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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 19

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 19

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4274

Summary: Life settles into routine as summer comes in Wisconsin.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing, some smut

You’d never been so aware of the date after that, somehow feeling like you’d reset your circadian rhythm to know precisely how long two weeks was. Mercifully on the part of the universe, Dean had been right about the lack of reset function as long as you stayed within the same mind; once, just to try, you had entered Sam’s dream and found that Sam Barbie and Sam Mike hadn’t met Dean yet.

At Dean’s request Sam put a huge amount of effort toward ‘being normal,’ integrating into the community in a more purposeful way. You became friendly with a couple cheerful hairdressers from the salon in the next town over when they started coming to the bar for after work drinks and Sam began getting invited to the poker games Steve hosted. One of your favorite of these new habits was going to the farmer’s market dutifully every week. It reminded you every time of how simple this new life was, where you had spare mental capacity to think about whether you wanted nectarines or peaches because there was no terror dangling just overhead. It also helped distract you from all-consuming thoughts of seeing Dean on alternate Sunday nights, the way your body felt like it vibrated with anticipation for the few days before.

The two of you had been going for months by the first market in July, long enough to know all the first names of the regular vendors and greet them as you went. You were feeling somehow even more acutely anxious-excited at the upcoming Sunday, Dean having told you both last time that he had a surprise planned. It encouraged you to give more of a concerted effort to linger at every single booth, extend every single moment of killed time you could get from the outing. Sam let you lead the way, ring and pinky finger loosely linked into yours as you walked up and down the aisles of tents and tables in the overgrown gravel parking lot. He had a canvas bag half-filled with beets, green beans, some local honey, and a small carton of apricots. You paused to lean into his chest, waiting for Sam to bend down and kiss you in front of a table of essential oils decorated with macrame. The next one caught your eye, some hand-hewn jewelry, and you pulled him gently along.

“What do you think?” you asked, holding up some earrings clearly too gaudy to match your style with an exaggeratedly fashionable face.

“I think those really capture your essence, yeah,” Sam smiled.

“Or maybe this?” You slipped your hand into a heavy bangle absolutely covered in turquoise that felt like wearing an ankle weight.

He hitched the bag up on his shoulder and watched the show you put on for him, sweeping some hair back from your neck to let you see a set of earrings in the tiny mirror on the table. His gaze flicked over the wares and he gingerly picked up a small gold band from a tray. It was probably the most understated piece on the table, and definitely the one most likely to fit with the no-nonsense jewelry you tended to wear—the things you were drawn to being more sentimental reminders than ostentatious presentation, intended to be put on once and never taken off.

“I think this one looks the most like you,” Sam hummed, offering it up for you to try on. The band was medium-thick with rounded comfort edges and when you slipped it on it fit perfectly, just barely tight enough to feel exactly secure on your finger. He was right; it looked good on your hand like you had re-found an old piece that you’d lost, and you considered it for a second before you realized Sam was talking to the woman behind the table as she finished a transaction with a trio of teenaged girls getting matching woven bracelets.

“That one’s part of a set,” she cooed over to him, her hands resting in a homemade apron covered in embroidered flowers. “They should really go to the same home.”

You were impressed at Sam’s ability to keep himself from rolling his eyes at that kind of faux sentimental bullshit, but she had already turned her back to you, rifling in another box under the plastic table. She turned around with a larger copy of the ring and darted out, grabbing Sam’s hand quickly enough that he almost stumbled forward as she started to slip it onto his finger.

“Oh, I don’t really wear jewelr—” he started helplessly.

“See? Meant to be, it fits perfectly.” She clasped her hands in front of her chin excitedly, beaming over the table at you and Sam. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on his face as he tried inconspicuously to get the ring off.

“Um—wow, that’s really on there—how much for that one?” Sam asked, awkwardly pointing to the ring on your finger with his pinky as he kept working to try to get his off.

“$50 for the both of them.”

“Even the one has gotta be more than that,” he insisted, based on the displayed prices of the gaudy jewelry you’d played around with.

“I’d feel better knowing they were being appreciated together than I would with the money.”

You looked up at Sam with the kind of melting cotton candy look you felt like had been plastered to your face for weeks, soft and gooey and something you would’ve made fun of a stranger for. He abandoned trying to get the ring off and tongued a molar before pulling out his wallet and dropping 5 $20 bills on the table, pushing them across with the customer service smile he used at the bar. “Thank you, they’re, uh, they’re beautiful.”

She only unclasped her hands to stuff the bills in the apron, mouthing a “thank you” at the extra money and winking at Sam as the two of you walked away from the booth.

“Should we get you a big chain? Or I could pierce your ears with an ice cube and an apple back at the cabin,” you teased, getting used to the way the ring felt on your hand.

Sam couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes over a smirk. “I really can’t get it off.”

“I think maybe you just wanted to match me.”

He stopped walking and you spun around to face him, gazing up into his hazel eyes. “Matching you isn’t so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” You watched as a slow smirk spread across his face and he looked down at his feet between you. “Thank you, by the way. I really love it.”

“Just think you, um, deserve nice things.” A little color rose in his cheeks, and there was something so unbelievably sweet about it, being shy with you of all people. You had to press up to your tiptoes and pull Sam’s neck down to kiss him, but it was perfect, the light northern chill that sometimes drifted through the air even in July reminding you of your first kiss on that sledding hill except now it was your hand on Sam’s neck, blood seeping warm and loose through every capillary rather than the cold throb of anxiety you’d had then. With his lips on yours, delicate metal on your finger, and the earthy smell of the fresh produce in the air, you tried to commit to memory how unequivocally good the moment was, how completely outside the realm of possibility this would’ve seemed a year ago. Sam’s hand slipped to your lower back and pressed you to him. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmured into your ear, and it was all you could do not to jump him right there as you wound your fingers in his and wove through the booths to get back to the Impala.

“Baby—you’ve gotta—fuck, I’m driving,” Sam laugh-moaned, shifting his hips just a little up into the hand you danced along the fly of his jeans.

You leaned across the bench seat and licked the faintest trail up his jugular vein. “Then pull over.”

His eyes closed deeply for a beat and hard swallow as he took a deep breath and took a right turn into what was likely a private driveway. It was a calculated move; probably not visible from the rural highway but if the people living here—the place sure to be occupied on a July weekend even if it wasn’t year-round—decided to leave they’d catch an eyeful of graphic roadblock. Knowing he was willing to take the risk made your heart race even faster, and Sam had barely thrown the car into park before he was on top of you, hand in your hair and tugging back roughly to bite-suck at your neck so hard and delicious you gasped before even realizing.

He grinned into your skin as he kissed you. “Gonna—tease me—like—that? After looking so good—being so sweet—all morning?” You slid your hands in his hair and pulled back, crashing into his mouth and tasting the honey he’d sampled with you at the farmer’s market. You hooked your leg around his hips and rolled up into him, almost salivating at the firm length of him against you and the friction of the denim. He pressed you flat to the bench seat and started working the buttons of your shirt, so lightning-fast he ripped one of the last ones clean off, sending it skittering across the dashboard as it flew. “Sorry,” he smiled as you bit his lip, not looking very sorry at all.

When your top was finally open Sam tugged at your bra, bypassing the clasp altogether in favor of exposing your nipples above it, somehow grazing his teeth and breathing cool air over them at once to send goosebumps flushing all over your body. You tried to undo the buttons of his shirt somewhat unsuccessfully for a moment before Sam leaned back and yanked at the back of his collar, tossing it in the backseat without looking as you flicked open his belt buckle and jeans. You grabbed either side of the open belt and tugged, making Sam’s chest press against yours and giggling into his lips at his tiny “oof,” when he fell forward onto the seat, throwing his arm out to avoid landing on you with his full weight.

With his torso against yours, he kissed you like he was gorging himself on candy; hungry and playful as you pushed and pulled against each other until you guided his cock out of his boxers and circled the tip with your thumb. Sam whimpered softly, just once and softly enough you might’ve thought it was a sharp inhale, but the broken concentration was enough for you to catch him off guard and shove him back on the seat across from you. He stretched back against the leather and door, pleasantly surprised behind widened pupils as you quickly got out of your shirt/bra tangle and kicked off your boots. It could’ve been some kind of pseudo-pornographic ad, Sam with tousled hair and undone jeans up against the door of the Impala, taut skin and muscles of his abs on full display as his arms spanned an impossible amount of the windowsill and seatback. If you’d had the self-restraint, you might’ve taken an extra second to soak it in, but as it was you pounced on him the moment the fabric of your clothes left your hands, slipping your fingers under his waistband enough to expose his cock and immediately sliding it into your mouth, hands still working to get him further out of his jeans.

Anyone else making the sound he did would never have had the same effect, but the gravelly moan your tongue forced out of him dissolved you into jello and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. Rhythmically working the spit-slick between your mouth and hands, you dragged your head up to look Sam in the eyes, heavy tip of him weighing down your bottom lip as you spoke. “Hold my hair?”

Sam’s eyes went fuzzy and dark as his eyebrows raised into a dazed smile, gathering your hair in a huge palm and making that amazing noise again as you slid all the way down him, nose grazing the dark hair on Sam’s abdomen. After a few minutes his hips bucked a little under you, Sam beginning to writhe on the leather. “Fuck, that feels so goo—hold on, wait,” Sam stammered with sex-frayed vocal cords, using your hair to tug you to his mouth and suck your tongue. The sensation stunned you for a moment but you could’ve stayed there forever, held up in his palm and flayed open for Sam to take.

He trailed down your jaw and pulled firm when you tried to turn into his kiss. “Out of your jeans. Now.” You could feel the smirk against you and immediately started shimmying them off, loving this new edge to Sam, able to fully appreciate the grit knowing how soft he would be if you showed even the slightest hesitation. When you’d gotten the denim about halfway down your thighs he put a strong hand on your hip and flipped you over in the seat, your cheek flush against the glass of the window where he draped over your back like a predator. “Don’t. Move.”

The shudder was involuntary but it was covered by Sam practically ripping the jeans the rest of the way off your legs and subsequent hoisting your hips into the air as he shifted your knees up to the leather, your chest pressed against the door of the Impala as you looked back at him. You didn’t have any warning when Sam slipped his tongue inside you, shooting your arm out to grab for anything to stabilize yourself and ending up with a handful of seatbelt. Your calf curled up as he worked those sensitive nerves, swirling a thumb into your clit as he went. Sam locked the freed ankle with an iron grip. “I said don’t move.”

You whimpered and whispered dirty nothings you wouldn’t have been able to remember with a gun to your head until he smacked your ass hard enough you knew there’d be a red facsimile of his hand on you, and then you completely fell apart, shuddering and melting into the door. Sam crawled up behind you, chest flush to your back, and bit your earlobe. “I. Said. Don’t. Move.” You could hear the playful challenge in it and that made you even more crazy for him, wiggling under his weight a little involuntarily. He didn’t make you wait too long, pushing into you until his thighs pressed to yours, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm forward.

“Holy shit, Sam,” you breathed. You could feel your muscles flex and relax experimentally around him.

His tongue flicked around your ear as he pounded into you. “You’re so fucking hot, baby—can’t believe you’re my girl. Are you my girl?”

The sounds you made were vaguely affirmative but to be honest, Sam’s rocking into you was pretty effectively scrubbing your mind clean of coherent thought.

“Tell me. Say my name,” Sam murmured, voice low with sin against your spine.

“I’m your girl, Sam—your girl, I’m your girl Sam, I—holy shit—” you moaned as he picked up the pace and circled a sucked-wet finger around your clit and then you hit that sweet, sticky spasm, hand splaying out wide on the window. Sam covered it with his, interlacing long fingers into yours and something about the way the metal of the two new rings clinked against each other was so tender even as you were being rammed into the door. A couple moments later he drew back with a tense groan, dressing your lower back with hot spurts of himself while his breath started to return with ragged shudders.

“Jesus,” he sighed as he eased off of you, suddenly gentle again. “Oh—uh, here, sorry.” Sam extended a veined arm over the front seat to snatch his shirt from where it had landed and gently wiped off your back. You let the cool glass settle your racing heartbeat for a beat before sliding back to the seat and the small pile of clothes Sam had retrieved for you. It made you smirk a little to watch Sam’s internal struggle over what to do with the dirty shirt, deciding to toss it on the floor before refastening his belt shirtless like he was in some Country Hotties calendar—Mr. July indeed.

You opted not to tie your boots as you’d only be walking from the car to the door and looked over at Sam once your feet were inside the loose laces. He opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t come up with any words, smoothing his hair nervously back into place and chuckling against a bitten lip.

“Yeah, I agree,” you giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek before lacing your fingers together. “Do you want anything specific for dinner? We have a bunch of chickpeas, I thought maybe we could try making our own falafel.”

He gazed back at you for a reverent second before turning the key in the Impala’s ignition. “I love you,” he smiled, throwing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse out of the woods.

Tracing the angles of his face in the sunlight as he drove, you picked your joined hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you too.”

After a few minutes of endorphin-filled silence, Sam turned to you. “So do you know what this surprise is Dean has planned for tomorrow night? I figured he’d have to tell you what it was going to be if you’re the one whose head it’ll be in.”

“No clue. I thought at first maybe it was like, the Grand Canyon or something but ran into the same issue. Unless Cas’s taught him some new trick, he’s only ever been able to pull up places or things I already know—pick my brain for it, or whatever.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The air in the car held the content pensiveness for a few minutes of sunny road. There was no real heat behind it, just like there was no real heat in choosing between different rattan baskets of produce at the farmer’s market, and that same appreciation of the serenity itself washed over you. A surprise was just a surprise, not a potential threat, a date with Dean was just a date with Dean, no longer a finite, losable resource that had to be clawed at and fought for. You didn’t miss the heat. There was more than enough warmth in the sun streaming through the windows and Sam’s palm in yours.

As it did frequently, Dean’s face in your driveway flashed in your mind, the memory somehow simultaneously old-picture washed out yet vibrant—could dreams even be memories? aren’t all memories dreams, in a way?—collar of his jacket flicked up against the cold as he said “you have to get good with this,” the flit of tongue you could see as he shaped ‘th’ enough to shape a painting class around, send a dozen art students into psychosis for inability to capture it. It had been so hard to figure out how the fuck he expected you to, how cruel it felt for him to ask it, and the only way you’d gotten your head around it was that same Dean Winchester Denial & Self Sacrifice Special and accepted it at face value. When he’d died you hadn’t felt like so many movies and books about tragic loss, where the strong but sensitive woman you’re supposed to relate to spent a few months in poetic sadness growing waifish and crying picturesque tears in solitude until she realized she could carry on.

You couldn’t carry on.

You couldn’t carry anything—were dragging yourself along in the most generous of descriptions, some half-dead, half-smashed zombie version of yourself clinging to any will to live like a barnacle out of devotion and need for Sam. Getting Dean back felt like life raft thrown into the water. You really had wanted to spend the rest of your life asleep and were more than content to ingest as much dream root as it would take to decompose into the cabin’s mattress next to Sam, let your landlord find your skeletonized bodies after a few months of unpaid rent. Fuck him, kind as he’d been to two strangers who’d needed help, and fuck hunters’ funerals for you and Sam if it meant you didn’t have to keep drowning. Fuck Dean’s wishes especially, let him bend to someone else’s will for once.

At first, maybe the first month after the dream root, only logistical reasons kept you from following through. What you wanted—needed, would’ve ruined the world for—was Sam and Dean together, and you couldn’t find a way to get Sam to agree no matter how obliquely or obviously you asked. He was unbelievably patient with you during this period of near-psychosis, and you suspected that a lot of the new habits he constructed, maybe including your beloved farmer’s market, were designed to keep you away from the greenhouse for as many hours a day as possible. You knew what he was doing, but the bright glare of panic in his eyes whenever you ‘joked’ about growing bigger patches of those little white flowers slowed down your singular focus enough to humor him, telling yourself it was just stalling until you could make your move.

But damn if it hadn’t worked. Not that it stopped that tick-tick-tick in your brain counting down to Dean, but it made the days bearable. Just bearable, at first, the newness of your surroundings and the newness of Sam, all the things you hadn’t known about him after years of sitting inches away from each other in the Impala. And then it stopped being so much about fuck you Dean fuck getting good with you being gone and a little more about getting good with the way Sam’s hair dried if he went to bed right after showering, floppy, glossy loops and easy curls at the base of his neck; getting good with racing him down the rickety pier on the cabin’s shoreline, knowing he was letting you win and squealing all the way down anyway, jumping into the lake at dusk on Memorial Day with all your clothes on together as Sam cannonballed in behind you. Getting good with Sam’s arms around you as you both shuddered in the water, shrieking with laughter and a smile on his face of genuine, unbridled joy. Getting good with waiting for every other Sunday, because sometimes waiting was Sam bringing you a root beer float in your favorite mug while you read, and sometimes it was feeling him fall asleep against you while you scratched his back.

Then getting good with the way it became less taboo to talk about him, being able to casually repeat old jokes of Dean’s without feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest or being terrified of sending Sam into a spiral. Getting good with memories of your old life together, your old friends, truly able to appreciate them. Because Dean was right, you had been ‘upset because you wanted something that didn’t exist.’ You could stay upset about it, stay so fucking mad about the unfairness of it all, that after all Dean had done—for you, for the world—that he was fucking gone, didn’t get to live in a cabin or have a couple daughters to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair—God, Dean saying that had haunted you maybe more than anything—and let it necrotize you from the inside out. Or you could let the ways he had permeated your very being serve as more commemoration than most people ever dream of, appreciate that the Impala still felt like an extension of him, see glimmers of the way he and Sam were still connected every day.

And, of course, visit him at night to take the edge off, love him and kiss him and scream until you laughed. Annoying as it was to admit it, all that getting good slowly let you see what he’d been trying to open your eyes to in that driveway. You had so much more than anyone in the world. How stupid, how greedy, to have all of that and cut yourself off from anything else because it wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to be. Looking back at it felt like watching a home video of yourself as a kid throwing a tantrum, but for ages, and you almost couldn’t believe Sam had stuck right by your side through it all, guided you gently and patiently even through his own battle. Sweet, beautiful, loyal Sam.

As if on cue, he looked over at you. The sun poured through the windshield and shone off his hair like a halo, sparkled like glitter in his eyes. Someone who’d had a normal life would’ve said he looked angelic. But you had so much more than that, got to see both that golden hour was giving you a bit of a heavy-handed metaphor and that Sam was not only more than angelic, he was the whole world. He was the life raft all along, Dean’s Herculean return to you the lighthouse that let you see what had been there from the start, what had never left. His fingers tightened around yours a fraction. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

The smile splitting your face felt like the first delicious stretch after sleeping in on a rainy morning. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without you.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 20

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Mighty No. 9] Confined Nightmare

Summary: In which Beck nearly assimilates a fellow Battle Colosseum bot without hesitation. [action/battle practice][oneshot]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,954 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

- - -

Beck could feel himself tremble as he walked out to the main arena. He was instantly greeted with heart pumping music and the crowd beating their feet in time to it. From the other side of the Colosseum arena was his opponent; a female bot named Tremus. The older bot (in both appearance and experience) calmly waved to her fans as they screamed to get her attention.

Tremus always had an air of being well in control of the environment around her. It was something that Beck had always admired about her before he started competing in the colosseum’s one-on-one duels. Even out of the arena, Tremus refused to be pushed around by anyone. Her soft side was a hard one to crack, indeed; much like the boulders she was made to crush for construction use. It was no wonder that Aviator (another one of the Mighty Numbers) tried at every chance to flirt with her.

A siren rang out through the battleground, indicating that the match had begun. Beck jumped at the sudden noise. If Tremus had flinched, she hid it behind her charge toward Beck. Her hands, once normal looking for any other xel bot, transformed into separate drills. They spun in high velocity as Tremus attempted to hit Beck with them. The squeak he made in dodging the blow was the dumbest sound he could have made- someone back at home was going to make fun of him for it later. At the moment, he had to figure out how to attack Tremus. He couldn’t stay on the defensive for too long.

She did not make it easy for him. Every now and again, Tremus would transform her hand drills into a single drill, then dive to trail along the ground toward Beck. Beck tried over and over again to calculate a way for him to get a buster shot or two on her. He found that she had enough of a recoil time after each lunge for him to get something in if he was fast enough. Even then, if he wanted to do any damage, he’d have to charge his shot up before Tremus recovered. The next time Tremus performed a drill charge, Beck started to reroute more power to his buster. He waited until Tremus made another drill-based punch at him, then released all the power in his buster before she could defend herself.

Tremus stumbled back from the hit. She looked down at one of her hand drills and realized that xel was drifting off of her. Her body was becoming destabilized. Realizing what was going on, she took a hard look up at Beck. The young robot was already rushing at her to absorb the xel she was losing. Tremus didn’t have time to react before Beck collided into her- almost phasing through as he absorbed the loose xel.

It felt worse than any punch Tremus had ever experienced during her time as a competitor. A part of her now felt permanently empty. She ran a quick diagnostic of the xel Beck had absorbed. Her artificial heart nearly stopped in realizing that Beck had taken over 20% of her total xel count. The loss wasn’t anything she couldn’t make up for, but if he kept that rate up? She’d be completely assimilated by the end of the match; if she wasn’t lucky, of course.

She wouldn’t allow this to become a reason to slow down, though. Tremus made sure she kept Beck on his toes. This wasn’t his first fight on the battlefield, but you should still see the green behind his ears. It wouldn’t take much to disorient him in some way. At the same time, she tended to forget that Beck was still powerful under the right conditions.

Tremus got careless enough that Beck was able to steal more of her xel. Another 20% of her overall xel count gone. She gave herself an annoyed tsk- this wasn’t going to work.

Using a backspring to allow herself enough room, Tremus melded her feet together into a large drill. She then used the momentum to dig underneath the Colosseum floor for an underground advantage. Beck immediately panicked. Tremus dug down far enough that he couldn’t feel the vibrations of where she was until she started to come back up. By then, it was a bit too late- Tremus popped out of the ground with enough force to nearly drill Beck in half had he not gotten out of the way. He did take a good amount of damage, though. That much was obvious.

Beck nervously bit his lower lip as he tried to think of a counter. Tremus wasn’t giving him much room to think. She was once more using her hand drills to make shots at him. For now, Beck didn’t have a choice but to circle strafe around her. He needed to do something before Tremus decided to get another underground attack in. Then he had an idea; Beck had weakened Tremus enough to absorb a lot of her xel. He likely had the data he needed to copy a part of her power. But did he actually have enough?

Based on the way Tremus was fighting, he wondered if he did.

The duo continued to fight for another 30 seconds as Beck wrestled with his new plan. He wanted to make sure he had enough xel from Tremus to allow ReXelection to actually work. A quick calculation decided that he only needed another 5%. Unfortunately, Tremus was well aware of Beck’s unique ability- even before the match started. But with over 65% her starting xel gone now, she was taking all the precautions she could to not lose any more. Every time Beck came close, Tremus immediately moved back. She dodged a lot of his buster shots by digging underground, or kicking up enough bedrock to allow the debris to take the blow instead. This wasn’t the best choice for Tremus. Her drills were her main weapons- in order to get any kind of hard hit on Beck, she had to get close to him.

Tremus ended up giving Beck the opportunity he had been waiting for. She had tried to make a single lunge at him, but Beck dodged it and got a good two hits in that disassembled enough xel for him to dash into. Feeling Beck pass through her for the fourth time today, Tremus suddenly went still in shock. It was more than enough time for Beck to turn around to face her. The young bot quickly activated ReXelection for Tremus’s battle data.

The crowd went into a frenzied roar as Beck’s hands transformed into those similar to Tremus’s hand drills. Surges of power from the ReXelection and the crowd filled Beck with an overwhelming desire to put the older contender in her place. Beck dashed toward Tremus, letting out a cry as he swiped the spinning drills at her legs. The blow effectively knocked her off her feet- the bot hitting the ground hard. Her body immediately showed distortion at the impact. Tremus had taken enough damage that she only had the energy to open her eyes. Standing above her was Beck. The hand drills buzzed in fury as he pointed them directly at her.

Tremus looked up in fear as Beck was more than prepared to give the final blow. With her body this destabilized, one more hit from Beck would make her physical form disappear entirely. It would be a miracle if anyone would be able to recover her xel data after. The tense moment was exemplified by the crowd letting out conflicting screams for either Tremus to get up, or for Beck to assimilate her for good. The youngest Mighty Number stared right back at her- all sense of emotion nonexistent in his eyes. That small realization hit Tremus suddenly and with even more distress.

Beck was the weak link of the Mighty Numbers. He didn’t have the guts to fully assimilate another bot.

...right?

A flicker crossed Beck’s eyes. He blinked at Tremus for a moment. Slowly, as if he were confused, Beck stepped away from her. He returned his hands to look as they normally did. He just looked at Tremus with dawning guilt as the announcer declared Mighty Number 9 the victor of the match. The two bots continued their unwavering stares as Miss Noelle ran onto the battlefield to give Tremus emergency support. Tremus immediately turned her attention to her creator, receiving enough xel again to be able to stand. Miss Noelle still fussed over her creation as they walked off the field.

