#other carbs will work in a pinch though

[harmonictechnicality]

Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #I should've been writing for either of my two wip but nope #I made this instead lol #I had domestic steddie on the brain and the only solution was to write them a strange little grocery scene

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 20

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: We get a it pissy, Flashback- nudity, female nipples, A dick gets touched a wee bit. Edit: **Yes, I got the chapter number wrong again...Fixed it **

AN:It's getting hot in here! Chapter warning- Our flashback finally has both nipples and dicks. Well, a dick. Very short mention of light foreplay and dirty talk. The flashback isn't long enough to be of anything more than once again blueballing readers. How long do you think I can do this before you actually get to the smut?

On a little more serious note, Kit is struggling. I'm sorry for anything that comes from me that is more unhinged than is normal though at this point, more unhinged than is normal is becoming the normal.

Masterlist Kofi AO3

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Mia woke warm and comfortable. It wasn’t how she usually woke. She tended to blast the AC at night or crack open the window during the winter. Anything to get it cold while she fell asleep. It was always something she regretted in the morning though when she had to drag herself from bed but the contrast of being warm and cozy under the blankets and the cold air in the room made for the best sleep.

This was something she could get used to, she decided as arms tightened around her. She had no business thinking that though. Tom traveled much for his career, even if they had managed to work out for real, how often would she get to wake up with him, tucked into his arms like this? 

They didn’t fall asleep in this position. They never did. More often than not in their short time together, she went to bed before Tom did. He often had late night calls and business to attend to thanks to the time difference but every morning she had woken in his arms and slipped herself free. 

Their life was quickly setting into a weird sense of normal. It was happening faster than she had been prepared for. They were strangers, friends and spouses all at the same time, changing with the fleeting moments. It felt like they were strangers less and less though.

Mia would wake up too early and make breakfast for her and Sally. Tom would wake shortly after and go down to the complex gym where he would run. Running was something Mia never really seemed to enjoy but Tom would spend quite some time running every morning. 

He needed to stay fit for his next project, he had told her. Running was something he enjoyed regardless but for his character he needed to be lean and fit. It was far easier for him to maintain the physique rather than let it slip and have to play physical catch up. 

Pinching at her belly, Mia knew it wouldn’t hurt her to join him. She could stand to drop some weight. It was just a matter of time before she was face to face with how horrible people can be when talking about women’s bodies. If she had a flat stomach, maybe they would have less to pick at. 

Who was she kidding? They would find something. They always did and she liked carbs too much. Plus, she had grown a whole ass child. No matter what she did, she didn’t think she’d have that flat stomach of her teens back again. 

After Tom had his morning run, he would come back for a shower and a light breakfast. An egg, some toast and fruit usually was what he would have. Mia would sometimes have it ready for him when he came back up but other times she lost track of time and he made it for himself without complaint. 

Every time he came back though, he would greet her with an arm around her waist and a squeeze of his hand on hers. It was a greeting she began to look forward to every morning. 

Mia sat at the table, plate of pancakes and eggs in front of her. Sally was across from her and they were practicing spelling ‘Sally’ and writing Mia’s phone number on a dry erase board as they ate. 

Sure, it would be quicker and easier to eat then practice, one task at a time but Sally was in a learning mood. Mia had long ago learned that when a child wanted to learn, you took advantage of that for as long as you could. 

Ride that wave while it lasted. 

Once Sally had these things down, Mia would start teaching their address. In handful of weeks Sally would be starting kindergarten and Mia wanted her to be as prepared as she could be going into it. 

“What do you want for your birthday?” Mia asked as Sally finished writing her phone number again. 

“Someone’s got a birthday coming up?” Tom asked from the doorway. His hair was dark with water from the shower still and sticking up in every direction from being towel dried. Mia had yet to get used to seeing him like that, tee shirt clinging lightly to his still slightly damp chest in places. 

“In two days!” Sally was great about not annoying people wit her upcoming birthdays. 

Mia had always been thankful for that but it also made her feel guilty. They never had the money to go big. Birthdays were always small affairs with little homemade cakes and dollar store toys. If Mia was lucky, she could get one or two quality toys. Ashley would pull through usually with something that wouldn’t break in two weeks. 

“Well, what are you doing for your birthday?” Tom asked, focused intently on the small girl that had unexpectedly became a part of his life. 

“I want a pool party!” Sally had seen a birthday pool party in a show and she had talked about off and on since. Mia had hoped that she had forgotten. 

“Well, if that’s what the birthday girl wants, that’s what she’ll get!” Tom loved birthdays. His sister had warned him against becoming over eager plenty of times when it came to things for her own children. “What is the birthday girl going to want for her birthday?”

“A pony!” Mia cringed back. Sally was treating it like a game. She probably thought it was. Mia was terrified however that Tom would take the request seriously.

“Do you even know how to ride a pony?” Tom leaned forward and raised an eyebrow dramatically.

Please be joking. Please be joking. Mia wasn’t sure there was a graceful way to jump in if he wasn’t joking. 

“Noooo.” Sally giggled. 

“Have you ever even touched a pony?” Tom asked, lowering the eyebrow and raising the other. It was comical and Mia couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

Please don’t buy her a pony. Please, Please, do not by her a fucking pony. 

“Nooo.” Sally giggled harder. 

“Well maybe a pony would be something to work up to.” Tom leaned back and put his eyebrows back where they belonged. “But who knows what birthday miracles may happen.”

~~~~~<3

Mia waited for Tom outside of Sally’s door. At least for the time being, Tom was the requested guest star of bedtimes and Mia had been pushed aside. Sure, she could have felt jealous or threatened by it but she instead relished in the help. 

She was tired from working her shift. Her feet hurt and the dress was uncomfortable but she made it home just in time for bedtime. She gave her hug and kisses and goodnights but Sally wanted the bedtime story from Tom and Tom alone once again. 

Mia tried not to worry about how Sally would cope with things when Tom left again. It would be time to take him to the airport again before they knew it. She wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Sally would miss him. Mia would miss the help greatly. 

Mia would miss him greatly too.

Tom being there meant she didn’t have to pay for a babysitter, though this was the first day he was on his own without Gretchen relieving him for part of the day or supervising. He had insisted he was fine with watching Sally while he was there.

He reminded her again and again that he was her step father, even if Sally didn’t know that yet. It was a job he insisted he took seriously and so far, it seemed that he did. He had all but begged her to trust him and begrudgingly, she did. 

“Good Night.” Tom said, stepping out of the door and closing it behind him, nearly walking into Mia. “Oh-” 

“Do not buy her a pony.” 

Tom laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist. Mia didn’t find anything funny though she let him lead her away from the door and toward the couch. Bare feet padded along as she waited for Tom to say anything. 

“I mean it Tom, don’t buy her a pony.” 

“I’m not going to buy her a pony.” Tom said as he sat down on the couch. He made an effort to pull her down with him but she stood ridged. “What’s wrong.” 

“Tom, I am her mother.” 

“I know that.” 

“Then do not make birthday plans or promises or anything without clearing it with me first.” 

“But I-”

“Do you even know if she’s got friends to invite to a pool party? Who would show up? Or the logistics of planning a kid’s birthday party? I don’t know if they’re done differently in England but they’re a fucking nightmare here.” 

“I’m sorry, I-”

“We don’t have anyone to invite. Let alone on short notice. Do not put some grand party ideas in her head when I can’t deliver on that and even if you can, who’s to say if I can next year. Or the year after. She is my daughter and we have our ways of doing things.”

“Okay.” Tom raised his hands up in submission. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I got excited is all.” 

“Good.” Mia didn’t know what else to say. She was still angry, she’d spent most of her shift fuming about it and worrying about what other promises are being made without her being there to intercept it. “Good.”

“What can I do to fix it?” Tom tugged at her hand, urging her to sit with him. 

“Just keep it small. And ask first.”

He noticed then that she was still wearing the short cocktail dress that was her uniform. Her legs were on full display. She wasn’t particularly tall however the length of the skirt did wonders at highlighting the length and shape of her legs. “Why haven’t you changed yet?”

“I was distracted.” 

“By your need to yell at me?” Tom joked. 

“Yes.” She huffed. 

“Go change. Then you can yell at me more from something more comfortable, if you want.”

~~~~~<3

Mia changed out of the reveling dress in the closet with the door shut behind her. It was silly, they were married and yet she she was still shy around him. He was a attractive man who could have and did have actresses and she was everyday normal. 

She slipped on a pair of athletic shorts that were used for sleep far more than they were used for working out. It was just a matter of time before her metabolism came crashing down and she’d have to start working out or learn to again love, well- like, her changing body.

For now, walking miles on the casino floor in four inch heels and skipping her mid shift meal to avoid the bloat in the dress worked together to keep her weight within what she felt was acceptable. 

Just because she thought it was acceptable didn’t mean she was ready to expose a sober Tom to every little bulge, sag and stretch mark that came with having grown a child. She’d seen pictures of the woman he had dated before her, she was too weak to resist looking. She was fit and trim and tall and fucking beautiful. 

That was the sort of woman men like Tom looked good with. They were the kind of women men like Tom liked. They belonged on red carpets and in magazines. 

Mia threw out her insecurities as best she could while she threw her bra in the hamper. She hated the feeling of taking it off. It did a great job of supporting her breasts that had never really recovered from a near year of breastfeeding. She had no other way to explain it but that they felt deflated, empty but with a good bra, they were pretty damn nice still. 

She slipped on a oversized Tshirt and pulled her largely deflated curls into a messy pony tail. With a overnight shift coming up tomorrow, she had enlisted Tom to help keep her awake so that she’d sleep in. 

~~~~~<3

~~~~~<3

Tom folded over her as she ran her fingers up his chest, taking in the feeling of his muscles as they moved. His head swam as he took her nipple into his mouth again. Tugging, pulling and licking, he teased delicate moans from her throat. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he kissed his way up to her neck.

Her back arched under him as he ran his fingers up and down her sides. Each breath she took caused her nipples to brush against his chest. 

“I want you.” She pleaded as she blindly worked his buckle open. “Please.” 

She was like an animal pawing to get to some vital resource. It took far longer than she wanted to get the belt free. Tom grew impatient and uncomfortable with waiting and yanked it free himself. 

As he tossed it behind him, she palmed him through his pants. She moaned at the feeling and it would be a lie to say he didn’t take satisfaction in that. He wasn’t a poorly endowed man by any means, he knew that but having a woman moan at the feel alone was a great complement. 

“Please.” Oh, he liked hearing her beg for him. 

He also liked the feeling of her fingers wrapping around him. He hadn’t noticed when she had gotten his trousers unbuttoned, let alone unzipped but good god, her fingers felt good wrapped around his shaft. 

“Let me get these off.” 

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller @alexakeyloveloki @jennyggggrrr @dangertoozmanykids101 @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom @kats72 @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @soulpiercing @evedia @princess-ofthe-pages

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x original character #Tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic

[spooniechef]

The Dinner Diaries Days 9-11 - Meat Tips

The last few days haven't exactly been massively exciting in terms of menu stuff. In fact, Monday and Tuesday were pretty much one meal of "heated-up meat, some carbs, something that qualifies as a vegetable" supplemented with fruit smoothies. Today was the tuna broccoli lemon pasta (I finally remembered to go pick up some tinned tuna), so that'll keep me going a little. Just I figured I'd mention a couple of tips and tricks when it comes to meat. I'm sure a lot of this is stuff everyone knows, but ... I didn't know this stuff once, so maybe it'll find someone who needs to know.

