#just search static kiss on my profile !

[chirpsythismorning]

This specific frame reminded me of something…

For those who still can’t see it, allow me to elaborate.

[liyuesbian]

✧ pygmalion!au [ningguang]

notes: btw idk how commissions from museums work i just made the process up LMAO and this one's kinda angsty? i mean, it is the pygmalion greek myth so iykyk. also, i describe this figurine of ningguang here but w/o the colour... i've linked it in case any1 needs the reference. (btw, this is not set in ancient greece specifically)

only yesterday had you been commissioned by an art gallery in the capital to create a piece for their up-and-coming collection titled desire, love and identity. yet here you are, slaving away to make the perfect image you had in your head come into fruition. your vision is exquisite once sketched on paper—you can't find any faults in it so you take the risk.

as soon as your chisel meets the marble, a feeling so invigorating dominates your body. no further references are necessary as you place your trust entirely on your hands, coarse from the labour. you find such mindless toil addicting and you work day and night, only stopping for a half-baked meal and the odd collapse into bed.

for months, love streams out of the tips of your fingers and through your sculpting tools to arrive at the stone figure. you sincerely hope the intimate emotion has been reached.

when you finish, you wipe the bead of sweat running down your forehead, rest the other palm on your hip and take slow steps backwards all while maintaining eye contact with the statue. a wave of sweet relief hits you and you fall to the floor, uncontrollably sobbing into tired hands that still grip the hammer and chisel.

it's beautiful.

you stagger, struggling to get up with your bruised knees while clumsily wiping the tears off your stained cheeks. setting the instruments aside, you lift your head to admire your handiwork up close. a woman made of stone sits elegantly atop an oriental chair, crossing her smooth, white legs over each other. her left elbow is propped on the arm of the chair while on the other side, a long smoking pipe is balanced between gloved fingers. around her lies an assortment of objects: a vase containing scrolls, a floor lamp, and a charmingly decorated folding screen.

you see, you had already thought it all out. you'd imagined ningguang's preferences for a life of luxury, her affinity for constructing and sprucing up interiors. she would be a master of the trades and a woman who likes to keep an air of mystery around her. and like how you increasingly project her to be more of a person than she ever will be, there is a creeping concern in the corner of your mind that you will lose your rationality just as quickly.

the sculpture's body is clad in a qipao with a slit that reveals alabaster skin below the waist. the dress—embellished with patterns and neat linings—hugs her figure and shows off a lean build. the extensive train and sleeves of the fabric are shaped curvaceously to mirror the flow of a waterfall. and her face. the section you strived so hard to refine. she stares at you with an imperious expression and a hint of a smirk. her gaze, so piercing, makes you avert your eyes in shyness but you find yourself gravitating back to her profile.

you muster up the courage to draw closer to your creation and unconsciously stroke her cheek with your thumb, captivated. if she were an empress, you'd be a common peasant—undeserving of setting your sights on such a goddess. you can feel your soul being sucked into eyes devoid of emotion—of anything, actually. after all, the woman sitting before you is not a person but an inanimate object.

the weeks following the completion of ningguang—which is the name you've picked up the habit of calling her—are spent in said lady's company. every minute of every day, you surround yourself with her presence as if she is your closest friend. you eat with her, tell her your troubles, even going so far as to decorate her with various types of jewellery and bringing her gifts you think she'd like.

"thank you," you whisper. "for always listening to me." in truth, you're always so immersed in your work that you forgot what conversations could feel like. though, you fear your art would never be on par with something so transcendent ever again.

you become curious, wondering what she would be like if the nymph in front of you were not just a figment of your imagination.

you perch yourself on top of ningguang's stone-cold lap and trace the contours of her visage. you inspect each crease on her lips and the minuscule crinkles in her eyes, applauding yourself for the well-crafted details. you don't know what possesses you but you close your eyes and press your lips against hers, hoping that once you open them, a living being would erupt from underneath the marble. but, of course, as soon as the light hits your retinas, ningguang is as unmoving as ever.

realising what you've just done, you drop off of her thighs and laugh anxiously. however, you could've sworn that you had felt warmth in the lips of your beloved muse.

"i've finally gone mad!" you cry aloud.

hell, you say to yourself, is it even possible to fall in love with such an... an artefact? you dismiss your glaringly obvious infatuation.

"nonsense," you mutter under your breath, sensing your heart breaking slightly. how can something so painfully humanlike also not be human at the same time? you must've caused a tremendous atrocity in your past life to have made the gods harbour a grudge against you. of all things, you'd never have guessed that a lifeless piece of art would be the object of your desire.

you can't bear to look at the handcrafted lady any longer and with an anguished face, cover her with a large cotton cloth. the plan was to wait until you could hand the statue over to the curators and try to ignore its existence until then.

for a few days, you act according to the plan, going about your daily routine but eventually, your stoic demeanour crumbles. you lock yourself in your room refusing to eat or believe that your affection would never be returned.

during the hours of sunlight, you weep under your sheets, drowning in self-inflicted sorrow. and at night, you do the same, lamenting over the loss of what could've been your true love. she would've been so perfect in your eyes, your other half, and the only one who could calm this growing turmoil!

the reality pains you. hence, you do the only thing you can do: you pray. you pray to the gods for a miracle, that the light of your life would stride into your room and pull you from the depths of despair... but she never does.

your last day "cohabitating" with the sculpture has arrived and for the first time in—what felt like—an eternity, you open the doors to your workshop. taking a deep breath, you unveil the stationary maiden.

it's still as beautiful as you remember.

you give it a sad smile, wanting to get its departure over and done with. you manoeuvre about the room to prepare the things for the movers who're due to come in a couple of hours. while you go down your little list of errands to be done, you cough and bat away the smoke—wait, the smoke? frantic, you spin around, eyes darting everywhere in search of its origin until they land on the smoking pipe you so intricately moulded for the commissioned piece.

it's strange, you don't recall colouring the statue. and how on earth is smoke coming out of the pipe? suspicious, you approach the motionless entity and almost stumble when you spot its chest rising.

oh lord! — i really must be descending into madness! you clutch your head, clawing at your hair in hysteria.

"stop, please don't hurt yourself." the sound of a low, worried voice penetrates your ears. you shut your eyes tight.

"no, the gods have cursed me! i mustn't listen to your poisonous words!" you exclaim. your state of agitation is alleviated when the woman caresses your tensed arm.

"what has happened to you? i haven't seen you lately either." the tone is more soft and more tender than you had imagined. you release your grip.

"is it really you, ningguang?" your voice cracks at the end, and the woman you sought after witnesses your features twist into an expression of longing and hope.

"yes, my darling. i dare not go anywhere else."

helplessly, you rush to cup her face to check for heat, for the blood traversing under her skin—anything that would prove that your sweetheart is truly alive and breathing. and when you do get the confirmation, you beam, trying to withhold tears born from elation.

you bend down to kiss ningguang, who is still seated on the chair, once, twice, and three times to rid your scepticism. oh, deities! she's real.

"i love you," you declare.

"i know." you watch as the same creases you'd etched on the corners of her eyes spread into a loving half-moon shape and you kiss her again.

you reach a conclusion: you couldn't give away your lover—let alone a live person—to be displayed as part of a museum exhibition so when the workers arrive, you hide your muse away in another room. you apologise profusely and spin a lie, rambling on about how you had nothing to relinquish for the piece you had prepared had been oh-so-viciously stolen by a mob of trespassers!

the movers share with you their sympathies and ask what the work of art looks like and maybe they could sort something out with the authorities. nodding, you recount—so ardently—the details of your divine maiden. you feel heat rush to your face, chuckling when you realise that you'd run your mouth for too long.

in response to this, the two labourers exchange dubious looks as they peer at the static sculpture standing in the middle of the studio—its appearance unmistakably matching your elaborate description.

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

--

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

[asherranceoftheheart]

Snow - JSE Egoshipping Drabble

Fandom: Jacksepticeye Egos Pairing/s: Antiaverage (Chase Brody x Antisepticeye) Character/s: Chase Brody, Antisepticeye Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, mention of guns AO3 Profile - Ko-Fi

0-0-0-0-0

Snow drifts down from the heavens to cloak the ground with pure white film. There was something soothing about sitting by the window and watching snowflakes dance in the breeze as they fall. His hands worked on instinct as he dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled his guns one by one.

“Penny for your thoughts, doll?” their voice purred into his ears while their inhumanely long limbs snaked over his shoulders from behind and wrapped his front in a tight embrace.

“… Sometimes, I feel like I’m missing something,” the truth spilled from his lips without hesitation. There was no use in lying to the being who could scoop out whatever he attempted to hid from them right from his mind. “It itches at my chest like… this house should be louder and there’s a massive empty space that I don’t notice until the silence finally sets in.”

Sharp claws scraped painlessly against his scarred scalp before Anti gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Should I be worried about that, treasure?” Anti hissed, their lips pulled up into a grotesque mockery of a smile. It has far too many sharp teeth, pulling their face apart to the point that it seemed like it would split into two. Their eyes, reflected on the surface of the window, glittered with the sparkle of a dying star, it continued to draw him in far too deep into its unending voids.

Chase placed the handgun that he had been cleaning down on the table and turned on his seat to face Anti. He reached up and cupped the creature’s cheek in his hands. Chase pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. A small wry smile curled up the corner of his lips.

“You made me into who I am today, love,” Chase breathed out, feeling the static that always clung to his God’s existence wash over his skin, prickling in a paradox of pain and pleasure, “I don’t need the past that I’ve forgotten. I’m happy and content just to be with you. There is nothing that could ever make me put anything above you.”

Anti let out a bark of laughter that sounded like a record skipping and coming to a screeching halt. Clawed hands gripped his wrists and pulled them down to his lap while the monster leaned in to crash their lips together. Anti sank their fangs into their prized treasure’s lip, delighted at the blooming taste of copper on his tongue and the low moan that they swallowed up along with their doll’s breath.

“Good boy,” Anti crooned, their lips further twisting up into a sharp grin at the pulse of pleasure that oozed from Chase at that praise, “that’s right. You don’t need any other useless lumps of flesh for company. You just need me.”

Chase hummed in agreement, his absent mind drifting away from the gaping emptiness scraped out from his memories while he pressed himself against the monster who curled around him as a dragon would with its hoard.

The entire universe stopped existing outside of them, the Dark God and their prized treasure, content in each other’s adoration.

Far, far away from the unlikely pair, the broken man’s family searches for him in desperate hopes that they could bring him home.

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 4 ~Reunited~

Picture Source

 Previously in Twists and Turns

Although it was a cold, dreich and cloudy day, it didn't stop the strains of Pharell William's song, "Happy" playing in his head. He was having one of those days where he had the world on a string, and it felt like nothing could thwart his good mood. His Sassenach was coming tomorrow, and she'd be staying with him for at least a week. She already warned him not to make too many plans as she had work to do, but he didn't care. He would be waking up every morning for the next few days with Claire in his arms, and they'd eat dinner together when their day was done. That was all that mattered.

He was about to turn around and make his way into the living room when he saw Jenny leaning against the far end counter, her arms across her chest. It only took Jamie a second to deduce his sister had been standing there a while, her grin saying it all. 

"Jenny!"

"I called out to ye when I came in, but ye didnae hear me. Looks like someone is happy," Jenny observed, smirking. "What's up with ye?"

"Claire ...ye ken Claire. Ye met her over two weeks ago. She's coming over to stay for a few days. With me." 

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

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Jamie eased his car into the parking lot, focusing on his breathing when his heart began to pummel against his chest. He'd known this might happen, and he'd come prepared ...or at least he hoped so. Taking his key out of the ignition, he reassured himself Claire would be with him soon enough, so he tried to remain calm. 

He leaned back against his seat and shut his eyes for a moment. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. C'mon Fraser lad, ye got this.

Claire had initially planned on making her own way to Broch Mordha, too worried for him, in case he had another one of his panic attacks. But Jamie had vehemently insisted on picking her up despite her protestations. There was no way he was going to sit around in his cottage, waiting for her to arrive when he could be with her sooner. Every second spent in her presence was precious, and he wasn't about to give up any opportunity to be with her.

When he finally gathered himself together, he noticed his knuckles had gone white from gripping the steering wheel and a dull throb slowly working its way up to the back of his head. Every noise, every reflection of sunlight bouncing off the windshield was a torment. Ah, shite! Please, not now! His jaw already ached from its constant clenching and unclenching and his molars grinding during the drive, an attempt to smother the anxiety threatening to bubble up. He'd just arrived, and already he felt like he was going to suffocate. 

All the way from Broch Mordha, he'd centred his thoughts on Claire, afraid that if he allowed his mind to wander, the panic attacks would get out of hand. In his head, he'd pictured her laughing, full of life and excitement, and the way she made him feel. And he'd thought, if he could hold on to those images, he might just be able to keep the anxiety at bay, long enough until Claire was by his side.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, he exited his car, the noise around him giving off a static buzz, rivalling the one crackling in his head. On cue, an onrush of whirring sound intensified and just when he thought he was going to pass out, he caught a familiar scent as a blur in beige walked past him. Surprisingly, the din between his ears subsided into a distant hum, and his head shot up in time to see a man in an old fashion trenchcoat and a flat cap, hurriedly zig-zagging past oncoming and ongoing crowds. What the ...?

He felt drawn to the man like it was pertinent to get hold of him right this instant, not quite comprehending why. "Hey ye!" Jamie shouted after the bustling figure. "Wait up!"

The man stopped as if he'd heard he was being called, long enough for Jamie to see his profile. Harry? Harry ...as in Claire's father? Surely not! It cannae be. 

Before Jamie could make sense of what he was seeing, the figure began moving again, and so he picked up the pace. "Harry?!? Hey! Stop! It's me, Jamie," he shouted.

Jamie began to walk quicker, straining his neck so he wouldn't lose sight of Harry, but the man was fleet, occasionally stopping, looking for someone or something before rushing off again. Although Jamie was agile himself on his feet, he couldn't seem to catch up, and it wasn't long before Harry disappeared through the glassed entrance. Bummer!

He ran this time. When he eventually made it inside the airport, all he could see was Harry's head, bobbing up and down among a moving group of bodies heading in the direction of the arrivals' waiting area. He continued to follow, wondering what the hell Harry was doing here. The last time he'd seen the man was before Christmas, and after that, on an old photograph, Claire had shown him. Ah, fuck! Jamie thought he must be losing his mind. Is Harry alive, or is he a ghost? Claire did tell him that Harry or Henry, or whatever he was called, died in a car accident. So what the hell is happening? Is his condition making him see the deceased or is Harry a figment of his imagination? 

His eyes scanned the crowd, but Harry's head was replaced by an image of a bouncing oversized red beanie. Jamie continued to walk forward, dipping and diving, not wanting to lose him, but red beanie head was waving an arm, and it kept getting in the way. Ah hell, where did he disappear to?

Irritation coasted down his back, and his eyes landed once again on the red beanie head, walking towards him, just a few feet away. Underneath the brightly coloured headgear was a mass of dark curls that framed a rosy cheek face with crystal clear amber orbs and a smile that tugged at his heart. Gradually, as if coming out of a trance, everything came into focus, and the backdrop and the noises dissolved. His heart stopped as realisation kicked in. It's Claire!

"Sassenach," he whispered. His lungs dislodged every iota of oxygen in his body, the world seeming to suspend around them expectantly.

Before his brain could compute what was happening, Claire dropped her bags and launched herself into his arms. Her warmth, scent and breath enveloped him, soothing his soul. In that instant, everything in the world felt right again as she buried her face against his neck. 

"Oh, God Jamie, I missed you," she whispered, her grasp tight around his neck. "You came, even when I told you not to. Stubborn, stubborn man!"

The tension in his muscles loosened, and the feel of her body was worth the stress he'd put himself through coming to the airport. He drew away slightly and gazed down at her beautiful face. "I had to come so I could do this," Jamie murmured, ensnaring Claire's mouth with his own. 

Her lips parted on a breath, and his tongue delved in, claiming her. Reminding them both and anyone in the vicinity who was watching, to whom she belonged. She must have sensed the psychological toll on him being in a busy place and what it took out of him to drive here, and his need to be grounded and centred. She clasped his face in her hands, forcing him to withdraw the kiss on a groan. She glanced up at him and searched his face, and when she was satisfied that he was alright, she gave him a smile that caused his throat to tighten with emotion. His heart pounded so hard, she placed her hands on his chest as though to keep it from bursting free. Wanting to feel more of her, he hoisted her up and pressed her closer against him. When he lowered his head to reclaim her lips a second time, she playfully nipped at his lip, before taking control of the kiss, reminding him he belonged to her too. She tunnelled her fingers in his hair and tilted her mouth over his, kissing him fervently until they broke away, gasping for breath.

