#you know how cats open their mouths when they smell to get a good whiff?? yeah

[pwurrz]

do you think.. when yakumo’s really trying to concentrate on something.. he’ll just stand there with his eyes closed and a little bit of his tongue sticking out in a tiny blep so he can focus all of his attention onto smelling??

[undead-merman]

Oooh can you do some fearplay/feral/predator/prey headcanons or whatever with the demons and Solomon??? 0////0 I want to be hunted by the prince a feral wizard and the bros so fucking bad

Feral/Fear play with Diavolo and Solomon with GN-Reader NSFW

Diavolo

Becoming feral

It was a prototype to help calm demons down whenever they go on rampages. It was inspired by an event when the brothers had a freakout and you weren’t around. So Solomon helped Diavolo with the problem. It wasn’t anything invasive, like melatonin for demons.

Solomon brought it to Diavolo to test. Diavolo was excited, he didn’t think himself a man who easily gets enraged and saw it as a way to not only get away from work but to also have something to help him deeply relax.

But Solomon's testing didn’t go above Little D’s, Diavolo was his true first test of this prototype. But when he lit it and let it burn and fill the room Diavolo gets a bit itchy. Scratching his skin, then twitching and even raking his fangs over his skin. Even his wings flap out and horns sprout so fast that even Diavolo winces. 

Solomon snuffs it out but he’s leaped on and knocked unconscious. Something prickling at his skin and driving him mad enough to foam at the mouth and claw at his own skin.   

Getting a scent for you

But it’s when he smells that scent of yours that he stops. The prickling just getting worse but he doesn’t want to rip and tear, no, something is stirring in his loins and he needs to mate that small tasty human he smells. 

He follows it to his room and finds that shirt you left and he’s inhaling the scent of it. Deep heavy whiffs as his cock throbs and he bucks into the air with no friction at all and growls because of it.

He’ll shove that shirt into his crotch and ruts into it over and over but tosses it away when he can’t even get a good feeling from it. Growling he follows his nose and flies out to find you. claws itching and teeth gnashing. 

You are at the house of lamentation and the others are out when your window cracks open and flapping wings fold to reveal a Diavolo with fangs on full display and drooling and he’s creeping at you like a big cat ready to pounce. You managed to scramble out of the bed just as he ripped up the sheets. 

You swear you see him smile as you dash out and slam the door behind you, knowing it's a futile attempt to slow him.    

Hunting you

He wore a terrifying smile. It was just like the one he always wore but it didn’t reach his eyes. His molten gold and amber eyes were empty of any kind of sanity. They were hungry. 

He easily caught up, you could blink and he was right in front of you. He pushed you right to the ground and straddled you pinning your arms up above your head and leaving you helpless. 

But instead of ripping you apart or eating you, he was kissing your neck. Burning hot lips and a tongue caressing just under your jaw and a straining erection against your body twitching with primal excitement. 

His teeth pull at your clothes and rip with ease, but there's something terrifyingly graceful in the way the ripped cloth to thread. He ripped his own clothes and his cock flopped out throbbing and leaking. 

He’ll growl pleased as he ruts his cock against your hole while holding your legs apart and his vast amounts of slimy precum rubs against you and he slowly but persistently works his head inside, and as soon as he’s inside he still has the sanity to allow you to adjust, or he’s just savoring the feel of your insides. Your twitches all around him make his growls morph into purrs.

It doesn’t matter if you bend to his will or even fight and spit back. He’s too far gone. He’s just fucking into your soft body and warmth. And he makes sure his darling little prey feels good, it's instinct. Rubbing his massive hands all up and down grinning with teeth when you out noises of enjoyment. 

He doesn’t just come once or twice. You lose count of how many times your toes have curled and how much cum has been flooded into not just the one, but all of them. By the time he was coming down from the orgasm, you were just about to pass out. Your face flushed and eyes unfocused.         

Returning to normal

It took a moment for him to finally come back after finally being satisfied. He stood over you like a wolf protecting its caught prey, but as the itchiness and the irritation was gone he realized what he had done and felt horrified. 

Right before you pass out you saw his petrified face, mouth agape, pupils were blown wide. He gently took you in his arms and was only somewhat relieved he didn’t draw a pinprick of blood. But what has he done? 

Even if you forgive him, he still has a weight of guilt in his gut that feels like tons. It even hurt to look at you sometimes. Sure it was an accident but how could he, the prince of the Devildom, hurt not only a beloved guest but someone he holds so dear and close to him?

If you don’t? If you spit, curse, or hit him, he lets you. Take out your anger on him. He understands. Do as you please, he’ll do anything to show his remorse.     

Solomon

Becoming feral

With the newest discovery of a Devildom herb, he was happy to be one of the first ones to get his hands on it. Though through not-so-savory methods. He was testing the various things this herb could be used for. 

It shockingly was not toxic or poisonous to humans, chopped and eaten it was a pleasantly sweet and spicy taste. 

But when self-testing and ended up burning it the fumes were burning and while he put in a charm to protect himself, what he didn’t prepare for was how his mind went blank with just pure rage. 

He destroyed everything in his workshop. Glass everywhere, liquids all over the floor just making the situation worse and him even worse. 

The rampage doesn’t stop there, he ends up going into his room and knocking down the perfumes that Asmodeus gave him adding a terrible mix of pheromones and aphrodisiacs. Turning the rampage into a heated one.     

Getting a scent for you

But that’s when he smelled that cloak of yours. The one you left with him after your travels and he kept in his wardrobe for when you needed it again. So when the scent drifted out from his ruined cabinet his head whipped around and found the thing. 

The smell of your hair and sweat, he licked it and it only drowned him deeper in feral desire. His cock was rock hard in his trousers as he bit into the fabric as he craved more and more. 

Soon he tossed away the cloak and followed his human nose to try and find you. It wasn’t hard, you had a room of your own in this place, and with it being this late you were passed out asleep. 

He threw open the door and found you passed out, with animalistic glee he grabbed you and yanked you up kissing you deeply. You wake instantly by the force and a tongue down your throat. 

Shoving him away or even biting down makes him reel back but the gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s not himself. And while he’s just as human as you, he’s much stronger with powerful magic under his belt. 

Not to mention the scent of him makes you want to rip his hair out as well. But you know better, so you run. You push him out of the way and dash out of the room and into your shared tower.  

Hunting you

Solomon had built many traps and tricks into the tower in case of emergencies, and no matter where you hide or what magic was put up he found his way to you. It was like he could smell your fear through the solid stones and magic barriers. 

His face was wearing a twisted promise of a death sentence, but the way he would grab you for just a moment and you could feel his dick pressing against you, you felt it was a much worse outcome.

But he was relentless, he wouldn’t stop and ended up using his own magic to seal the place up confining you to the tower with no way out. 

And just like a dramatic confrontation in a movie, you found yourself cornered with him creeping closer. He pushes you into the wall and yanks your pants down with your ass on full display. 

His thumb brushed against your hole and with a fizzle of his fingers, you could feel his fingers leaking and slowly shoving into you trying to spilt you open, pushing deep, and pulling you apart. 

Despite it all, it was starting to feel nice. His fingers always were dexterous and even in an enraged state still proved to be formidable and little moans wanted to come out. But that stopped when he pulled his messy fingers out and slapped them on our hips and pushed inside with one sharp thrust. 

He fucked you fast and hard, and every time you started falling and sliding down on the wall. His slimy hands hold you tight as he pounds you down all the way down to the floor and still kept going. 

There was so much cum, you couldn’t even think anymore. Just chasing orgasm after orgasm until he finally halted his hips and he let out a shaky sigh as he laid on top of you. He woke up from his rage and saw your worn-out body.          

Returning to normal

He quickly took you back to your bed and tended to you. Giving you water and keeping you warm and wrapped in the sheets. 

He felt awful, terrible, downright despicable. The way you just looked so vulnerable and tired. He moved the hair out of your face. He wanted to go to his office and write down notes of everything that happened. But you are more important and making sure that you were okay was the most important thing. 

Not only that, but he needed to apologize. That was the first thing he needed to do. 

[the-adventures-of-badgerclan]

Since he was a small kit, Gale had a big dream; he saw the many difficulties that cats suffered no matter where they went, and longed to create a safe haven for cats of any age. This dream was started after Gale was forced to watch his mother get run over by a twoleg monster when he was only 5 moons old. He still remembered the acrid tang he had tasted in his mouth as he stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the monster speed off after causing the worst tragedy in Gale’s life. He had barely survived after that, wandering around the forests aimlessly, trying his very best to find something - anything - to eat. But with such a small body, Gale was incapable of catching even a mouse. After a particularly devastating failed catch - he had almost HAD it- Gale collapsed into the leaves and grass of the forest, unable to go any farther. He was unsure how long he had lain there but the very moment in which he had given up all hope, Gale smelled a scent unlike any he had ever encountered before. It was unmistakably a cat, but such a fresh and welcoming scent could surely not come from anyone living. Then, he heard a whisper, a male cat who sounded so sincere Gale could not help but listen. “Don’t give up Gale, I know you can do it. There’s a fire in you which no one can quell,” the cat breathed. “Rise, young kit, like the star you are.” 

Gale’s eyes popped open, his determination renewed, and he looked around for the strange cat. All he managed to catch, however, was a glimpse of long tabby fur. After that moment, Gale had managed by himself for many moons, barely scraping by at times but always keeping the strange cat's words in his mind. He would never give up hope again, but continued forward like a blazing star. After some time, Gale noticed that he could see cats who lingered after their death, a trait he believed to have gained from spending so much time on the brink of death. When he met other rogues on his journeys, he often heard tales of a large group of cats around a lake, who had strong loyalties to each other and would protect and defend each of their cats with great ferocity. Each of these stories only fueled Gale’s desire to create his own clan, and he spent many years trying, but to no avail. Finally, on one day in Newleaf as he neared his 50th moon, he met a cat named Flax.

Flax had eyes like sunlit ice which seemed to pierce right through you and a long tabby pelt, reminding Gale of the ghost cat from his past even though the scent was nothing similar. He padded into the clearing, somehow setting Gale at ease immediately. Something about this cat made you feel as if you had known him for moons, even though they had just met. The two cats started chatting, and by the next morning they had become traveling companions. Miraculously, Flax shared the same goal as Gale, and the two set out in earnest to find others who could join them in their clan. They ended up finding eight other cats to join them, and settled in a forest grotto surrounded by giant, towering trees which provided many good spots for dens. 

As the clan was getting settled, it became time to choose a leader, and the choice was unanimous; Gale would lead the cats and guide the clan in the right direction. His first act as leader was to declare the group Badgerclan after their great strength and ferocity. He then made Flax his second-in-command, out of all of them this cat surely deserved the title of deputy. Finally, Bittern became the medicine cat because of her knowledge of herbs, and the cats started to settle into their life together.

After a half-moon, Gale was in the forest hunting when he picked up a scent that stirred a memory from long ago. It was cool and sweet like the night air, and as he turned toward the scent’s source, he glimpsed a tabby tail disappearing behind a tree. He followed it around the forest, almost losing the cat but each time catching another whiff of the scent. Finally, he came to a great tree, the width of 20 cats. The roots supporting the tree were exposed, leaving a large space under the tree. In this space, Gale realized suddenly, was a cat. They had tabby fur that glowed like compressed starlight, and he recognized that it was the one who had saved him as a kit.

As he padded into the clearing where the cat was standing, Gale noticed that this was not an ordinary tree-cave. The moon filtered through the small holes between the roots, hitting the many small blue stones embedded in the ground and trunk. Standing in the tree-cave, Gale felt as if he had left the world behind. A small cough brought him back to reality, and he realized the cat was waiting for him to speak. “U-um, hello,” he spluttered awkwardly, and the cat smiled slightly. 

“Hello Gale, I am Lowwind,” she answered smoothly, “Do you know why we are here tonight?” A jolt of panic shot through him as he asked himself that same question. 

“Am I in trouble?” he gasped out, but Lowwind only laughed.

“No silly, now that you have a real clan you have been recognized by Starclan, which holds all of your ancestors and will use their wisdom to guide you in your adventures. You meet me tonight, but the cats under your care will all meet me one day when they join the stars. Aside from the leader, only the medicine cat will commune with Starclan. They must come here every half-moon to receive instruction.” Gale’s mind swirled with this large intake of information, but Lowwind wasn’t finished yet.

“Finally, as the leader of a clan, you will receive nine lives, so that your clan will have a strong and wise anchor for many years to come. Step forward, and I will grant you your first life.” Gale did as he was told, though he was feeling quite uncertain about whether or not this was all a big joke. It didn’t seem like one, though, and he knew he definitely wasn’t creative enough for this to be a dream his mind made up. 

“Gale,” Lowwind mewed, “with this life I give you unquenchable determination, like a blazing star” and then she stepped back into the shadows. As she spoke, Gale felt the heat of a million suns in his chest, almost more than he could bear. Another cat stepped forward to take her place, and Gale recognized his mother. He gasped and ran forward, amazed to have this chance to reunite with her. His mother’s scent was warm and so, so good. He buried his nose in her pelt and they stood there for a moment. Then, his mother spoke. 

“With this life, I give you the clarity to see what is happening around you, judge well my child.” With this Gale found his senses’ abilities doubled, and the intake of information made him gasp. After his mother stepped away with a last loving look, he was met by other cats. Each was unknown to him but claimed to have journeyed from other far away clans. And each of these cats bestowed upon Gale a life, until he at last had all nine. At this moment, the cats all started to fade away, appearing further and further away from him. “Goodbye Galestar…” Their silvery voices intertwined to create a haunting melody and Galestar was left alone in the glowing cave with a new name and a lot to think about.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Hestia

This is another eternally virgin goddess, so we're doing another pseudo-demigod by adoption (like we did with Athena).

Demigod MC: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia

Hestia is the goddess of the Hearth, Home, Architecture, Domesticity, Family, and the State. She's high up there (firstborn of Rhea and Cronus), but several factors have led to her falling into the background when compared to the other (flashier) Olympians. She swore to never marry, rejecting proposals from both Poseidon and Apollo, and is something of an antithesis to Aphrodite.

Lucifer

Honestly? He thought they were exactly what they were after. A weak human with no experience in the magical world what-so-ever.

Well… He was half-right.

On the surface, this is a pretty weak human. They don't have super flashy powers or a divine birth from the gods… but they do have a very protective adoptive mother.

The brothers had just settled in for their first dinner with the new human when the goddess herself strolled into their dining room, asked who was in charge, then dragged Lucifer away by the ear!

She's not even his mother, yet he felt the intense urge to apologize and put himself in his own room… Oh, the humiliation… at least she did the same to Diavolo…

The Prince was only able to calm her down by promising absolutely NO harm would come to her child… on their heads...

By the time the goddess finally let him go, Lucifer was about ready to shackle the MC to his wrist so nothing could touch them but he settled on keeping them with him like an assistant of sorts. They were in charge of helping him with the paperwork so he could keep an eye on them. 

What he didn’t expect was for them to be so… good at it? They could keep his offices clean, they managed his daily schedule, fixed up the House, and still have time to bring him tea and sweets every night!

They could even reign in his brothers somehow… They weren't strong or intimidating, but one or two mildly unhappy words out of them and everybody would be on their best behavior.

Was everyone positive they're only human...?

As much as he hated to admit, he may have a slight deep case of falling for the housekeeper… He would make a move, but well…

He has Beel to contend with first.

Mammon

Okay so, watching Lucifer get dragged out by the ear just like Raphael used to do to him was hilarious!!! The whole room got a good laugh! 🤣

Until Hestia glared at them and suddenly they all felt like they'd disappointed someone important….

And all that fuss over some dumb human??

So what if they made amazing food?

So what if they could clean the entire mansion in a day?

So what if they were the walking equivalent to a warm cup of cocoa on a winter's day??

So what if they were just the kindest, sweetest thing in this godforsaken hellscape and he would throw himself in front of a bus to keep them safe-

-Wait, when did that happen?!?

Seriously, Mammon's attachment to the MC came out of NOWHERE to him. One day, he was threatening to eat their soul and the next he's freaking out when they stub their toe!

He swears they have to have some kind of magic about them! A charm, or a spell, or… their lovable smile and warm, loving hugs...! 😊

Damnit!! They're too cute!! He needs them to go away but also never leave, thanks. 😒

In all seriousness, though their kind nature puts Mammon's tsundere self at a bit of a disadvantage, his protective instincts shoot through the roof whenever they're involved.

Naturally, that means his day is spent running them away from hungry lesser demons or shielding them from Beel and Lucifer's tug-of-war matches… He's a busy guy these days. 😖

Leviathan 

They're so… so… MOE!!!

That was his immediate thought when Mammon brought them home. He was expecting a defenseless human, but not one that could have stepped out of one of his slice-of-life manga!

To be honest, his instant thought was try and find a place to sit them on his shelves with the rest of the adorable characters he loves… 😅

And that was before they even opened their mouth! Five words into their introduction and he was ready to get their face on a t-shirt!!

Honestly, combine their natural cuteness with their household skills and they made for perfect waifu/husbando material… 

Not helped by the fact they found one of his maid/butler outfits while doing the laundry one day. Not only did they ask if they could wear it, they actually non-ironically liked it and started wearing it around the House!!

Oh he got cornered by Beel, Lucifer, and Mammon separately that day because they thought he was using them for fetish fuel… But it was their idea, he swears!!

I mean… He didn't discourage them or anything either but still…

If Beel hadn't claimed them on Day One, Levi might have eventually thrown his hat in the ring too... Oh well… he can pine from a distance… What else is new? 😔

Satan

He has a video of Hestia dragging Lucifer out of the dining room on his phone and it's one of his most treasured possessions now. 😌

He is perhaps the only person in the House who was not at all impressed with their little human.

So they could cook? So could he. So they can clean? That's not impressive. They could manage a household? Big deal, he's more or less been in charge of the same thing for centuries!

As far as he saw it, there was nothing the MC could do that he couldn't do as proficiently or even better. There was nothing remarkable about this human at all!

… except for one thing.

That maid/butler outfit of Levi's? The one they like to wear around?

It has cat accessories…

Either they don't notice or they don't mind it but they essentially walk around the House cleaning things with little kitty ears attached to their head and a bell on their collar…

Dammit… Why did Levi even buy that?!?

Satan ended up getting in trouble for enchanting their outfit to give them REAL ears and a tail "accidentally..." Lucifer strung him up by his toes, Beel gave him a black-eye, and Mammon still calls him a "perverted cat freak" but it was worth it, he says, worth it!!

Asmodeus 

Oh Beel…

Asmo saw Beel's feelings for the MC coming from a mile away. He didn't even need to confirm it with a sniff check, he had them scented by the end of their first night!

Lucifer, on the other hand, now that was a surprise... 😏

Ask him a century ago if Lucifer would ever consider a human lover, godly mother or no, and he'd have laughed! Yet here he is, giving gifts and sneaking whiffs of their adorable new housemate!

Of course, that's causing some commotion because they're pitted against each other, but Asmo finds it kind of cute honestly. 

Beel and Lucifer aren't fighting, not for real. The whole house knows Lucifer would win in a real brawl, but neither of them actually want to hurt the other… They're far too close for that.

So Beel tosses Lucifer around with kid gloves and Lucifer holds back considerably against Beel. It's pretty much just two brothers who love each other squabbling over the same toy… 🤭

Honestly, Lucifer might have bowed out by now and just let Beel have them but now his pride's on the line… thus an endless tussle between family and the sweet MC is in the middle, clueless to it all!

Tragic, is it not? But it certainly makes things more entertaining around here! (Good thing too since Beel beat him to the punch… If it's a fight against those two, he'll have to keep any of his own affairs with the MC under the radar... 😏)

Beelzebub 

He has claimed this one. Full stop.

For a bit of perspective: when Barbatos needs cooking tips, he calls Hestia. Hestia, the Divine Master of All Things Cooking. Hestia, the goddess who raised this MC… 

Needless to say if they have any magic at all, it's in the kitchen.

If food is the way to Beel's heart, this MC has claimed his heart, soul, and probably all of his vital organs. Their food is astounding!! Always perfect every time and so good it brings him to tears!

It started the night of that first dinner, prepared by MC. He was too busy scarfing down the table to even notice a goddess showed up and then he proposed to the MC with their own pig roast by meal's end!

They said no to marriage, but an instant pact agreement suited him just fine.

Beel didn't waste a single moment before he started treating them like a potential mate, territorial aggression and all, but there was a bit of a catch… He kept the MC totally oblivious to it.

Surprisingly, Beel's can turn the "They're MINE" part of his brain on and off pretty well. He's nothing but sweet and cuddly to the MC when they're around and even with his brothers!... as long as they don't try anything.

The moment he caught whiff that Lucifer might be pursuing them too, it was on. Suddenly the two brothers who almost never fight were in competition against each other! But of course, both have an unspoken rule to never do so in front of MC.

And now poor MC believes it's common for demons to "play wrestle" like puppies and hugs are traditionally supposed to be so hard they could snap spines… 

And it doesn’t look like they'll be backing down any time soon… Oh dear...

Belphegor 

You know what? For once, everything goes exactly to plan for Belphie!

No really, this MC has no hidden powers, no magic horses, not even Demon Nip. They are a helpless, trusting little human who just wants to help their big teddy bear get his twin back!

