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middleearthpixie · 2 years

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Good Trouble ~ Chapter Five

Durin’s Garage AU - Good Trouble ~ Part 5

Modern Spin on The Hobbit

Summary: When your car breaks down, there is only one garage in town - Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs. And sometimes, they do more than just tune your engine, check your oil, and top off your fluids…

Everyone in town knows Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs is THE place to go when your car needs work, and everyone knows that Dwalin Fundinson is to be avoided outside of the garage. He’s an ace mechanic, but trouble otherwise.

Your evening with Dwalin ends on a high note and you even get up the nerve to ask him about a certain tattoo…

Pairing: Modern!Dwalin x reader

Warning: E - NSFW 18+ - Oral sex (m receiving)

Word Count: 4,815

Khuzdul translations:

Mesmel - my jewel of jewels

masalnuldum - serious trouble

Abnâmul - beautiful

Kakhf - Shit

The pillow was warm against your cheek and you smiled as Dwalin skimmed a kiss along your right shoulder blade, his, “Are ye all right, amrâlimê? Yer awful quiet,” a whisper on your skin.

“Oh, I’m wonderful,” you murmured, the last remnants of one of the most intense orgasms you’d ever had still tingling its way through you.

He covered you, warm against you, and swept your hair over your shoulder to press his lips into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. “Yer trembling,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Are ye cold?”

“Hardly.” You let your eyes close as he kissed down over your shoulder and along your right arm before he eased off to stretch out beside you. The only light came from the nightlight in your ensuite bathroom, behind him, and as you opened your eyes, you could just make out his features. His eyes were open. Heavy-lidded and sleepy, but open. “You’re staring at me,” you whispered.

“I canna help myself. Yer beautiful.”

You smiled again. No one ever told you they found you beautiful. Cute? Yes. But beautiful? No, they stopped short of that. And while you also thought you were more cute than beautiful, there was something about hearing Dwalin murmur those words that made your stomach twist in a delightful way and made you smile across the darkness at him. “Thank you.”

He reached for you, his hand coming to rest in the curve of your waist, his thumb skimming up toward your ribs. “Are ye still curious about that tattoo?”

Your cheeks grew warm and you tried not to sound as idiotic as you had earlier. “Honestly? I am, yes.”

His fingers tightened about you, tugging you closer. You scrunched over until you were flush against him and his hand slid down over your right cheek, pressing you into him. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “It says, masalnuldum.”

Your belly kinked. The rumors were true? You met his gaze. “Are you serious? You have your dick tattooed? And that does that even mean?”

“I am serious. My cock is tattooed. And it means serious trouble.”

You stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Dwalin.”

“What?”

“Well, now you’re just making fun of me. Serious trouble? For real?”

He nodded. “I swear to you, mesmel, that’s what it says and that’s what it means. I was young and drunk off my ass when I had it done and when the guy asked me what I wanted, I told him. If you don’t believe me, look for yourself. Although,” he winked, which made you want to smack him, “you might want to talk nice to it for a few minutes, so it doesn’t just say masal.”

“Oh, I am not talking to your dick. Are you kidding me?” You rolled away from him, glaring at the wall. You couldn’t tell if he was serious or not and you hated feeling like someone was making fun of you. Growing up, you were the kid who was always the last to get the joke, who could never tell when someone was being serious or not. If someone told you the word gullible was written on the ceiling, you’d look because they just might be telling you the truth.

The mattress shifted as he scooted over to curve against you, slipping an arm about your waist to tug you up against his furred chest. “Why are ye mad at me? I’m telling ye the truth. I promise ye I am.”

“You are not.” You tried to ignore the sensations rippling through you as he leaned over and pressed his lips against the side of your neck. Tried to ignore the way his fingers swept so lightly along your belly. This man instinctively knew how to touch you and even after doing your best to destroy one another for the last few hours, he could get you humming and ready for another round without moving a hand lower than your belly. That was skill right there and you were a lucky woman for it.

“I am. I did it as a bet. Guy in my battalion said I didn't have the guts to do it, and I showed him I did, in fact, have the guts.” His fingers skimmed along your hip, down over the slope of your outer thigh. “Turn the light on and I’ll show ye.”

Although you definitely had the feeling he was just going to laugh at you, you sat up and reached for the lamp. As light blazed forth, he smiled and drew back the covers and, feeling like a combination of voyeur and complete tool, you looked.

Sure enough, there it was along the side of his shaft, in elegant-looking writing that could only be described as looking like runes. His cock was, in fact, tattooed.

“Oh…” You couldn’t keep quiet and without thinking, you traced the very tip of your forefinger along the black ink letters you couldn’t read, but assumed said exactly what he said they did. “You… How did I miss this?”

He exhaled slowly, a hint of a sigh in that breath and you sat back suddenly as he went on with, “Ye weren’t exactly examining it, now, were ye? And ye didn't know it was there, so ye weren’t looking for it, either. That’s how ye missed it.”

You looked up at him, relieved to see him smiling. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

He winked. “Ye want to ask me how much it hurt to get, and whether or not I had to be hard to get it as well, don’t ye?”

“Well…” Heat climbed into your face and you admitted the truth with a sheepish, “Kind of, yeah.”

“It hurt as much as any tattoo hurts, but not as badly as you probably think it did and no, I didn’t.”

You reached over and traced those letters again, smiling as he twitched ever so slightly beneath your touch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. But, I think I hit empty, so, that might be all ye get for a while.”

Your hand went still. “I’m a little sore anyway.” You looked up at him. “So, how did you get this?”

“I told you, I got it on a bet. We went to the studio, I told the artist what I wanted, he drew it up, I went into the men’s room for a few minutes to get ready and—”

You narrowed your eyes. “Get ready?”

He offered up a wicked grin. “It’s got to be hard to get the stencil on.”

“So, wait,” you pulled your hand away from his cock to press to your lips to still the smile that tugged at them, “you mean you went and jerked off in—”

He chuckled. “Not all the way to the end, no. Just enough so he could get the stencil on, which was a challenge in and of itself, ye know.”

“Uh, no. I didn’t. But I’ll take your word for it.” A giggle popped free and you pressed your hand harder to your mouth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. It was a challenge because I don’t go walking around at half-mast all the time. Took me three shots before he could get the fucking stencil on and I was starting to sober up. Made it a little easier to keep a boner, but made me start to second guess my decision as well.”

“But, you couldn’t back out because your buddies were there and they’d make fun of you.”

“Something like that. I was young and dumb and wanted to show them how tough I was. So, I got my cock tattooed and it shut them the fuck up. Not a one of them could go through with it. I was the only one.”

“You have to be nuts to do that.”

“Probably.” He caught you around the waist and tugged to his chest. “But, I’ve never wondered about my sanity, so I think I’m good.”

“You got your dick tattooed and you didn't question your sanity?” You couldn’t resist teasing him. “If that didn’t make you question it, what would?”

“Funny.”

You pulled away long enough to switch off the lamp, then snuggled back down against him. “I have to admit, Dwalin,” you said softly, “I am impressed. You’re even more badass than I thought you were to begin with.”

“And I’m your badass, mesmel. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.” You tucked your head against his chest, smiling as he drew his arm tighter about you. “You should’ve gotten good trouble tattooed on it instead.”

“Good trouble?”

You nodded, then lifted your head to look up at him. “Because you are definitely trouble, Mr. Fundinson. But you’re good trouble.”

He winked at you. “I like the sound of that.”

****

When you awoke the next morning, you were tucked up again Dwalin’s chest, his arm tight about your waist, his deep, even breaths warm against your shoulder. You weren’t normally a morning person, usually you woke up groggy and wanted only coffee. But today, despite a short night’s sleep, you felt oddly refreshed and awake. It was a nice change of pace.

You let your eyes close once more, content to lie there wrapped in warm covers and even warmer man. And you wondered how many of the women who came into the Dunraven and giggled and gossiped over him had any idea what he was really like. Somehow, you didn't think so. They probably saw him as dangerous, a walk on the wild side, and while they were right to a certain extent, they probably didn’t see beyond that. Lord knows you didn’t at first. You tended to believe some of the rumors—the ones about how he probably liked it rough, and probably wasn’t big on caring much whether or not the woman he was with came as much as he worried about his own orgasm.

But now you knew how wrong you were and although he didn’t know you once thought those things, you almost felt as if you should apologize for them just the same. You’d misjudged him terribly based on his outward demeanor and a few tattoos.

Tattoos.

You smiled.

He stirred behind you, murmuring, “What time is it?” in a sleep-thickened voice.

“Almost nine.”

“Damn.” He flopped onto his back, bringing up both hands to rub his face. “I don’t remember the last time I slept this late.”

“It’s your day off, though. You don’t sleep in on off days?”

“Not usually, no.” He lowered his hands and turned his head to look over at you. “I hit the gym, I do my errands and get them done and out of the way so I have the rest of the day to do what I want. Although,” he rolled onto his side, propping his head on his fist, “what I want to do will be working from two to ten, so…”

You smiled. “It’s going to fall off, if we keep going at it like this.”

“Nah. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

As he spoke, Dwalin reached to trace his forefinger along your cheek. It was only the lightest of touches, you barely felt it, and yet, it sent a shiver racing through you. His blue eyes were so soft, it was hard to believe they were every anything else, but you knew differently. Outside of your bedroom or his, those eyes became hard and cold, almost daring anyone or anything to start trouble with him.

Trouble.

Another shiver. You couldn’t stop thinking about that tattoo, trying to imagine a much younger, much cockier, much drunker Dwalin giving into the pressure of a bet. You wondered what he’d been like back then, if those pale eyes had always held that hardness, if he’d always been a barely contained vessel of simmering energy, ready to pop off at any time.

“What’s on yer mind?” His soft words cut through your reverie. “Ye look miles away.”

“I’m not quite awake yet.” You couldn’t tell him the truth. It seemed so silly to you, almost as if you wished for the younger version of the man lying across from you. You didn’t, of course, because based on your own experiences, those men were selfish, both in bed and out, and tended to take women for granted because they knew there would always be another woman in the next room or at the end of the bar, and they didn’t have to work much for the attentions of any other women. Women fell at their feet and were theirs for the taking.

Of course, you’d been his for the taking as well. And as you let your eyes close, as you let yourself savor the gentle sensation of his caress, you tried hard not to think about the future. It was too soon to try to frame your relationship and if you pushed too hard, you’d scare him off.

Living in the moment had never been easy for you. No matter how badly you’d been hurt in the past, you still gave your heart away willingly and for the most part, paid the price for it. And now you were on the verge of doing that same damn thing again.

With that, you sat up abruptly. “I need to get moving before I fall back asleep. Coffee. I need coffee.”

“What’s the matter?”

You rose from the bed and slipped into the gray New York Giants hoodie you kept on your grandmother’s hope chest at the foot of your bed. “Nothing. I just need caffeine. Some horny dude kept me up half the night.”

“Ye were the one asking about my ink, remember. You started it. I just finished it.”

You peered at him over your shoulder. A mistake. He sat back against the headboard, the sheet just draped about his hips, and offered up a smile so inviting, it was all you could to to make yourself leave your bedroom. “Coffee. And a shower. That’s what I need. In that order.”

You made your way to the bathroom to get the shower started. It took forever for the water to get hot enough for your liking, so it was your habit to let it run while the Keurig fired up. You brought Dwalin a cup, saying, “It’s a bit lighter than the coffee at your place, I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” He took it. “Thank you. So, tell me,” he said before taking a sip, “is there room for two in your shower?”

Your belly did a flip at the glint in his eyes. “There might be. Why?”

“Just curious. I’m a big believer in water conversation, so…” He shrugged.

“Well,” you reached over to pluck the cup from his hand and set it, along with yours, on the bedside table, “why don’t we go see?”

He offered up no resistance as you took his hand and tugged, but rose and followed you to the steam-filled bathroom. The shower curtain rustled as you stepped in, and then again when he angled his big body in behind you.

One arm slid about your waist, his lips, while with his free hand, he swept your hair over your right shoulder, then bent to press his lips into the curve of your neck into your left shoulder. You bit down hard on your bottom lip as the tip of his tongue swept along your wet flesh, your body tingling with desire already.

Hot water cascaded over you as his hand slid up over your belly to cup your left breast, to knead it, to tease your nipple into a tight bead while his other hand slid down into the wet curls between your thighs.

One thick finger slid through your folds, over your clit, to your entrance. He swirled just the tip inside you, then plunged his finger deep as his thumb came upon your clit to roughly drag in a slow circle.

He teased you with those lazy swirls and leisurely thrusts, his voice gravelly in your ear as he whispered, “My beautiful girl… Abnâmul… Mesmel… I want you…”

You couldn’t reply, couldn’t form a coherent thought as he teased you mercilessly, brought you to the edge of madness so quickly. He held you there, suspended over the abyss, fingers sweetly torturing your nipple, your clit. You rocked to meet each stroke, unable to hold back the low moan that reverberated off dark blue tile. You clenched tight about his finger, your eyes closing, your head spinning wildly. You had to touch him, reached up and behind to try to get hold of him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the knots tightened within your core.