Beck remained where he was. He looked up at the colosseum stands to see rows of spectators cheering for him. A tiny piece of the confetti fluttering around landed on his nose. Beck picked it off, stared at the colorful paper with an unreadable face, then looked back up at the spectators. He didn’t even notice when his own creator, Doctor White, came up to give Beck a gentle hand on the back before waving at the crowd for him.

Later on, Beck was idly walking around the halls leading to the preparation rooms. He had told Doctor White that he just needed some time along- a wish easily granted by his enthused creator. Beck’s win had meant that Sanda Technologies had won a lot of much needed grant money for another quarter. Doctor White just requested that he stayed near the prep rooms.

Beck just wandered until he found a rather quiet corner need a supply closet. Letting out a sigh, he leaned against the wall, then slid down to sit. Every moment of his fight with Tremus flashed through his mind. Why did he feel like he needed to review that information? He did what he was supposed to. All his functions had performed as optimally as they should have.

So why did something about the match feel off?

“You hesitated.”

“Ohuh?” was Beck’s first response before looking up. Tremus was standing over him, her current pose reminding him of a superhero. He took a moment just to admire the other bot. Tremus didn’t look very pleased.

“You hesitated.” she repeated.

It took another nanosecond or two for Beck to actually understand what she was saying. When he did, he used a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“O-oh, yeah.” he nervously laughed. “Guess I’m not used to fighting real tournaments yet.”

“No.” Tremus snapped at him. “This has nothing to do with your experience. This has everything to do with the fact that you nearly assimilated me.”

Beck blinked.

“I… I didn’t know I hurt you that much…” he finally said, unsure of what else to say. “Are you alright now?”

“I’m fine.” Tremus quickly told him. She had immediately turned her gaze away from him.

“O-oh. Okay…”

Tremus looked back at him and looked the young bot over.

“You’re different.” she eventually told him. “And yet, it’s not hard to believe you have the same ability as Trinity. Twin confined nightmares…” She shuddered at a certain thought, then gave Beck a hard stare. “Just do one thing, Mighty Number 9- the only thing you need to do so we don’t see another monster like Trinity; have a conscience every now and again. Power corrupts. Make sure White knows it too.”

Beck was about to ask what she meant, but Tremus was gone before he even could. Still sitting in his spot, Beck looked down at his hands as if they could solve the world’s mysteries.

“What does the professor have to do with it?” the bot wondered. Now confused, Beck looked up at the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh.

#mighty number 9 #mighty no. 9 #mn9 #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #writers on tumblr #beck #original character #mno9 #oneshot

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Galactica, Chapter 45 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Aiden’s jealousy worsened, and Bianca invited Courtney to lunch.

This Chapter: Courtney, Adore and Violet all receive unexpected invitations.

***

It was kind of amazing. How Courtney could be sitting across from one of the most influential, powerful women in New York and feel so...well, comfortable. She knew that any sane person would feel horribly intimidated in this situation, but Bianca just kept on making her laugh so much, it was like she forgot to be nervous. Or...well, she wasn’t exactly not nervous, but it was a fluttery kind of excited nervous, curling pleasantly in her abdomen as they bantered back and forth.

“So...what class are you taking later?” Bianca asked, stirring her latte.

“It’s a street jazz class at BDC,” Courtney replied.

“BDC?” Bianca raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it stands for Broadway Dance Cen-”

“Yeah, I know what BDC is, I’m not a moron,” Bianca interrupted, and Courtney bit back a laugh, finding her abrasive style somehow endearing. “I just didn’t realize you were a dancer.”

“Oh. I’m not really. I just uh...want to get into music. Eventually. Like, pop music. When I got to New York, I went on a bunch of auditions, and I realized that my dance background was nowhere near strong enough to be competitive-” Courtney stopped abruptly. Was she saying too much? As nice as Bianca was, she was also one of Fame’s best friends.

Bianca didn’t seem concerned though, simply listening, nodding, a soft smile on her face. She really was so beautiful. Courtney’s heart hammered a bit faster.

“Do you mind...um...not telling Miss Fame about that? I don’t want her to think I’m not committed. I just, feel like she’d disapprove, and I really need that job, so-”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Bianca’s smile deepened, dark eyes shining.

“Thanks.” Courtney smiled back as the waitress set down their food, relieved.

“So how’d you end up at Galactica, anyway? It’s not exactly a direct path from there to being a pop star.”

“Uh, it’s kind of a long story. I was applying for like, any job that would let me stay in the country, and when I saw the opening with Miss Fame, I was thrilled. And then Adore and I were at this club, and we ran into Violet, and...I guess she kind of put in a good word for me.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that,” Bianca mused.

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just… Violet’s always seemed a bit...uptight as fuck?”

Courtney had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud, explaining, “She takes her work very seriously.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Bianca’s brows raised a little, challenging. “Do you?”

“Of course! I’m so lucky to have that job, a million girls would kill to be in my shoes. And Miss Fame, you know, she’s a great boss.” Courtney blinked at Bianca, watching her muffle a laugh with her hand. “What?”

“No, nothing. You’re just cute when you lie.”

That fluttery feeling was back in Courtney’s belly, stronger than ever, as she insisted, “I’m not lying! She’s great! You’re her best friend, you should know-”

“Exactly. I’m her best friend. That’s how I know you’re lying.” Bianca bit down on a sweet potato fry, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, maybe she’s a little…”

“Yes?”

“Well, she’s not the easiest boss, or the most predictable, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a good one.” Courtney crossed her arms, a pretend little pout on her lips.

“Fair enough.”

And with that particular landmine safely side-stepped, Courtney let out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, uh, here’s a question. Do you have any Thanksgiving plans? I know you’re not American, so-”

“Really, what gave that away?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Lucky guess,” Bianca laughed. “Anyway, Adore and I usually go home to New Orleans. But my sister Liz is going through a divorce and she’s apparently just an absolute cunt to anyone who dares even look at her. So we decided to stay in town and avoid that nightmare altogether.”

“That’s nice. Very supportive.”

“Hey, I’m paying for her attorney,” Bianca defended herself, and Courtney laughed. Of course she was paying for her sister’s divorce attorney; she was quickly proving to be one of the most generous people Courtney’d ever met. “But yeah, so...would you have any interest in joining us?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I know Adore would love to have you there,” Bianca said quickly, and after a moment of hesitation, added, “And hey, I’d like to encourage her to hang out with people who read. So, you know, win win.”

Courtney bit her lip, Bianca’s sarcastic deflection as she folded up a napkin in her hands making the whole thing painfully cute.

“No pressure, I just, uh...wanted you to know you’re welcome.”

“I would love to,” Courtney said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the invite, knowing that this was a holiday people spent with family. “I should warn you though, I just went vegan.”

“Oh shit, invite rescinded.”

Courtney giggled, twirling a lock of her hair. “I know, I've already lost 3 friends over it. And I think I’m on very thin ice with Adore. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. I actually eat a lot of vegan food, even tried it myself for a few years,” Bianca said. “I am a lesbian, after all.”

Courtney leaned forward, intrigued. “Is that like a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” Bianca nodded.

“Why do you think that is?” Courtney asked, lifting her glass to her lips, trying to find the straw without looking.

Bianca thought for a moment and then said, “Well...part of it is probably just lefty-feminist politics. And then of course there’s the purely unscientific belief that a plant-based diet makes your pussy taste amazing.”

Courtney choked, spitting out some of her smoothie, cheeks flushing hotly.

A mischievous smile spread across Bianca’s face as she handed over some napkins. She looked both terribly amused and a bit proud of herself.

“Sorry,” Courtney sputtered, wiping up the mess. “I was...not prepared for that.”

“I hope I didn’t destroy your innocence,” Bianca said, voice soft and teasing.

“I’m not that fragile. I’ve been Adore’s best friend for 4 years, remember?” Courtney reminded her.

“Right.”

As Courtney set down the napkins, she looked up and caught Bianca’s eyes again, both of them breaking out into matching grins. She couldn’t quite explain the way her heart thumped faster every time they looked at each other--all she knew was that looking into Bianca’s warm brown eyes, she felt better than she had in months.

***

“Fame?”

Patrick toed his shoes off, resisting the urge to dump his tennis bag by the door. He played tennis every other Saturday morning, tennis and his occasional swims the only form of exercise he had ever found bearable, even though Fame had tried to get him turned into yoga more times than he could count.

Patrick waited for a second, either expecting his wife or his dog to come down to greet him, but neither happened, instead, all he could hear was the faint sound of the TV.

“Fame? Darling?”

Patrick put his bag down, vowing to himself that he’d remember to come back and pick it up, before he made his way into their townhouse.

He found her in the living room. Fame was sitting on the couch in a silk robe, the TV on, the curtains drawn, Charles' head resting on her lap.

“Did you have fun?”

“We finished 5 sets.” Patrick smiled, Fame not actually asking how he had done at tennis, the rules of the game on the long list of things she didn’t care about, though she had shown up to watch him play, the shorts apparently making it worth it. He walked over to the couch, sitting down and leaning in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, when he felt Fame’s hand on his face, blocking him.

“Don’t-” Fame turned her head, pulling herself away from her show as she looked at Patrick through her fingers. “I just had my skin done, and I refuse to let you mess up my microneedling.”

“Ah. Glad it’s not a chemical peel month.” Fame always looked absolutely insane after those, her skin flaking off. It was rather disgusting, and he tried not to be around for those, seeing your wife shed like a lizard weirdly enough rarely doing wonders for a sex life.

“Shut up.”

Patrick grinned, and Fame smiled as she pushed him back, Patrick settling in on the couch so Fame could snuggle up against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “And what are we watching?”

“Snapped.”

Patrick had to hide a snort, Fame absolutely devouring any and all true crime media. When she’d first gotten addicted to that particular show, all about women who murdered their partners, he’d wonder if she was trying to tell him something. Her response when he’d asked, “Keep asking questions like that and you’ll find out,” had made him burst out laughing, his wife’s sardonic, grisly sense of humor one of the things he loved the most about her, only coming out in rare instances but always a delightful surprise. Almost as surprising as her porcelain chicken collection.

“Your bag better not be flung anywhere.”

Ah.

Busted.

***

Katya hummed to herself as she was setting the table, a bottle of wine for Trixie and sparkling water for her chilling in the fridge.

Trixie was locked up in their bedroom, working away on the cost predictions for the Spring prêt-à-porter collection, sweating over numbers and doing everything he could to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He had promised her to come out for dinner, so Katya had arranged a surprise, a gigantic order of Chipotle on its way.

“Hey Katya?”

Katya looked up from where she had been folding the napkin, to see Pearl leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of drop-crotch sweats and a sleeveless jersey tied up around her midriff, certainly not her typical going-out clothes. Was it possible that she was staying in? On a Saturday?

“Everything okay?”

Pearl gave a slow, unconvincing nod, walking forward a few steps.

“Are you sure about that?”

“How did you know that you wanted to be with Trixie forever?”

Katya paused, the napkin still in her hand as she considered Pearl’s question. Normally, she would have made a joke about Trixie’s luscious butt, but judging from Pearl’s face, this wasn’t the time.

“I honestly…still don’t know.”

“Please,” Pearl sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Katya smiled. Pearl and Trixie had been friends for forever, but they didn’t become best friends until after Katya and Trixie had started dating, Pearl moving in with Trixie while she was in rehab for that final time. “I liked being single. I liked having little whirlwind romantic flings and then going back to starfishing across the bed when they were over.”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head, and Katya declared a small victory for making her crack a smile.

“If I’d been single forever, I’d have been perfectly fine.”

Maybe not perfectly fine, but Pearl didn’t need to know that, the things Katya had done before Trixie came into her life not really things she was particularly proud of.

“I liked being free.” Katya shrugged, trying it out.

“Mmmh?”

Bingo.

Katya hid a smirk, Pearl straightening up the moment freedom had been mentioned.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Pearl was struggling in her relationship with Adore, that her friend was probably freaking out about being with someone for any extended amount of time, since Katya had never seen Pearl do anything like what she doing now, long-term relationships not really the Liaison brand.

“But I met Trix, and I like him more than freedom. Or, well, that’s not really accurate. Actually…” Katya sat down beside Pearl. “The truth is, I feel my freest when I’m with him. Knowing that he’s in my corner. But I mean, knowing for sure? I just don’t think certainty is in my nature. Luckily, it’s in his. That’s why we’re a good team.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. You guys are a good team.” Pearl sighed.

“Do you feel like you guys are a good team?” Katya asked carefully.

“Sometimes. I mean...we’re a lot alike. Maybe too much alike. I dunno.” Pearl avoided Katya’s gaze.

“Here’s a question...are you happier with her, or without her?” Katya asked.

“I...don’t know.”

Katya reached for Pearl’s hand. “Pearl, listen. I like Adore, a lot actually. I think she’s sweet and beautiful and funny and she obviously cares about you so much. But I also think that stringing her along when you’re feeling like this...it’s not fair to either of you.”

“I just don’t want to give up so fast!” Pearl exclaimed. “I always do that. I promised myself that I would actually try this time.”

“Well, then maybe you just need to be reminded of why you got together in the first place.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Also...now I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching here,” Katya began.

“No, it’s fine. I asked for your opinion,” Pearl said.

“Well...in my experience...it’s really hard to maintain any kind of real relationship--friendship, romantic, whatever--if you prioritize your ego over the other person’s feelings.”

Pearl blinked at her for a few seconds, letting the comment sink in, before dropping her head to the table with a soft, “fuck…”

Katya chuckled and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “You’ll be alright.”

***

“Drink drink drink drink drink drink drink drink YEAHHHHHHH!” The girls cheered as Adore finished her beer and slammed the empty glass down on the table.

Adore laughed, wiping her mouth, looking around at the group. Originally, when Courtney had introduced her to these girls years ago as “my sorority sisters,” she was picturing stuck-up, prissy little spoiled brats, who would judge her and never accept her - the punk rock lesbian who walked around in bare feet and no bra most of the time.

She was pleasantly surprised when they ended up being fun, and mostly turned their Mean Girls Judgement on others, or each other. Somehow Adore became the untouchable and beloved mascot of the group, the cool, alternative one who gave them all street cred. Tyra loved her because they were both from the South, both from big families and both of them possessed deeply developed bullshit detectors. Tati enjoyed doing shots with her and wreaking havoc (and was good for a sloppy drunken makeout session at least a few times a year) and Morgan - well, Morgan was kind of a cunt, but in the very best way. It was part of her charm, and, as she explained it, part of her Scottish heritage.

This night out with her friends was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her current relationship drama. She’d only spoken to Pearl once since their fight the other day, and it was tense, Pearl claiming to be running into a meeting. After that, nothing. No messages, no calls--she still wasn’t 100% sure where things stood between them.

Adore turned to Courtney, who absentmindedly stirred her drink with a straw, staring into space. She’d already noticed a bit of a change in her mood from a week ago - there was definitely something lighter about her. Still, quiet wistfulness wasn’t her general M.O. in a club - usually she was the first one on the dance floor. Adore nudged her gently with a hip.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Courtney turned to her with a little smile, green eyes soft.

“Are you having fun?”

“Of course! I always have fun with you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Adore’s waist and cuddling closer, laying a head on her shoulder.

Adore pressed the kiss to the top of her head before asking the other question on her mind, “So...um...what’s going on with you and my sister?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard you hung out today…and that you’re joining us for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh. Right. No, I just ran into her by chance.”

“Where the hell are you hanging out, where you run into someone like that?” Morgan asked. “The fuckin’ SoHo house?”

“It was a bookstore.”

“Ugh, smart bitch.”

“And like…she bought me lunch because she knows I’m poor,” Courtney explained, “and since you guys will be in town and I don’t have family here, she just asked if I wanted to come.”

“Oh yeah, no big deal,” Tyra cut in, “She just took you on a date and then invited you to a family holiday…”

“It wasn’t a date!” Courtney said, laughing. “It was really all just very casual. She was just being nice.”

“Being nice for no reason. Sounds like Bianca alright,” Adore said, one eyebrow raised, and Courtney giggled again, shrugging.

“Maybe she’s nicer than you think.”

“Listen, Courtney, I’m glad you’re gonna be there because I love you. But just...you know, my sister is very...uh…”

“Yeah?”

“No, she’s great. Like, she’s the best. But…” Adore trailed off, grabbing a shot from the round Morgan was setting on the table and tossing it back.

It felt weird to be having this conversation. Did she really need to warn Courtney about Bianca? After all, B had joked about hitting on her before but never actually done anything. And what would she even say? ‘My sister is very good at charming the pants off every girl who catches her attention--especially the blondes’? ‘Beware the dimples’? She was certain that Bianca would never make a move on someone who didn’t want it, so...why not just leave it alone?

“You know what? Nevermind. Whose phone is that?” Adore felt her pocket, realizing that the out of control buzzing was her own phone--hopefully not her sister being an impatient cunt about Courtney’s number.

PEARL: Hey. I’m sorry about how I acted on Thursday.

PEARL: And yesterday

PEARL: There’s a warehouse party in Brooklyn tomorrow

PEARL: At the navy yard. Wanna go?

PEARL: It’s right by Grimaldi’s…

PEARL: Best pizza in NY

PEARL: My treat

ADORE: So you like pizza again, huh?

PEARL: It’s my favorite ;)

ADORE: Lol, okay, I’m in. <3

Adore looked back up at her friends, grinning at the group. “Let’s go dance!”

***

Sutan wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t, because that would be ridiculous.

Sutan took a sip of his coffee, watching people walk by the cafe he was sitting at. It was a surprisingly sunny Saturday for October, the air crisp and fresh. He had already waited for 20 minutes, Violet once again late, but Sutan had asked for a chocolate croissant with his first cup of coffee, his girlfriend's time management skills surprisingly terrible.

Sutan was planning to invite Violet to Aspen with him, Raja and Raven for their annual ski trip. It was a tradition of theirs, Raja and he owning a cabin together that they visited every year. He wasn’t a brilliant skier, but he liked the mountain air, the sense of freedom, and of being disconnected while out on the slopes.

He had thought about inviting Violet along for weeks, Raven needling him about whether or not Violet would be coming with him.

Sutan wanted Violet to join them. Wanted to see her all dressed up in winter wear, wanted to teach her how to ski and have drinks by the fire in the evening.

There was just the teeny tiny insignificant detail, that the last time he had asked someone to come with him and Raja to Aspen, it had been a terrible time.

He didn’t hate Kahmora, at least not any more, their divorce lasting longer than their marriage, but he still felt a sense of dread every time he visited L.A. - which was why he avoided the city as much as he could, Kahmora thankfully relocating once they severed ties.

Violet wasn’t Kahmora though, actually, they were as different as day and night.

“Hey.”

Sutan turned his head to see Violet come walking towards him, her coat closely around her, her new bag in hand, and Sutan was glad he had splurged for the largest model Dior made, the purse already stuffed.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Violet pressed a kiss against his cheek, sliding in on the other side of the table, her dress brushing against him. “Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Violet didn’t need to know that he already finished a chocolate croissant, that sin between him and his trainer.

“Ah,” Violet looked guilty for a second, brushing a bit of her hair behind her ear, her earring of the day a tiny golden hook. “Sorry, I was at work and time just flew by-”

“Work?” Sutan twisted his wrist, taking a peek at his Rolex. “It’s 10:33 on a Saturday?”

“I went in at 6.” Violet picked the menu up, the fact that she tried to pretend that she wasn’t going to order avocado on rye kind of cute. “I know I have to turn my dress over to tailoring sooner or later-”

“But you want to finish as much as you can?” Sutan smiled, emptying his coffee cup. “Of course.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Sutan held up his hands in defense. “Promise.” He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Violet’s right hand, her fingertips thankfully not the raw red points he had helped wrap and put ice on. “It’s just very dedicated-”

“This is my first chance to get an actual piece on the runway. It has to be perfect-” Violet was cut off as the waiter came over, Sutan hiding a grin as she ordered avocado on rye, his second breakfast a plate of scrambled eggs and salmon.

“Speaking of perfect.” Sutan moved his chair while the waiter walked away, his stomach tied up in a knot. “I was wondering, if…”

“Yes?” Violet tilted her head, clearly listening, her brow eyes resting on his face.

“If you’d like...” Sutan had no idea why this was so hard, “to come to Aspen with Raja, Raven and I in January?”

“What?” Violet looked genuinely confused.

“Raja and I own a cabin, and-”

“Like, in Colorado? Like Aspen Aspen? Like posh skiing Aspen?”

“Yes?” Sutan lifted a brow. “Do you know any other Aspen?”

“No, but I-” Violet bit her lip, her white teeth sinking into it. “I don’t know how to ski?”

“Oh,” Sutan laughed, the admission not at all what he had expected. “Well, lovely eyes.” Sutan smiled. “I can promise you, that that is not a problem.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #bitney #adore x pearl #vitan #courtney act #bianca del rio #miss fame #katya zamolodchikova #pearl liaison #adore delano #raja gemini #violet chachki #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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mrwinterr · 4 years

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Death of Me (Chase Collins x Dark!Witch!Female Reader) - Part 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Chase Collins x Dark!Witch!Female Reader

Summary: The reader is addicted to the idea of love and Chase is addicted to the idea of ultimate power – both can help each other out.

Warnings: Movie spoilers for The Covenant (2006) and The Love Witch (2016). Supernatural elements [witchcraft], dark themes [mentions of death and really bad people] and smut [18+ only please].

Disclaimer: This story contains dialogue, characters and references taken from both films. It essentially follows the plot of The Covenant with a reader insert. The reader is loosely based on the main character of The Love Witch. I take no credit for any of those elements used. They belong to the creators of the films. I just wanted to try my hand at having these worlds crossover.

Title Inspiration: “Death of Me” by New Politics

A/N: I don’t know who still reads Chase Collins fanfics, but I wanted to get this one out. This will have multiple parts. Comments, likes and reblogs are all appreciated! Enjoy!

Now entering the town of Ipswich.

It’s a bit dreary, but that didn’t bother you. It always appeared as if a dark cloud followed you. Miles and miles away from the city you last called home, driven away by another failed attempt at a relationship – you were no stranger to those – was becoming somewhat of a routine for you.

The earliest unsuccessful relationship of yours recorded was with your parents. They were hardly a part of your life to begin. It wasn’t like you didn’t try at building one with them; they were the ones that didn’t. You might as well had been invisible to them. A parents’ love was the first kind of love one was supposed to encounter, and it was to be unconditional. They simply didn’t care for their own daughter and it hurt you. Maybe if they showed you any ounce of love or what it was really like perhaps you wouldn’t be so obsessed over trying to understand it. Ironically for two individuals who expressed no love at all, you had so much of it. It was just the matter of finding the right person to give it to.

For as long as you could remember, you’d been fending for your own. So, the first thing you did when you managed to save enough money, you packed up and left your parents. The next city was supposed to your second chance, but you were so young. You hadn’t even begun to plan your own future. Hell, you were living in the car you’d purchased on your own by accepting countless odd jobs and getting paid under the table. For a few months, you had waitressed at a small restaurant, where a group of interesting people, to say the least, caught your attention.

They were regulars to the eatery and had been watching you with a purpose. They could smell you were somewhat of a troubled youth that needed guidance. They welcomed you to their inner circle and soon into their coven. Yup, they were witches and surprisingly that didn’t bother you about them. They were good people to you. You owed it to whoever these people worshiped because they helped provide you an education, shelter, food and lessons in magic – practicing spells and concocting potions – and even more so in taking back control of your own life. This was now your family. You finally felt a sense of belonging with this group.

None of them had any actual internal powers, but they each individually excelled in different aspects of the craft. They taught you how to focus on concentrating energy, using your magic, to gain results; if you could achieve that you’d be the one in control, and essentially have power over the subject. You also learned that there were different types of witches – ones that were made into witches and ones born as witches. You had never known to encounter one that was born into a bloodline, but you had been warned that they would be much stronger than you, so that alone motivated you in perfecting the craft should one come to you as a threat.

You became enamored by witchcraft. You felt reborn through it. In a sense, it saved you. On top of that, you had nothing to lose, so why not sell your soul, right? While you certainly felt loved by the witches, you still yearned for a different type of love.

The first failed relationship in which you were intimately involved in was with a guy your age at the time. Looking back at it, you can’t help but to laugh. Oh boy, what a mistake that was.

With the help of your newfound family, you were able to enroll into the local high school. Unwanted attention came with the territory of being the new girl and you were no exception to one of the most sought-after guys in your class. The next thing you knew, you were losing your virginity to him then only for him to leave you the following day. At that tender age, you thought you loved him, and you wanted him to love you. This is why it was comical. What did you know about love at 16 anyway? So impressionable and so naive.