So, you know how it goes. The charm, the lies, the treachery and all of that. He even gets to kill them!! Oh, happy days!! 😁

Come to think of it, they did smell an awful lot like Beel… But who cares, as long as Lucifer suffers right?? And this whole "living together in harmony" crap fails, right?!

Wrong. 

Beel went ballistic. Lucifer did too, but Beel was what really hurt…

Belphie can safely say that in all of his life, Beel has never physically attacked him. Not once, or at least, not with intent to kill… 

But when the sixthborn's fist went crashing through the wall right by his ear that day, he knew his brother's first instinct was to aim for his head… and his second was to miss, as he still loved him, but only by just a little.

What the hell did he just do??

Thank their father for Barbatos and all the funky time stuff he can do because bringing the MC "back" snapped his angry brothers right out of it. 

Things should have been smoothed over at that point but as everyone was finally settling down for tea, Hestia made another appearance in the House… this time carrying a butcher's knife!

Time fix or no, Diavolo had promised her no harm would come to MC and at least one continuity of them DIED… so punishment was now on Lucifer and the Demon Prince himself!

Belphie, in a rare case of guilt and an expression of brotherly love, offered to take their place since it WAS kind of all his fault. His gesture softened the Goddess of Family juuust enough to lighten his sentence from execution to hard labor.

And thus, the MC had their own housekeeping assistant for a whole year, complete with bitter reluctance and a matching maid outfit! Cat-theme and all!!

He's sending nightmares to anybody who laughs… guaranteed. 😒

[waitimcomingtoo]

Honey, I’m Home

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: You’re not a normally an affectionate person but when Tom comes home from filming, you can’t keep your hands off him. He happily accepts your cuddles and fluff ensues

thank you to the anon who requested this! I deleted it on accident 

Masterlist

“Honey, I’m home.”

“Honey, you’re home.” You ran into the room when you heard Tom’s announcement and threw your arms around Him. He stumbled back in surprise as he dropped his suitcase, not used to you showing affection. He wrapping his arms around your waist as you coiled your legs around his torso to keep yourself up, all while pressing kisses along his cheek. You pulled away briefly before grinning and pulling him into a long, well awaited kiss. It lingered much longer than usual before you pulled away, staying in his arms as your feet touched the ground again.

“Hi, darling.” He spoke softly as he rubbed your back. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” You said as you took in his scent. “Never leave again.”

“I missed you most.” He smiled fondly, cupping your face in his hands and rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I seriously doubt it.” You chuckled out of the corner of your mouth. Tom noticed you were still holding on to him and flushed a little. You’d hadn’t been dating very long, just a few months, but he was already well aware that you were not a very affectionate person. You were never cold to him, you just weren’t as into cuddling and touching as he was.

“What have you done today?” He asked you, keeping his arms firmly around your body.

“I’ve waited for you to come home.” You laughed. “And that’s about it.”

“Aw.” He grinned. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I got to see you again.”

“Me too.” You leaned up on your tip toes to rub your nose against his. “Take me with you next time, okay?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He smiled and pulled you in to a kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” You pouted as Tom began to walk away, feeling the urge to follow after him.

“The bathroom.” He told you, and you relaxed. “I’ve been in the car for four hours.”

“Oh.” You laughed lightly. “Right.”

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed your forehead before going to the bathroom. You sighed once he left and wheeled his suitcase into the bedroom, finding him washing his hands at the kitchen sink when you returned.

“There you are.” You came behind him and kissed his shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He touched a hand to his stomach. “Do we have any food in the refrigerator?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged coyly. “Take a look.”

Tom gave you a knowing look before opening the refrigerator.

“Oh My God.” He looked at you over his shoulder. “You angel. You got the ingredients for a roast chicken.”

“Not just any roast chicken.” You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “It’s that weird one you like with the apples on it. I was gonna make it for when you got home but I figured we could do it together.”

“You’re a genius.” He turned around and kisses both your cheeks. That’s why I love you.”

“I aim to please.” You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him. You let it linger longer than usual, but he wasn’t complaining.

“This is going to be so good.” Tom grinned once he pulled away. “I’ll start peeling the apples. Could you get started on the seasoning?”

“You got it.” You kissed him again before getting the chicken out of the refrigerator.

Tom went to the kitchen counter and began to wash and peel a few apples. After a few minutes, he felt your arms around his waist as your head rested on his shoulder.

“Hi.” You greeted as you kissed his shoulder a few times. Tom smiled to himself as he looked at you.

“Hey.” He said softly. “How’s the seasoning going?”

“All done. The chicken is marinating in it now.” You told him before peppering kisses along his shoulders and up his neck.

“Feels good, baby.” He mumbled as he stopped peeling the apples. He wiped his hands off on a paper towel and rested them on on top of yours.

“Well you’re doing such a wonderful job peeling those apples.” You giggled before kissing behind his ear.

“They’re almost done.” He told you. “What’s next?”

“We have to make the rice.” You said as you walked over to the cabinet.

“But we don’t eat rice.” He smiled, knowing what was coming.

“We eat quinoa.” You finished his thought as you handed him the quinoa. Tom chuckled as he took the quinoa and poured it into a pot.

“Hey.” You said suddenly, walking over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I missed you. I missed seeing your face everyday.”

“I missed you too, love. It’s not a good day for me unless my eyes meet yours.” He rested his forehead against yours as you scratched his scalp with your nails.

“Who knew you were such a poet?”

“Being away from you really put me in touch with my inner tortured artist. In other words, I cried every night.” He joked, making you laugh.

“Never leave me again.” You sighed as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. You swayed together in the kitchen for a moment, just staying in each other’s embrace.

“Not planning on it. I think you’re stuck with me forever, actually.” Tom told you as he kissed the top of your head.

“Sounds good to me.” You pressed a kiss to his neck just as your timer went off.

“Chickens ready to go in the oven.” You sighed and reluctantly pulled out of his embrace.

“I’ll put it in.” He offered. “How long?”

“30 minutes.” You answered.

“Okay.” Tom slid the chicken in the oven and shut the door. “I’m gonna unpack a little.”

“By unpack do you mean throw all your clothes in the hamper?” You raised on eyebrow at him as you squeezed his hand.

“Yes I do.” He pulled you by the hand into his body and gave you another kiss before retreating to the bedroom. You watched him leave before going to set the table, smiling widely when he came back into the kitchen.

“Hi honey.” You greeted as you set two plates on the table. “Did you unpack?”

“Yes. I’ll help you with the laundry tomorrow.” Tom promised, going to the oven to get the chicken out.

“Thank you.” You said as you set the drinks out. “I just want to sleep in and have a lazy day.”

“Trust me. Once I get in that bed with you I’m not leaving for a week.” Tom clicked his tongue as he pulled your chair out for you.

“Dirty boy.” You gasped as you sat down. Once you were both seated, you rubbed your foot against his leg just to keep contact.

“I meant for cuddles.” He whined, face flushing. “You’re very cuddly today.”

“Why thank you.” You gave him a poised smile while serving him some chicken.

“I’m not used to it.” He continued, trying to get an answer as to why you were especially clingy. “I know I’m a lover of snuggles and whatnot but you usually react like a cat being touched.”

“Aw. Just what every girl likes to hear.” You replied sarcastically as you held his hand on the table.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed your hand apologetically. “It’s a nice change.”

“Well I missed you.” You shrugged. “I didn’t get to touch you for two weeks. I’ve been building it up, you know?”

“I know the feeling. And the chicken was amazing.” Tom said as he wiped his face with his napkin. “Thank you so much for getting the stuff.”

“Of course. You work so hard. I wanted you to have a nice meal.” Your told him as you collected your plates. You kissed the top of his head before putting the dishes in the sink.

“I appreciate it.” He said as he turned around in his seat. “And I appreciate you putting my favorite sheets on the bed. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You walked over to him and draped your arms around his shoulder as you bent over.

“I’ll put the comforter in the dryer before we go to bed so it’s nice and toasty.” You whispered into his ear before kissing his cheek several times.

“How did I get so lucky?” He craned his neck to look at you fondly.

“I ask myself that everyday.” You kissed his neck and patted his shoulder before continuing to clean off the table.

“I’m gonna shower real quick.” Tom told you as he put the cups in the sink. “I feel gross form traveling all day.”

“Okay.” You frowned a little upon hearing he was going to be leaving again. Before he walked away, you tugged on his shirt and kissed him. He chuckled against your lips when he pulled away and let out a sigh.

“You really missed me, huh?” He teased.

“You have no idea.” You sighed. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” He promised as he left for the bathroom. He showered quickly, also feeling the tug at his heartstrings from being away from you. He dried off and got dressed as fast as he could before taking a seat in the living room.

“Hey.” Tom smiled up at you when you padded into the room. You climbed into his lap and curled up against his body, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to stay in place.

“Hey.” You snuggled into his chest and took in a whiff. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.” He chuckled and rubbed your back in circles.

“Did you clean behind your ears?” You teased as you looked up at him.

“I did.”

“Good.” You looked down again and held him tighter. “They’re kinda hard to miss.”

“Hey.” He pretended to be offended, smiling when he felt your body shake with laughter.

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you toyed with the strings of his sweat pants. “Just teasing.”

“Are you okay?” Tom asked finally. As much as he appreciated all your affection, it was very out of character for you.

“Yeah.” You assured him. “Just missed you, is all.”

“You’re never this affectionate.” He pointed out. “Is something bothering you?”

“No.” You said and took your head off his shoulder. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“No!” Tom practically shouted and pulled you right back. “I like it. I love it, actually.”

He bent down to press kisses all over your face, a giggle emitted from your lips each time he did. Once your laughter died down, you looked up at him and stroked his cheek.

“Does it bother you that I’m not an affectionate person?” You whispered as you traces his freckles with your fingernail.

“I mean, I’d love to be doing this all day every day, but I want you to be comfortable. That’s more important to me than anything else.” He told you. “My love language is touch but yours isn’t, and I’m okay with that.”

You smiled fondly at him and sat up a little so your faces were close.

“Tommy?” You asked softly.

“Yes?” He matched your tone.

“This was the first time you were away, and it made me realize something.”

“What’s that?” He tilted his head as the setting sun lit up his eyes.

“I love you.” You smiled shyly as you told him. “And I don’t like being apart from you.”

“Aw, darling.” He put his hand on your cheek and rubbed his thumb softly against your face. “I love you too.”

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[asthmark]

❝ 10 things i know about you ❞ l.jn

synopsis → there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.

request → “if you're still accepting requests, can u make a domestic roommate!jeno? 🥺🥺 thank you and have a nice dayyy”

word count → 7.1k (bruhhh)

sharing an apartment with lee jeno isn’t ideal.

it’s not that he’s a lousy roommate or that you disliked him in any way; you just didn’t know him. you had first met through a mutual friend. they knew jeno was looking for someone to split rent with and that you happened to need a place to stay. they promised you he would give you privacy and assured jeno you were excellent roommate material. with that, arrangements were made and soon enough you moved in together. of course, it was a bit awkward at first but you two eventually got used to each other’s presence. although you were never in the same room for too long and oftentimes went days without speaking, you coexisted.

for a long time, you only knew a couple things about your roommate. for example, you were aware of his strong love for cats, especially his pet calico, seol. you also knew he kept the freezer stocked with pizza rolls that he would use as energy when he stayed up all night playing video games.

what you didn’t know, however, was that you would be spending the next couple months locked in your apartment with him. on top of that, you would begin to learn more things about him—his life, his personality, his feelings.

there are ten important things you learn about lee jeno during your time in quarantine.

       1. he’s a heavy sleeper.

at 10:28 in the morning you find yourself seated at the dining table in the kitchen, spooning froot loops into your mouth. as you stuff your face, you scroll through your phone for entertainment. you decide to open instagram first but you quickly find that to be a mistake. as soon as you open the app a picture of lucas and who you thought was his ex-girlfriend greets you. if that was bad, the caption hits you like a ton of bricks.

@lucas_xx444: should have never left you

in only five words, lucas has completely erased the months you spent dating. it meant nothing to him. sure, things hadn’t ended things the best way but going right back to his toxic ex and even admitting to missing her—now that was a new low. was this his way of getting back at you? his way of making you hurt just like he had throughout your entire relationship? the thought alone leaves you feeling sick.

you decide you’ve already had enough social media for one morning so you decide to check your messages instead. your friends usually left a couple of them overnight. to your surprise, you find that your main group chat has accumulated 241 messages.

[10:48 am] you: good morning i see u guys have been vry chatty

[10:49 am] yeji: ur finally awake!

[10:50 am] yuna: we thought u died lol

[10:50 am] lia: YUNA

[10:50 am] lia: NO

[10:51 am] ryujin: the timing for that joke could not be worse

[10:52 am] yuna: humor is my coping mechanism leave me alone

[10:52 am] you: ??? what happened

[10:53 am] chaeryeong: we left msgs for a reason dummy read them!!

[10:53 am] you: umm there’s over 200 and im not abouta read all that

[10:54 am] yuna: well then lemme break it down

[10:54 am] yuna: the world is ending :)

[10:55 am] you: welp it was about time

[10:55 am] lia: why r u guys like this

[10:56 am] yeji: there’s been a covid-19 outbreak and it’s spreading like wildfire so the government issued a stay at home order :/

[10:57 am] you: omg WHAT

[10:57 am] ryujin: ikr it’s crazy we literally can’t go anywhere

[10:57 am] chaeryeong: and we can’t get boba today either ;( i was so looking forward to that

[10:58 am] ryujin: let’s pls take a moment of silence for all the current and future boba dates that will have to be cancelled

[10:59 am] yuna: no way am i gonna let some wannabe flu make me go boba-less i’m still going out >:(

[10:59 am] lia: ...ur joking right

[10:59 am] yeji: what color casket do u want yuna?

before the groupchat can distract you any further, you place your phone down on the table. you sit back in your chair and let the newly revealed information sink in.

you were stuck inside.

you sigh before standing to clean your dishes. as you’re scrubbing away at your bowl, you feel something brush against your leg. you smile, not even having to look down to know it was seol. the cat would often wander into your room or sleep next to you when you watched tv on the couch. in fact, you were pretty sure you spent more time with seol than his owner.

you gaze at jeno’s room. as always, the door is shut. you wonder if you should let him know what was happening. you two usually kept your distance but you figured that the circumstance you found yourself in was an exception. you quickly dry your hand and shuffle towards his room.

you knock once, quite softly. you assume he’s asleep so you try again, this time a little harder. still, no avail. the third time you put even more force into it. by this time, seol has found his way beside you and claws at the door.

“jeno?” you knock a fourth time. “jeno! lee jeno!”

after more shouting accompanied by incessant meowing, you hear some muffled movement. moments later the door knob twists open and there stands your roommate with disheveled hair and a robe that had obviously just been thrown on his body. seol has taken the open crack in the door as an invitation inside the bedroom.

jeno blinks a couple times as he watches the feline get himself comfortable on his bed. he turns back to you, looking slightly disoriented. you’re not sure if he’s half asleep or your sudden presence has thrown him for a loop. his voice comes out raspy when he asks, “was he, um, bothering you or something?”

you shake your head, vigorously. “that’s not why i came. it’s just that my friends told me that there’s been some kind of virus outbreak and we’re supposed to stay home. so, i thought i’d let you know.”

his face softens. “oh, cool.” suddenly, the look changes. “not the virus thing! that’s totally not cool. i meant, it’s cool that you let me know and stuff. you just saved me a huge freak out so, uh, thank you.”

you smile and nod. “no problem.”

jeno’s eyes linger as you retreat back into your room down the hall. the sound of his door shutting is heard only once you’re out of his eyesight.

   2.    he can cook better than you.

most of the time, you would go out to eat dinner with your friends in the evenings or at least stop by a drive thru. obviously, this was no longer possible in the midst of a pandemic. you found that to be incredibly frustrating as you sat on your bed, stomach empty. no matter how badly you wished to fix it, your laziness had gotten the best of you. apart from that, you already knew how unlucky you were when it came to cooking—the memory of burning noodles at lia’s house one night had been permanently seared into your brain.

you almost believe your mind is playing tricks on you when you catch a whiff of pasta in the air. for a moment you think it’s your next door neighbor, taeyong, cooking again. you knew he was quite the chef. but, the smell is getting stronger by the second and you decide it must be in your apartment.

you wander into the kitchen, only to find jeno standing over the stove. he’s stirring red sauce in a pot when he notices you watching him.

“oh, hey,” he greets with a polite wave.

you can only stare at the rest of the kitchen—pots, pans, and ingredients all over the place—in utter awe.

he chuckles, awkwardly. “yeah, sorry about the mess. i’ve been told i’m a decent cook but i can never seem to get the tidiness down.”  

“no, it’s not that. this just all seems so... professional.” you sniff the air once more. “smells amazing, too.”

he smiles, sheepishly. “thanks. are you a fan of spaghetti?”

you nod.

“good. i wanted to make something you’d like.”

“you really didn’t have to,” you say, leaning against the fridge. “i mean, i’ve never done anything for you.”

he uncovers a pot to check on the pasta. you watch as hot steam rises out of it. “what about this morning?”

you can’t help but laugh. “that most certainly does not count. you’re making an entire meal. that takes a lot of effort.”

he waves a hand, dismissively. “i used to cook a lot with my old roommate, doyoung. the guy was an asian gordon ramsey, i swear. so, yeah, this is nothing too crazy. and i really do enjoy it.”

“well, i’m still gonna repay you.” you fold your arms.

he looks away from his dish to raise a brow. “is that so?”

you nod in confirmation. “definitely.”

“tell you what, if you wash the mountain of dishes that are gonna be left over, we’ll be even.”

you stare at the sink that’s already overflowing with dirty kitchen tools. that wasn’t even half of it. “uh, sure, sounds good.”

he laughs at hearing the uncertainty in your voice. “that’s the spirit.”

   3.    he’s allergic to cats.

the familiar sound of soft purring is what pulls you attention away from the movie playing on your laptop. already knowing exactly who it is, you launch yourself off your bed to allow your furry guest inside.  

“hey seol. what’ve you been up to?”

the calico meows, almost as if he were responding to your question. you close your door and go back to your original position. you notice seol sitting directly in front of your bed, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“come on up.” you pat your sheets, invitingly.

he obeys and stretches before laying down beside you.

“have you ever watched ‘avengers’?” you ask, eyes going back to the explosive fight scene on the screen.

this time, seol doesn’t even bother humoring you with a meow. he stays silent with his head tucked into his paws.

you scratch his head and his tail wiggles. “i’ve gotta stop asking you questions.”

both you and seol’s heads snap towards the door when you hear a knock.

“come in!” you call out.  

jeno swings open the door. his eyes briefly scan the room before landing on the furball on your bed. the unmistakable look of adoration shines in his eyes when he sees how lovingly you caress him.

“seol! what are you doing in here? bothering y/n?” the cat jumps off your bed and towards his owner standing in your doorway. jeno scoops him into his arms and faces you. “i’m so sorry. he saw me running a bath for him and bolted.”

“it’s all good. he’s a great movie buddy. besides, i could always use the company.”

jeno curiously glances at your computer screen. “is that ‘avengers’?”

“yep. i’ve seen it like a dozen times.”

“same here.“ he pauses. “hey, if you ever need a movie buddy—like you know, one that talks—just let me know.”

your face lights up. “i’m gonna hold you to that.”

”i hope so. well, if you’ll excuse me, i’ve gotta give this guy a bath.”

seol yowls as if he understands the meaning behind the words and attempts to escape jeno’s grip.    

“here we go again,” he mumbles under his breath.

you snicker at the sight. “looks like you could use some help.”

“oh, no. it’s fine. he can just be a little bratty someti—seol!”

in the blink of an eye, the feline has successfully hopped out of his arms and made a run for it.

jeno gives you an exasperated look before rushing off to catch his runway pet. you find yourself caught up in the excitement so you follow him, the two of you now in pursuit of the calico. you’re sure the image of you both chasing the fluffy animal around the apartment looks like something straight out of a comedy. even you and jeno can’t contain your laughter when he finally catches seol only for him to slip out of his hold a second later. this exact situation repeats itself a couple times before you finally get lucky.

“i got him!” you screech. “jeno! oh my god! what do i do?”

“bathroom, bathroom, bathroom!” he chants in response.

you head in that direction with jeno trailing behind you, ready to catch seol if he somehow manages to get out of your death grip. you bend over the bathtub, slowly lowering the cat into the water. it’s clear he doesn’t have a problem with making a fuss as he wails and flails his limbs around.

after a while, he finally calms down enough that you can lather him in shampoo. jeno insists on scrubbing him, arguing that you had already done way too much. you sit back on your heels, observing the way the seol leans into his delicate touches.

“looks like he likes it now.”

“he likes to make a big deal but he ends up enjoying it every—“ jeno cuts himself off with a sneeze.

“tissue?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “that’s okay, thanks. i’m used to it. i’m just surprised my allergies haven’t acted up ‘til now.”

“allergies?” you echo.

“yeah, i’m allergic to—“ another sneeze. “cats.”

your eyes widen. “really? and you still have seol?”

“i could never get rid of him. he’s too good of a boy. isn’t—“ sneeze. “that right?” he tickles seol under his chin.

“wow. you must really love him.”

“so much.”

“he’s lucky to have you.”