His thumb dragged over your clit to shatter you, spun more roughly about it, pressing hard into you as you writhed against him, as you clenched and squeezed about him. The first hints of your orgasm tingled through you, the knots coming undone as he pulsed that finger in and out of you.

You shuddered against him, biting hard on your bottom lip even as you managed to grit, “Oh, don’t stop… please, Dwalin, don’t stop…”

“Ye like this, amrâlimê?”

You nodded wildly, your hips arching and rolling to meet him. “It feels so fucking good…”

You shivered, the knots fraying now. He moved faster, his fingers teasing and taunting you, driving you utterly wild as the threads splintered and the pleasure burned a path from between your legs to the center of your being.

“Dwalin!” Your fingernails sank into his shoulders, your entire body convulsed, and steaming hot pleasure scorched through you as he shoved you over the edge. You pulsed around him, melting and fighting to hold onto him as your orgasm ripped through you, left you breathless and spent, sagging against him as he slid his fingers free and caught you to cradle you against him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. You could only feel and you almost sobbed from the fiery ecstasy ribboning through you. And as you sank again him, he wrapped his arms about you, kissing the back of your neck as he murmured, “That’s my girl…”

Your head cleared enough for you to turn toward him and push up onto your toes to seize his lips with yours in a fiery kiss. But before he could wrap his arms about you, you broke it, sweeping your lips down through the silver-tipped fur across his chest, down his belly. You sank to your knees and leaned in to run your tongue along the length of his proud, hard cock. You swept along the sleek underside, from root to tip, slid your tongue along the word inked into his flesh, and then took him in your mouth in a long pull that had him moaning your name as his hands plunged into your hair.

You weren’t at all interested in teasing him. You want to shatter him, to make him come undone in the same fiery flash you had. You pulled hard, your lips tight about him, your tongue flicking along just beneath the head. He thrust against you, his voice hoarse as he growled out words in a tongue you did not understand.

He grew rigid, tried to pull away, but you refused release him and when he came, you were ready, accepting what he had to offer as he shuddered and moaned and spilled hard. His fingers twisted hard in your hair, his voice hoarse as he moaned your name, as he breathed, “Oh, afsêl… maralmizi… maralmizi…”

He slowed against you, breathing as if he’d run a marathon at top speed, and when you pulled away to stand, he wrapped his arms about you and his mouth slashed down over yours. You returned his hot, soulful kiss, pulling away to murmur, “I have no idea what you said, but you sound pissed off.”

A breathless laugh shook his already-trembling body. He tightened his hold on you. “Just—just the oppo—opposite… Oh, kakhf… I need to sit down…”

A soft laugh floated to your lips. “Should I apologize?”

“Fuck, no,” he growled, smiling as he lifted his head. “You should promise me you won’t ever stop doing that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

You slid your arms about his waist. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss into the top of your head.

“What was that you were saying?”

He glanced down. “What?”

“Those words. What did they mean?”

“Oh, they were just gibberish.” He caught your face in his hands. “The equivalent to you thanking God when you come.”

You smiled. “I thank you, though.”

“Be that as it may, it’s the same thing.”

You weren’t so sure you believed him, but you certainly didn’t want to fight about it, so you let the matter drop. And when he reached for the bottle of your shampoo and proceeded to wash your hair for you, it didn't matter.

After your shower, you dressed for work in jeans and the familiar navy blue Dunraven long-sleeved tee shirt while Dwalin finished showering, since he insisted cold water suited him just fine.

You were combing out your hair when someone knocked at the door. It was a little early for a UPS delivery, but FedEX played by their own rules and although you weren’t expecting anything, sometimes you ended up with your neighbor’s parcels by mistake.

However, when you tugged open the door, you found yourself wishing it was only a mistaken delivery.

Your father looked no happier to see you than you were to see him. “You could at least say good morning, you know,” he said without a hint of a smile. “And it wouldn’t kill you to invite me in, either.”

“Dad, I—uh— come in…” You stepped back to give him room to pass by and bit the inside of your cheek as your gaze landed on Dwalin’s jacket, which lay atop yours on the sofa where you’d tossed them just before opening the door. The shower had shut off, but Dwalin had yet to emerge from the bathroom. You could only hope he found a reason to remain in there a little longer.

Your father saw the jacket, and when he turned back to you, his lips had disappeared, becoming a thin white line as he said, “Have you a friend staying over?”

Before you could answer, the bathroom door opened, steam billowed out, and Dwalin stepped into the hallway, a towel wrapped about his waist. He turned, and you knew he saw your father because he visibly tensed. Heat climbed into your cheeks as you turned back to your father who was now downright scowling at you.

“Yeah, Dad. I’ve got a friend staying over.”

“I see.” He stepped around you, adding, “And who might you be?”

“Dad, now’s really not a good time—”

“Of course it is,” he interrupted with a laugh that had absolutely zero humor in it. “I come to see my daughter and find her with a naked man? I’d say it’s the perfect time to be introduced, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, no. No, I wouldn’t. And he’s not naked.”

“He’s damn near close enough!”

Dwalin cleared his throat and you almost smiled as he curved his fingers over where the end of his towel tucked in to keep it about him. “I’m Dwalin.”

“Dwalin.” Your father pursed his lips and nodded and you wanted to throw something at him when he added, “And you spent the night with my daughter?”

“Dad!” You stepped between them before Dwalin could say anything. Your father would have disapproved regardless, but you knew exactly what went through his mind as he looked at the heavily tattooed man in the towel standing not fifteen feet from him. “It’s really none of your business.”

“I beg to differ,” he told you, staring at you through cold eyes. “This is my apartment and that makes it my business, so if you are trying to rebel by playing about with a Hell’s Angel, that is also my business!”

“A Hell’s Angel? For real? Are you kidding me?” You couldn’t keep the laugh out of your voice. “What makes you think that?”

Your father ignored you, narrowing his eyes at Dwalin. “What do you do for a living, son?”

You opened your mouth, only to have Dwalin hold up a hand as he said, “I’m a mechanic. I work over at Durin’s Garage.”

“A mechanic.” He turned to you and you could see the familiar disappointment in his eyes. “You’re risking getting yourself knocked up by a mechanic? Wonderful.”

You just stared at him for a long moment, torn between wanting to hit him with something and wishing the floor would open up and just swallow you whole. “How dare you?”

“Because I know his sort,” your father growled.

“My sort?” Dwalin stepped closer and you didn't miss how the hand holding his towel was now white-knuckled. “What do ye mean, my sort?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to my daughter.”

“Yeah, well, ye involved me, so now I’m talking to ye.”

“Dwalin,” you turned to him, “let me handle this, please.”

“There is nothing to handle,” your father broke in, his hand closing about your upper arm. “But, rather it’s time that you grow up a bit, and come back home.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dad,” you told him, jerking free from his grip. “I don’t need your permission and I definitely don’t need your approval.”

“Oh, really? Well, you do need my apartment and that is why I’m here. As of the thirty-first, I’ve a new tenant moving in, so you’ll need to vacate here.”

“The thirty-first? I get not quite fifteen days’ notice? Really?”

“Perhaps you should’ve taken my calls,” he said, moving back to the door. He tugged it open and added, “And you get ten days, dear. I have to have the place cleaned and repainted before the new tenant moves in.” His cold gaze landed on Dwalin. “And I’ll have to fumigate as well, I think.”

“Ten days, but—” The words died on your lips as he closed the door behind him. “He’s throwing me out at Christmas. What a bastard.”

“He seems lovely,” Dwalin replied.

You looked over at him. “I’m sorry… I—I don’t even know how to begin apologizing for that.”

“Don’t worry about it. My skin’s thicker than it looks and he’s not the first prick to judge me on first sight.”

You sank back against the door and looked around at all the things you had to pack now. Pack and find a new place and move. In ten days. Wonder-fucking-ful.

“Still,” you looked back at him, still in his towel, and shook your head, “I was hoping you’d never have to meet him.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn't want me to meet your family?”

“No, I didn’t want to subject you to them. Well, him. It’s just him.” You drew in a deep breath. “He and my mother don’t live together and they only deal with one another when they absolutely have to, and it always ends in a battle of some sort. She’s no better than he is and he’s kind of an ass, as you’ve seen.

“Yeah, just a bit.”

“And now I have to move? How am I supposed to do that in ten days?”

He smiled. “Yer welcome to come stay with me.”

You spun around to stare at him. “What?”

“Why not? I like ye. And ye don’t have to stay with me forever. Just until ye find a place.”

“But, we just started seeing each other and—”

“I know,” he caught you around the waist with his free arm and pulled you close. “And I like being with ye. And there won’t be any unexpected visitors at my door any time soon.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m positive, mesmel. I’ll clear some drawer space and part of the closet for ye.” He winked. “Will that be enough room, or do I need to find a bigger apartment?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told ye, I like ye. And to be honest, I like sleeping next to ye, I like waking up next to ye, and I really like sleepin’ with ye, so…”

“I can stay on your couch.”

“I don’t think so.” He slid his other arm around you and leaned over to brush your lips with his. “If you’re mooching off me, I’m getting something out of it.”

“Mooching! I’ll pay rent.”

He kissed you again. “I’ll take it out in trade.”

Another kiss when you tried to reply, and as you wound your arms about his neck, his towel hit the floor with a soft whump, but neither one of you cared all that much.

***

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msaluna · 3 years

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The Moon Well

This story is a mini fic of Luna in a Corruption AU, giving hints on how she became corrupted by an event while overseas. All of Luna’s backstory is relatively the same with only this one event causing her sudden shift in corruption. Enjoy. -RayMun

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The night of her return was not a pleasant one, the woman known by so few in the town as the local witch, and even fewer by actual name passes through the magical portkey door. The one that leads back to a mansion overseas owned by a man she no longer cares for. Her body still humming with magic from the events that only happened the night before.

She closes the door behind her, waving a hand over the door, it vanishes in a shimmer of powerful magic. The house creaks with what could only be heard to Luna as a sound of concern.

"I am okay dear friend," Luna said to what would be emptiness. "But I think we’ve outgrown this town."

Luna places a satchel of books she has been holding onto the table as she goes to prepare for her “Move” to another location. The books weren’t hers to keep but she felt every right to take it. The contents were a mix of rituals, spells, and Fay knowledge along with one black journal. It was written in cursive french, but she didn't have to translate it to know of its contents. Because she saw through the torching visions of the Moon Well what secrets it and its previous owners kept.

Without much preparation time, Luna focused her magic to the condition of the house. Her eyes and body glow in pale gold light, a phantom image of moth wings expand from the woman’s back. The house around her binds and twists, creaking as the Relocation spell takes hold. Markings and symbols write themselves in light along the walls and ceiling of the rooms. And in a matter of minutes, the house once known as Sun & Moons Fortunes is now an empty shell in the small town. Making the new residence to the Witch of Secrets currently unknown.

VVV[Open Read More to see the Journal Entry]VVV

[Research of the Moon Well]

[Owner: Viktor Frollo]

[Contact: XXX-XXXX-XXXX]

[Date: 21/12]

The Moon Well, I have only seen it in tales and vague mentions in old documents but now I have been convinced the place or more accurately this phenomenon truly exists. This year, during my visit to that drabby campus, invited to the Yule ball as per usual, I was expecting it to be the same as last year. Boring. Typical meet and greet while reconnecting and reassuring some of my former contacts that I was being a well-behaved gentleman. Seeing the most mature and basic of magical potential. Such cowards. They do not realize untapped magic is waiting to be discovered if they simply opened their eyes and looked.

But no, they fail to even realize that one of their own students has talents that are far more than just a prodigy witch. This time, even I was allowed the opportunity to peek behind that curtain that hides the secrets of the moon. A student by the name of Luna Eirian allowed me to see past this veil during her performance for the winter moon. It was stunning in more ways than one, truly something to behold. But what was more shocking than the skills she possessed was the display of natural magic being displayed through her voice and music, it was the fact that no one realized what I had at that very moment. She was performing Fay magic! Specifically Moon Fay! At least, this is what I strongly believe just from the scene I experienced this evening.

I can hardly steady my hand as I write my excitement of this discovery. The only thing now is to convince Ms. Eirian to allow me to be her patron or mentor. She will never be able to reach her true potential through the cowardly teachings of that establishment. This will be difficult, as she is already suspicious of me from her reaction to my presence at the Ball. Even when asking her if she would like a patron to fund any projects she wishes to undertake, she politely declined. Sadly, she isn't like any of the women, like the ones who pursue me in the hopes I would give them my time. It would have made this situation easier.