This was the first time you experimented with love spells and potions and he was your first victim. You had been warned about messing with love spells before, but what spell didn’t come without a warning? It seemed to work, but the more time you spent with him the less you wanted to. It turned out he wasn’t in any way what you wanted at all, an even bigger mess than you were portrayed...and maybe even loved you too much. At least that’s what was mentioned in his suicide note.

His death traumatized you for the first few months and the High Priestess decided it was best you continue elsewhere. Initially, that scared you because you thought they were kicking you out, but you were bonded to them and, with another warning about love spells, she assured you that there are plenty of their kind willing to take another in, you’d just have to be sworn in all over again.

As soon as you recovered a year later, with the immense support of your new coven, you were almost an adult and ready to find the one...the new one. And this one seemed to have it going for him. He was attractive, smart and respectable, but he just had too many feelings and it turned you off. He was a fucking pussy. You swore you could still hear his sobs ringing in your ears. You wanted to love a man, not care for a child. The mental institution he ended up being committed in would be able to give him that.

You moved on fairly quickly not wanting to be reminded of the previously failed conquest, however, you should’ve seen the next one coming, but, again, you were hopeful. Third time was not a charm, it was a tragedy. Two lost individuals, one with a broken past and the other battling with substance abuse, trying to find solace in each other was a recipe for disaster. His problems were soon becoming humdrum. As if you didn’t have any problems of your own to deal with, but who was ever there for you? He constantly ached and ached for you, begged for your help. Fucking clingy. You just couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse for him anymore. Long story short, he’s six feet under a makeshift grave. Metaphorically, he had dug it on his own a long time ago.

Determined to bounce back, you found yourself traveling to a quaint colonial town in Massachusetts. A member of your previous coven recommended Ipswich and believed you would find the one in your cards there. Not sure whether or not to believe them or if “the one” really existed and was waiting for you, the notion of having nothing to lose decided for you and made Ipswich your new destination.

You’re unloading box after box in your single dorm room, a special request you made so you could practice magic in peace, when someone pokes their head in the door you left opened. It was only open because you weren’t able to drag in some of the larger boxes inside yet and they must’ve spotted them.

“Need any help?” The deep voice causes you turn to the doorway, where a guy, who’s tall, no doubt athletic, a head full of dark hair, a hint of innocence surrounding him, greets you with a sweet smile.

“Um, yeah actually,” you reply with a smile to match the tone. You could carry your own, but why turn down the free labor and perhaps even a show. He was cute. That much you deduced from watching the way his body moved, the skin that peeked out from when his shirt would ride up as he bent down and lifted boxes of your belongings into your room.

“Oh! Please be careful with that one!” You warn seeing the box he was currently handling marked as fragile. It contained some of your bottles and they were practically sacred to you. He absorbs the warning and places the particular box gently aside.

“I’m Tyler by the way,” he says after setting the final box next to your feet and standing upright with a respectable amount of distance between you two. You introduce yourself and offer a now genuine smile. You didn’t want to fall victim to yet another nightmare of a relationship, but you kept thinking about what your fellow member told you – the one is in Ipswich and the one could be in front of you right now.

Tyler ends up staying a little longer as you expected that night and you let him. He had a presence you didn’t feel with towards the others. There was just a different kind of energy there.

The two of you were getting along just fine, but you decided to take it upon yourself for safe measures with him and sneak in a little something you made. You say to yourself maybe he’s worth a shot. And he was. You went on a couple of dates with Tyler, met his three closes friends Caleb, Pogue and Reid, but you wouldn’t consider yourself close with them; they just came with the territory. Yet that energy Tyler had around him kept haunting you.

You weren’t sure if you were losing your touch or had a typo in your spell book, but you began to notice the effects didn’t last long with him in particular. He was almost immune to it. The spells were designed to enhance qualities and features about the other person and if you noticed any trend in using love spells was that it showed one’s true self.

Tyler started to become dull to you, like there was no sense of excitement with him. Harsh, not even magic could help you. Afterall, you can’t work with what’s already there. He had his looks going for him, he was a nice boy, and he was certainly several steps above the others in bed, but he never challenged you and you began forgetting he was even in the same room as you. You could’ve sworn he was about to cry when you told him you wanted to just be friends, but he accepted it because he was whipped. No backbone whatsoever. Well, at least he was still alive.

His loss would’ve probably hit you a little different because he was still a sweet guy…and you didn’t need to be given a reason to leave Ipswich too soon. You were just getting started here. His friends didn’t even seem to hold anything against you, not that you really cared. You weren’t interested in going down the line of the Sons of Ipswich; a little history lesson you learned from Kate, Pogue’s girlfriend, whom you unwillingly also formed a friendship with by default. Apparently, these boys were a little prominent here descending from four of the five families that colonized the town. Besides, if Tyler was boring, you weren’t willing to get into the whole mama’s boy routine Caleb kept up with and Reid proved to be too obnoxious for your own taste.

A private school full of rich kids like Spencer Academy, there were bound to be more guys at your disposal. You internally praised the member of your coven for recommending Ipswich. Your conquest to find real love never wanders too far off, but why not have some fun along the way?

Lately, you kept to yourself in your dorm; biding by with your teenage life in regularly attending your classes, occasionally hanging out with Kate – shopping or listening to her rant about another one of Pogue’s jealousy episodes – show face at Nicky’s once in a while and of course practice magic. There was a party tonight near the woods and almost everyone who was anyone was going to be in attendance. You thought you could use a break after a long week.

You parked your car nearby a bunch of others and managed to spot Kate waving you down to join her. Next to her was someone you hadn’t seen before. Kate introduced her to you as Sarah, her new roommate this semester. She seemed nice. Being in her shoes not too long ago, you decided to try and make her feel welcomed.

“So, tell me. Who is who that’s here,” Sarah asks, loosening up and it’s nice to see a sense of normalcy in your life; making new friends and having a good time like a person your age should. There’s a sense of danger and risk being at this party with violating trespassing signs, a huge fire and lots and lots of drugs and alcohol with underaged teenagers.

“First things first. Him over there,” Kate starts pointing at a source of one of your disgust, “that’s Aaron Abbot. He’s a prick. He treats girls like shit; just ask y/n.” Sarah looks at you with a look of curiosity and hint of concern, but you just give her a mix between a shrug and nod letting her know you’re okay and that Kate is right.

Aaron was someone you messed with in private to test a new potion out after failing with Tyler. You’d seen guys like Aaron before. If you learned anything from the first one it was that guys like Aaron were your textbook high school jackass. Thinking about it made your blood boil. The humiliation you felt when you realized he had only pursued you because you were fresh meat and to become just a notch on his bedpost. How’d that saying go? Fool me once shame on me, fool me twice…

If there was one other thing you loved more than the idea of love, it was sweet revenge. You anticipated for it to be nasty with Aaron after you cut ties with him. No one even seemed to believe him when he tried to spread awful things about you. You had a decent reputation at Spencer. You mentally praised yourself at job well done with that one. Maybe you weren’t losing your touch after all.

You briefly excused yourself from the girls to look for a drink. You scan the perimeter trying to locate a cooler, but you become distracted when you see a hint of a flash between some trees in your peripheral. As it occurred something seemed to also blow right past you; something you only felt with when in proximity of other supernatural elements, but yet unlike any other. You look to the other attendees and realize no one noticed anything unusual. When you look back towards the direction where the light came from, you see a figure walking out from the woods.

You take a hard look at the person trying to recognize them, but you don’t. A new guy. He’s got a certain swagger in his steps, dark hair tousled and a little spiked at the ends, a sharp jawline and eyes that were too dark for you be able to tell what color they really were, and it being nighttime didn’t aid you in figuring it out.

He must’ve caught your gaze because he’s now staring right back at you. His stare is cold, and you feel frozen, even unable to turn away. And yet again, something feels different and it only gets even more prominent the longer you look at him. You try not to ponder too long about it and decide to avoid him. You concentrate enough energy on your body until you were finally able to get yourself to walk away. Not wanting to stick around long enough for anything to come out of that, you continue your quest to find a drink, not looking back.

Unsuccessful, you head back towards the girls that were clearly in a scuffle with mega bitch Kira Snider, who is actually dating Aaron and has a personal vendetta against you. How were you supposed to know he was already dating her when you were fucking with him? Poor girl doesn’t love herself enough to be with trash like that.

You notice the Sons of Ipswich have already arrived and are trying to defend Kate and Sarah. Right before a fight is about to ensue, someone intervenes and successfully calms both parties down...well sort of. Kira didn’t really take too kindly at his words and Aaron at the puke that was dripping off the back of his letterman all of a sudden.

It was him. He looked a lot nicer up close. The guys thank him for helping diffuse the situation and you hear him introduce himself as Chase Collins. You can feel his eyes on you, but before the line of introductions could get to you, the DJ is announcing the party is a bust and the cops are zoning in. Soon, you break away from the group and take off in the direction of your parked car.

You happen to notice that Sarah is struggling to get her car started. You think about helping her, but see Reid is already on it. The sons are always saving the day, aren’t they? Was your last stance on that before you drove away from the scene. The adrenaline didn’t subside until you were on a clear road back to the housing buildings.

You just about have the key inserted and are about to unlock your door when you hear a voice.

“Some party, huh?” It sounded like just a couple of steps away.

You look down towards the hallway and see Chase standing a few doors down.

“It was kind of boring,” you admit. The only thing that would’ve probably made it exciting was if someone almost died.

He laughs lightly at that and nods showing he agreed to some degree.

“You didn’t have the least bit fun at all?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side a bit for show and pretend to think, but your mind was already made up. The party was a total bust and waste of your time, so no, you didn’t have any fun at all, but you could have some fun now. Hot guy you barely knew in front of you, attempting conversation – you thought he just had to have wanted something.

“You want to have some real fun?” You challenge as you reach deep into your coat pocket and produce a custom flask. It sparkles slightly from the lights of the hallway reflecting it as you wave it around giving him a devious look.

Chase presses his lips together and brings a hand to the back of his neck to rub at it, showing some form of nervous or conflicting habit, before looking around to see if anyone was watching this happen. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, but you don’t give him much time to reply and proceed to push open your door and walk in. You don’t close it though.

You’re shrugging off your coat and kicking off your shoes when you hear the door shut behind you. You smile to yourself because he’s fallen right into your trap.

“You know, I never got your name,” he says while admiring your room. The only source of light comes from a dimly lit lamp and the strings of light surrounding the tapestry against the wall next to your bed. You always kept your secret hidden and out of plain sight in fear of someone breaking in, so as far as you were concerned, you weren't at him catching onto anything.

“It’s y/n.”

Chase nods and says he likes it. You try not to roll your eyes at that before you turn his way, throwing the flask you were flaunting earlier in his direction and then plopping down on your bed. He swiftly catches it and walks towards the bed.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” He teases taking a seat next to you.

“Why don’t you find out?” You sit up matching him.

He smirks while unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. You watch as his initial reaction is to cringe at its contents. His eyes wring shut, nose scrunched up, lips pressed tightly together and the rest of his expression showing his body’s response at an attempt to process the hard liquor.

“Shit! That’s fucking strong,” he comments staring at the flask as if he could see through the silver and inspect the liquid.

“Finish it,” you command, your voice was smooth but still assertive – a deadly combination. He’s almost hypnotized by your cold and striking stare, he only feels compelled to listen. You observe the way his lips shone from the liquid that coated it, the way his throat contracted when he swallowed it down and how he peeked through one of his eyes to get a look at you watching him ingest every last drop and when he’s done he lunges at you. Chase doesn’t miss a beat when his lips meld with yours.

You pull him down and closer by the lapels of his thick coat before you’re kicking at the ends of it with your bare feet trying to help you rid him of it. You momentarily feel all his weight press into you as he nimbly tries to remove the outerwear, his lips never leaving yours. You hear a click at your door and pull away from him to see if someone had entered.

You don’t see any sign of disturbance, but you could’ve sworn you heard something. Chase doesn’t let that distract you as he brings you in by grabbing the back of your neck to reconnect your lips with his. The moment he slips his tongue in to meet with yours you melt. You had to stress this one, but he was a really good kisser. You might’ve met your match as his tongue continued to show dominance against yours.

His drive only fuels you and you’re able to summon enough strength to roll over and get him underneath your body. You place a few kisses on his face and neck, running your hands down his clothed chest before you lift the end of his shirt up to reveal his toned torso and also begin planting kisses there as well.

Your fingers deftly unfasten his belt and pop open the front of his dark jeans. Chase lets out a small sigh in finding relief to the sudden tightness in his clothing. The sound of you slowly dragging down his zipper is loud. It’s only that excruciating because you’re taking your sweet time. You pull apart his pants to get a close look at what you’re going to be dealing with. The outline of his cock just with what you can make out through his boxers is rather impressive. It twitches from your hot breath due to the close proximity.

You shoot him a crooked smile before wrapping a hand around his length. He hisses at the action and tries his best to keep his hips grounded as you continue to stroke him and every now and then give a little squeeze to his heavy balls, the soft vibrations of your nails scratching through the fabric torturing him. Cute. He’s trying to hold back. So, you kick it up a notch by licking a fat strip along the base and ignoring the fabric that sticks to your tongue.

It works because suddenly Chase props himself with one hand behind him and using the other to grab yours, the one that is still gripping at the waistline of his jeans and he stares you down. This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him; at the eyes you couldn’t make out earlier and make a mental note of what color they were. He’s fucking gorgeous. Clouded with lust, you don’t even sense it but it’s almost like you’re under a spell until you feel the tight grip he has on you loosen up and he lies back down allowing you to carry on.

You sit up, between his spread legs and reach around to pull his footwear off. He instinctively lifts his hips up when your fingers sneak their way into the elastic of his boxers. You expertly pull them down along with his jeans before they’re joining the rest of his clothes on the floor.

You reclaim your position back on top, your dress draping over his exposed bottom half as you straddle him. Chase’s hands start bunching up the material to caress the soft skin of your thighs and hips before he’s tugging at it. You help him and cross your arms to pull the material over your head and leave you in your undergarments.

Chase runs his tongue along his lips and sucks in a harsh breath taking in your appearance. You love the way he’s biting his lip when you add pressure into grinding your clothed core onto his bare one; so much you want to see him draw blood. The material of your underwear is so thin, it slides off to the side with each passing grind of your hips that get sloppier and sloppier than the next, it’s now skin on skin contact. You feel the ridges and prominent under vein scrape across your growingly wet pussy along with the way the crown of his engorged cock nudges deliciously against your clit.

You’re gripping harshly at his shirt; it starts to stretch when you pull it in a downwards motion because the sensation you’ve both created from the constant gyrations causes a rise out of you. You feel Chase grab at the rolled-up material and pull it down your legs. When you’ve discarded of it, he takes over reigns this time and kicks your legs apart to make room for him.

The unseen and unspoken tension between you two was enough foreplay in itself. There’s no hesitation when he slips right into you. It’s a smooth entrance from how wet you from the grinding and the cum that managed to escape prematurely from him. There’s an abundance of euphoria that the each of you emote from the ragged breathing, provocative moans to the sting of your skin slapping.

You think this isn’t anything more than pure want, but with a snap of his hips, you feel another strange feeling blow right through you. It was like the one you felt at the party, only a little more intense, but you didn’t even have time to mull over it when he finds the right spot in you. He hits it repeatedly and he’s not missing at all.

Chase sees the spaced-out look on your face, so he starts kissing you again. Your limbs wrap themselves around his body as you tightly cling onto him. Your hands desperately rake themselves on his back, trying to hold on from the immense pleasure he’s brewing in you, but you have a hard time with his pesky shirt still on until you finally manage to pull it over his head and have him fully naked.

His grunts and moans increase in volume when your walls retaliate by clenching around him from the perfect aim of his thrusts. You bring his head up to yours and smoosh your lips together with his. Chase then hooks an arm under one of your legs and hikes that leg up higher for a better angle. It’s so good you let out a string of lewd moans that causes your lips to repeatedly pull away from his. You curse at the insane amount of pleasure that he’s giving you like none of the others have before. You even catch the stupid smug look on his face when your orgasm washes over you. You grip tightly a handful of his cheeks, your hips lifting off the bed as they press against his to leave absolutely no space in between and in the process effectively allowing him to completely bottom out. You wanted to feel every inch of him when it happened.

He places a hand next to your head to help his stance, it’s a shaky one because he’s just about ready to bust. The tempo Chase sets, so relentless, had caused your breasts to bounce out of the confines of your bra.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warns shamelessly. The way your breasts swayed, the harsh intake of each breath evident from the sight of your stomach tightening and untightening, your legs quivering around him and the fact that you were still riding through the aftershocks of your release, your walls were helplessly fluttering around him – just watching you wrecked with the satisfaction he brought on should’ve done it for him right then and there.

“Then cum,” you dare at him, your lips brushing his with each word that comes out next, “inside me…do it.” And like a snap of your fingers, you feel Chase spill deep inside you. You open your eyes wide enough and see something unusual when you look at him. A ring of fire flashes in his eyes very briefly before he closes them from the exhilaration. Each pump of cum that shoots out of him is followed by the accompanied throb that causes the head of his cock to poke at your sweet spot again, and in doing so initiates a small tidal wave of pleasure to crash right through you again.

Once he regained some composure and control of his breathing, his eyes reopen and they’re back to normal. Guess you were just seeing stars, or fire, in him. You carefully cup at his face with both hands and absentmindedly trace along at his boyish features; from the brow line of his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. He’s a fucking work of art. A lethargic smile splays out across his mouth and you return the display of affection with a smile of your own and giving him a kiss, which he immediately reciprocates to; no tongue or fervor in it, just of sweet contentment.

While it was good, more than good, you’re too sensitive, you’re not sure if you have enough in you for a second go. Careful to not elicit another round, you wiggle your hips a bit with him still inside in hopes to get him to move off of you.

Chase slowly and cautiously pulls out, and you feel the trickle of his cum leaking out of you. He inwardly praises at the filthy sight of it all before settling next to you. As you’re about to drift off into sleep, your mind starts turning. Something about Chase made you feel strange. There was a different aura about him, and it was evoking a certain emotion from you.

A/N: This is me holding back on smut. This series is going to be quick because as mentioned, it’s The Covenant just with a reader and her own agenda caught in the crossfire...and an excuse for me to write Chase Collins smut, so if you're craving some of that then stick around!

#chase collins smut #chase collins x reader #chase collins x y/n #chase collins x you #chase collins imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader

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gaycrouton · 5 years

Note

oh my goodddd i loved your underwear fic and would be so happy if you ever decided to continue it

Thank you so much!! For those that didn’t see it, a while back ago I posted this fic called Lingerie. Here are a few more random bonus takes!

Lingerie Bonus:

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you wearing your coat?” he asked, finally broaching the question that’d been on his mind for the last two hours. He’d initially not taken much notice, but then he started picking up on the way she kept trying to roll up her sleeves and failing miserably because of the bulk. He’d thought she’d just forgotten until it became overwhelmingly obvious this was a purposeful suffering she was putting herself through. he knew his new partner had some quirks, hell so did he, but this just seemed uncomfortable.

“Um, I’m just a little cold,” she shrugged. That might have passed if it weren’t for the extreme binaries working in the basement in winter came with. In this realm of the building, the heat was always either broken, leaving them to freeze, or it was overcompensating, leading them to boil. This was a boiling day and he was uncomfortable even looking at her.

“Scully,” he repeated accusatorily, not letting the lie slide.

“I’m dressed innapropriately for work,” she replied, letting her eyes fall back down to the paperwork on her desk as if to signal her indifference on the subject.

Every fibre in his body wanted to make a suggestive joke, but he was too worried about her overheating in the name of modesty. “It’s just a paperwork day,” he offered. She didn’t say anything and he followed with a sympathetic, “It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m not wearing an undershirt,” she blurted as if it was a big reveal.

It wasn’t.

“So?” he prompted, uncertain of what was causing the issue.

“I’m wearing a thin white blouse and a black bra,” she elaborated, still not making eye contact, but not making much progress on the paper she’d been staring at.

Oh.

He laughed sympathetically and did his very best not to imagine what that looked like. “No one ever comes down here but us,” he offered.

She finally looked up at him and she looked like she was carefully trying to choose her words.

Double oh.

“I hope I’ve never made you feel uncomfortable-” he started apologetically. Was she really suffering because she thought he’d just leer at her?

She cut him off immediately as if already knowing what he was thinking. “No, it’s not you, Mulder.”

They stared at each other for a moment before awkwardly laughing off the uncomfortable situation. “I just didn’t want you to think this is how I normally dress. I didn’t even realize how noticeable it was until I took off my coat at security.”

“You can dress however you want,” he offered. At her raised eyebrow he quickly added, “I mean, what’s important is your work. I’d never judge you for whatever you choose to, or not to, wear.” He was digging himself in a hole, but based off her smile, she wasn’t mad.

She stood up and started unbuttoning her coat. “Good, because then I’d have to start being vocal about my opinions on your ties.”

He let out a little laugh before looking down at his current tie with pigs on it. “Hey, what’s wrong with my ties?” he asked before lifting his eyes back up to her.

No wonder she’d been shy. The silk blouse was nearly see through and her black bra was undoubtably visible through it. He’d taken a big glimpse of her back as she hung up her coat, but only saw the two front cups for all of one millisecond before giving her privacy and darting his eyes down to his work.

“Aside from the fact they’re tacky?” she teased goodnaturedly. He could hear the smile in her voice, but didn’t want to look at her and accidentally look down and make her regret her decision.

He was able to keep his eyes away for the whole rest of the day and for that, when the coat was back on her shoulders in preparation for the walk out, she gave him a grateful smile and an appreciative “Thank you, Mulder.”

He was proud of himself for proving that he was a good partner and would never oogle her, but later that night his thoughts kept flashing to that hint of black lace and he remembered a millesecond’s glance can go a long way with a photographic memory.

“Mulder! I need your help!”

The bright flash of the crime scene techs make him blink his eyes and wipe a hand over his face. He’d been here once before, when he quite literally kicked her door down to rush to the bathroom and find her fighting with Tooms.

Sometimes he liked to imagine what it’d be like for them to be the average, everyday partners. Would she have ever invited him over for a cup of coffee? Or would he have never seen the inside of Scully’s domain if it wasn’t the scene of a crime?

Wordlessly, passively listening to the ongoing conversations around him that were saying nothing more than abduction, blood, missing, is that her partner? He had to see everything - he had to make sure no stone was left unturned.

He entered forbidden domain without hesitation. Of all the times he imagined being in Scully’s bedroom-

He shook the thought from his mind and glanced analytically around the room. It was as he’d imagined: clean, orderly, feminine, so very Scully. A closet in the corner was cracked open and he mindlessly went over to it. Realistically, he knew it was his memory of her telling him about Donnie Pfaster keeping her in the closet mixed with his desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, Duane Barry was stupid and this was all a misunderstanding and he’d find her there. But, as his heart knew, as soon as he opened the door there was nothing.

Well, nothing wasn’t accurate. This was the closet that she kept her clothes and hamper in, and upon opening it he was met with a strong waft of her scent and all the clothes he’d do anything to see filled again.

His eye was caught by a cup of a white bra dangling off the laundry basket, caught on the rim by the bridge in the middle and a matching pair of white panties sitting on top of the other dirty clothes. He swallowed thickly and felt a crashing wave of guilt for feeling like he was invading her privacy.

He needed to find her.

III

Either she didn’t hear him knock on the adjoining door or he didn’t hear her tell him to wait. His brain was too overwhelmed in this moment to actually know which it was.

All he knew was that he just walked into see Scully on all fours with her ass in the air towards him as she looked under her bed for something. That in and of itself would have been enough to kill him, but she was currently in the middle of getting dressed and all she was wearing was her underwear. Which, he was eternally greatful for because he may have just died on the spot if not.

Her back was pale and milky with an intermitten smattering of freckles that reminded him of starlight, but what stood out most in this moment was how round and perfect her-

“Mulder!” she screamed as she completely fell to the floor, as if trying to dissolve into it. Her hands quickly came to her front to cup her breasts as she whipped her head over her shoulder.

He only met her eyes for a moment before snapping them shut and running back to his room, slamming the door behind him. “Scully, I’m so sorry!”

It would be a miracle if he didn’t crash, plain and simple. It was just impossible not to look.

Scully’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat, a gift he’d forever be envious of, but as she slept she inadvertenly unbuttoned the top button she’d previously had buttoned which opened her blouse down to the front middle clasp of her bra. She was dead to the world, her lips parted slightly as her chest rose with each deep breath. It was just him alone in the car now with the sounds of the seventies and Scully’s sleeping body turned towards him.

Because of course she was.

What really didn’t help was the intermitten groans she’d release as she’d squirm in her seat in an attempt, he presumed, to get more comfortable. Oh, and to add to it all, her skirt was riding up as her hand just innocently rested at the hem. It was a sight that was as endearing as it was arousing.

She made a gasping sound and his eyes left the road to look at her face, which was now accented with a furrowed brow of sleepy concentration. Was she having a nightmare?