She giggled, sliding away from his grasp, only for her arms to encircle his waist. "That was some welcome. I'm tempted to come more often now if I get to receive a kiss like that every time I arrive."

A harsh sound escaped his mouth. "Ah, Christ. What universe am I on that I get to keep ye for mysel', huh?" he breathed, running a thumb across her lower lip.

"A universe tucked away in a Highlands, one that I'm so chuffed to have found because you're in it," she replied, smiling, her breath ghosting on his chin as she looked up to meet his gaze. "Though I must admit, I wasn't too thrilled when you insisted on picking me up. I have faith you'll get over your anxiety one day, but you shouldn't push yourself too hard. Healing takes time, Jamie."

He tipped her chin and smiled, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of their surroundings, finding his calm in her presence. "I ken ye still worry, but I'm getting better every day. I promise. The meditation playlist ye sent me helps a lot, and it works even if I get leg cramps out of it as a result. Next, ye'll be suggesting yoga, but I'm warning ye, that's where I draw the line, Sassenach. My limbs are fine as it is."

She scrunched up her nose at his attempt to downplay his condition. "So, no more anxiety attacks? How about nightmares?"

"No nightmares," he reassured her, picking up loose curls resting on her shoulder and letting them slide between his fingers. "Though I still wake up sometimes in a cold sweat and occasionally, I have wee attacks when I'm under stress. But they're manageable as long as I remember the breathing exercises."

"That's good, Jamie," she said, sliding her hands up and down his back. "For a minute there, when I came out, and first saw you, I thought you seemed rather pale. You looked past me like there was no recognition in your eyes, but your colour returned when I got closer. I have been worried about you coming ...so I must have imagined the whole thing."

Ah hell, Harry! He'd forgotten about him. He looked beyond her head, even though he knew Harry was long gone. Knowing it was a futile endeavour to even contemplate Harry's whereabouts, let alone start looking for him, Jamie cleared his throat and brought his attention back to Claire. He didn't want to lie to her, but there was a time and place to talk about Harry. He knew he'd delayed it for too long, but it had to wait just a wee bit longer. "Ye didnae imagine anything, Sassenach. I felt the beginnings of the panic attack, but when I saw my mate and started to call after him and follow him, I realised the distraction helped suppress it. He was going in the direction where ye came from. And then right after I lost him, I saw ye."

She cocked her head and looked at him curiously, amber eyes inquisitive, always reading between the lines. Even though he knew she appreciated that piece of information, there was still something niggling at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Aye, I'm certain now that ye're here."

Claire studied him. "Well, the distraction from your mate helped for sure. Or at the very least, it took the edge out of the anxiety."

Jamie gave her a reassuring smile. "Indeed, it has. Shall we go?" he proposed, eager to get going.

She visibly shook herself and nodded as he stepped away from her embrace and made a move to collect her bags. Once they got going, he twined their fingers together, powerless to stop himself from kissing her knuckles and brushing them with his thumb. The noises in his head had already ceased, and with Claire by his side, not even the drone of a busy airport could yank him back into the grips of immobilising anxiety bouts.

Although seeing Harry earlier had helped quell down the panic attacks, he knew it wasn't a permanent fix. As Claire had once told him over the phone, part of his recovery included finding a healthy way to let go of the past and forgive himself. It was taking time for sure, but the more he acknowledged his demons, instead of burying it deep down into his subconsciousness, the easier it got. The more he talked about the death of his best mate, Simon MacKimmie, the lighter the load on his shoulders became. There might still be lingering guilt and the image of Simon's death deeply embedded in his memory, but as Claire often had, and time and time again said, real progress took time. Jamie understood the fix needed to be on a mental level, and that was on him. 

Despite it all, he felt incredibly blessed to have a lass who was willing to walk with him through it and not for him, something perhaps his sister should take note of. He'd shared with Claire his living hell, and still, she found something beautiful in the midst of so much ugly. He was convinced more than ever, with Claire everything was possible and he was looking forward to their future.

As they made their way out of the airport and into the parking lot, Jamie squeezed Claire's hand and smiled. "So what are yer plans today, Sassenach? Do ye have to work?"

She beamed up at him. "No. Work can wait until tomorrow. I think these past few weeks I've worked enough ...not to mention missing out on a lot of weekends. I think I deserve a break."

"Aye, that ye do. So, lunch perhaps, then?" Jamie suggested, releasing her hand and clicking the key fob as his car came to view. "Ye must be hungry."

"Did you make something?"

He swiftly deposited her bags into the boot and shut the door before kissing her on the forehead. "No. But I can always whip us up something, or we can stop somewhere on the way to grab a bite ...if ye wish."

Claire shied away, for once looking reluctant. "I'm not really hungry, to be honest."

"So do ye have anything particular in mind ye want to do?" he asked, his curiosity spiking when he noticed a bright shade of red rising from her neck to her face, causing her face to flush prettily. 

She chewed her lower lip. "Are you working today?" 

He grinned. "No. I took a day off." And he'd arranged with Willie he wouldn't be starting work until ten tomorrow morning.

"Well, ..."

"Weel what?"

"I think I'd like to go to bed."

To bed? He searched her face looking for any evidence indicating she was unwell or fatigued. After all, she'd been working a lot these past few days. But he found none. Instead, her eyes betrayed what she had in mind. Still, he could be mistaken and wanted to be sure. "To bed or to sleep?" he asked slowly and cautiously.

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, making his stomach flipped. "What do you think?" she whispered against his mouth.

There was an awareness on Claire's face that revealed she felt the wild rapping against his rib cage. Both of their breathing changed, and in an instant, the closeness of their bodies was no longer means to keep anxiety at bay.

His heart rate suddenly became an equivalent of a man running from a bull in Pamplona. "Ach, Sassenach, couldnae ye wait until we were nearer to home to tell me that?" 

Her shoulders lifted. "Well, you did ask ..."

He walked her backwards against the car and pressed their forehead together. "Ah, damn it! Here I am trying to block images of what I want to do to ye the moment we're alone and be a decent boyfriend and treat ye like the sweetheart ye are. Now all I can think of is ..."

"What?" she asked innocently, her lids fluttering, her pupils obstructing out some of the gold of her irises. "What are you thinking of?"

Ah, bloody hell! He certainly didn't want to answer that. Not here at the airport's parking lot anyway. He blew out a shaky breath and adjusted his jeans. "Get in a car." The growl that broke from his throat sounded foreign to his ears, but it couldn't be helped when the sudden urgency to have Claire was thrumming in his veins. "And not another word, until we reach home."

She smiled and made a motion of zipping her lips as she got into the passenger side. He groaned inwardly, hoping and praying for another distraction. But this time for an entirely different condition that was tormenting him. 

  Dear Readers,

Well, I did try my hardest to finish this chapter in time for Valentine's day, but I was having too much of a good time with hubby that I thought surely you guys wouldn't mind. We had takeaways, a bottle of wine and cuddles on sofa rewatching Hunger Games. I know it's hardly a romantic film befitting Valentines, but we both loved it. My thoughts are, every day should be Valentine's day, so I hope you felt Jamie's love (and lust) for Claire in this chapter.😁

Before I sign off, I'd like to thank you for your continued readership and feedback, and I am so looking forward to what you think in my latest update. Take care of yourself and keep the love vibes rolling. Until my next instalment ...X

[write-like-you-mean-it]

The Void in Between Us: Haikyuu Coffee Shop AU

This is a Choose Your Own Character. This is part 2 to Kageyama’s story. Go to part 1 to read the beginning of the story.

Going over to a guy’s house on the first date was not the smartest decision that I’ve ever made. The choice was astronomically more dumb with the fact I rarely knew the guy beyond the small encounter we had while I was making his drink. However, all it did was make my heart pound even more with the excitement about to take part in my life. It was a dangerous choice that spurred on all the adrenaline racing through my body. Which is how I ended up staring at the forest green door in front of me.

I found myself hitting the door buzzer before I actually knew what I’d done. A voice came over the speakers “I’ll be there in a second,” garbled the static voice of the volleyball player. A small buzz happened before the click of the door. The door opened to see the tall raven-haired man in some light gray sweatpants and an oversized volleyball sweatshirt.

“I’m surprised you actually came,” he said before moving a bit more into the entrance to the apartment complex. I could physically see him flinch at his own comment. “No. I’m glad you are here. Come inside. I’ll lead you to my apartment.”

I walked into the brightly lit entranceway. A small chandelier hung at the top of the ceiling. It was a cheaply made one but it produced a lot of light. “So this is where a celebrity lives?” I tease. Kageyama scoffs and responds “I wouldn’t call myself that” before walking me up to his apartment. We walked up three flights of stairs before starting down another hallway. We stop in front of a door with the room number 309 on it.

He pulls some keys from his pockets and fiddles with the lock. His hands were shaking while opening the door. The volleyball player holds open the door while motioning inside. “Here we are. Make yourself comfortable.” I follow his hand motion and walk into a compact space. There wasn’t much furniture beyond a dark black couch, a large tv mounted to the wall, some workout equipment in the corner, and a side table next to the couch. Even the Dvd player was placed on the carpeted floor instead of a stand.

Kageyama followed me inside. He coughed as if to clear his nerves before stating “I made some popcorn for you. And I made some hot chocolate. I didn’t know if you’d like either but I think popcorn is a universal food and I like hot chocolate. And you’re a barista so I doubt it will be ass good as yours.” Every word he spoke got a little faster. It was as if he had to word vomit or he would actually vomit.

“I love popcorn,” I said while walking over to the couch and taking a seat. “And I bet you made it alright.” He went to another room which I assumed was the kitchen before coming out with two cups in one hand and a kettle in the other. He makes a show of pouring my drink then his own. A kind gesture for what could be considered a creepy situation.

“Thank you,” I say. I take my cup from his hands. The warmth of the liquid heats the outside of the cup and transfers to my hand. I stare down at the brown liquid in hopes that it would keep my own nerves at bay. I felt the couch take a dip and heard the click of the tv. “Are you pulling up your volleyball game?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama says while scrolling through his phone. He connected the tv to his phone and a volleyball court lights up the screen. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I say. “I do have to warn you that you’ll have to explain everything about this sport to me.” A chuckle passed my lips. I noticed that I sat on one end of the couch and he on the other. It was as if there was a vast ocean between us and neither of us had a paddle. We’re searching the endless void yet we’re too out of reach. Our eyes making quick glances at each other before turning back to the game.

I watched the ball move back and forth high above the net. Every few minutes, there would be a sound of the ball hitting the floor and screams of praise. The white lines that signify the pause button appear.

“I guess I should explain what’s happening.” My face must’ve held a confused look. Kageyama leaned into the tv so that his hand was pointing to a person on the screen. “That is me. I am the setter. That means I set the ball up for a spiker-” he moves his hand to point to two other guys “-to hit the ball on the other team’s court. We have 3 touches on each side before the ball has to go over.”

I nod my head before taking a sip of the warm liquid in my cup. The strong taste of milk held on my tongue. There was more milk than there was chocolate. “Seems to make sense,” I said.

He presses play once again and the team springs to life. Back and forth the ball goes from one player to another. I point to the screen. “Why are all the players moving at once?”

“That’s called a synchronized attack,” says the player. “I set the ball and all the players move as if they will attack. We have our libero staying back in case the other team is able to tell where the ball will go. I passed to Ushijima because he’s our strongest hitter.”

I found myself watching Kageyama’s side profile talk more than I did what he was showing me on the screen. The way his eyes showed a bluer tint every time he mentioned a new move made my heart skip a few beats. The more passionate he got, the more he moved closer to the middle of the couch. He would point at other players of the team and explain their position, who they were, and how long they’ve been on the team.

A few times we’d lock eyes only for him to turn away with a hint of red gracing his cheeks. “At least that’s the gist of my team.” He buries his face within the confines of his hot chocolate.

I giggled at his gesture. “You’re very passionate about this sport. It’s nice to see something you actually love.” My body naturally moved closer to his to see where he was pointing. The vastness seemed to grow a bridge without either of us knowing.

“I’ve been playing since I was little,” he says. “My grandpa taught me to play and I was good at it.” There was a lull in the conversation. We watched a few more minutes of volleyball before either of us spoke. “We face an old high school rival of mine tomorrow. I’m excited to see him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hinata.”

“Oh the short orange-haired player? He always comes into the coffee shop. Says it's a ritual or something.”

The player turns to look at me. “You haven’t given him your number. Right?” His face was scrunched up as if he was thinking of the next play he might make on the court.

A grin mirrors on my lips before I take another sip. “No. I haven’t given him my number.”

He relaxed the tense muscles in his body before leaning back against the couch. A few more minutes play of the sport. Wordless conversations filled our brains as we searched for something to talk about. I find my solace within my drink and the tv.

The score flashes on the tv before both teams break formation. I look confused at the screen while saying “what just happened?” I turned to see that Kageyama wasn’t facing the TV anymore. He was lookin at me.

He stuttered a bit before turning his gaze to the tv. The setter reversed the tape back a bit. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s alright Kageyama.”

“You can call me Tobio. I should have told you that much sooner into the night.” The blush form before still had yet to leave his cheeks. It was as if he was caught stealing. I take this chance to move a little closer until our legs would brush each other if we moved.

“Tobio,” I say. “Such a nice name.”

The silence was brought on once again. However, Kageyama took this opportunity to move his arms to the backrest of the couch. The gesture came with no look towards me; however, I could feel the questions buzzing in his head.

“You can look at me. It’s alright.”

I must’ve caught him off guard because his body tensed up at the statement. It took a few moments before he actually turned to face me. Our noses close enough to almost touch. The space between us felt as if the void had vanished all together. We were racehorses chasing something that neither of us knew.

My body reacted by laying a kiss onto his open lips. An instant of stillness was washed away as his lips connected back to mine. It was a soft kiss that left more questions than before. I pulled away as the sounds of the tv seemed to become dimmed by my own heartbeat. “Are you okay, Tobio?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to do it again?” I move to place the cup on the side table next to him. Kageyama pressed his lips to mine in the process and muttered a resounding “yes.”

(This series is a choose your own adventure. Pick your favorite man or all of them. I will try to make as many of them as possible with continuations. So far, there is Oikawa, Sugawara, Tuskishima, Hinata, Kageyama, and Akaashi. If you have a suggestion or comment, please message me!!)

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there’s no turning back

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Ortega’s gravity is pulling you back into everything you can’t have. The fantasy that anyone would care about you is as seductive as it is destructive. [In Undertow]

[Read on AO3]

It’s unsettling how quickly routine can develop, and with it familiarity. As the days turn into weeks turn into first one month then another. It’s not falling back into old habits, not exactly. But then again, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Volunteer work with Ortega, splitting weeks between the hospital and soup kitchen. It’s starting to feel… normal.

Was Ortega always this warm? Always this quick to touch, to catch your hand, to smile or frown? Were you always so quick to do the same?

It doesn’t feel right. Like… any moment god, or… something like it will realize the mistake and cast you down. Punish you for daring to feel like this.

You’d deserve it.

After all, you’re double-dipping. First as Jane, Ortega’s girlfriend, and again as Ariadne, that ghost from the past that just refuses to die. What game, exactly, Ortega is playing here you’re not sure. But in the five years you knew her, for all the relationships and flings she might have gone through, not once did she cheat. So… You must be reading her wrong right? How she is behaving to Ariadne?

If it’s not dating then what is it?

Wishful thinking or, maybe it’s a bleed over in perception or, or, or, something, anything to explain it away. Attraction – to this body? With it’s deformities and branding and everything twisted and wrong. It’s not – it’s not possible.

And then you think about the beach and –

Oh, you idiot. Why did you do that?

Why did Ortega do that?

Kiss you.

Repeatedly.

Finger to your lips, the memory of her mouth on yours is like a ghost. Electric and heart racing. Just thinking about it again and you can feel your face warm as you stare out the window. Want to pull your shawl up over your head and melt into a puddle. Shouldn’t be smiling like this. This is messed up. It’s wrong. God, are you crazy? Have you lost your entire fucking mind? This is… it’s you we’re talking about here. There’s no fucking way she would… right?

