren’t keen on doing deliveries.

🪓

The next day, you were back to your usual fare. You stood at the long counter of Elk’s General, watching the locals as they wandered in and out, perusing the aisles of groceries, clothing, or novelty goods. You rung them through on the outdated till and smiled after them as they left with their paper bags.

The usual midday lull came and you pressed flat your latest read on the counter. You crossed your arms over the edge and bent over the pages, losing yourself in the fantastical medieval setting. Gerry didn’t mind so much as you kept an eye on customers.

The rusty bell above the entrance tinkled and you looked up suddenly. You turned your book over before you could lose your place. You stood up straight and smiled at your newest customer but froze as his eyes met yours. It was the man from the day before, to whom you had delivered the weeks worth of goods.

He ignored your usual greeting and marched over to you. He planted the bill for his delivery on the counter.

“I ordered six cans of maple beans. I have only four.” He said plainly.

“An oversight. I’m sorry, sir. Just a moment.” You gulped and flitted off to check the shelf. There were only the tomato beans in stock. You went to the back room and checked there. Nothing. You returned to the counter. “Looks like we’re all out but I’ll make a note to have them delivered when we get more. Or we can remove the charge from your bill.”

“Keep ‘em on,” He said as he reached into his pocket. “I can wait.” He unfolded the worn leather wallet. “I have to pay my account anyway.”

“Sure,” You reached to slid his bill closer and keyed the amount into the machine. “You could have called--”

“I don’t have a phone,” He growled as he counted out the bills. “I don’t like to be disturbed.”

You took the money and counted it. You avoided his gaze guiltily. You sorted the bills in the cash door and handed him his change. His gloves brushed your skin and he tucked the money away with his wallet.

“Good book?” He pointed to the novel.

“Alright, so far,” You answered quietly.

“I read his other one. The one set in Ancient Egypt. It was… interesting. Not my usual reading material though.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You have a good day, miss.”

He turned and left you as you returned his farewell. The door snapped shut behind him and you looked back down at the book. You opened the front page and read the list of works by the same author. You’d have to look into them.

🪓

Several days late, you were helping Gerry restock shelves with the newly acquired truck. The night before, you’d helped unload it and left it for the next day to sort through. Dezy sat behind the counter, half-keeled over on the stool, trying not to puke into his hands.

“Damn shit is hungover again,” Gerry muttered. “I got a whole list of deliveries today and he can’t even stand straight.”

“I can do it,” You offered. “Long as he can manage the till.”

“I don’t know if I even trust him to do that,” Gerry said. “You sure you wanna do the deliveries?”

“We got any of the maple beans on the truck?” You asked.

“A good amount.” He said.

“We owe two cans to-- well, I didn’t get his name. The man who lives way up in the trees.” You frowned, only then realising you new nothing about him. In that town, everyone knew everyone.

“Mr. Barnes?” Gerry reached over into the box and moved around several items before pulling out a can. “Quiet man. Doesn’t like to be bothered. Must’ve scared Dezy good to get him to shut up.” He took out two more cans. “If you’re willing to head up that way, you give him and extra can on me. He’s the only customer in town who pays on time.”

“Sure,” You stood, thankful not to be forced to kneel all day at the shelves. “The list?”

“Pinned up behind the counter as usual,” He caught a box of Corn Pops he hit with his elbow and swore. “Take a radio. Snow’s comin’.”

“Will do,” You said. “I should be that long.”

“Chill blowin’ in from the lake, bundle up before you go too.” He said.

“You sound like my mother.” You laughed.

“I feel like you’re mother,” He shook his head. “Now go, before I get sentimental.”

🪓

Gerry was right, it was cold. The four-wheeler seemed slower as the wind swirled around you. You stopped by each house and knocked before leaving your haul. You smiled away tips and bid each resident a good day before you rushed away under the protests of another delivery ahead of you.

Your last would take the longest, though it was the smallest. The tree cans rattled around the trailer so you stopped at the shop before you continued on and detached it. You placed the cans in a small box and secured it to the seat behind you with bungee cords. You fixed your gloves and pulled your cap over your ears before you set out once more.

The sky grew paler the later it got. A harbinger of snow. You took the same route as before, getting off once to push the ATV over a fallen branch caught beneath it. You carried on, the frigid air lashing your cheeks.

You drew up to the clearing as you had before. The motorcycle was gone, likely pushed into the shed in preparation for the first snowfall. The piles of wood had grown taller and the front door was open, the screen door a poor barrier to the looming winter.

You unhooked the box and climbed up the steps. You bent to set it down and be off. You looked up as you sensed something on the other side of the screen door. The man, Mr. Barnes, stared at you through the mesh, a mug in hand. You stood and smiled nervously.

“Your beans. An extra can for the inconvenience.” You said. “Have a good day, sir.”

You turned but caught yourself before you made it down one step as he spoke.

“It’s pretty cold.” He remarked as he took the box in his free hand. “You like coffee? I just made a pot.”

“I appreciate it,” You turned to him. “But I don’t mean to impose on you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if you were,” He said stiffly. “I’d feel worse letting half a pot go to waste.”

“I don’t know, I should--” You glanced behind you at the trees.

“You came all this way to give me beans in this,” He held the door with his elbow and stepped through. “You don’t like coffee, I got tea.”

You took a breath as you looked back to him. “Sure. I’ll have some coffee.”

He nodded and stared at you. He blinked and moved to hold the door open. “Well, you wanna come inside? Or do you prefer your coffee frozen?”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” You kicked yourself and stopped right before the door. You smiled awkwardly and offered your name. “I just… figured you wouldn’t want a stranger in your home.”

“Bucky,” He returned and waved you inside. “Not many strangers in town. Not really.”

You entered and he followed you. The entryway was lit by an antique lamp and the front room was entirely dark. You knelt to unlace your boots as he stepped around you. You kept your coat on as the wind continued to seep in behind you.

“Kitchens just down the hall past the stairs,” He said as he continued across the wooden floor.

“Okay,” You slid your boots off and stood, following his shadow to the kitchen.

As you passed through the doorway, he placed his mug on the table and went to the cupboard. He took down another thick ceramic cup and sidled over to the stove. He filled it from the percolator and returned to the table to place it before you.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“I’m fine, black is good,” You accepted as he slid the cup over to you.

You sat, hesitantly, and removed your gloves. You tucked them in your pocket and wrapped your hands around the steaming cup. He pulled out another chair and sat. He looked into the mug and slowly drank from it.

“I didn’t know anyone still lived out here.” You said.

“Sometimes,” He answered carefully. “Spring and summer I spend working the lumberyards south of here.”

“And you live all the way up here?” You wondered. He gave you a sharp look. “Sorry, it’s just… curiosity.”

“I like it,” He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”

You nodded and resigned yourself to silence. You listened to the wind outside and looked around at the tidy kitchen. Most of the original structure remained, renovated but not replaced. Even the curtains seemed to be of another era; faded but without holes or tears. All the way up here, time always seemed to stand still.

“You finish your book?” His voice jolted you.

You looked back to him and sipped the hot coffee. You nodded again.

“I did.” You answered. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?” He asked.

“I’ve read better and worse,” You said. “It was… entertaining.”

“Mmm,” He mumbled and drank his coffee. You mimicked him, eager to leave.

Ten minutes of silence and stunted small talk left your mug empty and your stomach gurgling. You stood and nervously teetered on your feet.

“I should go. It’s snowing already.” You glanced out the window.

“Sure,” He rose and gathered up the mugs and took them to the sink.

“Thank you.” You said and turned rigidly to head through the door.

You trod down the hallway and stopped to pull on your boots. You adjusted your cap and shoved your gloves on. He neared and you pushed open the door and glanced back at him.

“Coffee was good.” You said.

He caught the door behind you and you marched across the porch. You rushed down the steps and shivered as you neared the four wheeler.

“Be careful,” He said in monotone.

“I will, thank you,” You called back as you climb onto the seat. “Enjoy your beans.”

He waved and you turned the engine. You backed up and turned around. The snow had already left a thin powder across the ground. You steered into the trees and carefully began to weave around the trunks and along the uneven forest floor.

The snow thickened the more it fell. You had to slow as the ride became more precarious. The downfall formed a thick carpet beneath the tires and soon, even beneath the shroud of branches, the snow formed a curtain all around you, making it nearly impossible to see. You stopped and left the motor rumbling.

You pulled the radio from its holster down beside the wheel well and turned the dial until you picked up the signal. It was static and crackled.

“Gerry? Gerry!” You held the speak to your lips. “Gerry?”

“Yeah, i--me, ---okay?” His voice went in and out.

“I’m okay but the snow is… I can’t see. It’s going to take me a while.”

“Wha-- breaking up--” The radio broke off with a high pitched scratch.

“Damn it!” You shouted and tried fixing the dial. It didn’t help.

You sat for a moment and put the radio back. You couldn’t stay and let yourself get snowed in. You’d have to keep going, slow but steady. You carefully pulled past the trees, blinking away the flakes as they gathered on your lashes. You stopped again to pulled your scarf higher over your cheeks and pressed on.

The third time you paused, you realised you were lost. A brief lull allowed your vision to clear and you had no idea where you were. You kicked the side of the ATV and cursed. You grabbed the radio again and turned it on.

“Gerry?” No answer. Several more tries with nothing but static.

You hung your head and clicked the radio off. You gripped the handlebars and looked around. You’d have to turn around and try to trace your way back but the snow was starting to get heavy again and--

“Hey,” You jumped as the voice sounded from behind you. “You okay?”

You turned to find Bucky standing by a tree. “How--”

“Looks like you just went in a big circle,” He said. “You’re about ten minutes from my place.”

“What are you doing out here?” You asked.

“Wanted to grab some kindling before the storm got too bad, then I heard you.”

“Kindling?”

“Dry it out, obviously, but might run out of what I have before this clears,” He looked up. “Look, it’s only gonna get worse. Why don’t you wait it out?”

“I don’t-- I can’t--”

“There’s more than enough room for both of us. Might be a bit dusty but… Wouldn’t feel right letting you get lost out here.”

You exhaled and looked at the radio.

“Alright,” You relented.

“I’ll lead the way.” He came up beside the ATV and passed to the front. “Just don’t get too close.”

“Okay,” You turned the throttle just a bit and kept a snail’s pace as he guided you.

He barely seemed bothered by the gusts or the deepening snow. Even as the air turned almost completely white, he didn’t waver though you squinted to keep an eye on him.

“You like beans?” He yelled back to you as he broke through to the clearing around his house.

“Maple beans?” You asked dryly.

“They go great with toast,” He said as he continued onto the shed and unlocked the wide doors. “Warm you right up.”

🪓

You sat at the table, alone. Bucky had excused himself after clearing his own plates. You still picked away at the beans and sausage, listening to the movement above. You scooped the last few bites up and swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of water. You stood and went to the sink to rinse your plate. As you set it in the rack, you were startled by a creak behind you.

“I cleared a bedroom for you. It’s a bit dusty around here.” Bucky said as he leaned against the door frame. “Bit cold, too. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” The windows shuddered. “Better than out there.”

“I put some clothes out too. Might be a little big.” He explained. “Dinner okay?”