His own brows furrowed in concern as he glanced between the stretch of desolate highway and the passanger seat to make sure she was okay. From mile marker 66 to 78, she gasped three times, moaned twice, and readjusted one time that resulted in her brushing her breasts against his arm that was resting on the middle console, and now Mulder was cursing himself for not wearing better pants.

“-der,” she whispered. He’d heard those three letters together enough to know it was the ending half of him name, but he’d never heard them in quite that inflection. Curiosity started to turn into hopeful understanding as he realized that Dana Scully, his beautiful partner, sounded like she was having a sex dream.

But there was no way-

He glanced at her colored cheeks as she sleepily nuzzled herself against the headrest. Against his better judgement, his eyes darted down to the valley of her breasts and stared appreciatively before she breathily whispered, “Fuck.”

Then, with the timing and grace of a bull in a china shop, he drove over a rumble strip and she woke up with a start. “Wha’s wrong?” she slurred sleepily but alarmed.

“Sorry,” he coughed, readjusting himself in his seat while praying she didn’t see his hard on. “I was looking at a billboard and drove over a rumble strip,” he explained, hoping she didn’t turn around and notice the large expanse of nothingness behind them.

Luckily she was too preoccupied with herself to notice anything else. She started pulling down her skirt and rebuttoning her shirt before squirming in her seat uncomfortably. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, uh-” she started, but stopped herself.

“Hm?”

“Did I talk in my sleep at all?” she asked nervously.

With her behaviour confirming his hopeful suspicions, he bit back a smile. “No, not at all.”

Extra Bonus

She wasn’t sure if there was a sight more jarring but welcome to her than that of a sleeping Mulder in nothing but his boxers in her bed. It was a sight she’d imagined countless times over, though she’d never admit it, but she didn’t think it would take these circumstances for it to have to happen.

She’d seen his body in an assortment of ways and segments throughout their partnership, but she’d never gotten a chance to really appreciate it up close. It truly wasn’t fair that he lived on a diet of fast food and Kraft Mac and Cheese yet could simply run on occasion and have a body like this, but she was too stunned by it to be resentful.

This is what he was hiding beneath his clothes every day. Mulder was always kind, gentle, and sweet towards her, but this was a body of elegant strength and power. He wore his masculinity well and she wasn’t saying that jsut because, in her efforts to document his recovery, she’d observed his nocturnal tumesence come and go in flares.

It just amused her to no end he was sleeping like an angel on the very same spot she’d been in while imagining him with her hand between her legs.

Though he’d been wearing a little less in her imagination.

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #I feel very rusty so I hope this is even decent lol #THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT BOO #x files fanfic #mulder #scully

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

The Trouble with Prom Movies

Bechloe Week 2019: High School

Summary: Beca hates everything about prom. That is, everything except the prom queen.

For @rejection-isnt-failure, who asked for a dialogue prompt like this SEVERAL months ago. Sorry it took me so long, fam.

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: T

AO3 and FFN

“I really hate you for this.”

“You love me.”

“Um, no. Guess again.”

“Aren’t you having fun?”

“Pouring lemon juice on an open wound would be more fun and less painful,” Beca deadpanned.

Jesse frowned down at her. “Hey, don’t be mean.”

Beca rolled her eyes but tried to contain her bad mood. “Sorry, I know, senior prom, we gotta enjoy.”

Jesse had some ridiculous movie-based fantasy about their senior prom, and how they just had to go together because “Can you even say you were in high school if you didn’t go to senior prom?” Which was completely ridiculous, because of course high school revolved around much more than just a senior prom. But, still, he was her best friend and she knew how much movies (and, therefore, every teen ritual enclosed in such movies) meant to him, so there they were. At prom. Beca’s worst nightmare, basically.

“Exactly,” Jesse said triumphantly, then winced. “Can you stop stepping on my feet?”

Beca muttered an apology under her breath. It wasn’t her fault that heels were both uncomfortable to walk and dance in.

She and Jesse revolved on the spot, dancing with one another awkwardly in the middle of an overcrowded gymnasium. Yep, rather than shelling out for a nice prom venue, their school had enough in the budget to host prom in the gym. Not that Beca really cared where prom was held, but it was stiflingly warm, packed with hundreds of almost-adults dancing badly in their fancy prom clothes. Streamers hung on the walls, and a poorly-done cardboard reproduction of the Eiffel Tower stood in the corner, wrapped in white lights, a constant reminder of the cliché Paris theme. An arch swooped over the main entrance of the gym, next to which stood a somewhat decent photo area with a backdrop of Paris that the art kids had painted.

Overall, Beca had to admit it wasn’t bad, but still. It was prom. And she had to wear a black dress that she kind of hated in order to match Jesse’s black tux.

And she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to that familiar red hair, which, even from halfway across the gym, stood out clearly from the crowd. Chloe wore her Prom Queen’s crown as she danced gracefully with her Prom King, Chicago. Because of course the Golden Couple would win Prom King and Queen; she was the cheerleading captain and he was the quarterback.

It was gross and predictable and Beca really wished it didn’t bother her as much as it did.

But she had AP Biology with Chloe and had talked with her a few times, and, well, Beca has eyes. So seeing Chloe with Chicago—instead of, say, with her—bothered her a lot.

“Sorry, Beca,” Jesse muttered, following her line of sight.

Beca sighed. She’d told Jesse all about Chloe (only after he badgered her endlessly for the details). “This blows.”

Jesse nodded understandingly. “As your lesbro, I truly apologize.”

“Yeah, well, since neither of us could go with who we really want…” Beca shrugged.

Jesse’s expression clouded and he looked over Beca’s shoulder, where she knew Aubrey Posen and her date danced.

“You two don’t have a lot in common, you know?” Beca asked, bringing Jesse’s attention back on her. “She’s, like, the entire prom committee.”

Dancing this close to Jesse, she could see the way his eyebrows drew together just slightly. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Like you and Chloe have anything in common.”

Well, he got her there.

“Whatever,” she grumbled.

“Good comeback,” he smiled, and carefully guided her into a dip just as the slow song ended. Maybe it should have been weird dancing with Jesse to a slow song, but it really wasn’t. They’d known each other since they were kids living next door to each other; they’d been in worse situations.

(Thankfully, Beca had realized she was gay before Jesse had tried to take her on any awkward dates, so they’d avoided that, at least.)

When Jesse pulled her back upright, she dropped her arms from around his shoulders and stepped away. “Okay dude, I’m gonna go get some punch. Hopefully someone bothered to spike it with—”

She cut off abruptly, spotting something that made her stomach clench.

“Uh, Earth to Beca?” Jesse called, waving his hand in front of her face.

She batted his arm down with an impatient sound. “Dude, look.”

“What?” Jesse asked, craning his neck to look around the gym. “Are Amy and Bumper making out again? Because I just ate dinner before this and—”

“No! Gross! I think Chloe and Chicago are fighting,” Beca said, trying to point subtly in their direction. “Be cool.”

“What?” he whipped around and stared, most definitely not subtly.

“Jesse!”

“Oooh, trouble in paradise for the happy couple,” Jesse said as they watched Chloe and Chicago, who were clearly engaged in a heated argument. Chloe stood back from him, leaning forward and pointing a manicured nail at his chest as she ranted, her expression angry. He only glared back at her.

“She looks upset,” Beca said, concerned. She wished she could hear the argument, but they were too far away and the music (who picked Katy Perry?) was too loud.

Jesse shrugged. “Maybe she’s mad because he didn’t get her a corsage to match the dress.”

“Shut up,” Beca hissed, not looking away from Chloe for a second. “Oh shit, look…”

Chloe had whirled on the spot, her light blue dress fluttering and billowing with the motion. She stormed away from Chicago, pushed her way through the throng of students, and made her way under the archway and out of the gym. Chicago only glared after her, then turned to make his way to the punch.

When Beca glanced over, Jesse was already watching her.

It was probably a bad idea. She and Chloe only sort of knew each other, and her crush would be better kept in check instead of fed, but no one else seemed to have noticed the fight, and no one was bothering to check on Chloe, so...

“Should I…?”

“Go!” Jesse urged, waving her away. “Ain’t nothing gonna stop my girl!”

Beca was already moving toward the exit. “Not your girl!” she called over her shoulder, weaving through the crowd.

“Look at my girl!” Jesse shouted as Beca ducked (unnecessarily) under the arch leaving the gym.

Outside the gym, Beca looked around frantically, head swiveling in search of one beautiful redhead with a blue dress. Chloe could have gone anywhere; the library, the bathroom, the auditorium… or simply outside to the front of the school. Beca saw her, illuminated by the exterior building lights, standing on the other side of the glass doors of the main entrance.

Pausing only to grab her leather jacket from coat-check (the sophomore boy running it looked like a little kid and still tried to hit on her), Beca followed Chloe and went outside.

It was chilly for a night in April, especially compared to the heatwave that was the gym. Thankfully, Chloe hadn’t gotten far and was sitting on the main stairs leading up to the building’s entrance, her back to Beca as she looked over the main parking lot.

Abruptly, Beca felt awkward. This wasn’t really her place. She barely knew Chloe. She should probably have just gone back inside, because clearly, Chloe wanted to be left alone.

But...

Beca walked forward, offering Chloe a small smile when she looked over her shoulder at the sound of her approach. “Can I join you?” she asked when she got closer.

Chloe only hesitated for a second before nodding, and Beca took that as a good sign. Being careful of her dress, she perched herself on the step next to Chloe, noticing with some concern that Chloe was shivering; she hadn’t remembered to bring a coat.

“You cold?” Beca asked, then immediately wanted to sink into the steps and disappear. That’s why she was shivering, duh.

“I’m good,” Chloe shrugged, not looking at her.

“Oookayyy,” Beca drew out, feeling more awkward by the second. “So… prom not going well?”

Chloe huffed a little laugh, but Beca knew it wasn’t because what she’d said was funny. “No, not really,” Chloe muttered, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring out over the parking lot. “He’s kind of a dick.”

Beca wanted to roll her eyes but managed to refrain despite the annoyance flaring in her chest. “Then why do you date him?”

Chloe looked over at her, resting her cheek on her knees so that she was folded into a little ball. Beca couldn’t help noticing how beautiful Chloe looked, her hair in an elegant up-do that would have taken Beca hours and no small amount of swearing to achieve.

“I don’t,” Chloe said flatly. “Everyone just thinks we’re together ‘cuz it’s what happens in the movies.”

“Oh.” Beca suddenly felt foolish. And she felt a little happier, because that raised her opinion of Chloe, like, a lot.

And she kind of wanted to smack Jesse upside the head. Stupid movies.

Chloe smiled a little sadly, then shivered again. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself up a little, and Beca had to resist the urge to offer to do that for her. That would probably be super weird of her.

So, instead, Beca said, “Here, take my jacket.”

“I told you I’m not cold,” Chloe managed, just in time for another violent shiver to rip through her body.

Beca quirked an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Chloe huffed, reaching for Beca’s leather jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said with good grace.

“‘Course,” Beca replied awkwardly, trying to ignore how cold she was now.

Chloe tilted her head, looking at her strangely. “Where’s Jesse? Isn’t he your date?”

“Dude, no way!” Beca burst out. Honestly, she was surprised that Chloe even knew Jesse’s name, much less thought they were together. “He’s just my friend.”

“Oh,” Chloe said, frowning a little.

Beca shifted uncomfortably on the steps, looking away from Chloe and down at her own hands. “Besides, I… I play for the other team, you know?”

She didn’t know what compelled her to come out like this. It was the first time she’d said it to anyone other than her group of friends, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies.

She risked looking back over at Chloe, who looked surprised and had a strange expression on her face.

“Is that a problem?” Beca asked, a little more defensively than she’d intended.

“Not at all,” Chloe breathed, her eyes widening in assurance. “In fact, I—”

“Chloe!”

Beca nearly tumbled down the steps, as startled as she was by Chicago’s harsh voice. As it was, she twisted around to look at him so quickly her neck cracked.

Chloe sighed deeply and rose from the steps, turning slowly to face him. Beca scrambled to her feet as well, struggling a little in her heels.

“What are you doing out here?” Chicago spat, glaring at Chloe. “And what’s that ugly thing you’re wearing?”

“If you mean my jacket—” Beca started angrily, then stopped as soon as Chicago’s dark eyes seared into her. She wasn’t scared of him, exactly, but he was taller than her and a lot bigger. She hesitated.

Just then, one of the main doors burst open again and Jesse came tumbling outside, eyes wild. Relief shone in his face when he saw Beca, only for him to tense when he realized Chicago was between him and her. It made Beca feel better, having him here, but she didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Go away, weirdo. This isn’t any of your business,” Chicago said, glancing back at him before looking at Chloe again. “I asked what you’re doing.”

“I’m getting away from you,” Chloe fired back angrily.

“What?” Chicago’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been acting like a pig all night.”

“Oh, ‘cuz… ‘cuz of what I said back there?” Chicago stepped closer, his voice turning soft. His eyes flicked to Beca and away, as if he was hoping she’d go away. “Come on, babe… it’s prom night.”

Chloe stilled dangerously. Beca wasn’t sure she was even breathing.

Chicago shrugged, putting on what he probably thought was a winning smile. “Don’t you wanna… you know… for prom? It’s prom, babe. We gotta. Come back to my house and I can show you—”

Chloe stepped back, her face filled with disgust. “I’ve never wanted anything less in my entire life. Get away from me.”

Chicago’s face contorted into an ugly glare. “You little… you’re gonna regret that.”

He moved toward Chloe, and both Beca and Jesse lunged for him; Chloe got there first. She slapped him across the face so hard that the noise of it echoed around them. Chicago staggered backward, groaning and clutching his cheek.

Beca could only stare at Chloe, beyond impressed.

But Chloe wasn't done. “Stay away from me,” she said, her voice deathly cold. “I mean it.”

With one more glare at her, his cheek flaming red from her slap, Chicago stomped away, headed for the football field to nurse his shattered pride.

“Yeah, go kick a football or something!” Jesse shouted after him. Beca rolled her eyes.

Chloe was still standing ramrod straight, staring in the direction Chicago had disappeared in. Beca tentatively moved closer to her.

“That was pretty badass,” she said, bringing Chloe’s attention to her. “Your hand okay?”

Chloe looked down at her palm as if she’d forgotten what she’d done. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Good,” Beca breathed, then shifted her weight. “So, uh, you were saying something. Earlier,” she added when Chloe looked confused.

Chloe’s expression cleared. “Oh, um, right,” she muttered, glancing toward Jesse.

Thankfully, Jesse got the hint; with an extremely not-subtle thumbs up to Beca, he turned and went back inside.

“Sorry about him,” Beca felt the need to apologize. “He’s seen too many movies.”

The ghost of a smile played around Chloe’s lips. “It’s okay. Um, I was gonna say… well, would you wanna, maybe, study together sometime?”

Beca blinked. As far as she knew, Chloe was a straight-A student. “For bio?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“But aren’t you, like, really good at that? Do you need a tutor? Because I’m really not—”

“Beca.”

“—good at biology at all, I’m only taking the AP class because—”

“Beca!” Chloe laughed, putting her hands up. “I’m trying to ask you on a date,” she said softly, shaking her head with what Beca really, really hoped was affection and not pity for her obtuseness.

“Oh!” Beca said. “Oh, you mean, like—with me.”

“Yes, with you. A study… date. Thing. A date,” Chloe finished, her cheeks turning a little pink.

Beca wanted to cheer, or maybe run back into the prom and shout to everyone: “Chloe Beale asked me out! Take that, losers!” But that would be immature and would probably make Chloe change her mind. So she took a deep breath. “I—yeah! Definitely! Let’s do it. That would be cool.”

“Totes. Um, I’ll text you?”

“Sure, let me get my…” Beca trailed off, realizing her phone is in her jacket pocket. The jacket that Chloe still had draped over her.

“I got it,” Chloe said, pulling her phone out of a dress pocket and wiggling her eyebrows. “My dress has pockets,” she said unnecessarily, handing the phone to Beca.

Beca didn’t know what to say to that, so instead she punched her number into Chloe’s phone and handed it back. “Do you wanna, maybe… go dance inside?” she asked, drawing courage from deep within.

“Definitely,” Chloe smiled, and Beca wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

They walked back into the school, dropping Beca’s jacket at coat-check again before re-entering the sweltering gym. Beca looked around for Jesse, so she could explain why he no longer has a dance partner.

“He’s there,” Chloe said, pointing to a corner, where Jesse and—Beca did a double-take—Aubrey were dancing together slowly.

Beca couldn’t contain the smile that broke over her face, and she led Chloe onto the dance floor.

Hmm. Maybe there’s something to movie-type endings after all.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #jesse swanson #chicago is a jerk in this #side jaubrey #prom chaperones? what chaperones #bechloe week 2019

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dreamwritesimagines · 7 years

Text

How To Get A Guy To Like You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary:Sometimes, internet can be helpful with love problems. Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 2.441 A/N: Thank you so much for the notes on the imagine before this one, people! They make me so happy, and I hope you’ll like it too! Friendly reminder, I absolutely love feedback! :) Gif’s not mine!

Growing up as a hunter sure had its disadvantages. Aside from the constant danger, being overall socially awkward due to not having time to get to know people, and always having to be on alert, you also made your peace with having to accept you didn’t know everything, especially when it came to humans, but you knew that you had to look for help when you needed it.

“Sam, I need help.”

Sam’s head shot up and he put the book down, sitting up straight almost immediately, “Sure. Are you in trouble?”

You cleared your throat as you sat down across him, and his eyes searched yours,

“Is this about Lucifer?”

“No-“

“Angels?”

“No-“

“Is it-“

“How do I get a guy to like me?”

He stopped talking and stared at you for a couple of seconds, his frown deepening,

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re a guy, right?”

“…Yeah, last time I checked.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “So, what do guys like?”

“Are you seriously asking me-“

“Yeah. I spent my high school years hunting monsters instead of flirting with boys, okay? I’m your girl if you need to kill something, but I need help with the guys. So, help.”

He shot you a weird look, “I’ve seen you flirting with people on a case.”

“Yeah, for a job! But I don’t know how to get a guy to like me!”

“Why would you need a guy to like-“ he paused, then held his breath, “Who is this guy?”

You gulped, then waved a hand, “Pfft, some- some guy, who-who is a guy.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Is it Cas?”

“Cas is like a cute puppy, I’m more into bad boys.”

“Crowley?”

“Not that bad!” You exclaimed, “There’s a difference between a bad boy and king of Hell, Sam, what the fuck?!”

“Then who-“ he suddenly froze, gawking at you, “No way.”

“Yep. Exactly my reaction when I realized it.”

“Dean?!”

“Shh!” You kicked him under the table, “Not so loud!”

“Oh my God, Y/N, what are you thinking?!” he asked you, “Dean!? Have you lost your mind?!”

“My theory is that we’re hunted by whatever is the opposite of a djinn, so instead of living our ideal lives, we’re trapped in this nightmare where I lust after your brother.”

He made a face, “Can you at least not say that?”

“Nope, if I’m suffering, you’re suffering with me.” You stated, “So?”

“I don’t think you need help with Dean.” He stated, “I mean you’re a breathing girl who’s not a monster, so you already match all the expectations. Good talk.” He stood up but you sat him down by grabbing his arm and pulling him down. “What?!”

“What do guys look for in girls?” You insisted, “Like… what is your number one expectation from a girl?”

“That she doesn’t die.” He stated, and you nodded slowly,

“Don’t die. I feel like that’s a fair point.”

“Thanks, can I go then?”

“No.” You pointed at him, “What else? What’s his type? Blonde, brunette, dark..?”

“I don’t think he has a type.”

“Everyone has a type, now tell me!”

“Tell you what?” Dean asked from the doorway, then made his way to the living room, sipping his beer, “What type?”

You felt your heartbeat getting faster as he sat beside you, then smiled at you, his green eyes crinkling a little.

“I- uh… I was just telling Sam I’d make a great wingwoman if he told me his type.” You stammered, “I mean everyone has a type, right? Take you for example.”

Dean shrugged, “What’s my type?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You said, nervously laughing and he thought for a second, then shrugged again.

“I dunno. Sam likes monsters though.”

“Dude!”

“What? You have like a fetish.” Dean tilted the bottle towards him, making you laugh like a high schooler with a crush, “There’s something obviously wrong with you.”

“Yeah, and Y/N likes bad guys.” Sam stated, making you glare at him and Dean frowned for a second.

“Like Crowley?”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

“No judging.” Dean held up his hands, and you pinched his arm.

“So anyway, types? I’m pretty sure you have a type. I mean, don’t make me look through your internet history.”

“Nah, you’re too pure for that world.” He ruffled your hair, making you frown and bat his hand away before he chuckled and left the living room. Sam shot you a sympathetic look as you felt your mood drop, and your lips pulled into a thin line while you looked down at the table, dragging your fingernails on it.

“I could talk to him.” He offered and you shook your head, a plan forming in your head.

“No, I-I’ll figure it out. If I didn’t give up after my first day of doing squats, I can succeed anything.”

Thank God for the internet.

Because thanks to internet, you could now write “How to Get A Guy To Like You” and get billions of opinions and articles. So after spending hours, you finally had an idea about what to do.

Get a fancy dress, smell nice, flip your hair, act confident and find a passion you both share.

You took a look at your reflection in the mirror. The little black dress fit you snugly while the heels already fixed your posture. You had already spent an hour perfecting your cat eye and red lip, and basically drowned yourself in the perfume, so based on what all those websites told you, you were ready to go.

And it was the perfect timing. Dean said he would go out to ‘have fun’ while Sam stayed in the bunker to do research, so it would mean it would be just you and him, and plenty of time for your moves. Your phone buzzed, letting you know he was ready and by the car, so you took a deep breath and left your room.

As you walked out of bunker, Dean was busy with the car keys, so you cleared your throat when you approached him, making him look up.

“Finally-“ he stopped talking as soon as he saw you and eyed you up and down, suddenly making you insecure about the whole thing.

“What?” You said when he didn’t say anything and he cleared his throat, looking elsewhere.

“Nothing. You ready?”

You felt your stomach doing an unpleasant flip, but didn’t let it discourage you, so you nodded.

“Yeah. How do I look?”

Dean nodded, still making himself busy with the keys, “Nice. You look nice.”

You got in the car as Dean started the car and you fixed your skirt, the heels already giving you hell. The road went in silence aside from the music from the radio and soon Dean pulled over in front of the bar.

“Stay where I can see you, okay?”

“I can take care of myself.” You said as you left the car and Dean shook his head.

“Guys can- they might get the wrong impression with you looking like…this.” He motioned at you and you frowned,

“With me looking like this?” You repeated and he nodded.

“You know, they’d think you’re looking for a hook up.”

“Oh.”

“You’re- you’re not, right?” He asked lowly and you let out a shaky breath, then turned to look at the people in the bar. You flipped your hair but then heard a groan and turned on your heels to see Dean rubbing his eyes hard.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, you basically stabbed me with your hair.” He blinked a couple of times, “Not blind. That’s a good sign.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna get a drink.” You shook your head at yourself, already annoyed at yourself and made your way to the bar to order a beer. It wasn’t long after the bartender placed the beer in front of you that you felt someone sitting beside you.

“Hi.”

You turned to look at him and smiled slightly. The guy had brown eyes and brown hair, and a nice smile, for which you were always a sucker for.

“Hi.” You said, “I’m Y/N.”

“Heath.” He introduced himself “Can I join you?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You sipped your beer “Just a…just a warning though.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not here for a hook up or anything.” You said and he held up his hands.

“Just wanted to meet.” He said, making you smile, “To be honest, I just went through a break up, so… I’m- I’m good with that.”

“Bad break up?”

“The worst breakup.” He nodded, sipping his drink, “How about you?”

“I actually-“ You turned your head to find Dean and a girl talking cozily and you clenched your teeth, a fire spreading through your heart to your whole body. You blinked back the tears and tried to pull yourself together.

“I actually like that guy who’s talking to that girl over there.” You pointed at him, then turned to Heath, “The whole point was to look great for him, but all I got was a ‘You look nice’.”

Heath hissed in a breath, “Sorry. Harsh.”

“Yep.”

“You do look nice though.” He said, and you toasted,

“Yeah. Doesn’t make him see me more than a friend though.”

He shrugged, “Did you try making him jealous?”

You frowned slightly, then shrugged, “I don’t really think that works.”

“That’s how I got with my ex from hell.” Heath said, “I didn’t have the guts until she got comfortable with a friend of mine in a party.”

“Dean doesn’t get jealous. Not me, of all people.”

“Yeah but did you try?”

You shook your head, “What, like… kissing a guy? I don’t know a guy that I can kiss. I mean there’s his brother, but I see him like a brother so no-“

“I could help.”

You shot him a look, “If this is some sort of a play-“

“Just want to help.” Heath said, “No offense but um… I can’t do complicated right now, and you sound seriously complicated.”

You let out a laugh, then shrugged, “What harm could it bring?”

