#would also probably forget to eat and use the bathroom while picking berries | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

byunbaekby · 4 years

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title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.”

“My point exactly.”

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind.

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be.

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.”

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt.

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it.

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.”

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste.

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible.

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little.

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun.

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave.

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go.

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom.

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you.

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.”

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling.

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness.

You wake the first morning.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area.

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes.

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours.

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were.

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate.

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms.

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows.

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways.

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it.

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known.

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes.

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more.

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.”

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze.

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin.

“Erase me from it.”

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most.

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you.

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there.

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky.

You’re warm. He is not.

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares.

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself.

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek.

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.”

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant.

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.”

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it?

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.”

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.”

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?”

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.”

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real.

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over.

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status.

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you.

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you.

XIV.

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true.

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.”

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.”

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.”

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.”

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.”

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this.

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks.

Now you’ve done it.

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!”

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to.

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax.

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector.

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams.

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased.

Your roommate needs to be handled.

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good.

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite.

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital.

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma.

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away.

You know who is responsible for this.

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void.

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!”

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first.

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground.

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever.

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him.

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments.

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.”

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.”

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.”

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.”

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life.

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope.

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend.

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you.

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold.

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit.

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home.

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become.

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.”

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride.

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head.

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her.

It’s been a year.

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!”

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice.

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different.

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold.

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner.

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #mlznet #neothestars #haechan angst #haechan fanfic #haechan scenarios #nct angst #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #haechan horror #neohalloween

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boymeetsweevil · 4 years

Text

the shape you make

Grouping: Reader x Johnny

Word Count: ~4.1k

Warnings/Themes: Halloweentown AU (again), body insecurity, slight allusions to speciesism, graphic smut, communication issues (as always), a very thirsty work friend

Summary: For both you and Johnny, there is something big holding you back from being intimate. At the yearly Harvest party, that something big becomes something known.

A/N: This fic is part of The Intimacy Anthology, and then Halloween came and ate it :) If you’re interested in the project and/or would like to see the works from the other talented artists, click the link!

“—I mean, we’re doing fine. I would say it’s perfect except for one thing.”

You frown down at the dragonling wriggling in your hands, partially in pity for him. Snickerdoodle is in for his first-ever check up and by the way he tries to burrow into the front pocket of your uniform, you can tell he’s uncomfortable. It’s likely that the coolant pills given to suppress fire during examinations are upsetting his stomach. You pat his rough belly.

The rest of your frown is dedicated to a predicament you face with your boyfriend.

You’ve been dating Johnny for three months. After being set up by two mutual friends who thought you’d be a good pair, you hit things off and decided to see where things would go. The issue was, while you’d had many a good conversation and even met his mother, you still hadn’t let Johnny get to know the real you. Which meant things between you felt too good to be true and you were preparing for an inevitable rebuff.

“What’s the problem again? He doesn’t want to go with you to the Harvest party?”

Your coworker Nautilanita ruffles her wings anxiously as she hunts for the correct syringe for dragon skin and a few treats to distract Snickerdoodle.

“No, we’re going to the Harvest party. The problem is that I want to go further with Johnny, but I don’t think I actually can.”

“Oh. That’s what I thought you said. But he’s literally perfect, so I figured I misheard you.”

You roll your eyes. Despite being pair-bonded to another lovely griffin for almost 13 mating cycles, something about Johnny turns your friend into putty.

“I think that’s the problem. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s funny—”

“Ehh. I don’t think I’ve heard a great joke from him yet.”

“He’s funny in that cute, corny way.”

“Fair.” Nautilanita approaches Snickerdoodle with a dried newt and distracts him just long enough to give him the first of his vaccinations. “So, what, you don’t like perfect guys?”

“It’s not like that. It’s more like he treats me like I’m perfect.”

“Okay, did you just come here to brag?”

The flat look on Nautilanita’s face is enough to startle a laugh out of you. You’re glad for the tiny distraction and allow some nervous energy to leave you.

“You know what I mean. There’s things he doesn’t know about me that I’m pretty sure could ruin us. I’m not the perfect person he thinks I am.”

“What does not perfect mean?”

Nautilanita hands you a needle and switches places with you, scooping up Snickerdoodle. You take up a new syringe to draw some blood from between his wings for the examination. With quick work, you watch the gold liquid fill the barrel of the syringe.

“It sounds dumb when I say it out loud,” you whine while taking the blood away to the chemistry machine. Nautilanita smiles softly at you.

“That probably means it is dumb. And that you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’ve seen Johnny, though.”

“Yes. Of course I have,” Nautilanita sighs dreamily. If it were anyone else, you might get jealous.

“He’s athletic and super buff. He’s normal. And I...”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there. This is dumb. Do you think Johnny is a shallow guy?”

“Of course I don’t. I know he isn’t.”

“Then do you really think he’s gonna just drop you because you’re not 'normal’? I still don’t even get what that means.”

“No, but—”

The machine beeps and Nautilanita hands Snickerdoodle back to you to collect the sample.

“But what?”

“But I what if he doesn’t want me? What if he can’t be attracted to me?”

“Have you and Johnny kissed?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“And has he ever initiated a kiss?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“Then I think he finds you attractive.”

You grimace to yourself. It sounded so easy put that way though you weren’t sure if Nautilanita even understood your worry. Maybe sitting down at that Leprechaun-run cafe after work with Nautilanita would help make your predicament clear, but at the moment you felt too exhausted. In an ideal world, it would be just as easy as Nautilanita said.

“What do you think?”

Mark holds up two button down shirts to his front for Johnny to compare. One is a saturated red and the other is a muted periwinkle blue.

“Blue one, easy.”

“Thanks. I’d ask Yeri, but she’s gonna be working almost up until the Harvest party. You’re lucky.”

“I don’t know who you’re calling lucky. I put sweat and tears into my outfits because I pick them all myself.”

“That’s bull. That one with the turtleneck and chains two weeks ago? There’s no way that was all you.”

“What? Yes it was”

Johnny tries not to eye the Harvest outfit he has laying on the chair at the other end of his room. The one that he’d recruited you into helping him with, over the duration of several days.

“Hmm. Not even when you’re shopping? Like when you’re in the fitting room and kind of flirting a little bit? Not even then?”

“Didn’t know you were such a hoe, Mark.”

"I have layers,” is all he says with flushing cheeks.

He’s glad Mark didn’t notice he avoided the question because the truth is that he’s never had such a moment with you. He’d like to, though. He’d like to be able to take you shopping with him, like normal couples do. Maybe you’d manage to sneak into the fitting rooms and give him a stack of things you’d want to see him in. Maybe half the time he’d come out shirtless just to see your reaction. Maybe at the end he’d pull you into the fitting room with him after one too many appreciative glances from you. But he can’t.

You’ve actually never seen him shirtless. Despite the fact that his thoughts sometimes go that direction when at the gym. Despite the fact that all his friends, Mark included, seem to think he’s already long since seen you bare and bared himself for you.

“You okay?” Mark asks when the minutes have ticked by and the conversation has screeched to a halt.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“What if, just as a scenario, we hadn’t done anything other than kiss.”

Mark’s eyes widen in the middle of folding his shirts and though he tries to hide the reaction, Johnny catches it.

“You mean you and—”

“Yeah.”

“So, just a peck or...”

“No! It’s definitely gotten, uh, intense. But I haven’t ever taken off my clothes in front of her or anything.”

Mark tilts his head, eyes narrowed above Johnny’s head. “Because you don’t want to?”

“That’s the thing. I do. But I’m pretty sure I’m not her usual...type.”

“Have you gone through a catalogue of her past relationships and found her type?”

“No, but—”

“Has she said she doesn’t like certain things about you?”

“...No.”

“Then why do you think that?”

“Well—”

The chimes of an alarm on his phone interrupt his explanation. Johnny turns off the alarm and gets up to the bathroom. He leaves the door open, not worried about privacy in the company of his best friend. Over the sound of running water and the aerosol of shaving cream leaving its canister he continues.

“I don’t want to make things awkward for her.”

“I mean, if you want her to look at you that way, that’s important. Even if she does have a type.”

“Right,” Johnny mumbles while running his razor under the tap.

Mark comes to lean against the doorframe of the bathroom to hear better. Johnny’s lips purse at Mark’s reflection in the mirror. He feels torn.

“And if you’re wrong, then you can just move forward.”

“Right.”

Right?

This year, the Harvest party is being hosted at the mayor’s house instead of at a corporate venue. There are probably hundreds of guests on the property all milling about and giving you a calming sense of anonymity. Johnny texted you earlier that evening telling you where you could find him when you finally left the vet clinic and made it to the party.

A few friends stop you to make small talk and instead of telling them you have to go meet Johnny, you let them delay you. A nymph from work brings you to the large kitchen to eat some rare berries she brought. Another friend from work ushers you onto the main floor to spin you a few times while a song that you like plays.

When the song changes, you exchange goodbyes and stumble off from them. Unfortunately, you bump into Nautilanita, who you had also technically been avoiding.

“Look who it is,” Nautilanita‘s talons curve dangerously around the stem of a wine glass.

“Oh, hey.”

“Guess who I ran into half an hour ago.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“Johnny?”

“Mhm. Your boyfriend,” Nautilanita snaps. “Why was he asking me where you were? I had to lie and say you got held back at work.”

“You weren’t required to do that,” you point out. Nautilanita narrows slitted eyes at you.

“I’m guessing you haven’t sat down and talked with him yet.”

“I haven’t. I do plan to, though. I’m just...”

“Nervous?”

You nod and suddenly Nautilanita is grabbing your arm and pulling you over to a darker corner of the house. There’s a group of people huddled loosely near the basement door, light smoke wafting up from where their heads are craned down.

“What are we doing?”

“Getting you some extra courage.”

“Nautilanita,” you hiss before darting your heard around your surroundings. “Did you forget we have weekly drug tests at work?”

“I’m not getting you drugs. I’m getting you some courage. It’s legal, I think.”

You stand off from the group, confused, as Nautilanita chats with the lady in the middle of the huddle. A witch, based off the purple ring she wears. The witch reaches into her bag when Nautilanita does actually ask for courage by name. Nautilanita returns with a small bag of bright yellow orbs that flash welcomingly in the low lighting.

“Open.”

You open your mouth obediently and chew the little rubbery yellow ball until it bursts into your mouth. It tastes a bit like dish soap but you swallow it.

“How long does this last?”

“10 minutes.”

“You mean I only have 10 minutes to find him and tell him everything?”

“Well, 9 minutes and 55 seconds now.”

You push past Nautilanita to circle back through the crowd and climb the staircase to where Johnny said he’d be on the second floor. He’s not in the billiard room at the end of the hall, but someone there points you toward one fo the guest rooms. When you find him he’s sitting in an arm chair in a corner guest room, scrolling on his phone when you enter abruptly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he puts his phone down and makes his way over to you. “Why are you out of breath?”

“I, uh, ran up the stairs.”

“You ran up the stairs to see little ol’ me?”

Johnny’s smile is bright and genuine and suddenly you feel a rush of something. It must be the courage. You throw yourself into his waiting arms and press your face to his chest. He should know, you think. He deserves to know.

You’re about to pull away and confess to him, but then he’s lifting your chin with a finger. His smiles bleeds into his eyes and softens into something you think you could swim in. He leans down and catches your mouth in a kiss.

Instead of worrying about the courage running out, you focus on the kiss. With your eyes closed you can properly lose yourself in the feeling of the hard muscle under his soft sweater. The sweater he chose after frantic consultation with you.

Emboldened by the way you relax into him, Johnny pushes further into your space. His bangs tickle your face when he swivels his head and presses a fuller kiss to your lips. Warm hands creep a slow path up from the flare of your hips to the hem of your work shirt. His breath hitches a little in a puff against your cheek when you push up into him and kiss him harder. His hands come to anchor himself on your lower torso again. This time your movements have pulled your work shirt up to expose your stomach.

The drag of the skin of his fingers on your lower back has you yanking yourself back with darting eyes and a shaky smile. It pains you to ruin the momentum of the moment, but you know that if you don’t explain yourself before your clothes are supposed to come off, you don’t know how things will end. You’re not expecting to look up and find Johnny’s eyes filled with something that looks akin to fear.

“Shit—I’m sorry.” He rocks back on his heels and lets his gaze bounce around the corners of your face looking for a cue. “Should we talk about this?”

You think about the 10 minutes you have, and how much of it could possibly be left.

“Y-yeah.”

You gravitate towards the guest bed and he follows with a flop.

“I hope you know I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” he offers.

“I know you weren’t. It was just getting kinda heavy there for a second.”

“And you don’t want that to happen.”

“I want to make sure you still want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because...I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

Johnny can feel the prick of sweat at his hairline and across his shoulders. He kind of wishes you would just tell him you know what he’s hiding so he can begin to adjust. He knows it’s not what Mark would suggest, but he doesn’t want to lose you.

