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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 5

A/N Sorry for the long break between chapters. As some of you might have seen from my Tumblr blog, I’ve been off on vacation these past two weeks. Plus, when I felt the urge to write, it was my new Vaquero AU that kept calling to me (21,000 words and counting!), rather than this fic. Which is probably a good argument for why I don’t like to post WIPs. In any event, here is the next chapter some of you have been asking for, entitled Third Appointment. Be careful what you wish for. Angst ahead, plus a trigger warning for infertility trauma, miscarriage.

The first four chapters are available on my AO3 page.

The Thursday after her impromptu encounter with Jamie and his niece at the Royal Hospital for Children, Claire woke with a strange twisting pain in her gut. Skipping breakfast, she was halfway to her office before she diagnosed herself with an acute case of nerves, the kind that sprouted between her lungs and ribcage like a vestigial organ whose sole purpose was to unsettle her.

She wasn’t in the habit of meeting patients outside of the clinical confines of her practice, but it was more than that. Jamie had caught her in a moment of weakness, with both her personal and professional armour missing. What he might have seen and how he could have interpreted it had occupied her thoughts ever since.

Eating lunch was out of the question. By the time two o’clock approached, her insides were a buzzing hornets’ nest of anxiety, her palms clammy with sweat. A half-empty bottle of Xanax called to her from the bottom of her purse. Before she could weigh the implications of taking one at work on an empty stomach, Jamie’s familiar knock intervened.

She could tell as soon as he entered that Maggie hadn’t needed a transfusion that week. His russet curls shone like garnets in the midday sun and his uncanny eyes glittered like sapphires. Still, he avoided looking directly her way as he settled into his usual chair, and she wondered if the overlap of their personal and professional lives had left him feeling unnerved as well.

“No wheat grass smoothie,” he commented, his gaze running over her desk.

“No, I didn’t have time for lunch today.” It was a blatant falsehood, since she’d spent her lunch hour picking her cuticles until they bled, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ye should eat more, Sassen..., Doctor Beauchamp. Ye canna help anyone else if ye’re no’ properly nourished.” She caught the slip, and for some reason it angered her.

“Is this your attempt to negotiate a reduction in your fees, Jamie? Dietary advice in return for counselling? Because if so, I’m afraid I don’t bill on the barter system,” she snapped, despising her churlish tone.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, then dimmed. Message received, he sat up straighter in the armchair and crossed a foot over his knee, assuming a position of poised and detached calm that had no doubt served him well during business negotiations. She regrouped by pretending to glance at her journal for the notes from their previous session, although the space next to his name was accusingly blank.

Boundaries thus defined, the session went surprising well. Jamie spoke of his relief that Maggie’s latest round of chemotherapy was over, allowing her to return home and to some semblance of a regular life for a child of six. Claire coaxed him gently towards the topic of his overwhelming guilt for abandoning his family when he was most needed. Jamie processed pain through the recounting of stories, coming to terms with his self-decreed transgression by weaving together the tale of those he loved and pointing to the holes his absence had caused.

As his resonant voice spun its web of words, Claire became aware of an underlying hum. At first it was subtle, like the mumble of traffic from a far-off motorway. But as their hour together ticked by, it grew in strength until she could no longer ignore the buzz that pressed against her from all directions.

“... saw that it was really Jenny and Ian who I was... Claire? Doctor Beauchamp, are ye well?” Jamie was watching her with concern, and she realized she’d been shaking her head, trying to dislodge the omnipresent hum.

“Yes, I’m... yes. Sorry. Just a funny noise that’s... Please, continue.” When Jamie didn’t immediately pick up the thread of his narrative, she tried again. “You were saying something about Jenny and Ian?”

Instead of continuing his previous thought, Jamie picked that moment to broach the topic she’d desperately hoped he would avoid.

“I hope ye’re no’ upset about the other day, at the hospital. I didna mean tae impose or tae... o’erstep the bounds of our relationship. No’ that we have a relationship, mind,” he hastened to add. “Only a professional one. But when I saw ye, I couldna resist introducing ye tae wee Maggie. I hadna told ye about her yet, and I thought...”

“Jamie, it’s fine,” she cut in, halting his rambling explanation. “She’s a lovely girl. They all are. It’s only that, I’m sort of...”

“Ye’re verra good with them. Children, that is. Ye’ll make a fine mother one day.”

All the oxygen left the room at once. Her heart beat so hard there was a bruised feeling behind her sternum. Launching to her feet, Claire stumbled blindly away from her desk. She wanted to run, to scream, but her vision was a narrow chasm and a now-deafening throb filled her ears. She only made it a few steps before her knees buckled and the carpet floated upwards to meet her.

“Ifrinn!” Jamie leapt to her side, catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the floor. He lowered them both carefully to the ground, resting her body against his lap. “Sassenach? Claire? Can ye hear me? Do I need tae call an ambulance?” The words reached her from very far away, but the threat of medical intervention acted like a dose of smelling salts.

“No,” she groaned, the room spinning around her like a kaleidoscope. “No hospital. I just... need to eat,” she grasped at the most innocuous explanation for her current state.

Without dislodging her, Jamie stretched his long arm and brought back the small basket of miniature muffins that were the day’s offering from Geillis. With surprising dexterity, he peeled away the paper one-handed and broke apart a bite-sized morsel, holding it gently against her lips. Realizing that her dignity couldn’t get any more battered, Claire opened her mouth and allowed Jamie to feed her. After only a few bites, the buzzing disappeared and she was able to sit up on her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, afraid to look into his eyes for fear of the pity she knew she’d see there. “You were right. I should have eaten lunch, I guess.”

“Claire.” Jamie made a prose poem of the single syllable of her name. She looked up at him through her lashes, stunned to find him looking back, not with pity, but with something akin to adoration. “Mo nighean donn,” he ran a tender hand through her loosened curls. “Ye need tae care more for yerself.”

“I will. I’ll try.” And when she said it to him, she really meant it. Jamie made the impossible seem probable.

They stared at one another, shoulder to shoulder on the floor of her office. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but nor did she move. Her gaze flitted over his face, noticing a vestige of boyish freckles across the bridge of his nose, a mole hidden in the harvest stubble on his cheek. Jamie was performing a parallel inventory, eyes finally coming to rest at the level of her mouth.

“Ye’ve got a wee crumb, jus’ there.” Unconscious, her tongue swept out, triggering a predatory response, twin blue laser beams narrowing on the target she had just painted on her lower lip.

“I... I’d verra much like tae kiss ye, Claire. May I?”

An amputated moan was all she could manage in response, but Jamie must have understood its meaning. He bent his head until only a whisper separated them. The air crackled, sending that extra organ plummeting towards her hollow womb. Clenching her eyes shut in defeat, she closed the infinitesimal gap until they met in an effervescent caress of lip and tongue.

Cold washed over her skin, bathing her in gooseflesh. Jamie tasted like he looked; a banquet of fresh, volatile flavours that called to mind a picnic in a meadow, a spray of sea foam, the warmth of hearth and home. She could feel him trembling against her, his moist breath rushing against her cheek in shallow pants. For a score of heartbeats, Claire was the happiest she had ever been. Then, reality crashed down around her.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, pulling away. “I... this can’t... I’m sorry.”

Jamie leaned back with a mixture of longing and resignation. She hated adding herself to his list of regrets, but it was for the best.

“I’m your doctor, Jamie. This isn’t right.”

“Aye, I ken. I should apologize, but I canna seem tae find it in me tae repent.”

Jamie stood, reaching down to help Claire up as well. As soon as it was apparent she was able to stand on her own, he dropped her hand as though it burned. The line between his brows deepened, and she could see the question forming before he gave it voice.

“What if ye werena my doctor? Would it be right then?”

“That’s neither here nor there, because I am, Jamie. A relationship between patient and doctor of a romantic nature is ethically off-limits.”

Jamie nodded, apparently accepting her explanation at face value. Her heartbeat calmed. He moved slowly, gathering his coat and starting to leave.

“But what if ye weren’t?” he said, facing the door. “If we’d met at the hospital, or out on the town?”

“I...” she stammered, searching desperately for any answer except for the truth. “No, Jamie,” she said at last, watching as she destroyed his last bastion of hope. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel that way about you.”

Nodding abruptly, Jamie let himself out of the office. She listened to his low murmuring voice through the door as he spoke to Geillis, heard him make an appointment for the following week, then the loud snap of the main door closing. Only then did she allow herself to collapse once more to the floor, angry sobs overtaking her.

***

“Are ye out of yer fuckin’ mind?” Geillis inquired with her usual brutal eloquence.

With the help of a Xanax, Claire had managed to see her last two patients of the day, and only needed to navigate the shoals of her office manager’s ire before she could go home and fully medicate herself into a dreamless sleep.

“Jes so we’re clear, ye want me tae write a letter terminating your services as a doctor an’ suggesting suitable alternative providers? An’ ye want me tae send this letter, over email, tae Jamie Fraser?”

“That’s right.” She had determined that icy calm was the best antidote to this conversation, which was fortuitous, since she felt numb all over.

“An’ what reason am I tae give fer this abrupt conclusion tae yer association wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“I don’t owe him an explanation. Only sufficient notice and an opportunity to seek counselling elsewhere,” she said, feigning reasonableness.

Pushed past her limits, Geillis rose from behind her desk, a tiny tempest of moral indignation.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, ye are a good friend, a fine doctor an’ a fair employer. But I swear by the Almighty that if ye dinna drop the façade and tell me wha’ is going on I am going tae smack ye until yer ears ring!”

There was a certain relief in knowing that Geillis wouldn’t take no for an answer. And unlike Jamie, she knew where Claire lived and would not let her rest until the truth came out.

“He kissed me. Or rather, I kissed him. And I liked it! That’s why, Geillis.”

Her friend’s shoulders sagged, all righteousness gone in an instant. She reached around Claire’s frame and held her in a bone-crushing one-sided hug.

“Och, hen. An’ ye figured ye could deal wi’ those pesky feelings by jes, what? firing him as yer patient?”

“I can’t deal with this right now, Geillis. I can’t feel the way he makes me feel. And this practice is all that I have left. There’s no way I can risk losing it just for an affair that won’t even last the summer.”

She didn’t need to elaborate on her reasons for that dire prediction. Geillis knew them as well as anyone.

“He’s an intelligent man, Claire. He’s gonna ken something is up. Moreover, he’s a good man. He deserves tae hear the truth.”

Shaking her head sadly, Claire walked towards the door. Just before exiting, she called back softly to her friend.

“Geillis? Make sure to include Dr. Rafferty’s name on the list of referrals. I think they’d be a good match.

***

Monday morning dawned with little promise for the fledgling week. Moving robotically through her weekend routine, Claire thought frequently of chickens. How their bodies kept moving once their heads were lopped off, nerves and muscle and bone continuing to function for a time despite the fatal blow.

The elevator chimed its arrival on her floor. As the doors slide open, Jamie was the first thing she saw. He loomed by her still-locked office, a sun-topped thundercloud gripping a sheet of printer paper.

She’d worn her best black suit and a pair of chunky heels that brought her closer to his height. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, she’d anticipated this confrontation. Perversely, she relished it. Vitriol and deceit didn’t suit her, but it was preferable to feeling absolutely nothing.

“Do ye mind tellin’ me,” Jamie began before she’d even set foot in the hallway, “jus’ what this is about, Claire?” He brandished the paper like a wanted poster.

“I would think it was self-explanatory, actually. I’m terminating our professional relationship,” she huffed, golden eyes coming to life for the first time since Thursday.

“Via email. Sent tae me by Miss Duncan, because ye dinna have the guts tae do it yerself. Christ, Sassenach, even my ninth grade sweetheart didna dump me so cruelly!”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she burst out, a flood of emotion cresting with her rising anger. “Don’t call me that! I was your doctor, Jamie, and now I’m nothing to you. Nothing. Just go. Please. Just go,” she finished weakly and without any hope that he’d listen.

“All this jus’ because I kissed you?” Jamie persevered. At her stubborn silence, he continued, “Nah, I dinna think so. Ye’re many things, Claire, but a coward isna one of them.”

She found this hysterically funny, since a coward was the only role she played to perfection. She didn’t have time to laugh, however, because Jamie was suddenly standing much closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stormy eyes.

“Nah,” he continued smoothly, a big cat alerted to the smell of its prey. “If ye’d objected tae the kiss, ye would have told me so. Read me the riot act or kneed me in the bawls. I think ye’re scared, Doctor Beauchamp. I think that kiss terrified ye, because ye realized ye liked it. Somethin’ ye couldna plan for in yer wee journal, right there under yer nose. Bet it made yer heart beat so fast. So fast, jus’ like it is now.”

Jamie’s hand rested gently over the placket of her suit jacket, where he could surely feel the trip hammering of her pulse.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t. I can’t...”

“Can’t what, Sassenach?” he whispered back, goading her.

The truth hung on her lips, and the toll of the past few days meant that she no longer had the strength to stop it from spilling forth.

“Can’t have children. Ever. I tried, for years. Fourteen miscarriages, fourteen lost chances. And seeing you with those children last week. I know it’s presumptive, but I could never deny you that chance, Jamie. That’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

She was looking down, watching the buttons of his shirt rise and fall with his agitated breath, but as she finished speaking, their movement ceased. Chancing a glance upward, she was stunned by the fury that had overtaken his expression.

Jamie opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak in a gritty growl.

“Mutation of the RUNX1 gene tha’ causes leukemia. I was tested, along wi’ Jenny an’ Ian, after Maggie was diagnosed. I have a fifty percent chance of passing it along tae my children. An’ since I canna stand the thought of ano’er bairn havin’ tae suffer as Maggie has, as soon as I got the test results, I went out an’ had a vasectomy.”

Claire recoiled as though she’d been slapped, a high pitched whine in her ears.

“Ye’re no’ the only one who’s hurting, Claire!” Jamie continued, voice dashing against the rocks of her name. “We’re no’ meant tae suffer alone. Ye, of all people, should ken that.”

Stunned in the silence following the thunderclap of his revelation, she couldn’t find the words to express her sorrow, her outrage, and her crippling shame. By the time the power of speech returned, Jamie was gone.

#my writing #outlander

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venusandromedadjarin · 3 years

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Little Gremlin

Ch. 8, A Glint of Beskar

18+ eventual smut, 1.5k words

You look up from playing with the child in the swamp outside the Razor Crest when Mando’s boots thud on the ramp. “Do you know what used to sit above this planet?” The helmet looks down towards you as he approaches and scoops up the kid who currently has frog legs sticking out of his mouth. His big green ears twitch as his dad sits down with him in his arms, then he suddenly slurps the legs into his mouth, swallowing hard. You laugh before looking up towards the sky.

“The Death Star, if I remember right.” Mando nods, urging you to go on, “I don’t know much about it though, other than that it was destroyed.”

“It was. I don’t know much either, but I know before that happened, the Death Star was moved.” He looks down at the dirt, a few sprigs of green popping up here and there. “The planet was sterilized. It’s desolate.”

“Then why is there a quarry here?”

“My guess is that they aren’t a fighter. They probably got a hold of a starship and made it to the first place they could live alone. The bond isn’t much. I-” He pauses and puts down the kid, who immediately waddles off to find some unlucky specimen to eat. “I want you to come on this hunt.” He stares at you for a few moments, waiting on your response, his helmet tipping to the side at your silence.

“I-okay. What do I need to do?” You’ll probably just be watching the kid, but you don’t understand why you can’t do that from the ship. Plus, there’s a bunch of projects you noticed need to be done: rewiring, cleaning, polishing. You’re a bit taken aback by his proposition, but if it means getting him to talk, there’s no reason not to go.

“Do you know how to shoot a blaster?” He asks as he stands up and offers you a hand, his palm linger in yours longer than it should after pulling you to your feet. He huffs a little from behind the helmet, but you brush it off.

“It’s been a long time, but Teckla taught me,” he hands you one and you run through the basics of safety before looking at it further. Your shoulder bumps his arm while you walk side by side to a clearing where random targets have been set up: old junk from the ship and tree stumps mostly.

“Teckla is the woman who raised you?” His voice has a hint of curiousness that’s carried through the modulator, and you realize you’ve only spoken about her once to him. Even then, you didn’t give him any information.

Taking a stance and lifting the blaster to aim, you start telling him while practicing. He’s silent until you finish:

“When I was a kid on Nevarro, my village was attacked.”

Crack, the first stump splinters in half, sizzling.

“She was an Ardennian who found me in a cellar afterwards.”

Thud, another stump is hit but the thick wood stays solid, only a scorch mark visible.

“Teckla raised me as her own for… 24 years? Taught me everything I know.”

Clink, one of the pieces of scrap metal flys up and then falls back into the dirt.

“Welding, mechanics, languages, all of it.”

Ding, another piece of metal gets scorched.

“I was thirty when I was kidnapped, the only reason I know that is because she was adamant about celebrating. I hate birthdays.”

CRACK, CRACK, the last trunk splits into three pieces after two back to back shots. When you turn around, Mando has his hands on his hips and is staring at you. You’d like to think he’s impressed, but it doesn’t matter because you’re proud of yourself for hitting all the shots after years of no practice.

“She found you in a cellar?”

“Does that mean something to you?” It comes out harder than you meant it, but you stare back at him, waiting for him to admit he knows something. Waiting for him to admit he might know you.

He doesn’t, instead he’s quiet, almost like he’s treading lightly in the conversation. Then, “No. Did she teach you Mando’a?”

Just to be an ass, you answer him in the tongue, “Nayc, ner aliit.” The language was odd, and deepened with context, but you knew he got the gist when his shoulders stiffened.

“Were your family Mandalorians?” You’re oddly aware that he’s moved closer to you during his line of questioning, and now he’s within an arm’s reach. You could reach out and touch him if you wanted to, but you bit your lip and crossed your arms.