Steak: Well, specifically rump steak (other cuts are a whole different beast in some respects, but rump steak is cheaper) but apparently this goes for more or less all red meat. Main thing - let it reach room temperature before cooking. Apparently this helps it cook more evenly. Also, if you spice the steak while it's resting to room temperature, the spices have more time to flavour up the meat. On the subject, one of my favourite things to do with a rump steak for flavouring is to leave it to rest to room temperature in a shallow dish, sprinkled with some garlic salt, some onion powder, a little pinch of celery salt, little bit of dried chilli flakes, and a splash of lemon juice. I'm not sure why lemon seems to enhance chilli, but it does, and that little bit of heat will seep into the steak really well. If you're frying it (which is generally how I do it), heat the pan to very hot but not smoking before putting the steak on - that'll sear the steak and keep it juicy on the inside. Honestly, I figure most of this stuff works for all red meats. As for cooking times, I'm not exactly an expert, because I like my steaks very, very "are we sure they're not a vampire?" rare. I leave them a few minutes per side at most.

Chicken: I'm talking quarter-chicken - thigh and drumstick, still attached to each other, skin on. I'm good at roasting a whole chicken, but I got the general vibe of it from roasting chicken legs on their own. The thing about resting the meat to room temperature before cooking holds true here as well, for pretty much the same reasons. In this case, it's more that whatever salt you're putting in your seasoning mix will permeate the skin and make it nice and crispy - similar principle to making crackling (it's a roast pork thing; I'll handle that one another time). Similar blend, too, though I find the lemon-and-chilli thing a bit overpowering with chicken if not brining it. So I generally stick with garlic salt, onion powder, and a little bit of season-all. Just put it in the oven at about 400F (I generally do 200C fan assist, for those working in celcius) for maybe 15 minutes. If you want to check and don't want to use a meat thermometer, find a small, thin knife and jab it deep into the thickest part of the thigh. If the juices run clear, it's okay to take out. If not, leave it in another few minutes. One of the good bits about the skin being crispy is that it's just another way of searing the meat; not as much moisture escapes so you're not in too much danger of overcooking it if you leave it in a few minutes longer than you need to.

That's basically been the it and all of it - it actually took longer to think about how to describe the tips I used the last couple of days than it did to use them. I do this stuff so often now that I don't even think about it. (Honestly, that was a gripe an ex of mine had with me; he wanted me to tell him how I made his favourite dishes and I gave him so many generalities when he wanted specifics. I measure that shit with my heart, is all.)

Anyway, tomorrow's probably going to be largely about the leftovers, but I'm about to round off today's 'being busy' with making chocolate chip cookie dough from a recipe I found on Gluten Free On A Shoestring. I don't generally post recipes here until I know they actually work, and the dough needs to chill for at least twelve hours, so I'm going to make that now with a view to having at least one mini-break from my work-from-home job involve putting cookies in the oven and maybe rewarding myself for the bullshit my workplace is putting me through right now. I'll keep you posted.

#the spoonie chef #tips and tricks

[pudgecuddles]

Okay but. Star Trek AU where NJ is the captain of the USS Bulletproof, a diplomatic starship on a mission to offer peace to foreign planets.

In this world, everyone eats nutrition cubes. Brightly colored, low carb, zero sugar cubes of plant material. The amount per serving calculated exactly to the individual passenger’s caloric needs.

One day, the ship encounters a merchant ship stranded in space. Taking the alien in, they are paid for their good deed with ancient earth information. Menus salvaged from old greasy diners…

Ever the curious mind, Namjoon enlists mechanic Yoongi to help him unlock the unused meal replication function of the cube creator.

After Yoongi took some time inputting the information from the menu, Namjoon ordered the item called a “Cheeseburger”.

Ignoring Yoongi’s warnings, Namjoon takes a bite of the strange meal and instantly takes another. And another. Before he knows it, the sandwich is gone and he’s ordering another.

Yoongi can only watch as his captain becomes addicted to the fatty food in real time. Any protest that passed his lips was brushed off, and any attempt to shut off the machine was met with official orders not to.

Months pass, and not a single officer can recall what their caption looks like without a carton of fries, a milkshake or a triple cheeseburger in his grease covered hands. Soon enough, Namjoon finds himself struggling to fit into his uniform.

Not a problem though, he’d just order a new one. Problem solved, right? It was just shrunk in the wash. Or maybe it was switched with Jimin’s uniform, he thought ignoring the fact that the number of stripes on the shoulders said otherwise…

You see, in this future, no one ever gained weight. It is literally unheard of. A rumor at best. So the fact that the crews captain seemed to be growing wider around the middle, and maybe even a little bit everywhere was concerning if not medically confounding!

Medical officer Hoseok finally had enough. Ordering his captain to the Med Bay, he gives the younger man a full physical.

Baffled by the soft pudge now covering every inch of his captain, Hoseok pinched and groped at the flesh. Shaking it only to watch it wobble even after letting go.

Scratching his head, Hoseok concluded that Namjoon was free of illness, parasites, poisoning, and even alien influence… His body just seemed to be expanding at an alarming rate!

“The only thing I can think of is those new cubes you’re eating…” Hoseok trailed off, staring as his captain sucked at the odd opaque tube Namjoon called a “straw”. Apparently, a thick liquid flowed up it and into Namjoon’s mouth. An ingenious device, admittedly. He wondered if it would work with water or if it’s function was exclusive to these “milkshakes”.

“I guess?” Namjoon pulled his lips off the straw with a loud pop, prodding at his drooping belly. “I mean, I only started… growing… after I added ‘fast food’ to my diet.”

Replaced, you mean… Hoseok mentally corrected. Neither he nor the rest of the officers had seen Namjoon so much as take a taste of a nutrition cube since he started eating cheeseburgers and fries.

Satisfied that their captain was okay, Hoseok’s concern faded into curiosity. When would the growth stop? Where would the softness go? Would there be an end to it? Or would his captain keep growing and growing?

And what was it about that fast food that made Namjoon go so crazy over it?

Sending Namjoon off with a clean bill of health, on the condition that he can keep eating as long as he writes down his measurements and other effects, Hoseok makes his way to the canteen… just a taste wouldn’t hurt would it?

#to be continued #hopefully #pudgeprompt #I have plans for NamSeokGi endgame #just got a sudden burst of inspiration

[ishikaskinny]

If you really want to lose weight… no matter what.

Immediately cut all sugar.

Immediately cut all carbs.

Immediately cut all alcohol.

Eat nothing but meat and eat a lot of it. You can add a few veggies like onions or garlic or peppers for flavor and that’s fine.

Eat twice a day. A small a lunch and a big dinner. Within 6 hours of each other. So if you start lunch at noon, finish dinner no later than 6.

Drink lots of water.

Get some electrolytes from a water additive or zero calorie sports drink.

Do a full body work out three times week, with at least one day between each work out (to recover).

Sit in a sauna every day for 20 to 45 minutes at 160+ degrees (as long as you can stand it but don’t make yourself sick).

If you did all that, you’d lose weight and look slimmer.

It’s not sustainable.

As soon as you start living like a normal person again, you’ll gain it back.

But that will work in a pinch.

(Though to be fair, some athletic people live *kinda* like this everyday… but if this is all totally new to you, you’re almost certain to rebound after 2 weeks.)

#i wanna be small #low cal restriction #ana trigger #i wish i was thinner #tw ana thoughts #skinnnny #tw disordered eating #tw ed in the tags #tw ed relapse #ed vent #ed fast #tw ed vent #tw ana diary #ana rules

[heartslogos]

outtakes [73]

“I’m not sure if this counts as exotic food,” Xingqiu says as he scans through the menu. “Yun-er, will you be alright?”

“He’ll be fine, it’s not like it’s spicy,” Xiangling points out, pressing her knuckles to her lower lip as she examines the menu like it contains the secrets to some ancient mystery. “Mondstadt cuisine is more mild than anything I serve up. If anything he can have the steak.”

“All of this looks like heart disease,” Chongyun says. “Is that an egg and a slice of cheese on top of the steak? I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want to come here with the rest of the group.”

“The restaurant’s logo is a cow with the butcher lines drawn on it, if that wasn’t your major clue as to why this place isn’t general group friendly I have to say that I’m glad you didn’t pursue a career as a police officer or detective like you wanted to when we were kids.”

“But seriously, I can’t believe you asked us — do you want to go to an exotic restaurant? And we said yes, and you took us to a steak and burger place. A pricey one with excellent decor and from the looks of things a well put together menu. But still. I can’t believe you called this exotic.”

“If you’re from a country that frequently gets the label of being exotic then it’s only fair for you to turn around and point the word back at the people who’re calling you exotic to start with,” Xiangling says. “If you’re what’s exotic to other people they should only consider it reasonable for you to say the same about them.”

“I have an honest question,” Chongyun says, closing his menu and setting it to the side.

“Yeah?”

“Is there any point to Xingqiu and me looking at these menus? Is it just the illusion of choice? Because I have a feeling that you already know exactly what you want to try and what you want us to order for you to also try. This place doesn’t do family style.”

“If you felt very strongly about wanting to try something on this menu who am I to stop you?” Xiangling says. “But yeah. I do have thoughts on what I want to try on this menu and which items I’m going to have you order. I also like to think that after all these years together, in which I spent a lot of the feeding you, I know your tastes so what I picked shouldn’t be too off the mark. As long as the person cooking these is as good as the reviews and current amount of people here seem to suggest.”

“Are we getting appetizers for the table?” Xingqiu asks, still browsing his menu. “Didn’t Ganyu make these? I remember Yanfei complaining that the house kept smelling like pine.”

“Ah, the hashbrowns? Yeah, Jiejie made some with Xiao-ge. Ge gave all of his share to Aether and Aether and I talked about it in a post carb review session. They weren’t half bad. Interesting choice of oil. We aren’t ordering that tonight though. If you really want it I can make it for you some other time.”

“So in your mind, what have we already ordered?” Chongyun puts his arm over the back of the padded booth seat, leaning in towards Xingqiu as he peers at the page Xingqiu is on. “No drinks. I’m not carrying you back into our apartment again and you aren’t going to convince A-Xiang to carry you, either.”

“Just one couldn’t hurt,” Xingqiu says. “Here, this one’s juice.”

“It’s called Wolfhook Juice, I don’t think that’s an actual fruit. What fruit makes juice that purple?”

“It’s a real fruit; it kind of looks like a purple dragonfruit. Different texture and a lot less seeds,” Xiangling says. “Order it, I’m getting the Berry and Mint Burst. Alright for appetizers we’re getting Satisfying Salad and a Mushroom Pizza. Yun-er, I’m relying on you to be our pinch hitter to finish all of this. I hope you had a good work out earlier today.”

“I feel like you only ever want me around for my body,” Chongyun says, immediately following up with, “Xingqiu, shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“For mains I’m ordering Northern Apple Stew with a side of potato salad. Chongyun, you’re ordering the Sticky Honey Roast which comes with a side of sauerkraut. Xingqiu, you’re getting a Sunshine Sprat. We’ll all share a Moon Pie.”

“All I’m hearing here is protein, protein, protein. I feel like the work out I’ve already done doesn’t even come close to balancing out what you’re about to inflict on our bodies.”

“I’m not done yet. We’re also ordering Kartoffelpuffer.”

“Excellent, we're adding carbs and protein.”

“That’s what the salad and the pizza were for in the beginning,” Xiangling says, closing the menu with the same gravitas and finality of a judge banging a gavel. “Now, do we have our notepads and pencils so we can take notes on our impressions, overall feelings, and general observations?”

“Can I start by observing how this is going to end badly, feeling like I’m about to feel like bloated garbage, and the impression that I’m only along as a body count?” Chongyun asks, ignoring the elbow Xingqiu digs into his side.

“At least you’re here for your body. I’m here for my wallet,” Xingqiu points out. “Seriously, A-Xiang. Even with Chongyun I don’t know if we can finish all that.”

“It’s unlike you to quit before you even start, Xingqiu.”

“I just think you’re being too ambitious. We can break this up over multiple visits.”

Xiangling gives him a blank look. “What makes you think this is the only visit I have planned? Next time we come here it’s going to be for brunch and we’re going to try their sausage and cheese platters. And then I want us to do one of their afternoon specials which is for deserts and small snacks. And then we’ll do dinner again and we’ll try the beef and chicken Rouladen. I also want to try their Mondstadt Grilled Fish. I think they use bass. Oh, I also want us to try their roast chicken and the Golden Fried Chicken. The batter method they use here is supposed to use water instead of egg and I want to see how that turns out.”