Goddammit this is making your head hurt.

The break room door swings up and you scramble to your feet, arms swinging wildly as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment coming out of your reverie there’s the assumption it must be Ortega coming in but – no, your awareness brushes the mind seconds before you turn and see her. All sharks and barbed wire.

“L– lady Argent. Um. Hi.”

She narrows her eyes, looking you up and down. “Waiting for Herald?”

Have to swallow the lump in your throat, battle back the nausea. “Um. H–herald? Yeah.” You shrug, avoiding her eyes. Actually Ortega had asked you for advice on something. But you’re not about to disabuse Argent of her assumption. She thinks you’re a wash-up and a has-been. And if your inability to stare her in the face and acknowledge what you’ve done contributes to that, well, that works out just fine, doesn’t it?

“Hrm.” Argent frowns, “That’s right, you’re giving him pointers or something? Whatever,” she shrugs and turns towards the fridge. Yanks open the door with no small amount of force. “Not my problem. As long as he stays out of my hair, we’re good.”

Okay. This seems like a safe enough subject. You can do this, Ariadne.

“He’s… um.” You falter as Argent turns to look at you again, a box of cold rice in one hand. “He’s got no idea how to use his boost in a–a–a fight. I’m having to… to um, start from well, from square one.”

“Well, maybe if he had ever listened to me, he wouldn’t have beefed it.” Argent scowls. “He should just carry a damn gun already. Could just fly around people’s cover.”

“Do… do you really think Herald is the type of person to, uh, well, um… carry a gun?”

She rolls her eyes, pulling into a seat. “Of course you would take his side. Bleeding hearts.”

You blink at that. “W–what?” You? A bleeding heart? You have to keep your face blank. Fight to not laugh at the idea.

She points a chopstick at you, “You heard me.”

When you don’t immediately respond she shifts focus to the rice, shoveling it into her mouth. You… should get out of here. If Herald still wants to train this week he has your number. Well, he has a number of yours.

Being alone in a room with Lady Argent is near the very bottom of the list of things you want to be. It’s hard enough facing her when you’re in your armor. At least Ghost – Banshee now, you remind yourself – has some sort of rivalry building that gives you a framing to work with. Just as yourself, as Ariadne the has–been… it’s too… too…

Whatever – Don’t think about it. You’re going to have nightmares tonight as it is, anyway.

Quietly you slowly meander around the perimeter of the break room and make your exit. Argent doesn’t stop you. Barely even thinks of you. If you’re lucky, you’ll stay that way. A bug beneath her notice.

As tempting as it is, you don’t really have the trust, or the cover, to go snooping around. You’ll just find a conference room or something to hold up in. Ortega will message or call or whatever whim strikes her when she can’t find you. She’s certainly never been shy about hunting you down.

“–you. There’s something going on here.”

Oooooor the snooping could come to you. You hang back. Shut the door to a conference room. Can only pick up one mind on the other side but– static. Ortega? Ortega and… Chen? Can feel your stomach twist.

“Your opinion is noted, but your personal feelings are clouding your judgement on this Ortega.” Chen. Yep, that’s Chen alright.

“It doesn’t fit the MO, or anything we know about motive. Why spend all that work only to flush it away?” Ortega. She sounds frustrated. Raising her voice. You can just imagine the static electricity crawling up her arms, discharge triggered by the stress in her hands.

“You know as well as I do that these things can change as a villain settles in. Maybe the change of name was meant to be a tip off.”

Name change? They’re not talking about…? You can feel your breath catch in your throat.

“And we’ve seen that. Compare how mouthy they’ve gotten to their debut. Come on, Wei. Think this through. Someone else is using them as cover. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“...the jury is still out on that one. And saving bystanders to the assassination attempt would still fit the profile we’ve built.” There’s a pause. “No, I’m not convinced.” Chen’s voice drops. The two of them continue to argue, muffled by the door. Skimming his thoughts doesn’t give you much more to work with. If the Rangers still can’t figure out what exactly Banshee’s deal is, that’s fine with you. The longer they spend guessing, the longer you have to build your strength.

The doorknob turns and you jump back, biting your lip. Ortega catches your eyes as she steps out. Momentary surprise is washed away with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I got a little heated there.”

“I – I wasn’t–” You cough, face red. “I wasn’t uh, trying to eavesdrop I just… Argent kicked me out of the break room so, well, um…”

“Ari, you’re fine.” Ortega laughs, a hand on your shoulder guiding you away from the conference room. “Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on the whole thing so it’s fine.”

“It – it is?”

“Not here though. Com’on, let’s go to my office.”

“I’m… not in trouble am I?”

Ortega gives you a wry look. “Not yet. Why? Looking to make some?”

You offer an uneasy smile back. “I’ll be good.”

–––

“So.. what’s the deal?” You settle into your chair as Ortega takes the one by the computer. You watch as she grabs some papers off the desk shuffling through them.

“I wanted your opinion on Banshee.”

You frown, folding your arms against your chest under your shawl. Thank god for that shawl. No one can see the sweat dripping down your armpits. “Ghost?”

Ortega gives you a curious look. “Banshee, remember?”

“No, I knew that.” You correct her before you can stop yourself. “I mean, uh – why ask me?” You sigh. “I thought I had made my feelings on all this pretty clear.”

“I think that makes it all the more important.” Ortega whispers.

“Huh?” You didn’t hear that right, did you?

“Do you think they’re a killer?”

You stare at her. “Wh–what do you mean?”

“You know, Mayor Alavrez’s personal aide?” Ortega offers, “Has kind of an anti-corruption bent to him?”

Ochoa had been priming Vanderpoel as an informant for a big expose on City Hall corruption. You’d been hoping to keep him around as a pawn to push against the Mayor when election season rolled around. Did the Rangers suspect something there?

You blink and tilt your head. One hand finds itself digging into your leg, tracing patterns. “I... “ You laugh, “Ortega, who keeps up on that kind of stuff?”

“Argent says she interrupted Banshee in middle of… doing something with Mayor Alavrez’s aide.”

“So…?”

“There was that hit job on Marconi, and Banshee took a hostage in that last fight with Argent.” Ortega pauses, you steal a quick glance at her face only for the weight of her gaze to force your eyes away again.

“Fuck.”

“Ariadne…?” Ortega furrows her brow.

“No, I just – What are you asking?” You sigh. A long, drawn-out exhale as you run your hands through your hair. You look back up and find Ortega’s brown eyes searching your face.

“You always had a knack for knowing what the bad guys were thinking, Ari.” There’s a strange evenness to her voice. It takes the sharp pain of your fingernails digging into your thigh to keep you present.

“That’s – Ortega, that was a long time ago.” You force a laugh. “And – and anyway…” Your stomach twists. “Is it really that much of a mystery? Banshee already killed that uh, Macaroni guy. You can’t really turn back from that.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

You furrow your brow, biting the inside of your cheek. Not so sure? Not so sure of what? Banshee killing Marconi had been a cut and dry story all over the news. And it’s not like you were able to save him, just because you weren’t responsible for the explosion didn’t make you any less guilty.

Ortega sighs, “And now this thing with Alavrez’s aide. Argent was on the scene as fast as she could, but Banshee had plenty of opportunity to kill him if that had been the goal.”

What was it you overheard her and Chen talk about? Someone else using Banshee for cover? Cover for what? Obviously they’re both mistaken, but what exactly does Ortega think is going on here?

Ortega leans back in her chair, blowing air through her lips. “Chen says I’m too close, so… what do you think?”

You stare at her, point a hand at your chest. “What do I think?”

“Did Banshee kill Marconi?”

“I – I’m sorry, did I miss something? When did that become the question?”

"Let’s just say the evidence doesn’t line up as well as the official story would have you believe.”

Your eyes widen at that. That’s a normal enough reaction for someone completely innocent right? Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can feel the sweat on your armpits. “I… Okay. I guess… putting that particular… attack aside,” You force yourself to meet Ortega’s eyes. “I mean, well. Does she – them – they, do they seem like the… the type, to uh well, do that?” This is crazy. It’s one thing to be getting insider gossip, it’s another to be walking a tightrope over a pit full of live alligators. “They’ve uh, they’ve had… plenty of opportunities. Why kill just that one guy?”

“Maybe Marconi wouldn’t give them something they wanted?”

“That’s… possible.” You have to concede. “But…” You’re playing with fire here. Need to be dead careful with your words. “You think they’re a telepath, right?”

Ortega nods.

“So… like, even if someone decides they don’t want to, uh, to talk anymore. If this… criminal is as powerful a telepath as you think, I don’t know if that would be a barrier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I–I–I mean, well – As long as someone’s alive, you can work with that. Uh. Mentally speaking. You can’t… can’t get thoughts from a corpse.”

Ortega drums her fingers against her chin, staring over your shoulder at the unfinished wall. “That’s kind of creepy.”

Oh god. Oh christ. How did you get yourself into this mess?

“That’s… just my guess?” You have to take a breath, swallow the bile back. It’s a struggle not to let the tension show any more than it already is. “And… it’s not like I’ve kept up the past couple years. Maybe I’m completely off base. But… I don’t think there’s anything Banshee would have to gain from killing these guys.”

“So you think they would kill somebody?”

“I… I didn’t say that!” You sit up, waving your hand. “I–I–I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

“Ari?”

You look up, “S–sorry.” You bunch up your hands, shrinking into your seat. “I’m a little out of it already.”

Ortega’s expression changes, a different kind of concern. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Um…” You chew your cheek, look away from her to stare at the blank whiteboard. “No. Uh… Therapy.” You throw the word out there with a shrug. “It’s been… it’s been hard. Digging things up.” Not a complete lie. You rub your head, plaster a smile back on your face. “Sorry, sorry. Um. Let’s focus on this… Banshee mess?”

“I guess it depends on what their agenda actually is.”

“Yeah.”

“They definitely seem to have some sort of political bent to their attacks.” Ortega glances at you from the corner of her eye. “It’s making a lot of suits very nervous.”

“For their lives or their careers?”

That gets a small smirk. “Soon it’s gonna be both.”

“That’s… fair.” You’re not sure your smile is as genuine as you’d like. Who’s trying to undermine you? Once was coincidence but twice makes a pattern. It’s enough to make your skin crawl. You need to be more careful. Maybe it’s time to drop Rosie, as helpful as having her around is. Up your OpSec.

Fuck – you’re zoning out again. You scan the run, looking for something to distract the conversation with. “Who’s that?” You nod towards the photo taped to the frame of Ortega’s computer monitor.

“Who?” She spins around in her chair. “Oh. That.” She looks back at you, embarrassed? “A reminder, that’s all.”

“Reminder?” You tilt your head.

“I… may have punched a reporter at your funeral. I’m surprised you didn’t already know?” She pries the photograph off it’s tape backing and hands it over to you. A newspaper clipping it looks like. Somebody’s byline. Vernon Browne? “He was an asshole.” Ortega sighs, a scowl settling over the embarrassment. “A real asshole. I quit the next week. They were going to fire me otherwise.”

“I had a funeral?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Ortega makes a face like you just slapped her. “Of course you had one. Ari, why wouldn’t you? I told you when we met.”

“S–sorry. I just… never thought about it.” Things like you don’t ‘get’ funerals. You’re disposable. Break down into parts and re-use whatever’s still good. “I… uh. I didn’t really… think anyone cared.”

“Ari–” Ortega blinks hard. You can tell she’s barely restraining herself from touching you. “Of course people cared. A… lot of people cared. About both of you.”

Both?

Anathema.

Fuck.

You rub at your face.

“We didn’t have a body for either of you, but that didn’t mean we were just… just going to forget about you.” Ortega looks away, balling her hands into fists. Little sparks crawling up her arms. “And then this pendejo shows up with all these… weird accusations. At your goddamn funeral and, and…”

Have to keep your face blank. “...accusations…?”

“He was a conspiracy nut. Ranted about all kinds of crazy things.” Ortega throws her hands in the air. “I don’t remember even half of the nonsense he shouted. But it – it was your goddamn funeral and he wouldn’t shut up and…”

“So you… punched him?”

“I’d have kicked his teeth in too if Wei hadn’t grabbed me. Still broke his nose. Ortega shakes her head. “He had a time of it, reading me the hospital bill.”

“Chen’s an asshole.”

“So are we all.” Ortega takes the picture back from you, sticks it back to the monitor. “Anyway, he retired not long after. But I keep the picture around. It’s a reminder.”

You watch Ortega’s face, the shift in her body language. Sometimes she seems as energetic and gung-ho as she was seven years ago. And other times, like right now, you can really see the weight of middle-age starting to settle into her. “A reminder?”

“Not to let my emotions get the better of me like that again.”

You frown. “So… when Wei said you were too close…”

“Yeah.” Ortega frowns with you, raises a hand up to rub the back of her neck.

“Well…” Your voice feels small, drowning into the empty walls as you stare at your lap. “I think… maybe your hunch is right.”

“Thanks.” Her hand finds your knee. You let it stay there.

[kisskissbanggang]

Standby pt. 2

[~10 Min. Read/3.2K Words – Bang Chan x Female Reader – Idol!AU – NSFW/Smut, Some Emerging Plot – Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Impulsive Decisions, Stressful Job Situations, Sneaking Around, One-Sided Feelings(?), Acting Professional]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

Your sneakers slapped the bruised linoleum floor of the terminal, sprinting each time you were out of sight of a huge crowd. Honestly, you fit in with every other rushing traveler in the busy concourse. Time, as always, was of the essence, and you only had so much before this comically bad situation got worse.

The group had already been late leaving for the airport that morning. It was as rough of a time as any, only made worse by being in preparation of an international flight. Bags were being packed and reviewed, passports were being gathered, and everyone was already tired. By the time the group left the dorm, you all had barely any time to make your plane. Arriving at the airport, however, turned the whole debacle into an entirely different beast. Other countries, other industries, used service hallways and back entrances for high profile travelers. Hyun-Jae-unnie made it very clear to you from your first flight with the group that the whole point of going to the airport wasn't so much to travel as it was to be seen traveling. It was no secret that fans always mysteriously knew when the band would be flying.

On this particularly rainy morning, all the fanfare was waiting inside Departures like a bubbling volcano. The sliding doors opened and you flinched at the barrage of flashing lights as you all rushed through check-in and security. Pushing through a bombardment of various intrusions, both professional and not, you all finally made it onto the plane safely with only minutes to spare.

Until your mentor yanked on your carry-on strap. Hyun-Jae-unnie looked frantic, her eyes screaming.

"We're not all here. Didn't you do the head count while I checked us in?"

You could feel the color drain from your face. In all the commotion, you had only heard "head count" and nothing else. You'd assumed she was just saying that she was taking care of it.

"Because," she continued, her pallid complexion looking dire, "guess who just texted me as I was turning on airplane mode?" She pushed her phone into your hands.

Chan.

You whipped your head around. The rest of the boys and staff looked just as confused as you felt. Hyun-Jae-unnie snatched her phone back from you, her other hand clutching your shoulder.

"Fix it."

"But, Unnie -- " you began weakly.

"But nothing. I trusted you to do something, and since you didn't, now I'm trusting you to fix it. I know you can. So do it. Rehearsal is tomorrow morning, 8AM local time. Be there, with Bang Chan."

You had taken three minutes to hyperventilate in the jet bridge once you deplaned, and now you were sprinting through the terminal looking for your worst nightmare: a lost idol. An odd phenomenon caught your eye. Bands of students and teenage girls were milling about. You assumed you must be on the right trail. Time and time again you checked your phone, praying that Chan would get back to you since you texted him the moment you were off the plane. You began ducking into each and every shop on the concourse, looking down every aisle and around each display in hopes of finding him, all while attempting to not draw attention. You turned a corner in the shop you were currently searching when a hand darted out and clamped over your mouth. You were dragged back into a half bear hug, half chokehold, as you tried to gain all the will and strength you had left to unquestionably destroy whoever was daring to add to your misery today.

"Thank god I found you!" Chan quietly exulted. "This has been an absolute disaster." You spun around, excitedly flinging your arms around him before you could stop yourself. Embarrassed, tired, and despondent, you quickly regained your composure the best you could. You took a few minutes to pull yourselves together before you got the hell over it and set to work.