[Date: 22/12]

I have sent a request to Ms. Eirian's counselor to have her study under my watch. Seeing as we are both viewed as porridge witches from the same university, it was fairly easy to convince the council. However, Ms. Eirian herself seems to be a paranoid sort of individual or at least highly instinctual when someone takes interest in her. I did not see any hint of shyness in her demeanor when asked, so her rejection of me doesn't stem from bashfulness. At least she isn't a gullible idiot, that much is a blessing and frankly, I believe it adds to her charm.

[Date: 28/12]

It has been a week since the Yule Ball and I have managed to convince Ms. Eirian to stay at the estate while I help her with a project. A broom. Simple enough, but now that she is here, I can proceed with providing her with information about her talents. And I can finally push her to limits that will break that veil once again, without interference with those cowards at the university. Hopefully, the promise of more knowledge from my collection of books will entice her to stay longer than intended. She seems to be very fond of learning about magic.

[Date: 10/01]

A new discovery, even if she didn't have her Fay heritage, Ms. Eirian has proven to be quite clever and knowledgeable. She has only relied on her Fay powers less than a handful of times while under my watch. It is truly impressive, we would have many quite the collaborative team if she lived on this side of the ocean. Or have come to the university when I was attending. I still intend to study her Fay capabilities, but even I have to admit that her presence here has significantly warmed the chilly atmosphere of this estate.

I need to move the project forward if I am to hope to achieve my goal of studying Luna before I become distracted.

I will be moving the project forward a little faster than usual. Now that she is less suspicious of my movements, I will be able to gather samples to perform further studies.

---

[Date: 16/01]

Today, I took a gamble. I handed Ms. Eirian a book that normal human eyes are not typically allowed to read. It is one of the few Fay-written books I have managed to find without being tarnished or fake. It was worrisome, I had a story prepared to explain why I had the book and why I was handing it to her without explanation. However, a surprising thing happened...she didn't question the book or the contents. She didn't even ask how she could read it. Ms. Eirian...do you trust me this much with your secrets? Or in bittersweet irony, are you truly unaware of why I drew close to you?

The way she smiled at me with excitement about the contents of the book tells me she does not know. And for some reason, at that moment in time, I felt sad. I pitied her more than being pleased with the concept of her unknowingly being part Fay. She truly didn't know how special she was to me. And the idea of knowing a secret she didn't know she had, pained me.

---

[Date: 21/01]

Our relationship has grown closer over these past few weeks. She has opened up quite a bit, and it makes things easier. But there seems to be an issue that I wasn't expecting to have, I purely played with the idea of returning her affection to keep her close but now, I wish to keep her close regardless. However, the issue is that I still would like to pursue knowledge about the Moon Fay while she is still by my side.

In a few days, the super moon will be rising and I need to be prepared.

Forgive me Luna, but maybe you will if my studies help you control this Fay magic inside. Once I see and record my findings, I promise that I will tell you everything. No more secrets between us.

I promise.

---

[Date: 31/01]

I am not sure what happened, all I could say is the display of magic and the veil tearing was unlike anything I have ever seen before. The power of the ritual could be viewed as a success to a typical scholar, I know my past self would have seen it as such but seeing Luna---Apologize for my notes at this moment.

The ritual is supposed to be performed during a normal full moon but my eagerness to see a positive result has led to a miscalculation. The Moon Well does exist and it can be accessed by a half-Fay heritage of moon descent. However, due to the mythical powers of the supermoon, the results have left --the subject-- Luna in an almost comatose state. Possibly overwhelmed with the sudden flow of magic, knowledge, or both that came to her. She was screaming by the end of the ritual and I, admittedly in a panic, tried to cut her ties off to the connection of the well---

*the writing seems to be shaking more and more as the journal goes on*

She was babbling in Fay for hours nearly four hours, I can barely pick out a few words that I know, "too loud" and "stop the voices" were some of the few I could trasl translate as I got her to some care. Her body is strangely chilly to even myself. Body limp but strangely light as a feather now that I recall. Her body glo was glowing softly, still full of magic I presume. Apologies again for any miss-spelling or illegibility, my hands are still shaking from shock. I will be staying by her side for the remainder of the night to make sure that her condition didn't worsen.

*the writing is a little more steady, assuming after a pause to calm themselves*

Luna's condition had improved in the last few hours of the night, maybe due to the peak of the moon finally reaching its end. It is only a hypothesis. Luna is still restless in her sleep though, but the chill has gone away. Thank God. The glowing has also faded somewhat but her hair has clearly changed, adding more blond to her caramel hair. Upon further inspection, the freckles on her body have also burned into her skin, only now do I realize that her markings on her back fit perfectly as the constellations of the night sky.

This experiment should not be replicated without further research and understanding of Fay magic. And also should not be proceeded without less secretive tactics to any 'subject' performing the ritual. I believe, if I wasn't a coward in that very moment, if Luna knew about her heritage before performing the ritual, the results would have been less catastrophic and dangerous to her livelihood. Hopefully, Luna will wake from her sleep soon, so I can apologize to her properly. For now, I will leave this journal here for a time while I rest and wait for her to awake.

Luna. I am so sorry.

---

#Corruption AU #Fanfic #MSA OC #Luna #Viktor #Character Lore #Moon Well

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serenlyss · 5 years

Text

Concordat

Rating: G Relationships: ritsu&reigen, ritsu&shigeo Summary: He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid. “Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?" (When Reigen Arataka, PI, decided to pursue a career as a detective, he'd never expected to take on a missing persons case. Then again, he hadn't expected to receive said case from a literal child, either, and yet, here he is.) Crossposted to AO3: Concordat

Concordat - An agreement or treaty relating to matters of mutual interest.

This is a gift for my dear friends @winsstar-writes and @pigpantpoop on tumblr for their Detective AU, which I've just fallen in love with so fast hahaha. So here's more Ritsu and Reigen content bc I love their dynamic So Much. I hope you two like it, ily <3

---

Reigen sinks into his office chair, letting his whole body slouch with a long sigh. Business is slow at the agency today, and he’s bored out of his mind waiting for someone to show up and give him something to do. Outside his window, he can hear rain hitting the sill, a gentle summer storm outside chasing the pedestrians indoors. He has no clients scheduled for the rest of the day, and it’s only just past lunch, which means he’s going to spend the rest of the work day sitting around, doing nothing.

He rummages around in his suit pocket for a cigarette and lighter, leaning over his desk. He holds the cigarette between his lips and lights it up, uncaring of the cloud of smoke that leaves his lips and hangs around him. Briefly, he thinks that he must stink of it, and that it won’t make a very good impression if a client walks in on him smoking in his own office, but he can’t bring himself to care, today. He leans back in the chair again, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Maybe I should just pack it up, move on to something else, he laments with a frown. He’d left a comfortable office job for this, but, well, he’d always been a bit of a drifter. Perhaps the detective life just isn’t what he’s cut out for, after all.

The chime of a bell reaches his ear as the front door to his office is opened, and he hastily moves to put out his cigarette, pressing it down into the ashtray at the corner of his desk. “Come in,” he calls, voice cracking slightly as he attempts to put on his cheerful customer service voice, and pushes himself up from his chair to greet his guest.

He’s expecting another old woman searching for a beloved family cat, or maybe a young man concerned about a cheating partner, but instead he finds himself face-to-face with a kid.

“Is this… Spirits and Such Detective Agency?” asks the literal child who’s come to greet him. He can’t be older than ten, considering the primary school uniform he wears, and he looks up at Reigen from beneath a furrowed brow, dark gray eyes scrutinizing him carefully. His black hair sticks up in all directions, like he’d just rolled out of bed before coming here. Reigen is deeply unimpressed, but, well, it can’t hurt to humor a child for a little while.

“Yeah, this is the place. What can I do for you?” Reigen asks, opting for a plastic smile as he beckons the boy inside.

The boy shuffles a bit on his feet, looking around the office with undeniable skepticism written all over his face, and then reluctantly takes a step inside. The door falls quietly shut behind him, and he hovers in the entryway. His gaze is more deliberate and calculating than most adult clients Reigen’s had. “You’re the detective?” he clarifies, flashing Reigen that uncertain look again.

Reigen resists the urge to sigh. What was with this kid? “Reigen Arataka, PI, at your service! I must say, I don’t get a lot of kids coming here, though. What’s the matter, you lose something?” He can’t fathom why an elementary school student would come to him for answers, of all people, or what a kid would find so important that he’d need the help of a detective to find. It must be some kind of prank.

The kid shakes his head, clinging to the straps of his backpack as though he can’t figure out what else to do with his hands. “No--I mean, yes, but not like what you’re--I’m looking for my brother!” he stammers, fumbling over his words nervously. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed, his face flushed pink. “Nobody else I talked to would take me seriously… the police keep saying they’re going to find him, but they won’t even listen to me when I tell them--” Suddenly, the kid freezes, cutting himself off abruptly.

The mention of a missing brother makes Reigen pause in his tracks, halfway to his desk where he usually sits and consults with clients. He’s an only child himself, but the thought of losing a sibling… He shakes his head, turning to face the boy and raising a brow at him. “Tell them what?” he prompts, though he honestly isn’t really sure he wants to know.

The kid looks up at him with uncertainty, eyes filled with distrust, then glances away again. “My brother… he was kidnapped because he’s an esper,” he mumbles, and quickly adds, “I know it sounds stupid and crazy, but it’s true! I’ve tried to tell the police, but they don’t listen to me! Your sign said you specialize in psychic cases, right?”

Reigen freezes. He’d known at the time that adding that caveat was a stupid idea, but he hadn’t expected anyone to come to him about a missing esper. He’d only done it to attract the easily-manipulated types, the older folks who believe in spirits and the gullible people who think throwing around a little table salt is enough to exorcise them, but this is in a league of its own. “Esper?” he echoes, feeling the dread inside of him multiply.

“Yeah, that’s what I said!” The boy says, impatient. “Everyone keeps telling me to give it more time, but it’s been months now. I can’t give up on finding him!” He fixes Reigen with what is potentially the most determined expression the man has ever seen on such a young child, hands balled into tight fists that quiver with barely-contained emotion. “So? You can do it, right?”

For a few long moments, Reigen can do nothing but stare, and then he clenches his teeth, glaring. “Is this some kind of joke?” he blurts, annoyed. “It’s not funny, kid, so just give it up already.” The words come out a bit harsher than he intends them to be, a hint of spite behind them, but he can’t find it in himself to be remorseful.

He expects the kid to give up then, to either admit to his prank or burst into tears or do some other kid thing, but instead he gets angry. “I’m not lying!” he snaps, stomping a foot on the floor in his outburst. “Two months ago, my older brother disappeared while he was walking home from school. I wasn’t there ‘cause I was in the hospital, but I know he wouldn’t have just wandered off! Someone took him, and I need to find him!” He’s rambling, the words tumbling from his mouth without much forethought, and Reigen can practically feel his desperation in the air. He continues, “I-I can’t just leave things the way they were, I can’t. I have to find him, I’m going to find him. I have to be someone for him, be there for him! If I don’t try, then what kind of lousy brother am I?”

The kid sniffles and reaches up to his eyes, just inches in front of Reigen, and it’s only then that Reigen realizes that the child has begun to cry, big crocodile tears that leave his eyes red and puffy and his nose a little wet. He can feel his brain short-circuiting at the sight of the crying boy; he has very little experience with kids, and would never, in a thousand years, consider himself the kind of person a child goes to for help or comfort. And yet here one is, crying in the middle of his office and all but begging for his help. He takes a breath, steadying his racing thoughts. I’ve never attempted a missing person case before, he thinks to himself, but something keeps him from outright refusing. Ask me to find a cat, sure, but a whole-ass person? I’m not equipped for this… Then again, had he ever really been equipped for a job? He’d always prided himself on being flexible with the kinds of jobs he would take--’flexible’ is a lot nicer of a word than ‘unqualified’--and, well, crying children have a certain persuasion of their own about them.

He isn’t sure what possesses him to do it, but he reaches up and pulls the tan hat from his head, pressing it against the boy’s mop of dark hair with a gentle puff. “Alright, enough of the tears. It’s not exactly my line of work, but what the hell--heck, what the heck?” He corrects himself with a cringe of embarrassment, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind all that much as he peeks out from beneath the brim of Reigen’s too-large hat in bewilderment. “Why don’t we start with a name, huh? Since you barged in here and demanded I help you out.”

The boy blinks, and a little light returns to his dark gaze. “Oh, my brother’s name is Shigeo,” he says, a little breathless, like he’s still processing the fact that he’s finally receiving the help he’s been searching for.

“Well, I was talking about your name, but that’s important, too,” Reigen corrects, flashing the boy an amused smile.

The boy flinches, and immediately the bewilderment is gone, replaced by a childish little pout that’s probably meant to be angry but comes across more endearing instead. Endearing… god, what is wrong with me today? Reigen berates himself. He’s in way over his head. “Kageyama Ritsu,” the boy replies stiffly, clearly embarrassed and attempting to hide it behind a stubborn frown.

