#but nope it was a full-ass microscope

[victorluvsalice]

-->So -- after having some of their Winterfest spirit literally go up in smoke, it's no wonder that the trio wanted to go chill out -- somewhat literally. Victor retreated into his greenhouse to do the daily harvest, while Smiler made sure the chickens were well-fed and Alice did a little snow-shoveling to build up the old muscles. I'd just had them drop and make a couple of snow angels to try and recapture the fun they'd been having before the tree fire --

-->When who should I spot inside but one Clement Frost, adding presents to the present pile! I sent Smiler to go say hi to him and tell him about their weirdass day (though they ended up having to chase him to the foot of the front porch stairs, as for some reason he decided to hang out there molding some clay) while Alice joined Victor in the greenhouse, chatting with a gnome while Victor finished off his harvest. And then getting a lovely mistletoe kiss from him, as we can't do one couple and not the other! :) No matter what else happened today, at least everyone in the trio got their seasonally-appropriate smooches!

-->And then it was time to start asking Clement Frost for gifts! ...a process that took far longer than it should have, because the FIRST time Alice and Victor asked for their gifts, while the tradition completed, the interaction did not. I'm not ENTIRELY sure what broke it, but I think it had something to do with Alice and Victor standing at the TOP of the stairs to the porch when they asked, with Clement standing at the BOTTOM of the stairs and refusing to move at all. All I know is that Smiler, standing next to them, got theirs right away, while it took me trying to get everyone to go to the present pile to prompt Alice and Victor to receive theirs -- which only happened when Clement actually got up on the porch. *shakehead* This game, sometimes...but everyone DID get a gift from Clement in the end! And what did they receive?

...Smiler got ANOTHER big-ass karaoke machine; Alice got the giant microscope; and Victor got a fancy fridge that was not as good as the one they currently own. *facepalm* Clement, Smiler only needs ONE karaoke machine, Alice has no room for a giant microscope, and we already have all the fridges we could ever need, both at the store and the house. I guess we can safely say that Clement does NOT check HIS list twice! At least, not when it comes to figuring out what people already have or not.

-->Okay, well, that didn't go great -- surely the trio would get better presents from the present pile? I had them all gather around said pile (which took a couple of tries, as poor Victor was exhausted and Alice kept trying to wander off to play with clay) and open some presents. Smiler got a bowl of fruit (another thing we already have in the kitchen); Alice received some alcineat (either a new metal or mineral, I'm not sure -- at least it's not something she had before!); and Victor --

Uh. No clue. He had a disappointed face after opening the present, and no pop-up ever came up for him that I could see. As far as I could tell, the poor guy got an empty box. :( This Winterfest had gone pretty much completely from "awesome" to "awful."

-->However, I was determined to go out on SOMETHING of a high note, so Smiler and Victor got some heartfelt smooches and Alice and Victor some loving cuddles before the holiday was through. Because I WAS going to get my Valicer cuteness, damn it. Victor and Alice then slumped off to bed as Clement Frost took his leave, and I left it with Smiler transferring the Sim Scuffle LP they'd recorded earlier off the drone and into their media production station so it could be edited. Because when in doubt, work on SimsTube. :p

And that's it! Join me next time when, despite MULTIPLE blizzards and other sundry problems, WE FINALLY OPEN THE FUCKING GROCERY STORE. See you then!

#sims 4 #the lazy save #victor van dort #alice liddell #smiler always #yeah this Winterfest started with a bang and ended with a whimper #after the tree caught on fire I just couldn't capture the same magic #especially with all those glitchy attempts to get presents! #ah well I tried my best #and it's not like we can't just sell the stuff Clement gave the trio #it just annoys me that Smiler ALWAYS gets a karaoke machine from him now #like yes well done you remember that they like karaoke #how about some variety in the gift giving now? #and what the hell prompted him to give Alice a MICROSCOPE?? #I thought she'd gotten a print at first when I saw the name of the present #but nope it was a full-ass microscope #like it makes nice prints but I have no room for it! #now if Clement had given them an OBSERVATORY #that I could have worked with I think #but yes the weather gets worse next episode #but we DO finally open the store #aren't you proud of me :P #queued

[britcision]

Happy WIP Wednesday everyone! Hmmmm… What do I have for you today? Is it Danny’s question?

Nope! It’s Jason! ☺️ because I’m a bad person and I like making you all wait. I will tell you though, you’re getting Waylon’s answer from his own perspective, which is why Danny’s part cuts off where it did

———————

I’ll Take The Highway ii

Jason didn’t exactly object to being led out of the bar by Harley; Danny wanted to talk to Waylon in private.

Jason had figured Danny had something to ask the guy about. He hadn’t exactly expected not to be part of the conversation, but that was fine.

He’d know if Danny got into trouble. Fuck, Danny could handle any trouble Gotham could dish out, probably. And the rogues had some basic manners; not starting shit in Freeze’s place was one of them.

Penguin might put the squeeze on and make your life uncomfortable if you lit up the Iceberg Lounge. Dr Freeze’s cold shoulder was a lot more literal, and he didn’t do “proportional response”.

So yeah, he could be cool and give Danny some space.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Harley wanted to talk to him either, although he still didn’t see the point. But he let her guide him around the side of the building to a back alley anyway.

“Still fine, Harley,” he said before she could get started, both hands raised in front of him.

She gave him an all too knowing look and hopped up to sit on the dumpster. Put her about a head taller than him. Not that he cared.

“Sure, kid. You’ve been goin’ through a lot though, so I gotta ask; is there anythin’ ya wanna talk to Auntie Harley about?” She asked in her sweetest voice, interlacing her fingers under her chin and batting her lashes.

Jason snickered and leaned against the other side of the alley.

Shit, he wasn’t even annoyed with her play acting. The pit was a happy little puddle in his chest, all sunshine and roses.

A week ago he’d have walked away. Been pissed at wasting his time, getting in his way. How much of that had been because of the Lazarus pits, the problems with the ectoplasm he’d apparently been supposed to be solving?

Was that why nothing had ever been enough? Why he always had to keep pushing? Carve himself a patch of Gotham, keep going. Cut the crime out of Crime Alley, not enough.

Take up with the Outsiders, keep himself busy, rushed off his feet so that when he fell into bed for a couple hours a day he didn’t even dream?

When was the last time he’d taken a breath and just… relaxed? It all felt so long ago, but it had barely been a week.

It just. His whole life had unclenched, like it was a muscle he’d finally stopped using.

Fuck, maybe he should talk to Harley about it.

He got the feeling she knew though, those eagle eyes tracking his every move. They’d never really hung out, but he was uncomfortably aware of how well she’d known him.

How much of him was still the boy she’d known?

She was waiting for an answer, and all of a sudden Jason wasn’t sure what he’d say. Knew that if anyone in the world understood, it just might be Dr Harleen Quinzel.

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. Fuck, he was getting as bad as Bruce.

And if that thought didn’t kick him up the ass…

“You ever wake up one day and realise your whole life’s been going wrong?” He finally asked, glancing up from the corner of his eye.

She’d dropped the cutesy act, leaning forward with her arms braced on the edge of the dumpster, her face professionally calm. Open. Sympathetic.

“Think I might know just a lil about what that’s like,” she agreed softly, and Jason snorted.

“Yeah. Well. Turns out ever since I came back from the dead I’ve been haunted. Literally. And no one ever noticed.”

He hadn’t even come all the way back, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet. But maybe he could share some of the rest.

Harley nodded slowly, giving him her full attention. Just waiting for him to go on.

It kinda felt like being under a microscope, but not in the cold, analytical way Bruce did that always pissed him off. Like she really cared, and was looking for all his broken parts so she could help him fit them back together.

Fuck, if his kid self had ever known he’d one day trust Harley Quinn over the whole Justice League…

Shit, he didn’t even know how much she already knew.

“The pit rage… it’s a psychosis people get, coming out of the Lazarus pit. Makes you angry, violent, stronger, like a blind rage. For most people it goes away. Mine didn’t.”

He almost wanted to laugh, bitter and sharp.

“Because it wasn’t just the psychosis. I’m not fucking weak, I’m not fucking broken, there’s something else living inside me and it made me so fucking angry all the time…”

The frustration was building again, but this time it was his. All his, not a bubble, not a stir, and part of Jason thrilled with it. He could feel however he wanted, just him.

He cut it off though, forcing himself to relax before Danny could notice. Could worry about whatever he was projecting in his aura.

He could kinda still feel Danny’s, which was new. Not brushing against his, not touching like they were close, but he was aware in a way he hadn’t been before.

Like if he shut his eyes he could point in exactly the direction Danny was standing.

“Danny’s the only one who noticed. Well, really, he’s the only one who could. It’s a ghost thing, and he… he got me help. I feel like myself for the first time since… since I came back.”

He hadn’t even noticed how much the background rage burnt through him until it stopped. Until he could look at his family and see their prodding for what it was; concern.

It was still surprising him, and maybe would for a while. Kinda hoped not though. It wasn’t the most cheerful train of thought.

Seeing that he’d run out of words, Harley gave him a moment to find more, then reached over and ruffled his hair. It was barely a strain in the cramped alley.

“Kid, anyone with two eyeballs t’ rub together can see Danny’s real good for ya. So why’s Bruce tryin’ so hard to keep ya apart?” She asked gently, and Jason snorted.

Rolled his eyes and folded his arms, caught himself doing it, and forced them back to his sides.

“Not rubbing his eyeballs together?” He asked dryly. Harley just snickered.

“Please, if we could get ‘im ta stop overanalysing everything that’d be the miracle. So what’s got ‘im on edge?”

Jason hesitated for a long moment, thinking about it. Finally he shrugged; as always, Bruce was a mystery to him. The man who’d taught him all the tricks to pick apart any mystery. Except himself.

“No idea. We played a prank on him and the Mansons at the gala like we told you last night?” He offered, already aware it wasn’t likely to be the answer.

Harley shook her head in agreement, which almost threw him off.

“Nah, you’re right. The whole making-out-in-a-closet shtick is classic, even if he didn’t see through it yet he’s never cared about you boys smoochin’ before,” she agreed, then sighed and tugged him in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Whatever his problem is though, it is his problem Jason, an’ what he pulled at the gala has nothin’ t’ do with you or Danny. I already told ‘im off about not talkin’ to ya and I’m gonna do it again when I catch him. Right now I just wanna hear you say you know it ain’t your fault,” she told him firmly, cheeks held between both hands.

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes. And the rising lump in his throat.

“I know Bruce’s bullshit isn’t my fault, Harley,” he grumbled through smushed lips. Harley squeezed his cheeks a little tighter.

“Then say it anyway. It ain’t your fault Brucie has a bug in his ass, and ya ain’t done anything wrong to deserve it.” She was firm as the wall behind him, utterly unrelenting.

And she could go on for hours, if memory served. Long enough for Danny to come out and see. That was why Jason told himself he gave in.

Nothing at all to do with the way her words ached and bled a gentle warmth into the icy void in his gut where the anger still roiled.

“It’s not my fault B’s got the emotional capacity of a wet newspaper. I don’t deserve his helicopter bullshit any more than anyone else,” he told her obediently, doing his best not to be too sarcastic.

Harley placed a kiss on his nose and released him.

“That’s my good boy. Now, more about this haunted thing. You boys got a plan?” She asked sharply, head cocked as she watched his face.

Cheeks red, Jason leaned back against his wall and pretended it made him out of reach.

“We do,” he said curtly, looking down at the trash strewn ground. Trying to explain it now would take too long, Danny would be out soon.

Of course Harley noticed, nodding thoughtfully and leaning back, kicking her legs.

“Well, if ya ever want to tell me more, you’ve got my number. An’ I’ll get Brucie off ya back for a while, even if I’ve gotta call in the Boy Scout. Whatever you aren’t tellin’ ‘im, don’t let ‘im rush ya,” she told him firmly. Jason had to smile.

“Aren’t you the one always telling us to communicate?” He asked half rhetorically. Harley grinned and hopped off her dumpster, making her way to the front of the alley.

“It only works if ya wait til you’re ready. Pushin’ an’ rushin’ only makes it worse,” she explained airily, stepping out into the street.

Turning, and freezing like a hound on a scent. Eyes narrowed, she patted Jason on the chest as he stepped out after her, not turning her head.

“Jason darlin’, be a dear an’ run get Auntie Harley her bat. The bike’s parked ‘round the back,” she said ever so sweetly, and that tone combined with the narrow eyed glare meant Jason knew exactly who she was looking at before he turned.

He did it anyway, eyes widening as he caught sight of Batman, in full gear, coming down the street towards them. Accompanied by John Fucking Constantine.

Had he seriously come to chase him away from Danny in person? In fucking costume?

The anger surged, his and the pit’s, held back only by the small woman in front of him. The dainty hand on his chest, that’d turn into an iron bar if he pushed it.

Sure, she couldn’t actually hold him back, but she didn’t need to. Whatever Jason wanted to say or do to Bruce, Harley could do a whole lot worse.

Anger melding into a vicious satisfaction, he turned straight back down the alley with a spring in his step.

————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones s @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 5 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog g @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon n @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi i @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf

#dp x dc #wip wednesday #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 15 #i’ll take the highway pt 2 #jason time! #so many people wanna take care of this lil nugget #and kick bruce’s ass

[taleasnewastime]

Dating advice | Part nine

Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, low self-esteem, mentions of misogyny, awkwardness.

Authors Note: I hope you’re all still enjoying! Things are still dragging out ... 

Previous | Next | Series masterlist

Yoongi’s not here. It’s the first thought that goes through your mind when you walk into the pub.

Your eyes flick around the room as if in search for him as you stride towards the bar. Priya’s there, Lewis is cleaning some tables, there’s a few customers sat in various seats. But there’s no Yoongi.

Priya has a wide smile on her face when you finally get to the seat at the bar opposite to where she’s stood. It would be an unnerving sight if it wasn’t Priya. Still, your hackles raise.

“What can I get you?”

You’re not used to having to say your order aloud, are used to a Thatchers being placed silently in front of you. But you push those thoughts from your mind as you say your order with a small smile.

“Not seen you in a while,” Priya says as she starts to pour your pint.

“It’s been just over a week,” you frown, no more or less than the amount of time you’ve left between previous visits.

“I just thought,” she drifts off and you fight the need to question what she thought. You can tell she’s done it on purpose, there’s a small smile on her lips.

She waits, makes it a game of who can break first. Your stubborn ass holds longest. Priya stops the tap when your glass is full, places it in front of you, and types on the till. The card machine is held out for you to pay when she finally speaks.

“I just thought after your date with Yoongi you’d be here way more.”

“How’d you know that?”

You wish you could take back the words, wish you could have controlled your face faster. But all of it happens a second too late. She catches every reaction and if the Cheshire cat style smile is anything to go by, she’s immensely pleased by your reaction.

“He told me,” she says smoothly, leaning forward on her folded arms.

“Right,” you say, taking a sip of your drink to avoid looking at her. “And did he tell you that it wasn’t actually a date?”

She cocks her head to the side. “No.”

Can you say anything right? You feel like you’re putting your foot in it left, right and centre. You don’t know what Yoongi has told her and don’t want to say anything he doesn’t want her knowing. You like Priya, but she’s Yoongi’s colleague, if he doesn’t want her knowing something you want to respect that.

Your eyes flick away from Priya, look behind the bar.

“Where is he anyway?”

The look she shoots you tells you that you’ve walked right into her trap. So you focus on your drink and feign indifference.

“Upstairs.”

“Right.”

“Want me to get him for you,” she asks, leaning closer and lifting an eyebrow.

“Nope.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

You hum, before taking a sip of your cider. The way she’s looking at you, you feel like you’re under a microscope, every move and reaction monitored by her. Hiding behind your glass is your only escape.

“Pretty sure he’s up there moping about you anyway. All I hear these days is Y/N this and –”

“I’ve got another date,” you cut her off, your face flush.

You hadn’t planned on telling her, at least not like that. But you couldn’t stand to hear her teasing any longer, would say anything to shut her up. Really, you feel sorry for Yoongi, if he’s had to put up with such obvious lies in the name of teasing while he works – you wouldn’t be able to cope if it was you.

The smile on Priya’s face is gone. Her eyes are drawn together, some frown lines of her forehead. You’re unused to the look, are normally used to smiling, perfect, happy Priya.

“Yoongi didn’t tell me,” she drawls, unsure.

“Well, he wouldn’t have, because he doesn’t know.”

You play with the coaster in front of you. Spin it around on the countertop. It’s as if it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve seen in a while.

“I’m sorry,” she says the words slowly, dragging each syllable out. “I’m not following.”

You huff. Drag your eyes back up to her still frowning face. She looks like she’s doing a maths problem that she just can’t work out. The thought would make you smile if your heart wasn’t pounding in your chest.

This is a good thing. Priya will be happy for you. Why do you feel like you’re breaking bad news to her then?

“Erik messaged me. I’m going on a second date with him.”

Her face drops, she doesn’t even pretend to hide her surprise. Your heart drops at the same rate as her drawing away from you. You think you catch a hint of hurt in her eyes before she breaks eye contact with you, but that can’t be true, what would Priya have to be hurt about?

“You didn’t like your date with Yoongi?”

“What?” It’s not what you were expecting, you thought bringing up Erik would take the heat off Yoongi, not keep it on.

“I’m just trying to work out why you don’t want to see him again.”

“Who said that? I’m here aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean,” she says flatly.

“Listen, I don’t know what Yoongi told you, but what we went on wasn’t a date,” you backtrack a bit when she gives you a flat look. “Ok, it was a date. But not a real date. He did it as a favour. My friend was shooting his mouth and Yoongi offered to help and it was nothing.”

“And you’re sure Yoongi feels this way?”

“Yes,” you say the word with authority, as if it’s the truth. When really you’re only guessing. You have no idea how Yoongi feels about all of this because you’ve not broached the subject with him.

Still, you know enough. Know that he was the one to call it a practice. Know that he’s not asked you out again since. Know that he’s sweet enough and nice enough to do it as a favour, a one-time thing. You don’t want to be that person that continuously puts themselves on someone that’s been nice enough to do something thinking it wasn’t going to happen again..

So, no, you don’t necessarily know how Yoongi feels, but also you know exactly how he feels.

“And you’re choosing to go out with who instead?” She sounds vaguely disgusted and it irks you more than it should.

“Erik. I went on a date with him a couple of weeks ago.”

Her eyes light up with recognition, but her features seem to only darken with the knowledge.

“The guy who ghosted you?”

“He’s been going through some stuff,” you defend.

“What? A trip to Narnia? Or maybe he went sailing with Jack Sparrow?”

“He was busy,” you say in the same flat tone she used earlier.

“So busy he couldn’t message you anything?”

You go silent. You have no comeback. She’s right, of course she��s right. And you don’t want to defend Erik’s actions or the fact you look desperate enough to go on a date with him. But that’s just it, you are desperate.

Priya must read the look on your face. Or feel something in the silence that follows. Or just decide that maybe she’s been a bit too harsh. Because slowly she backs down. She doesn’t fill the silence, has maybe decided that if she has nothing good or nice or productive to say, then maybe she shouldn’t say it. Still, the silence doesn’t help you and your need to explain.

“He was the best date I’ve been on,” you say, missing out the fact that Yoongi actually holds the top spot. “And it was you guys who said I should be going out with more people, shouldn’t close any doors or limit myself.”

“We didn’t tell you to go out with obvious jackasses.”

She takes a breath. You take a drink. There’s a tension between you as if you’ve fallen out. And while you may not agree on the matter, you didn’t think it would cause so much upset with her.

“Listen, you deserve better than Erik, Y/N,” she says his name like a curse, like it’s something dirty in her mouth that she needs to get out quickly.

You roll your eyes at her. It only spurs her on.

“You deserve better than some guy who couldn’t be bothered to text you until he was needy and alone. I don’t care if his cat died, it’s not hard to send a text to explain.”

You don’t reply, more because she has a point and you don’t know what to say then anything else. But she must see it as stubbornness, let’s out a defeated huff of air.

“Fine, whatever, guess it’s something you’ll have to learn yourself,” she says, takes another lungful of air before forcing her face to lighten. “Let’s just move on. Yoongi told me your thoughts on pineapple on pizza, and I have things to say.”

And just like that the spell is broken. You smile, what feels like one of the first genuine smiles since you walked in here. But underneath you’re still thinking about what she’s said. You know you’re self-sabotaging, know that Erik probably isn’t the guy for you, but you can’t tell her the real reason for going on another date with him. That you like Yoongi too much and he doesn’t like you back.Though you’re intrigued what she’d say, she’s Yoongi friend/colleague before she’s yours, and that’s enough for you to know you can’t fully open up to her.

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #bts fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #suga fic #suga fanfic #yoongi series #yoongi slow burn

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

[thatfanficstuff]

That’s my Girl - Poe Dameron

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: nope. 

A/N: Flangst! It’s my fave. Enjoy. PS: I’m so happy to be writing again.

***

You had a reputation.

You wished you could say it was for something as exciting as sleeping around or being a trouble maker, but no. You had a reputation for being the best mechanic on base. Yep. You were the best at your job. How boring.

And, let’s be honest, all that really meant was more work for you. If no one else could find the problem, they got you to take a look at it. Did they care if you hadn’t had a day off in weeks? Or that you hadn’t strung together more than five hours of sleep at one time in the last two? Of course not. Not when the great and mighty Poe Dameron was complaining that his fighter was sluggish and none of them could find anything wrong.

You huffed out a breath in irritation. It wasn’t Poe you should be mad at. He wasn’t the one that woke you from a sound sleep to look at his ship. But you’d bet good money that he did more than hint that they should get you down to the hangar when they couldn’t fix the problem.

Something bumped against your leg startling you from your thoughts. You jerked in surprise causing your wrench to slip and you barked your knuckles. Damn it. That hurt. You sucked on the tender skin and glared down at BB-8. “What did I tell you about doing that?”

“Don’t be mad at him. He just gets excited to see you. Who can blame him?”

The smooth voice drew your attention and you snapped your gaze from the droid to his owner. Poe Dameron. He smiled as your gaze met his and your heart sped. Heat flooded your face and you cursed under your breath. Why did he always have this effect on you? Every single time you hated yourself for it and swore it would never happen again yet here you were.

“Dameron.” You turned back to your work doing your best to dismiss him. The sooner he left you alone the better. He was far too distracting.

“Y/L/N,” he responded in a mockingly serious tone. “Fix my ship?”

“Haven’t found anything wrong with her yet.”

“Yet. See, that’s why you’re my favorite. Everyone else just gives up.”

You grunted in disagreement. “They don’t give up. Not really. You just pick up on microscopic changes in your ship before they actually become a problem. Makes them harder to find. That’s all.” You knew some of the mechanics didn’t even bother trying to look beyond the obvious. They turned it over to you to do the hard work and walked away. But not all of them were like that and you didn’t like to listen to anyone besides you complain about it.

“But you always find the problem, Y/N. I swear some of the others think I make stuff up.”

You glanced at him to find him grinning at you and your traitorous heart threatened to skip a beat entirely. You quickly shifted your eyes back to the wiring you were now inspecting. “I’ve never known you to be wrong about your ship, Poe. I’ll find the problem.”

“That’s my girl,” he said in that sweet, smooth voice. And didn’t that do all sorts of things to your fragile pulmonary system. Damn the man. Before you could even think of a response, he disappeared, taking his droid with him.

***

“Are you still working on this stupid fighter?” Rey’s voice caught your attention and you looked up with a smile. You were currently sat on the floor of the hangar taking a break in the shadow of the ship.

“I’m nearly finished,” you assured her.

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You’ve found the problem then?”

You shook your head. “No, but I’m running out of places to look.” With that pronouncement you got back on your feet and climbed the ladder to the wiring you had exposed for your inspection.

Rey sighed and pulled over a nearby stool to sit on. “You’ve been at this for two days. Have you even slept?”  

“I caught a few hours.” And you had, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest for long when there was a problem to solve. So for the past two days you’d been mainlining caffeine and sleeping in short bursts before getting back to work. In fact, you’d just come back from a three-hour break to rest and eat. It was supposed to be a full eight hours, but you’d had an idea and couldn’t rest until you looked into it.

“That’s not healthy, Y/N, and you know it.”

You glanced at her. “You know how I am, Rey. I can’t help it.” You turned back to your work, separating the wires to inspect them individually. And then you found it. Finally.

For some reason one of the bolts on Poe’s seat had been replaced with one far longer than the original. The extra length was enough to have it rubbing against the wires in the compartment below. Undoubtedly the fluxuation in power Poe had complained about came from the bolt hitting the bare wire once the protective covering had been worn away. You had no idea who had replaced the bolt but once you looked back over the maintenance logs to find out, you were going to chew their ass. This was the kind of thing that could cause a system to short out during a flight. It was the kind of thing that killed pilots. The First Order did enough of that without the mechanics adding to the body count.

“Y/N—” Rey started and you cut her off.

“Give me a minute. I finally found the problem. Let me fix it and we can get out of here.” You slid down the ladder and dug through your tool box. A quick comparison of two bolts and a length of wire later and you were back in the access hatch under the fighter.

Now that you knew the problem, it was a quick matter to fix it. After one last check over the wiring to make sure only the one had been compromised, you grinned. “All fixed,” you announced as you sealed up the access hatch.

“I knew you could do it. This calls for a celebration with my favorite girl.”

You were surprised to hear Poe’s deep voice and were thankful your back was turned so you had a moment to compose yourself before facing him. Your heart was racing as your feet hit the floor and you turned to accept his invitation. Only Poe wasn’t looking at you. No, his focus was solely on the petite blonde under his arm. She giggled at his attentions and your heart dropped somewhere in the neighborhood of your stomach. Of course he wasn’t talking to you. You should have known better.

Your gaze shifted from them to Rey to find her looking at you with a face full of sympathy. Great. Just what you wanted. Her pity. You shook your head and sighed. Stepping around Poe and his date, you spoke to Rey as you walked by. “Let’s go get something to eat so I can get some sleep and you can get off my ass.”

She fell into step with you. “Don’t be pissy with me just because…”

You glanced over to see why she had trailed off. She was looking behind you with a frown. Before you could question why, a hand grasped your arm pulling you to a stop. You turned to find Poe standing behind you. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you. You’re the best.”

You grunted in annoyance and gestured toward the woman trailing behind him with a lift of your chin. “Pretty sure that designation falls to her. Have a good day, Dameron.” You twisted your arm from his grasp and walked off, ignoring the weight of his stare on your back.

***

Three weeks passed. Three weeks in which you did your level best to ignore Poe Dameron. You monumentally failed, but you tried. Fortunately, things had been busy so you were never left without an excuse when he tried to engage you in conversation.

Currently, you sat at a table in the mess hall with one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee while the other picked at the plate of food Rey was making you eat. One of the squadrons had gotten into a firefight with some First Order assholes and you’d been busy patching holes in their ships for the last three days.

You grinned as she filled you in on the details of her and Finn’s date the day before.

“Fantastic,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes. “Incoming.”

Before you could ask what she meant, Poe dropped into the seat beside you. Rey made a face and you snickered as you broke off a piece of bread and popped it in your mouth.

“I just came from the hangar. Campbell told me he fixed my fighter.”

You gave Poe your attention, your brows arched in question. “And? It’s usually a good thing when your ship gets fixed isn’t it?”

The pilot frowned. “Yeah, when you fix it.”

You rolled your eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Dameron, I’ve got half of red squadron in for repairs right now. I don’t have time to be your personal mechanic.”

“I know you’re not my personal mechanic, Y/N, but I feel better when you look her over before I take her up again. I trust you.”

Your traitorous, traitorous heart sped up just a little. Damn it. You sighed and tore your gaze from his. “Flattery changes nothing, flyboy. I’m busy.”

“Can’t my girl find a little time for her favorite pilot?”

You didn’t even glance in his direction. Instead, you stood and grabbed the bread from your plate. “See you later, Rey.”

As you walked off you heard Rey behind you. “Sometimes, you’re a real asshole, you know that, Poe?”

“What did I do?”

***

Two days later you’d finally finished the repairs. You sat on the roof of the hangar with your feet dangling over the edge while you sipped from your flask. It wouldn’t be long before you headed to bed for some much needed sleep but for the moment you were simply enjoying a bit of peace as you watched the stars. It was late and most of the base was dark as people with much less work than you were already asleep.

Footsteps fell on the roof behind you and you didn’t so much as glance in that direction. You didn’t need to. Only one person ever bothered you when you came up here. Poe fucking Dameron.

He sat beside you and you passed him your flask. He took a drink and you smirked when he coughed as he returned it to you. “Are you trying to get drunk or strip paint?”

You shrugged. “Works for both. It’s particularly useful for cleaning engine parts.”

“I don’t know if you’re joking or not, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you weren’t. That’s disgusting.” Even as he said the words, he held out his hand for another drink.

You took one of your own before handing it back to him. “Grows on you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Like a fungus.” He took another swig then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stared at the flask in his hand for a moment before stealing another drink.

You snatched it from him, causing some of the liquid to spill on him as a result. “Quit drinking all my liquor, Dameron.”

“Name’s Poe, Y/N.”

You lifted your brows but didn’t look at him. “Pretty sure your name is also Dameron, Dameron.”

“You have been avoiding me since you fixed my ship. And you haven’t once called me Poe. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t know what to tell you.”

He huffed a laugh. “How about you tell me what I did to piss you off? And how I can fix it. I miss you.”

You clenched your teeth and worked a muscle in your jaw. “If this is about your ship, you can stow it. I already looked it over. It’s fine.” You saluted him with your flask. “You’re welcome.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Dameron, that you smile and flirt until you get what you want from me. Which, let’s be honest, is always fixing your ship. Once she’s back in fighting condition, you disappear until something else goes wrong.” You took another swallow of liquor. “I’ll save you the effort and tell you that you don’t have to sweet talk me into doing my job.”

“That’s not…okay, yeah maybe that’s fair. But in my defense you don’t make this easy, you know?”

You laughed and shook your head in disbelief. “What exactly is it that I make so difficult for you?”

“Liking you, okay?” He muttered to himself and ran a hand down his face when you didn’t immediately respond.