“That’s the spirit, okay- he’s looking, you ready?”

“Bring it on.” You giggled, and he leaned in to press his lips to yours. You felt yourself getting closer to him but soon was snapped out of it when you heard your name.

“Y/N.”

You pulled back and licked your lips, looking at Dean who looked absolutely furious.

“Dean, hey. Having fun?”

“Time to go.”

“We just got here-“ You followed him when he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the door, then walked outside. “Dean, I- I’m wearing heels, would you slow down?!”

Dean let go of your arm and took a deep breath, with his back turned to you and you frowned.

“We just got here, I didn’t even finish my beer-“

“Too bad.”

You couldn’t ever dare to think that Heath was right, that he was jealous, so you crossed your arms.

“What’s going on?”

“You-“ He turned to you, fuming, “You deserve better than a guy in a sleazy bar.”

“Yeah, and who’s better? You?” You asked him, your heart beating in your throat and a painful look crossed his features before he gulped and took a deep breath.

“We should get back to bunker-“

“Great, Dean. Yeah, avoid the subject, perfect.” You heard your voice crack and he clenched his jaw, then looked you in the eye.

“No, Y/N.” he said forcefully, “No, you sure as fuck deserve better than me.”

“What’re you even talking about?!” You exclaimed, “I seriously don’t understand you! If you don’t like me back, fine, but don’t insult me and pull that shit!”

He gawked at you as the silence fell upon you, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“What..?”

“I literally didn’t eat dinner because I can’t eat a fucking thing in this dress, that’s how tight it is, and I’m pretty sure I just broke my ankle on these heels when you dragged me out, and also I’m pretty sure I poisoned myself because I accidentally swallowed a lot of perfume while spraying the fucking thing to my hair, I did everything every website told me, and you wanna go with You deserve better than me?! Like, are you for real?! I don’t want better, Dean! Wake the fuck up, I want you!”

Dean opened and closed his mouth, as if at loss for words and you nodded.

“And now you look like a fish. I have a crush on a guy who looks like a fish when I proclaim my love. Figures. Like what the fuck, Karma, is this because of that time I tripped that girl because she stole my prom date?! Move on, they got married!”

“Y/N-“

“No, okay, you don’t get to speak.” You pointed at him, “Do you know how much time it took me to look like this?! 3 freaking hours, Dean! My eye hurts so bad because I wiped off my eyeliner way too many times. And all I got was ‘You look nice’. I accidentally burnt my finger while trying to do my hair, and I look fucking nice?! Like-“ You stopped yourself, then sniffled, “You know what, never mind. I’ll walk back to the bunker.”

You turned around without taking a look at him, desperate to get away from him and that bar and that night, but you stopped when you heard him speak.

“You do look nice like this.” He said and you rolled your eyes, then turned to look at him.

“Heard you the first time.”

“And you look really pretty when you wake up.” He said, “You look beautiful when you read a book and get into it too much. And you look fucking gorgeous after a hunt. And you look amazing when you’re sleeping. But I never say anything, because I have to control myself around you. Because you do deserve better.”

You shook your head, a tear escaping from your eye,

“Then stop controlling yourself.” You whispered, and that seemed to be all it took to make him move, because he walked to you in three fast steps and pulled you closer to lock his lips with yours. You felt the electricity shooting through your whole body as you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling into the kiss before he pulled back.

“Yeah…” he smiled and pecked you on the lips once more, “Let’s lose control a little.”

You nodded and looked up at him,

“Does that mean I’m your type?”

He chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

“You’re definitely my type.”

#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural imagines #dean winchester oneshot #dean x reader #dean imagine #spn imagine #spn reader insert #reader insert #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester #supernatural #spn

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fairylights101writes · 7 years

Text

Purr

@killuay donated to my Ko-fi and wanted some klance with kitty ears and tails and grooming! Find out how you can support me here

You can read on AO3 or below the cut!

Keith nuzzled his pillow listlessly, stared blankly ahead as his nails scratched at the fabric of his sheets. The bed was too cold, too empty, even though it was tiny in all reality, barely any space for another body. But he still craved it, the contact, the sweet memories of touches and soft purring that lingered from a past nearly forgotten. He hugged the pillow closer. Closed his eyes. He wanted a hug, so desperately that it left him aching, almost trembling as he closed his eyes tight and tried to ignore the feeling, the craving to curl up around someone and tuck himself into them.

It was surely the Galra part of him that wanted all of this - hard to not relate it to that foreign side of him when ears had pushed their way from his skin weeks ago and had stayed, refusing to leave. When the tail had come too, months, years of growth packed into just one short fortnight. It had been agonizing. At least the purple skin isn’t permanent. But it was a hassle when it did come, splotchy and disease-like, staining his skin and reminding him even more of what he truly was.

Something more than human, but also something less.

Keith shook his head, sucked down a breath. You can’t help it. You can’t help that you’re part of them. Part of the people trying to take over the universe, of the people who were willing to commit mass genocide. Who would no doubt enslave and decimate Earth if given half the chance. The reason he had these ears and that tail and the insatiable need to hug someone and curl up close and never leave their warmth.

I hate this. I-

The door slid open with a hiss and Keith twitched, pried his head from the pillow. Only dim lights from the hallway illuminated him, but Lance had a scent to him that gave him away, earthy, like wood almost - though, how he managed that on a giant castle made out of who knew what was impressive to say the least. “Hey there,” Lance said softly as he shifted, the pillow and blanket under his arm coming more into view. “Can I join you?”

Keith blinked at him. Cocked his head to the side. “What?”

Lance huffed and stepped further in so the door could slide shut, and he chucked his pillow at Keith. He caught it smoothly, set it beside him, and blinked at Lance. His friend glanced away, fingers fidgeting on his blanket, by his thigh, and he sighed. “I was wondering if you want to sleep together. I, uh, I had a nightmare and-”

The lie was flimsy at best, so blatant that he saw through it in an instant. But Keith still moved to the side, back to the wall, warmth thrumming in his chest, and Lance’s eyes widened. He smiled, crept forward, and sank down onto the bed. Keith watched with slitted eyes, trickles of happiness curling through his gut as he watched Lance settle in, tossing his blanket out over their legs, settling in beside him.

He bit his tongue, swallowed words that threatened to bubble up and choke him as he slowly sank down onto his side so he could see Lance. One perk of being half-Galra - his vision at night was a lot better than it should have been, especially when the more Galra parts of him came out and shifted his body a little further from human. Lance’s eyes were open too, fixed on him, studying his face. Looking at the parts of him that weren’t so human. But then again, Lance wasn’t truly human either.

There was movement, and he only had a moment to prepare before fingers brushed across his cheek, warm, and Keith’s eyes fluttered as he leaned into it, just a little. “Does it hurt?”

Keith licked his lips. “Not anymore.” No, his skin just tingled when he lost control, when the purple swept across his skin, and his eyes watered when they changed, but, otherwise, things were okay. Manageable.

“It must suck that no one else looks like you… even more so than when you just had your dumb mullet.”

Keith kicked Lance, and his friend yelped in pain before he pressed back, even closer than before. Their breath mixed, warmth filling the not-so-empty bed, and Keith found his fingers inching forward, unbidden, and they curled into Lance’s shirt. “It does suck,” he whispered. “It’s… not just that though.”

Lance raised one eyebrow.

Keith huffed and jerked his hand back, rolled over so his back was to Lance. This is stupid. Stupid to be happy that Lance was here, just a few centimeters away. Stupid that he wanted to press against him, kiss his cheeks, feel those wiry arms wrap around him and hold him tight, protect him from the world.

“Keith?”

The touch to his shoulder made him turn, even though he hesitated, and he found Lance closer - too close. But he could only catch his breath and watch as Lance’s eyes slitted, lips puckering. The whisper came first, something moving against skin and hair and fabric. And then Keith’s eyes widened as tiny white buds poked out of that stupidly beautiful curly brown hair, growing, stretching, until two ears, smaller than his own, stood out of Lance’s scalp. Something brushed his thigh and he glanced down, found a matching white tail twitching overtop it, fluffier than his own, fuzzy all the way down.

“What… what the fuck?” Keith whispered.

Lance grinned, body shaking with silent giggles as hit ears flicked and he pressed his hand to Keith’s chest. “Altean shapeshifting abilities are great. It took a lot of practice though.”

“You…”

“Shush,” Lance hissed as he clamped a hand over Keith’s mouth, flushing, but Keith could only smile, a little dazed. The fingers over his face jerked, and Keith blinked - realized that a rumble had filled the air. “Oh my God,” Lance whispered, right as Keith ducked forward, buried his face into Lance’s chest. “Are you-”

“Don’t you fucking even,” he hissed, heat rampant across his face, shaking his head as he crept closer, seeking out more of Lance’s scent, his touch, his warmth, intoxicating. Especially when Lance started to laugh once more, quiet, his body hitching against Keith’s before he went still, one hand settling on Keith’s waist.

“Well… fine. I won’t say anything, but-”

A quick lick made Keith lock up, eyes snapping open, but a second came, and, just as suddenly, he melted into it, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“You like that?”

Keith nodded, shy, fingers curling into Lance’s shirt, and he felt Lance grin against his ear.

“Can I keep going?”

Keith’s tail flicked against Lance. He nodded, swallowed down the urge to purr. That strength didn’t last though, not when Lance’s tongue began to sweep across his ear, slow, methodical, and, just like that, the purrs burst out, rumbling through the quiet between them, and Keith let it sweep him away in a daze.

Lance was everywhere, their legs tangled together, a hand on the small of his back, another squished between them, cradling his cheek as Lance lapped at his ear, smoothing the fur there from base to tip, a sweet reminder that brought hazy memories floating back. One of a splash of purple, a rumbling purr deeper than his own, and bright golden eyes.

But this was different.

Not like that, because it was Lance. Lance, who had come to his room in the dead of night. Lance, who had transformed himself, even if just a little, for Keith’s sake. Lance, who Keith adored, more than the infinite cosmos outside the castle, than anything back on Earth, a dizzying truth that sometimes left him reeling when he thought on it.

His purrs grew a little deeper and Keith pressed a little closer, turned his head so Lance could lick his other ear, slowly grooming him. He didn’t say a word when Keith started to knead gently at his chest. Didn’t even say anything as Keith slowly grew limp, the effort to cling to consciousness too much. He just kept licking his ears and holding him close, the bed no longer too big, too cold, and a part of Keith unbelievably sated as he curled up closer and let his eyes flutter shut.

If you liked my work, please consider my Commissions page

#klance #Keith #Lance #Voltron #voltron: legendary defender #flights writes #commission #kullay #aris #aaah i loved writing this so much #i love my silly babies and just!!!

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fearlesslyforeverand · 7 years

Text

Rain and Flowers

On AO3

Summary: Kurt and Blaine are married and living happily in NYC. But what goes around Blaine’s mind when he and Kurt agree to have a date on the same restaurant where everything once went down?

Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff and some slight angst (covered by, again, more fluff)

Words: 2077.

A/N: any feedback would be amazing!

MASTERLIST | AO3

As a child, Blaine loved the rain. Getting to play on muds with Cooper until his mother saw him and made him go inside. As a teenager, he fantasized about getting to kiss on the rain, being the romantic that he was. As an adult, he got to spend hours having hot, languid, slow sex with Kurt hearing the water pour outside.

That happened a lot actually.

Until Kurt broke up with him, on a rainy day.

Blaine has mostly gotten over the whole break up, except for the occasional nightmare where all he can hear are voices. His own voice asking Kurt if he even wants to marry Blaine and then Kurt’s voice saying that maybe he doesn’t. Waking up after one of those nightmares when he was single was horrible. Now, married and happy, those nightmares weren’t only rarer, but easily soothed too. By Kurt himself, who somehow knew what was going on and was always awake to comfort Blaine.

Rainy days came back to be one of the things Blaine loved.

Tonight though he is a little nervous. He has a date with Kurt, at the same restaurant where they broke up for the second time. And it’s raining as if there’s no tomorrow. Coincidences are only funny until some point.

Blaine knows he doesn’t have to be nervous. He and Kurt are working incredible well together into their marriage and he’s happier than even before. Kurt confessed he feels the same just a few days ago, while cozily cuddling in bed one night, a soft smile playing on his lips and his cheek pressed into Blaine’s chest, arms and legs intertwined as they simply relaxed into each other’s presence.

But arriving late would trigger too many unpleasant memories of that fateful night, so Blaine can’t help but worry. Even if, logically, there’s no reason.

Emotionally, it’s not so easy to relax. People say, ‘don’t let your emotions control you’, but truthfully? Blaine’s terrified.

His last class ends an hour and a half before the time he agreed with Kurt and it’s one of his theory classes – which doesn’t require a bath afterwards. He’ll have around one hour and a half to complete a ride that usually takes 30 minutes tops. Everything will be alright.

Until, of course, it doesn’t.

He tries to stay calm as his teacher keeps going on and on about something really isn’t paying attention at this point, well 15 minutes after the ending time of her class. Most of the class is either sleeping or on their phones and the only ones really looking up and paying attention – or pretending to – are Blaine and some girl that doesn’t seem to care about anything other than what comes out of the teacher’s lips, taking notes of every breath she takes. Blaine doesn’t want to be rude so he keeps his mouth shut, even after another 5 minutes go before she finally looks at her wristwatch and exclaims that the class is free to go and that someone should have told her about the time.

Blaine walks the path to the subway in record time, even on the raining, but still gets 4 minutes from his time.

Next, there’s a line to enter the subway and another to get into a car, all of that taking another 20 minutes of his spare time.

The universe is simply playing with him when the train he’s in stops between two stations, the lights flickering as everyone held on to something to avoid being thrown forward because of the sudden halt. Twenty minutes go by before the train starts moving again and it takes another 15 to get to Blaine’s stop.

When he leaves the subway, howling a cab would be useless at this point, when not one single car is moving on the streets. Blaine has twelve minutes to walk a something that would usually take 5, on the rain, at rush hour in New York City.

He can do it.

Blaine is walking, almost jogging really, through seas of people and ponds and umbrellas, which his own umbrella, trying really hard to not bump into someone when he sees a small store. A small flower store.

He knows he’ll probably be late. But he can’t really help it going inside and greeting the animated old man that seems very happy to see him. He asks for a bouquet of roses, yellow and red ones.

The bouquet is so very similar to the one Kurt gave him years ago that he couldn’t help but lean down and take a sniff, the sweet scent filling his senses. Blaine closes his eyes and smiles before looking at the man.

“How much for these, sir?” Blaine asks, already reaching his wallet.

“Do you know what those mean?” the man asks instead.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you know what those roses mean, their colors?” the man asks again, more clarified this time.

“Love and friendship,” Blaine doesn’t even hesitate, knowing the answer in his heart.

The man smiles broadly. “Then you don’t have to pay.”

“Sir, I insist-“

“Anyone who stops by to get that kind of bouquet on a day like this for someone they love won’t pay for it in my store. Now go meet your date.”

Blaine only gapes for a second before matching the man’s smile, saying his thanks to the man. If he runs the rest of the way to meet Kurt, it’s no one’s business.

Finally, finally, Blaine can see the restaurant. He quickly runs up the small flight of stairs and enters the cozy place. He reaches into his pocket and gets his pocket watch out and looks at the time. 18:59.

He made it.

“Good evening. Can I help you, sir?” the host asks him, a small smile on his face, standing behind a wooden podium.

Blaine can’t help but grin. “Good evening. I have reservations for Anderson-Hummel for 7 p.m.”

He sincerely hopes the thrill of pronouncing the hyphened last name will never fade.

The host looks down at the book at the podium and searches pleased before saying, “Right here.” Then he turns to Blaine, “Mr. Anderson-Hummel, you’re the first to arrive. Would you like to wait here or at the bar or at the table?”

Kurt isn’t here yet. Blaine is the first one to arrive. Kurt isn’t here yet.

There’s a first time for everything.

“At the table, if that’s okay.”

The host simply closes the book – mostly for effect since it’s not really practical – and says, “Follow me, please.”

Thankfully, Blaine is seated at a different table than last time’s, his umbrella hanging on the railing beside him, but still far from any possible passages. He hides the flowers away before Kurt gets there, wanting it to be a surprise.

Blaine is fidgeting with his ring when Kurt arrives.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Kurt says and touches Blaine’s arm, propping his umbrella beside Blaine’s.

Blaine rises from the table, “It’s okay,” he smiles. He turns the bouquet is in his right hand behind his back.

Kurt looks so handsome right now with his well-fitting clothes and coiffed hair and all Blaine wants to do is lean forward and kiss him. Which he doesn’t have to, because Kurt is faster and touches their lips softly, both boys fluttering their eyes closed as the warmth and love sips into their chests from just a kiss.

“I had to get something and you’re never going to believe,” Kurt told him, taking Blaine’s free hand with his right hand.

“Really? Because something happened when I was getting something today too,” Blaine chuckled.

“Pray tell,” Kurt smiles, running his thumb over his husband’s wedding ring.

It is so comfortable there that there is no rush to sit down just yet. There’s no one else in this part of the restaurant, so that’s a plus.

“You first,” Blaine says, kissing Kurt’s cheek briefly.

“I was on my way here when I saw this little shop. I entered and asked for the thing I wanted. The man smiled mischievously and, I still can’t understand why,” Kurt furrows his eyebrows, “And didn’t charge me. Said he could see true love around me and my partner,” Kurt squeezed his hand before Blaine returned the action. “Do you have any idea of why he made such a thing?”

Blaine looks sly. Could they really have done that?

“I might have an idea, but first you need to show me what you got.”

Kurt rolls his eyes fondly before looking into Blaine’s eyes. “Oh,” Kurt looks down, shy all of a sudden. “It’s something that I think sums our relationship almost perfectly.”

And then Kurt brings his right hand from behind his back. And there it is. a bouquet of red and yellow roses, with the same wrapping as the one behind Blaine’s back.

“Kurt,” Blaine sighs and can feel his face going all doe--eyed. Kurt offers the bouquet to him and Blaine takes it with shaky fingers

“Will you tell me your theory now?”

Instead of talking, Blaine smiles and pulls his arm from behind him and shows Kurt the same bouquet Kurt just gave him.

Kurt gasps.

“I think we had the same idea,” Blaine says, “The man asked me if I knew what they meant and didn’t charge either.” He leans in a bit and stage-whispers, “I also think he knows we’re together.”

When Blaine offers the bouquet to his husband, Kurt wraps his trembling free fingers carefully around the base, his eyes wide.

Their eyes meet again and then Blaine has to brace himself when Kurt’s full weight come tumbling on top of him in a tight embrace. Blaine can’t help but hold Kurt just as strongly.

“We’re perfect for each other,” Kurt mumbles into his neck, his hot breath sending its warmth to Blaine’s heart.

The shorter answers, “Well, we are soulmates.”

They share a laugh, still tangled around each other. Blaine’s strong arms around Kurt are a soothing pressure on his sides and back. Kurt’s face pressed against Blaine’s neck is one of the best feelings he’s even felt (Kurt knows why Blaine likes doing that to him).

Blaine pulls back to look at his husband, curiosity evident on his face.

“You said they sum our relationship up almost perfectly,” Blaine tilts his head to the side, remind Kurt of a curious puppy. “Why almost?”

Kurt pulls back a little and places his fingers on Blaine’s neck, his thumb stroking his jaw gently, his other arm holding the bouquet around the younger boy’s neck.

“Because we also have passion, acceptance, trust and support.” Every characteristic is pronounced slowly, pinpointing each without making one more or less important than the others.

Kurt has to rise his hand a bit so his palm rests on Blaine’s cheek and his thumb can wipe astray tears away.

“Those better be happy tears,” he chuckles wetly. His thumb brushing over Blaine’s smooth skin again as a new set falls his beautiful golden eyes shine and blink.

“They are,” Blaine says, his voice almost non-existent, only a tone above a whisper

They trade knowing smiles. Blaine reluctantly steps back and unwind his arms from around the taller boy. Kurt pulls the chair out for his husband and squeezes his broad shoulders twice before moving to sit across from him. They place the bouquets carefully aside, one leaning against the other to stay upright and not crush the flowers. One keeps the other right, providing the same kind of help to the other. It reminds Blaine of them, as-

“Just another characteristic to look like us,” it’s as if Kurt finishes his thought.

They reach out at the same time to grab the other’s hand and rest them intertwined on top of the table.

They are reading the menu, Kurt’s thumb turning the wedding ring on the shorter boy’s finger as Blaine squeezes his hand every few minutes, and Blaine finds something totally awesome. “Look, there’s Fettuccini Alfredo!” he says brightly.

When Kurt doesn’t answer, Blaine looks up to find his husband smiling adoringly at him.

“I love you,” Kurt says.

Blaine doesn’t even notice his own lips stretching into a smile.

“I love you too.”

Rainy days in New York might not be so bad after all.

(Any other time they bought flowers, it was at that store, the one owned by old Steven, who always exchanged flowers just like those to his husband, James).

#Klaine #Klaine fanfic #Kurt and Blaine #Kurt Hummel #Blaine Anderson #Darren Criss #Chris Colfer #Glee #Glee fanfic #post season 6 #married!Klaine #rain #New York City #fluff and angst #canon compliant #flowers #rain and flowers #6x08 a wedding

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 5 years

Text

Tags should be rolled out soon.

Dr Stone 13

Did Senku just Salt Bae??? Now I’ve seen everything!

I remember this puckered face from the manga! It’s hilarious!

Poor Kinro…he’s shocked at Ginro’s words…

Those were foxtails.

Who knew Suika’s mask could look so badass, amirite???

Honzuki 1

I like books…so this was a natural pick for me, y’know?

OKAY, why is the girl drinking wine she accepted from an older man??????

O…kay, so this has nice backgrounds and a pretty nice aesthetic with all the flowers, but otherwise it’s kinda dull, to be honest. It moves at the pace of a slice of life show…and I’m not sure it’s intentional or not.

“Only grownups are allowed to tie up their hair.” – So then, and correct me if I’m wrong about this…why is Turi’s hair in a braid? Or, when they mean “up”, they mean in a full bun like Myne (Main???) did earlier?

I’m thinking either a marketplace might have books…or at least signs to read.

I’m thinking of Maou-sama Retry from last season…because I’d rather a boring slow walk like the one I just saw, rather than a terrible run cycle like the one in the first episode of that show.

What…? Was Urano a vegan or vegetarian…? Or just too much of a city slicker to deal with seeing a dead chicken?

Iruma-kun 1

I picked this one based on the good ratings it had on ANN.

How does anyone remember these lyrics??? How many “ba” and “bi”s do you need???

…Hayate the Combat Butler, basically speaking.

Levy = Leviathan, I’d assume.

Aye, what a poor lad…to be sold off at 14…

Well, that was a fast way to set up an episode. If more shows were like this, I’d be a happy camper.

I-Is Opera…a DUDE?! Hallelujah! I hit Bishonen Jackpot #2! (No. 1 is Seiya, of course.)

You comedies wanna play hardball with me? Huh?! Do you, punks?! Let’s see how many times you can make me (wholeheartedly) laugh, then! (Current laugh count: 1)

Gender-coded uniforms, much…?

Is Catgirl related to Opera somehow???

Well, you do know that Asmodeus represents lust, right? That’s why he’s pink, isn’t he?...Isn’t he??? Update: Oh, yeah, right. Sullivan should probably be “Solomon”, but the name is deliberately different for comedy’s sake.

Uh, lemme guess: Daisuke Namikawa for Asmodeus? Update: Ryohei Kimura. I knw he sounded familiar…he’s Kane-san, in other words.

Kamehame-fireball!

(Iruma-kun is a master of dodging)…I thought it was because of that spell from before, really.

Da Vinci homage for the win!

Oh hey! 2nd German suplex of the season (I didn’t watch the first one).

By the power of dodging, Iruma wins…one servant! (Just in case Fate/ wasn’t enough for you…so to speak.)

There’s a single heart on Babylys in the ED, it seems…plus a giant bow.

Africa Salaryman 1

If Beastars is anime Zootopia, then this is absurdist Zootopia.

This is some Attenborough s***...until it isn't.

The OP scenes with the characters dancing...that's gonna be in my nightmares.

Oh, it's the pa in pachinko (“chinko” meaning p***s) that’s missing, so they went with glasses/asses instead.

We got Punpun animated (i.e. frightened Toucan)...score.

Giraffe Donuts, LOL.

I’m really pissed now…there’s no adblocker for my phone, so I had to sit through a good 8 ads or so just to get proper subs…I almost lashed out at someone because of it, too.

FireLion, LOL. I like these old computer-style transitions, but I don’t like how many ads I have to live through for it.

Tokunana 1

Is it just me, or did the police guy say "futures" (plural)...?

Hmm...by brandishing a gun at that point, is this man implying he's a saviour, or that guns are cool? I sure hope it's not the latter, considering gun violence rates worldwide. Then again, I might be reading into this one detail too much.

This reminds me of Midnight Occult Sevants…which doesn’t bode well for this show.