“Yeah, it was…” You tried to smile. “Alright. Um, just one second.”

You neared him and he moved aside. You went down the hallway to where your jacket was hung and pulled the radio out. He watched you as you fiddled with it and the speaker crackled on.

“Gerry?” You held it to your lips.

“Kiddo?” He said, clear but not entirely.

“I’m okay,” You said slowly as you held the button down. “Staying until storm clears. Call in morning.”

“Roger, kiddo,” He returned. “Be safe.”

You turned off the radio and placed it back in your coat pocket. You looked up at Bucky as he stared at you dully.

“Just wanted to make sure someone knew,” You said. “Wouldn’t want them to worry.”

“Of course not,” He said. “You want a beer?”

“What?” You were thrown off by the sudden offer.

“Beer. If you want you can grab a book from the study,” He pointed to the doorway opposite the front room. “Sit in front of the fire where it’s warm.”

“I’ll take the book,” You said. “I’m not much for beer though.”

“Hot chocolate? Tea?” He stepped a little closer.

“I’m fine,” You squirmed. “Thank you.”

‘Just let me know if you need anything,” He said softly. “Haven’t had a guest in a while but… I can be accommodating.”

🪓

You read three chapters before you found your way upstairs. Bucky showed you the room he’d prepared for you but didn’t say much more before he closed himself into his own. You changed into the long sleeve tee he left you and the jogging pants with the drawstring waist. You tucked your feet into the wool socks and rolled under the blankets. You were still cold. The top floor was entirely untouched by the fireplace below.

You drifted into a shallow sleep. Maybe an hour or two before you woke, shivering. You sat up and reluctantly climbed out from beneath the covers. You took one of the blankets and wrapped it around you as you shuffled to the door. You slipped through, carefully not to let the hinges whine and plodded through the dark down the stairs.

In the front room, the fire burned a low amber. You crept over to it and took a log from the wrought iron basket just beside it. You placed it over the coals and stoked it with the poker until flames began to lick. You held your hands to the glow until you were no longer shaking.

You took a cushion from the couch and dropped it on the carpet. You laid down before the fire, wrapping yourself in the blanket as you basked in the warmth. You listened to the violent winds outside, softened by the heaps of snow which had gathered all around the cabin. Your eyes closed as you began to sink into the darkness around you.

You dreamt of the four wheeler, of the snow swirling around you, of losing yourself in the pure white. The trees curled and clawed at your as you were thrown from the seat. The snap of twigs filled your ears and your eyes snapped open. The fire popped as it burned, the room lighter but not much.

There was a heaviness around you. More than just the quilt, the thick arm wrapped around your middle held you close to the warmth at your back. Startled, you wriggled against the body and a groan slithered along your ear.

“What the--” You hissed as you grasped his wrist, his hand tucked beneath you. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold,” His breath was hot as it seeped into your scalp. “You were shivering.”

“Let me go,” You tugged on him.

“Shhh,” He hushed. “It’s early.”

“Dude, not cool,” You pulled harder on his arm.

“Stop,” He said more firmly.

“Get off of me.” You growled.

“You’re not a very gracious guest,” He snarled as he retracted his arm, only to grab your shoulder and push you flat on your back.

You latched onto his wrist, he was strong. He didn’t budge.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you?” He removed his hand. “How? What do you think I’m gonna do?”

He sat up, his broad shoulder stretched the waffled shirt he wore as he rubbed his eyes. He pushed his head back and took a deep breath. You pushed yourself up slowly beside him.

“What do you want me to do?” His hand settled on your thigh and he squeezed.

“Stop,” You tried to push his hand away and he flipped it to grasp yours.

His grip slipped to your wrist and he twisted. He wrenched it over your head until you were forced onto your back. You cried out as he leaned over you, the blanket slipping entirely from your bodies.

“Came all this way for a few cans of beans,” He whispered. “Really?”

“Stop!” You repeated. “Please.”

“But you’re cold,” He uttered as he leaned closer. “You need to warm up… you’re shivering…” His nose touched yours. “Or… shaking?”

“Get--” His lips smothered yours as he shifted his body atop you.

You struggled as he released your wrist and reached down to grab your knee as he forced his legs between yours. He bit your lip as he pulled and his hand clawed at the waist of the loose pants. He pulled until he snapped the string within and you kicked around him.

“What are you doing?” You beat on his shoulders. “Stop! Stop!”

“I don’t talk to people, they don’t talk to me,” He snarled. “I keep to myself. Even that dumb delivery boy of yours knows better.”

“No, no,” You slapped his chest as he sat up suddenly.

He tore the pants down your legs until they were around your knees and pushed them up. The fabric kept you trapped beneath him, legs bent to your chest as he leaned over your once more. He brushed his nose against your cheek and snarled.

“You asked for this, honey,” He sneered. “You just couldn’t leave me alone… The way you smile at me, I can see it.”

“I was just--” You pushed against him. “--doing my job. Please, get off of me.”

He moved against you, his thighs pressed to yours as he felt between you. He pushed his own pants down and you tried to shove him off of you with your legs. You only made yourself dizzy.

The fire flickered against you, setting shadows across his features, his blue eyes caught the flame and glowed sinisterly. His rough finger tickled your cunt as he guided his cock along your folds. You grunted as you fought harder beneath him. He pressed along your entrance and you gasped, a horrified scream as he impaled you in a single thrust.

“Go on and scream.” He said. “No one will hear you. No one but me.” He jerked his hips and you cried out again. “I kinda like it.”

He moved his hips in sharp, short thrusts. He grunted with each, lower and lower, almost like satisfied purrs.

He sat up and hugged your legs to his torso as he rutted faster. He clung to you as if he was desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough. You scratched at the carpet. You whimpered each time he slammed into you, each tilt of his hips harder than the last. The clapping of your flesh mingled with your voices. You closed your eyes, holding back the sobs that threatened.

And then he stopped. Suddenly. He stayed inside of you as his grasp on you loosened. His body quivered and a low growl rose from him. He pulled out of you and pushed your legs aside to that you fell onto your side. Shakily, you pushed yourself, on knees and elbow you tried to crawl away, your pants tangled around your feet.

He grabbed your ankles and dragged you back as you slipped onto your stomach. He climbed over you, pinning your legs between his. He kneaded and pinched your ass, dusky, thick breaths rose from him.

He pressed his thumb between your cheeks and you reached desperately for anything to get away. The edge of the carpet rolled in your grasp and you kicked your feet with a panicked whine. He pressed his thumb against your asshole and you shook your head as he buried your face in your arms. He pushed inside and you let out a shrill cry.

He poked in and out of you, your tight ring burned around his thumb. He withdrew it and forced his index finger in, then added his middle. Your pained groans only seemed to encourage him as he stretched you around a third finger.

He pulled his hand away and bent his arm over your shoulders as he lifted himself over you. He lined himself up with your ass as his hair hung around his head and brushed the back of yours. He took a breath and you held one in. He entered you slowly, letting out a choked grunt as you strained around him.

The tears pricked at your eyes and your arm shot up as you blind grabbed at air.

“Please, please, please. Stop.” You begged. “I can’t--”

He pushed deeper and your voice fizzled. He pulled back and thrust in again. Every time, he went a little further. Soon he was buried in you to his limit and you couldn’t breathe or move. He held himself inside of you and shuddered.

He began to rock and you moaned. Despite the pain, the fire that radiated from your core, it felt good. The more he did, the better it got. The pressure built, unlike any you’d felt before, and you gulped and groaned against the carpet. Shocked by him, by yourself.

He got faster and faster. Louder two as his snarls filled your head. You tensed and then in an instant, your strength drained from you. You came, harder than you had ever in your life. You murmured as your head lolled and he kept going.

He lifted his head and his fingers gripped the back of your neck as he lifted himself over you. He hammered into you from above as you lay prone and helpless beneath him. He exclaimed and you felt a warmth flow into you.

He stopped and fell atop you. His weight held you down, suffocated you. His arm stretched up and he grabbed your hand, twining his fingers with yours.

“Stay as long as you like,” He rasped. “Snow’s not letting up anytme soon.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #one shot #lumberjack au #lumberjack #au #mcu #marvel #dark fic #dark!fic #challenge

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egcdeath · 4 years ago

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secret santa

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

a/n: this is so self indulgent. SO SELF INDULGENT. more self indulgent than anyone will ever be able to comprehend. before u all read this, i want u to know it was originally supposed to be about training ransom at a job, but then i realized that i nothing about 1. working at a coffee shop and 2. training an employee. also, i am the worst at writing dialogue. so i didn’t write a lot of dialogue LMAO enjoy :)

also, half of this was written at 1 am. just a warning

warnings: coffee shop au, enemies (kinda) to lovers, a lil fluff, not really angst but bitter feelings, kinda slow burn and then all the sudden a fast burn i’m sorry 😭

word count: 2.6k

You woke up to the sound of your alarm rumbling your bedside table sometime around the asscrack of dawn, and rubbed your eyes with a groan. Sometimes, you really couldn’t stand your job, but bills didn’t really pay themselves, did they? You rolled out of bed, and began your dreaded morning routine before heading out to start your opening shift at your local café.

Somewhere between warming up the espresso machine and taking out last night’s trash (which you shouldn’t have had to do in the first place), an older, yet expensive looking car pulled up to the front of the parking lot. You were a bit confused, as you’d never seen this vehicle, and it was quite clear that you weren’t exactly open yet. You watched as a tall man hopped out of the car, wearing a large peacoat and very unnecessary sunglasses. He approached the door, gave it a knock, then waited for you to come open it for him. Reluctantly, you made your way over, and in order to keep yourself safe, began to speak through the glass.

“Can I help you?” You asked in an annoyed tone, then gestured towards the piece of paper that labeled your hours on the door. There was no reason for any customer to be here this early. You looked up at the mystery man and made a rather intense eye contact with him. If this was any indicator of your crowd today, work was going to be far from pleasant.

“Yeah, I was told that I’m starting today?” He had a wicked smirk on his face, like he knew he was getting under your skin already. You hated people like him, and couldn’t believe that he could possibly be your coworker. On the bright side, he probably wouldn’t last long in the first place.

“Well, are you sure you’re here on time? I can’t see any situation where Melissa would schedule to open for your very first shift.” You commented with a furrowed brow.

“Eh, I kinda just figured I’d come in whenever. The girl in my bed was an early riser, so I thought to myself ‘Why not just come in now?’” He said casually.

“Your name?” You inquired, trying to keep your annoyance to yourself, and put on a customer service smile.

“Hugh, or Ransom,” he responded. You turned around, allowed yourself a huff and eye roll, then walked through the kitchen, and into the break room to check if he truly was a new employee, or just some random creep. Sure enough, a bright pink post-it note in very neat handwriting confirmed this man’s existence. You made your way back to the door, unlocked it, and let him in.

“Since you’re here, you should… set down the chairs,” you told him, less than entertained by his presence. You could just tell he was bad news. This Ransom guy was like the textbook definition of a red flag. He talked your ear off while you tried to get through your opening routine, some casual remarks about his last hookup, complaints about how he only got this job because his mother was a regular and good friends with your manager, and how he was threatened to get cut out of his grandfather’s will if he didn’t get employed soon, and what better way to spite your family than to mess up their daily coffees.

