#i’m terribly sorry but he’s got the twang and everything

[violation72089]

do y’all think Mobius was ever by himself thinking about Loki and just whispered “wow” under his breath??? pls weigh in on this headcanon

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

Summary: You're on a cross-country road trip when your tires blow, and you're forced to get them fixed at a small town mechanic shop. When your card declines, you only have one other option to get your car back. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 3k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, mechanic!joel, sex for favors, oral sex (f + m receiving), blowjob, deepthroating, cum eating, fingering, squirting, semi-public sex, unprotected piv sex, size kink, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, joel being a disgustingly nice gentleman, porn with absolutely no plot A/N: I saw this gif float across my pinterest and had a terribly fun idea... so here it is. Enjoy a lil fun ;)

PART 2 | Masterlist | Ko-fi

“S’all fixed up now,” Joel said, walking into the waiting room.

You had been waiting a few hours to have your alignment fixed and tires replaced, and now you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. You were on your way through the small town headed east towards Tallahassee when both of your back tires blew out on the highway. You were lucky not to cause a crash and thankfully found a local mechanic shop only half a mile off the road. 

“Thank you so much,” you exhaled as you stood up and stretched your legs.

Joel rounded the counter to the register, typing up the work order to charge you out. Wallet in hand, you waited for the cost, praying it wouldn’t make a dent in your bank account. You only budgeted so much for the road trip, and this definitely wasn’t in the budget.

“Alright, ma’am, lookin’ like it’s gonna be around $500 for everything. Shaved some off just for the hassle you been through,” Joel smiled.

Shit.

“Uh, okay. Great.”

You reluctantly handed over your card, praying it would be enough. Joel swiped it on his machine followed by a loud beep that clearly meant DECLINED. You let out a shaky breath, fishing through your wallet for another card.

“Shit, try this one,” you said.

Joel nodded, his brows furrowing a bit when it also beeped in the same tone. He slid your card across the table, cocking a brow as if to ask, ‘Got another one?’

“Fuck,” you laughed nervously. “Okay, how ‘bout this one?”

Another card. Another decline. How the fuck were you going to get out of town now?

“Sorry, ma’am,” Joel sighed. “No payment means no car ‘m afraid.”

You ran your hand through your hair in frustration, trying to come up with something. Glancing up at him, you took in his broad frame covered by a simple black t-shirt that seemed to hug the planes of his chest perfectly. You hadn’t even noticed the patchy beard or kind grin that he donned so well earlier. Maybe…

“Look, I gotta get out of here tonight,” you pleaded. “Is there anything I can do to just get my car?”

Joel crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps looking much bigger in that position. With a frown turning down his lips, he shook his head.

“Afraid not, ma’am.”

“Anything? Please, I'm begging you.”

He considered you a moment, his eyes raking over your figure. You felt your cheeks warm at that look, knowing what he might be insinuating. If that’s what it took to get your car and get the fuck out of this town, then why not?

“Anything?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m pretty fucking desperate right now.”

Joel came around the corner of the counter, crowding you until your neck craned up to meet his eyes. Your heart thrummed in your ears, warmth blossoming in your stomach the longer he stared at you. 

“Desperate lil’ thing, huh?” He teased.

Backing away from you, Joel walked to the shop entrance and slowly turned the lock. He looked back at you as he flipped the sign to CLOSED as if testing your judgment. You gave him a meek nod, never letting your eyes off him as he stalked toward you again. His finger ran up your forearm, catching on the sleeve of your top and tugging it lightly.

“Follow me, darlin’.”

That sentiment, followed by the twang of his accent, was enough to make your knees buckle, and you followed him like a dog in heat. Joel led you back into the heart of the shop, scraps of tools and car parts littering the makeshift garage. And right in the center of it all was your car. Leaning against the hood, he patted the metal, beckoning you over. You dropped your purse on the workbench and walked toward him on shaky legs. Joel spread his legs a bit wider as you approached, his fingers wrapping around your belt loops to pull you in close.

You were a breath apart now, just the barrier of clothes separating you. Joel’s hands snaked around your waist and firmly palmed your ass through your jeans. You let out a small yelp as his fingers dug into the supple flesh, kneading and massaging until your eyes drifted shut at the feeling.

“You pay off all your debts this way?” His voice dropped an octave, and you felt the bulge in his jeans prodding against your stomach as you leaned closer.

“Fuck off,” you scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on my car taking a shit out here and definitely wasn’t budgeting for it either.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “Ain’t got a boyfriend to give you some cash to help?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be out here tryna fuck you for my car,” you quipped.

A grin split across his face at your defensiveness, as if he enjoyed you being a brat. You weren’t trying to be— honest to god—but you desperately needed to leave this town, preferably with your car. 

“Y’sure are a bratty little thing,” he said, tugging you closer.

“Why don’t you stop talking so much and fuck me so I can get the hell up out of this small fucking town?” You grumbled.

Joel raised one of his hands to grip your chin, steadying your gaze on his. Sliding his thumb over your lips, he coaxed your mouth open and urged you to suck on his finger. Without breaking eye contact, you swirled your tongue over the skin of his thumb before wrapping your lips around it.

“Christ, darlin’,” he exhaled. “Might just let you suck my cock and send you on your way.”

You released it with a pop, a trail of saliva dripping from your bottom lip. Reaching down, you massaged the bulge in his pants, letting out a soft gasp. He was massive—bigger than expected. He let out a small chuckle as if reading your mind, bucking his hips against your touch.

“You’d give me my car for a little blowjob?” You questioned, squeezing his cock tighter.

“S’nothing little about me, darlin’.”

“Aren’t you just full of yourself,” you rolled your eyes.

Your fingers danced over the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down as he helped pull his cock free. You peeked down to catch a glimpse of it, your eyes growing wide. His cock was girthy and thick and definitely had no shortage of length, either. Precum leaked from the tip, and you wet your lips at the idea of trying to fit it all in your mouth.

“Y’gonna suck it or what? Car ain’t gonna pay for itself.”

“You gonna give me my car after?” You tossed back.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Those tires might cost you extra.”

“We’ll see about that,” you smirked.

Sinking to your knees, you pulled down his jeans and underwear until he adjusted himself at the tip of your lips. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing softly as you guided it into your mouth. Stretching your lips wider, you swirled your tongue around the tip, basking in Joel's groan as you did so.

“S’fucking perfect, darlin’. That mouth feels fucking amazing.”

 You took him deeper, moving your mouth in a rhythmic motion until you felt his hand come down to grip your hair. He held you steady as he snapped his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further down your throat. Sputtering around him, you dug your nails into his thighs as leverage while he continued fucking your throat.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped. “C’mon now, take this fuckin’ cock down your throat.”

Opening your throat wider, you swallowed every thrust as tears streamed down your cheeks. Joel was relentless with his thrusts, your nose brushing against the curls at the base every time you took him deeper. You could sense he was close to the edge, so you dragged your tongue against the base of his cock with each stroke, spurring him on further. It elicited a primal growl deep within his chest, and within seconds you could feel the warmth of his cum sliding down your throat. His cock twitched inside your mouth as he came down from his high, and you hummed as you swallowed every last drop.

Using the grip on your hair to pull you off, you sat back on your heels, coughing and heaving to try and catch your breath. Joel looked down on you with heavy lidded eyes and a smug grin as if to taunt you. Cupping your cheek, he slid his thumb against your skin and brushed away the rolling tears.

“Open,” he ordered. “Show me.”

You quirked a playful smile, leaning your head back as you stuck your tongue out to prove you swallowed it all. Slapping your face softly, Joel let out a soft chuckle.

“Atta girl.”

You brushed the remainder of your tears away, wiping the makeup from your eyes, and you stood on wobbly legs. Smoothing down your shirt and jeans, you crossed your arms over your chest and cocked a brow.

“I think I earned my car back,” you insisted, your voice hoarse from how hard he fucked you.

“Hmmm, y’think so?” Joel questioned. “I think I deserve a taste of that pussy.”

You shoved at him playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“In your dreams, cowboy,” you laughed. 

With his pants still hanging down, Joel spun you until your ass was pressed against the hood of your car. Working at the button and zipper of your jeans, he shoved them down and pulled your legs free until your bare ass was pinned to the cool metal. Joel gave you a lopsided grin and shoved you further onto the hood.

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t return the favor, darlin’.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Oh, but I want to,” he argued. “Gotta see how sweet you taste.”

Sliding down, Joel situated himself between your thighs, tugging your calves up to rest on his broad shoulders. He gave you a teasing kiss on your inner thighs before delving in, his tongue flicking at your sensitive bud. You careened back against the hood, your back arching as his mouth suctioned around your clit. Crying out, you carded your hand through the brown curls of his hair, anchoring his face against your wet cunt as it pulsed against his mouth. Joel plunged his tongue inside you, forcing another whine from your lips.

“Fuck!” You cried. “Right there! Oh my god, yes!”

He hummed in satisfaction, bringing his fingers into the mix as he opened you up, curling them against that sweet spot inside you. Keeping his mouth on your clit he worked in tandem with his fingers until that coil inside you wound tighter and tighter. With one more curl of his fingers, your orgasm surged through your body, forcing a gush of liquid to stream out of your wet cunt. Joel sat back in awe, staring at your glistening folds as your body trembled from the release, your juices covering his beard and mustache. 

“Fuck babydoll,” he grinned. “You a squirter, too?”

You laughed awkwardly and watched as he removed his two fingers and brought them to his lips. Sucking them into his mouth, Joel groaned as he tasted the remnants of your orgasm. You knew you could squirt—it was your own dirty little secret—but something about seeing him covered in your juices made you want more. Tugging him softly with your calves on his shoulders, you urged him back to your soaked entrance, silently begging for another round. 

“Gonna cover me in your juices again, darlin’?” Joel smirked. 

“Mhmm,” you whined. 

“Drench me babydoll, let’s see it.”

Joel’s mouth was on you again, lapping up the juices leaking out of you until you were crying out for him. He didn’t let up as he sucked your aching clit between his teeth, his tongue working at the bud in earnest. He pushed his fingers back into you, your cunt pulsing violently each time he curled them. Slipping a third finger in, he stretched you wider and moaned against your clit as your body tensed with another orgasm. Another rush of liquid made it past his fingers, soaking his mouth and chin. You could feel it trickle down the seam of your cunt, drenching the hood of your car as you thrashed against it.

“Christ, Joel,” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side. 

He rose to his feet, wiping a hand over the hair covering his chin as he smiled at you. You sat up slightly, positioning yourself on your forearms as you watched him slide his jeans further down his legs. You were already in this deep; you might as well keep going. Spreading your legs a bit wider, you raised a finger to beckon him closer. 

“C’mon cowboy,” you teased. 

“Y’really need that car, huh?” He smiled, lining his cock up to your entrance. 

“I really do,” you whimpered, nodding your head vigorously. 

Joel eased himself inside you, inch by fucking inch, until he was fully seated at the base of his cock. You both groaned in unison, his cock sliding in and out of you easily from all the juice leaking from you. Crossing your ankles behind his back, you pushed him deeper, mewling at the sensation of the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You could feel that stinging stretch of your cunt as he picked up his thrusts, your ass sliding up the car each time. 

“Shit, babydoll,” he growled. “S’fucking tight around my cock.”

“You feel so good, Joel,” you hummed. “Please, I need it harder.”

Listening to your pleas, Joel planted his hands on either side of your face, pistoning into you with brute force. He bent down, sucking and biting the skin of your neck until you were crying out from the pain mixing with the pleasure. You rolled your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, your cunt fluttering against his cock each time. That blinding orgasm was on the horizon as your muscles tensed up for its release. Running your hands up under his shirt, you dug your nails into his back muscles, dragging them down his tanned skin. Joel groaned into your ear, his hips snapping against yours harder and faster.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “I–I’m gonna fucking cum, Joel!”

“Yeah, babydoll? Fuckin’ soak me with it.”

He pulled out at the last moment, a heavy stream of liquid pouring from your cunt and coating your inner thighs and Joel’s cock. Without wasting a second, he drove back into you, picking up the pace despite your body still shaking and dripping from your orgasm. You could feel your tears rolling down the sides of your face, that warmth still coursing inside you. Joel’s thrusts grew erratic and off-rhythm, and you sensed his orgasm was pushing him to the edge. 

“Y’gonna let me fill that pussy, darlin’?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his voice sent shivers up your spine.

“God, please,” you cried.

With one…two…three final strokes, Joel was grunting and painting your insides with thick bursts of his cum. You both lay there limp and fucked out for several moments, catching your breath and chuckling as reality settled back in. He slipped out of you and drew his pants back up his legs, his eyes roaming over your sweaty body. With one hand, he tugged up the zipper of his jeans, using the other to push the cum leaking out of you back into your wet cunt. 

“Gotta send you off with some sort of parting gift,” he laughed.

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, adjusting yourself and sliding off the hood. Joel bent down to ease your pants back over your thighs and hips, helping with your own zipper as you stood awkwardly in front of him. Joel leaned in to kiss your cheek before walking to the corkboard hanging from the wall. Retrieving your keys from one of the hooks, he offered them to you with a kind smile.

“I’m free to go?” You asked, reaching for them. 

He pulled them away, shaking his head with a teasing grin. You pouted sarcastically, opening your hand and waiting.

“One kiss, and we call it even, babydoll.”

You grabbed either side of his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. You coaxed his mouth open, teasing your tongue over his, tasting your arousal still lingering on his tongue. Joel deepened the kiss, tangling his free hand in your hair to anchor you closer. Pressed up against him, you found yourself thirsting for more but knew you had no obligation to stay. Sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, you pulled away reluctantly and snatched the keys from his hand. 

“Thanks for the new tires, cowboy,” you grinned. 

Joel dazzled you with another gorgeous smile, the lines around his eyes creasing as he gave you one final nod. You squeezed your way out of his embrace, making your way to the driver's side door. He followed you over, opening it like the gentleman he was, waiting till you were situated inside. Leaning in for one more kiss, he lingered a moment too long before breaking away.

“Safe travels, darlin’. If you ever need some work done, y’know where to find me.”

You dug your keys into the ignition, letting the car rumble awake. Joel shut the car door with one final smile and watched you reverse out of the mechanic shop. Giving him a small wave, you turned onto the street and back toward the highway with a soreness creeping up your thighs.

[starsstuddedsky]

Blown Up Love

reader x wonwoo

summary: gaming is all fun and... well, games, until you start crushing on the only person that takes pity on you and saves you from mobs.

genre: fluff, university au, gamer!wonwoo

warnings: swearing, death (but it's fake)

wc: 7.1k

a/n: i wrote this so long ago i forgot all my jokes - i haven't played minecraft in forever but i imagine playing with wonwoo would be so much fun - there will be a bonus eventually bc this somehow isn’t enough fluff for me

You run as fast as you can, hearing the groans behind you, a constant reminder of what followed not far behind you. You swerve to the side as another monster appears in front of you, a flash of white and the cracking of bones snapping against each other. You can’t help but scream as you hear a twang and realize that you’ve been shot. 

“Are you really leaving me like this?” You cry, praying one of your friends will take pity on you. 

“Don’t you have armor?” Jihoon asks. “Why didn’t you make a weapon?” 

“I just wanted to hide underground, I didn’t realize it was night time already!” You scream as you take another hit, trying to dodge trees and what feels like hundreds of monsters converging on you. “I'm literally outside the base, can someone please come help me?” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Seungcheol says. You don’t have to see him to know he’s rolling his eyes. 

“I’m about to die!” Your hands are shaking. You know that one more hit means death. 

You can see the light of the base, your last hope. If you can just make it a little bit farther, maybe you’ll make it. A figure moves toward you in the darkness and you instinctively turn away, though a moment later you’re sprinting toward it because you realize that it’s not a monster but one of your friends. Wonwoo. 

“Wow, you were not kidding, there’s so many,” he says. He charges in front of you, practically glowing in diamond armor. No, literally glowing. When had he enchanted his armor? 

You can hear him slaughter them behind you as you make a last ditch effort to make it inside. Just before you can open the door you hear another whizz, and something slams into. Everything turns red

Respawn or return to main menu. 

You stare at the screen. 

“I got your stuff,” Wonwoo says, voice as calm and even as ever. You sigh and click respawn. 

“Thanks for trying,” you mumble as you return to the game, your character waking up deep inside the base. 

“Sorry, I was in the middle of mining so I couldn’t really make it in time,” he says. You meet his character by the entrance to the base. You can’t help but smile at his skin, mostly covered by the glowing armor. You can still pick out the glasses he’d added to his skin, just like the ones he wore in real life, big and as round as he could make them in the pixelated game. You can almost see him in your mind, probably sitting in complete darkness in his room, wearing one of the three sweatshirts he cycled through. 

He gives you your items, tossing them in front, then vanishes into the base, probably to return to mining.You thank him again and wander around the interior of the base until you end up in the room you made for yourself. You had spent the last couple days dedicatedly designing the base, carved into the side of a mountain with rooms for all five of your friends to return to and put their stuff in. It was hours of work that was nowhere near being done, but you were enjoying every second of the rather monotonous work. 

What made you even happier was that your friends were actually using the rooms you set aside for them, each of them designing it a little to their own tastes. You might be absolutely terrible at fighting mobs, but you could at least build, and it felt nice that they weren’t totally disregarding that. Even if Wonwoo was the only one who would help you when you inevitably had to face the mobs. 

“Yn, are you still in the base?” Wonwoo asks. When you say yes, he asks you to meet him in the main entrance. 

You find him waiting, feeling inferior in your iron armor. He tosses you something. When you pick it up, you find out it’s an enchanted pickaxe, complete with unbreaking, mending, and fortune. 

“I figured it might be easier to work on this if you have, like, actually good tools.” 

“Thank you?” You can’t say you’re not surprised by Wonwoo’s generosity. You don’t know him very well. He’s Mingyu’s friend, and though you’ve hung out with all five of the guys many times this semester, he tended to be quieter and you weren’t convinced he didn’t hate you. Still, he was the only one on the server that didn’t bully you. 

“When did you get enchants,” you ask as you both go your separate ways. It’s finally daytime outside, so you deem it safe to continue working on the farm you were trying to design along the edge of the base. 

“It was pretty easy once I finished the villager farm,” he says. “Though I haven’t gotten around to reviving villagers to get cheap enchants. It’s on the list.” 

You frown as you climb the side of the mountain halfway up and continue designing what would hopefully be a sprawling pumpkin patch. “How did you have the time for that?” 

“I haven’t exactly logged off,” he says. 

“We started the server two days ago!” 

“It’s fall break,” he says. ��I didn’t want to waste my time.” 

“I fear you.” 

“Hey, you guys are aware there are other people in this voice chat, right?” Mingyu says. 

“Shut up,” you say. 

“Get a room,” he says, pretending to cough. 

You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. It wasn’t that you had a crush on Wonwoo. He was just tall, and objectively attractive, and really nice, and smart, and he had saved your life more than once. Okay, maybe it was a small crush. 

“Can we set a time to kill the ender dragon,” Seungcheol asks. “I’m getting blaze rods right now.” 

“Okay, I think I have enough ender pearls,” Wonwoo says. “Want to try tonight?” 

“You are aware it’s already almost nine, right?” You say. 

“It’ll take like two minutes with all of us,” Jihoon says. 

“I’ll text Jeonghan and see if he wants to join,” Mingyu says. 

“I’m guessing no one cares that I’m not ready at all,” you grumble. 

“It’s not our fault you care more about picking flowers than playing the game,” Seungcheol says. 

“Hey! I have not been playing with flowers! I am an integral part of this server, if it weren’t for me you all would be living in dirt shacks!” 

“Yeah, but we’d still have diamond armor,” Jihoon says. 

“Why don’t you just ask Wonwoo for some armor.” Mingyu snickers. “I’m sure he can afford to support you.” 

You’re glad that it’s just a voice chat because otherwise you’d never hear the end of their teasing. 

“I do have an extra set of armor,” Wonwoo says. “Also, I have a ton of leftover books from enchanting that you guys should use.” 

“Maybe you have spent too much time on this,” Mingyu says. 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“You’re an English major,” Mingyu says. “Don’t you have an essay or some books to read?” 

He laughs. “If you can find an English major that actually reads, I’ll log off.” 

“Do not log off until we’ve beaten the dragon!” Seungcheol says. 

“We could do it without him,” Mingyu says. 

“Sure you could,” Wonwoo says. “Yn, are you getting the armor or not?” 

You’ve been working on the farm outside, but as the sun starts to set, you begin to go back inside the base, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. “I’ll just die if I go with. Can’t I just stay and work on the base?” 

“Nope, you have to come,” Mingyu says. “Server rules.” 

“You can’t just make up rules on the spot,” you say. 

“ Jeonghan is coming, so no excuses.” 

You groan, knowing there’s no way out of it now. Jeonghan had joined exactly once, decided he was bored because Jihoon wouldn’t make him a “god” and hadn’t been on since. But it seemed like Mingyu was going to dictate friendship rules through Minecraft, so you were stuck. 

“Here,” Wonwoo says, appearing in the halfway-finished room that you made for yourself. He tosses you a full set of armor, and when you pick it up you find that it has full enchants. He must not have been lying about spending his entire break on this game. 

“I owe you!” You say. “Pretty much all I own is cobblestone and seeds but I will return this armor with only, like, minimal damage.” 

“Unless you fall into the void,” Seungcheol said. 

“Don’t even joke about that!” You say. 

Wonwoo laughs, his deep voice almost melodic. “You’re just scared because it’s a very real possibility.” 

“Not you bullying me, too,” you say, switching out the armor. “I thought you were on my side.” 

“I am,” he says. “And honestly if you really do fall into the void it’s fine, I can make a new set in probably ten minutes. Probably less.” 

“Can we make a rule about flirting in the main voice chat?” Seungcheol asks. 

“Fine, Wonwoo, join me in VC-2,” you say. Your heart is pounding a little as you pause the game and switch voice chats. It’s painfully quiet for two seconds as you wait but finally you hear the ding of someone joining you. 

“I’ll pay you real money to kill Seungcheol,” you say. 

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment. “Right now?” 

“Okay my bank account is a little empty, but next week I can buy you lunch?” You say. 

“Are you… hiring me as a hitman?” He asks. 

“Yes?” 

“Two lunches and it’s a deal.” 

“Done.” 

You switch back to the main voice chat, and hear the second half of Mingyu explaining that there is no way you are bold enough to actually be flirting. You hate that he’s right. 

“Back so soon?” Mingyu asks, cutting himself off mid-sentence. “Seungcheol, you owe me five dollars.” 

“I really just live in your head rent free, huh?” You say. “Making bets on me now?” 

“Actually, the bet was about the enchants that Wonwoo just gave me,” Mingyu says. “None of us believed you were actually flirting, but feel free to keep that inflated ego of yours.” 

You wonder if you’re going to be able to stop embarrassing yourself in front of Wonwoo. With Mingyu and Seungcheol around, probably not. 

The voice chat is mostly quiet as everyone goes to their own individual tasks. You are back to developing the farm (during the day). Jihoon and Mingyu are mining together and chatting about their spring schedule, while Seungcheol says he’s still getting blaze rods because he wants to make potions. Wonwoo is silent. 

You are starting to think he was giving up, when suddenly Seungcheol shouts. “Hey, what the hell?” 

“What’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Something is shooting me.” He curses. 

“A blaze?” You ask, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as giddy as you feel. 

“No, what the fuck, it’s coming out of nowhere.” 

You’re struggling to stifle your laughter. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die,” Seungcheol says. “I’m actually gonna die what the fuck, I’m at two hearts, where is this coming from? I’m actually dying, I-”

kkakkamori was killed by VvWonwoovV. 

“What the fuck, Wonwoo?” 

“Nothing personal,” he says as you finally burst into laughter. “Just doing business.”

“You just killed me!” 

“I got your stuff,” he says. 

“Keep talking shit about me and I’ll make sure you never see a day of peace,” you say, cackling at Seungcheol’s curses. You can hear Mingyu and Jihoon laughing, too. You wonder how many lunches it would cost to take them out. 

“I won’t forget this,” Seungcheol says. “I’ll get revenge.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Wonwoo says. 

“I can’t believe you killed me,” he says again. “Were you invis?” 

“Yeah, I used some arrows of harming and spectral arrows, too, just in case.” 

“Dude, you killed me in like five shots.” 

“Okay, Wonwoo is no longer allowed to be hired as a hitman,” Mingyu announces. “It’s not fair.” 

“Hey! Can’t I choose how to sell my services?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Was it worth betraying me?” Seungcheol pretends to be hurt. “How much did my life cost?” 

“Two sandwiches,” you answer. 

“I’ll never forgive you.” 

You laugh, and then smile even more when you see Wonwoo has texted you a smiley face. 

Me: Good job, partner, you send him. 

Wonwoo: Just doing good business. 

You turn back to your computer. There’s still another hour until Jeonghan could get on to beat the ender dragon, and it occurs to you that you’ve been playing for nearly four hours. You tell the guys you are going to come back later, signing off and getting out of your chair and stretching. 

You check your phone as it dings. 

Wonwoo: don’t forget to refill your water! 

You frown. You must have mentioned it to him while playing. You grab your water bottle, trying not to overthink the fact that he remembered when even you forgot. The more time you spend around Wonwoo, the harder it is to deny how lovely he is. 

.

.

You stare at the options. You wish Wonwoo hadn’t trusted you to get him something, or that you could have remembered to ask him what he likes, at least what he dislikes. 

You finally choose a BLT and a chicken sandwich and pray he isn’t vegetarian. You scout a table out and snag it, laying your backpack across the seats opposite you to save them. A few minutes later, you see Wonwoo making his way through the crowd of people filling up the dining hall. As he gets closer, you see Jeonghan and Jihoon at his sides. You tell yourself you didn’t notice them because Wonwoo is so much taller. No other reason. 

You wave them over, grabbing your backpack as they slide into the seats, Jeonghan next to you while Wonwoo sat directly across from you. You point to the sandwiches. He frowns but ends up picking the chicken sandwich. 

You slap Jeonghan’s hand away from the BLT. “That’s my lunch!” 

“Why does Wonwoo get one, then?” 

“It’s his payment,” you say, picking up your sandwich. 

“You’re telling me Seungcheol hasn’t whined about his murder to you yet?” Jihoon asks. 

“You know, I sort of tune him out when he starts talking about Minecraft,” Jeonghan says. 

“He is being a little dramatic about it,” you say. 

“You can’t say anything, you're the one that ordered a hit on him,” Jihoon said. “I’d watch your back.” 

“It’s a video game!” You say. 