“I know humans say they like magical folk, but being friends with the magicals and being with them is really different.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And even if they really are fine with us, they probably still would prefer to be with other humans.”

He nods, and then replays your words in his head. You said ‘us’.

“Maybe you wondered why it’s taken us so long to be physical”

“I have, honestly. But that doesn’t mean you should rush to do that.”

“Well, it’s not because I really needed more time. It’s because I didn’t have the courage to before. I didn’t want you to see me like a monster from those old books.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for the buttons of your work shirt and undo them as quickly as you can with shaking fingers and courage long since run out. As the shirt loses its structure and falls away, he can see more of your skin than he ever has before.

Scattered in patches across your abdomen, breasts, and even your back are teal scales that reflect his shocked expression back at him in dozens of little frames with the clarity of a polished gem.

“I’m actually not human. I come from a long line of water sprites.”

The tears of shame in your eyes, another first sight for him, are the same iridescent teal and leave subtle crystalline streaks on their way down your cheeks.

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t find actual words, and the laugh seems to jump from his throat. Low bubbling first it then grows as the seconds pass by. You look up from the bedspread because you can’t believe your ears. This isn’t at all how you imagined he’d react. He holds up a hand. He knows how bad the reaction is but he can’t help it.

When the laughter begins to subside a moment later, he attends to his own shirt. He hikes the material up over his head and reveals smooth skin. You’re not sure what’s going on at first, but then he removes the silver earrings he wears every day and fur begins to sprout from his torso, his forearms, around his face. His canines and nails lengthen before your eyes to sharp points. And suddenly you understand.

“I bought these from a witch who specializes in werewolf magic the day before our first date,” he reaches over and places the small silver hoops into the palm of your hand.

You look down at the jewelry and then back up at your boyfriend’s face. You’re surprised to see that he looks different, though not because of the sudden lycanthropic transformation. There’s a lightness in his eyes and length in his spine that makes you realize just how much his secret was weighing on him.

No words leave your mouth as you crawl into his space. A small smile graces his lips and he lays on his back to make room for you. You kiss him once more and you’re shocked at how different it feels to do so without a secret smothering everything. As you part his lips, Johnny lays his hands on your skin gently. When you don’t withdraw, he lets his hands wander.

His palms skim over the cold patches of scales like he’s trying to warm them. He likes the juxtaposition of the warmth from your skin and the cool brilliance of your scales. He likes the way they pattern on you, lining your spine and sloping over your roundnesses. He kiss parts he can reach on your shoulder and when you stop to let him move more, his kisses follow the trail below your collarbone and between your breasts. When he tentatively swipes his tongue over them, you sigh and sink more fully into his lap.

You pull at the thick hair hear the nape of his neck and redirect him back to your mouth. It doesn’t escape you that your bare torsos are constantly brushing. Your nipples harden when he hugs you to him and shivers at the cool patches meeting his skin.

“Are we going to?”

“Do you want to,” his breath puffs against the side of your jaw.

“Please.”

The press of your rocking hips against his reminds him of just how much clothing there’s still left to remove and how much skin there still is to marvel at. After switching positions, he has you on your back and makes a start on removing your pants. He makes quick work of them by trailing a claw under the stubborn button. When the slacks are gone, he looks over the splashes of blue on the inside of your right thigh, spilling over the front of both your shins, wrapping around your left ankle.

He starts there, with a simple kiss to the sparkle on your ankle and then continues. Like skipping a stone through cerulean waters, he kisses over your shins and makes his leisurely way over the hill of your knee. His tongue makes an appearance at your right thigh, where you had been praying for it. He lingers there until he’s certain the area is no longer untouched. There’s an urge to mark up the other thigh as well so there’s some symmetry. He follows the urge with your hand fisting in the thick strands of his hair the whole time.

“Johnny,” you groan when he takes too long trying to mirror the pattern of your scales with small nips to your skin. “When I asked if we were going to have sex, I was asking about today.”

“Sure, I’ve got you.”

He pats your thigh in a placating gesture, and then slides your underwear off at an obnoxiously slow pace with a shit-eating grin. You try your hardest to level a glare at him, but you break eye contact to gasp when he slides a gentle finger between your folds with no prior mention. You briefly consider just letting him continue, but you’re chasing a very specific sensation.

You rake your nails up the part of his back that you can reach, parting some of the fur there. The shiver that wracks through his whole back has you biting your lip in an attempt to stifle laughter. But it also has him shifting so he can hover over you, his hips occupying the place his shoulders once did. While he balances his weight on his knees and one hand, he uses the other hand to get just free enough from his pants.

He replaces his hand when the button, zipper, and the waist of his pants and underwear bunch around his lower thighs. You reach down before he can do anything else and see what he’s working with. Johnny releases a shaky breath while you feel him up, trace the trail of hair that run from his stomach to his groin. Your other hand runs up his arm in an idle fashion. It’s unintentional but, still, the feeling of your nails running over his skin feels like a live current, even through the fur.

The concentration he exhibits is clear as his head lolls forward. You stop your exploration and nudge him into action with a squeeze of your thighs. He still leans down to plant a kiss on your lips before hooking one hand under your back and around a thigh and shifting so you’re seated in his lap once more. You lower yourself onto him fully and begin rocking. You had been ready to take him early on but you’re wet enough to surprise him. He fights the instinct to pitch up into the wet heat until he’s sure you won’t mind.

When you start to get a bit frustrated with the angle, you push him back and brace yourself on either side of his chest. He lets out a long moan as you ride him, fangs glinting when he throws his head back. His hands come to pull you down onto him more firmly. He doesn’t realize that the prick of his claws on the swatch of scales that adorn your hip spurs you on as well. Each downward snap of your hips he meets halfway until he can feel the tell-tale signs of his orgasm coming. He’s not expecting you to reach down and brush a fingertip against the tip of one of his fangs. Carefully so you don’t cut yourself while you continue to bounce against him, you brush your finger across his lips. He’s not sure why, but it sets him over the edge and he spills into you.

You watch the way his face contorts with the pleasure and ache to join him. Grabbing one of clawed hands, you bring it to the apex of your thighs and he quickly guesses your need. He does his best to rub at your clit while the edges of orgasm fade away from his peripheral vision. It’s just slick enough to get you there, and you finish soon after his fog lifts.

The first thing you do is collapse onto him as you recover. Johnny tries to take deep breaths that you can match and eventually the two of you are letting out twin exhales. When you’re able to, you lift yourself just enough to kiss him again. This time it’s one soft singularity.

He sighs against your lips, and when he pulls back there’s a bemused smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you thought I was human.”

“Yeah,” you close your eyes. “I don’t know how we managed to fool each other for so long.”

“I was actually shaving five times a day since the first date.”

The thought makes you smile when you think back on all the times he would go to the bathroom and come back with a pink face.

“Now I’m sure you can guess why I never washed dishes at your place.”

“Would you get more scales,” he asks while brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Close. My fingers would turn blue and web.” You wiggle them for effect.

“You know what? I don’t even think either of us actually said we were human. I guess we just assumed.”

You nod and wonder how things would have been if you came out earlier. The idea of surprising a Johnny that thought you were human on the 2nd date with webbed fingers makes you break your composure. He must follow your train of thought because he begins laughing too, shaking the two of you with the force. When you quiet down again, there’s a heavy calm settled in your ribcage. You suppose this is what courage can bring. Johnny rubs your back as you start to nod off. The last thought you have is that you’ll have to remember thank Nautilanita.

#nct fanfic #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny fanfic #johnny imagines #johnny seo scenarios #johnny seo imagines #johnny seo fanfic

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snowdice · 5 years

Text

Gaps in His Files (Part 1) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts

There are a few background stories for Logan and Patton’s relationship that are also unnecessary to read, but expand their backstory a bit. They can be read before or after this story. Coffee Shop Meet Cute and Coffee Shop Incident Report deal with their first meeting, The Things We Never Mentioned talks about how Patton figured out Logan was bluebird, and Logan’s 25 Step Plan to Ask a Boy Out is how they started dating.

Logan woke slightly colder than he should have been with a presence in his bed that had not been there when he’d fallen asleep. He squinted at said presence in the dim light of his bedroom. “You are a blanket thief,” he informed the sleeping form as he carefully brushed a bit of hair out of his face. He stirred a bit, pressing back against the touch with a soft sound. Logan glanced over at his bedside table and quickly reached over to turn off the alarm that was set to go off in 4 minutes. Then, he turned his attention back to the bed invader.

“Patton,” he called softly, leaning forward to brush a soft kiss across his brow. He puffed out a breath in response and shuffled closer, still mostly asleep. Logan smiled. He appreciated Patton in any state, but sleepy Patton held a special place in his heart. He started peppering kisses down his cheek to his jaw causing his nose to twitch as he started to stir. “Good morning dear.”

“Uhm nuh humba na ha.”

“Ah yes,” Logan replied seriously, “a compelling argument.”

He was still not quite in the waking world, but he was conscious enough to recognize the mocking. He whined and slapped Logan’s shoulder softly. Logan took that as a cue to roll on top of him and lean forward to kiss his neck.

“No,” he whined and wiggled. “Annoying.”

“Annoying huh?” Logan asked into his neck. “Big words for someone guilty of breaking and entering.”

“No breaking,” Patton complained, “I have a key!”

Logan hummed in response. “When did you get here?”

“About 4am,” he mumbled.

“Hmm,” Logan said and gave him a slow kiss on the lips. “I’ll close the curtains when I get up.”

Patton’s legs wrapped around his waist and he yawned. “Thanks.”

“I am going to have to get up pretty soon dear,” Logan pointed out.

“No,” Patton whined, “snuggles.”

“I think my students may not be happy if I do that,” he said.

Patton snorted. “They would too.”

“Well, at least my supervising professor wouldn’t be happy.”

Patton just grumbled and snaked his arms around Logan’s neck before pulling him down for another long kiss.

It took much effort for Logan to pull himself back. “This is entirely unfair,” he said, fingers tracing patterns over his cheeks. “You are far too adorable to resist.”

Patton giggled which was even more unfair and Logan surged forward for another kiss, though it was a quicker peck this time.

“And yet you resist me,” Patton said when he drew back again, a finger tracing his brow.

“Duty calls,” he responded.

“Yeah,” he replied softly.

“I love you,” Logan said. The hand on Logan’s shoulder clenched into the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you too,” he said, a bit of a shake to his voice before lunging forward to kiss him thoroughly once again. Logan was breathless by the time they finally drew apart.

“I do have to go now,” he said regretfully.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and released his grip on Logan’s shoulder.

Logan regretfully pulled himself from the warmth that was Patton and stood. He went to his window and pulled the curtain to darken the room before going to his closet. The suit he’d picked up from the store yesterday was front and center, and he touched the outside of the white plastic covering it with a soft smile. Then he grabbed his outfit for the day. When he turned back around, Patton had already closed his eyes and curled himself around an extra pillow. Logan paused and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek before going to change and get ready in the bathroom.

Once he was dressed, he entered his kitchen and his eyes immediately found the note on his countertop. Don’t forget to eat breakfast! :) <3 was scribbled in Patton’s messy scrawl on one of Logan’s sticky notes. Logan puffed out a laugh and went over to start the coffee machine. He reached for his coffee cup and caught sight of another sticky note inside it. Don’t ignore me. >:( it read. Logan shook his head and went about organizing his school supplies in his bag. He pulled out his planner to check his schedule for the day and another note fell out. Logan…

“Fine, fine,” Logan said aloud and walked over to his cabinet to grab the loaf of bread there. A note was taped to the top. Thankyou! <3<3. “Absolutely incorrigible,” he said fondly. He gathered up that note as well as the other three while he waited for the bread to toast and stuck them in his pocket. He spread peanut butter on his toast and poured himself a cup of coffee before taking his breakfast and his planner into the extra bedroom he’d converted into an office.

There was a pen sitting on his desk out of place and Logan bit his tongue in agitation, picking it up and sitting down on his chair. He took a bite of his toast and opened his planner to his to do list for the week. The calendar next to it had his class schedule in black pen, his personal appointments in green, and his study schedule in dark blue ink. His Saturday had been blocked off from 3pm to 11pm with a lighter blue inked pen. He went to check off one of the tasks he’d finished last night, and nothing happened.

“I’m going to kill him,” he told the empty room before rolling his chair over to the trashcan to throw out the empty pen. It clinked against the two already in the trashcan. He swore Patton had the latent superpower to summon inkless pens and the more time he spent at Logan’s apartment, the more accumulated despite Logan’s best efforts. It was a source of endless torment for Logan but still a small price to pay for his boyfriend’s presence.

Once he’d grabbed a functioning pen from its place in his pen holder and finished editing his weekly task list (Though there were a few important exclusions in this week’s list in fear of prying eyes. He would have to remember to call the photographers to confirm between his first and second class without a note to remind himself.), he reached into his pocket for this morning’s notes. He glanced up at a spot on the far wall that was too high for him and, more importantly, Patton to reach without buying a ladder. Well, at least, it would be too high for Logan except for one important fact. He flicked his finger and a small hidden door slid up. The contents of the secret compartment shot into his hand with barely a mental nudge.