Eventually, a few more of your coworkers, along with your manager, Melissa, made it to the café before the morning rush began. You were sitting down at your typical barstool spot, and sipping an iced Americano when Melissa broke the news to you that you would be training the new employee. Upon hearing the news, you audibly groaned, and rubbed your forehead. There was no way that you could handle this man.

-------

During his first week, Ransom not only managed to offer (and successfully give) six customers his phone number, break two mugs, mess up more orders than even Euclid could comprehend, and spill straws a multitude of times all over the floor, but he began to flirt with you relentlessly. You had no idea why you’d become his new target of choice, when it was clear that he could have literally anyone he wanted. Maybe he liked that you were playing hard to get.

If you were being honest, you had to accept that he was handsome. And rich. And the definition of a fuckboy. And since you were being frank with yourself, you had to acknowledge that you were attracted to that ‘toxic and will treat you like shit’ kind of guy. You had a roster of ex boyfriends to prove that for you.

---

It was a pretty slow Tuesday afternoon, which meant you were sitting on your phone until a customer placed an order. Eventually, the little bell above the door chimed, and an older man came through, ordering a dark and bitter drink, then standing by the counter to wait. You began to restock lids while Ransom took care of making the drink, and once it was ready, you passed it over to the man. The man in question took a rather large sip, then promptly spat it out.

“What the fuck is this!” He roared, barely giving you time to react before he proceeded to toss the drink at you, spilling most of the hot content on your apron.

You gasped, gawking down at your scorched and ruined clothing, then up at the customer, who’d turned around with a huff and left, leaving a stream of strong language on his way out. You bit back tears at the whole fiasco, and cringed as both the steamy drink, and your salty tears stung different parts of your body. You turned to look at the barista, who had passed you along the drink, and were met with no other than the white devil himself. It seemed that all the blood had drained from his already otherwise pale face.

“Oh my god, this is all my fault,” he began remorsefully. “Let me make it up to you somehow.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, running a hand through your hair, and shoving Ransom angrily while you more or less stomped into the staff bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and frowned before bringing up your bundled apron to your face and screaming into it. Stupid fucking customers. Stupid fucking job. Stupid fucking Ransom. It’s like he came to your job just to make it hell. You were tired of cleaning up all these messes for him, and honestly, you wish he’d just quit already. The longer you worked with him, the more tempted you were to pour sugar in his gas tank, then take a club and break all the windows in the Beemer.

------

For the next month, your brain was completely elsewhere at work. Your brain was constantly going back and forth with you between finding Ransom hot and horrendous. While the pair of you finished up closing one night, you heard your coworker begin to speak to you as you placed your hand on the keys in your pocket.

“I know you hate me, Y/N. I get it. What that guy did to you was awful, and yes it was my fault, but what else have I done to hurt you?” He asked, seemingly out of the blue. You weren’t even sure how to respond. Ignoring the man and demonizing him in your head had become almost a second nature. “I mean, I think we could’ve been good friends. Even though you seem to think I’m devil incarnate, I think you’re a pretty cool chick-“ he continued before being cut off by you.

“Why do you even care?” you burst out, “Ransom, you just don’t get it do you? You’re just.. a douchebag. I get it, you have your moments where you’re candid and open with people, but half of the time you’re talking, you’re objectifying someone. Or bragging about something you own. Don’t get me wrong, I could get past what you did to me on accident, but you seriously have to work on yourself,” the words just seemed to pour out without your control. “Goodnight, Ransom,” you said simply before leaving the café for the night.

——

Since that day, the tension between you and Ransom had evidently become more thick. Since he was finally finished training with you, you made sure to only speak to him if you absolutely needed to, and even then, you only communicated with him in brief and straightforward answers. Sure, it seemed like a small thing to be upset about, and sure, he’d apologized, but something told you that any excuse to stay away from Ransom was a good excuse.

Though he appeared to be an immoral and selfish man, he seemed genuinely sorry for all that he’d put you through. Occasionally, you’d be sitting in the break room and look up from your phone to see him watching you. When you’d make eye contact, he would look like he wanted to say something to you, but your petty ass would leave, or look back at your phone. He was bad news anyway.

Your boss quickly caught onto what was going on between the two of you, and usually, Melissa didn’t like to participate in petty drama, but your new sour mood was such a stark contrast from before, and it seemed to shift the whole mood of the café.

That afternoon, Melissa called for a team meeting a bit before closing, and suggested a family dinner along with a Secret Santa. She’d said something along the lines of ‘It’s been way too long since we’ve done a team bonding activity, and a gift exchange is perfectly fitting for the Holiday season.’ This did make you perk up, as Melissa had a great taste in restaurants, and you were always down for a good gift exchange.

Melissa then told everyone to write their names down, then put them in a decorative Santa hat. You and your coworkers obliged, then began to pass around the hat once again in order to draw a name. You really hoped to get Xavier. You had the perfect idea of something he’d love. As you drew a piece of paper from the hat, you imagined the matching pair of fluffy socks for a human and dog that you’d passed by during your last trip to Target. You began to unfold it, thinking of what color he might like the most, when you looked down and saw ‘Ransom’ drawn out in chicken scratch.

You tried your best to mask your annoyance at who you received, but on the inside, you were seething. You mentally cursed the universe out while you pulled on your coat, and grimaced to yourself once you got out to your car. How were you supposed to get this asshole a gift?

—-

The week leading up to the exchange went fairly well for you, although it was getting a bit exhausting to be so mad at Ransom all the time. You tried to be less harsh with him, considering you needed to learn more about him in order to get him a somewhat decent gift for your exchange.

He’d seem to have taken your conversation with him to heart, and began to talk less and less about other girls when he was working with you. He didn’t comment on how well your jeans fit you, and you noticed that he’d often overextend himself in order to help you with (pretty basic) daily aspects of the job. Ransom would ask you questions about yourself, and your family, and speak less about himself. If you were honest with yourself, he was becoming a better man. And the best part was, he seemed to be doing it just for you. The thought of which brought heat to your face.

—

On the night of the exchange, you threw on a hideous and scratchy Christmas sweater before picking up your neatly wrapped gift for Ransom. You truly hoped that he’d like it, even though it certainly wasn’t the most expensive item. You bid farewell to your cat, then went on your way to the restaurant. You had to admit, you were a bit late. So it should’ve been no surprise when you arrived, and found that the only seat left at the table was next to Ransom. You gave him a cordial smile before sitting down and ordering yourself a glass of Merlot.

Something about being so close to him was kind of riling you up. The strong timbre sent coming off of him was making your whole body feel slightly warmer than normal, and you tried to ignore this strange sensation while you talked and joked with your coworkers. At one point, Ransom leaned in nice and close to you, and began to speak to you.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as hideous as Karmen’s sweatshirt,” he whispered right into the shell of your ear. Maybe it was the wine talking, but that simple action sent a whole chill through your body, and made you flush even harder than you’d flushed before. You let out a little giggle and nodded in agreement, looking across the table at her very ugly sweater.

“To be fair, the whole point of this was to wear something really ugly,” you turned your head back to where it was before, only to find that Ransom had somehow moved even closer to you.

“I just don’t know where you find something like that,” he commented, gazing much too deep into your eyes. You swore you felt the room shift after he began looking at you like that. There was about a 20% chance that you’d be able to keep your panties on after this kind of exchange. Luckily for you, a waitress broke the tension for you, setting down a few plates for everyone, then bidding them farewell. Damn.

The food was amazing, and didn’t last very long, meaning that it was time to pass gifts around sooner than later. You watched as Amy received a gift card from Sophie, Emily opened a plethora of chocolates gifted to her by Melissa, and Xander whiffed a candle given to him by Kennedy, then, it was your turn. You glanced around the table before you felt the arm next to you reach down, then hand you an oversized gift bag.

“I hope you like it,” Ransom said with a shy smile. You casually felt your cheeks on your way to pull out the very large item. You found it was a very large, and soft, hand knit blanket. It looked like it could’ve cost a small fortune, and you immediately found yourself embarrassed.

“Oh wow. This is perfect! Thank you so much,” you grinned over at your coworker, who seemed to be blushing himself. “Well, I guess I should probably give you this then,” you chuckled awkwardly before passing him your wrapped package. He tore it open barbarically, then began to laugh. Of all the gifts in the world, you two had gotten each other somewhat similar items. Sure, it wasn’t hand knit with the love of some grandma who ran a small business on Etsy, but it was the thought that counts.

“I love it, Y/N,” he exclaimed, looking deep into your eyes once again. He ran his fingers through the soft fabric, then set a hand on your arm. In that moment, it felt like time stopped. It was just you two, sitting in a quiet room, enjoying the presence of each other. You don’t even know what had gotten into you, but before you knew it, you felt a nose pressed up against yours, and a billion butterflies erupt out of your stomach. You heard a few grimaces from your coworkers at the sappy, Hallmark-like moment but what could you say.

Maybe Ransom was not that bad after all.

#ransom thrombey x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfic #hey i wrote that lol

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notecountingmachine · 4 years ago

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channawrites · 5 years ago

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Café Calico

Member: Xiumin (Minseok of EXO)

word count: 1971

parts: yi | er | san

Author’s note: guess who is stanning exo hardcore? me? lmao. Enjoy this Minseok fic while jamming to Sehun’s solo <On Me> (read: watch as I fucking throw it back!)

Moodboard by me

A plump white – orange cat perches herself on the top shelf decorating the wall. Lined amongst the same white wall are shelves hoisting props and décor amongst other paraphernalia. The hum of the coffee machine drowns the chatter people make amongst themselves as the smell of coffee overwhelms the senses. The chime of the door signals another costumer entering, and the plump cat makes their way down to the counter, where a meow signals its owner. After fixing another order, the cat keens at the site of their owner in the register.

“Hello welcome to café calico, what’s your order?”

The glow of the sunlight dims as night appears. Café Calico remains open until the stroke of nine, when the last costumer bids the café goodbye and the staff starts to clean up. The sound of wicker chairs being dragged around and the muted sound of tables being wiped didn’t disturb the owner who was stacking up bills behind the counter.

Folded arms appear in their vision, and the owner looked up from counting paper bills to the smiling face of one of the employees. The pink lipstick on her lips was just as friendly as the glint in their eyes, “So boss, any plans?”

The boss in question rolls their eyes, “No plans, especially going out with you.” A playful smile crosses her lips.

“Aw c’mon!” her employee, Hana, whines. The other employees look at them with mirth and a sparkle of happiness that comes from seeing their boss being utterly unaffected by the childish cries Sana pulls out.

“Hana, the reason why I let everyone clock out by 9 pm every Saturday is so that everyone can have a good night’s rest.” You chuckle, “and that includes me.” The bills are accounted for and you start fixing the station.

“I don’t see you with a special someone” Hana grumbles, “and I wish to change that” the wistful look in her face reminds you of someone who is actually special in your life. The plump orange – white cat beside your meowed at the expression you were pulling.

You chuckle at her, “The same could be said about you Hana” you don’t miss the look of utter betrayal at the comment you chucked at her.