I can see this being my next Cop Craft…which I don’t need this season.

…oh, boy…rule no. 1 of detective shows: don’t be a hostage or get kidnapped. Ever. (Inevitably, if the show is about police in some capacity, someone will break this rule at least once. It’s made to be broken.)

Between this and Kimetsu no Yaiba, we’ve had enough “intelligence” (“using your head”, i.e. headbutting) to last us a while…

This CGI looks kinda bad…Africa Salaryman does better with disguising its CGI.

I like how the skull had a bow on it.

Wait, a dog, bird (pheasant) and gorilla (monkey)…this is some demented Momotaro going on right here…

Lookit that lady go!!! Woot!

To be honest, I keep feeling like Seiji’s gonna develop superpowers…or is this not the show for that…? (I mean, there’s dragons in the synopsis! Dragons!)

This show looks kinda off model, which is a bad sign in the first episode…hearing gunshots after the ED kinda startled me, though, and made a killer move for another episode out of goodwill…come to think of it, I’ve been giving out a lot of “can’t peg down this show with one episode, will watch more” this season already…

Dr Stone 14

(no notes, sorry!)

Actors 1

I’m a fan of Masuda, who voices a character in Actors’s 3rd iteration…IIRC. It’s gonna be a while until we get to him, though.

Uh, how does this guy play keyboard with those floppy sleeves of his???

Specifically, according to Hinata, Haruna told him he was being too noisy before she went back to sleep…although I’ve never seen a little girl be woken up by her big brother in these “I’m late! *puts toast in mouth as they run ou the door*” intros, so it’s refreshing.

His name is Otonomiya (“sound temple”, with “sound” being the thing you hear), of course he’s going to be part of a musical franchise…

“Akizuki Kai” sounds familiar…I dunno why though.

UGGGGGGH! If you’re doing a singing anime, let us hear the damn song!!! Don’t make us wait for the Otonomiya version!!!

Kagura…Sousuke??? Classicaloid??? I am so not going to match that boy with this one. (Well, one of the kanji is different, but everything else is the name, right down to the wordplay. A kagura is a type of dance, y’see, and one of the characters matches one in the Japanese word for “music”, ongaku. The other can be found in Otonomiya’s name, in fact.)

What’s up with this white wall business, anyway??? This ain’t Tokyo Ghoul, this is a singing anime!

Archery boy is good boi. Me likey.

I have a bad feeling about Nozomi, yo.

I LOLled so hard…I mean, this pink dude’s name is Uta Outa…it’s so redundant. You expect me to love him???? LOL, as if!

Con brio = with spirit, with vigour. Adagio = slow, by the way.

Stand My Heroes 1

I’m here for Ume, as I always am. Ume’s role is Go Miyase of the Kujo family.

That was a pretty epic opening, actually.

Who scouts a civilian for a narcotics unit???

I am so not going to be able to match names to faces at this rate…

Hey, don’t you go patronising girls!!!

I feel like it would’ve been better (and flashier) to demonstrate the drug immunity by showing, not talking about it.

Takaomi looks like Tenn from Idolish7, man…

Hmm…I saw Ume’s character, but it’s hard to evaluate his voice for Go just by a “Here you go.” (And no, that’s not a pun…not an intentional one, anyway.)

I just realised Aoyama has this tiny plait on the side of his head. It’s rather cutesy for a narcotics show.

(Aoyama informs Rei about Arakida)…yeah, but why are you here, Aoyama? Are you just here to warn Rei???

The stain really is gone, you really can’t tell that it is there…I assume that means she was drinking water in that tall glass of hers (Rei).

This ending song is a bit weird…I never expected it to be English. I expected it to be by the VAs, to be honest.

Abilities Average 1

It’s better if I call this “Abilities Average” rather than the long-winded “Didn’t I Say to Make My Abilities Average in the Next Life?!”.

The scenery in this show is nice, at least…(?) But is that a CGI carriage I see?

Comic Earth Star…that doesn’t bode particularly well for me. The only series I’ve watched that has a series that hails from that magazine is SekaTsuyo (Wanna Be the Strongest in the World!) and I didn’t like it much in the end.

Ohhhhhhhhh…kay. Is it just me, or did I read “Hotel Little Gust” as “Hotel Little Girl”…?

Mile and Myne (spelling pending). In female-led isekai. This season only!!!...this is gonna suck, isn’t it?

Lenny is a boy’s name, though…?

Why is the show’s English tagline “God bless me?”…? I’ve half a mind to drop this show already…and I read the premiere report on ANN, so I knew it was going to end like this. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve had a season where I just catch up on older series, even though I keep thinking I will have one on my hands during weak seasons. (This has been a worry since the especially weak summer 2018 season, really.)

The Spain Square…? Really?

Really? You’re gonna complain about Japan’s declining birth rate here???

Whoa, I wouldn’t be surprised if this show were taken for granted by yuri shippers…

The extreme buffering means I managed to spot a redhead who I’ve seen on this show’s promo material…yup, that’s her.

Oh…great. This redhead is tsundere…(If I give one more complaint, I’m getting out of here!)

Oh…so Mile even pointed it out…(probably because this buffering is going so slowly, I can guess what’s happening before it actually happens.)

Okay, so I never figured out why she started calling herself a country girl and I went back and looked (despite all the buffering I was fighting) and no one ever does call her a country girl, it’s just a random misconception she has. Because it was so unclear that this was the case, I’m going to drop this show. (Well, for all the middling shows I have this season, losing one is actually a relief…!)

Shinchou Yuusha 2

Here we are again…and I’ve been thinking about Seiya a lot since last time, which probably seals the deal in that this is going to be part of the final lineup. (Today’s Seiya probably helps a lot with that.)

Ohmigosh, Rista’s panicked face when they almost get caught by Chaos Machina…LOL.

…just as I thought, I go “nnnnergh” under my breath when someone mentions the name “Aria”.

Assassin’s Pride 1

I picked this show because the protag looked kinda hot…but only now I realise he looks like a knock-off Kirito and I really start to regret my choice…

Is it just me, or is this show really dark??? (Not just because of the bloody scene at the start, mind you.)

The side of the train says “Cardinals 26110”, in case you were wondering…(then again, you probably weren’t wondering that…)

Wait-his name is Kufa WHAT?!

This is giving me Lance N Masques vibes now, because it did almost the same plot beats except for the fact I still can’t reconcile the fact Kufa Whatsit lives in a lantern (which is actually a pretty interesting idea…if it didn’t seem rather unviable upon retrospect)…that means it’s halfway to drop city.

Melida is so flat, she doesn’t even fill out her dress…(LOL, that gives a new meaning to “flat as a board”.)

But why is the tutor a dude? Plus an older dude to a younger girl, at that???

Hey, Melida is essentially my kinda catnip…at least in my head...because she’s someone without powers in a family with powers (basically, she’s like Daichi from Crimson/Future is Crimson in that regard). Then again, Charlotte tried playing the same hand by having superpowers and absolutely sunk itself ‘cos I couldn’t stand Yu.

Elise runs reallllllly derpily.

Those CGI alleyways look baaaaaaaaad, man. Like, “looking at grainy footage through a UV camera” bad.

Okay, Kufa. You are not Naruto. You will not see them aliens. Give up already.

The actual frig is an anima???

I like this black/bright blue/purple combo…it’s nice.

Umm…but what is the way to awaken the mana???

I’m currently going, “So why should I give a s*** about Melida???? Ripoff Kirito just chooses to swear his life upon her and awakening her mana because she’s been beaten down a grand total of once…You should’ve killed her already, Kufa. Isn’t that what being an assassin is about???”…and then I realise there’s more to the episode…

Waiiiiiiiiiiiit…one of the maids’ names is Nietzsche??? Like the Ubermensch guy??? That’s weiiiiiiiird, man…

Kufa is a chuuni, calling it now.

The text under the series logo doesn’t quite make sense…

Hmm, this one’s a tough call, but I think I’ll give it a 45 and a hard drop. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself “So why should I give a s*** about the main character?” before…I think the closset to that would be when I’ve asked myself why I wanted to be subjected to this (for anime that get dropped).

No Guns Life 1

Now that I look at the title again…why is it called No Guns Life when Juzo’s life will always have a gun in it for as long as he’s like that (i.e. he has a gun for his head)…?

*Juzo smokes* - Oh, now that’s a striking opening scene if I ever knew one!

Ohmigoshit’sKnuckledusterfromBnHAVigilanteswithagunforhisheadand…I…*huff huff* can’t breathe anymore…LOL.

Seriously, I thought I thought up some weird s*** for my old stories, like the girl whose face was missing and Akoya turning into a manequin to preserve his beauty.

“The only ones who can touch my trigger are those who I’ve chosen to accept.” – Is that…a sexual metaphor??? Or an intimacy one in general???

Wowwwwwwwww, chibi gunhead (which was hinted in the OP) was not something I expected from such a hardboiled show.

“…shot right in the head.” – LOL, says you when the guy with the gun head is behind you.

I thought there was seriously a pun there by having the gun head’s name be “Juzo”, but it turns out his name has the kanji for 13. Maybe that hints at how unlucky he is instead. (Same with Inui and it containing the character for “dog” – turns out it’s a different kanji.)

I think this is reminding me of Mahoutsukai no Yome – strong in its core genre at first, but then shows some weakness when it comes to comedy.

I worry about how this show will look during the midseason slump period…it both has traces of CGI and the still camera pretending it’s “properly animating” a scene.

That ED really is something…and hey, I got an explanation for why the show has traces of CGI in it from the credits! Unreal Engine was credited there and that’s normally used for games.

Kabukicho Sherlock 1

Dammmmmmmmn, that’s one sweet soundtrack!

Man, I know I said for Stars Align that there’s no slap to the face like a slap to the face, but…this was a slap to the face in that I did not expect Mrs Hudson to do an entire Coraline-style musical routine in the first half of the episode. I could tell from her (?) appearance that she was a drag queen/trans caricature, but they didn’t need to make her a singer in a bar…and the “sexy” shots of Mrs Hudson’s butt are kinda disturbing…and especially the part where Watson (I think it is?) gets a butt grab for his trouble…

The woman in the blue dress is Diana Oldoini (spelling needs confirmation). The woman with the blue hair…seems to be called Tenkill…(yeah, under the subs, I can’t really make it out.) All the women at Pipe Cat seem to be trans stereotypes, which vaguely annoys and unsettles me.

Kyogoku = Natsuhiko Kyogoku and Sherlock is Holmes, but I dunno about “Michel” or “Kobayashi”.

The Watson from the Holmes books was a doctor in the Afghanistan war…I know that much.

Natsu -> Fuyu (summer -> winter), hiko (“brilliance/brightness”, a common component to Japanese boys’ names) -> to (“person”, also a common component of Japanese boy’s names).

Oh, Michel is this guy (Belmont)! No wonder. Update: So the cats are like placecards, announcing that you’re in the building.

White Rose! I saw it when Watson showed up in his car, so I figured it was going to be important…I just didn’t think it was necessary so soon…

Chili oil…no wonder the woman was disgusted by Sherlock’s burp. Not to mention, Holmes was good at identifying chemicals too. This show is shaping up to be a modern Holmes more than Detective Conan is!

Wowwwwwwww…this show really doesn’t like gay people either (understatement). It’s like I’m watching a show from the 90s in regards to the LGBTIQ+ people in this…

Moriarty is a thief for thieves, huh? A regular (modern) Robin Hood, so to speak. I wonder if the poor kids are the Baker Street Irregulars…?

This soundtrack is sooooo good! Plus it’s clearly leading up to a rakugo scene, based on the fact “Shibahama” briefly appeared on the screen during that really cool rainbow/text scene!

“What sort of girl takes her clothes off for a man she’s never met?” – A sex worker.

I-Is Moriarty drinking Dr Pepper…? Or Coke?

This is really shaping up to be a modern Sherlock Holmes – with his rakugo, this Sherlock is leading his Watson to the answer!

Ohhhhhhhhh man, these CGI cars look terrible!

H-HUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?! W-What? Sherlock gets hit by a car in the first episode (I think they wanted it to happen for humour)? This really is a show where it’s neither mystery nor comedy…it’s just kinda weird and kinda there.

So that’s Mary Morstan and…who? (If you never figured it out, I learnt these characters’ names through ANN cast announcements.)

I…don’t get why Sherlock is screaming because I don’t know what Watson’s bottle-thingy is for, but I’ll assume it has to do with pain for Sherlock’s genitals or something of the sort…and go “ouch” for him.

Okay, so the next-ep preview’s “Why not join the staring at eye moles squad?” is a joke. You see, the word nakibokuro refers to a mole (or beauty spot) under the eye (where hokuro = mole and naki = cry, so it’s as if the person cried the mole into existence). Then it’s mitsumetai, meaning “want to stare”, but then the tai for “want” is substituted for the tai meaning “squad”. So that nonsense English line is just a very literal translation that isn’t funny…just confusing. I don’t get the “Cobra?/ Farewell” exchange though…

This very last scene before the end of the episode seems to be a page of info about the setting of Shinjuku in this series. East and west were split by a wall and train tracks, it seems, and you ned to pass through the gate to go between them…I spotted this omake because of the cat in one corner.

I don’t quite get why the case had to be treated like a gameshow at one part, but that would be a cool plot if someone ever wrote a story about it…(actually, wait. I think I do know a similar plotline from Detective Conan – the one with Natsuki in it – plus the Running Man by Steven King is somewhat similar to it too.)

Ahiru no Sora 2

Essentially, Sora is a reverse Kuroko…amirite…?

Ugh! This slang is so outdated!!! “[T]otes craycray”…the translator’s trying too hard to be a hip teenager…

How does anyone keep food in their afro anyway…?

I…miss shonen protags like Ahiru. The type that are earnest, but not shouty.

I was thinking I might drop the show here, but then I looked at the posts and strangely they didn’t talk about Chiaki (who I expected to be the deuteragonist of this show). Instead, they talk about Momoharu, so I was wondering what kind of twist they were pulling.

Beet red, my butt…

…then again, more Chiaki shenanigans showed up, so I really am gonna drop this. Geesh, Chiaki, you really suck.

BnHA 64

Eyyyyyyyyy, my local sublicensor is back to simulcasting BnHA! That didn’t happen for the stuff affected by the CR x Funi partnership, so I’m happy it’s happening right now.

I heard this was a recap ep but it was handled well…oh well, the new OP is well worth the price of admission.

I like how Amajiki (my boyyyyyyyy!) is like “Don’t touch me!!!”, even in the OP.

Hmm…I see one of the male journalists being scolded uses Windows 10.

Tokuda’s name is literally a pun on “It’s a special (episode)”…good job, Bones and BnHA staff (sarcastic). Update: Maybe the “tane” (seed) means he’s seedy…?Nah, that pun doesn’t work in Japanese.

Good job on recapping Vault Boy (as he’s known). I found his POWERRRRRR! thing amusing when s3 was airing, remember?

I get the feeling (based on the chapters Viz made free for the sake of hyping s4 up) Nighteye is a parody of the Jump series Seiji Tanaka. Update: No, now that I google Seiji Tanaka up and remember Horikoshi was going for a stereotypical Japanese salaryman look, it’s just a giant coincidence…

Tokuda has that “nice older man” vibe going on…hmm…

Whoaaaaaaaaaaa, that quirk is creepyyyyyy…

“…false encouragement to those…”

Selfie for the photobomb photographer!...(or something like that…)

Oh nooooooooo, I know exactly what’s in store for these guys, now that Viz made chs. 122 – 162 available for free for a limited time!!! That ED though…it’s basically torture for someone who knows what’s going on!!!

Shin Chuuka Ichiban 1

This is a sequel to a series I watched ages ago in Cantonese, so…heck if I’ll understand what’s going on, but I’ll try. Even though my memory of these characters should be better than everyone else’s, it might even be worse, considering all the anime I watched in the years between…

All these faces are familiar…but I’ve forgotten most of their names…If I remember right, the blonde is Sanche, the only one I really remember because he gave his all to cutting radish by moonlight so that it was proven it was so thin you could see the moonlight through it…yeah, I think that’s the only character aside from Mao I can really say anything about. (I don’t think he was blonde last time I saw an anime about him, though.)

These chickens are adorable...in this day and age, we know these chickens aren't carriers of misfortune...but just roll with it for now.

The subs don't note it (the visuals do eventually though), but her (Tiya’s) bro is a big one.

I never realised how long Mao's hair was until this series...

Even these men look like chickens...LOL.

The essence of SCI is, like any other shonen, Mao gets underestimated and kicks their asses.

The men even sound like chickens, LOL.

See? Silkies. I've never taken care of one myself, but they are adorable lil' birds with a distinctive look. Anyways, I think what sets this apart from SnS is the earnestness from years gone by (rather than extreme exaggerating). Also, this ep. made me hungry...LOL, that's the sign of a good cooking show.

Yeah...I forgot the reason why Mao wears that blue thing over his arm is because he can dramatically reveal himself as Super Chef. That happened a lot in s1.

...who's Fei again...?

Tokunana 2

I think this is going to be the decider as to where I push the threshold of my rankings, since this how is very middling…also, it’s pretty obvious to note the ep. titles go 1, 2, 3…(and so on).

I’ve watched my fair share of mysteries (Detective Conan gives you a lot of ‘em), so I can tell the covering of the mouth is a tell…the dwarvish man is lying.

The news headline says “Rainbow Bridge Reconstruction”…(It has a particle on the end though…I dunno whether I wanna translate that or not.)

Based on the “dragons” idea, I wouldn’t be surprised if the main antagonist’s surname was Kuzuryuu (“9 headed dragon”).

Codenames? They even did that in Double Decker and in some senses, that was a parody of the entire cop procedural! (What with “Perm” as a codename and all that…speaking of which, I think Travis was the type who liked “fun” codenames too…he called himself “Boss” as well…and called his rookie “Rookie”.)

The saying goes a painted dragon should have the eyes painted last or else it’ll come alive and fly away. It must be something of the sort for daruma too. By the way, I could guess the politician was trying to be re-elected before Ichinose said due to the hissho (“sure win”) written on the daruma.

I don’t think I’ve seen anyone in anime sit backwards on a chair like that (Ichinose’s pose)…

How does Suga know about the blog…?

I keep swearing Seiji is gonna awaken some type of powers, but…I dunno why…?

“Here it is! My fist of justice!” *whomp*…that’s how I imagined the final punch to be for Seiji.

I swear…I’ve been seeing this Angolmois-style filter over Tokunana…(grr…)

Stand My Heroes 2

Wait, there’s Hattori…and Hatori…? Update: Oh…kay, so there’s Otani Hatori (of Revel) and then Hattori You (of the police). They have the same colour hair…and the same hairstyle…there goes my dreams of even comprehending this show…

Wait, so the English-language song is the OP????

Why does a guy called Maki always have green hair…?

Seriously though…Yui is a cliched scientist. By that, I mean he doesn’t really act like one at all – he obsesses over potential samples and whatnot (emphasis on “potential”).

Where the heck did you acquire a drug like that, then, Kagura???

Only Rei, who knows what happened at the dinner, can say “you’re nice based on what you did at dinner”. The viewer wasn’t privy to such things…

Aki’s tsundere…!

That fight scene was barely animated…geesh.

Maki’s got such anger issues that it’s hard to get behind him…

By the by, I don’t find Jekyll and Hyde cases hot, so Maki is basically a no-go.

Iruma-kun 2

This could be the show that decides it all. Iruma-kun is the 2nd-last show on my prospective shows for the season, so I’m cutting the fat fast by watching a few shows that indicate the quality of everything underneath as well as itself.

LOL, I never noticed there was an “Oh my gah” in the OP, haha.

Okay, so the pun in the title is Mairimashita! Iruma-kun (“I’ve Arrived! Iruma-kun”in formal Japanese because he’s the demon king’s grandson), but it’s “demon entry” rather than the standard kanji…so there’s absolutely no way to make that joke work in English, hence “Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun”. The pun in Iruma is that it’s an anagram of the formal iku/kuru (come/go), mairu. Yes, that’s the mairu I was talking about earlier.

I love how the narrator is just like “akuma deeeeeee~su” with all the enthusiasm of a postman; that is, he’s not very good at covering up his sarcasm.

Oh, so it’s maccha, but macha (demon tea)…geddit?

…oh! I actually noticed Sullivan’s hands were bandaged, but I didn’t think anything of it! So it was plot-relevant…

Hellraiser clock…for mezamashidokei (where ma = demon again)…that is a good pun! I love you, subber!

I assume the series of 5 symbols I keep seeing is actually “Iruma”, meaning the demon language is based on English, or at the very least individual romaji.

Oh wait! Babibabi(etc.)ru…does that mean the OP is referring to the school??? *mindblown*

…don’t tell me it’s Sullivan…? Update: Nope, I forgot about “Severus Snape”. He’s Aizawa from BnHA, but a demon.

Asmodeus stands out far too much in a crowd, LOL.

Whether useful or useless, trash is trash.

That’s…a very death metal snake…to put it one way.

This reminds me of Future is Crimson…how nostalgic…I really expect a cute monster though.

*laughing behind hand* Oh noooooooo…does that mean Iruma summoned the teacher??? (Hahahah!!!! Hahahaha!!!)

So…I was right, but I wasn’t right??? The teacher is a cute demon, I guess. Very fluffy. His Snape form isn’t bad either, but I’d prefer someone younger than him, to be honest. (Gimme plushies of the small fluffy sensei!)

Okay, so sukima appears to be a word meaning “gap, crevice (etc.)”. There’s the character for demon in it, so it’s kinda like calling this section the demonic gap-closer…the malevolent mini-episode…the fiendish filler! Yeah, I like the sound of “fiendish filler” (even though I don’t even like filler!).

Dr Stone 15

…now Senku’s done it. (i.e. married Ruri)

I like how Suika went splat while running. It adds more consistency to her nearsightedness.

Now there’s a cliffhanger!

No Guns Life 2

I always love it when people say they’re unarmed…but truth be told, people (normally) have two arms…not to mention, Juzo has a gun for a head and a fist that can rapidly punch. You can’t really call that “unarmed”.

I just realised Juzo’s jaw doesn’t really move when he talks…

Wait a second, ARAHABAKI????? You mean, Chuuya Arahabaki???? (Talking about that to those not in the know would be spoilers, so I won’t explain what I mean here, just in case there are non-BSD fans reading this.)

So…uh, where are Juzo’s eyes in that head of his…?

Ooh, authentication keys. Sounds like cybersecurity. That…was my jam before I jumped ship – apparently I’m too dumb to deal with modulos (which are important to cybersecurity).

Hmm…gun slave unit? Whatever does that mean, hmm??? (somewhat inquisitive, somewhat sarcastic)

Can a guy with a gun for his head get lung cancer? These are the big questions, folks.

Hmm? His hobby is house-cleaning, but he doesn’t have any kids…? That sounds sort of weird (although my ideas of a house cleaner are probably a bit…motherly, I guess? “Conforming to traditional stereotypes”…how about that description instead…?).

I never realised how short the muzzle of Juzo’s head is until I got this side shot.

“Guess that means I won’t be able to hold back against you!” – Whoa! That’s some effective horror…and this isn’t even a show that has “horror” as one of its genres…

0 notes

snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales · 7 years

Text

Whatever You Say

A/N: I found a way to work this into Roommates. Mwhahahahahahahahahaha!!! Enjoy.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

@jazzijanal said: “Maybe a Derek imagine based on the song Closer by the Chains Chainsmokers ft. Halsey? If not that fine but It could be awesome.”

Xxx

Derek stared down at the brown liquid in his cup, swirling it gently, letting the melting ice cubes play a random beat against the inside of the glass.

“That’s the last one, bud,” the bartender said to him, nodding to the drink in his hands.

Derek plastered on a smile. “Oh, come on, man, I’m not even buzzed yet.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at him, the bartender scoffed. “That’s your fifth one, you should be beyond just ‘buzzed’ right now.”

Suppressing a growl of irritation Derek slumped back in his chair, nodding in defeat, ignoring the curious looks the bartender shot over his shoulder as he moved down the bar to the other patrons. Lost in the clinking of his ice, he almost missed her voice. It had been years since the sound had graced his ears, but it’s one of those things you never forget.

Stilling the movement of his cup, he stared straight down into the liquid as he tuned into the conversation a few feet down from him, her voice affecting him the way he wished alcohol could.

She was talking to Isaac, Peter, Stiles, and a few other members of the pack, catching up on things that had happened in her absence. Like a good stiff drink, her voice smoothed over the prickles the voices of the others caused on his skin, numbing him to their effects and making him feel lightheaded. He didn’t dare breathe through his nose, because he knew one whiff of her scent would make him lose control.

It had been easier when she was around all the time, he had been able to check and make sure she was safe in the middle of the night, a simple listen would prove a steady heartbeat and soft little snores as she slept.