Reigen moves over to his desk and flips his pad open to a new page, retrieving a pen and starting to jot down the two names. There will be lots of details to gather, still, but for now he’ll stick to the basics. Once he’s written down the two names and started to organize his messy thoughts, he gestures Ritsu over to sit in the chair across from him. He sets his pen down and clasps his hands in front of him on the desk, putting on his business face. “Alright, then, Ritsu, let’s talk.”

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #kageyama ritsu #kageyama shigeo #fanfiction #mp100 fanfic #serendipitousfics #im posting this to escape the vore conversation ghpgihpgohigpi #gift fic

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sf-akahana · 5 years

Text

B Support (snzfic)

Fi//re Em//blem 3 Houses fic based of Dorothea's B support with Byleth. This is written from Dorothea's perspective and I copied the lines straight from how it's written in game, so you might want to watch both the female and male version of that conversation if the dialog reads a little stiff sorry. The voice acting in both English and Japanese is good anyway so I suggest it. I purposefully used gender neutral pronouns so you can pick which ever version on Byleth you prefer. Hope you enjoy my frantic 5am thirst ramblings

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

I can’t help but grumble a bit to myself as I reread the notes from today’s lecture; even though I wrote everything down it feels like I didn’t retain any of it. It’s not my fault though, Professor Byleth’s just so distracting! How am I supposed to focus on what they’re saying when they’re looking at me like that?! I heave a heavy sigh and try to focus my attention back on the lesson, when I’m interrupted by a familiar monotone voice.

“What’s wrong?”

I whip around in surprise - speak of the devil. There they are with their blank expression and piercing gaze, and as our eyes meet I already start to feel my ears heat up. Dammit.

“Professor?! I – Oh… don’t worry. It’s nothing.”

They quietly accept my answer and seemingly wait for me to go back to my work. Under normal circumstances I would have appreciated it, but honestly this is getting ridiculous. I can’t be constantly distracted by my own teacher; I have to find a way around this or else there’s no reason for me to be here!! I take a second to gather my thoughts before I meet their eyes again.

“Actually, could we talk for a bit? Somewhere a little more...private?”

I work hard to come across as sincere as possible; it’s too easy to let flirtation slip into a question like that and get brushed off. Their expression barely changes, little more than raising their eyebrows, but it’s enough that I know they understood. I don’t bother to wait for an answer as I turn around and walk out the dinning hall towards the first floor dorm rooms. Not long after a set of footsteps click on the stone pathway just behind me. I use the silence of our walk to come up with a good way to start this conversation, but by the time we close my bedroom door behind us I still don’t have the right words. We stand facing each other saying nothing for a few moments before I decide to throw caution to the wind.

“I’m just gonna come right out and say it. I find you a little difficult to be around. I know, I know. I’m your student and you’re just trying to watch out for me. But the way you look at me sometimes… it’s like you’re seeing right through me.”

The change in their expression is again subtle, but I’ve always been pretty good at reading others. They’re a person of few words, and I can see the gears turning in their head as they carefully choose the right ones.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I know you don’t mean anything bad by it. I’m just self-conscious, I guess. The thing is, I don’t have anything to call my own. No land, no birthright, no fortune. Little knowledge or battle skill. I think that’s why I always clung to my popularity as a diva. Even after leaving the stage behind, I sort of kept up the act. When I look at you, it’s like your eyes are accusing me… Telling me that you see right through it. That’s what I mean when I say it’s difficult to be around you.”

I didn’t mean to get so personal with the professor and to dump all my baggage on them, but now that I’ve started I just can’t stop. And of course, they just stand their quietly and let me ramble uninterrupted. I take a deep breath and meet their piercing eyes again, the heat moving from my ears to my cheeks as an idea forms in my head.

“Hey, uh, this might be nuts, but maybe you could show me some kind of weakness of yours?”

“Excuse me?” Their eyes immediately widen in shock, and though not as much as other people this is the most expression I’ve gotten this whole conversation. The reaction gives me a little confidence as I continue on with my silly request.

“You know my biggest fear. If I know one of yours, maybe I’ll feel less, I don’t know… vulnerable.”

They look pensive for a moment, hesitation clear to see as they seemingly way the pros and cons. I’m not oblivious as to how showing a student your weakness could be uncomfortable or embarrassing, but honestly that’s what I’m going for. Anything to humanize them.

“Well, if it would really help...”

“Excellent. Well then, don’t mind me.” Just as they promised they wait patiently as I quickly try to think of something to get a reaction out of them. Something ridiculously human, something involuntary. Tickling maybe? Though they are wearing a lot of clothing, they might be able to endure it. The only thing exposed is their...face - that’s perfect!! I couldn’t quite help my grin as I fiddled through my gift drawer. Right on top was a pretty white owl feather, the very same one Professor Byleth gave me for my birthday over tea not but a few weeks ago. I’ve been meaning to sew into into my cap, but now I’m glad I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I have to keep myself from skipping back across the room as I hold up the feather just above their beautifully pointed nose.

“Is this still ok, Professor?” With a small look of reluctance, they take a deep breath and nod their head. Though there’s no color across their cheeks, their eyes drift away from mine as I tip their chin back slightly, and I will happily take that as a show of embarrassment at this oddly intimate act. From this angle it was hard not to notice Byleth’s beautiful skin and perfect jaw, but then no ever one said the professor isn’t attractive. I take a deep breath of my own before stealing my nerves and starting on my work.

The first touch of the feather to their upturned nose gets little reaction, but I’m in no hurry right now. I take my time tickling around the nostrils and up the septum. It’s almost mesmerizing watching the muscles around the nose tick slightly at the sensation, a little scrunch of the nose here and a shallow sniff there. Soon their nostrils are flushed pink under the attention of the feather, Byleth’s eyes squinting up at the ceiling and their arms crossed tightly across their chest to deal with the itch. It’s only then that I decide it’s time to get the real reaction I’m looking for.

As I ease the feather slowly into their left nostril their nose immediately scrunches up, a gasp muffled through their teeth and a visible shudder tensing their shoulders. I can feel my grin stretch across my face; this is exactly what I’m looking for. It makes me feel in control, a little sadistic even. I keep my fingers underneath their chin as I twirl the tickly tool deeper into their nostril, the tip of the feather brushing lightly against their sinuses, and soon I’m treated by their first desperate sound; a little whine as their nostrils flare out trying to escape the tickling. I’m treated to more gasps and soft noises as I continue to tease the sensitive spot I found, and it isn’t long until Byleth is hitching in earnest.

“ah! hihh...hhIh-hIHh!! ehh-hIH!”

They’re shoulders are tensed up so they don’t jerk away from me and their hands have moved from their chest to hovering just below mine, ready to catch the sneezes when I finally bring it out of them. Though it seems they were too impatient to wait for me to finish it, as a sharp sniff triggeres a desperate breath in preparation for the fit. They quickly pushed my hands away and back up a few steps, though to my delight they don’t obscure their face as they finally tip over the edge.

“hhHIHHHhh- AT’chuhh!! A’tchh! ‘tchuh! hehh’eTCHhu!! hiih...hEH! ATCHhhu!! snff snf...”

Byleth pulls a nice handkerchief out of their coat as the fit comes to an end, and I stand pink cheeked and a little speechless as they clean themselves up. Weirdly enough I’ll say I’m even a bit starstruck. Usually a display so dramatic and impolite would take away from one’s attractiveness, but under these circumstances I can honestly say that it kind of has the opposite effect. I quickly shake out of my thoughts as they clear their nose a final time, and my grin quickly spreads over my face once more.

“Goddess’ blessings, wow Professor that was dramatic. I don’t mind though, you have pretty cute sneezes. Next time you gaze into my soul, I know just how I’ll retaliate!” I can’t help but giggle as I tease them a little, hoping to get just one more reaction out of them. Byleth just smiles slightly though and doesn’t rise to my bait, no pink cheeks or nothing. I let myself pout.

“Come on! I thought that was funny. I swear it’s like your heart isn’t even beating.” Without missing a beat and with a completely black expression, they come back with-

“Actually, my heart isn’t beating.”

“Ha, don’t be so silly… Huh? It really isn’t beating?! - Is what I’d say if I were more gullible. You’re just fooling around, Professor. I’m not sure how you did it, but that was a good one.”

___________________________________

| |

| Byleth and Dorothea’s |

| support level is now B! |

| Their motivation has also increased. |

|___________________________________|

#sneezefic #snzfic #sneeze kink

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fandomblues · 6 years

Text

Hallucinations; ii [Bucky Barnes]

Fandom ; Marvel Comics/MCU

Pairings ; Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary ; You failed to heed Bucky’s warning about the strange mirrors and have a hallucination mid-mission about the life you always wanted with Bucky.

Warning(s) ; swearing, brief mentions of sexual intercourse

Word Count ; 2.5k+

Author’s Note ; Here it is! I hope you guys enjoy this; I was super into writing this and I literally could not stop! There will definitely be a part 3, and depending how long it is, I might extend it to 4 parts if I’m able to. Thanks for the support and shoot me an ask or message if you would like to be added to any of my taglists! I also know that I haven’t written a Billy Hargrove fic in something like 3 months, and trust me, there will definitely be one coming out next week. Enjoy xx

read part one here

masterlist

Bucky was too suspicious about the room you two were in. It was clearly harmless. The only abnormal thing about it was its creepiness. Every corner you faced, you could see your reflection staring back at you. You stood behind him, arms folded as you watched your partner tilt his head here and there at every angle at his own reflection.

You sighed. "What are you doing, Bucky?" you asked, folding your arms across your chest as you kept your eyes trained on your partner.

"I saw something," Bucky replied simply. But no matter how hard Bucky squinted or how much he moved his head or stared into the mirror, nothing happened. It wasn't a surprise. He was being too suspicious. You, on the other hand, were more laid back and casual. You took things lightly and while that was a good trait to have in general, it also meant you were often gullible and susceptible to enemy attacks because you weren't always at attention.

Bucky grumbled and cursed to himself as he readjusted his grip on his gun and you sighed, rolling your eyes as you approached him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, pulling him round to face you.

"Hey, are you alright? Bucky, let's just go. It's obviously all clear," you stated. But as you stared at your partner, you noticed something off. Bucky was still in his usual stance, gun held in his hands and shoulders squared and tense, but there was a dazed look in his eyes.

You frowned, waving your hand in front of his face, but he remained void of emotion, simply staring at you. "Hello? Anybody in?" you questioned, snapping your fingers in front of his face.

Bucky's eyes remained trained on you. There seemed to be a faraway look in his eyes. He was physically present, but clearly not mentally. You scratched your head, looking around worriedly before turning back to your friend, shaking his shoulder vigorously once again.

"Buck? Are you okay?"

The question was redundant because Bucky remained in the same dazed state. It was weird. He seemed perfectly fine, and in a split second his mental state seemed to have travelled to another world, leaving only his physical self behind.

You remained patient, waiting for several more minutes. But nothing happened. He just stood there, gun in hand, staring down at you. You were getting increasingly worried by the second.

Should I call Tony? Get some backup? Or just wait? Has this happened before? Fuck, I don't know what to do. Maybe he's hurt. Should I get some help?

A multitude of questions were running through your head as panic slowly started setting in.

Not Bucky. Bucky can't be hurt.

You latched onto Bucky's shoulders, shaking him vigorously one last time. You brought your fingers up to his face and snapped them several times.

Just like that, the dazed look snapped out of him.

Bucky blinked a few times, trying to recover and he shook his head as if he were sleepy. You heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that he seemed alright.

"Bucky, are you okay? You zoned out for a second there. Care to tell me what the heck just happened?" you demanded as your wrapped your arms around him for a quick hug.

You took note of how he stiffened up when you hugged him, but you brushed it off without prying. You had noticed before how he always seemed to become tense when you touched him. You never gave much thought to it, but recently, it had been on your mind much more than you would like.

Bucky gazed down at you and you noted how his eyebrows pulled down in a confused frown, his pupils dilating as he stared at you. He seemed lost, as if he wasn't quite sure where he was or what had happened or even who he was.

"Bucky? Are you feeling okay? Talk to me, please," you breathed out, grabbing onto the sides of his arms and jerking him once again.

Bucky cleared his throat and blinked a few times. He looked way too bewildered.

"Uh yeah, I'm fine, Y/N," he muttered, looking around, obviously confused. You watched him curiously as you followed his gaze as he glanced throughout the room with obvious weariness in his eyes.

"Bucky? Is there something you need to tell me?" you asked him again. "You look really scared."

Bucky gulped as he shook his head, refuting his gaze back to you. "Just watch out for the mirrors, Y/N. It must've messed with my mind," he gritted out. He sighed heavily as he shook your arms off, stepping forward as he moved away from you.

"Let's just head back downstairs. This room gives me the creeps."

You cocked your head to the side as your eyes settled on your reflection on the mirrors on your left. You looked over yourself, frowning as you failed to identify anything wrong with them.

"Buck, what are you talking about? There's nothing wrong."