“You know Seungcheol,” Jeonghan says. “He can hold a grudge when he wants to.” 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan were your first friends in college. Technically you went to high school with them, but you didn’t really become friends until last year, when the three of you somehow ended up at the same school. 

That’s how you know Jeonghan was exactly right. You glance around, suddenly worried that he was going to appear and exact his revenge in the middle of the dining hall. 

“Was it worth it?” Jeonghan asks Wonwoo, who is somehow almost finished with the sandwich. 

Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m not going to lie, the sandwich was a little subpar.” He checks his watch, then nudges you with his foot. “We’re going to be late to lab.” 

You groan. “Why did we let Mingyu convince us to take this horrible class with him?” 

He laughs as you stand up and follow him, grabbing your half eaten sandwich and waving goodbye to Jihoon and Jeonghan. As you walk beside him, you realize this is the first time you’ve been alone with him since you realized your tiny crush. Trying to match pace with his long stride is even more difficult when you are also trying very hard not to think about the way his arms hang on his sides, the way his hands are so close to yours and how easy it would be to slip your fingers in with his. Luckily he seems to notice you struggling to keep up because he starts taking smaller steps. So sweet. 

“So was the sandwich really that bad?” You ask. 

“It’s campus food,” he says. “It’s never good.” 

“That’s true.” 

He glances at you, glasses glinting in the sunlight. “I’m not sure I can really count it as payment.” 

You freeze. “This is extortion! I’ve paid you for your services, you can’t demand more!” 

“I don’t think that’s what extortion means.” He says. “And I’m not saying the sandwich doesn’t count. Just, maybe, a better second payment.” 

“You’re going to make me go broke,” you say. “Well, more broke.” 

He laughs. “Nothing expensive.” He holds the door to the science building open for you and you try not to read into it. 

“What about the café? It’s better than the dining hall,” you say, heading into the stairwell. You catch a glimpse of a grimace across his face as you turn up the stairs. “What is it?” 

“Jihoon’s ex works there and apparently being friends with him means that I’m hated too.” 

You snort. 

“What is it?” 

“I can’t believe Jihoon dated before I did.” 

“It surprises us all,” Wonwoo says. “Though I’d barely call it dating. They broke up after a week because Jihoon is Jihoon and realized his feelings were just superficial and no one really takes it well but his ex… It’s safe to say we mostly just avoid the café on principle.” 

“Noted,” you say. You’re in the hallway outside the classroom now. You really don’t want to go inside, because, seriously, why do three hour long classes exist? Chatting with Wonwoo was an added bonus to avoiding the torture. You idle outside a couple minutes longer but you really are in danger of being late and Wonwoo is starting to look antsy. 

You finally step inside, waving at Mingyu who is already sitting at the table. He’s grinning, as he always is. 

Mingyu was the reason you really had friends. Though you knew Seungcheol and Jeonghan in high school, it was only because of Mingyu that the friendship lasted past your first semester, hanging out with them throughout the spring semester, keeping in touch with them over the summer, and even taking a class with Mingyu. 

Mingyu is the reason you ever met Wonwoo, and, sitting in class and definitely paying attention to the lab introduction and not staring at the back of Wonwoo’s head, you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. 

.

.

You can’t remember who suggested it first, but it was Jihoon who ended up making the server, the first day of fall break. It practically belonged to Wonwoo now, since he was by far the person that played the most. You have no idea how he finds the time to play and do his work and sleep, but every time you log on, he has something shiny and new. 

It has been two weeks since the server started. You spent too much of fall break playing and generally leeching off of Wonwoo, but have only logged on a couple times since then. It’s Friday, though, and you even did one of your readings, so you feel like you can afford to spend a few hours working on the base. You aren’t surprised when you log in and Wonwoo is on. 

You’re prepared to play on your own, but Wonwoo asks if you want to join a voice chat and there’s no way you’ll say no. 

“It’s been so lonely,” Wonwoo says as soon as you join. “No one ever plays.” 

“It’s like we’re college students,” you say. You wander around the base, deciding you would keep working on designing the interior with the new types of wood that someone “anonymously” gifted you (you knew it was Wonwoo). 

“The trick is to not do anything until the last possible second,” Wonwoo says. 

“I can’t say that sounds appealing to me,” you say. “What are you doing right now, anyways?” 

“Just prepping for my next project,” Wonwoo says. 

“That sounds vaguely suspicious, should I be concerned?” 

He’s quiet for a moment. Finally, he asks in a low voice, “Can you keep a secret?” 

His voice is just serious enough that you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Is this real life or in game?” 

Wonwoo laughs. “This is in game, though I guess the question technically applies to both.” 

“Well, no one knows about the Incident, so at least Mingyu would say yes.” 

“He made a fool of himself, didn’t he?” 

“I’m sworn to secrecy.” 

You decide if making Wonwoo laugh was all you did for the rest of your life it would be worth it. Something about the way his deep voice echoed in your ears made your heart skip a beat. 

“Okay, come to Seungcheol’s base,” he says. 

“The secret one?” You start heading there when Wonwoo says yes. The second day, Seungcheol decided he wanted to have a secret base, which meant in two minutes everyone had figured out where it was. 

At least, where it used to exist. When you get there, Wonwoo is standing around the blown up remains of the Seungcheol’s base, a giant crater created by TNT in the middle of a flower field. 

“What happened?” 

“Jeonghan,” Wonwoo says. 

“You know what, that actually makes sense,” you say. “Didn’t he say he’d only join if Jihoon let him play in creative?” 

“Yeah, that was not happening,” he says. 

“Is Seungcheol’s stuff still there?” You wander around the crater, seeing the remains of what Seungcheol had built, a few chests that remained. 

“I can’t tell,” Wonwoo says. “I’m not really sure what he had to begin with or whether Jeonghan bothered to save his stuff, but the chests that survived seem to be pretty organized.” 

“Wait, I still don’t get how he blew up Seungcheol’s house.” You emerge from the hole, standing at its edge beside Wonwoo’s character. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” he says. “I’ve been on this server, like, almost twenty four-seven and I haven’t even seen him on, so I really have no idea how or when he did it.” 

“Someone must have helped him,” you say. “Oh my god, there’s an entire conspiracy. We have to get to the bottom of this!” 

“Conspiracy?” 

“It’s obviously not Seungcheol,” you say. “He’s going to be so mad when he comes back on.” The sun is starting to set. “Can we sleep through the night? I really don’t want to hide for the next ten minutes.” 

“Sure,” he says. You return to the base with him, mind still racing trying to figure out who was enabling Jeonghan. 

“Obviously it’s not your or me, so that leaves Jihoon and Mingyu.” You think about your two friends. You could see Mingyu doing it, because he was bullied by Seungcheol at least once a day, but usually Jeonghan was also involved, and you know Mingyu’s too busy being a STEM major to really dedicate his time to the game. 

So Jihoon? You don’t think he has much motivation, but he has been playing a lot and maybe he had some unknown score to settle with Seungcheol. 

“We should set up a stakeout or something,” you say. “Figure out who his supplier is.” The iron door swings shut behind you as you and Wonwoo return to the base. 

“A stakeout might be kind of intense,” Wonwoo says. 

“Okay, less of a stakeout and more of ‘you keep playing all day every day and find out if anyone is suspicious’ kind of thing.” 

“This sounds like I’m going to be doing all the work.” 

“Do you not spend most of your time here anyways?” You say. You go into your room and lay in your bed. “Bed!” 

“Okay true,” Wonwoo says as the screen fades. “But I actually have an essay due tomorrow and next week so I can’t really be on as much.” 

“Wonwoo? Being responsible?” You pretend to be shocked but when he laughs and your heart pounds so loud you forget that you were teasing him. 

“So how do we find out who’s helping him?” You ask. “It seems like we don’t have many options.” With the sun back in the sky, you decide you want to work on a tree farm with the generous saplings that had been donated to you. 

“We'll investigate together,” Wonwoo says. “Maybe next time Mingyu or Jihoon will leave evidence.” 

You nod in approval, though he can’t see you. “Sounds good. I’m going to grind resources for a little while if you want to go back to whatever you were doing.” He’s quiet as you both play, the silence between you not awkward but strangely peaceful. He doesn’t complain when you ask him to sleep every night, even reminding you to get back before the sun sets. 

Though you know he’s not nearly as invested as you are, it’s also fun to be in on a conspiracy with him. Maybe it’s just the fact that you have a secret between the two of you, but it makes you feel a tiny bit closer to him. You are finding that everything you learn about him just makes you like him more. 

.

.

“Should I be worried about how much time you’re playing on this server?” You ask as soon as you join the server. 

“No time for that!” Wonwoo says. “I’ve been hit!” 

“No way!” You sprint to his section of the base, and indeed, it’s been blown up. Wonwoo had spent hours personalizing what had initially just been a hole in the wall, designing a bunch of rooms with resources from the nether and the end and creating redstone machines that you didn’t even try to comprehend. 

Most of that is gone now, a crater even larger than the remains of Seungcheol’s base. 

“Oh my god,” you say. “You’ve been nuked.” You join Wonwoo and Seungcheol at the sidelines. It’s been a week since the last attack, and Seungcheol has joined your party of justice. You’re a bit sad that it’s no longer something you had just between you and Wonwoo, but looking at the remains, you couldn’t deny you needed the help. 

You take a step forward and there’s an ominous click. 

“Yn, run!” Wonwoo shouts. You try to run but you panic, pressing the W instead of the S. You hear hissing and it only worsens your panic. 

The first explosion doesn’t kill you but it scares the crap out of you and you can’t help but scream. “Help, help, help!” 

“You’re running the wrong direction!” Seungcheol says. 

“Stop laughing at me!” You groan as you die in the third explosion. Seungcheol doesn’t stop laughing, but what pains you is you can hear Wonwoo chuckling, too. 

“I guess not all of the TNT was blown up,” Seungcheol says through his laughter. 

“Evidently,” you say. “I kind of hate this game.” You click on respawn, heading back to the remains of Wonwoo’s base. You stay as far back as possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says. You can tell he’s still trying not to laugh. Traitor. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say with a sigh. “Though Jeonghan better watch his back.” 

“I’m sure he’s really scared,” Seungcheol says. He wanders carefully around the interior but there doesn’t seem to be any more traps. 

“I have our high school yearbook from freshman year.” 

“Have I mentioned how much I like you? Really, you’re one of my favorite people, ever,” he says. 

“Very convincing,” you say. “Tell Jeonghan to watch his back.” 

“Are the pictures really that bad?” Wonwoo asks. 

You cackle. “I’ll send them to you.” 

“Wait, why does he get them?” Seungcheol whines. 

“We’re partners in… not crime,” you say. “Partners in solving crime? Justice?” 

“That doesn’t sound right but I want to see the pictures, so, whatever you say.” 

“Did you both forget I’m still here?” Seungcheol asks. “Third wheeling?” 

“You’re not a third wheel, you’re a part of the team, too!” You say. “Partnership plus Seungcheol.” 

“That’s literally a third wheel.” 

Wonwoo bursts into laughter. 

“Why am I even here?” Seungcheol sighs. He logs out of the game. “I’m going to do actual homework.” He leaves the voice chat. 

“Did we just annoy him into doing actual homework?” You ask. You are still standing in the wreckage of Wonwoo’s base as he tries to fix it. 

“I guess so,” Wonwoo says. “I don’t think we were actually excluding him or anything, were we?” 

“I didn’t think so,” you say. The problem was, when you talked to Wonwoo, you didn’t exactly pay attention to what you were saying to anyone else. Maybe you should work on that. 

“So, Mingyu or Jihoon?” You ask because it’s been quiet for too long. 

“What?” 

“Which one do you think did it? Or, helped Jeonghan, same difference.” 

“Oh, right,” Wonwoo says. “I’m still not sure, I didn’t notice anything suspicious about either of them.” 

“You aren’t the best at investigating, huh?” 

Wonwoo laughs. “No, I’m really not.” 

“I guess we could just interrogate them.” You wonder if you’re taking this too seriously, and maybe that’s why Wonwoo isn’t answering. “Or, I mean, it is your base that’s been blown up, so we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.” 

Wonwoo is quiet a second too long. 

“Sorry, I guess it’s really not that big of a deal,” you say. 

“It’s not that-”

“It’s okay, I just thought it was funny, I didn’t mean to take it so seriously.” 

“Yn-”

“I actually probably should go do some homework too.” You leave the voice chat as quickly as possible, logging out of the game immediately after. It was silly of you to think that Wonwoo wasn’t just entertaining you the entire time, but it still hurt to realize. 

You sigh and turn away from your computer, despite the fact that the homework was not just an excuse and you really did have a lot of it. You just didn’t feel very motivated, instead thinking of how you had to somehow face Wonwoo tomorrow and pretend like you didn’t just get heartbroken over a video game. 

.

.

There’s a gentle poke to your cheek. “You can’t sleep here.” 

“Comfy,” you mumble, burying your face deeper into your arms. 

“Come on, wouldn’t you rather sleep in your own bed?” 

“Sleepy.” 

“Come on.” The hand on your shoulder is gentle, but relentless, shaking you until you finally blink awake, sitting up. You instantly feel sore, stretching the arm that had been your pillow. 

“How long was I out for?” You ask with a yawn. 

“I’m not really sure.” 

You freeze. You are 100% that when you fell asleep studying earlier you had been with Mingyu but that was definitely Wonwoo’s voice. You turn your head slowly, finding Wonwoo standing a couple steps behind you. Your heart does its usual gymnastic routine, though it’s worse because you’ve been awake for all of two seconds and Wonwoo looks picture perfect in his sweatshirt and perfectly combed hair. 

“What are you doing here?” You try to smooth your hair, praying there’s no red marks on your face. 

“Mingyu called because he had… actually he didn’t say what he had, he just said he had to go and that he didn’t want to wake you up, and he just told me to come here and study but the library closes in ten minutes, so we should probably go.” He folds his arm over his chest. 

“Right,” you say. You stand up and stretch a little more, still blinking sleep away. You hate finals week. You stuff your computer into your backpack and try to organize the papers around you. Wonwoo steps beside you, trying to help. 

“Is there an order to this?” He asks, trying to read your scribbled notes. 

“There was once, it doesn’t really matter now,” you say. “The exam is tomorrow and I think I’ve stared at those as much as I can.” He doesn’t say anything else as he helps you gather them and shove them into a folder, sticking it all into your backpack. You turn to leave but he stops you, pointing to the outlet. 

“Is that yours?” 

“Yes, oh my god.” You grab the charger from the wall, tossing it into your backpack. “Thank you, I would have cried if I lost that.” You do a final sweep of the room, not seeing anything else that’s yours. 

“Ready to go?” Wonwoo asks. You make the mistake of glancing at him, leaning against the doorframe with his backpack on his shoulders. He’s been so patient with you it doesn’t feel fair. 

You nod, following him out of the room and falling into step beside him. The sleep is finally starting to wear off, and you are beginning to feel awake. The library is beginning to clear out, though you’re surprised at how many people there still are. 

“How many tests do you have tomorrow?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Just the one.” You sigh as you walk down the steps. “It’s a major requirement but it’s so dumb, it’s not helpful at all.” 

“I’m just happy the science class is over,” he says. “No offense,” he adds quickly. “It was really fun to see you twice a week but I’m never letting Mingyu convince me to take a class with him again, that class was horrible.” 

You shudder, remembering the final. You can only pray that you passed the test. Your memory is so bad you almost miss Wonwoo’s half compliment. “We should celebrate being free!” You stop in your tracks, just before the exit. “Oh my god, I forgot!” 

“Did you leave something in the room?” He asks, turning to face you. 

“No!” You grab his sleeve. “I forgot to pay you!” 

He frowns. “For Seungcheol?” 

You nod. 

“That was just a joke,” he says with a laugh. He tugs your hand off of his arm, pulling you to the library doors. “I felt bad even taking the sandwich.” 

“I can’t believe I forgot!” You say, ignoring his dismissal. The December air is chilly as you step outside and you pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders. 

“You don’t actually owe me anything,” Wonwoo says. “Seriously, it was a joke.” 

“No, but I feel bad, I promised you I would do something for you and I completely forgot about it!” You stop him under a streetlight, laying a hand on his wrist.  Your breath makes little clouds in the air between you, dissipating quickly in the frigid air. Whatever you were going to say, you forget because Wonwoo is staring at you and he’s practically glowing in the bright light, and you are suddenly reminded of the day he tried to save your life. Knight in shining armor is the phrase that comes to your mind. 

Your heart is pounding as you stare at him, unable to look away. His dark eyes, magnified just a little by his thick glasses lenses, stare back at you. Though he’s only a couple of feet away from you, the distance feels like miles. 

His lips look a little chapped in the cold air, and you wonder what it would be like to step a little closer and press yours against his, whether they’d be rough or soft, whether he’d kiss you back. 

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry anyway.” You’re not sure why you say it, but you finally tear your eyes from his, dropping your hand from his arm when you remember it’s there. You wish you could hold his hand. You stumble back for a couple steps before finally convincing your feet to work. You’re vaguely aware of Wonwoo mumbling, “Don’t worry about it,” and falling into step next to you. 

He walks you to your car, neither of you daring to say anything after the strange moment. You’re struggling to think straight, especially with him still at your side. More than anything, you need your bed. 

“I’ll see you later,” he says when you open the door. You force yourself to smile and wave goodnight to him before getting into your car. You lay your head against the wheel, wondering why you can’t just pretend like these feelings don’t exist. 

There was no way Wonwoo didn’t think that was awkward, and you were now going to spend the rest of the night wondering just why you couldn’t stop staring at him when you should be studying for finals. 

Maybe you should just drop out. 

.

.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Wonwoo says. You join the voice chat before your game loads, but before you can say anything, he’s stammering. “I swear, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” 

“What are you talking about?” You say, but a second later your game loads and you have no words. When you left a couple days ago, you had been in the middle of your base, logging off after spending a couple hours perfecting the hallway design (the trick was to mix and match the different types of stone). 

It’s all gone now. You spawn in a crater of what you hand spent all your time on, barely recognizable amidst the remains. You see Wonwoo character appear and realize that the explosion had just happened, blocks littered around you. 

“Wonwoo,” you say slowly, trying to understand what was happening around you. Everything you had worked on, gone. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says again. 

You start to understand, though it doesn’t make sense. “It’s been you? All this time?” 

He says nothing, character in front of you as frozen as you feel inside. 

“I can explain,” he finally says. 

“No, I get it,” you say. “Actually it makes way more sense, you’re the only one who spends enough time to really supply him.” You try not to let the hurt show in your voice. It made perfect sense, really. What you didn’t understand is why he lied, why he played along with you when it was him all along. How many times had you talked to him about thinking it was Jihoon today, or Mingyu the next? You feel embarrassed, now, knowing how stupid you sounded. 

“Jeonghan wasn’t supposed to destroy everything,” he says softly. 

“Is that why you think I’m upset?” You’re not being fair, but you don’t particularly care right now. It shouldn't hurt, but it does. “Because my shit got blown up?” You log out of the game, staring at the discord chat. You and Wonwoo are the only ones online, which is good because you really don’t want anyone walking in on this conversation. 

“You spent the entire time on the server working on it,” he mumbles. 

You laugh. “I spent my entire time on the server hanging out with you,” you say. It’s good you're behind a screen because otherwise you would never have the confidence to do this, even if that made you a coward. “I really don’t care about Minecraft, Wonwoo. I like you.” 

It’s so quiet you can hear your heart pounding over your headphones. You’re frozen, unable to click out of the voice chat though you know the silence is your answer, and every second that he doesn’t say anything means is him trying to figure out how to say that your feelings are unrequited and you just ruined the friendship. 

Okay, completely ruined might be an exaggeration but it won’t ever be the same and it made you sick to your stomach that you had just blurted it out because you were butthurt about a dumb game. 

“Did you really just confess to me over discord?” Wonwoo says. It's always been impossible to decipher how he feels from his voice but you’re going crazy trying to figure out if he really doesn’t sound mad or it's just your wishful thinking. 

 “Um. I guess so?” 

He laughs, that stupid laugh that makes your heart flip in spite of the fact that you’re terrified. “I’m sorry, this is just the worst way to do this, you seriously couldn’t wait one more week?” 

“You really don’t have to make me feel any more stupid than I already do,” you say. 

“Oh my god, no, that’s not what I mean!” He says quickly. “Yn, I like you, too.” 

“Oh.” Oh. 

“I just didn’t think it was the best idea to tell you over discord,” he says. 

“Yeah, that would be really dumb,” you say, trying to get your brain to comprehend anything other than I like you, too. 

“If you waited literally one week, I would have told you in person,” he says. “I had a plan and everything. Actually, I had a plan to do it after finals but I sort of chickened out and then we both went back home and I had to reschedule, but I swear I was actually going to do it.” 

“Right,” you say. “Wait, what? I really have no idea what’s going on, I can’t believe you actually like me back.” 

“You’re an idiot,” he says. “How could I not?” 

You have no answer to that, realizing that any insecurity you tell him would be shot down. 

“I can’t believe this is how I told you,” Wonwoo says. 

“I can pretend I didn’t hear you?” 

You smile at his laugh, his voice sending a shock straight to your heart. “Or we could just meet up the second you’re back?”

“Like a date?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says. “It’s what I want, if I’m not being clear,” he adds quickly. 

You wonder if you’ll ever stop smiling. “Yeah, I definitely want.” Eventually your vocabulary will return. Hopefully. 

“So it’s a date?” Wonwoo asks. 

You open your mouth to answer but there’s a ding and someone else joins the voice chat. 

“Hey, perfect!” Jeonghan says. “Yn, I’m supposed to apologize for blowing up your base, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Actually, that’s what Wonwoo told me to say but honestly I’m really tired of listening to the both of you flirt without actually doing anything and I blew it up on purpose so that I can now say this: yn, Wonwoo likes you. Wonwoo, yn likes you. Have fun!” There’s another ding and he’s gone. 

“I don’t know if I’m more mad that he planned that or that it sort of worked,” Wonwoo says. 

“Yeah, he actually makes no sense,” you say. 

“And yet it worked,” Wonwoo says. You wish you could see the face he’s making now, wondering if he’s smiling like you are. 

“So, it’s a date?” He asks again.

Yes,” you say. “It’s a date.”

[violetstar-arts]

Perfect

Chell looks for Wheatley after he hides himself somewhere deep inside Aperture. A follow-up to @shrimperini ’s “Aperture Ball” comic.

***

Chell wasn’t one to get flustered easily.

She’d had her fair share of admirers throughout the years, almost all of which were swiftly rejected. Sometimes violently. It was deserved, most of the time. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she wasn’t all that interested in dating and would rather stay single for the rest of her life if she could.

…But then, there was him.

Something about that bundle of nerves that resembled a regular man was inexplicably…appealing to her. The way he stumbled over all of his words. The way he couldn't stop fidgeting with his fingers. His eyes, darting around in every direction besides the person he was holding a conversation with. His smile, stretching a bit too wide, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to find some random statement that was made funny…

Sure, it was a little awkward. But it was unequivocally genuine. As much as he tried to hide and deny it, anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could see that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Something that Aperture was sorely lacking.

She respected that. Admired it, even. It wasn’t as easy for her to do the same.

It surprised her even more then, when she openly asked him to kiss her on that dancefloor.

Naturally, he dropped her. She was too dazed at that moment to assure him that it was alright, that she wasn’t mad, that they could start over. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a chair with an ice pack pressed against the back of her head and several people fussing over her. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Wheatley had disappeared. Likely out of embarrassment.

“That dumbass… I don’t know what she sees in him…”

Chell immediately recognized that southern twang as belonging to Rick. She opened her eyes, glancing over at him. His scowl was immediately replaced by a big smile.

“Oh! Hey there, little lady. You feelin’ alright?”

Chell nodded. She heard the teal-eyed woman that helped with her outfit earlier clear her throat.

“Told you so.”

“Indeed,” Chell heard Craig chime in. “She only suffered a mild concussion. There was no need for your outburst towards our fellow coworker earlier.”

Fellow coworker…? Chell gave Rick a questioning look. He rubbed the back of his neck, appearing nervous. Even Craig and the woman seemed to be at a loss for words.

“If no one’s going to say it, I will.” Calvin approached Chell with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Rick got into a fight with Wheatley.”

Chell’s initially shocked expression was quickly replaced by anger. She crossed her arms, glaring at Rick. The tall man seemed to shrink a little under her scrutinizing gaze.

“Listen, Calvin’s wordin’ it all wrong! Nothin’ got physical! It was just a verbal fight. An argument. Didn’t lay a hand on him. Hell, I’d lose my job if I’d gone and done that. You know me, I’m s’posed to keep the peace inside this building!”

“With the verbal lashing you gave him, you might as well have laid hands on him…” Craig muttered.

Rick gritted his teeth, eyeing Craig dangerously.

“Watch it, four eyes.”

Craig’s eyebrow raised. “That was weak. If only you’d offered Wheatley the same courtesy.”

“Why you–!” Rick took a step towards Craig. He was unexpectedly blocked by Chell, who’d finally stood up and was pressing her hand against his chest. She shoved him back slightly.

“Where is he.”

Rick sighed, pulling his hat down over his eyes. He shrugged.

“Hell if I know. Halfway through our…little disagreement, he got a call from his folks. Seemed to forget about everything else in an instant. He said some nonsense like ‘ohh terribly sorry mate, i-if it isn’t too much trouble, if it isn’t an inconvenience, look after her please, I-I have to take this, t-terribly important!’ and ran off before I could get another word in.”

Chell narrowed her eyes. Rick could immediately tell that she did not approve of that mockery at all. He coughed awkwardly.

“Anyways, I think I saw him headin’ towards that staircase over there.” He pointed to the left. “Leads to some of the restricted areas–behind the scenes of the test chambers, if you will. I reckon I can turn a blind eye to you snoopin’ around there, as a way to…atone for this misunderstandin’...?”

Chell’s hard gaze softened. She patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you. But we will be talking about this later. You owe him an apology.”

Rick tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, sweat trickling down the side of his face as her fingernails dug into his shoulder.

“…Right.”

***

Chell made her way down the long staircase that Rick had pointed out to her. Immediately she took notice of the hollow echo her footsteps would make as she headed further down. Eventually, the wall beside her ended, revealing the inner mechanisms of Aperture that spread miles beyond her line of vision. She recognized the enormous, long tubes that connected to the test chambers, sucking items in or spitting them out. They seemed just as endless as the rest of the building, spiraling out in random directions. She never realized just how many of them contained testing cubes until now. She could also see a concerning amount of broken testing materials and shrapnel within some of them. Hopefully, none of those tubes connected directly to a testing chamber. She shuddered at the idea of a test subject standing under a tube, expecting to grab a cube with their portal gun…only to be crushed and shredded by piles of metallic debris.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, coming across a long metal hallway that led to a shut door on the opposite end. A few feet away from the door, she noticed that familiar light blonde hair, sticking out like a sore thumb under the drab, dull, and mechanical colors of Aperture.