He opened his desk and found the stack of different colored paper he kept there. He flipped past the dark blue and red to get to the pieces of light blue paper in the exact shade of the cover of the binder he held in his hand. He selected one of those pages and used the hole puncher on his desk to prepare it to go into the binder before he carefully arranged the notes from Patton on it in chronological order. Then, he pinned each of them down with pieces of tap and wrote himself quick notes next to each to remind himself of where he’d found them. Once finished, he turned to the binder. He touched the cover with a large amount of fondness and a bit of mortification because honestly, he couldn’t believe he was still doing this.

He’d started taking notes on Patton the moment they’d met in a coffee shop over three years ago. Later he would learn that Patton had just gotten off of a long shift at the hospital and was utterly exhausted, but all Logan had known at the time was that a strange man bumped into him and would have spilled an entire cup of hot coffee on him if it hadn’t been for Logan’s own quick reflexes. Unfortunately, those quick reflexes had not been of the physical variety; he had accidently used his powers to stop the cup and its contents in midair. He’d turned wide eyes to the stranger, dreading a reaction. There weren’t exactly many supers with telekinesis who lived in the state after all, but he’d just said “good catch” as though he hadn’t noticed Logan’s attempts to ruin his own secret identity. Logan hadn’t known whether or not to believe him when he acted as though he’d seen nothing, worried about who this man could be and what he could be planning. (Patton would later tell him that Logan probably could have floated into the coffee shop upside down and kicked Patton in his face, and he wouldn’t have noticed that day.) So, he’d written up an incident report for his red files with all the details he could remember and then resolved to keep an eye on the man in case he was lying and plotting to take action against Logan (he hadn’t been). And well, he had certainly ended up keeping an eye on Patton.

Later the binder had become a cumulation of frankly embarrassing records of his crush along with a failed list of steps to get a date (failed because while executing the third step, Patton had asked him out.) Then, once they’d started dating, it had been a sort of crutch, filled with hypothesizes and observations about Patton as though he were some sort of science experiment. Logan had never had any type of romantic relationship before (barring the two embarrassing incidents where his parents attempted to set him up with dates for school dances). He’d vowed when he first put on a mask that he would never date anyone who did not already know his superhero identity. The nice Catch-22 was that Logan had never told anyone that he was Bluebird. Then Patton barreled his way into his life with no regard for Logan’s emotional walls. Logan had been going in blind and the binder had been his way of dealing with the confusing, though wonderful, feelings.

He was better now, more settled, and more comfortable with the peculiarities of sharing so much of your life with another person. Now he only really referred to the binder for specific, important events. Other than that, it was used more like a scrapbook anymore. Logan had trouble throwing away things Patton gave him.

He flipped to the correct section of the binder and placed the page with this morning’s notes in it. His finger traced the smiley face and heart on the first one. Then, he flipped to the back of the binder briefly, tapped the baggy hanging there with his finger, just to double check, before closing the binder and replacing it back in the hidden compartment with his powers.

He drank the rest of his coffee and packed his bag before leaving to get to his 8:30 am class on time. It was Tuesday now. One more normal day today and three more after that.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Next Caller Pt 35

The sound of an engine dying in your garage had your head turning from the message from Thorin reading, “Nearly there.”

On your feet you walked through the house to the garage, opening the door to find him exiting his car with a huff, “I’m sorry, that bridge, they choose today of all days to repaint the railing, down to a single lane, I beat the truck at least. Made a stop,” he said ducking back into the car to hold out your set of keys you had given him, “To the store’s key kiosk. Made myself a set so you can add those to the orange again.”

“Thanks,” You said folding the keys in your palm only to look at the appliance truck pulling up after noticing the firefly coated ring of keys dangling from the clip on his waist new to his usual set.

“I’ve got it, laundry room’s just off here, right?” You nodded and showed him into the spacious laundry room next to the garage he left the lights on then went to greet the men exiting the truck while you returned the keys to their orange sock home in your closet. A smirk ghosted across your lips spotting Gorgo behind you still pink cheeked in handing over the third book for the fourth.

“It’s so sad..” she mumbled on her way back to the bunk beds right in the most heart wrenching part of the book collection. Barely ten minutes was all it took to have the teal contraptions nearly your height to be wheeled in and hooked up then signed for signaling the duo to head back to their truck.

“They look good,” You said to break the silence and he wet his lips looking you over.

“Painters left I guess?”

“While back, Gorgo’s still here though, crying her way through the final book.” His brows arched up, “There’s a happy hint to the ending, but it’s painful to get there.”

“I bet it will be fantastic.”

“I can get you the first one if you like,”

He shook his head, “Not today, the weekend perhaps when I can give it the focus it deserves.” He looked you over then said, “Where are your guest sheets for the peach room? We can wash them, break these in and I can show you how they work.”

You nodded and guided him to first inspect the paint job then gather up the sheets he helped to carry back and unwrap to toss into the washer with some of your laundry soap. A simple instruction on the settings later and he was with you in the couch waiting on the truck.

Laptop that he brought from his car now open on his lap you chose the mattresses in the sizes you needed and he ordered them relaxing that so far all the terms of the contract were met.

“I think I might be pushing it close with the paint and sleeping in my new room.”

“I do have the bunk beds, probably best if Roac didn’t sleep there either.”

“You would be okay with that?”

You nodded and you asked, “Didn’t you have sprouts?”

In a gasp he popped up saying, “My sprouts!” Hurrying back to his car where he found them still in his open trunk, behind him you giggled and got up to help. Beside him you grabbed a tray and followed him to the greenhouse, in which he walked to the empty plot you had said was all his. Much larger than he had expected and still coated in clover he could tear back later for, now he set the trays down and grinned seeing Roac fly down to greet him. “You are late.”

Lowly he chuckled, “Yes I am.”

Down to the ground in front of him Belly lowered with a ribbon wrapped handle supported small bowl filled with fruit they had picked for him he grinned in accepting. Belly fluffed up in landing stating, “A welcome to our nest.”

“Thank you,” his eyes shifted to you noticing your finger in a brush of your bangs tapping your lip making him reach out and pop a few between his lips, “They taste wonderful, just what I needed.”

Belly puffed up excitedly and flew off with Roac while a duo of hummingbirds flew down with a forget-me-not blossom, the best from the full bunch, coated in resin shaped into a teardrop bubble. It was supported on a leaf the duo were carrying over to Thorin who glanced to them from Kuu waking up in his house after Belly tapped on his roof. “Welcome to our nest. A token for ample eggs.”

Your lips parted and he looked to you only hearing their song like whispers but not understanding it. “They said welcome to the nest. It’s a token for ample eggs.”

The meaning making him smirk then say in accepting the leaf they released into his palm, “Thank you. I’ve never seen these before. It is a wonderful gift, truly I am honored.”

You translated for him and they flew away leaving Kuu walking over with one foot curled around something. Into his extended palm Thorin grinned at the smooth shiny pebble that settled into his palm. With his grin splitting wider he glanced up at Kuu, whose head was beginning to tilt until he said, “Thank you. I will treasure it always. I will put this,” over Kuu’s shifting wing he saw your thumb hooking in your pocket and seamlessly he continued, “In my pocket, right now.”

The grin on Kuu’s face broke in a large yawn and he turned sighing out, “I await the day we shall witness your baby bubbles arrive.” Smoothing your fingers over your forehead you smiled at Kuu on his way back to his house and flashed a bashful grin at Thorin, who was now standing holding the bowl of fruit and the blossom bubble with his hand pocketing the stone. Behind you he strolled curiously back into the house leaving the birds to their joint sleep time. In the hall however he lowly asked, “Baby bubbles?”

“They’re a bit confused still on me not laying eggs, they’ve seen kittens be born in their sacks so,”

“Bubbles,”

You nodded, “Bubbles.”

Lowly he asked, “So the bubble and the pebble are both for babies?”

“No, the pebble is for protection. He spent last night singing a song of protection while holding the pebble he picked for you,” already tears prickled in his eyes on your way to the garage making him wonder why you were heading there, “Every Great Owl has one they keep in their pouches. You never take them. Part of how I smoothed things over with Hector and the workers in the Aviary who thought it was just an odd pebble that they touched while he was preening, triggering a two day stand off. We don’t have pouches so, pockets. But when you leave home you take it with you. It’s supposed to be able to always help you find home again if you get lost.”

That was it and he sniffled at the weight of the welcome gifts making you smile up at him, “And you’re crying.”

“Little bit,” he rumbled sniffling again.

He looked around and you said, “Before the truck gets here might as well handle one other tear worthy marker.” His brow inched up and you asked, “What color do you want your name?” Stopping in front of the left over small paint cans on the workstation. “For the mailbox.”

Again he sniffled and then cleared his throat to say out of the few choices you had, skipping the Durin blue to choose your signature color, “The green.”

You nodded and grabbed the can and a slender brush saying, “Keep eating those berries, I got these.” After seeing his glance at the bowl you said, “Those are the best he could find still on the vine.”

“They’re wonderful.” Picking up another to pop between his lips only flashing you a glimpse of the caterpillar in the bowl making you giggle in his deep chuckle. “Even picked me a baby butterfly.”

“Careful around caterpillars and butterflies the hummingbirds call them their cousins, take their care very personally. And we have to have proper memorial services for each of them.” He glanced at you with a grin ghosting across his lips, “You will have to join in.”

“I look forward to it. I will also try to learn the language, so I can speak to them.”

“They speak Hobbitish if you do.”

“That would be easier. Do they always speak so softly?”

“Always, you get used to it.”

“I will.”

Once at the mailbox he settled the now empty bowl on the box and you turned seeing the moving truck pull up finally. With the open paint can in hand he watched you turn saying, “I got it. You have to do it or it doesn’t count.”

The truck parked and nearly collapsing out the open door Kili and Fili both popped up hopping from one foot to the other, “Bathroom!”

In a giggle you nodded your head trotting inside through the open garage, “Come on,”

Straight through you showed one to the hall bath and the other into the bath in your mother’s room. And came out again to see Dwalin parking behind the truck climbing out with an exaggerated stretch and a few younger Durins doing the same groaning as Frerin climbed out of the truck calling to Thorin, “Decades we have lived on the other side of that bridge, and today of all days, now it gives us nonsense!”

With a grin you walked up to the truck while him and Dwalin came to open it for you. The pair looked you over asking, “Been a day?”

“Work, went through the contract with Echo, painting, Gorgo came, I made some bread, did dishes, made lunch, Thorin showed up and then the washer and, now you got here.”

Frerin chuckled and said, “Well we got this, you can relax.”

“I don’t get to be nosy?” You teased and they both smirked watching you turn for the house faking a pout.

To the couch you went hearing them discussing who was carrying what and caught Thorin chatting to one of your neighbors. The very same one who had been aiding him in his intentions who now was beaming proudly hearing his new neighbor had coupled up with such an attentive Dwarf. It did seem soon but fated making it all the more precious. And hurrying off to share the news with his own lovable partner he was off allowing Thorin to finish painting his runes for ‘T Durin’ diagonally under your name on the other side of the plus he painted then eyed with a grin in closing the paint can again. Turned around he carried the paint, brush and bowl, the latter he took back to the greenhouse allowing the caterpillars inside to crawl back out again into the lush surroundings and went to help guide the direction of his things.

Carefully the bulky bed frame was eased through the halls and assembled by Thorin and Frerin giving a base for the mattress Fili and Kili led through next after the dresser another pair eased into the mini walk in closet attached to his bath. On his way back to the truck he saw Roac’s dwelling stand he guided outside the peach room saying, “Staying here tonight to let it air out some more.”

The borrowed trunks were next carried by the teens while Dwalin helped Thorin guide the table wrapped in a blanket through to the parlor. Underneath Frerin helped to work in the legs then joined the others in smirking at the final product when it was aligned perfectly in the room with the teens bringing the chairs in next. Out of what they had for the game room it all had been agreed upon to be moved here hoping to help out for anything you could want for their hopefully to be family gathering spot on an unchosen future game night. All of which was unloaded in a set of boxes the trio got to unloading.

The finishing touches were being unloaded from the truck and in the doorway you stood saying, “Ooh, this is a really nice table,” the men turned and Thorin’s grin settled in while Dwalin wiped his cheek on his shoulder trying to calm down after having heard about the gifts from the birds to welcome him.

“Thank you,” he hummed out while you came closer to smooth your fingertips across it.

“You brought all the games you had it seems.”

Frerin chuckled, “Much better to have them here where there’s room and a great table for them.”

You nodded and glanced around the room, “Well I’ll certainly have to leave the stocking up to you. Bit out of touch with the latest games.”

Dwalin chortled, “Neither are we. Just the classics don’t you worry.”