It didn’t take long for 9 o’clock to arrive. You chuckle at Hana’s last comment, “I won’t be quitting until you give in!” as you waved goodbye at your employees walking out. The dimness of the café accompanies you, along with the soft purr of the plump cat beside you as you scratch her chin. Binnie, as you affectionately named her, lies down on the table where you currently propped yourself in.

The street lamp in front of the café casts shadows amongst the passer-bys. One of them just happens to take a turn. The chime of the bell rings and it doesn’t take a meow from your cat for you to notice who it was.

His Cheshire smile didn’t fail to make your heart race, and the cold wind that comes in with his entrance didn’t dither the flush of warmth racing around your body. Your cheeks flushed red and it didn’t take long for you to be enveloped in his embrace.

“Minseok” you mumbled, the smell of his cologne that was imprinted on his moss green coat reminded you that he left his sweater here; your last encounter with him gave him a good reason to forget about it.

The said man gave you a smile full of mirth, the corners of his lips curling as you both pulled away, “how are you? I missed you.” His fingers weaved through your hair in short strokes.

You couldn’t help but clasp your hand together behind his back against his coat. You can’t help but peck his lips. You were about to give him a solid kiss when your cat decided to weave her way through both of your legs.

“Okay, Binnie.” Minseok picked her up and carried the cat like a baby, “I’m sorry. I miss you too.” The plump cat meowed as a response and twisted against Minseok’s arms. You took that as a signal to bring her out of his arms before she gets too fussy.

“Binnie” your tone made your cat meow again in response, tail high up and sassy.

Minseok redirected your attention to him by cupping your cheek, “Hey, I’m hungry. Why don’t we order chicken on the way back to my place?”

At the mention of chicken, your mouth watered a little bit, “I’d really, really, really love that.”

Minseok laughed at your need for chicken as you went at the back room to get Binnie’s cat carrier and your navy-blue coat. As you shrugged on your coat over your form, your white dress longer than the coat, Minseok went ahead and helped Binnie onto her cat carrier.

“Thank you” you said as Minseok locked up her carrier. You were about take the carrier from his grasp when he swatted your hand away, “No, I want to hold your hand.”

Well, you couldn’t say no to that.

After locking up the café, your hand had no time to be enveloped by the cold air of September as Minseok immediately held your hand in his, the other one being occupied by the handle of the cat carrier.

He led you to an alley where he parked his car. Minseok opens the back door to put in Binnie in her carrier and then opened the passenger side for you. He slid in right after.

Whilst on the road, Minseok handed you his cellphone, “Go ahead and order some chicken, I still have some beer at home.” You hummed as you grabbed his phone and opened the delivery app, mulling over the choices. Chanyeol’s Yours was playing from the Bluetooth speaker, and you couldn’t help but hum over Lee Hi’s parts.

It wasn’t long after you guys arrived at Minseok’s place when the doorbell rang. You occupied yourself with Tan and Binnie as Minseok took care of the delivery. You heard the door shut as Minseok made his way to the dining table.

“Let’s eat?”

“So, how was your day?” You asked him as you took a big bite of the honey-glazed chicken thigh. You could feel your taste buds sing at the juiciness of the chicken.

Minseok picked up a spicy chicken wing from the pile, “Eventful. The company asked me if I wanted to put out a solo album.” He answered before taking a bite. Your eyes widened from his news.

It wasn’t long ago that Minseok was discharged from the military. However, you were Minseok and EXO’s little secret. The company didn’t even know that you were in Minseok’s life, not even his managers know. You were present in his Xiuweet Time fan meet and was even able to attend CBXes last concert before his enlistment. However, your relationship was established way before he enlisted; a well-kept secret that you, him and his members kept for a good four years to present.

“Well?” you look at him expectantly, the scene funny in Minseok’s point of view as your expression, the little bit of sauce on the corner of your lip and the way you held your chicken thigh brought a smile to his face, “what did you say? And what’s so funny?”

“You’re funny, baby,” he said as he wiped off the sauce from your lips, “I said yes. I think I’m ready for that step in my career.”

Your heart swelled at his answer and you couldn’t help but hugged him, happiness fuelling the action. You kissed his cheek with pride, “I can’t wait! I’m so excited for you!”

The ever calming Minseok could only rub your hip with his one free hand, joy shining in his eyes as his girlfriend babbled on about how excited she is and what possibly could be the concept of his album and what genre he might be interested in working.

“Ya, look at you” his laugh didn’t hide the amusement he had, “you’re acting like our HR team.”

“I might as well be” you replied to him as you pick up another chicken thigh.

“Well, I just said yes, we’ll start talking about it tomorrow.” Cleaning his hands with a wet wipe, he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap, “Don’t even think that’ll even you’ll have a peak of it.”

You whined at his statement, “Please?”

He kissed the nape of your neck, and you could feel his breath on your nape, “Nope. It’s going to be a surprise, baby.”

“I hope you’ll like it though,” you twisted to look at him, his eyes giving off a thousand messages, “I’ll probably love it.”

Your answer made him smile into the kiss. A meow from the far corner of the living room broke the kiss off, and you focused your attention to Tan and Binnie as they both play around the tall cat tower Minseok has in his living room.

“Oh babies, are you hungry?” you called out to them in the best baby voice you could muster, “I’m sorry, are you guys hungry?” you stretched your arms for the one of the two cats to bundle over. Tan jumped onto you and climbed onto your shoulders while Binnie dropped down to the floor and weaved herself through your legs, “Okay then, let’s go get you some food okay? Hm?” you and the cats head to the kitchen leaving your boyfriend on the dining table, “Hey! What about me?”

“You can feed yourself” a groan echoed at your reply, and you chuckled at your boyfriend’s reaction.

As you bend down to scoop cat food onto their respective trays, a sudden warmth embraced you. You could feel your boyfriend hard chest against your back. Due to the position both of you are in, heat rushed to your cheeks, “Min, you’re not exactly the lightest guy I know.” Minseok adjusted his positions as you stood straight.

He didn’t reply and just held onto your waist tighter. You rolled your eyes at his actions but still placed your hand on top of his, “What’s up?”

“I love you” Minseok hummed as he started peppering your shoulder with kisses, and your heart fluttered at the action.

Minseok stopped his actions to ask you, “Can you stay the night?”

It wasn’t often that you stayed over. In the past, it wasn’t until he moved to his own space, and after his own heart4u series was filmed that you started coming by to his place. Most of the time he’d drop you off at your place after a night out. There were also times were you and Minseok had chances where you both got carried away in your actions, resulting in you staying over.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked him as he started kissing your neck, his ministrations stoking a different kind of warmth within you.

Minseok turned you around and cupped your cheeks, his lips pressed against yours as one of his hands slid from your cheeks to find hold at your back.

“Anything you’d like,” Minseok mused, his actions on your neck causing your knees to buckle a bit.

A pat on your thigh prompted you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist, while Minseok kisses you on the lips again, pressing you against the wall. You pull away from his ministrations, the heat of his breath ghosting just above your lips, “Anything?”

“Mhmhm”

“What about a peek at your solo?”

Your boyfriend’s look darkened, “You’ve gotten cheeky, baby.”

“Have I now?” His thumb is lightly pressed against your bottom lip. You proceeded to take his thumb past your lips. Your boyfriend groaned at the action.

No words were uttered as Minseok proceeded to carry you to the bedroom.

#EXO #xiumin #exo xiumin #kim minseok #exo k #exo scenarios #exo fics #exo fanfic #exo fluff #idolverse au #exo au #channa writes

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bestarticle · 3 years ago

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What Is a Mixed Denomination Money Sorter Machine?

The RIBAO Mixed Denomination Money Counter&Sorter BCS-160 is a great tool for anyone who wants to count bills of any denomination. It recognizes bill serial numbers and has PC RS232 port and printer connectivity. It also features an easy to use interface. You'll be amazed at how convenient this counter is to use. It's ideal for counting bills of various denominations, such as $1 and $5. But what exactly is a mixed denomination money counter? Let's find out!

what exactly is a mixed denomination money sorter?

A money counter's speed is measured in bills per minute. It is usually able to count up to 1,400 bills per minute. A higher speed machine is a better option for businesses handling large amounts of cash. This type of machine will work well with the right type of currency, and it has plenty of other features as well. If you're looking for a machine to count mixed denomination bills, you should consider the RIBAO Counter&Sorter BCS-160.

It has four amazing features:

Non-stop counting with 2-pockets, hugely save your time.

Sorting your notes by Currency / Denomination / Face / Orientation.

Serial number: Read serial number and output

Sorting: Sort bills by denomination/face/ort/currency

A good currency counter should be equipped with a bill-recognition system that automatically weeds out counterfeit notes. The bill counter will then route any questionable bills to a reject bin for further inspection. The CIS bill-recognition feature is generally used in conjunction with other detection technologies, including ultraviolet and magnetic detection. Some models also offer Multi-National Currency Counting, which lets you count batches of mixed denomination bills from a particular country.

The best mixed denomination money counter is able to count multiple bills of different denominations with a single machine. Others have two pockets and a reject pocket. Regardless of the number of pockets, RIBAO Counter&Sorter BCS-160 machines have inbuilt counterfeit detection mechanisms to ensure accurate results. This machine is an excellent tool for any business, non-profit organization, or church that needs to count bills. And the price is right! With all these features, a mixed denomination money counter is a great addition to any business, so it's definitely worth the investment!

Sort bills face up and down

With a multi-currency capacity and a built-in friction nudge rubber, RIBAO Counter&Sorter BCS-160 is a highly effective multi-currency mixed denomination money counter. Its advanced counterfeit detection technology helps you avoid losing a single bill due to a mix stack. This money counter can also produce detailed reports on-screen and is capable of cash-counting all types of banknotes. Not only can it identify counterfeit bills, it can also sort banknotes by denomination, face, and orientation. You can even bundle the notes together if you have a stack of them, giving you a more efficient way to manage your business.

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Ribao Technology provides 24 hour response, 48 hour proposal, 72 hour solution. We also have branches set up in the United States and Europe to provide training service on site.

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cashcountingmachinebybankomat · 7 months ago

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Benefits of Automating Cash Counting

Automating cash counting processes has become a game-changer for businesses across various sectors. The implementation of cash counting machines, including note counting machines and handy counters, streamlines cash management, reduces errors, and enhances overall operational efficiency. Here are the key benefits of automating cash counting.

1. Time Efficiency

One of the most significant advantages of using a cash counting machine is the time saved in cash handling. These machines can count large volumes of notes in seconds, far surpassing manual counting speeds. For instance, a note counting machine can tally an entire bundle almost instantly, allowing businesses to redirect their focus to customer service and other essential tasks instead of labor-intensive cash management

2. Enhanced Accuracy

Human error is an inevitable part of manual cash counting. However, automated systems like note ginne ki machines virtually eliminate this risk. These machines provide precise counts by separating and validating each note, ensuring that businesses can trust their cash totals without the need for multiple recounts This accuracy is crucial for maintaining financial integrity and preventing discrepancies in cash flow.