Wheatley’s head and arms were resting on the metal railing, his legs dangling off the edge of the bottomless pit below. He was staring off into the distance, his expression unreadable. He didn't seem to notice her until the sound of her clicking heels was inches away. His body jerked forward and he let out a faint wheeze as his chest slammed into the railing. He clearly hadn't been expecting anyone to come down here looking for him.

“Chell?!? What are you–how did you–who let you–”

“Rick told me,” she interjected.

“...Oh,” he replied flatly. Wheatley rubbed his arm.

“I'm guessing he also told you about our little spat?”

“Not everything. But I know about it.”

“I see.”

Chell sat down beside him. Carefully, she let her legs hang off of the balcony in a similar fashion. For a while, neither of them said anything. They simply observed the whirring machinery of Aperture continue its work autonomously, random lights flickering and flashing within the darkness like some sort of artificial moonless sky. It was almost beautiful…if you could ignore the acrid smell of oil, burning lasers, and heavily processed testing gels.

“...Chell?”

She turned her head towards Wheatley. He didn't look back, opting to stare blankly at the pit instead.

“Do you…ever wish you were someone else?”

Chell’s eyes widened. She remained silent, waiting to see what else he would say to her. Wheatley seemed to pick up on this and continued.

“J-just to be clear, I do NOT mean you should change. God, no. I could never. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

A faint blush tinted her cheeks. Her eyes closed, listening intently to every word.

“I just mean…well, it just seems like…perhaps everyone would be less cross with me all the bloody time if I was different, you know? Better somehow. Not constantly rambling or asking questions or talking before I think things through or mucking up everything I touch. If I was just less of a pain to Her, to my coworkers, to my f…brother…maybe then, things would be better. For me. For you. For everyone…”

Wheatley stole a glance at her. He could see that Chell was pursing her lips. Wheatley took that as a sign that she acknowledged what he was saying. And perhaps that she even agreed, to a certain extent. He smiled weakly.

“It’s alright. You don't have to say anything. I get it. I ruined that dance for you. So it's okay! It’s okay if you’re okay with everything I said. Because it's true, isn’t it…?” Wheatley’s voice quivered. “It has to be, otherwise you would’ve said something by no–”

“Wheatley. Stop.”

Wheatley jumped a little, surprised that she’d broken her silence. He finally looked at her directly. She looked so…sad. He swore he could see her tearing up as well, but wasn’t sure if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

“...You really think that of yourself?”

Wheatley bit his lip. “Not…precisely. But sort of.”

“Why?”

He sputtered momentarily. “Why? Wh–for the love of–for all the reasons I said, of course! I’m a mess! I genuinely don’t understand why you’ve put up with me for this long! No…no one else has. Not unless they’re obligated to…”

Chell’s head lowered.

“…You said it just now.”

“Wha–?”

“You already have the answer, Wheatley.”

Wheatley went silent for a minute, deep in thought.

“You mean you…like putting up with me…?”

“I’m not putting up with you.”

Chell’s head raised. He could see a certain spark in her eyes. The same one he always saw whenever she successfully solved a test. But there was something…different about it this time. As if she’d reached a different kind of epiphany. Whatever it was, he didn’t expect her next immediate action to be clutching his hands as tight as she could. Almost as if she feared that letting go…meant losing him forever.

His face turned a deep red and his eyes drifted downward, flustered by his own thoughts. He was reading way too deep into this…wasn’t he?

“Wheatley. Look at me.”

He did as she said with very little hesitation. God, her eyes were still mesmerizing. If you could get past the bland grayness and searing intensity of them, it truly was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Shapes and colors of all kinds seemed to reflect so easily off of them. Including his own reflection, which…didn’t seem so bad in her eyes, if he was honest. Warm. Cozy. Inviting. Those were the first thoughts that came to mind. He watched as Chell took a deep breath.

“You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

Wheatley froze, feeling his heart skip a beat. He fought back the urge to burst into tears then and there, but he could still feel them coming on. He tried to mask it with a brief, uncertain chuckle.

“Chell…” His voice broke. He could already feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. Mission failed. He supposed it was for the best.

“You…you think you’re so clever, don’t you? Throwing my words right back at me…?”

She smiled back at him, shrugging.

“Not really. But it's the truth.”

It was Chell’s turn to be surprised as Wheatley suddenly rested his head on her shoulder. Within a few seconds, he started openly sobbing. Chell pulled him into a hug, letting him bury his face into her chest. She could feel it getting soaked in tears and potential snot, but it didn't matter. Not right now. Not ever.

After some time had passed, she could finally hear his gut-wrenching sobs begin to subside. She gently grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back. She needed him to be looking at her for this.

“Wheatley. Do you remember what you told me while we were dancing?”

Wheatley sniffed, wiping off his tear-stricken face with one of his sleeves. Evidently, he didn't seem to care about the state of his outfit either.

“When I…said you were radiant? Dropdead gorgeous?”

“And?”

Wheatley’s face was starting to turn red again.

“That I…meant it?”

“That’s right.”

Chell leaned in a little closer. His face was officially the color of a tomato.

“When I asked you to kiss me…I meant that too.”

There was a pregnant pause, in which nothing happened. Before they knew it, they had already locked lips with each other.

Anyone who asked after that day would never get a straight answer as to who initiated the kiss. The leading theory was that it was Chell. Being the bold one, it made perfect sense. There were, however, three dissenting voices: Rick, Craig, and Calvin, who apparently caught the pair right as they were about to kiss.

“I tell ya, it was the craziest shit I’d ever seen!” Rick would say every single time.

“Chell was just standin’ there, right? Just bored out of her mind, waitin’ for that idiot to make a move on her for once. All of a sudden, he gets this look in his eye. That look all men get when they finally get the ultimate prize: the heart of a lady. He’s got this shit-eatin’ grin forming on his mouth then pow! He takes the leap! Just plants a big one on her lips ‘fore she starts gettin’ second thoughts about givin’ this loser a chance! Think he even started givin’ her tongue at some point….anyway, if I’m perfectly honest, he became a Real Man that day. He was no longer a joke. He earned my respect at long last. Brought a tear to my eye.”

They were not, in fact, standing. Rick’s testimony continues to be a questionable one with all of its conflicting information and “colorful” language. It remains unclear how much of it is actually the truth.

In addition, whenever he is questioned further, he almost always replies with “It should’ve been me.”

Craig, on the other hand, always seems to answer the question of the kiss in riddles.

“Here’s a fact for you: female Black Widows will kill and eat the males of their species on occasion.”

It's never a real answer the first time, so one must always try again.

“A vast majority of bird species will have males with an extremely vibrant and colorful plumage.”

The third time is usually the charm.

“You may refer to facts one and two for your answer.”

‘Better luck next time’ is a phrase you will have to get comfortable with when speaking with Craig.

And then there is Calvin, who gives the most insightful and passionate answers about what it means to love…in the form of space metaphors.

“You ever thought about the cyclical nature of Earth and all the other planets’ many revolutions around our solar system? Take the relationship between the Earth and our moon, for example. The moon orbits us, so no matter what part of it we can or can’t see, we will be able to see the entirety of it at some point. The Earth and moon will always be together, so long as that gravitational force remains. Awesome, right?”

See? A wonderful response. But ultimately useless.

We may never know the answer of who kissed who first. But does it really matter? At the end of the day, all that does matter is that Chell and Wheatley are happy. Together.

[biographydivider]

Bruno and Camilo singing Candy Store from Heathers. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Sorry in advance. This one is really, really dumb. But I couldn’t resist. More of my fic here!

‘Are we gonna have a problem?’               Bruno started out of his daydreams, dishcloth in one hand, pot in the other. He turned, dripping suds on the kitchen floor.               ‘You got a bone to pick?’ Leaning in the doorway was Camilo; arms crossed, smirking. Baiting him. Bruno groaned internally.               ‘You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my di–’

              “Milo, please don’t swear,” Bruno sighed, stacking the pot on the draining board with the others. “Your Mamá still hasn’t forgotten that you copied me calling Diego Londoño an ‘impatient cabrón’ when you were three.”               It was true. Diego Londoño was an impatient cabrón. Not that that mattered to Pepa, of course. She’d brought that little incident up within a few days of him being back.               “A-and I’m not singing. You can’t make me.”               “Aw, c’mon, Tio!” Camilo said, deflated, as Bruno turned back to his dishes. “I brought the gramophone an’ everything.”               He disappeared for a moment, returning with the squeaking, rickety old trolley that Mama’s old gramophone sat on. Resting against it was a bright blue record sleeve, depicting three girls in different coloured sweaters, brandishing mallets. Camilo put the needle to the record, already sitting in place, and it blared into life – the twang of the singer’s ridiculous accent, the blast of the saxophones. Something a little like temptation flickered to life in Bruno’s brain.               Bruno loved singing. Even though he was, objectively, terrible at it. His range was about four notes. Anything above that and his voice faltered, wobbled, cracked. Which, you know, was fine. But when you lived in a house with this particular familia – people who could find an excuse to harmonize reading off their to-do lists for the day – it could make a guy a little insecure. Hey, not his biggest problem. Not by miles. But still. Bruno mostly kept his singing for long baths in an empty house. Until Camilo, that is.               ‘I’d normally slap your face off,’ spat the girl on the record.               ‘And everyone here could watch,’ replied Camilo, smirking.               Oh hell. Why not? Call it family bonding time.               ‘But I’m feeling nice,’ Bruno said as he whirled, tossing the dishcloth in the sink, ‘here’s some advice…’               ‘Listen up, beeyotch!!’ the two yelled together as the music blared into life.               For, like, three weeks when he first came back, Bruno had been wary of Camilo. The kid was confident, sociable, outgoing; everything Bruno had failed to be at fifteen. But then, he was also sarcastic, slightly obnoxious, the bane of his parent’s lives – or at least Felix’s, who often wished his son had a little more tact. And that was little too much like Bruno. It made him nervous. Like he was walking on rocky terrain. It made him think of the cocky, dangerous boys of his own teenagehood; Bruno never knew if they’d leave him be or make his life a misery. Better to spend his free time with shy Antonio or lovable Mirabel, and dodge the attempts at conversation from his oldest sobrino. He was never sure exactly how many genuine barbs his mocking held within it. Then, when Camilo’d caught him belting out that song about how nobody, in all of Oz, no wizard that there is or was, was ever gonna bring him down (when he was supposed to be dusting the bannisters) he’d almost felt…guilty? Like he’d done something wrong? He was The Madrigal Who Couldn’t Sing, he’d never hear the end of it…               The kid had just stood there, mouth open, gawking. Until the harmony hit. Then he scrambled up onto the staircase alongside Bruno and started keening about how no-one mourns the wicked. And that was it. The pair had a shared hobby. Butchering showtunes.               They switched parts midway through verses, fighting for the best lines. They missed their cues, but danced anyway. Bruno ground his knuckles into Camilo’s scalp on the line ‘’course if you don’t care, fine – go braid her hair’ and Camilo knocked his uncle with a hip on ‘you just gotta prove your not a loser anymore’; stupid in-jokes, over-played and probably not funny to anyone else anyways, but they did it every time, so they did it now. It was the closest to masculine roughhousing Bruno had ever been.               Their favourite part was the call-and-response.               ‘You can join the team –‘               ‘Or you can bitch and moan.’               ‘You can live the dream –’               ‘Or you can die alone!’               On this part, their choreography was always immaculate. Shifting their weight from one hip to another, hands in the air, feet moving back and forth perfectly on beat. Bruno grinned down at his sobrino; his eyes closed, feeling the music, just enjoying himself. It was good to see a Madrigal kid just…enjoying themselves. Not feeling pressured to make every single moment of a day important, or meaningful, or productive. Just having fun in the kitchen with his dorky tio. It was nice.               ‘Veronica, look,’ Bruno simpered, hands clasped under his chin, eyelashes fluttering. ‘Ram invited me to his homecoming party! This proves he’s been thinking about me!’               Neither Camilo nor Bruno had any idea what half those words meant in context. But the important thing was that meant he was giving Camilo the best bit. The really, really loud bit. ‘I’m sooo happyy!’               Camilo beamed, clambering up onto the kitchen counter. ‘Whhooaahoooaaaoooah-woaah,’ he sang, knees bent, hands splayed to the sides, rising as the pitch did, ‘Honey whatcha waitin’ for –”               “AY DIOS WILL. YOU. TWO. SHUT. UP?!? IT IS EIGHT O’CLOCK ON A SATURDAY. A SATURDAY!”               The pair winced.               “I should…” Bruno said, guiltily gesturing at the dishes languishing in the sink.               “Yeah,” Camilo muttered, eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he slipped on his way down from the table. “I gotta…chores, you know.”               In the hallway, the record kept playing.               ‘It’s my candy store, it’s my candy…               It’s my candy store, it’s my candy…’               The pair shared a look, before leaping into position, back-to-back, hands on hearts. Their combined singing, miles outside either of their ranges, sounded like two cats with their tails set on fire.               ‘It’s my candy store, it’s my candy stooooOOOOORRREE!!’               “I DON’T CARE THAT WE’RE FAMILY I WILL THROW YOU OFF THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN.”               “Run,” Bruno laughed, pushing Camilo out the kitchen, “they’ll have to catch us first.”

[chocolateheart]

Door number 12

Title: Door Number 12

Word count: 7937 (I know, I'm sorry)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A noisy neighbour is bringing you a lot of emotions. What if this bubbling tension and frustration will finally find their way out?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (please, wrap it before you tap it), creampie, fingering, handjob, pinning to the wall, clothes tearing, biting, scratching, a lot of kissing, strong eye contact, sex noises, tension, some swearing, noisy neighbour, arguing, stealing food, property damage, I don't know, porn?

Bingo Square Filled: Neighbour AU for @spnmixedbingo

A/N: Yes, another porn. Please, don't judge me, I couldn't help it. I won't say much, that fic just sorta happened. I hope you'll like it! Enjoy babes!

A/N: As always huge huge huge THANK YOU to my dear beta, angel and Queen @winchest09 for giving this piece a look. Love you Tabbs <3 Still, mistakes are mine!

A/N: The gorgeous divider designed by incredibly talented @talesmaniac89 <3

Throwing your bag on the counter along with your keys, a deep sigh left your chest. You numbly looked around your apartment as you began to take off your jewellery. Why did this place always look like a pigsty every time you got back home? Your necklace and bracelet joined your bag when you tossed them to one side as a yawn escaped you.

This day was exhausting, to say the least. Maybe your work wasn’t that demanding but sometimes it was just tiring to the point where you wanted to cry. After shrugging your jean jacket off, your feet took you to the couch and you just collapsed down on it with a pained grunt. Your body was stiff and aching, your head was pounding from pain and as soon as you felt a pillow under it, your will to stay awake had started to fade. You knew you shouldn’t take a nap now as there was still so much left to do today, but for god's sake, it was Friday evening and you had been working for the past 5 days at top speed. An hour of rest was something you definitely deserved.

Without standing up, you lifted your hips to take off your jeans and wrapped yourself in the blanket you always kept on the couch. Relaxing your body with a deep breath, you closed your eyes, already halfway to dreamland. But as soon as you felt yourself drifting completely, a loud sound of guitar suddenly sounded in your ears, making your eyes snap open.

No, not again!

Fisting the pillow, you felt the anger growing as you knew exactly where the loud rock music was coming from; recognising the band as AC/DC. When the volume increased, you hid your head underneath the pillow, desperate to cut off your aching skull from the noise. But it didn’t work, the sound still bleeding through the cushion. It didn’t take you a minute to shoot up on straight legs and pull on your sweats while marching towards the front door.

Mumbling inappropriate words, you entered the staircase for your building and immediately went down; hearing the power of the music increasing with every step you took. You found yourself on a floor below, with your jaw and hands clenched, eyes glued to door number 12 as you approached it. Once you stood in front of it, you lifted one of your fists and hit the hard on the wood a few times, ready to murder the person on the other side. Of course he made you wait till the song ended, causing you to repeat the punching a couple of times.

When the door finally opened, you were fuming with anger, eyes shooting lightnings towards the tall man on the opposite side of the doorstep.

"I swear to god, Winchester," you hissed through gritted teeth, a loud melody almost muffling your words. "If you won't turn that down, I will physically harm you." Your threatening pulled a laugh from him which only acted as another oil drop to the fire.

"Sweetheart you can't do anything to me," he said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed on this broad chest. "Besides, I don't understand what your problem is." Dean shrugged as if nothing had happened, making your brows shoot up.

"You don't understand?! This music is driving me crazy!" You took a deep breath and while not breaking the strong eye contact you had with him, you started to enlighten him on what exactly was wrong. "I’ve had a terrible day, no, week actually. Everything hurts, my head is pounding and this music is shaking my walls which in turn, is not letting me sleep. So if you could be so nice and turn that off because I swear on what's holy, if I lose my goddamn mind, your name will be the first one I'm gonna mention once they ask me how I ended up in mental hospital." Words just slipped out of you in one unbreakable line and you took shuddering breath after, composing yourself.

However, the smug smirk didn’t leave your neighbour's face; he didn’t give a damn about your monologue. After you finished, he only put a hand on your shoulder and delivered his response.

"It's a Friday evening and we live in a free country. There’s no rule saying I can't listen to loud music, unless it's lights out. What's more, you're the only one who can't stand this, I don't see anyone else coming here to complain, so maybe the problem lies in you, not in me," he simply said, as he flashed you a fake, sarcastic smile and closed the door. But not before saying, "have a nice evening."

You looked up to the ceiling, asking for patience but the frustration and anger were huge. You growled, kicked Winchester's door with your socked foot and cursed, feeling pain going from your toes to the tibial bone.

On your way back to your apartment, you were mumbling out every possible, offensive name that came to your mind when you thought about that green eyed man. Your relationship had been heated ever since he moved into the building. He made your blood boil. Loud music, meetings with his friends, watching movies on full volume on his surround speakers after dark in the middle of the week, noisily cooking at midnight; even his one night stands apparently had an unfulfilled opera career.

You were having a battle with Dean, on average, twice a week. Knowing you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand his behavior, you asked others for help, but Dean’s charm was way bigger of an opponent than you had expected. He could just use a sweet smile, say a few, flirty words with this deep voice and Ann from the end of the hall would walk on wobbly legs with stupid smile on her face for the next four days.

You couldn’t really blame her, the man was ridiculously attractive but you were looking past it. Dean was an annoying asshole and the only reason you had not yet clawed out his eyes was the fact that visiting the jail wasn’t exactly a wooing thought.

Shutting your door behind you, you leaned against it and ‘Sweet Child O’ mine’ came on. You growled once again, hit your wooden barricade with your head and looked down, trying to find calmness in your floor. Once you stopped radiating fury, knowing that the person below won't let you rest for at least two more hours, you chose the second drawer in your kitchen, searching for painkillers. If you were being made to stay up, you were gonna be productive. Swallowing two aspirin, you decided to clean the place so you could focus on college work tomorrow.

If only you could actually focus on college work.

After waking up at 8 am the next day, you opened the window on your way to the kitchen, craving coffee. It wasn’t normal for you to get up at this hour on the weekend but your finals were coming and you had way more work than you expected.

Thankfully, the weather outside was pleasant; the sun was already shining, creating morning shadows and the soft wind streamed inside your apartment, tickling your ankles as you sat at the table, eating breakfast. The smell of spring made you smile, always bringing back good memories. After the meal, you didn’t bother to change your pajamas for the actual clothes and you just took the laptop to start working on your college sheets. You were sitting with one of your legs bent, heel leaning on the chair, messy bun on your head, sipping on the second coffee while listening to the birds singing happily outside. Words were flooding out of you, making you feel certain that it wouldn’t take you long to be done with your essays. But that blissful moment was cut short when a loud rumble of a car’s engine resonated under your building, causing you to jerk in your chair and almost spill your drink.

Recognizing it straight away, you looked up, trying your best to not get angry again but as the sound of his loud engine revving l continued, you smacked the table with your palm and stood up. As you leaned on your window sill and gazed out, you spotted black, slick Chevrolet with the driver's door, trunk and hood open. Tools were scattered around the vehicle, a jean clothed leg was sticking out from the inside and you greeted your teeth, knowing who that was.

“Hey!” you yelled out, not caring if probably half of the residents could hear you. “I’m trying to study here!”

Dean peeked out and up at you, smiled and got out of the car, leaning his elbow on the hood in a nonchalant way.

“Good morning to you too,” he said and flashed you the oh-so-charming smile.

“It would be good if you didn’t interrupt it with your loud junker,” you spat back, leaning on the window frame and smiled when his face fell; he hated it when someone insulted his Baby, and you were very much aware of that. “Now, could you please lower your generic volume because I have a lot to do and you’re the last thing I want to deal with today.”

“Nobody tells you to. I’m minding my business, you go mind yours, I ain’t stopping you.” He gestured towards you with his grease covered hand.

“No, but your car is making noise that shakes all the dishes in my cabinet.”

He just shrugged and you narrowed your eyes, seeing that he didn’t care about whatever your problem was. “Then I suggest closing the window.”

After saying that, he dived inside the vehicle and seconds later you heard the strong twang of a guitar. Again. This man was very successful in making you hate rock music. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, stopping yourself from throwing a flowerpot at him; only because it was a very nice pot and you were emotionally attached to it.

“I need fresh air! I’m not gonna close the window! Turn that off!” you screamed, but he only frowned and pointed to his ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t hear you!” You could see the smile dancing on his lips and you really wanted to break something on his head. “The music is too loud!”

Clenching your jaw you gave up. Another defeat, but it wasn’t the war you lost; it was just a battle and he was yet to feel your comeback. Showing him your middle finger, you closed the window and went to the bathroom, not being able to hear the soft chuckle that left him.

Maybe to an outsider, Dean’s behavior wasn’t such a big deal, but the longer he acted like that, the more annoying and tiring it was becoming. You couldn’t focus on basic activities because he was giving you a headache in various ways and for some reason, you couldn’t just talk it through with him. Every attempt at trying to get to an understanding with him, ended up with a fight.

Winchester was just a pain in the ass.

Thankfully, he vanished before noon; his car was gone and there was a blissful silence that you made the most of, and finished the majority of what you had to do.

Surrounded by papers and books, you were sitting down on your fluffy carpet, leaning back on your couch, typing away on your laptop. Glancing at your clock again, you frowned. It’s been almost 85 minutes since you ordered pizza; your stomach was rumbling, unhappy with the fact of still being empty. Finding your phone, you dialed the pizza parlor’s number once again. Standing up, you stretched your muscles and looked outside, watching the sunset sky as you waited for someone to pick up. Finally, the lady’s voice spoke to you down the line, asking you how she could help.

“Hi, I made an order from you and I still haven’t received it? It’s been over an hour,” you explained politely, scratching the back of your head.

You didn’t like situations like that; delay was understandable, but it had been way too long. However, you hated to call someone out, you never wanted to make someone’s job harder than it already was. Giving your address to the lady so she could check where your food was, you spotted the black vehicle under the building and your brows shot up. He was home and it was still quiet; it wasn’t normal.

“Miss, the system says your order was delivered and we have a confirmation of receipt.” You frowned hearing her words as what she said was impossible.

“Are you sure? There was no delivery here.”

“Yes, I’m positive. It says someone picked up the order twenty minutes ago.” Pinching your nose, you took a deep breath.

“Could you check the address precisely, please? Maybe your driver made a mistake?” you suggested being already sure someone else got your food.

“Rosenhouse Street, building 4, apartment 12,” she read and the last number made you flinch.

“Apartment 20,” you corrected her, but she denied.

“No Miss, the order was picked up by apartment 12.” And just like that the level of your anger reached three digits in a second.

“Okay, thank you so much,” you murmured and disconnected the call without a goodbye, already storming halfway across your place, getting ready to leave.

Slamming the door, you took a very well known path downstairs and you banged on number 12 as soon as you stood in front of it. Feeling the urge to punch the person who was supposed to open, you inhaled deeply, clenching your teeth. Just... keep it cool, Y/N.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you growled the second Dean came into your view in his domestic clothes, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Whoa, what?” he tilted his head with an uncomprehending look.

“Listen,” you pointed a finger at him. “Loud noises, annoying car, your mean behavior, fine, okay. Screw it. But stealing food? That is childish. Can you go any lower?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he said with a smile dancing on his lips. “What food?”

“My pizza,” you muttered through your teeth.

“Oh, right!” He smacked his forehead, acting like he just now understood. “Yeah, pizza was great.”

“You stole it!” you exclaimed, a little too high pitched.

“No I didn’t,” Dean stated, giving you a small, I-know-better smile.

“Yes, you did. I ordered it and you just pocketed it!” You really wanted to stamp your foot like a little girl to tick your fury.

"No sweetheart, I didn’t," he said, crossing his arms and straightening his back so he could tower over you, making you look up. "The guy came in with pizza, said he's supposed to bring it here, so I paid for it and ate it."

"Oh! Because it's normal to pay for the food you didn’t order and keep it to yourself. And stop calling me sweetheart!" You puffed out irritated, making him smirk.

"You're cute when you're angry." Your face fell and you felt your palm itching. What would he do if you slapped him?

"Dean," you warned him but he chuckled.

"No, seriously." He reached to your forehead, wanting to brush it with his finger. "You have this cute, little wrinkle in the middle-"

"Don't touch me." You smacked his hand away and pointed a warning finger straight into his face. "One more action like this and you're gonna regret it," you growled out and walked away.

"So it's threatening now, huh?!" he called after you, coming out to stand in the hall.

Before you stepped on the stairs, you turned around with such a force, that your hair flipped over one of your shoulders and you showed him your middle finger. Hearing his low laugh bouncing on the wall, you scoffed annoyed as you stomped loudly going back upstairs. You swore that if you were supposed to become a murderer one day, that this man was gonna be victim number one. This whole 'lets annoy her' process would be great fuel for you to slice that slender throat of his.

Shutting the door again, you walked into the kitchen, dived in the fridge and decided to stuff yourself with pancakes. Screw Dean and his pizza, you were not going to give him satisfaction with ordering anything else tonight.

“So, he’s a confident man,” Jo stated after you told her about Winchester’s behavior.

You came to Harvelle's to grab something for Sunday dinner; they had the most delicious menu in the whole town and no one could change your mind. You were sitting with a blonde girl at the table, outside their restaurant, sipping on some light drinks Ellen had prepared for the two of you. Ash was already working on your meal in the kitchen while Jo was taking her break so she could sit with you and listen about your neighbour under the floor. It took you way longer to describe everything and you felt kind of bad for that. You weren’t the type who whined about such things and forced friends to hear about your bullshit, but now you were desperate to get it all off your chest.