Around your shoulders Fili and Kili’s arms rested as the latter said, “Ya, the most advanced game they have is that one with the timer to fit the shapes into the holes before it pops up.”

“Not half bad, I think tower blocks is the most high tech I got.”

Frerin smirked, “You mean Jenga?”

You shook your head, “No, Naneth carved different shaped blocks painted all different colors and we had hundreds of them.”

Dwalin, “Oh, you meant actual tower blocks. Nice.”

A sniffle from the hall had the arms dropping as you turned to grin at Gorgo still teary eyed causing the men to pause confused at how to help the situation. Crossing the hall to enter the parlor she squeaked out, “You just ended it like that.”

“Yes I did,” once she reached you she squeaked again then melted around you in a tight hug, easing your arms around her back.

“It’s just so happy.”

“How could I leave it anything but happy?”

Her hug tightened a moment then she drew back sniffling again, “I’m going to need a year to be ready for the sequel.”

You grinned wider at her saying, “Hungry?”

She shook her head and sniffled again wiping her cheeks, “I should go home, hug Gimli.”

You nodded and said, “I’ll grab you the etchings.” Leaving the room heading for your closet.

Once you were out of earshot she pointed to Thorin, “Marry her. Story like that in her, you marry that ball of impossible.”

He could only smirk at her and shift his gaze to the door when you showed up again with a treasure chest wrapped with a metal kraken she couldn’t help but giggle in cradling after accepting the key you gave her. “My sisters picked it out. Couldn’t say no, they started pouting.”

Gorgo patted her hand on the case, “I will guard this with my life.” She said heading for the door with Dwalin escorting her out ensuring she was clear eyed enough to drive before she left.

The final things were unloaded from the truck that Thorin went to check on and thanked the teens that all loaded up in it hoping to use a back way back to the lot before it closed. Inside again he eyed you speaking with the boys as they were sharing about the house that Frerin had bought and the walkway through the park they found connecting your houses and Dwalin’s. Inhaling sharply realizing in that moment that he was now home and from the second that door closed behind him that the pair of you were now hosting his relatives. Fully shifting his skew on the situation he realized in the light of the setting sun coating you that you had been up since before sunrise with little time to sleep the night before and still hadn’t eaten since the lunch you mentioned earlier with Gorgo. Whenever that was it was too long ago and he stated, “Time for supper.”

Frerin said as you looked at Thorin, “Yes, you must be hungry. Up all day, barely slept.”

To the kitchen you walked and joined the men in choosing from the food he had brought they all pulled together for a meal, filling up your table to enjoy it. Stacking the empty dishes came in the middle of a large yawn from you making the men grin in seeing it. Across the table Thorin said, “Why don’t you head off to bed. I’ll lock up. I’m sorry. We took all day, you need your rest.”

Inhaling deeply you brushed your hair from your face and nodded, “Ok, um, if you get tired, I have four beds, the blankets though-,”

Thorin said, “I switched them to the dryer earlier. I’ll show you how to work it tomorrow when we wash the pillows I have enough for us.”

“Alright,”

Dwalin claimed your dishes to add to his, “We got these, see you in the morning, be on my way in a bit too dear. Promised to be back by story time.”

Glancing over the five you turned and headed for your room pushing past the odd feeling of leaving them to their whims. In your closet again you collected the draft set you took back to its usual trunk back in your study and changed to get ready for bed.

Filling the dish washer Thorin muttered out, “This is my first night outside of a kin roof.”

Frerin said nudging his arm, “You know she’s kin now.”

Once the washer was closed Thorin led the way to the laundry room to gather the sheets they sorted and bundled in their arms. In the peach room Fili and Kili stated, “Top bunk!”

Frerin smirked as they tossed a fitted and non fitted sheet onto each top bed that they added a blanket from the nest Gorgo had made leaving the rest for their uncles on the bottom beds. Leaving those for then while Thorin settled Roac’s dwelling inside the room as the sleepy Raven landed on his shoulder ready to sleep. Roac nestled in his dwelling leaving the four to walk Dwalin out the return to Thorin’s room where they hung up his clothes and filled his shoe racks. Back to their homes in the cubbies and shelves from your trunk shelves, Orcrist and the pictures for Roac would have to be added to new shelving units replacing the built ins back in his old room. Rubbing his face he groaned at the long day and started rounds with the guys to ensure the house and garage was locked up, still leaving the back door open for the Great Owls as you had promised them.

All together once Thorin had changed into a set of shorts they collapsed onto the beds with the boys excitedly sprawled across the large mattresses after leaving their boots at the foot of the steps they raced up. Fili covered himself with one of the blankets laying on the pile of sheets, “We should get some of these.”

Kili, “Though I doubt we’d need them this big,” he commented on the ten foot long mattresses.

Thorin chuckled rumbling back, “Her stepfather is nine and a half feet tall.” The boys gasped and he rumbled through another chuckle, “No telling how tall her baby sisters will sprout up to.”

Frerin sighed rolling onto his belly as Thorin remained staring up at the wood above him. Listening to the deepening breaths of his former house mates and slowly closing his eyes to force himself to sleep so he could be awake in time to see you off to work with a full breakfast since today had been drawn out and no doubt nerve wracking for you. Each of them savoring their final night all together while also loving that you were so much closer to being a full member of their clan.

Just like a dream. From under your covers you crept grumbling at the alarm ruining your day of sleep that your body seemed to be aching for and tilting your head back you slumped your way to your bath. A quick primping had you pulling on shorts and a baggy t shirt with back cutouts and combing your hair into a long ponytail. Pocketing your phone and wallet you palmed your keys and socks strolling to the kitchen where you stood with lips pursed in noticing the men setting the breakfast they had made across your set table.

Just in his shorts Thorin flashed you a sleepy grin saying, “Breakfast is ready, your cider is warming up and I have Kuu’s peas boiling now,” He said shifting your usual mug on the counter then turned to accept the bowl that Kuu strolled in carrying. “Eat up, Dwalin will open the shop and I will take them home, bridge will hopefully be clear so I can meet up with you at the shop after.”

“You’re heading to work?”

Smirking as he drained the peas and handed them off to Kuu he hummed back, “Just for a few hours if Balin lets me.”

“Lets you?” You teased taking your seat making him smirk at you.

Frerin said with a smirk of his own taking the seat to your left, “There is very little in that shop Balin does not oversee.”

You glanced at Kili as he said around his mouthful of pancakes, “Herbs are the basis of the shop, he rules the herbs-,”

Fili completed his sentence, “He rules the shop.”

You nodded and said watching Thorin filling your mug, “It’s a hierarchy then.”

Thorin rumbled as you took your first slice of your short stack, “Of sorts.”

Frerin clarified, “Every clan has one, though Dwalin and Thorin both are better at the brewing while Balin is there to mind the sprouts and the full shop, able to see the bigger picture, his specialty.”

Through breakfast he sat down eating beside you then stood as you did handing off your mug while Fili brought you your satchel and the four escorted you to the garage making you smirk as they all waved you off.

“I’ve counted your coincidences and have begun drafting for your gown.”

Coughing in an office on your floor in the station Mal found you asking, “You okay?” Passing her your phone wile you set down your drink you’d swallowed wrong she eyed the runes and said, “I can’t read this.”

Her head turned seeing Echo and Glori, who had come to share about the book. The latter came over to rub your back while they peered on at the phone Mal had passed to Echo. A joint “Oh,” had them looking to you then to Mal.

“Fourteen,” You squeaked out.

Mal said, “Fourteen what?”

Echo said, “Jaqi’s Naneth has been counting coincidences, and she’s hit fourteen.”

Mal, “You lost me.”

Glori, “When you meet a person you find interest in you inform your Naneth, and any coincidence is noted,”

Echo, “Once you hit twelve you are considered Ones, fated to be.”

Mal looked at you, “Oh, so, why the coughing?”

“I was drinking-, she’s designing the gown.”

Mal, “Gow-,” then gasped, “Oh, the, gown. Oh that’s big.”

“Very big,” you squeaked our wiping your cheeks dry. “All I did was share about the festival and shared some pictures. But when I messaged her about you saying that my mark looked like a Battle Ram and she looked at the pictures again asking what Thorin went as I hit fourteen.”

Echo stated, “Well you just focus on today,”

“I can’t focus on today, because he doesn’t know what that means and I absolutely cannot tell him and no one blending into the clan can either.”

Glori smirked saying, “You leave the next step to us. We feel a craving for some tea and Rumil is in Greenwood. Thran will surely drag him here if he has to.”

Brushing your hair from your face you groaned out, “Now I have to order a harp...I’m gonna have to wake up Maglor...” you said taking back your phone to send a message to the fabled instrument crafter. “And you all know just how soon that will be published.”

Echo looked to Mal clarifying, “Ordering a mithril harp means betrothal in the very least.”

Mal, “Mithril?! You have to order a mithril harp?!”

You nodded only to lift the phone answering the call from the now very much awake crafter eager to take your order, “Or I wither and die.” Dipping to Noldorin you shared the situation and answered his questions.

Mal’s has dropped and Echo said, “Proposal is a very gentle and sacred topic among Elves. If done improperly without consideration for tradition almost always ends in death.”

Mal, “Can I help?”

Glori said, “These are the only steps to protect, once these are crossed the pair should be safe, as long as no one crosses any mountains of fire.” His eyes watching as you went to the empty table and hopped up on it and swung your legs in the brief conversation he hung up to start drafting ideas for designs.

Echo came over to you as you hung your head back patting your shoulder leaning on the table beside you only for you to slump into his side for a half hug. “We will get you through this.”

“I know. Just not sure how I can bring this up casually.”

Glori smirked saying as he leaned on the table between you in your sip of your cider you had nearly choked on earlier. “Let us handle that. Betrothal is quite simple compared to engaged and by what you said of us his parent’s intentions with the pictures on your trip it shouldn’t be an uncomfortable topic as now it is not just his kin expecting marriage but both.”

“Not helping,” you muttered lowering your mug to your lap again.

Echo, “For now, I got a call last night that the etchings were handed over to the printers. Not long now.”

Glori, “And we have already sold out of our supply of stickers. Have a wait list now and more being printed out.”

Echo, “Any luck on the commercials yet?”

“Haven’t sketched yet, but I have some ideas. I can work on them when I get home.”

Glori, “No rush, we have a couple months minimum until there are enough to sell and then it would probably be another to start advertising.” From his pocket he passed you a folded magazine saying, “For your brainstorming. They have a whole section on soundproofing materials for your mini studio.”

Mal looked at you, “You’re making a home studio?” Grinning at the idea.

“Thought it might help with everything, and I have the space.”

She replied, “That is so cool.”

Looking to Glori again you said, “The months should give me plenty of time to get a few options ready for them. Of course I’ll have to reference some of the Durins’ hidden trinkets so I can perfect Durin’s adornments. Gorgo seemed to be ok with the art I added for the drafts.”

Glorfindel, “Well your etchings are splendid, it will be one of a kind.”

Ecthellion, “And she gave it a raving revue to her now curious boss.”

Mal, “I don’t think I’d be awake after reading a book that size.”

You chuckled weakly, “Almost wasn’t, bit drained from the last book went home to hug her son and finish crying.”

Mal, “Crying? What did you put in the book to make her cry?”

“You’ll see,” you said making her shake her head.

“It better not end sad. I mean it, I would hate to read through all that just to end broken hearted.”

Glori and Echo chuckled guiding you both after a glance at the time to the hall outside your booths, “It’s worth it. Enjoy your show, leave the rest to us.” The latter reaching into your hair and cutting off a small strip at the root, buried deep hard to notice that it was missing at all. The strip shed it’s coloring instantly shining a brilliant shimmering white as he wound it around a pair of pencils secured with a band.

Both heading for their office Glori lifted the phone he had pulled from his pocket and called your good friend Rumil. Grinning as he answered with a half dazed hum in the middle of his breakfast. “Rumil, let me know when you’re done chewing, I would hate for you to choke.”

Easing the scramble sandwich from between his lips he asked with now wider eyes catching Legolas’ attention from across the table who tapped his father’s arm. The half asleep knotted bun sporting blonde dipping closer to the table in a try for more sleep while Haldir and Orophin finished setting out the meal the latter had made everyone popped up blinking his eyes to focus on Rumil encouraging the others to do the same. “Why would that be?”

“Jewelia Pear has counted coincidences.”

Instantly Rumil perked up and he asked, “How many did she count?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen-,” hastily he wet his lips, “This about the Durin you mentioned she’s signed a pre engagement prenup with for cohabitation?”

“One and the same. How fast can you get out here, we were going to drop by for some tea. Lend some assistance to the matter.”

Rumil smirked letting out a breathy chuckle, “No wonder, he’s got no clue of the procedure.”

“Exactly, Jackrabbit has contacted Maglor and now we are handling this on her behalf.”

Rumil glances at the others, “We’re eating and we’ll be out as soon as we can. Lucky I always have a packet on me.”

Glorfindel smirked saying, “Lucky indeed. See you then.”