Moving quickly, you worked together to evade attention. You ducked into a service hall once you made sure the coast was clear. Your black face masks were swapped out for white spares you had in the bottom of your carry-on. You pulled off your light windbreaker and pushed it into your bag, pulling on Chan's offered flannel that he'd been wearing under his jacket, which he then threw into his own bag. Pulling out a beanie from the front pocket of his backpack, Chan finally felt ready to join you for your next step. You moved swiftly through the crowds back to the ticket agent desk, grabbing your IDs and going about setting up a new first class flight. You were assured by the agent that even though you were on standby, you had a good chance of getting on the next nonstop in an hour, a couple of booked customers being notorious for last-minute cancellations.

So that left an hour.

You flipped through any and all options for privacy in your head before suddenly realizing the best course of action. Grabbing ahold of Chan's arm, you made a beeline for the airline's guest lounge. It was oddly full for a weekday morning, but it seemed more than welcoming with its low light and bartender on duty. You gave the front desk attendant the information for the company account and, once inside, immediately pulled up a seat at the bar. You slipped off your face mask and practically inhaled the first drink you ordered, feeling just a little more relaxed at this late, late hour of 10AM. Chan settled in beside you and ordered you both a round.

"Thanks," he offered, playfully nudging his shoulder into yours. You shook it off.

"I said I'm always going to do right by you. Besides, it's my job." You gave him an exhausted, small smile.

"And you're good at it," he encouraged. "One minute I'm checking to make sure I have my wallet, the next I'm entirely lost with a whole mob of fans hunting me down. Hyun-Jae-noona may be a machine, but you'll be giving her a run for her money someday, and probably soon."

A humble blush seeped over your cheeks, but you knew it wouldn't last. Given the opportunity, Chan would inevitably bring up that evening backstage at Inkigayo. He'd been trying for weeks now and you'd skillfully dodged him time and time again.

"So," he began, with all the subtlety of a cannon, "we have plenty of time to talk about you and I."

"Hmm, no," you laughed, accidentally too meanly, firmly shaking your head as you maintained a hard gaze on your empty glass, "because there is no 'you and I'. I helped you out. Like I said, it's my job."

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Chan cock his head and frustratedly play with the case on his phone. "That isn't exactly in your job description last I checked, and I'm pretty sure you enjoyed it way more than you care to let on."

It wasn't. You did. But you were petrified to let Chan know that, for more reasons than just the most obvious one concerning your employment status. Despite those conflicting feelings, however, what was more pressing was how much Chan being upset made you upset in return.

"Right. Because that rests on a line way beyond the one I shouldn't have crossed in the first place, and I should've known better than to make suggestions to an idol thinking with his dick."

Chan slapped his hands down on the bar as he got up, letting out a spiteful scoff with an exaggerated shrug. "Better than taking suggestions from an intern who refuses to acknowledge she may have been thinking with her pussy. Now, if you don't mind, am I allowed to leave your sight to piss, or are you going to come watch me so you don't disappoint your bosses?"

You gawked, speechless and fuming as Chan turned heel and crossed the unusually busy lounge to the first of two private restrooms down the hall at the other end of the room.

Your mind raced, your heart pumped into your throat, your palms sweated, but worst of all was your stupid pussy betraying you at its mention. As you attempted to massage the TV static out of your temples, Chan's stupid, mesmerizing scent wafted into your nose from his flannel you were still wearing. Your stress headache was about to turn into stress nausea and making Hyun-Jae-unnie proud would only feel so good if you were lucid enough to enjoy it and god damn Chan for being so cocky and rude and right. Grappling both yours and his carry-on bags, you hauled them to the front desk attendant to be left in their care before you stormed across the lounge and all but kicked in the restroom door Chan had conveniently forgotten to lock in his anger. You were taken aback for a second, amused at how he wasn't even taking a piss. The man was just leaned back against the sink and tapping on his phone. You should've known; Chan used various forms of this tactic all the time back at the dorm -- walk it off and wait it out. But you weren't interested in waiting, nor walking it off. He cautiously looked over as you flipped the lock.

"Oh, so you do want to watch--" Chan sneered, stopped dead by you shoving him back against the sink and yanking down his mask before capturing his lips in a furious kiss. He pulled as far back from you as he could while being pinned up against the porcelain, waiting for your next move. This jerk was grinning. "What happened to not making it weird?"

"It's too weird to not be weird," you growled, shaking your head. "You want to see me thinking with my pussy? I'll fucking show you."

"You're a busybody, you know that?" Chan mused, mostly mumbled between your resumed kisses. You plucked off his beanie and threaded your fingers into his hair, winning a throaty groan from him as you tugged on his wavy tresses.

You dragged your lips from his own down to his neck, the skin there raising in goosebumps to meet your hot breath as you absently ground your hips against his. "Chris," you moaned against his throat, your special magic word already making him shiver, "tell me how much you've been thinking of me."

"Making assumptions, aren't you?" He chuckled before surprising you. He pushed you back, hips first, angling you back against the tile wall and caging you as his hands kept teasing to touch you. Each time he got close, he backed away a little more.

"Can't make assumptions when it's just facts," you smirked, breaking his concentration as you shoved him back against the sink. "Now tell me how much you've been thinking of me."

"Every fucking night," he breathed, eagerly following as you led his hands around your waist. "I've been losing sleep wondering how to get you alone. Not quite what I had in mind, but I'll take it."

"Well, you have me now, so you better make the best of this before I come to my senses." You slipped your hands under his shirt, finally letting yourself feel his taut stomach that you'd admired more than once when you'd caught glimpses of it. The groan under his surprised flinch made you clutch your knees together a little tighter.

Chan nodded firmly before leaning down and hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around him in one swift move. "Yes ma'am."

Was it dumb that those words alone struck up a tingle in your spine? You waited, curious as he spun and sat you on the edge of the sink.

"Have any ideas?" You asked.

"Just a few. Been thinking with my dick after all." He gently pushed you to lean back against the mirror above the sink, giving you a sly smile that faded the moment he went to pick the button of your jeans.

You put a hand on his. "What's wrong?"

Chan shook his head. "Is this stupid?"

A sigh erupted from your chest before you could stop it. "If I'm being candid, this is worse than stupid; it's dangerous. But you're really cute and I'm really enjoying myself. I think we can be stupid and dangerous once or twice."

"Well now we just sound reckless." You knew that look. Chan was on the edge of panic. You sat up on the ledge of the sink and gently took his face in your hands.

"Chris. Are you enjoying this? Do you like me?"

"Yeah," he nodded weakly. "Of course. You're gorgeous and you drive me nuts and I can't get enough of you."

"Then kiss me -- ah!" You interrupted, putting a finger to his lips and shushing him before he could continue being so wishy-washy. "Kiss me. It's not like it's our first or anything, but it'll calm you down and get you back in the game, I promise."

Chan fiddled with your fingers where they still rested on his hand.

"Or..." You ducked closer, attempting to catch his gaze. "You can say no. I won't deny I'm being a little selfish, but I'd never try to steer you wrong, Chris."

He thought about it. He really thought about it, still fidgeting with your fingers tangled with his before he suddenly had his same, goofy, self-assured smile. His other hand brushed your cheek, his rings there zipping cold against your skin before you were faced with his lips hesitating, meditating right before yours. You waited to close your eyes as if you'd miss something if you didn't keep watching, and he finally kissed you. It felt different: sweet, thoughtful, curious -- a wine you'd first tried under different circumstances but never really appreciated before, but now feared you'd take it for granted.

You gasped, dazed and startled like a shaken sleepwalker as Chan did, indeed, get back in the game. His hands gently pushed you to lean back against the mirror with renewed confidence and he was back on you, kissing you with new vigor as he tried once again to unfasten the button of your jeans. With newfound success, he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and swiftly yanked them down along with your panties, down to your knees where he paused for just a second. You couldn't help but smirk at Chan's momentary admiration of your pussy on the ledge of the sink. His eyes ticked up to meet yours, staying there as he slowly sank to his knees in front of you. He tugged your jeans down further to your ankles. He ducked under and between your legs, allowing you to spread your knees around him and let him take his time as his lips ghosted over your warm heat.

"Alright," he smirked, "I'm not exactly a pro at this, but--" His sudden groan was delicious as you raked your fingers into his hair and tugged him close, causing a premature kiss between his lips and your damp pussy. He quickly became accustomed after his initial taste, a deep moan following his tongue into your wet folds. You bit down a moan, your teeth digging into your lip as your hips rolled against Chan's tongue.

Your ears perked at the sound of a zipper and a small smile pulled at your lips, content to know how turned on Chan was to please you. A noticeable change occurred in his rhythm as his hands transitioned from clutching your thighs, to one gripping his rigid cock, the other beginning to dip into your dripping juices and tease your quivering hole.

"Is it good?" You asked, chest heaving and your head dizzy.

He pulled up, his shameless smile slick with you. "You're fucking delicious," he breathed.

The moment his tongue affectionately laved your clit in combination with his fingers slowly slipping inside your depths, you cried out, unable to hold back and earning the biggest shit-eating grin from the man between your legs. He resumed eating you ravenously, his tongue and fingers probing you in tandem as you slowly ascended your peak. Were the lights in this bathroom always so intense? Your knuckles were pale wrapped in Chan's hair, the veins beneath scripting thoughts you were still too afraid to say.

"Chris," you wavered, your thighs trembling where they sat on his shoulders, "I'm going to fucking cum --"

"Oh yeah?" He raised his eyebrows as his fingertips crooked up inside you. "Show me, baby."

Your cheeks washed crimson at the sweet name, nearly thrown off track but brought back the moment he resumed pumping his tongue and fingers together, the syncopated ministrations bringing you higher and higher until you couldn't hold it anymore. A bolt of lightning traveled up your spine, circling your head before finally striking. Your fingers knitted into Chan's hair, you cried out and roughly ground your pussy against his mouth as your orgasm washed over you.

But he didn't stop. He dug in harder, you could actually feel his dark smirk as you nearly screamed. He caught you just in time, shooting a hand up to clamp over your mouth as he kept tasting your dripping folds. After all, there was a room of people just outside.

"Chris," you whimpered into his palm, "please, please, please."

Please, stop? Please, more? You had no clue, your eyes were practically rolled back in your head.

He backed up just a breath away. "We don't stop until I finish," he moaned, his husky growl reverberating against your ignited nerves before he fucked you harder. Where was this new edge coming from? Something about it intrigued you to no end. A second peak came into view when an alarm suddenly went off on your phone. You regretfully kicked Chan off of you before digging the beeping monstrosity out of your jacket pocket.

"What is it?" Chan asked, bewildered.

"Oh shit," you wheezed, still coming back to earth, "we have to go. Come on. The gate is at the other end of the concourse."

Chan was left speechless for a second, still kneeling on the floor before sighing deep and shoving his hard-on back into his jeans. He watched as you swiftly -- and with eerie efficiency -- pulled your clothing back in place, checked your hair, and leaned down to wipe his dripping chin with your jacket sleeve after you re-situated his clothing as well. You pulled him to his feet, dragging him behind you down to the front desk and grabbing your bags before sprinting down the concourse, all the while digging new face masks out of your backpack and quickly snapping them on before arriving at the gate.

Thankfully, the seats you were vying for were open, and you could nearly hear applause as you hauled Chan down the jet bridge and got settled in first class. Finally, as the plane was taxiing, you pulled out your notebook to get some neglected work done. Chan, headphones on and looking agitated, reached over, plucked your pen out of your hand, and scribbled in the margin of your notebook page.

So, if I’m not going to finish, we at least definitely have more than enough time to talk now, right?

[To be continued.]

[sybilius]

I don't know what your ships are so... 36 with whoever you want?

36 … to give up control.

This is 70s AU Blondie/Angel Eyes, would be just at the start of bleeding across state lines. A bit of a reckoning.

*

“I want a drive.”

I nearly bite my tongue on how graceless it sounds, but I lean myself in the door frame of the west bedroom. A ridiculous shrine to perversion, but perhaps that’s exactly why he’s set up camp there…

… and there I go theorizing again. Bene diagnoscitur, bene curatur. I swore that night, I was finished with that useless endeavor. Even if I’m not with him.

He rubs his eyes, still crusted with sleep. It’s early in the morning. I’d prefer to decrease our chances of running into his…companion. 

“…and if I say no?”

“I’d prefer you explain yourself to me alone, but if you want me to wake your… Tuco and explain to us both –”

“– all right. Let’s go.”

I stop him with a hand to his arm when he gets to the door, gentle but firm, “Did you lie to me as you did to him, for as long as you were here?”

“Told you what I needed to. When I thought I could,” his flinty blue eyes are unreadable, gorgeous. Damn him. 

Damn him for making me follow him. Through the corridors of the labyrinthine house he still knows well, even after over a year’s absence. Damn the way my chest aches with relief, seeing him well, damn the way I fear the betrayal of my own tongue. That I don’t trust it not to come out with rage or desperation. 

We’re in step by the time we reach the car, that black Charger I’d kept even after I’d let him hot-wire it. I slip into the driver’s seat without a word, and he seems to hesitate. There might be something like fear in his gaze. I sigh, turn the keys to roll down the passenger window.

“Just to talk. That’s all I want.”

“Fine,” he slips one of those cigarillos out of his pocket, and yet another mark appears on the ledger of damnations. The fact that the his smoky exhale still relaxes me makes it all the worse. 

I start the car. Pull out into the dawn that’s just started to bring out the rusted dirt of the mesas. The radio comes on half-static at first, and he pauses from his smoking to flick the dial off. 

I hadn’t realized, until now, just how much I hadn’t expected him to come. Or perhaps, hadn’t expected it to be like this. Aegrescit medendo, to need to search for words that simultaneously demanded an apology and offered one. I let my eyes wander to him. He’s tight-lipped as ever. 

I slow when I get to the graveyard. At least there’s plenty of cover, no need to split my attention to far to the possibility of being attacked. I pull on the parking brake with a hard jerk. Stare at him a moment. 

“Look. I. Had a situation. He needed me.”

“And? You didn’t think to call, after you’d resolved it? For his sake?”

“Yours. I. I didn’t think you’d want to get mixed up with him.”

The sting of what I’d feared goes through me, dull as a bruised limb, “I didn’t think I did either. Good god, Manco. How on Earth do you keep any kind of low profile working with him?”

“It’s not like that– I don’t – work with him. We do poker together, and what I make keeps us afloat,” he purses his lips around the cigarillo, managing to look both flinty and oddly vulnerable, “He’s just– I dunno. The kind of person you want to keep safe." 

Perhaps it’s the rare and altogether overwhelming waver in his voice that shreds through the last of my control, and I shake my head once and kiss him furiously, with none of the tenderness that’s tearing me apart.

When I stop to draw breath, it feels like his tongue has raked me raw. 

"You’re that kind of person for God’s sake,” I whisper. 

“Don’t you be worrying about me.”

“Too fucking late.”

The lack of control in my voice must scare him too, since he places his free hand on my cheek, strokes the bone there, “Hey. Hey. Look. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me gone, okay?" 

"There’s an implicit ‘we’ in this,” it’s disparaging before I can school my features, and the pain passes to him before I can swallow it back, “Stay. With him if you must, just stay." 

"I’ll make it up,” he adds, looking chastised for the first time since I saw him again. But I’m already shaking my head, crossing the space between us to ravage his mouth and neck.

He always did bring out what little is still reckless in me. 

[fanficshiddles]

Thinking about you, One shot

Thank you for the prompt. Hope you like it!

lynnesm submitted:

Thinking about you

Hello, maybe it’s a lit bit cliché or stupid but i was thinking about a girl that she wants desperately to find a guy to f*ck that looks like Loki. She doesn’t find one and decide to masturbate by thinking about him but can’t cum. Frustrated she was ready to give up and the real God came from nowhere and as a shapeshifter he took the form of Tom as Loki to……. Help her! Use your imagination i have my trust upon you!!!!!

The date had been a complete disaster.

I slammed the door shut in a huff. He was nothing like I expected. It took everything in me not to just walk out on him straight away. But not wanting to hurt him, I had stayed for dinner then left afterwards.

I felt a little bad, but I had my goals. And I wasn’t wanting to settle for anything less. Maybe I was a bit obsessed with Tom Hiddleston’s Loki. And my search for a guy that looked similar was maybe taking over my life a bit.

But when I had seen his profile picture online, he was cosplaying as Loki. And he looked super like him. Or so I’d thought. I’d learned during dinner that it was clearly the clothes that made him look like Loki. When he was wearing normal clothing, he looked nothing like Loki or Tom.