“We need more people,” Xingqiu says.

“I need more time on the cardio machines,” Chongyun says and then pokes Xingqiu’s side. “And so do you. Xiangling’s going to be fine because she practically through the city every day but you have a desk job.”

#heartsfic #genshin impact

[perpetual-fool]

I guess I'm putting off confronting my feelings. It's really hard to focus on it. Which is sort of the problem.

- Random bullshit follows.

I didn't realize how much of a workout breathing could be. I'm trying to use my full lung capacity, or stretch it out? however that works. I'm breathing in as deeply as I possibly can, adjusting my posture to allow for it, and then holding it in as I relax. It hurts a little bit, like I've got a stitch in my side, but in various places. That might be what a stitch is, lungs stretching out or something. And it's just hard pulling everything open. Or, whatever's happening. But after doing it, suddenly I've got a lot more power and control of my voice. It seems to be analogous to using a bow correctly. And it feels good? Less so physically, but it's rewarding somehow, making progress or whatever. And I feel some kind of way about that. It feels like releasing some kind of tension, make me cry a little bit. Like, I don't get to feel good about things.

There's this stupid food thing. Context: heard a thing suggesting appetite is regulated by hormones made in your gut. And that would make some sense. I generally eat low-carb, which has been very effective, but I'm still fat. It didn't just solve all the problems. And previously I'd tried eating complex-carb, which was also starting to work before I starting thinking that eating *a little bit* of junk wouldn't be so bad. So, I'm trying muesli again; rolled oats with milk, essentially. And I like it. But the deal is, as a kid there were a whole lot of circumstances where I'd be dragged to family reunions or whatever, and the breakfast would be oatmeal. I fucking hate oatmeal. The texture is disgusting, all the cinnamon, sugar, and butter in the world really doesn't make up for it. But if they'd given me the same thing fucking raw I would have enjoyed it.

My tongue is getting cut on the back of my teeth. The two in the bottom front have been getting sharp and if my tongue get pinched between them it can make me bleed. Frankly, it kinda makes me want to kill myself. It's just another thing fundamentally wrong with that's going to make my life just that little bit worse, and there's nothing I can do about it. And it's one more sin god would have to answer for, if they existed. Update, I'm being more rough on the area with my floss picks and chunks of tartar are falling off. Which means (aside from me being overdue for a cleaning), that the problem is fixable, and that my previous dentist was incompetent.

The calluses on my fingers seem weird. Like, with bass I end up mostly using my index finger and pinky, so my middle two fingers are still pretty soft. And it seems like I should be spreading out the 'wear'. But that's just not really how it works? I mean, it seems like the middle fingers would be the most effective for double stops or moving horizontally across the neck. Hypothetically I'd be doing more of that with more experience, but it still wouldn't be as much as I use the other fingers.

I'm reconsidering fifths tuning for bass. Like, fourths is good for scales and chords/arpeggios, but that's not really the role of a bass. And playing chords, the low notes don't mix anyway. Even playing a fifth sounds muddy. And while fifths would make the adjacent note (probably a third) hard to reach, the one *one octave up* is fine and blends a lot better anyway. And I still like the idea of symmetry with my viola. So ideally I'd want a five-string with a high E3, but I'm not sure that the high C3 that comes in six-string set could actually be tuned up that high. Though, I don't have a five-string bass yet so it's not really a concern at the moment. I wonder if I could just use a D3 guitar string? Although with the difference in scale length maybe I'd need a tuned down G3 instead; bass is ~8 inches longer. Aside, guitar strings are fucking cheap compared to bass strings. Wait, no, there's the.. binding? whipping? the thread or whatever wrapped around the ends of the strings, the strings are gonna be too short. I might need a custom string from Kalium or something. Wait wait, but aren't guitar strings way too long to begin with? Oh whatever, I'll just have to start trying things out.

I feel weird. I was bit lightheaded from the breathing earlier, apparently just breathing deeply is enough to make me hyperventilate. And I think I feel weird because of that, but maybe it could be from the muesli. I feel light, like it's easy to get up and move around. Like I have energy. And I'm not hungry. Usually I'm craving something, which I attribute to using food to cope with depression. But I'm still uncomfortably full from earlier. Right now I don't feel like I need anything. Other than sleep, last night wasn't great. And, ya' know, love and stuff. Anyway, this is a very significant improvement. Also, why the fuck?

(cw: suicide) Was idly thinking about getting banned from LW. I'm inclined to think they thought it was condescending due to social bullshit, despite how everyone keeps proving they don't understand the issue. Or that maybe it's more or less a religion and what I did was equivalent to walking into a church and being like "hey, have you considered that the concept of god is absurd and obviously wrong?". But I did believe in what I was doing, it seemed like the right thing to do. It followed learning that there is no one in this world I can connect with, and preceded plans for suicide. Sharing the thought might have been the only good I could do with my worthless life. It might have been like the deal with Morgan, that he thought that I believed everyone who doesn't agree with me is objectively wrong. Which is almost entirely completely backwards. I don't assume others are wrong, I assume I don't understand it and they know things I don't. Which goes all the way back to, well, religion. CoC pushes the guilt really hard, even after being 'saved'. So when I asked "how come we're not saved if we're saved?" they were like "well the Bible says 'fuck you'." Well, generally I assume I don't understand. In this case I was sure of the thing and assuming they honestly just didn't know. But I was considering, what "should" they have done? And I don't think there is anything. Sure, from my perspective it was all wrong and didn't make any sense. But the issue being, their perspective has nothing to do with me. Whatever they think I did and whoever they think I am just isn't real. And that's just a consequence of what they are, there's nothing I can do that would make anyone really understand. So, there isn't anything that 'should' have been done. And further, the same principle would apply to any of my interpersonal relationships. I keep thinking about what I could possibly say or do, like maybe if I wrote a heartfelt song about it then she'd at least know how I really feel. But there isn't anything I could do, that I should do. Frankly, they just don't have the hardware to really understand. I don't want to believe that. But I've tried everything, this is the only explanation I have. There's nothing I can do but let go. There's nothing I 'should' have done other than not be born.

Or like, I'm working out that on account of me being (I think) some flavor of demisexual, religion didn't just teach me that sexual attraction was evil, it taught me that romantic attraction was evil too. Which would explain why I was completely dysfunctional in that relationship, and possibly why I was not even a little bit equipped to deal with any of my feelings. But, it doesn't matter. If I tried to explain she'd just make something up anyway, like they always do. And I think, the reason I want it is because I need help getting through this. But so long as I need the help, I won't know exactly what it is that I need. So if I'm ever able to explain what I needed, then it will be because I don't need it anymore. So, doubly pointless, I guess. Aside, hypothetically, I would like someone to confirm what 'romantic' attraction is exactly. The feeling I know is like being intoxicated by the sight or presence of someone. And sometimes it's their body I find attractive, sometimes it's their face, sometimes their personality. And I feel like I 'want' them. Not in a possessive way, the idea of which makes me feel weird and uncomfortable, and seems morally wrong, and also.. profane? It feels like tying them down, restricting what they are in any way would be destroying the very thing that I want. But yeah, I want to 'experience' them somehow. Though I don't know specifically what that would entail. I wouldn't exclude sex as a possibility for that, but sex really isn't the point. Is that what 'romantic' is? And tangent, I would also like to know what 'platonic' means. I presume, ya' know, 'friendship'. But I don't really have any experiences to tell me what that is, on account of not being able to actually connect with anyone.

Apparently I'm gayer than I thought I was. I've always found masculine people to be implicitly threatening. But I've been feeling more secure about things lately, I guess. And I've been finding a wider range of people to be appealing or less off-putting.

In preparation for the fifths-bass that I don't have yet, I'm going to try playing each note with the next finger, the same way I'd do it on viola. So far it seems quite tiring and intonation would be more work. Essentially I have to shift for every single note. But then, I was already shifting every other note so it's not that big of a difference. And intonation was already a problem, it's not like I can just lay a finger down roughly behind the next fret. Nor is the instrument small enough that I can just squish my fingers together and be in the right place. But it feels freeing. As absurd and difficult as it seems to use violin-style fingering on something bigger than a cello, I feel like if I can learn to do it then.. I'm not sure how to phrase it. I feel like no fret/fingerboard will be beyond me. Though if it's too uncomfortable I might dial it back to cello/guitar fingering instead, one finger per 'fret'. Or maybe the whole idea is just naive. But something feels right about it. It's like instead of moving in steps I'm moving in rhythm. It's the same sort of thing as becoming proficient with a kitchen knife. When you start, you learn to pinch the knife with your right hand, hold the food in a claw with the left hand, and then guide the knife by resting it against your knuckle. Position the knife, chop, move the hand, reposition the knife, chop. But as it's committed to muscle memory it all blends together into a continuous cutting motion. As I slowly move my hand across, chop chop chop chop chop chop chop.

I have this weird thing. It's almost like, in my head, I only have one slot for the person I'm the most attached to. And I figure people would be insulted or something if they found out, but I get the names mixed up. For instance, currently I'm remembering something I hate myself for and reflexively feel bad about. But when I think "I'm sorry _" the name that comes to me is the person I care about most right now. For most of my life that person has been Stevie. But now, I’m thinking of something that happened with Stevie, and I'm thinking of Catherine instead.

(https://youtu.be/CFlhlZbeKgE)

[robinsteve]

honestly screaming is so needed right now how are we even supposed to cope?????

i think the appropriate solution is eating ungodly amounts of ritz crackers while staring at the computer screen, unmoving :)

#ritz crackers my beloved <3 #getting me through this tumultuous time #other carbs will work in a pinch though #I'm fond of potato chips #ty for sending!! #inbox #mayfixlds #st news #may 5th 2021 #st chatter #s4 chatter #** #txt #millie talks

[clareguilty]

Gabriel Reyes/reader, a/b/o and The Works™

this is the third kinktober prompt for this year!!!

Gabriel Reyes/fem!reader | a/b/o, marking, biting, praise, all that jazz Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~3000

Jack Morrison was getting another medal.

It was everyone’s favorite joke at high command. It seemed like no one wanted to implement any serious policy or sign an actual resolution in favor of giving the golden boy of the Omnic Crisis another fancy award.

So Jack had been stressing himself out all week trying to write an acceptance speech that wasn’t passive aggressive, and you spent too long picking out a formal gown, and Gabe had sat on Reinhardt’s desk laughing and stuffing his face with carbs and fruit because his rut was due next week.

Jack took the teasing in stride and managed to come up with a speech that wouldn’t outright offend the Prime Minster of Russia. Everyone piled into the jet to Moscow with a garment bag and a carryon and a strong cup of coffee at four am the day before the banquet.

This was normal for you. In a world after the omnic crisis, head of Overwatch’s reparations department and mated to the commander of Blackwatch. You found yourself flown across the world dozens of times a year for negotiations and assemblies and ceremonies.

You and Gabe strapped in next to each other on the jet. “I haven’t seen the dress you picked out,” he nodded his head to the garment bag.

“I guess it will just be a surprise,” you purred.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss you.

“It’s too early for this,” Ana groaned from across the aisle. Gabe shot her a toothy smile and made sure to nip at the shell of your ear. You smacked his leg and shoved him back into his own seat.

The hotel was a beautiful historic waterfront building just across the bridge from the Kremlin in the heart of the city. The five of you piled out of the black SUV that had escorted you from the airstrip and made your way inside.

The hotel manager greeted you as well as an official from the Kremlin. Jack was the main recipient of ass kissing and pleasantries, so you simply smiled and nodded and shook hands wherever necessary.

The suite was entirely too big and fancy for a two night’s stay. You and Gabe poked around for a bit, but there were no fun secrets. You took the sitting room, and Gabe set up at the desk in the bedroom as you both buckled down on your work for the day. Gabe had operatives in Bolivia he needed to check in with, and you had a meeting with representatives in London.

He found you a few hours later slumped in the armchair with your head in your hands.