Once he had hung up Rumil shared the news and all of the men hastily finished their meal and rushed to get to primping before the hour long trip to Erebor.

Pt 36

#Thorin x Reader OC #Frerin #Dwalin #Fili #Kili #Gorgo #Glorfindel #Ecthellion #Hobbit #lotr

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

Text

What battery percentage is your phone on right now? 44%.

Do any medical afflictions run in your family? Cancer and diabetes.

Who did you last talk to in person and what did you say? My mom. We were talking about the story being covered on 48 Hours on the ID channel.

What's your favourite Mexican dish? I like burritos, especially from this local Mexican restaurant. It’s simple, just beans, rice, cheese, cilantro, sour cream and guacamole, but it’s so good. I like to have this gravy and cheese dip on the side for dipping, too.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Yeah, I’ve been to a hockey game once.

How far do you live from New York City? I’m all the way across the country on the opposite side in California.

How often do you talk to your parents? We live together, I see and talk to them all the time.

Do you prefer pads, tampons or something else? I just used pads. TMI, but I say “used” because I don’t have a menstrual cycle anymore due to health reasons.

What was the weather like in your town today? It’s supposed to be 77 F today. It’s slowly been starting to cool down. I need it to drop down more for my liking, though.

Are there any phrases or words that you say a lot? Yes, but for some reason whenever I’m asked this I can’t think of an example.

How many boyfriends or girlfriends have you ever had? One.

Have you ever ordered a specially made cake from a cake shop? Yeah, my childhood birthday cakes were ordered from a cake shop.

What was the last movie you saw and who did you watch it with? In the Tall Grass on Netflix with my mom and brother.

What's the name of your first real boyfriend or girlfriend? Derek.

Do you clean your ears daily? Not daily, but a few times a week.

What accent do you have? As a Californian I feel like I don’t have one, but I guess it would be a Californian one? *shrug* Like I said, I don’t feel like I have one but everyone does. It’s not distinctive like someone from Boston or North Dakota, ya know? Ha, I Googled Californian accent and it even says, “Their accent is indeed similar to General American, meaning it sounds to American ears like it isn't an accent at all. Everyone has an accent, however.” Then it talks about how we pronounce certain sounds/words differently and some of our sayings and slang. Ha, it also brings up how if anything, non-Californians would probably think of a Californian accent being valley-girl or surfer dude, which yeah that’s true people do tend to associate us with that and words like “hella” and “stoked.”

What scent of air freshener do you keep in your bathroom? It’s a pumpkin cinnamon scent or something like that.

Have you ever dated a model? No.

What's the best job you've ever had? I’ve never had a job.

How about the worst? --

Do you have naturally straight hair? No, I have wavy hair.

What is your ultimate goal in life? I don’t know.

Have you ever visited someone in prison? Yes.

What months were you and your siblings born in? I was born in July, my younger brother was born in February, and my older brother was born in November.

Do you write down your passwords in a physical place to prevent losing them? Yeah.

What are your three favourite vegetables? Potatoes, spinach, and broccoli.

How many times a day do you check Facebook or any other social network? I check Facebook and a few other social medias a few times a day.

When was the last time you had a blocked nose? It gets stuffy now and then, but it doesn’t tend to last long. I haven’t had a real stuffy nose, like because of a cold, since earlier this year.

Who is your favourite comedian? I don’t have one.

What colour are the socks you're wearing today? White.

What did you have for dinner last night? Wingstop.

What was the last concert you went to? Green Day back in 2009.

Are you an ugly crier? Yeah. I’m also just ugly.

What scent is the soap or body wash you use in the shower? It’s just Caress bar soap, it smells clean and soapy.

Have you ever had sex in/on a vehicle? No.

Who do you live with? My parents, brother, and doggo.

What letter does your street name begin with? --

Do you do anything to groom your eyebrows? I pluck them.

When was the last time you ate at McDonald's? A few months ago.

What's your favourite Popsicle flavour? Not a popsicle kind of gal, really.

Who was the last person you sent a Facebook message to and what did you say? My aunt. She was just checking in and seeing how I’ve been doing.

Do you have any injuries at the moment? Yes.

Have you ever been to an ophthalmologist? I’ve been to the optometrist numerous times, but I don’t think an ophthalmologist.

Do you own any animal print clothes? No, not my style.

Are you tall, short or average? Would you change this? I’m short and “I wish I was a little bit taller.”

When was the last time you went to a drug store/pharmacy? Hm, I don’t recall. My mom or brother always pick up my medicines for me, I haven’t gone in awhile.

Do you ever binge-watch TV shows? Yeah. My current binge-watch is Sabrina: The Teenage Witch (the one from my childhood with Melissa Joan Hart).

Have you ever mustered up the courage to tell someone how you feel only to be rejected? Yep. Twice. Not a fun time...

Do you keep your files and documents organized in one place? Unfortunately, no. I’d like to be organized with that kind of stuff.

What's your favourite sweet treat to bake? I don’t bake anymore, but I used to like making cupcakes or cookies during the holidays.

Are you good at flirting and letting people know you're interested? Ha, no. I’m too awkward. There’s been times I thought it was obvious I was interested only for them to be like, “I had no idea.”

What did you have for breakfast today? It’s 1:22AM.

Do you prefer sweet or savoury breakfasts? Savory.

Do you like chick-flicks? Yeah.

Have you ever taken an acting class? Yes, which is really shocking for someone as shy and awkward as I am. I actually took two while at community college.

What is your favourite kind of berry? I don’t have a favorite. I really only like strawberries out of the berry choices, but I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had any.

When was the last time you watched one of your favourite movies? I’ve been watching some of my favorite horror movies. I plan on watching a lot this month.

How often do you use Youtube? Quite often.

Do you prefer Prince or Michael Jackson? I like more Michael Jackson songs, but I like some Prince songs as well.

What's the coolest thing you've ever dressed up as for Halloween? Not sure about “the coolest.”

Are you ignoring anyone right now? I guess that’s what it’s called when you don’t respond to messages or make any attempt to contact or reach out to them. :/ That was never the intention and even now it’s still hard to admit that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing the past few years. They eventually stopped trying to reach out and I don’t blame them. I’m such a shitty person.

How do you usually style your hair? I throw it up in a pony tail or bun; not much styling going on.

Do you have any tattoos? Tell me about them. Nope.

Have you ever worked in a store while someone shoplifted there? I’ve never worked at a store. I’ve witnessed it happening while shopping at stores, though.

When was the last time you used a stove? I just made my ramen.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to eat? Insects, seafood, stuff like bull testicles, etc.

Are you sitting, standing or laying (or something else) right now? I’m sitting on my bed.

How many hours per week do you typically work? Zero.

What was the last pill or tablet you took? My pain medication.

How far away from your house is the closest grocery store? Just down the street.

Have you ever lived in university/college campus housing? Nope.

Who was the last person you complimented? My mom.

Are you the type of person to take naps, even if you've slept plenty? “Even if you’ve slept plenty” ha, right.

Do you have a crush on anyone at the moment? Nope.

The age old question: dogs or cats? Dogs.

When was the last time you saw your best friend? I see her everyday, all the time. We live together. She’s my mom.

Do you know any couples who resemble each other? No, but I’ve seen couples who do.

Have you ever been fired from a job? Why? Nope.

Are you tired right now? I always am. <<<

Do you like spring rolls? Yeah.

What do you live on in terms of a street, road, crescent, place, court etc? Lane.

How many purses or handbags do you own? Six. Do you get along with all your aunts and uncles? There’s one uncle we don’t talk to for reasons, but otherwise yeah. I haven’t seen any of my aunts or uncles in awhile, some I haven’t seen in years, but there’s no drama with them. I have one aunt that I’m really close to, though.

Have you ever eavesdropped and heard something you didn't want to hear? Yes.

When was the last time you used a pen, pencil or marker? I used a pen yesterday.

What's your favourite type of curry? I don’t eat curry.

Do you often go to do or say something and then just forget? It happens. Brain fog.

Who makes you laugh the hardest? My mom and brother.

Have you ever had casual sex? No.

What was the last thing you paid for with cash? Food.

What's the last letter of your middle name? Nah.

If your phone rang right now from a number you don't know, would you answer? Nope.

How long is your hair? Down to my butt.

What was your first pet's name and how did you pick that? The first pet whose name I picked was our dog, Scruffy, when I was about 4 or 5. I’m not sure how I chose that name. Do you drink diet or regular soda? Regular.

Have you ever been to Europe? No, but I’d love to.

Do you worry about your own health? Always. Yet, I admittedly don’t do some things I should be doing. I certainly could be doing a lot more.

Who did you last make plans with, and what plans did you make? Uhh, I made plans to watch something on Netflix with my mom tomorrow haha. Those are the only kind of plans I make nowadays.

Can you smell anything right now? My ramen.

How old were you when you got your first cell phone? 15.

When was the last time you bought a pair of shoes? I got a new pair for my birthday from my mom. All the shoes I have were birthday or Christmas gifts, to be honest. I don’t recall the last time I bought a pair of shoes myself.

Do you like fruit and vegetable combo juices? No. Or any kind of juice, period.

Have you ever been on a spring break trip? Yeah.

Would you rather be warmer or colder right now? I’d like if it were cold enough to need a blanket. We’re still not there yet in California even though it’s almost mid-October. :(

How tall are your highest heels? I don’t wear heels. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

What's your favourite flavour of frosting? Good ol’ vanilla is the best, but I like strawberry, lemon, and cream cheese as well.

When did you wake up today? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, it’s 3:58AM.

Do you change your appearance often? No. I haven’t in quite awhile.

Have you ever blocked someone on Facebook? Why? Yes.

How many people do you work with?

What was the last thing you ate? Ramen.

Do you have any plans for three hours in the future? Probably attempt sleep.

Has anyone ever made a comment about your weight that offended or upset you? Yeah, it’s frustrating.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Klaine one-shot “Pick and Choose” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

While having a drink together at Callbacks, Kurt and Rachel spy a handsome man sitting alone at the bar who seems to be interested at someone at their table.

They're just having a little trouble figuring out exactly who. (1858 words)

Read on AO3.

“He’s definitely gay,” Kurt declares as the man in question - sitting on a corner barstool at the exact perfect angle for Kurt and Rachel to ogle him equally - glances over. It isn’t the first time he’s noticed them. They’ve been staring at him hard for the past forty-five minutes. He can probably feel their eyes burning through his skull. This time, same as the others, he raises his beer to toast in their direction before taking a sip. Both pairs of eyes shift to his lips caressing the mouth of the bottle, then slide their way to the line of his neck lengthening as he leans his head back to suck down the last few mouthfuls of alcohol. When he’s done, he licks those sinful lips and tosses them a playful wink. The two friends catch their breath in unison.

“But how do you know?” Rachel asks. “What proof do you have?”

“What proof do you have that he’s straight?” Kurt says, sticking his nose in the air. “Besides, I don’t need proof. I just know. My intuition is that good.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You forget – we went to high school together. Your intuition’s track record isn’t all that impressive.” Rachel raises her glass to the gentlemen at the bar in a similar toasting gesture, tosses him a similar flirty wink, and then takes a sip. But Kurt isn’t having it. He raises a hand off the table to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, surreptitiously knocking the bottom of her glass with his knuckle. Sweet vermouth sloshes too quickly down her throat causing her to jerk back and sputter. It doesn’t help Kurt’s cause too much since the man at the bar had turned his head away in search of the bartender a second before, which that’s just as good since Kurt can admit it was a petty move.

Still, it made him feel better.

“No way he’s gay,” Rachel counters between coughs, glaring at Kurt as she pats her face dry with her napkin. “He’s been eye-fucking me for the last twenty minutes.”

Kurt laughs out loud. It gets the man’s attention. Sultry eyes find Kurt’s and hold them. His heart skips a beat.

“Oh no, my dear. That’s not eye-fucking ...” Kurt stops when the man raises an eyebrow. He realizes he must have read the word ‘fucking’ on his lips and his eyes open wide. The corner of the man’s mouth curls in amusement and Kurt blushes a deep cherry red. He prays the man doesn’t notice, but that’s the thing about Callbacks. For a piano bar, they keep the interior relatively well-lit. “That’s the look of confusion a person gets when they’re sure they’ve seen someone quasi famous but can’t place them.”

“Quasi? May I remind you that I was the lead actress in a beloved Broadway musical!?”

“Yeah, for about a week.”

“And I was on TV! Starring in my own show!”

“Again for about a week. Sorry. He may be looking at you occasionally, but the person he’s undressing with his eyes is me.”