Realizing you were staring, you tore your gaze away and cleared your throat. “Liking me as in I’m a horrible person and there is nothing likable about me?”

He laughed. “No. Liking you as in you’re amazing and I’m just another flyboy.”

You cringed as you remembered calling him exactly that the last time you’d talked to him. “I’m just a mechanic, Poe. Pretty sure the Resistance would crumble without their best pilot.”

He shook his head. “You underestimate your value. To me and the Resistance.”

“I didn’t think you saw me as anything special.” The confession hurt so the words were quieter than you’d intended.

“Rey was right. I am an asshole if you believe that.”

“Not going to argue with you, Dameron.”

“Hey now. That’s not fair,” he protested.

You shrugged. “You only talk to me if you want something. Forgive me if I find it difficult to believe you see me as anything other than a mechanic.”

He sighed. “I can talk to you about my ship. I can talk to you about flying and fighting and know that you won’t think I’m an idiot. I know about all that stuff.”

“Do you remember the first time I fixed your ship?” you asked.

He frowned but nodded. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You took it out the next day. When you came back, I was arguing with Roberts about something and you interrupted. Told him to quit giving your girl a hard time. When I looked over, you just gave me a grin and a wink before walking off. I was smitten from that moment on. Stupid.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish,” you interrupted. “’My girl.’ That’s what you call me. And every time it melts my heart. Gives me a minute where I can pretend maybe it’s real. Then I heard you call Victoria that. And Shelly. And some blonde I didn’t recognize. And every time it hurts. Which is stupid, you know, because I’d never had any indication those words meant to you what they meant to me.” You sighed as you pushed yourself to your feet. “I expected something from you that you’d never promised me. That’s on me, not you. I’ll get over it.”

You were half way to the ladder when Poe grabbed your wrist and pulled you to a stop before releasing his grip. “Wait. Can we just start over?”

This was stupid but you found yourself unwilling to disappoint him. You turned to face him, extending a hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. Head mechanic. Nice to meet you.”

Poe shook your hand. “Poe Dameron. Pilot.” Instead of releasing you, he tugged you closer until there was little more than a breath between you. His eyes ran over your face and a small smile curled his lips. “I think you’re brilliant and beautiful and amazing and I’d love it if you’d be my girl.”

Your heart raced as you licked your suddenly dry lips. “Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast? After all, we just met.”

He narrowed his gaze and pulled you closer before wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you to him. “Be my girl, Y/N.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke but he stopped short of actually kissing you.

You leaned into him and moved your lips over his in answer. Your hands fisted in his shirt to keep him close as you kissed. When you separated, you sucked in a breath and smiled. “Finally.”

His answering grin lit his whole face. “Finally.” Then he dipped his head for another kiss.

As the night wore on, he walked you to your room. And when the two of you couldn’t separate long enough to say goodnight, he followed you inside. You slept in his arms and woke to sweet kisses and lazy smiles.

And when he talked you into staying in bed instead of heading into work on your day off, he rewarded you by pulling you closer. “That’s my girl.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron x you

[remywrites5]

Please please please more spider-man/deadpool fluff!!!! That fake-ex thing you posted was *chefs kiss*

Thank you! This was actually inspired by a post I saw of Tom Holland talking about having to wear thongs under his suit. I was like man Wade would lose his shit if he knew about that. 

***         

  Wade Wilson was bored. He was between movies, and he’d just been sold to Disney, so he didn’t have a lot going on. So Wade decided to do what he always did when he was bored – bother Spider-man.

           He snuck into Peter Parker’s apartment through the window and began going through his stuff. It seemed like Spidey wasn’t home but Wade wasn’t exactly in a hurry. Besides, it gave him some time to snoop on Spidey and that was just delicious.

           He made himself a hot pocket from Peter’s freezer and walked around while he ate it, taking everything in. Whitey was mentioning that maybe Peter would see this as a huge breach of Spider-man’s trust after Peter went and revealed his secret identity to Wade. Wade promptly ignored him as he took a bite out of his hot pocket, some of the contents spilling out onto his suit. “Fuck,” he said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping it off.

           He found an old photo album Peter had and sat down on the sofa to peruse it. He cooed at pictures of a baby Peter, giggled at pictures of teenage Peter, and swooned at pictures of Peter now. Man, did Wade have it bad. He also got his first glimpse of the illustrious Uncle Ben, knowing all about Peter’s backstory.

           He flipped the book closed and left it on the couch as he went into Peter’s bedroom. If Wade hadn’t already been aware that Peter was a massive dork, he certainly got that impression from Peter’s room. He had a periodic table on the wall, a bunch of Star wars shit, and even a microscope. Everything about Peter’s room screamed nerd.

           Wade went over to the dresser and began rifling through it. He slid open the underwear drawer and smiled to himself. He pushed aside a few pairs of boxers and his eyes widened in shock when it landed on a few very thin strips of fabric. He lifted one up and held it between his fingers, stretching it between them to get the full view. “This is the greatest day of my life,” he said, staring at the thong.

           “Wade? What the fuck are you doing here?”

           Wade hadn’t even heard Peter come in. He spun around with the underwear still in his hands.

           “Oh my god,” Peter said, turning almost as red as Wade’s suit.

           “You wear thongs?”

           Peter sputtered for a moment. “I – It’s my suit… it’s very tight and – you know – can be very revealing.”

           Wade cocked his head to the side and watched Peter have a tiny meltdown. “I always wondered why your ass was super jiggly.”

           Peter buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, can we not – “

           “But talking about your ass is one of my top three favorite subjects of conversation, baby boy.”

           “Wade…” Peter pushed his fingers up into his hair and took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down. He was still a bit red though. “Why are you in my apartment?”

           Wade shrugged. “I was bored. I thought I’d come see you but you weren’t home.”

           Wade flipped open one of his pouches on his suit and as stealthily as he could pushed the thong into it.

           “Please don’t make a habit of breaking into my place,” Peter said with a heavy sigh. He walked over and opened the same pouch Wade had just stuffed the underwear into. Taking it back, he slipped it into his own pocket. Apparently Wade hadn’t been quite as sneaky as he had hoped. “That is absolutely the last thing I need.”

           “Fine, baby boy, I’ll keep the B&Es to a minimum.”

           “Thank you.”

                                                            ***

           Wade was so distracted the next time he went out on patrol with Peter that he got himself killed. They had been in the middle of stopping a robbery with two guys who had knocked over an ATM. It was just a tiny little killing of getting shot in the head but Peter was very unhappy with him. In Wade’s defense, it was absolutely not his fault. He couldn’t stop looking at Peter’s ass and imagining what he was wearing underneath. Especially now that he’d seen it.

           He woke up back in Peter’s apartment after his brain stitched itself back together. Peter was in the kitchen back in his civvies and looking extremely annoyed. “Back with us then, Wade?”

           Wade groaned and sat up, rubbing the side of the head where the bullet had been. “How long was I dead?”

           “A couple of hours,” Peter responded, bringing Wade a beer even though he looked pissed as hell.

           “Problem, baby?”

           Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of all the idiotic ways to get yourself killed,” he said, his hands curling into fists.

           “I heal up fine, Petey, there was no reason to be concerned,” Wade said, rolling his mask up and taking a swig from the beer. “Thanks for dragging my sorry ass out of the alley though. Waking up in alleys isn’t my favorite.”

           “Wade, I swear to God – “

           “What’s got you so upset, Petey?” Wade asked, unsure why Peter cared that Wade had kicked the bucket. “I always bounce back.”

           “That’s not the point!” Peter shouted, grabbing Wade and hauling him up to his feet. Wade was so surprised that he dropped his beer and it began spilling over the carpet. “Do you think I like watching people get shot in front of me and being unable to stop it?”

           Suddenly it all made a lot more sense. Uncle Ben had been shot by a mugger. Probably brought up some painful memories for Peter and then Wade had gone and practically done a reenactment for him. Shit.

           “I’m sorry,” Wade said sincerely. “I didn’t think – I didn’t mean to – “

           “Yeah, well you did,” Peter said, releasing Wade and shoving him away.

           “I didn’t know you cared so much about me, baby boy,” Wade said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I would have thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.”

           Peter worked his jaw for a moment, his eyes hard, and Wade knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing. “I don’t want people to die, Wade. Yeah, you drive me crazy some times but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

           “So you do…care?”

           Peter sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand down his face. “Look, I’m kind of wrecked right now. You can stay or not but I need to crash. We can talk about this some other time when I feel a little more ready to answer that.”

           Wade nodded and mimed zipping his lips. Peter immediately went into his bedroom and shut the door. Wade sat in the living room and debated between staying or getting out of Spidey’s hair. Eventually he finished his beer and decided it’d be better for Peter if he made himself scarce.

           He stopped to steal a thong from Peter’s underwear drawer because – well – he couldn’t help himself.

              ��                                            ***

           Wade took a job in Barbados and didn’t see Peter for a month. He felt like he owed Peter some peace and quiet after their last run-in. It hadn’t exactly been a successful team up and Wade didn’t want Peter to hate him.

           It was his first time back in New York since his hiatus and he was looking for a little action. The job in Barbados had been a lot of surveillance and very little un-aliving people so Wade felt a little restless. He wanted to beat up some baddies and maybe if they were bad enough give them the old katana through the neck.

           He was on the rooftop waiting for any signs of commotion or distress when he heard the unmistakable noise of web shooters. He turned around just in time to see Peter land on the roof behind him.

           “Where have you been?” Peter asked accusingly.

           “Took a job in the Caribbean, you know, have to work on my tan for summer,” Wade quipped, trying to play off how awkward he felt.

           “Oh,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his masked head. “You didn’t mention anything about it the last time we spoke. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

           “I was, a little bit,” Wade said, shuffling his feet. Fuck but this was uncomfortable. The last time they had talked it had been some heavy shit.

           “So are you going to give them back or am I going to have to take them by force?” Peter asked, clearly grinning by the stretch of his mask.

           “I have no idea what you’re talking about Petey.”

           “Mmhmm, sure you don’t,” Peter said, walking towards Wade. “I guess force it is then.”

           “I don’t have them on me, baby boy.”

           “Oh but you do have them,” Peter said, confirming his suspicions. Shit, Wade had said too much. “I guess I’ll just have to break into your place and take them back.”

           “You wouldn’t do that,” Wade insisted, taking a step back when Spidey got too close. “You’re a good guy.”

           “You broke into my place,” Peter reminded him, closing the distance between them again. “I think it’s only fair.”

           “Spidey, you woudn’t steal.”

           Peter pulled his mask off. “Well considering they were mine to begin with, it’s more like reclaiming.”

           “I could buy you a new thong, a better thong,” Wade offered, wondering why Peter kept getting so fucking close to him.

           “I don’t need you to buy me underwear, Wade.”

           “Maybe I want to,” Wade shot back.

           “I missed you,” Peter said, reaching up and beginning to roll up Wade’s mask until Wade’s mouth and nose were revealed. “I’ve thought about you a lot over the past month.”

           “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Spidey? Are you an evil clone? An alternate dimension Spidey who lost his marbles?” Wade asked, hating that his fucked up skin was partially on display. He desperately wanted to cover himself back up but Peter must have rolled his mask up for a reason. Besides, Peter had seen him without the mask before. It didn’t mean Wade didn’t feel better with it on, though. “Touched any black goo lately?”

           Peter laughed and shook his head. “Nope, I’m just me.”

           “I don’t believe you.”

           Peter rolled his eyes. “You asked me a month ago if I cared about you,” he said, reaching up and touching Wade’s cheek. “I’ve had an entire month to think about it and I’ve decided the answer is yes. I care about you a whole fucking lot.”

           “Petey…”

           “Wade, for once in your life shut up,” Peter said, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips against Wade’s. Wade couldn’t help the little surprised noise that escaped from his lips.

           He wrapped his arms around Peter and held him close just in case Peter ended up changing his mind. If this was all Wade was getting, he was going to make the most of it. He slid his hands down and gripped Peter’s ass.

           Peter chuckled and broke the kiss. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “And you better not be planning on going anywhere either.”

           “Are you sure about this, Petey?” Wade asked, still slightly awed that Spider-man was willingly kissing him. “You’ve seen what I’m like when you let me in just a little bit. If you give me more I’m just going to keep taking it.”

           Peter smiled and wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck, pressing in closer to him until they were touching in all the right places. “Then take it.”          

           Wade didn’t need to be told twice. He captured Peter’s lips and proceeded to take and take and take.

#spideypool #i write things #peter parker x wade wilson #fluff #violence tw #long post #anon prompt #slight angst #character death #but it's Deadpool so he lives

[odaatlover]

Smut prompt: Jeremy is analizing some goo that happens to be a strong aphrodisiac, of course Waverly touches it and starts feelings the effects but the whole gang is there so she can't ask Nicole to take care of the problem at the moment. So she tries to hide it but like every thing Nicole does turns her on and she start to show that something is bothering her. In the end she admits it and Nicole helps her in the bathroom of the office and Waverly doesn't care of being loud because sweet relief

Okay, so this ended up being 4,263 words…sorry? Also, I have around 30-something prompt requests in my ask box right now. I’m just kind of taking them as I feel.

———

Dolls walked up behind Jeremy, where he had been hunched over his microscope studying a small piece of the purple goo they had accidentally discovered, and gave him a firm pat on the back. “How’s it going? Any updates?”

Jeremy jumped and pulled his face away from the eyepiece. “Would you please stop doing that? It startles me and the last thing I want to do is accidentally touch this stuff, especially since I have no idea how dangerous it is.”

Dolls held his hands up in defense as he slowly took a step back, “Okay, my bad.”

As he tugged at his lab coat, Jeremy rolled his neck around to get out the kinks. He had been sitting there with a hunched back for the past two and a half hours, and it was starting to affect his spine. “I’m getting closer. As soon as I’m finished with this analysis I’ll know exactly what the deal is with Ditto here.” Jeremy grinned.

Dolls raised an eyebrow in confusion as Jeremy waited for him to understand the joke.

“Because it’s a light purplish goo? …you know, Ditto? Like the Pokémon?” He rolled his eyes and sighed when all he received in response was a shrug. “Never mind.” He leaned back over towards the microscope to continue analyzing the unknown substance.

Dolls walked out of the room and down the hallway where the rest of the Scooby gang was. “Jeremy says the analysis should be done soon,” he updated before heading back towards the lab.

“Which means that I’ve got plenty of time for a field trip to the vending machine,” Wynonna stated as she swung her legs and hopped down from the desk the was sitting on. She looked over at Waverly on the other side of the room. “You coming with?” She called out.

Waverly sat in the computer chair in front of where Nicole was bent over the cleared desk, drawing over some blueprints. The top button of her uniform shirt was undone, giving Waverly the perfect view. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and squeezed her crossed legs together as she thought of Nicole haphazardly pushing everything off of the desk and taking her right there.

“Earth to Waverly!” Wynonna yelled, pulling the younger brunette out of her fantasy.

“Huh?” Waverly jumped and immediately uncrossed her clenched legs to sit up straight.

Wynonna pointed behind her with her thumb. “Do you want to come with me to get some snacks?”

“Oh, uh, no thanks. I’m good here.”

“Okay.” Wynonna shrugged before strolling out of the room.

Nicole looked up and noticed Waverly shaking her leg as she fidgeted with the ring on her middle finger. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, totally! Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Waverly quickly replied.

“I don’t know. You just seem…tense.”

“Nope, all good!” Waverly chirped in an unusually high-pitched voice.

Nicole eyed her suspiciously before shrugging it off. “Okay. If you say so.”

Waverly watched as Nicole turned her attention back to the giant map laid out in front of her. She had no idea why, but all she could think about was fucking Nicole. …or more accurately, Nicole fucking her. Her libido was in full speed, and it was literal torture. She tried not to think about it, but no matter what she thought about, it always ended up being something sexual. What she did know, was that being around her sexy redheaded girlfriend right now wasn’t doing her any favors.

“You know what, I think I’m actually going to take Wynonna up on that offer,” Waverly said as she stood up from the chair.

Without looking up, Nicole gave a half-interested “okay” as she traced a few lines.

When Waverly got to the break room, she spotted Wynonna at the vending machine, trying to  pull it open with a crowbar. Waverly gave her a look of disappointment as she folded her arms across her chest. “Seriously?”

The older Earp pulled the crowbar out of the crack as she shrugged nonchalantly. “What? I don’t actually have any money on me…”

Waverly sighed and pulled some change out of her jacket pocket, which Wynonna took excitedly. “Sweet. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be in prison right now, probably,” Waverly replied before plopping down into a nearby chair with a sigh.

Wynonna laughed and dramatically nodded her head as she fed the money to the machine. “Can’t argue there. I’m the ass-kickin’ sister and you’re the ass-savin’ one.” She turned around to look at Waverly, but the girl clearly wasn’t paying any attention to what she was saying. Wynonna furrowed her brow as she stepped over towards her sister. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Waverly shook her head as she tried her best to ignore the strong throbbing between her legs.

“Are you and Nicole fighting again?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

“Uh, because I just left you two alone in a room together and instead of being all over each other, you decided to follow me.”

Waverly shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out with you.”

Wynonna snorted. “Instead of your sexy cop girlfriend? Doubt it.”

Great. Now all Waverly could think about was role-playing with Nicole in her uniform; those pants that hugged her in all the right places, that shirt that accentuated her lustful curves, that tie… God dammit Wynonna. Waverly sighed as she stood up from the chair. “Thanks a lot.”

Wynonna grinned and waved her sister off as she had completely missed the sarcasm in Waverly’s voice. “You’re welcome! Don’t get too handsy!” She turned back towards the vending machine and surveyed her options.

Wanting to take her mind off of her current problem, Waverly walked into the makeshift lab where Dolls was sitting, leaned back in the desk chair with his feet propped up on the desk, hands clasped over his abdomen, and baseball cap over his face. She chuckled at the sight for a moment before turning to Jeremy, who was completely lost in his research. “Hey Jeremy!” She greeted in a chipper voice, causing the small-framed man to jump with a squeak.

“Would you guys please stop scaring me!”

Waverly folded her arms across her chest as she quirked an eyebrow. “I literally said ‘hey Jeremy’.”

“Well, you said it too loudly.”

“I think you just get scared too easily,” Waverly shrugged.

“Hey, no I don’t!” Jeremy replied defensively.

“Jeremy!” Wynonna yelled as she rounded the doorframe, causing Jeremy to yelp in surprise.

Waverly folded her arms across her chest and gave him a knowing look, which he ignored.

He glared at Wynonna dropping her armful of snacks down onto the table behind him. “What?” He replied with a dry tone.

Wynonna hopped up onto the table and grabbed a bag of chips, which she immediately opened, before pointing to the goo under the microscope. “You figure out what that stuff does yet?”

“No. And will you all stop asking me that already? I’ll let you all know when I’m finished. But until then, your rather loud chip-crunching is very distracting, and it’s making it a little difficult to concentrate.”

Wynonna held her hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I’ll try to eat my chips a little more quietly,” she replied with a sarcastic tone as she slowly bit down on a fresh chip while staring in Jeremy’s direction, earning herself an eye roll and a sigh from the scientist. “I hope that stuff does something cool, like give you super powers or something. Oooh! What if it gives you the power to read minds?!” Wynonna asked excitedly before shoving a handful of chips into her mouth, returning to her loud crunching.

“I don’t think it does that,” Waverly snorted.

“Well how do you know? It’s not like you’re the one analyzing it.”

Waverly paused. When they first brought the strange goo into the lab, there was a brief period of time where she was the only one in the room with it. And of course, out of curiosity for the pretty purple goo, she touched it. She only wanted to see what it felt like — which ended up being exactly what she was expecting. And she had been internally freaking out ever since. …she had also been extremely aroused ever since, which was strange. But she just chalked it up to her mind subconsciously trying to focus on something else other than the worry coursing through her thoughts. And of course, the best thing her mind could think of, was Nicole; more specifically, her fingers…and her tongue…and her—

“Yo, Spacey-pants. Seriously, what’s going on with you today?” Wynona asked as she lightly kicked Waverly’s leg.

Waverly shrugged as she looked down at her suede boots. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. You’ve been totally zoning in and out ever since we got here. Something on your mind?” She drew her eyebrows together in concern.

Yes. Something is on my mind. Nicole. Nicole fucking me with her fingers while she eats me out. “Nothing more than usual. Just curious about the goo,” she replied, which wasn’t completely a lie.

Wynonna studied her sister’s face with curiosity. She always knew when something was up with Waverly; she called it ‘big sister’s intuition’. As the room continued to fall silent, Nicole walked through the opened door with a pleased smile on her face. “Hey. I finished the blueprints.”

“Good work Haught,” Wynonna praised with a short nod of her head. She smacked Nicole’s ass as hard as she could when the officer walked by.

Nicole glowered at Wynonna as she stood beside Waverly. “Can you not.”

“What? I thought you liked getting your ass smacked. At least, according to that enticing game of truth or drink we had at Shorty’s the other night.” The statement was succeeded by Wynonna doing the booty slap dance as she waved her right hand back and forth in front of her with her left held out above it.

Nicole shoved the older Earp in the arm, and Wynonna cackled as she gripped the edge of the table to keep herself from falling over. “Not by you. Only Waverly can smack my ass.” Nicole wrapped her arm around Waverly’s shoulder and looked at her with that adorable lopsided smile that always made Waverly go weak in the knees…but this time, it had a completely different affect. Instead of making her go weak in the knees, it made her go horny in the…well, everywhere. Or at least even more so than she already was.

Wynonna rolled her eyes and waved the two off in dismissal. “Can you two go get a room or something please? Jeremy’s trying to work here, and your gross googly eyes are ruining my appetite.”

Nicole shrugged. “Hey, you started it, ass-slapper.”

“Yeah, and I’d do it again if I could reach you from here. But I’m too lazy to get up, so you’re out of luck, gingersnap.”

Normally Waverly would move between the two and say something along the lines of, ‘can you two try to get along instead of trying to one-up each other for once?’, but she was too distracted for that. Too distracted by Nicole’s hand gently caressing her shoulder as she kept her arm wrapped around her. Too distracted by the sneaky view she had of Nicole’s cleavage through the slightly opened gap between the second and third button of her blue uniform shirt. Too distracted by her tie hanging perfectly around her neck — that fucking tie.

“Guys! I’ve got it!” Jeremy exclaimed, ripping Waverly out of her sexual fantasies. “I know what it is!”

Dolls immediately stood up from his chair, where he had been ignoring the previous conversation floating around the room, and walked towards Jeremy before standing next to him with his arms folded across his chest and eyebrows drawn together — like they normally were. “Tell me.”

“It’s some sort of super strong aphrodisiac. No idea exactly where it came from, but it seems to be harmless! I mean, you know, unless you count being super horny at unwanted times harmless…”

Wynonna hopped off the table. “So wait, are we all gonna get super horny now from being around this thing?”Everyone — except for Jeremy and a worried-looking Waverly — simultaneously took a step back from the goo as they eyed it cautiously.

“Not unless you touch it.” Jeremy shrugged. “And even then, it wears off after a few hours.”

“And you’re sure there’s no other dangers of this substance?” Dolls asked in his usual serious tone.

Jeremy confidently nodded his head. “Completely innocuous.”

“Good. Get rid of it,” Dolls demanded with a curt nod. “I’m going to go help Doc with those weapons. Some of them are military grade, and I have a feeling that’s something he’s not used to.”

As he walked out of the room, Wynonna debated following him just to make sure the two didn’t end up in a scuffle, but eventually decided to just stay put. She hopped back up on the table and continued to eat her snacks.

Nicole glance over at Waverly and noticed the worry on her face as she stared at the goo. “What’s wrong?”

Waverly looked up at Nicole and swallowed thickly before grabbing her hand and yanking her out of the room and down the hall for some privacy. As soon as they were out of ear-shot from Wynonna and Jeremy, she looked up at Nicole with wide eyes and admitted, “I touched the goo.”

“Okay, but Jeremy said it’s completely harmless, so you should be fine.” As soon as she finished her sentence, she realized what that meant. While mirroring Waverly’s wide eyes, let out a brief, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Waverly said dully as she began to pace back and forth. “I just wanted to see what it felt like, you know? I mean, it was so purple, and so pretty, and I was just drawn to it. I didn’t think touching it would actually do anything though! And now all I can think about is…” She paused as she continued in a softer voice. “Sex.”

With raised eyebrows, Nicole bit her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. “Well, is it bad?” She subconsciously rested both hands on her belt buckle, like she’d done a million times when asking for information.

Waverly nodded fervently. “Yes. It’s bad.” She flitted her eyes down to Nicole’s hands and groaned. “Please don’t stand like that. It’s turning me on.”

Nicole dropped her hands and quickly shifted her weight. “Sorry.”

“Ugh, I just want it to wear off ASAP, because it’s literally torture right now.”

Nicole watched the brunette with attentive eyes. Now that she knew what was going on, she noticed that Waverly’s face was a little flushed. Her breathing was a bit quicker than usual, and she could almost see the girl’s pulse pounding in her neck. “I can help you if you want,” Nicole suggested nonchalantly.

“What do you mean?” Waverly asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“You know. I can help you…get off.”

Waverly’s eyes widened as she looked down the hallway to make sure nobody was listening before taking a step towards Nicole and saying with a hushed tone, “We can’t do that! They’ll catch us!”

“No they won’t,” Nicole chuckled. “If we can get away with doing it on the couch in Nedley’s office, then we can surely get away with doing it in the bathroom here. Besides, everyone is preoccupied. Nobody will even notice we’re gone.”

Waverly looked at Nicole with hesitation. “I don’t know…”

Nicole shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks and leaned in towards Waverly’s ear before whispering, “It’ll be super hot. I’ll have you coming in seconds; giving you that sweet relief you’ve been craving.” She grinned when she heard Waverly’s breath hitch, and grinned even wider when Waverly grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the bathroom.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Waverly pushed Nicole up against the sink and wrapped her hands around the back of her neck, roughly pulling her into a fervent kiss. Almost as soon as their lips had touched, Waverly switched their positions so that she was the one up against the sink, and immediately began undoing her jeans, all without breaking the kiss. She pushed them down her tanned legs, and disconnected their lips with a smack before grabbing the top of Nicole’s head and forcefully pushing her down on to her knees.

Nicole dropped to the floor and hooked her fingers around the waistband of Waverly’s panties before yanking them down to her knees where her jeans were. She ran two fingers up Waverly’s slit, and both of them gasped. Nicole’s jaw dropped as she looked up at Waverly — who had her hands gripping the edge of the sink counter behind her with her head thrown back and eyes closed.

“Jesus…Waves, you’re so fucking wet,” She breathed out in awe as she watched her fingers glide up and down with ease.

“I’m so fucking horny,” Waverly whined as she already began bucking her hips in search of more contact. “Please, Nicole. I need more. I need to feel you everywhere. It’s killing me.”

Without hesitation, Nicole wrapped her hands around the backs of Waverly’s thighs and pushed a forceful tongue against her girlfriend’s swollen clit. She concurrently squeezed the flesh beneath her palms as she moved her tongue in quick, broad circles, earning herself a roaring cry of pleasure.

“Oh FUCK Nicole! Don’t stop! I’m already so close!” Waverly didn’t even care that it had been less than a minute and she was already feeling the familiar tension in her abdomen. She had been desperately craving this moment for longer than anyone should ever have to endure to that degree, and she was finally about to get some sweet relief. She dropped her hands to Nicole’s head and tangle her fingers through the short, wavy locks as she smashed the officers face against her dripping center and enthusiastically rocked her hips. Her jaw went slack when she felt Nicole’s lips wrap around her eager bud and begin to suck as she flicked the tip of her tongue across it at a non-human pace.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m finally gonna get to fucking com—FUCK NICOLE. Unghhh!” The sound of her cries of pleasure echoed throughout the entire bathroom as the powerful shocks of her orgasm took over her entire body.

She couldn’t stop. It had been about a minute, and the contractions were still going. “I’m still coming,” she whined as she continued to push her center into Nicole’s skilled lips. “Jesus…what are you doing to me, Nic,” she breathed out as she moved one hand from Nicole’s head and rested it behind her back as she dropped her head back again.

Once Nicole felt Waverly’s orgasm finally subside, she pushed herself up to her feet and lifted Waverly up onto the counter. She sloppily pressed her lips against Waverly’s — not giving two shits that their teeth slightly hit together — and pulled Waverly’s bottom lip between her own teeth. She slowly pulled back on it, gently holding onto the lip for as long as possible until it slipped out of her grasp. She hastily pulled Waverly’s jeans and panties the rest of the way down her legs so that her bottom half was completely bare, before resting her hands on shaky knees and pushing them apart. She slipped two fingers inside Waverly’s core, and sunk her teeth into the skin of her pulse point as she pumped at a quick, rough pace.

Waverly took in a sharp breath through her mouth as her torso dropped back against the mirror. She wrapped her arms around Nicole’s shoulders and dragged her nails up her clothed back, wishing that she could feel the beautifully pale, bare skin beneath her finger tips.

“Is this good baby?” Nicole panted as she continued her thrusts while placing wet kisses all over the subtle bite marks of Waverly’s neck.

“Mhm,” Waverly replied in a high-pitched voice, which was all she could manage to choke out. With her left hand clenched around the back of Nicole’s shirt, she brought her right hand up and slapped her palm on the mirror above her head before curling her fingers against it.

The amount of pleasure she was feeling was unreal. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the goo, or because of the built-up sexual frustration, or because they were scandelously in the bathroom of the Purgatory Police Station with Wynonna and Jeremy not too far from the other side of that door…but whatever it was, she was thankful for it, because she was about to have another incredibly intense orgasm. And she knew that this one was going to be even better than the first.

“Rub my clit,” She whispered through labored breaths.

Nicole pulled her fingers out and repositioned her hand so that she was able to stimulate Waverly’s clit with the pad of her thumb before slamming three digits inside her center, sliding them in with immense ease. Waverly jerked her hips at the overwhelming sensation, and almost immediately wrapped her arms around Nicole’s shoulders again. When she felt Nicole’s hand reach it’s previous pace, Waverly buried her face in the crook of Nicole’s neck and spread her legs as wide as they could go.