“Confident asshole,” you corrected her, “I just wish he could finally get his ass kicked, you know? I can’t live with this man! He’s an arrogant, offensive, little, annoying dickhead!” you said, crossing your arms on your chest.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked up at Jo. She was watching you, clearly trying not to smile; her lips were twitching and small dimples had already appeared. You knew her long enough to know that she was all ready to tease you about this whole situation.

“What?” you barked at her and she lifted her hands in defense.

“Nothing!” She shrugged. “Just, your relationship with him seems to have been… rough since the very beginning.”

“It is! I really wanna punch him!” Jo lifted her brows, a smile breaking on her face.

“Just punch him?” The suggestion was shining in her eyes and your shoulders fell down at the subtext.

“Jo!” she started giggling when she heard your resigned tone. “Just because I’m having a heated exchange with a hot guy doesn’t mean that I wanna fuck him!”

“Oh, so you think he’s hot?” she asked innocently, taking a sip from her glass.

“Yes, but he’s an idiot and I would never let him in my panties, come on,” you scoffed as you rolled your eyes. The last thing you would ever do was having sex with this man.

“Sure.”

And you knew Jo didn’t believe you. To be honest, if you thought about it really, really hard, you weren’t sure if you believed yourself…

The door opened and Ash came out with a smile, your food packed in a thermal box.

“There you go, girl. We do not accept any complaints,” he said, winking at you and you chuckled, taking the meal from him.

“Thanks, Ash.” He saluted you and vanished as quickly as he appeared. You glanced at your phone laying on the table and sighed seeing the time. “Okay babe, I’m gonna go. School’s calling and I bothered you enough anyway.”

“Oh stop it, you’re not bothering me, don’t be stupid,” she said smiling, and hugged you tight. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure thing.” You winked and walked backwards, watching her disappear inside the RoadHouse.

Smiling to yourself, you turned around and crossed the street. At first your thoughts were filled with Jo who could always put you in a good mood but then they gradually transitioned into someone else.

You didn’t know if it was your overworked system or what Jo had teased you about that caused Dean to stick inside your mind, but you wanted to scream; it was like he had nested in there. Not only was he disturbing your living space, but he was now invading your mental space as well. What’s more, it wasn’t exactly hard to not think about him in a nasty way, and you hated it. The truth was that he was attractive from his fluffy hair to his toes, and more than once you had caught yourself daydreaming about his hands and mouth on you.

You couldn’t help it. The way he looked was not fair and Jo made you realise that if not for his attitude, you would have slept with him a long time ago. Thankfully, in the moments you felt weakness for him, he was doing something that pissed you off to the point where you wanted to bite his head off.

You really wanted to get even with him, you had to bounce the ball. The need to bite back was so big that you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the paint store. The bulb in your head flickered on and a devil smile angled your lips. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was childish, maybe it was crossing the line, but you had suffered enough thanks to this jerk.

Buying one can of pink chalk paint, you were muting your common sense that was currently shouting at you. As the saying goes - you only live once. He wanted a fight? You were going to fight. He started to play a strong hand? You were going to do the same. He thought playing with you like that was fun? Well, you were gonna have some fun too. Besides, he wouldn’t realise immediately that the paint would easily wash off, but seeing him panic thinking that his car had been defaced was revenge enough.

With a few last strokes of a paintbrush, you were finished. Straightening your back, you looked down at your work and smiled, satisfied with pink flowers you had drawn on the black surface. They were a nice contrast and you really liked the shape. In all honesty, it kinda burned you to paint this four wheeled beauty, but it wasn’t your fault her owner was a douchebag who deserved a lesson.

The impala was parked in her usual spot, next to the building that was mostly asleep. There were no cameras and due to the late hour, the chance of someone spotting you was small. Besides, you were just a hooded figure, no one would recognise you anyway even with the dim light from a lonely lantern. It was risky, but you were too far gone in your revenge to care. It had been done and you wished you could see Dean’s face in the morning.

Gathering your things you looked around, checking to see if there was anyone you should avoid and you got back to your apartment. After closing the door, you took off your clothes, staying only in leggings and a t-shirt, and decided to make some tea. You had this weird energy bubbling inside of you and it would be a waste to not use it on college papers. Getting comfortable on your couch you started going through materials for one of your projects.

Not expecting any visitors, you jumped slightly while hearing a rapid knocking on your door an hour later. You frowned and stood up, finishing your tea on your way to the entry. What you saw on the other side almost made you smile like an idiot. Dean was boring into you with his eyes; if looks could kill, you would surely be a beautiful corpse by now. His chest was rising and falling heavily, jaw clenched to the point his cheek was twitching and you could see the slight blush coloring on his face. He was wearing his leather jacket but was also in sweats so you assumed he was about to make a quick grocery run or something.

“What the hell?!” he growled at you before you could say a word. Ohhh, he was angry.

“What?” You shrugged innocently, ignoring the weird chill that ran down your spine after hearing the vibrations of his tone.

Dean took a deep breath, doing his best to not shout out. “I wanted to go get some beer and burgers, but guess what. Someone screwed up my car. And you know what? I think it was you.”

He pointed a finger at you, holding keys in his hand. You laughed and leaned on your doorframe, ready to confront him. Satisfaction already tickled your insides, but there was one thing that you had to admit - he was hot when he was angry.

“You really think that I have nothing better to do than mess up your car?” you asked, amused by his flaring nostrils.

"Don't you fucking dare play with me like that," he said firmly, not wanting to yell. "Do you know it's property damage? You broke a law and I can easily get you in trouble."

He was fuming with anger and you were sure that if it was possible, there would be smoke coming out of his ears. You smiled and stood your ground, finding it adorable how he thought he had anything useful against you.

"You have nothing on me. No proof that I was the one who defaced your car," you started, taking two steps to stand inches away from him. "Call the cops and I'm gonna tell them all about the nuisance, the stealing, manipulation and manifestations of aggression all coming from you.”

You stared straight into his eyes, a smart smile not leaving you even for a second; feeling confident in your words. Maybe he had a point, but you weren’t empty handed. You could get punished for what you did and so could he.

“What is your problem, Y/N?!” he asked, pinching his nose, clearly irritated with you. “You keep whining, making problems out of nothing and now painting my damn car?”

“You’re not letting me live in peace!” you raised your voice. “Your loud music, loud car, loud tv, loud you in general! I can’t sleep, I can’t study, I can’t do anything because you’re always there to disturb me!”

“Then leave!” he suggested, raising his tone as well. You were taken aback; lifting your brows you blinked a few times. Was he joking?

“Leave?! Are you kidding me now?! This is my home and just a friendly reminder, I was in here first so maybe you should back off!”

“But you’re the only one having a problem with me!” he yelled, spreading his arms, highlighting the obviousness of his argument.

“Because you’re a manipulative ass! You use your charm, this fucking smile, your shining eyes, and nice language, and the whole building is yours! Even Ian from the 4th floor and he doesn't even like people!”

“Ian is a cool guy!”

“Good!”

You took a breath and opened your mouth to say something more but no words came out. Again, you were convinced that there was no way to come to an agreement with this guy. Further arguments were pointless. Looking at him you shook your head and brushed your hair to the back. The soft smile and look you gave him next, made him frown a little.

“You know what? Fuck you,” you said simply and went to close the door, but his retort didn’t let you.

“You wish.”

Freezing, you locked your eyes with his and in a split second, something shifted in the air. The atmosphere got thick and the tension you had been building for months, now came into play, kinda taking you both by surprise. Dean felt it too, you could see his expression changing. He was trying to read you, trying to understand what was buzzing between you. A part of you wanted to explain it, to show him that you already knew it was sexual tension saying ‘hi’, but as soon as you realised that, you swallowed and forced your rational mask back on.

Shaking off the urge to take steps towards him, you scoffed and sending him one last look, you shut the door without saying anything. Taking two deep breaths, you leaned your forehead on the wooden barricade and closed your eyes.

There was no way in hell you would give in and break. He had everyone else in his fist, but not you. The only person that didn’t fall under his spell, the only one that didn’t let your craving inside take better of you. Dean was still your enemy and a pain in the ass; it was a matter of honour and dignity to stay away.

However, soft knocking made your eyes snap open. No. Darting your head from the door you looked at it, knowing who was behind it but that didn’t even register when you pulled on the door-handle. Dean was supporting his body on his arms that he had placed on both sides of your door, blocking the way. He was looking at you intensely, his breathing quicker than moments ago.

You could see the exact second he made a decision. You knew he was going to do something he shouldn’t and yet, you let him close the gap between you and crush his mouth to yours, cupping your cheeks at the same time. The force he hit you with made you take steps backwards, encouraging him to come in and turn you around so you could unconsciously close the door. His grip was firm, long fingers digging in your neck as hot lips forced yours apart. But your stubbornness caused you to push him away, breaking the connection.

The look you exchanged was a mix of emotions; hate, passion, frustration, lust, confusion, hesitation. This was something completely new for you; needing him was unfamiliar, strange, but at the same time stronger than anything you had felt before when it came to Dean. There was this quiet voice telling you that it was already too late; you tasted it and you wanted it, obviously. The other voice was louder, trying to make you aware of how messed up it's gonna be after, but somehow you didn’t want to listen. Not this time.

"Fuck it."

Saying that, you approached Dean and gripping him by the back of his neck, you pulled him down for a kiss. It was sloppy and deep, all teeth and tongues. He inhaled through his nose, bending down when your nails clawed at his skin. Grabbing you by the waist, he used a little pressure so you walked backwards. You didn’t expect to be pushed against the wall and a surprised gasp escaped you when your back hit it. Looking up at Dean, you noticed how his hungry eyes flickered over your figure and a cocky smirk formed on his face. You mirrored his expression and lifted your chin, so you could suck in his lower lip, biting on it softly. His response was immediate and fierce; he pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the wall completely, kissing you even deeper than before. The heat flooded you, making your cheeks burn and a sweat break.

You moaned and that seemed to spur him on because his hands started travelling all over your body. Doing the same, you aimed for his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders so it could land on the floor. The thought of finally discovering what was under his clothes took over your brain and you started to pull on his t-shirt, hazed and eager. But Dean grabbed your wrist and pinned it next to your head, not letting you undress him. You twisted and tugged, trying to break free, but he slid his fingers between yours and you instinctively clenched your palm.

“Don’t fight,” he breathed out, leaving your lips as he dropped to your neck, letting you take a much needed breath.

Leaning your head back you gave him the access to your throat where he licked and sucked, french-kissing your flesh. Your knees buckled a little when his hot lips closed on your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine as his stubble prickled you. Feeling his second hand sneaking under your shirt, you held your breath and jerked on the skin to skin contact. He wasn’t delicate; his long fingers were squeezing and digging, a firm touch making it all the more intense. Using your free hand you fisted his hair, pulling on it. Dean purred, nibbling on your flesh, making your eyes roll. It was like playing tennis, back and forth; you had an answer to each other's movements.

The hunger inside you was growing fast; you were getting more and more impatient and being caged by Dean only made you feel limited. So, naturally, you rebelled, trying to take control; with Dean it was always a competition. But your attempt only caused him to press his body more, his knee coming between your legs, making it harder for you to move. The thin material of your leggings was a weak protection to his touch and you whined when your sensitive area met his thigh. Fidgeting even more, you made him chuckle.

“Stop fighting,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your earlobe between his teeth.

Growling, you turned your head and sunk your teeth into his neck, tasting sweet and salty. Dean hissed and backed away, looking down at you with a surprise in his eyes, brows slightly furrowed. You smiled and angled yourself to speak against his lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t like a fight, Winchester.”

The suggestion was clear and he seemed to understand. Your relationship was already a ticking bomb so why not have a little fun?

The challenging look you gave him was a last jolt and his mode switched. Before you could do anything, he kissed you firmly, letting go of you just to grab on the front of your shirt. Pulling with two hands Dean ripped the fabric in half, revealing your torso, making you smile a devil’s smile. He shook his head in disbelief that you were actually going along with it and grinning, he attacked your jaw. Scraping it with his teeth first, then kissing and going down passed your neck, to your collarbone. Bending his knees so he could reach lower and lower, he proceeded to shrug the destroyed clothing off you and focus on your breasts. Placing sloppy kisses on the curves, Dean moved his hands on your back and unclasped your bra. As soon as it was gone, he sucked in one of your nipples, causing you to arch your chest. Pulling his hair, you grabbed the back of his head, letting him know you enjoyed his work.

Every time his lips touched you, they left burning spots and you could feel yourself getting wetter. Not holding back anymore, you started to roll your hips, seeking the friction his leg could give you. Still playing with your boobs, he caught your hips and added the power to your moves, dragging a moan from you. Glancing down, you spotted the bulge in his sweatpants and realised he was still wearing too much clothes.

“Take that fucking shirt off,” you panted out, grabbing on the piece of clothing on his back.

This time he allowed you to do what you needed, lifting his arms to make your task easier and the second his chest was bare, you used your nails to leave red lines, making him grimace from pain before he kissed you. Caressing his newly exposed body, you felt firm muscles of his strong arms flexing. He wasn’t a gym type of guy, he was soft in some places but firm and strong in general, and that turned you on to the point your stomach flipped.

Suddenly, he pushed on your hips until your butt touched the wall behind you and pulled away from you, straightening himself. You looked at each other, panting and flinching in anticipation. Keeping the eye contact, Dean cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips and slowly slid his hands down your body. You swallowed hard when he hooked his fingers behind your waistband and pulled your leggings down, crouching in front of you.

With a thumping heart you looked down at him, meeting his dark eyes watching you as he kissed your knee, your thigh, your inner thigh; his hands travelling up your legs, leaving goosebumps. You shivered when his hot breath hit your still clothed core. He placed a kiss on your damp panties, making your pussy clench and stopped. Leaning his forehead on your lower stomach, he tried to remain self-control, breathing strongly to calm himself down... and he failed. This whole situation was too much and he had wanted it for way too long to stop now.

Shooting up, he claimed your lips, driving his fingers inside your briefs at the same time. His digits went through your folds, gathering slick and found your clit, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Yeah? Right here?” he whispered and you sucked the air in through your mouth when he drew a circle, pressing harshly on your little nub.

Feeling him smiling, you clung to his neck, keeping him close when he started to make circles on your button. Moaning laughs escaped you, mixed with short breaths as you felt fire filling your veins, tickling sparks running from your clit to every nook of your system. For a moment you lost yourself in the feeling, but your brain woke up when he nudged you, rubbing his dick on your leg.

Opening your eyes, you locked them with his, tracing your palm down his chest and stomach. Somehow, you managed to turn you both around so he was by the wall. You didn’t care about teasing him through his pants so you pushed your hand inside and grabbed his hard shaft. Dean jerked and choked on his breath; the whole foreplay made him ridiculously sensitive.

You smiled satisfied and began to pump him, making his head fall back on the wall. His exposed neck was shining with sweat, throat moving as he swallowed hard. Your biting kink was begging for you to bite him, but the view was too good to not watch. His breathing quickened along with your strokes, his jaw flexing when he opened his mouth to chug. A thick vein popped out on the side of his neck, a guttural whine coming from him when you rubbed your thumb on his tip. Finally, you gave in and closed your lips on his jaw, light stubble pricking your lips. Dean turned his head and palming yours he brought you in for a kiss but you broke it fast, having enough.

"Come on," you said, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

Not being able to stay away from each other, you stumbled towards the room, kissing and laughing, getting rid of the rest of the clothes on your way. Hitting the bed you let yourself fall on it, pulling Dean behind you. He hovered above you, using his tongue to play with your nipples as you both climbed up to the headboard. Adjusting the pillows beneath you, you felt his body pressing down, arms sneaking under yours as he kissed you deeply. Rolling his hips, he drove his cock between your folds, poking your clit and you automatically lifted your lower body up on your heels, feeling the electricity running through you. Dean bit down on your lip and pulled on it hard with his teeth, smiling when you hissed.

Without thinking much you just reached between your bodies and guided his cock to your entrance, making him freeze. The look he gave you was a mashup of a question and disbelief, and all it took was your evil smirk. You felt him fisting the sheets under you and with one, mild thrust he slid inside of you. Arching your back you inhaled, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He was stretching you; your walls fluttered around him when he bottomed out, making the two of you give silent moans, your voices stuck in your throats from intensity.

Watching you, he began to move, making you both more and more comfortable with the feeling. Gradually, his pace increased and so did the noises. Your breathy moans and growls filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin as Dean's hips waved between your thighs, faster and faster. New layers of sweat covered your bodies as the temperature increased; you felt the omnipresent, pleasurable burning.

Dean kept the rhythm, only stopping for just for a moment to kiss you. Not letting the opportunity pass, you pushed on him and flipped over so you were on top. Looking at you with a smirk, he palmed your asscheeks as you sinked down on him, continuing the activity.

The passion and sensuality made your head spin; Dean’s lustful eyes devouring you alive weren’t helping. You dragged your nails on his flesh again, making him hiss between the sounds. It wasn’t easy to breathe, to think or control yourself; your body started working by itself, speeding up, making you bounce on him while leaning your hands on his chest for support. Dean couldn’t decide where to touch, what part of you he should grab next; his hands were everywhere. Wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck he sat up, changing the angle and gave you this eye-rolling kiss. This asshole knew what he was doing.

A new position allowed you to only roll your hips and you laid back, grabbing Dean’s ankle to make your moves more fluent. He took a handful of your ass, helping you, watching himself sliding in and out of you, growling in pleasure. Tangled together you moved in sync, matching the other’s moves, grinding to empower the sensation. Feeling the coil tightening in your stomach, your head hung back and you exhaled, wailing quietly. A hand flattened on your back and Dean violently pulled you up, pressing your forehead to his. With closed eyes, panting against each other's mouth you chased both of your deliriums. Your pussy fluttered, your nails dug into his neck as you clasped it; the feeling started to overwhelm. The way Dean was moaning and clinging to you made it clear that he felt the same.

Your strength was fading and you found yourself slowing down. Dean’s attempts to continue were in vain as he was becoming weak too, exhaustion and his upcoming release taking over him.

“Y/N,” he warned you and you opened your eyes, looking at him when he reached between you. “I’m gonna-” you kissed him, cutting him off, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

“Stay inside,” you whispered, watching the surprise flash through his features.

The serious, assuring look on your face made his eyes roll back and the noise he made, clamped your stomach. Using your last strands of your power, you sped up, Dean joining you by hitting the right spot inside you. His fingers found your clit again, rubbing on it fast and you moaned loudly, feeling your muscles tightening.

A few more strokes, a few more moves and the crushing wave of pleasure hit you; your inner walls pulsated, squeezing Dean’s cock as you grabbed firmly on his neck, holding on for dear life. His thrusts went more erratic but also were more powerful; he was pounding inside you slow but hard, putting his forehead between your breasts. You were shaking and his breath fanning over your tummy only added more goosebumps.

Then you felt his arms wrapping around you and he hugged you tight. Pulling you close, Dean thrusted for the last time and with a low, throaty groan he stilled; his cock throbbing inside you, allowing you to milk him as you were still coming. The two of you were shivering, entwined in each other, panting and sweaty. Your heart was hammering and you could feel Dean’s galloping as well.

After calming down a bit, he let go of you and fell back on the bed, hitting the pillows with a sigh. Licking your lips, you looked down at him and smiled, seeing his eyes sparkling with joy and bliss. He laughed, caressing your thighs and then pulled you down for a kiss. It was sweet and soft, without tongue, just lips brushing yours; completely different then those earlier.

Oh, so he could be gentle too.

Cupping his face, you pecked his mouth a few times and then rolled off of him, standing up to make a quick run to your bathroom to clean yourself, leaving the door open.

"Hey!" you heard him yelling not even two minutes later, after you splashed your face with cold water. "Is it weird that I wanna cuddle?!"

You smiled on his words, shaking your head. Asshole also appeared to be a softie cuddler. Can this evening be any weirder?

"Yes!" you yelled back, laughing as you put down the cloth you were using to dry yourself.

"Cool!" he announced and then changed his tone, "I don't care."

Chuckling, you turned the light off on your way out and grabbed a random, oversized t-shirt from your drawer to put it on, letting it slip from one of your shoulders. Dean was making himself comfy in your bed, watching you carefully with his arm under his head and a stupid grin on his face.

"What?" you asked as you climbed on the bed, joining him under the covers.

"Nothing," he shrugged and shifted so you could fit in, resting your head on his chest.

Throwing your arm over his middle, you hugged him as his fingers came to trace the skin on your shoulder. A comfortable silence fell over you as you cuddled, enjoying the warmth, but you knew his mind was running, just like yours.

You didn’t like this tendency of yours to overthink, but the current situation was not only unexpected but also confusing. What now? Lovers? Relationship? Friends with benefits? Enemies with benefits? Because, you had to stay honest, if he did something that would piss you off, no matter how good he was in bed, you would still punch his perfect nose.

"I'm sorry." His words surprised you, detaching you from your thoughts. "For being a noisy neighbour."

You could hear the genuine guilt in his voice and that immediately made you feel like a bitch, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

"I'm sorry for screwing up your car," you mumbled and quickly regretted it.

"Ha! So it was you!" His victory voice made your eyes roll and you poked his side, annoyed by the fact he dragged a confession from you so easily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, the paint is made of chalk so it’ll easily wash off," you said, unable to help the silly smile that spread across your face when you saw the relieved but shocked expression that he wore.

“Well played,” he chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear which you found oddly comforting. So you snuggled more, melting into the intimacy.

You had to look the truth straight into the eye; maybe he did infuriate you like no other but there was something else. A pull, an urge to blow off the constant steam forming between you. You wanted him and something was telling you that from now on you won't be knocking on door number 12 just to fuss about loud music.

And once Jo finds out, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback. ASKs and DMs are open, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

Tag list is open! :)

If something is not working, you weren’t on the tag list even if you wanted to, you can’t send an ask or you didn’t receive the notification about me tagging you in any of my fics, please contact me in DM’s.

Tag list: @deanwanddamons @jay-and-dean @katehuntington @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee @lady-pswrld @rvgrsbrns​ @polina-93 @teresa-67 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @mrspeacem1nusone @flamencodiva @cutiecowgirl @waywardbaby @flashxspn @lyarr24

[korasonata]

So, the original plan was to do these quotes until Joe and Cleo finished their models, which was half accomplished during this stream (yay Cleo!). Question is should I still continue these after Joe has finished his model, or have we had enough now? Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo model stream part 7! Link to the video is below and time stamps are above each set of quotes!

Link: https://m.twitch.tv/videos/1155955572

—

00:32:05

Joe: This is our weekly paper craft stream. I’m joined today by ZombieCleo, who you can find at—

Cleo: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!

Joe: — twitch.tv/zombiecleo. You don’t need to type the “hi” in the middle. Although it is adorable, and so I wouldn’t blame you.

—

00:56:25

Cleo (in response to someone saying they like Hershey’s chocolate): I mean you can like the chocolate. It’s ok to be wrong. It’s fine. You know, you can—

Joe: A certain amount of the other person being wrong is to be expected in any relationship.

Cleo: Yeah! Look at my relationship with you, Joe.

Joe: Yeah, I mean we’re— we’re off the charts for that.

—

01:01:15

Joe (changing into his chroma green tank top): We can’t have people seeing my torso.

Cleo: Oh you know, yeah you— you are a cryptid.

—

01:02:04

Joe (doing a face camera expansion): these chains I’ve forged in life are about to begin pulling me down to the deep below! Enter the Jhoooooooost!

Cleo: Can I just point out that “life” was very southern. At that point. (Heavy southern accent) Life.

Joe (heavy southern accent): Life.

Cleo: Laaaaaffe

Joe: Liiiiife *both laughing* These chains I’ve forged in—

Both: laaaaffe!!

Joe (heavy twang): Pullin’ me daaan to the deep behlooow!

—

01:07:16

Cleo (in response to Joe having a laughing fit): And that is one of the rare times where Joe has a complete, absolute giggle fit on stream

Joe (still laughing): Ok I’m sorry, but “puritans go home” is the best thing to put on anything worth— ok im gonna start making a— ok. (Serious) Im gonna start making an actual checklist cause, um, (actually writing down a checklist of things he’s taking to his parents for thanksgiving) ok thanks—giving twenty twenty—one. Ok so, salad cream.

Cleo: *wheezing*

Joe (reading list): “Puritans go Home” icing on pie…Um, you know let’s just throw iron brew in there. Why not! Irn-Bru and vodka!

Cleo (laughing): Sure! Why not!

Joe: Yeah. Well, so, my maternal grandmother was Scottish and—

Cleo: oh I’m sorry.

Joe: —so I think my mom would get a kick out of Irn-Bru. As like “oh! Here’s something from the old country!”

Cleo: *physically wheezing* from the old country!

—

01:29:43

Joe: Oh, it’s really fun. Did you know that a bunch of people on Tumblr care a lot about how tall each of us are?

Cleo: Yeah. Yeah.

Joe: Yeah, oh man I’ve been spreading information and taking weird height pictures with people at conventions for years. It’s like— *Cleo laughing* I’ll intentionally like stand on things or like, uh, or like stand in such a way that you can’t tell I’m crouching, so people are like “Ok, so Joe’s like taller than Bdubs but shorter than, uh, like— Stress or something. It’s like how does that happen?!” *trying not to laugh* Because I’m screwing with you.

—

01:31:11

Joe: See that’s the thing is— is sometimes people think things are about power. I think they’re just about being obnoxious.

Cleo: I mean, you think most things are about being obnoxious which is why it’s a power move for you. Cause being obnoxious is your power move. It’s where you’ve got the most power, Joe.

Joe: Hm, that makes sense.

Cleo: Sometimes I do. I try not to when I’m with you, because— it’s easier.

Joe: Yeah. You don’t wanna give me any actual like workab— or usable intelligence.

—

01:42:47

Joe (reading chat): I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season one— yeah. That was only like 10 years ago though.

Cleo: I’ve been on Hermitcraft since season 2.

Joe: Yay Cleo!

Cleo: Which was only because Joe asked me to come on, or pu— vouched for me.

Joe (genuine): Well I am glad you joined.

Cleo: I mean I was— I was at the point where I was just like “is this what I wanna do for the rest of my life? Should I just go full ham into teaching?” And, uh, then you made that offer and I thought “well, I’ll see how it goes”. And it did quite well for me. So…you know.

Joe (quietly): I am so glad

Cleo: You are the reason why I’m still doing Minecraft content.