The man chuckles, his gaze fixed on Kurt’s mouth, drawn to every word tumbling from his lips. His eyes catch the light overhead and they sparkle. That suggestive grin of his is like a fine wine – smooth, rich, subtly intoxicating in a way that sneaks up on you before you know you’ve had too much and makes you dizzy for hours. Kurt rests his cheek against his palm and sighs. It’s been a hot minute since a man has had this lovesick schoolboy effect on him, but he can’t help himself. The man at the bar, in his camel-colored slacks, button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and soft frame of curls surrounding his expressive face is exactly his type. He ticks all the boxes on Kurt’s dream guy checklist – appearance wise, anyway. If he has half as much personality as his half-cocked smile does, Kurt is in real danger of falling hard and fast for a stranger. If he could only convince Rachel to back off for five freakin’ minutes, maybe make a run to the bathroom so Kurt can approach the man and say hi. He hatches a plan. He’ll wait for her to take another sip of her drink. If he can get her to spill it down the front of her top this time, maybe he can …

“There’s only one way to solve this conundrum that I can see,” Rachel says, pushing back from the table and rising to her feet.

“And what’s that?” Kurt follows suit, because if Rachel Berry is about to do a single thing to sabotage his chances with this man, he wants to be right there next to her to hogtie and gag her if need be.

“We’ll both offer to buy him a drink, and see whose offer he accepts.”

“That’s … actually a good idea,” Kurt says, weeding his way around the tables to his left in an effort to get to the man first.

“Isn’t it?” Rachel says smugly. “Just remember, no matter what, we remain civil, and we stay friends.”

“Of course. But I need you to remember something, too.”

“What’s that?”

“After he accepts my offer and you head home, feed the cat? She must be starving.”

Rachel snorts in offense, but before she can retort, they arrive. They surround the man like juvenile lions – over-zealous, fidgety, and outmatched.

“Good evening,” the man says in a voice like silk and chocolate – two of Kurt’s favorite things. “I’m glad you finally decided to join me.”

“Look,” Rachel starts, getting the jump before Kurt can open his mouth, “this might sound odd, but …” For some reason, she stalls. Kurt side-eyes her, wondering if she’s about to deviate from the plan and stab him in the back instead.

“But?”

“But,” Kurt leaps in, debating for a second whether or not he should steal the chance to plunge his own proverbial dagger between Rachel’s thin shoulder blades, “we’ve both been watching you all night, and as creepy as that sounds …”

“… one of us would like to buy you a drink.”

The man’s eyes – a delectable honey-gold from close up - dance from one face to the other. “Is that right?”

“Yes. It’s just … uh …”

“… we need you to pick which one.”

And with that revelation, the man’s smile goes from bright to blinding. “I see. Well, that’s a new one.” He looks them both over from head to toe. Rachel looks at Kurt as if she might be second guessing her idea, and for the same reason that crosses his mind. What if he picks both of them? Kurt loves Rachel. Despite all of his bitching and moaning about her, he does. Like a sister. He’s not going to share a guy with her.

But he’s also not in the habit of giving up without a fight.

He knows all of Rachel’s weaknesses. Plus, she’s got a bum knee – a consequence of years of ballet. One well-placed kick and she’ll fold like a paper plate.

The man’s eyes bounce back over to Rachel’s face and stay there. “Aren’t you … Rachel Berry?”

She pulls herself up straight, confident that she’s come out victorious. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“I’m Blaine.” He extends a hand. She offers hers for him to shake, but he lifts it to his lips and kisses it instead. Kurt’s red cheeks drain to a sickly pea green with envy. “Enchante.”

“I’m Kurt,” Kurt says with a wave, but Blaine isn’t looking Kurt’s way anymore.

“I saw you in Funny Girl before you left the show. You captured the essence of Fanny Brice perfectly. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.”

“Your performance radiated her charm, her ingénue, her innate glamour ...”

“Oh do go on,” she says, twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger while simultaneously shooting Kurt a smirk. His shoulders sag. Oh well. Tonight is not his night, which stings considering he can’t seem to catch a break at all in the dating department lately. He thought he had a chance with a new photog at Vogue, but seven coffee dates in he found out from Isabelle that the guy in question had a girlfriend, and that he was buttering Kurt up in hopes of scoring the choice assignments.

Before that was Chase, but he transferred to the London office a few days after Kurt got hired on full time; and then Michael, who was sweet enough during work hours, but that was only because he was trying to sleep his way through every man in the office.

And Adam. Kurt met him at NYADA. They were in all the same classes, had everything in common. But his school visa ran out before the beginning of last summer.

Kurt guesses it’s true what they say – all the good guys are taken or straight.

Or just plain live in another country.

Ready to declare defeat, he backs away towards their abandoned table. He’ll settle their bill, pay for his two Diet Cokes and Rachel’s army of sweet vermouths, and then head home. He can hear their cat Sicily scolding him when he walks through the door for staying out so late. He’ll change into his pajamas, then they’ll curl up together on the couch – him eating strawberry cheesecake ice cream from the container while she sits on his shoulder and yawns hot fish breath against his cheek.

But a warm hand finds his and weaves their fingers together. When Kurt looks back at Blaine, he motions to the seat beside him with a tilt of his head.

“Would it be tacky to ask for an autograph,” Blaine asks, pulling Kurt over to the empty barstool, “while your handsome friend here buys me that drink?”

“I … what? Uh …” Rachel’s eyes pop. “N-no,” she says, the smile plastered to her face freezing awkwardly into place. “N-not at all. Anything for a fan.”

“Excellent. Because I’d really appreciate it.”

Kurt slides onto the barstool, expecting Blaine to let go of his hand once he’s taken his seat. But he doesn’t. He lifts Kurt’s hand to his mouth as he had with Rachel’s and kisses it, but this time, he lingers, breathing in the scent of Kurt’s skin as those kisses travel from his knuckles to his wrist. It mesmerizes Kurt, nearly leaves him speechless.

Nearly.

“Hey, Rach,” Kurt says as Rachel grabs a pen off the bar and starts searching for a slip of paper. “You know, I’m a fan, too. I’ve been a fan since high school.”

Rachel finds an old receipt lying not too far away. She signs her name to the blank back of it, along with a small message. And even though she makes it a point not to look at her triumphant friend while she does, her smile melts an inch. “Thanks, Kurt.”

“That said, in the spirit of doing anything for a fan, could you scoop the litter box, too? Because that would be faboo.”

#klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klaine #frankie writes

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theasstour · 7 years

Photo

(gif credit: harryisart)

Sweet Creature. 02.

7 January 2016: Power goes out.

Pairing: Y/N and Harry (as friends still, loads of flirting tho ;) )

Word count: 4.2k

NB: explicit language, not vegetarian/vegan foods, insane adorableness

Typical. That was the word. It was so fucking typical that your power went out on the coldest day of winter so far this year. It was so fucking typical that it was this Thursday that Nick was supposed to spend with his family in Surrey so you had nowhere to go and would probably freeze to death in your flat. The only way people would know you were gone was by the smell of your corpse after some days of rotting on your sofa, a bag of crisps in your hands probably.

You made your way to the nearest Tesco, knowing that to survive through the night you would need loads of chocolate and probably some strawberries as well. No power meant no proper dinner and you didn’t earn enough yet to live comfortably with take away while living in central North London. You didn’t order take away unless you had been very good at saving up that month, and it was only the beginning of January. You got your strawberries first before you made your way straight to the chocolate, rummaging through the self to see if you found something that screamed out to you. After picking out a few favourites, you thought to yourself that you wanted some other berries or grapes as well. Making your way back to the front of the shop, you walked by an aisle where you thought you saw something familiar, but quickly brushed it off. You looked too much of a mess to meet anyone you knew and feel comfortable enough to stop and talk.

Harry didn’t notice at first, but as he saw the back of your head he blinked a little to himself. It had been a week, and he was starting to hallucinate now? He wanted to see you that bad? Telling himself he was only going crazy and it was those 13 hours of sleep he got last night, he continued on to look through the bread on the shelf before him. It had only been a near-kiss on that New Years party that Nick had thrown, but Harry had found himself really wanting to meet you again. Nick knew exactly the type for Harry, that was why he let Nick and Alexa set him up with loads of people, but there was something different about you. Nick knew it, that was why he had been so eager to introduce you two Harry knew.

You got some healthy snacks and then started walking back toward the cashier, but then you stopped for a second. Looking to your right, you saw a tall, long-haired man with the same coat on that he had worn on New Years Eve. Harry looked right back at you, a furrow to his brow and his sunglasses tangled on top of his head as he took you in. You suddenly felt very exposed. Old joggers on, a fleece jacket, your Nikes on and your hair up away from your face; an absolutely magnificent sight, you thought to yourself.

A warm smile spread over his face, revealing his adorable dimples. “[Y/N].”

You were suddenly ultra-aware of the two bags of crisps you were holding, three bars of chocolate, the pack with strawberries and the bag of cashew nuts. “Hi, Harry.” You said just as the cashew nuts fell to the floor.

“Oh,” Harry stepped forward just as you felt your whole face heat up like you had been standing in front of the sun for 8 hours straight. “Let me help you with that.” Harry took the cashews in his shopping cart and then stared at the rest of your groceries. “Having a party?”

“If by party you mean being all by myself while eating all of this and trying not to freeze to death, then yes, I am having one hell of a party.”

Harry couldn’t help but let a small chuckle go and you felt your heart do something funny at the sound of it. He gestured to the rest of the stuff in your hands before he frowned and looked back into your eyes. You bit your lip at the shiver that went down your spine.

“’Trying not to freeze to death’?” Harry took some of his hair behind his ear. “Your power went out?”

You nodded. “Big parts of North London.”

“I heard about that.” Harry’s fingers were fiddling with his chin as he felt an overwhelming feeling of pity for you and how you obviously seemed to have hit a wall. “So… it’s a crisps-chocolate- strawberries- cashew nuts kind of night then?”

“Obviously.”

Harry smiled a wry smile at how miserable you seemed and looked, and his smile made you smile a little back. You couldn’t even control it.

“How about you come eat dinner at my place? My power is still there and that way you wouldn’t have to freeze to death.” Right after he had suggested that, though, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long while: nervousness. He had become accustomed to going on stage and performing or going to talk show interviews and so on, but there was something so… real about this. He felt like he had just laid himself completely bare and anxiety started crawling its way forward, making him ramble. “I mean, you don’t have to. If you’d rather stay at your place and not at mine, I wouldn’t mind. But of-of course I want you to eat me- I mean, eat with me!” He stopped for a second and looked at the floor and the space between you two as both giggled a little. “All I’m saying,” Harry started again, looking up and into your eyes in a way that made both of you catch your breaths. “Is that I very much want you to come eat dinner with me, and if you’d rather-“

“-If I’d rather stay at home freezing you’d totally understand?” You challenged him. He smiled in return. “I very much want to eat dinner with you, Harry.” Somewhere inside of Harry, something started to bloom. “But I got to put all of this stuff back then.”

“Oh, we’re keeping the crisps.” Harry said as he plucked them out of your arms.

“Oh?” You watched him put them in his carry-on.

“If you’re coming to mine to eat,” Harry started, looking at you with that wry smile again. “Then I don’t really want us to stop eating.” That way you’ll stay around longer. But Harry didn’t say that.

You looked away as you felt yourself starting to blush, hurrying away to put all of your rubbish food back in its place.

¤ ¤ ¤

It was lightly snowing outside, the shy above you a dull grey and the chilly winter winds of Britain hit you like a whip across the face. You suddenly remembered why you preferred staying inside. Harry’s temporary flat wasn’t far from the Tesco, meaning that the two of you didn’t live too far away from one another. You thought about this for a moment as Harry held the door of his flat building open for you. You thanked him as you walked inside and he walked in front of you up all those stairs that led to the top floor. Unlocking his flat, he opened the door for you once again and you were greeted with the warmth of not only the inside of a small and luxurious flat, but also by the warmth of the absolute adorableness of it. A door stood to both the left and the right as you entered, so you automatically assumed that one led to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. You were scared that asking which was the bedroom would lead to an awkward conversation and silence that you were not about.

The walls were a soft beige colour and the floors of royal mahogany. Huge French windows hung prettily over the opposite wall that stretched out the length of the flat. After you took your shoes of, you followed Harry into his living area. The black kitchen was to the right with white-tiled floor and dark grey counters, the chairs by the kitchen island were of dark leather and you knew that they were probably more comfortable than your sofa at home. The living room was brown and beige with a cute fireplace, a good-sized sofa, a coffee-table, carpet, and a flat screen. It didn’t seemed that he had lived here long enough to decorate the walls or anything major to make it more personal.

“How long have you lived here?” You asked him, looking around yourself at his cute flat. You remembered Nick saying something about Harry only living here temporarily, but you don’t remember more than that.

“About a month.” Harry answered, putting the shopping bags on the kitchen island. “I have a house in L.A., but I’m staying here for a bit before I’m going to start filming for the movie I’m cast in. Besides, most of my family and friends are here in London.”

You walked over to help him unload. “So this is a temporary place then?”

“Yea.” Harry answered, opening the fridge to put most of the stuff in there. “Will probably sell it once I’m done filming.”

You nodded, putting some vegetables in the fridge. “Spending most of your break in the US then?”