“They still being stubborn?” he asked.

“They won’t budge on anything,” you groaned.

“Change into something casual. Let’s go out for a little bit.” He was already in a hoodie and dark jeans, beanie sticking out of the back pocket.

You nodded and went to find a sweater.

Gabe’s impromptu date night in Moscow turned out to be a lot of fun. Ana and Reinhardt came to meet you at a bar for a little bit, and the two of you wandered around the city until sundown.

The next day was more meetings and frustration until you had to get ready for the banquet. You and Gabe slipped past each other in and out of the bathroom as you showered and shaved and styled your hair and perfumed and moisturized.

You shimmied into the dress half an hour before the car was due to pick you up. It was slim and black, sleeveless with one band that crossed over your collarbone and shoulder. You frowned when you realized it covered your matebite, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Gabe grinned salaciously as he zipped you up, unable to resist leaning down and nuzzling into your neck. “Cool it.” You shoved him off with a giggle. “I have to make it through a whole ceremony and dinner.”

He pulled on his jacket and the two of you made your way downstairs to wait for the car.

For some reason, the event coordinators split you into three cars. Jack rode by himself, you and Gabe in one car, and Ana and Reinhardt in the last. They looked intimidating in their dress uniforms, and you felt kind of ditzy in your sexy cocktail dress next to three enormous well decorated Overwatch officers.

The ceremony was only slightly dull, and you clapped at all the right spots and pinched Gabe when he looked like he was zoning out too much.

Dinner was much more enjoyable. You had been seated with people you knew from other events and assemblies, so conversation flowed well. A string ensemble played and a few people got up to dance or mingle once they cleared their plates. You caught sight of a British Parliament member speaking with a small group of tuxedoed men, and Gabe saw the determination in your eyes. 

“Go get him, sweetheart,” he kissed your cheek and pushed you towards the Lord. You excused yourself quickly and approached the older gentleman ready to push for your negotiations to take center stage in the Palace of Westminster.

The poor Lord was not expecting to be accosted by you at a banquet, but graciously listened as you explained your struggles in negotiating reparations in London.

“You’ve got some real fire in you,” one of the tuxedoes remarked as you shook the Lord’s hand and he scampered away sufficiently cowed. He had an American accent and shiny hair. He reeked of confidence and you knew it was a combination of his nationality and his status as an Alpha.

You cocked your head nonchalantly. “Takes a lot of persistence to get anything done in Parliament.” You knew he was probably referencing the fact that you, a tiny omega, had just approached a government official and demanded that he push for your cause, but you brushed it off. Most of the time people were respectful, but you still ran into pushback every now and then because of your status.

The American laughed, tossing his head back. “And wit to match!” A waiter came by with champagne and he snatched a glass to press into your hands. “What’s your name?” he asked, placing a hand on your back and guiding you back into the crowd of tuxes.

You tensed under his touch. This wasn’t your Alpha. It was extraordinarily rude to touch anyone without permission, especially an omega. But still, you had to be polite, so you introduced yourself.

“If you ever need any help getting through to politicians, you should give me a call. I’m on the UN Peace Council, you know? I was appointed during the crisis.” That information was probably supposed to impress you. It probably would have if you were anyone else.

You nodded politely, taking a tiny sip of champagne and glancing over your shoulder to look for Gabe. You had your own gripes with the UN peace council. Jack and Gabe butted heads with them nearly every other week.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smiled, attempting to turn and address the other men.

“Here,” the American pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number. Maybe we could meet up for drinks before we both leave Moscow?”

“Oh,” you found your escape. “I left my phone back at my table.” You turned to make your way back to Gabe and Ana, but the UN asshole grabbed your arm. You knew exactly what this was. This guy probably didn’t run into many omegas in professional settings, and he thought you would just go along with everything he said because he was some big shot Alpha.

Laughable. You were a high ranking member of Overwatch. A diplomat. The mate of Gabriel Fucking Reyes.

“Just put your number in and I’ll text you,” he insisted. You struggled out of his grasp and shot him the sternest look you could manage.

He laughed again. “I love how feisty you are!”

Clearly, everyone in the vicinity was also uncomfortable with the exchange. This was not the time nor the place to be asserting dominance over an omega.

Your blood boiled. You didn’t want to make a scene at Jack’s reception -- though he probably would have loved it -- but you were seriously about to deck this guy.

“Cariña,” a familiar voice washed over you and the effect was immediate. You leaned back into Gabe’s chest, taking a deep breath to slow your heart rate. “Jack was looking for you. He wanted to introduce you to someone.”

The American Alpha puffed his chest out, clearly ready to challenge until he took one look at Gabe.

“Commander Reyes,” he greeted. All of the bravado and pushiness was gone in an instant.

“Hello.” Gabe was stiff, clearly trying to hold his tongue. His arms snaked around your waist and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“Would you hate me if we left right now?”

“Absolutely not,” you spun in his embrace so you could look up at him. His expression was stoic as always, but you could see the tension and the anger in his eyes.

You didn’t even look back as Gabe walked you to the table to collect your things. It was a little rude to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, and you weren’t sure if Jack had actually wanted to introduce you to someone, but Gabe looked ready to tear someone’s head off.

He stopped caring about decency the moment the car door closed.

There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver considering how enormous your mate was in the tiny sedan backseat, but he pinned you to the leather seats and kissed you like his life depended on it. You wound your fingers into his curls, gasping as his hands slid under your skirt and up your thighs. The driver coughed, and you giggled at the slow whir of the partition motor giving the two of you some privacy.

“I can’t believe he touched you,” Gabe snarled.

You shivered both at the possessive edge in his voice and the disgusting memory of the other Alpha’s hand on your arm.

“Make me forget about him,” you whispered, hooking your leg around his hips.

He rose to the challenge. Super soldier strength shredded your lace underwear, dress hiked up around your hips. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up your thigh at a torturously slow pace. He had barely sucked a mark into the skin when the car stopped. A glance out the tinted window showed that you were back at the hotel.

“Thank you!” you called to the driver in your terrible russian accent as you yanked your dress back down and teetered on your heels on the pavement. Gabe half carried you with an arm around your waist as you breezed through the lobby to the elevator.

The elevator was another brief attempt to continue. You managed to get Gabe’s jacket and shirt open before the door slid open and you were staggering down the hall.

He dragged you into the bedroom, pinning you to the bed on your stomach so he could yank down the zipper on your dress. He couldn’t keep his lips away from your neck. The moment your matebite was uncovered he dragged his teeth over the mark. A shiver ran all the way down your spine.

“You’re never covering this up again,” he growled, rutting against your hips clumsily. “I want everyone to see that you belong to me.”

The words made your stomach flip. You wriggled your way around onto your back, pushing your dress over your hips and to the floor. “You’re going to hit your rut early.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll just fuck you until we have to leave for the flight.”

You figured Ana, Jack, and Reinhardt wouldn’t appreciate Gabe in the throes of his rut on the flight back to base tomorrow, but they had probably experienced it before. You could only imagine how bad he was back during the crisis. The thought only made you wetter.

He must have sense the spike in arousal, because he settled more of his weight on top of you. “What are you thinking about?” he demanded.

“You. During the crisis. Alpha Commander Gabriel Reyes.” You trailed a finger down his chest. “Were your ruts worse than they are now?”

He smirked. “They’ve gotten worse again since meeting you.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, mustering the last of your coordination to get Gabe undressed. He made sure you were laid out comfortably on the bed -- grabbing a few pillows to place under your hips and head -- before sinking all the way inside you to the swell of his knot.

Gabe always fit inside you so well. The perfect stretch. And he filled you so deep when he knotted you. You knew that his ruts could get intense, and you would probably be exhausted and sore by the end of it. Still, you had been mated for a few years now, so you had figured out how to manage.

“You feel so good.” You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the situation.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to knot you so good.” He rocked forward, teasing you with the stretch.

“Please,” you begged, nails scratching at the shaved hair at the back of his head.

He shuddered and set an impossible pace as he began to fuck you. Sometimes you forgot that you weren’t just mated to an Alpha, but to a super soldier. No one else could fuck you like he did.

“You want my knot? Want me to breed you full? Want me to remind you who you belong to?” His words were low against you skin as he kissed along your neck. One of his hands was rubbing your clit, the other holding your thighs open so he could reach deep inside you with every thrust.

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His teeth found the unmarked skin of your neck, just above your collarbone -- opposite the side of where your matebite was. The skin was practically electrified, especially when Gabe was fucking you like this. He didn’t bite down, but the sensation alone was enough to have you coming on his cock.

“Fuck,” he growled. “That was so good for me, baby. You’re so perfect.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Bite me. Please.” It was a little unorthodox. Normally couples only exchanged one bite. A bite on both sides was usually the sign of a triad or a pack. But you had just been touched by another alpha and Gabe was fucking you so good and you wanted him in every way possible.

He blinked, trying to think through the haze of his rut. “You want that?” He didn’t even wait for you to respond. The thought alone had him spilling inside of you, and he pulled you onto his knot. His teeth found that same patch of sensitive, unmarked skin, and he bit down just as he locked inside of you.

Nothing felt better than coming to the sensation of being claimed. It was the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced.

“Fuck you’re perfect. My perfect little omega. You wear my marks so well. Everyone is going to know exactly who you belong too.”

You couldn’t respond. Too busy marking Gabe’s chest with hickeys and lovebites. He was too massive for you to reach his neck, but you would make do. You were still coming down off the intense rush of endorphins, and everything was a little fuzzy and felt just a little too good too much too fast. You had come twice in less than the span of a minute, and Gabe was only just getting started.

He soothed the aching bite, holding you close as you were locked together. His knot probably wouldn’t go down for a while, but he was less riled up than before now that he had satisfied himself somewhat.

“I love you,” he kissed the top of your head, rolling so you could lay on his chest.

“I-” You cut yourself off, blushed, and buried your face in his pecs. You would happily die there.

“Yes?” He was curious now. You weren’t usually shy with him.

“I’ve been working on something. It’s super embarrassing.” You didn’t look up.

He lifted your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What’s embarrassing? I just dragged you out of a dinner party at the Kremlin so I could fuck you. I think I’m the more embarrassing of the two fo us.”

You laughed and kissed his chest right above his heart. Mustering all of your courage, you found your voice:

“Te amo. Me encanta pertenecer a ti. Tú eres mi mayor alegría.”

Your accent was decent, but you had no clue if your grammar was correct. The words were unfamiliar and clumsy, even though you had practiced them a hundred times. Spanish was not a language you were familiar with, but you knew that Gabe had grown up hearing it. You wanted to try and learn for him.

He understood immediately what you were tying to say, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath you.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you whined, smacking him lightly on the side.

“I’m sorry,” he grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “It was very sweet. I love you too.”

“I need a lot more practice,” you pouted.

He petted your hair, staring at you with a dopey, lovestruck expression. “I can’t believe you let me bite you again.”

You shrugged, feeling the pull and ache of the new mark in the motion. “We can let one of them fade.”

He smirked. “What if I like you like this?”

You bared your own teeth. “Can I return the favor?”

You weren’t expecting to rile him up, but the words were enough to make his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You good to go again?”

You nodded, pushing up to a seat so you could ride him. He grabbed your hips, holding tightly as you slowly rocked against him. You knew the pace was probably no where near what he needed, but you wanted to take your time.

He didn’t give you the opportunity, rolling to pin you beneath him again and dragging your hips up to his. “You wanna bite me? You better earn it.”

#gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes/reader #reaper/reader #reaper x reader #reaper #smut #lemons #kinktober 2021 #ow fanfic #Overwatch #overwatch fanfic #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega au

[quindolyn]

🧥 for Jamsie please, my love 💜

-nipple piercing anon

You all know that I’m a slut for James Potter but this could be triggering for you so please proceed with caution, 

TW: extreme dieting, eating disorder, body image issues

Your bodies are all beautiful and I love every inch of you

James being an athlete always wants to be in the best possible shape. When he first joined the Quidditch team he was this scrawny little thing and he really wanted to be as fit as the other guys on the team so that’s when he started working out, religiously. And then he heard some of his team talking about how they diet to help them stay in shape and how many calories and carbs they eat each day and how they want to lose a couple pounds before the next season. He becomes obsessed with it, counting calories and carbs, push-ups, and sit-ups, staring at himself in the mirror thinking about how he needs to strengthen his core because it’s looking a bit chubby. Comparing his body to the other guys in the locker room. He never feels like it’s enough, maybe if he loses that extra pound, or cuts out another 10 calories, or tries that one diet it’ll work, he’ll feel better. But he never does, it’s always another pound, another 10 calories, a different diet. Even though he’s in perfect physical health he can’t stop himself. Eventually, Sirius catches on and realizes just how bad it is, he walks in on James frowning at his image in the mirror, staring at himself with a critical eye, pinching at his stomach and his legs mumbling about if he just cuts out another couple calories or spends a little more time working out then maybe...

It breaks Sirius’ heart to see his brother in so much pain that he just tackles James and they sit on the floor together with James in Sirius’ arms while Sirius gently coaxes information out of him. Later that night once James is asleep, wrapped up in one of Sirius’ sweaters he writes Euphemia and tells her all about what’s been happening right under their noses. Euphemia and Fleamont get James all the help wizard money can buy and make sure that he knows every single day that he’s their beautiful boy and that they love him.

When Remus learns about James’ struggles he talks to him about it because he too has dealt with really severe body image issues and when either of them is feeling bad about their bodies they go to the other and cuddle up in one of their beds to talk.

Thank you for celebrating with me love! Celebration post is linked in my pinned post!

#tw eating disorder #eating disorder #thank you #500 follower celebration

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

I’m the same anon who requested that collar whump and 🙌 it was so good!!!! if you want to go more whumpy I encourage it!!! The only limit I have is please no explicit smut. I’m fine with implied/referenced just not explicit. Otherwise you can go wild!!! I’d totally love to see it!!! thank you so much!! 💞💞💞

Awwh! I'm so super happy that you liked it, that pleases me greatly to know that it was enjoyable! I insist, for your kind words let me treat you to something extra whumpy!

Limits understood! Let's crank up the whump button and keep that 'too familiar' with Whumpee going. Mind if I add a pinch of obsession into that intimate whumper? You know, as a treat because you deserve it anon! Rewinding time a bit, this is before the first post.

(Tags/TW: Collar whump, Intimate Male Whumper, Female Whumpee, Kidnapping, Stalking, Obsession whump, Choking, Hanging, Swinging by neck, Neck whump, Broken bones, Noncon touching, referenced/implied noncon, Hot/Cold Whumper, Hair pulling, Drugging, Cursing/strong language, Vampire whump. )

"You were too naive, you know that?" Whumper stated, hand gripping a flawless face and watching pretty, gemstone eyes roll in their sockets. "You never saw me, all this time, watching you from afar."

"I hoped you'd notice, I really did. I was so messy a couple of times, I ran right into you and somehow you never even saw me." It almost sounded pained, the way Whumper said it. Thick with emotion as his grip on her jaw became more violent and drew her out of the haze.

"I don't know if I should be insulted... Or happy you're so oblivious to the world around you."

As soon as Whumpee made it through the fog, her features pinched in a grimace and the sight before her wasn't one she'd expected. She recognized him but couldn't place him anywhere, her mind telling her she'd definitely seen him before.

"But you're here now... and you're going to be my pet now. No one will ever know I didn't buy you, I made sure of it." The more he rambled, the more infatuated he became with touching her. First her shoulder, now he was holding her hand, bringing it to his lips for a clammy, tacky kiss.

"Y-You're all mine," He was frantic, panicked as if he was both excited and terrified for what he was actually doing. Having kidnapped and tranquilized her thus far.

"Like.. hell I am.." She rasped, watching him fight off a chuckle and lose almost instantly.

"Hah- You're not going to have a choice. I'm your Master and pets obey their masters." Whumper insisted, reaching for a collar that had been already chained up to a pipe in the basement ceiling. "I'm going to teach you how to behave down here first, then w-wh-when you're broken in, yeah? Then.. Then I'll let you upstairs like a real pet."

He grabbed her up by the hair and she flew into fight or flight as soon as she was lifted off the ground. He was big, she'd give him that. Tall, probably 6'4 and he definitely worked out and enjoyed his carbs at the same time.

She was on the shorter side, but she knew how to use her weight and no matter the tension on her hair; she wormed her whole body to wrench away from him. The force was messy, her system still getting used to the hazy, limpness in her limbs.

"Bad!" He growled in resonating anger, using the grip on her scalp to slam her head into the wall. The first obviously dazed her and the second left her stilling. "You're gonna wear your fucking collar! L-Like a good pet!"

She looked at him with stars in her vision and pain seeping from the back of her head, features cracking with lines of hatred. She could smell it, her skin had split open on the poorly constructed brick wall and it stung when it started fusing back together from her healing speed.

She couldn't let him know just how her body worked or she feared the worst of his wrath. He really seemed like a horror movie villain at this point, the way he stuttered and looked at her with such blatant, scrutinizing attention.

"T-Thats too high, take it down and I'll wear it." She tried to reason, feeling one of his hands grab around the front of her neck while the other repositioned in her hair.

"It's not training if it's not painful.. what would you learn from just wearing a collar?" He questioned, tone acidic like she was a moron for even thinking of suggesting such a thing.

Those damned drugs did her in, if only she'd been at full strength when he tried again to wrestle her over and up to the collar he had waiting on her. She could have thrown him across the room, easily, if he hadn't somehow managed to subdue her. Now it was a struggle to keep herself on the ground as the muscular human kept taking her footing away from her.

She kicked and kicked and even when she landed contact with his legs, she knew it wasn't strong enough to even pull a reaction from him. He eventually won, hoisting her up and latching the thick, chain collar around her neck to entrap her with her own weight. It was just in distance to let the tips of her outstretched toes barely brush the ground.

"There, now you can squirm all you want, you'll just go swinging." He mused, giving her a push by her hips and watching her uselessly grip above her in the swing.

She felt like at any moment, her neck would snap, a grinding sound in her bones giving a warning creak when she reached the highest point. Her vocal chords were ruthlessly crushed against the curvature of the chain and she couldn't stop the faux spasms she felt in long-deadened lungs. It felt like she was a human again, drowning or being smothered, only she hadn't needed real air in decades.

Choking gurgles of begging barely registered past how hard he'd started laughing. She was like a chandelier in a living room that a mischievous housemate knocked into. Swinging in whatever pattern or direction gravity took her until she learned that she'd only stop if she went still.

Finally whumper stopped her and grabbed her backside to lift her up against him, holding her face to face with a devious smile across his face. "You're l-like a piñata. It's kind of cute."

Her hands flew up and in a sound clap, cupped his ears in a deafening impact. Immediately his head started to ring and he dropped her with such force she nearly slammed into him again on the downswing.

Whumper covered his ears and shoved fingers in them, anxiously feeling for blood and unable to hear anything but an ambient whine. He was furious and the stunning pain left him staggering back a few paces to let her endure the remaining momentum. The faintest of garbled blubbering could be heard and it was his only hope that he hadn't been completely deafened.

"You stupid bitch.." He roared, louder than he'd realized in his current state. "Y-You just lost your fucking hands!"

A vicious latch onto one of her arms and his opposite hand grabbed her wrist, twisting and wrenching it beyond it's natural pivot. She grabbed onto his wrists, nails dug in but couldn't stop the force he'd held her with.

The crack was agonizing, it popped so many times and she would have vomited if not for the noose around her neck. The limb instantly radiated pain and fell limp, unable to hold upright on the destroyed joint. Muffled cries were distant to him and even though he was looking her in the face, she sounded soft.

She'd stopped swinging when he grabbed her second arm and gave the faintest of tugs back from his menacing grip. Begging, pleading without shaking her head or making a single noise.

He ignored it. Snapping the second joint in a long twist and the satisfaction that he had with the feeling of breaking a bone was maddening. He savored it, giving an extra roll this time and really feeling the damage he'd done inside her skin.

"I bet you'll behave for me now, wont you?" He picked her up once more, this time leaving space between their upper halves in hesitation. When she left her hands at her sides, he was pleased with the progress they'd already made.

"God, even when you're in pain and have spit all down your face, you're still pretty." Whumper praised, taking his hold on her a bit easier now, lifting her up by the backs of her thighs and encouraging them to wrap around his waist for reprieve.

They did, as disgusting as it felt it relieved the tension on her neck and she was almost grateful in just that short time alone.

He pet her head fondly now, pushing down the strands he'd frizzed and upset and he pulled his sleeve over his hand to wipe her mouth. Her lips hung open like she was panting but no breath escaped her, throat desperately trying to clear with small growls and hacks.

"I've never seen you blush until now, I feel special." Whumper pushed her bangs back and returned down her face with a loving sweep while holding her; thumb tracing her lower lip.

"I can't believe you're finally all mine. I get to keep you forever and ever and... You can't escape me anymore." As if his mind was looping through all the times he'd thought about her or thought about kidnapping her, he stared into her eyes blankly.

Even if she didn't remember, he certainly did. Every encounter, every time he'd sent her a drink at the bar and been to shy to say something. When she flat out rejected him for a dance. The time she'd gotten in a taxi with him and he didn't say anything to her. The week he'd paid for her coffee in the drive thru, strategically, every day getting ahead of her in line.

It had all been worth it.

"You can't reject me anymore. You can't hide.. or brush me off or ignore the gifts I get you." The more he rambled, he less he was looking at her and the more he was looking through her. He framed her body, wrapped along her curves with a curious hand. He abandoned the hold and let her support herself when he couldn't handle not touching her with both of them.

"Now.. I can finally love you how you deserve.."

-

Sorry it took me so long to get to this anon! I hope this is respectful of your wishes and not too much towards the descriptive side. I also tried to go with the same tropes you'd requested but just make it more miserable. ; ^ ;

I know there is a very thin border to intimate whump and it can transition beyond the boundaries very easily. So if you have any critiquing or things to avoid that could help in the future, I'd love to know so I can gain some more versatility. I would (ideally) love to be able to cater to all requests in all forms and insight will only help me with that goal.

Another apology for the wait. Had some personal life stuff come up and wasn't in the feelings to write much. But I'm back on the rise and I'm hoping to get to everyone's messages and requests within the next few days.

I will not be doing first come first serve, I'm just doing whatever inspires me with this batch. Sorry if anyone thinks that's unfair, it's just how it is for me as a writer. This is 1 out of 7 asks and I don't even remember which ones came first because I immediately convert them into drafts. : ( But thank you so much for the req! Hope you enjoyed. <3

#whump #whump prompts #lady whump #female whumpee #pet whump #pet whump prompts #collar whump #intimate whumper #tw whump #tw broken bones #tw hanging #tw choking #tw abuse #tw implied noncon #tw kidnapping #tw stalking #tw noncon touching #tw obsession #long post

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

#destiel secret santa #sorry this is being posted so late in the day!!! #my internets broken at the moment so it was very difficult to get it up #and i also couldnt run it through any spelling/grammer checkers #hopefully theres nothing atrociously wrong with it #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic

[paralleledmediaexperience]

a part 2 to this ficlet as requested by @xanthomonus in the notes! I’ve got at least one more part conceptualized (no way you can guess what’ll happen there) though i may extend it or add more, so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know!! 

- 

 Sam is insistent that they try to research ways to get Cas back. Jack has explained that Amara won’t fail- it is simply the process of extracting an Angel from the Empty that takes time, since she didn’t want to wake or anger it like… well, like what Jack had done. He could feel Amara’s sincerity in a way that he was certain Sam and Dean wouldn’t understand, let alone be comforted by. She’d been in his head, crossed with his soul in the transfer of power. He’s kind of sure that if he hadn’t missed Cas so much too, she probably would have ignored Dean’s request altogether.