“I don’t know. I never saw armor, but I don’t know much about them. My mother was going to tell me some big secret right before the attack,” you look up at him, craning your neck because of how close he is. Above you, the sun was positioned at mid-morning and a few of the moons were still dotting the sky. “There was one other family that stuck to the outskirts of the village, I played with the little boy a lot.”

Mando nods slowly, his silence tripling in length as you stare at him, expecting him to say something. Instead, he turns towards the sound of giggles, heading out to find the child. You take it as your cue to head back to the hull and grab anything you might need.

After hours of walking in the heat, the kid’s ears peeking out of the capsule as he floats behind you both, Mando stops near some logs and puts his big down. A red light blinks steadily, but slowly from inside. The silence hasn’t been awkward, in fact it’s been comfortable, with both of you knowing what the other will do before doing it. He turns away and heads a few yards away where you can see him start picking up firewood.

Even from here, you can see the small change in his movements that imply he’s in pain. By this time, you’d have thought that the Bacta would have healed him fully, but then you remember it might have been too small a dose. As you watch him, you reach into the bag to pull out food. The kid reaches up and tries to grab some from you, so you hand him some jerky that he immediately shoves in his mouth. “Little gremlin!”

Mando drops the fire wood next to you, grunting slightly, before leaning down to make a neat pile, “Step back.” You don’t hesitate to follow directions, and he aims his arm towards the pile, a spurt of fire shooting out. At first the heat is overbearing, but within minutes of the sun dipping below the horizon, you’re grateful. He sits down across from you as you hand him some of the food, curious for a moment as to why he doesn’t start eating right away.

“Oh,” remembering the issue at hand, “do you want me to turn around?”

“No,” he lifts up his helmet just enough to eat and drink, and you try not to stare, but Maker you can’t help it. His lips are so smooth and you can’t help but to imagine what they’d feel like on your skin, on your lips, below your waist. You watch as he chews, oddly turned on by this forbidden skin you’re seeing, even though you’ve seen him pretty much naked. His facial hair is dark brown, almost black and if you squint you can see the smallest amount of curls peeking out of the back of his helmet. His hair shocks you, you thought he would have been clean shaven.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until you notice he isn’t chewing anymore, a glance down tells you he’s done with the food you gave him, but he’s kept helmet pushed up… for your sake? That’s ridiculous.

You flush and quickly turn back to your food. “Sorry,” you say around a full mouth. He chuckles, and without the modulator, the sound is so smooth. It’s still a deep sound, and the thought of hearing his voice without the Beskar wall makes your knees tremble. But you hear the hiss as he pulls it back down over his chin and his breath pushes through the helmet.

You wake up a few hours later, surprised you aren’t shivering now that the fire is out. As your eyes adjust, you feel a heavy piece of fabric over you. The strong scent - Maker, how does it smell so good even though he’s constantly getting it disgustingly dirty? - makes you recognize it as Mando’s cape.

A scuffle from the side of the makeshift camping pit draws your eyes over to it, just as blaster fire lights up the area.

Mando stands with his blaster pointed at someone - a guy with blue skin, from the looks of it - who seems to be suspended in mid air, one hand grabbing at his throat and the other frantically waving a blaster. You immediately grab for the green hand that’s peeking out of the capsule to your left, and the guy drops from the air. Mando steps over him as he tries to lift his blaster, but a heavy boot kicks it and sends it flying into the dirt.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

#the mandolarian #the mandolorian x reader #din djarin #reader x din Djarin #din djarin reader insert

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bffsoobin · 4 years

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A/N: here’s your fresh dose of fluff following the angsty mess of Windflower! These became kind of off request at some point? They all contain cake and confessions though, so I’d say it’s close enough! It’s also kind of long so I’m adding a read more just to be safe.

Requested?: yes!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

༺Yeonjun༻

Baking had been your hobby for as long as you could remember. One of your earliest memories was you standing at your grandmother’s elbow as you watched her mix together a bowl of ingredients. “Never use the box mixes, dear.” She had insisted; twirling the wooden spoon faster. “If you’re making something from scratch, it comes from the heart.” At your young age, you had simply nodded and taken her words for what they were. But as you grew older and received one of her homemade cakes for every birthday, you truly began to understand the amount of love and care that went into every single step of the process.

So here you were, a cake box in your hand, subtle warmth still seeping through the material as you knocked on a door. Although it looked perfect when you took it out of the oven and frosted it, you continued to worry that the delicate marble swirl of chocolate and yellow cake had somehow gone wrong. Of course, you were only worried because of who you were gifting the homemade treat to. Yeonjun, your long time coworker and crush. As a fellow baker, the two of you had spent countless hours talking behind the glass display case of your employer. That was how you learned that marble cakes were his favorite. For weeks, you had been tossing the idea of admitting your feelings back in forth in your head. But every vehicle for confession seemed- wrong. You wanted it to be special. So you’d vented to your best friend, who eventually pushed you to do what you did best. Bake.

On the other side of the door, you heard some rustling and Yeonjun clearing his throat before it was swung open. There he was, in all of his glory. Bleached hair fluffy and bouncing around his forehead, a cozy looking sweatshirt and a pair of black gym shorts showing off his strong legs.

“Hi!” His eyes shifted over you until he spotted the box clutched between your fingers. “Did you bake for me? Finally?” He stepped aside to quietly beckon you in as you chuckled shyly. The boy had been asking for you to bake him something practically since the day you met.

“Um yeah,” you supplied quietly as you placed the cake on his small kitchen table. He was rooting around his cupboards to produce two small plates and a pair of forks, along with a knife to cut the desert.

“What’s the occasion?” His voice was light and airy, whirling by you as he set the table. He smelled like citrus and mint, a calming yet exciting scent that just made so much sense.

“Nothin’. I just decided I would finally make you a cake so you’d stop nagging me.” Your body shook as one of his calloused hands lifted the lid of the box. His eyes roamed, obviously only expecting to take in the sight of a cake and instead being met with a little handwritten note. His eyes widened.

“Really?” He grinned, dropping the lid. “You...really?” The smile continued to split his face until his cheeks were threatening to block out his eyes. You nodded dumbly as he took two giant steps toward you. “I like you too!” The volume of his voice was astounding, shocking your senses into action.

“You do?” It was your turn to grin dumbly, craning your neck up to match his eyes. He stooped down slowly before placing a feather light kiss between your eyebrows.

“Of course.”

༺Soobin༻

All of the kitchen counters were covered in a thin dust of flour. You weren’t one for baking, but on a late night scroll of Pinterest you had found a recipe for a red velvet cake that just seemed decadent. It had instantly reminded you of Soobin, and you decided he could use a little surprise. And even though you were nearly clueless about baking, you could certainly follow a recipe with ease. Or so you thought. Crouching in front of the oven, you found yourself leveled with an overflowing pan, batter bubbling and spilling over the sides just to drip down into the racks of the oven. It would still taste the same, though. Right? You weren’t too picky about the aesthetics of your food, and as far you knew, your roommate wasn’t either.

You went to work cleaning up, knowing that you would be cutting it close to the time Soobin would be back from getting groceries. As soon as the oven went off, you sprung into action, opting to ignore the smoky scent of burnt batter as you threw the pan on to the stove top. Okay, not totally awful. It was uneven, sure, but the telltale red was clear as day. Your heart soared at that fact. Maybe you could do this. Wiping off the last of the mess on the counter, you tried your best to keep yourself from getting too confident. After all, you still hadn’t let it cool down enough to try it.

“Hey,” Soobin’s voice sounded through the apartment as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. You jumped, throwing a hand back toward the stove in an attempt to hide the pan from him. Of course, you caught the still hot edge and burned the tips of your fingers.

“Oh, shit!” you yelped, cradling your hand close to your chest. Soobin dropped all of his grocery bags and rushed forward, encircling your wrist with his gentle fingers.

“What did you burn-” he glanced behind you to see the messy pan of cake batter, a silly smile gracing his lips. “Did you make that for me?” He was teasing you, trying to distract you from the wincing pain in your fingertips, but he didn’t know how right he was. Your cheeks flared with embarrassment as he led you toward the sink and ran the faucet until it was cold.

“I was just trying-” he pushed your hand underneath the chilled water, “to make something nice. You’ve been working a lot, you know.” Hand still strong around your wrist as he carefully dried off your skin, Soobin tutted.

“I know. But I also know you can’t bake. So why did you make me a cake instead of something else?” Your mouth runs dry as he studies you, deep brown irises boring into you.

“Because cakes are... romantic?” You squeaked out the last word, foolishly hoping he would miss it.

“Oh,” his eyebrows lifted toward his hairline in surprise. You wanted to run away, but his grip kept you near. “Well, for a confession cake,” he glanced back over at it, “it’s the best one I’ve ever received. And it tastes better than the note I typed up on my phone, I bet.”

“I actually haven’t tasted it yet but I- wait. You have a confession note typed up for me?” It was Soobin’s turn to flush red all the way down his neck as he nodded.

“Guess I don’t need it anymore, though,” he giggled and the sound went right to your heart. He liked you back. You boosted yourself up onto the tips of your toes and planted your lips hard against his, unwavering until he returned the sentiment and used his tongue to split the seam of your mouth.

“How about we try that cake?”

༺Beomgyu༻

Why had you insisted on making all the food for your get together? Beomgyu had offered to help out, but a nagging voice inside of you said that since you had the idea, you had to make all the food. You’d stayed up way too late last night, fussing over making all of Beomgyu’s favorite foods. As much as you hated staying up past midnight, the hard work had payed off. All you had left to do this morning was decorate the cake, and you were stalling.

Using your aunt’s recipe had proven to be an amazing idea, as the cake held up wonderfully overnight and made a perfect canvas to be covered in a thick layer of cream cheese frosting. There was no telling how many times you’d dipped a finger into the large bowl of frosting to give yourself a taste, but you still managed to cover the entire surface successfully.

Now you stared numbly at the blank canvas, unsure of what to write. Welcome back? No, too generic. I missed you? Ew, a little too clingy for a cake. Plus he already knew that from your daily phone calls the whole time he was away. Words seemed odd to plaster on the cake in this situation anyway. The little tubes of frosting didn’t lend themselves to the most understandable or steady writing anyway. So instead of words, you went for a simple shape. A big heart, reaching to the top of the cake. It was simple, cute, and recognizable. Got the message across in a better way than writing “I’m in love with you” in block letters, too.

A few hours later, the doorbell rang and you practically tripped over yourself to get to it. As soon as it was open wide enough, you threw yourself into Beomgyu’s arms and inhaled his scent. He had been away at school for four months, and you never knew how badly you would miss him until he was gone. Tears welled in your eyes as he chuckled, walking you back into your apartment.

“Hi,” he supplied when you finally let go of his body.

“Hi! Come in, you must be hungry!” You knew that he was coming right from the airport, and his travel anxiety always ruined his appetite until he was home.

“Wait, I actually want to talk to you first.” You stopped in your tracks, tilting your head at the edge in his voice as you nodded. “I’ve really missed you, and being away made me realize that I... I think I love you. Like, I’m in love with you.” Your heart stuttered as he fidgeted, waiting for you to respond.

“I-” you chuckled, “hold on.” You bounded into the kitchen, grabbed the cake and brought it under his gaze. His eyes scrunched in confusion, obviously confused about where you were going with this. “I love you too. I made this cake and the idea was to have it later while I told you, but...you stole my thunder!” You teased, thrusting the cake toward him. He laughed heartily, the sound bouncing off the interior of your apartment.

Beomgyu lifted his hand and swept a finger through the frosting before reaching over to smear the mixture over your nose.

“Ewwww” you complained, unable to do anything as you held a firm grip on the cake. Beomgyu laughed again, cheeks filled with a tinge of pink as he leaned in to press a kiss right over where he had put the sugary mixture.

“Hmm, tastes good.”

༺Taehyun༻

The box of cupcakes sat in your passenger seat, buckled in so they couldn’t slide away. You were sitting in Taehyun’s driveway, waiting for him to come meet you as your hands produced so much sweat they were starting to slip off the steering wheel. A flash of red hair bounded out of the house, and you began to feel nauseous over the possibly life altering confession.

Before you knew it, Taehyun was at the door, knocking playfully on the glass to get your attention. You probably looked crazed as you drummed your fingers across the wheel in an attempt to soothe yourself. The lock clicked as you unlocked the door and he yanked it open. He hesitated once he saw the box, turning his head to the left and right as he tried to figure out what exactly it was.

“You got cupcakes?” His voice was full of boyish hope that made your stomach roll.

“Of course. You told me you were craving them. I figured we could drive to the park and have a picnic. I got ‘em from your favorite place.” His face lit up more with every word until all of his perfect, pearly teeth were on display. Carefully, he picked up the box and plopped himself into the seat before promptly buckling and situating the box on his knees.

The drive felt awkward to you, but Taehyun’s excitement overrode everything else. Once at a painted wooden picnic table overlooking the small lake, he began to practically claw at the cupcake box.

“Wait!” You shrieked, pushing his hands away before he could rip through the tape. He eyed you suspiciously as you turned the box to open facing you. “These are special cupcake, Tae. Let me open them. Don’t look!” He laughed at your childish behavior, yet he complied by hiding his face behind his hands. Okay, Y/N. It was now or never. You flipped the lid open, looking over the letters stenciled on top of the cupcakes to make sure they were unscathed. Thankfully, they still read “I like you”, as you’d requested.

“Okay,” you whispered as you turned the box to face him. In the exact moment he lifted his hands, you couldn’t help yourself from keeping all your focus on his face. His mouth floundered, opening and closing in a quick succession.

“What’s... what’s this? You like me, Y/N?” The sun broke through the clouds as soon as he spoke, illuminating his features as you nodded tightly. His voice still gave no inclination of what he was thinking; but some part of you urged you to believe it was a good thought. He sprung up from his seat and circled the table in a move so fast you could barely comprehend it. Before you had time to think, he grabbed your face in both hands, squeezing your cheeks lovingly and placing a testing peck onto your lips before smiling and going in for more.

༺Hueningkai༻

“Kai,” you whined, pushing at his leg with a bare foot. “Can you go get me a drink?”

“This is your house, and you expect me to get you a drink?” He blinked a few times as if his statement would change your mind.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I just asked. Pleaseeeee,” you whined, drawing out the last syllable until he stood up and trudged toward your kitchen. You heard the fridge open, then the telltale sound of a cupboard being swung open and shut again.

“You’re the best!” You called out lazily, clicking through movie options on Netflix in the absence of your best friend.

“Hey, Y/N?” Hueningkai called. What could he possibly need? All you needed was a drink, and he knew exactly where everything was located already.

“What?” You were a little bit annoyed, thirst growing stronger as you wondered what he could be doing in your kitchen that was taking so long. With no response, you hauled yourself off of the couch and asked again. “What, Hueningkai?”

He was standing to the left of your fridge, stating at something on your counter. He knew most food was free reign, so what was he staring at with that weird look on his face? Maybe your mother had forgotten to- oh, no. You knew exactly what he was staring at.

Last night, you had been bored enough to bake up a cake. It was a little rough around the edges but it was the colorful funfetti concoction you’d been craving. It was sitting patiently on a cake stand to the left of the appliance; but that wasn’t what stopped you in your tracks. It was the small card you had placed on top of the cake, mostly to remind yourself not to forget about it. It was a birthday card that you’d begun to write for the exact boy standing in your kitchen.

The first line, which you’d memorized from reading it over and over again, clearly read; Happy Birthday Hueningkai! I know this is a weird way to say it- but I think I’m in love with you.

If the stunned look on his face when he turned upon your arrival was any indication, he had certainly read it.

“I-I’m so sorry. That was stupid of me, please just forget it! I have a second card so you won’t get that one, don’t worry. I just-I just...” the words died on your tongue, shoulders slumping.

“Wait don’t be sorry!” His voice was much too loud for being inside, and he instantly clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t be sorry, Y/N. It’s cute. And I uh,” he cleared his throat, suddenly bashful as the atmosphere of the room shifted. “I love you too. I have since we were like, I dunno, eight years old? Yuck. But you always bossed me around and called me names so I just thought. Yeah.” Hands stuffed in his pockets, he suddenly reminded you of the shy eight year old you once knew.

“Well,” you rocked back and forth on your bare feet. “Cats out of the bag?” You tried, unsure of where to go from here. He grinned; a big, lopsided grin that showcased his dimples and the crinkles of his eyes. Before you could dwell on the silence any longer, he threw you into a bone crushing hug. You’d felt it many times before, but now, as he rested his chin on the top of your head and swayed your bodies side to side, you felt different. You felt at home.

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alexiessan · 4 years

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Never alone - Chapter Twenty - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Marinette was a bit sad when they had to go back to Paris. They had only three days of Holiday left, and it was better for them to have a day or two to get rid of the jet lag.

She had been so happy to meet Damian’s family as a whole and relieved that she got along with them. She was also sad that she had to say goodbye to Titus, she has grown attached to the big dog.

They were, however, very happy to see Cloud again as they picked her up from Claude’s house. The fashion designer laughed as the puppy ran to them and Damian picked her up in a hug, forgetting about everyone else.

“Thank you so much for watching over her, Claude. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience to your family,” she said with a smile as she rummaged in her bag.

Claude waved her off. “Of course not! She was lovely and got my family wrapped around her… paw,” he laughed, “we’re sad to see her go honestly. We wouldn’t mind keeping her a little longer.”

“Absolutely not,” declared Damian, his voice muffled as his face was burrowed into Cloud’s white, fluffy fur.

Marinette smiled and patted Damian’s back fondly. She handed Claude a few bills but he waved his hand in front of him.

“No way I’m accepting money from you guys!”

The Eurasian girl frowned. “Why not? Your family already fosters a lot of animals and you had to take care of Cloud too. We’re not letting do that for free,” she said as she forced the money into his hand. “I also have a box from the bakery as thank yous. And before you start arguing, I’m happy to give them to you. You and your family really helped us here.”