“Most likely, yea.” Harry looked over his shoulder at you as you put his butter on a shelf. Without meaning to, he started thinking about how he didn’t feel like spending most of the hiatus in L.A. when he could be spending it here in London; with you. Shaking his head at himself and dragging a hand through his long locks to keep them in place, Harry walked over to put the bread on the counter beside his bowl of oranges. He barely knew you, he needed to calm down.

“What does L.A. have that London doesn’t?” You grinned at him, clearly challenging him into something that he didn’t really have an answer for.

Letting a chuckle go as he leaned against the counter, Harry stared at the kitchen island for a bit. “My house.”

“But London’s got the great weather, the insanely nice taxi-drivers, and the most overrated shopping street in the world!” Your voice dripped sarcasm and Harry couldn’t help but to laugh at you. “And, let’s not forget, every house has a rat problem. Who would not want to live here?”

Harry laughed and let his hand trace his jawline as he watched you, appreciating the smile on your face more than he ever thought he’d do. Something inside his tummy came to life and he felt it out to the tips of his fingers. All because of that smile you had spread across your face.

“Want to start making food?” Harry asked and you nodded.

“What are we making?” You take the apron Harry hands you, watching as he puts his own on over his all-black outfit. There wasn’t an explanation for it, but you found Harry in an apron so insanely hot that you wanted to start fanning yourself right then and there. With his hands on his hips, Harry read through the cooking-book that he had wrapped out on the kitchen counter.

“Salt and pepper chicken with spring quinoa pilaf.”

You felt yourself grow into a question mark. “What was that now?”

Harry’s mouth tipped up a little at the corners and he looked up at you through his lashes. “Do you make a lot of food?”

“I do.” You nod your head once. “I make margarita pizza, cheese and ham pizza, veggie pizza-“ You stopped yourself as Harry let out such an adorable giggle that you could feel your insides starting to melt.

“Well, today I’m going to teach you how you make the best quinoa pilaf.” Harry clapped his hands together, walking over to his cupboard to get all the equipment out. You could see the muscles in his back work through his tee shirt and you knew you needed to do something or else you wouldn’t be able to think straight by the end of the night.

“Want any help?”

“If you wouldn’t mind getting the ingredients, love. They’re all listed in the book.” Harry could feel himself blush so madly that he didn’t dare turn around to face you just yet. He hadn’t meant to call you ‘love’, it had just slipped out, like it had been the most natural thing in the world. Biting his lip, he willed the redness to evaporate before he watched you while you got the ingredients out of the fridge.

Putting the oven to 230 degrees, you two started following the instructions in the cook-book.

“Okay,” Harry began. “Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Cook skin-side down, in batches, until the skin is golden and crispy, 5 to 7 minutes.”

“I think you should do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I will most likely fuck it up.”

“Then you’re doing it.”

You frowned, looking up at him like he’d just told you Earth was flat. “Pardon?”

“I’m teaching you how to make this, you’ll make it.”

You didn’t get another word out before Harry put the oil in the skillet and then the chicken filets as well. Anxiety started to bubble up because you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of Harry, but here you were, about to make him repellent of you. He was going to think you were incompetent.

“Do you know how to season chicken filets?”

“N-No.”

Harry looked at you as you stood to his right. “That’s fine, I’ll tell you what to do.” Placing a gentle hand on your waist, Harry pushed you to stand in front of the stove. Electrifying sparks went through the both of you, neither being able to explain what it was or how this was occurring. You didn’t want him to move his hand away, but Harry’s inner gentleman told him to do so. He didn’t want to me too forward. Hell, you two hadn’t even been out on a first date yet. “Okay,” Harry cleared his throat, looking at the chicken filets in the pan. “What you want to do is just put some salt and pepper on them. Not too much, but enough so that we can taste the difference, yea? Chicken without anything to it tends to taste like… well, nothing.”

You nod along to his words, taking the pepper in your hands before you took a breath and poured some on one of the two filets.

“Okay.” Harry nodded. “A little less pepper next time unless you want us to sneeze all night.”

“Loads of pepper, then.” You joke, taking the knife Harry gave you to scrape some of the heaps of pepper off.

“I mean,” Harry shrugged. “If that’s what does it for you, then sure. Pour it all on.”

You laughed, and Harry let out a little chuckle as well while watching you. Something about your laugh made flowers grow within him. Scraping it off till Harry told you it was fine, you put the same amount of pepper on the second filet. With satisfaction in his eyes, Harry watched as you put the same mount of salt on and then turned the filets over.

“Good work.”

“Call me chef from now on.” You smile at him, watching as Harry lets out single, deep chuckle.

“Alright, but can you roast the chicken in the oven until the internal temperature of the chicken reaches 75 degrees?” Harry crossed his arms at you, raising his eyebrows to try you out.

You frown a little. “How do you know the internal temperature? Witchcraft?”

Harry smiled his diamond-worthy smile. “By how long it’s been in the oven.”

“And how long is it supposed to be in the oven for?”

Harry licked his lips while taking his elastic band off his wrist, putting his long hair up in a bun as he watched you watch him. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to braid his wonderous hair or what it would feel like to tug it- Stop, you told yourself, looking away from him and down at the filets in the skillet. Without letting Harry do it, you walked over to the cook-book and read it yourself.

“18 to 22 minutes.”

“Correct.” Harry took the skillet off the stove and put it in the oven, setting the timer before he walked over to deal with the rest of the ingredients. “Now we just have to deal with this.”

Working together, the two of you stood there in silence as you cut the rest of the ingredients up. Harry put on some soft music at some point and you found yourself, more than once, watching him as some melodic Elvis tune filled the small space of his London flat. He, too, checked you out when you weren’t watching. Though he would never admit to having done it, he let his eyes roam your body from your hair to your feet as you stood with your back to him, letting it all sink in before you turned back around. He had already come to love the shape of your bum, a part of yourself that you had always been slightly insecure about. Or how you’d sigh to yourself when you thought you did a shitty job, he found that endearing.

You had already started to smile at the sight of Harry when he’d press his lips together in concentration, or when he’d blow some of his hair that had gone loose form his bun out of his face. How could someone be so incredibly cute one second and so immensely sexy the next? Some questions could never be answered.

Your dinner was done before you knew it and then the two of you were sitting by the kitchen island. Harry had given you a wineglass each, but he filled it with water, knowing that you were going to work at 7am the next morning.

“It does smell delicious.” You admitted, looking down at your plate as Harry sat down beside you.

“And to think you weren’t a chef before this day. One would’ve never thought.” Harry gave you a little smile and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as a beam so huge was about to erupt on your lips. “Let’s taste it, yea?”

Tasting it, you look at Harry with your eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Wow. This is really-“

But you didn’t get another word out as you were both swallowed in darkness. Silence settled over the two of you as you realised what had happened; Harry’s power had gone, too. With a swear on his lips, Harry got up and walked to his French windows, looking out on the neighbourhood and the flats that matched his own. Some lights from central London shone in the distance, but the whole of North London was in complete black-out. Turning to you, you only saw the outlined profile of your friend as he stood looking back at you.

“Good thing I like candles, ey?”

With the help of the flashlight from your phones, the two of you walked into Harry’s room to get them from the drawer he used to stock them in. Without really meaning to, you took a glance around the room. Noticing how comfortable the huge double-bed looked and how he had a picture of him and his family on the nightstand, it was all so… Harry. The windows were covered with a sheer fabric that you had no doubt would let the sun shine in to wake him in the mornings. Not paying attention to Harry or what was going on, you walked into him as he looked through his drawer of candles. Jumping a bit, you were going to put your hand in front of your mouth so not to make any awkward noises, when instead, you gave Harry a nice pat on the ass. It was silent before Harry looked at you over his shoulder. This is it, you thought, I am going to die from this. This is my death. The light from his phone provided you of just enough so you could make out the giant grin on his face.

“Jesus [Y/N],” Harry said, clearly about to tell a joke. “If you want to grope me, you don’t have to wait for the power in all of London to go out to do it. I’ll happily let you touch my ass whenever you want.-“

“-Harry!” You cannot fight the laughter bubbling up and Harry can’t either. “I’m sorry for… groping you. I just got scared when I hit something walking in the dark.”

“No worries, princess.” Harry said and he was so glad the lights were out. How had he called you ‘love’ and ‘princess’ in one evening? This must be a record for how much he had embarrassed himself in less than 2 hours. He didn’t usually feel so nervous around anyone, but he had this overwhelming instinct to impress you for a reason. “I, eh… here are some candles.” Harry gave you a couple, unaware of how fast your heart was beating after he called you that. Princess. What was he doing to you?

You two walked back to his living room and lit all the candles. You didn’t want to think about how fucking romantic this was. The two of you eating a dinner you had made together and now eating in candlelight? This hadn’t even been intentional. You had come to Harry’s flat because you had lost your power, and now you sat here in his flat without any power. The food had cooled down a bit while the two of you had been lighting the candles, but you didn’t really care because everything that was going through your mind sounded a lot like “No worries, princess”. Harry sat down next to you and you two started eating your dinner. It was absolutely amazing and you closed your eyes as you ate and swallowed the first bite. Fives bites later, and Harry turned to you.

“So… where did you grow up?” He asked, putting a fork filled with chicken and quinoa.

“[your hometown].” You took a bite as well.

“Tell me what it was like growing up there.”

And so you talk. The two of you talk for hours and hours. You fill him in on everything in your life and he talks about his. You find mutual interests and that you prefer different TV shows to one another. It had been such a long time since you had gone on a date that you had completely forgotten how much fun it was like to get to know a new person that you were truly interested in. Not that this was a date, but oh, how you wished it was. Harry didn’t tell you like you didn’t tell him, but he too wanted this to be a date. He had never really been keen to label anything, really, but he wanted to label this. He wanted to know where this was heading or if it was heading anywhere at all. The two of you laughed at the same things and were passionate about the same subjects. Neither had thought that you would ever find someone so fully yourself but as another person. But here you were. And as you looked at the clock on your phone to have it show 00:34, you sighed and looked back at Harry.

“I have to leave.”

Harry sighed. “Really?”

“Yea, I have work in the morning.”

Harry nodded and watched as you got up and took your plate. “No,” Gently, he took the plate from your hands. “I’ll wash it up.”

“I can do it, really-“

“-You have work in the morning.” Harry teased and you could feel yourself smiling as he turned his back on you, walking over to put the plates in the sink. He walked you out and leaned against the wall as you took your fleece jacket back on. “When will I see you again?” Harry asked, and you had a little flashback to when he asked you that exact same question on New Years Eve.

“I guess that depends on when you ask me out.”

The wry smile showed then and Harry looked down at the floor before taking you in again. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“Dinner then?”

Harry cocked his head a little to the side. “Okay, no dinner. We’ll do something else.”

“Dinner would be fine, really.” You reassure him.

“I’ll surprise you.” He smiled, and with that, you smiled back and left. You had never smiled all the way home before, but that night you did.

569 notes · View notes

avyssoseleison · 7 years

Text

Part 2 of Pack Alpha!Cas x Young Alpha!Dean (3.3k words)

To have Dean sitting at his breakfast table, dressed in warm, woolen clothing a couple of sizes too wide but not too long for him, still sleep-ruffled and bleary-eyed, hastily eating all the food laid out before him, satisfies a deep, feral urge inside of Castiel. Considering Dean’s reluctance to so much as set foot into Castiel's home last night – because, apparently, Dean had expected to stay at some hut, motel or maybe even prison, instead of the pack Alpha's house – or accept food, a bath and a bed from him, the ease with which he now already inhabits a space in the house is surprising. Like this, Dean looks soft, for lack of a better word, and comfortable, in Castiel's clothing and at his table, and it only seems right to have him here and take care of him. Regardless of him being Alpha as well.

Because not only is he still young and non-threatening, he is also very obviously in need of help. Even in very strict and traditional packs, it is uncommon to simply exile any adolescent who presents as an Alpha and might challenge the pack Alpha one day, so for Dean to be out on his own, underfed and freezing, is puzzling. Unless he did something truly abhorrent to warrant expulsion, he should still be under the protection of his pack and parents. And Dean, with the scars now hidden under the turtleneck Castiel lent him and his pink tongue flicking out to catch every drop and crumble on his lips, feels more like the type to have had abhorrent things done to him.

Then again, looks can be deceiving – and particularly young Alphas tend to lack the inhibition or sense to rein themselves in. Just because he is beautiful and pitiful now does not mean that he did nothing bad before or does not deserve his current, worn-down state. After all, he did ask to be killed over nothing last night. To atone, perhaps?

“So,” Castiel begins, since he has to begin somehow, “how do you like the eggs?”