But it makes Sam look less frazzled when he’s able to lose himself in the research for something, and Jack doesn’t mind sitting with him and pretending he’s not hiding chapter books behind the large tomes. He’s been working his way steadily through some books Sam had collected for him last time they had been out shopping, and while he had enjoyed the first one (a mystery about siblings called the Boxcar children even though they no longer lived in a boxcar) he’d chosen Matilda next, because she sounded nice. And he was right! Matilda was his new favorite, even more than his last favorite, which had been Where the Wild Things Are.

He doesn’t even notice when Dean walks in, because Matilda had just glued a hat to her father’s head, but he does when Sam says, “What, none for me?”

“You’re a grown man, Sammy, you can make your own food. He’s four years old with a foot injury.” Dean says, scowling at Sam. The effect is rather ruined by both Dean’s flour dusted apron and the plate in his hands, and Jack smiles when he turns back to him instead. “You both missed lunch.”

Sam grumbles, but gets up anyway, stretching. “If you didn’t make me food how could I have missed it?”

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back half-heartedly. “Here, Jack, and don’t let him steal off your plate just because he got distracted reading.”

“Thanks, Dean!” Jack says brightly, moving his secret reading setup to the table instead of his lap and pushing it away, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows raise when he notices his no longer hidden book. Dean sets the plate down and ignores that Sam sends him one last annoyed face before heading off to the kitchen, where Jack knows there is going to be a plate ready for Sam, or at least a serving of the macaroni and cheese sprinkled with bacon bits and breadcrumbs that Dean’s brought him. “Are you making something else?”

“Just some bread,” Dean grimaces down at the mess of flour across his front, and Jack has to contain his giggles when the movement reveals a streak of flour in Dean’s hair. 

“Just some bread,” Sam echoes, swinging back through the door with his own plate of macaroni. “Dean. Do I need to remind you that we need vegetables and can’t live off of carbs and meat alone?”

“It’s macaroni, Sam, quit whining and just enjoy it,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I swear, you’re the pickiest-”

“It’s not being picky, it’s eating healthy-”

“Same difference!” Dean insists, his twitching lips betraying the irritation in his voice.

“Just one meal with something green a day, Dean, I’m begging you.” 

Eyes flicking back and forth as they snipe at each other, Jack takes an appreciative bite of the macaroni. Expectedly delicious, because Dean made it and Dean didn't make bad food the way Sam sometimes did. Mostly.

“Then beg,” Dean proclaims stubbornly, eyes narrowed. Sam doesn’t respond, his own expression pinching up into very familiar exasperation. 

“Actually, I’ve never had brussel sprouts before, and Claire said I should try them!” Jack interjects. He isn’t sure what a brussel sprout is beyond a vegetable, but Claire had said he’d like them and that he should bother Dean into making them. 

Dean looks unimpressed though, gaze switching from Sam back to meet Jack’s eyes. “You want me to make you brussel sprouts?”

“Please?” Jack tries, unsure if Dean thinks there is something wrong with brussel sprouts or if he is still simply offended by the concept of vegetables.

The please works, Dean’s capitulation coming in the form of a displeased huff and an, “Alright, fine.” He swings back around to point at Sam accusingly. “I’m blaming you for this.”

“As long as we get something from each of the five food groups, sure,” Sam says, taking his seat again. “And no, you don’t get to use tomatoes as the catch all.”

“Fine,” Dean bites out again, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he starts to turn away.

“Thank you Dean! Love you!” Jack says, and he hears Sam’s quick inhale just as he sees Dean almost stumble and he smiles to himself.

“Love you too, kid,” Dean manages to get out, hand squeezing just a bit tighter on his shoulder. “Alright, go back to your books, I have to go to the store for brussel sprouts apparently.”

The speed at which Dean walks away couldn’t be called running away but Jack definitely thinks it qualifies as retreating, and he straightens up a bit, very proud of himself for receiving his second ‘love you’ from Dean in twice as many days. He watches Dean get out the door before turning back around in his seat.

Sam is staring at him with a blinking mixture of incredulity and open affection, the smile on his face wide, if confused. “That’s… new?” 

“Yep,” Jack confirms, pulling Matilda back towards himself and abandoning the pretense of reading the book Sam had suggested he search through. Sam had already searched it himself twice. He doesn’t manage to open it, because Sam continues.

“And I don’t need to check that it’s actually Dean?” Sam teases, bewilderment clear and pride clearer. “Saying yes to vegetables AND and I love you?”

“It turns out,” A voice whipcracks out, startling them both, “That Dean Winchester is actually a big old softie at heart. Who knew?”

“Balthazar?” Sam says, and Jack almost gets bowled over by the wave of shock. Balthazar? He knew that name. He stares openly, unheeded as Balthazar talks to Sam.

“Well, except Castiel, of course, but that Profound Bond of theirs hardly makes it fair,” The angel says, stepping forward. “Yes, Sam, I’ve been hand delivered back from the dead, at the temporary cost of my Grace. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your grace?” Jack asks, curious about how Sam had been looking at him, but unwilling to turn around and take his eyes off of the angel Cas had once killed. “What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Balthazar strides over, and before Jack can say anything he’s got him clasped by both shoulders, staring into his eyes with a curiosity so intense Jack almost steps back towards the table. “And you’re Jack, I assume? I was warned that there would be no murdering of nephilim if I returned.”

“So Amara freed you?” Sam cuts in, and Jack huffs out a small breath as Balthazar lets him go to spin back around and face him. “Did she have a reason?”

Jack doesn’t voice his own question, which feels far more important. He wants to know when Cas will be back.

“Uh, yes?” Balthazar sneers. “Most of the angels are dead, Sam, no thanks to you and your brother and my brother. I’ll admit some of us deserved it- were rather asking for it, if you ask me- but it did leave dear aunty with rather less personnel than she wants to run heaven with.”

“She’s not grabbing all the angels, is she?” Jack breathes, terrified suddenly, despite Balthazar’s assurance that Amara had apparently set him off limits. 

“Not a chance. Seemed to have a list in mind, and I think I was simply the first she found. I thought perhaps…” He trails off, just for a split second before he grins again, bright and covering up anything he might have been about to show. “Well, I didn’t, actually. Rather hard to do when you’re sleeping in eternal torment.”

Jack catches Sam’s flinch, and frowns at the other man. “Are you sure you were the first?”

Balthazar ticks his head to one side, considering. “Well, I’m the first to show up here, I’ll assume by your reactions, and given that she’s bringing us back graceless, I imagine any others will also be sent here.”

Jack scowls. If so, then Cas may be further off than he hoped. But this was- conclusive proof. Amara could do it, and now they would just have to deal with powerless angels until she came back and dealt with them herself. And Cas would be home.

Sam sighs, deep and weary and cheerless. “Yeah. That would make sense. Well, we can put this away, then.” He closes the book on the table with a hefty thump and then stacks Jack’s abandoned tome on top of it. “And I suppose we should try to make sure we have rooms ready. Jack, would you-”

“I’ll call Dean and let him know,” Jack says, suddenly tired and wanting to get away from Balthazar, still staring at him hawkishly, wanting to be away from the library, where more angels could show up without warning. He wants to hide in his room or possibly Cas’ until Amara brings him back and takes all the others back to heaven or whatever she planned to do. He wishes viciously in his head that he hadn’t opened his mouth about brussel sprouts and that Dean was still here in the kitchen where Jack could escape to without feeling alone. As it is, he grabs Matilda and his plate, still half full of macaroni, ready to walk away, but he catches Balthazar’s face again.

“You’re hungry,” Jack realizes as he says it. Balthazar has a facial journey of his own to deal with that fact before he grimaces.

“Human,” he says, displeasure and embarrassment warring on his features, even as his stomach growls.

Jack doesn’t want Balthazar here, he doesn’t want Amara to try to find anyone but Cas, or at least to find Cas first, and he most definitely doesn’t want to share his food that Dean made him, or Dean and Sam’s attention in general, and he swallows all of this down and he says, “Here. If you’ve never been human before, you’ve never really tasted food, right? Dean’s always makes the best food.”

He holds out the plate and drops it into Balthazar’s hands and tries his best not to stomp out like a real child, or run out like he’s scared, but he makes it around the corner and leans against the wall, out of sight.

Except that Sam immediately pokes his head around, following him. “Jack?”

“I don’t like this,” Jack says plainly, staring up at Sam like maybe he could explain why all of the good feelings he’d been having had shriveled up in his stomach and refused to leave, even though Sam clearly didn’t think Balthazar was an actual threat to them.

“I could tell,” Sam says, almost teasing again, but he drops it immediately. “Is it okay, Jack? Because we can absolutely just send him and any others that show up to the nearest motel instead.”

“No,” He says immediately, but he pauses after, thinking. He takes a deep breath in, trying to ease the odd tightness inside his chest.  “No. They can stay here until Amara gets back. I just…” 

“Don’t like it,” Sam nods, as if that explains it, and Jack guesses it does. “Well, Dean won’t like it either, so you can let him know that the two of you are free to hole up wherever you’d like to get away from them, and I’ll try to deal with them myself as much as I can.”

The tightness in his chest does soften, another breath rushing out like he’d been holding it. “Thanks, Sam.” 

“You know I love you too, Jack,” Sam says, earnest and open and Jack barely makes the decision to hug him but he ends up wrapped up in Sam’s arms anyhow.

“I do. I know. Love you, Sam,” Jack says, fixing his grip on Matilda as he pulls away. “Okay, I need to go call Dean, because if he leaves the store before-”

“He won’t want to turn around, yeah,” Sam laughs.

Jack can’t help the smile that bursts across his face. “Well, I can’t use it too often, or it might not work anymore, but maybe if I say please.”

#Jack Kline #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Balthazar #supernatural #my fic #creativecaviar #me remembering that time i tricked my cousin into eating brussel sprouts. ehehehehe. #also!!! what the FUCK balthazar's voice is very difficult but also very fun and rewarding to write so PLEASE tell me whether it reads okay #my in my head: ive seen four year olds become territorial when their parents have visitors this is gonna be SO funny #anyway Jack IS going to get I love you's from all his dads thank you much. we just gotta wait for Cas. #this isn't going on ao3 until i have a good name for it so if you like reading better there suggest a fic name this time so it can go up

[berrynarrybanana]

hypocrite - h.s blurb

A/N: This is my entry for @oh-honey-styles​ fic slam challenge. I wanted to write smut, but I was watching Dharma and Greg and this just happened, okay. I hope that you all enjoy this and that you’re taking care of yourselves on such a stressful day. My inbox is always open if you need me and I love you all loads. Thank you Anne for hosting this beautiful challenge to keep us all happy and distracted. You’re amazing! 

Word Count: 1k+ (I’m sorry, I have no self control) 

Included: Friends to Lovers

Prompts: “Marry Me” / “I’m in love with you” / “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression” / “Can I kiss you” 

I can’t really remember when I met Harry. 

There were a plethora of options for a possible meeting place to occur. Between pubs that we both visited regularly and parties hosted by mutual friends, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when or where we met. All I really remember is that he wasn’t in my life and then one day, he was. He appeared in the form of a random text after a night of heavy partying. 

Unknown Number: Thanks for being my karaoke partner last night. 

After a thorough investigation using my camera roll, I put the pieces together. There was a video of me singing karaoke with Harry Styles -clearly filmed by Nick Grimshaw- from a very unflattering angle. His arm was tossed around my shoulder and his smile was bright. We were sharing a microphone, singing Rich Girl by Hall and Oates, extremely out of key. 

Watching the video brought a smile to my face, but it also left me with red cheeks when I noticed how I effortlessly kissed his cheek towards the end of the video as if I had been doing it for years. After a few texts, I found myself sharing brunch with Harry at a cafe that I visited regularly on my own. We split a large stack of pancakes and a full English breakfast, sharing fuzzy memories of the night before through chuckles and groans. 

I learned that morning that Harry was quite possibly the easiest person to be friends with.