“what about you? you get both of us. doesn’t that make you the luckiest?”

you snort. “i guess it does.”

   4.    he makes a good shopping buddy.

“i have officially cooked everything we have.”

“i can order some takeout, if you want?”

he juts his lower lip out and gives you puppy eyes. “but i like to cook for you.”

you laugh at his expression. “oh god, you look like that one pouty emoji people use when they try to be cute.”

he sits up. “did it work?”

you nod and pinch his cheek.

he yelps. “ah, stop! you’re acting like my grandma!” he manages to get out of your grasp. he rubs his face, soothing the spots you had squeezed. “seriously, though, we really do need to stock up on food.”

“i’ve already been looking into it.” you show him the screen of your phone. “says here you can still go shopping as long as you wear a mask and try to stay six feet away from other shoppers.”

he cringes. “i don’t know if i like the idea of being so close to so many people.”

“i can go by myself, then,” you suggest with a shrug.

he doesn’t hesitate to deny you. “no way are you going alone.” his possessive tone has you staring at him curiously so he adds, “you know, in case you can’t reach something on the top shelf.”

the teasing comment paired with his innocent smile makes you gasp in disbelief. “lee jeno! that’s low! and to think i almost thought you were worried about me.”

“who said i wasn’t?” he smiles at you again before standing up. “i’m going to find us some masks and then we can head out.”  

once you arrive at your local grocery store, you find it to be packed. everyone seems to be in a hurry, grabbing things left and right.

“wow, it’s already gotten crazy,” jeno mumbles, stopping to stare at the flood of people that rush by.

you don’t hesitate to scold him. “well, don’t just stand there! we gotta get our stuff before there’s nothing left!”

without another word you slip into the frenzy of people. jeno struggles to stay behind you. after almost losing sight of you a couple times, he walks a little faster to catch up and places his arm firmly around your waist once he does. you look up at him, your mask covering your slightly agape mouth.

being the gentleman he is, he apologizes. “sorry but i don’t want us to get separated.”

you can only nod and mumble, “good idea.”

jeno pushes the shopping cart with his right hand and holds your figure with his left. once in a while, you’ll break apart from each other to grab an item you need but once it’s in the cart, he’ll make sure you end up in the same position. after an hour or so, you’ve grabbed enough and you decide it’s time to pay.

despite the mask she has on, you can tell the middle-aged woman behind the cash register has a big smile on her face once she catches sight of you and your roommate.

“well, just look at you two.” she sighs. “how cute.”

“oh.” you glance at her then jeno then her again. “oh, no. it’s not like that.”

you attempt to move yourself away from jeno only to find his grip to be so incredibly strong that you almost begin to think he’s trying to hold you in place. once you finally detach yourself from him, you begin loading your groceries onto the counter for the employee to scan. she does so, but not before giving you a displeased look.  

“oh really? he holds you like that because you aren’t together?”

jeno assists her in placing the scanned items in bags. “i didn’t want to lose her.”

she pauses scanning a can of tuna to stare him down. “darling, that sounds like a line from a cheesy hallmark rom-com.”

you can’t help but chuckle. “what he means is that there’s a lot of people here and we didn’t want to get separated.”

jeno adds, “desperate times calls for desperate measures.”

the woman adjusts her glasses. “well, you do certainly seem desperate to have her close to you.”

jeno doesn’t say a word as he continues bagging but his smile reaches his eyes.

   5.    he works out.

why did the pandemic have to hit in the middle of summer?

you often asked yourself this, complaining about how inconvenient it was. especially on the days that made your apartment feel like it was on fire. the days that required a thin tank top and shorts. even then, you found yourself to be drenched in sweat.

you sprawled your arms and legs farther on the sofa, the leather material proving to be very uncomfortable. it was either that or your bed with the warm cotton sheets that stuck to your body. just thinking about it brings you discomfort. the only relief you could think of was a cold shower. you would have already taken one if jeno hadn’t been hogging the one bathroom in the apartment.

“jeno!” you yell.

silence; other than the sound of the water running.

“lee jeno!”

the water stops, temporarily for him to shout back an answer. “what?!”

you wipe at the sweat that has accumulated on the bridge of your nose. “hurry up! i’m melting!”

the water starts back up again and you groan. hoping to distract yourself, you pull out your phone. the group chat with your friends is surprisingly silent so you go to instagram for some entertainment. this time, your ex-boyfriend’s post isn’t the first thing you see. it takes you some scrolling but you do end up seeing another one of his pictures.

it’s simply two intertwined hands with a black and white filter. you identify the one on the left as his and although you aren’t as familiar with the one on the right, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it belongs to. contrary to the last, this photo has no cheesy words for a caption, just a red heart.  

but, your stomach doesn’t drop. you don’t feel hurt, either. obviously, you still don’t enjoy seeing him just because of all the awful memories that came with it but other than that, you feel unaffected by the image.

in fact, you feel so confident in yourself that you block him.

you’re surprised you hadn’t done it sooner. you had known you didn’t need him in your life any longer so why keep in contact? you feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders when you press the red button that would keep him and his girlfriend out of your life. you knew with your whole heart that you didn’t need to see either of them.

before, a bit if you had felt the need to keep an eye on him. to see how he was handling the breakup and torture yourself with the fact that he didn’t seem to care. now, you could say you truly didn’t either. you didn’t need him or his stupid pictures. you had other, better things.

your friends.

your cat (yes, you considered seol to be yours).

your roommate.

you had to admit, jeno was the best thing on that list. quarantine had brought you and him significantly closer and you were over the moon about it. he was so wonderful that you kicked yourself for having lived with him for so long without ever really getting to know him. but it was easy to say you two were making up for lost time seeing as you spent every waking moment together. the record long showers jeno took being an exception, of course.

the moment the door to the bathroom opens, you rush into your room and quickly grab an oversized t-shirt and loose pajama pants to change into after your shower. you nearly drop them when you’re met with jeno’s soaking figure in the hallway.

his hair is damp and you can clearly see how long it had become. his skin looks healthy and moisturized, lotion among other skin care products had probably been applied. what really has you in a shock is the fact that the towel barely hangs below his waist. the droplets of water that fall from his hair and down his neck trail down his chest and toned torso towards the only area he has bothered to cover up. his bulky arms are also slightly wet, his veins popping noticeably. he shakes his head in an attempt to rid his hair of any water. then he runs his fingers through it, his muscles flexing ever so slightly as he does so.

“dude!” you exclaim, without a second thought. “you’re ripped!”

he smiles, his round cheeks growing at the unexpected praise. the way he could have such a rugged body but soft-featured face puzzled you to no extent. “thank you. i lift sometimes.”

“sometimes?” you repeat. “don’t be so humble! you’re basically hercules!”

he clicks his tongue. “ah, c’mon. i’m just an athletic person.”

you keep admiring his physique. “clearly.”

“oh god,” he groans, obviously flustered. “you’re looking at me like you’re gonna eat me or something.”

you hold yourself back from making a less than appropriate innuendo. “no comment.”

his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “quarantine is really making you go crazy.”

you point a finger at him. “you try being stuck inside with your hot roommate!”

“trust me, y/n, i know all about hot roommates.”

you tilt your head, acting purposefully oblivious. “are you talking about doyoung?”

“what? no i—“ he sighs. “you know what, just take your shower.”

   6.    you can’t say no to him.

jeno ruffles his black locks with his hand and frowns.

you give him a disappointed look. “knock it off, you’re gonna get dandruff in your soup.”

he ignores your comment. “i look like a hobo.”

you pause, spoon halfway to your mouth. “this i know.”

“y/n, this is serious!”

“okay, okay. what’s the issue?”

“i already told you! i’m a bum!”

“you? a bum?” you pause to think about it. “i mean, mentally? maybe. but physically? no.”

“my hair, though. it’s so long.” he grabs a strand of it and pulls it to emphasize his point.

you shrug. “if having lots of hair is the standard for being a bum, i think most of the population is.”

“i want to cut it,” he announces.

“you should,” you say, pointing your spoon at him. “wanna know why? because if you mess up, no one will ever know. other than me, of course. but if you pay me enough i’ll let you forget it.”

he smiles at the joke for a moment before he leans forward and his face goes serious. “will you help me?”

“what? no way. i’ll mess up. and it’s only funny if you do it.”

he pouts. “please?”

you stir your soup around. “just watch some youtube videos. after three, you’re automatically a professional.”

“i want you.”

the statement has your neck snapping up from your bowl to him. the smug grin on his face lets you know that he was well aware of the double meaning behind his words. it was clear he was trying to fluster you enough to get a yes.

“you think you’re flirty enough to straight up brainwash me into doing stuff?”

“well, i wanted to say that to you anyway but... kind of?”

you feel a smile creep onto your lips at hearing the genuine tone in his voice. you down your last few spoonfuls of soup and quickly stand up. jeno looks up at you, eyes hopeful.

“finish your dinner. get the scissors. meet me in the bathroom.”

not even ten minutes later, jeno practically dances into the bathroom, a pair of red craft scissors in his hand. he sits on top of the toilet lid, figuring that’d be the easiest way for you to reach him. you walk in moments later.

“i’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to be using these types of scissors for hair,” he mumbles as he hands you the sharp utensil.

you twirl them in your hand. “oh, definitely not. do you want to wait then?”

he shakes his head, his shaggy bangs swaying with the movement.  

“alright, let’s get this going then.” you thread your hands through his thick locks to collect some of it in between two of your fingers. you bring the scissors forward and snip the small amount just to test the waters.

you slowly begin to get more comfortable and once you feel like you’re in your element, things begin to speed up. you move and cut faster but with efficiency. you do the spots on the back of his head and work your way forward. when it finally comes time to touch up his bangs, your small bathroom proves to be an inadequate spot to be doing this.

you end up standing balanced inches above jeno’s thighs that he’s pressed together tightly in an attempt to give you more room. you’re constantly readjusting your stance and when he notices, his hands go to your hips. you know he’s just trying to help you stay upright so you do a decent job but you still inhale sharply at the feeling of his hands on you.

not long after, you’re standing next to jeno as he inspects himself in the mirror. his fingers flick his newly shortened bangs around.

“not bad.” he tilts his head in a new angle and nods. “looks super good to me.”

you tuck the scissors into your back pocket with a relieved sigh. “oh thank god. i didn’t want to tell you before we started but i only watched two youtube tutorials on trimming hair.”

he runs a hand through his hair with a chuckle. “now that’s truly worthy of praise. and a tip.”

you raise a brow. “oh yeah? what’s th—“

he cuts you off by pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. he pulls back and drags his thumb over the skin that has come into contact with his lips. “thanks again.” with that, he leaves you standing in the bathroom, eyes wide and face warm.

   7.    he has six best friends.

“can i borrow your laptop?” asks jeno, from outside your door, nearly breathless.

you look up from your book. “uh yeah, sure.”

he rushes in your room and takes the item off of your dresser. “do you happen to have zoom on it?”

you shake your head and he groans. without another word, he disappears, running off into the living room. you hear his frustrated sighs as the minutes pass and he attempts to download the application. you finally decide to go check it out once it becomes too much to bear.

“it sounds like you’re in pain over here,” you comment.

he runs a hand through his hair. “i’m supposed to meet with my friends through a zoom call but it’s so complicated.”

you put a hand on your hip. “bet you five bucks i’ll be able to get it in five minutes.”

“are you kidding? i might be technologically challenged but i’m not stupid. i know you can do it fast, just help me out already, would you?”

“alright, grandpa.”

you type and click away at the screen, jeno watching you do so, entranced but equally as lost.

“well, i was wrong,” you say after a couple moments, leaning back in your chair.

“you couldn’t get it?” asks jeno, worriedly.

“no, it’s not that.” you click something on the screen and the app opens. “turns out i could do it in three.”

he rolls his eyes and shoos you out of the chair. he sits down and enters the code and password for the zoom meeting. it takes a minute, but he finally connects. you count six other people in the call. they all immediately cheer at seeing jeno and you hear them excitedly exclaim his name.

“hey guys,” he says, a smile already reaching his eyes. “it’s so good to see your faces.”

they all nod to agree. you get a good look at each one of them and realize they’re all boys. your eyes read over each of their display names.

mark me in ur heart

hyuckie~~~

moomin enthusiast

nananananana

chnele

lil huddy

“nice name, jeno,” ‘moomin enthusiast’ guy comments, snickering slightly. “glad to see you finally came to terms with it.”

‘jenojam’, his name reads. the rest of the group laughs, also teasing him about it. you assume it’s some kind of inside joke.

the self proclaimed ‘lil huddy’ furrows his eyebrows. “wait, did you choose that name yourself?”

jeno simply nods in response.

he glares into the camera. “donghyuck, you told me i had to put this as my name or else it wouldn’t let me connect!”

donghyuck—or ‘hyuckie~~~’, you presume—shrugs. “oops. guess i was wrong.”

you laugh at the humorous exchange. it seems like the sound has drawn some attention to you when ‘nananananana’ speaks up, eyes trained on you.

“um jeno? don’t you want to introduce your guest?”

jeno beams, dragging you closer into the frame. “i’m sure you all know about my roommate. say hi, y/n.” 

you do so, waving and smiling politely at the group.

“you know, even though we used to always hang at jeno’s, i don’t think we’ve ever actually seen your face,” ‘chnele’ says, tilting his head.

you agree. “me neither. i’ve mostly just heard you guys.”

the ‘mark me in your heart’ boy sheepishly rubs his neck. “sorry. we tend to be a little loud.”

‘chnele’ lets out a high pitched screech of a laugh. “only a little?”

“i recognize that laugh!” you blurt. “i would hear it all the time!”

”that’s our little dolphin,” coos ‘hyuckie~~~’.

“oh god, stop. i hate that stupid nickname.”

“it’s well deserved.”

“i think you should apologize to y/n for being a nightmare to her eardrums.”

“and ours, for that matter.”

“what about all your little freestyles? i’ve had to sit through hundreds of them and i never got an apology!”

“because they’re not bad! could you do any better?”

“you’re a soundcloud rapper, i think anyone could.”

jeno turns to you as the bickering on screen gets louder and louder. “this is gonna be a long call.”

once the group has moved on from roasting the life out of each other, you’re able to engage in some good-natured conversation. jeno teaches you the names and the other basics about the group. some points that stand out about the group is that mark is the oldest, renjun specializes in contemporary dance, jaemin inhales six cups of coffee on the daily, and chenle is insanely rich.

“what about jeno?” you ask them. “anything i should know about him?”

“he’s allergic to cats but the idiot still adopted—“

“she already knows about that, renjun,” jeno chuckles.

“oh. well. that’s pretty much the only interesting thing about him.”

jisung pipes up. “oh wait! he works out religiously too!”

you and jeno share a look. you burst into laughter and he simply glances away, slightly embarrassed. “oh yeah, i know that all too well.”

“and what about the unhealthy cooking obsession?”

you nod at mark’s question. “that too. he cooks dinner almost every night around here.”

renjun purses his lips. “he already cooks for you? wow. he must really like you.”

“you think?” jaemin asks. “didn’t you read any of the messages in the group chat? he’s practically in love with her. his words, not mi—“

“okay! i think it’s time for us to go! bye guys!” jeno doesn’t even give you a chance to say your own goodbye before he’s clicking the ‘end call’ button in the bottom right corner.

you give him a confused look. “what was that all about?”

“they’re crazy.” he laughs. “well, if you need me i’ll be in my room screaming into my pillow for the next couple hours.” he dashes off leaving you standing alone, trying to comprehend what had happened.

   8.    he‘s a great listener.

jeno has officially replaced seol as your movie buddy, not that you have a problem with it. you thought it was nice to have someone you could actually converse with but of course, you make sure seol still sits in.

“what i’m saying is that iron man just wants to protect his team.”

“well, if they sign the accords, they basically surrender themselves to the government.”

“and?”

“you don’t see a problem with that? see, captain america knows what he’s doing. he’s literally an avenger—“

“so is iron man!”

“let me finish! so, he’s an avenger, right? he has the best judgment because he’s saved the world countless times. he knows how to operate his team and do the right thing.”

“okay but there’s casualties. and that’s what iron man is trying to fix.”

“how do you save the world and not have casualties?”

“you just—“ your phone rings mid argument and you raise your finger towards jeno. “this isn’t over.” you put the phone to your ear, not bothering to check the caller id. “hello?”

“sweetheart?”

you feel a chill go up your spine. was it him? no, it couldn’t be. you had blocked his number shortly after you did so on all your social media.

“baby, don’t be so shy. i know you’re there.”

you can’t hold back. “please don’t call me that.”

he chuckles, breathlessly. “oh, c’mon. you used to love it. you still do.”

“no, i don’t. actually, i don’t want to hear your stupid pet names or stupid voice or see any of your stupid posts. just go bother your girlfriend and leave me alone.”

you notice jeno perk up beside you out of the corner of your eye. he must have been caught off guard by your irritated tone.

as always, lucas is unaffected by you. “i’m being nice and giving you a second chance. i even called you behind soyeon’s back.”

“is that something i’m supposed to reward you for?” you scoff. “congratulations, you’re now awful, toxic, and a cheater.”

he growls. the sound was familiar. in your relationship, if you heard it you knew he was going to snap at you until he had the satisfaction of making you cry. “i know you miss me so don’t say things you’re going to regret later. because even when you’re back in my arms, i won’t let you forget it.”

the thought of being back with him made you feel icky. but the fact that he sincerely thought you would crawl back to him set your entire body on fire. “are you joking? i was always aware of the fact that you treated me like the dirt you walked on but do you seriously think that lowly of me?”

you’re rendered speechless and apparently, so is he because the other line stays silent.

“i wouldn’t go back to you if you were the last person on earth,” you spit. “you treated me horribly, wong yukhei. i won’t ever forget it. move on. i have.”

you glance at jeno, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are trained on your cellphone. the glare he gives the device is so strong you wouldn’t be surprised if even lucas could feel it, wherever he was.

you hang up and block the number, wishing to never talk to him again. you toss your phone onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. you find jeno’s gaze to still be focused intensely on it.  

“if you gave lucas that look, i’m pretty sure he’d cry.”

he breaks his concentration, eyes going to you instead. his entire face softens. “all i’m going to say is he better pray we never cross paths.”

“well, if you happen to, call me up. i wouldn’t mind helping you beat the crap out of him.”

jeno chuckles for a second then lowers his voice to a whisper. “he was really bad to you, huh?”

you nod. “he messed me up. i hate to admit it ‘cause i know i was stupid to stay with him for as long as i did.”

your roommate shakes his head. “don’t say that. it’s not your fault he messed up the best thing that would ever happen to him.”

“i thought i was the problem for so long, jeno. i was so blinded by love. then, i realized there was no way he truly cared for me when he treated me like i had no heart to be broken.”

jeno scoots towards you and rubs soothing circles into your arm. “you have such a big heart. and i can’t tell you how sorry i am that he took advantage of that. i’m sorry that you were stuck with someone so insecure and ignorant. please, don’t think about him anymore.”

you hold in your tears. you refused to cry over someone like lucas. “i know. i try so hard not to.”

jeno holds your head into his chest. his arms are placed securely on your back. “oh, baby.”

when jeno uses this pet name on you, it feels so completely different from lucas. you could tell me meant it. he wasn’t using it to make you stay a little longer, to assure you he loved you. strangely enough, you do not need to be convinced of that. you feel like you have known it for a long time.  

   9.    he likes to be the big spoon.

you’re not sure how he’s done it but you end up falling asleep in jeno’s arms. you assume it had been so long since you had been cradled and rocked so delicately that the foreign yet extremely delightful sensation knocked you right out. even seol is deep in sleep, laying down peacefully at your feet.  

you relish in the feeling of jeno pressed right into your back. he fits so perfectly against you that it reminds you of a puzzle piece. to be exact, the moment when you connect the last two pieces and the full picture becomes complete. that was how you felt—complete.

with jeno’s soft breaths tickling the back of your neck and his soft snores filling your ear, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. his arm that is wrapped around you makes sure you can’t escape his embrace. you are positive that even if you had the liberty of doing so, you would stay exactly where you were.

you lean farther back into your pillow, closing your eyes. you let every thought fade away as you try to fall back asleep as soon as possible. you wanted the moment you found yourself in to last as long as possible.

   10.    he has feelings for you.

jeno mumbles sweet nothings into your ear as he toys with your hair.

it just seemed right to him. like something he was meant to do with you. he had seen these types of things in films and shows before. it was intimate and touching, the scenes were always meant to tug at the audience’s heart strings and show how in love the two characters were. perhaps, even though you lay asleep in his arms, he wants you to finally know.

“honestly, being inside with you all the time is kind of the best. i know the whole virus situation is less than ideal but being able to spend so much time with you... that’s all i could ask for.” he pauses. “isn’t it so crazy how before this we were all weird and awkward around each other? well, i guess we still kind of are. that’s mostly my fault so... sorry. i just don’t know how to act around you sometimes. we’re barely getting close and i’m already this attached to you. as jisung would so kindly say, ‘i’m simping’.” he chuckles to himself. “all jokes aside, i really do like you. ever since you moved in here all cute and nervous, you’ve taken your own little place in my heart, as cheesy as it sounds. and these past few weeks, you just keep on taking up more and more room in there. not that i have a problem with it. i just...” he stops as if he doesn’t know how else to express his feelings. “really, really like you.”