3. Counterfeit Detection

Modern cash counting machines come equipped with sophisticated counterfeit detection features. They can identify fake notes through advanced sensors that recognize security features embedded in legitimate currency. This capability not only protects businesses from losses due to counterfeit bills but also enhances customer trust by ensuring that all transactions are secure

4. Improved Record-Keeping

Automated cash counting facilitates better record-keeping and auditing processes. With detailed logs generated automatically, businesses can easily track cash movements and prepare bank deposits without the hassle of manual documentation. This organized approach simplifies financial oversight and helps in making informed decisions regarding cash management strategies

5. Cost Reduction

By reducing the time spent on manual cash handling and minimizing errors, businesses can significantly cut down on operational costs. The efficiency gained from using a handy counter or a more advanced cash recycler translates to less labor needed for cash management tasks, allowing staff to focus on higher-value activities that drive revenue growth

6. Employee Productivity

With automated systems taking over repetitive tasks like counting and sorting, employees can devote their time to more strategic functions such as enhancing customer service or managing inventory. This shift not only boosts morale but also increases overall productivity within the organization

Conclusion

The benefits of automating cash counting with machines like the note counting machine and other advanced devices are clear. From saving time and improving accuracy to enhancing security against counterfeits, these tools are essential for modern businesses aiming to optimize their cash management processes. Investing in such technology not only streamlines operations but also positions businesses for greater financial success in an increasingly competitive market.

#bankomatautomationprivatelimited #cash counting machine #cashdrawer #laminationmachine #papershader #billingmachine #notecountingmachine #safelocker #currencycountingmachine

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eromart · 5 years ago

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angel-with-a-pipette · 7 years ago

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@terraweek

Title: Caramel Cappuccino

Summary: Terra works part-time as a barista in one of the university's coffee bars. Little did he expect to meet a particular blue haired customer who wouldn't leave his mind...

This is an entry for Terra week 2018 on tumblr, prompt “Modern AU” and a companion piece to @0littlelight0 's gorgeous art. Please check it out!!

Rating: K

Also available on: ao3 | ff.net

Please enjoy!

“Enjoy your coffee.”

At the start of his third semester, Terra had been lucky enough to get a job as a barista at his own university. Studying for his degree in sports, most of his lectures didn't start until 10 am or even 12 pm, but he had always been an early riser, waking up at the break of dawn to go jogging or to meditate before he started his day. Taking over the early shift at the campus coffee shop fit perfectly into his schedule, earned him surprisingly good money and looked good on his curriculum even though it wasn't connected to his field of study. All in all, it was a win-win situation and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't entertaining to see zombies turn into sentient human beings in the morning.

The girl he had just served grabbed her cup and flashed him a short smile in thanks before leaving, making way for the next customer in line. She stepped forward and all Terra could see was blue: Blue hair, blue sweater, blue messenger bag. Stunned for a moment, he shook it off and forced a smile back on his face.

“Hello, what can I get you, miss?”

“Hi, excuse me,” the blue haired woman answered slightly distracted as she rummaged around in her bag, clearly in search of something, likely her purse. He saw her eyebrows draw together as she let go of her bag only to wiggle around and bury her hands in her pants pockets (a pair of blue jeans, Terra noted), her eyes now at least studying the large menu board that hung over counter.

“I'd like a – a-ha!” she exclaimed happily and pulled a small pouch out of her back pocket (at this point, Terra was surprised that it was orange and not blue), counting a few coins in it. “Can I have a cup of chamo-” She froze as her eyes finally fell on him.

Terra shuffled a little uncomfortably.

“Are you feeling alright?”

That seemed to pull the girl out of her stupor and she let her eyes roam around the room, awkwardly fumbling around with her pouch.

Was she avoiding him? He couldn't recall ever meeting this girl before.

“Y-yes, I'm fine,” she answered, much more timidly than before, as her eyes came to rest on the special menu card next to the cash register.

“Cappuccino!” She blurted out, and at that a slight blush started to dust her cheek as she winced. “I mean, can I have a –“ she looked at the card again, “Caramel Cappuccino, please?”

“Coming right up,” Terra answered her with a nod as he accepted her coins and started working on her order, but not without giving her a discreet look over.

She was cute, he had to admit. Her hair color was very unusual and she was tall for a girl (still roughly half a head shorter than him, though), with a slender built as far as the sweater allowed him to judge.

He was intrigued. Maybe if he turned a little to the left and leaned over, he could throw another short glance –

“Shoot!” Terra grumbled loudly as hot steam from the milk frother blew against his hand. He quickly turned off the steam and jumped to the sink to run cold water over his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, fine,” he grumbled, annoyed at himself, “I got distracted for a second there.” He quickly dried off his hands, wincing a little at his now sensitive skin and returned to the coffee with a frown. Served him right for gawking his customers, he figured. Finishing up the order and drizzling the ordered Caramel over the drink, he turned back to her, handing her the cup.

At that moment, she took his breath away.

He hadn't realized how well her hair complemented her eyes – her eyes that shone like the ocean back in his home town. They immediately sought out the patch of sensitive skin on his arm (when had she grasped his hand like that?) and she gingerly turned his lower arm left and right to see better in the dim lit room.

“It doesn't look too bad, but you should still be careful. I'm sorry you got burned because of my order.”

He wanted to tell her that it was nothing – and it truly was, it's not like it was his first burn and it wasn't even serious – but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Thank you,” he replied instead, slightly breathless before he swallowed deeply, “I'll take care.”

He was met with the most dazzling smile he had ever seen in his life. He didn't register her thanks and her “Have a nice day” or even the next customer clearing their throat impatiently.

At that moment, he fell hopelessly and irreversibly in love with the blue haired girl.

Thankfully, she dutifully returned to him – his coffee – every single morning. In the first few days, she kept asking him about his burn, but soon, the two of them fell into companionable silence, communicating more with their eyes and smiles instead of words. And Terra loved observing her every day. The closer winter and its cold temperatures drew, the bigger her sweaters became until he had to nearly send a search party into her clothes to find the girl underneath them, bundled up for warmth. Rarely, she dressed in a more fancy, more adult way – once it was during their university's big job fare, he noted, so he assumed she had important meetings those days. Those were the days where she would wear subtle but classy earrings and a light dusting of make up, making her eyes – her gorgeous eyes, he swooned – shine even more. Other days, she opted for the complete opposite, being super comfortable while still being dressed nicely; in contrast to other students, he never saw her turn up in sweatpants or anything comparable.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but seeing her in the morning quickly became his favorite part of the day.

Spring had finally arrived and the end of the semester was coming near quickly. Having already passed all but of one his exams and being good on time with his assignments, he hadn't minded taking over today's afternoon shift for his sick colleague, even though it was unnaturally busy due to the university holding its open house day today. As such, tons of soon-to-be-students flooded the campus, chattering excitedly among themselves and – of course – trying to figure out where to buy the best food and coffee.

When lunch time was over and most of the caffeine deprived students were satisfied, business came to enough of a slow, allowing Terra to sit down behind the counter and pull out his sport medicine notes, learning for the last exam he had to take at the end of next week. Engrossed as he might have been in his notes, there was no way goosebumps wouldn't spread all over his arms as a familiar voice drifted to his ear.

“And this is the best coffee shop on campus!”

Terra immediately felt heat rise up his cheeks and scrambled to his feet, dropping his notes unceremoniously to the floor just in time for the blue haired girl to step up to the counter, eyes widening slightly as a huge smile started to spread over her lips.

“You're here!” She exclaimed more than asked and her smile was contagious.

“My colleague is sick so I took over his shift,” he replied before he noticed the blond boy trailing behind her, roughly a head shorter than her, with a huge grin plastered on his face. The tell-tale red fabric bag most of the student representatives were giving out to the visiting pupils was slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” the girl addressed Terra warmly and he was about to melt into a puddle of goo at the sight of her dazzling eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed in response, but caught himself at the boy's snicker and cleared his throat.

“What can I get you?”

“A hot chocolate and a Caramel Cappuccino, please.”

She slid a bill over to him and he quickly gave her back her change before he stepped to the machine, starting the hot chocolate first as the girl and her companion stepped away from the counter.

“So, do you want to take a break here or do you want to continue the tour? They also sell sandwiches if you're hungry again.”

“I saw all the lectures that interested me the most so I'm open to anything. But the question is – do you want to take a break here?”

“What do you mean?”

“C'mon, Aqua –“

Aqua. Her name was Aqua. It fit her perfectly.

“– do you think I'm blind? Tell me, since when exactly do you drink coffee?”

“Since I started university? It keeps me awake in a morning.”

Terra heard a snort.

“Yeah, right. Says the girl who effortlessly got up at 5 am when she was still in school. The girl who called me up at 4 am this morning even though I could've easily slept until 6 am! You live on campus and the pharmacy building is five minutes away from your dorm. You do not need coffee to wake up.” A short pause. “Also, you hate the taste of coffee.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Terra heard Aqua's voice answer indignantly, “I got used to it and now I like it.”

“Back home, you spent endless days lecturing me about how bad the regular consumption of caffeine is. But I get it –“

The boy's voice lowered and subconsciously, Terra leaned further into the espresso machine, closer to his customers to pick up on their conversation.

“– I mean, you totally have the hots for the barista.”

Terra felt as if his heart stopped beating. Was it possible, that she was actually interested in him?!

“I-I do not!”

“Yes, you do!” Terra heard the boy snicker, but he had the decency to continue whispering, “Look at you, you turned as red as a tomato! And it would make sense why you started drinking coffee suddenly even though they also sell tea here: When you're embarrassed, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind! You probably saw him, saw the cappuccino and boom, that's what you ordered!”

Well... she did look at the special menu that day, didn't she? And she did blurt her order out... right? Terra bit his lip, daring to hope that it might be true.

“Ugh! Ven!” Her voice sounded muffled now and as inconspicuously as possible, Terra rose to his tiptoes to throw a glance over the machine. Aqua had thrown her hands over her face and the fierce blush that spread onto her neck kicked Terra's heart back into thumping furiously. “I am not having this kind of conversation with my baby brother!”

“Hey! I'm sixteen already! And you know I'm righ–”

“Not. Having.This. Conversation,” she all but squeaked out in response, but Terra barely registered it. He felt his heartbeat inside of his ears and felt his throat constrict as he reached for his book bag, fishing out one of his Edding pens.

It was all or nothing now.

With a shaky hand, he scribbled his telephone number on Aqua's cup and finished up the order as fast as he could before his courage left him again. Just as his stomach constricted painfully, he reached out for the tiny bell on the counter and ringed it. Aqua and Ven who now stood a meter away turned back to him, with Aqua still looking slightly flushed and Ven sporting a shit-eating grin.

“One hot chocolate and one Caramel Cappuccino.”

Terra didn't think his heart could beat even faster, but it did when Aqua stepped forward to reach for the cups. Their hands touched and as Aqua looked up at him shyly, Terra swallowed the big lump in his throat and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“I'm Terra,” he whispered, letting go of the cups and he caught a glimpse of another blush spreading over Aqua's cheekbones before she turned around with a breathless “thank you” and hurried over to Ven. They left his field of vision quickly and with a relieved sigh, Terra let himself fall back to the chair behind the counter, trembling slightly. He felt his head spinning and his heart continued strumming so powerfully inside of his chest he nearly missed the soft vibration in his back pocket.