Sometimes he would just sit outside her room, leaning on the wall beside her closed door, listening and breathing. He didn’t want to wake her but the nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone some nights. So he made due with knowing she was safe, and he would make sure she stayed that way.

When she went off to college, her scent around the loft had disappeared slowly, and it was more painful than he wanted to admit. It reminded him of the fire, the few things he had left of his family’s fading with age, the smell of what he’d lost going along with it.

Chancing a glance to his side, he instantly wished he hadn’t. Her back was to him as she perched on one of the tall stools, one leg extended down to the foot rail of the chair, the other tucked under her like always, making her just a little bit higher. He smiled. She always hated being made fun of for her height. She was completely average height, but being surrounded by ‘giants’ as she dubbed them just made her seem so much smaller, and she used it to her advantage in many a sparring match.

He saw a tattoo peeking out of the top of her shirt, and he couldn’t quite tell what the full design was.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, filling his lungs with the smell he had denied himself this whole time, he pushed off the bar and walked out the door, resisting the temptation to look over his shoulder to see if she looked up.

Xxx

He paced beside her car, debating if he should stay or not. He’d left the bar an hour ago, but couldn’t bring himself to move past the car that had her scent all over it.

“You lost, stranger?”

Her voice at his back made him jump, and he whirled around to face her, eyes wide in surprise. She looked shy, her cheeks instantly blooming a bright red as she glanced down to her shoes for a brief moment before looking back up. “Wow. Is Derek Hale actually speechless? Color me surprised.”

“You look good,” he finally managed, his voice soft, and he cleared his throat.

She smiled. “Thanks. You, too.”

Silence settled around them, both of them going to break it at the same time.

“Why are you-”

“Scott called me and said-”

They both laughed softly, Derek gesturing for her to speak.

“Scott called me and said you guys might need some help, and my only class this semester ended up being online, so I figured it was time to come back.”

He nodded. “Need somewhere to stay?”

She smiled a bit wider. “I was hoping that maybe my old room was still available.”

“Of course!” He said as if it was absurd to think otherwise. “And it’s just me there tonight, Peter and Isaac are on tracking duty.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully.

He was doing everything he could to resist the urge to just run up to her, hold her close and take a deep breath.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, holding his gaze. “Oh, hell,” she mumbled, rushing to him, taking his face in her hands, and pressed her lips to his. Her momentum pushed him back against the door to the backseat, his arms instinctually going around her waist and holding her close, returning the kiss, and making her smile against his lips.

She let out a surprised squeal when he flipped their positions, opening the car door at the same time, and lifting her into the back seat, never once breaking the kiss.

Her hands snaked from his cheeks to around his neck, pulling him closer, her legs going around his waist to do the same, making them both groan appreciatively. Losing himself in her scent and the taste of her lips, he began to get drunk off the kiss, everything he needed was right here.

Lost in the moment, ignorant to the world, they weren’t sure how long they stayed like this until Isaac yelled out from somewhere behind them in the parking lot, “Picking up right where you left off, I see.” Looking to the voice, they both couldn’t help but smile, seeing Peter gently shove Isaac’s shoulder before turning his gaze to them, a disgusted look on his face, but his voice playful. “God, get a room, you two!”

“We have a loft, dumb ass!” She yelled back at him, both she and Derek chuckling as the other two shuddered before hopping into a car and taking off, but not before Isaac rolled down the passenger window and yelled as they drove by, “We missed you, Y/N!”

“I wish it was mutual!” She said with a smirk, laughing when Isaac playfully stuck his tongue out at her, Peter laughing loudly.

Xxx

His back was to her, sweats hung low on his hips, and she smiled at the bite marks she had left around his tattoo already healing. “Sometimes I hate that you’re an Alpha, you know that?” He looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrow quirked. “My marks never stay.” He only laughed softly before turning back to the glass of water he was filling.

When he turned around he stilled as he stared at her bare back that was to him, the full tattoo he had glimpsed from her shirt earlier on display for him, the sheets wrapped around her starting at the waist and being clutched tightly together at her chest.

She glanced back at him when she heard his low growl, seeing where his eyes were. “Peter came up about a month after I left to do it for me. I missed you guys too much. I needed a reminder.”

Derek stared at the large triskelion on her back that matched his before looking back to her eyes. “Please tell me you’re staying, because I don’t think I can say goodbye again.” He set the glass down and rushed over to her, pulling her close and taking a deep breath as he buried his nose in her hair. “You make me feel eighteen again. You make everything okay.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he let his lips rest on her bare shoulder, speaking into her skin. “You make me forget all the bad things, all the things that haunt me, and you make the day to day stuff we deal with bearable. If I have to have your smell fade again, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Xxx

Sitting up abruptly, Derek woke from the dream with a gasp.

His eyes shooting up at an echoing gasp to find Y/N right outside his doorway, blanket wrapped around her like a cape, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

“God, Derek! You scared the crap outta me! I was on my way to get a glass of water and here you go- Why are you looking at me like that?”

Derek stared a moment longer before he shook his head, trying to shake away the dream, and how real it had felt.

“You can’t sleep either?” She said softly, leaning on his doorframe.

“Just a bad dream,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

She chuckled. Her voice got closer as she spoke. “Your heartbeat betrays you. It wasn’t a bad dream.”

“Okay, geeze. It was a weird dream.” There. Not a lie.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, weirdo.” She sat on the edge of his bed, one leg tucked under her just like in the dream. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think so.” He looked up to meet her eyes. “It just felt so real.”

“Ah, one of those dreams,” she said in understanding. A moment of silence passed before she went to stand up. “Well, I think I’ll get that glass of water-”

He gently grabbed her wrist, turning her attention back to him. “Actually, could you stay here with me? Just till I fall asleep. I need something to remind me I’m awake in the meantime.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, crawling under the covers beside him, and he inched back to make room for her. She turned so her back was to him, and he stared up at the ceiling awkwardly for several minutes. Finally he gave in, rolling to his side, he reached over and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him, and smiling at the little squeak of surprise she gave. “Sorry. This bed is just too damn big, and I wouldn’t want you to get cold all the way over there….”

“Sure,” she mumbled, chuckling, and snuggling further into him as she heard him take a deep sniff of her hair, his muscles instantly relaxing just a little bit more. “Whatever you say, Derek.” She understood. Trying to be subtle, she turned her face into the pillow beneath her, inhaling deeply, and relaxing at the familiar scent, before turning her head back to rest against it like before. “Whatever you say.”

Xxx

Tags: @evyiione @mayahart02 What’s this?

#derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey x reader #peter hale imagine #peter hale x reader #roommates #for my roomies #my little hale family #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf reader insert #teen wolf x reader #pack x reader #pack imagine #teen wolf fluff #tw fluff

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freaoscanlin · 7 years

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Given Unsought, Part 6

Jemma came back from Maveth with a little something in tow. She and Daisy attempt to deal. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

A/N: And now we enter the plot. Or fun bits of the plot. Either way, Jemma has a question for Daisy and Fitz, Daisy gets confused, and then: plot. Silly plot. 2949 words, still rated PG-13.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. The Twelfth Night, Act III, Scene I, Line 147

Week Sixteen

New Year’s Eve at SHIELD was kind of a mixed bag, Daisy found. Some agents gathered in the Playground’s lounge with champagne and sparklers, others hit the local bars, but nobody took the full day off. Daisy caught lunch with Coulson and Mack, discussing strategy for an upcoming meeting with the still-elusive Rosalind Price. She spent her afternoon sparring with May, helped Hunter (who’d lost a bet) with inventory, and spent an hour on the shooting range with Fitz’s new icer design.

By dinner time, she should have been in a party mood, and she knew that. The pall of Grant Ward had finally ceased hanging over SHIELD. No more nights wondering if he waited around the next corner, ready to manipulate her and talk at her and gaslight her. No more wondering which operations he’d hinder, whose lives he’d put in danger. She was free. She should have felt relief, overwhelming relief.

All she felt was a sort of numbness. Ward was gone, life snuffed with a bullet to the head. And even though she’d watched his body fall—or precisely because she had—Daisy had woken up in a cold sweat every night since, gasping and trying to maintain her hold on reality.

So after dinner, she retreated to a seldom-used lounge with her laptop to try and track Lincoln. They hadn’t made any progress on the inhuman front, and Lincoln had been a transition specialist at afterlife and a medical doctor. There was literally nobody on the planet more qualified to assist SHIELD and the ATCU with inhuman transitioning, and yet he continued to run.

Daisy typed this into an email four times and erased it since there wasn’t much else she could do. When Jemma poked her head in, Daisy couldn’t deny that she was relieved to have a distraction.

The serious look on Jemma’s face dried that relief right up. “Is something wrong?” Daisy asked, closing the laptop.

“No, but d’you have a minute? You’re not in the middle of anything important, are you?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

“Oh. Good. Erm, stay there? I’ll be right back.” Jemma vanished, leaving Daisy at the table. A minute later, she returned with Fitz in tow. Jemma gestured that they should take a seat. “There’s something I need to talk to you both about.”

Fitz still had a screwdriver in his hand and the puzzled furrow of his brow matched what Daisy felt, which comforted her somewhat. “If it’s about me being testy, Daisy and I already talked about that and we’re getting along much better,” he said.

“It’s not that. Though I do appreciate it.” Jemma took a deep breath.

Her bottom lip was trembling, Daisy realized, a sign that tears could be imminent. She reached across the table and laid her hand over Jemma’s. “What’s going on, Jemma?”

Jemma rubbed the thumb of her free hand over the corner of her eyelid. “I’ve been thinking a lot this week. Specifically about—well, about Ward, actually. What happened with him was awful. I don’t think any of us have gotten a real night of sleep since.”

Fitz glanced swiftly at Daisy, and she looked at the table. She’d thought she’d kept her nightmares quiet, but apparently not. She really needed to switch rooms so that she wasn’t Fitz’s neighbor anymore.

“What happened was scary, but it’s also just an accepted truth in our lives that we face danger so others don’t need to,” Jemma said after a deep breath. “And I’m proud to do that, and I know you are, too.”

“Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ in here?” Daisy asked.

“I’m proud of what we do, but it’s not just me anymore. I’ve had my…I’ve had my denial, and a good long sulk, but it’s time I accept some things. I’m having a baby. If I’m lucky, it’ll be around the first of June and not before. It wasn’t planned, but the first thing one learns at SHIELD is that nothing ever goes to plan. So I’m having this baby, and I hope you two will be there right alongside me.”

“Obviously,” Fitz said at the same time as Daisy said, “Duh.”

Daisy continued, “We’ll be the best honorary aunt and uncle ever. You and Fitz can teach Simmons Junior nerdy science things, and I’ll teach them how to fight back when the cool kids try to take their lunch money for being a nerd.”

Fitz and Jemma looked like they would very much like to protest that, but they exchanged a look. “It’s a useful skill,” Fitz said begrudgingly.

“See? I bring things to the table occasionally,” Daisy said.

Jemma’s lips quirked upward. “There’s something else,” she said. “It’s a big request to make, especially since we’ve literally just got back from visiting my parents, but if something were to happen to me, I was hoping you might be willing to…step in?”

“Step in as in raise—raise your child?” Daisy asked. Oddly, her voice had gone up nearly an octave and she was suddenly at least thirty percent more aware of every exit location in the base. “That kind of step in?”

Jemma bit her lip. “It’s a lot to ask.”

Daisy’s mind went completely and utterly fuzzy. At least Fitz had been stunned silent, too. It was one thing for Jemma to be pregnant because that meant Jemma would be a mother. But if something happened—her stomach pitched and rolled at the thought—it would fall to Daisy and Fitz. He was a competent adult when he wasn’t being crabby, but Daisy could barely take care of herself. There was absolutely nothing in her background that would have ever prepared her for the possibility of taking care of another, more helpless, smaller person.

Jemma turned her hand over on the table to link their fingers. “It’s something you said that made me consider it,” Jemma said. “On the rooftop, remember? You reminded me of all the children like you in the system, who didn’t have a backup. I don’t want that for this child. You turned out lovely, but I don’t want to subject anybody to that kind of pain.”

“What about your parents?” Fitz asked.

“I’ve talked to them about it, and they’ll do whatever is needed in the event the worst happens. Jack, too. But as much as I love them, and I want them to be a part of this baby’s life even if I’m gone, I left when I was fourteen, and it wasn’t until I was at the Academy that I finally began to find myself. Where I met you.” Jemma looked at Fitz. She then looked solemnly at Daisy, who couldn’t look away. “And then in the field where I met you. You are the people that mean the most in the world to me, and who truly know me best. If I’m gone, if something should happen to me, the two of you would be the best tether I could keep to this child.”

Daisy managed to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Well, first of all, nothing is ever going to happen to you, just so we’re clear,” she said.

“Agreed,” Fitz said.

“You can’t possibly know that,” Jemma said, but Fitz and Daisy glared. “What? You can’t!”

“Even so.” Daisy cleared her throat. “But if something did happen to you, of course I’d be there for Simmons Junior.”

“Me too. Anything they needed, anything at all. Though I refuse to call him—her—it—‘Junior.’” Fitz had an odd look on his face. Daisy had never asked about the end of their romantic relationship, but now she wondered how much of a role the unborn baby had played in that. “I will say, try not to let anything happen to you. I’m not much good with babies. I prefer it when they’re older. Or monkeys.”

Daisy stifled a laugh. “Don’t ever change,” she told him.

“Of course I’ll change, that’s the point of living, isn’t it? If I never changed, I’d be static.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and I think you know that.”

They both looked over in confusion when Jemma burst into tears. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, flapping her free hand in front of her face. “You two go on. I’m just so relieved—don’t mind me—it’ll pass in a moment, I’m sure—”

“Is it the hormones?” Fitz whispered to Daisy.

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to say that out loud, dummy.” She rounded the table and hugged Jemma, rubbing her friend’s back. Jemma held on tightly, sniffling, and didn’t move, even when Fitz got up and rested his hand on her shoulder.

The enormity of what she’d agreed to sat heavily under Daisy’s ribcage, pushing against her heart, but she knew she’d never have been able to say no. She’d grown up in the system, clawing to find her way out and never really knowing how to do that. Jemma had already put measures into place so that the same wouldn’t happen to her child. And it wouldn’t, Daisy thought. She would personally do everything she could, she realized, to ensure that the baby would never know any of the pain she had at growing up, shuffled through the system as she was. Which had to be precisely why Jemma had asked this of her and Fitz.

For now, though, she merely held on until Jemma stopped crying and, obviously flustered, left to go make herself a cup of tea. The minute she was out of earshot, Daisy turned to Fitz. “What would it even be like? Would we have shared custody or…?”

“It’s a bit of a grim topic, don’t you think?”

“Well, obviously,” Daisy said. “Obviously I hope the worst never happens. That goes without saying. But, like, if it did?”

“Then I imagine the baby would go to you first,” Fitz said. “And I’ll be around to help out.”

“Is this because I’m a woman?”

“Of course not.” He gave her a look like the very idea was absurd.

Daisy blinked at him. “Then, wait, why me? You two have been friends forever. You finish each other’s sentences, like, all the time.”

“You’ll figure it out.” And with that cryptic statement, he awkwardly reached out and seemed to think about it for a second. He settled for patting her on the shoulder, and left.

Though Daisy really wasn’t in a partying mood after that, Mack found her and dragged her out into the lounge, where even May had been coerced into being present for the festivities. She wordlessly pushed a bottle of beer into Daisy’s hand and tilted her eyebrow at the ping pong table in the corner, where Bobbi and Hunter were currently in mid-crow at their current state of being undefeated. She’d done more surreal things than helping May beat the divorced couple at beer pong, Daisy was sure, but she couldn’t think of them off the top of her head. May’s time deep undercover with Hunter had changed quite a few things, it appeared.

At fifteen seconds to midnight, her phone buzzed with a text from an unlisted number.

Not safe to talk but wanted to start your year off right. Happy New Year.

It was signed by only a smiley emoji, but there could be only one person. Daisy frowned at the text. She texted back her well wishes to Lincoln, forgoing the smiley face, and pocketed her phone. As she did, she spotted Fitz and Jemma over by the stove, apparently deep in an argument. Fitz gestured at the room and Jemma gave him a look that would blister the paint off of the quinjet.

Better to stay out of that one.

Daisy dropped onto the couch between Coulson and Bobbi, raising her bottle and shouting the countdown. At midnight, she hugged both of them, stood on her tiptoes to kiss Mack on the cheek, and ducked the glitter cannon that Hunter had dragged out. She bounced over to Fitz and Jemma afterward. They both abruptly stopped arguing as she drew near.

“Happy new year!” She hugged Fitz first, then Jemma, holding on tight. “Here’s to a great one, right?”

“Indeed!” Jemma raised her sparkling apple juice in a little toast, clearing her throat. Why she elbowed Fitz in the side, Daisy had no idea. “I think we all deserve some happiness. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Definitely. Ooh, May made more cheese puffs. I don’t know about you, but I am starting this year right.” Daisy nudged her way through them, making a beeline for the tray May held before Hunter could get to it.

She swore she heard Fitz mutter “Coward” at Jemma as she moved off, but maybe it was just her imagination.

May was back, Coulson was in charge, she had all of her friends and coworkers gathered close, Lincoln was staying in touch. It was going to be a good year, she determined.

Week Seventeen

Five days in, and this year already sucked.

All along. All along the inhuman killer had been right under their noses, directly in their camp. Talking to Jemma, talking to her, providing therapy for god’s sake, and not one person had seen the similarities between Andrew Garner’s travel for SHIELD and Lash’s kill pattern.

Daisy felt hollowed out, brutally empty, as she watched the ATCU load the containment pod onto the bed of a semi. Rosalind Price had assured Coulson that he wouldn’t be harmed, that Andrew would be in the best possible care, but Daisy no longer had no idea what to believe. Getting into the ATCU’s servers was nigh on impossible without getting an inside man into the facility, and Coulson had refused to sign off on that mission—yet. Daisy was pretty sure she’d been wearing him down, but that didn’t stop him from doing that weird flirtation thing with Rosalind that made Daisy feel like frowning.

Coulson might not actually be her father, but it kind of felt like being introduced to a new and already hated stepmother.

May was nowhere to be found as the pod was carted away, but Daisy hadn’t really expected to see her. She knew her SO had to be nearby—May wouldn’t let Andrew go without overseeing it—but the woman clung to shadows like she’d been born to do just that. So after they closed the semi’s doors and the agent climbed into the front seat, the truck rumbling as it left the bay, Daisy wordlessly turned and walked back to the quinjet.

Lincoln, sitting numbly in one of the jump seats, glanced up at her and away just as quickly. He’d already apologized three times. Daisy knew he meant it, but she lacked the emotional strength to handle it at the moment. So she simply kept walking, and settled into the copilot’s seat.

May joined her five minutes later and didn’t speak a word, not even when Coulson climbed aboard and said they were cleared to take off. Daisy watched the horizon beyond the cockpit, remembering all the times the noise in her head had grown too loud after Ward that she’d climbed into the cockpit of the Bus to simply sit in silence beside May.

This time, though, May flipped a couple of switches that put the quinjet on autopilot. She angled a look at Daisy. “Do you need to talk?”

“No,” Daisy said.

May didn’t reply with “Good,” but Daisy could read between the lines well enough.

Back at the base, May squeezed her arm, just once. It was momentous enough to alleviate some of the tension pulling her shoulders taut, but it wasn’t enough to fight back the sick feeling in her chest. Without knowing where she was going, Daisy started to wander. Andrew had been a friend. A therapist. The first therapist she’d ever begun to trust. Daisy let out a humorless laugh as she wandered on with her hands in her pockets. It just figured.

Without her bidding, her footsteps carried her to the lab. There she stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and one shoulder leaning up against the frame. She watched Jemma speak with one of the scientists on her team, no doubt conferring about the sequencing project she’d talked to Daisy about over dinner the night before. Daisy hadn’t understood more than the bare bones of it, but she’d liked the rise and fall of Jemma’s voice as she explained. She liked listening to what made her friend happy.

Now, less than twenty four hours later, she felt like happiness might be a long way off from ever occurring again.

As if sensing her, Jemma glanced up and over, locking gazes with her. She murmured something to her colleague and stepped over. Her eyes shone suspiciously, a hint of tears.

“You heard?” Daisy asked, and her voice came out thick and choked, shocking the hell out of her.

Jemma merely nodded.

“The ATCU has him—” Daisy broke off. Words built up, but it was like her throat had been stoppered. Attempting to speak only made it worse, so she shook her head a little wildly.

Jemma turned out not to need the words. “Oh, Daisy,” she said, and pulled Daisy into a hug. Andrew had been her therapist, too, one of the few people she would speak to about Maveth in those first days. And they all loved him. He’d become one of them. So it made sense that Daisy could feel her trembling as well. Or maybe that was from her. She couldn’t tell, and honestly, she didn’t care.

She merely closed her eyes and held on.

#given unsought #bioquake #skimmons #daisy johnson #jemma simmons #agents of shield #aos #aos fanfiction #fanfiction #leo fitz #andrew garner #melinda may #lincoln campbell

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Lovers (Vatya) - Spoky

A/N: The Vatya no one wanted or asked for. (( I know some have been asking for Vatya, I just don’t think this is what they had in mind. )) Jiggly, I’ll publish the essay on your excellence and talent somewhere else. Thank you.

TW treatable, chronic disease

Lovers

“Black filter coffee.” Brian walked to the corner table with his order and settled down in the uncomfortably low arm chair. The brown decor of the coffee house clearly aspired towards the atmosphere of a cozy living room but couldn’t quite live up to the potential. Two young mothers were quietly whispering near the counter, cradling their babies. There was an elderly gentleman reading a newspaper and a young goth chick lazily typing on her laptop, hard rock music pouring into the cafe through her light pink headphones. Brian took a sip of his coffee and burned his tongue. “Fuck,” he swore, barely above a whisper, but one of the mothers threw an ugly glance at him regardless. In accordance with social norms he offered an apologetic smile in return. What an annoyance.

What imbecile had banned smoking indoors? Fuck temperance movements, hipster cafes, body positivity and vegans. This was the United States of America, the promised land of the rich and famous, not fucking Sweden – a Scandinavian high-tax utopia with gender-neutral kindergartens. This shit right here came with a freedom of hate speech and a misogynistic racist for president. Smoking inside should’ve been embraced with the same blissful ignorance. Or maybe it was just his mood talking?

There was a bright high-pitched ting as the coffee shop door swung open. Brian glanced up and watched as his… He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Jason. Jason stepped inside the cafe. What exactly was he supposed to call him? A friend? With benefits? Companion in misfortune? Jason’s eyes seemed slightly swollen, reddish.

Brian swallowed. So it was bad news then?

Jason took a seat opposite Brian and immediately reached for the coffee. “You could get your own,” Brian thought out loud. “Why? We share everything else,” Jason said, shrugging indifferently.

Brian blinked at the revelation as Jason refused to meet his eyes. It had taken Brian days to admit to himself that he’d fucked up. That they’d fucked up. Now Jason had just blurted the information out in his infuriatingly straightforward style. How aggravating. Brian rolled his eyes and turned to look outside.

A young woman was crossing the road just outside the cafe and flashed a smiled to the taxi driver that had stopped to wait for her. She took two rushed leaps to reach the sidewalk and quickly disappeared into the crowd. The taxi was followed by a blue bus carrying a makeup advertisement. Brian wondered how Jennifer Lawrence would have handled a situation like theirs. Her skin and lips were photoshopped flawless, so the actress supported a healthy, vibrating glow. Who knew whether that was a truthful representation? Brian glanced back to Jason, who was examining his phone. He looked healthy. Maybe not as flawless as Lawrence in her retouched glory, but handsome regardless.

Brian could feel something tightening in his chest. He felt somehow relieved and crushed simultaneously. Wasn’t it against some law of physics to feel hopeful and sorry for the same reason? He lowered his gaze back to the coffee table and sighed.

He was so fucking sorry.

Brian figured it was him that had brought them to this situation; to this cafe and this table. Together, separately – did it matter? Rationally it shouldn’t have, but Brian had no way of knowing how Jason might feel about it. Reason and emotion were very different things. In theory the fault could’ve been Jason’s. Were the tables turned, would that change the situation or his perspective? It probably would have changed Brian’s initial feelings, but not the reality or the logic that went with his reasoning. There were no alternative facts to consider; the truth was what it was. He wanted to reach for the other man, to touch him, to offer support and reassurance, but he didn’t dare.

Jason took sip of Brian’s coffee.

They sat in an awkward silence for a while and Brian kept wondering what to say. Apologising felt insufficient. He traced the patterns of the wooden table with his ring finger and kept fiddling with his lighter. He really wanted a cigarette. Something to do with his hands; a familiar and easy action to concentrate on.

A loud, demanding cry filled the cafe. One of the young mothers rushed to hush the baby and Brian was momentarily reminded of the benefits of being gay. The subtle feeling of gratefulness however passed quickly. There were two sides to the coin. Based on the smell, someone had ordered pancakes.