“thanks.”

you feel him jolt then abruptly stop stroking your hair. there’s silence until he asks, “you don’t happen to be a sleep talker, do you?”

you shake your head.

“and did you hear like, a lot of what i said?”

“only the important stuff. like how awkward you are and how much you like me.”

“o-oh.”

“but don’t worry. it’s mutual.”

you feel his relieved breath hit the skin of your neck. “that’s the best thing i’ve heard all day.”

you tilt your head back and stare at him, confused. “what, did you seriously think i wasn’t into you?”

he shrugs. “i was too busy simping, i guess.”

you can’t contain your laughter at the use of the slang. “park jisung would not be proud.”   

[goldenraeofsun]

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn��t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

[deru-shigaraki]

Yandere Satan (obey me imagine)

"Kitten~" His voice purred, a sharp blade dragging along the wall as he walked down the dark hallway. You were trembling uncontrollably. You're hands covering your mouth, carefully trying to calm yourself so your breathing wouldn't be loud enough to give up where you were hiding. You had been lucky to get out of that cage. It was a mistake that most certainly wouldn't be tolerated again. This was your only chance to escape. You had to stay strong. All you had to do was get to the outside. You were certain that the woods surrounding the house would give you enough cover to out run and loose him. The thought was simple, but execution seemed more and more impossible the closer he came to your hiding space. The cabinet hardly held you, it was small but it was the only place you could think to hide in such limited amount of time. You stuffed yourself inside, ignoring the scrapes and bumps you gave yourself as you struggled. The door hadn't closed all the way but you didn't think the crack seemed all that noticeable. You shuttered as Satan's footsteps entered the kitchen. His heal clicked on the tile floor in a threatening way. Everything he did felt like an attempt on your life. After being trapped there in the house with him for a few weeks you learned your lesson about under estimating him. You knew better than to doubt that at any given second he could snap. You were unaware of his constant mood swings at first, and that cost you a lot of pain. "It's really naughty to hide you know." He was angry, you could hear it in his voice, even though he masked it with a smile. You allowed yourself to peak through the crack, wanting to see where he was in case an opportunity to run came up. You sucked in a breath as you seen how close he actually was. His legs stood right next to the counter, only about a foot away from where you had stashed yourself. You were too low on the ground to see much more. The view under the sink was limited and you didn't care to try and test those limits. Satan sighed deeply, leaning against the counter. "You couldn't have gone far..." He mumbled, not really talking to you anymore, it was a comment to himself. He didn't think you were in ear shot, maybe that meant you were safe for now. If he didn't think you were in the kitchen, he would have to look further into the house, leaving the front door open to break out of. You took extra care to stay still, you held the bell on your collar tightly, not wanting it to give you away. It had been what drawn him this way in the first place. The jiggle of the cat bell had rang almost violently when you entered the cabinet. Now that you were sitting still it wasn't much of a threat but you knew that if you wanted to get out of here you would need to ditch the collar completely. You had tried before, Stripping it off when you were left alone in your room. However that action was forbidden and when you break a rule...Well...You know. He wasn't light on punishments. He was a cruel sadist. Seeing you in pain seemed to get him off even more than when you're good for him. Not to say that he wasn't more pleasant when you cooperated. Some nights you were even able to relax. The two of you would sit in the living room, he'd force you onto his lap which of course the first few times where a bit uncomfortable, but after you quit fighting, he would reel you in. His body was always so warm, so comfy. He would pet your hair, kneading your head in a some what affectionate way. He would be reading or listing to music. Sometimes he would just talk to you about his day, discuss his work, or what he seen on his daily runs. You weren't as difficult to control at that time of day. It was basically the cool down of the night. To get you ready for bed. You actually felt yourself relaxing slightly as you thought back to those moments. It was quickly ruined by the sound of Satan slamming his fist onto the counter above you, before his footsteps stomped away into the house. You then fiddled with the collar around your neck, deciding to ditch it, before it gave you away. peaking out of the crack in the small door, you didn't see or hear him. You figured now was as good as ever to bolt out of the house. You crawled out of the cabinet slowly and silently. You avoided going down the hall way that you had seen Satan go down and you crept down another, hoping that a door would lead to the outside. You tip toed, holding your breath. It was incredibly tense searching the house. You hadn't ever made it this far, and you doubted he would ever let it happen again. You heard footsteps riding up on you and you hurried to find an unlocked room, slipping inside. The room was dark, not having time to find a light switch, you backed up just a bit, watching a shadow move past from underneath the door. You held your breath, only releasing air when you couldn't hear his footsteps any longer. You sniffed the air around you, catching a whiff of something unsettling. The scent of the room was damp and rotten, the wood floor underneath her feeling wet and sticky. You gagged on the heavy odor, feeling as if you were being strangled by the disgusting smell. Your body froze as you heard an unsettling noise. Every hair on your body stood up as a low growl came from the corner of the room. Turning around slowly, you seen a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring back at you. The eyes lunged forward and you screamed running towards the door as you heard a chain scrapping across the floor. You were slipping on the liquid that spread over the floor. You panicked as your feet went out from underneath you. You laid on the ground a slash of pain going through your leg as you felt the creature pawing at you. You crawled away swiftly, feeling blood drain from your attack wound. You didn't hold back on your screaming, at this point you were hoping that Satan would find you. It was dark and the monster behind you was thrashing and making horrifying noises. The door in front of her was bashed open, the light from the hallway lighting the room. Satan stood there in shock, seeing you on the ground covered in blood. You looked down at your hands and noticed the the liquid that you had slipped on was blood, but not yours. You erupted into another fit of screaming, causing the creature behind you to freak as well, looking over your shoulder and seeing that the monster was an actual tiger. Your mind felt like it was about to explode, your fear causing you to tremble uncontrollably. You couldn't believe it. Satan on the other hand looked calm, but annoyed. He walked past you without a word. You watched him as he approached the big cat. The animal seemed to cowar when he got close, it's tail going down between it's legs, its ears going back as if it was ashamed. Satan didn't hit the animal, he raised his arm up as though he was going to but once his hand lowered, he only flicked it's head. The big cat meowed upset and then walked into the corner, where you seen a few bones. That had explained the body everywhere. He was feeding that tiger people. Was he going to feed you to the animal too? When his attention finally fell onto you, your heart dropped. You started to tremble, your eyes welling with tears as he stepped closer to you. He kneeled down shaking his head. "You're such a naughty girl, if I didn't love you so much, I would have let Coda eat you." He told you and your lip quivered, glancing past him and too the tiger. "C-Coda?" You and and he nodded. "yes, my cat." He stated before lifting you up. He held you bridal style, your face instantly pushing into his chest. You couldn't help the tears that were falling from your eyes. Satan sighed deeply. "Don't you start that, if you cry now you're going to get tired and wanna nap, then You'll be up all night." He warned. You were surprised at his attitude. You were crying over fear, over loss. You had tried to run, he caught you. Why wasn't he more upset. He of course sounded angry, but he wasn't blowing up at you, just scolding you. Satan carried you out into the kitchen and set you down on the table. He then started to look at your cuts, seeing that they weren't deep at all. You were slightly embarrassed that you were screaming so loud for just a few scratches, but the tiger was pretty scary. He raised an eyebrow to you and your faced blushed. His mouth quirked into a half smile before turning around and filling a glass up with some water. You watched him closely as he brought you the glass, handing it to you. He seemed suspiciously clam, not like you had expected him to be. As you sipped at the water, his hand reached up to pat your head. "Where's your collar kitten?" He asked you choked on the water. He grabbed the glass before you dropped it. "It's *cough* under the sink." You spoke out, face red as he chuckled. "Is that where my little pet was hiding~" He cooed, retrieving the collar and returning to your side. You flinched as he wrapped it around your neck. "There you go, all better now." He purred and kissed your forehead. You were shocked at how sweetly he was treating you. As he adjusted your collar you swallowed the lump in your throat, speaking softly. "Satan..." his eyes met yours. You bit your lip. "Are um...are you going to punish me?" You asked and he tilted his head. "Oh? Honey why would I punish you?" He asked. You hung your head, feeling ashamed. "Because I was naughty..." Satan smiled at you, placing his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs so that he could place himself in between them. "I thought about it...I was very angry at you, Hell, I was actually excited to have a reason to play rough with you." He explained and you frowned. "You're not going to?" You asked and he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. "I messed up today. I didn't keep a good enough eye on you and you ended up getting hurt. It could have been a lot worse. My cat could have eaten you, you would have been dead...It I lost you MC..." He bit his lip, shaking his head slightly. "I don't want to think of what I would do, if you weren't with me. I love you." he whispered the last part. You thought a moment. "It did hurt me...Just a little, but you...You sometimes hurt me more than this...I know I make you angry, I'm just so scared of you that sometimes I make mistakes on accident." You told him and Satan nodded. "I get carried away sometimes, and for that I apologize. I won't try and deceive you, I like to make you cry. When I hurt you, You cling to me, you beg me to stop, you make promises to me...It's so much power, and you hand it over so willingly." He explained, pressing his lips against yours. You didn't fight the kiss, instead you actually found yourself leaning into it, your mouth opening for him but he pulled away. He stared at you satisfied. "You're warming up aren't you? Pretty soon you're going to be the one stealing kisses." He teased and you blushed shaking your head. His hands cradled your cheeks, loving eyes staring into yours. You let your eyes flutter shut, expecting another kiss, but instead, you felt his thumb slip into your mouth. You frowned, opening your eyes, looking up at him confused. He smiled, pushing it in deeper. You whined, but did what he wanted, sucking on it gently. He leaned his forehead against yours, feeling as your tongue swirled around him. Your lips made a sucking sound as you suckled the tip of his finger like a bottle. Satan chuckled. "Don't be too good at that, I'll have to give you something else to suck on~" He purred and you pulled away from him, your face red. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, your legs wrapping around him as he picked you up. "Let's get you cleaned up." 

[iovjun]

You Were Beautiful — Huang Renjun

PAIRING: huang renjun x reader

GENRE: angst, breakup au

WARNINGS: none, other than the fkn heartbreak :(

SYNOPSIS: You were a novel in itself, your pages filled with words upon words of stories and little problems you ran into. Renjun felt thankful to have appeared in a few of those lines, maybe even a whole chapter filled with nothing but him. But books, too, ended eventually.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

A/N: this one hurt ngl :D TELL ME HOW I DID? DID IT MAKE YOU FEEL? (honorary tag to @yoongistoesuwu who’s always a part of my writing process <3)

The dirt under your nails never felt more uncomfortable. Your little plants stared up at you, their pale green color sickening to look at. Once standing strong and tall, they were now reduced to wilted, feeble, pathetic things. It was a terrible feeling, knowing that you neglected them and they were dying because of you.

You quietly hummed a song as you dusted your hands off and grabbed the small watering can, returning it to it’s temporary spot on the counter. The sun was low in the sky, its golden color washing over the kitchen and your skin. Its beams shone through the wide windows, barely filtered by the thin white curtain.

When you first picked this apartment, the view was one of the many things you loved about it. High above the ground, the city skyline was definitely a sight for sore eyes, especially during these hours when the clouds became an artist’s canvas, a splash of color across the horizon.

As you looked out the window and took a sip of water, the door opened behind you but you didn’t turn. You knew it was just Renjun, and you didn’t have to see him to know that he was probably in that favorite sweater of his, keys dangling from one finger and his phone in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual.

“Hey,” you acknowledged, twisting to watch him set his keys down.

“Did you eat already?” He opened the fridge, but you already knew it was empty. He realized that fact, closing it and turning away.

You replied, “No.”

“Oh.”

That was it. He didn’t make eye contact, he didn’t come up to give you a kiss, he didn’t invite you to eat elsewhere. He walked away, probably to go sit on the bed while he scrolls through his phone and you stay in the kitchen, watching the sun bid farewell.

When the light faded completely the kitchen was dark but you didn’t bother turning on the lights. The city outside glowed lively and even in this quiet moment you could still hear the honking cars and bustling streets below, sounds you’ve grown accustomed to since moving to the city. The feeling inside you was one you’ve become all too familiar with, yet when put to words you came up blank.

You were never much of a poet anyway, not like Renjun.

The glass of water in your hands was now empty—this you discovered as you brought it back up to your lips for another sip. Sighing, you put in the sink and looked at the time. It was past ten already, how long had you been standing there? The lights outside had been so mesmerizing, so alive, you could get caught up watching other people live their lives while you forget about yours.

Eventually you slipped into bed, wincing at the stone cold sheets. You knew Renjun’s sleeping body was beside you but you pushed that notion away, closing your eyes and trying to get rid of every thought that kept you up at night. Getting good sleep these days was becoming less and less often, but you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the fact that the person on the other side of the bed turned his back to you every night, and you always drifted off knowing you wouldn’t wake up in his arms the next morning. At this point you felt numb, tears wouldn’t even fall from your eyes anymore, you weren’t even sure what you felt could be described as sadness or anger.

The next day you squinted at your plants on the window sill, trying to determine if they looked better or worse. You supposed it was too early to tell, you barely tended to them the evening before.

Staring out the window was starting to be all too common for you and you hated it. You hated seeing the city outside, the sidewalks you used to walk with Renjun and the cafe events you would attend with him. And sometimes there would be a stray cat in an alley that would, by some miracle, let Renjun pet him. He would pull you in, his hand still grasping yours tightly, and jokingly asked if you could take it home, eyes bright like a child in a toy store. You would chuckle, shaking your head at him and reminding him that pets weren’t allowed in your apartment. Of course, he already knew that but it was a running joke between the both of you.

How you hated those big windows.

Hastily turning, you grabbed your jacket and keys before you let your thoughts wander too far. You reached out to the door but it swung open and you came face to face with Renjun who was arriving as scheduled.

He recoiled in shock and coughed awkwardly, letting go of the doorknob and relaxing his arm. “Hey, were you going somewhere?” he asked, looking away from your eyes.

You stepped back to let him in. “Um, not really,” was your answer. “Why?”

“I just—” he began, bringing up his arm to show a paper bag in his hand. “I brought some food. Thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s eat then,” you murmured, and with that he walked in, setting down the bag and slipping off his sweater. You caught a whiff of him as he walked by, the scents from outside mixing with his usual aroma. He smelled of spring rain over a jasmine field, it always reminded you of the fresh flowers the waiters at your favorite cafe used to place in each vase.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The type of silence that had its hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the life out of you, making you clench your fist with force.

Looking back at this scene, no one would’ve ever guessed that just a couple months ago you were engaged to this man.

The food in front of you was spread out in all its glory, just the sight of it was enough to make your mouth water. Renjun sat across from you, his head lowered as he took in the food. You noticed, looking at the logo on the bag, that it was from an unfamiliar restaurant. Your stomach growled in hunger but you didn’t eat.

You couldn’t eat. It felt strange, like you were dining with a stranger. You were conscious of every second that ticked by, every breath you took, every time Renjun moved the slightest inch. It was just too uncomfortable. Perhaps he felt the same, as he grasped his eating utensil tightly, doing nothing more than stare at the meal.

You held in a disappointed sigh, shifting in your seat awkwardly. Neither of you were big talkers anyway, but this wasn’t the comfortable silence you were accustomed to with Renjun.

“How was work?” you asked in a small voice, straightening your back when he lifted his head to look at you.

“It was fine.”

The reality of the situation was becoming too clear. Rain pattered the windows, you could hear the laugh of a passerby in the hallway, probably coming from a late Saturday party. The white, clean walls of a spacey kitchen never felt so small, so suffocating. You were like a burning match, and Renjun was the oxygen that could either blow you out or feed your flames.

By now he would’ve talked your ear off about the managers at work who seemed too demanding for his taste, or the girls that would constantly hit on him, or he would bring up the small succulent you gifted him a while ago that he took care of every day while working. You wondered about his friends and his coworkers, wondering how they were doing. He never talked about them anymore. He didn’t talk about anything anymore, in fact, not with you.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore.

You had to leave. You stood, the sound of your chair scraping across the linoleum floor harshly ripping through the thick silence. It was pouring outside but you needed to get away. Renjun didn’t move, he knew you both needed it for now. He let you walk past him, heading out the door with only your keys and phone in hand.

It was eating him inside out. You used to look at him with entire galaxies in your eyes, your smile that lit the world brighter than Renjun had ever seen. It was on rainy nights like this that he would take you out to the park and you would sit on a bench, sharing the same umbrella but getting soaked anyway. You would both chuckle at the people running by, hurrying to get some shelter in the cold rain and he would wrap his arm around you, pulling you in so close. The pleasant feeling in your chest was warmer than any jacket you’ve ever worn.

The stars would fall mercy at your feet, for you shined brighter than any of them. Renjun could spend hours painting you, just you. The dainty way your hand held his, the lips that whispered sleepy “l love you’s” every morning, your luscious hair that would tickle him from time to time. And when you laughed, Renjun loved you even more then. Even if it was a quiet, content laugh, or a loud chortle that left you breathless, he could never get enough of it.

It was so cliché but Renjun used to love you like that.

The following day was equally as bleak as the one before.

You stood by the window once again, watching the raindrops race to the bottom of the glass, remembering the times you did that as a child, betting with yourself to see which one made it down first.

This time the sun was nowhere to be seen, obscured by the heavy gray clouds that cried tears. Fog covered the buildings outside like a morbid blanket, and you could feel the chilly air seeping in through the glass when you placed your fingertips on it.

Today was your anniversary with Renjun, and you could only hope that something good came out of the dinner you prepared.

You took your time waiting in the kitchen, watering your flora who were also looking a bit brighter even without the sun. Smiling as you looked down at them, thinking about how they were something to look forward to in your black and white world.

Glancing at the time, you noticed it was getting a bit late, but that was a lie. You were getting ahead of yourself. Renjun was usually on time, arriving around 7:30 pm, and it was barely 7:50. You hoped he didn’t forget what day it was because it would make things even more awkward.

Just as you were placing the last plate on the table, the door opened and Renjun entered, his trademark sweater on and keys in hand. At least that was one thing about him that never changed.

He saw what you had prepared and, for the first time in a while, you saw a small smile on his face. Before you could greet him, he held out his hand, a little flower peeking out from his grasp.

“Happy anniversary,” he said softly.

Your heart sank. It was a single jasmine blossom, a flower that used to be your favorite.

Used to be.

You wouldn’t put it against Renjun for not knowing how much you despised that flower now, hating the sickly sweet smell that drove your anxiety up the wall.

Renjun smelled of spring rain over a jasmine field.

Nonetheless, you plucked the flower from his hand and inhaled its scent, ignoring the way it made your stomach churn as you gently smiled at him. “Happy anniversary,” you repeated, struggling to keep your smile bright. “I made dinner.”

Once the both of you sat down, you tapped your fingers on the table, contemplating if you should fight the silence or let it win again today. Renjun seemed to be deep in thought as well, his hands folded on his lap and his brows furrowed in that way they do when he’s focused on something. His eyes were fixated on your restless hand, and you couldn’t help but assume he was staring at the empty spot where your ring used to be. You clenched your fist and retracted it, mirroring his pose with your hands in your lap. Renjun shook out of his daze and pursed his lips, stabbing at the food on his plate.

“Why are we even doing this?” you spoke, your voice a bit wobbly.

Renjun didn’t even have to ask to know what you were talking about, yet he still felt his heart squeeze at your question. “I don’t know.”

“We’re basically roommates, Renjun. We’re two people that live in the same house but never interact. Why do we keep doing this?” The volume of your voice escalated desperately, and you searched him for an answer but he didn’t look up.

“I don’t know!” he blurted out forcefully.

You pushed your plate away, your appetite suddenly gone. “I don’t think we can make this work anymore.” He stayed silent while you continued. “I’m miserable—we both are.”

The truth was Renjun was afraid of letting you go. He was afraid of coming home to an empty house, of sleeping in an empty bed, of having no one to console him when he was upset. You and him used to live in harmony at some point, a routine where you would understand each other and work together. He’d grown so used to you, the idea of you, that he felt sick thinking of a life without you.

He was afraid of being alone.

Outside the rain came down in waves. It pounded on the window, asking for attention while you waited for Renjun to say something.

He didn’t.

Instead, the sky roared with thunder and a faroff bolt of lightning struck the ground, lighting up the world momentarily. The lightbulb above you flickered once then gave out, as did the rest of the light sources throughout the kitchen. The refrigerator stopped humming, the AC stopped clicking, and the numbers on the microwave faded away, leaving you to stare at your ex-fiancé in the dark.

Renjun couldn’t stand the way you looked at him anymore. Though some of the light in your eyes had faded, they were still filled with hope and trust. At the end of the day you continued to wait for him with open arms. He felt undeserving of your love.

You left the table first, the food laying untouched while Renjun let you walk away again. If he had anything to say in that moment, it stayed painfully lodged in his throat, his own pride choking him up.

A couple months ago, your first fights were terrible. You both raised your voices, ignored each other, even refused to sleep in the same bed (Renjun would stay with a friend when it got bad). He never liked thinking about those times, regretting each and every word he ever directed at you and hating the pain in your expression after. He especially disliked recalling the tears in your eyes when you slid the diamond ring off your finger and placed it in his palm.

After silently clearing the table and checking the breakers, Renjun found his way to the bedroom in the dark, seeing your curled up form under the covers. He didn’t acknowledge you as he slid in next to you, turning his back like always and pulling the covers up to his chin, careful not to pull your side too much.