Almost instantly, she felt the heat of her approaching climax spreading throughout her entire body, and began to whine as she pulled Nicole’s torso closer towards her, holding on for dear life.

Nicole could feel Waverly’s walls getting tighter around her fingers, clenching onto them like a vise, and stilled her pumping motion before repeatedly curling her fingers up towards her palm. She swiped her fingertips along Waverly’s g-spot while continuing to move her thumb around her clit, and an arrogant smirk spread across her face as she heard the moans getting louder. Even though her hand was beginning to cramp up, she didn’t dare slow down her movements. She knew it was only a matter of time until…

“FUUUUCK NICOLEEEE!” Waverly cried out as her intense orgasm ripped throughout her entire body, filling her with unimaginable pleasure. She continued to moan in ecstasy as every part of her body convulsed. Her hands clawed at Nicole’s back as she desperately held onto her for support and to keep her grounded as she rode out the final waves of her much-needed orgasm.

Nicole waited until the very last contraction of Waverly’s walls around her fingers to stop the slow circles around her sensitive clit. As she watched Waverly slowly drop her head back against the mirror to regain her strength, she pressed her forehead against Waverly’s and slowly pull her fingers out of her center before bringing them up her lips to suck on. She pulled back and studied Waverly’s relaxed and glowing face with a small smile.

Waverly’s eyes finally fluttered open, and she gazed at her gorgeous girlfriend — the one who had just given her the most mind-blowing orgasms of her life. With a small shake of her head, she said in a soft tone, “God I love you.”

Nicole hummed as she entwined both of their hands together and placed a tender kiss on Waverly’s nose. “Feeling better?” She asked with a smirk.

“Actually, I am,” Waverly chuckled lightly as she sat up. “I don’t know if the orgasms were the cure, or if it just finally wore off, but I’m not feeling like I’m going to explode from sexual frustration anymore,” Waverly giggled.

“Good.” Nicole smiled. “Just remember that when we go back out there.”

Waverly’s smile dropped. “Wait, why?”

“Because, you were so loud. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t shatter the mirror.” Nicole laughed as she shook her head.

Waverly’s eyes wined and she closed her eyes in embarrassment as she pushed her eyebrows together and let a whiny “no” fall from her lips.

“It’s okay. I mean, maybe they didn’t hear it?” Nicole replied as she shrugged her shoulders. “Or if they did, they probably won’t say anything.”

Waverly scoffed as she slid off of the counter and began to put her pants and underwear back on. “Yeah, Jeremy wouldn’t, but you know Wynonna would.”

Nicole squirted some soap into her hands before scrubbing them under the running faucet water. “Well, let’s just hope she’s mature enough not to bring it up.” She looked in the mirror and ran a soapy hand across her mouth and chin for good measure.

“Yeah, let’s hope,” Waverly sighed before slowly opening the bethroom door. She poked her head around the corner, and when she saw that the coast was clear, she slowly walked down the hall. When they entered the lab, keeping a good distance apart from each other to not make it obvious what they had just been doing, they both studied Wynonna and Jeremy’s faces.

Jeremy was taping up the box that he had carefully put the goo in to dispose of it, and Wynonna was watching him with a judgmental stare while eating a new bag of chips, as if nothing ever happened.

Waverly and Nicole looked at each other and shrugged with a relieving smile before strolling further into the room towards the,. “Hey guys. Sorry we left. We had to get—“

“You touched the goo, didn’t you,” Wynonna said bluntly without looking up from her chip bag.

Nicole sighed, and Waverly dropped her burning face in one of her hands as she sharply replied, “Shut up.”

#wayhaught prompt #wynonna earp prompt #waverly earp #nicole haught #waverly x nicole #weprompt #all smutty prompts tagged as taco #taco #lemon

[hippychick006]

5.01 - Sympathy for the Devil

I had almost completed this recap when chrome decided to freeze on me. Normally I autosave, but Tumblr doesn’t have this feature and I forgot to save as I went along.  As a result, I’m slightly more irked than normal so this might show in the writing.  

It’s long again.  That’s only partly due to the fact there’s so much going on: we have Sam, Dean, Zachariah, Castiel, Nick, Bobby, Chuck... and far from being overwhelmed and giving me whiplash, the story is all linked to a single thread.  It’s interesting and engaging, and the actors all do an amazing job, so this episode is definitely worth a re-watch, especially if you like your heart getting ripped out of your chest while it’s still beating. 

The rest of the length is due to having so many issues, both from a narrative and retconning perspective.  Part of the problem is I’m bringing some of the pandering dialogue from the last few years back to the earlier episodes and it just makes these episodes even more painful to watch than they were the first time around.

Thunderstruck by AC/DC plays as we recap on Season 4.  It’s not any less traumatic in recap.

We open exactly where we left off. Sam and Dean are in the convent holding on to each other. We don’t stay there for long though as just when things start looking dodgy, Sam and Dean are transported onto an airplane.  I like the inflight cartoon is a clip of Yosemite Sam in front of the devil. Nice touch.   

Just when they think they are safe, a bright white light shoots up from the ground (obviously from the convent) and the force causes the airplane to veer off course.  The oxygen masks descend, and the plane shakes violently. I think even Sammy might be all aboard the nope to flying ever again train after his second experience of a flight almost crashing.

They land fine though because next time we see them, they are in a car that isn’t baby.  The digital readout on the radio gives it away, and I remember baby is back at Bobby’s as Dean was teleported in the last episode. There’s no decent rock music, it’s all hurricanes, nuclear tests, earthquakes and swine flu.  Sam turns it off and tries to speak to Dean.  Dean says not to say anything, that it’s okay, they just need to keep their heads down and figure things out.  First things first, find Cass.

Chuck’s house is an explosion, blood is splattered everywhere.  And as they look around, Sam suddenly gets whacked hard in the face with a toilet plunger.  Turns out to be Chuck, he’s survived and he’s surprised to see them.  He asks if Sam is okay.   Sam responds, “Well, my head hurts.”  I love sarcastic Sam, we don’t get enough of him.  Chuck clarifies: “No, I mean—I mean, my—My last vision.  You went, like, full-on Vader.  Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black.  Dean: “Your eyes went black?”  Sam turns back to look at him, “I didn’t know.”

Dean asks where Cass is and Chuck says he exploded.  After 10 seasons of Cass and 3 years of “Where’s Cass?” on social media, I would be cheering this outcome now, but Season 5 me is a little sad.

Sam indicates that Chuck has something stuck in his hair.  Turns out it’s a molar.  Chuck: “This has been a really stressful day.”

Zachariah turns up (and for the purposes of my fingers, he’s now Zach), Dean’s pissed and going nowhere with them as “You sons of bitches jump started judgement day”.

Zach: Maybe we let it happen.  We didn’t start anything.  Right, Sammy?  [Zach winks at Sam].  I control my red mist of rage and quietly start a tally of how many times Sam will be blamed by the narrative for starting the apocalypse.

Zach wisely ignores my angry typing and continues: “You had a chance to stop your brother and you couldn’t.  So, let's not quibble over who started what. Let's just say it was… all our faults and move on…

Oh Zach, if only we could, but at least twice more in this episode alone, not to mention years later, the narrative will still be pointing the finger at Sammy.

Zach is very keen to put the past betrayals behind them.  They’re back on the same team again. As he puts it: “You want to kill the devil.   We want you to kill the devil. It's...synergy.”  I love Zach.  Yes, he’s a dick, but you know where you are with him.  He’s not sneaking off stealing colts while pretending to be besties. 

Dean unsurprisingly after the last episode has trust issues and suggests that Zach “Cram it with walnuts, ugly.” Zach gets hissy.  He tells them they need to strike before Lucifer finds his vessel.   Sam asks “Lucifer needs a meat suit?”

Zach confirms this and that Dean can stop him, but he will need the help of the angels. Dean though, doesn’t want jack squat from the two-faced douchebags (his words).  Dean soon gets bored with the conversation and pulls a door towards him.  We see it has the angel banishing symbol on it. Dean slams his hand on the door and Zach and his goons disappear.  Dean: Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch.

Wait, hold on. Back the fuck right up.  The guy that forced you to face and torture Alastair, lied to you about what exactly you were signing up for, betrayed you by not telling you about heaven’s plans for your brother - and you do not want me to get started on the panic room fiasco. He finally does one right thing and you not only trust him, he’s been elevated to friend? That guy?  GTFO with that nonsense. Heh, watching when you no longer like a character gets you to see everything in a new light.  

Chuck: This sucks ass.

Well thank you Chuck, for that observation.  It does indeed suck ass.  I had no idea on re-watching I would have so many issues with a Kripke episode.

We next see Sam coming down a staircase to enter a motel.  He enters the room and throws a hex bag to Dean saying, there’s no way angels or demons will find them with those. Dean asks where he got it from and Sam says he made it (his face is so earnest here).  Dean asks how and Sam’s reluctant to tell him, but Dean looks at him and he says.  “I…I learned it from Ruby.”

I love Sam’s face in this interaction, but I’m going to call the scene out.  Dean knows about the hex bags.  He learned about them in season 3, from Ruby herself. He even used them himself in 4.18.   I’m going to ignore the hypocrisy that it seems to be okay to use something learned from an angelic lying skank that betrayed them (the angel banishing sigil), but not something else from a demonic lying skank that betrayed them (a hex bag).  Oh wait, I’m not ignoring the hypocrisy at all because I’ve just called it out! Increasingly bitter 10 minutes into the episode, we move on.

Dean asks if Sam’s “jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?”  Sam says no, whoever put him on that plane cleaned him up. He tries to speak to Dean again.  He doesn’t get further than Dean’s name.  Dean responds sharply, “Sam” and turns and walks away saying it’s okay, that Sam doesn’t have to say anything. 

Sam: Well, that's good. Because what can I even say? "I'm sorry"? "I screwed up"? Doesn't really do it justice, you know? Look, there's nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right… (bolding for the people that say Sam doesn’t own up to his mistakes, even if he makes them unknowingly).

Dean (angrily): So why do you keep bringing it up?!  Sam keeps quiet and Dean continues, “Look, all I'm saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope? We made a mess. We clean it up. That's it.”

Ha ha, if only that were true.  Let me just stop you there, Dean and quote your own words, Season 8, episode 23: “All right. Well, I’m just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh…Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul (don’t get me started on this one either ffs or these recaps will turn into war and peace), not looking for me when I went to Purgatory…”

While I’m still not so quietly seething, they talk about what they would do if it was any other hunt and decide they need to find Lucifer.

Cut to our first view of Mark Pellegrino as pre-Lucifer, Nick.  I liked Season 5 Lucifer (both Mark and Jared’s versions) so I liked all of these scenes the first watch.  I like Hallucifer in Season 7.  I like a couple of scenes after that; e.g. Sam in the cage with Lucifer in season 11 and Sam again with Lucifer in the cave in Season 13, but other than that, I’m done with Nick/Lucifer and his storyline (plus all the angels). Anyway, to rudely cut Nick’s scene short, his dead wife appears in his bed and says: “It's you, Nick. You're special. You're chosen.” 

Oh, I forgot superfan psycho!Becky (online username samlicker81, webmistress of morethanbrothers dot net) was in this one.  Enough said about her the better. I do like her room has a poster of Route 666 and The Benders.  The first was Kripke’s least favourite episode, and since the Benders was in no way a clunker episode, I’m going to presume it’s one of his favourites.   Becky is writing wincest: "And then Sam touched…No…caressed Dean's clavicle. 'This is wrong,' said Dean. 'Then I don't want to be right,' replied Sam, in a husky voice."  I’d have to nope out of that fic, or swap the names around, if only because Sam doesn’t have a husky voice, Dean does.  Anyway, Chuck calls Becky, asking for her help to get a message to Sam and Dean.

Back at the hotel, Sam’s at the table reading John’s journal and Dean is watching TV.

Voice 1 on the television: How would you then explain an earthquake, a hurricane, and multiple tornadoes, all at the same time, all around the globe?

Voice 2: Two words. Carbon emissions.

Dean (to voice 2): Yeah, right, wavy gravy.

I love these little pieces the show put in.  Much better use of dialogue than pandering.

There’s a knock at the door, Dean readies his gun.  Sam answers to reveal it’s superfangirl Becky.  Becky turns out to be one of those fans that don’t respect boundaries as she touches Sam’s chest.  She says she knows he’s Sam Winchester  “and you’re…” Becky looks at Dean who is sitting on the bed watching “… not what I pictured.”  Becky invites herself into the room, telling them she’s read all about them and even written a few… Anyway, she tells them she has a message from Chuck but that he’s being watched by Angels, “Nice change-up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old.”

Oh Becky, Becky, Becky.  Season 14, and we’re still on the angel crap 10 years later, so stow 3 years of demons getting old bullshit. Weeps for what once was, angels would have finished end season 6, which Gamble tried to do, but no, we get 8 more seasons and counting.

They get the message out of Becky. Chuck had a vision: “The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.”  and it’s “In a castle, on a hill made of forty-two dogs.”  Did Castiel send this message?  It’s got his cryptic fingers all over it.  She touches Sam’s chest again. 

Jealous!Dean alert!

Omega!Sam glances nervously over at his Alpha before asking Becky to quit touching him (in retrospect, I think that was just the fan fic version of this episode). Becky does not respect Sam’s wishes.

Bobby arrives at the motel and Dean checks to make sure he wasn’t followed.  They don’t check him for demon signs and vice versa because they all have anti possession tattoos or charms (this bit’s important in a minute).  But Dean does check to make sure Bobby wasn’t followed:

Bobby: You mean by angels, demons, or Sam's new superfan?

Sam (laughing): You heard.

Bobby: I heard, Romeo…

Bobby explains about Michael who used the sword to “boot Lucifer’s ass to the basement” during the last big dust up upstairs. (because over the last couple of seasons, Sam’s forgotten how to do research on his own).  They ask the wise one how they find the sword. Bobby responds.  “Divvy up and start reading—try and make sense of Chuck's nonsense.”  Well thank goodness Bobby’s here! .

Sam gets up and goes to get a book.  He looks troubled.   Bobby asks if he’s all right.  Sam says no, that this is all his fault.  Dean tries to warn him to stop, but Sam keeps going; says that Lilith didn’t break the final seal, that she was the final seal and that Sam killed her and set Lucifer free (entirely on his own, because Dean did not break the foundation stone that allowed the others to fall and 64 other seals just magically put their hands up in surrender and keeled over without any intervention).  But it’s okay for Dean to be tricked by Hell into doing something, but not Sam.  Okay show.

Bobby has forgotten the entirety of season 4 was to stop the seals being broken and that everyone was fully on board with the plan to kill Lilith and stop the final seal being broken as he asks, “you what”

Sam: You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on.

Bolding this line for the people that say Sam doesn’t take responsibility for his actions, which he’s done twice now in this single episode.  Shame no one else is stepping forward and putting their hands up.  Also bolding, because they warned Sam about Ruby and the demon blood, but not that killing Lilith was the final seal, because none of them knew that, so how Lilith was killed and who did it is 100% irrelevant, when they all thought killing her would stop the apocalypse, not start it.

Dean says nothing throughout this next piece, watching as Bobby stands up and walks closer. I want to say this scene is set up brilliantly. Both Dean and Bobby are on a raised platform, looking down on Sam as if in judgement.  Kudos, because that’s exactly what’s happening here.  Bobby: “You're damn right you didn't listen. You were reckless and selfish and arrogant.  Sam says he’s sorry.  And Bobby responds: “Oh, yeah? You're sorry you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off...I want you to lose my number. You understand me?”

Sam just nods, he’s not expecting Bobby’s response to be anything different, and that just breaks my heart. Sam suggests he go to a Church nearby and see what they have on the lore.  Bobby: Yeah. You do that.

We see a shot of Sam walking outside and I’m on the point of tears.  And if we question why the narrative is written this way, it’s because of Jared Padalecki’s face all the way through this episode.  The writers don’t hate Sam, they just love kicking him, so we get moments like this.  And dammit, because I do love these scenes we get, even though I hate the narrative that’s giving me them.

Bobby and Dean are doing research.  Bobby says he’d never have guessed that John was right about either saving Sam or killing him.  That maybe they should’t have tried to hard to save him.  “He ended the world, Dean.  And you and I weren’t strong enough to stop him proper.  That’s on us. I’m just saying, your dad was right.”  

I glare at Bobby and remind him he was in 7 episodes last season, not a single one of which did he try and “save” Sam.  In fact, he was pushing to use Sam’s powers in 4.21.

Instead of this triggering a punch to the face, or even a protest from Dean, it triggers him to remember something in his dad’s journal.  He searches through his bag and pulls out a zip lock bag which contains business cards.  The one he’s looking for is to their dad’s lockup in upstate New York which is called “Castle Storage”, located at “42 Rover Hill." The cryptic message is solved and that’s good enough for Bobby who punches Dean, knocking him through the fence on the raised platform. Bobby advances and attacks again.  We see Bobby’s eyes go black.  And I’m really hoping the show will explain this as Bobby has anti possession protection. (Warning, the show does not explain this).

Two demons enter the room while Bobby grabs Dean by the throat and drags him to his feet. The female demon seems to be the one in charge and does all the talking.  Long story short, it’s Meg (Dean incorrectly guessed Ruby before she gave him another try).   I wasn’t sure about Rachel’s version of Meg at first, it was difficult shoes to fill, but she grew on me.  Meg is delighted the apocalypse has started, and for the third time this episode we get Sam single handedly starting the apocalypse: “We really owe your brother a fruit basket.”   Dean on the other hand, is a bump in the road to them getting their demon utopia of hell on earth and every demon is going to be gunning for a piece of him.

Dean (smirking): Get in line.

Meg: Oh, I'm in the front of the line, baby. Let's ride.

Instead of getting her hands dirty though, she hands the knife to Demon!Bobby saying she wants Dean’s surrogate daddy to be the one to kill him.  Bobby attacks and we see him struggle, but his eyes turn black. He raises the knife.  Dean: “Bobby! No!”  The black fades from Bobby’s eyes, the knife comes down, and Bobby flashes that orange colour to signify the demon inside dying.  Bobby has stabbed himself rather than Dean and what a sacrifice.  Really sad to see Bobby go.

Dean is pissed that his retconned surrogate daddy has been killed and punches Meg.  The other demon attacks him, but luckily, Sam’s decided to come back for more judgement and sees the situation.  He goes to help and gets slammed in the face with a telephone, knocking him back against the wall.  And this really isn’t Sam’s day.  

Meg: Heya, Sammy. You miss me? 'Cause I sure missed you.

Sam: Meg

At least Sam knows his demons.  And Meg’s happy to be recognised.  Sam swings and it’s clear Meg needs to get the upper hand for plot reasons as he completely misses. (this should really go under dumb Winchesters because Sam has an uppercut that would have lifted demon!meg off her feet, but I’ll assume it’s because he has slight concussion from 2 blows to the head and let it slide).  Meg takes full advantage of the plot, punching Sam a couple of times, kicking him in the boy bits and knocking him to the ground.  I’m presuming this is all so we can get our “Sam lying helpless on the floor with the demon pulling his hair” kink filled.  And damn the show for knowing me so well (quietly sends show a fruit basket).  “It's not so easy without those super-special demon powers, huh, Sammy?”  Meg taunts. Both boys are getting trounced here, but finally it’s time for Dean to get the upper hand and start showing the 20+ years of training he’s had up to this point.  He takes the legs out from under his demon, takes the knife out of Bobby and stabs the demon.  Orange flashing indicates the demon (and the human he’s hitched a ride with) are dead.  Dean stands and advances on Meg who backs away then smokes out of there.

Back to Nick. Upshot of his scene is that his baby died.  This was sad at the time, and now I don’t really care.

Sam and Dean are at the emergency room, helping Bobby who… well let’s just say he’s a lot less dead than I was expecting.  Back the fuck up for the third time this recap.  Checks back to 4.04 (Metamorphosis):

SAM: I'm pulling demons out of innocent people. DEAN: Use the knife! SAM: The knife kills the victim! What I do, most of them survive! Look, I've saved more people in the last five months than we save in a year.

I really hope this gets explained. (Note, it doesn’t seem to get explained this episode, so it now negates Sam using his demon powers instead of the knife, if all they have to do is stab someone in the gut to kill the demon, but not the host). Bobby’s put on a gurney, Sam and Dean try to follow, but Judgy McJudgerson nurse says to not move, she’s got questions (she totally suspects them of being the stabbers).  Sam looks distressed (he’s possibly already worried the narrative of the next episode will be blaming him for Bobby getting possessed and stabbing himself).  Dean says. “Sammy, we got to go.”  Sam doesn’t want to go, but Dean tells him the demons know where the sword is and they’ve got to get it before the demons.

They arrive at the storage locker, but when they get inside, the demons are already dead. They look around confused.

Zach: I see you told the demons where the sword is.  

Me (at the TV): Oh great, the angels are here.

Dean: Oh, thank god. The angels are here.

Fine, Dean said it better.

Zach TK’s the doors closed.  Long scene short, the angels planted the prophesy inside Chuck’s head.  They had lost the sword but the Winchester’s just hand-delivered it to them.  Dean is confused saying they don’t have anything.  Zach tells Dean that he’s the Michael sword and gets quite nasty about it: “What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer? You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one.”

Dean asks what Zach means by him being a sword.  Zach explains he’s Michael’s weapon or more accurately, his receptacle.  Dean realises what this means. “I’m a vessel?” Not just a vessel Dean, but the vessel; Michael’s vessel which Zach says is a great honour.  Dean begs to differ:

Dean: Oh, yeah. Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun. I think I'll pass, thanks.

Uriel – being the funniest angel in the garrison - might have found that line funny. Zach has a lot less humour.   “Always joking. Well...no more jokes.”   He raises his hand, fingers like a gun pointing at Dean, then he switches over to Sam. Bang. A bone cracks and Sam collapses.

Dean (angrily): You son of a bitch!

Zach’s completely done with screwing around though and if Dean keeps mouthing off, he’ll break more than just Sam’s legs.  Dean figures out though that Michael will need his say so to ride around in his skin and gives his answer “Eat me.  The answer’s no.”

Zach tries a carrot, “Okay. How about this? Your friend Bobby—we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, and we'll heal him.” Quickly followed by the stick, “Say no, he'll never walk again.”

Dean says no, even when Zach gives him stage four stomach cancer and he’s coughing up blood. Zach hasn’t got to head honcho for no reason though and goes straight back to Dean’s biggest weakness: “Then let's get really creative. Uh, let's see how...Sam does without his lungs.”  Dean turns to look at SAM, who gasps for breath.  Dean says to just kill them, but Zach is only just getting started.

A bright light flashes, Zach turns and one of the angel’s has a hole in his throat. It’s Castiel (season 5 me: yay Castiel survived!  Season 14 me: oh my god, you’re like a cockroach!).  Zach obviously isn’t a fighter because he just watches as Castiel and the remaining angel fight.  And this must be an episode where Castiel has to look good, because he’s killing these fight scenes.  A second angel dies.  Zach’s too important to the plot to die right now so Castiel and he have a conversation (meanwhile no one worry about Sammy not breathing or anything, I’m sure he’s fine).

Zach asks “how are you…” but get’s no further before Castiel answers: “Alive? That's a good question. How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question. 'Cause the angels didn't do it. I think we both know the answer, don't we?.  Zach says it’s not possible.  Castiel: “It scares you. Well, it should. Now, put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice.”

Zach vanishes and Castiel admonishes Sam and Dean, telling them they need to be more careful. Dean says “Yeah, I'm starting to get that. Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought.”

Castiel says he doesn’t mean the angels.  “Lucifer is circling his vessel (he looks at Sam). “And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you.”  Without warning he puts one hand on Dean’s chest, the other on Sam’s. They wince in pain and when they ask what he did, he says he carved an enochian sigil into their ribs which will hide them from every angel, including Lucifer.  

Sam asks if Cass was really dead and he responds yes.  Dean asks how he’s back.  But Castiel doesn’t answer.  He vanishes with a dramatic flap of wings, leaving Sam and Dean alone.  FFS Castiel, I thought we were done with this cryptic bullshit and flouncing off when you defected last season.

Back to Nick.  His dead wife is back though she tells him she’s Lucifer. He tells Nick he’s special.  There's very, very few people like you (true, until later seasons). Long scene short, Nick says yes to being Lucifer’s vessel.

Back to the hospital, Bobby who shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone speaking, is heard yelling from behind his closed hospital room door about being unlikely to walk again.  The door opens and a doctor runs out.  We see Sam and Dean leaning against the window.  Bobby’s in the bed, still yelling after the doctor “…Yeah, you better run!”  

Sam asks what they should do now.  Bobby says save as many as they can, but whoever wins, they’re boned.  Dean left fields with “What if we win?”   Bobby and Sam stare at him as Dean continues that he’s serious.  Screw them all.  "Hell, they want to fight a war, they can find their own planet. This one's ours, and I say they get the hell off it. We take 'em all on. We kill the devil. Hell, we even kill Michael if we have to. But we do it our own damn selves.”  Bobby questions how they are supposed to do that.  Dean responds: “I got no idea. But what I do have is a GED and a give-'em-hell attitude, and I'll figure it out.”

Bobby looks at Sam who shrugs in response.  Dean pats Bobby on the shoulder and tells him to get better then heads for the door, Sam noticeably doesn’t go to Bobby, he follows Dean.  Bobby calls Sam and he stops. Bobby tells him, “I was awake. I know what I said back there. I just want you to know that...that was the demon talking. I ain't cutting you out, boy. Not ever.”

If only the episode had ended there, but no.  We see Dean and Sam walking across the parking lot. Sam’s enthusiastic after Dean’s rousing speech and suggests that maybe they go after the colt.  Dean asks what difference that would make.  

Sam: Well, we could use it on Lucifer. I mean, you just said back there—

Dean: I just said a bunch of crap for Bobby's benefit.  He stops and Sam also stops and looks at Dean as he continues, “I mean (laughs), I'll fight. I'll fight till the last man, but let's at least be honest. I mean, we don't stand a snowball's chance, and you know that. I mean, hell, you of all people know that.”  Dean walks around Sam to get past him.

Sam (heavy sigh):  Is there something you want to say to me?

Dean looks at Sam for a long moment: “I tried, Sammy. I mean, I really tried... 

Quickly looks to see where in the episode Dean “really tried”, but comes up with a bunch of emptiness.  [I need to remind people, I love Dean, I hate the narrative, in the same way in season 8, I’ll be saying I love Sam, I hate the narrative].

“...But I just can't keep pretending that everything's all right. Because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother— (Sam rolls his eyes, as do I) —and look what happened.

Sam: I would give anything—anything—to take it all back.

Dean: I know you would. And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man...you were the one that I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even... Dean pauses, struggling for words:. I'm just—I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?

Sam asks what he can do.  And Dean says nothing.  That doesn’t surprise Sam. Dean continues: “I just don't...I don't think that we can ever be what we were. You know?” Again, Sam’s just nodding in agreement.  Dean: “I just don't think I can trust you. Sam looks up and we see that he wasn’t expecting this. Not sure why, as this was the whole problem of Season 4.  

The episode ends with Dean in baby and Sam standing in the parking lot.  

Up next, more heartache and brother angst in Good God y’all. 

#supernatural #rewatch #season 5 #5.01 #sympathy for the devil #spn critical

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @haletostilinski!

A/N: a little note, here, that a friend gave me ideas that helped this along, lol;; a soft warning for a vague Hale fire mention;; I hope it’s a good gift, and I hope you have a very merry christmas!!!

Read on AO3

*****

Loneliness, Food, & Mistletoe

It starts with a dorm.

Or, more accurately, it starts with a waterfall.

Specifically, it starts with Stiles waking up to a flooded dorm, water rushing from the ceiling after having had the craziest dream about being in a snow-strewn field with his mom and a group of people he didn’t know, having a feast and drinking flower wine, as they all chatted with him, all beatific expressions and an ambiance of aching joy. His mother had hugged him, before he’d woken, whispered something he can’t remember into his ear, and then his eyes had fluttered open to a personal, theatrical, indoor waterfall.

It takes him about three minutes, blinking and smacking his lips and generally being only barely awake, before he actually realizes what’s going on to the tune of shrieking curses and scrambling to save everything he doesn’t want to lose to spectacular water damage.

His roommate, the ass, has been at his girlfriend’s place since the day before yesterday, and has enough money that his only response to the informative, sarcastic, slightly melodramatic text Stiles shoots off to him is the equivalent of a shrug and an, I’m good here, so you’re on your own with that shit-tastic fiasco. Have fun.

The dormkeeper, TA person is… daunting? Stiles has never talked to him, anyway—no matter how hot like burning the guy is, storms live in his tsunami eyes, ‘I’m going to kill you’ is written in the line of his impressive eyebrows, and intimidating might actually, in this case, be an understatement. But, nevertheless, he doesn’t really have the option of avoidance now, since it’s four in the morning, water’s still actively flowing, and Derek’s the guy.

(If there was any other guy, but, nope, Derek’s the only one.)

So, gingerly, clothes and computer and cheap-ass griddle piled haphazardly in his arms, he—tries and fails to knock at least four times, almost dropping everything in the process, cursing some more, until the door’s opening all on it’s own, a sleep-mussed, startlingly soft Derek Hale standing there, glaring at him, and narrowing his eyes hatefully at Stiles’ armful of things.

“Oh. I, uh. Have a feeling this is already off to a bad start? Um, so, okay. My room? 320? I’m Stiles, by the way, I’d shake your hand, but… uh-hm.”

One of Derek’s eyebrows steadily rises as Stiles babbles, and now he’s leaning on the door-frame, arms crossed over his chest, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Stiles gets the feeling, if he doesn’t get to the point soon, Derek’s going to slam the door in his face. In hindsight, introducing himself wasn’t necessary.

“My dorm’s flooding, is the thing.”