It was frustrating. I just desperately wanted to find a man like Loki.

Giving up hope and forgetting about looking online for another guy to start talking to, I decided to just go to bed and try to get myself off.

Even my imagination wasn’t doing much for me tonight though. I tried looking through pictures and videos from Tom Hiddleston’s comic con appearance. His dominating presence, the way he could control the crowd with a simple finger to his lips…

I rubbed my clit quicker and quicker, but it still didn’t work. I just couldn’t quite get there. It was SO frustrating, I felt like crying.

After trying for a little longer, I gave up and tossed my phone across the room in anger and went to brush my teeth before going to sleep. When I rinsed out my mouth and spat in the sink, I looked into the mirror and sighed.

‘Please, Loki, my God. If you’re real. Help me out here?’ I begged and looked up, but I knew it was so stupid.

He wasn’t real.

When I returned to my room and was about to get into bed, I felt a weird sensation all over my body. It was like static filled the room. The hairs on my arms stood up on end and I felt a weird shiver down my spine, like someone was in the room behind me.

I turned around and let out a scream upon seeing a strange figure in my room. But my eyes widened when I recognised him. It was… Loki? Tom Hiddleston? No, definitely Loki. The sly and mischievous look on his face was evident of that. And the Asgardian armour was kinda the biggest giveaway.  

‘How… how…’ I couldn’t get my words out as I scrambled back on my bed, eyes still wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

He laughed wickedly and took large, menacing steps towards the bed. He reached out and trailed a lone finger down my leg to my ankle, where he began to stroke me softly. Goosebumps rising under his touch.

‘I came to help you. Because it seems that you are in desperate need of some… help.’ He grinned and raised an eyebrow at me.

I suddenly felt very vulnerable in my nightie. I squeezed my thighs together, swallowing hard. Now I was starting to question my decision to go without knickers. Even if I had just been masturbating mere minutes before he appeared unannounced in my room.

He walked up the side of the bed, closer to me. He picked up my right hand and to my utter mortification, he brought my fingers up to his nose and sniffed. A dark smirk spread over his lips, clearly smelling my arousal on my fingers. But then, he slid my index and middle finger into his mouth and he started suckling, moaning at the taste.

My breathing deepened from the feeling of his tongue flicking and rolling over my digits… And I couldn’t help but wonder how that tongue would feel elsewhere. Judging from the look on his face, it was as if he could read my mind.

He slipped my fingers out of his mouth with a pop, they were covered in his saliva. Which turned me on a lot more than I think it should have.

‘Do you know why I am known as the silver tongue?’ He walked back towards the bottom of the bed, looking incredibly intimidating but incredibly sexy at the same time. He was like a panther, stalking his pray with absolute precision and grace.

‘I… I…’ I still couldn’t get the words out.

He chuckled and slid his fingers around my ankle again, this time he tugged with ease and pulled me further down on the bed, which made my nightie ride up to reveal up to my stomach. I tried to pull it down, but Loki was suddenly over the top of me, pressing against me.

I tried again to say something, but he put a finger to my lips.

‘Shhh, shhh. I heard you praying for me. Isn’t this what you want? To learn why I am known as the silver tongue.’ He said cockily, knowing it was exactly what I wanted.

I nodded quickly. Slightly ashamed at how aroused I was with him simply being here, I knew it wasn’t going to take long before I came. Even with just his voice alone.

‘Good girl.’ He purred, his praise sent a jolt of pleasure down to my core.

I squirmed in excitement and anticipation when he moved down, pushing my legs open so he could position himself between them. I felt really exposed and couldn’t stop blushing.

He looked up at me from between my legs and winked at me, I had to look away. I couldn’t keep my eyes on his any longer, especially with him down there.

‘Such beauty. I do wish you had called for me sooner.’ He hummed. And I could feel his warm breath against me.

It took all of my confidence to keep my legs open, when I desperately wanted to close them. Feeling so shy. But when he used his fingers to spread me open, and he took his first lick, all of my shyness went out the window.

And I learned for sure why he was known as silver tongue.

Loki alternated from slow, long licks to more precise ones with the tip of his tongue. He took great pleasure in circling my clit, getting it worked up then moving away before I could reach orgasm. Instead to thrust into me as far as he could, tasting me and lapping up my arousal. He sounded like a feral animal, slurping and growling as he ate me out.

I couldn’t stop moving my body, pushing into him wanting more. He pressed his forearm across my abdomen, pinning me down with such ease. That brought me greater pleasure, feeling like I couldn’t move and had to take what he gave me.

He nuzzled my clit with his nose while his tongue pushed into me, swirling around and making me cry because it was SO GOOD. Then his tongue replaced his nose, licking my clit in firm, but gentle at the same time, licks as if he was licking an ice cream.

But it was when he started suckling on my clit, taking it between his lips and rolling it around. His tongue flicking fast over it, never seeming to tire. It felt like he had been down there for ages.

Loki actually laughed against me from the sounds I was making, the vibrations from his laughing only added to the pleasure. But then he added his fingers into the mix, it happened quite quick. He slipped two fingers easily into me and curled them just so, hitting against my g spot. That added with the stimulation on my clit, I not only came… I squirted. All over his face…

I cried from the pleasure, the best I’d ever felt. It was like my whole body was alive and tingling, my pussy clenched around his fingers as I came. When he pulled his fingers out and gave me one last lick, tasting me, he leaned up and I saw his chin glistening wet from my juices.

‘Mmm, you are such a delicious morsel.’ He licked his lips repeatedly and crawled up over my body that kept jerking as he touched me on the way up, over sensitive. My eyes were hazed over and I could barely think straight, never mind speak.

‘I think I shall stay for a while.’ He grinned and kissed me on the lips, making me taste myself on his lips.  

[sternchencas]

written for a prompt by @maggiemaybe160 on the @profoundnet discord.

THE VOICE OF AN ANGEL

Pairing: Destiel | Wordcount: 4.867 | Rating: Explicit | also on AO3

Tags: radio, music, masturbation, fluff and smut, Dean falls for Cas’ voice

Summary:  When Sam hides Dean’s cassette tapes, Dean has to get creative to get his daily fix of classic rock, but soon, the music doesn’t matter anymore. Instead, Dean gets high on a voice.

“I swear to god, Sam, you better be joking,” Dean bellows, his voice filling the inside of the Impala like a severe explosion.

“I’m not,” Sam says in a quiet, almost soothing voice. “You’ve been brooding for months, and I think they’re not helping you at all.”

“My freaking cassette tapes? Are you crazy?”

Sam purses his lips, not happy about Dean’s choice of words, but he keeps his therapist-like exterior. “Heaving a healthy routine and being stuck in a circle of self-destructing behavior are two different things. I think you should try something new.”

Dean growls. “You just want me to listen to some of your crap. But guess what? I won’t. I’d rather listen to nothing at all.”

He turns off the radio with unnecessary force and watches Sam, daring him to turn it back on. Sam does nothing of the sort. He dives back into his laptop with a sigh of, “Fine.”

“Fine!” Dean snaps back and stares at the road ahead, not looking at Sam for over two hours.

The atmosphere stays just as icy when they’re back at the house, and Dean heads straight for his room. It only takes him about 20 minutes of driving to understand what Sam means. Dean hates this kind of silence, and he not only likes the music, he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

Throwing his bedroom door shut, Dean looks around the room for his iPod, but since Sam is an equally smart and mean son of a bitch, he took that as well. Dean is about to storm out and demand it back when his eyes fall on an old radio in the corner. Sam didn’t take it since it’s broken, but he doesn’t know that Dean brought it to his room to fix it.

Dean raids one of his drawers to make sure he has all the tools he needs before locking himself in and starting to work on the radio. It takes him three hours and four attempts, but finally, it comes to life.

“Suck on that,” Dean murmurs and sets the radio down on his bedside table. After plucking in his headphones, he eagerly searches for a station.

Living on a farm in the middle of nowhere doesn’t help. First, Dean gets a lot of static, then classical music, and finally a bible station. He’s almost ready to give up when he can make out a few distinct notes of Metallica’s “some kind of monster.” Eagerly, he tweaks the antenna to get the most out of it and his fingers hurt from moving the knob for the frequency only fractions of an inch at a time.

This is the test of flesh and soul This is the trap that smells so good This is the flood that drains these eyes These are the looks that chill to the bone These are the fears that swing overhead These are the weights that hold you down This is the end that will never end This is the voice of silence no more…

Dean falls back onto his bed with a deep sigh. Like a junkie who finally got his hit, he unravels in the music. When the song ends, there’s a second of nothing until a voice speaks. “This was ‘Some Kind of Monster’ by Metallica, and we’ll head right over to Kansas‘ ‘Dust in the Wind.’”

The music doesn’t matter anymore. Dean sits up and stares at the radio, his mind occupied with the gruff, deep voice of the announcer. Dean’s never heard a voice like that, especially on the radio. He would definitely remember a voice like that.

Getting up to his feet, he paces up and down and waits for the song to get cut short, but it plays all the way through, and there’s a moment of silence before the voice speaks again.

“Wonderful track, number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 in April of 1978. You’re listening to Angel Radio, and these are our five songs in a row before midnight.”

He lists the songs, and when the music starts, Dean exclaims a breathless, “Nooo.”

Five songs in a row? Usually, he’d kill for that, but right now he wants nothing more than to hear that voice again. Dean makes good use of the time though. He changes his clothes and brushes his teeth and when song number three starts, he rushes to the kitchen to get something to drink.

When Dean comes back to his room, he puts his headphones back on and the song changes. It must be number five. Dean settles down on his bed and turns the volume up, ready for the voice.

The silence is back, and then, “Those were our five songs in a row before midnight, and you’re listening to classic rock on Angel Radio. I’m Castiel Novak, and I’ll leave you in the hands of my friend Balthazar for now. Have a good night from me with this lovely lullaby.”

“No One Like You” by the Scorpions begins to play, and Dean listens, hoping that Castiel might come back, but when the song is fading out another voice is speaking over the last notes.

“Welcome back to another night with Balthazar. I’ll guarantee we’re going to have-”

Dean turns the radio off and grabs his phone instead. He searches for anything about Angel Radio and finds a message board where people discuss some of their shows. One of the entries has a link attached that leads to a website made by the station’s hosts. It’s not flashy: more about giving information.

One link leads to a list of the hosts, even with pictures. There’s Balthazar with an overly cheeky grin, a redheaded woman named Anna, a woman with golden locks biting down on a lollipop named Gabriel, and finally Castiel.

Dean stares at the photograph and feels cheated. It’s not at all like the others. It’s a profile picture of a man with a sharp nose and a clean cut, scruffy chin, but the eyes are cut off. Instead, his mouth is open, and he speaks into a microphone. With Dean’s eyes glued to Castiel’s lips, he tries to imagine the voice, but it’s just not the same from memory.

Immediately, Dean clicks the link to the station’s program and lets out an unceremonial, accidental, and completely embarrassing squeal of joy when he sees the name. Tomorrow evening, he has a date with Castiel Novak.

After weeks of secretly listening to Angel Radio, Dean finally has the house to himself. Sam is visiting a nearby convention about serial killers, and Dean puts his alone time to good use. He searches the whole basement until he finds his mom’s old stereo. It has a functioning radio, and what’s more important, it also has two cassette decks. A week ago, Dean bought some tapes from an electronic store, letting Sam believe that he needed parts to fix the radio, and now he’s finally ready.

Dean has barely enough time to set up the stereo, but he’s ready to go when Anna says goodbye to the listeners. Her last song fades out, and after a short pause, Dean can hear Castiel’s familiar voice.

“Hello, friends of classic rock. I’m Castiel Novak, and you’re listening to Angel Radio. It’s 6 on this nice Thursday evening, which means it’s time for Classical Rock – a history.”

Falling back on his bed, Dean couldn’t be happier. Although he doesn’t mind listening to Castiel over his headphones, it sure is a nice change to have his voice fill the whole room. Even better, every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 pm, Castiel runs a show that focuses on the history of famous bands and their songs. Dean already knows most of it, but aside from little sound bits of songs, there’s no music. For almost an hour, there’s only Castiel’s lovely voice.

Dean sighs, and all the pressure and stress falls off of him, leaving only a nice heavy feeling that presses him snuggly into the memory foam of his mattress. He can’t exactly tell what today’s show is about, but now that he’s able to record them, he can listen to them whenever he wants.

A giddy feeling rushes through his stomach at the thought, and his mind dives deep into the velvet ocean that is Castiel’s voice. In his mind, he sees the picture of Castiel’s profile, the plush, full lips slightly parted. He wonders what it would sound like to have Castiel whisper in his ear, maybe bite down and nibble, or kiss along his jaw and neck. When a pleasant chill runs down his body, Dean’s imagination begins to run wild.

What if it went even further? Castiel would kiss down Dean’s chest and stomach, all the while talking to him, his breath ghosting over Dean’s skin, and when he reaches the waistband of his pants…

Dean knows he should probably feel guilty for getting off on a stranger’s voice like this, but he’s not hurting anybody, so he loses his shirt and pushes down his pants. Castiel’s voice brings him right back into the mood, and he caresses his body while imagining Castiel doing it.

It would be so good to have Castiel tell him how pretty he looks this way and how much he wants to be inside of him. That gives Dean the idea to go all the way with this. He grabs a bottle of lube from the drawer in his nightstand and applies it generously, while Castiel is not so far from discussing related things. “… been controversy about innuendos and sexual meaning in song lyrics, but these guys weren’t doing much to hide it. A line like ‘I’m gonna give you every inch of my love‘ can’t exactly be called subtle.”

Guided by Castiel’s voice, Dean moves his hand lazily up and down his cock while his other hand massages his balls. He wants to make every minute of the show count, so he takes his sweet time. After a while, his grip gets tighter, and he caresses his perineum, slowly paving the way to open himself up with more lube.

Dean imagines how Castiel would suck Dean’s cock into his mouth, all wet and warm, while his slick fingers would tease Dean’s rim. He’d tell him what he’s doing at all times, and push his fingers inside so slowly that Dean would soon beg for more. Following the notion, Dean lifts his ass up from the bed, pressing against his own fingers, before falling back and finally sliding them in with care.

Throughout the show, Castiel’s voice becomes increasingly more pronounced, as if it takes him a while to lose his nervousness. Once there, he sounds sure of everything he says, almost daring the listeners to disagree with him. Dean would. Not because Castiel is wrong but because Dean wants him to lecture him. Castiel would tell him that he had better behave himself, but Dean would be a little brat until Castiel pushes him down on the bed to show him who’s boss.

Dean’s movements become more frantic at the thought, his body heating up and his heart beating louder in his chest. He wishes he could make this happen, get Castiel into his bed and open up for him, follow his every command. Castiel would feel so good inside him, stretching him open with every push and making him ask politely for more.

With loud moans, Dean slides his fingers in and out of his hole, his voice mingling with Castiel’s, both of them filling up the room. Castiel is giving a quick recap, letting Dean know that there are only minutes until the show ends. In Dean’s mind, Castiel is buried deep inside of him, his body pressing down on him, and they kiss in between needy breaths and even louder moans.

Just like Castiel speeds up in his imagination, Dean’s hands become more eager, and when Castiel announces the end of today’s show, Dean pushes himself over the edge crying out, “Fuck, Cas!”

Dean’s body goes rigid for a moment, his hand still while his cock pumps come onto his stomach, and a second later, Dean pools down into his mattress again as if he’s made of liquid.

“You were a wonderful audience tonight, thank you for listening. I’m Castiel Novak, and you are listening to Angel Radio.”

Music starts playing, and Dean lets out a little laugh while pointing at the radio. “Oh no, baby, thank you.”

“Dean, what the hell? I only want to-” Sam says but Dean lifts his hand to cut him off.

“I told you, no time.”

“Why?” Sam asks bewildered. “It’s not even like you’re going out. You’re in your ugliest sweatpants.”

Dean doesn’t particularly like lying to Sam, but he didn’t have a chance to listen to Cas in two days, and his nerves are beginning to wear thin. “Okay, if you absolutely have to know, I’m doing yoga.”

Sam‘s eyes grow big after Dean gives him a moment to process what he just said. “Yoga?”

“Yes, bloody yoga,” Dean grunts. “I hate to admit when you’re right but I’ve been doing it regularly twice a week, and it actually helps.”

“Oh,” Sam says, his face lightening up. “Tuesday and Thursday.”