 He was fun, supportive, and kind to me even though he’d only known me for a few hours. It struck a chord in my heart strings to see someone so genuine and relatable in our shared line of work. Being in the public eye made finding friends like Harry extremely difficult. I never really knew who to trust or what intentions people had. 

That was the beauty of being friends with Harry. I never had to wonder what his intentions were or if he liked me for me. I always knew that I could call him at any hour of the day and he would still answer. I knew that if I needed to cry or scream or shout, he’d be there to listen with open ears and arms. He was everything that I needed in my person. 

“I just think that Dharma and Greg are what I need in life.” I reached for another salt and malt vinegar chip, chomping down on it as Harry sipped at his wine. “They’re so effortlessly in love, aren’t they?” 

“I suppose.” He nodded. “S’crazy how they just got married on their first date though. I could never do that.”

“Sure you could.” I bumped his shoulder. “When you know, you know.”

“But it’s not…” He pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side as he thought. “It’s not really normal.”

“Fuck normal.” I snorted out a laugh. “Since when do you care about normal?”

“Alright then,” He put his takeout box on the table, angling his body towards mine. “Marry me.”

He raised his brows, watching me as I glared at him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “I like you, you like me, so what’s the difference? We've known each other for much longer than Dharma and Greg-”

“But we’re not in love.” I emphasized. “That is the difference.”

He rolled his lips in, nodding his head before he reached for his food. 

I watched him as he grabbed his fork, digging it into saucy noodles silently. 

“You okay?” 

“Mhm.” He hummed around his noodles, glancing over at me. “S’really good italian food, but I’ve got to stop eating carbs.”

“Harry.” I said slowly. “You’re not going to say anything about-”

“Nope.” He said quickly, wiping at the sauce on his chin with his thumb. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“How about, ‘Y/n, you’re right! I forgot for a second that we aren’t in love. Silly me!’.” I mocked his accent, causing him to glare at me playfully. “Because the way you turned away made me think that maybe-”

“I’m in love with you.” He snorted out a sarcastic laugh, rolling his eyes as he reached for his wine to mask his true feelings. “Sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”

He shrugged his shoulders before taking two large gulps of his wine, causing my eyebrows to raise. I kept my eyes on him as the television show that started our argument kept playing in the background. My palms felt clammy as I watched him fidget in his seat. I felt the gears in my mind grinding, thoughts coming together and emotions surfacing from pits I’d buried them in ages ago. 

Of course I had feelings for Harry. 

He was my person. 

“Harry, can you be serious for a second?” I asked him. 

“Darling, I really don’t think we should-”

“Please.” I whispered. “I need you to look at me.”

“Y/N.” 

My name fell from his lips in a honeyed tone, his fingers brushing over his bottom lip anxiously. It was a nervous trait of his that I picked up on early in our friendship. I’d seen him do it a million times in interviews when he was in the band, always afraid that he’d say the wrong thing. 

“Do you love me?”

There was no point in pussyfooting around it. 

He let out a sigh, reaching up to brush his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m so in love with you.” It came out in an exasperated huff, his eyes darting over my face as he waited for my response. “I know that we’ve been friends for a long time and there’s a chance that you don’t feel the same, but I can’t stop thinking about what could be if we just tried.” 

I blinked back at Harry silently. 

“You don’t feel the same.” He stated softly. “I should have known that you didn’t feel that way about me, you’ve never given me reason to think otherwise. I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that-”

“Can I kiss you?” I blurted out, pinching the fabric of my sweatpants nervously. 

His brows raised and I noticed his lips turning up slightly at the corner, causing his dimples to pop out. 

“Stop looking at me like that and just kiss me, you idiot.” I rolled my eyes, pressing my palm into his stubbly cheek. 

It was a quick peck, barely enough to get a true feeling for it, but it still left me wanting more.

“Again.” I whispered into his mouth, tilting my head slightly until our lips melded together. I tried to fight off my smile when it was done. “Again.”

“Darling.” I felt Harry’s palm slip towards the back of my neck as he let out a breathless chuckle. “You’re killing me.”

“I love you, too.” I pressed my forehead into his, biting my lower lip. “I love you a lot.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He pulled back with a pout, his eyes soft. “How long have you known?”

“Don’t be a hypocrite.” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t really know until….well, you said something last New Years about how we’d always be in each other’s lives and I’ve never stopped thinking about it. A piece of me has always thought that you were right and that maybe you’re my soulmate.”

“I fell in love with you the night I met you.” He smiled softly. “I felt a bit like Greg when he met Dharma, like worlds were colliding. I remember singing karaoke with you and I just...I felt like I’d met my other half. You’ve always been the person in my life that understands me and supports me, no matter what I’m going through.”

I pressed my lips to his again, giggling when he brushed his thumb over my neck. 

“Kissing you is weird,” I confessed as I settled back into my side of the couch, my shoulder a little closer to Harry’s. “I kind of like it though.”

“Thanks.” He snorted out a laugh. “I’m glad you think I’m a weird snogger.” 

“It’s just new.” I rolled my eyes, glancing at his face. “I said I liked it.”

“Good.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Just wait until I kiss you in other places.”

“Harry!” 

#hsficslam #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #harry styles blurb #I'm sorry y'all I wanted something saucy #I hope you think this is cute #also i've been binge watching dharma and greg so #yeah

[welllpthisishappening]

Only Live Forever in the Lights You Make

Hey, remember that time Killian met Meg in some tunnels in the Underworld and introduced himself as “Captain Killian Jones” before he called himself “Captain Hook”? Because I do and, surprise, I’ve got some feelings about it! As always, I am still on my season five ‘ish, so here is about 4.2K of name-based feelings, some out of place flirting and some, surprise, Captain Cobra Swan that I didn’t plan on until I typed it. I hope you guys got all the carbs you wanted yesterday. 

All credit always and forever to @shireness-says​ for constantly telling me to keep shoving words at the internet. Even before she reads said words. (I only listened to Arctic Monkeys and My Chemical Romance while writing this. Take from that what you will.)

----

The words are heavy on his tongue. 

Still, as if they don’t belong there, or never really did and the feeling makes him ache. Although most of him aches at this point. Killian is sure his gashes have scrapes and those scrapes have bruises and gaping wounds that are likely far more metaphorical than he’s willing to admit. Staring out at the expanse of Main Street doesn’t particularly help. Hazy air hangs low over cracked asphalt, thin branches and dead leaves that only swirl slightly against the barely-there breeze coming from the Gods know where. 

There’s no water here. No hint of salt-tinged air. 

Occasionally there are some strikes of lightning, leaving the sky bright enough that Killian swears he can see for miles. He wishes he couldn’t. None of it looks right, feels even more wrong, and he supposes that’s to be expected in a place like this, but it also seems like another metaphor of sorts and maybe the torture hasn’t ceased yet. 

Maybe it won’t. 

He deserves that, he’s sure. 

Darkness doesn’t scare him much anymore, at least the more literal variety — or so he will swear, but this is somehow even worse. Every flash of light that cracks across the sky dredges up memories of the kind of storms that threatened to capsize any of the ships he once called home, and he imagines it’s something about extremes. 

Complete darkness can blind a man, but so can light. Stunning him, until he has to blink away the dots that hang in front of his eyes and the dots never entirely disappear. 

He shouldn’t have told that lass his name. 

Foolish, that’s what it was. 

“I can hear you thinking from upstairs,” Emma murmurs, slumped against the side of the railing that should lead up to her room in her parent’s loft. Something similar exists in this place, of course. He can’t imagine the blankets on that bed are as soft as the ones he only barely remembers falling into, what now feels like several lifetimes ago and—

“Might be getting worse now, actually,” she adds, “surprised there isn’t steam coming out of your ears too. Y’know, just for good measure.”

Letting out a breath, he’s all too aware of how slumped his shoulders are when he turns. Emma lifts her eyebrows. 

“The streets are already steaming,” Killian says, “anything else seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” “Stupid word.” “Aye, that it is. In poor taste.”

“What are you thinking about?” He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall towards his eyes, but Killian doesn’t make any effort to brush them away. “Did he fall asleep?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, eyes flitting back towards her room and the space she’d marched Henry into nearly fifteen minutes earlier. “About time, too. I think he was half a second away from falling asleep standing, could barely keep his eyes open anymore.” “Stubbornness is an inherited trait.” She clicks her tongue. “You think?” “Rather pointed.” “Nah, definitely round,” Emma objects, “in a circle-type way that could bring us back to my question and what you’re thinking about and—” “—Henry shouldn’t be here.” “No.” Jerking his head up the way he does only guarantees that several muscles in the back of his neck almost audibly object to the movement, Emma giving him a tight-lipped smile that isn’t exactly his, but is at least getting there, and that’s something almost vaguely positive. 

Her hair is longer than Killian remembers it being. 

He tried to remember that. 

Before. 

Wandering — stumbling, more like — around those caves, blood dripping down the side of his face, caking the same strands of hair that now threaten to actually poke him in the eye, and all he could think about was the exact shade of gold Emma’s hair turned in the moonlight. Preferably when she was also sitting in the harbor, feet hanging above the waves as they passed his flask between them. Or on the deck of his ship. 

He didn’t allow himself that particular fantasy very often, though. Getting both felt distinctly like the kind of selfishness he’s now hoping to avoid. 

“Stubborn,” Emma shrugs. 

“Something about circles, love.” “And going in them, yeah. But I’m also legitimately worried about that pinch between your eyebrows, so seems like as good a time as any to fess.” “Fess?” “Confess,” she amends, “more slang.” Killian’s smile isn’t really that. Is more a grimace and twist of his lips, and yet the weight he’s only marginally worried has taken the place of his heart lightens ever so slightly. Nothing beats yet. He’s still dead. “I like that one, actually.” “When we get home I’ll make you a list.” “Of slang?” “Whatever you want.” Neither one of them move. 

He’d like to move. Would love to, really. To cross this space and pull Emma flush against him until she grumbles about the inevitably uncomfortable nature of her perched on either one of his thighs and how his chin digs into her shoulder when he tries to breathe her in, but something about the overall tension in her jaw and the weight of those yet-to-be acknowledged words keeps Killian rooted to the spot. 

Every one of those words came out quicker than the last, as if they were an admission Emma wasn’t entirely ready to make and he’s fairly certain the pinch between his eyebrows won’t ever disappear completely. He hopes she doesn’t cut her hair. 

He hopes to get his fingers in that hair eventually. 

“I mean—” Emma stammers, color rushing in her cheek. “Within—y’know, within...no, fuck that. Whatever you want. Lists of...I don’t know, movies and books and you’re a giant dweeb right? So you’ve got to like books.” “I do, in fact.” “Yeah, yeah, I figured. I just—do they have holidays in the Enchanted Forest? No Thanksgiving or Christmas, right?” Killian shakes his head. Gets the hair away from his eyes. And makes it easier to see the exact moment Emma starts wringing her fingers together. The railing is very likely digging into her shoulder now. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she continues, “but uh...shit, what about birthdays? That’s a thing, right?” “Do you think I get two now?” 

One side of his mouth tugs up. Despite any efforts otherwise and his own, rather intimate, knowledge of that edge Emma is quite obviously teetering on. 

Killian’s been balancing there for the better part of the last few days. Ever since she appeared in front of him again, magic wrapping around him and making goosebumps prickle on his skin, a low heat that felt as if he’d been put on simmer without any threat of boiling because he’s not all that capable of boiling anymore, just festering and stewing and—

“I told that lass my name,” Killian says, voice hardly loud enough to qualify as any sort of sound. One of Emma’s knuckles crack. “The one in the caves, another one of Hades’ prisoners. I can’t—Gods, I can’t remember her name.” “Megara,” Emma whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow, a sudden retreat back to flirting that’s not entirely honest. It’s very likely he’s something of a cad. And it’s easier that way. To slink back into the role, and the person he was and that person deserves everything he’s gotten and may still get. 

Of course, he can’t keep it up for very long. 

Not with Emma staring at him like that — far too appraising and understanding, and the whole thing fails rather quickly. 