Derek’s eyes widen, something like a growl filling his chest as he whips around to grab something from his room. “Stay here,” he orders, his voice a little like smoked sugar-grain, higher than Stiles would’ve expected. The man prowls away intently without another word and Stiles sighs heavily, sets his stuff beside Derek’s door and settles down next to it to wait.

Derek comes back more than a little soaked around two and a half hours of bejeweled, tetris, and candy crush later. He looks harried and two shades shy of homicidal.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he bites, and Stiles looks up from his phone to gape at him.

“I—no? Is there no way to fix it? Is it still flooding?”

“Yes,” monosyllabic monotone, but there’s something incredibly dry in his eyes and it takes Stiles a second to realize the man wouldn’t have just left it like that, then another to realize that, even if the flooding itself has been stopped, it probably hasn’t been fixed, and he really doesn’t have anywhere he could possibly go.

He tells Derek as much and the man glares at him for an endless moment, it feels little better than being an ant pinned under a microscope and infinitely more awkward. A huff, and then firm, thick-corded muscles are wrapped around his pile of stuff and lugging it into Derek’s room.

“Wai—woah, hey, hey, dude, what are you—?” Stiles calls, exasperation and incredulity warring with annoyance as he scrambles to follow after. Derek drops Stiles’ stuff on the right side of his perfectly pristine room- the side with the bean-bag and the nineties bulk-tv and the pale-blue carpet and the closet door, without the bed and the distrubingly neat study desk and the bookshelf- before regarding him with a scowl.

“Don’t make a mess,” the man says, “it’s temporary.” Then he grabs a change of clothes from the closet and leaves Stiles stranded with the implication that Stiles will probably be staying here until whatever piping problem turning his dorm into a nature documentary gets fixed.

Here with the annoyingly uncommunicative TA dormparent who is simultaneously terrifying and vaguely infuriating.

He blinks at his stuff, breathes. He’s pretty sure he’s been through worse… maybe.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

He gets desensitized fairly quickly, gone from mildly scared of the guy to downright vexed by him.

He’s obsessively clean, which is something Stiles struggles with, but is more capable of understanding—after all, up until now, this has solely been Derek’s space. Still, the half snarky, half antagonistic, half animal sounds of irritation don’t actually tell him anything- except that Derek’s upset, and there could be any number of reasons why, because, man, this dude is tightly wound as fuck- until his side of the room is being invaded and forcefully cleaned before Stiles can protest, let alone do anything about it. He has some definite anger management issues, and isn’t spectacularly good at dealing with Stiles’ particular brand of hyperfocus versus hyperactivity, and cheap, unhealthy college student habits. Stiles has some problems with how quiet he is, how he’s never tactile unless he’s aggro, and how he’s always huffy, grumpy, sour.

Needless to say, they grate on each other, and it might be a month yet before Stiles’ room gets fixed, which is just, you know, great.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Snip.

Derek tries valiantly to focus on his book.

Tnk, szznip.

A vein in his forehead is throbbing, he can feel it.

Stiles mutters unintelligible gibberish around the highlighter he’s holding between his teeth.

Clip, snip, tnk, snap.

“What. The hell. Are. You. Doing.”

Stiles spins around quickly, the chair making two dizzying rotations before he stops it, facing Derek, and yanks the marker out of his mouth. There’s a neon yellow mark right next to his lips, cuddling up to his freckles, pen and glitter coating his bone-nimble fingers. Derek doesn’t want to be endeared, really, he should be annoyed.

“Writing an essay on how to use inflections correctly, how to make them flow, y'know? So that questions sound like questions, sentences sound like entiresentences. It might be surprising how many people struggle wi—”

“Stiles,” he snaps, annoyance abruptly far brighter than fondness.

“Oh my god, can’t you just… chill, a little? I’m doing classwork—although the depths of the internet may’ve distracted me, on that one, I’ll admit—and I’m making decorations for Lydia’s christmas party, because she’s terrifying, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t she’ll gut me. Or steal my roommate—.” Stiles cuts himself off, a tiny recoiling flinch in his eyes that Derek doesn’t understand at all, but it’s there and gone so fast, it might not have been there at all. “Which would actually border on a good thing, considering, well, Jackson.

"Wait… have you ever met Jackson?”

A headache. Derek’s pretty sure he’s getting a headache.

His question answered, he contemplates just ditching for the quiet of the library, only. Well.

(This is the first time in a very long time he has shared his space with anyone, and his feelings about it are complicated, to say the least, but part of him whimpers at the idea that, if he were to leave right now, when he came back, Stiles might be gone. Another part says that he’ll come back to a mess that would be too much work to clean and babysitting is just altogether a better idea.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he worries about Stiles’ oddly mournful pause.)

In the end, he sighs heavily, and returns to his book.

“Don’t make a mess.”

Stiles starts muttering about being the cleanest person in the world, and Jackson and he would probably get along, and just wait, he dyed Jax’s hair blue in the fourth grade, he can fucking do it again if he wants to, fucking Sourwolf.

Sourwolf? Derek wonders; then, I better keep an eye on my shampoo.

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Derek watches Stiles do the same thing he’s been doing every day for a month and a half.

The egg sizzles on the griddle, gets tossed on top of a bowl of instant ramen, which is downed along with two red bulls, before Stiles’ full attention is returned to his work, which is, as always, at least ten things at once, armed with a highlighter, no less than four books, his computer, two notebooks, a dozen differently colored pens, and maybe a thousand color-coded sticky-notes, half of what he’s writing is either seemingly encrypted or in a different language altogether. In a few hours, Derek knows, he’ll blithely down another redbull.

He barely fucking sleeps, and he’s paler than the moon, and, jesus christ, if he keeps going on like this he’s going to die, his body won’t be able to take it.

The next day, Derek shoves a plate of banana peanutbutter bagels with granola and yogurt on the side in his face along with a cup of caffeinated tea, and Stiles looks up at him with wide, wide eyes before smiling, those eyes crinkling, the honey in them warm and gooey as his cheeks dimple and plush, crushed-pastel lips curl something happy. It’s the brightest thing Derek thinks he’s ever seen, and everything around it gets cotton-soft, tempered with gentled sweet, and his breath catches, heart tripping over the bubble of wonder billowing out in his chest.

Stiles says, “Thank you,” on the edge of an awed breath, and Derek swallows, nods curtly, stalks away.

He tries to remind himself that Stiles can be annoying and loud, talks too much, asks too many questions, doesn’t take care of himself at all, is, quite possibly, one of the messiest people he’s ever known, and that it shouldn’t matter how nice it is to share space with someone again- because sharing space isn’t something he should be allowed, anyway- it shouldn’t matter that, when he does decide to talk, Stiles actually listens, or that he gets Derek’s dry humor, snipes back easily and mostly good-naturedly, or that he smiles like… like that.

It shouldn’t matter. This is temporary and Stiles is an asshole most of the time.

(It does matter, and Stiles isn’t the kind of asshole Derek could ever hate, anyway.)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles’ room gets fixed. And that’s fine, that’s seriously fine, it’s not like he wanted to sleep on a borrowed air-bed in the corner of someone else’s room much longer, anyway, but…

He’d just started to get used to Derek, just started to be able to maneuver around him and with him with any kind of ease, could now translate the scowls and the serial-killer eyebrows from the emotionally clumsy, socially awkward language he’d finally realized they were into mostly… unexpectedly sweet intentions. More than that, he’d begun to realize just how much of a dorky mom friend Derek secretly is, with him spending any time he wasn’t studying or cleaning- or cleaning up after Stiles- reading some really old, complex book, cooking (for them both, because every time Stiles eats a mildly unhealthy meal or foregoes food for caffeine, Derek’s eyebrows twitch like he literally cannothandle watching Stiles’ unintentionally self-destructive habits without overloading on discomfited concern), and drawing these steampunk looking ink sketches of buildings and construction.

It had taken less coaxing than Stiles had thought it might to get Derek to admit that he wanted to be an architect, and that a lot of those books he was reading were either historical diaries, euro-romantic literature, or spanish or french poetry, with occasional visits from obscure fantasy and science fiction. He has a weathered set of books by Tolkien, and the whole of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, dozens of ragged, rugged, heavily used art journals, along with a complete collection of star trek and star trek: the next generation and old school doctor who cds on his bookshelf. He’s sassy in an almost inspiringly dry way, quick witted, funny, and, just, genuinely good.

Yeah, his social skills leave a lot to be desired, and he can still be annoying as all hell sometimes, but. An almost permanent glare doesn’t stop him from dropping everything and helping anyone who needs anything the moment they ask, doesn’t stop him from kindness and chivalry, for all that it’s masked by his gruff, almost wolfish demeanour.

And yesterday, for the first time, he saw Derek laugh. It was an odd kind of thing, because he’d woken up grumpier than Stiles had ever seen him, and it had felt like the first day all over again, like five thousand steps back, a doom-gloom quiet descended and everything Stiles did seemed to grate, everything anyonedid seemed to, and after all the discoveries he’d made about Derek’s character, it had felt like such a loss.

So he’d taken the lashing out in stride and done whatever he could to cheer Derek up.

The tension broke when, after corralling Derek into a daredevil marathon- because he had a feeling that Derek might… relate, a little- he began rambling about parkour and cinematography and “sinful red leather, oh my god.” He doesn’t even remember what he’d said, exactly, that made it happen, he’d just turned his brain-to-mouth filter off and let the words come, but the next thing he’d known, Derek was curved toward him and in, knuckles to his mouth like if he just pressed down on it enough it wouldn’t come. His eyes had gone so vivid, vast forests, willow trees tangoing, dipped back into the lakes their roots curled so close to, sunshine scattered across a dusk-smoke sky as a smile spread helplessly, as a sound a little like joy bubbled up and overflowed, and the thing that shocked him most was that he’d been rooming with this person for three months, and this was the first time he’d ever seen anything like it.

Mist still lingered in that small, frangible piece of joy.

Something devastating taints most things Derek does, Stiles thinks, and begins to hate all the more that he suddenly needs to leave this temporary haven, because he wants to know why.

He wants to see Derek smile more, wants him to laugh so much this whole room is saturated with it. Wants to be the reason for the sound, the expression, wants more.

Derek turns from his drawing when Stiles clears his throat, square black framed glasses perched on his nose, charcoal smudge on his cheek, and Stiles bites back a burst of something utterly fond.

“I’m gonna head out.”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch a little, his mouth tilting firmly down when he eyes Stiles’ stuff packed, a little less haphazardly than last time. Unhappy, Stiles can read easily, but the rest is inscrutable.

The man nods and Stiles huffs. The less comfortable Derek is, the less communicative he is, and Stiles gets it, but he’s unwilling to leave on this note, so he digs his phone out of his pocket, flicks it to contacts, adds a new one, names it Sourwolf, and hands the thing over. Derek peers down at it, glares at him.

“We’re friends now,” Stiles informs him, “insufferable nicknames are a necessary evil.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise, a little sarcastic quirk to his mouth.

“Yes, friends. Dude, give me your number of your own free will, or I’ll get it on my own using my awesome investigatory powers and I’ll spam you pictures of dirty dishes and piles of laundry and unorganized bookshelves. You know me, you know that I can, and I will.”

Derek scoffs a half disbelieving sound and rolls his shoulders meaningfully.

“You wouldn’t block me,” Stiles smirks, “we’re besties, big guy.”

Derek glares at the slight mess Stiles has left on his desk, gives Stiles a blank look with black at its’ edges, raises an eyebrow.

“Face it. I’m a slob and you love me anyway.”

Stiles moves to tidy up a bit, anyway, and when he returns to Derek, the man’s holding out his phone, Sourwolf’s contact page completely filled in.

“Text if you. Need… food,” Derek orders, voice saturated in a grudging growl, and Stiles knows he’s grinning like a fucking loon- he doesn’t even care- as he leans in, smacks a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Definitely,” he agrees, delightedly, before spinning toward his stuff, heaving it up, and swanning off.

(He doesn’t turn back or stay long enough to see the deep, candied-cherry flush that fills Derek’s cheeks, coats the tips of his ears. Doesn’t hear him exhale, sharp and heavy.

Doesn’t hear him breathe out a soft, strained, “Fuck.”)

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Stiles sighs when he sees the sock on the door, for a whole, huge, sack of incredulous reasons.

The first being that it’s three a-fucking-m, and Jackson knew he’d be getting back around now. The second has to be how absolutely cliche it is, nevermind the actual state of the sock—maybe Derek’s rubbing off on him, because all he can think of is that fucking germ song Derek texted him a few days ago, and how he’s going to have to disinfect that doorknob if he ever wants to feel safe using it again because eughh.

So he’s stuck, slumped outside in the hall, with absolutely nothing to do.

He barely even hesitates to snake his phone out of is jacket pocket and start texting Derek. Yeah, it’s ass'o'clock in the morning, but Derek turns his phone off when he goes to sleep, because he’s lame, so Stiles is pretty assured in just complaining to a non-existent audience, figuring Der might get a kick out of it later.

He tries not to look too deeply into the fact that Derek’s the first one he wants to complain to, the person he’s been talking to the most lately, refuses to analyze how overjoyed he’s been to discover that, as long as you give him the time to, Derek’s communication issues don’t hinder him as much over text.

Derek’s sometimes so dry it takes Stiles a whole fifteen minutes to realize he wasn’t actually being serious, on tuesdays he only responds in iambic pentameter, and he uses shakespearean insults on occasion because he’s nothing less than a sarcastic little shit; he’s still monosyllabic, every once in awhile, and his punctuation is as terrible as it is in real life, but it’s like the distance, the phone between them, makes Derek feel more confident, makes it easier for him to be… himself.

The week before last, they got into a conversation about past relationships, that led to a discussion about fire and the confession that Derek had only ever had three relationships, one that ended because he’d made a childish mistake his high school lover couldn’t forgive, another that ended in flames, a trial, and a prison sentence for a woman Stiles would… probably kill without a second thought, if he’s being honest, and a third that was too self-destructive for both of them to have ever been healthy or sustainable.

Soon after, Stiles had opened up to him about his mom’s disease and his dad’s drinking and his bills—he hadn’t really had the time to date much, his romantic entanglements tend to be of the more one-night-stand, friends-with-benefits variety, and even when he’s wanted more, no one else has seemed to.

Every day since Stiles moved out, even after he’s annoyed the hell out of Derek to the point of radio silence, the man comes to him with a tupperware full of healthy, incredible food, and a cup of tea, his scowl fermenting on his face, the storm of it worsening when Stiles inevitably giggles (how can he not?) as he takes the gift. There are days, too, when they’ve ribbed each other, chatted extensively about conlangs and architecture and psychoanalyzed star trek characters in between memes and jokes and Stiles’ ever fickle focus, and Derek will come bearing his small feasts with this soft, tender, breathtaking expression, a smile curling in his eyes that never touches his lips, and hot cocoa or coffee with whipped cream and cinnamon and marshmallows and extra chocolate instead of tea.

(“I’m going to get fat if you keep bringing me this-” a bite, then, choking back a moan- “glorious, sacred—oh my holy god.”

A hand, large and warm, calloused and covered in ink-stains, in charcoal and lead, had smoothed tenderly through his hair, gentle enough to make him almost thoughtlessly lean into it, to make him want to shiver.

“It’s better,” he’d said, then left before Stiles could ask what he meant.)

He doesn’t know what to do about how much part of him, lonely and withering, the same part that would view Lydia taking Jackson away as some form of punishment, because then he’d be alone, craves every little interaction, and then some.

Mostly, he ignores it, as he starts to type out how much of an asshole Jackson can be, and couldn’t he have gotten his nookie a little earlier? which all devolves into an anecdote about that time he painstakingly filled Jax’s locker with water for being an asshole and all his stuff got soaked but he kept the freaking fish.

He’s surprised when he gets a text back calling Jackson a goodly rotten apple, and then asking if Stiles realizes what time it is.

〖did i wake you? don’t you turn your phone off when you pass out so it can charge or some shit?〗

〖There could be an emergency.〗Derek texts back, succinctly, 〖And I don’t want you to starve.〗

〖… you keep your phone on at night, now, because i could have an emergency craving?〗

Stiles bites his lip, hard, warmth bursting in his chest, champagne-fizz rushing through his veins. His heartbeat’s skipping along to an odd tune of half embarrassed hope, and he’d known he was probably crushing on this man, but, god, he’s so fucking gone for him it’s ridiculous. For one, completely insane moment, a giddy part of him wants to send a bunch of kissy, heart-eyes, I might be falling head over heels for you emojis.

But, no. No way. Too awkward, silly, and he’s still not… sure. About how he feels.

Derek texts,〖Yes,〗 and it takes longer than it should to remember how to breathe.

〖you’re being sarcastic right now, aren’t you? you’re such a fucking tease, i was totally craving one of your crazy sandwich concoctions〗

〖Stiles.〗

A minute or so passes.

〖You woke me up.〗

〖yes. i gathered. the hazards of being my friend, oh, such a horrible atrocity, how much sleep have you lost, woeful der-ber? how much? shall i just call in the queen to chop off my head right this very minute?〗

〖Stop being an asshole or I’m going back to sleep.〗

〖you wouldn’t leave me in the lurch like that, would you?〗 He stops being an ass, anyway, though, just in case, only feels a fraction of guilt as he steers the conversation toward Lydia’s fast-approaching christmas party, one which they’re both attending, because Lydia’s a force of nature, and she somehow met, cajoled, and garnered a befuddled promise out of Derek at some point after the whole dorm-waterfall incident. Derek’s still mildly lucky, at least he didn’t get roped into decorating duty.

For all Stiles knows, if Lydia had known Derek’s architectural ability, she would’ve demanded he construct her an entire building for the affair.

Time ticks by, and Stiles is enjoying himself enough that he doesn’t notice until his phone starts complaining at him how low his charge is. The only problem? his charger is in the room.

He has no fucking clue how long Jackson’s going to be keeping their room… occupied, and he’s far too invested in this silly little conversation he’s having, anyway. (How could he not be? He can practically see Derek smiling through the phone.) So, vaguely hopeful, he tries knocking on a few other doors, begging after anyone who might be willing to lend him their charger. The only one who isn’t so pissed off about him waking them up or interrupting their study time as to simply slam the door in his face, doesn’t have a compatible charger, and…

You know what? fuck it. He needs to talk to Derek, this idiot who cares enough about Stiles to wake up at three in the morning and endure Stiles’ spazztic assholery, who, if Stiles actually asked him for food seriously right now, would probably make him something and come without a second’s hesitation, whatever black look he may’ve worn the entire time, who said 'emergency’ like part of him expected having a friend meant the maw of disaster was ten seconds away from chomping at the bit, the dork who… yeah, he must be totally fucking in love with.

He sincerely doubts he would have opened his door, army crawled through a room hosting a veritable pornographic lovemaking scene on the bed, snatched his charger out of the outlet, and rolled the fuck out of there for anyone else. Not even candy crush and boredom are that important.

But Derek is.

A silly conversation about crows being one of the most mischievous animals on the planet and seagulls being generally shitty is.

Fuck.

What the hell is he going to do now?

–❄❆❅❆❄–

Christmas eve brings the ice queen Lydia and her spectacular winter gala that… pretty much the whole college has been invited to and is attending.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself get distracted by the two guys covered in glitter, dancing and making out on a table to the cheers of a bunch of drunken peers, or the various decorations put up, scattered around, that he had a hand in, or the numerous people trying to get is attention or get in his way. He’s on a fuckingmission.

He’s on a hyper-focused and overthinking for two weeks about how to approach the Big Emotional Elephant In The Room, before giving it up as a lost cause and going for the first stupid thing he could think of, mission.

Which is why, when his eyes catch Derek’s across the room, he rushes for him, which is just as well, since the man seems greatly relieved to have an excuse to run away from the group of people cornering him, trying to elicit conversation.Derek still makes a noise of surprise, though, when Stiles’ saving him comes in the form of grabbing Derek’s arm and impatiently dragging him away, calling a brusque, “I need him more!” over his shoulder at the gawking partiers.

“I—Stiles?” Derek murmurs, mildly wary, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Stiles’ ear.

Valiantly, he doesn’t let himself shiver, instead, he jerks to a halt, hand still wrapped tightly, terrified and hopeful at once, around Derek’s wrist. His breath is short, heart beating too fast, and he’s scared.

What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s… not meant to be? What if he loses Derek to these useless, silly feelings?

“Stiles?” Derek urges, softer, more worried, and he pulls his wrist away, replaces it with his hand, wide and warm and so, so gentle.

Stiles swallows, forces himself to take a breath, to turn enough to look Derek in the eye as he squeezes his hand, indescribably grateful for the contact. Vast seas reflecting vaster galaxies stare back at him, solicitous, fond, questioning, and there’s this little confused smile twitching at his lips.

A smile Stiles thinks was knitted and weaved together just for him by a man who doesn’t like to smile at all, has too many reasons not to, besides.

God, it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Stiles breathes, and those impossible eyes widen, too-lovely lips part. “And, goddamnit, I really want you to come to this doorway with me where there’s mistletoe so I have an excuse to kiss you?” The words trip over his tongue, come out all in a rush, flutter and skip like his heart, a terrified, hopeful sort of babble, his eyes scrunched up because he has no idea what Derek’s reaction will be, and he doesn’t dare look.

The fingers laced with his curl in further, a staying kind of thing, as Derek responds, a little husky, wanting, soaked in every type of sugar imaginable, “Or you could just kiss me here?”

Stiles’ eyes snap open, and Derek’s grinning, all impish rogue, glittering amusement. “No,” Stiles blurts, logic pretty much knocked clear out of him, “no, I have this all planned out; the mistletoe’s important.”

Derek leans in, eyes hooded, heated, brazen, his free hand sliding up Stiles’ cheek, tender but no less shocking for it, their lips nearly ghosting when Derek whispers, all alluring, seductive-smoke, “How important?”

Stiles feels a bubble of hysteria climb up his throat as he tugs a sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket to hold above their heads. “Important enough that I have contingencies,” he tells him, and Derek blinks a little, laughs almost suddenly, warmer than any fireplace, sweeter than any confection, and the best gift Stiles could’ve ever fucking asked for.

This may, in fact, be one of the best christmases he’s ever had.

It only gets better when they bridge the gap, a caress that turns filthy on the edge of a gasp as Derek pulls Stiles flush to him, both of them greedy for the taste of each other, biting and humming and mewling softly. Stiles’ arms end up around Derek’s neck and Derek’s clingingly around his back, their kiss ending breathlessly, both of them melting further into their embrace, drinking each other in, nuzzling, and just. Holding on.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Derek presses the words into Stiles’ pulse-point, barely heard over the chaos of festivities and overly loud, remixed christmas music, “I love you, too.”

Stiles chokes on a laugh, and holds all the tighter.

“I think I lost that mistletoe.”

“Mmm. Merry christmas, baby.”

Stiles can’t suppress the shiver this time.

“Merry christmas, Der.”

#haletostilinski #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

[realmofthemind]

Insecure

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2,529

Summary: Your boyfriend Tom and the world are left wondering why you've never been to a red carpet event with him.

Warnings: Insecure reader and the fact that I proof read this on finals brain so I'm sorry if my grammar and punctuation is super off.

A/N: Finals week is finally over and I can finally get back to writing! I'll be free most of the summer to write and do things. It feels good to finally post a work again. For this particular work, I made it so that the reader works at a hospital on call as a nurse or doctor.

 After a brutal 12 hour shift full of code blues, cranky patients, and a short staff; to say you were exhausted was an understatement. You glanced at the clock and let out a deep breath you felt as if you were holding since the beginning of your shift. It was finally time to go home. You made your way to the locker room, peeling out of your scrubs on the way there. Upon entering, you spotted your good friend Trisha who was also getting ready to go home. "I'm so ready for this weekend." you heard her say as she rubbed her eyes. You frantically nodded, "I hear ya on that one." She giggled and continued to make small talk as you both retrieved your things from your lockers. "So, you got any plans with the boy toy this weekend?" She asked teasingly referring to your boyfriend, Tom. You giggled as you took your hair down. "Nope, he actually left two days ago. He's going to be away for a week. He's got a red carpet event to go to." You replied as you put on your coat. "Oo la la, fancy. Why didn't you go with him, Emily Blunt?" She teased as she zipped up her backpack. You shrugged as you shut your locker door, "duty calls."

 You both walked to the parking lot and you jumped into your car. You checked your phone before starting it to find a voicemail from your boyfriend. You smiled. You weren't allowed to have your phone on you while you were working. Tom knew this and liked to leave voice mails for you to listen to once you got off work. You put in your headphones pressed play.

"Hello, darling. It is currently 5:04pm here and I miss you. I'm sure you're off saving lives and being amazing as always. I'm about to leave my hotel room to go to the event. I miss you immensely and I wish you were in this lonely hotel room, getting ready to go to with me. I can't wait until you come to a red carpet event with me so I can flaunt off my beautiful  girlfriend to the world. I love you and I hope work wasn't too rough today. I love you with all my heart, to the moon and back." You smiled and started the car.

Once you got home, you took a shower and settled on the couch in your pajamas. You turned on the television and immediately saw your love being interviewed. The interviewer was berating him with questions. You were too lost in his smile to really pay attention to anything he was saying. You snapped out of your daze when you heard your name mentioned. "So, how's your girlfriend (Y/N) doing?" the interviewer asked. Tom's smile grew. "She's doing very well, thank you for asking." The interviewer instantly shot back "You two have been dating for quite some time now. How come we've never seen her on the red carpet with you?" You felt a knot twist around in your stomach at the question. Tom, didn't skip a beat with his response. "(Y/N) works on call for a hospital. While I'm parading around on the red carpet, she's out there saving lives. Although I want to be greedy and take her with me, I can not take away a guardian angel away from those who need her. I'm incredibly proud of her and perhaps one day, she'll be here with me." he gave a weak smile as he looked into the camera. It was as if he's talking only to you.

You smiled at his response but couldn't help but think about the real reason you've never been on a red carpet with him. Although what Tom said is true, you harbored a fear of judgement. Tom was an attractive famous actor and you were just… you. You knew he had a massive female following who drooled over everything he did. You knew you would be harshly criticized by them. You remembered when the news leaked that you and him were dating. You recall sitting up in bed late at night, scrolling through hate comments from jealous fans. You sat there and wondered how so many people could hate you when all they knew was your name and your boyfriend. Between that feeling like the media has you under a microscope, you knew it would probably be best to avoid as much as you could. Work was just an easy and convenient way to do exactly that.

The television cut to a commercial. You threw your phone on the couch and laid down until you eventually fell asleep. At 10:34am ,the front door slowly creaked open. Tom quietly creeped his way into the  house, being sure not to wake you, he knew you slept late the day after a long shift. He wanted this to truly be a surprise. He looked over at the lump of blanket and pillows on the couch. He walked over to it curiously to find you fast asleep. He smiled to himself. Man, how he missed you. He couldn't stop himself as he carefully place a gentle kiss on your forehead, trying not to wake you.

After a few minutes of admiring the scene before him, he put his luggage away and made his way into the kitchen. He knew you'd both have to have breakfast eventually so he decided to cook some pancakes. He busied himself in the kitchen, stirring pancake batter, and humming a tune while trying to make the least mess possible. Right as he was about to put the batter on the pan, your cell phone rang. Tom wiped his hands and made his way into the living room. He looked at your phone. It was buzzing with the text "Work" flashing across the screen. Tom didn't want the ringing to wake you so he picked it up. 

"Hello?" Tom asked into the phone. The person on the other end must have not picked up on the fact that it wasn't your voice as he started "Hello (Y/N). This is Greg from scheduling. I was making the schedule for this week and saw that you have exceeded your maximum number of hours for the month. You've been working a lot lately and I know we've been calling you in a whole lot so take this as a well deserved reward. You've been busting your ass, kid and you have wayyyyy too many vacation days stacked up. Take the next two weeks to relax." Tom smiled into the phone, knowing this meant he had time to be with you. "Well" Tom started as he giggled "This isn't (Y/N) but I'll be sure to let her know." the voice on the other end sounded a bit startled as he replied "Oh- okay. Well, be sure she gets the message." "Will do." Tom said as he hung up the phone. 

Tom looked at you and smiled. Two whole weeks, just you and him. His smile grew even wider when he received a text from Luke about a red carpet event he was invited to next week. He can finally take you. He can finally show the world the woman who puts a smile on his face every passing day. His shining star. He went back into the kitchen to make pancakes. He began humming a tune and tapping along.

You woke up to the smell of bacon. You rubbed your tired eyes and looked over to the kitchen to see a dancing apron clad Tom, humming along to a jazzy tune as he put the last of the pancakes on a serving dish. The sight made you giggle. Tom heard the noise and turned to look at you. "Good morning, darling." He said with a smile across his face, flour lightly dusting his features. You stood up from the couch and ran over to him, jumping in his arms. "You weren't supposed to be home for another five days." You said as you took in his light vanilla scent. He wrapped his arms tightly around you as he spun you around and kissed your head. "I decided to come home and surprise you, darling." he said as he put you back on the ground. You turned your attention to the table, taking in the pancakes, bacon and fruit salad Tom made. "Well, you certainly did surprise me." you giggled. Tom wrapped his arm around your waist "and there's one more surprise." he said as he turned to kiss you on the nose. You looked at him curiously as he continued "Your work called, it was Greg from scheduling" he said in a particularly American accent that made you giggle. "He said you have maxed out on your work hours and you, young lady, must take a mandatory vacation until the month is over." You nodded your head and went to speak before he cut you off in a particularly infomercial type fashion "but wait- there's more. Next week, I've been cordially invited to a red carpet event that has a plus one to it and I would love for you to come." His tone grew a little more serious as he took both your hands in his. "I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for the longest time now. I've dreamed about walking down the red carpet with you by my side." he said as he spun you around in a grand fashion

You tensed up at his words. Your worst fear was coming true. He felt you tense up. His smile began to fade and his grip on your hands began to relax. You tried to relax and force smile, trying to quickly think of an excuse. "That sounds wonderful, Tom but I had plans to go out with my friends next week." Tom raised his eyebrow "which friends." he asked "friends from work" you quickly shot back. "Can't you reschedule?" he asked without missing a beat. "It's too late to back out on them. Sorry." You answered back as you felt your clammy palms betray your mediocre lies. You slipped your hands away from his and walked back to the couch, busying yourself with folding the blanket you slept with. He looked at you strangely, feeling a bit hurt.