The lie works even better than Dean imagines, and he nods along. “Always at six, because you keep going on and on about a healthy schedule. And as you can see,” Dean says, pointing at his watch, “I’m already late.”

Sam lifts his hands in apology. “Alright, I’ll head over to Eileen’s for a while, and you can do your thing.”

“Highly appreciated,” Dean says, acting as calm as he possibly can, but as soon as Sam is gone, he sprints to his room and gets the stereo out from under his bed to turn it on. “- from Led Zeppelin, ‘Riverside Blues.’ Enjoy,” Cas says.

Dean stares at the radio while the song plays and it’s the first time in his life that he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. Why is there music at all? There’s supposed to be Cas‘ voice for a full hour. Dean sits down on his bed and waits for the song to end.

“For everybody who just tuned in, there won’t be a history of classic rock today. My co-hosts asked me to do a little giveaway instead,” Cas explains. “You can win two tickets for an exclusive concert of the Dreamy Demons in the Roadhouse Shed, dinner before and backstage after. All you have to do is call now and answer a simple question.”

He gives out the number to get right through to him, and when he repeats it, Dean punches it into his phone. “I see we have a first caller. Hi, who am I talking to?”

“Hi, oh my god, I’m such a big fan. I love your show. I’m Becky.”

“Thank you, Becky,” Cas says, but Dean can hear that he’s trying to rush through the conversation. “Are you a big fan of the Dreamy Demons?”

“Oh my god yes,” Becky squeals and Dean fears that his ears might start bleeding. “I listen to them all the time and follow them on insta and everything.”

“That’s-” Cas searches for a word and Dean laughs, trying to imagine his face. “Um, great. You should have no trouble with the question then. I will read it to you, and then you have ten seconds to answer. Ready?”

“Yes!”

“In their song ‘Nevermind Names‘ the Dreamy Demons list a few names that were supposed to be their name before they settled on their current one. Name those three names. You have ten seconds.”

Becky rambles for the entire time and comes up with only one name at the end, Dreamy Demons. Cas lets her down easy and plays another song, promising to give another caller a chance when it ends.

Dean stares at his phone. If he wants to go see the band, he can just buy a ticket, but this-? This is a chance to talk to Cas. The seconds tick by, and Dean’s mouth runs dryer by every one of them. His thumb keeps hovering over the call button. He won’t get through anyway, right?

Cas comes back on to quickly explain the rules again. When he says “then call now,” Dean presses down his thumb without thinking, and it rings. “Alright, let’s see who we have now,” Cas says. “This is Castiel. Who am I talking to?”

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine. He can hear Cas‘ voice over the speaker but it’s also right there in his ear, and it’s even better although he has no idea how that’s possible. “Anybody there?” Cas says, and Dean finally gets in gear.

“Yes, hi. It’s Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Hello Dean.”

That’s what it must feel like to ascend to heaven. Dean is melting like snow in the sun, and he has trouble getting air for a second. Nobody has ever said his name like that. It’s pronounced clearly, but comes out of Cas‘ throat like a growl. Dean wants to fall to his knees and pray.

“You forgot one of the names,” Dean blurts out, trying to get back on his feet. “You said, devilish, dirty, and disastrous, but you forgot Dollar Demons.”

There’s silence, and Dean curses himself. He wanted to talk to Cas to win him over, or at least have a friendly conversation, not argue with him on the air. “I asked for the three names in the song,” Cas clarifies. “They only talked about Dollar Demons on Garth’s Good Morning Show.”

“Alright, you got me there,” Dean admits. “But it’s in the booklet of the second album. Worth adding it to the other three, don’t you think?”

“You could, but even Crowley himself said that they didn’t particularly like the name and that’s why they didn’t put it in the song,” Cas says, his voice full of that bossy tone that makes Dean’s knees go weak. “Worth listening to the lead singer, don’t you think?”

“Dammit, Cas, you’re really showing me up right now,” Dean jokes and the nickname just slips out like everything else.

It’s dead quiet for a moment, and Dean even thinks about apologizing, but Cas finds his voice first. “How about you save face by getting the question for the tickets right, Dean?”

He puts a lot of emphasis on Dean’s name this time, but Cas doesn’t sound angry. Dean isn’t sure what to think since he’s never heard Cas like this before. Is he joking? Teasing him? “Alright, I’ll do my best. Ready when you are.”

“Here is your question: In which year was Led Zeppelin’s ‘Ramble On‘ first released?”

Dean grins over his whole face and can’t keep the cheer out of his voice. “That’s not a Dreamy Demons question.”

“I can ask something else if it’s too hard for you,” Cas offers, and Dean is sure that Cas is fucking with him.

First, he asks him something that involves the number 69 and then asks him if it’s too hard? Dean’s heart is pounding faster again, and he dares to believe that Cas is actually flirting with him, or at least tries to throw him off with a little innuendo. “No, it’s alright, I can handle hard,” Dean retorts. “The answer is 1969. October 22nd, to be exact.”

“Seems we have a Zeppelin fan here, and the answer is-,” Cas says, and after a dramatic pause, he plays a cheery jingle interlaced with applause. “Correct, of course. Congratulations, Dean. You won two tickets with backstage access and a great dinner at the Roadhouse.”

“Thank you!” Dean says, emotion flooding into the words as their conversation ticks closer to ending.

“Any idea who’s coming with you?” Cas asks.

Dean’s brain short circuits. He can’t believe that Cas stays on the phone and is trying to make small talk. Maybe he doesn’t want it to be over either.

“How about you?” Dean asks out of the blue and to be perfectly clear, he rephrases the question. “Would you like to go to the concert with me?”

Cas‘ lets out a surprised laugh and his voice cracks. “We, um, have the nicest listeners, don’t you think? Stay on the line, Dean, so we can take your information.”

Dean hears a click and holding music begins playing through his phone, and after Cas announces the next song, the stereo is playing music as well. After a minute, Dean wonders when Cas will get back to him. After another minute, he’s not sure if anybody will get back to him at all, but Cas can’t just leave him hanging. He won the tickets after all.

The song on the radio changes and finally, there’s another click in Dean’s phone. “Dean, are you still there?”

“Sure,” Dean says, “still waiting for an answer.”

There’s a pause, and Dean can hear Cas breathe. “You weren’t joking then.”

“Not at all.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean’s heart drops. He can hear a let down from a mile away. “You can’t know that, but I’m blind. I’m not the best person to bring to a concert.”

The penny drops when Dean sees Cas‘ photo in front of his inner eye. He didn’t want every person online to see, so they got a little creative with the picture. He still told Dean, though. He could have said anything else, even argued that employees of the radio station can’t profit from the prizes, but he said the one thing that would give Dean an out. “That’s not a no then,” Dean states. “You want me to pick you up? I have a nice car.”

“I- Dean, didn’t you-?”

“Oh, I heard you,” Dean interrupts. He has a foot in the door now, and he’ll be damned if he lets Cas go because Cas feels self-conscious. “Just like you are hearing me. I didn’t ask you to go to the movies after all.”

There’s a small laugh coming from Cas, and Dean’s heart leaps with joy, but Cas still sounds unsure. “Can I ask why? We’ve never met and we don’t know anything about each other.”

“Not to sound like a creeper, but we’ve been dating for weeks. I haven’t missed a single show of classic rock history for five months, and it’s often the highlight of my day,” Dean admits. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, but he takes Cas as someone who needs the unpolished truth. “You don’t talk from notes, you love that stuff, and I do too. We’d have a lot to talk about, and I very much enjoy listening to you.”

“That’s- Um, thanks for your honesty,” Cas says before falling silent. It’s unnerving, but Dean doesn’t say anything. It’s not his job to persuade Cas. Dean made his move, and now it’s on Cas to decide. “Can I ask you something? And I’d prefer another honest answer.”

“Sure, ask away.”

“How much do you enjoy listening to me?”

“I told you-”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “Let me be clearer. Do you listen to the show alone when you enjoy it?”

Cas puts a lot of emphasis on the words, and Dean blushes when he finally gets his meaning. He doesn’t want this to be over, but he’d hate for it to start with a lie. “I always listen to it alone, but I only really, really enjoyed it once. I promise, from one classic rock fan to another.”

Dean bites his lip to stop himself from talking, but Cas laughs. “Don’t worry, I believe you. It’s alright.”

“And you’re not creeped out?”

“No,” Cas says. “I’ve gotten fan mail telling me to work at a sex hotline. It seems my voice - how do I put this – does it for quite a few people. I just wanted to know if you can be honest about it.”

“So, that’s still not a no?” Dean asks hopefully.

“I guess it’s not,” Cas says with a sigh. “You seem nice and to be honest, your voice isn’t too bad either.”

Dean almost swallows his tongue. “You think?” he crooks and Cas laughs, less restricted than before.

“Yes, I do,” Cas admits. “It’s dark, but smooth. Well rounded, like marbles shaped by the sea. Very sexy, actually.”

“Keep talking,” Dean says with a grin.

“Wish I could, but I’ve been playing songs in a row here without saying anything. I should go back to work.”

“Son of a bitch, of course.” Dean didn’t even notice the music coming from the stereo. “I’m sorry.”

“How about you give me your number, and I call you later when the show is over,” Cas suggests.

“To talk about the concert?”

“Of course,” Cas says, but then mischief creeps into his voice. “Or instead of talking, you could just listen.”

Dean rattles off his number quicker than he ever had before and has to repeat it twice before Cas gets it right. Then he lies on his bed, his phone pressed against his heart, and he feels like bursting any second.

Sam runs his hands through his hair and over his face, sighing deeply. Like so many times before, he’s waiting for his brother. Sam knows it’s still early, but they have hours of driving ahead of them, and it will take even longer if they don’t head out soon and get stuck in traffic.

He’s about to go in and get Dean when the door flies open, and Dean comes outside. He locks the door and hops down the stairs before walking over to the car with a skip in his steps. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say it’s Dean’s I-had-great-sex-last-night-walk. But that can’t be. Sam is sure they were alone in the house last night.

Sam eyes Dean when he drops into the seat next to him with a whistle on his lips. “What are you so chipper about?” he asks, his suspicion growing.

“What?” Dean asks, checking his mirrors. “I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Of course, you can, but you’ve been down in the dumps for over a year. What changed?” Sam asks, still weary, but with legitimate interest.

Dean starts the engine and turns the car around to get on the path that leads from their house to the actual road. “I don’t know, Sammy. I guess yoga really does it for me.”

He smiles broadly, and now Sam is sure something is up. When Dean reaches for the radio, Sam lifts his hand, but Dean grunts. “Come on, I got over my tapes. You can’t forbid me to listen to music ever again.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Sam admits and leans back. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” Dean quips and he fumbles around with the frequency, clearly trying to get a specific station.

“-almost 6 in the morning and some of you might be surprised to hear my voice,” the announcer says in a deep, gruff voice. “Anna couldn’t make it this morning, so I’m filling in, giving you the best classic rock on Angel Radio.”

“You ever heard of that station before?” Sam asks, and Dean shrugs his shoulder as if he hadn’t just ignored some easier options to tune into this particular station.

The announcer speaks about some program changes and how he’ll be missing a show due to a concert he’s going to. Sam wouldn’t be interested in any of it, but Dean smiles along in a bedazzled manner and keeps glancing at the radio with an expression of fondness on his face. It gives Sam the creeps.

“And now I have a special song for one of our listeners. Good morning, Dean.”

The announcer’s voice is oozing something that Sam can’t place, especially in the way he says Dean. Sam looks over to his brother who is now smiling at the radio as if he’s about to bend down and kiss it. The music starts playing, and Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in the fact of how weird all of this is.

Sam leans forward to catch his eye and points to the radio. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Dean says, mouthing the words to the song.

“You, all bouncy,” Sam elaborates, trying very hard to keep his voice under control. “And ‘good morning, Dean.‘ You gonna tell me that wasn’t meant for you?”

“A lotta Deans out there, Sammy,” Dean chirps and Sam is about to lose his mind.

“Look, you’re going to tell me-” Sam starts, but Dean is done pretending. When the chorus comes in, he actually sings along, not exactly well, but with a lot of enthusiasm.

“And you… shook me all night long,” he booms at the top of his voice while Sam’s brain works overtime.

A picture begins to form in his mind that combines Dean’s after sex behavior, the announcer, and that song.

“What were you asking?” Dean shouts over the music, moving his head along and shaking his shoulders.

Sam sinks down deep in his seat and closes his eyes, trying to do the same with his mind before it can finish solving the puzzle. “Oh god, nevermind. Just drive.”

[rosalynbair]

Invincible

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader Request:  Can you write something spicy for Kylo x reader????  Words: 2500 Warnings:smut A/N: this is so poorly written, I’m so sorry. I’m getting through my writers block and I wrote this in bits and pieces so it doesn’t flow AT ALL, but I swear I’ll write something better for you