He closed his eyes but did not sleep, his thoughts running too rampant to let him. Even if he did sleep, he dreamt only of you. Of when you first met, of your first date, of the day he got on one knee and asked for your hand. He could never forget the happiness in your voice, the jubilant smile you wore beautifully.

“Renjun,” he heard you whisper into the inky bedroom, the sound just loud enough for him to hear. “I’m cold.”

It was anything but cold under the blankets, but Renjun did feel chilled, hollow. Like he was disconnected from his body somehow. “I know,” he replied quietly. “Me too.”

You didn’t respond but he turned, cautiously putting his arm around you and you let him, tears springing to your eyes. It had been a while since you laid in this position with him, you nestled in his chest while he buried his nose in your neck or hair and he was so close you could feel each breath he took. It felt strange yet familiar, like that sense of déjà vu you get when it feels like you already went through something. But maybe your brain conjured up this bittersweet dream, maybe this reality was just in your head.

Maybe Renjun would still love you when you woke up.

“Your flowers are dead.”

Renjun stood by the window, a dry, wilted leaf resting on his finger. He studied it for a moment, and then let it go. It crumbled to pieces.

“I don’t care about them anymore,” you voiced. “It took me too much effort to keep them alive.”

He nodded in understanding, though he knew those plants meant a lot to you. Sometimes on days when you were tired, he’d remind you to water them or even do it himself. Not once had your flowers ever looked the way they did now—dull, withered, dead.

A long, painful beat of silence passed. Renjun gazed out the window, taking in the familiar sun that hasn’t shown itself in days. The heavy clouds had finally lifted that day, revealing a fading orange and red sky. You watched him from the counter, the way the golden light bounced off his skin, creating a heavenly, ethereal glow. The silver bracelet he wore on his wrist reflected the beams, projecting them onto the ceiling above.

You looked down, away from the man who you promised your life to once upon a time. A million thoughts raced through your head, too cryptic to comprehend. All you knew was that whatever you and Renjun had hurt too much to keep going. Clenching your fist, you braced yourself for your next words.

“Let’s end this Renjun.”

For once, he turned to look at you, his eyes dry of tears but filled with pain. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, to be happy in your arms again, to hear the words ‘my love’ fall from your lips one more time. He bit his lip and pushed down those longing thoughts, the ones that were on his mind far too much these days.

He made the hardest decision of his life—he chose to let go of you. On that day, that minute, that split second, he looked into your eyes and knew it was the end of a love story.

Renjun knew he loved you, but he fell out of love with you a long time ago.

You were once his morning and night sky, his sunflower fields, his walk in the clouds. Whoever the creator was smiled upon you, blessing you with a kind of spirit that brought peace and adventure at the same time. Being with you felt like an impulsive car ride along the coastline, the wind blowing your hair wildly, screaming and throwing your arms up as if it was a rollercoaster ride. Or like a lazy afternoon, sleeping the whole day while the sun made its path across the sky, only being woken up by kisses and giggles and legs tangled in the bedsheets.

Beyond your monotonous life were other people also moving on. Friends came and went, that random stranger you saw on the street you would probably never see again, enjoying an unfamiliar song in a cafe that would slip your mind as soon as you left. People lived, people died, but the world kept revolving, never stopping, never giving anyone a break.

That was the beauty of it.

Renjun didn’t feel angry or sad or even bitter. He was thankful. He was thankful for the countless moments spent with you, for all the laughs and tears you shared, for the quiet and loud moments, for the breath of air you were to him. You were a novel in itself, your pages filled with words upon words of stories and little problems you ran into. Renjun felt thankful to have appeared in a few of those lines, maybe even a whole chapter filled with nothing but him.

But books, too, ended eventually.

The last blow to his heart was when he looked back, seeing you standing in the doorway with a wounded expression. The windows behind you were as translucent as ever, pouring light over your perfect form. Your hair flared brightly from the orange backlight and you leaned on the frame, one second away from screaming at him to come back.

He considered returning, mumbling an ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ but that would only delay the inevitable, not stop it. At the end of the day, it was still over. But it was okay, because looking back now at all the love you used to share, he realized it was beautiful.

You were beautiful.

[rocorambles]

Head empty thinking of Daishou and Kuroo in an omegaverse where they're both rivals who are positive that they'll both present as Alphas, only for Kuroo to present as an omega and Daishou to present as an Alpha. 

And suddenly Daishou's not sure if it's actual rivalry between them or sexual tension when his head grows dazed every time he catches a whiff of Kuroo's impassioned scent when the two continue bickering because like hell Kuroo's going to stand down just because of something as silly as his secondary gender. 

But then Kuroo’s heat creeps up on him during another round of their stupid arguments~

Warnings: NSFW, A/B/O Dynamics, Rimming, Knotting, Dub-Con, Degradation

Kuroo is exceptionally irritable and he knows that he's running his mouth more than usual, but he can't help it, not when something burns and aches within him, not when seeing Daishou today makes him feel even hotter than usual. And it's like he can't shut up, going far beyond just playful bantering, being a downright brat as he continues snapping at Daishou.

Daishou isn't faring much better, something about Kuroo keeping his eyes locked even more on him than usual, making every word that comes out of his mouth impossible to ignore. And something inside of him snaps when Kuroo mocks his Alpha status and before he knows it, he's growling at the taller man, pride soaring within him at the whimper and way Kuroo instincitvely bares his neck in submission. But the two freeze in a strange moment of clarity as Kuroo's scent grows and grows, thick and heavy, intoxicating.

Almost instinctively Kuroo opens his legs and like a magnet, Daishou is right there, presence dominating and overpowering despite Kuroo's technically larger stature as he forces Kuroo's thighs further apart, nose diving into the crook of the neck where the delicious smell is stemming from. And they both shiver at the wanton high pitched keen Kuroo lets out as Daishou licks the inflamed scent gland.

But it's the faint scraping of teeth against the vulnerable spot that has Kuroo desperately pushing at Daishou's chest. "Stop it. We can't-" He moans as Daishou's hand ruthlessly slips under his pants, into his boxers, wrapping around his already leaking cock, giving it a few playful tugs before slipping further down and down until his digits are coated with Kuroo's slick that's already made a sopping wet mess of his clothes.

"Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another one, kitten." He scowls as Kuroo furiously shakes his head in denial, weakly pushing at him and pleading for him to stop still despite the way he releases even more slick under Daishou's ministrations. "Shut your mouth and stop resisting." He doesn't mean to let his Alpha voice slip into the words, but it's too late and he watches in awe as Kuroo's omega instincts immediately have him docilely snapping his mouth shut and staying still. "Well well. Looks like you CAN listen after all."   

And something primal in him roars in approval as Kuroo succumbs to his heat, hazel eyes growing hazier, body becoming pliant, beautiful lewd moans and whimpers escaping him as Daishou ravages him, takes him apart piece by piece. It's hard to fight his natural instincts to just bury his cock in the tight ass in front of him, but he takes advantage of Kuroo's unusual submission, exploring every inch of the taut body in front of him, kissing and tasting his mouth, swallowing the omega's moans as their tongues swirl around each other. He smirks as Kuroo's back arches as his mouth lowers, leaving a wet trail in its wake as he bites and licks a line down to a perky nipple, humming in pleasure when Kuroo wails as his mouth latches onto the bud, his fingers harshly pinching the other.

He cruelly laughs when all it takes is a few more flicks of a tongue and tweaking of fingers for Kuroo's cock to pathetically cum all over himself, but he doesn't stop, practically bending Kuroo in half as he hauls his lower body up in the air, finding the perfect angle for his mouth to easily access the dripping mess heat has made his ass as Kuroo's cock dangles in the air above his own face.

Everything is so hot, muddled, dizzying, and Kuroo wails as a hot wet mouth explores his most private part, lewd slick sounds echoing throughout the room, his eyes rolling back, his body thrashing as much as it can in Daishou's grip as a tongue slithers inside of him, reaching deeper and deeper, dragging against his sensitive walls, intent on drinking and tasting every last drop that Kuroo has to offer. It's so good, too good, too much and Kuroo screams as he falls apart once again, his cum painting his own face obscenely.

The debauched view of Kuroo's face coated with his own cum, drool and tears streaming down his face breaks the last of Daishou's restraint and Kuroo whimpers as he's suddenly flipped over, his upper body exhaustedly slumped on the floor as his hips are forcefully raised by calloused hands. But there's no time to rest, not when a thick head is entering his fluttering hole, sliding easily inside the stretched out and gushing hole, and the omega inside of Kuroo croons, a new wave of arousal hitting him hard as his body responds to finally receiving the cock it had been so desperate for.

If he were in his right mind, he'd swear the whining ecstatic voice wasn't his. But he's not and all he can think about is alpha, cock, Daishou as he begs to be bred, for Daishou's cum, to be knotted. Faster. Harder. Alpha Alpha Alpha. And how can Daishou refuse the gorgeous depraved sight in front of him? How can he resist when the beautiful, strong omega in front of him is perfectly presenting and submitting to him? How can he deny the needy slut he's made out of his long-time rival?

His already brutal pace increases and Kuroo brokenly cries as his hole is plundered over and over again, his bouncing cock leaking and cumming nonstop under the onslaught, making a sticky mess of his stomach and the floor underneath him. But none of that matters, not when he can feel the swell of Daishou's knot forming inside of him, spreading him impossibly far and then continuing, filling him, locking him in place. And he breaks apart one last time as the torrent of hot liquid spills inside of him, his hands protectively wrapping his stomach in awe and contentment as he's stuffed full, filled to the brim with the seed he craved for.

His eyelids flutter shut in exhaustion as Daishou repositions them until they're comfortably side by side, Kuroo's back pressed against Daishou's chest as his unruly hair tickles the bottom of Daishou's face, their lower bodies still locked by the knot inside of him. But he moans as Daishou casually flicks one of his sensitive nipples. "Get some rest while you can kitty cat. Because when you're next wave hits, we're doing this all over again."

[steviespanties]

Special Treats For Good Cat Boys on AO3 for full tags. 2.6k, Rated E. Unapologetic smutty fluff with a chubby catboy!Steve in panties, pregnancy kink (without mpreg) and a very successful Valentine’s Day date night~ Fitting for the @harringroveheart-on prompts Lingerie, Champagne and Date Night and a belated b-day present for @rvspberryjvm 😊💗💗

It’s the second week of snow coming down on the city, covering houses and streets in sheets of white over and over again until all sound is muffled when Steve walks outside. Even with his sharp hearing, face wrapped in his favorite scarf, he has to strain his ears to not get surprised by people coming around corners.

Icy wind bites into his cheeks and once again he’s grateful for the incredibly fluffy knit hat Robin sent him for Christmas. It’s got holes for his ears to poke out in perfectly placed spots- something Billy sneakily helped figure out for her, she’d admitted on the phone.

“Good thing I convinced you to buy the more expensive winter coat, huh?” Next to him, wrapped in said coat, a blood red scarf, his hat and mittens, Billy looks a lot less grumpy when he doesn’t have to complain about freezing his ass off. Steve snickers at the glare thrown in his direction.

“How could I’ve known that winter in Michigan is even worse than Indiana?”

Steve laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someone tried to warn you in advance and you turned deaf all of a sudden?” He gets an adorable pout in response that Billy will deny up and down ever showing. He wants to reach out and kiss the corner of Billy’s pouty lips till he can’t help but react with a grin.

Bags full of groceries swing between them as they bicker back and forth. At a street crossing Billy reaches out and carefully brushes snow off Steve’s ear. He smiles back in thanks.

Steve’s ears have become extra fluffy this winter, with a thick undercoat that keeps the snow from melting and seeping into his skin. It’s like his body knew it had to prepare for the more serious cold. Billy can’t keep his hands from petting the new softness of Steve’s fur, taking every opportunity to brush his equally floofed up tail and give him head scratches. Steve’s started to feel very spoiled lately.

They arrive home to a warm apartment and close the door with relieved groans behind them, both glad to have escaped the cold. As they peel off their many layers of clothes, Steve sneaks a glance at Billy. He looks so beautiful when he’s flushed, his tan faded, but his freckles even more visible due to the winter sun. It’s not like Billy isn’t aware that he’s beautiful. Despite getting a bit soft around the middle, he’s still proud of maintaining his muscles. Gives himself finger guns and winks at the mirror when he’s all primped. But he’s also pretty. Long lashes and soft lips, a shimmery fuzz of golden hair on his body that Steve constantly wants to rub himself against. In the dark grey henley he reveals under his coat, he looks effortlessly stunning.

Of course, he catches Steve staring and throws him a smug grin.

“Ready for some food?” Steve nods and grabs his share of grocery bags to follow Billy into the kitchen.

“Starving,” he says. As they unpack, their limited counter space soon overflows with the clutter of their united assembly of their dinner: A spread of baguette slices with cream cheese, topped with caviar or smoked salmon. Cucumber salad, dark grapes and strawberries. Sliced-open croissants stuffed with bacon and scrambled eggs. Ice cream waiting in the freezer. And, of course, two bottles of champagne, already cooled in the fridge and now fizzing enchantingly in two glasses. Steve’s tail swishes excitedly at the mouth-watering smells and it takes a lot of self control not to sneak a bite. Still, Billy seems to have a sixth sense for Steve getting too riled up, because soon enough he bumps their shoulders together. “Why don’t you go ahead and get settled. Put on some music for us while I clean up.”

Steve bumps right back into him. Enjoys the way Billy barely even moves, unbothered and rooted firmly in place. “That sounds good. Thanks.” He can’t resist placing at least a quick kiss to Billy’s shoulder. This close, he can catch a good whiff of Billy’s scent, warm and a little woody because of his perfume. Billy playfully swats at him, which Steve evades in a fluid motion and a with laugh before he slips into the living room.

They’ve spent all afternoon working on a blanket fort that looks even more cozy and inviting than when they left to go grocery shopping. All the lights in the room are covered in red cloth, bathing the place in muted, warm light. Where their sofa usually stands, they’ve turned the entire thing around, thrown a futon in front and surrounded it with pillows and cushions. The cushy interior is flanked by chairs they’ve thrown a massive white sheet on top on, which trails over the back of the sofa and is illuminated by fairy lights on the inside. The mountain of blankets Steve insisted on adding might be a bit overkill, but his stomach gets all fluttery with elation when he looks at it. Like they’ve built their own little nest that calls for him to curl up between soft blankets where he can wait for Billy to join him.

So he hastily selects something sappy to softly play in the background: A REO Speedwagon album that Billy would never admit to liking, but that he has also never protested listening to when Steve's put it on or insisted on turning off either. Steve slips out of his pants, places them behind a cushion where he’s also snuck a bottle of lube and then quickly dives under a blanket when he hears Billy’s approaching footsteps.

“Hey there, kitty cat.” Billy comes into view holding a whole tray with their food, cleverly arranged so he can carry everything in one trip while an ice bucket with their champagne bottles dangles on his arm.

“Here, let me get that.” Steve leans up, careful not to let the blanket slip to reveal his surprise. He takes the tray off Billy’s hands and carefully lowers it to the ground. No snacks directly in the blanket fort if they want to sleep in here tonight. Billy huffs as he puts the bucket down. Lifts his head to make eye contact with Steve, just long enough to notice the mischievous glint in his eyes- and then he leaps forward with a whoop.

Steve yelps at a sudden armful of heavy, cackling boyfriend on top of him. Billy's happiness is infectious and he quickly feels himself join in on the laughter. It's Billy's turn to kiss him, just a lightning-fast peck on the lips that makes Steve wish he'd linger just a bit longer.

They share their first glasses of champagne that tingles on Steve’s sensitive tongue, making him chase its lightness into Billy’s slick mouth. There’s the explosion of briny, salty caviar and mild cream cheese in Steve’s mouth, more sips of champagne followed by cool, smoked salmon. The sensation of the tips of Billy’s fingers against his lips when he feeds him a bite. Holding a strawberry against Billy's lips in turn, he's enthralled by watching sharp teeth pierce the red flesh. Each sip of champagne slips down his throat easily, a perfect, decadent balance to all the different flavors that have danced over his tongue- none quite as addictive as the taste of Billy, though.

And suddenly, their tray is shoved to the side. Shirts are thrown off and Billy’s pants shoved down. The second champagne bottle is halfway empty and Steve’s belly is pleasantly full and warm in satisfaction, making him wriggle in satisfaction. Next to him, Billy inches closer. Crowds into his space until Steve leans back into soft pillows, ears standing up at attention. There’s a different kind of hunger in his eyes, now.

“I got a surprise for you,” he confesses in a hushed voice and slips the blanket down to reveal his present.

“Is that for me?” Billy’s words are smooth whiskey. Sweet and sharp and running over Steve’s body in an intoxicating caress that makes him squirm in place and his tail swish in gleeful anticipation. Billy’s hands close around his soft hips and tug him closer. Thumbs dig into the recently added softness of Steve’s tummy, all plumped up for the winter. He really feels like a spoiled and pampered housecat now, all drunk on treats and alcohol and skin contact.

Billy’s eyes are dark with want when his gaze catches on soft pink lace panties that finally show in all their glory when he fully slips the blanket off.

“You take such good care of me,” Steve says quietly. He wraps his arms around Billy to pull him in and feels a thrill run through him when Billy’s erection brushes against his leg. Clearly, the surprise is a success. “I figured this would be a nice gift.” A tender kiss to his neck.

With a teasing smirk, Billy looks down at the panties. “Oh, I’m very happy.” He snaps the waistband against Steve’s side, making a shocked mew slip out at the sting and his dick respond with a twitch. “But don’t pretend you’re being all altruistic here, babe.” A finger runs over the rapidly hardening outline of his dick and comes to rest right at the head. He pushes down, enough to give a tiny drop of pressure that makes Steve writhe in place, unable to open his mouth and ask for more. There’s just Billy’s warm hand on his hip and that unrelenting point of not-enough-contact. Steve moans.

“Ah, so- so what, not like we can’t both enjoy me dressing up for you!” For a moment, the pressure lets up.

An agreeable hum. “True. You sure enjoy being my pretty boy, though, huh?” And the pressure is back again, just at the sensitive underside of the head of Steve’s dick. That place is like a switch where he’s quickly set on fire just by Billy’s fingers and knowing eyes drinking him up. A small wet spot starts to form where a splash of precome gets trapped between his dick and the fabric of his panties.

“Yeah,” Steve admits as he rolls his hips up. Seeks the pressure and attention as another drop of precome pushes out. “Would enjoy it even more if you fucked me.” That gets him a small laugh.

“Someone’s been getting too spoiled.” Billy sounds positively delighted at Steve’s whining. He can’t help it! He’s spent most of the day opening himself up as sneakily as possible whenever he could get away with it, has made himself drip with lube until his hole has felt open and tender for way too long. Especially now, with Billy hovering above him, he feels himself want a reward for putting in all this extra preparation. He blindly gropes for the lube. Smacks Billy’s hand off his dick and the bottle into his palm and then pulls the fabric of his panties to the side to reveal his twitching, loose hole.

The frown he throws at Billy’s wide-eyed expression might be more of a pout than an intimidating glare. At least there's no protest from Billy, just a determined set to his jaw as he slicks up his fingers in a practiced motion. He shifts from confusion to palpable excitement when first one, then two fingers sink inside Steve with almost no resistance.

“Oh baby,” he croons and leans even further into Steve’s space. Kisses him slow and deep as he presses his fingers in and out in a pleasant drag that finally comes close to what Steve’s been craving all day. He grabs Billy’s arms and luxuriates in the indulgent slide of their tongues against each other and the sting of Billy’s teeth at his lip. He undulates his hips to meet Billy’s movement inside him, chasing the elusive need for more.

When they separate to breathe, he groans a desperate “Come on, I’m ready” into Billy’s ear. No matter how much of a hardass Billy likes to think he is, the strung-out tone of Steve’s voice never fails to give him a palpable full-body shudder that Steve triumphantly notices.

“Fuck, fine.” Billy looks flushed, all gold and pink and glowing in the soft light surrounding them.

The panties are stretched taut over Steve’s dick. Divine, almost too much pressure that makes him squirm as he watches Billy slick himself up. Being trapped drives him a little crazy and makes it impossible to fully hold still, even as Billy clearly tries to go slow while he savoring the sight of Steve all laid out in front of him. He doesn’t want to wait anymore till Billy finally decides they’re ready and shoves his hips down. Pops the thick cockhead inside and makes them both moan at the way Steve hole flutters around it.

“You’re so goddamn hungry for my cock, huh?” Billy thrusts deeper, clearly losing composure. “Pretty princess gagging to be filled up.” Steve helplessly moans as heat pools at the base of his spine and in his belly. He desperately meets Billy’s hips and lets out a long, drawn-out whine. “Bet you can’t wait to get pumped full to carry a whole litter of kittens for me.”

It’s like Billy has found the string he needed to tug on to open the floodgates to fill Steve with an overwhelming, fierce need. To open himself up even more for Billy to claim him inside and out, deeper even than Billy’s cock thrusting into him where it drags at his insides. “Billy,” he sobs, barely coherent, and clings to his back. Digs his fingers into skin and feels strong back muscles shift underneath his hands.