Apparently confused at being spoken to, Dean glances up at him and then back down to his scrambled eggs. Castiel made them for him – as well as some toast, hash browns, bacon, sausages, and a couple of pancakes – and added in a lot of herbs and butter, as Dean looked like he needed it, but they turned out runny and looking a bit funny. Dean had looked a bit overwhelmed by all the food set down before him, but then began wolfing down everything, as if he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Going by the slimness of his neck, he probably hadn't. If Castiel hadn't given him something light to eat and a few snacks the night before, he would probably be scared that Dean might get sick from this much food for breakfast. Really, he still is afraid of that. But when he started making breakfast, he did not think of that – in fact, he did not think much, except that he wanted to feed the young boy until he looked healthy again.

“They are pretty good,” Dean replies, stirring the eggs with his fork. “Though I'm not sure I can finish them.”

“It's fine if you don't. You don't have to eat everything I make, whether you simply don't like it or might be sick from it.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Dean says and only keeps stirring his eggs now instead of taking another bite, which Castiel takes as a sign that he only kept eating because he thought he had to.

Slightly disgruntled, Castiel takes a sip of his coffee. In the light of the morning and without the exhaustion of the cold clinging to him, the boy already looks somewhat healthier than the night before, and even more stunning. Castiel has no doubt that, were Dean an Omega, he would have been mated and impregnated long ago, if he comes from a pack that supports early matings. Or at least been mated for some time now or on headed that way. Because Castiel knows that even in his own, rather civilized pack, every unmated Alpha and Beta would have been vying for Dean's attention, showered him in gifts and sweet promises, trailed him like a bunch of lost puppies until he finally decided on one of them. Whoever Dean chose would have been considered to be the luckiest member of the pack, the most enviable one. And Castiel is neither too proud nor proud enough to admit that he, too, would have been one of Dean's hopeless little suitors – that he would have courted him shamelessly, probably gotten into fights with all the other admirers and tried to pathetically use his position as the pack Alpha to draw Dean's attention on him, even if just for a bit.

He would have been the king of the fools.

Castiel heaves out a sigh. What good does it do to draw up these kinds of fantasy scenarios and then berate himself for them? Maybe Meg is right: as the pack Alpha and still unmated at his age, he should have made more of an effort to find a viable mate. Even if no one in his pack or outside of it appealed to him yet – at least not to a degree at which he would consider anything long-term with them –, he should have set a good example and settled with someone by now. Certainly, he is not at an age that waiting a few more years or maybe even a decade would make him so old that he could not take proper care of a mate or any children, but the older he gets, the more time seems to just fly by. Whereas a year seemed like an eternity when he was younger, it now feels more like one more turn of the moon, the blink of an eye. If he is not careful, it might be too late for him to mate before he knows it.

Regardless, this is an issue to be dealt with at another time. Right now, all his attention should be on the young Alpha in front of him, who is by now doing nothing but sitting idly in his chair and breathing in that heavy, sluggish way that probably means he ate too much and is working on keeping the food down.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks.

“Hm-mh,” Dean reassures. He strokes a hand over his belly, covered by the thick clothing Castiel has given him, and lets out a sound that is just so verging on a moan, both pleasured and pained.

Castiel feels his fingers tightening around the handle of his cup.

“Haven't eaten so much at once lately,” Dean all but slurs, “so it's a bit much right now. But it was good.”

“Yes?” Castiel asks, eyes perked.

“Yeah.” Dean confirms. This pleases Castiel immensely.

Castiel nods and makes a thoughtful noise. “I did notice that you look a bit... slim for your height. And the overall frame of your body. Which I assume is not just the result of any recent growth spurt?”

Dean tenses up at that, the previous laziness already leaving his body. Castiel cannot help but regret diving into the topic right away, but he has to. “Yeah, it's not like I've had any growth spurts recently.”

Which could either mean Dean is a bit older than Castiel assumed, or that he hasn't had proper nutrition for quite a while now. Maybe it's both.

“Is that why you were in my woods? To hunt?”

For a moment, Dean looks at him in a strange, undefinable way, then shrugs his shoulders. “If some rabbit was randomly crossing my path, maybe. I'm not a very good hunter, though.” He shuffles in his seat. “I was looking for some berries or herbs to eat. I thought there might be some since I've seen some thrushes in the tree tops, so I followed them. Until you pounced on me.”

The memory of which is slightly embarrassing, since Castiel has had a rather non-threatening Dean below him, begging to be killed, and now has him sit in front of him with a full belly, and satisfaction in his features.

“You did not enter the pack's territory on purpose, then,” Castiel resumes from Dean's story.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I didn't know where I was, let alone whose pack the woods belonged to. All I knew was that there were thrushes, so there must be berries around.”

Castiel does not comment on the fact that for Dean to know so much about berries that he would be able to track them down by watching birds is a bit unusual for an Alpha. As are his apparently insufficient hunting skills. Instead, he nods as if he could ever make the same kind of connection between birds and berries, and puts his cup down on the table.

“How long have you been wandering then, when you did not even know whose pack grounds you were entreating upon? Our territory is rather vast, and any proximate pack would know where the borders lay.”

“Been walking for a while,” Dean says noncommittally, shrugging and picking at his fingernails. Castiel remembers how dirty they were just the night before; how dirty all of him was, at least whatever glimpses he caught of Dean’s skin when he began to undress as Castiel was still busy bringing him clothing, fresh towels and soap into the bathroom. His hands are clean now, but Castiel should probably still take a brush and clippers to his fingernails. Maybe even to his toenails? He could pull off Dean’s socks, roll up the hems of his pants, let his feet soak in warm soapy water and then go about taking care of his probably sore and abused feet as slowly and gently as he would take care of his fingers.

Exasperated with himself, Castiel pinches his nose. Forget wrong or inappropriate, these kinds of thoughts are just downright strange. Not just because of the sense of self-abasement and worship that is inherent in feet-washing, let alone since both of them are Alphas, but because the very idea of doing so shouldn’t warm him to his core.

So, he looks away from Dean’s hands and, just to be on the safe side, from his face and any part of his body as well, and stares out the window instead. Outside, the sky is gray and thick snowflakes are falling. Certainly no good day for anyone to be wandering through the woods.

“What does ‘a while’ mean? A couple of days? Weeks?” Castiel probes. “For you to be in such a poor shape, it must have been quite some time.”

“...since spring?” Dean estimates vaguely.

Castiel’s gaze immediately snaps back to Dean. “Spring? Dean, we are in the middle of winter!” He cannot help the rush of anger and terror -- not directed at Dean, but his circumstances. No wonder he looked and still looks like he was put through the meatgrinder. No wonder he begged for Castiel to kill him!

Castiel's scent must stink of his rush of emotions, but Dean’s doesn’t even waver.

Because Dean just shrugs once more and nods, as if more than half a year spent as a vagrant did not matter all that much. “I guess.”

“How?” Castiel asks, then corrects himself. “Why?”

Slowly, Dean blows out a breath and lifts his eyes just enough to catch Castiel’s. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

But Castiel pushes on. “Who would allow something like this to happen? It would have been your pack Alpha’s duty to find you and return you to pack grounds. Someone as young as yourself should never be left to his own devices, particularly not for such a long amount of time.”

Dean’s eyes skip away again. He does not reply, just tenses slightly. Castiel’s eyes narrow at that.

“Or is there a reason your pack Alpha did not look for you? Did you run away -- or were you exiled?”

For a moment, Dean clenches his eyes shut. “Neither. Both. I really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

And Castiel wants to leave him alone, he does, yet it is more than simple curiosity for the beautiful young man sitting in front of him that is driving him, but also his pack’s safety. If Dean was indeed exiled, then it wouldn’t have happened without good reason. At least, it shouldn’t have. Hard as it is to keep pushing Dean and to do so much as assume that he might have committed a crime grave enough to warrant exile, Castiel needs to know the truth for safety reasons.

“Was there any kind of trouble?” As soon as he asks, he thinks of the second confirmation that Dean has given him: that, in the same way that he was and was not exiled, he also did and did not run away. “Did anyone cause you any trouble?”

Dean lets out a short, humorless laugh. Castiel straightens up.

“Did anyone hurt you?” The anger returns tenfold, turns into rage; the very idea of anyone touching Dean in such a painful way that he would flee his pack forces Castiel’s words to come out in a growl. “Is that why---? Is that where the scars came from? Dean, what---”

“Alpha,” Dean cuts in, and his voice and the expression on his face seem both to be warring between fear and anger too, settling on indignation. All of him is tense, and he bites his lip as he corrects himself. “Castiel. Please. I mean it. I don’t-- I can’t talk about this.” He slumps slightly in his seat, and Castiel hates himself for being the cause of this, for interrupting the serene scene from before, for distressing the boy who was so full and relaxed mere moments ago.

“I apologize,” Castiel says upon a deep exhale. “I recognize that you do not wish to talk about this, so I will not force you to. I have no right to your past, but some to your presence, as you are now part of my pack, which is why I need to know if what happened could have an impact on either your or the pack’s safety.” He shakes his head, tries to gather his thoughts. “No, this is not fair of me. I have already accepted your submission and your vow that you will not be a threat to my pack, so whatever you might have done in the past should not matter. Yet, as you are pack now, if there is still a threat to you, you should tell me, so that I can take the proper precautions. I cannot protect you if I don’t know that I need to -- if I don’t know what from.”

Dean appears taken aback by that statement. As if, upon admitting that he might pose a threat to the pack in whatever capacity, Castiel would grab him and drag him back to the woods. Which is ridiculous, given that right now, with Dean looking so small and unsure, Castiel would love to do nothing more than embrace him, stroke his hair and assure him that no harm will ever come to him again.

“I guess I do owe you as much,” Dean concedes, and he straightens his shoulders almost imperceptibly. “The truth is,” he breathes in deeply, “I don’t know for sure. I don’t think anyone would come looking for me, ‘specially since no one did ever since I left, or at least they didn’t find me, so I doubt they’d bother now. They’ve probably forgotten about me by now.” He curls his hands, where they are resting on the table, into fists. “So, I can’t give you any guarantee on that front. Just that I promise that I don’t wanna cause any trouble while I’m here, and that back there, I didn’t… murder anyone or whatever you might be thinking.” He is silent for a few moments. “So, if you don’t want me around as a potential hazard, I get that, really, and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as you say the word.”

“No,” Castiel decides, “as I said, you are now pack and under my protection, so as long as you accept my position as the Alpha and don’t harm anyone here. Since you have already done the first and just promised the second, there is absolutely no reason to refute this.”

Dean still looks somewhat doubtful, and all he gives as a reply is an unconvinced, “Alright.”

Castiel gets up from his chair with a sigh, and as he crosses the small space between him and a still seated Dean, the younger Alpha’s doubtfulness turns into wariness.

“Dean,” Castiel says in what he hopes is a soothing tone. Dean remains still and tense when Castiel comes to a halt next to him, and he lets him do as he likes when Castiel reaches out his hand and settles it on the side of his cloth-covered neck. On the spot that anyone else would present if they wanted to submit to an Alpha, and not in such a painfully absolute way in which Dean did the night before, all his scars on display, or where a mating bite would go, if Dean were not an Alpha.

Dean’s breathing turns short and shallow, but his smell does not turn sour in fear. Rather, its sweetness intensifies, picks up a notch, just like the pulse now beating against the palm of Castiel’s hand, pinkening his cheeks. Despite Dean’s designation, he does seem to take to submission rather easily.

“You are safe and welcome here. Knowing that you might be hurt if you leave, to say nothing of the harsh environmental conditions that would await you, fortifies my conviction that it was the right choice to allow you to join the pack. I won’t revoke that.” Unable to help himself, he strokes Dean’s warm neck, just once, twice, making the boy’s eyes go round and then flutter shut for a second. The urge to do more than just caress that vulnerable part of him suddenly overwhelms Castiel, and with regret and a soft brush of his thumb against Dean’s bobbing Adam’s apple, he retracts his hands. “I want you to stay here, where you are safe and can flourish. You deserve more than a life on the run, and if I can provide you with an actual future, then I am delighted to do so.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, so quiet and intimate as if they were sharing a secret. His eyes remain barely more than half-open, apparently still weighed down by Castiels caress. “What’s the catch?”

Castiel chuckles and wishes there were a catch -- some ulterior motive that would help him justify this foolish decision beyond that his genuine wish to see Dean safe and happy.

“The catch,” he says playfully, “is that you will need to do the dishes after breakfast, and any other time I cook because I abhor doing it myself. You will also need to keep your room clean yourself and take care of your own laundry. And you will have to let me introduce you to the other members of the pack, so that they know that there is one more part of our family, and that you are as welcome as any of them.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth tick up in the tiniest of smiles, and Castiel is suddenly awash with an overwhelming sense of pride for being the cause of it.

“Deal.”

#perlukafarinn #bamfcastiel #miriam writes #alpha!cas #destiel #alpha!dean #spn #fanfiction #food cw #SURPRISE BITCH #I BET YOU THOUGHT YOUD SEEN THE LAST OF ME #you can thank nano for this #mention of hurt!dean #alpha x alpha #also i was like three seconds away from making cas say 'so how do you like them eggs?'#and i dont know if either version is better/worse as a come on #a/b/o #burrow verse

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