—

01:44:19

Joe (reading chat): Attasked says “Only you can judge whether you’re hot” no plenty of people can tell I’m hot, Graved. It’s— pretty blatantly obvious. You don’t— you don’t have to be good at judging to be able to tell. Like, that’s not an only me thing.

—

02:00:54

Cleo: You ever have those moments where you’re just questioning your choices in life?

Joe: *having a breakdown* Moments!

Cleo: *cackling*

Joe (through tears): I’m sorry, you’re just the best Cleo.

Cleo: *laughing, but genuine* Awe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to depress you today!

Joe: No it’s— *inaudible sobbing* Today—

Cleo: *dying*

Joe (quietly to himself): Is this is frame? Sorry, I was cutting this out of frame. My bad.

Cleo (still laughing): I like how everyone’s just sort of gone quiet and gone “…is Joe ok?”

Joe: nOO!!!

Cleo: We’ve established that Joe is not ok.

Joe: But I’m really good at it!

Cleo: *spitting out her drink*

—

01:49:52

Joe: Let’s go down the Mississippi, Cleo.

Cleo: I mean, that I think we could probably do. Let’s go down the Mississippi, Joe.

Joe: yay!

Cleo: On a flimsy raft.

Joe: Yeah, we can actually— there’s a lot nicer boats now though. Like—

Cleo: I mean— yeah, but do we— do— you know…it’s the Huckleberry Finn experience.

Joe: I mean, here’s the thing, is if you actually came here and I was like “Cleo, let’s go to the Mississippi River and go down the river a few miles”. I think you’d be more likely to actually say yes if I had an actual boat lined up than if I had a flimsy raft.

Cleo (excited): If it— if it— if it makes you feel better, I— I would do the flimsy raft. Like, hands down. It seems more fun.

Joe (realizing that she’s serious): I— you say that, but I don’t think you’ve seen the Mississippi River. Like, the problem is it’s full of these giant barges these days, the wakes of which would just throw your raft over.

Cleo (dead serious): I can swim.

Joe (attempting to compromise, completely lost as to how he has somehow managed to be the voice of reason): Ok…Alternatively we can go down a smaller river…In a raft…

—

02:04:43

Joe: Sorry, I’ll stop monologuing. Uh, but yeah sorry I was in the process of—

Cleo: I’LL STOP MONOLOGUING! Yeah, yeah that’s gonna happen.

Joe: yeah, I’ll- I’ll say I’m gonna stop monologuing and I’ll warn you that-

Cleo: And then he just continues

Joe: -that Cleo you should probably be ready to start talking sometime in the next 8-12 minutes.

—

02:15:26

Joe: Oh, I need to get a green screen suit jacket. Um, I realized. Cause I got the green screen, um, uh dress shirt. That I wear under existing suits, but I don’t have an actual like green screen suit.

Cleo: I— I am always amused by your definition of “need”

Joe: My definition of what?

Cleo: Need.

Joe: Need.

Cleo: I need a green suit.

Joe: Ok, I’m sorry Cleo, the people need me to get a green suit.

—

02:30:23

Cleo (reading chat): “Joe-Getters and Go-Getters” yeah, Joe’s not a Go-Getter, he’s a Joe-Getter. Which is infinitely worse.

Joe: You say being a Joe-Getter is infinitely worse, but you also frequently lament that you get me. So, maybe you’re a Joe-Getter. Have you considered that?

Cleo: I am a Joe-Getter. I do get you, Joe. Which is terrible. It’s— It’s a trauma, actually Joe, I’ll have you know.

Joe: Yeah, comprehend me and despair, Cleo.

Cleo: I looked too deep into the abyss. The Joe-byss, sorry.

Joe: Thank you, yeah we’ve got a brand. Always be branding.

Cleo: *giggling* A.B.B. - Always Be Branding.

Joe: That’s not an infinite void of despair. That’s an infinite void of—

Both: Joe’s despair.

—

02:34:31

Joe: Let’s just leave it at don’t push me off a roof. Like *laughing* I feel like anything I could add to that would undermine the overall theme of just encouraging people to not do that.

Cleo: Um, let me put it like this. I always had the capacity. Always. But! I never acted on it, Joe.

Joe: Mhm, yeah thank you.

Cleo: …yet…I’ll try not to.

Joe: Yeah. And— and also keep in mind Cleo, I mean, given, you know, how well we’ve managed to work together over the last decade. Even if you did push me or throw me off a roof. *grinning* What makes you think that you’re not coming with me?

Cleo (slightly proud): That felt like a threat. It felt like a threat. I’m not gonna lie.

Joe (through giggles): Yeah, that was the, like— I spent 90 seconds figuring out how to revise that so is it was not blatantly like a violent threat.

Cleo: I mean…yeah, I think— I think— I think between the tw— it— it’s a mutual aggression pact at this point.

—

02:51:53

Cleo (holding up seemingly two identical pictures of turret towers): Am I— am I going actually insane? Are they not…the same turret?

Joe (examining pages on screen): …y—you know there might be…subtle differences that, uh, a— you know, skilled crafts person would find unavoidably blatant. Um…I make no such claim Cleo.

Cleo: Good, because, you know…trauma…Yours, not mine.

Joe: *laughing* yeah I was gonna say. Trauma as a verb. I’m just gonna trauma you.

Cleo: *laughing* I’m gonna trauma you so hard right now.

Joe: Yeah, if you don’t calm down and agree with me.

Cleo: If you don’t agree with me, that’s— that’s your mistake.

—

03:38:48

Cleo (about authors): just be careful who you like and just recognize the faults in any media that you do like. Just don’t imagine that everything’s perfect, because it’s not. Just be open to the fact it’s not perfect.

Joe: The only perfect media is YouTube videos produced by ZombieCleo.

Cleo: Fact.

—

04:00:34

(Having finished her model)

Cleo (tiredly): No booshes. No booshes. I know it’s got places for booshes, but I don’t want to do booshes because…there’s a limit.

Joe (currently in the United States): Yeah. Well, now you can come over here and help me Cleo, is what chat’s saying.

Cleo: Ok.

Joe: Go help Joe hold this stuff he can’t glue.

Cleo (Currently in England): Hang on, hang on. *rummaging on desk* What do you need? I’ve got lots of things, what do you need?

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[missblissy]

Glad you're back!! Miss you! I see about your post, can I have some modern AU maybe of Human! Alastor x reader going to an aquarium? Maybe a cute date? Haha thx amazing to have you again

(( QwQ/ It's good to be back! And I would be honored to do that. I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you enjoy!!))

It was hinted with salt filling the air. Misty and warm, the summer sea winds rolled off the coast and into your hair. The Long Island sound was picture perfect, just as you remember in your childhood dreams. You were staying in a quaint little town your familly use to visiting summer after summer when you were a child. And it was the perfect place for you to bring yourself on a long over due vacation. Work had been too much to handle this past year, and now you could spend the next week relaxing on the soft sandy coastal beaches of Long Island. 

However today you had plans to take the ferry across the sound to the aquarium. Sure... you were going by yourself but... So what. You didn’t particularly have many friends, nor a partner in your life. But so what? You were an introvert natrually and a social gathering over five people where never your thing. 

You had just made it to the ferry docks. As always, you were fifteen minutes early. You couldn’t bear to be late, especially since you considered “on-time” to be late. You were sitting on a public bench facing the sound. Dozens of other people have started to gather around the same place as you. You were just about to take one of your favorite books out of our bag when someone approached you.

“Do you mind if I sit?” You saw a man standing before you. He had a pleasant smile. A soft one that just barely met his eyes. You took one second too long to peer at him.

“Uh-...” You tore your gaze from his soft brown hair and to his polished shoes. They were out of style yet he somehow managed to pull it off, “Yea-.. I mean no...! Help yourself.” You tried to return his smile but you were far more awkward about it. This man had some strange sense of fashion. He looked oddly in place, however, he seemed like he was trying to live in a time long since past. 

“Are you waiting for the ferry too?” He asked, making simple conversation to fill the void of silence. 

You glanced at him quickly a second time and made a nervous little laugh. His dark complexion matched his brown eyes hidden behind perfectly circular glasses, “Oh... yes.” You remember you had your ticket in your hand, “It shouldn't be much longer until it arrives,” 

The stranger nodded his head slowly, “Have you ever been on a ferry before?” You nodded your head to his question, “Ah, first time for me. They don’t have ferries where I’m from.” He said with a cool expression.

He seemed chatty for a stranger. Most of the time when strangers tried talking to you, you’d brush them off. But this man was lucky that you thought he was rather... stunning in the looks department. That, and he seemed rather harmless as of right now. So you indulged in his conversation, “Where are you from?” You asked. 

The man paused only slightly then turned himself to face you. He held out his left hand for you to take. You were hesitant but you still reached out, “Alastor,” He said, “I’m from New Orleans. I’m guessing you’re a local?” You wouldn’t have ever guessed that, he didn’t have any kind of southern twang or drawl to his tone.

You shooked his hand but you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little at his question, “No, no,” You waved your hand a little, “Uh- aha... I’m (Y/N). And I’m not from here, but my family and I use to come here all the time for summer vacations.”

“Well, it’s certainly a lovely place to visit. I’m here for business though so I can’t say I’ve gotten the real experience of it all yet. Today was my day off, however, and I thought I’d go see this aquarium one of my friends keeps telling me to go to. She’s rather annoying about it, truly, spoiled even and quite the nagging little thing. But she is my friend after all and I’d rather not deal with the consequences of not listening to her.” 

There was a moment there went you felt your heart stop for a minute, “That’s... really ironic.” You said slowly.

“Oh? You have a bossy friend too?” He jested with a smile. 

You laughed for a second then shook your head, “No, I mean that it’s ironic that you’re going to the aquarium,” You paused for a second then reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. You showed Alastor and said, “I’m going too.” 

He peered at the e-ticket on your phone, the pushed his glasses up on his nose with a deep laugh, “What a small world!” He laughed, then laughed some more, “How truly ironic indeed!” Then without a second to waste, he faced you once again then asked, “Would you like to go together?”

The question startled you. You didn’t expect that. He was very bold, wasn’t he? You had only just met and he was asking to spend probably what would be the rest of the day with you. You were flustered suddenly, then you were tongue-tied, lastly, you cracked your voice as you answered, “S-Sure! Yea- um--....” You felt your cheeks turn a little pink, “Sorry. It’s just... That was unexpected.” Just as you said that the loud horn of the ferry screamed as it pulled into the docks. 

Alastor stood up while smiling down to you, “Life wouldn’t be life if what you expected happened all the time.” 

He then held out his hand, offering to help you up from the bench. You took a moment, sitting there and taking everything in for what it was. Alastor stood before you, looking as though he was some kind of mathematician, or professor, now that you got a good look at him. His red tie was tucked behind a brown sweater vest that stopped just shy of his belt. His hand was offered to you, while the wind dusted his brown hair around in the breeze. And that smile on his face, it was soft yet firm enough to show that he was pleased to help you up. 

So you decided then... why the hell not? He was right, life wouldn’t be the same if it was exactly like what you expected. You took Alastor’s hand and pulled yourself to your feet. The two of you chatted while boarding the ferry, and then stood beside each other while leaning along the guard rails of the top deck.

The both of you talked about all kinds of things. You found out that Alastor was some kind of internet personality, not really. He had a podcast he ran and owned with some friends of his. It was apparently very popular and well known, though not that well known because you’ve never heard of it before. And to say that didn’t hurt Alastor’s ego a little would have been a lie. Apparently, Alastor also had a strong taste for liquor, because at one point he went to the ferry’s indoor bar and came back with two rum on the rocks.

You told him it was only noon, to which he replied, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” And laughed before taking a sip of his drink. You decided to have the one he got you and told yourself it’d only be one which Alastor stayed true to. He didn’t wander off for another drink once he finished the one he had. There was another point that you learned that Alastor had the habit of ignoring his phone, to the instance where he got annoyed with it and turned it off. It seemed he only wanted to focus on talking to you and listening to what you had to say.

Alastor and you talked the whole ferry ride, which was just under an hour long. And when you docked, you both walked side by side down the three and a half blocks to the aquarium. It wasn’t a massive place, but it was a good size with a decent amount of animals. You originally came here with the idea of looking for inspiration within sea life. For you were an author, after all, writing stories for a living came with its ups and downs. For instance, right now, your much-needed vacation wasn’t really a vacation. The current book you were working on took place in late century seaside town, much like this one. And you had run into the worse possible writer’s block you’ve ever been in. 

As you and Alastor had finished passing the entry gates and showing your tickets, you wondered why Alastor would want to come here with you. Maybe because he realized how terribly awkward it would be if you continued to cross paths all day. You also thought about how you wouldn't be able to focus on working with him around now. You also didn’t really want to out yourself, or your current story. 

But that would soon be unavoidable. You and Alastor had just made it to the open exhibits of the aquarium. You had stopped on an old wooden bridge to briefly look out at a beautiful koi pond. Alastor leaned over slightly while resting his arms on the bridge railing. He had a soft smile that was barely on his lips, “This one oddly reminds me of home,” He sighed. 

You learned along the railing as well, looking over the swampy like pond. It lily pads all over, with a dark green water filled with dead trees and moss. You couldn’t see them, but you could hear the bullfrogs chirping away. Seeing it gave your a sudden surge of inspiration. Something about it made you get several ideas for your book. You couldn’t let them slip away, so you reached into your bag and grabbed your notebook.

While you became lost in your own world, scribbling down idea after idea, Alastor quietly watched you. It wasn’t in a way that you noticed, because he’d only take a side glance here or there. But after a moment or so, he finally asked, “Forgot something to add to your grocery list?” 

It was meant to be a joke but it went right over your head (Mush to Alastor’s dismay).

“O-oh..” You then laughed weakly, “No... It’s for a story I’m working on.” 

Alastor turned to face you slightly while still leaning on the rail, “Oh, like an author?”

You took a dry swallow then glanced away and shrugged, “Yea,” You didn’t want to egg him on. But of course, he asked anyways. 

“Are you published?” He seemed genuinely interested. Yet there was a reason you wanted to avoid it. Oftentimes when you told people about your books, the general reception wasn't that good. There was a reason you wrote under a pen name. 

However, Alastor wasn’t from around here, and you weren’t on New York Time’s Best Selling List yet, and probably never would be. So there was a chance he wouldn’t know or ever heard of your books. 

So you took the chance and said, “Yeah. I’m the author of Sea Rise.”

“Oooh,” Shit. “That book series about the pirates?” Dammit. 

You felt your cheeks burn as you took in a deep breath and nodded your head, “You’ve heard of them?” You wouldn’t look at him though. You just kept your gaze on some turtle resting on a log. 

“Yeah, never read them,” He gave a slight chuckle, “But the girl I work with-”

“You said her name is Charlie, right?”

“Yes- Well, she reads ‘em. She’s a big fan. I’m under the assumption that it’s about fictional pirates?” 

You took in a small breath then sighed, “Pretty much. It’s... not that amazing or anything. It’s okay.” You noticed that Alastor pushed off the rail and started to walk again, but slower this time.

“Tell me about it.” His words surprised you enough to look at him with a shocked expression. He laughed at you while giving a small wave of his hand, “Only if you want to. I’m sure you can’t talk much about spoilers.”

You blinked, then let out a shaky laugh, “I-I don’t know. It’s... A long story. This is for my fourth installation.”

He hummed with a slight chuckle, “Well it’s a good thing there is a snack bar over there.” He pointed to one not that far away, “And plenty of places to sit too.” 

There was something that flickered around in your chest. You felt butterflies you always wrote about in your stories. You peered at Alastor finding it hard to stare at his face. You glanced up from his shoes and got caught in that tilt in his smirk. Heat ran to your cheeks and spread across your nose, you gave a sharp nod of your head then awkwardly stuttered out, “O-okay!” With maybe a little too much excitement. Who knew that today, of all days... You’d run into someone like him. 

[bokettochild]

So, I was wondering if you could write a one-shot of Linkle(HW) and Wild having a crossbow/archery competition?

This ficlet could be read as taking place after Chapter 14 of The Blood Between Us, or can work as a stand alone. Either way works!

(If you have fic requests feel free to shoot them over, I'm always open!)

The kid had a bow.

He was sitting out in the courtyard, looking between the standard maintenance kit and his bow with a confused expression on his face as he sat on one of the resting benches spaced around the edges of the shooting range.

A smile pulled at her face.

Link was back home, but he was in the infirmary, recovering from injuries and a panicked faint that resulted in his being ordered to rest for the next few days. That of course meant that she couldn’t torture her twin, but he had brought along eight other heroes with him, two of which she knew on sight and few others she had recognized from illustrations and paintings that could be found throughout the royal studies.

It was good to see Mask again, and the Sailor too, but they weren’t her targets right now.

No, she wanted to talk to this one.

Link called him ‘Wild’, and while she wasn’t sure how she felt about calling him that, she was eager to get to know him. Link had said that the kid was more difficult than her (it was said fondly, but she saw the exhaustion in his gaze) and she was eager to see who could have possibly pushed her brother further than she herself had.

“You know how to use that thing?” She called, strolling over with a grin pulling at her features. Cornflower blue hues turned to stare up at her, curiosity shining clearly as he took her in.

“I’m a decent shot.” He shrugged, noncommittal. “I handle most of the shooting and hunting for our group anyways.”

She cocked a brow. Link had definitely said the kid was a master marksman, and the arrows hanging from the targets positioned around them seemed to confirm that.

It’s nice, Linkle chuckled to herself, that there was finally a hero who used a bow more than a sword. Take that Link! Heroes don’t need swords to win a war!

“I’m partial to a bow myself.” She muses aloud, noting the way the kid looks up at her with sudden interest. “Best shot in Hyrule in fact.” She smirks. “I can kick my baby brother’s ass.”

Wild chuckles softly. “Baby brother, huh? I thought he said you two were twins?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m the older twin, not that he’d ever agree on that point, but even so,” Her grin stretches even wider. “I know for a fact that he can’t shoot straight to save his life.”

The kid is full on giggling now as he nods, leaning lightly on his bow as the laughter shakes his body. “Oh, he’s terrible! Even Time can outshoot him, and he’s only got one eye!”

“Huh, why aren’t I surprised?” Linkle shakes her head, hands coming to rest on her hips. “Say,” She’s been meaning to direct the conversation this way since she stepped out here to find the kid, but she’s still a bit jumpy about it. She wants to connect with these heroes, the younger ones especially, and if Wild is a special case, then, well, who’s to know that? “How’d you like to compare skills? One on one, my bow against yours?”

She’s said something right and she knows it, at least if the tell-tale glimmer in the kid’s eyes is to be believed.

“What’s the target?”

“’Targets’, you mean?” She arches a curved brow, a smirk pulling at her features as the kid’s grin grows in kind. “Let me think...”

Link would kill her. Link would absolutely scold her and demand that she ceases her recklessness, but he’s always been the more- law abiding of the two of them. And a goody two-shoes. Anyways, Wild seems on board with it!

(She can almost hear Link scolding her for corrupting the kid.)

The two of them start on the roof of the castle (yes, the roof), her logic? Link is less likely to see them if they are above his head and therefore won’t be there to stop them (he’s supposed to be in bed, but even if he is a law-abiding citizen most of the time, he’s terrible about listening when he’s told to rest).

Their course will take them over the roof, their targets being the various targets set up below them in the various training yards of the castle. There is no pattern to follow when hitting the targets, but they aren’t allowed to stop in order to shoot, and if either one pauses for more than ten seconds than they immediately lose a point.

There’s the usual scoring system for the targets themselves of course, but they’ve agreed to have trick shots count for more.

Hero and heroine exchange grins and a handshake as they stand on one of the spires, and then they’re off.

She has the advantage of familiarity with the territory, the roofs being her chosen path of getting around since the halls of the castle itself are too twisted and confusing for her to actually bother with, but Wild lives up to his name, and he’s an agile kid, with balance better than a cat and speed that she envies. Never mind, she’s got the advantage of a crossbow, he has to do everything manually with his hunter’s bow.

Their first shots bolt down at almost the same second, colliding midair as a scowl is shared over the rooftops. She almost stops right then, but she forces herself to keep moving, repositioning and shooting again, her arrow flying true and landing near the center of the first target.

Wild doesn’t bother trying again, he moves on to the next target, shooting and hitting with an ease that assures her that she’ll actually have some proper competition for once.

After the fifth target is hit the both of them are already antsy to show off their skills, and the trick shots begin. There’s all sorts of flair and fuss she can use to make a show of herself, and below them, soldiers have gathered to cheer them on. Most know her, and they cheer as they watch her land from a backflip after hitting a target from midair, but there's a good few who cheer on Wild too; most of them have grudge against her for some reason, but there are a few she recognizes that simply seem genuinely impressed by the kid’s skills.

She can’t help but whistle in appreciation herself when the kid lets off three arrows in one shot, hitting an equal number of targets from in the air before he drops down to the roof below, skidding only an instant before he lets off another shot and takes off across the towers.

A cackle rises in her throat as she watched his duck and weave about the rooftop.

She’s claiming this kid, never mind if Link is already attached. This kid is her absolute favorite now.

Link had Mask anyway, he’ll be fine.

The targets below are full of arrows by the time Wild makes a mistake, the kids foot sliding too far off of the rooftop as he makes a landing. Below them, soldiers and servants alike gasp and shout in horror as the kid scrabbles for a hold on the roof, bow falling to the side as his nails scrape across the smooth tile.

Link is gonna kill her.

Linkle’s feet skid against the tile as she rushes over, a tower still sitting between them on the corner of the roof, but if she aims right, she might just...

Her feet barely clear the edge of the roof as she leaps the gap, and a heavy breath escapes her as she does so. They don’t need two people hanging off the edge.

Wild’s face is screwed up in a combination of irritation and fear as he fights for a hold, but he only has a moment longer to wait before her hands are catching ahold of his and pulling him up. The kid may be around her size, but he’s light, and she’s strong, he shoots up over the ledge, slamming into her and sending both of them tumbling along the tiles.

A heavy breath sounds from beside her as a few cheers echo from down below.

“Thanks.” Wild smiles at her, face flushed but beaming as he looks over to her. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” She waves him off. “I’ve done the same thing too many times to count. Link’s chewed me out for it more’n that though.”

Cornflower blue twinkles with mischief. “Thank Hylia he doesn’t know what we’re up to then, huh?”

“Don’t go thanking the goddesses too soon.”

Two blond head shoot up at once as the voice calls out from below and the kid pales considerably.

“The two of you want to get down here, or do I have to try and climb up?” The voice is deep, deeper than her brother, and it vibrates with the country twang that she and her brother had long since lost in their years in the city (not that he’d ever admit to having an accent).

“Coming, Twi.” Wild calls down, flushed and still shaking a bit, but there’s a tremor in his voice that she somehow knows isn’t from fear. His shoulders shake slightly as he turns a manic grin to her. “Last one down takes the blame.” And before she has a chance to respond or even pull herself up the kid is climbing down from the roof he had just been hanging off of, hands letting go of the ledge suddenly as a soft ‘thump’ is heard from below.

“Heeey, Twi...”

“Kid, what the heck?”

“Linkle did it.”

She suppresses a snort, jumping up and darting off across the roof. No one can scold her for this if they can’t find her, and it looks like Wild’s got the situation covered just fine.

[miraculouslycool]

kill ‘em with kindness

Merry Christmas Affiebear! (Sorry I couldn’t tag you on Tumblr)

I’m your secret santa for the APS Secret Santa Event of 2020!  Word on the street is that you are Marichat trash so take this fluff dump - I hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays!

Summary: When Marinette turns to Chat Noir for his opinion about a present for Adrien Agreste, he is at a loss for words.

Was it because he never got presents? Was it because how perfect and flawless her present was? Was it because of her kindness? Was it because when he thought no one cared for him, she was right there all along? Was it because he did not know what he had done to deserve her?

Was it because of Marinette?

He had no clue.

Read in AO3:

"Pound it!" Ladybug bumped fists with her partner.

"Well this was a terribly close call." Chat Noir stretched obnoxiously. "But there's nothing we can't handle, can we, m'lady?"

"Well you're right there. Except for all your taunting." Ladybug rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Hawkmoth akumatises XY because he gets cancelled online for throwing a tantrum?" Chat Noir exclaimed.

"You gotta admit it's a little funny, even if he was a pain in the neck."

"Your musical puns were way off-key."

"Well he did get akumatised because he got caught for plagiarism - heeeeeeyyyyy you made a pun!"

Ladybug stiffened. Oh no. He was not going to shut up about it. Seriously, was he rubbing off on her?

"What's wrong, m'lady?" He leaned in. "Would being in sync with me be such a bad thing?"

'Well if he was, maybe it wasn't a bad thing.' She thought fondly, pushing him away by the tip of his nose.

"Getting to be as loud and obnoxious as you for the rest of my life? Very tempting, mon chaton."

"You know it!" He did a small salute, grinning at her so widely it must be hurting his cheeks.

She knew better than anyone that Chat Noir was basically an adrenaline junkie, but why did it seem like he was happier than usual today?

He particularly enjoyed the fight today, taking extra pleasure in dodging hits and deflecting those that came her way.

At one point she almost heard him groan when she set the purified akuma free, but that must have been her imagination.

Not that she would know if it was, but was it a special occasion that she had forgotten about?

"Besides, it's too early for this." The 15 year old superhero shrugged, shaking those confused thoughts away.

Her earrings beeped. "I really need to s-cat." She intonated deliberately. "See you?"

"You need to leave?" He asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I'm kind of almost late for something." She said absent-mindedly. "See you tomorrow for patrol?"

He didn't answer for a while, and that made her look up.

He could not have looked more different from the happy-go-lucky kitten from just a few seconds ago.

The ever-present smile on his face had sagged a little, but it was determined to stay.

"Yeah, see you!" He waved stiffly.

"Chat, is everything okay?" She asked worriedly, touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" He asked, way too innocently. She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he gulped.

Tearing her eyes away from the long column of his throat, (seriously why was she even looking there?) she faced his eyes again. His very green eyes that thinly hid the discomfort behind them.

"Nothing, you just seemed off," Ladybug pressed on. "Are you absolutely sure you're okay?"

"Maybe-" he said, taking her hand from his shoulder, "-this cat just can't bear to be away from his lady for far too long." He kissed her knuckles leisurely. "Purr-haps he misses her too much."

"Sure he does." She meant for it to come off as teasing, barely toeing the line of friendly and flirty, but if anything it came off as even more concerned.

"Don't worry, m'lady. I just remembered something I have to do today at the last minute." He said.

"Do you need help? Is there anything I can do?" She asked, her mind already making up plans for a problem she didn't even know anything about beyond its existence.