Claude accepted the box reluctantly and smiled at her eventually.

“Thank you, you’re as sweet as these pastries, you know?”

Marinette shoved him playfully, a smile on her lips.

“Well, we won’t bother you any longer. Plus, I think Cloud and Damian need some time alone,” she winked playfully, “we’ll see you on Monday!”

Claude waved at them. “Yeah, see ya!”

As they walked away, the blue-eyed girl took the puppy from Damian’s arms.

“Come on, let me have my dose of Cloud,” she grinned and hugged the dog tightly.

They went to a nearby park, where they finally let the dog on the ground and watched as she spent all her energy running around.

“Are we still meeting with Chat Noir tomorrow night?” asked Damian.

Marinette nodded, taking his hand in hers absently and rubbing circle with her thumb. “Yeah, we have to talk about our progress,” she sighed at the look the threw her, “yeah, I know, there isn’t a lot of progress, so we need to talk about what we’re going to do now.”

She put her head on his shoulder and smiled as she felt him kiss the crown of her head.

“I can’t wait for it to be over. I think I’m going to have a good, long cry when it’s finally over.”

“Can’t blame you, I bet you have a lot of buried feelings,” he breathed as he put his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to him.

She scoffed. “You have no idea.”

They fell silent for a second, watching as Cloud tired herself out and came back to them, falling at their feet.

“Speaking of which,” she started again suddenly, “we’ll need to watch out for Alya and Nino.”

She didn’t see it, but she could guess his frown in his voice. “Why?”

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you?”

He smirked at her. “Tell me what, exactly?”

She groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!” she took a deep breath, “Nino told me and Kim, before I came to Gotham, that he found his soulmate.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. And he decided to wait until school starts again to tell her. So it could give him time to figure out how to tell her,” she mumbled, “so either of them could get akumatized.”

“I can easily understand why he needed so much time to figure out a way to tell her. There is no way to know how that harpy is going to react.”

She audibly gasped. “Damian!”

“What?” he shrugged, “that girl always reacts first and thinks later, and it always makes people very cautious when they have something sensitive to tell her.”

Marinette pursed her lips. It was true that Alya had a tendency to react violently sometimes.

Okay, a lot of time, but still.

“That’s just how she is,” she said in a small voice, trying to defend her friends.

Damian kissed her forehead. “I know. I’m not a fan of the girl, but she’s still a good friend to you. But I can already see how she’s going to hog all your time, now.”

The dark-haired girl let out a startled laugh. “So that’s what it’s all about! You’re jealous that I might spend more time with her.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, hiding his face between her neck and shoulder.

She smiled fondly, stroking his hair lovingly. “You don’t have to worry. Alya ditched me a lot of time to spend time with Nino, so she should understand that I want to spend time with my boyfriend as well.”

“She better.”

She laughed, her arms circling around his torso and bringing him closer to her. “Now, hold me tighter, I’m cold!”

He complied immediately.

Ladybug watched over Paris, City of lights. It was something she both loved and hated about this City. It was so bright during the night, offering a really nice view from the rooftops, but when you looked up to the night sky, you couldn’t see the stars. She could see some, like the three belt stars of Orion, but it wasn’t as beautiful as it was in the countryside.

Chat Noir wasn’t here yet. He was ten minutes late, actually, and she could feel Robin getting restless next to her. Nightwing had taken his notebook out, reviewing his notes, a frown on his face.

The red-clothed heroine checked her yoyo to see if there was any message from Chat Noir and was about to call him when she heard the familiar sound of his baton on the roof.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he apologized, sounding breathless, probably because he ran as fast as he could to get here. “I couldn’t get away from my father.”

Ladybug frowned. She didn’t know a lot of things about her partner’s life — what with secret identities and all that jazz — but he mentioned his father a few times, and from the few bits she got, the man seemed very controlling of his son.

Nightwing waved him off. “No worries there, but we should get started, you kids have school tomorrow, yeah?”

He looked sheepish at the look the three other heroes — or vigilante, in Robin’s case — threw at him.

The older man cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s get started.”

They all sat in a circle on the roof and Nightwing put his notebook in the middle, allowing the others to see his notes.

“So, we still don’t have a lead on who Hawkmoth could be. We tried interrogating former victims of akumas but no one could remember anything from their akumatization, so we didn’t get anything out of that.”

He crossed out the idea on the page.

“Then,” he continued, “we tried following the butterflies after they got purified, to see if they went back to their Miraculous, but they just disappear somewhere in the city. So, that’s out too.”

He paused then, looking at each of them.

“Now, there is something I’ve done recently that I haven’t told you yet.”

He took a tablet out of a bag next to him and played a video.

“That’s the day of the first Akuma,” Chat Noir mused as he watched Hawkmoth’s face, made of akumas, making his evil speech.

“Yeah. We got an idea of his face, but the mask is taking 90% of his face and it’s made of butterflies, so we can’t run a facial recognition. And we don’t have images of him when he appeared on Heroes’ Day since the journalist covering the event was among all the people akumatized that day.”

He paused, and Ladybug had a feeling that he was doing that on purpose, just to be dramatic.

“But,” he exclaimed, giving her reason, “what we do have on this video, is his voice.”

She gasped. “You analyzed it!”

Nightwing nodded, and continued after her, “and I ran it into the computer so it could compare it with voices from security cameras that Red Robin hacked, and from television and radio apparitions.”

Ladybug couldn’t contain her joy even when Robin’s hand on her knee — it couldn’t stop moving in her excitement — tried to keep her from getting too excited. “So do you have a result?!”

Nightwing sighed. “Now, that’s where it gets a bit more complicated. I have more than a thousand results.”

Ladybug visibly deflated at that, and she could see Chat Noir deflating too. “Oh.”

The older man smiled at her and put a hand on her shoulder, lightly squeezing it. “But that’s not bad news! All we have to do now is make a profile on Hawkmoth, and compare his voice with the people we think and compare the voice again with those persons.”

Chat Noir looked at them, frowning. “Can’t we run an analysis again on the thousand or so people?”

Robin shook his head. “The software is not perfect yet. It’s already a good thing it gave us only a thousand results.”

Nightwing nodded, a pen in his hand that she hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah, I was actually pleasantly surprised. Now, I need to know a few things. The butterflies that akumatize people. Are they real butterflies or do they come with the Miraculous?”

“Tikki told me that it could be both. The Butterfly Miraculous can create them, but it takes a lot of time. If the holder doesn’t want to spend his energy in creating them, he can corrupt real butterflies.”

Robin hummed next to her. “With the number of Akumas we have to fight, I’m willing to bet that he does both. What if the type of butterfly had an influence in the Akuma’s power and strength?”

Chat Noir frowned. “What? you think that the victims akumatized by butterflies coming from the Miraculous are more powerful than those akumatized by a corrupted butterfly?”

Robin smirked. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened. She had never thought of that before. And that would explain why the Akumas were more powerful than before. Hawkmoth has decided to take the time to create some of his own.

“But where would he find butterflies?”

Nightwing showed her his tablet, where she could see a web page with several results of butterflies breeding in the countryside not too far from Paris.

Ladybug frowned at that and passed the tablet to her partner so he could see it. “Either he owns one of them or has actions in it.”

Robin nodded. “That means that Hawkmoth is a man with a lot of money.”

Nightwing beamed at that. “Yeah, so it cuts a lot of people out of our list. See? We’re getting somewhere! So he’s a rich guy, but what’s his motive?”

“To make a wish, obviously,” answered Chat Noir.

“But why does he want to make a wish? Why does one want to alter reality?” Nightwing asked, looking at each of them pointedly.

The cat-themed hero scoffed, “Because he’s an evil bastard?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Except that. There must be a personal reason. For example, if you could make a wish, what would you do it for?” he asked, looking at everyone.

“I would do it if someone I loved died, I guess. I would want to bring them back, to see them again,” Ladybug whispered.

“Yeah, that would be a reason for me too,” breathed Chat Noir, arms crossed against his torso, looking deep in his thoughts.

“That would be the only reason I would be willing to take the risk of a wish too,” said Nightwing, noting something down in his notebook.

“And that’s the same for me,” he said, looking at Ladybug. “So we should look out for rich people who lost someone dear to them. A child, a spouse, a parent, a sibling… And in the last five years or so.”

As Nightwing noted everything down, Robin’s hand found its way in her hair and slightly tugged at it, getting her attention. “Didn’t you suspect Gabriel Agreste, once?”

Ladybug nodded, but Chat Noir was quicker to react. “But it’s not him!” he exclaimed, looking almost panicked, “he got akumatized a few years ago!”

The oldest among them hummed. “Yeah, but we don’t know the extent of his power. It’s possible he akumatized himself on purpose if he thought you guys were closing on him.”

Ladybug agreed with him. “He lost his wife a few years ago. He’s rich. He meets all the requirements.”

Suddenly, Chat Noir stood up, startling her. “No!” he yelled loudly, “Ladybug, we’ve already written him off. It’s not him.”

And without another word, Chat Noir left.

It’s Robin’s oldest brother comment that broke the silence.

“He sure does feel strongly about Gabriel Agreste. Giving that the man is a recluse and only interacts with two people in his life…” Nightwing said, staring at Ladybug, as if trying to communicate something with her.

Oh.

Chat Noir was Gabriel Agreste’s son.

Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste.

“Well, it’s gotten even more complicated now,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hands.

Robin’s hand stroking her back was comforting.

“I’ll search for anything related to a butterfly breeding and run a comparison between Hawkmoth’s voice and Gabriel’s tomorrow. If it’s him, we’ll need a plan of action next, but we’ll see that once it’s confirmed.”

Nightwing then looked at her, taking her hand in his in a comfort that was so brotherly that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Tell me,” he started, “if Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Adrien has a confirmation of it, what will he do?”

She would like to tell him that Chat Noir would help them. That he would fight Hawkmoth with them.

But then, she thought of times Adrien spoke of his mother. His love for her was obvious, and he had hope that she would reappear one day, since he didn’t know anything about her disappearance.

Ladybug sighed, shaking slightly and leaned on Robin’s side, in a side hug.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

Tag List:

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant @maribat-is-lifeblood @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @mikantsume @dast218 @amayakans @zestyzealot @lunarwolfspn @corabeth11 @marinettepotterandplagg @olynix @aestheticnpoetic @hot-neighbour-nextdoor @thehufflepuffranger-blog @k-poplunardreams @tis-i-beanbandit @bluesimani @laurcad123

#maribat #daminette #maridami #damian x marinette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

Disappear Here - Part 2/4

A/N: Thanks for all of your support on part 1 you guys. You’re all the best and I love seeing all of your reactions and responses. I hope you enjoy part 2, and as always, feedack is welcome! In case you were wondering this is loosely based on the song Disappear Here by Bad Suns. I recommend listening to it especially the acoustic version! xx

Based on this blurb

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: language; sexual tension (hehehe)

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

SEQUEL

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Waking up the next morning you felt like hell; you looked like hell. Probably just as bad as Javier had the night before. You hadn't even bothered going to bed, opting to slink back onto the couch and remained there, contorting into different positions in a while attempt to get comfortable. It hadn't worked.

By the time you finally woke up, neck stiff and head pounding, you were already late for work. But you didn't care, it wasn't like you had to punch a clock.You got up and dressed, silently deciding fuck it, and forgoing a shower, not doing anything to your hair or bothering to put any makeup on. What was the point anyway?

When you finally reached the embassy, an uneasy feeling settled into your stomach, causing a horrible lurching feeling to wash over you. You momentarily thought about turning away and scurrying back home. Surely the embassy had some sort of policy about mental health days?

But you knew that would much too suspicious, especially when just the day before you'd been yelling about getting your partners back, demanding some sort of recourse. Instead you swallowed your pride, along with the lump in your throat, and nerves in your stomach, and walked into your office. You could hear Javier and Steve rapidly speaking to one another, voices low. You hoped it wasn’t about you.

Stepping inside you silently threw your bag onto desk, in a vain attempt to remain quiet and unnoticed. Steve immediately turned to you, a fond smile on his face as he looked you over. His expression was soft and gentle, just like he was at heart, and for a moment all of your troubles were forgotten.

"Hey kid," he beamed as you he came over to your desk. You gave him a forced smile, followed up with a hug so you wouldn't seem too off. But it was stiff, mechanical, totally out of character for you. You were a hugger at heart, and Steve had gotten plenty of them from you in the months you'd know him, and he knew this was different, very different.

"Murphy," you said quietly, "glad to see you back. It was almost too quiet without you. I missed; Connie and I were beginning to get worried.”

"I know, trust me. Noonan told us all about the ruckus you were causing yesterday. But tell me, what's wrong?" the shift in his voice was immediate and you groaned internally. Of course he'd notice something was right away.

"Nothing," you scoffed and gave him the best dose of fake laughter you could muster up, "you’re always so worried about everything. Such a dad at heart, Murphy. But nothing’s wrong, I assure you...I’m just...tired."

That earned a scoff from Javier. You both turned to him but he pretended to be entranced by some papers on his desk. His face was set into a stern expression, mouth in a thin line.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he gave you the once over, "you look like hell."

"Gee thanks," you sighed as you sat down in your chair, “you really know how to woo a lady."

"Are you sure-"

"Just drop it," you gave him a pleasing look and it was like something inside him suddenly understood, “please.”

“Yeah,” he said as he took a step back and gave you a small nod as he headed back to his own desk. You quickly started to pull out some papers you could easily waste time on; you could practically feel Murphy’s eyes burning a hole into you as he continually glanced between you and Javier. He knew something was up, but then again, it didn’t take much to put two and two together.

Normally the two of you were thick as thieves, two peas in a pod, bickering back and forth, constant banter. Now there was nothing but silence in the small office; stunted, tense, and thick. Almost as thick as the humid Colombian air in the heart of summer. So much for trying to remain inconspicuous. But, being the good man he was, Murphy didn’t mention a word or try and force conversation between any of you. He sat there in silence while the two of you brooded and worked on mindless paperwork.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Much to your dismay, the next several weeks went along in much of the same manner. It was, to put it quite simply, the worst. You got up in the morning, went along with your normal routine, dreading work, and then spent the next eight plus hours at the embassy. Unfortunately things were slow right now, painstakingly slow, which meant there wasn’t much field work to do, and you were stuck in the small office along with Steve and Javier all day.

It was a far cry from how it used to be. Gone was the playful banter throughout the day, the long lunches at one of the many local restaurants, the general camaraderie. There appeared to be some tension between Steve and Javier, and there seemed to be some sort of something between them. The times they were talking it made you want to shrivel up and die, especially when it was Javier bragging about his latest conquest. You noticed his voice got a little louder when he brought the subject up. But you weren’t stupid; you heard all the girls he brought home - the joy of living across the hall from him.

You knew it was on purpose, it had to be; it made you want to get up and wipe the self satisfied smirk right off of his face. You could feel his eyes flicking over to you frequently; luckily Murphy seemed to be on your side on this at least, often telling Javier to shut up before giving you a gentle expression. You didn’t know how much longer you could take this.

Unsure of what to do, or how to even begin to approach Javier, you decided it was time to weigh your options. The only thing you had going on for you at the moment was the fact that you were a rookie and still fairly new to the whole world of the DEA. That mean you were still teachable, still able to adapt to another environment, and not too set in your ways. And you were going to play those cards to the best of your ability.

So, one sweltering afternoon when Steve and Javi had decided to go out and take a break in order to get something cold and refreshing to drink, you slipped out of your office and across the embassy to in search of Noonan.

Just as you had last time, you barged right in, not bothering to knock or announce your presence. Besides, you had already set a precedent for how you entered a room, you might as well keep the tradition going. This time Noonan almost seemed to be expecting you, as she looked up from her papers, taking off her reading glasses and tossing them onto the desk.

“Agent L/N,” exasperation was evident in her part of her: posture, expression, voice. But you didn’t care - you knew you probably didn’t get on her nerves half as much as some of the other agents, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I-I...may I sit?” you were suddenly lost for words, feeling like a school child that had just entered the principal’s office to be reprimanded. Only you had brought this on to yourself. She pointed at the chair across from her desk from, indicating that it was okay for you to sit down. Nodding to her, you sunk into chair and started twiddling your thumbs, as you waited for her to say something else. Why couldn’t she just read your mind?

“Go on,” her lips were pursed in a thin line and you knew you were pushing your luck. Something had already been irritating her, and you were sure your little (or rather gargantuan) request would set her off. Perfect timing as usual.

“I realize this is unconventional, and perhaps even out of the blue,” you started, going over the speech you had rehearsed in your head probably dozens of times before, “but I have a request, or I guess a favor to ask for.”

“Oh?” she triangled her hands under chin as she watched you closely, analyzing every last part of you.

“I’d like to put a in a request for a transfer,” you blurted and you immediately hated how the words sounded. Almost like defeat, which in a way, they were. You were tired and your heart had been very heavy lately, not just from your line of work but everything, and you really just wanted a break. You were definitely defeated.

“To a different department?” she raised an eyebrow at you, as she sat back in her chair, but not before a long sigh escaped her lips. All day she dealt with problems, and here you were bringing her another.

“At the least,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to keep it together, “I was thinking, and I realize this is a huge thing I’m asking for you, but perhaps I could transfer over to Mexico? Or...I’d even take going back to the States. Or even Brazil...I’m open anywhere really.”

“Your Spanish is barely passable here in Colombia, you really think you’ll make it in Mexico, or Brazil? How’s your Portuguese?” there was no hint of even the slightest amusement in her voice. This was going to be a hard one.

“I know this is a huge request, but I’m begging you to consider, Ambassador,” you spied a fray on the sleeve of your blouse and started playing with it, trying to shake her stare.