"What's really going on?" He asked. "I've been trying to get you to go to events with me ever since we started dating. I understand work is important but even the times you didn't have work you always seemed to have something come up. Can you please talk to me?" He asked. You looked over at him and saw frustration on his face complimented with watery eyes. You felt your heart sink at his words. You exhaled deeply and shrugged your shoulders. "I'm sorry…" You mumbled under your breath as you took the blanket back to the bedroom, leaving him in the living room.

You closed the bedroom door behind you and inhaled deeply as you fought back tears. You heard the door open behind you. "(Y/N)" You heard him whisper. Without thinking you opened up your mouth and let the words flow "I'm not a red carpet girlfriend. I'm not pretty, my body looks awful, my face looks weird, my hair is always a mess… It's just- I don’t know… I know the world will see me and if I can see these things then I know everyone else can and it'll give them a bigger reason to hate me. You know your fans already hate me, right? There's a hate blog out there for me. I'm just so frustrated that people can hate me without even knowing anything about me. I don’t want to do it, Tom- I CAN'T do it. I'm not like you or any of your co-stars. I'm meant to be here… home… working… like a normal person. I'm not some sort of pretty supermodel who can face the world and have everyone like me… I'm inadequate" You weren't sure at what point in your speech you started crying but by now, your cheeks were stained with tears. You felt a tightness in your chest that you recognized as meager. It was the same feeling you had when you read the first article published about your relationship with Tom. 

The only thing that could be heard was loud silence that hung in the air. You didn't dare face Tom. You kept your back toward him as you clutched the folded blanket to your chest. After a few moments, you felt arms wrap around your waist and a head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You felt your neck become damp… Tom must have been crying too. "You don't have to come if you're not comfortable but don't you DARE say you're inadequate ever again." You heard Tom's muffled, shaky voice say. He tighten his grip as he continued "I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world; that's why I want to show you off to the world so badly. I want everyone to see this beautiful angel of a girlfriend I somehow managed to trick into being mine." 

The only thing that could be heard in the room were the sounds of sniffling coming from both you and Tom. "I'm sorry." You whispered. He shook his head. "Don't be sorry. I don't care about the red carpet anymore. I just want you to know that you're the most beautiful girl in the world, both inside and out. Everyone who hates you is just jealous because they know they will never be half the person you are." A weak smile graced your face. You put the blanket down and turned around in his arms, hugging him back. He picked his head up and looked into your watery eyes. "I love you so much." he whispered as he reached up to wipe a stray tear. "I love you too." You whispered back. "Listen, the red carpet isn't a big deal. It really isn't. If anything I wish I knew this earlier so I could help build up your self esteem or at least stop being such a bugger about it." You smiled and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. Maybe I'll give it a shot someday but I'm just not ready for it." Your voice trailed off. Tom pulled back a bit so he could wipe your tears away. "That's perfectly fine, lovely. Take all the time you need. Just don't give me any of that 'I'm not beautiful.' bs." You giggled as he mimicked you. "I don't sound like that." He continued on with the high girly voice "I don't sound like that." You pushed him away teasingly as you giggled "Stop, it." He continued with the voice "Stop, it." You retaliated by attacking his stomach with tickles. He toppled to the floor in a fit of laughter. When you've decided he's had enough tickling, you laid on the ground next to him. He rolled over to look at you. "I love you." He said gently as he wrapped his arms around you. You kissed his forehead. "I love you too."

#Tom Hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #insecure #tom hiddleston imagine #red carpet #avengers #tom hiddleston one shot #fanfiction

[solastia]

Sandcastles | 1

Chapters: [Prologue] [1] 

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count: 2,356

Genre & Warnings: Angst. Infidelity/Open Relationship. Some smutty MxM action. 

Notes: I’m on a roll! So much inspiration for this story. Outlander fans will notice a similarity in the beginning. It’s the one scene in Frank and Claire’s relationship that struck me the most. If you can’t even give each other the basics, even just going to a movie, what is the point? 

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to have rules, yeah? Some pretty common sense stuff. Use protection. Be discreet. Shower before you come home. Our place is off limits. No spending the night.” Namjoon listened as she listed everything off. He still didn’t know what they were doing, but this sounded...okay? No. It felt wrong. So why wasn’t he stopping her?

“If we’re doing this to stay together then you’re going to have to spend time with me too. Date nights at least like, once a month? Alright?” He nodded because that was reasonable. Actually, when was the last time he took her on a date? He couldn’t even remember. Maybe their anniversary? No. Shit. He just gave her flowers and a card before going to bed. Fuck, he was an asshole.

“And, if you end up falling in love with someone else, just...tell me. I’ll let you go. No need to string so many people along. I just want you to be happy.” He could hear her voice cracking and couldn’t believe how strong she was being. She shouldn’t have to be. 

“Are you really sure you want to do this?” He asked one last time.

“No, but you didn’t give us much of a choice, Namjoon. It’s this, or we’re done.” 

He hated himself as he looked at the face of the woman who’d been his whole world for years and saw nothing but sadness and pain. His Princess. He’d done this to her.

And he couldn’t stop.

“I understand. I’ll follow the rules.”

“Hey. That modern art museum finally opened up a couple weeks ago. I know you were looking forward to it. You want to go see it this weekend? We can make a day of it? Maybe have dinner and walk down the river.”

His girlfriend looked so excited, smiling happily up at him as she asked.

“I, uh. Already went. Last week.” He sheepishly answered, not knowing why he did. He should have kept his mouth shut and just went again to make her happy. Why didn’t he just do that? Because, as Yoongi likes to tell him so often lately, Kim Namjoon is a fucking idiot.

“Oh....Oh. Yeah, of course. My bad.” He hated how she visibly drooped. How her pretty smile vanished, and her eyes dropped to her lap. Because of him.

She set the tea she’d been drinking onto the counter and walked towards the bedroom. Namjoon followed her with his eyes, noting the slow steps and clenched hands. Before she closed the door, she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Just remember to follow the rules and save some time for me too, yeah? This isn’t going to work if you can’t even give me the basics.” She said softly before closing the bedroom door, the echoing click that followed letting him know she wanted to be alone.

They’d been doing this open relationship thing for three months now. At first, even though he really felt guilty, the selfish asshole part of him had been excited. After all, it was every guy’s dream to be able to fuck around as they please and even have a good home to go back to. He never lied when he said he still loved her. He absolutely still did. She was his Princess. The one he planned on marrying someday. But for some reason, he was letting his dick make his decisions lately. 

He supposed part of the blame could be put on his career. His rise as one the Seoul’s top music producers had brought him into the limelight. Suddenly singers, actors, and models were all throwing themselves at him, and he was flattered. He’d never had that kind of attention before. These men and women that he used to only see on the TV were begging to jump his dick, and would anyone say no to that? 

He knew that he should.

And he hated that he didn’t. 

He got up and grabbed his keys and threw on his snapback, gazing longingly one last time at the bedroom door before he quietly left the house. 

“Faster....fuck! That feels so good....”

“You want it faster, Jimin? You want me to fuck that ass so hard you can’t walk for a week? Is that what you want?” Namjoon growled as he pounded him into the mattress. 

“YES, fuck yes.” Jimin mewled before he buried his face into the covers, his wails muffled by them. Namjoon increases his speed, the smacking of skin on skin echoing throughout the room. He smacks Jimin’s plump ass once, growling as he can feel himself getting close. “Oh, shit...I’m gonna cum!” Jimin moans and Namjoon finishes as soon as he feels Jimin’s muscles contracting around his cock, filling the condom. He pulls out with a ragged groan and throws the condom away before falling back onto Jimin’s bed. 

He stares at the ceiling as he catches his breath, the now familiar guilt rising to practically suffocate him. He pushes himself up and makes the trek to the fridge to grab two water bottles before heading back to the bedroom and handing Jimin one, draining his own bottle quickly. 

What was she doing right now? Was she watching the door, waiting for him to crawl back home? Crying to her family and friends that he was fucking up their lives? Sitting in front of a cold dinner like...

He sighed audibly, shaking his head at his thoughts. Why would her life revolve around him anymore when he does this to her? 

“You know, I can tell when you’re thinking about her. Your jaw juts out, and you get all tense. You look like a T-rex.” Jimin giggles, poking Namjoon in the back with his foot. “I still can’t understand how you fuck around if you’re so whipped for your girlfriend.” 

“We’re in an open relationship.” 

“So just because you can, you do? Don’t get me wrong. I’m benefiting from that arrangement by getting some bomb ass dick, but if you’re sad every time you fuck me, it kinda bums me out too.” Jimin is sitting up and stroking Namjoon’s arm in comfort, and Namjoon leans over and gives him a peck on the cheek. 

“Sorry, Chim Chim. Are you saying you want to stop?” Namjoon asks, almost hoping that he’ll say yes to help him avoid one more temptation. 

“Nope. I’ll happily be one of your side pieces as long as you want. You know you’ll miss this ass.” Jimin jokes, giggling cutely when Namjoon flips him over and smacks it. He props himself up with his head on his hand, observing Namjoon in a way that makes him feel like he’s under a microscope. 

“For real though, you know we’re friends first. If you need to talk or something, you can count on me. And if you ever need to cut this off, we’ll still be friends.”

“Thanks, Jimin.” Namjoon quietly says as he gets up and grabs his clothes. “I’m going to jump in the shower and then head out. I’ll see you at work on Monday. Have fun on your date later. Don’t compare him to me too much.” Namjoon grins over his shoulder at his friend who throws his boxers at him. 

“You wish you could compare to him, you giant nerd.” Jimin laughs. “Have fun on your date tomorrow, too. You’re going to see that model chick again, right?” 

“I don’t know if one picture makes you a model, but yeah, seeing her tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Joon. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

Namjoon arrived home a little later than usual and he hoped she’d eaten dinner. Most of the lights were off but she’d left one on in the hallway so he wouldn’t have to walk around in the dark. He walked to the fridge and opened it, both touched and saddened to see she’d saved him a plate of food. Even when she knew what he was out doing, she still thought to take care of him. 

His gaze scanned the apartment, cataloging all the little things she does for him. Saving him dinner. The plate full of cookies that she bakes for him even though she doesn’t like them. The notes of encouragement she still puts on his laptop so he’ll see it before work. The basket next to the couch filled with clothes of his that she mends because he’s always ripping them on something. 

He hangs his head in shame and shuffles to their bedroom, trying his best to be quiet as he gets ready for bed. He can tell by her breathing that she’s really asleep, so he slides in as gently as he can so he won’t disturb her. 

Namjoon stares at the back of her head, marveling at the little strands that are highlighted by the moonlight. He wanted to gather her up and cuddle her. He couldn’t even remember when they started sleeping on separate sides, but he was sure he started it. He didn’t feel like he deserved to touch her anymore. He was tainted. Someone like her couldn’t last in a relationship like this. She was everything that was good, and this would destroy her. 

He should let her go. 

But he couldn’t.

He scoots as close as he dares and breathes in her comforting scent as he falls into a deep sleep, where he could pretend there was nothing wrong with him and everything was right with the world. 

Everything about this woman was wrong. She was rude to the waiters, she spoke with her mouth full, her hair was too short, she was too tall, her nail polish was a weird color...

Namjoon knew he was just picking at things. He couldn’t help it, though. His princess at home was everything he wanted. Why did he keep looking? What was he looking for? Or was it him? Was he the one that was missing something? 

“Excuse me, just gonna head to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Namjoon said, not waiting for a reply before escaping. 

The room was empty, thankfully, so he took a moment to stare at his reflection. The same ugly face he always saw looked back at him. He could practically hear his girlfriend’s snort in his head, the one she always did when he’d make a negative comment about himself. “You’re stunning, my Joonie. From the top of your gorgeous head to the tip of your long, elegant toes.” Namjoon stared at himself, trying to see what she saw, what they all saw, but all he could see was ugly because his foul actions were painting the outside.  

The bathroom door opened as someone came inside, so Namjoon quickly turned on the faucet and ran his hands through the water, patting his face with a bit. The guy stood next to him at the bathroom counter fixing his hair and dabbing on cologne. He looked like a movie star, and Namjoon wondered if he’d ever seen him in anything. The guy looked over at Namjoon with a boxy smile, nodding in greeting. 

“You on a date too?” He asked as he fixed his hideous outfit. The man was draped in head to toe Gucci. Expensive and high fashion, sure. But hideous. 

“Yeah. Kinda nervous, you know.” Not really, but it would explain the way he was acting, he supposed. 

“Yeah, man. Me too. I mean, I hit the jackpot. This girl, she’s in a complicated relationship thing, but she’s...way worth it. You know? Like, wife material. Beautiful, funny, sweet. I met her at the dog park and was super persistent until she finally agreed to a date today. I don’t know what finally got her to agree, but I’m not going to waste my chance. I don’t know why the guy doesn’t have her on lockdown, but he’s a dumbass. They don’t get better than her.” He animatedly raved about his date as Namjoon politely nodded, wincing at the parallels to his own situation. 

“Well, good luck with her then, man. I hope it works out. She sounds great.” Namjoon said as he made his way to the exit. 

“Yeah, same to you!” 

Namjoon walked back to his table, apologizing for the long absence. He grabbed his glass of wine and took a sip as he saw the Gucci guy exit the bathroom and walk towards his table. Namjoon watched, curious to see what kind of woman could land someone that looked like a real live anime prince. The man sits at a table near the windows, and his date glances up to smile at him in greeting. 

He knew that sweet smile. The red silk dress she’d worn on their second anniversary. The garnet necklace he’d given her for their first Valentines day. 

Gucci guy laced his fingers with hers and brought her hand up to his lips for a kiss, and the woman blushed so prettily and bit her red lips. 

Namjoon was so focused on the woman he didn’t hear the startled gasp of his own companion, or feel the pain as the wine glass in his hand was crushed; it’s shards embedding themselves into his palm. 

Namjoon had forgotten the most important thing about open relationships. 

They’re open both ways. 

((AN: Is it really Taehyung if he doesn’t make friends in the bathroom?))

#kkreationsnet #KWritersKollection #kpopwritingnet #btswriters #bts #Kim Namjoon #bts angst #namjoon angst #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #Namjoon smut #bts smut #kpop fanfiction #Kpop Fanfic #namjoon x reader

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Meet Me In the Hallway~

This is it! Your happy little Blue Pill! 

Special thanks to, well everybody, but @bleedinglove4h, chels the wise, @dirtystyles, Niki the creator, and @nocontrolforlouis The Encourager!

And thank you to everybody who reads! And all the writers too, ALL THE LOVE!!!!

Blue Skies-Epilogue One

I'm sitting in front of a freestanding glass in my knickers. Knickers is a bit of an understatement, because the rig that I have got myself strapped into may be a feat of engineering. The last time I was here, about to say 'I do', I had looked perfect but felt so hollow inside that I was having a panic attack. Today, it's the opposite. Well, not exactly. I don't feel hollow, of anything, I'm brimming. I'm even up a little because the love weight I'd found when in the neoinfancy of my relationship had stuck around. And I'd somehow been ok with it. Because the love had stuck around too. And so had I.

We have a strict no running policy.

But I'm sitting here practically naked except for white straps, because my mum has insisted on being in charge of my dress. Claiming it was one less thing I needed to be fussed about. I'd agreed, because frankly I've been floating on air through this entire process. But it is a little chilly in this place and I'd really like to get in my dress.

I love my dress, it's slim and sophisticated and high end. It's a dream, but I can't say I don't think of my perfect dress. How one woman could have had three separate wedding dresses by 26 years old left me scoffing at myself.

"Knock, knock!" I hear my mum's voice call over the click of the door and I laugh out loud.

"Why do people say 'knock knock' instead of actually knocking?" I ask.

"Dunno, I just didn't want to catch you unawares." She looks so healthy and I see her admire herself in the glass.

"Mum, I'm basically naked in here, you are a welcome sight." I smile at her as she hangs my dress on the hook. "You look well fit!" I can't help but compliment. She smiles and looks at her silhouette, glowing. If the second bout of cancer and the resulting mastectomy had yielded anything positive, it was my mum's appreciation of her new boobs. Apparently my dad's too, as she likes to tell me so that I make a face and my dad can say, "Wanda!" Then he smile at her conspiratorially.

I love watching them now, honestly. All the subtle touches and lovely consideration they have for each other is so amazing now that I have their story. Now that I've fictionalized it and gotten it published. I'm in on their secrets and it's such a gift.

"How's it look? All those wrinkles only you could see ironed out?" I stand up to look and my mum stops me.

"Give me a moment, I want to take a picture."

"But you've already seen me in it, Mum?"

She looks weird for a minute, "I know," she stutters, "but I didn't take any pictures of the lovely thing, because I was afraid they'd be seen and spoil it."

I shrug at her reasoning, but let her sift through her teeny bag and get her phone out and up.

"Oh My God! Mum!" I cry as I open the white garment bag and tears spring to my eyes. I'm totally overwhelmed. "Mum! How? How did you find it?" I gasp out as I slip the cover off my dress. The dress, the perfect one, that I tried on and should have taken as a big fate sign from fate. In some ways I did, I suppose.

"I didn't!" She says

"I did." And then I hear Harry's voice come through her phone's speakers.

My first reaction is to run to the phone and see his face. Then I realize I'll spoil the surprise of my undergarments. Then it dawns on me, he's seen my dress. After everything we have been through I don't want to chance fate at all. I can't wear the dress if he has seen it.

"Oh, Harry! Thank you, but I can't wear it now not if you have seen it!" I stamp the heel of my shoe just a bit, though I know it's childish. I really am a little sad I can't have it.

"Told you!" My mum says into the speaker. "It's not a video darling. And Harry hasn't seen the dress. But I may have mentioned it and he latched onto the idea."

I snatch the phone from her hand. "What did you do?" The words are recriminatory, but my tone is full of air and the tears I'm trying to suppress would look like soap bubbles under a microscope because I am so happy.

"I called your mum, after I'd read our book, to see where in Jamaica you were," he says. "Seemed like fate I was there too. Though you beat me to the punch on that one. Your mum and I got to talking and she told me how she knew, well,had a strong inkling the first one wasn't gonna take. And she told me about the dress." His voice, always thick and deep, was like a malted milkshake with his emotion now. "I knew then that I had to get ahold of it. Your mum warned me I couldn't see it. But she did a little leg work and my assistant tracked a couple down."

"A couple?" I gape, though he can't see me.

"Yeah, Angel, I didn't know what size you would be when we made it down the aisle. And I wanted you to have optio—"

"Harry, I love you!!" And I'm crying in earnest and know that I'm gonna have to start all over on my face. I'm especially glad contouring and strobing have passed out of fashion, because the minimalist look is all I am going to be able to pull off with the rivers of emotion flowing through me today.

"Oh, Melody, I think I've loved you since you were sat in that hallway in a stained shirt listening to 'Happily' on your headphones."

"You could hear it?" He never told me that.

"Yeah, like, I totally could. Now my love, it took us many, um, years, roads, and hallways," he emphasizes, "to get here, and I'd quite like to call you my wife sooner rather than later. Fix your face, and get your ass down that aisle, please." he finishes with politeness.

"Can you ever just be a twat, baby?" I laugh.

"Nope, I was raised too well."

"Too right." And I hang up on him with a laugh and giggle cry my way to the mirror to fix the red on my cheeks.

When I get there, it looks more like a blush, and my wet eyes glisten. I am a bit of a mess and I like it that way, so I wipe my face and redo my eyeliner wings and ask my mom to put me into my perfect dress. The dress I knew I should marry Harry in, when I wasn't even sure that we would get here.

I was pretty certain we were not going to get there while I sat on a beautiful little island and waited, and waited, and waited. I'm not sure what I expected and I had mourned enough expectations in my life that I should have known better by then. But I didn't, I guess I thought that after I ate two whole crows when I emailed Gemma and Anne and asked for their help that the giant organ beneath Harry's smooth, decorated chest would be touched and he would come to me.

In my imagination, I'd be sitting on the beach, or better yet, walking down the tiny hallway between my quarters and the door to the school and a knock would sound, and on the other side would be the boy, the man of my dreams. "Melody," my full name in that way only he could say it would slip between his upturned red lips and I'd watch his arms come up. There would be hesitation, but he'd open to me and I'd find my place, that place where my head notched into his collarbones and my lips fall just on the top of the sparrow's wings. His lips would press to the side of his neck and we would just breathe, just for a moment while we reacquainted ourselves with all the ways we fit together.

I'd hope I'd finally be able to find the words, but if all I could say was "Harry!" That will be ok, for the time being. There will be times for words, but right at that moment the things we need to say can wait. We have said a lot, but we hadn't touched, not like this, openly and with want and hope, in so long. Then we'd move from hugging to kissing, and that could go on for all night for all I care.

That's a lie, there are places deep inside that I only feel when he is inside me. And I'd want that form of communication, communion, as soon as we could find it, too. But after that, I could go for some kisses that last all night.

These were all of my hopes, pesky daydream induced expectations.

After I got the terse response of, "You mental?" from Gemma after my email I figured I may have to let them go. But it only took another terse message of "I'll pass it on" a week later to have me doodling Mrs. Styles in the margin of the journal I was still meeting during my afternoons.

Anne's response hadn't come for some time, over a month, and I hoped it was down to her age, and not that she saw my name and immediately deleted the email.

We had got on immediately and I missed her. She would reach out to me when Harry and I were apart, and she was lovely and comforting.  It felt like she loved me once. Losing her didn't hurt like losing Harry, but it ached when I thought about it.

Her response was an address, below it was the word "Go." And that was it. I received it in the morning on a Friday nearly five weeks after I had gotten so desperate that I reached out to two people who may very well have hated me. And one responded as expected, then changed her tune. The other said nothing, then gave me an address, which when I googled I discovered was two hours away by car, four by bus.

I could only conclude that they read my book, or Gemma did, and it at least convinced them to share it with Harry. The most concerning point was that his mom had given me his address, but he had my love letter, the book, the story of our lives, and he hadn't come.

But he had come to me, three times at least, and I said I would wait, or come to him, or meet him.

It was time I met him more than halfway.

I had a full day of classes I had to finish. Much good it did my students and me to be there. I was incredibly distracted. I spent at least the last hour in my classroom deciding if I should get dressed and freshen up and get an hour later start, if the bus was on time, which it would only be if I tried to push it and get ready and run for it, or if I should go like I was.

That morning had been like any other and it was hot, but less muggy, so I'd thrown on a cotton sundress that tried to meet my knees with the oldest undies I'd packed because I really needed to do laundry. I was incredibly nervous, I kept telling myself that I had no idea where Anne was sending me, but there was a loud voice in my head screaming that she was sending me to Harry, and that somehow he was here in Jamaica. It felt like serendipity.

The bus was crowded and hot and I was sandwiched into a window seat next to a young mother with a very little baby, who seemed to be sleeping or nursing the entire way. I'd smiled and cooed and before journey's end, the mother had smiled and passed me the baby and promptly fallen asleep. Luckily the baby stayed that way too. I didn't know little ones smelled so good. I had to shake the mother awake when it was my turn to pull the chain to stop the bus. She looked as confused as I felt when I handed her child back to her, but gave me a sleepy smile when she looked at the sleeping infant.

The bus depot was free standing and didn't seem to be near much of anything, though it was painted with a food advertisement, the black and red paint stark against the white walls. I pulled out my phone and the GPS said I had a 30 min walk ahead of me, seemingly uphill. That was poetic justice, I'm sure Harry felt he had an uphill battle with me from day one. Sometimes I did even with myself. There was a part of me that hoped that this time, we could get it right. That we were older and wiser and knew our flaws and could communicate around them, that it would be easier this time, that the moments of high flying joy, like sailing on a trapeze, were not coupled with plummets to the ground below.

I was trying to think of what I'd say to him, because I wasn't gonna allow myself to clam up the way I had a habit of doing, not this time. And he may have not read our book, though I was fairly certain that he was in possession of it and that his mother felt like we had a shot. Or she wanted to give Harry the opportunity to break my heart in real time. That didn't sound like Anne at all, so I struck that thought from my head.

I was thinking about her motivation and my mortification and the fact that she knew entirely too much about me and Harry's former sex life. It made my future chockful of humiliation, maybe. I would hopefully be in a situation where I would have to see her, share a meal, maybe even lots of Christmases, if this went my way and I wasn't back on a sweaty bus in rural Jamaica in an hour's time. And she would know Harry took my virginity. My cheeks heated.

I felt the first drop hit my nose and there was no counting the rest of them. It cooled my blush at least. I could see the house by now, nestled on a hillside, and I could hear the sea crashing but not see it. In other circumstances, I may have admired it. Right now, I was running instead. My dress was a light blue, but I was fairly certain the top would be sheer and the bottom caked brown in a few moments. I kicked off my sandals and grabbed them on a run just as I reached the porch and nearly fell scrambling up the steps on my slippery feet, they seemed insistent on going the opposite way I wanted them too. When I reached the top stairs under the awning I looked out and caught my breath. Even in the deluge, the view was green and wild and gorgeous.

Even more gorgeous was the group of men coming over the rise from the direction I could hear the waves coming from. I could pick out Harry, farthest from my left and slightly in front, as ever. He was too far off to see, but I could recognize the set of his shoulders and his loping stride, hips slightly forward, and the mess of wet tendrils on his head woke a longing in me that made me forget all about talking.

As if he could hear my indrawn breath over the pounding rain, his head came up and he stopped while his companions kept walking. Looking at him across a distance, it was a familiar place. We were missing a hallway, but maybe this should be a new beginning.

All of my feelings were out in the open, so being contained by walls would feel wrong.

I watched the water drop off his hair to the ground and followed it down to his bare feet and watched the surfboard he carried, a longboard like my now shared acquisition, drop by his feet into the soggy ground. It spattered his toes with mud. I followed the mud up and passed its ascent to his knobby knees and wet thighs where fabric clung on and revealed ink I'd never seen. The tucked up fabric nearly reached the drooped waistline on his right side and I say the ferns I'd traced and hated and loved so fiercely, and my eyes continued their caress. He was bigger since I'd last seen him, more robust, a man. I hoped mine. I wanted to fly along his collarbones like those sparrows he'd chosen. His mouth had always been a distraction, but I glanced over it now, and found his eyes on my messy form.

His friends had stopped and I think I heard "H" ring out. I echoed it.

"H?" I called. I needed a sign. I'd make the first step if needs be, but I had to know if he wanted me to close the distance between us. There was a infinitesimal nod and a half step on his part and I dropped my things and tripped down the stairs, my legs going faster than the sucking mud at my feet wanted me to go. I got right up to him and stopped short.

"Harry." I breathed and caught him by the neck while his hand circled my waist. That gave me a confidence. "I'm so sorry, H!" and I pushed his hair off his forehead where it nearly covered his eyes, I needed to see his eyes. They were warm but surprised, maybe a little wary, but he still had his hands on me. That was good.

"Melody, what're you doing here?" His voice tumbled low, and it was like the vibrations of it moved through me and I understood those more than the actual words he said. "How'd you find me?" He asked and he didn't sound mad or wary any more just curious with a hint of the feeling when you find lost keys and you are running late.

"Your mum. She just sent me the address and told me to go." My head fit into my place on his chest, that concavity that had deepened and was unmarred, but that I had claimed by writing my name with my tongue and fingers, right over his heart.

"Ah," he returned into the shell of my ear as he found his niche. Where his lips could curve around the angled line where the back of my neck became the front. "Hi Angel."

"Hi Baby," I hummed.

"Excuse me gents?" Harry said, pulling his head away and the breeze I felt on my neck with the pouring rain was a shock after his warmth. He hoisted me up, his arm going under my ass and I clutched his hips with my thighs as he climbed the stairs. He nudged me with his chin to look up, when I did, all I could see was the blue ring at the edge of his irises with just a touch of jade before the black. Some buried knowledge resurfaced and I slanted in the perfect opposite angle to him and felt hot breath pass my lips before his mouth clasped onto mine. We'd kissed a bit in recent memory, but it was frenzied and desperate and wrong.

This was everything right. My arms gripped him a little harder as the stairs bounced me against him and he stepped up into the house. "H, did you read it? The book?" I asked straight away, couldn't help myself.

"I did, Melody," he caressed the syllables, "over and over. But, I just, I wasn't sure I was ready to come to you."

I wanted to climb down then, feeling wretched. "Do you want me to go?" And I dreaded the bus ride.

His arms tightened around me and he kissed me, a light touch of his lips, deepening while he held me just the doorframe. He'd wiggles him tongue into my panting mouth and I whined the moment he stopped. I felt myself dripping.

"We are gonna get the floor all wet," I warned.

"I wanna get you all wet, fuck the floor." He dove back into my kiss and the walls sailed by me in a blur as he took me down a seemingly endless hallway before pressing me to the door at the end of it. That answer had me gasping and climbing his hips.

"H, Baby, shouldn't we talk first?" I hated myself for asking while he moved to my neck and was trying to juggle getting my wet dress strap off my shoulder and getting the door open.

"After." After, yeah, that felt like a solid plan when my nipple slipped out above the cup of my sundress as he got it to my waist. His opposite hand was working on getting the bottom of my dress to the same place at the equator of my body.

"Ok, yeah," his mouth closed over my peak and I bit my lip and opened my eyes in response. "Shit, H, we are still in the hallway!" I was very inclined to let him have me against the door with the warm firm presence between my thighs, but I remembered his entourage outside, including the man who had brought me Harry's CD in Shanghai.

"So?" He bit out while biting down and I moaned his name to the air around us when I heard a door close with a little too much force and an awkward burst of laughter.

That woke me up a little. "So, do you want your friends to be an audience for this?" He had settled his chin on my breastbone to look up at me and I was breathless with being near him like this. I was hoping this wasn't some kind of 'love you goodbye'. It didn't feel like one. It felt wild and wonderful, but also like a prologue.