Terra flew out of his seat and nearly dropped his phone when he opened his text messages.

My name is Aqua. Nice to meet you, Terra :)

#terraweek2018 #Terra #Aqua #Terraqua #KH #0littlelight0 #Alja's fanfictions #terraweek

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delkios · 8 years ago

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Best Served Cold (DC TV)

Title: Best Served Cold Fandom: DC TV Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 4483 Characters: Mark, Clyde, Lisa, Len, a couple cameos Summary: The ice cream factory is pretty chill work. At least until the Mardon brothers realize their boss is keeping a secret... Working at an ice cream factory was hardly glamorous but it paid rent and, right now, that's what Mark and Clyde desperately needed. It wasn't technically a factory, the place used to be a bakery back in the day but now all the counters and stoves had been cleared out so they could do mixing and packaging with some flimsy partitions put up to designate an office. Best Served Cold was a local, small business, run and owned by the equally chilly Leonard Snart with his sister Lisa handling the orders- and employees -so he could focus on the logistics. It didn't have a store front. All its business was in distribution to local ice cream parlors, grocery and corner stores and a handful of restaurants. Mark didn't really know how any of that stuff worked, he and Clyde just kept the machines churning out ice cream by the quart or gallon depending on the orders Lisa gave them. It was kind of boring, honestly- tedious and monotonous as they switched out ingredients and punched in different quantities and scoured the equipment multiple times a day. But it was still better than almost every other job Mark ever had- less backbreaking even with loading up the delivery truck. It was also one of the only places not to immediately dismiss the brothers for the felony check mark on their applications. At least the Snart siblings were interesting. Lisa was the more sociable of the two, simultaneously bright and sharp, reminding Mark of a knife. The decorative kind secretly honed to a razor edge. Len was charming in his own way- talkative while keeping everyone at a measured distance, always thinking of ten different things at once. Most of the time Mark saw him, Len was on the phone talking to someone about something- it wasn't his business so Mark never paid much attention. Even with the thin partitions, Len never raised his voice even when he snapped at someone, just got quiet and intense. Mark wondered if the people on the other end of the phone realized how lucky they were not having to go through that in person. Not three days after they started working, a couple men in suits carrying a briefcase came to talk to Len. Whatever they told him evidently pissed Len off and, though his words were too quiet to hear, Mark could tell from the sneer on his face and rigid set of his shoulders that Len was verbally savaging them. Mark made a mental note to not get on Len's bad side after that. Which wasn't all that difficult to do. The Snarts were sticklers for quality but Mark and Clyde figured out which parts of the job they suited best and, after a week, were working like a well oiled machine. Even Lisa admitted to being impressed. Then, about a month being on the job, getting back to their crappy apartment that was listing to one side and settling onto the couch that listed the other way, Clyde said, "I think Snart's secretly a mob boss."