You turned around to follow him back out but you froze in your tracks, sucking in a breath as your throat became tight.

What the fuck.

Bucky stood in front of you, alright, but that certainly wasn't... Bucky. He didn't have his long flowy locks, neither was he latched on to his precious rifle or suited up in his mission gear. Instead, he seemed to have traded his clothes for a stylish navy blue bomber jacket, a simple tee and casual jeans.

His brown locks, now shorter, was slicked back stylishly, but still remained fluffy and voluminous. His beard had vanished, and he was replaced with his clean shaven self. You also noticed that he seemed visibly younger. And less stressed. He had a laidback vibe to him but still seemed very confident and authoritative; a lad who knew how to have fun when he wanted to.

You mouth gaped open and you stared at Bucky with wide eyes. He was definitely a sight for sore eyes. Under normal circumstances, you would have coddled up to him, but this was mid-mission, and this was not real. Bucky had a wide grin on his face, but the moment he saw your expression, his smile dropped.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay?”

You sucked in a breath as your shocked expression failed to disappear, and you kept your eyes on the man in front of you. Your hand flew up to your forehead and you felt your skin to make sure you weren't feverish. You were definitely seeing things.

"Doll, you feeling alright?" Bucky asked again, frowning deeply. You blinked a few times, cheeks slowly beginning to burn red at his nickname for you, and you looked around the room, puzzled as you took in your surroundings. You were in an ordinary house, with ordinary furniture and an ordinary vibe. It was cosy enough, with quaint sand-coloured sitting chairs and furniture and polished, brown planks laid down on the floor. Lush greenery hung from the ceiling on the balcony on your left and as your eyes swept across the room, your gaze settled on a few picture frames sitting on a cabinet near the front door.

You squinted to get a better look, and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you made out the figures in the photographs. In each of the three picture frames, clearly displayed, was you and Bucky in various settings. In one, Bucky had his arms wrapped around you from behind. Your head was titled back as you laughed wildly, Bucky staring down at you with a similar goofy grin on his face. In another, you two seemed to be at a carnival, as it showed both of you standing together in front of a grand ferris wheel. The last one seemed to be a simple selfie that was taken by Bucky; his arm was wrapped around your shoulders as both of you grinned into the camera.

You jaw nearly dropped to the ground and your hand flew to your mouth in shock. What the hell was even going on?

Bucky followed your gaze to the photographs in confusion before he turned to look back at you, his head tilting in curiosity. "Y/N?" he called again. You brought your attention back to Bucky, shaking your head vigorously.

"What the hell is going on Bucky? Is this a prank or am I just going crazy or what?" you demanded. Bucky stayed silent for a second before he doubled over in laughter. You, on the other hand, remained addled as you watched your partner suffer from a laughing attack. "What's so funny?" you squealed, foot stomping down in a little tantrum.

Bucky let out a few more chuckles, shaking his head. "Come on, let's go, no more joking around. We're going to be late. We don't want to miss the queue," he said as he grabbed your hand and dragged you to the front door. Your skin immediately got tingles from his touch, but you forced yourself to yank your hand away, obviously confusing the heck out of Bucky.

"Hey, are you alright? What's gotten into you?"

You shook you head, looking around the house in a panic once again. "Where are we? What happened?"

As you frantically looked around the house, your vision fell on a mirror near the door and what Bucky had been telling you before immediately came flooding back to you.

Just watch out for the mirrors, Y/N. It must've messed with my mind.

Messed with his mind? Is that what he meant? Was he seeing this weird ass shit too before?

You focused your sight back on Bucky, who stood still, staring at you in obvious concern. You both stared each other down for several seconds, before you broke the tense silence with a nervous giggle. "I was just messing with you, Buck," you lied as you went up and nudged his arm playfully. Bucky immediately relaxed, laughing along with you.

"Good god, I was so worried for a second there. You're always making me so worried about you," he laughed. He proceeded to grab his keys from a little dish on the cabinet before he swung his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close as both of you stumbled out the door and into the corridor. He sure smelled nice, and your closeness made you blush deeply.

Were you and Bucky together? Is that what this was? And what all the pictures were for? You had too many questions that were remaining unanswered.

Bucky and you made your way over to the elevator and while waiting for it to reach your floor, your attention was brought to what you were wearing this time. You had on a sheer floral dress that reached just below your knees and some interesting cowboy-style boots. Your dress was sleeveless, but your shoulders and arms were covered up with a casual denim jacket. Bucky had removed his arm from your shoulders since you two left the apartment, and he had taken to holding your hand instead. He was mindlessly scrolling through his phone with his other hand, both of you waiting in silence as his fingers toyed with yours.

"Hey, look at this."

As Bucky brought his phone over to show you whatever video he had found on instagram, you caught sight of something too different; something you should have noticed at first.

“What happened to your fucking arm?” you practically screeched.

The hand that was wrapped around his phone was perfectly intact and lacked the glimmer that the vibranium usually gave off. As you felt up Bucky’s left arm, the only thing you were able to identify was the feeling of skin under the sleeve of his jacket. No metal. It was just pure, normal, human muscle. He pulled away, looking at you like you had three heads; it was clear as day, Bucky had no prosthetic limbs. He was fine.

“My arm? What about it?”

Bucky glanced down at his left arm, which was obviously perfectly fine. Your lips parted as you watched his every move, and you realised that your random outbursts were arousing too many suspicions and concerns in Bucky 2.0.

You shook your head as your brought your hand up to rub your eyes. “Uh, sorry. I’m just sleepy. I didn’t have a good sleep last night,” you fibbed, hoping to draw attention away from your strange questions. Bucky looked at you, cocking an eyebrow as a mischievous grin stretched across his face.

“You had a bad sleep? Sounds like I didn’t go hard enough,” he teased, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your cheek playfully. You coughed, red immediately spreading through your cheeks as you caught wind of what he was trying to say. As he said that, a fuzzy picture popped up in your mind. It wasn’t clear, and a strange memory from supposedly the night before seemed to come in bits and pieces but you could clearly make out Bucky’s face as he entered you again and again. You could almost feel him inside you.

You squirmed, letting out a shaky breath as you smiled at your boyfriend nervously. “Aha... maybe you should go harder next time,” you said hesitantly, unsure of how appropriate your comment was going to be. Bucky laughed, smooching you sloppily on your cheek. “Scream louder next time and I will.”

The elevator dinged, and both of you sauntered in and Bucky hit the button for the ground floor. You let go of his hand and faced the back of the lift, staring at your reflection in the elevator mirror. Bucky was clearly physically different, but you seemed more or less the same. The elevator ride seemed to take forever though the both of you remained in comfortable silence. It was always like that with Bucky; neither of you needed to talk in order to make it any less awkward. Both of you quite enjoyed the quiet.

The elevator hit the ground floor and you whirled around to step out, but just like that, you found yourself no longer in the environment of a normal life. Bucky no longer had short hair or a jacket, and he most certainly was no longer your boyfriend.

Instead, you found yourself sprawled on the floor, body propped up by your mission partner’s arm as he stared intently into your eyes. Worry was evident in them and as you seemed to snap out of whatever dream or vision you were having, his eyes lit up and he sighed heavily in relief.

“There you are, doll. Are you feeling alright?” he queried as he assisted you in sitting up. That darned nickname. You shook your head sleepily, eyes screwing shut as your frantically tried your best to reach out and secure a memory of whatever you had just experienced. “What the hell was that?” you mumbled sleepily, arms gripping onto Bucky as you stumbled onto your feet.

Bucky helped you to rise and he stared at you, seemingly guilty.

“So, it happened to you too?”

| TAGS |

@slender--spirit

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thebloggerbloggerfun · 7 years

Text

Something about Fate

Dean decides to go to a new psychic in town - just for the hell of it, of course - with his roommate Castiel, and doesn't get the reading he was expecting.

~5.2k

AO3

“Hey, Cas, have you ever been to a psychic?”

Dean watched as Castiel looked up from his book with his eyebrows pinched together.

“No.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged.

“Garth texted me. Apparently there’s one in town that he went to yesterday and he’s obsessed. He said she really knows her stuff.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the textbook he had sprawled across their kitchen counter, so he could eat and study at the same time - a sight that was not all that uncommon in their apartment.

“Psychics don’t exists, Dean,” he said, matter-of-factly, as he turned the page. “People who claim to be psychic are scammers hoping to draw in the desperate or the gullible. Garth is the latter, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, he’s not -”

“Remember when Gabriel told him that stop signs with a white rim around them were optional?”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out a stool on the opposite side of the counter from his roommate.

“Duh, Cas. I know that they aren’t legit. Everyone does. But at the very least they’re supposed to be super good at reading people and then you essentially pay them to tell you what their first impression of you is.”

A small smile crept its way across Castiel’s face.

“I could tell you that for free, you know.”

Dean flipped him off as he got up and pulled out an apple from the refrigerator, not even bothering to look back as he did so.

“Whatever. I think it could be kind of cool.”

“Then by all means...” Castiel wrote something down in a notepad and flipped to the next page. “I think you should do it. I have free time tomorrow if you’d like to find this psychic then.”

Dean tossed the apple between his hands.

“You’d come with me?”

“Of course. I would never miss the opportunity to witness someone predicting your death.”

Castiel laughed as Dean flipped him off again.

***

Dean parked at a McDonald's a block down from where his navigation app told him the psychic’s shop should be. He didn’t want Pam - the name Garth told him she went by - to be able to glean anything from the car he drove. Just in case.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” Castiel asked, keeping in perfect step next to Dean.

“I don’t know,” Dean said honestly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s like - haven’t you ever been curious about this stuff?”

“No.”

Dean nudged Castiel as they walked, unsuccessfully trying to get him to walk into a fire hydrant.

“Well, I am. All that mystical, supernatural mumbo jumbo - I think it’s kind of cool.”

Dean cleared his throat when he saw Castiel side-eyeing him.

“Again, I don’t believe in it. I’m just curious.”

“Alright,” Castiel said, failing to hide a smile.

They stopped outside of a small shop tucked between a tattoo parlor and a shady-looking law firm. On the window, painted in bright red lettering, was “Madame Pamela - Psychic Extraordinaire and Teller of Fortunes”.

The window above the door was shattered, as though a rock had been thrown through - but then again, this wasn’t the most pristine part of town.

“You’re sure about this?” Castiel asked, staring at the broken window.

Dean only winked and opened the door.

Inside, the smell of incense hit him like a punch to the face. The scent was almost overwhelming, but no more than he should have expected at a fortune teller’s shop.

A few trinkets were hung from the ceiling in various patterns down a cramped hallway, and the lights were kept as dim as they could be in the middle of the day.

“Are you here for a session with Madame Pamela?”

Dean looked over at a small desk at the end of the hallway, where a petite redhead was sitting with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Uh, yep. Sure am,” he said, walking further down.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Um...” Dean looked over at Castiel who shrugged. “No. I didn’t know I needed one.”

“That’s alright.” The redhead quickly flipped through a small notebook and smiled. “Madame Pamela has an unusually empty day today, so we could fit you in right now if you’d like.”

Dean ignored Castiel’s snort of derision.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect.” The redhead looked back up and smiled pleasantly, also seemingly ignoring Castiel. “It will be forty dollars for a fifteen minute session. Will that be cash or credit?”

Dean bit back his exclamation of surprise and pulled out forty dollars in cash from his wallet.

He was starting to get the feeling that this wasn’t going to be as worth it as he’d first thought.

“Whenever you’re ready, feel free to enter through the door to your right.”

Dean blinked, only just noticing the door that was on the left-hand side of the hallway, with a small white bench just beside it.

“Oh. Okay. Do you want to tell her I’m here, or -”

The redhead smiled.

“She knows.”

“Oookay.” Dean looked over at Castiel who had sat himself on the bench next to the door. “Are you coming in?”

“I don’t want to distract her with my presence.” Castiel said, pulling out a small book from his bag. “You go in. I’ll be here.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and pulled open the door.

This room was much bigger than the hallway they’d entered through, and had a curtain of dangling beads that Dean had to part before he could see the interior. It was softly lit with flickering candles; curtains covered the large painted window, and a rounded table in the shape of a crescent moon was in the center with a blue tablecloth covering it to the floor. On the other side of the table was a woman with brown hair and sunglasses, looking as un-fortune teller as Dean could possibly imagine. Instead of the stereotypical robes or whatever that he’d been expecting, he was instead looking at a woman in jeans and a tank top, shuffling cards over the table.

“Welcome, hun. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get started.”

“You’re the psychic?” Dean asked, suddenly wondering if this was all an elaborate trick.

“Sure am.” She gestured towards the seat in front of the table with a quick little upward tilt of her chin. “Sit down and I’ll prove it.”

Dean licked his lips and hesitantly seated himself down on the single chair. He fidgeted under the stare he could feel behind the sunglasses she was wearing.

“So, what kind of visit are you hoping for, handsome?” she asked, smiling politely as the sound of shuffling cards filled the room.