He took the hand that had been at my waist and clutched my chin, his thumb found my bottom lip and I was willing to go as high as he wanted to take me. Harry must have wanted that, my desperate agreement, because he pushed my weight, with an 'uff' from both of us, against the door to hold me up and found the door knob. He carried me in to a dream of a bed with four posters and I caught a little writing altar out of the corner of my eye. It was beneath the window, just like mine, and thrilled at the symmetry.

I smiled at him. "Hey, I love you."

He stopped a foot from the bed. It was abrupt, his plan interrupted by my words. He unhooked my legs from his hips and sat me on my feet. I could practically hear the brakes he put on our physical momentum. It scared me. Had I said it too soon? It felt long overdue to me.

"Baby?" I questioned as he stared at me. I ducked my eyes and switched to "H?" While I tried to pull-up my strap to cover my still exposed breast.

He caught my hand and pulled it back down, then did the same to its compatriot and my dress thwacked against the wooden floors. He pushed his thumbs into my undies and had to get them to nearly my knees before the cling of the water in them released my flesh. Harry then took care of the board shorts that wanted to adorn his flesh.

Once we were both naked, he cupped my face with both hands and kissed me soft and slow. With his eyes closed he pulled back a fraction of an inch and said, "I love you." Then his eyes popped open and found mine there still tight with a fraction of worry.  "Of course, I love you, Melody." My name was a song again and the first time I was bare to him, when he had kept his jeans on, was echoing in my mind.

But he was bare to me too. So I mimicked him and held his face like it was the most precious thing I'd ever found, because it was. Then I put my hand over his pounding heart. "I never stopped loving you. I want to love you from now on, better."

"Yeah." He answered and pushed me back to the bed and used his forward momentum to lay me out beneath him, his mouth catching my lips quick before finding the notch where my collarbones met. "Dreamed about this, you coming to me," he said from between my breasts, mouthing at each again before moving to the the tips of my ribs, and then my right hipbone before he kissed my lower stomach until it fluttered like eyelashes. "Wasn't able to come to you. Least not yet. But, just today I woke up with your smell," he opened my thighs, "in my nostrils" he inhaled then bit where my thigh joined my pelvis and I yelped his name. "God.'" he swore, then he pinched my thigh.

"Ouch!" I was startled from the cloud I was climbing up."What was that for, asshat?"

"Just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming again." He smiled and rubbed a thumb over the intimate place his fingers had marked.

I reached down and yanked his drying curls. "There! Feel like a dream?" I sassed.

"Yes, actually!" His dimples made me want to scream, "But I couldn't taste in my dreams." And he put that mouth on me, right where I wanted him, without preamble or caution. The stroke of his tongue painted me in pink swirls and red lines. When he split me open with his fingers and coaxed a tiny orgasm out nearly immediately he chuckled.

"That was quick." He congratulated himself.

"It's been a while." I explained.

"Yeah, years," He grieved before getting a serious look and going back for seconds.

His long strikes and flicking tongue erased every minute between us as a real orgasm, the quaking kind that requires a scream, came out. Before I could even fathom where I was, I felt his tip at my entrance and breathed out as the pressure kept up and he pressed deep into me.

"You good?" He asked and though I had found all the words, I could feel him everywhere within me and their letters were just beyond reach right now. He filled up all of my hidden places and was physically just that touch beyond comfortable. He always had been.

"Yeah, you're just," I looked down at his head, he'd bent himself to keep up the pleasurable touches, licking at a nipple and his nose found the crease between my torso and arm. He rolled his neck to look at me to finish that sentence. I hadn't even said it and he looked proud. I wanted to knock him down a few pegs, but if a large cock was a pride for a man, he had every right to it. And what's more, he knew how to use it. That was the real delight, for me. I rolled my head to him. "You're filling me up, Baby." He preened and used his right thigh to push me more open to him, until he was seated at the end of me.

"Yeah? It's good?" I was gonna take the piss because I thought for a minute he was just fishing for compliments, but when I looked in his eyes, insecurity was the bait on the hook. He seemed genuinely concerned somewhere inside of him that having him inside of me wasn't everything I had needed for years.

I pulled a hand off of where it was clutching his shoulder and smoothed up until the web between my thumb and fingers cradled his ear. "H, Harry, I missed you so much, all of you, but nothing feels like being yours like this." And I flexed my hips against him to gain just that extra centimeter to prove it. My head rolled back on my neck involuntarily and Harry seemed mollified enough.

He pulled out to the tip and rode back in and my sweet touch switched to a grasp at his hair in response. The opposite hand reached for one of the poles of the bed while he stroked into me. I needed something to hold onto. I bit into my arm to stifle a loud moan when his rolling motion picked up a circular aspect and his pubic hair rubbed against my swollen clit.

He had hold of my shoulders, but he released one to pull my teeth from the flesh of my bicep. "None of that. Let me hear you." He groaned on his upstroke himself, it wasn't overly loud, but anybody near the door would know what we were up to. Not that our reunion scene wasn't a clear enough illustration. But to make it harder for me to keep quiet he caught the hand in his hair and the one gripped onto the bed for control with both of his hands and held me fast, while he picked up his centrifugal pace.

"Harry!" came out on a shout and I bit my lip.

His head went back and he groaned his approval. He fucked into me then and the only real sounds for some time were the beating of our hearts where they were pressed together, the slapping of our skin and the uncontrollable utterances he was pulling out of me with every push.

"Fuck, fuck, H! I'm gonna..." and I was just about to crest a wave that felt like dropping in on a board when he slowed his perfect pace and pulled out. "Wha?!?" I complained.

He just shook his head at me. "Not yet."  And he flipped me like a flapjack and traced his mouth over my spine, lingering on my sacral space until my squirming and gasps encouraged him to find the tips of my shoulders where he bit and kissed until I was gripping the sheets. I'd pulled the cotton off one corner of the bed and was gripping mattress by the time he angled my hips to arch my back up and I looked over my shoulder to watch him wet his tip with spit and clutch the glans with his hand, his thumb angled to fit himself in. It occurred to me that he was bare and we hadn't had a discussion.

"Baby," I said with a tone meant to catch. "Are we good?" I nodded at his bare dick. Though it seemed at least 30 minutes too late for this conversation.

He looked confused for a minute, his gaze had been very focused on the hub of my body. He shook his head a little. "Yeah, you?"

"Covered." I said thinking about the IUD I'd had for years.

He leaned down then and kissed my cheek sweetly and I looked him in the eye when he pushed in and rocked back onto him. He held my gaze and brushed my hair back holding it all in one hand while he held his chest lightly on me and found the rhythm that still made me shake. From behind, he hit a spot along the front of my canal that made me writhe and my eyes closed soon without my permission. I bit into the arm I was laying on until the orgasm I had caused me to taste a tiny hint of rust.

"Oh Angel, fuck!" Harry responded to my joy and pulled me up onto my knees with him. I was shaking and whining a little from the over stimulation, but he didn't slow down. He rubbed the tops of my shoulders sweetly with an occasional grip while he was fighting off his end.

I felt a tear and a sob come out because of all of the feelings and the next wave that was coming on. I choked on my feelings, "Harry!"

"Melody, it's ok baby."

"Let's make it ok?" I looked back at him and then found myself babbling as I reached a peak higher than its predecessors. "I love you Harry, I love you so much, we have to make this work, and I won't run, Not again, I love you, please."

"Angel, it's ok, God damn," he panted. "I love you, too." And he began to empty himself inside before pulling out and finishing by painting my back as he stroked himself to completion.

We were both breathless and Harry laid himself on my back and I knew we were going to be glued together if he didn't get up soon. I wanted to stitch his skin to mine, so that was ok with me. But I knew I needed to see where Harry was at. I'd confessed a lot, and he'd received it, me, favorably, but I needed, we needed, to talk.

But for now, he kissed my sweaty hair and temple and rolled over, pulling me into his chest. I heard his breath level out and decided he had earned some sleep. That may have been the fuck of my life and he had given me some amazing ones before.

The sun was still up and I was in the wet spot. I was the wet spot, since Harry had decided to mark me. I was thankful there was an en suite, and I was starved. I went into the bathroom and rinsed off, though it was with regret, because I wouldn't have his sweat on me anymore. I smelled him in my hair but knew I had to wash it. It was a mess before his hands had found it. I had to suppress a little scream, because when the water hit my body and I felt the little marks on my body and realized that Harry wad in a bed very close to me naked and had told me he loved me I was overcome with gratitude and leftover frissons of pleasure had me smiling like a loon at the shower wall. I sniffed his shampoo and body wash before using them and figured they would do as a replacement. They didn't smell like my Harry, but they were Harry enough. I wrapped my hair in a towel and threw on his robe hooked over the door.

I didn't want to wake him, but I was starved, and I was not brave enough to fish out his clothes to wear and face the men who probably knew too much about me, mostly unfavorable. He may have been here on a lads holiday, but my inclination was that he was here working on album two. So, those guys knew me too well, without knowing me at all, for my comfort. Maybe my ego a little too.

I sat at the bedside and looked at Harry, his hair had dried extra fluffy and was a riot of curls from my hands when we were kissing. His mouth was gaping a little bit and whereas in the past I'd probably have stuck a finger in there to startle him awake, I decided to test my luck, like winding up my arm at a fair to knock down stacked bottles after already winning a huge stuffy. I leaned down and kissed his pouty lips and stroked his hair.

"Harry," I whispered. "Baby? Can you wake up?"

He blinked his eyes open and looked a little bit like Bambi. His eyes narrowed for a minute in confusion before he said, "Melly?"

"Hi baby, I hate to wake you, but I'm feeling a little self conscious and I'm starving. Feed me?" And I pouted a little.

He dimpled but his edges were all blurred, and he reached up for me and pulled me down.

"Hmmm, Yeah, I can do that. Cuddle me a minute first?" And he rolled over to position me as big spoon. He was still the most endearing imp I'd ever met. I could also feel he was gonna go to sleep on me.

"Hey, sleepyhead, I'm sorry but I'm really hungry babe, the bus took almost four hours and I left straight from school." I explained.

His interest must have  been peaked, because he rolled over. "You're still at the school, then?"

I smiled into his shoulder, because that made me sure that he had read our book, a couple times as that was a last minute detail. Or his mom told him. "Yeah, it's fun, and it gives me time to surf and write."

His eyebrows really flashed then. "What're you writing now?"

He smoothed a hair behind my ear and I was about to tell him all about Wanda's wifedom but my stomach made a crazy noise and he burst into laughter.

"You weren't kidding! Your stomach sounds willing to digest me," he snorted.

"You do look right tasty!" I said and nipped his shoulder.

"Come on then, let's find you some tea." And he hoisted his naked self up and me with him. He was rummaging through drawers while I picked up my soaked dress and was figuring out how to ask when a shirt and boxers hit my face.

"Thanks!" I smiled and my heart stopped when I realized what the shirt he had given me. It was the Rush shirt I had first slept with him in. "Harry?" I asked, my heart in my teeth.

He came to me and wiped under my eyes, "Later, let's eat." And I slipped on the memory and the shorts and we scooted down the hallway to find an empty galley style kitchen. Harry pulled a mango out and started cutting, handing me pieces as he went. I basically ate the whole fruit off the knife. He smiled at me fondly, and pulled some prawns from the ice box and a green vegetable. He sautéed them together and handed me a serving. Getting two forks for us to share the plate. We ate, me sitting on the countertop and Harry standing between my legs.

I flushed everything down with the water he poured us to share and smiled at him, sated. "That was delicious, H."

"Yeah, better?"

"Much!" I assured and hooked my legs over the back of his knees. He pressed his forehead to mine and pinched me lightly on my thigh.

I yelped.

"Just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming again."

But it was like a dream. He took me back to his room and we only surfaced for food for a day or so. And the only reason we inhaled lungfuls of air then was because Harry had made arrangements.

"But I don't have anything with me. I don't even have a bathing suit!" I complained as he packed things.

"That's fine, 'where we're going you don't need any clothes.'" And he laughed his head off at his bastardized back to the future quote.

"You aren't funny." I reminded him and he turned to me and tackled me down to the white bed and tickled me until I lied and told him he was.

I really did need clothes though, at least a bathing suit, and toiletries. My needs had gotten pretty basic since I moved to Jamaica, food, shelter, a bathing suit, some dresses, thongs, cellphone, my journal, and occasional access to a surfboard, but he was insistent I didn't need anything but him.

We both knew that wasn't true. I wanted him and he wanted me. But we both needed other things and people as well, and we needed to talk.

Maybe that was why Harry insisted that we be alone for a bit. So here I was at another beachfront hut in Jamaica. This one was much posher than the others and had an amazing view of the ocean on a large wraparound porch. I was watching the sun rise when I'd had trouble falling asleep. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted to be awake and feel the twinges of use Harry had left me, sore thighs from holding them up and tender between them when I sat on hard surfaces, and tangled hair left down to cover little red patches and bite marks.

He was also looking worse for wear. But he seemed to have no trouble sleeping. But, as Anne had told me, he had always been a excellent sleeper. I was thinking about how we should do it this time when a steaming mug was sat at my elbow, and an arm came around my middle, and Harry hooked his chin over my own. He smelled like me, us, and high thread count sheets, and home.

"So, what are you worrying about out here?"

"We need to talk H."

"So, let's talk Angel."

And we did. Mostly about going forward. We left the old bones buried because we had already dragged them out and beat each other with them.

After coffee, we lay in a hammock for most of the breezy morning and planned.

"What did you think of it, H? Our book?" I was biting my lip in anticipation. He'd given me a little idea, but we still hadn't actually talked about it.

He looked at me with his eyebrows close together and forehead wrinkled up. "I think that your interpretation of us was better than mine. Beautiful and I know you said you aren't a poet, but it was lyrical love, and an amazing apology. A really grand movement. Inspiring. I was just writing through my feelings, before I could come to you. He kissed my cheek.

"What are your feelings?" I got brave enough to ask, looking back at him to watch his eyes.

"My feelings are as they ever were. I love you, the way you compliment me in so many ways. I want you to stay with me, and talk to me and never run. Not again. About killed me last time, and the thought of you with somebody else, ever again." At that he didn't use words, but the tight cinch he had on my waist and the tension rolling off him meant he didn't need them.

"I won't run, H. Learnt that lesson." I turned in his arms and looked at him. "Besides no running, what do you need from me?"

"I need for you to tell me what's going on in your head, Melody. Like, I don't think I can wait for you to write a book every time. Though, it was lovely to read about how much you wanted me. I should have stole your journal in those early days. Would have saved us some time." He tickled my side carefully, to lighten the moment I would guess.

"Nope, you were to busy being afraid of Michael. And I should have stolen yours. Was there anything about me in it?" I turned in to him a bit and looked up at him, both my eyebrows up.

"Yeah, loads. Told you I had a massive crush."

"Maybe now we should just exchange journals?" I proposed and his face flashed like a camera with excitement.

"That's an idea. Like, if there is something we can't say! We give the other the journal—"

"But we can't read without asking, yeah?"

"Deal," and he shook my hand then raised it up to kiss it to seal it.

"But that only works when we are physically together, H. What about the rest of the time?" I craned my neck to watch his face fall into a small frown.

"I think that should be less of a problem now. You're gonna go with me."

"Um, you may want to ask me things before you assume!" But I knew I was going to go with him. I could write anywhere. And I'd learned the value of being near him.

He turned to me then, and at first he looked unsure before he caught my Cheshire grin, "Melody," he said solemnly and though we were in salty gear from our surf competition that morning, in felt like I should be in something more formal for the occasion. "Will you please promise to be with me, always, and everywhere, to take care of me when I'm sick and whiny, and not to hide from me, ever, no matter how messy you feel, not to it lie to me and to never, ever, run?"

My eyes wet at his requests. I noticed he didn't ask me to love him, I think we both knew that feeling was never our problem. "I promise," I said and was ready to slice my hand and press it to his to make the bond ancient and unbreakable.

I was quiet for a moment to get myself together and think. He let me be while he played with my hair, straw like where the water had given it texture.

"Harry, will you promise to tell me things first, especially the best and worst things. Before you tell anybody else. To let me see you face," I poked his dimple to illustrate this,  "Everyday, no matter what, and to show up for me, even when I can't ask for it. And to ask for words when I'm not giving them." We hadn't talked much about how much it hurt me that he never came when I was helping my mum through breast cancer. But having buried Robin, we both knew he knew now.

"I promise, Melody."

Our vows today are based on these lines we spoke together in Jamaica, full of the knowledge that comes from hurting the person you love most deeply and a strong desire to get better.

We got better, and as he gazed at me in his mum's back garden I knew I'd meet him anywhere, and do it all again, to get here. Nothing else would do.

Hallways are meant to lead you to a destination.

Here's ours.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #mmith #meet me in the hallway #epilogue one #one direction #one direction fanfiction

[diinofayce]

Like A Whisper In The Night pt2

Pairing: BuckyxOFC | Word Count: 5,178 | Warnings: Swearing, talk of human trafficking

Previous Chapter

Chapter Two

Layne opened her eyes when she felt the quinjet touch down on the tarmac. She groaned and stretched her cramped shoulder muscles, her attention grabbed by Greg Andrews who was yelling at them all through a strip of fabric that he was being gagged with. 

“Welcome back, kid,” Steve chirped pleasantly, clapping his right hand on her knee. Layne smiled softly, still unused to any real interaction with the main squad. Bucky just caught her eyes with his and gave a reaffirming smile. 

Bucky had spent the flight back to Stark Tower keeping a careful side eye on Layne as she napped. He bantered with Steve and Nat with Clint adding his own snarky remarks here and there. Whenever the quinjet jostled, even a little, his eyes immediately shot over to Layne to make sure she wasn’t disturbed. It wasn’t until touchdown that he had gently tapped her away with his foot, pretending not to notice Steve and Nat smirking at each other.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “What are you guys going to do with Greg?” 

Natasha got up and opened the door to the quinjet; hopping out she offered her hand to Layne which was gratefully accepted. 

Steve attached his shield to his back and took Andrews when Bucky passed him off. “We’re going to take him down to holding. Black Widow will be heading the interrogation.” He answered, his hand holding Greg Andrews’ upper arm firmly making the older man walk nearly on his tiptoes.  

“Can I come watch?” Layne asked, hope filling her voice. The team seemed to be warming up to her, and she was hoping she could ride out that good luck into actually seeing Natasha in action.  

“Nope,” Steve replied, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “You’re going to go to get checked out by Dr. Cho and then write your report. I want a full explanation of what happened.”

Layne tried not to look defeated. She could argue that she felt fine and could just do with a nap, but she knew that arguing with Captain America was probably not a good idea. She also didn’t think an argument of procrastination on her report would go over well either, but she still couldn’t help the snark of; “Not like anyone will actually read it.” 

Layne stalked off ahead of them with fire in her steps. Bucky and Clint came up behind the shell-shocked looking Steve, both trying very hard not to laugh. “You should let her watch, Cap,” Clint said.

“She was the one to get him, after all,” Bucky added, smirking as Steve sighed in defeat. 

“Yeah, alright. Someone go hunt her back down while I bring this scumbag downstairs,” Cap ordered, hauling Andrews into the facility.

“Go get her, tiger,” Clint laughed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder as he passed by him. 

“What? Why me?” Bucky barked back.

“I have to go check the quinjet back in. Plus, I don’t know. I feel like you might enjoy the walk.” Clint yelled back without looking at his teammate who was flushing a very telling shade of pink.

Bucky let out a huff of air, shooting the lock of dark brown curl that had dangled down next to his nose out of the way. “Enjoy the walk. Whatever the fuck that means. You enjoy the walk.”

Muttering to himself like he was most people avoided him in his hunt for Layne. Even Pepper had started approaching him with a file before her right eyebrow shot up and she detoured into a side room to look for someone - anyone - else. He took the elevator to the living quarters but stopped dead when the doors chimed opened, and he was faced with rows of doors. The sudden realization that he didn’t even know what room was hers hit him. What kind of teammate were they to her that none of them knew the extent of her powers or where she lived or even what she liked to order at the bar? Which was weird because what Bucky did know about Layne was that she always chewed her left thumbnail when she was concentrating on a book or her phone and that she washed her hair every three days because the third day it was always up in a bun. He knew she preferred Converses over combat boots, something that drove Cap up the wall, and that she could spit better than some men he knew which was oddly charming. Bucky knew a ton of superficial things, nothing of any real value, but he doubted most of the team noticed them. Now to figure out which door was hers, rubbing his hands together he went down the list in the process of elimination.

~*~

Layne slammed the door to her room shut and pulled out her phone to send an S.O.S. text to Wanda. She pulled a bottle of white wine out of the mini fridge in her room and pulled down two glasses and a corkscrew. She looked at herself in the mirror on her living room wall and let out a sigh; she looked like a mess. Her eyeliner had melted a bit and ran past her waterline, making her look like a raccoon after a bad trip, and a binder was barely containing her thick chestnut hair. Scrubbing at the eyeliner with her thumbs and ripping the binder out of her hair she raked her fingers through the chocolate mass, alleviating the pressure of it all being tied to the top of her skull. She took a step back and gave herself a once-over, she never really got used to seeing herself in the black uniform that matched the one Natasha wore mostly because she never got to wear it with any frequency. Layne tilted her head to the side, her hair all tumbling to the right in a sheet, as she reached up to the zipper at the top of her breastbone and zipped it down to just above her navel, a flash of red lace holding everything in place. For never being any sort of field agent Layne was still in fantastic shape, she had been doing kickboxing and yoga since she was fifteen, so her stomach was toned, and her ass was tight even outside of this sausage suit. She nodded at herself in approval; it felt good to let the girls breath a bit. Layne didn’t think she’d ever be Natasha Romanoff hot, but she could hold her own. She just had to make some plans to go out a bar with Wanda sometime soon so she could get some normal guys to look her way.

Layne picked up the corkscrew and went to work on the bottle of wine while thinking about the mission. Not even so much the mission, more so the post-mission in the plane. She thought about their conversations and felt a rush of appreciation again towards Clint when Layne remembered how he stood up for her. Although, the idea of her getting herself killed in some bought of need to prove herself was a bit exaggerated; Layne had a fantastic sense of self-preservation. She thought back to all the little ways Bucky had actually touched her; her hand, her knee, and when she had returned to her body she swore that it felt like someone had been touching her face. Layne had thought Barnes was attractive when she first came to Stark tower, but it became apparent pretty quick that he didn’t have the time of day for her. As soon as the team learned Layne didn’t have some super cool background or specialty combat training it felt like it became a game to see how long she would last.

Layne had her master’s degree from the University of Minnesota in science with a specialty in genetics. She had written her thesis paper on the genome that reacted with the Terrigen Mist and how it changed the DNA cell structure and the possibilities of it causing hereditary ramifications and the impact that would do to civilization. That was what had attracted Tony Stark to her to begin with, once he learned what Layne was capable of herself it opened up a whole different job offer than just working with Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner in the labs. Not that she didn’t do that too, microscopes were much more comfortable than guns.

Pouring herself a large glass of wine she took a deep drink just as there was a knock on the door and she felt almost giddy with excitement.

“Wanda! Finally!” Layne called through the door sliding open the lock. “Get a load of this…shit…” Layne trailed off, confused, as she opened the door to find Bucky Barnes on the other side of it and not Wanda. 

Bucky immediately flushed a brilliant crimson and cleared his throat, turning his head and pointing at her chest. Layne looked down at herself and let out a squeak, dropping her wine glass and slamming the lapels of her suit closed.   “Son of a bitch,” she swore, embarrassed, bending down to grab her glass and turning around quickly. Placing the glass on a side table and zipping her suit back up she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry, Barnes, I was expecting Wanda. You can come in.” Layne turned back to him, biting her lip and looking at him apologetically. 

Bucky nodded awkwardly and stepped into Layne’s room; he didn’t feel the need to mention that she was blushing as brilliantly as her bra which offset the creamy flesh of what he had seen of her chest and abdomen. He distracted himself around at the various band posters; Led Zeppelin, HIM, DOROTHY, Coheed & Cambria, and a big tapestry of Chris Cornell spattered the walls along with thirty or so odd shaped mirrors that hung in ornate and neon colored frames. “What’s, uh, what’s with all the mirrors?” Bucky asked pointing at one of them.

“They stop me from projecting in my sleep. Sometimes, if I’m not dreaming, I’ll project, and then the mirrors keep me in my room,” Layne explained, leaning against the back of her sofa.

“How do the mirrors manage that?” Bucky asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his pectorals flexing with the movement. Layne looked down the chorded muscle on his arms and had to refocus her thoughts quickly. She brought her eyes back to Bucky’s and was momentarily caught up in just how deep and blue they were. Shaking herself mentally she scolded herself for acting like a weird little school girl and telling herself sternly to focus.

“I can’t see in my astral form, not with normal vision anyway. Remember how that one time I told you it was kind of like being a ghost? Well, I can focus on people’s auras and am drawn in from there. I’m getting better at picking out individuals in a crowd, but usually, I’m drawn into a particularly strong aura. I found out though, thanks to Dr. Banner, that I’m far more interested in being in my own body. So we put up these mirrors because then my astral form will see my body right away and just go home. I didn’t want to risk taking over any of you in your sleep.” Layne explained, wringing her fingers together nervously.

“That is both cool and terrifying,” Bucky said with awe causing Layne to smile softly.

“It would be cooler if I could control it.”

“Well, how much do you practice?” 

Layne scoffed and shook her head. “How am I supposed to practice, Barnes? This was my first big kid mission, and it went questionable at best. No way Cap is going to want me puppy dogging along on another mission after this.” Layne moved past Bucky to pour herself another glass of wine since the first one was pitifully soaking into her carpet. 

Bucky smirked and took the wine glass from her hand, setting it back down on the table. “Well, I don't know about that. He thinks you’re capable enough to come watch the interrogation.”

“What? Does he? Why didn’t you lead with that, Barnes? Put your coat on, let’s go,” Layne grabbed her phone to shoot a quick text to Wanda for a rain check and opened the door for him.

“My coat is on,” Bucky replied sounding confused, following behind swiftly.

~*~

The elevator doors opened, and Layne rushed out, Bucky reached out to with his flesh hand to catch her by the wrist. “Hey, calm down. Remember, you’re an agent not a kid on a field trip,” Bucky scolded softly. Layne flushed and let out a huff of air. She wanted to argue but knew he was right she needed to get her house in order. Layne steeled herself and nodded sharply, Bucky smirked and let go of her wrist. Layne’s fingers twitched, and she was confused at how her body seemed to miss his touch suddenly. “And you keep calling me Barnes. You know, you’re allowed to call me Bucky.”

Layne hummed softly and followed Bucky down the hallway, staying a step back as he stopped at a large steel door and knocked twice. Steve opened the door and looked at Bucky and Layne waiting in the hall before stepping back and letting them in, closing the door behind them. Layne walked up to the window and watched Natasha try to pry information out of Andrews. The older man’s hair was disheveled, the white streaks sticking out of the ink black in tufts, and his eyes were still bloodshot. Dried blood crusted and cracked around his mouth and peppered the collar of his dress shirt from where his nose was bleeding during his mental struggle with Layne.

Layne stiffened, only for a second, as Steve stood behind her. “What happened in his head, Whisper?” Steve had his Captain voice on, and Layne tilted her head a little to the left, wondering if she was part of this interrogation as well.

“I was following Barnes up the stairwell to the roof when my vision swam, and it felt like a Dremel tool was powering through my ears. I couldn’t focus, I could only hear high pitched squealing,” Layne recounted, her memory flashing back on the stairwell. She took a shaky breath as she watched Natasha coax a smirk from Andrews, his thin lips widening to reveal teeth that were too white and too straight. Her eyes glazed over slightly as she slipped back into the memory. “It was like, tentacles almost, reaching out of the darkness and wrapping around me. But there isn’t a ‘me’, really, just my being and there isn’t a ‘him’. Usually, when I take over someone their being is ejected from their body, there can only be one host at a time, but Andrews found his way back in, and it was like he was trying to strangle me. I couldn’t focus on keeping control of his body because I had to focus on keeping Andrews out of me. It was like hot honey, and I couldn’t shake free. I took what last bit of control I had and asked Barnes to knock me out.”

Layne jumped slightly as Steve put his hand on her shoulder. “Has that happened before?” he asked, his voice losing it’s commanding edge feeling much softer; like a parent comforting a child after a nightmare.

“Sort of. Back in Hong Kong with the acrobatic Hydra agent,” Layne cast her caramel eyes to Bucky, and he looked at the floor, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s okay, I always understood why you had to shoot her, I actually set you up to shoot her. She was the first Inhuman I tried to overtake; I wasn’t expecting the power in her blood to feel like it did and when I overtake someone initially I get random flashes of their memories. Whether its memories they want me to see or they’re just pulled at random, I don’t know, but her were horrible and twisted and I got a little lost in them. I was stuck in her body, and I couldn’t push her out. I should have just left her but I saw her plan to attack Barnes, and I wanted to try and stop her. I blocked her abilities, but I couldn’t do much else,” Layne turned her focus back to Natasha and Andrews, flinching when Natalia pounded her fist on the table and slammed her chair back. Greg Andrews laughed at her openly, and Natasha just glared before slamming her way out of the room.

Bucky’s brows were furrowed as he looked up at Layne, her brown hair cascading down her shoulders and settling on the swell of her breasts. He liked her hair tied back more; Layne tended to try and hide behind the curtains of her hair. “I always wondered why she just ran straight for me. She had been flipping and dodging around that whole fight, and suddenly she just ran straight to me.” His blue eyes were looking at her with a mixture of confusion and awe.  

Layne nodded at him. “She hadn’t even used her abilities yet, she was a teleporter. She could tell I locked her down and it pissed her off. Then I set in her mind the plan to just charge you down.”

Steve had opened his mouth to say something when their door burst open and Natasha stomped in. 

“I don’t get it, Cap, I tried everything. I tried sexy, I tried mean, I tried saying please,” Natasha said looking like she had sucked on something sour. “He’s locked up tight and hiding behind some excuse that the kid scrambled his brains.”

“That’s a lie,” Layne said, still staring at him through the one-way mirror.  

“I know it is,” Nat sniped before turning back to Steve and Bucky. “What do we do?” 