Mark paused in the middle of popping off the cap of his beer bottle. "What?" "I'm serious! I know you get that shady vibe off him!" "Because he's got a record." Sure, it was only juvie, but he'd been caught with a pocket full of diamonds inside a jewelry store. He'd been forced to take the fall for his dad, Len had explained, because that wasn’t the kind of information he wanted the Mardons coming across just any which way. When he'd gotten out, his grandfather had basically taken Len in. Len helped his grandfather selling ice cream out of a truck and, when he died, his grandfather had a secret bank account for Len to inherit when he was old enough. Len decided to use that money in his grandfather's honor, learning to make ice cream and opened a small but successful business. Mark was secretly certain that Len had to have dipped into a little thievery before then, however. There was no way a guy working out of an ice cream truck had enough savings for a start-up. “Think about it!” Clyde said, obviously excited about this revelation. “Who would think an ice cream place would be used for money laundering?” Mark shook his head. “Whatever, man.” Clyde had always been easily swayed, it made him an easy target for peer pressure and drugs if Mark wasn’t around. Once, at some college frat party he crashed, Clyde had gotten hopped up on something, declared himself a god before jumping off a balcony. It was only through blind luck that he got away with just breaking a leg in the shallow end of a pool rather than his whole body on cement. “I’m serious! This isn’t some conspiracy theory!” Clyde put his knees on the couch so he could lean into Mark’s space. “You’ve seen those suits with the briefcase.” “Yeah, so?” “They show up every Monday and Friday! Don’t you think that’s weird?” ...Okay, sort of. Especially given the fact that Len clearly didn’t like them and Mark hadn’t actually noticed that. “Also he’s constantly out or on the phone even though this is supposed to be his only business.” “He’s doing sales work and talking to advertisers.” That much Mark could say with certainty given the amount of times he accidentally eavesdropped on those conversations. Which, “If he’s a secret mob boss, wouldn’t Snart have put in walls people can’t hear through?” “He’s probably speaking in code or has it for the times he needs to establish an alibi, I don’t know how mob bosses think!” “You seem to be doing an awful lot of leaps of logic on his behalf.” Clyde rolled his eyes. “What about the delivery guy?” “Roy? What about him?” “He wears sunglasses all the damn time. Even when we’re loading up the truck.” Mark had noticed that but assumed it as a random quirk. It was harmless so it wasn’t his business. “So?” “And he’s always wearing black turtlenecks. When have you ever seen a delivery guy wear nothing but black turtlenecks? And they’ve got stains!” Mark had also noticed that but thought nothing of it. Now that it was brought up, he realized he’d never been able to identify what those stains were on account of the turtlenecks being black. “Plus his name.” That derailed his thoughts. “What about his name?” Clyde gave him a look. “C’mon. Roy G. Bivolo can’t possibly be his actual name.” “Maybe his parents are assholes. Not like we haven’t known people with shitty names before. Remember Eddy Nigma?” Clyde clicked his tongue the way he did when he thought Mark was treating him like a little kid. “Okay, what about that one guy that shows up sometimes? Big, bald, all the gnarly scars?” Oh yeah, Mark knew the guy. Not much taller than Len or Mark but with shoulders like a truck, scowling more often than not. He looked like a quintessential Hollywood thug or mob muscle. And Mark was pretty sure he heard the man call Len ‘boss’ a couple times. “We don’t actually know who he is,” Mark defended weakly. “Because we’d be dead if they knew we figured it out.” Clyde nodded as if he’d solved a mystery. “So we gotta pretend we don’t know Len’s secret.” Mark shook his head and finally opened his beer. “You’re fucking high.” --- The next day the guys in suits were back only this time they didn't go to the front of the building but went around the back where Mark and Clyde were taking a break after loading up Roy’s truck. Something about them made Mark’s neck itch, like he really needed to wash his hands before the men’s presence permanently stained them. “Snart’s out,” he said preemptively, wanting them away from him and his brother. “We're aware,” said one, visibly older than his compatriot. “Our business is not with Mr. Snart today.” “We're hoping to have a moment of your time, gentlemen.” Said the other. Beside him, Clyde tensed. “For what?” Mark asked. “It's hardly anything salacious or untoward.” The older man said like he was sharing an inside joke. “We're hoping you could answer a simple question for us. One your employer has been reluctant to answer.” “You'll be paid for your time.” The other added, hoisting up his briefcase and cracking it open. Just enough so the brothers could see it was layered in bundles of bills. Mark sucked in a breath- he'd never seen that much money, even in the robbery he’d been arrested for. “You will remain completely anonymous as well.” He saw Clyde open his mouth out of the corner of his eye but Mark beat him to the punch. “What's so important you're willing to go behind Snart’s back?” The older man’s smile grew, voice full of private laughter. “Why, just the secret to his empire.” Clyde’s mouth clicked shut. “Feel free to consider your options. We'll be back later this week to try to reach an agreement with Mr. Snart again. If you agree, you will be doing us a great service.” The men gave them abrupt, tight smiles. “Have a good day.” Baffled at the sudden retreat, Mark almost didn't hear the purposeful clicking of Lisa’s heels. They turned at her approach and Mark was momentarily thrown by the dark look on her face. She came to a halt next to the brothers, still glaring at the shrinking backs of the suited men. “What did they want?” She all but demanded. “Some kind of secret.” Lisa snorted. “Like either of you would know.” The line of her shoulders eased but she still looked tense. “If you two want to stick around,” she said, “next time they approach you, tell them to go fuck themselves.” Lisa led them back into the warehouse and as the brothers went back to work, Clyde asked quietly, “That was weird, right? It's not just me?” “That was weird,“ Mark agreed. “Weird enough it would make sense that he’s a secret mob boss?” Mark glared. “Just get to work.” Of course now that the thought was at the forefront of his head, Mark couldn’t help seeing possible evidence. Nothing damning, at least not at first though Mark had noticed, a couple times while Len was on the phone, Len switching topics once he noticed someone was around. And, on the following payday- the day they were receiving payments from clients -Mark accidentally spotted Len and Roy in an out of the way corner and Roy had passed over several thick envelops. They could have very well been something other than cash but, given the shape, Mark was hard pressed to think of something else. Then the guy with the scars showed up again. Mark was on break at the time, hanging around outside for a smoke. That was the only reason he was able to witness it. The man didn’t even manage to make it to the door before Len was storming out, expression dark enough that Mark nearly swallowed his cigarette. Instinctively he ducked around the corner to avoid being seen. But was still close enough to hear. “What the hell are you doing here?” Len snapped. “Hi, Boss.” The man drawled, clearly not intimidated. Mark’s brain kind of stalled on ‘boss’. “Shipment arrived.” “And you decided you couldn’t tell me that over the phone?” “Had to pick up other shit for the job, since I was passing by I thought I’d stop by instead of wasting time calling you up.” He scowled. “Didn’t think I’d need your permission for that.” “Have you considered I don’t want certain people seeing you here, making connections I don’t want them to make?” “I can keep a fucking secret, Snart. No one’s going to find out and no one’s gonna be able to trace anything to me.” Len’s mouth twisted like he was debating if he was mollified by this or not and if he should admit it if he was. Instead he went to the van the man had driven in, nondescript asides from being old and dented. Len opened the doors in the back. There were no windows in the rear for Mark to peek in. “This it?” “That’s the last of it.” “22K?” The man snorted. “Like I’d get less.” Len stood there, staring at whatever it was before stepping back. He tucked something small into his jacket- an interior pocket, Mark assumed. He closed the door before turning to the man. “No one hears about this.” “Yeah, Boss, I got it.” They parted ways and Mark realized he was well overdue to return from break, getting an earful from Lisa when he finally made it back. Clyde pestered him on why he was so distracted for the rest of the shift but it wasn’t until they were driving back home that Mark told him. Clyde beamed like he won the lottery. “I knew it!” A couple days later, Mark was still so distracted by all this that he dropped part of a mixer on his foot. It wasn’t bad given his steel-toed boots, but it hit his ankle at an angle, making the joint buckle. Clyde helped him to a chair and Mark told the Snarts he didn’t need a hospital. Len took one look at the ankle, eased out of the boot, and told Lisa to call someone called ‘Boo’. ‘Boo’ turned out to be a young woman, probably not much older than Clyde, who examined the ankle cheerfully but clinically, declaring it nothing more than a sprain and wrapped it expertly. Mark wouldn’t have thought it anything special, that maybe she was from a local clinic, except when she went to talk to Len, he handed her a money envelope and a loaded-up brown paper bag. “For your trouble,” he added with a smirk. Boo peeked inside and grinned wickedly. “Always my favorite customer,” she said before leaving. It was mostly small, subtle moments like that but as those moments mounted, Mark had to admit the evidence was starting to become all the more likely. Especially when Clyde got back with information from Trixie. Technically, as part of their parole, the Mardons weren’t supposed to interact with her anymore, but given all her police records stubbornly kept the wrong name and gender on them, they decided the police obviously meant a completely different person. “Get this,” Clyde said, holding up a xerox from an aged newspaper article. It was about a cop being killed by a mob hit, dated almost twenty years ago. “The Snarts’ dad was killed by the Santinis!” “Sucks, but so?” Mark eyed the article- he hadn’t known their dad was a cop. “So, don’t you know the saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold?” Clyde threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, you’re the book nerd, you should know this!” “First, that’s from Star Trek. Second, what? You think Len became a secret mob boss to avenge his dad? Wouldn’t that be a little on the nose?” “Are you saying that wouldn’t make sense?” Mark sighed, pushing the copy from his face. “I’m still not convinced he is a secret mob boss.” Clyde gave him a dark look, obviously disappointed in his brother. “What more do you need?” “Actual proof,” he shot back before pointedly ignoring Clyde. So of course the next day it happened: The Conversation. It was the first time Mark had ever heard Len raise his voice and the question was enough to grab the brothers’s undivided attention. “What do you mean the body won’t fit!” They exchanged looks before quietly making their way toward the office to eavesdrop. “Mick, need I remind you how important this is? This will ruin everything if you don’t- well if you did your job properly, I wouldn’t be telling you how to do it!” On the other side of the wall, Len made a frustrated noise. “I don’t care how you do it- lop off a foot or take the whole damn thing apart, but you better unfuck this mess, Mick. In this situation, I’d argue you should be owing me. I’d rather not call in my solid with Assassin on a distraction run.” There was a long pause and when Len spoke again, his voice wasn’t as hard or demanding. “Mick, I wouldn’t have given you this job if I didn’t think you could handle it. Fine.” Another pause. “Yes, payment is still on the table. Of course it’ll be worth your while. When have I ever left you unsatisfied? Provided, of course, that we pull this off. I’ll swing by tonight to take stock of the situation. Five hours, Mick. Don’t disappoint me.” They scuttled back to their workstations. They filled orders, Lisa left, then Len closed shop for the day, telling the Mardons to leave while he locked up and went his own way. Clyde showed remarkable restraint waiting until Len’s motorcycle disappeared from view before he damn near throttled Mark. “Holy shit!” Contrary to his brother’s excitement, Mark was wondering how likely they were to die if he started looking for another job for the two of them. --- A week passed. As they went into work, Lisa called to them from the office and waved them over. Clyde was still a little fuzzy with sleep but Mark took one look at Len, poised at his desk, and tensed. Lisa shut the door and stood next to it and Mark realized he had no idea if she was part of this or not. “Mark. Clyde.” Len said with a deliberate congeniality. “There isn’t some kind of trouble, is there?” “No, sir.” Mark hoped he hadn’t sounded as meek as he felt saying that. “Then the reason why your productivity and attention to detail has gone down,” he drawled, “is because you just stopped caring?” Something in Len’s tone of voice seemed to filter through Clyde’s head and he sat up properly. Mark’s blood went cold. “No- nothing like that!” “Then…” Len drew out the word, an obvious invite for one of the two to elaborate. Neither did, exchanging uncomfortable glances instead. Len scowled, hands dropping from the desk and out of view. Mark flinched instinctively. “Not even going to attempt to justify yourselves?” Mark bit his lip, looking away from Len. Behind him, he could hear Lisa’s foot tapping irritably. Clyde blurted out, “We figured out you’re a mob boss!” “Clyde!” “What? If he’s gonna kill us anyway, I don’t want him torturing the information out of us!” The footing tapping abruptly cut off as Lisa burst into hysterical laughter. Len just sat there, staring at the Mardons blankly. “How, exactly,” he said slowly, “did you come to that conclusion?” Clyde seemed to suddenly re-think his strategy in blurting out the truth. “If we tell you, will you still kill us?” “I wasn’t planning on killing you to begin with, just fire you.” “Like… permanently fire us?” “In the sense that I wasn’t going to hire either of you again, yes. Lisa, would you stop laughing?” “This… is… hilarious!” She gasped out, stumbling to lean against the desk. Lisa burst out into fresh laughter at the brothers’ terrified and wary expression. “Holy crap, you actually believe that! This is the best thing I’ve heard in years!” Len rolled his eyes and deigned to ignore his sister. “Again, why do you think I’m a mob boss?” Mark and Clyde exchanged glances, waving their hands vaguely. “The guys with the suits and briefcase full of money.” Mark eventually said, “They wanted us to spill the ‘secret to your empire’.” Len scowled. “They’re lawyers. An especially shady kind, but that’s all. A few months before I hired you two, I found out one of my clients was modifying my ice cream and re-labeling it as his own. So I sued him and banned him from purchasing my brand ever again.” The scowl smoothed out into a disgusted sneer. “Shortly after, Scudder started sending his lawyers to me, trying to get me to sell my recipe. They tried bribing Lisa, Roy, and you two into stealing the recipe for them.” Clyde leaned over towards, whispering despite the fact both Snarts were close enough to hear regardless, “Do we believe that?” “I guess?” Mark shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason not to.” “Hey- what about Roy?” Clyde asked, sitting upright again. “What about him?” Len replied, an eyebrow raised. “What’s his deal? With the sunglasses and turtlenecks and all?” “He’s colorblind, those are color corrective lenses.” “And he’s an aspiring starving artist,” Lisa added with a smirk. “His whole look is intentional, he just works for us because he doesn’t actually want to experience the ‘starving’ part.” “And his name?” “Roy G. Bivolo is his actual, legal name,” Len said dryly. "I checked when I hired him." “And the lady you called when I hurt my foot,” Mark started, only to be quickly cut off. “Shawna- med student. I called her to see if the damage was actually serious because, one- hospital bills are ridiculous, and two- I’m not risking OSHA getting on my ass by making you work on a broken foot. Paying her in cash means it’s not taxable income for her.” “And the bag?” Lisa laughed brightly. “Ice cream. She’ll be hitting exams soon, she’ll need the morale boost.” Mark was starting to feel foolish. “And the guy with the scars?” “My husband,” Len said flatly, realizing how ridiculous this entire thing had gotten. “Mick Rory.” He lifted his hand and waggled his pinky finger, the only one that had a ring on it. “He wears that ring because Mick got it for him for Lenny’s first birthday they spent together and they’re both secretly massive saps,” Lisa supplied. Expression stoney, Len pushed her from the desk. Lisa just grinned and leaned up against the wall. “But… he calls you ‘Boss’!” “They met in juvie,” Lisa very pointedly ignored the glare Len sent her, “and Len was just as bossy back then as he is now. Good thing Mick seems to like that sort of thing.” She ignored the pencil Len threw in her direction. “And the thing in the van?” Mark snapped his fingers. “He was the one you were talking to on the phone! About the body!” Lisa’s eyebrows jump and Len glared. “You’re lucky we aren’t having this conversation eight days earlier,” he very nearly growled. “They were Lisa’s birthday presents, gold jewelry-” “I love gold,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “I’m very particular about it.” “She won’t accept less than 22 karats. And a motorcycle Mick built from scratch. He works at a custom autoshop- not a chop shop,” Len cut in when Clyde opened his mouth. “It’s owned by a disabled veteran,” Lisa added, “who just had a kid- that’s the last place anyone will be doing anything illegal.” Digesting the information, Mark said slowly, “So the body was… for the bike?” “The place he ordered it from got the specs wrong. Poor Mickey was pulling all-nighters for days getting it to fit.” “So the payment I overheard you talking about?” Mark asked, turning to Len who scowled. “I told him we would do whatever he wanted for a second honeymoon. He picked Aruba.” He made a face, like a Caribbean beach vacation was somehow a chore. “Is that why you’ve been getting so much of your payments in cash?” “Of course! I’m not using a credit card in another country, the fees are ridiculous!” “What about the assassin?” Clyde asked, narrow-eyed. “You mean Assassin Out Crashin’?” Len raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever heard of roller derby? Lisa’s on a team.” “I’m Golden Glider,” she said with pride. “Assassin is a friend of mine, Sara Lance. Shawna’s also on it.” “She’s Peek-a-Boo.” Lisa started ticking off names on her finger. “There’s also Wild Wild West, Quick And The Dead, Big Top, Mixin’ With Vixen, Light ‘Em Up, Hawk And Awe, Stay Frosty-” “Sara’s Lisa’s drinking buddy, I would’ve asked her to play distraction if Mick needed more time.” The Mardons fell quiet and, after a moment, Len asked, “Anything you need me to clear up?” “You named the place Best Served Cold,” Clyde said weakly. “Like the thing with revenge.” Lisa gave him a flat look. “Did you not read any of the flavors? Pony Espresso, I Don’t Caramel, Berry The Hatchet- I’m pretty Len would suffer an aneurysm if he passed up a pun.” “What can I say,” he shrugged, “I can't always be pun-predictable.” He smirked as everyone else groaned. “So it really had nothing to do with the Santinis and your dad, huh?” Len and Lisa froze and glared. They may not be secret mob, but they were still frightening in their own way. Mark felt for Clyde, getting the brunt of it. “Our father,” Len said slowly, “was a piece of shit who deserved what he got.” “I… read he was a cop,” Clyde said haltingly, in a tiny voice. “Didn’t I say he was the reason I went to juvie?” Len’s voice was cold. “He made me take the fall for his job. He was as corrupt as they came. The reason the Santinis killed him is because he was dumb enough to try to blackmail them for more money.” “Right. Sorry. Never mentioning it again.” “Good.” Len’s glare lessened, but his expression was still stern. “Any other lingering issues? Or can we all get back to work?” Mark and Clyde nodded like bobble-heads. “Please!” Len waved a hand dismissively and Lisa laughed as the brothers all but ran out. Getting to the machines, Mark said, “Clyde?” “Yeah?” “Next time you have a conspiracy theory, shut the fuck up.”

#fic 2017 #dc tv #dccoldwave #in the background #clyde mardon #mark mardon #leonard snart #lisa snart

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thebloggerbloggerfun · 8 years ago

Text

First Impressions

AO3

~2.5k

Castiel works as a teller at his local bank, and Dean is a new mystery customer that brings in a wad of cash and crumpled singles once a week to deposit into his account.

Working as a bank teller was definitely a unique and interesting experience - and one that Castiel generally enjoyed.

Of course, there were always the customers that raised hell when they walked through the door, complaining about incorrect overdraft fees or loan interests, but for the most part, the people were pleasant and Castiel didn’t mind plastering a smile onto his face for five or six hours at a time.

He and the other tellers had their favorite customers that they always talked about, whether for the entertainment factor, or because they genuinely liked them.

There was the nice old woman who always updated the teller on her grandson’s theater career; the middle aged man who generally arrived drunk and so sure that he was a millionaire even though he wasn’t; the college-aged girl who came in with a different hair color every time; and a younger man who kept trying to convince the teller that he was haunted.