“Uh -”

“Career, school, wealth, love -” Pamela tilted her head and paused her shuffling. “Why did you bring your lover, only to have them wait outside?”

Dean frowned.

“Uh, I didn’t bring a… lover.”

Pamela nodded in understanding. “Right, right, of course. Excuse me, sometimes I mix up the present and future tense of the information I glean from clients.”

Dean sat back in the chair, squinting in confusion. Was this her way to throw him off - to read his reactions, or something?

“Cas and I… would never date,” Dean said, folding his arms against his chest.

It was true. Sure, he and Cas had been paired together as roommates during their freshman year and had gotten along just fine ever since, but that didn’t mean they would be lovers. Cas was too… Cas. Besides the fact that he didn’t know which way Cas swung, they were too different. From two totally separate walks of life.

It could never work.

Not that he’d ever thought about it.

Pamela smiled and fanned the deck of cards out evenly across the table in a swift, efficient gesture, and tapped the center of the table.

“If you wish to test Fate, then pick a card while thinking about your… not lover, then,” she said, crossing her hands in front of herself.

Dean chewed on his lower lip and studied the cards.

They were a rich gold color with a hint of blue interwoven on the backs - a blue that vaguely reminded him of Castiel’s eyes.

With a huff, Dean picked a card in the middle of the left-hand side of the deck and flipped it over, revealing a naked man and woman standing beneath a bright sun and angelic figure.

Written in fluid writing just below the artwork was “The Lovers”.

“There you have it.” Pamela grinned. “Even a blind woman like myself can see that you two can’t fight fate.”

“Bullshit.” Dean tossed the card in front of her. “This is rigged. They’re probably all the same card... and you’re probably not blind.” He almost regretted the words as soon as he'd spoken them, but he felt angry and defensive, and he shrugged off his doubts. The psychic was just having fun with him.

Pamela shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in her chair. “Pick another card, then. Actually, pick two more. Then I can really do a reading.”

Dean scowled and picked one on the right-hand side of the deck, and the farthest left card, revealing what looked like a man and a woman exchanging goblets, and a figure sitting blindfolded in a chair while holding two swords across their chest.

“The Two of Cups and the Two of Swords.”

Pamela took the two cards from Dean’s hand and set them on each side of the previous card that he chose.

“Most people can’t run from fate, hun. You have one card that symbolizes love and partnership - a romantic union between two people -” She said, tapping on the two of cups, “- and one that is the epitome of a balanced and beautiful relationship. Fate has spoken.”

“I think Fate’s a little confused,” Dean said, then pointed at the card with the swords. “So, what about that one? It doesn’t look lovey dovey to me.”

“Well, that’s what makes this reading interesting.” Pamela held up the card and expertly spun it around in her hands a few times. “The man you brought with you - what’s his name?”

“You don’t know?” Dean retorted, feeling a little smug.

“It’s not something the universe wants to reveal to me, kid. But I am getting something -” She paused, taking the card and holding it up to her forehead. “- angelic?”

“His name is James,” Dean said bluntly, though he could already hear Castiel’s memorized speech about the Angel of Thursday in his mind.

Pamela hummed as though she wasn’t convinced.

“Anyway, I can sense that the man you brought with you is fated to be… let’s call him your soulmate. For lack of a better word.” Pamela placed the card between the other two. “Fate is doing all it can to bring the two of you together - so don’t be surprised when it feels like the universe is setting things up. But ultimately, the choice is up to you.”

She ran a finger down the middle of the figure holding the swords.

“The Two of Swords. The card of decisions. This tells me that there will come a time where you’ll have to make a choice about how you feel. A yes -”

Pamela held the card back up in front of Dean’s line of sight.

“- or a no.”

The card vanished with a twist of her wrist.

This had not been the reading that Dean had wanted. He’d expected to get some shit about school or maybe about some girls or whatever, but about Cas? No, this had passed well into the realm of ridiculous and had hit Dean’s threshold for bullshit.

“I choose ‘no’.” Dean stood abruptly and nodded his head once. “Thanks for the reading, but I have to get going.”

Pamela shrugged her shoulders and began gathering up the cards.

“You know the way out.”

Dean paused, waiting to see if she was going to say any last words - but when only the sound of silence was heard, he tugged the door open and shut it behind him.

Castiel looked up and replaced his bookmark.

“That was fast.”

“C’mon,” Dean muttered, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and waited for Castiel to open the door for him.

Castiel frowned as they walked out the door and back down the street.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah...” Dean shrugged his shoulders and attempted a smile. “You were right.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“About what?”

Dean nudged him playfully with his shoulder.

“It’s all bullshit.”

Dean glanced over when Castiel’s ‘I-told-you-so’ hum turned into a sound of confusion. In his hand was a tarot card, decorated in gold and blue trim.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Dean asked, snatching it from his friend’s hand.

“It was in my pocket.”

Dean turned it over to see the figures of the The Lovers staring back at him - mocking him.

“Do you know what it’s supposed to mean?” Castiel asked curiously, tilting his head as Dean stared.

“Nope.”

Dean tore the card down the middle and tossed the pieces into the nearest trash.

***

“Jesus, who’s yelling?”

Dean winced as he and Castiel began to pass an apartment complex after their psych test, where the sound of an argument from one of the top floors just above them began rising in volume.

“You know what? No! I’m done! Take your flowers, take your apology, and you can shove it all up… up where the sun don’t shine, you hear?”

Castiel gripped his textbooks tightly against his chest and made a face at Dean.

They paused, listening to the lower voice mumble something in response before-

“Leave! I said leave! I - I deserve better than you, Doug! I’ve learned that much.”

Dean raised a fist and gave an impressed nod to no one in particular.

There was a few moments of silence before a door slammed and a man in a police uniform began trudging down the stairs with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, not even bothering to look up when he passed the two of them.

Dean whistled.

“Damn, I hope I never piss off -”

“I said to take your flowers!”

They looked up as a blonde woman leaned out the window above them, gripping a large bouquet of red roses, before tossing them forward and slamming the window shut behind her.

“Whoa, look out!”

Dean made a grab for them as the bundle fell directly towards Castiel’s face, and managed to catch them before impact.

Castiel blinked and shifted his books to rest over his heart.

“My hero.”

Dean made a face and studied the flowers. They were a, naturally, a little wilted, but a pretty expensive looking bouquet nonetheless. Whatever this Doug had done must have been pretty bad if the woman was refusing these.

He looked up when he heard Castiel chuckling.

“What?”

“It’s just -” Castiel shook his head. “Looks like you’re next to get married.”

Dean stared at the bouquet and dropped it onto the cement like it was a hot iron.

“Please,” Dean said with an eyeroll and picked up the pace again. “I’m never getting married.”

There was a brief pause before Castiel jogged to catch up with him.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, trying his best to forget about that damn Two of Swords from a few days ago. “Why tie yourself down to one person forever, you know?”

He looked over to see Castiel frowning ever-so-slightly.

“What about you? You gonna get married?”

Castiel shrugged. “If I find the right person.”

Dean hummed and cleared his throat, letting his mind wander briefly to what it would be like married to Castiel. They already lived together so that wouldn’t change, but they’d each have a ring on their fingers and they would be able to -

That train of thought screeched to a halt, before it could run out of control.

Damn that psychic, Dean thought, shaking his head. He wouldn't even have entertained the thought, if she hadn’t put it in there in the first place.

“Do you believe in all that stuff? Like soulmates or whatever?” he asked, hoping to hear a loud and resounding “no” to put his mind at ease.

“I don’t know,” Castiel murmured, staring at his feet. “I believe that statistically, if one were to do the math, there would have to be one person on the planet that you would be the most compatible with - in regard to habits, love language, and DNA. So, scientifically, a perfect match might exist.”

Dean nudged him again.

“You believe in soulmates,” he said in a teasing voice.

“You believe in psychics,” Castiel shot back, shoving him forwards.

Dean rolled his eyes and brushed himself off.

“No, I don’t,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “They’re all fake.”

He turned back around to find that Castiel had backtracked and was now picking up the bouquet of roses from where Dean had dropped them a few yards back.

He had them grasped in front of him and strode forwards, almost a perfect picture of what he imagined a bride would do on her wedding day.

“Seemed a shame to leave them.” Castiel said, bringing them close to his nose and inhaling deeply, eyes closed like a freaking Disney princess.

Dean caught himself staring. Had he really never noticed how handsome Cas was?

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, turning back around. “Just don’t expect me to water them.”

***

The worst part about going to that psychic was the aftermath of it.

No matter what he did, Dean couldn’t escape the thoughts that Pamela had planted in his mind.

Fate.

Lovers.

Soulmates.

As much as he didn’t believe any of that bullcrap, he now had Castiel tied to it in his memory. He began to notice little things about him that he hadn’t noticed before.

When Castiel fell asleep on the couch, Dean could see his eyelashes barely flutter as he dreamed.

When Castiel laughed, his nose crinkled to match the lines that usually framed his eyes.

When Castiel was deep in thought, his lips pursed adorably.

What if they did date?

Dean would get to kiss those lips.

But was that even something that he wanted? Did he want to kiss Cas? Would he even be thinking about all of this if it hadn’t been for Pamela?

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean blinked and quickly brought himself mentally back to the diner, where he and Cas were ordering.

“What?”

Castiel frowned.

“You were staring at me for like a minute. Do I have something on my face?”

Dean flushed and brought the menu up to his face to hide it.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you.”

“Hmmm.” Castiel chewed on his lower lip as he stared at the menu. “Shame Sam couldn’t make it tonight.”

Dean shrugged. “That’s what getting a girlfriend does to you, I guess.”

The waitress was a perky brunette who left with their beverage order - because Dean wasn’t quite ready to order his food, seeing as he’d been apparently staring at Cas instead of his menu - but not before giving Castiel a flirtatious wink.

Dean’s mood instantly soured.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he muttered. “When she gets back, just tell her I want biggest burger they have.”

He moved to get up, but stopped when Castiel’s hand rested on his arm.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and his head tilted endearingly. “You’ve been… not yourself, recently.”

“M’fine, Cas,” he said, forcing a smile and moving his arm out of his grasp. “Just gotta pee.”

Dean spent a good two minutes just staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to get himself to focus. He’d been so out of it since his trip to the psychic that if he believed in magic, he might think that she’d cursed him.

Dean knew that he liked dudes.

It was just a fact.

When it came to who he dated, guy or girl, didn’t really matter to him.

But this was Cas.

Sure, he was a reasonably attractive guy, but he also cared about books more than he cared about most people, thought that spinach was a normal food to eat regularly, and on top of all of that, was his best friend and roommate.

Even if Dean was starting to develop feeling for him - which he wasn’t - he would never risk ruining that friendship by making things awkward for them when Cas ultimately rejected him.

This was all hypothetical, of course.

Because Dean and Castiel were not ever going to be lovers.

Dean ran a hand through his hair once and took a deep breath before he made his way back out towards their table. Castiel was apparently already tucking into the burger and salad he’d ordered, and Dean nearly tripped when he got close enough to their table to get a good look at his own giant burger.

“Your shoelace is untied,” Castiel said, wiping at his mouth with a napkin.

Sure enough, the laces that he’d haphazardly tucked into the sides of his shoes without even bothering to tie them had slipped out and tried to kill him.

“I just can’t win today,” Dean said with a sigh, and bent down to shove the laces back into their proper place.

Almost immediately, shouts and whoops started echoing throughout the diner, beginning close to the table he was kneeling in front of, until it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“What -” Dean said, cutting himself off when he looked up to see everyone staring at him and clapping with huge smiles on their faces. “I don’t -”

“Say yes!” someone yelled.

It was like a light switch flipped on.

There he was, kneeling in front of Cas, in their favorite restaurant.

“Oh, no -” He shot up and waved his hands as Castiel looked on in amusement. “We’re not - I’m not- this isn’t -”

The talking died down as he shouted over the crowd.

“Misunderstanding! Sorry! We’re not getting married. We’re not even together! Like at all, OK, not even a little bit!” Dean awkwardly sat himself back down at the table and sighed loudly, only to get a raised eyebrow from Castiel.

“Really?”

“What?” Dean asked defensively. “Did you want me to lie?”

“No, but that was -” Castiel dropped his gaze and began stabbing at his salad with his fork, “- excessive.”

“Well, we’re not.” Dean picked up his burger and bit into it aggressively. “Just telling it like it is.”

Castiel stared down at his plate and didn’t say another word to him for the rest of the meal.

***

“Two for the 10:15 showing, please,” Dean said, pointing up at the banner above the ticket window. “Well, one. One for me and then one for him. Seperately.”

He pointed next to him where Castiel was standing.

The kid behind the counter looked up at him and then towards Castiel, his finger hovering above the keyboard.

“So…. did you not want the couple’s night discount, then?”

“Huh? Oh… no, we do,” Dean said, never one to turn down a deal. “But we’re not a couple. Just so you know.”