“You send me in,” Layne said before the boys could open their mouths. All three of them whirled on her and stared at her like she had grown a second head. Layne steadied her gaze and planted her stance. “I can do it. I’ve been inside his head, I know his ticks, and if all else fails, I can just persuade him. It probably wouldn’t hold up in court if that’s what you’re going for here, but it’ll move us along the ladder,” she argued. When the three looked like they were just going to argue back, she held up her hands. “Please, trust me.” 

“What can it hurt?” Bucky caved looking at his teammates.  Layne looked at Bucky sharply, her eyes widened in slight surprise. Natasha scoffed and rolled her eyes, tossing a hand in the air.  

“Sure. Why not. Let her in, Cap.”  

Steve looked Layne dead in the eyes, “If I see any sign you’re losing ground, I’m pulling you out.” Layne nodded in understanding, and he opened the door for her. 

Leaving Bucky, Natasha, and Steve in the observation room, she put her hand on the knob of the interrogation room and took a deep breath. She readied herself and pushed the door open, closing it softly behind her. She glided over to the table with ease and flipped the chair around backward before slinging her leg over the side. Layne rested her forearms on the back of the chair and settled her chin on them; she locked her warm golden eyes to the cold steel grey of Greg Andrews’.

They sat there in silence, Greg fidgeting slightly causing Layne to cock her head to the right and smile at him softly. She never lost eye contact with the sleeze of man. Layne had to assert dominance, that was the number one that made Andrews’ uncomfortable, women in power. He had to have control, feel on top, and Layne had every intention of sitting here calmly until he cracked.

In the observation room, Bucky, Natasha, and Steve all stood right up to the glass, shoulders almost touching. Bucky tried hard to not stare at Layne’s ass as she straddled the chair, the black fabric stretching over her curves in a way that made the spot between his eyebrows sweat. They watched with bated breath as they stared silently at each other waiting for the other one to make the first move.

“She looks oddly comfortable in there,” Steve assessed, chin in his hand as he chewed softly on his middle knuckle.

“Well, she’s been in his head. I’m sure sitting at the same table isn’t nearly as daunting,” Bucky answered, the conversation helping to break the stare he had locked on Layne’s backside. 

Natasha put a hand up to silence them as Layne lifted her head, putting her left elbow on the back of the chair and her chin in her hand. Greg had broken the eye contact first, looking down at his shaking hands. Natasha hadn’t scared him, she didn’t know the things about him that Layne knew. 

“So, Greg,” Layne spoke lazily, sounding like she didn’t want even to be there. “I’m sure you don’t really want to talk to me. I know Black Widow and I are much older than the girls you usually like to spend your time with.”

Andrews stiffened and his hand shot to the knot of his tie, for the first time looking a little uncomfortable. He knew that this woman had been inside his mind, controlled his body, knew so many of his secrets, but he didn’t understand how. “You have no proof,” he rasped, and Layne just shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re completely correct. I do not have proof, but I’m not here looking to throw proof at your feet. I’m here to save those girls and I’m hoping you could just tell me about them. Where you got them, where they are, why Hydra wants them, that sort of thing,” Layne drawled, drawing invisible circles on the table top with her finger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andrews insisted, fidgeting with the lapels on his suit jacket.

“You run a security company, yes? Why don’t you tell me about the security files you had on your office computer for Hydra?” Layne asked coolly.  

“Why don’t you just dive back into my head and find out for yourself?” Andrews sneered in a last-ditch attempt to sound like he had control and wasn’t afraid of her, slamming his hands on the table in front of him, his long bony fingers splayed out on the cold metal surface. 

Layne’s hand that had been drawing little patterns on the table lashed out as quick as a whip and grabbed one of his hands in her small one. He gasped and tried to pull back but Layne’s grip was firm, and she slowly turned his hand over so the palm was facing the ceiling and she brought her other hand over to trace the deep lines in Andrews’ palm with the tip of her pointer finger.

The three agents in the observation room were all but holding their breath, watching her with fascination. The calm and serene manner that she was handling this interrogation was that of an experienced professional, not the goofy lackadaisical girl they were so familiar with seeing around the Tower. Natasha was pulling on her bottom lip softly with her fingers as she watched Layne with rapt attention, Steve has paused the soft chewing on his knuckle, but it stayed in his mouth as his curiosity piked. Bucky was leaned against the frame of the one-way glass, his hands on the sill as he stared intently at the scene unfolding. He watched as Layne took Andrews’ hand in her own and a weird sensation of nausea and anger flared in the pit of his stomach; it was a like a bear waking up from hibernation and letting out a roar that shook the forest. Bucky’s fingers gripped the window sill and his shoulders locked as Layne traced a lineup and down Andrews’ forearm, following the bright blue vein from his wrist.

“I think, Gregory, it would behoove both of us if you could just tell me,” Layne whispered sweetly. What the three in the observation room couldn’t see were the big doe eyes she looked at Andrews with and how the warm caramel of her eyes flared to life with a brilliant amber glow, like someone poured molten lava into her irises. Andrews took a visible gulp and cleared his throat, his gaze starting to cloud over.

“I-I can’t. They’ll kill me,” he answered, his voice strained.

“You’re not worried about them, Gregory. You know you’re safe with me. It’s just you and me here, and no one here can hurt you,” Layne soothed, her fire eyes staring deep into Andrews’ trying to convince him to yield.

Greg tried one last weak and futile attempt to take his hand back from Layne before giving in and letting his posture slump. It was as if the weight of his life suddenly came pounding down on his shoulders. He sighed and loosened his tie with his free hand.  

“Hydra hasn’t been able to source girls from The Red Rooms in Russia for a few years now. They started with the mail order girls of Thailand and Russia instead, finding that for every ten girls they brought to their facilities at least half showed promise of something more. I had hired an intern a few years back who turned out to be one of their insurgents; they have people placed in almost every prominent company in the world. I thought at first they wanted my company for the security features we provide, but it turns out they had discovered my taste for…for Asian massage parlors. Soon I had gained them access to the deep underbelly of human trafficking and I couldn’t get out unless they released photos of myself and a few underage girls to the press,” Andrews’ explained, looking and sounding exhausted.

“Where are they taking them?” Layne asked, bile high in her throat and she could feel her energy beginning to drop drastically but if she could just keep it up for a little bit longer. If she could only find out where they were taking the girls, then she could go back and finish that bottle of wine (that was half gone and she got basically none of) and take a nap.

“I don’t know that. I knew Hydra had a base in Hong Kong, but your people infiltrated it. They had just enough time to get all the girls out before your lot blew it all up.”

“What happened to the girls who didn’t show promise?” Layne asked, fearing the answer.

“All I know is they didn’t get sent back,” Andrews responded, confirming her fear.

“Who was your contact?” Layne asked reaching down into a pocket on her thigh and coming out with a pen and paper. She placed it in front of him and resumed lightly stroking his arm. “You should write it down for me, so I don’t forget.” If Bucky watched Layne’s fingers close enough he could see the skin she brushed on Andrews’ arm would let out a soft glow, like a faint flashlight lived under his skin. Just watching Layne use her powers of persuasion looked warm and soothing and he couldn’t help but wonder if she could do that glow thing without using her ability. He had an odd image of Layne tracing her magic fingers down his bare chest, his skin lighting up like fireflies, and had to shake his head to regain focus.

Andrews licked his lips before grabbing the pen and sliding the paper to him, writing down a name and a phone number. “Her name is Mae Ling; she drove the van that would pick up the girls. That’s the only contact I have.”

“What other dealings did you have with Hydra?” Layne asked, making a mental note of the phone number scribbled down.

“My security systems are in place in most major weapons makers and distributing sights, including local gun shops. When they needed to make a hit I just made sure the security system failed,” Andrews said with ease. Layne swiped up the pad and pen and broke contact with Andrews, he gasped and looked like his heart had been ripped from his chest. “What are you?” he asked her shakily, the clouded gaze leaving his eyes only to be replaced with fear. He clutched the arm Layne had been holding to his chest like it was going to fall off of him.

“Nothing but a whisper,” she said with a sneer and stood up, leaving him alone in the interrogation room. Hearing the door click closed behind her she let out a whoosh of air and placed her palms flat on the wall across from her, her arms outstretched and her head down. She felt like cement weights were attached to her all over her body. The door to the observation room opened and the three stepped out from where they had been watching with surprise and appreciation.

“Layne, that was fantastic,” Steve praised, holding his hands out in case she should drop. Concern was etched over all their faces when she looked up and smiled softly to try to alleviate it. “How did you handle that so calm?” 

“Thanks, it just takes a lot out of me. I don’t do it a lot. He hates feeling like he doesn’t have influence over women, Natasha was working too hard to get information out of him, it made him feel like he had power. I had to take that feeling away,” Layne explained and passed the notepad to Natasha. “You’ll probably want to run that right away.” Natasha nodded taking the notepad and then cautiously reaching out and placed her palm on Layne’s cheek. 

“You did great,” she said before turning around and taking off to bring the information to intelligence. 

“I need to go debrief Fury. Andrews can sit in there a bit and sweat, you, however,” Steve said focusing back on Layne. “Need to get back to your room and rest. I’ll make sure to put in a glowing review after today’s mission. I’m glad Bucky and Clint talked me into letting you watch.” Cap clapped Bucky on his metal shoulder before heading to the elevators. 

Layne looked at Bucky with her eyebrows knitted together. “You helped convince Cap to let me watch today? Why?” she asked, not that she was complaining or anything, but it’s not like he’d ever stuck his neck out for her before. Or had anything to do with her before. Sticking up for her to come watch the interrogation and then to actually get in the room with Andrews was a new side of Bucky that she hadn’t experienced.

Bucky just shrugged, “Seemed only fair. You’re the one that caught him in the first place. Come on, doll, let’s get you back to your place."

Layne snorted with laughter and pushed herself off the wall, teetering slightly before finding her balance again. “Taking me to my door. What a gentleman you are.”

Bucky flushed and ducked his head, letting his hair fall around his face to hide it. “Yeah, well, it’s not a big deal. Plus, you’re going to need all your energy. After what we saw in there you can bet your butt Natasha is going want a front seat demonstration.”

Layne let out a groan, and she punched the button on the elevator to go up to the living quarters. “Should have run off to join the circus,” she moaned. The doors closing on her and Bucky as he let out a raucous laugh.

NEXT CHAPTER

Tag List

@tilltheendwilliwrite @inumorph @vaultingphilosophy @this-kitty-has-claws @suz-123 @fiveftofury @hippie-taco-lady @magellan-88

#bucky x ofc #bucky barnes #fanfic #avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky fandom #marvel fanfiction

[chronicbatfictioner]

Subtle - Chapter 9

"We're going where??"

"Washington. I've cleared it with BatDad and he just... I dunno, kinda smirked and said, 'have fun!' - which made me even more scared than this date itself. I mean, they're BFFs, right? It's not like I stole this jet. Penny-one even put something in that box... I think we're supposed to give some kind of gift for the host and--" Jason rattled on for nearly a minute before he caught Tim's blank glare. "Oh, hi, you there?"

"I think my brain jumped out of the plane somewhere between state lines."

They were on their way to Washington, DC, on a Saturday night because Princess Diana of Themiscyra had extended the invitation to Bruce Wayne to send his two sons, Jason Todd and Tim Drake, to join her for a dinner. Said invitation was sent by courier (i.e. The Flash because Diana has a sense of humor) - complete with receipt and everything, and was duly accepted by Alfred. Alfred promptly prepared two dress-suits for his two boys, and demanded that "Master Wayne shall loan you his jet, young masters, have fun."

Tim had not reacted obnoxiously, if at all, when Jason picked him up from his Crime Alley loft and drove him to the private jet airport near Wayne Manor. He'd only looked up quizzically once, as they drove past the Manor, and looked at the suit Jason told him to put on. But he did not ask any question, too busy with whatever crisis that was happening in his cellphone.

It was only when they finally boarded the jet, with Jason taking the pilot's seat, that he'd asked. Jason had replied, "we're going to dinner." and when Tim did not press, Jason had thought that he'd simply forgotten of the invitation. Until, well, until somewhere between takeoff and now. "We'll land in about five minutes." Jason said. It was excessive, all things considered, to take a jet. But Alfred insisted and said that it was 'improper for a gentleman to appear ruffled for a royal dinner,' - and somehow, Diana had approved and provided a landing zone.

Why, Jason didn't know, either. But hey, who was he to object to a princess? Or a loan of a private jet? Or a 30-minutes flight compared to a 3-4 hours drive?

The landing zone, true to Diana's nature, was in a military base; and they were picked up by some military people who insisted upon driving them back to 'Miss Prince' in a Hummer.

Good thing that they had listened to Alfred's advise and wore suits, not armors. It would be awkward to explain why Red Hood and Red Robin was there to meet Diana Prince; and less so in explaining why Tim Drake-Wayne would come to see Diana Prince. Tim's flustered, "she asked for us to come..." helped a lot.

At the front door, Tim still asked, "why are we here, again?"

To which Jason glibly replied, "the Princess demand our presence for dinner." Judging from a soft snicker given by one of the soldiers, it was the correct, un-suspicious answer. "Good thing we're trained on how to behave around royals." Another snicker - and Jason couldn't be assed to tell the snickerer that they, in fact, had been trained to behave around royals by the Almighty Alfred Pennyworth. Sir Alfred. Jason fleetingly thought that if Alfred hasn't been knighted by now, someone at the Buckingham Palace should have their head removed.

"Come on in, young men!" Diana greeted them. She, as per usual, looked radiant in a long, flowing gown. Silencing the little voice in his head that mentioned the fact that she could have been wearing a potato sack and would look incredible, anyway, Jason gently ushered Tim and they both kissed Diana's cheek gallantly. Alfred would have been proud. Gift was exchanged, and it turned out to be truffle chocolates. Hand-made by Alfred, to which Tim excellently presented because rich kids like him would know how to present a gift for a host. Jason would probably simply hand it over and say 'it's from Alfred.'

Dinner, as everything that was Diana, were magnificent, superb and not minuscule-sized like the food in Bruce's gala dinners. And Jason paid full attention at their taste, and how Tim reacted to them, fully taking a mental note to ask for the recipes of the ones Tim seemed to enjoy the most. The wild boar ribs might be a little tricky, but looked like it was worth catching a whole damn wild boar if Jason could find one.

"So, Timothy," Diana started.

"Yes?" Tim replied politely around the line of ribs.

"I believe just about everyone and their super-grandmothers have gone and fussed over you, yes?"

Tim chewed a little slower, and replied, "I have no idea what you mean by 'fussing'. But if you're referring to how they all have meddled and put my relationship with Jason under a microscope and proverbial and actual X-rays, yes they have. I presume you're going to do the same?"

Jason did not choke on his water, nope. He almost did, but then remembered that this was Tim, who did not fear even Superman and made Ra's Al Ghul rethinking his life choices.

Diana's smile was sweet, but laced with a little danger. "Well yes, only not for the same reason. You see, I've known Jason since he was... quite a young cub, I'd say."

"Yes, I know. I've also heard from Bruce that he's your favorite Robin," Tim grinned. "I'm just enjoying the idea that, after everyone went to Jason and put a permanent death warrant on him if he would ever hurt me, at least you're here to do the other way around."

"I am," Diana beamed. "Bruce warned me that you would be smart enough to call my bluff? But my dear Timothy, I should also remind you that I don't bluff."

"I know, I get it. He's..." Tim looked at Jason fondly, and Jason hid his blush behind a grilled rib. "I get it, though. People asked me if he's good enough for me, and no one asked if I think I'm good enough for him - and they all forgot that if evil didn't happen, he and I might have ended up like this a lot sooner. You know? I just... a lot of time I wondered if they would act the same if I'd been the Red Hood, and Jason was Red Robin, you know what I mean? If they would be so harsh on me like they are on him, forgetting everything he'd done way back then..." he shrugged. "I'm glad you're... on his side, Diana."

Diana smiled, less dangerously, this time. "A war is never won by just the soldiers, Timothy, they are won by the generals." she offered a non-sequitur. That is, non-sequitur if one's life doesn't generally revolve around wars big and small or inter-galactic like the three of them.

Jason turned a little to look at Diana, wary at the direction of the impending question.

"What are you, Timothy?"

Tim pondered the question for a moment, while Jason pretended he didn't care by stuffing his mouth with the broccoli.

"I'm sure everyone wants to be a general. I'm sure people think I'm a general... a mini-general, at least for the Titans. But what I am, really, is an experienced soldier." Tim replied, sounding a little subdued. "I don't want to be in the war, Diana. I wanted to help people. Just that. It's simple. It should be simple. But as it was, is, and will be, it's never simple. Not when help is seen as the proverbial fish, you know what I mean? --instead of the proverbial rod. What I am is a soldier. Maybe I'll eventually die in battle. Maybe - hopefully - I'll weather the war and come up on the other side, some day. But what I don't want to be is the general.

"I can think like one, sure. Like Batman. Like Luthor. Like Ra's Al Ghul. But their thoughts hurt... hurt me. There is no end of their visions. There is no happy ever after. And maybe, maybe I just want a happy ever after..."

Jason cleared his throat. "Okay, enough with the questioning, I think. The mood just turned the wine sour." he commented. He couldn't reach over the table and he wanted to, if only to wipe that solemn, forlorn look out of Tim's face.

Diana's smile was a little brighter. "I am not sure if I should give you wine or not, Jason, so that is grape juice in your glass." she remarked.

"Hey! I'm actually 21!" Jason protested.

"Ah, right. I keep seeing you as the 15-year-old boy I once knew..." she signaled someone, and a goblet and bottle of wine appeared next to Jason.

"Shouldn't you stay sober? I mean, we still gotta go back home, you know. And I don't think you can afford crashing Bruce's jet..." Tim commented.

"Live a little, Timber! Besides, you're the designated driver." Jason grinned impishly.

"That is so unfair..." Tim grumbled.

"You may have wine, too, just a sip, if you want." Diana offered. "I am amused at the American's insistence that their children should not be introduced to wine until a certain age, whilst they are not protected from violence in general. But," she shrugged. "'when in Rome...', I guess. Wine, Timothy?"

"Eh... no, thanks. I actually really rather stay sober." Tim refused politely. "Yes, Jay, I know the jet has autopilot. I just prefer to stay sober, thanks."

"One sip isn't gonna make you tipsy, Timmy. But you know what? Whatever float your boat."

The flight back home was quiet, save a few questions from Alfred in the comms of their ETA and some technical questions - like 'who was flying' and whether the pilot is sober. Diana had wondered out loud if she should let them go back home, since it was late - at 11.30-ish. They assured her that it's not late for them batkids. She'd hugged them both, whispering to Jason, "be happy, Jason."; and something else that Jason couldn't hear to Tim.

Curiosity won, and Jason decided to ask. "What did Diana tell you when she hugged you?"

Tim smirked. "What did she tell you?"

"For me to be happy. You?"

"The same, with added, 'I've been told that it is a custom to tell a young man: you hurt your lover, I'll break both your legs and arms.' - quote-unquote. Apparently, Green Arrow suggested that, thinking she would be saying that to you."

"I'm hurt. Right here. After all I've done with Roy and all..." Jason pointed to his chest mockingly. A thought suddenly crossed Jason's mind. "Hey Tim?"

"Hmm... we're ten minutes out. What?"

"We're actually a couple, aren't we?"

"If you're thinking of changing your mind now, nearly eight weeks after the first time you asked me out on a date, you're a little too late."

"I'm not gonna." Jason assured him.

Tim was quiet for a few moments as Jason adjusted the plane's instruments for landing. And then he asked, "you know, I never knew why you suddenly decided you want to date me and woo me with food..."

Jason's memories flew back to the alternate reality, and he looked at Tim. "Let's just say I was given the chance to see that being with you is a lot better option than not." he grinned toothily.

"That's really cheesy." Tim quipped.

"I should let you know that I'm the king of Cheese and I've read a lot of them Harlequin novels."

"That... ew. If you ever think of spreading rose petals on the bed for me, I should let you know right now that I'm allergic to blatant cheesiness." Tim chuckled, "Landing gear down."

"Weeell... there goes my Valentine plans!" Jason mock-gasped. "How about lining up a few blocks of Narrows with bad guys you can punch all the way to the Penthouse, and then have some big-bad in the Penthouse - also so you can punch? That be a good V-day for you?"

Tim's laughter was a little delayed as he landed the plane perfectly. But it still sounded like music to Jason. "Oh, Jay-bear, you sure know how to woo a vigilante!" Tim sing-songed.

Jason just grinned when Tim looped an arm across his waist, in his jacket, as they walked to their waiting car. The night was still young, for bats, but it was still quiet. He has Tim, laughing quietly in Jason's arms. And Jason thought of the rooftop frolicking he'd seen in the alternate universe some months ago.

Maybe someday he'll be able to show Tim what he'd wanted, and how he's working to get it. Maybe someday Tim would get the happy-ever-after he told Diana. Jason just hoped that he, too, would be in it - he knew that he would work hard, short of selling his soul to be there.

Maybe someday they won't have to put on so much armor to fight the bads of Gotham, or elsewhere. Tonight, Jason didn't know who started it, but a few hours later, he found himself chasing Spoiler, who was Chasing Black Bat, who was chasing Tim, while Jason was being chased by Nightwing. The night was filled with happy shrieks and indignant squawks when somebody got tagged. The shrill, child-like growl of "I shall decimate you, Nightwing!" followed with a red-yellow-and-green blur told Jason that even the grumpy new little Robin has been roped in into the game.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jason's smile felt just right on his face.

Even if he was tagged next - mid-flight and made him nearly missed his landing - by Tim.

"I'll get you, Red!" he threatened, quickly following the happy cackle. Oooh, he'll get Tim, alright.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Red Hood #Red Robin #Batfam #Diana Prince #Wonder Woman #Subtle!AU #omg it's finally finished

[littlegoldenbirdie]

Getting more into biology

I would have studied biology if it wasn’t for reasons, so I’ll just sit here and theorize.

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

Wing lightning attack: weaponized propulsion

In KOTM, during the battle of Boston, King Ghidorah drove Godzilla back by unleashing a huge blast of lightning from his wingtips. Remember that? It was SPECTACULAR. But I imagine it has a more mundane use when not in combat. That's what he uses to propel himself through the outer space. Flapping does nothing unless you're in an atmosphere, you know. You need air for that. He could bank and turn by controlling how much energy either wing emits, or angle them to go up or down. But I imagine he could use the gravity of nearby stellar bodies to get a nifty boost in speed, sort of like a slingshot effect. Yay for faster travel, right? It’s also the only way for Ghidorah to use his lightning for propulsion without looking completely ridiculous while doing so. Otherwise he'd either be bent double most of the time, farting his way through the cosmos or soaring along ass-first.

Blame The Bridge for this... sorta

Why would a giant monster know martial arts? Monster X fought like a fucking Power Ranger. Where would someone or something that damn big learn that? It has been put forth that he wasn't always the way he is now. What if the Showa Xiliens and the Millennium Xiliens were the same dudes? While ol' Ghids is dicking around on Planet X, causing his usual ruckus, maybe they got a DNA sample. Tinker with that a bit, make a serum, give it to one of your soldiers and maybe you'll get something capable of fighting him off. Hey, soldiers get combat training, right? So they pick a soldier dude and give him the serum they made. Good luck surviving that, dude. But the transformation (SWEET SPACE-JESUS, THAT HURTS!!!) takes a while. Five-foot-tall dude to God-knows-how-big monster can't be a quick thing. In the middle of that, Invasion of Astro-Monster happens. No more need for a fighter to kick Ghidorah's ass; he's decided to 'nope' on out of there. So they take the soldier dude, in agony from having both mind and body torn apart to become something new, and lock him away. No sense tossing a potential future asset. His body is reshaped, but his mind gets torn in half for a new psyche to house the mind of what he transforms into: Kaiser Ghidorah, who is a near-mindless ball of PURE HATE. We're talking a weaponized version of the Bruce Banner and The Hulk dynamic. After getting their asses kicked on Earth (LOUD NOISES FOR THE WIN!), the Xiliens stick their weapon in an asteroid for easy transport and go nomadic because Ghidorah kinda totally fucked EVERYTHING before he left. Kinda like locusts with a kaiju in their arsenal. Drop him on a planet, have him kick ass, reap rewards, stuff him back in the asteroid and move on. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Ocean of water, ocean of stars

Planets have been likened to islands in an ocean, with the ocean being outer space. But our ocean isn't empty, is it? It's full of living things that would find our environment just as hostile as we find theirs. So why should outer space be any different? Nature has a tendency to mimic itself on different scales, with certain shapes and patterns repeating over and over. Circles, spirals, planets orbiting a star just like electrons orbiting an atom's nucleus, and stars grouping together as they orbit a galaxy's core and whatever is in there... Our ocean sings with life, from the massive to the microscopic, so why should the stars be any different? And if we consider the entirety of outer space to be an ecosystem, what role would creatures like Ghidorah play in it? Would they be like sharks? Or would they be a planet-scale biological equivalent to prairie wildfires? There's numerous kinds of plants and trees that NEED to burn as part of their life cycle. I mean it. Some pine cones or seed pods ONLY open if burned. The animals may not like it, but the plants sure do.

Legendary can do space monsters and stuff IF they forego flying saucers and cliche alien invasions. Portray outer space as an ecosystem in its own right, with interstellar apex predators and the like...

#ghidorah kotm #monster x #kaiser ghidorah

[thepulta]

“Westlie.”

“Westlie, wake up.”

... That was Morgan’s voice. Westlie felt her body curl in a defensive ball. “.... go ’way.”

“Westlie, we’re going out. Wake up.” She kicked the bed and Westlie pulled the covers over her head, scowling.

There was a hum from the corner of the room and Westlie heard one of her drawers close. Some article of clothing flopped over her lumpy form. She peaked out and opened one eye, glaring in that general direction. A corset promptly came out of nowhere and smacked Westlie square in the face. She reached up and flicked it back. “Fucking stop, oh my god.”

“Oh good! You’re awake.” Morgan’s grin was palpable and her sister seethed. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going out.”

The fuck? “Out? What out? We went out last night.”

“You can never have enough ‘out’.” Morgan tossed the corset at her again. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Westlie pushed her head up and stared sullenly at the clothing on the bed - Morgan apparently felt like boots and breeches tonight - heaved a groan and dropped dramatically backward on her pillow. There was a brief period of almost-sleep before Westlie spasmed with a screech. The lithe 24-year-old had taken a flying leap onto the bed and belly-flopped on top of her, making the slats creak. “You witch!” Westlie shoved her off; she was fully awake now to her goddamn dismay. “Fucking- Let me sleep!”

Morgan slid off the side, lining up their faces with her cutest look. Westlie scowled. She could never resist that stare and Morgan knew it. “You have to come out! Come on, Westlie. I know you’re tired, but it’s not even the end of the month.”

“... I’m on three hours of sleep right now.”

“I let you sleep for four hours until I woke you up.” The face turned into a guilty plead. “You’re on seven hours now. Come on. It’s midnight; it’s beautiful.”

Westlie tried to scowl harder, but she could feel herself cracking and her sleep felt farther and farther by the second anyway. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Morgan leaned forward, grabbed her, and cheerfully pulled her into a more upright position, shoving an undershirt into her hands. Westlie gave up and didn’t fight it. “You don’t have to look presentable, I promise. Just put the corset on over, but you do have to hurry.”

Welp, there went sleep. Westlie gave a deep sigh and started pulling off the nightgown. “... somewhere with no people is new.”

“I do aim to please occasionally.” Morgan hummed as she slipped off the bed, tossing several other articles of clothing into Westlie’s lap. She two-stepped away, rummaging through Westlie’s drawers and inspecting the room she’d seen a million times before just to kill time. The absentminded shasay took her over to the closet and she kicked open the loose board within with practiced ease. “Your rope’s looking a little frayed, Wes.”

“... That’s because you keep using mine instead of yours.”

“Pfft. I was gone for two months.”

“You consistently bother me when you get back.”

Morgan leaned on the bedpost, teasing in the uniquely coy way she had. “See, I’d ask if you’d been out and about trying to pick up a man except I’ve asked around and you officially have not left the shop-” Westlie opened her mouth to protest and Morgan held up a finger. “-Except to get tea once at Grendals.”

“Do you have spies on me?”

“Oh please, we’re like the only people our age on this side of town with red hair.” Morgan snorted and bent down to knot the rope around the bedpost. She jerked it tight as Westlie fastened up her boots. “I myself am memorable, and you are not. Thus, they also remember you.”

“That- that makes no sense.”

“I’m an undiscovered genius. Your intelligence is clearly inferior.”

Westlie scowled and made an indeterminate gesture to the bed behind her, hoping she gave off the aura of ‘I’m humoring you, bitch.’

Morgan grinned slyly, an apology for the joke. “Well, just replace the rope. I don’t need it snapping and dropping you on your ass when I’m not here to see it.”

Westlie contemplated throttling her and going back to sleep but she was both too tired and too awake to do either of those things. She decided to scrounge for hairpins instead, couldn’t find enough, and settled for the worst braid she’d ever done in her life tied with package string, coiling and pinning it in some form of braid-bun. She straightened up and Morgan grinned.

“Ready?” Morgan waited for the nod before swooping and bowing low towards the window. “You first, madam.”

“..... why?”

“I have to keep an eye on you so you don’t fall back asleep.” The sly grin returned. “And if the rope snaps I want a good view.”

Motherfucker.

Westlie rolled her eyes and made sure to stomp on Morgan’s boot as she headed over to perch on the windowsill, glancing over London before she made her way down. It was a quiet Sunday night. For some godly reason Sundays were still half-sacred in Albion and the factories tended to shutter before nightfall. The decrease in production helped the smog. There were no storms tonight either, Albion was still. Westlie could smell - almost taste - shatter-crystal on the breeze. Maybe there was an island in bloom somewhere. The white microscopic shards weren’t the safest thing in large doses, but here, now, it was soft like vanilla and it enticed Westlie into leaning out the window. “Mm, it usually isn’t that strong.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Morgan sounded smug and Westlie shrugged.

“Not worth my sleep though.”