“You’re a rookie, you’ve barely gotten your feet wet and you already want out? I don’t even know if any other branches have open spots right now,” for whatever reason, you could tell there was almost a note or sympathy in her voice. Almost. As if she silently understand what you were trying to convey without having to actually say it.

“I realize that,” you picked at the thread and pulled it, causing more of the soft fabric of your blouse to unravel, “and I figured that much. If there is nothing, I’m okay with going home.”

“You’ve been here for what, ten months, and you’re ready to call it quits?” she leaned across the desk and tried to analyze you; you hated the scrutiny of her stare. It reminded you of all the times you’d gotten in trouble as a child, “maybe you weren’t cut out for this life after all.”

“I guess not,” you agreed quietly, wishing you could find it in yourself to argue back and disagree with her.

“I thought you would be able to handle this,” ahh, there was that note of disappoint in her voice. She was the one who had agreed to take you on in the first place. If you were being honest, she was the main reason you had a job there at all, “I didn’t think you’d let feelings get in the way of the job. I thought you were all in, kid.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” when did you make it a habit of being a perpetual liar? You felt the need to defend yourself from her line of reasoning, even though she was right. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to fight the stinging feeling that was forming at the back of your eyes, “I am all in. I’m here for the job-”

“Then why are you ready to run for the hills?”

“I’m not running away,” you insisted, “that’s why I’m asking for a transfer over everything else.”

“You’re letting feelings get in the way of doing your job,” she insisted, her gaze unrelenting and firm. She was right and she knew it, “that is not part of being all in. This is not the place or line of work for you to catch feelings and let it bet to your head, L/N. There are lives at stake, hell there’s a ton at stake, and you cannot comprise everything simply because your feelings were hurt.”

“I-I…”

“I thought you’d be able to separate personal feelings from your job.”

“So did I, Ambassador,” you were back to staring at your sleeves and wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. It would be a lot less painful than this, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” she held up her hands and you nodded, “but perhaps listen to my words and heed them carefully. Do not catch feelings or whatever you want to call them for people you work with them on a close and personal basis. Especially someone like Javier Peña. He’s a good agent, he is, but he has a reputation for a reason. That should be enough to deter you. Are you really going to run away and comprise your whole career for one man who thinks with his penis before anything else?”

Her last statement made you laugh a little, because while it was funny, it was also true. But you didn’t really want to admit that she had hit the nail on the head, “that’s not…he’s not…”

“Please,” she raised an eyebrow at you, “I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Even I can admit that he is a good looking man and probably a decent lover. If the rumors are true.”

Did she have to make things this hard? If she was trying to steer you away from him, she wasn’t making it easy. But you couldn’t find any words to properly convey how you were feeling, so you remained silent and stared at the foot of her desk.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” she asked and you paused. Did she mean your job or Javier? Either way the answer was yes, “to transfer out of here?”

You sat there for a moment and let out a long breath, trying to figure out what exactly you wanted. A lot hinged on your next set of decisions, “yes. If it’s possible.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” she gave you a curt nod before gathering a stack of yellowing documents. You stood up, knowing you were effectively dismissed. You wondered if she was going to mention anything to Steve and Javier before you received a transfer. You sincerely hoped she wouldn’t, but luck hadn’t been on your side lately. Either way, they’d know something was up when you either started packing up your things to leave, or you were just completely gone.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The following day you felt you were walking on eggshells. The usual tension that had been hanging around was laced with something else today. Almost like a poison, seeping into the room. Thankfully, Steve and Javier had a task that had pulled them out of the office, leaving you behind yet again with paperwork. They hadn’t even asked if you wanted to come. For once you were thankful.

The day had crept by, slowly, slowly, slowly, but finally the clock hit five, announcing that you could finally leave. You hadn’t heard from either Steve or Javier, but you figured they were fine. Nothing indicated otherwise, so you started to pack your bag, happy to escape to the refuge of your apartment. Maybe if you were feeling really crazy, you might even stop at the corner stop and pick up some wine.

But just as you went to turn off your desk lamp, you heard the door slowly creak open. As soon as you heard the first set of footfalls, you knew it was Javier. The door closed with a loud snap. You jumped slightly, but didn’t lift your eyes up from your bag, hoping he’d just forgotten something. Maybe he’d be there for a few moments and leave.

But instead he only came closer to your desk. Of course.

“You put in for a transfer,” it wasn’t a question so much as a statement. There was a hint of...something in his voice. You couldn’t quite place it; it could have been anger, or disappointment, or disbelief. He was firmly planted a few inches away from your desk, and you knew that if you tried to make any move to escape, he’d easily have you corned. There were a few odd beats of silence as he waited for an answer; you knew he wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Yes,” you admitted once the tension got to you. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you finally looked up at him and found his brown eyes staring back at you. The corners of his mouth were drawn into a hard line. When he didn’t say anything else for a few moments, you stood up and reached for your bag, deciding it as time to leave. There wasn’t much of anything to discuss after all.

Javier was faster and his large hand caught your wrist and stopped you; it caught you off guard and you turned to him with a confused expression on your face, “why? You didn’t just ask for a department transfer. Noonan told us you asked about Mexico.”

Of course she did.

“Yes,” you repeated, pulling your hand out of his grasp. He was reluctant to let go, but he did anyway, “what does it matter to you? You’ve made it very clear that you don’t care. A-and that’s fine, you’re under obligation to care, so I don’t quite...follow.”

“Why the fuck are you just going to up and leave?” he asked as you sighed and shrugged your shoulders. He knew exactly why - he was the main reason why. Not that he was solely to blame, you were at fault too, and you were fully aware of that.

“Why not?” you gave him a hard gaze, “I haven’t exactly gotten the friendliest treatment around here lately. And the two of you continually leave me behind-”

“To protect you, you’re a rookie, kid!”

“And I’m always going to be one if you buffoons don’t let me come with you guys,” you threw up your hands in exasperation, “I’m not going to learn anything from just going paperwork all day. Maybe in Mexico they’ll actually give me field experience.”

“That cannot be the only reason you’re leaving,” there he was, getting down into the nitty gritty. You’d been avoiding this, hoping that perhaps it would never come up again and you’d just be gone soon.

“Obviously,” you snorted at him, putting your hands on your hips and standing your ground. Maybe Noonan was right, you couldn’t just let him get the better of you; it was time to grow a backbone, “maybe if you hadn’t been acting like a complete dick the past few weeks, I wouldn’t be as inclined to leave. Look, I-I’m sorry for how things turned out, and I blame myself for a lot of it, but you? You’ve been the worst.”

“I know,” he said as he hung his head with a small nod. At least he was willing to admit it, “I know I’m an idiot, a dick, whatever you want to call it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say besides sorry.”

“Thanks,” you were quiet as you waited for him to say something else. There was a pang in your heart as you looked him over; he genuinely looked upset, you knew he was being sincere. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good, even when you were supposed to be distancing yourself from him. It was those jeans, those damned tight jeans that always got you, “I’m sorry too. I just wanted...I just want to be friends, Javi. We have to see each other every day, we should be able to get along.”

“Is that really what you want?” his question caught you off guard, but you caught yourself quickly. You knew what he was getting at; and you knew that he knew what you really wanted. Because he wanted it too. Why did this have to be so damn complicated?

“Yes,” you lied again, still clinging onto the vain hope that if you said that out loud it would be true. But no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t have feelings for him, it never worked. There was something about Javi that was magnetic, undeniable. Maybe it was those jeans, or that pink button up he loved to wear?

“Rule number one of this job,” he said quietly as he reached over and put his hand under chin, turning your face up to meet his, “to become a decent liar. It’ll save your life one day, I guarantee it. But you, kid, are a horrible liar.”

“Yeah?” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you met his eyes, “maybe you should learn to accept rejection. And let it go.”

“I will if you can look me in the eyes and tell me, and actually mean it, that you don’t want this. If you can do that, I will let this go and we can just be friends,” that in itself was a gargantuan task and he knew it. He had you right where he wanted to. And, if you were being quite honest with yourself, it was a bit of a turn on.

Your pointed silence said it all.

“This is a horrible idea,” you sighed after a few tense moments, settling down on the corner of your desk. You could feel his gaze burning into yours, those soft brown eyes trying to get inside your head and see exactly what you were thinking. Every rational fiber of your being was screaming no, no, no, at you, but you were tempted to let the lighter side win over for once. The soft side that you’d learned to hide; your heart.

“Absolutely terrible,” he agreed, taking a step closer to you, leaving an almost nonexistent gap between the two of you. Mere inches and his lips would be on yours again; mere inches and you could experience every part of him once again. You’d longed for him. Hard.

“We shouldn’t do this,” it was almost akin to a role reversal; he was the young green rookie and you were trying to be the hardened adult. It wasn’t working. Closing your eyes, you sighed and threw your head back, groaning in exasperation. What to do?

“You’re right,” he reached up and tenderly touched the side of your face, running a calloused thumb over your cheek. How’d you missed that gentle touch; it was so unlike Javi, but so like him at the same. He always had exuded a strange duality: hardened and tired over the years, but still softness and a hint of saccharine kindness reigned in his soul. You caught yourself and put your hand on his wrist, pulling his hand away and catching his eyes. It was now or never.

“Javi,” his name had barely rolled off your lips before you grabbed his face and pulled him close to your body, needy and hungry as you crashed your lips onto his. It didn’t take him long to respond; milliseconds probably. His large hands were all over you as he took control and you gave into his every touch, “let’s make a horrible decision.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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rockhoochie · 4 years

Text

Title: Anything and Everything

Link: On AO3

Square Filled: Tongue Fucking

Pairing: Dean Winchester/YN

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Fingering, Oral Sex (M/F), Tongue Fucking, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (seriously, just be safe), Marijuana, mention of prescription narcotic.

WC: 8,290

Created For @spnkinkbingo

A/N: Well...this escalated quickly! The story is told in alternating POV between Dean and Reader - Reader’s is regular text, Dean’s is italicized. I debated on splitting this into parts due to the word length, but...well, I’m impatient, and I’m really excited to share this with all of you! Plus, I think it flows better if it’s read all in one sitting 😉

This fic is dedicated to @fangirlxwritesx67 - remember that drabble prompt you sent me like, two months ago, that was Dean and reader laying on a comfortable floor, listening to music, and he starts playing with her hair, and they have a first kiss? Well, here’s your drabble 😄 Thank you for the inspiration!

And thank you everyone for reading! Drop me a line, let me know what you think - I love hearing from you ❤ ~Sarah

(’Lay Lady Lay’ music and lyrics © Bob Dylan, 1969)

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

Thank god Donna has this place, and thank god that we were so close. We’ve been here for days now, nursing our wounds: Sam had a bruised rib and a nasty gash on his torso. Dean had a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. I'd been flung against a wall - I don’t remember much because I'd been knocked out hard, unconscious for hours - but by some miracle managed to come out of it with only a few ugly bruises and a migraine. Not our worst injuries by a longshot, but we’d figured since we had a home base, we may as well take advantage of it. We’d packed up yesterday, planning on heading out this morning, but an incoming snowstorm kept us from venturing out - it was half a day's drive, and even Dean couldn’t deny that the Impala doesn’t handle best on icy roads.

I like it here. It’s so quiet. And dark. No sirens or traffic, no various and questionable motel noises. No glare of city lights marring the night sky. The only light outside is coming from the moon, the only sounds are the ones I make. I look out the window, wondering when the storm will move in - the moon is full, its brightness gleaming off acres of driven snow that glints and glimmers against an indigo sky. Normally, a stillness like this is a warning, a silence this pure a screaming harbinger - but I don’t feel any threat here. No forebodings, no gut-nettling intuitions.

It’s peaceful. I’m peaceful. If I ever leave this life behind me, if I’m lucky enough to dodge all the bullets and claws and teeth and blades, I’ll settle somewhere up here, find a small house on a lake that’s tucked away from the rest of the world. He’d love that. And we could just be, live out our days and years together, work stupid pedestrian jobs to pay stupid everyday bills. I’ll plant a garden and he can restore classic cars while we raise a family and just...live...

The kettle sings and hisses, and outside, snow begins to fall in fat, feathery clusters. I pour the boiling water into a handmade, slightly lopsided clay mug that proudly proclaims “I Love Auntie Donna” in a childish script, dip and drown my tea bag, and shuffle back to my spot in the living room - my little nest in a gorgeous, hand-crafted rocking chair next to the fireplace. Donna told me her grandfather had made it, and every time I look at it, it astounds me that another human being created something so beautiful with his bare hands. Every nitch, nock, and spindle carefully considered and meticulously carved. Some of the stain has faded, and patches of lacquer have dulled, but that only adds to its beauty - you can tell this chair was loved.

The fire I’d built earlier is down to embers. I sit and stare into the blazing coals, sipping chamomile and scrying for answers to questions I don’t know. The room is warm, but I need something over my shoulders, need the weight of something wrapped around me. There’s a flannel draped over the back of the rocking chair...one of Dean’s flannels. And it’s my favorite of his, the dark red one that brings out his freckles and the deep jade of his eyes. I take it and slip my arms through the sleeves. It smells like him...like whiskey and wintergreen, leather and cotton, copper and cordite...

I catch myself before I start to fall too far. I need to pack up these thoughts and put them away where they belong before they start making me hopeful again.

I used to let myself get lost in them, let myself wander through giddy daydreams and float among sultry fantasies...I’d close my eyes at night and pretend Dean was by my side, just an arms reach away. I’d imagine it was his fingers pumping inside of me instead of mine, hear his voice in my head as I made myself come. Or I’d simply think about spending a day with him - walking through a park in autumn, stargazing on a summer night, cuddling and kissing on a rainy spring day. But after a while, when I’d accidentally found myself in love with him, I’d put all those dreams on the shelf; I'd only take them down when I was at my lowest and loneliest, grasping for a reason to keep going. There were a few times I’d thought about telling him, making a move...but Dean Winchester doesn’t need another complication. None of us do.

~*~

The shitty thing about being used to four hours of sleep is that when I actually get the chance for more, my brain doesn’t get on board. I came up here a couple of hours ago and I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed. Just keep staring at the ceiling and thinking about things I shouldn’t...

I love this place. It’s cold outside and the wind’s howlin’, but it’s damn cozy in here. If Hell ever gets a blast of Minnesota weather - and I can pack it in, leave the life - I’m getting a place like this. Hell, I’d build it myself, make it just the way we want it. We could move out here, where it’s almost backcountry, leave all the bad times behind us. It’s gonna be on a lake though - I’ll get a boat and go fishing all the time, teach our kids all the tricks to hooking the big ones...

Jesus, knock it off, Winchester. Like she’d let you screw up her life more than you already have.

YN's moving around downstairs. I should see what she’s up to, see if she’s feelin’ okay or wants any company...nah, I should just leave her alone. She got her bell rung bad the other day and it scared the shit outta me...I kinda lost it and yelled at her like a total asshole. I don’t get why I do that. Gun to my head, I guess it’s cause it seems simpler that way - rather piss her off and keep her from getting too close, instead of admitting out loud how I feel about her and watch her run for the hills.

She was in and out of it for almost two days, and I’d stayed with her as much as I could, at least till Sam would bark at me to eat or sleep. She’d used herself as bait - again- and I fucking hate it when she puts herself in the line of fire like that. I can’t stand it when she gets hurt, and this last time was...pretty bad. But she’s stubborn as hell, can’t be talked out of anything she’s already set her mind to. Actually thought she was gonna punch me when I got in her face, but I escaped with only a “fuck off, Dean”.

And I suppose those are some of the reasons my dumb ass went and fell ass over tea kettle for her - her grit and her style, the way she can dish it as good she takes it, how she handles either a gun or a blade with this almost unnatural grace... one day, I watched her make salt rounds for an hour and it was one of the most spectacular things I’d ever seen - she was in this total zone, her forehead creased in concentration, and lips mouthing the words to a song I can't hear, growling out the cutest “fuck” or “son of a bitch” if she messed up.

She’s the best part of my day - whether it’s seein’ her all cranky and bleary-eyed in the morning, passed out over a pile of books in the library, or bent over a pool table while she hustles townies - I can’t think of a better sight. And her laugh is goddamn music to ears. Her eyes, her smile...her anything and everything keeps me going. I can be two seconds away from checkin’ out, but one look at her reminds me that it's all worth it, worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears.

Christ, just thinking about her like this is making my dick twitch. Doesn’t help that she laid in this bed the last few days because I can still smell her. Her perfume or soap or whatever she uses is fucking delicious, a mix of spice and spring flowers and brown sugar that sticks to her skin and practically makes my mouth water, makes me wanna taste her…

Fuck, now I’m hard. I think about jerking off for a minute, but instead I think about that time Cas showed up in my car naked and covered with bees and swing my legs off the bed. No sense in just layin’ here, thinkin’ about things that’ll never happen. I grab my duffel and pull out my flask (not much left in there, maybe two or three shots) and some clothes. Gonna check out the room down the hall that’s got one of those old school record players. Maybe some good tunes will calm me down, get my mind off things. Off of her. I turn to leave but then I remember- there’s a little something in my bag I’ve been hangin' on to. I dig through all my crap and find it in the inside pocket. Awesome. Screw consciousness, I’m gettin’ high.

~*~

I hear footfalls against the ceiling - one of them’s awake. It could be Sam, but I know it’s Dean - I know his stride, his tread. And I also know Sam conceded to the pain and downed an extra dose of Percocet, so he’s all but dead to the world for the next six hours.

We all have problems sleeping, each have our lion’s share of blood-and- gore-laden nightmares, but Dean’s always seem worse. They take a bigger toll on him. He wakes up screaming more often, drenched in a cold sweat with his sheets flung from the bed. Sometimes I hear him shouting in the middle of the night and it breaks my fucking heart.