The kid’s eyes squinted in confusion and Dean sighed.

“Give us the discount, because there’s two of us. I was just letting you know that we’re not together.”

“Oookay, that’ll be-”

“Excuse us for a moment,” interrupted Castiel.

Dean felt a hand grasp him roughly around the wrist and before he knew it, Castiel was dragging him away from the ticket counter and out the theater doors into the parking lot.

“Cas, why are you-”

“What is your problem?” Castiel whirled around once they were out of view of any observers, fists clenched clenched at his side with the most livid expression Dean had ever seen on his face.

“Whoa, hey-”

“You’ve spent a majority of the past month making sure everyone in the city knows that we’re not together.” Castiel stepped forwards and Dean took an instinctive step back. “If there’s even been the smallest hint of that someone might think we’re a couple, you’ve squashed that concept completely. We get it, Dean. The whole world gets it by now.”

Dean shrunk back from the wrath that dripped from Castiel’s words.

“But we’re not a couple,” he muttered.

“I know!” Castiel threw his hands up in exasperation. “Everyone knows! You’ve made sure of that! But you’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be, and having you constantly declare it is childish, and let me tell you - it does not make me feel great, so-”

Castiel jabbed his finger into Dean’s chest with every word.

“What. Is. Your. Problem.”

Dean looked back at the eyes that were usually so friendly but now were glaring daggers, cutting deeper into him the longer he stared.

He looked away.

“Is the idea of dating me really that repulsive to you?”

Castiel’s voice had lost its hard edge and Dean almost wished that he was yelling at him again. Anything was better than hearing how defeated his friend seemed. “Is the idea of people even thinking we're together really so bad?”

Dean took a deep breath and glanced back over at him.

“Cas, I -”

“Don’t.” Castiel shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a physical barrier between the two of them. “I’m going home. Goodnight, Dean.”

“I can -” Dean cleared his throat and jangled his keys when Castiel turned to walk away. “I’ll drive you...”

“I’m walking.”

His tone was final, and all Dean could do was watch him walk away - Pamela’s words echoing in his head.

There will come a time where you’ll have to make a choice about how you feel.

Dean thought he saw Castiel wipe at his face before hunching his shoulders and striding away.

A yes or a no.

Fuck.

***

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala tightly as he sat outside of their apartment complex, wracking his brain for a way to fix this.

The whole point of denying everything was to protect the friendship that he already had with Castiel, and all it had done was tear it apart.

Castiel hated him, he had no doubt about. The fury in his eyes while he’d yelled was worse than anything Dean had seen before - more anger than he thought Castiel was capable of.

The worst part was, Dean had come to realize that everything he’d been trying to deny to himself for a month was a lie.

The idea of dating Cas wasn’t repulsive at all.

It was very, very appealing.

So much so that it scared him.

Dean wasn’t sure when he’d started to feel that way, but it had to have been before the trip to the psychic. Pamela had only sped up the process of facing his feelings.

He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath and heading towards his apartment door.

The lights were already out when he got there, so he quietly shut the door behind him.

Dean found Castiel with a blanket tossed around him, curled into a ball in the corner of the living room couch with his bag propped up in front of him.

“Cas?”

Castiel shifted around, but said nothing.

“Cas, can we talk?”

No response.

Dean exhaled and sat down on the other far corner of the couch, enough to give Castiel space if he wanted it, but close enough to have a conversation.

“So, first off, I’m sorry.”

Dean clasped his hands together tightly and barreled onwards before he psyched himself out.

“I made you feel like shit and I didn’t mean to.”

Still no response from the other side of the couch.

“Remember when we went to that psychic last month?” Dean cleared his throat and stared down at his lap. “While I was in there talking to Pamela, she told me that… like… you and I were going to become lovers. That fate was going to bring us together.”

Castiel looked up, narrowing what looked to be red-rimmed eyes.

“Is that was this is about? Something a so-called psychic told you?”

“Well, yeah.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. “It scared me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Of course she told you that, asshole!” Castiel took the pillow that he’d been resting his head on and threw it at him. “I was there. It was an easy straw to grasp and make believable!”

“I know that now!” Dean dropped his head into his hands.

“Don’t worry. I know you don’t want to date me.” Castiel said, flopping back down. “You’ve made that clear.”

“But…” Dean swallowed. Now or never. Yes or no. “But… I do.”

“... what?”

Dean’s heart was racing a mile a minute as he searched for the right words. The simple ones.

“I want to date you, Cas.” He wrung his hands together tighter. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had already, but since that’s in the pits now anyway, I figure - what the hell. I want to date you. I want to kiss you. I want to be able to point at you and call you my boyfriend and all that cheesy, romantic crap.”

Dean licked his lips and looked over at Castiel, who was now sitting up, staring at him blankly.

“Pamela told me that pretty soon I’d have to make a decision about how I feel. Yes or no. And I tried to put it off, ‘cause I was scared. Obviously that was all bullshit, but - just in case, um, I choose yes.” He cleared his throat. “But, you know. If you don’t feel the same, I get it, and I’ll stop being so weird about everything.”

Castiel stared at him in silence, and Dean could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to catch up with all of the curve balls that had been thrown at him.

Then, ever so slowly, Castiel leaned forwards, only stopping when his face was an inch away from Dean’s, and Dean had ceased breathing.

“You’re an idiot,” Castiel said softly and closed the distance between them.

Dean melted against him almost immediately, letting Castiel continue pressing forwards until Dean's back was against the couch, with Castiel on top of him.

They broke apart just long enough for Castiel to whisper,

“But I choose yes, too.”

Dean couldn't even make a noise; he only stared up into Castiel’s eyes. He'd just been kissed by Castiel. By Castiel. And it had been perfect. He reached up, and wrapped his arms around the small of Castiel’s back.

There was a small thump when Dean dropped his leg down, accidentally kicking something over.

“Shit,” he murmured, a bit breathlessly. “I think that was your bag.”

Castiel glanced towards the sound, looking almost annoyed that something was interrupting them, and nodded.

“Yeah, hold on. My stuff’s everywhere -” He reached over Dean and picked something up from off of the ground, a confused frown on his face.

“This isn’t mine.”

The familiar glint of blue and gold caught Dean’s eye.

In Castiel’s hand was the card with the blindfolded figure.

The Two of Swords.

Dean reached up and plucked it from his fingers, and flung it into a dark corner of the room.

“We make our own fate, Cas.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow in the direction he’d thrown the card, and smirked.

“Sounds good to me.”

#spn #destiel #destiel ficlet #whelvenwings #college au #sometimes i write

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angelguk · 7 years

Text

i could teach you - taeyong scenario - part four

Lee Taeyong - NCT

words - 1.9k

genre - angst / heartbreaker!au

soundtrack - jaymes young, habits of my heart

parts: one / two / three / four

The silence was crushing. It hung hefty between the two of you, only punctuated by the occasional drumming of his fingertips against the timber table. You didn’t raise your eyes to meet the gaze that you could feel crawling over your skin. Every ounce of you attention was focused on the albicant piece of paper he’d placed before you. It’s jagged at the edges, probably torn from some note book and the black scrawl before you reveals his passably neat handwriting. However all that was a moot point when your brain began to read what he’d written.

VOYAGE À CASANOVA

DISCLAIMER!

I, Lee Taeyong, am in no way responsible of any harm whether it may be physical or emotional damage to the recipient of this contract. The recipient takes full responsibility for all his/hers actions and cannot place any blame on myself, Lee Taeyong. The recipient is also aware that may they want to withdraw from this journey they have all rights to do so and I cannot prevent them from doing so. However I have every right to call upon the recipient at any time in order to complete the list of missions I have set out. The recipient cannot refuse my requests and must compile to all orders. If the recipient has read and understood the terms listed they can proceed to sign the contract.

Recipient’s Signature __________________

Below that is a huge elaborate scrawl of black. It was his signature. You could make out a wide T placed within a star and then a scribbled YONG beside it. It looked ludicrous and charming at the same time.

“Are you going to sign it or not?”

You glanced up, gaze meeting an irked Taeyong. His white hair was shoved back into a claret beanie but you could still make out the strands of onyx black hair now bleeding from his scalp. His broad dark eyebrows were furrowed slightly and his eyes held an intrepid look.

“It’s a piece of fucking paper. It’s not even typed out Taeyong.” Your tone was tainted with disdain and you threw him a condescending glare. He raised one perfectly sculpted brow in response.

“I made do with what I could sweetheart. I don’t want you to end up doing some dumb shit and then blaming it on me.” He stopped drumming his fingers and wrapped his porcelain hand around the achromatic coffee mug which now must have cooled considerably. Eyebrows still quirked he regarded scrutinized you, features revealing a haughty look. “Are you going to sign it or not?”

There was a clear challenge in the words that floated out of his mouth. He didn’t expect you to sign the “contract”, especially after the ice-cream scenario. There was still lingering tension between the two of you, evident even in the sparse and infrequent text messages you’d sent each other. When he invited you to coffee today he ended his sentence with a full stop and his punctuation was impeccable. Not something you would expect from a simple bartender. And definitely not something you had expected from someone who had offered to guide you on the path to becoming the ultimate Casanova.

You already knew Taeyong had classified you as the subdued spineless lover who gave up before the fight even began. Just like you had placed him in the category of reckless paramours who dealt with human hearts like used Kleenex. However he was you proving wrong little by little. His nature was meant to make him a charming bastard but he must have some sort of beating heart if he was willing to extend his ‘services’ towards you.

You didn’t want to be predictable either.

“Give me the pen,” You demanded, stretching out you hand to grab the black biro beside his mug. He plucked it out of your reach before you could even clasp your hand around it.

“Woah there sweetie. Are you sure you want to do this? Because there’s no turning back, once you sign it.”

Huffing you shifted to kick his shin swiftly underneath the table. “Don’t speak to me like a child. I understand what I’m signing.”

Firing you a glare he tossed the pen, cursing softly when he reached down to rub his bruised shin.

You gripped the tossed pen, hastily scratching your signature across the assigned space and then slid the paper towards him. Taeyong caught it, glancing down to ensure you’d signed it and then he looked up at you with a glowing grin. The only thing you could place that smile as was feline. Feline and petrifying. All sharp canine teeth that glowed albicant.

His hand was suddenly outstretched before you and you gingerly took it into your own. It’s smooth and radiating heat against you own cold grip. He shook you hand gently, gaze soft but sharp as his eyes lasered into your own.

“Guess we’re in business Ms. Y/LN.” He muttered, slivery voice saturating the air and causing your skin to prickle.

“Oh fuck off Taeyong.”

His rumbling chuckle still rung in your ears even when you left the café.

♡

Being alone in your loft was like breathing in the new sorrow that had swelled and flourished within your chest. The house was silent; no tapping of Jaehyun’s fingertips against his keyboard, no resonance of the kettle boiling because Jaehyun adored chamomile tea and needed it every single waking moment, no sounds of some trivial football match coming out the television amalgamated with Jaehyun’s loud and obnoxious comments. No Jaehyun.

You hated it.

It was like something (rather someone) had come and collected him, sweeping away every trance of his existence but you could still remember, still feel everything even though there was nothing there.

When you’d first moved in together, two years ago, you’d wanted to commemorate your love by literally plastering it against each and every wall. There was pictures of you on nearly every surface. Photographs from the time Jaehyun flew you to Jeju Island for a romantic anniversary holiday. There was one depicting a smiling Jaehyun and you wearing your royal blue graduation gowns and flaunting your new diplomas. Another showed an image of you gazing adoringly in each other’s eyes, not even touching but you could see the spark that flowed from him to you. The spark that had welded you together.

Where had you gone wrong? What had you said wrong? What did you do wrong?

Despite Taeyong’s attempt at comfort, something still kindled in your chest that ached and voices echoed against you skull whispering again and again that may be he just got bored, May be he just stopped loving you. May be you just weren’t good enough.

A thud against your door snatched you from your reverie, your mind suddenly coming back to the present world around you as if you had been doused in freezing cold water.

You pushed yourself up from the couch, presuming that it was Taeyong who was coming over. With the whole ridiculous contract thing he’d insisted you both needed to go over some more rules before he began teaching you any of his Casanova ways. In short he was being an inconveniencing asshat.

You slid over to the door, regretting not putting on a more presentable choice of clothes when you’d woke up this Saturday morning. But why should you care about what Taeyong thought about you anyway; he already perceived you as weak and gullible if he was offering to teach you how to break goddamn hearts.

You opened the door with an agitated swing, a snappy remark already balanced on the tip of your tongue. It withered in your throat instantly.

“Hi.” His voice was neutral, monotone; divulging no emotion. His hair was still the same soft lustrous brown. The colour looked so saturated and illusory, probably because you hadn’t seen him for over two weeks now. A black duffle bag was slung over his broad shoulder but the feature was minuscule to you. Especially because Jung Jaehyun stood right before you.