A rising pressure of something primal, inexplicable pulses through him. He drinks in the sensations- of Billy’s body heat and sweat-slick skin rubbing against Steve’s. Billy’s scent that makes Steve salivate for a taste of him. His hair falls down in soft, wavy strands that frame his face and tickle Steve's skin gently. A hand lands on his soft belly, above his trapped dick steadily pulsing hot precome into tight fabric. Billy's claiming where he’s warm and soft and still desperate for more of his touch.

“Or maybe,” Billy breathes against his ear, makes his breath ghost over the sensitive fur. His hand presses down a little harder. “Maybe you’re already carrying.”

He can’t breathe. He’s blinded by the fireworks going off behind his eyelids, unable to keep them open any longer.

There’s just Billy. Inside and out. And the thought of Steve's belly, carrying a small piece of both of them.

It’s too much. He comes, orgasm rolling over him relentlessly. He cries. Scratches at Billy’s back and pushes himself into Billy’s hand, consumed by his cock spreading him wide open, lost in the thought of more. His panties are filled with pulse after pulse of warm, sticky come, trapped mess turning into a feedback loop of shivery, delightful aftershocks.

There’s the most feather-light kisses on his eyelids. Billy’s thrusts slow to an intense, shuddering grind as he empties himself deep into Steve, all satisfied moans and grunts. Finally, there’s air in Steve's lungs again. He fills his nose with deep inhales of their satisfied scents all mixed together.

They rest. Clean up a little. Put on The Breakfast Club while they wrap around each other as they trade kisses and sips of leftover Champagne. Steve’s tail is curled around the arm Billy has thrown over his hips and he purrs in sleepy contentment while his ears are being pet. “You’re gonna be such a good parent” Billy teases at some point and earns himself a light smack to the shoulder that makes him hiss in mock-hurt. Steve places a kiss where he hit to ease the light sting anyways.

[moonlit-han]

love letters ↠ han jisung

genre: high school au, coffeeshop au, fluff, romance, humor pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 2.6k warnings: mild swearing request: yes a/n: hi anon who requested this! i couldn’t resist making this a coffeeshop au, too, heheheh~ enjoy!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

Oh….

Your locker looked slightly different today.

It was festooned with ribbons, little pictures of cats and, inexplicably, squirrels, star and heart stickers, and glitter. There was even a card dangling from the knob. You stood stock still in front of it, trying to process the tableau? creation? mess in front of you. There was only one person in the entire school you knew would try something like this. And, here he came down the hall, a wide grin on his face.

“Han Jisung, did you do this?” you demanded as he approached. Shouldn’t a senior have more dignity than this?

“Do you like it?” Jisung replied, leaning against the lockers beside yours.

“I’m not sure what I think, but I know that it’s now practically impossible for me to get to my locker.” You tried to push some of the decorations out of the way. “Why did you have to do this?”

“Did you at least read the card?” Jisung asked hopefully, pouting a little.

You cursed him for looking so cute when he pouted, then mentally shook yourself. “No, I didn’t. And it’s almost first bell, so if you could move? Please?”

Jisung’s face fell, but he moved away slightly. “Aw, come on, princess! Can’t you read the card while I’m still here?”

“Jisung, please leave me alone, will you? It’ll be hard enough getting through all this stuff as it is.”

Jisung laughed lightly, giving you a fond smile that was completely lost on you as you struggled with his decorations, then strolled away into the crowd of onlookers who, by now, were used to his outrageous displays of affection for you. “Remember to read the card, Y/N!” he called over his shoulder.

You let your head fall against your locker and got a face full of glitter for your trouble. Damn it, Jisung, you thought as you hurriedly tried to wipe the glitter from your forehead. Then, after a two minutes of wrestling with the Jisung’s additions to your locker door, you managed to retrieve the books you’d need for the day.

In your first class, a couple people gave you strange looks because of the remnants of glitter on you, but no one said anything about the locker decorations. It would only be a matter of time, though, you knew. At lunch when your best friends found you, they gently teased you about “lover boy.”

“How many times has he done something like that this year, Y/N?” Irene asked, smirking at you.

“This is the fourth,” you muttered, looking down at your food. “Two other letters, too.” You could feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“He really is insistent, isn’t he,” Mei commented, shaking her head. “Aren’t you at least annoyed?”

You were silent for a moment as you chewed. “No, amazingly not annoyed. I guess I’m just indifferent?” you lied. In reality, you kind of liked how much Jisung tried to get your attention, but you were going to make him work for your affection. But not too much because that would be mean.

“Like hell you are,” Irene laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “You’re into him, aren’t you.”

“I’m not!” you insisted. “Really!”

Irene and Mei just gave you disbelieving looks, but continued eating their lunch all the same.

When you went back to your locker that afternoon, Irene and Mei in tow, the ribbons and such were gone, but the card… The card was slipped through the crack between the frame and door of the locker, and fell to the floor when you opened it. Receiving cards from Jisung was nothing new, and you didn’t mind much because he was never creepy about it. Sighing, you retrieved the card and opened it.

“What the hell?” Mei coughed, the scent you knew Jisung wore wafting up from the card-stock on which he’d penned his letter. “Did he really have to do that?”

You just shrugged and leaned against your open locker to read.

Y/N, oh beautiful Y/N!

How could I ever write anything as beautiful as you are?

Your eyes sparkle like the glint of sunlight off a puddle that has just a bit of oil in it—you know, so it’s like a rainbow? Your voice is as melodious as the song birds that wake me up in the morning. And your words… They’re like acupuncture needles: relieving of stress and pain but capable of just the same.

I wish to present my heart to you, to simply give it to you like a flower.  But alas, I cannot as that would be messy. I would give you my service were I a knight and you a lady, or put myself in your power like a human subjugate to a vampire. Because, all that I do is to win your heart, your wondrous, wondrous heart!

Dearest Y/N, I’m like a volcano of love for you—erupting with love and affection all over the place. I hope my words don’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, since I wouldn’t want your words to become anything short of honey.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

You stood there for a moment, trying to keep a straight face as your friends burst out laughing and exclaimed at how cheesy Jisung was. They weren’t wrong. But— Jisung had really written all that to you, and beneath the slightly strained metaphors and verbosity, you could tell that his feelings were true. You playfully shoved Irene, who was now trying to wrest the card from your hands.

However overblown Jisung sounded or dramatic his displays were, you knew he was a good person. You couldn’t be mad at him, especially when he was just so damn cute. Quickly stuffing the letter into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder and said goodbye to your friends. They called after you that they’d also erupt all over the place with love for you. You just rolled your eyes.

As you scuffed your boots through the small piles of snow that had drifted into the walkway and buried your face in your scarf, you could still faintly smell the perfume Jisung had added to the letter. It wasn’t that bad, after all, and the spiciness of it reminded you of the feeling when you’ve settled down with a good book under a thick blanket. You could definitely get used to it.

↠↞

Ah, February. As soon as the first day of the month arrived, you were wary of what Jisung might decide to do on any of the days surrounding Valentine’s Day. But, you barely saw Jisung. That in and of itself was odd, since you had two classes with him that semester, including Western Literature from 1750 to 1920; but it was odder still because he usually made a point of talking to you once every day, if not more. You’d never admit it to anyone besides your raccoon plushie, but you found yourself disappointed every time he didn’t talk to you or wave or flash one of his ridiculous smiles your way in the halls.

At the end of the first week, you received another letter, also slipped into your locker. This time, you waited until you got home to read it. The letter was far more staid, with none of the extravagance or hyperbole of the other one; no whiff of perfume graced the card-stock, either. Jisung was straightforward, expressing that he found you attractive and even apologizing for being so outrageous in his attempts to woo you. You read the last lines as you curled up in bed.

I hope the depth and sincerity of my feelings are plain to you and that you can at least accept them, if not return them. I would be blissfully happy if you did return my feelings, but I hold no expectations for you. Please know that I admire and adore you, Y/N, light of my heart.

Forever yours,

Han Jisung

As you read his words over and over and over again, unable to tear your eyes nor thoughts away, you realized that, yes, you did return his feelings. You hadn’t quite internalized that, but reading his sentiments had certainly put things in perspective for you. If you didn’t give him some indications of your mutual feelings soon, you could quite possibly lose Jisung altogether.

I admire and adore you…..

On February 13th, you decided to treat yourself to a nice tea and a snack at a local coffeeshop. You knew it would be fairly busy, but didn’t mind; sometimes, the bustle of people was a welcome change from your usual, studious existence.

The smell of baked goods, coffee, and cardboard met your nose as you opened the door, letting a blast of warm air out onto the street. Carefully, you made your way into the line that snaked through the small shop, and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversations around you. That plan, however, did not work well. You enjoyed taking in all the sounds around you far too much to ignore something as integral as conversations. Person by person, the line moved forward until you were one away from the counter.

And, of course, your phone buzzed just at that moment with a text from Mei. You quickly responded, but didn’t notice that the person ahead of you had been helped.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up to see none other than Han Jisung standing behind the counter, looking just as shocked as you felt.

“Oh! H-hi, Jisung,” you stammered and shoved your phone back into your pocket, embarrassed.

“What would you like today?” Jisung asked politely. You could tell he was trying to remain on his best behavior, as he was at work.

“Could I have a scone and an Earl Grey tea, please? With just a little cream. Thank you!” you chirped, glad that your nervousness over ordering food hadn’t taken hold of you today.

“Sure, thing,” Jisung smiled. “Just pay and one of us will come find you with your order.” Then, because he clearly couldn’t help himself, he winked at you.

You shook your head, your mouth quirking up at the corner a little, and moved over to pay for your food. Since the cafe was more than a little crowded, you chose one of the few seats open by the window. There, at least, you could look out onto the snow-dusted shops and people watch if, and when, you became bored with your homework.

Shortly thereafter, you felt a presence next to you and found Jisung poised to place a steaming mug of tea and your scone on the high table in front of you.

“Here you are,” Jisung said, voice warm and kind as he set the food in front of you. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. Enjoy!”

Before you could say anything else, Jisung had turned and slipped away through the maze of occupied tables and chairs. Thoughtfully, you took a minute sip of your tea and sighed. It was delicious as always, and the scone was just as good, too.

An hour later, the cafe had nearly emptied but you were still there, nursing your tea. Perched at the table in the window, you could simply soak up the last of the afternoon sun as you worked on drafting an essay for your Literature class. It was the perfect arrangement—the cafe owner didn’t mind if you stayed there for a long time, and you had a place in which you could peacefully work while remaining energized.

Beside you sat the plate with your half-eaten scone on it, and the mug of tea. Absentmindedly, you reached for the mug and brought it to your lips to take a sip. You frowned when no tea met your lips. Before you could so much as move, Jisung was beside you.

“Hey, I noticed you were close to finishing your tea, so I made you another,” he said as he exchanged one mug for another. “It’s on me.” You stared at him, and he shifted self-consciously. “And, um, make sure to check under the mug, okay?”

“I— Thanks, Jisung,” you said, surprised at how gentle your own voice was. “I will.”

Jisung smiled at you before returning to the counter where a new customer had just arrived. You looked after him, amazed that he’d noticed you were coming down to the dregs of your tea. Lifting up the mug, you saw a small, folded piece of paper stuck to its bottom—it looked like receipt paper. Knowing what you’d find when you unfolded it, you carefully detached the paper—the letter—from the mug and read:

Dear Y/N,

I don’t want to keep acting like a gaudy peacock around you. I’m sorry. I know it must make me seem a bit…insensitive or outrageous or something like that. Someone I don’t want you to think I am, I guess.

You are incredible, intelligent, beautiful, kind, and caring. In short, the loveliest person I’ve ever had the honor to meet or know.

I hope… Well, you know. You must know.

All that is to say: I love you.

- Jisung

You reread the letter once more, feeling tears prick the back of your eyes as what felt like all the tenderness in the world welled inside you. Turning round in your chair, you looked to the counter where you saw Jisung nervously looking at you. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hope, the worry, the passion, everything made your breath catch. In something like a trance, you slid from your chair, still clutching the note, and made your way to the end of the counter where Jisung stood.

Taking a deep breath, you said to the shift manager—if their badge was anything to go by—“Could I speak with Jisung outside for a moment? It’s a matter of the heart. I hope you understand,” then grabbed Jisung’s hand as the shift manager nodded. Jisung did not protest as you pulled him outside with you, the cold air hitting you both like a hammer.

You didn’t let go of Jisung’s hand as you turned to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes that were so dark that they seemed to lead to another world. You knew now that you’d gladly travel to that other world. Jisung’s lips parted slightly as he prepared to speak.

“Jisung,” you breathed before he could begin, “your letter… All of your letters, really… They’re everything to me. This one,” you held up the small piece of paper in your hand, “in particular, is perfect. And, I do know.”

Jisung didn’t wait for you to say anything else. He drew you toward him, one hand coming up to gently brush over your cheek as the other held your waist. Then slowly, so slowly, leaned down to brush his lips against yours. He was hesitant, as if he expected you to turn and run, but when you didn’t let him pull away as you locked your lips with his, Jisung knew that all his fears were unfounded. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Jisung cupped your face, kissing him back like you wanted to memorize the feel and taste of him. Again, you were overwhelmed by the feelings you felt and clutched Jisung tighter, making him smile against you lips.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he hugged you to his chest. “You really are the light of my life.”

[cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction]

quiet day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30435417

words: 4,462

summary:

In which Peter has his quiet days and some bad days.

And meets some people on those days.

(Might become more than a one-shot in the future.)

Peter sighed in relief as the car door shut behind him, muting the sound of the rain and hundreds of teenagers rushing out of the school. The post-school day rush usually didn't bother him anymore, but he'd woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. He'd been up all night finishing his English essay after a particularly rough patrol, and he'd woken up nearly an hour before his alarm was due to ring because of the couple two floors down fighting.

It wasn't just the sleep deprivation that had him all out of sorts, either. Living with little to no sleep was the life of a high school student (and a friendly neighbourhood superhero), and was relatively easy to deal with. However, Mr and Mrs Fights-A-Lot's loud disagreement had set the mood for Peter's day—loud and intense.

Ever since the spider bite, there were days where his senses seemed to be dialled up to eleven (more so than they already were, that was). Every little noise would just seem just a bit too loud, just a bit too grating on his ears, the usual smells of New York would make his stomach churn, the sun would just seem a little too bright and the clinical-like lights at school just a little too intense. The day, most often than not, ended up with him curling up in a ball of misery with a migraine.

Today was no different despite the rainy day. Rainy days usually calmed him. They meant curling up in Ben’s old chair with Ben’s old blanket, with Ben’s special hot chocolate (the secret was a small scoop of vanilla or chocolate ice cream), and movie marathons with May (since Ben was gone). Recently, the rain typically meant a reprieve from the loud sounds and smells of New York, but today all it managed to do was make every bad smell, every clinical-like light in school, and every sound seem so much worse and grating against his senses.

“Hey, Happy,” Peter mumbled after crawling into the car. He curled up on the leather seat and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the blackout windows, which blissfully blocked out most of the grey-filtered light from outside.

“Hey,” Happy greeted him. He’d become much more friendly with Peter ever since they (meaning Peter and Tony) started to have lab days together at the Tower and Happy ended up driving Peter to and from school at least three days a week. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.”

Peter fumbled with the seatbelt as Happy pulled away from the school before curling back up in a ball and huddling into his hoodie.

As Happy’s car was modified by Tony, that meant that the windows were tinted, it was sound-proofed, and it somehow managed to smell like fresh, cool air. All of this was bliss to Peter’s oversensitive senses, and by the time they reached the Tower, Peter had managed to drift into a light sleep.

"Kid, you mind if I drop you off out front?" Peter startled at the sound of Happy’s voice and his migraine came back full-force. "Boss needs me to pick up some things for him."

"S'fine," Peter mumbled groggily, having to force the words out as he tried to gather his bearings. He slung his bag over his shoulder and reluctantly dragged himself out of the car and into the cold downpour outside. He shivered and pulled up his hood, but it was no use—it was raining cats and dogs outside and he was already soaked through the moment he stepped out of the car. Due to this, Peter didn't bother rushing into the Tower, simply not able to muster up the energy to do anything other than shuffle to the door.

It opened at his presence and shut behind him, gaining the attention of some of the staff. One of the desk clerks—the one Peter could never get along with—glared at the puddle of water he was trailing in and made a rude comment under her breath that he could hear clearly despite his migraine. Peter would have apologized for the mess but he couldn't form the words; it felt like they were lodged in the cotton-like feeling that had taken residence in his mouth. Instead, he just self-consciously tugged his wet hoodie sleeves over his hands and headed to an elevator tucked away in a corner of the room. It was one of the only ones that had access to Tony's personal labs, the Avengers's old floors, and the penthouse.

Like the front doors, it opened at his presence, but only because Friday gave him access. As far as Peter was aware, only Tony, Ms Potts, Happy, May, Colonel Rhodes (who Peter had yet to properly meet), and himself had access to this elevator. It had drawn him some odd looks when he first started hanging out with Tony, but now no one gave him a second look.

"Hello, Peter," Friday greeted him once the doors slid shut behind him. Peter closed his eyes and leaned against the cool metal doors, trying to ignore how the walls threatened to crowd around him.

"Hi," Peter managed to force out. His voice was quiet and strained, even to his own ears. It felt like he was being strangled.

"Where would you like to go, Peter? The penthouse, perhaps?" Friday suggested with a tinge of worry in her synthetic Irish-lilted voice. While not as warm or curious as Karen was, Friday was still kind and caring in her own way, even if her voice tended to sound reserved at times. She really only spoke openly to those Tony was on good terms with, and Peter could still remember the cold yet snarky comment she made to Senator Ross when he kept hounding Tony for something about the New Accords.

"Mhm," Peter hummed as a response, thankful that Friday was intelligent enough to not need verbal commands, which meant that he didn’t have to force more words out of his mouth. He tugged at the wet sleeves of his sweatshirt again in an attempt to self-soothe the anxious feeling creeping up inside of him. The hoodie was big on him even though it had belonged to Tony when the man was his age. Peter wondered if Tony had gotten it in a few sizes too large to bring him comfort from being away from home and attending college where everyone was older than him.

The thought made him feel marginally better.

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach the penthouse and Peter clenched his eyes shut as the lights automatically turned on, hissing out a pained breath. Without having to ask, Friday automatically dimmed the lights for him. Instead of forcing himself to speak, Peter rested his fingertips against his lips before pushing his hand down, signing “Thank you” to Friday since it would’ve been rude not to say anything since she thoughtfully dimmed the lights for him.

“You are welcome, Peter,” Friday said, her voice much quieter than earlier. She had no doubt picked up on the fact that his senses were overwhelmed and he felt gratitude well up in him. “Would you like me to inform Boss of your arrival?”

Peter just shook his head and stumbled in the direction of the living room. He dropped his backpack and shivered slightly before his eyes fell on one of Tony’s hoodies laying on the back of the couch. After a few moments of deliberation (in which he determined whether it was worth the effort of making his heavy limbs move to pull off his wet hoodie), Peter just stumbled over to an armchair and pulled a throw blanket over himself. It smelled like Tony—coffee, motor oil, and a faint whiff of no-doubt expensive cologne—and it had Peter relaxing marginally, the behind his eyes almost seeming to dull at the face of the scent he’d started to associate with home and safety. He cuddled into the warmth of the throw, not able to bring himself to care that he was getting it and the armchair wet, and allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Only to be startled awake after what felt like five minutes. Peter couldn’t help the frustrated whine from leaving his throat, and to his horror, he felt his eyes prick with tears. He was so freaking tired and frustrated and he had a migraine and his senses felt wrung-out and he was so exhausted and every time he tried to sleep, someone woke him up! First, it was the couple from a few doors down, then it was Happy (not that Peter blamed him, the man had only been doing his job), and now it was whoever was talking extremely loudly.

When the voices became louder, Peter huddled into his blanket and sank further into the chair, hoping that it would swallow him up and make the voices stop. He clenched his eyes shut at the pounding in his skull and wished that whoever was entering the penthouse would shut up.

“Why are the lights so dim?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Fri?” That was Tony. Something in Peter eased at the sound of the man’s voice but his eyes continued to burn and his throat tightened.

“I believe Mr Parker is dealing with a ‘code eleven’, Boss,” Friday informed Tony, her voice as hushed as it had been earlier.

There was a pause and then Tony rounded the corner. “Pete?” Tony asked as he spotted him curled up on the chair. Peter wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. It was like his voice had been stolen like he was Ariel from The Little Mermaid and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he peered up at Tony with stinging eyes.

“Intense day, bud?” Tony asked him, his voice hushed.

Peter’s jaw wobbled as he worked it open and closed, trying to form the words to tell Tony he was fine. Tony didn’t have to worry about him, it was only a little headache, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wanted to let Tony know that he was fine, that he was just being silly, and that they should go down to the lab like they were supposed to do. They had a project due in a week for his internship—it had been made legit a few months ago—because they were already so behind. Last week, a wrench had slipped out of Tony’s hands and had clattered against the metal table, and to Peter’s enhanced senses, it had sounded like a gunshot. He had frozen, his mind flashing back to Ben, and he’d freaked out. They hadn’t gotten anything done for the rest of the day because Peter had been a baby and cried.

God, he was pathetic. Tony probably hated him, it was his fault that he would get in trouble for not turning in the project. Ms Potts was a real stickler for that since Tony spent so much time messing around with him in the lab. He couldn’t even make his vocal cords work to apologize.