Maybe I’ll go see if he’s alright, if there’s anything I can do for him... I hope he’s not still pissed at me for what happened on the hunt. Sam told me it was just because I’d scared him, because he cares about me, that it’s just easier for Dean to blow up instead of break down. But dammit I wish he’d open up, just a little. There were a couple of nights he and I had spent just hanging out together, nights where whiskey was flowing and secrets were shared...but right when it seemed like he was going to let me in on what was really going on in his head, he’d stopped himself, drained his glass, and said goodnight.

I know what he’s been through. Or rather, I know of what he's been through. It would be sacrilege for me to even try to begin to empathize. I know about things he’s done, his devils and deeds that are unforgivable in most circles but necessary in ours.

Dean is a good man. Everything he’s done has been a labor of love, a sacrifice. I know he doubts himself constantly and I know he hurts, vehemently and deeply. But if he’d just let me in, if I could love him the way he deserves, I’d do anything and everything I could to take all that pain and somehow dull it. Sometimes I can actually get a smile out of him and it’s one of the most marvelous things I’ve ever seen - when the corners of his green eyes crinkle and his teeth peek out from behind those ridiculously perfect lips...god, it’s beautiful. He is beautiful, inside and out and I wish he could see that.

Now I’m wide awake. My tea’s gone cold, and I’ve spent too much time wallowing in these thoughts that shouldn’t be wallowed in, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I glance out a window and watch the now steadily falling snow, listen to the wind whip and whistle through the frigid night air. Sitting here in the dark alone with all of these thoughts has become too lonely. There’s a room upstairs, a little den with a couple of chairs and one of those huge console record players...I’ll grab that book I’ve been meaning to read and hang out in there, let some music fill the quiet and the story busy my brain.

I take my mug to the kitchen, place it in the sink, and pull Dean’s flannel around me tighter. Hopefully, he won’t mind if I borrow it for the night. This way, I can be close to him without ruining things.

Music echoes down the staircase and I recognize the tune as I get closer to its source. Bob Dylan. Nashville Skyline, I think. Dim, golden light beckons me to follow and leads me to a doorway. I look down and find him lying on the floor, with his ankles crossed, and one arm bent behind his head, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Hey,” I whisper, and he turns his face toward me, looking up at me with mellow eyes and an easygoing smile.

“Hey yourself. Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “Thought I’d come in here and check out Donna’s music collection. But I see you had the same idea, so -”

“So? Come on in, stay awhile.” He pats the floor beside him, then holds up the joint fastened between his fingers. “It’d be a lot cooler if you did.”

I should really go, leave him to his own devices, avoid torturing myself. But before reason has any chance to intervene, I find myself lying next to him. He’s more of a drug to me than the smoke I’m sucking through my lips. I want to stay away, I should stay away, but I can’t fucking help myself. So like a good little junkie I give in, tell myself this is no big deal, that I can go back to not thinking about him tomorrow.

~*~

I’m so glad she decided to stay.

I don’t know if it’s the weed or the cold, dark night or what it is, but when I saw her standing there, all I wanted was to just have her near me. Even if all I get to do is hear her voice or just feel her presence next to me...well, I’ll take it. It’s not like this anything new, we’ve hung out like this plenty of times...though it’s times like this when I get so comfortable around her, that I really gotta reign it in and make sure I keep my damn mouth shut. And it never seems to get easier - like right now. She’s humming along to the music, making up her own words here and there and playing air guitar and it’s friggin’ adorable. She really is one in a million and if things were different, I’d hold on to her and never let go.

Somethin’ Sam said a while back pops into my head - somethin’ about finding someone who knows the life - and for a second I think maybe things don’t need to be different. Maybe we could make it work. But then I remember I’m toxic. Even for a hunter I drink too much, have too many fucked up thoughts, done way too many fucked up things. No, she deserves someone good, someone better than me. I can’t even believe she’s stuck around for this long. Sometimes I just look at her and wanna scream, “run”, before she gets hurt. I’ve accepted that I’ll never get the happily ever after but she shouldn’t. She can still get out, have a real life, meet someone who’ll give her everything and make her happy. Never in my life will I be able to give that to anyone - it just ain’t in the cards for me.

Then she looks at me, passes me the joint with this sweet smile, and all those thoughts just fade away. And I wonder - like I wonder almost every night - how her lips would feel against mine.

Sam keeps tellin’ me that I’m an idiot, that she really likes me, that I should go for it. And for a minute, I actually think about it, cause the way she’s lookin’ at me right now is downright incredible - she actually looks happy to be here, with me.

Is she?

Truth is I'm selfish. And a bit of a coward. I'm too afraid to love anyone because I'm too afraid to lose them. Everyone I've ever lost took a piece of me with them and I ain't got much left. If anything ever happened to YN, I’d be done. She’d take the last of me.

I’m feelin’ a little goofy. Not stoned or anything, but definitely running out of fucks to give. Then I glance at her and notice she’s wiggling out of her button-down.. .my button-down. She rolls it up, tucks it beneath her head, and stretches back out on the floor. Her tank top is creeping up over her stomach a little bit, and it’s stretched tight over her tits and she’s got nothin’ on underneath…

I swallow hard and bite down on my lip cause I’m this close to just flat-out telling her I love her.

~*~

Part of me wants to tell Donna she desperately needs to redecorate this room...but the other, the part of me that's stretched out on the floor, listening to classic 33s and getting high with Dean, is perfectly content with the old-school kitsch. The shag carpeting we’re laying on is surprisingly comfortable; The color (what is this, ocher? Chartreuse?) - shouldn’t be allowed to exist, but the long polyester threads sprawling beneath us are soothing in a way. The light is low, flickering from two vintage oil lamps that stand on each end of the console, and casts shadows beneath its warm glow.

Dean looks like he’s about to say something, but the last song has ended and skipped into a static scratch. He hoists himself up to flip the record, and I perch on my elbows and just...admire him. He’s different here. I’ve seen him lounge around the bunker during downtime but tonight he actually seems powered-down, carefree. There's something almost magical about what the calm does to him, how it lifts the weight he carries. His shoulders are relaxed, his movements languid, unhurried and uncalculated, eyes bright and serene. And he looks so fucking good, wearing a well-worn and well-fitting Zeppelin t-shirt that he must've had since before he’d built up his muscle. Softened and faded jeans cover his bowed legs and hang low on his hips, and I don’t think he’s got anything on underneath because I get a glimpse at the cut of his abs and...

I wish I could tell him how amazing he is, how much he makes me smile, how much I love him; I wish I could show him, hold him, kiss him and just love him with everything I have...

The music starts back up and oh my god… he’s dancing. It’s really more of a slow-motion Elvis maneuver, but it’s the closest thing to dancing I’ve ever seen Dean do. Every tick of his hips pulls the fabric of his jeans perfectly across his ass, and I shouldn't be thinking about him this way but he’s just so mesmerizing…

And then he turns and faces me with his best impression of his best Bob Dylan.

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed...

I throw my head back and laugh, not because he’s being ridiculous, but because he’s being so goddamn perfect. And the joy I thought I’d lost the day I cocked my first shotgun is bubbling up and making me giddy. Or it’s him. Or it could just be the pot. This is a side of him that no one gets to see, not even his brother. I can give him this, a place to let go of it all and just be Dean Winchester for a little while. He’s easy here, content, and he actually seems happy that I decided to stay.

Is he?

He claims his spot beside me again, settling in just a little closer. He's still singing to me and I'm still giggling…

Whatever colors you have in your mind

I show them to you and you see them shine

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Somehow his hand found mine, and he's tracing my knuckles with one calloused fingertip. I take it in mine and glance down at the connection, marveling at how small my hand is in his but how perfectly it fits. His hand is so gentle, warm and solid...it’s hard to believe how often his palm has bled, how many triggers his fingers have pulled, how many bones his fist has shattered.

He shifts, rolls to his side, and gazes down at me while he keeps up his serenade.

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

Until the break of day

Let me see you make him smile

I grin as he brushes my hair from my face, tucks a few strands behind my ear, winds a section around his fingers. Then I see something in his face that’s never been there before - a shade of color reflecting from his eyes that's deep and rich and vibrant…

His clothes are dirty but his, his hands are clean

And you are the best thing that he's ever seen

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

The way he's muttering the lyrics...it’s so sincere, like he means every single word. The warmth of his body is just out of my reach, and the low timbre of his voice begins to resonate through my veins, nestling into a locked corner of my soul.

Why wait any longer for the world to begin

You can have your cake and eat it too

Why wait any longer for the one you love

When he's standing in front of you

He’s still playing with my hair, pushing any stray strands from my face…my eyes flutter closed and his touch becomes something warmer, softer. Delicate, intentional kisses pepper my cheekbones, my temples, my forehead...

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

I feel his thumb and forefinger catch and tilt my chin, and I open my eyes. He’s so close now, close enough that if I rolled on my side I’d roll into him, that if I lifted my head just an inch...

I long to see you in the morning light

I long to reach for you in the night

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

The silent formation of the last few lyrics are the first thing I feel and then his lips are fully on mine, barely grasped between his and I've never felt something so tender and genuine carry itself with so much force. He's cradling my cheek and his kiss feels tentative, uncertain - but at the same time teeming with need, as though he’s waiting for my approval while praying with everything he’s got that I’ll grant it. So I lean into him, slide my fingers along the short hairs on the back of his neck, and pull him closer.

~*~

Maybe it was the weed, the music, the way the light reflected off her… whatever it was, it just took over. She looked too soft and too damn perfect, layin’ there and smiling that smile. And I thought about the other day when she was lying unconscious on that blood-stained, concrete floor, and the way my guts twisted at the thought of losing her…

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn't go one more night without telling her exactly how much she means to me. And it was a cheesy way to do it, singing to her like that, but Bob knew all the right things to say.

I actually can't even believe she's kissing me right now, that she pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. Part of me thinks she's nuts - she's gotta know I got nothing to offer her, that she deserves so much better- better than me, better than this life. I can’t promise her anything - can’t promise a future or comfort... but if she lets me, I can promise to love her, to kiss her with everything I’ve got every chance I get, to hold her close and protect her... even if it’s just for tonight.

She makes a little sound and arches her body into mine. I don’t know how far this is gonna go, but I’ll take my time getting there. This may just be a fluke, a one-time thing. Or maybe it’s not, maybe I’m the luckiest bastard on the fucking planet...either way, I want to savor every second.

I keep the kisses slow, open-mouthed and gentle. But then I feel her tongue slide along my lower lip and I can’t help but slip mine against hers. This feels so good, just kissing her like this, tasting her and feeling her beneath me. She’s running her fingers through my hair, rolling her hips every now and then, sliding her hand down my side and across my back. I kiss her harder, deeper. She’s moving more, breathing faster, making these quiet little whimpers. I break away and look at her, smoothing some of her hair away from her beautiful face. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are half-closed and right at this moment she could ask me to shoot the moon and I’d kill it dead.

Her hand brushes my cheek and she pushes into me, silently begging me to keep going.

“You sure?” I whisper in her ear, kissing the space just behind it.

She nods and mutters “please,” and I move my lips down her neck. Her body trembles when I land on the spot where her neck curves into her shoulder - I give her skin there a little nip and she gasps... fuck, I need to hear that sound over and over. I’m gonna map her entire body, figure out just the right way to touch her. Run my hands over every point, plane and curve, find every spot that makes her moan and quiver and sigh. I wanna drown, lose myself in her. I want her to know that I know how special she is, that I get how lucky I am to be with her tonight, that I understand what she’s giving me. I kneel between her legs, take hold of her wrists, and slowly push her arms above her head.

I need to see and feel and taste every single inch of her and I’m not gonna be quick about it.

~*~

First kisses are usually awkward. Heads bump, teeth collide, hands float and fumble while they try to find a comfortable place to land.

So I don’t know if it’s dumb luck, or just that I’ve practiced this so many times in my mind, but we find a rhythm instantly and we fit, like we’ve known all along exactly how to kiss each other. It’s so perfect that I almost laugh out loud, dumbfounded that I ever thought that we shouldn’t do this. Our kiss is absolute, passionate and all-consuming, and sending every neuron in my brain firing into a tailspin.

I never want to stop kissing him.

My arms are above my head and he's teasing me, softly kneading my breasts over my top, flicking at the stiff peaks of my nipples. I lower my hands to pull at our shirts, to let him know I need to feel his touch on my bare skin, but he gently curls his fingers around my wrists again and guides them back up.

"Let me," he murmurs, sliding his palm down my breastbone, over my stomach and finally beneath my top. “Just... let me…”

Right as he cups my breast and traps my nipple between his fingers he’s kissing me again, swallowing every sound he’s pulling from me. I melt into him, into his kiss, into his touch. He pushes my tank top over my head and then his lips are on my neck, my collarbone, my shoulders. My forearms and fingers are dotted with kisses, along with my hips and navel, and then he’s peeling off my leggings, never once taking his eyes off of me. I’m completely bare beneath him and he’s biting his lower lip, running his hands from each of my ankles to my calves, my knees, my thighs...he looks as though he can’t decide if he wants to ravish me or revere me.

He settles for a smooth, easy assault, touching and kissing me everywhere, lingering whenever I cry out or sigh. I’ve never felt like this, never felt so...worshipped. His fingers and lips glide along my body as though I’m a delicate thing - carefully, thoroughly, and completely. My skin feels taut, chilled and tingling, but my blood is pumping hot and fast beneath. And when his tongue swirls around my nipple, and he takes it between his teeth, I swear to god I’d come right now if he told me to.

I know I’m wet, I can feel it, hot and dripping and my cunt is clenching, clit throbbing with a deep, insistent ache that almost hurts. Dean is everywhere, exploring and marking and claiming, until I hear myself begging, pleading...I need to feel him inside of me. I need him to unravel me, to make me come undone.

~*~

The way she looks right now is so goddamn glorious, she doesn’t seem real. She’s ruddy and glowing, twisting beneath me, chanting my name and begging with kiss-swollen lips. I let my hand slide between her legs, run a finger between her folds and christ - she is so fucking wet. She lifts her knees and spreads wide open for me and I dip just the tip of one finger inside. She ruts forward and I push two fingers all the way into her tight, hot pussy and fucking hell, she feels smoother than silk. I keep it slow, steady, loving the way her eyes roll back when I flick my thumb over her clit, and the way her tongue darts between her parted lips as I twist my fingers inside her cunt, searching for that spot...

Her eyes go wide when I find it, and her neck arches back and her hands fist the carpet. She’s quietly moaning and cursing and pushing herself down, fucking herself on my fingers. I catch her scent and some animal urge takes over me; I pull my fingers from her, bring them to my mouth and suck them clean. She's like fucking nectar and I’ve never tasted anything so good and all I want is more…

I pull my shirt over my head, push my jeans off, press her thighs as far open as she can spread them - god, her pussy is perfect, so pink and slick - and take a long, slow taste. She moans, low and long, breathing out a desperate “fuck, yes…” as she cards her fingers through my hair. And I growl, I fucking growl like a goddamn dog, and drive my tongue into her dripping hole. She hooks one leg over my shoulder and tilts her hips and I grab on to her ass and hold her up. I lick her deep, thrusting and flicking and swirling my tongue, filling my mouth with the flavor of her, then I peer up at her and...My. Fucking. God, she’s a vision. She’s shaking, twitching and gasping when my nose bumps her clit...

I slip my tongue from her cunt, ease her down and spread her open with my fingers, lapping at her folds, her entrance, her clit. Then I take that sensitive little bud between my lips and suck and holy shit, the fucking sound she makes...I gotta make her come. I need to see it, feel it, hear it.

But first I drag my mouth up her body, stopping to nip at her neck before landing on her lips. She licks into my mouth instantly, sucks at my lower lip, pushes her tongue against mine and I can tell she’s about to lose her mind.

~*~

I'd been in more than one motel room next to Dean's. And I'd always rolled my eyes, convinced that whatever girl he'd brought back with him was just putting on a show, playing porn star with their over-the-top wailing.

They weren't screaming loud enough.

“Can you taste yourself, baby?” he purrs between kisses, "You taste how fuckin' delectable your pussy is? So hot and sweet...” and I moan into his mouth. He slips his fingers back inside and curls them, nudging my sweet spot. “Want you come, YN…wanna make you fall apart..."

I'm biting my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, stifling the urge to scream because the pleasure he's giving me is so complete and consuming. I swear he knows my body better than I do. He's found places on me and inside of me that feel like they've never been touched until tonight. I'd thought maybe I was hypersensitive, so eager and thrilled that this was finally happening, but no - everything he does is deliberate. He finds a spot and knows whether to bite or kiss, push or pull, grind or slide, when to do it all at once or not at all. Every touch, every stroke sparks my nerves and ignites my cells and I'm down to my last fragments of control. I am utterly at his mercy, reduced to a writhing, wanton mess as his fingers slide inside of me, hitting my g-spot with incredible marksmanship. Then his lips land on my clit again, and...oh God. Oh my fucking god…

It starts in my belly, a molten heat simmering in my core, wavering a scant wavelength away from a fever pitch. It’s hot and thrumming and growing in speed and intensity until it can't be contained anymore. It bolts through me, hot and hard like an electric current and I go rigid as I come, the torrents of bliss saturating every molecule of my body. And then Dean is up on his knees, three fingers deep in my sodden cunt, his other hand laying flat on my lower stomach and muttering "Come on baby,...let go…let go for me…" Either I'm still coming or I'm coming again, hard and completely, and a quiet pull snaps from someplace deep inside... I completely shatter, so stunned with the sensation that I open my mouth in a silent scream as my cum splashes against his hand.

~*~

I tuck back down between her legs and softly lap at the stray drops sticking to her thighs. I’m about to go crazy - I’m hungry, starving for her, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking hard in my life.