His features held no smile, no feeling, like he’d willed them into marble before knocking on your door. It seemed like they all obeyed his effort – apart from his eyes. They darted and dashed in all directions, skimming the ceiling and the floor with mild curiosity. They landed everywhere and anywhere, except on you.

“Jaehyun.” You didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to murmur it like an illicit pray.

“Yeah, hey. I just came over because I left some things. I need to get them.” His eyes flew over your head and into the living room behind you.

“Uh, what?”

A sigh slipped from his lips. They had been bitten raw as if he’d been chewing on them ceaselessly. “I came to get my things.”

The coldness started in your chest and gradually worked its way through your body and freezing every vein and artery. It stopped at your heart, pausing as if it wanted to consider its actions and then it engulfed it.

You see frost fall from your lips when you speak next. “Sure. Come in.”

The awkwardness between you lingered in silence that filled the air. You collapsed onto the couch, attempting to ignore his presence by distracting yourself with a stupid reality show on the television. That wasn’t going to work because you had failed to realize that the TV wasn’t even on in the first place. But you didn’t need the sound. A rumbling roaring had erupted in your mind which was only stained by the sounds of him ripping through the closet you’d shared and shedding hangers of his garments.

Your hands had involuntarily curled up into fists, your nails slicing into the palm of your hands. You wanted to scream and shriek at the top of your lungs, pound into his chest and claw as his face for doing this. For ruining what you had.

This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fucking fault.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You gently unfurled your fists pressing the palms of your hands into your knees. With a saccharine sweet smile that made you choke with its fakeness you replied, “I’m perfectly fine thank you.”

He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder, face still a perfect mask of indifference. But his chestnut eyes were still focused on the wall behind you. “Alright then. I’m going.”

The door slammed shut with a sense of finality. You still hadn’t gotten up from the couch but the moment it closed you inhaled loudly. You heart was still drumming ferociously within you spotted the picture. It was taken at a beach in Bali on your second anniversary. Your smile was dazzling and brilliant, eyes gazing at the pristine cerulean skies without a care in the world. Jaehyun though was staring at you, adoration filling his warm chestnut eyes.

You snatched it up before you could process your thoughts rationally. With an ear-splitting scream you hurled it at the door. It landed with a resounding crack before crumpling to the floor like a leaf in the bitter autumn weather.

You fell with it, limbs giving into the overwhelming grief and fury that rushed through your body. You were tempted to smash every single picture of Jaehyun and you but your energy had depleted precipitously. Instead you lay there on the cold floor of you apartment, counting the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and trying to calm you still raging heartbeat.

A ping from your phone disrupted your counting. Cursing you hauled yourself from the ground and picked up your phone.

MESSAAGE FROM: ASSHAT

Sorry I couldn’t make it today. I got held up at work but we should meet at Cipher tonight. Your first lesson begins at 22:00. Wear something sexy.

#taeyong #lee taeyong #nct 127 #nct #taeyong fanfic #taeyong scenarios #taeyong scenario #taeyong fic #nct scenarios #nct fic #nct fanfic #taeyong imagines #nct imagines

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dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg · 7 years

Photo

The Little Scribbles by HufflePuffPatronus / @dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg

Based on this prompt: “ I left my phone number on a wall and you found it. So every now and again you text me about your day. I don’t know how I still don’t know who you are though.”

Cover by : @klarolinessecondbreakfast

Chapter 2 || FF.net /AO3

“You’re late”

Rebekah’s blonde head appeared from behind her menu, a surly expression on her pretty face that was all too familiar.

“Good morning to you too,”

Klaus flashed his sister an easy smile, sliding gracefully into the chair adjacent to her.

“It’s gone 11. That’s practically lunch time Nik, you could have invited me somewhere far nicer to eat.”

“Occasionally sister,” - Klaus murmured, picking up a napkin and laying it across his lap - “It wouldn’t kill you to mingle amongst the unwashed masses.”

Ignoring Rebekah’s steely glare, he picked up a menu of his own.

“Don’t count on me for a once of sympathy if anything in this hovel ends up giving you food poisoning.” She hissed.

“Can I get you, folks, anything?” A man with a lot of facial hair in an apron approached their table, looking at them expectantly.

“A coffee please,” Klaus replied without looking up. “Black, no sugar.”

The waiter nodded dutifully and noted that down.

“And for you Miss?”

Giving the menu another unimpressed once over Rebekah let out an over long suffering (entirely over-dramatic yet not out of character) sigh.

“A glass of water, please. Mineral preferably.”

The man flashed Rebekah a slightly incredulous look before schooling his expression and jotting that down on his notepad.

“I’ll see what we have,” he said uncertainly before shuffling away.

Klaus rolled his eyes as Rebekah sent another unimpressed look in his direction.

“Might I remind you,” he said coolly. “It was you who forced me to be present for this lunch engagement,”

And had he deliberately chosen, somewhere less than up to par with Rebekah’s impossible standards simply out of juvenile retaliation? Yes. But he was only human after all.

“I am your sister Niklaus.”

Klaus winced at the use of his full name and made a point of suddenly looking extremely interested in the screen of his Blackberry.

“-Your favorite sister at that.” Rebekah continued. "I shouldn’t have to borderline blackmail into spending time with me,“

Sighing impatiently, Klaus looked up and gave his sister an exasperated look.

“Don’t play the victim card with me, Rebekah,” he warned. “We both know you wouldn’t have brought me unless you had some sort of hidden ulterior motive for demanding an audience with me,”

Rebekah shifted uncomfortably at that and stared out into the traffic passing by the window.

“And what ��ulterior motive’ would that be?”

Klaus reclined back in his chair and smirked knowingly at his sibling just as the waiter returned and placed his coffee and Rebekah’s water down in front of them before leaving again hastily, obviously sensing the tension between them.

“Ah I don’t know,” he hummed, tapping his chin, pretending to look pensive. “Perhaps, Elijah conspired with you and now you’re here to make yet another attempt to lead me down the straight and narrow?”

Rebekah scoffed and tossed her hair off of her shoulder.

“Hardly,”

“Alright then, perhaps then this has something to do with mother then?”

Rebekah then visibly tensed and picked her napkin to wipe off a nonexistent bit of dirt on the side of her glass.

Klaus tutted and tilted his head patronizingly.

“Poor sister, you are as predictable as you are gullible,”

“Sod off Nik,” Rebekah snapped, thumping down her glass back on the table. “For the life of me, I’ll never know while you feel the need to be such a bloody prick all the time,”

“Well it’s true, isn’t it? You’ve spoken with her.” Klaus replied nonchalantly while reaching for his mug.

“We had brunch on Saturday,”

“Brunch…” Klaus bit out scornfully as if the word alone had mortally offended him.

“I’m not saying she’s changed Nik-”

“Here we go-”

“-But she’s concerned about you.” Rebekah finished, staring at him imploringly.

Klaus took one look at her and began laughing uncontrollably.

“And what exactly is funny?” Rebekah demanded.

“I’m sorry Rebekah-” Klaus attempted through, splutters. “-But the only thing our mother cares about is herself and her own well being- and the idea that you’ve convinced yourself any different,”

“It’s not like that Nik,”

“Let me guess, she’s ‘worried’”- he made quotation marks in the air for emphasis - “about my lack of suitable mate and is still adamant about setting me up with the Marshall-Kenner’s obnoxious offspring, so she can call it her good deed for the year and hopefully get some trophy grandchildren out of it while she’s at it?”

“You really are jaded for someone of your age Nik, you know that?”

Rebekah grabbed her glass from the table and took a sip, wrinkling her nose at whatever it was she did or didn’t taste that made her water so unsatisfactory.

“Ah, right again.” he nodded smugly.

“You can hardly blame her. You haven’t had so much as a date with anyone since the therapist. What was her name? Blonde, a little dull, but a sweet girl God bless her…”

“Camille has nothing to do with what we’re discussing,” Klaus said defensively. “This is about your active participation in mother’s mission to control my life,”

“Now who’s being dramatic,” Rebekah fired back, sharply raising a razor thin eyebrow at him.

“I’ve heard enough,” Klaus growled, rising from his seat.

“And now you’re running, typical I must say-”

“Keep your hair on sister, I wouldn’t be so inhumane as to force you to pay for your own glass of tap water,” Klaus answered sardonically. “I’m visiting the facilities,”

“Well hurry up about it, if sit in this place any longer, I’m certain I’ll come out with a rash.” Rebekah hissed, writhing uncomfortably.

“So a typical Tuesday afternoon for you then?” Klaus smiled, retreating before Rebekah could answer him.

Of course, there’s only one loo in this bloody place he thought as he slipped through the door at the back of the cafe.

Klaus sighed loudly, positioning himself near the bowl and adjusting his clothing. He then attempted to calm himself down and began calculating whether he’d have enough time (and patience) to take Rebekah to a nice patisserie and sweet talk her into taking his side over their mother’s.

Suddenly something above his head caught his eye. The wall in front of him had various scribbles and doodles scrawled all over it ranging from varying degrees of offensiveness and artistry but what caught his eye, was what was written in unusually neat handwriting - a stark contrast to everything else - and the number above it.

Only call in the state of a crisis

Klaus laughed ironically to himself, considering that anything that had anything to do with Esther Mikaelson, was something he considered to be a crisis. Perfect timing.

So yes maybe in a moment of utter madness he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and took down the number on the wall.

And maybe just maybe, he took out a pen also and scribbled it out so that nobody else would come after him and do the same thing.

Hey, he was a possessive sort of man, even when it came down to the numbers of complete strangers written in bathroom stalls. It was the Aries in him.

Later that evening

“Hello, yes?” Caroline demanded, answering her phone and irritably responding to the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey Care is this still your number?” the voice mumbled uncertainly

“Matt?!” Caroline said incredulously, suddenly sitting bolt upright.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, sounding slightly embarrassed and just as bumbling and inept as usual.

Matt was one of Caroline’s ex-boyfriends who she’s had the misfortune of ‘agreeing to stay friends’ with. Which everyone knows, is just code for ‘I don’t hate you but seriously I hope we never see each other again’ except Matt missed that memo apparently and figured that them being quote unquote friends justified him calling her at ass crack at night, for what Caroline was certain promised to be complete and utter nonsense.

“Seriously, it’s like eleven at night Matt,” Caroline complained, smoothing her hair out of her face and glancing at her alarm clock.

“Yeah, I know and I’m really sorry,” Matt said hurriedly. “But you’re the only one I thought I could ask who would be available and wouldn’t laugh at me,”

“What Matt?” Caroline sighed exhaustedly.

“How normal is it for someone to just suddenly develop a rash on the side of their elbow?”

Caroline pressed the phone to her chest and tried desperately not to groan out loud. Despite the distance, she could still feel Matt’s panicked voice through the receiver.

“Care? Caroline are you still there,”

She sighed. “Yeah, Matt I’m still here. It sounds like it’s just a regular rash. Does it hurt?”

“No but it’s itchy,” Matt replied, his tone sounding as if he was on the phone with his doctor describing the size of a growing tumor.

“If it’s really bothering you then go see a doctor,” Caroline supplied, staring up the ceiling and cursing the day she let Matt’s boy next door charm and goofy lopsided grin talk her into giving him her number in the middle of that pretzel store in the mall one afternoon.

“You’re right. Thanks, Care you’re a life saver,” Matt gushed, breathing a sigh of relief as if Caroline had just given him some invaluable, non-obvious solution to his problem.

“Sorry again for calling, good night-”

“-Wait!” Caroline exclaimed suddenly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I just-” “Do you?-”

“Yeah?” Matt questioned in confusion.

“Do you think I’m boring Matt?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m boring?” Caroline repeated.

After a moment’s silence, Matt finally responded with “Is this a trick question?”

“No! Matt, I just want your honest opinion,”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Caroline said with an eye roll.

“Oh, well then, no. I wouldn’t say you’re boring.” Matt answered.

“No?” she said hopefully.

“No wouldn’t be fair,”

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief.

“So would you say I’m fun?” she questioned

“What’s that now?” Matt asked a slight edge of panic returning in his voice.

“Fun Matt”

“Uhh,”

“Matt?”

“Uh, sure… I mean yeah you’re fun. We always had a lot of fun together. I mean sure, it was pretty controlled, planned out to the letter type of fun but it was still fun,”

“Wait. What? What does that mean?”

Matt chuckled.

“Well you know, with you, it was kind of always ‘The fun will start at 10:15 sharp and not a moment sooner’” he joked, clearly unaware of how insensitive he was being.

“Yeah well, I’m kind of tired so good night Matt. Thanks for that,” Caroline said, barely veiling her ire.

“No thank you,” Matt replied cheerily, the sarcasm going completely over his head.

“Night,”

“Goodnight,”

And with that, Caroline ended the call and proceeded to toss her phone three feet across the room and scream senselessly into her pillow.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #loving klaroline #klaroline shippers club #klaus x caroline #klaus and caroline #kc #fanfiction

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