Yes, Castiel was sure that he’d seen it all - and then one day, Dean Winchester came through his line.

The moment Castiel looked up as the new face approached the counter, he was thrown off. Sandy and deliberately coiffed hair framed a perfectly symmetrical face that he was sure he’d seen on a famous statue in some museum or another. Soft green eyes blinked at him with an even softer smile as he leaned forward against the counter and tilted his head.

“Hey,” the man said, his voice almost as smooth as the marble his arms were resting against.

“Hello.” Castiel cleared his throat and smiled, praying to God that it looked natural. “How can I help you today, sir?”

The man pulled out his ID and slid it across the counter.

Dean Winchester, it read.

“I’m just making a deposit, today.”

Castiel nodded and pulled up the deposit screen on his computer.

“Of course. Account number, please?”

Castiel’s eyes flicked across Dean’s face as he began typing in the numbers he listed, noticing a small hint of shimmery, golden flakes dusted in his hair.

Odd.

“And how much will you be depositing?”

“Uh...”

Castiel watched a he frowned and fished around in his pockets, until he finally retrieved a small wad of cash, folded in on itself and wound together with a rubber band.

“All of this.” He set it on the counter next to the small bottle of hand-sanitizer Castiel kept nearby and kept digging in his pocket. “And this.”

He pulled out a sizable fistful of crumpled one-dollar bills, and set them next to the bundle.

“Sorry about that.” Dean grimaced and attempted to take a few of the dollar bills and flatten them out against the counter, rubbing them along the corner and getting nowhere fast.

“It’s not a problem,” Castiel said reassuringly, and put the larger bills through the machine that counted money quickly as he thumbed through the singles.

It took a few minutes, but Castiel’s mind was already whirring as he attempted to put the puzzle pieces together.

“So, you’d like to deposit two hundred and seventy seven dollars in total, correct?”

Dean’s face lit up at the number and nodded.

“Oh, nice. I did pretty good, then. Yeah, all of that.”

Castiel typed it out on the computer and stowed all of the money away.

“Alright. Thank you very much for your transaction, Dean. I hope to see you again soon.”

“You sure will.” Dean smiled and saluted. “I’ll probably see you same time next week, Castiel.”

Castiel waved in return as he turned around to leave; the business of the bank hummed around them, and Dean ducked in between people waiting in line on his way to the door. Ignoring his next customer for a moment, Castiel raised an eyebrow as he reviewed Dean’s well-built frame from a different angle.

He frowned as his brain finally began to catch on.

Great body.

Handsome face.

Glitter in his hair.

Crumpled single dollar bills.

Castiel’s eyes widened ever so slightly as realization hit him like a freight train.

Had there been something vaguely sticky on one of those dollar bills?

He smiled politely as the next person in line shifted in front of him impatiently, only pausing to inconspicuously dump a generous amount of hand-sanitizer into his hands.

***

News that they had a stripper for a customer spread quickly throughout the employees at the bank.

They were a tight-knit group and Meg and Anna especially loved to gossip, so Dean ended up being one of the stories that got tossed around.

No one was looking down on him by any means - except for maybe Raphael, but he had fairly conservative views that most of the rest of them ignored - but they just found it interesting that they had an actual and genuine stripper as a customer.

“Where do you think he works?” Anna whispered to Castiel, once as they were closing up.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t frequent enough strip clubs to know.”

Anna giggled as she counted her till.

“We could go, you know. Just for fun.” She looked over and winked at him. “He always comes in on Mondays so he’s probably bringing in his tips from the weekend. Check out the closest strip joints on weekends to try and find him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Castiel felt a blush creeping up his neck from just thinking about entering a strip club. “That would be uncomfortable and, frankly, rude of us.”

Anna just kept smiling and counting bills before typing the total amount on the computer.

“Have you noticed how he always tries to get to your window?”

Castiel frowned and pretended to busy himself with straightening his already impeccable desk area. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anna chuckled and closed up her cash register, walking over to lean on the desk next to Castiel’s chair.

“He counts the people ahead of him and tries to time it so he’ll get you.” Anna wiggled her eyebrows and folded her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve seen him do it. Sometimes when it looks like he’ll get someone else he pretends to forget something in his car and comes back in line to start over.”

Castiel’s face had to be bright red by now. No, he had definitely not noticed this.

“I’ll bet he works at a gay strip club.”

“Anna -”

“I’m just saying!” Anna held up her hands defensively, “You should ask him out.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed loudly as he walked out the door.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

“But you should!”

“Goodnight!”

***

It was Monday again, and Castiel had definitely not put on his best tie just because he expected Dean to show up in his line again. Those two things just so happened to coincide.

Castiel glanced up at the clock partway through his shift and felt his heartbeat quicken when it neared the time that Dean generally stopped by.

Just like clockwork, the door swung open and Dean Winchester walked in, looking very deliberately all around the bank as if sizing up the waiting times for all the different tellers - and then he glanced up at Castiel, before taking a place in his line.

Castiel smiled through the rest of the customers, trying to stay as on pace as possible and not rush the customers out the door. He still had a job to do, handsome stripper or no handsome stripper.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said with his signature grin and swagger when it was finally his turn. “How’s your day been?”

“Not too terrible.” Castiel smiled and waited for Dean to pull out the wad of cash that was now expected. “And you?”

“A little sore, but not too bad.” Dean dropped the bills on the counter and rubbed at his shoulder.

“Your job’s that rough?” Castiel pinched his eyebrows together in concern.

“Nah, it’s not so hard. Sometimes there’s just some heavier lifting than normal.” Dean grinned as Castiel began to count the bills.

“Three hundred and fifty two dollars,” Castiel announced, typing it into the system and dropping the bills into his cash register. “Fruitful weekend.”

“What can I say?” Dean winked, “I’m a charmer.”

Castiel tried his best to hold back a blush, but he probably didn’t succeed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean tapped his fingers against the countertop as he leaned forward. “What time do you get off work?”

Castiel cleared his throat and tried his best to ignore Anna, whose eyes he could feel boring into the back of his skull from where she was managing the drive through.

“At five.”

Dean grinned. “Perfect. Would you, uh, like to go out to dinner with me? Around six?”

“I… would.” Castiel returned the smile and picked up a sticky note from the pad on his desk, quickly writing his phone number on it. “Let me know a time and place.”

He held the paper out and Dean took it with a polite nod.

“You got it.” His hand lingered where his fingers brushed Castiel’s, before stuffing the paper in his jacket pocket. “I’ll see you later tonight, then?”

Castiel nodded.

“Later tonight.”

Castiel smiled genuinely for the rest of his shift, a warm, tingly feeling never leaving, even when Meg told him to convince Dean to give him a strip tease.

***

The date proved to be very fruitful for Castiel.

He learned that Dean was not only charming, but also incredibly smart and had high aspirations as a Mechanical Engineer for his future. He had a younger brother named Sam, a father that worked as a park ranger somewhere in Kansas, and an intense love for his 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

After a nice walk through one of Dean’s favorite parks, talking about each other, they went out to eat at a nearby diner that Dean claimed had the best burgers in town - not to mention the fact that he was apparently friends with the owner.

“By the way,” Dean said as they waited for their food at a booth. “You should know that I’m only getting to know you because I’m hoping to recruit you for a future bank heist.”

Castiel nodded solemnly.

“Ah, I should have known. Well, I’ll have you know that my help is not cheap.”

“Oh, no?” Dean was smiling through the banter. “And what’s it gonna cost me?”

“A second date, for one.” Castiel licked his lips and sipped at his water as Dean’s smiled widened.

“I think that can be arranged.”

Castiel ducked his head down, feeling a light flush crawl across his cheeks. Dean was such a fun person to be around - Castiel could feel himself falling a little bit more with every word they spoke to each other.

“Dean, by the way....” Castiel took a deep breath, steadying himself. Better to get this out of the way now before the second date. The sooner that Dean knew Castiel was fine with him being a stripper, the better for the both of them, right? He could save Dean the awkwardness of trying to figure out how to tell him.

He cleared his throat as Dean tilted his head.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that….I know. About what you do.”

He watched as Dean’s curious expression turned to one of confusion, bless his heart.

“.... uh, what do you mean?”

“You know. Your job. I know, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay with it.”

Dean’s head quirked even more as he squinted his eyes.

“Ooookay? I mean I’m… glad?”

Castiel let out a breath and rested one of his hands over Dean’s.

“I just know that there are quite a few people that look down on strippers, and I wanted to let you know that I would never -”

“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Dean held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence with an amused glint to his eyes. “You think I”m a stripper?”

Castiel’s mouth hung open as his train of thought screeched to a stop.

“A-aren’t you?”

Dean pressed his lips together briefly and shook his head.

“Ah, nope. Definitely not.”

Castiel blinked. Dean was staring at him, his eyebrows raised and a grin on his face; as the silence drew out, he bit his lip, as though trying not to laugh.

Castiel’s brain quickly went through every interaction he’d ever had with Dean, trying to disassemble the conclusion he and everyone at the bank had come to.

“B-but, what about all of those bills you deposit every week? The ones are always so crumpled -”

He trailed off as Dean began to laugh uproariously,drawing some attention from the booths around them.

“Cas, I’m a waiter. That’s my tip money. The ones look like that because I usually just have time to shove them in my pocket before moving on.”

Castiel could feel his face quickly turning bright red, but something still didn’t make sense.

“What about the glitter?” His voice was getting quieter as he pointed to Dean’s hair, a few flakes of golden glitter always ever present.

Dean frowned and brushed at his hair, bringing his hand back to look at the sparkles before laughing again.

“That’s gotta be from our birthday canon. It’s a bitch to clean up but we have bring it out to help celebrate birthdays.”

“Oh my god.” Castiel groaned as he dropped his head into his hands. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I was so sure... I didn’t think -”

He only looked back up when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and saw Dean smiling at him like Cas had just told him he’d won the lottery.

“Cas, I’m so flattered that you think I have what it takes to be a stripper. Really, I am. No harm done.”

Castiel ran a flustered hand through his hair to try and calm himself down, pausing when he saw Dean’s smile fall slightly.

“I mean if, you know, that makes me less interesting or something, I totally understand if you wanna call that second date off.”

“No, no, no!” Castiel shook his head quickly. “No, I promise that it makes no difference to me. That’s - that’s what I was trying to say, but I guess I just stuck my foot in my mouth -”

“You’re adorable.” Dean said and patted Castiel’s hand lightly. “Thank you for sticking up for my honor.”

Castiel pressed his lips together and took another deep breath through his nose.

“I can’t believe this happened.”

“To be fair, me neither.”

Castiel groaned and smacked himself on the forehead.

“No one at work is going to believe me.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open before he snapped it closed again and winked.

“If you want, I can try out a lap dance for date number two. Make you seem less like a liar.”

The restaurant was filled with the sound of Dean’s laughter once again as Castiel slid down as low into his seat as he could go.

#whelvenwings #spn #destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel au #bank teller castiel #HAVEN'T WRITTEN A SMALLER THING IN A WHILE SO HERE YOU GO #sometimes I write

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