"Un-fur-tune-ately, I can't say anything without giving away my secret identity." He shrugged. "Besides it's nothing serious. Just a quick errand I need to run."

His drooped shoulders had straightened up again in the speed of light.

"Okay." Ladybug murmured, sneaking a peek at his still-flattened cat ears. "If you say so."

She climbed on the ledge of the roof, preparing to take off. "See you tomorrow?" She asked.

"I'll be counting the seconds, m'lady." He bowed dramatically.

She couldn't even muster a laugh at that, like she usually would have. Her rapidly beating heart was taking up all her energy.

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"I'm here!!" Marinette declared with a loud shriek as she ran into her first class of the day.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, madame!" She bowed stiffly at her teacher's desk. "I had an assignment to finish and I stayed up late ironing my dog and I-"

To her surprise, she was cut off by her entire class laughing.

"Don't worry, Marinette." Alya called, making Marinette turn around. "You actually turned up earlier than Her Royal Majesty."

And that only made everyone laugh even louder. She faced the desk again, ready to flinch against her teacher's glare only to find out she had been bowing to an empty desk.

"Eep!" Marinette's cheeks colored in embarrassment as she turned to face her classmates' fond laughter.

"How's the dog doing, Marinette?" Alix catcalled.

Marinette made herself smaller as she walked to her seat next to Alya.

"I didn't mean to say that!" She protested, fuming.

Turning to her best friend, she whispered, "I only meant-"

"You were ironing your Adrien posters?" Alya giggled in a whisper.

"Alya!" Marinette flushed.

"I know, girl. Only teasing." She patted her back.

It was only then Marinette realized the lack of a certain blond mop of hair in her sight.

"Where's Adrien?" She asked. "Is he not coming to school today?"

"Hm, I'm not sure," Alya said, when Nino turned around to answer Marinette. "He's not coming to school for today, actually."

"What?" Marinette said, aghast, before toning it down. "Ahem, I mean, how come?"

Nino's face fell a little. "Well...um, how do I say this?"

Marinette glanced at Alya, who looked just as confused as she was.

"It's his mom's birthday." Nino winced.

Both girls gasped.

"Oh no," Alya said sympathetically.

"So, you know, he has to stay home and everything 'cause his father insists on having this memorial and everything." Nino looked more and more uncomfortable as he spoke, like he was imagining himself in Adrien's place the whole time. "And by memorial I mean piling more work on the poor kid."

"Why didn't any of us know?" Marinette asked, her heart twanging painfully for her crush- er, friend. "We could have done something, we could have at least told him-"

"I don't know, Marinette, but you two know how shy he is about these things." Nino said, ducking even more under his cap.

"That's true." Alya said thoughtfully, letting Nino entwine his fingers with her hand as his thumb caressed her knuckles. "He almost never talks about what's going on at home, does he?"

(Maybe now wasn't a good time to feel envious of Alya and Nino's ease when it came to affection, but it was hard not to.)

Marinette straightened her thoughts.

Her crush on him had no less faded over the last year. Her heart still beat loudly at even the slightest brush of his skin against hers, but Marinette was proud of herself for realizing that talking to Adrien normally and foaming at the mouth were mutually exclusive.

And as his friend, she couldn't let Adrien be alone at a time like this!

Not like she could actually ever get into his house unless she risked Tikki's wrath by abusing her powers.

"I can hear the gears in your brain turning, Marinette." Alya poked her shoulder. "What are you thinking?"

"Nino?" Marinette said hesitantly. "If I made Adrien something to cheer him up, and gave it to him, would he consider it insensitive?"

Nino immediately brightened up. "No way, dude! He would love something like that! Especially from you!"

"Especially from me?" Marinette paraphrased.

"Uh, what Nino means to say is that no one would ever refuse a gift as sweet as that!" Alya said through gritted teeth. "You just know a softie like Adrien would melt at your declaration of-"

"-Alya!" Marinette interjected.

"-friendship!" Alya finished, but Marinette was a 100 percent sure that was not what she was going to say. "Besides girl, who are we to stop you from a creative spree?"

Marinette sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was a conversation about her love life. She was NOT going to use this as an opportunity to confess.

"I don't think you'll be able to see him though. You'd have to mail it to him. Just like I'm gonna put his notes in that large mailbox you can't even open." Nino sounded disgruntled.

"Oh." Marinette said, her spirits sinking. Giving the present in person would have been nice. Seeing Adrien's handsome face hopefully brighten up as he opened it....

"Well, it doesn't really matter. As long as he gets it, am I right?" She said, ignoring the painful wiggle in her chest.

"Yep, don't forget to sign it, and you'll be fine." Alya teased, much to Marinette's chagrin.

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Finding a picture of Emilie Agreste was easy enough. She was an actress, after all.

But finding one of her with Adrien in it? Looks like Gabriel Agreste was talented at keeping his private life private. She couldn't find any picture or even some sort of information that would help in sketching her portrait for Adrien.

"Uh, Marinette?" Tikki landed on her shoulder. "I don't think you'll need information about Mme. Agreste's movies to draw a portrait of her."

"No, I know that, Tikki, it's just..." she put her phone down and looked at the bare boned sketch in her tablet. "I needed something to prove to myself that I'm not drawing the picture of a ghost." She gulped. "It's crazy how if it weren't for these official photos, it's almost like...."

"...she never existed?" Tikki said ominously. "Yes." Marinette sighed. "I can't imagine how Adrien must be feeling right now."

She couldn't fathom waking up one day and being told that one of her parents had gone forever, never to return.

It was too unbearable. How did Adrien live with it everyday?

"That's why he's so lucky to have friends like you, Marinette!" Tikki said encouragingly. "This is so thoughtful of you!"

"I guess..." Marinette mumbled.

"You could...maybe look up some movie stills?" Tikki suggested.

"No, Tikki, this has to be perfect!" Marinette said. "I doubt he wants his mom to look so...manufactured." she grumbled. "And I really want to draw him in too... I can always use one of his photos as reference but - what if Adrien thinks I'm insensitive for reminding him about the very thing he's trying to forget?! And then he'll hate me forever!" She catastrophized.

"Oh, Marinette." Tikki shook her tiny head. "You know, someone very wise told me that the most important thing about a present is the person giving it."

"Who said that?"

"You did!" Tikki said. "And you know that Adrien wouldn't ever say that to you."

"Yeah...he's too kind to say something bad about my lame drawing."

"Nuh uh." Tikki flew directly up to Marinette's nose. "No negative thoughts. You are going to make a beautiful painting, filled with a lot of love, Adrien is going to absolutely love your present."

Marinette half-smiled. "Thanks, Tikki. What would I do without you?"

Tikki paused to kiss Marinette's forehead. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yes." Marinette said determinedly, keeping an eye on the two photos open in her monitor as she began to sketch.

She had no idea how long she had been drawing, but for some reason her eyes kept on drifting towards the little cat toy she and Chat Noir used to communicate with each other.

Her kitty was pretty out of it today. Was he doing okay? Did his errand go well? What had made him look so disappointed?

Well, he always did look a little sad every time they had to part ways, but she always assumed it had something to do with not being able to see each other as much as they would like.

She knew because she felt the same. In a world full of school assignments, commissions, half worded excuses and akuma attacks, it was practically impossible to imagine it all without Chat Noir. He was one of the few constants in her whirlwind of a life.

Was he doing okay?

"Hey, Tikki?"

"Yes, Marinette?" She looked up from chewing on her cookie.

"Do you think Chat Noir is okay?"

"Ah, but that's a question only Chat Noir can answer."

"That does not help." Marinette grumbled. "Would I be prying if I asked today how his day went? I'm the one enforcing the secret identity rules after all."

"Just talk to him, I'm sure he'd be open to discussing things a little."

"You sure I won't make him uncomfortable? That's the last thing I want to do."

"He's your partner, Marinette, if you can't talk hypothetically with him, who can you talk to?" She said. "Literally." She added after a beat.

Marinette mustered a chuckle, eyeing the kitty toy one last time. "If you say so." She returned to sketching Adrien's vivid green eyes which so resembled his mother's.

And Chat Noir's.

Adrien needed to get away.

That was all he wanted out of life. To get away from his current one.

Staying put in his room for 13 years couldn't have been all there was to life. So he escaped to public school.

Being kind, polite, engaging yet restrained couldn't have been all there was to engage in conversations. A ring and a tiny trickster god gave him an escape route for that.

Maybe, just maybe, in an island far away, where no one could find him, where no one except Ladybug had to put up with him willingly, he wouldn't have to hold back fearing his father's reaction on his mother's birthday of all days.

He felt bad about leaving Nino on read, he felt worse upon learning that his father would not be joining him for dinner AGAIN.

For once, Plagg didn't complain, and he was grateful.

He vaulted out of his window and ran as far as he could. Maybe not the smartest of moves - as a superhero he did technically know the city better than most people.

He was also that kid trapped in a gilded cage for most of his formative years.

His feet took him somewhere, for all he cared he could have ended up in his dream island with Ladybug waiting for him there and he wouldn't have noticed.

A stitch in his side made him stop in his tracks.

His knee hit the narrow roof he had landed on.

'That's weird.' he thought. He usually had no problem running marathons in his super suit.

He grunted, panting heavily as he slid down the chimney. Was even his body refusing to co-operate today? The ONE time he wanted to run away for a few minutes - and of course he practically collapses on a stranger's roof.

'Unbelievable.'

Who was he kidding? He was the superhero of bad luck. What was he expecting, really?

A glint of a streetlight caught his attention.

He could see his school!

Which meant...the house he was sitting on-

"Such a clear night out, don't you think?"

Adrien jumped skittishly, only nearly catching himself at the edge of the roof.

Crap.

Maybe she hadn't heard him?

"Who's there?!" He heard her call out cautiously.

Ok. Maybe she thought it was a LITERAL cat.

"I can hear you!" he heard her, much more braver this time. "I am armed!"

Just when everything was going wrong today, he just had to scare Marinette too.

"WOAH!" He revealed himself, his hands up in surrender. "No need for a catfight, princess. It's just me."

"Chat Noir?" Marinette put down her...potted plant?

"You weren't gonna plant evidence of a murder, were you?" he joked, trying to calm down his rapidly beating heart.

She placed her hands on her hips. "Very funny."

He landed on her railing. "Sorry." he said apologetically. "I was just passing by and I accidentally slid off your roof. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, that's okay." she waved it off. "I wasn't THAT scared."

Adrien's breath hitched a little once he finally got to look at his friend. She was wearing a cardigan over her pink and white pajamas.

And her hair was down.

"Did something happen?" Marinette asked. "Is there an akuma out?"

Her blue eyes glinted with dangerous anxiety.

He didn't understand why he found that...alluring? Of course she would be cautious about having akumas out and about. She lived in Paris just like everyone else.

"No, no." He clarified. "I was out and about. You know, just wanted to get some fresh air and look over my favourite city." he said half-heartedly.

"What about Ladybug?" she asked with a small smile. "Are you two patrolling together today?"

He winced.

"Um...no. Not today. She's probably getting some well-deserved rest, I think." he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh. I see." Marinette said shortly. "Good for her."

"Don't let me keep you!" Chat said hurriedly. "I'll just be off-"

"Wait!" Marinette stopped him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking her hand away, but the concern still remained.

He was momentarily distracted by her pushing back one of the strands of hair away from her face.

Fisting his itching fingers, he tried to appear confused.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking at him up and down. "You look exhausted."

"Pffffft."

He didn't know why his knee jerk reaction was to laugh.

Marinette looked at him like he had grown an extra tail.

"Don't worry, ma princesse, these suits are immune to exhaustion."

"But you're not." she said flatly, making him blink. "There's still a normal person behind the mask, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days."

"Oh come on, it was only yesterday and today!" he said defensively.

"Chat Noir!" Marinette exclaimed.

"I don't see you tucking yourself in."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a superhero with a duty to the city now, am I? You need the extra sleep more than I do."

He opened his mouth to retort, but there was nothing witty about silence.

"I rest my case." she said, smugly smiling at him.

"I just couldn't sleep, okay?" he sighed, brushing his hair back. "Things...are going on in my life."

He almost found himself elaborating before realising that he still wore a mask.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Marinette asked him kindly.

Putting Marinette in danger was the last thing he wanted.

"I don't think I can explain fully." he said, truly disappointed. "Identity rules and all that."

"Oh." a flicker of sadness passed through her face, before she straightened up.

"You don't have to tell me everything! But is there anything else I can do to help?"

'Not unless you can magically find my mother again.' he thought pitifully.

"Thank you, Marinette. You're one of the kindest people I know and I really appreciate it, but there's not much I can do so..."

"Well." Marinette didn't seem to want to give up on him. "I came up here to make a present for my cr- I mean friend, and I have cookies! Do you want to rest here for a while?"

Cookies.

Cookies sounded great.

Some time with his friend sounded absolutely incredible too.

"If it's not too much of a bother..."

"Get down, you silly cat!" she laughed in a tinkling echo, pulling on his arm impatiently.

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

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something sweet.

What a way to break a fast.

"Careful, you're gonna mold your teeth together." A finger poked his cheek playfully.

"Hm?" He started, his mouth still full of chocolate chip cookies. "Whaffyoumen?" he burbled.

Oops. It probably wasn't a good idea to talk with his mouth full. He could almost feel Nathalie's disapproving glare on him.

But Marinette only choked out a chuckle. "You should see your face right now!"

He slowly swallowed, taking in how her entire body moved when she laughed. Her slender shoulders shook in mirth...and was she wiping tears from her eyes?

"Well, can you blame me?" he said, stifling the surprise he felt at his voice sounding normal. He hadn't even realised that he had swallowed his food.

"The Dupain-Cheng cookies are out of this world!" he hummed appreciatively as he bit into another cookie. "This stray cat is probably gonna linger for a long time, disturbing your good night's sleep all for a taste of your legendary cookies, and you will have no one but yourself to blame." he warned seriously, leaning against the wooden frame of the side of Marinette's deck chair.

"Well I hope the stray knows he is always welcome here." Marinette said, putting her e-marker down.

He blinked, taken aback at her very forward words.

He really was joking. He wasn't really going to come back again and again like a creep and intrude on Marinette's night.

"And I'm probably the biggest night owl I know." she shrugged. "I'm always up sewing or drawing or something or the other."

"Wow, no wonder you're always late to school." he blurted without thinking.

Marinette stiffened, slowly raising her head to look at him.

"How did you know I was always late to school?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

Crap.

Why couldn't he keep his big mouth shut? Now he had gone and babbled to Marinette - and Ladybug was going to have his skin for this-

"I...didn't?" he stammered, thinking quickly. "But now I do!" he schooled his expression into a joking one. "Tsk, tsk, Marinette, it's not good for kids to be so tardy-hey!"

He was cut off by Marinette slamming a throw pillow into his face. "You-you trickster!"

"But I didn't do anything!" He let out a broken laugh, trying to dodge Marinette's well-placed hits.

"I wasn't the one who accused myself of being late!"

"I wasn't the one who confirmed it!" He chuckled as the pillow hit his shoulder, along with a hard hit from her knuckles. "But I bet you're in detention all the time."

"I'll have you know I'm a star student!" Marinette sat up straight, lifting her shoulders proudly. "I am perfectly capable of keeping up with all my work."

Well, he knew she wasn't wrong. Marinette was one of their best students and Adrien had often found himself wondering just how she kept up with all her work.

"My a-paw-logies, purrincess." he bowed his head deeply. "I had no idea your talents made you more than just a pretty girl. And that's saying something, coming from the prettiest cat in all of Paris." he flaunted obnoxiously.

"You silly cat." Marinette rolled her eyes, and his breath hitched.

Something about this was vaguely familiar. The proud tone of voice, the firm set of her chin, the slight glare in her eyes - like he was a challenge she was not afraid of.

Of course he knew that Marinette possessed a lot of qualities he would associate with Ladybug. Her kindness, her bravery, her headstrong nature, her blue eyes, her silky hair that no doubt reminded him of his fantasies of a Ladybug with her hair down.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adrien felt ashamed of himself. Here she was, being impossibly more kind to him than he deserved, and here he was, acting beyond stupidly.

Marinette was a pretty girl, he had always known that, he wasn't going to deny it, but he wasn't going to fixate on it anymore.

Besides, Ladybug was the only one for him...right?

"Believe me," he reached out to hold her hand. "Talking about the new UMS update and shoving cookies down my throat is exactly what I needed."

He squeezed her hand and let go, partly embarrassed that he really wanted to kiss it and partly furious that he had even considered that.

“You’re amazing, Marinette. I really hope you know that.”

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. “Oh stop, I didn’t do anything, I really enjoy your company anyway. But I’m really glad you’re feeling better!"

She did much more than she thought. Somehow a half an hour of proximity to Marinette’s radiance did wonders to his mood.

"Thanks." he said, the smile playing easily on his lips.

"Oh come on!" Marinette sighed exasperated, pointing to her tablet.

It was scattered on its back on the pillow which Marinette had used to bonk him.

"Oops, sorry, princess!" He said hastily, picking it up and turning it on.

He breathed a sigh of relief when it flickered on. The last thing he wanted was to inconvenience Marinette with his clownery.

"What were you drawing anyway?" he asked, grinning up at her. "Another incredible design worthy of the front cover of Vogue?"

He glanced down at the screen, and Marinette snatched her tablet away quickly.

One second was enough to register what he had seen.

"Uh, ah, not exactly...?" Marinette stammered. "I-it's nothing! I was just trying out some new sketches and stuff!! I'm always drawing dresses and that gets boring after a while don't you think?!" she let out a very loud, and nervous laugh.

Chat was sure his mind was playing tricks on him.

His mother was on his mind all day, so obviously the first thing he saw on a screen would be a very detailed and meticulous sketch of a portrait of him and his mother.

"Uh, is that the Agreste kid?" he gulped. "I recognize him from all the billboards and stuff."

"N-no! It's not! Like I said, I was just practicing sketching people and this was the first thing that popped up in google!" she dropped the tablet again on her lap to flail her arms around. "It's nothing!!"

Not that he was able to register her art in complete detail - but the first thing about it that caught his eye was well, his eyes.

"May I...?" he asked gently, holding out a gloved hand.

He waited for her to give the tablet to him, (which strangely brought about a sense of deja vu regarding an umbrella) and peered at the drawing.

It was the color of leaves, the color of grass, the kind of shade that made one slack-jawed at its brilliance.

He was always told that his almond shaped eyes were beautiful, but it's not like he ever cared for things like that.

Marinette was flustered and nervous, a lot, but she wasn't the kind to falsely exaggerate things.

Why did Marinette draw him like that? So expressive? So full of life?

One look at the beautiful, smiling woman with her arms around his shoulders gave him the answer.

Whoever said it was easy to know the worth of our loved ones wasn't wrong. His mum was smiling for the camera, but her green eyes (the same shade as his) were peering down at him lovingly.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes but he forced them back.

He missed her. He missed how she used to play the piano for him, how she would let him place his tiny hands over hers while she taught him the chords, how she used to be a fan of every tv show he watched, how her voice reading a bedtime story used to be the only thing that would rock him to sleep.

He cleared his throat and said, "It looks stunning, Marinette. You are so talented!!"

Marinette deserved the praise. His blubbering could wait for now.

"R-really?"

For the first time, Marinette was actually shy in front of Chat Noir. "T-thank you."

"Is there a story behind this?" he asked, handing her tablet back.

"I mean, it's curious how of all people you chose the Agrestes." he tried to come off as conversational and not desperate.

"Well, I...promise me you won't laugh?"

"Is it a joke I will laugh at?" He raised an eyebrow.

(Oh no, what if it was a joke?! What if Marinette was just practicing and he went and made it more serious than it actually is-)

"Chat!" she snapped.

"Okay, okay, I promise." he drew a cross over his heart. "Feline's honour."

"Okay." Marinette took a deep breath before answering. "You know how Adrien Agreste is in my class?"

"Yeah!" he said a bit too enthusiastically before reeling himself in. "I mean, I've seen him around." he amended.

"Okay so, today is his late mother's birthday." she mumbled, twiddling her thumbs.

"You know-?"

"Not that I researched it!" she practically yelled. "His best friend told me! And he was pretty worried because Adrien didn't come to school and I was worried too - because well, uh, I really can't imagine how awful he must be feeling and I just wanted to make him something so that he could feel better....?"

Words were failing him.

She must have taken his silence for disgust because she prattled on. "I would have finished it sooner and mailed it to him but its so PERSONAL and I didn't want to be insensitive, what am I SAYING-"

"Wait." Chat interrupted. "The gift you were talking about. The one for your friend. It's this?"

She hesitated before nodding.

If the tears were imminent before, they were lashing away at his eyes, threatening to blur the lines of superhero-civilian-friend-acquaintance and throw his arms around Marinette and sob into her shoulder and thank her for the rest of his life.

Adrien wasn't Chat Noir for nothing. He had learned the difference between the emotions he could express and the emotions he had to keep in check.

"Marinette?" he asked, gulping down his tears. "Why would I laugh at this?"

"I don't know...isn't it childish? Wouldn't he prefer something better? Something that doesn't remind him of someone he is grieving for? What if he hates it?? What if he never wants to see me again??" her voice was progressively getting louder.

"Marinette-" He reached out to hold her shoulders, but she beat him to it, gripping his arms and shaking him a little.

"I'll never forgive myself if that happens!!"

Of course he knew Marinette cared. She was the kindest person he knew.

He didn't know she cared about him enough to pour her heart and soul into a beautiful present made just for him. He didn't know she cared so much about HIS opinion on something. No one ever asked him what his thoughts and opinions were.

But why him? Why him of all people?

"Marinette." he said gently, willing himself to calm down as he held her arms and pushing himself away gently.

He couldn't sit too close. If he did, he would want to hug her and bury his face into her neck and have a good cry, and worse, he WOULD do exactly that.

"Why would Adrien dislike it?" he murmured. "He would be more than happy to recieve something amazing like that."

"You're just saying that." she said miserably, her shoulders hunching over.

"No!! Trust me, Adrien is going to LOVE it. He is..." one of his claws caught absent mindedly on a stray strand of hair.

It had dislodged itself away from her hair.

Well that simply wouldn't do.

"He is so lucky to have a friend like you."

He didn't know why the word 'friend' was suddenly so hard to say.

"There's a reason why you are my favourite civilian, you know." he said, pushing the lock of hair behind her ear.

She involuntarily snorted. "You're a superhero. You can't play favourites."

"I can if my favourite is the kindest, most talented, most incredible person I know."  he retorted.

Did he hear her breath hitch?

"But Adrien is the best friend anyone could ask for! He's always so supportive, he never turns down an opportunity to help someone out, even in his busy schedule - he's so hands-uh, he's very hands on!!" She stammered at the last minute. "I can't give him any old drawing and expect him to accept it!"

"That old drawing??" he repeated incredulously. "I can't believe you are insulting that work of art!"

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

"I don't, actually." he quipped. "I don't see any reason why he shouldn't accept it. And if he's half the decent dude you say he is, he will. Believe me, Marinette. Amazing girls like you should have nothing to worry about. If anything, your friend Adrien is the lucky one."

He meant it with his whole heart. If he couldn't hug Marinette (and stay there for the rest of his life) as Chat Noir, tomorrow he was going to do it as Adrien and let her know just how wonderful of a person she truly was.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one comforting you?" her tone was teasing, but sincere at the same time.

"Anything for my favourite civilian, remember?" He winked.

To his utter surprise, Marinette flung her arms around him in a tight hug.

She didn't even take him by surprise, yet he felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

She practically had to kneel while he was able to envelop her in his arms while sitting down.

She was the small one, but he was the one feeling safe and protected in her embrace.

He was able to register how rapid her heartbeat was (or maybe it was his, he couldn't tell), how she breathed, how her cheek was pressed against his shoulder -

"Thank you for being such a good friend, Chat Noir." she said into his chest.

'You. Are. A. Despicable. Human. Being.' His conscience snarled as it sunk.

Why was it? He was more than happy to be Marinette's friend. He was!

"Hey," Marinette said into his ear, after a few minutes (or atleast he thought so), "Ladybug is incredible and all, but between you and me, it's you I'm a fan of."  

Marinette Dupain Cheng was a CHAT NOIR fan?

MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG was a Chat Noir fan!

His ego swelled and deflated at that.

"Well, No. #1 fan, I'm all for selfies, as long as the camera flash isn't turned on and I autograph in paw prints and ink." he said cheekily.

"Gee." Marinette said flatly. "No thank you. I'd rather not have my papers stained in paw prints."

"Well some of us can't draw as well as you. It would be unbecoming of me to scribble all over your headshots of me you're no doubt hiding."

Her cheeks turned pink at that, but quickly calmed down. "Ha, you wish." she turned away shyly.

"Marinette?" he said kindly. "I meant every word I said. If Adrien hates your present, I'm sorry to say this but he can piss right off."

He was met with a another pillow to his face.

"Watch it," she said threateningly but he could hear the smile in her voice.

[angelguk]

the one where jeongguk is in love with your voice (and also kind of in love with you). barista!jeongguk and busker!oc meeting for the first time. this was meant to be the intro for a fic but....life happens :/ still! it’s fun and jaykay is in love !! 3.3k words. listen to i want to be with you by chloe moriondo :3

The first time Jeon Jeongguk saw you he swore his heart stopped. It was early autumn and the sun was beating down on the tired pavement you’d paused at. He'd taken an impromptu break during the few moments it had taken you to set up and get your guitar out of its case. At first, he didn’t notice anything, too preoccupied with the game lighting up his phone screen to pay attention to the serene streets outside.

Then he heard your voice.

It wafted through the open windows and stained the atmosphere in the café, mingling with the scent of bitter coffee and burnt saccharine sugar. It took him a moment to register that the sound wasn’t coming from the speakers Seokjin had installed roughly a month ago but rather from the person standing outside in the late afternoon sun. The sound was coming from you.

He got up slowly, oblivious of the inquisitive gaze Seokjin was giving him and ambled to the glass French windows that allowed customers a full view of the cobblestone pavements outside the café. It also served the purpose of giving Jeongguk full view of you.

There was a claret scarf swathed around your neck. It was the first thing he noticed. You’d lazily tossed it over your shoulders in an attempt to combat the cool breeze that accompanied the autumn sun. The colour highlighted your skin, leaving you glowing underneath the afternoon sky. The guitar captured his attention next; it looked loved, stickers and small scruffs against the warm chestnut wood made it evident that that instrument had been in your hands countless times. That wasn’t difficult to confirm because your fingers deftly skipped over the strings with ease, pressing and strumming out notes that flowed into your euphonious voice.