Some of his inner turmoil must have been visible on his face because Tony crouched down and cupped the side of his neck with a warm hand and said, "No, don't apologise. You don't need to say anything, Pete. You're allowed to have bad days. Okay, bud? I'm not mad. If you’re upset about the project, don’t worry, I can move the date back."

Peter curled in on himself at Tony’s words—so understanding and nonjudgemental—and suddenly everything seemed so much more intense. The sounds of the Tower exploded in his eardrums, the whirring of machines, the ticking of clocks, and the buzzing of the lights sounding like crackling thunder. The minimal lights in the room burned his retinas and he clenched his eyes shut, which only made the discomfort of his damp clothes more apparent. His wet jeans grated against his skin and he felt like his sweatshirt, which clung to him, was suffocating him. He threw the throw blanket off him, nearly ripping it in the process, hoping that it would lessen the suffocating feeling.

His exhale shuddered, not really a sob but nearly there, and his hands clamped over his ears to try and muffle the suddenly intense sounds. Tony muttered something that Peter couldn’t decipher as he moved into the chair beside him—the armchair he was in was massive, almost as if it had been made for the Hulk, and there was plenty of space for Tony to sit next to him—and he choked out a sound as Tony’s warm, calloused hand tightened on his neck for a moment before he was being pulled into the man’s side. Peter’s curled into the warmth that was Tony, his fingers grabbing ahold of the threadbare fabric of his old band tee—the man must have been in the lab before he came up to the penthouse, otherwise he’d be dressed in office clothes—and he tried to stop the whine that was building in his throat.

One of Tony’s hands carded through his wet, messy curls before a set of headphones slid over his ears, blocking nearly every little intense sound from Peter’s ears. The relief from his most troublesome sense made it feel as if he blacked out for a moment and it took him a moment to realize that he was trembling. His fingers tightened in Tony’s shirt and his shoulders shuddered in a mixture of relief and the cold feeling in his skin and the anxious, panicky feelings that had been running through his veins like adrenaline for what felt like days.

Tony’s thumb rubbed against the corner of his jaw in a soothing motion and slowly as the panicky feeling drained from him, he loosened the tight hold he had of Tony’s shirt and the furrows between his brows smoothed. His fingers loosened their tight grip on Tony’s threadbare shirt, lying flat against his chest to feel the man’s steady heartbeat.

Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

Tony’s chest lifted and fell against Peter’s hands as he inhaled and exhaled, seeming almost exaggerated. Instinctively, Peter began to sync his breathing with Tony’s. When his parents had first died, and when Skip happened, May and Ben had taken him to a child therapist. He had been prone to panic attacks and one of the ways his therapist taught him to calm himself was to sync his breathing with someone else’s. And so, feeling the expanding and contracting of Tony’s lungs beneath his hands, Peter’s own unsteady breathing began to level out.

After a few more minutes of feeling Tony’s soothing heartbeat and matching his breathing, Peter reluctantly leaned away from him and slid the headphones off one ear.

“Stai bene?” Tony murmured. Are you okay? Peter translated easily. He swallowed and tried to speak but the words still caught in his throat. Tony’s thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw again, and understanding that Tony didn’t need him to speak, Peter just nodded. He tugged at his sweatshirt sleeves and made a slight face as the damp fabric dragged against his cold and numb skin. Tony noticed. “Your clothes are wet,” he said with a frown, rubbing a hand against his arm in an attempt to warm him up. “Aren’t you cold?”

Peter sniffled slightly and he looked up when a sweatshirt—a red threadbare MIT one—moved into his vision. He started at the sight of who he recognized to be Colonel Rhodes, otherwise known as War Machine—or did he go by Iron Patriot?—or, most importantly, Tony’s best friend. The man wasn’t wearing his War Machine armour and he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, instead, he was in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and a pair of jeans, which were encased by the man’s leg braces, but Peter could easily recognize him from the pictures Tony had around the penthouse.

“Here,” the man said in a gentle voice. Peter blinked at him and realized that the unfamiliar voice he’d heard belonged to him, and now that he thought about it, he was probably who Tony asked to get his soundproof headphones as he was pretty sure they had been in his bedroom. His jaw worked slightly, he wanted to say thanks, but Tony did it for him.

“Thanks, Rhodey,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder when he stood. Tony then turned to Peter, who slid his soundproof headphones around his neck. “Why don’t you go shower and change, bud? Those wet clothes don’t look comfortable.”

Realizing that Tony was giving him out, at least for a little while to gather himself in private, Peter did as he instructed, taking the sweatshirt from his hands and heading down the hall to the room that was designated as his. His shoulders met his ears as he felt eyes on him and he felt embarrassed for the event Colonel Rhodes just witnessed. Pathetic, his mind whispered. He tried to shove the thought away.

“What’s a ‘code eleven’?” Colonel Rhodes asked when his door closed behind him. Peter could hear the concerned words easily and he stilled, wondering what Tony’s response would be.

“The kid has bad days,” Tony told him in a soft voice. “He’s been stressed recently and he’s got sensitive senses, so a bright light or a loud noise probably triggered a sensory overload. He’s probably been dealing with it all day.” There was a beat of silence, an exasperated sigh, and Peter had a mental image of Tony running a hand down his face. “He’ll be fine after some rest and quiet.”

The tightness in Peter’s throat had diminished when Tony calmed him earlier, but it tightened again and his eyes pricked with tears at how understanding the man was. He’d easily guessed what was wrong, what had most likely set him off, and knew how to calm him down. He swallowed thickly and stopped listening as their conversation turned to other things.

Peter’s shower was longer than it usually was. He stood in the dark—the bright lights and the buzzing sounds of the lightbulbs were still too much for his eyes and ears, even dimmed—and allowed himself to cry. He knew that the tightness and the emotions wouldn’t just go away and that Tony wouldn’t comment on the redness of his eyes when he got out. Colonel Rhodes seemed too polite to comment on it, either.

Instead of pulling on one of his own hoodies or another shirt, Peter tugged on the hoodie Colonel Rhodes had grabbed for him, the one that he’d debated on wearing earlier. It smelled like Tony’s cologne and dryer sheets, and Peter figured that Tony had probably only worn it for a few minutes before taking it off. The comforting smell threatened to make tears prick in his eyes again but he’d all but cried himself out in the shower, so he just pulled the sleeves over his hands.

When he tugged on a pair of sweatpants and some socks, Peter just stood in his bedroom, debating on what he should do. Tony and Colonel Rhodes were talking in the other room, and knowing that Tony had been eager for his friend’s visit, he debated on whether or not he should bother them. But Tony had wanted him to meet Colonel Rhodes, that was part of the reason he was here today, and so he grabbed his soundproof headphones just in case and shuffled out of the room quietly.

They didn’t hear him walking down the hall—Peter had had a lot of practice being stealthy so he didn’t wake up Aunt May after patrol—and so he had a few minutes to watch the two men interact. They were talking about something inconsequential, simply chatting amongst themselves about something. Peter caught Ms Potts’s name, so they might’ve been talking about the company or how Ms Potts was. Tony was smiling that warm, happy smile he got when he was alone and not in public, and the sight of it made the tight feeling in Peter’s chest lighten. Tony was here, he was happy. A dark thought threatened to cross his mind, about how he was a burden and that Tony didn’t want him here, but Peter shoved it away. He was tired of the bad thoughts already. Tired of everything, really, but especially at the depressing thoughts. He was here because Tony wanted him here and that was what mattered.

“Hey, kid.” Tony happened to glance at the hallway and spotted him. He had a slight, reassuring but concerned smile and his eyes scanned Peter, looking as if he was looking for a hidden injury. Peter gave Tony an awkward quirk of his lips and he tugged at his hoodie sleeves nervously when Colonel Rhodes looked at him.

Peter waved slightly and Colonel Rhodes smiled, seeming a little amused. Tony urged him further into the room.

“How about a proper introduction?” Tony said rhetorically. “Peter, this is my best friend Rhodey, otherwise known at War Machine, so try not to fanboy too hard.” Peter rolled his eyes slightly even if he was fanboying on the inside, now that he could think clearly. War Machine~! Tony turned to Rhodey, throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Rhodey, this is The Kid.”

There were capital letters, Peter could hear it. Colonel Rhodes could, too, if the amused smile on his face was anything to go by.

Colonel Rhodes held his hand out for a handshake, which Peter took. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter, Tony’s told me a lot about you,” he said. Peter glanced at Tony in surprise. He’s told Colonel Rhodes about him? Peter opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He still couldn’t talk. He didn’t really want to, either.

"Speechless, are we?” Tony teased lightly, though the glint of concern in his eyes told Peter that he understood. He’d had his own quiet days before. “Alright, kiddie, so I was thinking that we could have a movie day today,” Tony said, changing the subject. “Rhodey and I were thinking about the new Harry Potter movie and pizza, you in?”

Peter grinned and made a thumbs up. He’d been wanting to watch Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them since it came out.

Tony grinned back and ruffled his head. “Good, go take a seat. I���ll get the popcorn. You too, Rhodes.”

Peter followed Colonel Rhodes into the living room, curling up in his usual spot on the couch. There was a slightly awkward silence before Colonel Rhodes shifted in his seat, turning to face him.

“You’re good for him, you know,” Colonel Rhodes said. Peter looked at him with furrowed brows and the man elaborated. “Tony. He was a mess after Germany, I was afraid that he’d go back to drinking.” Peter frowned slightly; he knew of Tony’s past, it had come up often enough in the news and in magazines when he was younger and he’d been an avid Tony Stark fan even before the man became Iron Man, but he couldn’t imagine Tony turning to alcohol. The man barely drank around him, maybe a beer or two during movie nights, but there was no expensive, fancy liquor anywhere in the penthouse. Colonel Rhodes caught his expression and he smiled somewhat sadly. “I don’t like the thought, either. I was kind of surprised when he told me that he was taking a break from hard liquor, but then he told me about you and I understood.”

Peter was confused. What did he mean?

“Tony’s never really been one for big responsibilities,” Colonel Rhodes told him. “He’s good at his work, brilliant at it, but it was more of a chore at times than not. The first big thing that he felt responsible for was Iron Man, he felt he had a duty to protect after all of the lives he’d taken.” Peter was slightly conflicted. He could understand the duty to protect, he’d become Spider-Man for that very purpose, but he disagreed that Tony had been the one to kill all those people with his weapons. His name might have been on them, but he hadn’t been the one to fire them, to target all of those people. Colonel Rhodes gave him an understanding smile; he no doubt agreed with Peter’s thoughts.

“Then came Pepper and the Avengers, but you saw how that last one turned out. Helping me with my braces distracted him for a while, but I was afraid of what would happen when I was doing fine on my own. Then he surprised me by starting to talk about you. Eventually, he’d be mentioning you in all of our phone calls; ‘I’ve got this intern, he’s brilliant,’ or ‘The kid’s coming over today, we’re making a robot,’ or ‘Peter came up with a good way to stop your braces from locking up after standing for too long.’” Colonel Rhodes rapped his knuckles against his braces and said, “Thanks for that, by the way, they haven’t locked up since Tony upgraded them.”

Peter’s neck burned at the sincere thanks and he smiled shyly. Colonel Rhodes became serious again. “The whole point of this thing is that you’re good for him, Peter. He’s as sober as he’s ever been, healthy as he’s ever been, has been sleeping through the nights, and he’s not having as many three-day lab benders as he used to have. So thank you, Peter.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “H-He’s helped me, too,” he managed to say around the tightness in his throat. The only thing that belied Colonel Rhodes’s surprise at him talking was a single blink.

“You’ve been through more than the average teenager, haven’t you?” Colonel Rhodes said with keen eyes. Peter nodded and the man smiled slightly. “Well, then I’m glad that you’ve helped each other.”

In the kitchen, the popcorn stopped popping and the microwave beeped. Tony came out seconds later and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “What were you two talking about?” Tony said suspiciously.

“I was just talking to Peter about my leg braces,” Colonel Rhodes said, scooting over to give Tony room to sit. Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly as if calling his friend’s bluff but sat down, giving them each of their snacks.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Friday, can you play Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?”

As the opening scenes of the movie played, Peter and Colonel Rhodes exchanged a look of understanding. Peter still didn’t feel well, he was still tired and felt wrung-out, but knowing that he’d helped Tony more than he thought made him feel better. He leaned against the man and stole a handful of popcorn, smiling slightly at Tony’s playful indignant squawk.

This one-shot took me a ridiculous amount of time to write! I got the idea like two weeks ago, started writing it like two weeks ago, and ended up only adding a few hundred words each day, sometimes only like thirty or so. I'm happy I got it done, and while I don't particularly like the ending, I like the whole feel of this.

Here are some scenes that I cut out but couldn't bring myself to completely delete:

1.

"Tony cares about you in a way that I knew he was afraid to feel—Has he told you about Howard?” Colonel Rhodes asked. Peter frowned slightly at the mention of Howard. Tony hadn’t explicitly told Peter what his father had been like, only a few mentions here and there, but Peter knew how to use context clues and how to extrapolate data, so he nodded. “Well, he likes to say that he doesn’t like children, that he’s not good with them, but he ‘s afraid of turning out like his father.”

Peter balked at the thought. Tony wasn’t like Howard!

“Exactly,” Colonel Rhodes said with another look of understanding. “Tony’s afraid of turning out like his dad so he tried to stay away from children, but somehow, he got attached to you. You’re making him happy, happier than I thought he’d ever be after everything that happened."

2.

Tony was murmuring soothing words to him, some in English but most in Italian. The man had taken to speaking to him in Italian ever since he heard Peter talking to May in the language. Peter had first learned the language when he’d moved in with May and Ben; it had been a way for them to distract him from the grief and he’d gotten over his selective mutism—this was a common thing for him, the not speaking, not being able to speak—by learning it.

“Starai bene, mimmo,” Tony was murmuring. You’ll be alright, baby.

The whine Peter desperately tried to hold onto was pulled from his throat at the phrase. It was something May always said to him when he was sad or upset, but it felt different coming from Tony. May was kind of obligated to care for him—not that it made her comfort any less comforting or appreciated—but Tony was Tony.

3.

A tear fell down the bridge of his nose. "He said I killed Ben," Peter said in a soft, quiet voice, "and that he died to get away from me. And my parents, too. And that-that May left for her conference or training seminar or whatever it is to get away from me. Everyone I love dies or leaves me, Tony, I don't want you to go, too."

4.

"Oh. Quiet day, baby?" Tony asked softly, the pet name May usually used seeming to slip out.

[muffindaddystyles]

dark academia

Note: This's from my "choose an aesthetic and I'll do a harry writing on it." challenge. It's still open. You can inbox me your favourite ones!!!

P.S: It's kinda sentimental and awfully soft full of fluff gave me a bit sinking feeling :( 

TW MENTIONS OF DEATH.

💛

Blood-Rays of setting sun like a pearl shining upon the ocean slants through the slabs on the oak desk Y/N's sitting at studying for her mid-terms. It's Autumn. The library smells of dry lavenders and every often an aroma of biscuits pooled in butter whiffs under her nose as the librarian sitting infront of the stony fire-place relishing onto the treats petting her cat along.

She's drowned into a baggy london's fog grey coloured sweater tucked into taupe pleated skirts and her hair tressed back into a ribbon.

The world around seems cosy and warm to her as the voices billowed to mere soft hushes of rustling leaves, she almost forgot there are people around her when a pair of strong arms came wrapping around her shoulders hugging her ever tight she was never embraced this goodly before, "oof who're you?" She whispers comically akward as he has her face squished into his neck.

"Oops, wrong timeline, love." Meet Harry. He just came here to meet his girlfriend and just realized that they're not dating yet. He has time traveled to her first year of UNI and she might seems a bit off from all the bustle in her life.

He shies away when she doesn't get him and raises her brows in questioning. He's still in awe that in every era she looked beautiful.

"Mhm . . .uhm should go, take it as a free hug from me!" He spins around quickly to scramble away from her due to the embarrassment he caused to himself and not to let her show how flustered he's in her presence.

"Wait!!" She whisper yells following him and stopping him by putting her hand on his shoulder, "Would you like a cuppa of coffee, tea perhaps?" Books in her arms and a tote bag hanging at side.

"Then you could explain me your free hug policy too." His bunny nose twitched and he nods grinning. He looks so snuggly and warm — and all the words Y/N describes as a patchy cottage in the sandalwood forest.

//

"Ah! the chances of me not dying virgin seems less to me now." She jokes when Harry told her he's her boyfriend in future and her heart did a lil dance of having someone this gorgeous, "You're beautiful, candyeyed." He assures her when she thought there were faults in her that nobody seemed to be attracted to her.

Is it the pet name he calls her? She likes it.

"So . . .? You love me then, Harry?" She stirs the tea spoon not meeting his gaze and something hits her hard, swallowing her whole when his sincere voice melted in her ears.

"'Course, love you so much." She frowns taking in the tears at his bayline and it makes her stroke his knuckles, asking him in genuine concern.

"You alright?" He shakes his head sniffling the sentiments back and quickly speaks seeing his hand disappear from under her, "gotta go, bye -bye."

"Will you come to meet me, again?" She rushes and he smiles giving her a flying kiss with puckering lips, "Always candyeyed, always."

//

"You're telling me that my future self wrote letters to me present self?" She gasps with a slack jaw and Harry bobs his head happily, leaning away from the book shelf in her room to walk towards her flopping beside her.

"That's exciting and scary at the same time." She quips with a sigh snuggling to his side and when glances up he's already gazing down at her in utter fondness, "nope, you're gonna do so good." He runs his thumb over her shoulder blades and she almost melted into his touch.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Can I kiss you, my love?" She nods without taking her eyes away from him and they slip shut when Harry cupped the back of her neck bringing her closer to put his plushie mouth on her's and kiss her with reverent that nourishes in his heart everytime he sees her, it'll never die.

When she sees him vanishing she kisses him harder, "don't go this early, will miss you." He showers her in pecks promising her that he'll come to meet her to the day he's alive.

//

"What you mean to say's that I'll die? Is that soon?" Her voice wavers and Harry cuddles her closer to his chest to comfort her. Maybe, it was a bad idea telling her the truth. Indeed it was when soft sniffles and hiccups emitted from her.

"Don't cry baby. It hurts me awful." He sponges lil kisses to the dip of her neck, pinching his breath in his throat to stop himself from crying. He misses her terribly and the bed feels cold without her being in his arms.

"'M just frightened 'n, 'n I don't want to leave you." She sobs. She's a sensitive person. But, who wouldn't cry knowing they'll die early than their 60's or whatever. To divert her attention he shines light upon more beautiful moments.

"We've a gorgeous lil baby boy and he just said his first word! Wanna know what it's?" He chirps and she nods wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, "Mama!!" It makes her inners bursts. She couldn't fathom in million years that she'd be this lucky.

"He's a mama boy then." She giggles but Harry's silence halts her and it all dawns upon her. Too late as Harry lets out ugly sobs from his lungs and it wells up her eyes too, "'m sure you're gonna a good daddy, Harry." He calms himself cupping her cheeks and tilts his chin to kiss her lips.

"I love you so much. Our baby bambi loves you so much." He lays them back under the blankets cuddling her to him and she smiles wet-ly cheek smushed over his chest as she admires him, "Guess his name?"

"Tove?" She asks with a glint of happiness, "Absolutely! I call him tovie-dovie." Their heartbeats in melancholy and sync.

"Tell him, I love him so much."

"Every day, baby. Every day."

//

She writes letters to their baby boy daily, not letting him think that he'll be forlorn of his mother's love. Special ones for his birthday's and flowers tucked in each envelope with a message of kindness and love.

//

She was bringing her tea from the kitchen to her room when she hears thump of footsteps outside it doesn't startle her anymore. Harry keeps on coming and going many times, his visits are frequent now even if they're for some hours. He teases her that she'll forget about him after meeting the one with her present timeline and she always kisses him affectionately with a murmur, "Doesn't matter all Harry's belongs to me."

The cup falls on the carpet and it leaves the stain but she doesn't care as harry stands infront of her with a boy who looks exactly like her and got mellowness of hazel in his irirses, he looks upto his father at the visible shock they influenced her and Harry just cooes at him.

"C'mon bubba mama's waiting to cuddle ye' up." He pats his head and urges him forward. His smile bright as Y/N hunches on her knees and opens her arms to embrace her darling, "Mama!" He toddles excitedly to her and it made her cry more.

The moment he was in her arms she knew nothing mattered anymore and it was worth dying for this bundle of joy in her arms, "Mama." He again babbles caressing his face against her cheek as she hugged him for dear life.

"Tovie turned two and he time travels too." Harry explains and god knows how much effort harry put in to teleport them together at the same timeline.

"Yes, my love, my dear life 'm your mama. I love you so much bubby." She smacks loud kisses all over his soft baby face and he giggles at the top of his chest stopping her. "Happy birthday, Tovis, how bout we celebrate!?" She just kept on kissing her baby knowing that she wouldn't be able to do it after he'll born.

"Love you mama." The poor bug wanted to say this loud for so long.

"Me to bubby, me too."