“I’m sorry,” Jason mumbled suddenly, and Brian lifted his gaze.

Jason was staring into the black depths of the coffee and kept tracing the rim of the cup with his middle finger. Very hygienic. The absurdity of the thought made Brian chuckle. Hygiene? He was worried about hygiene? Jesus fucking christ.

“You think it’s funny?” Jason asked. His tone was slightly hostile and Brian sighed. “No,” he shook his head slightly. “I don’t think it’s funny. I think it’s absurd and unfair. It’s unbelievable and incomprehensible. It’s Notting Hill gone World War Z.”

Jason frowned. “It’s what?”

Brian snorted. Of course Jason wouldn’t get the reference. Jason was a baby. A child with adult responsibilities and paychecks. Unfortunately, that meant you had to pay all the taxes in full.

“A public health nightmare, that’s what,” Brian said and stole his molested coffee cup back to himself. He took a sip and examined Jason, who looked confused and lost. The cute, adoring smile Violet usually graced Brian with was gone. There was no trace of the usual cheeky spark that normally decorated his eyes and Brian wondered whether the man was scared. He certainly was.

“Had I wanted an American horror story, I would’ve hooked up with Needles instead,” Brian snorted. Jason raised his eyebrows at him, unamused.

When Brian had first gotten the news, he had felt like spiders were crawling all over his body, like bacteria was playing catch on his skin. The sensory nightmare was not too far-fetched. In reality it was a virus and instead of on top, it was underneath the skin. It was within.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said finally. The words might’ve felt meaningless, powerless, but he had no idea what else to say. Nothing felt appropriate.

He looked up to Jason, who was looking at him with an expression Brian couldn’t quite make sense of. “I pushed you into it,” Jason said quietly and turned his gaze away from Brian. “What do you mean?” Brian asked, confused.

Jason was blaming himself? That made no sense. All the decisions had been made in a split second, in the heat of a moment – quite literally – and while Brian would have changed things were he given the option to do so, that was impossible. There was no space for if-ing. Moreover, there was no use for the blame-game. It would only make the situation worse by setting them up against one another. Brian squirmed in his seat; he was going to reach for Jason’s hand over the table, but he missed his chance as Jason stood up abruptly and, without a word, made a straight line into the gents.

Brian watched after him, concerned, and the bathroom door closed with a quiet click. Was he supposed to follow or to give the man space? Jason probably wanted privacy and so Brian decided to give him a moment. A moment to collect his thoughts without Brian’s intrusive presence, without the detrimental reminder of their similar circumstances. He took another sip of the coffee and wondered what all of this would mean. For him, personally. For them, as a… as what exactly?

* *

Hedonism

It had been weeks and the initially harmless flirting had left Brian hard and aching. The elevator to the fifth floor was taking decades and Brian kept playing with the cap of the small lube tube in his pocket. Click. Click. Click. Bing.

At least he remembered the room number and didn’t have to check it.

501… 502… 503… 504… There.

When Jason finally let him in, Brian wasted no time. He pushed Jason against the wall, yanking away the towel hanging low on his hips and kicking the front door shut.

“Ru still hasn’t wired you the money?’ Brian asked. “Given the attire.” Jason did not respect the question with a reply, but responded to Brian’s demanding, powerful kisses with matching enthusiasm and desperation.

“Off,” Jason groaned and helped Brian to open his belt.

“No really, I think you have grounds to claim interest for late payment.”

“Oh, shut up and fuck me,” Jason snapped and yanked Brian’s fly open.

Brian just smirked in response. He knew what he was doing; driving Jason mad with his commentary. But Jason was so adorable frustrated that Brian just couldn’t help himself. What he hadn’t been expecting, was to be pulled down with Jason as the man got onto his knees at the first sight of Brian’s erect cock.

“Whoa!” Brian exclaimed in surprise, trying to catch his balance. “The end of the world is not approaching,” he added, grinning. “We’ve got time.”

Brian halted and reached for the lube in his pocket.

“Now,” Jason commanded, and Brian chuckled. Impatient, whiny bitch. “Where’s th-” “Now,” Jason repeated, turned and pushed himself against Brian so that Brian’s cock was trapped between his crotch and Jason’s ass. Fine, Brian thought to himself and shoved Jason onto his hands and knees. Still wearing every single piece of clothing he had arrived with, shoes included, just his dick exposed, Brian smeared some lube onto himself and Jason, checking the man had done at least some preparation. He was not disappointed. The younger man seemed to vibrate with need and as Brian slid in, he gave a low moan. Brian pulled almost all the way back, only to plunge back in with a force that made Jason cry out. “Again.” Insatiable slut, Brian thought, and laughed silently as he started to fuck Jason, who seemed desperate to take every inch of him with every single thrust. “Brian,” Jason moaned and continued with a stream of emphatic profanities as Brian kept fucking him faster, harder. As Brian felt his climax approaching he fumbled to reach for Jason’s cock. He ran his thumb over the tip to spread the precum all over; Jason hissed in a mixture of pleasure and pain – he pulled back to protect his over-sensitive cock, causing Brian to slide deeper into him. “Fuck yes.”

Brian groaned and drove into Jason with abandon, holding his hips in place tightly with both hands. It was only after Brian had spilled into Jason and was breathing heavily into his neck that Jason finally reached for his own release. Brian made a mental note of his altruism and willingness to please – something he had not previously associated with Violet Chachki.

Immodesty

“Here.” Violet pushed the dressing room door open and dragged Katya inside. “At your service, Your Royal Highness,” Katya said before crashing their lips together as she pulled Violet close. She wanted release and had approximately seven minutes to achieve it. She kissed Violet roughly, knowing she was smudging not only her own but also Violet’s makeup. There would be red lipstick everywhere and she really did not care. Violet took a step back, and Katya leaned forward in order to follow those sinful lips. The movement caused her to stagger, and as she moved to catch up with her balance, she accidentally clacked their teeth together. Violet hissed in pain and broke the kiss. Katya blinked, startled at the loss of contact. “What?” she asked, confused.

Violet was leaning her head back, eyes squeezed tightly close. She was pressing her palm against her lower lip, clearly in pain.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Katya apologised quietly as she gently moved Violet’s hand and revealed the abused, slightly torn lower lip. A darker shade of red than either of their lipsticks was slowly spreading over Violet’s lip and chin.

“Fuck,” Katya swore at the sight and shockingly realised she was more aroused than a second ago. Somehow the vulnerability of the younger queen lit a flame inside of her. She wanted her. She wanted her now.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Katya whispered, her voice deep with arousal, and licked the blood from Violet’s chin. She gently traced it to the torn lip, and as Violet flinched back, Katya smirked. She held Violet’s head in place and gently, slowly, and with extreme care she caressed Violet’s lips with her tongue.

“So incredibly sexy,” she murmured, and pressed gentle kisses on Violet’s lips as she got rid of Violet’s skirt and untucked her in order to proceed with the originally intended handjob.

God, she loved how she could make her vibrate under her touch.

Versatility

Brian heard the door click close and smiled slightly to himself. He had already jerked off and showered, thinking Violet wouldn’t make it after all. Thanks to the dim lighting he could see a reflection of her in the window as she kicked off her heels and made her way towards the bed in what Brian could only describe as one-third-drag.

“Bri?” she whispered and sat on the bed. She reached for Brian’s naked form and stroked his lower back gently. She apparently hadn’t realised he was awake and Brian enjoyed fully how differently she acted under the impression that no one was looking. Violet Chachki faded to the background and Jason without bulwarks emerged. A smart, young man who was tired of being judged.

She leaned close and pressed a kiss in between Brian’s shoulder blades, slowly tracing his spine down to his lower back with her lips and tongue. The attention made Brian feel cared for.

“Come on babe,” she mumbled, and stroked his upper thigh. “I know I’m late, but wake up,” she continued gently. “I missed you.”

Brian smiled at the words and hummed as a sign that he was listening. Violet halted for a moment, but eventually continued caressing Brian’s upper back. She straddled him to sit on his thighs while running her fingers down his sides, before pressing her now naked chest against his back and kissing his neck. Brian could feel her hardness pressing against him through the thin fabric of her skirt.

“Mother, I see you’ve come bearing gifts again,” Brian drawled.

“Oh, shut up!” Violet laughed and bit his shoulder, leaving visible red marks.

From the corner of his eye Brian caught her reaching for the condoms he had placed on the night stand earlier. As he turned to look at her, he saw her biting the plastic wrapping. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. She stopped for a second, then smiled and leaned to press a gentle kiss on his lips before guiding him back against the mattress.

Gentle. Slow. Loving?

It was afterwards, when Violet was trying to steady her breathing and pulled out, that she noticed the cum on Brian. Had she bitten into the actual condom while opening the wrapping? She blushed and notified Brian, who was silent for a moment, but chuckled eventually.

“We can name the baby Ernest,” Brian smirked and pulled Violet into an earth-shattering kiss.

“Rotten thing to do to a girl.”

* *

“We’re closing in 15 minutes,” the barista notified Brian, not unkindly. Brian nodded and pushed his empty coffee cup closer to her. She picked the dish up with a silent smile and a nod, before making her way to the old gentleman, who Brian swore had passed away fifteen minutes ago, based on how still he was. As the barista however did not have to call the body snatchers, Brian sighed and glanced at the bathroom door. He knew that he should’ve gone in ages ago. He got up reluctantly while pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes for a quick rub. He was painfully aware that he was stalling. Being responsible for someone else felt alien. Caring this much felt frightening.

The door felt heavy as Brian pushed his way into the bathroom. He stopped next to the two sinks and listened to the quiet, uneven hum of a malfunctioning fluorescent lamp while eyeing the three cubicles, one of which had a closed door.

“Jason?” Brian asked quietly, stepping closer to the cubicle. “They’re closing in ten.”

There was a short silence before a soft sob. Brian touched the closed door and to his surprise found it unlocked. He carefully pushed the door into the cubicle and found Jason sitting on the toilet seat, red cheeks wet with tears. He was holding a wad of paper in his hand, gaze glued firmly to the floor.

Brian swallowed and crouched in front of him, placing his hands on Jason’s knees. He recognised the feeling of protectiveness within himself but wasn’t entirely sure why, or even when, he had started feeling like this in regards to Jason. Probably somewhere in between shaking his hand on the set of Drag Race, and sticking his cock into his bum.

Brian looked up to face Jason, who reluctantly met his eyes. There were no words that could offer real reassurance or comfort, so Brian didn’t even try. Instead he aimed for a gentle smile and slowly, holding Jason’s gaze, he leaned his weight onto Jason’s knees and reached up to press a soft peck on his lips.

“I adore you,” Brian whispered just short of Jason’s lips, offering him the only lifeline he could. The only one he had. Whether or not Jason would accept it was up to him. Brian saw a new set of tears escaping onto Jason’s cheeks just before the man wrapped his long arms around Brian’s shoulders, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

________

A/N2: All feedback highly appreciated. Thoughts? Here or @spokywrites xx

#katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #vatya #hurt/comfort #romance #lovers #tw chronic illness #tw std #spoky #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

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pruittwrites · 6 years

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A Turkey Flew Over Pittsburgh

The problem is not Thanksgiving, not the cooking, or the dinner itself, not the football, and certainly not the parade. The problem is the next morning. I work on Black Friday. I have for the last 10 years, until last year.

I had nightmares about Black Friday. People who are nice people, seemingly mild-mannered individuals turn on you. Like Mr. Poulin, or Mrs. Crabtree. The fear started the first of November, and it built right up until I finished the gravy at Grandma’s house.

I’m a sane, rational thirty year old man, but something snapped. Instead of driving home, I found myself on the interstate, then at the airport, and on the plane. I kept looking over my shoulder, as if Mr. Summers, my boss, would drag me off the plane.

Once we took off, I finally started to relax, even drifted off to sleep, for about ten minutes. Then I woke up in a cold sweat, realizing this wasn’t a dream. I had ran away from home, on Thanksgiving day!

Of course, it wasn’t exactly home. It was a one bedroom apartment over my Uncle Felix’s garage, and there was no one at home. I was headed to a strange city, on a family holiday, all by myself.

It may sound like my senses had returned, but it hadn’t, only a momentarliy tremor. Instead of grabbing a ticket on the first plane home, I got a taxi, and a room at a small hotel. There was only one person to call, one person that would talk me back from anxiety town, Grandma.

She listened calmly, replied at the appropriate points, and waited for me to run down. Then she started talking, and said the complete opposite of what I had anticipated. When she says something I do it, no matter what.

“Preston, you need to quit your job. Stay in … where did you end up?” I swallowed hard. “Right now I’m in Pittsburgh, but …”.

“Stay there, you need this. You’re my grandson and I love you, but you lean towards the routine, you need something to shake you up. I’ve been praying for years you would wake up and try something, now you have.”

“This isn’t forever, give it two weeks, some things are going to happen to you Preston, and they’ll happen before you get back on the plane to come home.”

I was too stunned to argue, so I agreed, and followed her instructions. First, I called a sleepy Mr. Summers, and quit my job. Then I ate a nice dinner, life altering events make me hungry, and I went to bed.

You know how your subconscious works things out while you’re sleeping? Well, mine went this way. In my dream, Grandma was President, and I was the Turkey they pardon every year, only instead of a farm, I went to Pittsburgh!

Others would run away to Hawaii, California, or Alaska. Me, I ended up a state away, in a city I didn’t know anyone in. I really felt like the turkey in my dream, who tried to fly, but couldn’t get off the ground.

So, the next morning I got up, shaved, showered, and what do you think this college graduate, bird brain, did? I went to a department store. A lot like the one that had terrified me enough to run away from. As I said, “Gobble, gobble”, under my breath, I thought of how much I felt like what I ate yesterday.

Then I found me correcting myself, “He had a purpose”. I had thought I had said it in my mind, when the store clerk asked me. “Who had a purpose?” Realizing I probably seemed crazy, I answered, “The turkey.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say. No, I take that back, I expected the look I give crazy shoppers when their fighting over a set of dish towels. Instead, she just said, “Oh.”

It wasn’t that it had been a kind response, more like a deer in headlights reaction. That’s what, I think, made me notice her. She seemed as helpless as I felt. Apparently, people in Pittsburgh were just as confused as I was.

If that was the case, then why was I here? I asked myself again if Waikiki wasn’t a better place to find yourself. All of this took place in about thirty seconds. We just looked at each other, and not the way you look at someone you’re attracted to, at that point, I doubt either one of us could tell what the other looked like.

It wasn’t that we saw each other, but we saw ourselves. Helpless on a major holiday, and it terrified us. I’d like to tell you I did something noble, or offered her some kind words, but I can’t.

I ran. I immediately left the store, and was in a taxi in five minutes, heading to the airport. The only thing that made me change my mind, was the red light. When I saw it, it was as if I heard my Grandmother saying stop.

I paid the cab driver, who seemed confused too, but I didn’t have time to rescue him. So I walked back the two blocks it took to get there, and went right back to her. I stuck my hand out, and said “My name is Preston, I’m new here.”

I think I started to break through the haze that a survivor of retail Black Friday experiences after a few years. She shook my hand, said her name was Liza. “What are you doing in this store?”

I admitted that I didn’t rightly know, and ask if she wanted dinner. “There’s a diner across the street. It’s probably bad food, but it’s in public, and since you don’t know me, you don’t have to worry.”

Which is the best way to cause someone to worry, by the way, but it turns out she was a brave soul. I found out much later, she also was an excellent shot, and was never without her firearm.

Dinner wasn’t bad, but it was the first Black Friday that I ever had Norwegian food. I found out I liked it, more importantly, I liked the conversation. We talked about her. We talked about me.

When I told her what I was doing in Pittsburgh, or at least what I thought I was doing, she looked at me. “You are crazy, but I wish I had your courage.” That’s when I laughed.

“It wasn’t courage, it was fear. I was too scared to go to work, so instead I went to Pittsburgh.” That’s when I looked at her really. She had brown hair, and hazel eyes, and I realized she was beautiful. Then I was even more terrified.

She shook her head. “I don’t mean the courage to get on the plane. You’re terrified, that’s completely obvious. I mean the fact that you were brave enough, not to get back on the plane. You took a chance that, being out on a limb, isn’t the worst place to be.”

We talked for about an hour more after that, and then she went home, and I went to the hotel. We promised to meet the next morning, back at the Norwegian place for breakfast. I was starting to realize why I was in Pittsburgh.

Coffee was good, but there was something different about our conversation. She was still friendly, and I was too, but it was as if a third person, that we were afraid to talk in front of, had sat down at our table.

The longer the conversation dragged on, the worse it got. I was desperate. I knew that if I didn’t do something fast, I would lose what might be a connection. So, sane wasn’t working, and crazy seemed to, so I decided to play what worked.

I stood up, and announced to everyone in the diner, that we had one mission at the moment. “Today folks, our goal, is to convince this miserable young woman, that there is no future in retail.”

Everyone looked at me like I was a moron, as I explained. “You see, she hates her job. She’s been at it, not as long as I was, she’s only been working there eight years. Mark my word, if you don’t get out before year ten, you may never get out.”

“You may get used to the odd questions about the difference in the colors of grays and browns. Why toothpicks should be wood instead of plastic, or why people fight over the last coffee maker in the store.”

“Don’t make the same mistake I did. Get out, before it takes running away to confuse you more than you’ve ever been before. Seek help, seek a career, find a hobby, work in insurance, but do something!!!!”

She laughed. It was with her hand over her face, and embarrassed completely, but she laughed. I still had a chance, she had decided that crazy was, not necessarily cute, but entertaining.

Liza stood up, paid the check, and motioned for me to follow. “Where are we going?” She laughed again. “You’re going to find me a job. If you want me to quit this one, give me a reason to get out of the wonderful world of retail.”

I didn’t stop to figure out why she agreed, but I did stop to ask myself how, where, and who was going to hire her based on my asking. That’s when terror started to set in, again. This turkey had set his own oven timer, and I was feeling the heat.

Then I asked myself, what the difference was between a domestic gobbler, and his wild cousin. Besides the fact that one has a better chance of seeing a second Thanksgiving than the first. Of course the obvious answer took a second to register. The wild turkey can fly!

I decided that, since this was the wildest thing I had ever done, it was time to try stretching my wings. “So, some ground rules. Even if it’s only for a day, you have to interview for any job, which matches your work history and skills, that I decide on, and if hired, work there at least two days?”

“One and a half days, with an option to leave after lunch the second day. Agreed?” I nodded, then motioned for a taxi. She tried to ask where I was going. I just winked at her.

We ended up at the airport. I booked two tickets back home to Akron. She protested, but I reminded her that she agreed to at least interview. She looked at me funny, smiled, and got on the plane.

You’re thinking, none of this is logical, and I would have agreed then. It makes perfect sense to me now. It didn’t then, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t surfing in Waikiki, or exploring the African Rain Forest, but I was seeing something amazingly beautiful.

A less than total stranger eating potato chips and laughing at me. When we landed, I took Liza to the job I had picked out. In the taxi trip to the airport, I had realized something. No matter how good the job was that I picked, Liza seemed to be a rational, intelligent person. She would humor me for the agreed upon time, then go home to her life.

Our adventure would be nothing more than a Black Friday memory. I was determined to make it something else, a Thanksgiving classic. So that meant I had to find her the most miserable job in the world.

Something that would make her wish she had never went on this trip, never met me, and had never left Pittsburgh. I know, it seems counterintuitive, but it was the only thing that made sense.

The question on the taxi trip from the airport in Akron was, what could possibly be the worst job in the world for Liz. Once again, I turned to my Grandmother for inspiration, or at least a story she had told.

Fresh out of college, she was smart, young, with a business degree, and no money. She told me that the worst job in the world was working somewhere she couldn’t make a difference.

Things were starting to crystallize, that was why I hated working where I had for ten years. So off to Mr. Summers we went. I spoke to him alone first. He ranted and raved for about ten minutes, until he ran out of steam.

“You don’t show up, ON BLACK FRIDAY! Then that night, you call me up, wake me, quit your job, and now… You walk back in here asking me to hire this girl for a couple of days. Answer me one question, why should I?”

I’m not sure what he expected, timidity or anger, but he got neither. I was calm, direct, and pleasant. I stood straight up, and looked him square in the eyes.

“Ten years of faithful, hard working, dependable experience. Of working the days nobody else wanted to work, trading days for those who had families, and hoping for my chance one day at one. Mr. Summers, this is my chance, and you’re are going to help me.”

He put her to work in the department I chose, electronics. I kissed her cheek, which neither of us expected, told her I’d see her at seven when her shift ended, and went to work. Grandmother was my first stop. As always, she smiled and offered to help, and I took her up on it.

I needed this to go well, and I needed it to be just like Thanksgiving, but as different from it, as it possibly could be. I was going to cram a whole year into a day and a half, and it had to work out right.

After a long day of doing everything, she’d be tired, hungry, and angry. Liza had helped pull stock, which the electronic department has to do when it’s slow. She had answered the same questions a thousand times, and any other miserable thing Mr. Summers could thing of.

If I had worked it right, she would almost want to hit me when she saw me. She would also expect dinner, and for me to try to make it a big evening. I had to give her a facsimile of it, but it couldn’t follow the pattern.

So instead of a tux and flowers, I showed up in overalls and carrying a stuffed turkey, the plush kind. I had what appeared to be dirt on my face, and looked like a crazy man.

“How was your day?” As predicted, she punched me in the arm. I handed her the turkey. She laughed, said she was going to get even, and followed me to the exit.

Instead of a taxi, or my car, I picked her up in a pickup truck. I had rented it for the evening. It was nice, top of the line, but it wasn’t a limo, or anything she had figured I would try.

When we got in the truck, she sighed. “I can’t stand it.” She took a handkerchief from her purse, yes, she carries one, and wiped my face. It was then she discovered that what she had thought was dirt, wasn’t. “This smells like nutmeg.”

I smiled, handed her a bag of sweet potato and kale chips, and headed to dinner. It took about twenty minutes, but it was worth it. Even I was impressed, but you can always count on Grandma.

The barn was old, clean, and covered in lights, and there was a table with two chairs. Grandmother even had violin music start when we sat down. I thought it was a little much, but apparently Grandmother had researched Liza.

It turns out she plays the violin, and pretty well. The waiter was dressed as plain as I was, though he wore it better. The first course, potato soup, the second, a turkey soufflé, and for desert, pumpkin tarts. It was a non-Thanksgiving dinner.

We laughed, and she told me all about her day. “Why are you doing this?” I took her by the hand, strolled to the field, and pointed to the stars.

“Do you see that, isn’t it beautiful? I’ve dreamed of starry skies, a beautiful woman, and the possibility of a life, most of mine. It took me a while to find it, and now I’m trying everything I can to keep it.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder and we walked on. “What does that have to do with putting me through the ringer, in the worst job possible? What happened to making the person you, care about, happy instead of miserable? I know you’re knew at this, but …”

I interrupted. “If I had chosen an easy job, you would have gotten back on the plane as soon as it was over. I had to keep you guessing. This way you might want to stay once a day and a half is over.”

“Maybe give this turkey a way out, and pardon him for the rest of his life? As he annoyed you day in and day out, til we’re old and gray. What do you say?”

She didn’t, say that is. No words, she only walked back to the truck, and drove away. I had left the keys in the truck, and she had left. At first I laughed, then I started to worry. Ten minutes went by, then an hour.

I gave up, called for a car to take me home. I got a text, “I’m at your Grandmother’s. I’m safe, see you in the morning.” I had given her Grandmother’s number before I left her with Mr. Summers. I went home, but I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, a knock on the door, and a basket of muffins outside it with a note. “You are not a turkey. See you at the airport at noon.”

I sighed, showered, and went to the store. She wasn’t there. Mr. Summers said that he hadn’t seen her. I had about an hour and a half until time to go to the airport. So I went to the one place that made sense, Grandmother’s house.

Only she wasn’t there either. I wandered around, until it was time to say goodbye. She was there at the terminal gate, bags packed, holding the ticket in her hand.

“I guess you decided one day was enough?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment. That’s when I heard a voice from behind me. “My friend does not break her promises. I hired a personal shopper for the day. We really must stop calling Mr. Summers while he’s asleep.”

I looked from one to the other. “Then why all of this?” Liza held my hand. “Three things. One, you never put me through anything like yesterday ever again. Two, we have a plane to catch. Three, we are never working retail again.”

Grandmother kissed me. “She may not call you that, but I will. Go on my little stuffed turkey, fly over Pittsburgh.” She hugged us both, and we boarded the plane.

I had taken one chance that morning, although it seemed useless at the time. I put the gift I was saving for her retirement party at noon. Somewhere over Pittsburgh, I proposed, and she said yes.

The last year was incredible. We got married that afternoon, and bought the little Norwegian dinner across from her old job. That was last year, this Thanksgiving, we took a few days off, and closed the diner for the week. This year, we’re going to Grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving.

from A Turkey Flew Over Pittsburgh

#A Turkey Flew Over Pittsburgh

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