It caught him by surprise, how much he liked the sound of you singing. But what drew Jeongguk in was the pure look of bliss that was painted across your features, a lazy smile gracing your lips as you sang out the lyrics of some song Jeongguk had never heard but he was going to look up in a moment.

He didn’t know how long he stood by the window watching you. Seokjin didn’t call his name when his break was over and time seemed to pass by in an instant yet it felt like it had been dragged out. He only resurfaced from his reverie when you stopped strumming your guitar. By then a small crowd had gathered and he couldn’t make out your face anymore but he heard the sound of your laughter skipping through the air as clear as the ringing of a bell. You sounded so thrilled, chatting away with some people who had the courage to walk up to you and compliment your talents. Maybe he should too — after his shift ends anyway.

(Unbeknown to him his shift had ended ten minutes ago but he still was stagnant at the window, watching you flit about with a grin on your face).

But then you were packing up and sauntering away and Jeongguk felt his heart twang as if he was one of the strings of your guitar. He had no idea if you would come back to the same spot again — he’d never even seen your face before. If only he’d gone out and said something, or just stood in the crowd and applauded.

But there was no point in dwelling on it so he ripped off his black apron in the staff room and bid Seokjin goodbye. His feet were heavy as he walked home and he kept glancing around, a sliver of hope that maybe you’d moved on to busk in a different but nearby location.

He didn’t find you despite aimlessly roaming around for an extra thirty minutes.

The next afternoon he found himself a place in front of the windows, gaze focused on the street across the café, a slight buzz in his veins because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. The urge to see you again was driving him slightly mad and his co-workers could sense that because Namjoon and Jimin had vanished behind the counters. Seokjin didn’t say anything about his unusual behaviour.

He sat there, expectant, but you never come. This reiterated itself for the next few days until he abandoned the routine and reverted to his usual break schedule; he found his old spot in the back of the café and bent himself over his phone screen once more.

And then you came back a week later, a different scarf tangled around your neck (purple this time – or at least that’s what he could discern) and your beloved guitar in hand. Jeongguk found himself at the windows again, staring at your figure with an odd warmth blooming in his chest. You hadn’t missed a single Saturday since and Jeongguk had never been able to approach you either.

↯

Winter's around the corner, glaring by the fading ochre leaves tumbling from branches above. They form a golden carpet on the ground, the trees above left bare and exposed to the bitter winter wind. In general, Jeongguk favoured the feeling of sunlight against his skin — bright emerald leaves over sepia tones — which is why he abhorred this season. And yet he couldn’t help himself from staring out the window, the world falling into a cold slumber before his eyes. But the wonders of winter weren’t the reason Jeon Jeongguk was leaning against the windows of The Container, the café he worked at. He didn’t give a damn about winter; he was too preoccupied watching the girl across the street.

There’s a chill in the air, evident by the stiffness in your fingers as they strum the guitar in your grip. Why you hadn’t worn a thicker jacket was lost to him. Everyone knew how brutal the winters down here could get. Yet there you were, in a flimsy piece of fabric that didn’t hold the chill away, gingerly plucking at the chords of your guitar. For some reason, the sight of you enduring the cold and singing with a smile on your face made something warm kindle in his heart.

“If you keep standing like that you’re going to dent your face into the glass,” Namjoon comments, a cloth in his hands as he wipes the coffee tables  — a task Jeongguk was meant to be doing.

“Just dent the glass? Hyung, Jeongguk turned into a statue months ago. Don’t forget to dust him down, we don’t want our most prized decoration covered in cobwebs,” Jimin adds on, fingers swiftly drying up porcelain cups and saucers.

“Shut up,” Jeongguk retorts, snatching up his cloth and tearing himself away from the view before him. “I haven’t seen her in a while. She skipped the last couple of weekends, remember?”

“I’m sorry but I don’t have her schedule in my head, lover boy,” Jimin says, attempting to balance ten saucers and four cups in his hands, which was only going to end in a calamity of splintered glass and a tomato red Seokjin.  

“That’s not an excuse to stare at her like a psychopath through the window,” Namjoon interjects, kicking in a stray chair as he purposefully misses the glare Jeongguk shoots in his direction. “Jimin put those cups down before you break something. Seokjin will dock that shit from your paycheck and you still owe me five dollars.” His gaze flickers back to Jeongguk who was only half-heartedly cleaning up the café, “Are you ever going to talk to her? I bet she’s wondering who is the ugly guy who keeps staring at her.”

“I will! I’m just taking some time—"

“Time to do what?” Jimin had somehow successfully transferred everything in his grasp back into the cupboard, a triumphant grin on his face. “Your dick is going to shrivel up if you don’t get laid soon. And as far as I know, she's the only girl who has your attention.”

“Jimin has a point. I’m tired of hearing the terrible porn you watch at three am. Like come on, their moans are clearly fake and you still blast that shit.”

“I’ll turn it down when you clean after yourself. How many times have I picked up your dirty underwear from the couch?” Jeongguk snaps back.

“Disgusting. You’re both heathens. This is why I can’t live with you,” Jimin says, nose crinkled up as he dumps another set of dirty dishes into the sink.

“Glad to see my employees are hard at work.” No one had noticed Seokjin amble in and lean against the wall. “Jeongguk has a point, Joon. I can’t keep picking up your dirty laundry, you’re twenty-four not five,” he raises a hand to halt the torrent of words that threatened to spill from both Jeongguk’s and Namjoon’s mouths. “I wasn’t done. Namjoon also has a point, the shit your watch at ungodly hours is loud and disgusting and you need to make a move eventually. This whole stalker thing is starting to creep out customers.”

“Are you concerned about your business or me as a person?” Jeongguk questions, walking over to the sink to wring out his cloth.

“My business. Obviously.”

Jimin's muffled laughter fills the room as he flicks water in Jeongguk’s direction. “Some of us actually care and the last time you stuck your dick in anything was seven months ago. Which is mildly concerning.”

“I don’t need to constantly have sex like you Jimin.”

“You say that but I bet you’d kill to have the sex life I have.”

“STI’s have not and never will be desirable, hyung.”

“Shut it. Even if I dared you to, you wouldn’t have the guts to approach her.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge, baiting Jeongguk magnificently.

“Fuck you, I can and will approach her. Eventually.” He turns away from the sink, abandoning the cloth, a broom in his grasp as he saunters back to the window. You're still singing away to a small gaggle of people, the wind whipping at your skin. You really should have worn a thicker jacket. Maybe he should bring you something to drink? But do you even like coffee? Or were you a tea person?

“She’s probably a college student. By default all college students are required to like coffee whether they want to or not,” Namjoon interjects.

“Wait was I talking out loud?” He can feel the heat of mortification filling his face.

“This is why I need you to get laid,” Jimin remarks.

“I need you to shut up.”

"Jeongguk if I were you I'd go out there right now and give her a cup of coffee. In fact, I dare you to. I'll do the rest of the dishes for the semester if you do it." Namjoon’s arms are crossed over his broad chest, eyes staring Jeongguk down audaciously. The look in his eyes is telling like he knows Jeongguk would rather set himself on fire than talk to you. And he isn’t wrong.

“Jeongguk move, right now,” Seokjin hastily intervenes. “Shoo! He’s offering to wash the dishes! Grow a pair and get out the door right now!”

Seokjin’s right. The three of them abhorred washing the dishes (which was why Jimin was at the sink while they swept and dusted the café). So this was a perfect offer. He knew he should just take it because Namjoon didn’t do shit in the house anyway but he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, a steady dampness forming in his palms. What if you found the gesture weird? What if you found him weird? What if his actions would make you run away from the café and then Jeongguk would never be able to see you again?

“Hyung...” His uneasiness was evident in his tone, whine sounding exactly like a wounded puppy.

“Knew you couldn’t do it.” Namjoon plucks up his cloth once more. “This really isn’t healthy though. She’s not some mythical creature, Jeongguk, she’s a person and people talk to each other.”

“I’m sorry are you declining Namjoon’s offer?” Seokjin looks as if he wants to snatch the broom from Jeongguk’s grasp and smack it against his skull. “Jeon Jeongguk you are putting your job at stake.”

“You can’t fire me for that! That’s unfair dismissal!”

“I’ll fire you for whatever.” Seokjin shifts towards the machines behind the counter, briefly cleaning his hands underneath the running sink. “I’m going to make you a latte and you’re going to leave this place and give it to her. Namjoon is offering to clean for God’s sake!”

Seokjin doesn’t pay attention to Jeongguk’s protests, swiftly fiddling with the machines as they whirr to life. “Here.” His outstretched hand held a steaming cup of coffee. “Are you going to take it or are we going to stay here all day?”

Jeongguk pauses, acutely aware of the tense atmosphere fusing with the scent of coffee beans and cream.  He doesn’t have to do it; he could just take the coffee and drink it himself. But then the sound of your voice comes drifting in through the open windows and his chest closes up. You’re singing louder for some reason, almost as if you were calling him to come. In all honesty, Jeongguk had to get over his fear of you. Namjoon’s right — you aren’t some mythical creature — you’re just a person like he was. And even if the small (read really big) crush he had over you felt paralysing at times it was better to say he tried then to admit he never did anything at all.

With a wave of sudden sureness rushing through his body he grabs the cup from Seokjin’s outstretched hand and twists around, blatantly ignoring the slow clap Jimin starts up or the shock filling Namjoon’s eyes.

His feet hit the pavement with a resounding thud, one that he feels in his chest but he keeps on walking. The closer he gets the more he feels like the world is slowing down. By now the crowd had dispersed, only one or two people stood around lingering. That’s reasonable because the sun had dipped further into the horizon, dwindling golden rays of sunlight illuminating the pavements. An instant later, he’s standing before you holding the cup of coffee in his hands. It’s then he realises just how stupid he probably looks. It suddenly hits that he’s got no idea if you were lactose intolerant or whether you preferred soy or oat or almond or how sweet you liked your coffee or whether you liked coffee at all and then you were looking at him and he didn't know what to say.

He tries to open his mouth but he can’t grasp at the words he needs. The strumming of your guitar slows down, a curious sparkle in your eyes as you look at the boy before you who’s turning bright rose with every passing second.

Jeongguk immediately goes on autopilot, shoving the cup in your direction. “Um, here, coffee. It’s cold.”

“The coffee? Sorry but I think I’ll pass on iced coffee,” you reply, shooting him a soft smile. “Thank you though.”

“Uh — no. The coffee isn’t cold, the weather is cold. I just thought that maybe you’d want something warm to drink?” Jeongguk wants the ground to open up below him.

The corners of your lip tug upward, eyes flickering over Jeongguk’s body. He refuses to look directly at you but he can feel the warmth of your gaze as you examine him. This is a stupid idea and he was going to kick Seokjin in the balls when he gets back inside. But instead of hearing a rejection floating from your lips, your voice urges his eyes up from the ground with wonder. “Sure, why not,” you say, an easiness in your tone. The coffee cup is out of his hand before he can blink.

He feels something in him shift violently when a smile breaks across your face.

The slamming of his heart against his ribs is nothing compared to the pounding in his head because holy shit your smile was the best thing he’d ever seen. Your face just lights up, the grin on your lips just as dazzling as the bright afternoon sun behind you. It felt as if there’s a hand around his heart squeezing it tight, leaving him breathlessly in love.

“Before I drink this,” you say, fiddling with the cup in your hand. “How do I know it’s not been tampered with?”

He flushes, taken back by your valid direct question. The sentence that leaves his lips is jumbled, a result of his nerves getting the best of him. “Uh — I  —well — um, I work over there,” he gestures to the establishment behind him, ears tinging rouge when his gaze lands on Seokjin standing menacingly behind the window. “My boss made it for you — well not for you, but kind of? I could have made you one too but he did — for no particular reason of course.”

Your laugh is light and airy, wrapping around his heart with a gentleness that leaves him woozy.

“Okay, I believe you.” You take a ginger sip of the coffee, still brightly gazing at him. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you. And a latte too, that's my favourite. Good guess.”

Jeongguk is never going to hit or insult Kim Seokjin again. His words still feel clunky falling out his mouth but he can't stop them from escaping.“You’re welcome! Thought I would bring you something you know. It’s really cold and you’re kind of the reason why we get so many customers.”

The eyebrow you raise is playful. “So you’re paying me with free coffees now? Not a bad move.”  

He rubs the nape of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Got to keep the free advertisement happy, right?”

You laugh again and Jeongguk feels his world rearrange. In a second he’s buzzing, the warmth of your voice rushing through his body and leaving his nerves humming. Your smile was starting to have an adverse effect on Jeongguk’s heart. It might have stopped functioning properly a moment or so ago.

“I appreciate the gesture. Tell your boss thank you for me.”

Jeongguk splutters, eyes soft as he looks at you. “Actually, if you want to come in I could fix you something else as well. On the house! You can meet my boss as well.”

You pause, pretty lip caught between your teeth in thought. He thinks you might say yes. Needs you to say yes more than he’s needed anything else in his life. But then your eyes flicker to the well-worn leather watch strapped around your wrist, gaze crestfallen the second you register the time.

“I can’t today, unfortunately! Got to hurry somewhere right now.” He watches you pack up your guitar, the swiftness in your movements stabbing at his infatuated heart, the coffee he’d handed you sitting lonesome on the ground. You stuff the loose change scattered within your guitar case in your pocket before delicately placing the instrument in there. It only hits him then that he never once tossed something in there as a show of gratitude to you for filling the world with your mellifluous voice. His empty hands suddenly felt useless beside him, swinging forlornly in the winter breeze. He wants to help you, but he’s afraid he’s encroached enough already. “Thank you again. Maybe I'll drop by one day,” you say, smile bright and warm. He commits the image of you looking at him like that to memory, treasuring it deep inside of his heart.

“Yeah, sure. No problem." He doesn't want you to leave, but he can’t think of a way to make you stay.

Then you're gone, coffee clutched in your hand as you melt into the hordes of people roaming through town. Your claret scarf is the last he sees of you before he registers that he never asked for your name.

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Nineteen

length: 2.1k

taglist: @hewwo-from-the-other-side 

masterlist

San's threat sits heavily in all corners of your brain. At breakfast, chewing slowly at your buttered bread, at night, laying in bed with Wooyoung's breath tickling the back of your neck and his arm weighing across your stomach.

Even now, sat on the bench in Hongjoong's study, as you look silently up at Seonghwa, Yeosang, Jongho and Wooyoung discussing a game plan, San's words echo at the forefront of your mind.

"I'll give you a week to tell them yourself. If you don't, then I will."

There was no way in Hell you could tell Yeosang what you did. Not only what you did, but the consequences of it too. Perhaps telling Hongjoong directly would be better? He'd be more angry with you than disappointed, and you knew you couldn't handle Yeosang or Wooyoung's broken reactions to your confession.

"I think we should strike first, Sir." Seonghwa says confidently. "We get them first, they lose the element of surprise. They're unprepared, we catch them offguard, we win."

"Nah, they'll be expectin' it." The most unfamilar to you, Jongho, opposes the kingsguard in his northern twang, making Seonghwa frown.

The king himself sits in his specially carved wooden chair, his magnificent tawny fur coat hanging off the back. One leg is crossed over the other, and he leans forward on both his arms, listen intently to the men bickering before him.

"Seventeen are ruthless." Hongjoong says suddenly, silencing Wooyoung's arguments. "If I am correct, which, I always am, Jeonghan will be leading their heads of state, if not their entire armed forces, here already." He gets up and walks over to the window, perching down on the seat and staring at the kingdom below.

"Their army will be much, much bigger than ours. Probably more powerful, too."

"Sir-" Seonghwa's frown deepens as he watches his king, his best friend seemingly work himself into a downward mental spiral.

"But I''ll be damned if we don't go down without a fight. I refuse to make it easy for them." Hongjoong whips around to stare the other men down with a burning fire in his eyes. His shoulders, sharp but broad, stand brave you watch as Seonghwa nods in recognition.

This is the king he knows.

"Seonghwa, go and make sure all the soldiers are prepared, find San and Mingi and sort them out too. Yeosang, Wooyoung, please make sure all important documents you have pertaining to the prophecy are safe. Jongho, I trust the topic we discussed previously you are still happy with?"

Jongho nods, and leaves the room, the other three following suit.

Leaving Hongjoong in the room, with only you.

"Iris," Hongjoong sighs, dropping back down into his seat. "What can I help you with?"

Shakily, you stand up from the bench and sit down in one of the chairs opposite the king.

"There's something I need to tell you." You breathe, staring at your clammy hands which sit folded in your lap.

"You've been learning dark magic from a book you stole from Yunho and now you're worried that you've caused a war and people are going to die because of you?"

"I- What?" You sit frozen, completely caught off-guard by Hongjoong cutting you off with the truth.

"San told me everything."

That bastard.

"You're not mad?"

"Of course I'm mad, Iris. I would be a terrible king if I wasn't furious at you for putting my kingdom in danger."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I'm thinking about it."

He's staring at you with an expression you can't quite read. Whatever he's feeling, it's burning, and you feel his scrutinising gaze heavy on you.

"Did you tell Yeosang?" You whisper.

"No. It is not my place to tell him, you are to do that."

"Alright. Are you going to kick me out?"

"Also no. What exactly is the point of you going behind my back, learning magic directly against my orders- dark magic at that! - and putting my entire kingdom in danger, if you don't even give us a demonstration?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to fight in this war, Iris. And you're going to fight hard."

-----

"I hope you're happy with yourself, asshole!"

You charge into the library, expecting to find San sprawled across the window seat like a cat with his sarcastic sneer smeared across his face. Instead, a cloud of crimson bounces as he whips up at the sound of your voice.

"Oh, hey Mingi. I thought you were someone else."

The tall musician beckons you to sit beside him, and you do. He wraps a comforting arm across your shoulders, an affectionate gesture that springs tears to your eyes.

"Remind me to never piss you off." He chuckles.

You laugh back, but your laugh is forced and empty, something that Mingi notices.

"What's up?" He questions you gently.

"I messed up, Mingi. I really really messed up."

"Okay, well... how are you going to fix it?"

You pause, Mingi's response taking you aback. You had expected him to be shocked, to ask you what you did, Or that he already knew and was ready to chew you out.

"Fix it?

"Yeah, fix it! You messed up, that's in the past, so the most important thing now is how you're going to fix it."

"I'm not sure."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"I'm sorry for dragging you all into this mess, Mingi." You sigh.

"Don't be sorry, Iris. This is what friends are for!"

"Pulling each other into their mess?"

"No. Helping each other fix the messes they make."

You couldn't imagine a pure soul like Mingi fighting somebody to the death. The image of him adorning a sword and plunging it into the chest of the enemy was something you couldn't fathom, his sweet nature overpowering the inevitable.

What would happen then? If Mingi got caught by the enemy?

He would die.

And it would be all your fault.

As you look up at him, peering into his soft, gentle eyes and the warm smile he gives you, as he holds you, somebody he considers a friend, you decide in that moment than you refuse to let anybody die for you.

Hongjoong was right.

What was the point of stealing Yunho's book, of practising forbidden magic, if there was going to be a war anyway?

Why stop now?

Why let the threat of pain, bloodshed and heartbreak stop you from harnessing the chaos and wielding it to save the lives of the people you loved the most?

"You're right Mingi. I'm gonna fix this, I'm gonna solve this mess I created... I-I'm gonna make this right." You stand up and hurry towards the library doors.

"Fix on!" Mingi calls from behind you.

"What?"

"Sorry I- I tried saying 'fix it' and 'go on' at the same time and I muddled it up-"

"Fix on..." You mumble. "I like it!"

"Yeah?" The bard takes a second to mull over the phrase in his head. "Yeah! Fix on, Iris!"

-----

Sprinting through the familiar streets of the lower portion of the kingdom, batting irritated Atinians aside and pushing past merchants and their stalls. You crash through a carefully tended strip of flowers, jumping over them as quickly as you can to not crush the petals under your leather shows.

But there are more pressing matters at hand, and you have only one thing on your mind.

You swing the door open, the bell ringing frantically above your head.

"Welcome to-"

"Yunho!" You pant, attempting to catch your breath. "I need your help!"

He looks at you over the counter darkly, tying a bunch of primrose flowers together with a string of twine.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you asked me for help, thief?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I stole your book, I did magic I shouldn't have done, whatever, what's more important is-"

"Whatever?" Yunho repeats, his words fuelled by pure rage. "Whatever?!" He throws the bundle of yellow down onto the counter and leans forward on the wood. "You really have no idea what you've done, do you?

"You stole my property, taught yourself dark magic despite me telling you how it ruined not only my life, but other people's, performed the dark magic against the orders of the king, which in turn has endangered the lives of everybody in the kingdom. And your response is whatever? If you want my help, Iris, you had better rethink it."

You sigh, approaching Yunho's counter, trying to ignore the fury in his hazel eyes.

"Listen, Yunho, I'm sorry, I really am. But I'm trying to make this right. I stole your book, and attempted forbidden magic because I was scared, I was scared, and I was tired of people underestimating me. I wanted people to take me seriously, and I thought the best way was... doing what I know best, taking what doesn't belong to me and working with it as best I could.

But I can see now that I was wrong, Yunho. I was so abysmally, catastrophically wrong, and now I have to live with my actions. Better, I have to fix the consequences of my actions, and to make it right, I need your help."

Yunho sighs heavily, running his calloused hands over his face in desperation.

He doesn't want to help you, not at all. Especially not after what you did last time. But he sees something in you, he feels your passion and burning desire to set things right, to earn your redemption and somehow redeem even a little bit of good faith back.

"Why should I help? Give me one good reason to trust you, Iris."

"It was technically Hongjoong's idea-"

"Was it really?"

"Yes. I might be a thief but I'm not a liar."

Yunho raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. I'm not lying this time, I swear."

He pauses for a few seconds, simply looking at you and you can tell he's lost in thought. He pulls off his leather gloves and throws them down onto the counter with a slap.

"I'll help you.What do you want from me?"

"Hongjoong is pretty convinced there's going to be a war between Ateez and Seventeen. My punishment, I guess, is that I have to fight. So I need to be able to use the magic properly."

"Is he crazy? There's no way you'll be able to master those spells in a matter of days, It'll kill you!-"

"I don't care Yunho, people are going to die because of me, at least let me try to put things right."

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll come up to the castle later and we can start to train you, there's more space up there so you won't kill anybody... or yourself."

"Thanks, Yunho. I'll see you later."

You turn to leave the apothecary, but Yunho clearing his throat brings your attention back to the counter.

"Just so you know, I'm not doing this for you. I don't trust you. I don't particularly like you either. You put me and everyone I care about in danger for your own selfish, reckless reasons. The only reason I'm agreeing to this is because I care about the people of this kingdom, the children, the mothers, the people who work everyday to ensure Ateez is safe. That's why I'm helping you. Don't forget that."

You meet his steely gaze and finally understand the weight of your actions on the apothecary in particular. You feel every emotion pouring out of him which he's physically withholding. All Yunho wants to do is protect, and he's willing to push his personal grudges aside to do so. You nod at him once more, and leave the shop, the bell above the door tinkling gently.

You take your time getting back to the castle, making note of the children playing in the streets, the elderly traders slowly leading their cattle back to their pens, the women standing on the side of the road chatting with each other, clutching baskets full of bread and cheese and gifts for their children.

Innocent people, who probably have very little idea about what's about to happen to them.

Not if you can help it anyway.

Now that you had enlisted Yunho's help, backed up with support from Mingi, you were feeling relatively confident that you could earn Hongjoong's trust again.

But first, you had to find a certain mage and a certain elf, and confess to them everything you had been doing.

You can only hope that they would be as understanding.

Hope.

There's a lot of hope going around these days.

You pray that there's enough left for the two who matter the most to you.

[artificialqueens]

When We Went From Friends to This, Part 1: Week 1 (Branjie) - Writworm42

A/N: Fic summary: At the start of their first year of college, roomies Brooke and Vanessa have to quarantine together for two weeks. Fourteen days is a lot of time to bond, but it’s also a lot of time for things to get complicated.

For the lovely Ortega–merry super belated Christmas <3 Thank you Holtz for betaing & suggesting a song for the title, Bean for answering my questions about whether UK stereotypes are true, and Ortega for being patient fdhsjkf

Title from Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

TW for implied weed use

Day 1

“I still can’t believe you gotta go in-person to all these classes, you sure there ain’t a Zoom option?”

Vanessa snorts, and she’s pretty sure that Silky can hear her roll her eyes on the other end of the line. “For dance majors? Bitch, you know that ain’t gonna work.”

But Silky is too stubborn to be fazed by common sense. Instead, her voice gets a little more urgent. “We’re only first year. Start out with something that doesn’t need to be done in-person, then switch majors to dance once this is all over. C’mon, I can’t have my bestie dying Miss ‘Rona here!”

“Christ, you sound like my mom.” Vanessa huffs. “Look, the uni is being very careful, okay? Why else do you think I gotta quarantine for two weeks ahead of the start of term? Plus all clubs have been suspended and meals and showers are booked with time slots for each room. I’m literally seeing no one except the people in my classes and the bitch I’m sleeping next to.”

“But—“

“Listen, I’m at the dorm now, so I gotta go. I’ll call you later, alright?”

“Bye.” Silky’s begrudging send-off brings a flash of guilt to Vanessa’s chest, but only for a moment. Pushing her feelings aside, she hip-checks the door to the dorm building, trying to make her way inside without disrupting the large box she’s holding with one arm or the suitcase she’s trailing behind her with the other.

“Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, I think I’m supposed to be room 96?”

The suspiciously stoned-looking guy at the front desk barely looks up from the computer as he slides the keycard across his desk, and at first, Vanessa hovers, waiting for him to launch into a spiel about rules, but a moment passes without him saying anything, so she surges on. The building is a bit of a maze, its cement walls cold and drab despite the colourful posters plastered across it in a desperate attempt to make it more hospitable. By the time she finally reaches her room, she’s almost grateful that she’ll have to stay in it 24/7, given the impression the building and staff have left so far. No matter, though, right now, all she wants is to put down what she’s carrying and collapse onto her bed.

She shifts uncomfortably for a moment, trying to balance her box while also maneuvering her card towards the keypad, but the effort is unsuccessful–when she finally manages to tap the card, she’s met with another obstacle, having to actually open the door without any free arms.

It’s probably not the best impression to kick the door open and promptly drop almost all of your stuff before falling on top of it. Scratch that, it’s definitely not the best impression. Especially when Vanessa looks up at the owner of the voice that’s holding back laughter, asking if she needs help in a soft, calm twang.

Her roommate is tall, blonde, and nothing short of gorgeous. And even as she makes a motion as simple as offering a hand, Vanessa can tell that this girl is the picture of poise and grace.

“What’s your name?” The girl watches with piercing eyes as Vanessa dusts herself off, fighting off a fierce blush as she straightens up and catches her breath.