“Do you think that you’re invincible? That it’s impossible for you to die?” You scream, your hands trembling as you stare at the masked man in front of you. “In case you actually need to be told, you’re not! I know it’s fucking impossible for you to get it through your thick skull that you’re a human being with a heartbeat and weaknesses! You’re going to get yourself killed if you continue to be this reckless!” He stares at you through the small visor, and you wait for a moment, a heart beat, and you know that you wouldn’t get a reply from him. You let out a loud huff, turning on your heel and stalking off, focusing on your datapad and not the man you shared your bed with. Kylo Ren had always been a case for you, you wanted to understand how he worked and how his mind processed everything around him. But he was broken, he almost never shared anything from his life prior to his name change. Your memory is hazy regarding falling into bed with Kylo Ren for the first time. You had never gotten along with each other. It had always been a power struggle, even though he was in fact your superior. You had never been one to oppose authority, but Kylo got on your nerves so easily. Your arguments were heated, loud. Everyone kept away from Kylo on a normal day, but they made sure to take different routes and plan their course to where they needed to be when word spread that you and Kylo were fighting. It was almost as if there was a war inside of the ship when you two were yelling at each other. Any war outside was nothing compared to you two. Your feet echoed off the walls as you turned a corner, your body now hidden from view from Kylo as he stared after you. You didn’t hear his sigh and his annoyed groan distort through his mask. You did hear, however, his boots stomping against the metal floor after you. “Y/N” your voice comes out in a hoarse static. “Leave me alone” You snap, keeping your posture straight and your eyes forward. “Enough” He responds, his cape brushing against your ankle as he falls into step with you. “No” You say, turning another corner to try to throw him off, but he keeps pace with you. “I am telling you to stop” Kylo tells you, his hand wrapping around your bicep right above your elbow. His fingers tighten when you try to tug your arm away. “Leave me alone Kylo. I don’t want to deal with you” You tell him, keeping your eyes firmly in front of you and keeping them away from the tall man beside you. “I am telling you as your commander, not as your lover” He says, his eyes following the profile of your face. “Is there a difference between them anymore?” You ask, eyes rolling. You tug your arm away from his hand, you cross in front of him to turn another corner. “Go away Kylo. I have work to do” “Y/N” Kylo snaps, grabbing onto your arm once more, tugging you into an office. “Kylo!” You hiss, looking around to see the office empty of any other living being. “We are not horny teenagers! We are adults with work to do!” “We work hard, we can take a few minutes” He grumbles, the words barely making it through the vocoder. “We don’t have a few minutes right now Kylo” You tell him “And I’m mad at you. I don’t want to talk to you right now” “Y/N” Kylo sighs “You’re acting like a child” “Come see me when I cool down” You grumble, glancing up at him before holding his arm and placing your lips on his clothed shoulder. You pull away and walk past him, leaving the office and Kylo. You go to the bridge, saluting General Hux briefly and apologizing for being late for your shift. You sit at your station, putting in your access code and going through the files for the shields around the ship. You shift lasts fourteen hours, fourteen hours of typing new codes and making sure the shields don’t go down. You’re exhausted when you’re relieved of your duties for the day. Your movements are slightly slower than they were earlier in the day. Your feet were dragging slightly, rather than being strong strides. Your hair was falling out of your regulation bun in wisps. You walk to your private quarters, punching in your code and letting the door whoosh open. You flick the dial to turn the lights on, but letting them stay dim enough that you could fall asleep with them on – you hated the dark. Space was constantly dark, you hated being in the dark constantly. You needed light, you thrived on it. You changed into your lounging pants and a long-sleeved shirt, curling up in your small hard bed. You reach into your night table and grab a protein bar, pulling open the wrapper and beginning to eat it and pretend that it was a full meal. You glance up briefly when your door opens, Kylo stepping into your room tentatively. “It’s fine” You say quietly, watching his shoulders relax as he fully came in, the door closing behind him while he reaches up to the sides of his face, pressing in on the mask and letting it release from its hold on his head. He takes the mask off, setting it on your small table. He pulls off his leather gloves, setting them with the mask before running his fingers through his long, knotted hair. You watch him as he unclasps his cape, tossing it onto the back of the chair, removing his belt and his vest from his torso. He sits down, reaching and unclasping the buckles on his boots, sliding them off his claves and feet with ease. He looks up, catching your eye for the briefest of moments before leaning down once more to remove his socks. Kylo stands, padding over to your uncomfortable bed. You stay put, watching him climb awkwardly over you to lay in between you and the cold wall. You hold the blanket, adjusting it over him so you could steal some of his body heat. He's sitting, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the door intensely. You watch him from your position laying beside him, arm propped up with your cheek resting on your palm. You could see his inner turmoil passing across his face, his expression changing rapidly as he moved through emotions. “Kylo?” You ask quietly, moving to sit up, stopping when he holds up his hand. “I’m sorry” He grumbles “What I did was stupid” “It was” You agree, nodding slightly. “I’ll try not to do it again” He sighs, looking down at you. “Promise?” You ask, searching his features. “I can’t promise” He tells you “But I’ll try” You nod, knowing that that was the best you would get from him. He would follow any orders he got from Snoke, even if it meant risking his life and his relationship with you. “I love you” You say quietly “But your apprentice with Snoke terrifies me. I don’t want to lose you” “You won’t” He responds quickly. “I could” You say back, sitting up and moving so your legs were crossed under you. “You won’t” He says once more, looking at you, his hand reaching up. The back of his hand grazing your cheek. His hand turns, palm cupping the side of your face. You lean into it, resting your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” Kylo asks quietly, your eyes open, lips twitching up in a smile. Kylo Ren could be the worst person in existence sometimes. But he was always extremely cautious when it came to intimacy. He never wanted to push someone when it came to that. “The answer is always yes” You say softly, watching him sigh and close his eyes. “Would you have let me kiss you this morning?” He asks with a smirk. “Okay, maybe not” You smile, leaning in slightly “But I’ll let you kiss me now” Kylo smiles, his hands cupping both sides of your face, his own face getting closer to yours before his lips firmly pressed against yours. Your eyes close immediately, hands going up. Your thumbs rested right under his ears, your other four fingers holding the back of his neck as you try to bring him closer. You feel his sigh release from his lips, you let out a small shiver. “Kylo” You sigh, opening your eyes to stare at your lover. “Can we?” He asks, “I’m heading out on a mission again tomorrow” “Again?” You ask, eyes narrowing “You just came back from one” “The resistance is getting stronger, but I don’t know how long I’ll be gone” He tells you honestly, hands trailing down your shoulders and arms, moving to hold onto your waist. “Will you come back?” You ask, going up onto your knees to move closer. “I don’t know” Kylo says with a sigh, pulling you over and onto his lap. “You have to” You say honestly, leaning towards him and kissing him again. Your hands go to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up his torso. “Take it off” You grumble. He nods, pulling away from you for a moment to remove the cowl, tossing it onto the floor. You hands instantly go to his chest, running your fingers over his muscles, tracing the scars gently while your move closer, hips meeting his while Kylo works quickly to remove your own shirt, his hands running up your soft skin. You kiss Kylo once more, turning your head to get the best angle. Against your fingers you could feel Kylo’s heart beating quickly with his excitement and nerves. You move away from him, laying down on your back, fingers tugging at him to pull him over you. He adjusts himself, his knees on either side of your hips. Staring up at him was always your favorite view. You loved staring at Kylo. He was a beautiful man. His pale skin glowed under the dim lighting, his leather pants rubbing against your legs, the tough fabric stretching over his growing bulge that rested between his legs. Your fingers grab onto the button that held his waistband together, twisting your fingers quickly, the button popping easily. Kylo lets out a quick sigh, his breath leaving his body shakily. He pushes his pants down over his thick thighs, he adjusts awkwardly to remove the pants completely, kicking them away from him. He leans down, pressing his hot lips firmly against your neck, feeling your heartbeat through your skin. “I love you” He mumbles, grinding his thinly clothed dick against your hip. “I know” You giggle, arching your hips and pushing your pants down with ease. You move your leg so it was outside of Kylo’s. You grab his shoulders, pulling him down so you can flip him over. You’re sitting on him, looking down at him with a grin. You can see him shivering under you, your hips beginning to roll, you push yourself down, grinding gently against him. Kylo’s hands hold onto your hips, pretending that he had the vaguest control over the situation. But he knew he was lying to himself. He never had the control in bed. He never knew how to take over and take control. But he didn’t care. He enjoyed having you in charge. You reach down, snapping the elastic of his underwear. “Off” you order, standing on your knees as he shimmies out of them clumsily. You brace your hands on his chest, grinding down once more against his dick, the head leaking slight precum. Your hips roll, and you can feel Kylo reaching down to grab his cock, guiding it to your entrance. Kylo lets out a choked gasp when you slide down, he’d never be able to get used to this feeling. You let out a small whimper, holding still for a moment before opening your eyes to lock them with Kylo’s. He stares at you intently, arching his hips up while you begin to move, the wetness around him letting him move within you with ease. “Kylo” You whisper, arching your back, one arm bracing on his thigh. You move against him, up, forward slightly before moving back once more as you went down. You loved this feeling, loved how simple this pleasure was. You never had to force pleasure with the man under you. You let out a sudden gasp when a finger is pressed against your clit, moving in gently circles. “Kylo-“ You say quietly, mouth open slightly. “Say it again” Kylo begs, his finger circling repeatedly over your clit. “Please, say it again” “Kylo” You say, whining as you tighten the muscles in your thighs when the true pleasure begins against your clit, sending small shocks up your body. “Again, please” He says, watching your jagged movements. “Kylo” you repeat, eyes closing again “Kylo, Commander Kylo Ren. My Commander. My lover. Kylo.” He grins, breathlessly chuckling. “Y/N. Sweetest Y/N” You rock your hips again, letting out a loud moan. “Kylo, I love you.” “And I you” He says, sitting up, moving to lean against the wall, holding you against his chest as he kisses your neck and shoulder, nipping and giving you dark bruises. “Kylo” You whisper, shaking against him. He lets out a loud moan, his head falling back against the wall as he begins to snap his hips upwards to meet you as you ground your hips down against him. You lean in, latching your teeth onto the thin skin of his neck. You suck gently, releasing his skin with a loud popping noise. “Kylo I can’t last much longer” You whine, nuzzling your nose into his neck. “You don’t have to” He mumbles quietly, his arm wrapping around your waist, moving his hips faster. Your head falls back, hair swinging against your back as you grip his forearm. “Fuck, Kylo” “Please” Kylo grunts, snapping his hips up again. You still, arching your back so your stomach was pressed against him, boobs practically in his face as your body begins to spasm through your orgasm. Your fingers are tightening on his arm, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth hanging open slightly. Kylo stares in wonder at you, how perfectly beautiful you were in that moment, so perfect that he barely notices his own orgasm overtaking him. He forces his eyes to stay open, to watch you lean forward and curl up against him as he trembles under you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he nudges your face with his nose, searching for your lips to connect with his. “Oh I love you” you whisper against his swollen lips. “I may not be invincible, but with you I feel as if I am” He mumbles.

[brittywritesstuff]

Broken Halos

13.06 Coda // Canon-Divergent

1.4K

Warnings: A whole lotta fluff

Broken Halos by Chris Stapleton

Read on AO3

Dean’s on a high when they make it back to the bunker.  He’d made the three-and-a-half hour drive from Dodge City in just under three.  Cowboys and a successful hunt and Cas, and Dean can’t stop smiling.  Sam and Jack hole up in the library, Jack eager to start the next ‘Star Wars,’ and Sam’s more than happy to oblige.  Cas stands awkwardly between those two huddled around Sam’s laptop and Dean, hovering in the archway.  “I’m, uh,” Dean clears his throat.  “I’m gonna make a beer run.”  He licks his lips and meets Cas’s eyes.  “You wanna…” he nods in the direction of the door, and he’s surprised at how quickly Cas picks up his meaning.  He’s learning, Dean thinks, an endearing smile creeping across his features.  

“Yeah, sure, Dean,” Sam says, glancing up with a knowing smile.  “Take your time.”

Dean tries hard not to roll his eyes as he heads for the door, Cas at his heels.   

The weather in Kansas can be finicky, at best.  But fall has always been Dean’s favorite.  The landscape isn’t much to look at, but the weather is perfect.  It’s cool and crisp; makes him feel alive.  And on nights like this – clear, stars shining, the moon casting a soft glow over the land – there’s nothing quite like it.  The best part about tonight isn’t the weather or the night sky.  It’s something tangible.  Someone.  Cas.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Dean shifts in his seat.  He’s having déjà vu – that beer run he took with Cas after the Lucifer debacle.  This time, it’s different.  This time, Dean’s given up on being a coward.  “You know this isn’t a beer run, right?” he asks, daring a glance in Cas’s direction.  He’s thankful for the clear back roads this time of night, because his gaze lingers on Cas’s profile.  It’s a sight to behold.  He watches with wonder as Cas licks his lips, and he wants so badly to kiss them.  

“I had hoped,” Cas says.  He turns to look at Dean and when their eyes meet, Dean inhales sharply.  He’s crestfallen when he has to turn his attention back to the road.  

Dean flips on the radio and flips through a couple of stations.  Religions chatter.  Relationship advice.  Some godawful pop song he’s sure he’d secretly like if he was by himself.  The ending bars of ‘Master of Puppets’ followed by a commercial about a mattress sale.  Finally, after a few more seconds of static, he lands on a clear station.

“…to shine

Angels come down from the heavens

Just to help us on our way…”

He grins, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.  He’s loath to admit he knows all the words by heart.  He first heard it not long after.  And something in the words hit him right in the chest.  He’s quiet at first, singing along.  He feels Cas’s eyes on his face, and he can’t help smiling. “Come to teach us, then they leave us… And they find some other soul to save.”  His voice grows louder, and he’s out of key, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind.  In fact, he’s smiling.  And anything that makes Cas smile is a win in Dean’s book.  He turns the Impala down a dirt road and glances at Cas, singing louder.  “Seen my share of broken halos. Folded wings that used to fly.  They’ve all gone wherever they go.  Broken halos that used to shine…”

He puts Baby in park and slings his arm across the back of the seat, leaning closer to Cas.  “Broken halos that used to shine.”  

They’re close, and Dean’s eyes drift over Cas’s face.  He licks his lips and lets his hand slip from the seat to the back of Cas’s neck, thumb smoothing over the spot behind Cas’s ear.  “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna stop telling you how happy I am to have you back, Cas.”  He watches as Cas sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Dean wants so badly

“I’m happy to be back,” Cas says, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean that Cas’s eyes drift to his lips.  “I’m happy to be here.  With you, Dean.”

Dean leans in, his forehead bumping against Cas’s.  He closes his eyes and they just breathe for a moment.  Savoring each other.  Breathing each other in.  “Damn it, Cas,” he whispers.  He draws a cleansing breath and exhales, forcing himself to pull away.  He brought Cas here for a reason, and if he doesn’t pull back now, they’re never going to make it out of the car.  “C’mon.”  He doesn’t wait for a response before he climbs out, the door squeaking in quiet night.  Cas joins him, following Dean’s lead as they round the front end.

“What are we doing here?” Cas asks.

Dean slides onto the hood and pats the seat beside him.  Cas is inquisitive, but he doesn’t say a word as he joins Dean.  The car dips beneath the weight of two grown men, but Dean pays it no mind.  “I do this sometimes,” he says, leaning in to Cas. It’s nice, feeling him there, real and solid against him. “I come out here to clear my head. Just look up at the stars.”

“It’s comforting to you.” It’s not a question. Cas knows him so well.

“Yeah.  Yeah, it is.”

Dean shifts, reaching up to cradle the back of Cas’s head. His hair is soft against Dean’s fingers, and he finds himself excited at the prospect of running them through it whenever he wants. “Cas, look. I… I ain’t one for feeling’, but I gotta say, man, I… Hang on.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and swipes at it.

The music starts, and he turns, stretching to set his phone on the hood. ‘Seen my share of broken halos…’ He sits up, returning his hand to Cas’s hair. He can’t get enough of it. “When I first met you, you were here for a purpose. You were… guiding me, or whatever, toward the endgame. You were the quarterback and I was your running back.”

“I’m not sure what football—“

‘…Come to teach us, then they leave us And they find some other soul to save…’

“Just—just lemme finish. You were supposed to follow orders and I was bad news, apparently, and they kept tryin’ to take you away. Tryin’ to make you serve your purpose elsewhere. But you always came back, Cas. You always came back to me.”

Dean’s throat feels tight, and he swallows hard. Tears sting his eyes, despite his insistence he wasn’t going to cry. “I felt broken without you, man. When I saw those wing marks and your broken halo, somethin’ in me broke, too.” Cas shifts, turning toward Dean. “But the minute I saw you… it was like, I dunno, like I was fixed. Like I was whole again.”

Cas’s hand settles on Dean’s cheek and he closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. It’s so gentle and reverent and Dean’s heart swells. “In The Symposium,” he begins, and the gentleness of his voice sends shivers through Dean. “Plato said that According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

Dean swallows, and Cas leans in. “You, Dean. You are my other half. And we will always find our way back to one another.”

“A profound bond.” Dean huffs a laugh and cradles Cas’s face, pulling him into a soft, languid kiss. It’s a re-acquaintance after what feels like an eternity of despair. It’s finally taking the time for what they’ve both wanted — needed — for so very long.

‘Broken halo that used to shine…’

They part as the music fades, and Dean pulls Cas with him as he lays back, settling on the windshield. He settles a hand behind his head and keeps an arm around Cas.  

They don’t move from that spot until morning. Cas spends the fleeting hours of bright stars telling Dean the stories of the constellations. Dean spends those hours thanking whatever cosmic beings there are in the universe for sending Cas to him. Whatever it took, whatever heartbreak he’s endured, whatever broken halos he’s seen, it brought him here.

It brought him to the stars with Cas in his arms, and for that, he will always be indebted to the cosmos.

@deanmonsandangels – my beautiful muse, as always.  She is the source of this prompt, and she’s just the literal best all around. [And one hell of a writer herself.]  She deserves all the love!

Canon divergent because Jack is a precious bean and Team Free Will 2.0 deserve all the happiness.

[shinichirosbabymama]

(Donald Pierce x Reader)

A/N: SO I went to see Logan yesterday and it was sick so I thought I’d write a little Donald Pierce x Reader thang. I can see some serious potential for a part 2 so let me know what y’all think. This contains some major spoilers for Logan and mentions of violence. Enjoy!

Your feet clicked against the stone floor as you entered your kitchen. You'd done this every day for the last four years but today something was different. The plates inside of the cupboard began to rattle as soon as you entered and you gripped the kitchen surface to steady yourself. 

They escaped. They're free. 

You breathed rapidly trying to still the surge of emotion building inside you. You'd never felt so conflicted - you couldn't deny that you were glad the children were finally free but by doing so you had betrayed the person that you loved. 

But how could you ever love him? He was a monster. 

The tempestuous feelings inside you built to such a level that the lights around the room began to flicker. The sounds of kettle rapidly switching on and off filled your ears as the currents surged from your body into the kitchen around you. 

You felt as thought you were about to explode when you suddenly heard the front door slam. You stopped instantly - only at the result of decades of schooling yourself to react automatically to company - and the cutlery draw crashed loudly onto the floor.  

'Baby?' You heard a thick southern accent drawl from nearby as you released the kitchen counter from your grip and stood stock still. 

Donald appeared before you a moment later. His sunglasses hung loosely in his hand as he squinted at you in the dim light of the kitchen. The fuse must have blown again. 

'Darlin' are you okay?'

Donald pressed his flesh hand to your cheek, face automatically tightening in concern when he felt how cold and clammy the skin felt underneath. Your little episode had weakened you significantly and constantly suppressing your abilities only allowed you to use them in short bursts anyway. 

'What happened in here?' Donald gestured towards the floor and for the first time you noticed  cutlery was scattered everywhere from where the draw had fallen. 