“Yeah, yeah, move your ass.”

Westlie grabbed the rope and gave a one-fingered salute before she dropped off the edge and shimmied down with a few familiar motions. Even half-asleep it was mangeable. The rope, also, did not break. Morgan thumped down beside her a few seconds later with a cheeky grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“Xeno’s porchway.” Morgan knew that name meant nothing to Westlie and she teasingly poked her sister’s nose. “Don’t even worry about it. Just trust me.” She skipped to the edge of the garden, leaping to the top of the wall with one smooth motion where she did a pirouette and reached a hand down for Westlie who didn’t need it.

“Stars, all I do is trust you.” Westlie took the hand anyway.

“And have I ever been wrong?”

“Oh you’re wrong all right. Positively illegal is another way to put it.” They leaped down from the wall together and glanced around at the empty street. Midnight did have its benefits. “Have you gotten caught? Miraculously no.”

They crossed the street and Morgan made some vague map-motions in the air, thinking of the fastest route and then pointing towards an alleyway within a cluster of townhomes. “See, you say that, but I know you love it.”

Westlie groaned and scrubbed her face. “No, I’m boring as fuck, Morgan. I can live without barfights. I love you.”

Morgan stopped on the sidewalk for a hot minute and actually blinked at her. Shit. Westlie tried to remember the last time she’d said that in person. ‘Love, Wes’ in letters didn’t count. It... had probably been too long, honestly, because she couldn’t remember.

“... Did you hit your head climbing down?”

“No.” Westlie felt her face burn and she kept walking. “Stop making it a big deal.”

Shit, fuck. Her heart stopped five seconds later because now it WAS a big deal and- there were sudden footsteps. “Catch me!” Westlie nearly toppled as her sister’s legs wrapped around her waist and her arms latched around her neck.

“You’re twenty-four!! You’re fucking heavy!” Westlie caught the edge of the building, wobbled, and somehow didn’t fucking fall flat on her goddamn face. “Holy fuck. What is wrong with you. I take it all back.”

“Nope,” Morgan’s chin settled on her head. “You love me.”

“I hate you so much. Get off my back. I’m not fucking walking anywhere.”

“That’s ok.”

“Morgan!”

They stood there for a full thirty seconds in a sulky stalemate before Morgan got bored and slid off. Westlie gasped at the relief and tried to pop her shoulders as her lungs decompressed. “Jesus Christ.”

Morgan gently poked her side after a second as they continued walking. Westlie glared at her but it quickly faded. “...You know I love you too.”

And there it was. There was her little sister; not the cocksure adult she’d grown into who had a ridiculously specific skillset. Morgan’s eyes were happy and earnest and Westlie felt her heart melt a little. Her face softened into a smile. “Yeah- yeah, I know.”

Westlie resisted the urge to grab her and pull her close and settled for reaching out and gently tapping Morgan’s nose. The result was the same: Morgan positively glowed.

After a few seconds it was like being next to an furnace Westlie had just shoveled a full ton of coal into. Morgan finally bounced on her toes, skipped two steps ahead, spun around and walked backwards. “Want to run? Let’s run.”

Fuck it. They might as well get there faster. Westlie tilted her head back and enjoyed the breeze as they slipped through the empty side-streets of London, the scent of shatter-crystal hovering over them. Morgan still led like usual, ducking into alleyways as they dodged the occasional constable; she had an incredible memory of their routes and Westlie was half convinced she spent most of her evenings stalking them. They didn’t seem to be headed deeper into London though, instead, they climbed a chimney sweep ladder and headed west over the rooftops, still following Morgan’s horrifyingly accurate mental compass. Was their destination on the west end? Westlie couldn’t remember anything past these townhomes; she wasn’t even sure if she’d been on this part of town before.

After leaping five rooftops, Westlie’s legs burned. After losing count of the jumps, they turned to jelly. At some point she tripped halfway across the roof, caught herself before she really took a tumble, somersaulted, and popped up only to flop over. panting, on a thankfully inactive chimney. “Morgan!”

Morgan hit the brakes just before leaping to the next roof. “Oh shit, sorry. I meant to stop back there.”

“Thanks. Just- you know- a breather.” The sincerity from her was rare enough Westlie felt amused. She sank against the chimney and let her lungs take back in oxygen. It took a minute before she felt halfway back to normal. “We never take the roofs. Why roofs tonight?”

“It’s prettier.”

Westlie breathlessly laughed a little. It was, actually, prettier than running in the alleys. Probably safer too, all things considered. There was generally some malicious thing waiting in the dark on the outskirts. Up here it was quiet. A few of the factory chimneys leaked smoke from the distance, not big puffs, but small threads of malevolence. The scent of shatter-crystal still followed. Westlie sniffed. It smelled like mushrooms too? Something- something like that. Maybe that’s why the night was so bright tongiht. little tendrils of bioluminescent fungi spores floating in the breeze. She looked in all four directions, taking in the rows upon rows of chimneys and rooftops. “You’re right, it is beautiful.” Had she ever said that about London? Westlie laughed a little and Morgan raised an eyebrow. “No, I mean it. It is. That’s- that’s what’s so weird. It is.”

“You really need to get out of the shop more.”

Westlie shot her sister a look and Morgan immediately raised her hands in surrender. They stayed there for a few more minutes, just gazing at the soft glow.

Finally Morgan got her her feet. “Ready?”

Westlie nodded, backing up halfway across the roof to regain her momentum and then they were off again.

It took another fifteen minutes of rooftop travel and five more minutes of shimmying down a rusty fire escape to end up in the midst of a wild fungi patch. It glowed a bright blue malevolently when they approached. and Westlie felt a shiver run down her spine. “Morgan...?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them. It’s fine.” God, everything was fine with this woman. Westlie vaguely remembered that she was supposed to be asleep right now. What was she even doing tomorrow? Letters? Reports? A more personal terror sent another shudder down her spine and she tried to refocus on the shrooms three times her height. “Just don’t step on the little ones.” Morgan brushed aside a fern to show a little fungi pushing through the shrubbery. “They get mad if you do that. Follow my footsteps.”

Westlie scowled at the mushrooms and just obeyed.

Getting through the patch was easier than she thought it’d be, but every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It felt like the shrooms were staring at them as they slipped through, eyes everywhere from the soil, the sides, below. The gaze itched at her skin until there was a glimpse of light and the view of stems broke. Westlie realized with a start they were at the edge of the island. London stretched behind them - and after a gaping expanse - in front of them, but it all seemed so very far with the red foggy mists of the high wilderness swirling beneather them. Westlie realized after a few seconds she literally wasn’t breathing and she had to remember to raise her chest up and down. She glanced over at Morgan who was staring off the same way. Her face was soft, happy; she finally looked over with a little smile. “You like it?”

“It’s incredible! How’d you even find it?”

The smile got a little cocky. “Too much time on my hands.”

Westlie snorted, smiling.

Morgan eventually turned left and kept walking; Westlie followed her, trecking slowly through the ferns, occasionally checking for mini-shrooms. A bridge from one side of London to another stood in the distance, but it was incredibly far off. It’d probably take all night to reach it, so Morgan couldn’t be headed there, but it did look like she had a purpose. Westlie was just about to ask where they were stopping when they rounded a curve and were abruptly greeted with an old but fairly-intact walking bridge arching off the island and then circling back into the fungi where the path was immediately eaten up and disappeared.

The wilderness stretched beneath and in front of them, gaping, backlighting the rest of London on the island further to the west with the night’s soft golden-orange hue. There was still the hint of the luminescent mushroom spores, especially here with the forest behind them, and still the scent of the shatter-crystal that she could taste whenever she took a deep breath. When she peeked over the edge of the island, there were wind currents swirling and her heart skipped.

Morgan rubbed her hands together. She walked a few steps onto the bridge and spun around, grabbing the steel railings on either side with each hand. “Surprise! Don’t worry, it’s safe; I already tested it. Isn’t it amazing? We have to be the only people who know. I think the fungi just didn’t like the path, ate it up, and then everyone forgot this last bit is here. But it’s amazing.”

“It’s- It’s--” It was more than amazing. Westlie couldn’t even think of a word. She hoped her face conveyed something awe-struck and enamored because she felt enamored. A gust of wind from the wilderness blew over them and she felt her soul sing. Westlie laughed a little incredulously after it blew over and she stepped on the walkway. “Anything else you want to show me?”

Morgan grinned and Westlie wanted to laugh because of course there was more. “One more thing. Just one more. Come on.”

They walked to the apex of the arch where a rope had been tied around one of the steel railing posts. Morgan plopped down on the walkway, letting her legs dangle over the edge into nothing and started pulling it up. “Help me.”

Westlie grabbed the rope from above, keeping half the weight off as Morgan struggled to pull it up.

“You know that it’s-” she paused and panted, “Really fucking cold down there, right?”

“Yeah...?”

Morgan reached down, heaved, and finally dragged an ancient-looking tin bucket with an ancient-looking tin lid onto the walkway. “Well.” she slapped it. “I found out it’s really good for storing wine.”

Wine.

Westlie completely broke down and laughed for a full minute; a deep uncontrollable belly laugh that made her clutch the railing to stay upright. She finally wiped her eyes and slid to the ground beside her sister on the other side of the bucket. She dangled her legs over the edge, savoring the icy prick of the wastes. “Morgan- I don’t even know what to say.”

Morgan had already removed the bucket lid and was pulling out one of the wine bottles - she’d packed two, Westlie noticed, along with two wine glasses; unchipped, surprisingly, for being held in a tin bucket. “You didn’t think I’d let this go without a drink, did you?”

“N- No actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised. But why.” Westlie laughed again, grabbing one of the wine glasses while Morgan worked her magic on the cork. “We could have just gone to the pub.”

Morgan popped the bottle open with a pleased look and threw the cork carelessly into the high wilderness with the assurance of a woman who never recorked wine. “Wes, do you remember what day it is?”

“... Sunday? Monday now.”

“It’s April.”

“It... is April?”

Morgan poured Westlie’s glass first, then her own all the way to the brim, clearly enjoying this game of twenty questions. “What day in April?”

“Oh... April...? 5th? I don’t even remember.”

“April 7th actually. I thought you did paperwork.”

Westlie rolled her eyes and took a long sip, opening her eyes and glancing at the bottle appreciatively. “That’s not bad. Where’d you steal it?”

“Westlie!” Morgan grinned in mock horror with a little clutch over her heart. “I’m dishonored.”

“Oh spare me. You’ve never bought wine in your life.”

“Westlie, I am doubly dishonored. I bought this for quarter-price at Marseille’s Shop.”

“... so basically you stole it.”

“Oh hush; talk less, drink more.” Morgan looped her left arm through the railing and leaned over the lowest bar, taking her own advice and cheerfully sipping as she stared into the swirling depths. Westlie couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she rolled her eyes and did the same. They drank in happy silence until Morgan glanced back over at her. “You never said why you didn’t know the date.”

“Mm.” Westlie took another sip, leaning back and looking up instead of down. “You know; the days run together.” She closed her eyes happily. “It feels like the 5th honestly.”

Morgan groaned like she was pulling teeth. “Do you even know what’s on April 7th?”

“No...?”

Her sister sighed. “Your birthday, you jackass. It’s your fucking birthday.”

Westlie glanced over at Morgan with a slightly offended, then slightly horrified look on her face. “Wait, you’re not joking.”

“Why would I joke, Westlie?!” Morgan, tossed up her hands, nearly sloshing wine all over herself. “God, you’re a fucking moron sometimes. Can’t even remember your own birthday.”

“I have an excuse! I’m busy!”

“It’s your birthday.”

Westlie gave up chasing her dignity and placed her glass on the walkway, spreading her arms out on the ground and staring up at where the stars would be if smog didn’t cover them. It felt like a long time since they’d spent a birthday together. A year? Two? Nobody else remembered and she... didn’t care enough to celebrate, so apparently it’d skipped her mind. She had to grin a little at the absurdity. “... that is really dumb, isn’t it.”

Morgan pulled her legs up and crossed them, moving the tin bucket from between them to the far side so they were closer together. “Yeah, it is. ... but on the other hand, I know you have mine written on the shop calendar so you remember it.”

Westlie glanced over at her. “You know about that?”

“You keep the key to the shop in your sock drawer. It’s not a big mystery.”

“You know about that?”

Morgan snorted and took another sip. Half the glass was already gone. “Well I guess tonight is just full of surprises.”

“Thank god you don’t fuck with the ledgers at least. I know your handwriting.”

Morgan wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Or do you?”

“Oh fuck you.” Westlie laughed and they sat in comfortable chatter for a long time, watching the swirl of the mists below them. Morgan’s travels were surprisingly uneventful. Westlie needed to manage a captain who was threatening to quit the fleet. Mundane things. There was one particular current Westlie watched twist for a while, doing loops in the mist until it twirled off out of sight under the island and it was shrouded by the fungi on the edge. It was steady and enticing. They finished the first bottle and Morgan uncorked the second, refilling Westlie’s glass without any visible trouble. Westlie could feel the first two glasses thick in her head and she happily accepted the third. Tomorrow felt far, far away now, and she couldn’t remember what needed to be done. There was definitely one part of her brain alerting her how heavy her feet felt and she was now tipping over from ‘had a little’ to ‘maybe too much’ but everything felt light and perfect and she wasn’t going to stop now. The consequences would all be tomorrow-Westlie’s problem anyway. It was her birthday and she was with Morgan.

Speaking of which, Westlie leaned over the railing again and looked down at the currents. Some driftwood smashed together far below them. It should have made a sound but it didn’t really. Sound and distance were tricky in the wilderness. “Morgan, I want to be a navigator.”

“Mmm. So says the twenty-six year old recluse. You know I also want to be a gymnast, but I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re such a dick. You know I’m good at it.”

“You’re also good at wrestling some form of order out of the sheer chaos of Fairweather.” Morgan downed a fourth of her glass in one go and refilled it. “You don’t have to chase everything you’re good at, you know. You could just- not.”

What you’re good at doesn’t make you happy. Westlie could almost hear her say, even though Morgan’s drops of advice on that topic were rare, piecemeal, and often undefined. If it wasn’t one thing, it’d be another.

“Hmph.” Westlie’s mind dismissed it out of hand. She shrugged and took another sip. “I love the sky though. Look at that.” She gestured to the abyss below them. “Endless possibilities. That’s a class one wind. Play with the shapes; what log curve does it make when you cross it? Does it catch on your hull? Are you bulky enough to flatten it?” She peered over the edge, following another bit of driftwood caught in the current. “This is definitely the best present you’ve ever gotten me.”

“You’re welcome.” Westlie glanced over at her and Morgan smiled behind her glass. “If you tell anyone else about this place though, you’re dead to me.”

“Who else would I tell?” Westlie looped her right arm around the railing, closed her eyes, and leaned out, filling her nose with the scent of vanilla. She opened her eyes and blinked after a moment. “You know, you’ve been gone for two months. Did you come home just for this?”

Morgan choked on her wine and coughed for thirty seconds. Westlie watched her, vaguely amused and vaguely reminded of her own earlier embarassment to be caught affectionate. “... it was on the way.”

Huh. She was lying. “Where are you going next anyway?”

“New Winchester, probably. Maybe Leadbeater or Brabazon?” Morgan cocked her head, thinking. “Whevever the cheapest captain wants to go maybe.”

“Back to the Reach is not on the way to Albion from Port Prosper.”

Morgan flushed and glared at her, finishing off the rest of her glass. “You always complain when I take more expensive trips! I’m trying to conserve money; this captain was cheaper.”

Westlie grinned a little. “I can, very occasionally, tell when you’re lying.”

Morgan threw her head back and groaned. “God, it’s always the worst times.” She sulked and poured herself the rest of the bottle, glancing at Westlie’s still-half-full glass. “... I came back for this. Fuck, I should have bought three bottles.”

“Pfft. Two’s enough. Your face is starting to look fuzzy.”

“Well I’m not a goddamn lightweight.” Morgan tossed back another quarter of her glass to prove a point. “This was so good too. I’ll get some more tomorrow.”

Westlie watched her flounder for a minute, quietly pleased and probably as happy as Morgan was earlier, if less verbose. She finally sat up, pulling her legs from over the edge and crossing them. It took her a minute to get settled but she managed. She was sitting with her sister in her new favorite place in London. It was definitely impossible to be happier. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned and rested her head on Morgan’s shoulder. Her sister stiffened for a minute before sighing. “... maybe I should have only got one bottle.”

“Shut up. I’m enjoying myself.”

Morgan shut up.

They sat in happy silence for some indeterminate amount of time. Westlie felt Morgan finish the last of her glass, and she slowly reached a quarter of her own glass as her limbs felt more and more unwieldy.

“Wes?”

“Hm.”

Morgan leaned against her a little and Westlie felt her drop her defenses. “Do you... remember stuff from when we were little?”

It depended. Some of Westlie’s memory felt like she’d intentionally wiped it. She assumed Morgan meant for birthdays though and Westlie could in fact remember a time when Relia had the bright idea of doing something in her children’s lives. Westlie remembered a few parties; big, extravagent, expensive things with four additional screaming children and a lot of well-dressed adults. There’d been dress-making for the occasion. Westlie remembered sitting in the dining hall feeling incredibly lost within several folds of now somewhat old-fashioned pettycoats and a bunch of green ribbons and lace trim. Had she wanted red? She closed her eyes and frowned. She had wanted red. Relia had laughed at her opinion. Green goes with your hair dear, it has to be green. You’ll look like a fat apple otherwise. ...She’d only been five maybe and Westlie had still taken offense to that. Westlie snorted a little and opened her eyes to stare at London and escape the sudden feeling of claustrophobia. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Was I seven when we stopped doing them..? Do you remember?”

“Six.”

“Huh.”

Morgan’s last birthday party had been her sixth. Westlie remembered because there had been six candles on the cake and one of the few invited children (who neither Westlie nor Morgan knew, they were just the children of the adults invited) pulled it out of the cake and sucked on it. Relia went into a fit of hysterics, smacked the other child, and told the maid to throw out the cake entirely since it was now officially ruined. The adult party went on like normal but there was the sullen, soggy memory of sitting in the room next door listening to chatter dressed in some inane floofy dress looking like a mockery of Relia’s lace drapes while three other children, one crying because they got smacked, sat across the room staring with wide uncertain eyes.

Drunken Westlie laughed a little at how stupid it was. “Do you remember?”

“Just the dresses.” Morgan picked up her wine glass like she needed another sip after experiencing something she didn’t like, saw it was empty and turned it upside down for any last drops. It was, officially, quite empty. “Stars, I hated those dresses. I felt like an idiot.”

“You looked like an idiot.” Morgan snorted and bounced her shoulder so Westlie smacked her cheek and had to steady herself on the walkway before leaning on her again. “Heyy-”

“How did you even remember the date? You were eight.”

“Birthdays are more important when you’re younger.” Westlie couldn’t actually remember how she did it. Maybe she wrote it down? But it just seemed so big and important and after that fiasco there was a bit of bitterness at Relia and she figured even she could do better - which, in fact, she could, because next year Westlie just put Morgan in the garden with a sparkly firecracker she’d found on the docks and no seven-year-old squealed harder. That was probably how she remembered, actually; December 17th was marked with Morgan’s happy carefree laughter.

“I’m glad she stopped.” Morgan hesitated, shifting away and Westlie had to straighten up. “Otherwise, well, we couldn’t have done this.” She gestured out to the wilderness and London in the distance. “Can you imagine having to attend something like that every year?”

“There’d be people.” Westlie glanced at her. “And alcohol at this point. There’d be, what?  A fifty percent chance you like it?”

Morgan made a face. “Not the same thing. The house would be full of idiots, and I couldn’t pick a single one. You know, they’d probably try to matchmake at the same time too.”

Both sisters simultaneously shuddered.

Westlie took another drink. “I suppose we should be grateful to that one little shit who got slapped then.” She raised her glass sarcastically. “To the one who got slapped. Wherever you are.”

Morgan snorted. “Fuck that kid. Who pulls out a candle before you cut the cake anyway.”

Westlie raised her glass, the motion twice as sarcastic. “And to avoiding stupid children.”

Her sister chuckled and leaned back, they settled into a dull sort of silence, slightly different from the one before. Morgan finally turned and glanced at her. “I like the way we do it now, when we remember them.”

“Mailing random shit and praying it reaches you in time?”

“Well, that too; I... like the things you send me.”

Westlie snorted a little and took a drink. “You don’t have to say that. I just pick whatever seems more applicable at the time.”

“No, I- I do. And I hope you like- this.” Morgan gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean, I just found it. It’s not exciting or particularly useful-”

“Morgan-” Westlie finished her glass and something in her drunken head decided that was enough of her sister talking. She set the glass down and leaned over, grabbing Morgan and yanking her closer so they were side by side. Morgan yelped. “You traveled back to me for two weeks, brought me to the prettiest place in London where it’s quiet as sin, and then got me shit-faced.” Westlie hugged her sister as tight as she could, resting her cheek on her shoulder in a cheesy imitation of Morgan’s earlier embrace. “It’s perfect.”

Morgan melted a little in her grasp rather than stiffening in startled uncertainty and Westlie felt her pull a hand free to gently touch her nose. It was true. Everything in the world was absolutely perfect. Maybe thirty seconds later, when Westlie hadn’t moved, Morgan gave a little smile. “... You’re so drunk.”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s go home.”

They stood up and Westlie groaned a little as the world swirled around her, but she was too happy to care. “No rooftops please.”

Morgan reattached the bucket lid and promptly kicked it over the edge of the railing. It flew into the wastes, pulled some interesting gravitational twists, then settled below them. “Oh she of little faith. I hath planned for this and have prepared a shortcut.”

Westlie rolled her eyes and gestured sarcastically to the mushroom forest behind them. “You first.”

“Don’t you need help walking?”

Westlie had to think about that for a second. “I’ve been worse. ... I’m offended you think I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Uhuh.” ... If she could fully make out Morgan’s face after standing so quickly it would probably be disbelieving and unimpressed. “Wes, I hate to break it to you, but I got the good looks and the superior liver.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and slung Westlie’s arm over her shoulder. ... it was, in fact, easier to walk that way and Westlie sighed as the still-sober part of her brain was appropriately mortified. Tonight it was alright, tonight was justifiable, but never again. Two glasses and capped.

Morgan did know a quicker route though, even though it was shrouded in shadow. It had taken almost thirty minutes over the rooftops but this time within fifteen minutes they were in greyish alleys (rather than the pitch black of the outskirts) that Westlie was more familiar with. They chatted quietly, Morgan about some inane tale of cider and welcomes and a lovely little oasis in the Reach and Westlie about changes within Fairweather’s fleet. Westlie’s balance improved halfway through too as muscle memory took over. When they were back to the garden she just corrected herself occasionally with a few fingers on Morgan’s arm.

They climbed back up the rope to her room and Westlie groaned, sinking happily against the wallpaper and sliding to the floor. “That was the best and the worst. I’m not going to be able to look you in the eye in the morning am I?”

Morgan pulled her to her feet and shoved her in the direction of the bed. “Don’t be melodramatic. You’re not blackout drunk.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re not yelling about shitty wealthy women who come into the shop and demand assistance.” Westlie yelped as she got spun around and Morgan deftly untied her corset. “I would have stopped you before you got to that point anyway.”

“Liar. You would have egged me on.” Westlie could definitely remember one or two times when she’d felt like going balls to the wall and Morgan did absolutely nothing except hand her shot after shot. They both woke up in the back of the shop ten hours later with both doors barricaded and a shittily scribbled order for 30 boxes of hours, a box of sunlight, 3 caskets of prisoners honey, a jar of red honey, and “some bees”.

Some bees.

She wiggled out of the corset, threw it at the wall, and kicked off her shoes while Morgan waited. “No defense?”

There was a blinding coy grin. “Nah, you’re probably right.”

Westlie snorted and rolled under the covers back to her rightful, proper place in bed. Stars, it felt so good, especially after the wastes. She groaned and balled herself up, opening an eye to glance at Morgan. “You motherfucker. Tore me away from this incredible bed.”

Morgan broke down and laughed. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

“A warm, comfortable idiot.”

Her sister narrowed her eyes, and Westlie could almost see the calculations running. She half sat up, “No no don’t you-” Morgan leapt and belly-flopped a second time on the bed, making Westlie wheeze in pain. “I hate you so much.”

“You were too comfortable.”

“I hate you so much.”

Morgan grinned and curled beside her. “Remember when we used to sleep together?”

“Don’t you dare try to take my bed away from me too.”

“Oh, and what are you going to do? Fight me?”

“... I’m too fucking drunk to banter with you, Morgan.”

“Exactly.” She tossed up the end of the covers and hopped in bed like the little devil she was. Westlie groaned.

“I never win, do I?”

“Not even on your birthday.” Morgan curled up too. She could feel her sister pull the covers over her head and heave a contented sigh. ... that’s right, bitch. My bed is comfortable.

“You can stay for five minutes. I’m twenty-six, I like my bed, and you kick when you’ve been drinking.”

“Hmkay.”

There were a few minutes of silence until Morgan rolled over and Westlie felt her staring at her back. “Wes.”

“What?”

“I’m glad I don’t remember.”

“Remember...?”

“Those birthdays. You know, the early ones.”

Westlie let out a quiet huff of agreement, even though she didn’t know how to respond. Morgan felt small behind her back and she didn’t know how to comfort her or if she needed to.

“But I remember the firecracker in the garden and that time you snuck me onto the dreadnaught.” Westlie smiled into the covers. That was a good memory. Morgan giggled. “And the one time you took me to the pub and you finally got me wasted after 7 sovereigns.”

Westlie had been so pissed at losing close to a month’s pay, but there was inherent satisfaction at being dead sober and watching a newly-christened 16-year-old Morgan screech zee shanties at the top of her lungs, dancing on their table in the corner. That was also a good memory. She rolled over to face her sister and gently tap her nose.

“And there was the time we went to The Racehorse and we had caviar.”

That was a questionable memory. When they were done eating, Morgan slipped away from Westlie’s gaze, somehow put on a server’s suit, and snuck out of the restaurant with a 300-sovereign 1945 surface whiskey. Westlie distinctly remembered reading about it in the paper two days later where there was a 100 sovereign reward if it was found. Morgan then paid a homeless man to turn in the empty bottle to see if she could tease out the reward, only he was immediately thrown into prison. Westlie didn’t want to know if her sister ever broke him out again or not.

“And you sent me that book on triskelegants.” Morgan peered from under the covers with only her eyes showing and Westlie vaguely wondered if she was trying to hide embarassment. “When we do get to celebrate, it’s always good. So... I’m glad I don’t remember anything else.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say so she just touched the tip of her nose again softly and held it there, hoping she could convey everything that filled her head. You’re so untouched; you’re like a cloud. Nobody brings you down. I want you to fly. I wish I were you because you always know what to say. I wish I were you because somehow nothing ever happens to you. I’ve never given you enough. I would give anything to make sure you stay free. I would give you the shirt off my back. I would give you the whole world. Lean on me; I will always fight for you. “...I miss you when you’re gone,” Westlie finally picked.

Morgan’s eyes gave the hint of a sparkle from the covers. “... Why do you think I always tell you not to miss me too much?”

“God you are insufferable.”

Morgan laughed.

“You’re the fucking worst. When do you leave again? I take it all back I won’t miss you at all.”

“Aw, is Westlie bitter I’m right?” 

“Wipe that smile off your face or I’ll peel it off for you.”

Morgan grinned. “I leave tomorrow; maybe the day after. Don’t worry, you won’t get me for long.”

Westlie groaned, rolling over onto her back so she didn’t have to look at that cheeky smile. “You know, I try to have a moment with you and you fucking ruin it like that.”

Morgan hesitated, then Westlie heard a slightly frustrated, but somewhat repentant sigh. “... Alright alright. ... It’s your birthday.”

“I’d love if you were nice on days other, in fact, than my birthday as well.”

“Absolutely not.” The coy grin was back, but it was a little softer now. She wasn’t inviting a fight, just responding how she did best, and Westlie sighed. 

“Anyway, I’m glad you only remember them. I want... our memories to make you happy.”

Morgan’s look softened into comfortable warmth and in the brief period of silence Westlie tried to commit it to memory. She leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together with a brief sly smile. It seemed like something a sweet, kind, real mother would do. In her drunken logic brain she wasn’t sure if she were trying to mock it or imitate it. She tried to make it exude warmth. “Please be careful on your next trip.”

Morgan snorted softly, still smiling. “I promise nothing.” There was a pause. “Westlie, I-” she hesitated for a long thirty seconds and Westlie knew that feeling of wanting to say something, but it not coming easy. “-I... miss you too.”

Westlie pulled back and smiled the warmest smile she could, hoping it said everything else. “Be safe,” she squeezed Morgan’s hands. “Come home to me, so we can do this again. ...Maybe I’ll take you out next time and get you absolutely sloshed.”

Morgan nodded with a soft happy look. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do.”

After a few more loving moments it was like a switch flipped and Morgan pushed herself up on her elbow, gently tapping Westlie’s nose before slipping out of the bed. “Goodnight, Wes.”

“Goodnight. ... Or good morning.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t even give me that. You’re such a whiner.”

Westlie curled under the covers, grinning, still relishing the soft warmth of the exchange. From habit, she flipped Morgan off and her sister laughed as she shut the door. 

#westlie #morgan #the adventures of the pyrrhus #adventures of the pyrrhus #the crew of the pyrrhus #pyrrhus #sunless skies #skyfarer rpg #whew boi did not intend another 7k but I love how it came out #I'm going to write another sappy ending as fanservice for myself but this is the canon one I think #or you know #as canon as my own blatant fanfic is #the only real thing to take from this is relia is the dumbest fucking mother ever #like #_so stupid_ #I cannot stress enough #as cruel as arthur is; relia is equally stupid #which is why neither westlie or morgan give a shit about her #I genuinely think those birthday parties are like 40% #of all the relevant interactions they've had with her. She's like a ghost who lives in the house doing her own thing on her own time #and if westlie passes her #she gives her an oh hello dear and that's relia's interaction with her daughter for another week