“Vanessa, but my friends call me Vanjie.” She extends a hand again, and this time, the girl seems rather shy as she takes it, nervously brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

Huh.

“Nice to meet you, Vanessa. I’m Brooke.”

Day 2

Brooke, as it turns out, is the polar opposite of Vanessa–quiet and reserved, so introverted that Vanessa has to wrestle information out of her. What Vanessa learns about her is interesting - she’s a dance major too, she’s from Toronto, she decided to study here because she wants RAD training as well as to get trained in other styles. She plans to minor in costume design, having an affinity for and attraction to any pattern that involves leather or lace (a kinky detail that Vanessa, much to her shame and embarrassment, files away hungrily). She has two cats back home, Apollo and Henry, that she misses terribly. Everything else Vanessa knows, though, had to be acquired sneakily over their first night together, more observation and speculation than actually asking. Like how Brooke must be a fan of Schitt’s Creek , given that she put out a ‘ fold in the cheese ’ sign on her desk. Or how Lana is probably her favourite artist, because she has a weird habit of not checking if her air pods are actually connected to the school’s shitty bluetooth network and it’s always the first couple notes of Summertime Sadness that play from her laptop before she catches her mistake. Or how her ass is one of the best Vanessa’s ever seen, because Brooke has no shame changing in front of her–

She strikes that part from her mind almost as quickly as she thinks it in the first place. The important thing is, she’s got to spend two weeks with only Brooke to keep her company, and if they stay in this silence, it’s going to get very awkward very soon.

“So… How d’you like Scotland so far?” Vanessa starts, grimacing internally at how stupid the question sounds. But Brooke doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, she smiles kindly as she looks up from her computer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear again.

“To be honest, I haven’t really seen much of it… Pretty much came right here after I came off the plane.” Her smile turns apologetic as her face flushes pink, clearly self-conscious about the lacklustre answer. That’s okay, though; Vanessa can still work with it.

“Probably a long flight, huh? What’d you do to keep yourself entertained? Or are you a plane sleeper?” Vanessa adds with a teasing grin, and much to her delight, Brooke laughs.

“Nah, I can never sleep on planes. Unless I knock myself out with Gravol or something, at least.” Brooke chuckles, giving a small wink. “I just read a bit, then the airline showed The Notebook, so I watched that.”

“I love that movie!” Vanessa gasps, “I swear I’ve probably seen it, like, three thousand times. It’s just so–”

“Romantic!” Brooke finishes. “The poor guy next to me must have hated me for all the crying I did.”

Her eyes are alight with excitement, and Vanessa can’t help but pick up on it, because finally , the perfect topic, and Brooke likes Vanessa’s favourite movie, and maybe she likes other stuff that Vanessa likes, and they can talk about that together, and–

“So what’s your favourite scene?” Brooke asks eagerly, and Vanessa claps her hands over her face.

“That’s the worst question to ask me, bitch!” Vanessa groans, but grins behind her hands when Brooke laughs, a string of apologies flowing between giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, I should’ve known.” Brooke puts her hands up in mock surrender. “Too many to choose, right?”

“Right.” Vanessa giggles a little too. “Although…” she brings herself up on her elbows as soon as the idea hits her, and for some reason, her heart skips a beat as she formulates the question, a rare flash of nerves hitting her square in the chest.

“Maybe a rewatch would be a good reminder?” Before she can verbalize what she’s thinking, Brooke beats her to the question, blushing again and chewing on her lip.

It’s cute, how shy she is, and Vanessa makes a mental note that she’ll have to help her new roomie break herself of those habits.

“Yeah, lets.” Vanessa smiles warmly, sliding off her bed to grab her laptop from her desk. “Here, we can use my computer.”

She’s only just grabbed the computer and turned around when she falters, realizing with a sinking dread what decision is next.

Either she has to invite Brooke onto her bed, or Brooke has to make room on hers.

It’s just a bed, it’s just a bed, it’s not like you’re inviting her to snog, it’s just sitting down to watch a movie…  

So maybe Vanessa’s never had anyone but her friends lounge on her bed before, and her friends certainly don’t make her feel as nervous as Brooke does. Maybe Vanessa’s bed is a little small and Brooke is a little pretty, and the thought of being that close together makes her mouth go dry. And maybe the sudden uncertainty in Brooke’s eyes, too, is imagined, or else doesn’t mean anything that Vanessa thinks it could mean, rejection or reciprocation or suspicion of what Vanessa’s feeling. None of that changes anything right now, because Brooke is smiling again, tapping the space beside her bed to beckon Vanessa over.

“C’mon, let’s watch. If you want, we can even try to find the director’s cut.”

Day 3

Vanessa’s fast-developing fascination with Brooke’s ass isn’t helped by the sight of Brooke stretching on the floor that greets her as she comes back from her shower.

“Oh, hey!” Brooke lifts her leg up into a needle stance, peering between her legs before shifting her weight onto one hand and waving to Vanessa with the other. Her hair is still wet from her turn in the showers, and her current position is causing stray drops of water to trickle onto her arms, making it all too easy for Vanessa to give into temptation and watch as the droplets course over each one of Brooke’s muscles.

Bloody Hell. Vanessa’s got to do a better job of keeping her hormones under control.

“Hey yourself.” She tries to keep her voice casual as she grabs a pair of PJs from her bedside drawer, turning away from Brooke to change.

It’s strange. Vanessa never used to be as shy as she feels now, self-conscious of her nakedness as she drops her robe and begins to re-dress. A few months ago, this would’ve been no problem at all; to be honest, she’s not sure it would be now if she had a different roommate. But with Brooke next to her, watching her or not watching her at all (she can’t decide what’s worse, really), it’s different. She can’t help but wonder what she must look like, what Brooke must see if she’s actually looking. What does it feel like, being in Brooke’s head? What does everything seem, looking through Brooke’s eyes?

But Brooke is comfortable changing around her, and even though there’s no actual rule that says so, Vanessa feels obligated to feel comfortable, too. Partially because if it’s a non-issue, then feeling embarrassed about it might fade. And if that fades, then so will the way she feels every time she lays eyes on Brooke at all.

Right?

Vanessa whips around quickly, the sudden, eerie feeling of being watched making her forget that she doesn’t have a shirt on yet.

“ Christ! ” Brooke hits the floor with a thud, flushing beet red as she scrambles to cover her eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to see–”

“I’ve seen yours, now you get to see mine.” Vanessa rolls her eyes and laughs, hoping that the light tone and faint smirk she forces herself to slap on disguises how secretly mortified she feels. And thankfully, the comment does work; the redness dissipates from Brooke’s face, and she giggles a little, though her gaze stays firmly planted on the ground until Vanessa slides on her t-shirt. Just like that, the awkwardness fades from the air, and things are back to business as usual as Vanessa begins to comb out her hair. Brooke finishes stretching, Vanessa goes to the half-bath to blow her hair dry. Brooke sits at her desk and types intently, Vanessa tries not to peek over Brooke’s shoulder to see who she’s talking to. Brooke stretches out on her bed to look at her phone, and Vanessa does the same to play around on hers.

“Oh, it’s our turn for dinner.” A reminder notification at the top of Vanessa’s screen alerts her to the time, and she shuffles up to slide on shoes and get going, only remembering what she’s wearing at the last minute.

“Gimme a second, we can go out like that together.” Brooke grins, swiping yet another strand of hair behind her ear as she drops her sweatpants and swaps them for a pair of pajama pants.

“Are you sure?” Vanessa frowns, but Brooke just shrugs, a wry smile spreading on her face.

“I’ve seen yours, now you get to see mine.”

Day 4

They do morning stretches together the next day, and Vanessa has to admit that lust gets pushed aside by jealousy the minute they slide into the splits. Vanessa can do them, even if she hates them–it’s not that she can’t. It’s not even that she’s inflexible, she wouldn’t have survived in dance up until now if she were. But Brooke? That girl is on a whole other level. She slides into the splits with no effort at all, falling into position almost instantly and yet extremely gracefully, then does the one thing Vanessa hates, because it’s the one stretch she can’t do. She grabs a high foam block and puts it under her front foot. And then, just when Vanessa thinks she can’t get shown up even worse, Brooke grabs a second block and slides that under, too.

God, Vanessa wishes she could hate Brooke. But Brooke is too sweet, too kind, and too encouraging to even hold her pretzel-like tendencies against her, especially when she turns to Vanessa and taps her foot, offers her tips on how to get herself to that level of flexibility.

Vanessa tries to tell herself that the way Brooke’s eyes seem to linger on her every few minutes is just that generosity, a teacher monitoring her pupil. But even after Brooke helps Vanessa slide a small book under her foot, elevating her leg just enough, the lingering continues, and it’s hard not to let wishful thinking–at least, she thinks that’s what it is–take over. And that feeling only gets stronger as they move to their next stretch, one where they’re toe to toe with their legs spread wide and Brooke is grabbing Vanessa’s hands to pull her hardly an inch away from her chest.

Is it just Vanessa, or is Brooke blushing? And is it just Vanessa, or are Brooke’s hands just a little sweaty under their softness, warm and gentle as if they’re trying to hold Vanessa with as much tenderness as they can? And is it just Vanessa, or has Brooke’s chest gone still, her breathing stopped until Vanessa straightens out again?

“Your turn.” Vanessa offers, pulling Brooke into the position she’d just been in, and from the way Brooke comes to a harsh, sudden, stiff stop, but her muscles don’t shake and her breathing doesn’t change, Vanessa can tell she’s holding back. Almost as if she doesn’t want to get too close.

Vanessa’s imagining it. She has to be imagining it. There’s no other explanation, not a heterosexual one, and Brooke is…

Come to think of it, Vanessa doesn’t know for sure. But she can’t ask, not now; it would be too strange. So instead, she pulls Brooke forward sharply, resisting the urge to giggle when the blonde grunts in surprise at her strength.

“No holding back.” Vanessa shakes her head, smiling far too warmly for Brooke not to know what this is really about. “You can trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” Brooke smiles up at her, and then her muscles relax, and everything feels back to normal.

Day 5

“Truth or dare?”

Brooke turns to look at Vanessa, shifting to sit up as she smiles dubiously. They’re lying on Brooke’s bed together, pressed up against each other in an attempt to both fit in the small space of the double underneath the fuzzy, tickly cushion of Brooke’s top blanket. Vanessa rolls her eyes at Brooke’s skepticism, rolling onto her back to look up at her, grin wide on her face.

“C’mon, you know you want to. We can scroll Reddit later. Truth or dare?”

“Um…” Brooke crinkles her nose as she thinks, and Vanessa has to swallow the thought of how cute the blonde looks like that.

Although admittedly, the fact that she’s starting to hope Brooke keeps thinking isn’t just so she can watch the way Brooke’s brow furrows and muse quietly to herself about how seriously Brooke is taking this choice. Rather, it’s because she knows what she wants Brooke to pick, and the longer Brooke thinks, the more opportunity there is for Vanessa to hope she’ll pick up on the psychic signals she’s trying to send her.

Pick truth, pick truth, pick truth…

“Dare. But I’m not licking anything and I’m not going anywhere naked.”

Damnit.

Vanessa frowns, chewing on her lip as she tries frantically to think of a dare she can ask Brooke to do. It has to be appropriate, obviously, nothing too crazy like she might ask of Silky or her other, closer friends. But it can’t be boring, either—-if there’s one thing Vanessa doesn’t want to be in Brooke’s eyes, it’s boring.

Then, she thinks of the perfect thing. Something that might get at her truth question, that isn’t too high-stakes but definitely still has a bit of an ‘oh shit’ factor—exactly what you want from a dare.

“Dare you to prank call your last ex. On speaker. ” Vanessa smiles triumphantly, sticking out her tongue to tease her roommate. It’s foolproof—depending on the voice, Vanessa will know who Brooke has dated. And if she’s dating someone already, then surely she’ll say that, since admitting it is no problem.

Only, from Brooke’s face, there’s definitely a problem.

“I don’t want to play anymore.” Brooke heaves herself up off the bed, face becoming stony and cold as her eyes cloud over with something that Vanessa can’t quite decipher. Something mixed with anger, sure, but also something…

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. The magnitude of what Vanessa’s just asked of her new friend hits her like a train, and she feels like both the dumbest and worst person in the world at once. She called Brooke out, put her on the spot, and if she is queer? Pretty much just asked her to out herself. Which, unlike someone like Vanessa, who has a pan flag on her desk, not everyone is willing to do.

Brooke isn’t just feeling cornered, she’s feeling afraid.

“Aw, c’mon Brooke, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want—“

“I said I don’t want to play!” Brooke snaps.

There’s a beat, Vanessa’s own heartbeat the only thing she can hear amidst the crushing silence.

“Brooke—“ Vanessa tries again after a moment, her throat going dry as she tries to cut through the sudden tension, but Brooke just turns to her desk, scoops up her things and storms towards the door.

“I’m going for a walk. See you at dinner.”

She slams the door on her way out, and suddenly, getting an answer to Vanessa’s question doesn’t really matter anymore, because there’s no satisfaction in what a reaction that strong might mean. She drops her head in her hands, staying there for a moment before punching the mattress underneath her, rocketing up and grabbing her phone.

“Silk? Yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry, I just… I fucked up.”

Day 6

They don’t talk about it at dinner, nor afterwards. They don’t talk about it the next morning, not during their morning stretches or at breakfast, either. It’s not that they don’t talk; they say good morning, ask each other questions about what time breakfast is, what time Brooke is going to be on a call with her parents. But that’s about as far as it goes; Brooke sticks to business, asking and answering questions in as few words as possible and avoiding Vanessa’s gaze at all costs. It’s torture, the tension eating away at Vanessa’s mind and stinging in her chest. She fucked up, and she fucked up bad , and despite Silky’s advice, she’s not so sure she can fix this.

Still, she supposes it won’t hurt to try.

Brooke is in the shower when Vanessa decides to sneak out, purse over her shoulder and mind ready for a mission. There’s a supermarket open within walking distance of the uni right now, and technically, she’s not supposed to leave campus at all except for emergencies. Which this is, so it should be okay, right? At least, that’s what she’ll say if she gets caught. She’ll have to be fast, and sneaky, and careful not to run into anyone who might ask where she’s going. Come to think of it, she hasn’t been for a walk on the grounds yet, not since arriving–how will it work? Will she have to plan a route? Give it to the front desk? Get a pass or something, to make sure she comes back within the allotted time? This could be dangerous, very dangerous…

“If you’re gonna go to the shop, can you get me a pack of cigs?” The stoner at the front desk doesn’t even bother looking up from whatever he’s doing on the computer as she tries to sneak by, stopping in her tracks at his voice.

Christ, really?

“Sure, whatever.” Vanessa rolls her eyes, a little irritated at how easy this actually is. So much for danger and adventure.

She comes back about an hour later, throws the guy his pack and launches that he owes her eleven over her shoulder, and skips back into her room with a jumbo bag of ketchup Lays in her knapsack.

“Peace offering?” Vanessa grins down at Brooke as the blonde’s mouth drops open first in surprise, then delight as she snatches the snack from Vanessa’s hands.

“Where did you find these?” Brooke squeals with delight as she tears the bag open, breathing in the sharp, slightly-sour smell that makes Vanessa’s nose wrinkle. Still, seeing the look of utter joy on Brooke’s face makes Vanessa so happy that she can’t help but smile, too.

“International aisle.” Vanessa sits on the edge of her bed proudly. “Figured you might like them, seeing as you always say you’re craving them.” She winks, and Brooke rolls her eyes, but giggles despite herself. But the moment passes as soon as it had come, and then they settle into silence again.

Come on, Vanessa. Just face the music. Apologize. She deserves that from you. Vanessa bites her lip, her hands curling into fists as she tries to force her heartbeat even again, because the longer the silence goes on, the more awkward it gets, the more she realizes that it’s now or never for her to make things right.

“Brooke–”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Brooke says quietly, her voice flat and lifeless and… scared, almost. Vanessa sucks in a breath, her chest sinking as she realizes what’s going on.

“Well… Do you want to?” Vanessa prods, but Brooke doesn’t even look up from the bag of crisps, which suddenly seem to be the most interesting thing in the world despite the dullness in the blonde’s eyes.

“Honestly, I’d rather we didn’t.” When she finally speaks up, her voice is barely above a whisper, and it’s enough to make Vanessa’s heart break.

Not just because she’s lost her chance to apologize–because she knows that tone, knows that look. Knows the hesitancy and caution behind it, the anxiety and the feeling of being trapped and overwhelmed. Knows what kind of revelation that voice and that look are hiding, and how the information Brooke is trying to avoid isn’t actually set in stone yet.

Jesus, she’s fucked up way more than she thought she had.

“Okay.” Vanessa finally nods, sighing deeply. “But if you do… I’m here, okay?”

Brooke hesitates for a moment, but when she does look up, her eyes are full of a gratefulness that’s surprisingly warm. “Okay.”

This time, when silence falls, it’s not awkward, but full of resolution.

“So…” Brooke finally breaks it this time, a slow smile spreading on her face, “They just put up the newest season of The Bachelor online, wanna watch it? We got snacks, after all.” Brooke waves her bag in the air, and Vanessa smiles.

“Shove over, mate. I wanna see what kinda mess the girls are this year.”

[claraoswaldfics]

Halloween Night, part 2

(Continued from part 1)

It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.

I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character. 

But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.

We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.

I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night. 

I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.

The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.

As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh. 

If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.

We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.

“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.” 

“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”

I blinked; is this really happening? 

As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.

I leaned in.

Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment. 

Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.

After that the night stalled for a bit. 

I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:

“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll join you”

“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”

“I thought you were talking about the shower.”

“No. Do you need the shower?”

“No.”

“Do I need a shower?”

“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”

“So the toilet is…”

“Up the stairs, yeah.”

And then I shut up for a bit.

Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it? 

Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about). 

Why did I say “I’ll join you”?  Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!

And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…

Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.

“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?” 

“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”

“Oh, sorry, of course.”

“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”

Mood ruined. Again.

From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!

Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!

In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.

(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)

When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.

“We’re watching this”

I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie. 

I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.

“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”

“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered. 

“It’s okay to be…”

“I’ve never been nervous”.

 “Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.

“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”

“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”

I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking? 

Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.

We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.

“Wine?”

Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.

“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”

I spat out my wine.

“What??”

“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”

“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”

“Are they not, Clara Oswald?” 

She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.

“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.

All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.

A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.

I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.

“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”

The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.

Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.

“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”

“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”

“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.

With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.

Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body. 

I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline. 

All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!

Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.

As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.

“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”

I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.

The thought alone could have got me off.

But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!

But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.

“Upstairs,” I replied.

I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.

“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.

“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.

I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.

“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”

“Shut up!”

I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.

“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”

Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.

“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”

With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.

“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.

I squealed.

She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.

“Amy” I squeaked.

“Clara” she moaned.

She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.

When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.

The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy. 

And her eyes…

Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.

The woman is me.

The woman on her neck is my lover.

And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.

There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips. 

“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.

“Oh shut up”

I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in. 

For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...

Oh God I was so close…

“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”

Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.

“Cum for me, Clara”

And I did. Oh how I did.

The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.

I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.

My vision went white.

“Jinkies”

And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll. 

End of part 2.

[kyber-kisses]

Calling Out (Part 2)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Find Part 1 HERE

Warnings: description of injuries, near death experience, hospitals. . . angst.

Summary: when a case goes sideways leaving the reader in the hospital, Dean, Sam, and Charlie search desperately for a way to help her. . . But time is running out.

A/n: ok so I know it’s been literal months since I wrote the first part but it was only since yesterday that inspiration finally struck! Hope you enjoy! (also all the medical stuff i just searched so if you actually know your stuff please don’t attack me.)

“Charlie, Sam- please tell me you’ve found something.”

Shoulders slumping Dean let out another sigh, halting his pacing momentarily to look over at the duo seated across the otherwise empty waiting room.

Pacing. He had been doing so much of that lately, especially ever since your monitors went crazy and all of a sudden he, (alongside Sam and Charlie) was being pushed out of your room by several nurses. Dean had tried fighting against them, not wanting to leave you in the hands of strangers. What if you woke up? What if you had no idea where you were? What if something happened and you didn’t- Dean quickly shook his head in an attempt to clear the terrible thoughts from his head. No, you were going to be fine. You were always fine. You were the strongest out of all of them.

But all he could think about was how sudden it had been. You were fine one second and the next? Your heart monitor was going insane and your chest was rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm and he thought he was watching you die. Your eyes still closed, locking you in a monster induced coma.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that scared.

It also didn’t help that that had all happens hours ago. Hours. Hours of pacing back and forth, back and forth until he thought his legs might fall off.

“No, sorry Dean. I’ve raked through everything we had on djinns but I can’t find anything.”

The older Winchester let out another groan before turning to the redhead next to his brother. “Charlie?” He tried, a twang of hopefulness in his voice.

“I’m still looking. If I do find something you’ll be the first person I tell.”

Running a slightly shaky hand through his hair, Dean continued his pacing. If he wasn’t careful he might wear tracks in the sandpaper like carpet.

“Dean, do you really want to be talking about the case right now?” Sam questioned, closing the book he had in front of him so he could give his brother his attention. “I mean, Y/N-“

“I literally want to talk about anything that isn’t the possibility of Y/N dying in the other room.” Dean stopped again, his voice ever so slightly cracking as he spoke.

Dean watched as Sam opened his mouth, clearly ready to speak. . But was stopped short when the massive set of doors behind him swung open, the nurse from earlier stepping out into the waiting room, clipboard in hand. It didn’t even take Dean a second before he was spinning around to give her his full attention. His heart sinking lower into his chest at the expression on her face.

“Y/N, is she-“ he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Afraid that if he muttered it it might come true.

You weren’t dead. You weren’t.

“We’ve done what we could, but she’s stable for now.”

“What happened?” Pushing himself out of his own seat, Sam crossed the waiting room with Charlie close on his heels.

“It’s called a primary spontaneous pneumothorax. It typically happens when there is a rupture of a small air sac on the outside of the lung. This causes air to leak into the cavity around the lung.” The nurse explained, tucking her board under her arm. “ it caused a partial lung collapse but it wasn’t too sever meaning it’s possible for it to heal on its own. As of right now she only needs oxygen and rest.”

Dean was silent as he tried to comprehend what she had said. She made it seem like everything was going to be fine. . . But none of it sounded fine at all. You were still in a magically induced coma and looking like you got run over by a freight train. Now you had a partially collapsed lung to add to it all.

“Ok. . . But how did this happen? I thought she was stable?” He finally spoke, running a hand over his mouth as he tried to wrap his head around it.

“Her fractured rib was the probable cause of it, but we’re keeping a close eye on her still. Don’t you worry.” She smiled.

She fucking smiled.

Dean bit his tongue so he didn’t lash out. Don’t worry? That’s all he had been doing. That all he was going to do until you were safe and fully healed.

“You’re welcome to go back and see her.”

“Is she still-“

“Unconscious? I’m afraid so.” The nurse nodded. “We’re looking for a cause to that as well.”

“Well you’re not gonna find one.” Dean muttered softly under his breath, already turning to head towards the room you had previous been set up in. He had already been separated from you for too long.

It took everything in the hunter not to book it full speed down the mostly empty hallway towards your room, his heart thumping a staccato rhythm in his chest. He had left Charlie and Sam in the dust to collect their laptops and lore books- but he didn’t care. He needed to be near you. Watching over you. Keeping you safe from threats that doctors couldn’t handle.

When he stepped into your room he saw another nurse still at your bedside tapping at things on the monitor while glancing over at you every few seconds or so. Other than that the room was empty.

“She’s doing well all things considered.” The dark haired nurse nodded, looking over her shoulder at Dean momentarily before going back to her task. “You’re wife’s a tough one. She should pull through.”

“Oh she not my-“ he started, pushing down the sudden heat that had invaded his cheeks.

“Well anyway, she’s lucky to have someone who cares so much about her.” Backing away, the nurse gathered her things and walked out the door, passing Sam and Charlie as she did.

As the older Winchester stepped closer to the bed he felt his heart drop all over again. You looked worse than last time. Your skin was several shades paler and your cheeks were getting hollow. It didn’t help that your injuries were taking forever to heal. Sure it had only been a week since this all happened, but you looked so weak, so fragile. And those were words that should never be used to describe you.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?” Unable to tear his eyes from you, Dean only lent his ears to his brother, resuming his spot from before and slipping his hand into yours. Your pulse allowing him to let out a sigh of relief.

“Charlie and I were talking, and we thought we might try the library a few blocks away. See if they have any more lore books we can look through.”

“Yeah, yeah. You kids go have fun.” He muttered , shifting ever so slightly to wipe a strand of hair away from your eyes, being careful not to disturb the oxygen tube. One wrong move and he was afraid you might shattered like china.

“Dean, you need a break too. The nurses will watch over her.” Sam sighed, re-adjusting his belongings in his arms.

“I got one when we were stuck in that waiting room for several hours. I’m fine.”

“Sams right, Dean. You at least need to sleep-“

“Charlie, I said I’m fine.” Letting out another sigh, Dean allowed his elbows to rest on the side of your hospital bed, resting his cheek on the back of your hand. “Call me if you guys find anything.”

Drawing in a breath, Sam gave into defeat before sharing a look with the red-head. Neither of them had ever seen Dean like this and it was just another thing to add to the growing list of concerns.

“Alright, fine. Do you at least want us to pick you up some food?”

“I don’t care.” The words leaving Dean so quietly that they almost didn’t hear it.

Giving you and Dean one last look the two left the room once more, carrying most of the hope with them. Deans was fading. He didn’t want it to but he couldn’t stop it. He was afraid.

“You are not allowed do die on me, you got that?” He swallowed, already feeling a lump form in his throat. “I’ve got some really important things I need to say to you so I’m gonna need you to get better.”

Dean paused once more, contemplating whether or not to say the words bouncing around inside his head. He’d never said them out loud before. Even just thinking about it made his tongue feel like lead. . .But no one was here. No one was listening.

“You know, I didn’t want to fall in love. Not at all. Because this life, you know- you can’t afford getting close. There’s a good chance it will slip away if you do. . . But at some point you smiled, and holy shit, I blew it.” He squeezed your hand gently, praying that you would open your eyes at any second. “Maybe it was just bound it happen. I’ve known you for so long. . . Anyways I’m gonna need you to pull through because I want to say it to your face. I can’t lose you. Not now, not ever.”

Leaning back in his seat, Dean raked his freehand through his hair (a nervous tick he had picked up over the years.) watching you sadly. Sam and Charlie would find something. He knew they would.

“C’mon Y/N, you gotta wake up.”

To Be Continued. . .

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