I lay beside her, trace shapes on her collarbone, and watch her as she comes down - the way her tits rise and fall with every breath, the way her throat flexes when she swallows, the way the lamplight dances off her sweat-sheened skin. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly opened, and her tongue sneaks out every now and then across her lips. Of all the ways I’ve ever seen YN, this has to be the absolute, bar-none best. She’s like a living statue or a painting, some kind of work of art. A goddamn masterpiece.

I don’t want to stop touching her. Right now, I don’t even think I could. She shudders and opens her eyes when I gently trace a wet finger along her cheek. Then she grabs my wrist, pulls my hand to her mouth, and wraps her lips around the fingers I used to fuck her. She sucks and licks, and all I can do is groan as my fingers slide along her tongue. I gotta distract myself or I’m gonna shoot off right now like a teenager…

I take my fingers back and move to hover over her, and catch her lips in mine again. Kissing her is so...it just feels right. Like hers are the only lips I ever need to kiss again. If this is all we do for the rest of the night - hell, for the rest of our lives, I’d be one hundred percent happy. But as we kiss, she starts to whimper, moan...and then I feel her fingertips skitter down my torso and brush against my cock. And I can’t help it, I grunt out a “fuck, YN” and chase her touch. She drags her thumb, then her palm against the tip of my dick, smears precome around my shaft then wraps me in her fingers. I bite my lip and rock into her fist while she strokes me, trying like hell not to lose it any time she gives the slightest squeeze. I can feel her breath on my face and I’m starting to fall into the rhythm, getting lost in her touch and the heat of her body beneath me…

Then in the flash of a second, she hooks a leg around my waist, shifts her weight and turns, and has me on my back. She's straddling me, and I watch her slick pussy drag along my cock while my hands slide up her thighs and grip her hips. My eyes wander, slowly, up her body, marveling at her shape and color and just the mere sight of her swaying over me. My eyes meet hers and then...I'm trapped. Hypnotized. Being here with this woman is like nothing I've ever seen or felt before, and there's some part of me that knows I'll never feel this way about anyone ever again.

~*~

My gaze meets his and I'm struck...with exactly what, I don't know. It's thrilling and terrifying at the same time but most of all it's certain; This is exactly where I'm meant to be, astride this beautiful man who’s lying beneath me, stripped of all his layers, and I can feel the moment he surrenders. His mind and his body, his control and his chaos, his pleasure and his pain, all together unfettered and unfurled.

Potent and fervent primal desire sets in and overtakes me; I want to claim him, feel his skin between my teeth, taste the salt of his sweat.

I shift to my knees, slot myself between his open legs and lean forward, pressing myself against the solid heat of his bare chest, and catch his lips in a quick but ravenous kiss. He tries to chase it but I pull away, letting one hand slide up his sternum, splaying my fingers over his throat. I fist his hard, dripping cock in my free hand and stroke. He breathes out my name with a curse and his head hits the floor as my mouth latches on to his neck.

Releasing my hold on him, my lips move from his neck to his collarbone, down and across his chest, following the blueprint of bruises, scratches, and scars until my nose brushes against the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

I flatten my tongue and lick his thick cock from base to tip, then take just the crown between my lips and gently suck. The taste of his precome fills my mouth and he moans and trembles, exhaling a long, deeply held breath as he laces his fingers in my hair. I take him all the way then, as far as I can, until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I hold him there and swallow, let him feel the soft flex around his shaft. I slide up and down slowly, stroking the inches that can’t slide down my throat with one hand, and cup his balls in the other. He whimpers, high-pitched and desperate, and the mere sound of that sends drops of arousal trickling down my thighs while my cunt clenches and quivers. His grip on my head tightens and I keep steady, caressing and taking him deep, and let the tip of one finger press against his perineum.

His body tenses and I peer up at him - the muscles of his abs are twitching, his neck is arched back, the tendons there strained and taut, jaw clenched, and teeth bared...he’s holding back, trying not to come. He hisses out a breath and gently tugs my hair, urging me to let him slip from my mouth. “Fuck, YN”, he breathes, and I walk my hands alongside of him, gliding my body against his and brush his lips with a gossamer kiss.

We both breathe hard, panting, fingers tangling in each other’s hair, hips rolling, hearts racing. His hard, thick length is sliding against the soaked lips of my pussy, the head of his cock nudging my throbbing clit. I look into the dark forest of his eyes, he places his hand on my cheek and suddenly there’s a surge - a swift and commanding energy that surrounds us, tangible and unconditional.

Our gaze locks as I raise my hips. He grips his cock, lines up at my entrance, and I sink down slowly, relishing every inch that stretches me open, my moan echoing his until I’m completely filled with him.

~*~

It’s almost too much.

She’s so warm, so wet, and so fucking tight...I swear I blackout for a second. It’s taking everything I got to hold on, and every ounce of control I can muster when she starts to move.

She’s groaning and sighing, and the way she’s breathing my name is like a siren’s song. I let her set the pace, tilt my hips to push into her as she rides me, find her hand and lace my fingers through hers. She fucks me slow, lets her head fall back and lays her free hand on my chest. Reaching up, I slide my hand between her tits, pinch and tug one nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she lets out the most beautiful cry I’ve ever heard. And that sound wakes up the damn animal in me and I thrust into her, as deep as I can. I want her to fucking explode, feel her cunt throbbing tight around my dick and soaking me with her cum.

She pulls her hand from mine and moves it between her legs. I pinch her nipple again and she gasps as her body trembles, and I know she’s getting close. “Gonna come for me, YN?” I snarl, and she stills - her head falls back again and her fingers work faster, and I’m so caught up in her that I just start babbling. “Fuck yeah, YN, fucking come all over my cock…that’s my girl...” I pound into her faster as she gets tighter and wetter and then I feel it, her walls clenching and her cum dripping, her body finally going rigid as her orgasm tears through her.

I slow down and ease her through it, trace my fingertips over the curves of her glowing body and take in how absolutely stunning she is right now - her hair all mussed and tangled, her skin flushed pink, her lips bright red and swollen. Her eyes open and she grins down at me, the lazy roll of her hips picking up speed and I just...fucking...can't anymore.

I throw my arms around her and pull her against me, kissing her sweet lips as I roll us over. She arches into me, takes my face in her hands and purrs "...want it all inside me...I wanna feel your cum dripping from my cunt…" and holy goddamn shit, I'm gonna give her everything she wants.

She raises her knees and hooks her legs around mine, digs her heels into the back of my thighs, squeezes the walls of her pussy around me and I’m gone - all I feel is her silky wet heat, and all I can smell and taste is her sex and I drive in, fast and steady until I can’t hang on anymore. I let go and my world stops, every living fiber of my being at a standstill as I come with a shout. I thrust hard and deep and spill every drop inside of her, pumping her full as she fingers herself to another climax.

I rest my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath. She curls one hand around my waist and the other around the back of my shoulder, raking her fingernails gently along the base of my scalp. I kiss her, soft and quick, and pull out of her, rolling on to my back while I gather her in my arms.

I glance out the window. The snow’s still falling and the sun’ll start rising soon. The record is long over and skipping, and YN grips me tighter and shivers. “Hey, sweetheart...let me up,” I say, kissing her forehead. She groans but lets me go and I sit up, lean down to kiss her again and hop to my feet. I lift the needle off the record and find a quilt that’s tossed over one of the chairs. YN's curled on her side, and I can hardly wait to get back to her. I cover us both, pull her close, and I stare at her until I just can't keep my eyes open anymore. We drift off in each other’s arms and the last thought I think is a little prayer - that this is how I’ll fall asleep every night for the rest of my life.

~*~

I can’t remember who said it first. All I know is that it was suddenly there, as though it always had been, free falling from our lips as we moved and moaned and came together.

We’d awoken several times, one of us roused by a kiss or touch from the other, neither of us willing nor able to let it end without making love one more time.

The storm has finally passed. Sunshine beams across an azure sky and reflects with blinding brilliance off acres of freshly fallen snow. I peek out the kitchen window and catch a glimpse of Sam standing near the garage, up to his knees in icy white powder.

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

“Look like we ain’t goin' anywhere any time soon,” Dean says, coming up behind me and circling his arms around me. He moves my hair away from my neck and nips at the exposed skin.

I lean against him and cover his clasped hands with mine. “Can’t say I’m all that disappointed.”

He hums and kisses my cheek, then moves his hands to rest on the swell of my belly.

“Your old man's gonna teach you how to make the best snowballs, kid. Knock your Uncle Sammy right off his ass.”

I giggle and spin around, draping my arms over Dean’s shoulders. “Big talk coming from the man who got a black eye during last year’s snowball fight.”

“That was a fluke. She had an unfair advantage.”

"She's less than half your size!”

“Exactly.”

The door opens and Sam trudges in, shaking and stomping the snow from his legs, laughing as he's nearly knocked over by a whirling, bright pink dervish of weatherproof polyester.

Our daughter runs over to us, cheeks rosy and nose runny from the cold, her apple-green eyes as big as sledding saucers.

“Mommy, Daddy, guess what?! We had a snowball fight and I won!”

“Ho ho! That’s my awesome little girl!” Dean cheers, scooping her up in his arms and swinging her through the air. He rests her on his hip, and they trade an Eskimo kiss. “Let’s go tell your Auntie Eileen and your baby cousin all about how you kicked your Uncle Sammy’s a - uh, butt.”

He sets her down and helps her unlace her boots while she tosses her hat and mittens to the floor. “Yeah, I kicked his ass!” she beams, and the three supposed adults in the room have to bite back their laughter.

“Yep,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Definitely a Winchester. No two ways...”

Once she's out of her boots and winter overall, she runs to Sam, grabs his thumb with her small hand and pulls him through the kitchen. Her tiny footsteps pelt up the stairs, layered with gleeful giggles. Then, with all the vivacity of her five years, she shrieks in triumph, “I beat you again, Uncle Sammy! I win again!”

Dean grins wide, pulls me back into his arms, and catches my lips in a kiss that teems with the same intense passion as the first one he ever gave me. And in seconds I’m melting, into his kiss, into him... into memories of a snowstorm and shag carpeting, the smoke of purple kush and the flicker of oil lamp flames, the pedal steel guitar riff of Lay Lady Lay and Dean’s hip-swaying serenade...

He breaks away, brushes a section of my hair away from my brow and tucks it behind my ear. Then he looks into my eyes with unwavering conviction and repeats the promise he’s made me every day since he took my hand in his - a promise that's as simple as it is complex, selfish yet altruistic, sometimes dubious but always definite, and anything and everything in between:

“I love you, YN.”

~Fin

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#dean x reader #dean x reader smut #dean winchester fanfiction #spn kink bingo 2020 #spn fan fic #spn fanfiction #18+ only

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serendipityjxmn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, Park Jimin!

Chapter 1

Words Count: 4.2k

TW: Slight smut

Link to Introduction

Link to Chapter 2

[GIF CREDIT TO @OpaliaJM]

__________________________________________

We all have someone we love that hurt us so much, that it changed us forever.

I heaved a heavy breath as I plopped down the wooden floor in my living room. My head rested on the sofa behind me. I had spent the whole two days working hard on furnishing my apartment. It wasn’t that big but it was enough for me. I liked cozy living space. At least there’s a separate bedroom, I thought distractedly. The house still looked kind of empty as most of it were bare without any sort of arts accompanying it. Buying the basic furnishing was enough to make a hole in my pocket. Before the term started, I worked part time jobs and saved enough just to afford the deposit and a few months rental. I’ve roughly calculated my expenses and I think I’d be just fine to last before summer. I was more than sure I’d need to work during summer but I’ll worry about that later.

I only needed one whole day for cleaning and setting up the few furnitures I had. But it still drained the energy out of me and when I finally sat down for a breathing, the sun was already disappearing over the horizon and the little left of the golden sky being enveloped by the pinkish and indigo clouds. I looked around my small apartment. Everything was practically in place.

I waited for the sweat sticking onto my skin to dry out before soaking myself in an hour long bath, letting my mind wander about tomorrow. I was all but excited, nervous yet curious about my first day at the university tomorrow, wandering the kinds of events that would unfold during my upcoming three years there. The carousel of thoughts soon stopped as I drifted to sleep.

As soon as the professor announced the class was dismissed, the lecture hall erupted into a chattering noise. Still feeling unfamiliar with most people and the new environment, I gathered my stuffs silently and walked out of the hall.

The morning class was done. To my delight, everything went by smoothly. The professors seemed to know what they were doing which was a very important criterion for me because I can’t afford to have an ignorant lecturer. Your girl needs to graduate. I looked down at my watch. It was already 12 PM and my stomach was grumbling. I couldn’t wait to see what the university’s cafeteria has to offer.

“Hana-ya!” I looked up to see a girl with hair tied up in a messy bun running towards me.

“Ah Young!” I exclaimed back although not as loud as her. That was my best friend, Ah Young who I’ve known since forever. We went through the ugly pre-puberty phase together and still stuck together till we hit the glown-up post-puberty phase. She sure had gotten the good side of post-puberty while I wasn’t sure about myself.

“Babe~ let’s go eat!” She linked arms with me and we walked side by side to the cafeteria. We practically see each other most of the holidays but we’re still clingy like that. She is adorable and has such bubbly personality that I think compensates my boring and introvert personality. I don’t socialise much which explains the reason why I only have one best friend. Still, I am thankful she is a loyal friend and stuck up to my boring personality.

“Heol! The bibimbap looks so mouthwatering...” I pointed at one of the menus. “Gosh, I still can’t believe we’re now in university. And we’re together!” I said as I proceeded to inform our order at the counter.

“Yeah, I remembered how frantic I was because you kept on pressuring me to apply for the same university as yours.” She rolled her eyes at me as we both moved to another line of queueing to receive our order.

“You don’t want to be in the same university as mine?” I threw her a hurtful look.

“Of course I do!” She smacked my arms and I chuckled. “It’s just difficult when my results aren’t as good as yours!”

I guess it was kinda true that I had always maintained top scores during high school. I was on scholarships and I can’t afford to have my scholarships revoked so that was my main drive to study hard. “Ahh.. it just still feels surreal.” Although the so-called new surrounding is dampened because I could clearly see a number of familiar faces from our high school. “Remember when we were wondering what kind of food do they serve in university cafeteria?”

She laughed while nodding. “The time when our curiosities were so innocent.”

“I know, right?”

We were still queueing for our meal when we heard a loud noise. We both looked up to see a small crowd was already forming at the cafeteria. Apparently, a brawl had broken out. I was hesitant to witness it as it wasn’t particularly a pleasant sight to see people fighting but Ah Young tugged my hands so I just followed suit.

“Oh my god, it’s Park Jimin.” She whispered the name as if it was some kind of taboo.

What? I looked up. That’s when I saw him. Park Jimin. THE Park Jimin. He was beating the shit out of someone who was pinned to the ground. “It was only the first day of university though.”

It was true. Park Jimin was that kind of guy. He was that typical bad boy anyone would pray to never come across in any chapter of their life. He was rude, self-centred, arrogant, obnoxious, annoying, you name it. Basically, he’s an asshole. I have known to avoid him at all costs because he’s bad news and I was perfectly aware of the fact that nothing good comes from associating with him. Unfortunately for me, I had to endure going to the same high school as him and now the same university. Not a day goes by without me hearing about him fighting or breaking any rules ever made in this world. Not that I ever tried to find out anything about him but the news of his well being always floats around because he was THAT infamous. Boys knew him from his fist while girls knew him from his dick. Yeap, on top of being an asshole, he’s a playboy. I guess that makes him a double asshole.

I scanned the crowd that was slowly forming. It was only the first day of university and he was already acting as if he owns the place. I shook my head. Doesn’t he fear being suspended from university?

“Ya, ya stop it Jimin. At this rate, he’ll die.” One of the blonde guy stepped in and to my surprise, Jimin stopped immediately. I looked up to see who it was and understood at once. It was Min Yoongi. He was our highschool-turned-university-now senior. Park Jimin was the same age as mine but he had this group of troublemakers and that includes Min Yoongi as well. I could easily spot Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok and Kim Taehyung who were all in the group as well.

“He deserved more than that, to be honest.” A mint haired guy with a deep voice said aloud as he helped jimin to stand up. It was Kim Taehyung; another troublemaker. He was the same age as Jimin which means the same age as mine too.

My sight went to an unconscious guy lying on the floor with bruises all over his face. It was too much of a sight for me so I quickly pulled Ah Young away from the crowd with me.

We both took our meals and I chose to sit very far away from the scene.

“Ah, I forgot that as long as we're stuck at the same place with Park Jimin, it’d be weird to not witness his daily dose of fighting.” Ah Young mulled and I couldn’t agree more.

My eyes darted towards him and his group. The way he walked so casually as if he didn’t just punch a guy almost half dead made me nauseous. He was running his hands through his orange hair and I swore if I didn’t just watch him throw some punch, I’d probably melted at that. Here’s the thing, Park Jimin was vain, self-centred, rude and a total asshole but I can’t deny that he had all the God-like features and exuded extremely high sex appeal. This explained why girls are practically throwing themselves at him. Plus, he knew that he was good looking and he used that together with his sweet words to get into any girls’ pants. Asshole confirmed.

I watched them took a seat at a table with a good distance from us silently.

“But I’m not complaining though. He provides one fine ass view.” Ah Young said casually.

I almost choked on my food. My best friend had always been vocal about things like this. I may or may not have drooled over him too but who knows. Who can blame me though? I’ve been working hard on maintaining my grades ever since I can remember so I never had time to date. Plus, it’s also a luxury for me. Being in a relationship is expensive as fuck unless I’m dating a prince or something. Call me materialistic but I’m just being realistic. Anyway, in the midst of working twice as harder than high school, I was still determined to maintain my grades. Fantasizing about Park Jimin seemed like a good idea of personal pleasure.

“Oh come on! I’m sure you’d be imagining about his dick size too.” Ah Young said again.

This time I really choked on my food. I coughed several times.