Harry swipes them two in a big blankety hug and anoggles them tightly to his chest making them laugh terribly loud, "Me too!!" He squeaks cheekily smothering them in kisses and they think they'll figure out how to find happiness.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 20: Petrichor

I’m in over my head, he thought, I know nothing of the Convocation other than what I learned in school; my creations seem so minimal compared to the Emet-Selch; they’re all taller than I am- I know height has nothing to do with it, but it’s still intimidating. Am I truly worthy of the seat of Elidibus? Am I really the Emissary?

“Do you smell that, young Elidibus?”

He turned his head behind him and noticed a woman. One of the members of the Convocation he met, but which one?

“Y-you’re…the Azem, is that correct?”

“I am, just like you are the brand new Elidibus. Now, do you smell that?”

Elidibus stared down at his lunch that he chose to eat outside on the steps at the back of the Bureau. “Oh…if the scent of my lunch offends, I apologize…”

“Your lunch neither offends my senses, nor is it what I’m referring to, Elidibus. We’ve had a dry period for some time, have we not?”

The weather was far from his mind, but he answered, “Yes, I…think so. Why?” Azem sat down next to the young one and replied with yet another question, “Have you ever noticed that scent that comes before rain after it hasn’t rained for so long?”

Why is she asking me this, he thought. Is this a test? “Uh…no, not really.”

“Hm. You should, young one. One of the gods put in quite a bit of work into making the rain as pleasant as possible. It adds a spice to life to notice the small things.”

He gathered a strange first impression of the Azem, but decided to take a whiff of the air, try to gather what she means. To his surprise, there was indeed a difference. “It’s…sort of earthy…”

“You’re right. It’s a pleasant smell to me, although some have their preferences.”

Elidibus took a moment and asked, “Is this some advice for how to deal with the Convocation?” Azem chuckled with her mouth closed, then responded, “No, friend, I’m just making conversation. You seemed so nervous in there.” Never had he felt more grateful for his red mask as he blushed at the thought that someone would notice such a thing. “The first day is odd, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“I don’t know about odd…but I must admit, I feel a bit…” he didn’t want to finish, but the phrase he was avoiding was ‘out of place”.

“Wanna know a secret about the Emet-Selch?”

That piqued his curiosity. “Uh…will that be all right?”

“Sure, so long as you keep it between the three of us.” Elidibus nodded at the agreement. He watched a wry smile form on the Convocation member’s face. “He’s a sucker for strawberry candy, and he bugs me to bring some home every time I leave Amaurot on my missions.”

His eyes widened at the thought. “Really?” She nodded. “He’ll deny it, but he’s obsessed with it.” Elidibus made a thoughtful hum. “Now what do you like?”

“Me?” he pointed to himself.

“Is there someone else here?”

“N-no…I…” he felt confused as to why she would care, making him hesitate. “I…I like that one concept, that card game…”

“Ah, you’re a gambling man. I see… you and I will need to play one night. I’ll show you some of the cheap tactics I picked up on my travels. You can help me clean out my friend, Hythlodaeus.”

The young man smiled. “What of you, Azem?” She smiled back. “I love to dance. When the Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus and I go to the park, Hythlodaeus always takes me to see the musicians nearby, and I drag him into dancing when the Emet-Selch inevitably runs to avoid it. There’s another secret for you to keep.” Elidibus chuckled slightly.

“Ah, finally, a laugh.”

“S-sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for; I just like knowing that you’re capable of letting loose for a bit.”

He nodded. There was a moment of silence before he asked her, “Azem, is there anything I should know about the Convocation?”

“That we’re all flying by the seat of our pants.”

He stammered at that remark. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“My young friend, confidence is key to being a member of the Convocation. Quite frankly, there’s something new everyday, and it’s impossible to create a real standard for how we handle things. We have our protocol, but as much as they complain about me skirting it, they have also conveniently avoided protocol themselves.”

“But-but we’re supposed to lead our people, keep our society thriving…”

“If that’s how you keep looking at it, you’ll be that nervous every single day for the rest of your tenure.”

He blinked.

“Yes, we’re leaders, and we do, in fact, lead, but there’s no trick to being a Convocation member. There is simply being one. Bring ideas to the floor, engage in debate, do your reports and other paperwork, and go home. You’ll feel much more fulfilled at the end of the day if you remove the unnecessary pressure.”

He contemplated her words.

“The next time we go to the floor, I have an idea about revamping the concept submission process, make it more streamlined for easier processing. Could I…ask for your support, Azem?”

She pretended to ponder, then told him, “Tell you what; I’ll support it…if you can beat me at a game of cards.”

“What?!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Those are my terms. Do you accept them?”

“Is that…that can’t be protocol!”

“It’s not, but I should tell you how the Lahabrea got me to support his idea to reconstruct the Akadaemia Anyder.”

BOOM

The thunderclap roared over the Bureau of the Architect, and the rain slowly followed suit.

“Seems like a good time to play in my office, don’t you think?”

He still felt befuddled by the idea that any one of the Convocation of Fourteen should be anything close to him. That they were anything like him felt foreign. They’re leaders of Amaurot, creation masters; how could they be as clueless as the Azem claims them to be?

“Or would you prefer to sit alone in the rain? Because I will be returning inside to listen and watch it from the comfort of my dry and warm office with my meal. I would be pleased for the company, but I will leave that decision to you, young Elidibus.”

She stood up and as she said she would, she turned around and walked inside the Bureau. Elidibus sat there for a moment, realizing just how little he liked to get wet, but still wasn’t sure what to think. Finally, he rose from the stairs himself, and opened the door to return inside himself.

He walked down the halls to locate her office, passing each door, trying to see if there were any that he could peek through, but many were closed. Lahabrea…Igeyorhm…Nabriales…Emet-Selch… and last, but not least, Azem, the only open door. Before young Elidibus could enter, he heard a voice behind him.

“Ah, good afternoon, Elidibus. Were you hoping to speak with me?”

Emet-Selch approached him from behind. Elidibus turned to meet his gaze, despite being hidden behind a white mask, and answered, “Oh, no sir. I was hoping to speak with Azem. She invited me to lunch in her office.”

“Did she now?” he asked with a hint of curiosity in his voice. He took his shoulder and told him, “Come.” The two entered her office together, the Emet-Selch clearing his throat to get her attention. It worked, but she didn’t pry her gaze from the window.

“Hades, use your words”, she teased.

“Helios, are you corrupting this young man?”

That got her attention enough to turn around. Indeed, the young Elidibus stood at his side, a shoulder in the Emet-Selch’s right hand. “He informed me you asked him to lunch with you in here.”

“Oh, Hades, there’s nothing to corrupt. He’s quite stalwart for someone so young.”

“What has she told you, young man?” Before he could answer, she piped in with a teasing, “Nothing of import. Certainly not about how you beg me for strawberry candy when I leave the city.” Hades gasped and stumbled his words, “I-you-guh-I most certainly do not!”

“Uh-huh” she taunted, “Nor how you try to bring home near every stray cat you meet.”

“I would never bring such a pest into our home!”

“Right, now what will you tell Locus when we get home? She’ll be just the saddest cat we’ve ever had.”

He growled, shot his gaze to Elidibus and told him, “Everything she tells you is an absolute lie.”

“Only when it’s convenient for me to be telling the truth will he say I’m telling it, or so I’ve noticed.”

“Helios, you’re impossible!”

“I love you too. Now you better not have eaten lunch without me. I’ll excuse dear Elidibus here, but you?”

“I would never. Come, Elidibus, take a seat.” The young man nodded and took one of two seats in front of Azem’s desk.

“Um, Azem, when did you want to play that card game?” Elidibus asked meekly.

“Ah!” She pulled out a deck of cards and answered, “I’d like to finish my meal, then we can get started.”

“You’re not teaching him that ridiculous card game.”

Helios shook her head at her beloved, “I don’t have to. Why, he told me himself he loves card games.”

“Do you?” Emet-Selch asked the new member incredulously. “Uh, yes, sir, I do.” Realizing how this could be taken, he blurted out, “I-I don’t usually play it when I’m working, but-but I was asked to play with her for a work reason.”

“Oh dear…” Emet-Selch rubbed his temples and asked, “I think I know what she’s doing. All right, young one, what did you want to bring to the floor?”

Something within him sparked. That such a powerful creator could possibly listen to someone like him made him feel so honored. “Well, sir, if I may, there’s been many complaints about the process for submitting a concept, and I had an idea for how to streamline it, make it easier for employees to process submissions, and if you’ll hear me out, I think we can make it work”, Elidibus rambled excitedly.

“Hm”, Emet-Selch thoughtfully hummed, “You are correct that many do have trouble with their concepts being input. Long wait lines, a filing system that needs updating…not a bad idea.” He turned his head towards Azem and asked, “But why are you making him play cards for this?”

“I need to see him play now that he’s told me he likes this game. Besides, he may have your support, but I still have my terms.”

“Such are the dealings of our Azem; you truly wish her to be your role model, young man?”

“Role model? I’m simply his coworker.”

“Well, I’m glad you would deny the mantle. It might be better for someone who actually performs his duties to teach him the ropes.”

“Ha! I do my job well, thank you. It’s just not pencil-pushing.”

Emet-Selch shook his head. “Whatever will we do with you?”

“The better one is ‘what will you do without me?’”

“Work, probably.”

She scoffed at him, and told Elidibus, “I’m ready for that game now.”

“Deal me in as well.”

“My stars, Hades- you would play cards at work?”

“We’re not exactly working now, are we?”

A smile formed on her lips as she shuffled the deck. “Not quite. Don’t worry about him, Elidibus, it’s just me you’ll need to beat, not that it’s hard to beat our Emet-Selch at cards.”

“Hmph, slander, my love.”

The three played a good round. Azem gave him a run for his money, but he ultimately succeeded in the end, and received her full support for his proposal. Not that it mattered; she would have supported him anyways, but she enjoyed seeing the young man go from the nervous wreck he started his day as to a more relaxed version of himself, one that realized he was among peers, and not masters.

“There, he won. Are you happy, Helios?” Hades asked annoyedly.

“Quite. Thank you for a good game, my young friend” Azem complimented.

“Now come, Elidibus; it’ll be better for us to discuss this without her influence.” Hades stood up and walked out of her office to go next door. Elidibus stood up, ready to follow him as he requested, but then stopped. Without turning around, he asked her, “Would it be all right if I came back to eat with you tomorrow?”

She grinned. “My friend, anytime I’m in Amaurot, you’re more than welcome here. I’d rather you here than outside in the rain.”

He smiled and said, “Thank you.” Elidibus walked out of her office and moved himself from her office to the Emet-Selch’s.

The day went by without much clamor, then Elidibus gathered his things and left the office for the day. As he walked outside, the humidity left from the rain slicked his skin. It felt sticky, not his favorite sensation. Then he remembered the conversation from his lunch with Azem.

He took a deep breath, and embraced the earthy scent that blessed the city of Amaurot.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Get Down pt. 2

The final installment of Get Down.

It’s smutty! There’s smut! 18+ please! Be responsible!

bottom Geralt / top Jaskier

---

“What brings you to my humble estate?” Jaskier asked, taking a slow sip from his silver chalice. He didn’t fail to notice the way Geralt’s eyes were trained on his wine-red lips as he spoke. “From the way you handled yourself in the throne room I suppose you were expecting my father.”

“Yes, Milord,” Geralt nodded. “For a moment I had forgotten your full title. My apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for, good Sir Witcher. I hope that your dinner is satisfactory.” 

The young nobleman snapped his fingers again and food appeared rather suddenly before them. Geralt’s stomach rumbled audibly when he caught a whiff of how good it smelled and he blushed furiously, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Milord.”

When he looked up again, Jaskier’s face showed nothing but concern. His Lordly air hadn’t disappeared in the slightest but his bard-like tendencies and his protectiveness of Geralt were showing more clearly. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Geralt blushed a deeper shade of pink and looked down at his plate. “Two days ago.”

Jaskier stood suddenly and made his way to the valet nearest the door. He spoke to the young man in hushed but urgent whispers, too fast and quiet for even Geralt to understand, before taking his seat again and dipping his head in respectful apology.  “Please, let us eat.”

“Thank you, Milord, for your food and your hospitality.”

“I like the garb that Susan chose for you this evening. Blue seems to bring out your hair and your eyes; you should wear it more often.”

“Thank you, Milord. I shall try,” Geralt nodded, the apples of his cheeks going another shade darker.

Jaskier was enthralled. He’d never seen Geralt blush so frequently before; was it his status as a Lord? Was it the air of authority he’d assumed? Was it the outfit? The bard wasn’t sure exactly what had captured Geralt’s attention so thoroughly, but he was happy about the results regardless. 

They finished their meal in relative silence. Geralt was given a significantly larger second portion than Jaskier and neither of them cared to mention it aloud. That was probably why he’d talked to the servant, the Witcher figured. Best to just thank him later when we’re back on the Path and he’s acting like...himself.

“Shall we retire to the sitting room for the evening?” the young noble asked, standing from his seat. Geralt followed him dutifully, moving as silently as a cat between the dining room and the unusually cozy sitting room of Pankratz Castle. “Pardon my intimacy, Sir Witcher, but this is my family’s private sitting room. I find it easier to keep warm than the formal sitting room down the hall.”

“I am honored,” Geralt bowed his head. He wanted more than anything to hear Jaskier say his first name again. He didn’t like the way Sir Witcher sat heavy and formal on the bard’s spry tongue. He missed the happy, lilting tune of Jaskier’s giddy “Geralt!” 

Jaskier laid himself out across the chaise lounge and gestured for Geralt to take the armchair opposite him. The Witcher balanced precariously on the edge of the cushion, always ready to flee if necessary.

“So, Sir Witcher, what adventures did you have during winter?”

“Not many I’m afraid, Milord. I spent the season sequestered at Kaer Morhen with my brothers and my mentor.”

“How are your brothers faring? I think often of their health.”

“They are well, thank you.”

Geralt didn’t like having to play word games the way Jaskier did. Every sentence was carefully constructed and executed in the same way that he would consider a dangerous thrust or parry when dueling. Any sign of disrespect or any misplaced Milord could have him throne from the room (and the keep) in a second. All Jaskier would have to do was snap his fingers. 

“And you, Sir Witcher?”

“I’m afraid I have not slept as well as normal. My bed has been as empty as my heart,” the Witcher admitted. “If I may say so in polite company.”

Jaskier’s heart was fluttering in his chest, “You may.”

He stood rather suddenly from the chaise and reached out a hand for Geralt.

“Milord?”

“I can offer you rest, sweet Sir Witcher. Come with me. There is much to discuss.”

---

Jaskier pulled the velvet curtains around his bed closed on either side, leaving only the firelight to illuminate them from across the room. Kneeling over him like this, with his shining chestnut hair all mussed and wild and the fire blazing behind him, the young Lord looked like some kind of avenging angel. Geralt bit his lip and did his best not to wiggle in impatience. 

“Sir Witcher,” the nobleman smirked. “I’ve often dreamed of seeing you like this; laid out before me in my bed, blushing and shy.”

“Wh-What?”

“You must have known,” Jaskier chuckled lowly. He moved his hands to rest on either side of the Witcher’s head and leaned forward, close enough for his breath to tickle the skin of Geralt’s neck. “You must have known how much I wanted you. All those nights crammed together on shitty straw mattresses at podunk inns. All those baths and all those vials of chamomile oil so lovingly pressed into your tensest muscles...”

“I...I thought-”

“I’m sure you did,” Jaskier cooed. His teeth worried a mark into the skin of Geralt’s throat and the Witcher shuddered. “You can’t seem to stop thinking, is the problem. Stop letting your busy mind run away with you and just feel something for me, Geralt.”

“Finally, Jaskier,” the Witcher groaned, surging up to kiss his bard. He’d been waiting to hear the other man call him by name all night and it felt almost like a form of permission; however, Jaskier’s hand tangled in the front of Geralt’s borrowed shirt and the surprisingly strong young man slammed him back down against the soft bed cover. The Witcher made a startled noise and his eyes went wide. His white hair had formed a halo around his head at the impact and he saw lust flash clearly through Jaskier’s eyes.

“You will refer to me as Milord,” the younger man asserted. His pupils were large and dark; Geralt’s breath caught in his throat and he nodded silently in agreement. “Much better, pet.”

“Milord, please,” the Witcher gasped. Jaskier bit and sucked languidly at the skin above Geralt’s collarbone, somehow radiating a sense of laziness and ease despite the harsh movements of his tongue and teeth. The hickey was dark and throbbing when the Viscount finally pulled away. He traced his handiwork with the tip of his pointer finger and Geralt hissed at the contact. It tingled sensationally and the Witcher felt like he might vibrate out of his skin with anticipation. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be taken. By Jaskier and only Jaskier. His bard. His little Lord. His love.

“Do you want me like this, Geralt?”

“Gods, yes!”

Jaskier waited for a beat and the Witcher realized his mistake.

“I want you, Milord. Take me, please.”

“I’m glad to hear that you feel this way because I want you, too, my darling. Probably twice as badly.”

“Twice?”

The young Lord grabbed a fistful of Geralt’s glorious ass and squeezed, smirking like the nobility he was. “Twice.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whined. The bard’s mouth was suddenly making its way down towards the laces of his half-open shirt and Geralt felt his breath coming in quick little pants. He moaned quietly when those clever fingers undid the tie in his trousers and began to ease them down and off his legs. The Viscount’s lips were still plastered to his chest, biting and kissing whatever skin he could reach. “Fuck, Jaskier. C’mon.”

“Are you making demands of me, peasant?” Jaskier clucked disappointedly. “Don’t you know your place by now?”

Geralt nearly choked on his tongue. His pants were gone, his shirt had been rucked up to reveal the muscled expanse of his abdomen, and his bard was licking across his hip-bone. All he could do was whine and shudder and take it. He wanted to lay there and take whatever Jaskier was willing to give. Torture like this? Well worth it, in the Witcher’s opinion. 

“Jaskier, please.”

“Naughty Witchers don’t get what they’re after,” Jaskier shook his head. “You’ll just have to learn the hard way.”

Geralt was about to ask what exactly his bard had meant by ‘the hard way’ but every thought imaginable flew from his head as soon as Jaskier’s lips closed over the head of his recently-freed cock. “Shit!”

The noble smirked from between the Witcher’s legs and pushed himself further, taking as much of Geralt as he could back into his throat. He pressed his hands down over the Witcher’s hips, holding him flat against the mattress in an incredibly show of strength, and hummed. 

“Oh! Oh Jas- fuck Jaskier,” the man beneath him gasped. Jaskier bobbed his head a few times before pulling back with a soft pop and a grin. Geralt was trembling, his hands fisted tightly into the bedclothes. “Milord?”

“Geralt,” the bard sighed, sitting up and leaning over the Witcher once again. He ran the back of his knuckles across his companion’s lightly stubbled cheek and smiled softly. “May I take you apart, my love?”

“L-love?”

“Of course.” Jaskier leaned down slowly, letting Geralt take a little bit of control back for himself. The Witcher breathed in once, slowly, and exhaled just as carefully. He closed the distance between them and gave his beloved bard a soft and caring embrace. Jaskier wasn’t the kind of person to tell falsehoods. Embellish the truth for a song or a good story? Of course. But outright lying? That would have infuriated the bard. 

“I love you...too.”

“Excellent. Now that we’ve settled things,” the brunette wiggled his eyebrows mischievously and Geralt watched as he turned instantly from Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz to Jaskier the Bard. He watched Jaskier’s hand as it snaked down between them and Geralt found himself awash in pleasure once again, “I’m going to ruin you, Witcher!”

Geralt groaned and tossed his head back against the pillows. 

Jaskier never lied.

---

“Fuck!” Jaskier thrust harder and curled his body over Geralt’s. He could feel the damp curls of his chest hair sliding against the skin of the Witcher’s back, already sweat-slick from their first round of lovemaking. 

It had been loving and tender and surprisingly gymnastic; but after a few minutes of snuggling and continued kissing in the afterglow, Geralt had levered himself onto his elbows and knees and arched his spine so fucking temptingly that Jaskier had bitten his knuckle close to bloody in an effort to keep from screaming aloud and scaring the castle guards. Again, Geralt had ordered. 

Jaskier was loath to disobey.

“Oh! Jask-Jaskier!”

“Yeah?” the bard laughed triumphantly. He snapped his hips forward again at the same angle and Geralt bowed beneath him. The Witcher had his glorious pecs buried in the mattress and his hands fisted in the sheets above his head. He looked like a godsdamned feast and Jaskier was taking his fill while he could. The Viscount pushed in again, aiming carefully, and Geralt released another shuddering moan.

“Jaskier, please can-”

“Oh, my love,” the bard moved one hand from its place at Geralt’s hip to the front side of his body. He took hold of the Witcher’s glorious cock and tugged a few times in rhythm with his thrusts. It didn’t take much to work his overstimulated lover through a second orgasm. “You feel incredible, Geralt.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sighed, lax and jelly-like beneath his bard. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Now let’s get cleaned up and talk about how this experience has changed our relationship for the better, yeah?”

Geralt nodded, no longer scared of losing Jaskier.

Not after that. 

Not after all the love and power and self-confidence the bard had shown him here tonight; Jaskier could take care of himself. They were more than ready for this. Geralt was more than ready for this. He reached out, cupping the bard’s soft face in his large, calloused hand. “As long as you promise to stay by my side, my love, I’m ready for anything.”