'I-I stumbled and pulled it out.' You murmured avoiding his gaze as he studied your face. Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Donald led you to front room where he help you sit down on the sofa. You instantly flopped down onto your back as he briefly left the room before reappearing with a damp flannel which you were secretly grateful for as a headache began to blossom over your brow. 

'I-I think I'm sick.' You mumbled again as you scrunched your eyes shut trying to block out the pain. 

'Shh just lie back. I got you.' Donald spoke softly as he dabbed your brow with the cloth. His metal hand rested on your wrist and you tried to resist springing away from him. You were too uncontrolled right now and you didn't trust yourself. One wrong move and you could kill him. 

'I'll take you to get checked out. No offence baby but you look like hell.' You knew that Donald's faux-teasing voice was laced with worry underneath. 

'No! No - really. I'll be fine. I just need rest.' You steadied your voice as you lay back, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling above you. 

'That's my girl. Always stubborn.' Donald chided gently, his hand still resting on your wrist - probably as a subtle way to measure your pulse. Slowly you could feel yourself starting to regain your strength as you focused on emptying your mind of all the feelings that had crowded you earlier. 

'I hate to leave you doll, really - but something's happened.' 

You knew damn well what had happened but Donald didn't know that. So you schooled your voice into one of concern as you as you attempted to pry the truth from him. 

'What is it?' 

'Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'll have some of the boys set up outside to listen out in case you need me.' 

Great. You thought, knowing full well that it would be highly suspect of you to refuse his protection. 

'Okay love.' You heard yourself saying, offering him a smile that you silently prayed would appear convincing. Donald seemed satisfied (or distracted) as he leaned forward and kissed you. 

After he left you finally allowed your muscles to relax. You could still feel tiny shocks and static in your fingertips but the worst of it was over. You had never been proud of your so-called powers. In fact they were little more than a curse. You'd been born with the ability to control different energies around you. On the surface it appeared like an incredible gift but it had in fact brought you nothing but anguish. 

You remembered the first time your power had resulted in a death. You glanced down and stared at your hands, the same hands that had tightly gripped at the limp kitten in your arms when you were five years old. You could recall the static sensation of its singed hair on your skin. You didn't mean to kill it you just didn't know how to control yourself yet. 

Your parents were not like you -they said you were evil. You father had shook you so violently when he saw that you'd killed the kitten that you panicked and shocked him. As his limp body fell to the floor your mother began to scream, so loudly that it hurt your ears so you silenced her with a single jolt from your fingertips. 

After that you were alone. You were smart enough to know that your home wasn't home anymore. You spent years traversing the country - trying to stay out of trouble and avoiding the authorities who were desperately searching for a missing child, presumed dead. 

You fled to Mexico when you were 17, a place where there were far less questions about where you'd come from. But you were still lost, drifting from one job to the next one that didn't require a form of ID as you tried to keep the food in your belly. 

Your ability to control the energy around you was very much a two-way relationship. You naturally found yourself drawn to the cities buzzing with lights and people. You spent three years making your way around Mexico before finally settling in the capital. 

Transigen had captured your attention immediately. The amount of energy spilling from the walls of that place piqued your curiosity and you attempted to investigate what was happening inside, but to no avail. Security was far too tight. The only possible in for you was through employment. And for that you needed a verifiable background. 

So you bided your time. You worked night and day until you'd saved enough money to pay a man to create you a birth certificate and passport. You were now Y/N Y/L/N. You spent hours schooling yourself into the perfect Transigen employee - hardworking, intelligent but also obedient and loyal. You practiced suppressing your powers, reacting to every possible surprise or eventuality. You vowed never to kill anyone again. 

You paid the man extra just to throw in a few relevant medical qualifications, confident that you'd be able to learn as you worked, and before you knew it you'd landed the job. 

You kept a low profile for the first few months of your employment. You were mostly constrained to admin work and knew for the fact that not a single person in there trusted you yet. Slowly you gained the trust of your superiors and were gradually allowed into the lab. 

For a long time you couldn't understand why the children were being kept like this. A cancer study seemed unlikely and your suspicions continued to grow. It wasn't until one day when they attempted to restrain one boy who then decapitated the nurse stood next to you did you realise that these were not normal children.  

That day did not stick in your memory for that reason alone - it was also the day you met Donald Pierce. 

The moment he entered the room you had to suppress your abilities harder than you'd ever tried in your life. It didn't help that he walked right up to, feet splashing in the blood that covered the hospital floor and brought his face right up to yours. 

'Ya hurt?' 

His blue eyes bored into yours as he spoke, his thick southern accent clouding any emotion that might have once been present in his voice like smoke. 

'No.' Was all you managed in a tight voice, unable to tear your gaze away from his. Donald had stared at you a few seconds longer and for a moment you were sure he knew your secret. But after what felt like a millennium he stepped back. 

'Good. Don't tell anyone about this.' He murmured roughly before leaving the room. 

You didn't know it at the time but that was the beginning of the two of you. Everyone at Transigen thought Donald was the devil incarnate but you could almost see a warped logic to his thinking. You didn't want more to die because of people like you. But you never, ever, condoned the abuse and neglect that the children received. 

Every day that you worked there was another day where Donald cemented himself in your brain. You loathed yourself for being so hypnotised by his eyes and the way that the sound of his voice made your head swim. These feelings were completely alien to you and yet that didn't stop you welcoming Donald's invasion into your personal space, lips twisting into a half smile and revealing that ridiculous gold tooth when he studied you. 

'You're a smart girl - in fact, I think you're dangerous.' Donald drawled one night as you were cleaning up the lab at the end of the day. The words made your blood run cold as your mind began to conjure the idea that he knew. But he simply laughed in the end and brushed your shoulder lightly as he left.  

It was difficult to piece together exactly how you'd arrived at your current destination. You and Donald had now been living together for four years. Four years. The fact was unbelievable even to your own ears but despite everything he showed you love that no one else had. You'd never been welcomed into a home to call your own before, never been held or never even been considered by anyone else until you met him. The last four years had been a conflict for you - how do you convince the man you love to give up his lifelong mission?  

The sound of the front door clicking shut startled you out of your reverie. Several hours had passed since Donald had last left and you found yourself buried under the sheets of your bed now, not realising you'd been lost in thought for so long. All was good, for now, and the energy both in you and around you felt relatively lax. 

You feigned sleep as you listened to Donald climb the stairs and enter the bedroom. He groaned in exhaustion as he undressed, his coat and jeans landing on the floor heavily as he stripped carelessly. 

He climbed into bed next to you and you tensed at the sensation of his cold arms as they wrapped around you. The sensation of his facial hair rough against your neck relaxed you a little - despite everything, you felt at home here when it was quiet. Donald relaxed next to you but you knew he was wide awake. 

'Everything okay?' You whispered into the darkness as you intertwined your fingers with his. 

'The kids are gone. I don't know how but they fuckin' are.' 

His metal hand tightened around yours to the point of pain and you stroked his arm in response, hoping to calm him. 

'You'll get them back.' 

'How do you know?' Donald hissed and you tensed your jaw in response as you resisted the urge to snap back. Maybe you shouldn't have been fucking holding them there in the first place. He didn't scare you in the slightest but he could be difficult. 

Instead you tried a different tactic. You rolled over and pulled his nude body close to yours, your lips moving over his neck as he hummed in response. 'Because you're better than they are.' 

Donald's breath caught in his throat as his metal hand moved up to grip your hair as he kissed you. 

'Damn right.' 

You moved away briefly to take in the sight of him before surging forward and kissing him hungrily. Like your life depended on it. Donald made a noise of surprise but responded in kind. For all you knew this could be the last time. You could no longer sit idly by knowing what was happening.

It was time to act.

[ceilien]

Upon first glance, his visage was comparable to a world painted white with fresh-fallen, glistening snowflakes--so delicate and seemingly intangible that at the time I could not imagine bringing myself to touch him. The photos on his dating profile, however, did him less than no justice--especially considering, as I would later find out, the most recent was nearly four years old. We met on December 20th, and at the time I had no inclination of the sort of joy the next 22 days would bring, or the deep emptiness the days after would ensure. We started with easy questions. “Have you graduated yet?” He asked. “Not yet. Have you?” “Yeah, two years ago.” “Where do you go now?” I asked. “Mizzou,” he responded. He told me about how he was studying computer science because that’s what his dad does and nothing else really captivated him. “I did broadcast when I was in high school, so I considered Journalism as a major, but I sort of decided it wasn’t for me.” I’d like to say that we hit it off immediately--from the first word either of us muttered, our eyes turned into cartoon hearts when one looked at the other. Unfortunately, this was not the case. There was a layer of nervousness and awkwardness that neither of us could shake for awhile. Which eventually I found to be an out of character situation for him, because as I grew to know this person as time went on, I found him to be insanely confident. This was surprising as he just so happens to embody the sort of person who stereotypically would not radiate confidence. Nevertheless, the two of us muddled with small talk over our drinks. We sat in a corner table at a (very busy) local coffee shop. “I’m not an avid coffee drinker,” he said, explaining himself after ordering a hot chocolate. I, as usual, had green tea. I remember when the ice had finally been broken. After a long silence I asked, “What’s your favorite color?” To which he replied, “Green.” I laughed softly and mumbled, “Green is not a creative color.” He laughed. Hard. And responded, “What? What about green is not creative?” And then we were both cracking up. We could probably pay our dues to laughter for melting away a thick layer of the awkwardness--or the miscommunication, either way, I like to think we were both grateful for it. “Are you kidding me? That’s one of the most memorable lines from Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared--” I said enthusiastically. “Oh! Right!” He said, clearly just playing along. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a Youtube series that I got really into theorizing for awhile. It’s so conceptual and creative--” I trailed off, not wanting to seem like a dork. “Theorizing?” He asked, a playful grin was plastered across his face now. I nervously laughed. “Yeah...I’m really into film theories and stuff like that.” “So what’s your theory about Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared?” he asked. (I think this is a good time to note that this was absolutely my favorite thing about him. Whenever I said anything, he gave me his full and complete attention. He would always listen and give me incredible responses. I’ve never met another person to do this, and I found it extraordinary). I then went into a brief description about a common theory that I eventually sort of accepted about DHMIS, because as many people know, the series is completely conceptual. There is no true meaning, no right or wrong. “...yeah, I’ll stop now. I don’t want you to think I’m a complete loser.” He was laughing again. “Okay, well for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.” He paused for a moment, the look on his face showed that he was thinking very carefully about how he wanted to execute his next sentence. “I’ll tell you my really nerdy thing if you promise not to judge me.” “I can’t exactly make that promise--Wait, you’re not a weeb are you?” He bit the inside of his cheek and smirked at me. “No no no no no. Not that. But I uh...I play Dungeons & Dragons.” I wasn’t exactly surprised by this confession. He certainly looked the part--I previously mentioned the fact that he doesn’t exactly give off the impression of overt confidence, and this was why. The boy I was on a date with had blonde moppy hair, the sides shorter than the top. He was tall, much taller than I, but that isn’t really saying a lot. Slim and fit. Glasses rested on his nose, morphing the way one would perceive such a lovely face, and yet still not tarnishing the image. Later that evening when he removed his glasses, there was an entirely new layer of beauty. I never really bought into the whole idea of how a person can take off their glasses, and suddenly become an entirely new one--but this boy depicts this trope perfectly. It took nearly an hour to finish our drinks and then we made our way into the cold to search for a new adventure. As we walked, it became apparent that all fathoms of awkwardness had been breached--we were comfortable now. And one might be thinking--“first dates are always awkward in the beginning, it is hardly notable that the two of you felt this sensation.” And to this I would like to note that in general, I am VERY good at reading people--breaking the ice is easy for me. But there was something about this boy that took me aback, he made me feel like I was walking on clouds and on glass all at once (but somehow in a good way). He said, “So I listened to this podcast the other day about natural disasters…” He began to pull the highlights from the said podcast, and the main point had to do with deciding how the people were to be evacuated in a given situation. After giving me some exposition, he asked me what I thought. “Well, definitely not elderly people,” I said. He laughed and nodded at me to continue. “Children have the most to gain and to lose from something like this, they still have their entire lives to live so they’re number one in my book. And then probably their immediate family, so like mothers maybe--so that they for sure have someone to raise them. I guess the rest for me is sort of a gray area.” “What about doctors?” “Oh! Good point, but they probably shouldn’t be sent too far, they need to be able to help in the disaster struck area…” This conversation went on until both of us were so cold that we wandered into a Pickleman’s. We were only there briefly. “Do you want to go listen to music in my car or something?” He asked. Now, due to the circumstances for which we met, and you know, the simple words spoken--one might deem this a smooth transition to getting naked in the back seat of his car. That is certainly what I was thinking--however, we hadn’t kissed yet, and for some reason this boy is the most difficult person to read that I have ever met. I agreed. As we neared the parking garage, I looked over at him and smirked. “Bet I can beat you to the car!” I said playfully. He stood next to me long enough for me to see his eyebrows raise, and then he was gone. “No fair!” “Well, you started it!” He said, turning back to face me briefly. He beat me. But only because he had a head start. We were cold and out of breath, and smiling and laughing. He fumbled with his phone for a moment, looking for a playlist to depict the mood--he was very good at this. Shortly thereafter, music played through the speakers and we sat listening while catching our breaths. A few minutes pass and I ask, “Are we going to stay here or…” “I have an idea.” And since he didn’t tell me the idea off the bat, I’m sure I made reference to him potentially axe murdering me, because it suited the situation. His destination wasn’t far, he just drove to the top of the parking garage-- “How romantic.” I said in a jocular fashion. When we got out of the car, I noted the two identical Priuses parked adjacent to one another. We walked over to the ledge of the concrete to look over the horizon. The view was limited; I could see another parking garage, some billboards, and the movie theatre… “How unfortunate.” I said. To which he replied, “Yeah...Well, the view might not be perfect, but at least it’s ours.” And then he put his arm around me. I was at a loss for words at this point, because the nicety of being held against him was unfathomable. This sensation may very well have been brought on by the cold, but I like to think it has more to do with the electricity I could feel between us. We exchanged glances, both holding matching smiles just for the other. “What's their story?” I asked, pointing down at a small group who was walking down the sidewalk. He proceeded to analyze the hypothetical lives of the three strangers who were walking along. “That guy is definitely showing off for the two girls--see how he’s wearing shorts? It’s 20 degrees. He’s demonstrating his manliness to them,” he said. We did this for a long time. Judged unsuspecting strangers from a spot just out of sight. Eventually I said something along the lines of, “All of those people down there must think we’re crazy.” To which he responded, “Do you think they’d mind if I kissed you?” “Let’s find out…” And then it happened. The first one happened so fast, as we had to pull away due to a static electricity shock. The both of us found this hilarious; we held each other steady as we laughed for awhile--until we wanted to test the waters again. I pulled him in close and there we stood, on top of the parking garage, kissing like it was the first and last time. “It’s cold,” I said, within the warmth of his arms. So we went back to his car, both in a moderately-horny and infatuated daze. We decided to go somewhere private. We soon realized that neither of us had much experience in looking for unlit and abandoned places to park a car for...situations like these. We drove around for nearly a half an hour, looking for an ideal place. This was my favorite part of the night--driving around, listening to music, looking over at you, making jokes. Laughing, smiling, happy. We spent some time sitting naked in the back seat of your car. “I feel like if we were in a movie, you’d have a cigarette hanging between your lips right now,” I said. He smiled over at me, and then closed his eyes. The air was replaced by music. His glasses sat inside the glove compartment, our clothes on display, but not on our bodies. The windows were foggy, as we enjoyed the company of one another and felt the night fading away. He took the absolute longest route he could have when taking me home. “Hey,” his tone plagued with sincerity. I looked over at him. “Is this going to be a one time thing or…” his voice trailed off. I didn’t really know what to say. I was nervous again, not knowing what he meant by this. I began to ramble. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose it’s up to you whether or not you would want to see each other again.” “I go back to school in a little less than a month,” he said quietly now. “If you need someone to help you stay entertained in the meantime, you know how to get ahold of me,” I said. We were silent again, but I found it comfortable. This was temporary, I already knew. Even if this wasn’t the last time we would see one another, the romance was destined to expire before long. He pulled in front of my house and there was a brief pause before I said, “I had a great time tonight. Let me know if you want to hang out again.” “Me too,” he said, “and I will.”