“Are you okay?” She asked while holding her laughter. This bitch.

“Can you not be so loud?” I almost half screamed myself at her. A tad bit too loud I guess because I saw a girl from the opposite table turned back to look at me. In that instant too, I have no idea why my eyes flickered towards Park Jimin’s table. I regretted it immediately because his eyes were already on me. I froze because I felt his gaze penetrating my soul although we were hundreds of metres apart. Then he smirked.

In this world, there are exactly two things that I hated the most. One was a cheater. The other would be Park Jimin’s smirk. That is because he had this panty dropping smirk and it’s not an exaggeration to say it could make girls hit orgasm just by looking at his smirk.

Also, because I had a history with that smirk. A history that dated a year ago. I remember it was the day before our high school graduation ceremony. I was a member of the student council so naturally, I had to help prepare the ceremony. It was late evening and not many students were left. The decorations were almost done anyway. I stood in the middle of the hall, my eyes scanning for anything that needs to be adjusted or to find anything lacking. Then I noticed a banner’s end was slightly tilted. It appeared that its tie was slightly loose. I immediately hunted for a ladder to fix it.

After I was satisfied enough with my adjustment, I descended the ladder but somehow my steps were juggled and I lost balance. I tried to hold on to the ladder but it was too late. I surrendered and waited for the land to embrace me. But it never came. Instead, I felt strong arms around me and behind my knee. Before I could open my eyes, a sweet yet manly scent wafted through my nose. This person smelled heavenly. I opened my eyes and to be honest I thought I was dreaming.

There he was, Park Jimin, his face only inches from mine. His eyes fixated on me. The close proximity and the physical contact caused an electrical surge to course through my body. It was as if sparks were flying when he embraced me.

Suddenly reality hit me and I realized the position we were in so I quickly struggled out of his embrace and stood properly.

“Th-thank you.” I stuttered. Damn it. I didn’t want to make his effect on me to be so apparent. Especially not in front of him.

His brows knitted together as he regarded me for a moment. Then he said, “Won’t be nice if the top student suddenly broke her neck right before graduation. People might actually accuse me of murdering you since there’s no one here.”

He.. knew me? Although technically he doesn’t know my name but still- he mentioned the fact that I was a top student. I looked around. It was empty. I guess I didn't notice everyone had gone back. I cleared my throat, trying to sound firmer now. “Well, thanks anyway.” Without sparing a glance at him I turned around and exited the hall immediately. I didn’t realize I had stopped breathing until I was out of the hall. Park Jimin, the power he had on me. Or literally, every other girl.

Due to our short encounter the day before, I was under the impression that maybe Park Jimin actually knew me. I mostly minded my own business but my names came up quite often for academic awards and competitions. Maybe he did notice despite him skipping class all the time. But then he proved me wrong the very next day.

After the graduation ceremony ends, everyone was scattered throughout the hall. Most of them were occupied in taking pictures with the scroll. I myself had been dragged around to take pictures together with Ah Young for a good 20 minutes. She was definitely going to drag me to take pictures with literally everyone in our year until I realized that I had the sudden urge to pee so I excused myself.

The restroom on the same floor was full so I decided to take the ones upstairs. I strolled on my way there, taking in all the scenery of my high school one last time. I felt a sudden twinge in my stomach remembering that I didn't make much memories throughout my years here. It was regretful but hey, at least I did well in my studies.

As I reached the restroom, I heard some weird noises from inside. I could barely make out a sound of someone groaning and I instantly became worried if someone’s sick inside. How wrong was I. I pushed open the door and I was met with a sight of half-naked Park Jimin and a half-naked girl crouched in between his legs. I almost let out a scream at the sight. He didn’t seem fazed at all by my presence. Instead, he seemed to be enjoying an apparently extremely good blowjob hearing how much he was moaning. His gaze turned to me. Then he smirked. Yeap, that smirk. The very smirk that I mentioned.

While keeping his eyes on me, he grabbed a handful of the girl’s hair in front of him and started to lead her head bobbing up and down his cock. He moaned while biting his lip yet he still kept his gaze on me.

I was angry at his nerve to do this at school and the fact that he seemed to enjoy having a viewer angered me more. I didn’t drop my stare as I was determined to challenge his stare. I thought I was winning but I was wrong. I looked away after a few seconds because the image of him being turned on and in arousal like that was somehow starting to affect me. If I were to continue watching, I might’ve hit orgasm myself. I turned around and exited immediately yet I could almost sense him smiling his devilish smile because he won. He won our silent fight. So much for sparks flying, huh? There’s Park Jimin having his dick sucked for his life as a slap from reality.

And that was the end of history. To this day, that stare, that smirk, that moan of his haunted me. I wasn’t very much angered by the incident anymore. The image and sound of him moaning had actually turned into a pleasant memory for what little sexual fantasy I have. Plus, I don’t think he remembered the incident. Heck, I can even bet he doesn’t remember me.

So I looked away immediately before the rest of my body stopped functioning. I could sense the very same devilish smile of his slowly forming on his face.

I finished my meal in haste and constantly tapped the table so that Ah Young understood my urgency. She cursed at me as I technically dragged her out of the cafeteria.

Weeks went by after that incident on the first day of class. Everything pretty much went by smoothly. If I were to keep this up, there should be no problem graduating. I hugged myself with glee. Future looking so bright. Or so I thought.

“Ah finally, time to close!” I worked for part-time at a cafe about two stations from my university. I had been working here since after my high school graduation to fill up my holidays before starting university. It was also for me to save enough to rent a cozy apartment that I have now. Since I had already started my classes, I informed my boss about my resignation. However, she practically begged for me to stay for a few more weeks until she finds a replacement. I agreed simply because my boss was a good boss and I didn't really mind working for a few more weeks though. A little extra pocket money won’t hurt anybody.

I was in charge of closing down the shop for the day. I swept and mopped every corner of the cafe. When I was satisfied, I took all my stuff and exited through the back door with a huge garbage bag on my right hand. The back alley was dimly litted and it was practically empty since it was almost 11 PM. At that moment however, I noticed two guys had just turned their way into the alley. My brows knitted because as much as I’m used of the dark and empty alleys at night, I don’t particularly like it when guys would roam around especially when they are drunk. I quickly threw the garbage in the dumpster and locked the door when I heard a whistle a few metres behind me. I didn’t turn around but I was sure it was the guys that had just walked into the alley just now.

“Damn Kim Hana, guess it was our luck to meet you.” A voice was heard.

He knew my name? I turned around. Ah, of course he would. He was a regular at the cafe, always lowkey flirting to which I never responded. I didn’t reply.

“You know.. I’ve wasted so much of my money coming here all day every day and you still won’t tell me your number.” He went nearer to me and I panicked slightly. There was no one else in the alley. He towered over me and I noticed that he was only slightly taller than me. When he stepped forward, I took a step back until my back hit against the door. He inched his face closer and I looked away. I thought of begging for help from his friend that I’ve never seen before but then again, I could barely make out his face. He was wearing a hoodie and it covered almost half the top part of his face.

“If you’re not going to give me your number.. at least give me your kiss.” He said seductively as he inched closer and closer.

I threw a disgusted look at him and I raised my hand to slap him. But I wasn’t quick enough, he already took hold of my wrist. He smirked. “Damn, I’ve always thought you’re one feisty bitch but seeing it now on my own.. fucking turn on.”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw his other hand trying to reach my ass but I wouldn’t give in. I was ready to kick his balls when another voice was heard.

“Let go of that hand now.” His voice was melodic but at the same time raspy. I turned to find the voice and tried to make out his face but it was dark and he was also wearing a hoodie that covered his eyes.

The guy in front of me sucked in his breath and scoffed as if he was surprised someone would stop him. He ran his hand through his hair and turned around. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

The new guy took off his hoodie and ruffled his hair. My eyes widened to see Jimin. He wasn’t looking at me but instead he was smirking at the guy disturbing me. “Feeling familiar?”

The guy in front of me bit his lip. “Aish!” was all he shouted through gritted teeth before taking off. His hoodied friend looked at Jimin as if studying him for a moment before following his friend. He didn't run though.

I gulped. Of all people, why did it have to be Park Jimin to appear at this exact time, saving my poor ass as if he’s some kind of knight in shining armor?

His gaze turned towards me. I felt my breath hitched because I swore his expressions turned so cold it made me shiver. “What the fuck are you doing here alone at night Kim Hana?”

He... he knew my name? “You knew my name?” I blurted out.

He threw a don’t-be-stupid-look at me.

I have no idea what to do with that information. And what’s with his tone? Duh, obviously I’m working here you piece of shit. But I didn’t say that. “I was.. I got lost.” My voice came out weaker than I ought it to be.

His expression didn’t soothe. “I don’t believe that. But I don’t care either way.”

Damn, he’d really be taking his self-centeredness into a whole new level. It hurt a bit. “Yeah well since you didn't care anyway, why don’t you just go and leave me alone.”

I guess my words triggered something inside him as he suddenly pinned me to the wall. His arms each beside my face. Under the dimly lit night lights, his face looked so surreal it was almost unfair. He has a small face but his features were both soft and sharp. His cheeks chubby and his nose, although not tall, was sharp. His eyes were sparkly as if it held a million stars in it. But his lips.. his lips attracted me the most. For a so-called bad boy, he has a set of pretty plump pink lips. It suddenly made me wonder how it would feel if those plump lips were against mine.

“To someone who just saved your ass, I thought you ought to be a bit more polite, don’t you think?” He glared at me.

I snapped back into reality. I can’t believe I forgot that Jimin was the bad boy. What was I thinking? I had no idea what to say so I just stood awkwardly as I mumbled a sorry. Then he straightened, no longer pinning me.

“Let’s just get out of here.”

And so I was trailing behind him, admiring as what Ah Young would always say, his fine ‘piece of ass’ silently. Strangely, it doesn’t feel weird. It was as if his presence does not need to be justified by words. I guess Ah Young was right, although not that I didn’t know at first- Park Jimin does have a nice body proportion. He was almost a good head taller than me. The way he carried himself radiated much charisma and I could tell that he knew he looked good. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have such cocky attitude. I rolled my eyes.

Why was he even here anyway?

He stopped in his steps and I almost bumped into him. I looked up at him, almost furious.

“I just happened to be in the area.” He said, looking almost pissed.

Shit. Did I say it out loud?

“You did.” He answered my thought.

Is he psychic? I looked at him in horror and I could see he was suppressing a smile for a second.

“Anyway, I would’ve done what I did for any other pretty girl so don’t go around feeling too special.” He said then he looked away.

My brows knitted. Don’t feel special... but did he mention pretty girl? Is he.. saying.. I’m pretty? Or what? I was confused.

“Come I’ll send you home.” He said as he pressed his car key. I realized that we were standing in front of a sleek black Audi R8. I gaped. Holy shit, that was his car? Poor people like me can’t relate. And I am never gonna get into a car with Park Jimin. My brain told me Jimin and sports car were a dangerous combination. Therefore, when he pulled open the car door, I took off.

“I’ll just go home by myself!” I shouted as I ran in the opposite direction. I didn’t look back but I’m pretty sure I left him speechless.

When I got into my little apartment, I went straight to my bedroom and laid down on my bed. Tonight was one hell of a strange night. And the fact that Jimin knew my name... what do I do with that information?

Link to Chapter 2

Posted on 200502 12:59AM

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stella-monstrum · 3 years

Text

Rob Zombie; "Why it's time to step outside the confinements of his own box."

For close to four decades,

Rob Zombie has brought nonstop psychedelic grooves and a rockstar presence while gracing his own music and the silver screen with gut-churning, drug-tripping visuals. He not only commands quite the presence in films (whether his own successes or others’), but also makes appearances within many other horror soundtracks. There’s no denying that Zombie is a bloodied savant who has stayed incredibly consistent.

[ᴿᵒᵇ ᶻᵒᵐᵇᶦᵉ. ⁽ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ: ᴳᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ ᴵᵐᵃᵍᵉˢ⁾]

(Written by Stella, edited by Jacob J.)

(Side note; tumblr’s photo formatting is a pain)

Let’s take a dive into his music before getting into his film library. From 1985-1997, White Zombie released six albums (between studio and compilations). La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Volume One didn’t break into the Billboard 200 chart until a year after its 1992 release. Shortly thereafter, it became the hot and groovy bong success of the band, going on to sell two million copies. Astro Creep 2000, their final and fourth studio release, was their first and only album to chart within the Top 10 of the Billboard 200 in 1995. Up to this day in 2020, “White Zombie” has been featured in 47 TV, film, and video game soundtracks, from Beavis & Butthead to Pen15 to Bride Of Chucky (which includes a personal favorite moment of mine), amongst many others.

After the disbandment and separation, Zombie continued on his solo journey. He has gone on to release six studio albums, with a seventh on the way in March 2021, titled The Lunar Injection Kool Aid Eclipse Conspiracy. A multitude of hits—eight to be exact—sat within the Top 10 of the Billboard 200 records.

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Zombie’s extensive film career is a “Super Beast” on its own.

He has been very vocal about gaining inspiration from 1920s-1980s horror culture. In many interviews, he’s cited Stan Lee, Bella Lugosi, Alice Cooper, and Steven Speilberg as being responsible for molding the brain that we know today.

Some of his influences include:

George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978)

A Clockwork Orange (1971)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

The Shining (1980)

Zombie’s upbringing in the carnival industry alongside his family is another key influence.

[[I’ll only be focusing on Zombie’s live-action films here.]]

══════════════════

In 2000, Rob made his directorial and (very memorable) screen debut with House Of 1000 Corpses.

It took three years to be released because of quarrels with major production companies regarding the film’s majorly aggressive themes of torture, blood, violence, sex—not to mention his arrogance with MGM, fighting to get rights back from Universal. Eventually, Lionsgate bit the bullet, albeit with the major stipulation of having Rob edit it down much further so House could pass with a “tame” R rating.

[[House of 1000 Corpses: Rainn Wilson as taxidermy merman (Source: Tumblr—and if you’re brave, you can view the scene here.)]]

══════════════════

In 2005 and 2019, the franchise’s next two installments—Devil’s Rejects and 3 From Hell—were released. The franchise is heavily influenced by the shocking, sickening, and unforgettable ’70s classic Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It follows a family of psychotic, sadistic, and bloodthirsty (if I’m being honest) necrophiliacs. They kidnap, kill, torture and brutalize anyone who gets in their way. At the end of Devil’s Rejects, they somehow manage to survive a police shootout, escape prison, and waltz on into Mexico (as seen in the franchise finale 3 from Hell).

Look, it’s all complicated.

Main Characters from the franchise:

Captain Spaulding—Sid Haig

Baby Firefly—Sheri Moon Zombie

Otis B. Driftwood—Bill Moseley

Momma Firefly—Karen Black (recast as Leslie Easterbrook after Karen’s passing)

(Other notable appearances throughout: Chris Hardwick, Rainn Wilson, Danny Trejo, Dee Wallace, Ken Foree, and Diamond Dallas Page.)

⁽“ʰᵒᵘˢᵉˢ ᵗʳⁱˡᵒᵍʸ”, ᵈᵛᵈ ˢᵉᵗ﹔ ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹔ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ.ᶜᵒᵐ⁾

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The notorious/controversial Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978) remakes from 2007 and 2009.

(ᵃ ᵛⁱᵉʷ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒˣ ᵃʳᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ⁽ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹕ ᵃᵐᵃᶻᵒⁿ⁾)

Look, this is a remake that you either adore or hate with a burning passion. If you’re a horror fanatic, you know what’s up with the original.

I personally adore Zombie’s take. The fact alone that he gave us an entire background story as to why Michael became the psychotic slasher that we’ve come to know and love. Plus, with an increased suspense and gore factor? Worked incredibly well and did justice (in my opinion).

The film made me feel bad for Michael, with moments of child Myers in therapy, particularly his love for making masks to pass the time while he was locked up and the touching family moments between him and his mother Deborah (Sheri Moon).

ᵈᵉᵇᵒʳᵃʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐⁱᶜʰᵃᵉˡ ᵐᵉʸᵉʳˢ ⁱⁿ ʲᵃⁱˡ ᵗʰᵉʳᵃᵖʸ. ⁽ˢᶜʳᵉᵉⁿᶜᵃᵖ, ʰᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ. ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹕ ᵍᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ⁾

[Michael’s cell in the 2007 Halloween remake. (Source: Google)]

Add in the supporting cast of Michael McDowell (Loomis), Brad Douriff (Sheriff Leigh), Scout Taylor-Compton (Laurie Strode), etc., and I honestly think that it came together very well as a remake.

The films rated relatively low, but they did gross higher than the budgets that they originally had to film on. Again, I’m not going to give much attention to the higher-ups of critical perception—it all comes down to personal taste.

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“Lords of Salem” (2013)

[[Promotional art for Lords of Salem. (Souce: Google Images)]]

A film that’s centered within Salem, Massachusetts,

this film—you guessed it—tackles witches, occultism, possession, Satan, and all the usual topics. Heidi (Sherri Moon) is a radio DJ who gets sent a mysterious record that’s labeled as being from “The Lords.” From then on out, shit gets a little dicey and admittedly, very disjointed. You can’t fault the cast here, and I loved the visuals that they were going for. However, with set schedule conflicts and multiple rewrites, which led to essentially running out of time to film? As a whole, what looked great on paper just couldn’t be done justice.

My FAVORITE sequence within the film (SPOILERS):

youtube

I can forgive the disjointedness solely because of how mind-boggling and brilliant the film’s history and proper visuals were. Also, we got to see Dee Wallace, Judy Geeson, and Patricia Quinn as creepy and badass witches who moonlight as Heidi’s landlords. Also Meg Foster who leads their coven? Can we talk about what a femme-fueled power cast that is?!

[[Left to right: Patricia Quinn as Megan, Dee Wallace as Sonny, and Judy Geeson as Lacy Doyle. (Screencap, Lords of Salem. Source: Google) ]]

[[Meg Foster as coven leader Margaret Morgan. (Screencap, Lords of Salem. Source; google)]]

Like I said prior, the film gets a little wild. If you’re...well, buzzed prior to watching, it may make a little more sense.

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“31” (2016)

[[Film poster for 31 (Source: Google)]]

[Synopsis from IMDB; “Five carnival workers are kidnapped and held hostage in an abandoned, hellish compound where they are forced to participate in a violent game, the goal of which is to survive twelve hours against a gang of sadistic clowns.”]

Here, we clearly see that Zombie is invoking his childhood growing up within carnivals. In a 2013 interview with LA Weekly, Zombie divulged more about it:

“When we were kids, my parents would [work at the carnivals], and me and my brother would get dragged along to these things all the time and have to work.”

He went further on to say;

“Yeah, and it's not the nicest world. As a kid, you get exposed to the crazier underworld of the carnival. Me and my brother, when we were very little, we'd be inside the haunted house playing all day. So, already, what people are paying money to be scared [of], we're just playing in because it's fun. We saw the inner workings behind the machines.”

youtube

(”31″ trailer, source; Youtube)

Once again in this film, Zombie brings a powerhouse cast:

Jeff Daniel Phillips as Roscoe Pepper

Meg Foster as Venus Virgo

Malcom McDowell as Father Murder

Judy Geeson as Sister Dragon

Richard Brake as Doom Head

You can view the entire cast at IMDB here.

Set in 1976, Zombie stays true to his nods. Again, depending on taste, this is a huge hit or a wild miss with mindless homicidal violence, campiness, and climbs across the monkey bar of standards that we’re used to seeing from him.

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So at this point, you’re probably wondering why I think that it’s time for Rob Zombie to step out of the confinements of his own box...

══════════════════

It’s no secret that Zombie sticks to only a small group of tropes:

Slashers, families or groups of homicidals that lack remorse, the occult, etc. There’s no shame in sticking to what you know. Hell, Zombie has seemingly cracked the code over the past two decades that he’s been in the film industry that so many directors still don’t seem to get.

IMO, despite whatever you personally feel about the films mentioned above- I feel like we’re living a freaky groundhog day repeat within Zombie’s filmography.

══════════════════

Now, if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Look, I’m not saying that Zombie has to change anything. However, I would love to see him tackle some other nuances that we’ve already seen from him in small doses.

- Children: We haven’t seen Zombie exactly take on what horror films depict kids as. Sure, he made a breakout and impeccable choice with young Michael Myers (Daeg Faerch) back in 2007. I personally would adore to see a reimagined (NOT remade) Children of the Corn on acid, one we all know Zombie can tackle and turn every existing view on its head.

- Witchcraft, The Occult, Satan, Voodoo: Zombie genuinely had a phenomenal concept (on paper) for 2012’s Lords of Salem. It was unfortunate that they ran out of resources and ran into unfortunate circumstances on set while filming.

The film wasn’t a total tank, though, given how inspiring and insane all the visuals were throughout the 1 hr, 41min film. I am absolutely positive that, given a full-force opportunity, Rob could rectify the mess that was out of his control. We completely saw that he provided visuals that left quite the impression, and he could take those taboo subjects by the goat horns.

- Animals (not the human form): It’s no secret that Rob and his wife Sherri are ethical vegetarians. It would be so tongue and cheek to see them take on such topics as animals getting their revenge, or even vegetarians torturing carnivores. This twist on the formula would make for an interesting viewing.

══════════════════

2.) In regard to time periods,

Zombie stays within—and pays homage to—the 1970s and 1980s quite a bit. Obviously, those are the eras that Zombie personally loves the most when it comes to filmmaking. However, it would be very interesting to see him take on current day settings.

Zombie has such a unique viewpoint. Given changing climates in politics, human decline/growth, the economy, etc., he would do work that could easily put Ryan Murphy to shame.

══════════════════

3.) He could also do with some different casting every now and then.

Let me preface this by saying that I adore every repeat casting choice that Zombie has made for his films.

Of course chemistry is a huge thing, and sticking to his friends is a very smart choice. However, he also has the potential to make new stars, boosting the power of those that may be under the radar. He can support those new stars with cameos from classic actors that we haven’t seen in awhile. I can’t begin to even fictionally cast those who fit the bill, but I do believe that with the “Zombie Touch,” he can bring so much more fresh air to the usual casting.

══════════════════

There’s no doubting what Rob Zombie is clearly very good at. Despite mixed reviews from the horror world and critics, it’s time that his fans open their eyes to new possibilities. Of course, there are die-hards, but digging your feet in further doesn’t allow the growth of horror and its ever evolving themes.

[[ʳᵒᵇ ᶻᵒᵐᵇⁱᵉ, ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹔ ᵍᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ ⁱᵐᵃᵍᵉˢ]]

This theory has been on my mind for a very long time—since 3 from Hell came out. I’m sure, in his usual fashion, we won’t be seeing any new films from Rob anytime soon (what with his new album set to release in March 2021, not to mention the toll that the pandemic has had on Hollywood.)

Still, it never hurts to challenge the set standards and ways.

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singeramg · 4 years

Text

Midnight: Chapter 12

Pairing: Clark Kent/ Metahuman! Black! OFC

Rating: Overall- E

A/n: You guys thought I was done for the night? Nope! Seeing as this chapter is a little shorter I wanted to get this one out because we are about to start getting into the meat of the story even more so and plus I have no ability to wait lol

CATCH UP HERE!

Midnight: Chapter 12

“MAMA!!”

We all turned our head towards the car. I smile softly at Martha and walk over to the car. Meanwhile Clark ushers her into the house.

I opened the door to the backseat where Kalen sat with tears in his eyes.

“Hey it’s okay Little man we are here. You want to go inside?”

“Where dad?” He asks me with a small voice.

“He is inside too. Come on let’s get you out of here.”

I unbuckled his seat belt and helped him out of the car, where he reached up for my hand, looking around at the vast land in front of us. He locks in on the small swing hanging from the nearby tree. He tries to pull me toward it, but I don’t let him get far despite his strength.

“Baby I will bring you back out here later okay?”

I could feel the moment Clark must have told Martha, because a large dose of shock hits me as we climb the steps.

“YOU HAVE A WHAT CLARK JOSEPH KENT?!”

I stifle a laugh when she breaks out his full name. I tap on the white screen door despite the front door to the house being open and me being able to see the stairs, not wanting to enter until I was sure everything is okay. I hear Clark tell his mom

“We can both explain everything, but first we would like you to meet your Grandson. Can we bring him in?”

“Do you even have to ask me that Clark? Get them in here now.”

I can feel the disbelief and anger roll off of her in waves.

Clark comes to the front door and Kalen yelps in excitement at seeing his father.

“Dad-dy you here!!!!”

He motions for Clark to pick him up and of course he obliges, giving him squeeze that I’m sure was like picking up a feather delicately.

“There’s my tough boy!”

Kalen is radiating pure happiness and love which balances out the confusion, fear and anger coming from Martha in the kitchen. Clark shoots me a look that says “Be prepared” and I follow him into the kitchen where Martha is waiting. She becomes filled with Love and excitement the second she lays eyes on her newfound grandchild.

“Ohh my goodness Clark, he looks so much like you at that age, but even more adorable.”

Ever the shy one, Kalen tucks his face into Clark’s neck, afraid to interact with someone he doesn’t know. I walk up next to them, touching his back again, then moving up to rub the curls in his hair.

“Sweetheart can you say hi to this nice lady for mama?”

“Hi.”

It’s quick and short, as his small hand grasps at Clark’s collar. I hated that my son got so nervous at meeting new people and I supposed it was my fault because I had spent so much time trying to hide him from the world, he hadn’t had much experience around people.

“Thank you baby, can you look at Mrs. Kent? She is really important to your dad and we wanna make him happy too right?”

He nods and un-buries his face slowly, peering nervously through dark lashes. Martha lights up again at seeing his face again.

“Hi sweetie. I am your father’s mother. I guess that makes me your grandma. What’s your name cutie?”

“Kalen Jo-esph Smith. You are really my grandma?”

She nods as Kalen smiles in acceptance of the new woman. He doesn’t try to go to her, only pushes at Clark’s hands, too young to know that it’s futile. Clark gets the hint though and sits him down.

“Do you have any toys Grandma?”

Her breath hitches in her chest as she tears up at him calling her Grandma. Kalen does not realize the magnitude of what he just called her and instead waits for an answer to his question. I look down at him, and try to distract him from Martha as tears begin to roll down her face.

“Kalen baby, I don’t know if Mrs. Martha has toys but how about you take your bag and color her a pretty picture okay.”

“But mommy I wanna go outside and play.”

Clark steps over.

“Hank is probably due for a walk anyway, How about I take the both outside? While you two catch up.”

If I thought it would hurt him more than me I would punch him in his handsome face as he calls for Hank the black and white collie dog that had been up until this point lounging in the living room. Kalen leaves out the Kitchen with his father and I am left as the sole target of Martha Kent’s ire, but in a surprise move her face softens.

“Gia have a seat.”

I listen with the quickness as she goes over to the stove taking the kettle from the top.

“Still drink more sugar in your tea than actual tea?”

I laugh slightly as she brings the kettle over to the table along with mugs, then finding some tea bags, and her sugar bowl. The kitchen was filled with silence as we made our respective cups and took a few sips. Finally Martha fixes a stare on me, I drink more, and get enough courage to look her in the eyes.

“So did you know at Clark’s funeral that you were carrying his child?”

“No. Honestly I had no clue and it wasn’t until I packed up my life and moved that I even realized it. By then however I had cut all contact.”

“But once you found out, you never came to me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why? Gia I literally helped nurse you back to health. You were like a daughter to me. You cannot honestly believe I wouldn’t have helped you. Especially with my Grandchild.”

“I don’t know.”

“Gia Delilah.”

I sighed.

“Mrs. Kent I...”

“What did I just say about the Mrs. Kent?”

She takes another sip out of her white mug, I follow suit. She looked at me again and I couldn’t lie or in a more specific case I couldn’t withhold the truth anymore.

“Martha, I was being selfish. I left Metropolis because everything and everyone reminded me of Clark, and when I saw this little ball of flesh in my hands that came out of me that was born of him, I realized that Kalen was all I had left of Clark. I wasn’t his mother, his coworker, his girlfriend... hell at end I wasn’t even his friend. I was nothing at all to anyone when he died. Not even to him.”

I can feel tears fall down my face, but I can’t acknowledge them by wiping them off. I feel pity pour off of her in droves, which just makes me feel worse. The feeling of heartbreak intermingles in with the pity, and it only amplifies my own. I compartmentalized everything, shouting down the incoming emotions.

“At the end of the day, as crazy as this sounds. Not telling anyone was the only way I could think to protect my son from what happened to Clark, coming back to come after him. That night I watched Clark die was honesty one of the worst nights in the short slash long history of my life. When I figured out I was having Clark’s child I vowed in no uncertain terms that I could not lose my child too.”

“Oh sweetheart these last few years have not been easy on you have they?”

Martha reaches over the table rubbing my hand. I shook my head no as I looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“Look at me Gia.”

Watery Brown meets Brown.

“I perfectly understand how you feel as a mother the day Clark began to show his powers and all, I feared every single time he left the house. Despite the fact that my son is nearly invulnerable I feared the world for him. And the day that the world took my baby boy away and every day after than I wondered if I had done enough to protect him. Could I have saved him? I have even fooled myself once or twice into thinking I could lock him away. But then I think ‘what good would it do?’ To keep others away from the wonderful man that he is. I had to let others in, and guess what I’m glad I did. It has brought me so much more than just him now. I promised you a long time ago that you would always have somewhere to go and someone that loves you. I didn’t just lose Clark, Gia I lost you too.”

She cries and I stand up and hug her. I never realized all of the damage did when I left. I thought I was some token relic of Clark’s super heroism. I was reluctant to think I meant anything to anybody. I loved Mrs. Martha like she was my mother too, but I thought she always took to Lois more so than me. She was the daughter that Martha never had, it honestly didn’t occur to me that my presence would be missed by her, not when she gripped Lois’s hand so tightly at the funeral. It seemed I had been wrong.

“I am sorry Martha. I should have come to you, should have told you where I was going. I certainly should have told you about Kalen that was foul. Will you please forgive me for that and know that I will not purposefully keep him away from you again?”

She hugs me back tightly.

“I forgave you the moment you stepped out that car for leaving. As for Kalen, I understand, doesn’t mean I’m still not a little ticked off at you for not telling me and honestly disappointed in my son for deceiving Lois. That is not the man I raised him to be.”

I sighed and walked over to the window that showed Clark and Kalen playing with the dog in the yard. I smiled to myself and Clark looked up at me with a smile on his face.

“You have nothing to fear Martha. Clark was not two timing Lois and as cliché as it sounds Kalen was an “on break” baby. He and I weren’t in a secret relationship behind Lois’ back, I couldn’t do that to her. Without too many details Clark made it clear a long time ago that his heart was with Lois. I respected that always.”

“I know you did. You’ve been the self sacrificing type since I met you.”

My head whips in her direction quickly.

“Meaning?”

“If you don’t know what I am trying to say then you are not ready to hear it.”

I pondered her words, then not making sense in the context of our conversation. I was mostly just happy that she wasn’t mad at me about this anymore.

“Don’t overthink it Gia. Let’s make the boys some lemonade and you can tell me more about my grandson...”

*A few Hours Later*

Clark and Kalen had been having a ball all day, with Clark doing some of the most domestic tasks around the farm, but letting Kalen help him. I could feel Kalen’s energy waning and I figured he would be down for his dinner and a nap soon enough. I took a look at my clock and realized I needed to head home so that I could get ready for my date.

Martha now had Kalen in the kitchen helping her make cookies to my sons delight. So I called to Clark barely above a whisper as I stood on the wrap-around porch. He comes looking sheepish as we hadn’t much time to talk alone since earlier, he wouldn’t come out from the house.

“I won’t chew you out for making me face your mother alone you can come outside.”

The screen door opens and closes and he stands next to me.

“Gia I was listening for trouble the whole time.” He offers a way to save himself. He didn’t need to, I wasn’t mad at him. I was actually grateful because as nervous as I wouldn't have had the opportunity to clear the air with Martha as I had if he would have been there.

“Oh I know, that’s the only reason I didn’t chew you out. I called you because I actually need to head back to the manor. I need to get ready for my date, I am positive that Kalen will not leave this house without his cookies, and I think Martha is not ready for him to go. I can take the car home if you want to fly back with Kalen later, after he is sleeping.”

Clark thinks it over and shakes his head.

“I would like to take him on his first flight when he is awake. Plus I can never guarantee when some government idiots won’t think I’m a threat and try to shoot me down.”

I laughed remembering that time that had happened to him one day while he was a few states over. He came back to the farm covered in soot and mud seeing as they shot him down into a swamp. That had been hilarious. Turned out it had all been a big mistake by the army and they apologized repeatedly but he was always listening for a stray bomb and tried to fly high enough that his impact should he make one not leave anyone is danger.

“Well I guess I can call a car...”

“Or I could fly you home.”

I looked at him apprehensively.

“I don’t know...”

“It will be fine. I’ve flown with you in my arms plenty of times. You at least can protect yourself if needed.”

I really didn’t have much of an option.

“Fine I guess. Let me just let Kalen know I have to leave and that you will bring him to me.”

He concedes and after we let Martha and Kalen know we were leaving (the latter of which did not care because we didn’t have food for him) we went back out to the field.

“Are you ready?”

He asks me. I wonder if he wants me to get in his back and go to move but he just moves too.

“Yes, but bend down so I can get on your back.”

“I hate when people are on my back when I fly. Guess I’m just going to have to do this.”

He shoots me a mischievous smirk down moving forward and grabbing the back of my legs and arm around my waist, making my arms instinctively go around his neck as carries me cradle style.

“Waah geez Clark can’t you warn a girl before you do that?”

He laughs and looks down at my face smiling before saying

“Eh... I could but where’s the fun in that ?”

Then he takes off causing me to yelp and push my face into his pectoral muscle and grip him tighter as he laughs again into the night...

A/n: So what did you think? Who thought Mrs. Kent was going to strangle Gia and Clark? I thought about it but I need them in the story going forward.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x black ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #SUPERMAN X OFC #Superman

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diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “ Nobody” Part 1

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival. Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.

“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.

“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.

Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.

“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.

You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.

Although Mr. Fleck is three hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.

The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:

“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”

“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”

“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:

“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”

You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.

“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.

“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.

A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.

“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.

“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”

A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.

“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.

“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.

“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.

“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.

“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”

J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:

“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”

Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.

“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”

“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”

“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.

“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”

“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:

“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”

“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.

“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.

“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:

“I fucking hate this town…”

You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.

“How are you holding up?”

The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.

“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”

Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.

“Shit, that’s rough…”

That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.

“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”

“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.

“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”

“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Fourth one on the left.”

“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.

**************

“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.

You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.

“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”

You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.

Luckily tonight he’s obedient.

You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.

“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.

“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.

“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.

“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”

You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.

“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.

“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.

“Where… where am I?...”

A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:

“Everything good?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.

“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.

“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.

*************

10 am

Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:

J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.

“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.

“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”

“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.

“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”

“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.

“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.

“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.

The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.

“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.

“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.

“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.

“What did you say?!”

“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.

“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.

You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.

You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.

“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”

This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.

You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.

You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.

“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.

The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!

Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.

“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.

The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:

“Me too.”

“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.

“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.

“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”

“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.

“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”

**************

“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.

The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.

“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”

A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.

“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”

You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.

“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.

“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”

You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such cheap amendments.

“I’m positive…”

The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.

“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.

The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.

“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.

“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.

“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.

“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.

“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.

He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.

“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.