Completely. Immediately. A few other words that end in ‘ly,’ just to drive the point home. “Wow, you totally suck at that.” Laughter rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat before he can even begin to rationalize the sound, rubbing his fingers into the raw skin just above his brace. “Fraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling.” “Low blow.” “Endearments, or…” “It’s not going to work,” Emma objects, rolling her eyes when Killian’s mouth shifts in the very specific kind of smirk he knows has always worked. “You don’t just get to start playing pirate and think I’ll swoon enough to get distracted.”

“Suggests I’m still able to distract you.” “Like that would change.”

Heat ripples up his spine. Surprisingly, so. The flicker of normalcy catches Killian off guard, facade slipping for half a moment, and that’s far more time than Emma needs. His hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it. “Are you something of a soothsayer then, Your Highness? Good at reading minds now?” “More circles, babe. Open books, and all that.” He hums. Can’t do much else, actually. Emotion claws at the center of him, threatens to take root in that stagnant heart of his, and maybe that will help, but it also feels like it could drown him if it had a mind to. The give and take of all this may very well drive him insane quicker than anything Hades could hope for. “How do you know that?” “Which part?” “About the girl,” Killian says, “did you find her?” Emma scrunches her nose. “Regina and I did. In the forest. There was blood and—” She shivers. Tries to hide it, but open book works both ways and he’s always been able to tell when she’s thinking too. Or being inherently stubborn. “I was...well, I wasn’t cool about it.” “Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” “Ass.” Staying upright is becoming increasingly difficult. “I believe that’s been well-documented, m’dear. I’m sorry about that.” “My inability to insult you better?” “That you thought it was my blood.” 

“Presumptuous,” Emma grumbles, although that sort of misses the insult mark as well and he’s genuinely not sure who moves first. Creaking joints give way to a groaning floor, a tangle of limbs and hands that almost immediately search for skin. If only to remind the other that they’re here and real and at least partially alive. 

If Killian feels his pulse pick up, he’s sure he imagines it. 

That’s not possible. 

“And,’ he adds, Emma’s back against the nearest wall now. He has no idea how his head found her thigh. He’s not going to complain. She doesn’t when she inevitably notices how goddamn greasy his hair is. Fair is only fair, after all. 

“And?” Eyes fluttering shut, Killian briefly worries for the state of his muscles. Which appear to be unspooling the longer Emma’s fingers move, tracing over his temple and the furrows of his forehead and it takes all the self control he’s only marginally in possession of not to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her stomach and sob. 

“And,” he repeats, “that you were ever uncool about any of this.” Her body shakes when she laughs — soft and disbelieving, which is another marker in the stubborn column, really. Killian doesn’t mention that. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Counts his inhales and takes his time on his exhales, only a little disappointed that the honeysuckle scent has disappeared from Emma’s hair. 

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Half the reason I think we should make a slang list,” Emma says, “is so you can say more of it. Might be one of my favorite things.” “A slang puppet, huh? Here to entertain you.” “Why are you freaking out about telling Megara who—by the way, was not nearly as snarky as her Disney counterpart would have me believe.” “I’m sure being chased around by the three-headed beast of the Underworld will do that to a person.”

Emma’s thumb taps his jaw. Three times. Exactly. “Ah now I feel like an ass.” “Impossible,” Killian mumbles. Turning his head isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of his body when he’s splayed out across the floor like this and the muscles in Emma’s stomach noticeably contract when he noses at the hem of her shirt. 

She squirms. Above him and below him, and there it is again. More metaphors. More dichotomy, or some other philosophical bullshit he’s not willing to think about now. When Emma’s breath noticeably hitches. As soon as Killian’s teeth graze her skin. 

“Distracting—” Gasping, Emma’s nails drag across his scalp. Which isn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be. “Ah shit, I can’t think of—” “Scoundrel? Miscreant? Blackguard?” “What century is that last one from?” “Not nice at all, love,” Killian chides, but Emma just widens her eyes and perhaps they’re both dancing. Without any music. “Probably around the time the first King George ascended the throne.” “There was more than one King George?” “Several, if memory serves. You know those royals. Can’t concern themselves with naming creativity, have to honor the past and whatnot.” “Whatnot,” Emma echoes with a smile. “You want to tell me now? About Megara and how she knew your name.” “I told her, we’ve been over this already.” “Yeah, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears on Emma’s shrug, her lower lip twisted between her teeth. Nerves radiate off her, falling in waves Killian can almost see and nearly remind him of the real thing. 

Time doesn’t mean much here. Days pass on loop, and exhaustion is a guarantee more than an occasional state of being. And yet, somehow — as the last few flickers of warmth continue to lap at the base of Killian’s spine, and Emma’s fingers return to their pattern through his hair, something almost like moonlight casts a welcome shadow across the floor. Stretching over Emma’s outstretched legs and bent ankles, it curls up her arm, lingering at her elbow before it drifts towards her hunched shoulders and the edge of Killian’s wrist and then—

It’s gone. 

Disappearing as quickly as it arrived, Killian wonders if he imagined it. He didn’t. He knows, he didn’t. Just as easily as he knows it didn’t happen simply because of him. 

He licks his lips once. 

“I found her,” he starts, “or she found me, I suppose. Not easy to keep your direction underground.” Glancing up, Killian finds Emma’s eyes on him. Wide, they don’t quite demand an explanation, but they want one and he supposes wanting is half the battle. At least metaphorically. “No stars underground, you see.” “Real confident in your navigational abilities huh, Captain?” “Only if you’ll keep saying that.”

She can’t be comfortable when she bends. Twists towards him, and kisses the top of his absolutely disgusting hair. 

There’s a shower upstairs. In the right version of it. He’s not sure what’s here. He can’t bring himself to go up there. 

An absolute coward. 

“Anyway,” Killian continues, “there was a three-headed monster, this lass, and I—we weren’t both going to get out.” “You let her go, though. Told her to go.” He nods. Talking is something of a challenge once more. “As if you’d ever do anything else,” Emma mumbles, a note of pride in her voice that makes every one of Killian’s internal organs clench. That’s all they can do, really. None of them are working all that great, after all. 

“That’s not true.” Tensing, Emma’s fingers still. “That wasn’t really you.” “Ah, that’s not totally true, either. It was at least partially me, all those deep-rooted desires given free reign. But I wanted...she was so scared, Swan.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the rest. Being more specific seems pointless, especially when Emma’s fingers stay exactly where they are. And she knows, anyway. He was terrified. Of what he’d lost and what he’d done and what he’d still be willing to do, if it meant she got out of here. 

Safe. 

He wants them all safe. 

“I told her to find you,” he rasps. “That—I knew you were here, could...feel it, almost. No matter where I was or—” This may be their least organized conversation. Full of tiptoeing and heavy words, unspoken meaning that neither one of them is entirely ready to give credence to yet. “Gave her my name, my—my real name.”

Hair brushes the top of his head, softer than it has any right to be and several things in Killian’s chest threaten to combust. “I was doing a lot of yelling of your name in that bloody forest.” “Joke, or…” “Fresh out of jokes, I think.” He noses at her jeans, not sure if he’s desperate to touch her or the opposite. Desperate to brand himself there, so she’ll remember. No matter what else happens. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admits, “just—I told her to find you, said I was Captain Killian Jones, like that was something I could say, and that you needed to know I was here.” Emma’s silent for a moment. 

Another. Two moments. That become three and four and then Killian’s counting his inhales again and doing his best not to stare too intently at her. She kisses his hair again. Luke she can’t help herself. 

“Had to use the title, didn’t you?” Killian exhales. “Haven’t in quite some time.” “Did you think I wouldn’t have known it was you?” Emma teases, so the joke-thing was something of a lie. A nice one as far as misplaced lies go. Making another noise, he finally burrows closer to her until it’s closer to snuggling and clinging and another round of goosebumps explode on his skin when her hand flattens against his back. “Or,” she says, “was it something else?” “Several somethings, maybe.” “Wanna ballpark for me?” “Not sure I understand that one, actually.” “I don’t need all the somethings, but a few would be good right now. We can get to the rest of them later.”

Those words don’t necessarily fall on top of him. They’re as heavy as the rest, all that meaning and the possibility for a future that seems as distant and impossible as the past or the overall softness of the bedding upstairs. So, while gravity does its best to pull the words down on top of Killian, there’s an ease to them that makes it feel as if they’re simply resting across his back, a reminder that helps keep him pressed to this plane and this place and Emma’s left thigh. 

Which is one of his favorite places to be, quite frankly. 

Usually without the jeans in the way, but dead beggars can’t be choosers. 

“I don’t know why I did that. The name, I—” “Liar, liar.” “Would you like to talk about pants, Swan? Because I have my fair share of thoughts regarding the ones you were wearing in Storybrooke.” “I didn’t pick that outfit.” “Rather good happenstance, then.” “Is deflection a required pirate characteristic?” she asks. “Distract your enemy with half-hearted compliments and—” “—Oh no, those are full-hearted, I guarantee.” “If nothing else, I did look stupid good in those pants.” “Hair left something to be desired, but the pants fit like a glove.” Her smile almost reaches her eyes. Obvious when light filters through the gauzy curtains, once more. “Flirt.” “Only with you.” Emma’s eyes widen. Not in surprise. Closer to frustration. A hint of impatience. The stubborn sort of determination that requires an answer. “And, I—I wanted it.” “Wanted what?” “To be that. Again, I suppose. After everything. All that I’d done, and how much I’d hurt you, I—”

“—You didn’t…” “Swan, let’s be honest that’s the worst lie either one of us has told.” “Ever?” “If not longer.” Huffing out a laugh, she slides further down the wall, a move that can’t feel good on her spine, but does ensure that she’s closer to Killian and he’s still enough of a pirate to want exactly that. “But I—a very long time ago, Captain Killian Jones believed in something. Wanted something, and thought he could get it. Even if some of it was distinctly lawless.” “Probably a requirement for your line of work.” “Ah, well that king deserved all the insults you could come up with. Stealing from him, destroying everything he’d built. That felt like justice, somehow.” “Should I mention the circular nature of time again or is that redundant?” “Unnecessary,” Killian agrees, his mouth inching further up Emma’s ribcage. The noise she lets out is closer to a giggle than he’s capable of dealing with. In a place that’s always tinged vaguely red. “I suppose part of me wanted to return to that. To the ideals, maybe not the laws or the uniforms, but certainly not the…” He swallows. “Villain. Evil. Wrong.” “I never thought you were wrong,” Emma says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. Over the ringing in Killian’s ears. And whatever rushes off her. Magic, of course. Responding to emotion and its innate desire to meet him halfway. 

Gods, but he loves her more than he ever believed he could. 

“I know that,” Killian promises, “even when I didn’t want to. Especially then.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time.” Tightening his arms isn’t easy when there’s this blasted wall in the way. Killian tries all the same. Emma doesn’t tell him to stop. “You were Captain Hook,” she adds, “when we found you. Buried under all those bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Eventually that’s really all that was left.” “I can make some more snide comments on pants, if you want. What’s the flammability of leather?” “I have no idea, honestly.” She smiles. He doesn’t check. Knows, can feel it in the very center of soul. “Ah, well, they can probably catch fire. Regina’s going to teach me how to do those ball things, anyway.” “Absolutely menacing, Your Highness.” “Don’t you forget it.”

The room is getting brighter. 

Or Killian’s finally fallen off that edge. Either one seems entirely reasonable and maybe even a little enjoyable and he’s not sure when, exactly, he decides to start talking again. Only that the words arrive without much thought and even more feeling and Emma’s eyes don’t leave him.  

“It was a mask. A reason for everything else, an excuse that I’d rationalized so I could fall asleep. Captain Hook was a product of his own misfortune, all those unfair hands he’d been dealt. The loss, the anger, the fury that grew every single time metal found skin. Being that, being him, allowed me to drift further and further into that darkness.” “But?” “But,” Killian repeats. “You found me under a pile of bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Oh, that’s kind of nice.” “It kind of was. After you got rid of the blade at my neck.” She flicks his chest. The knot of their limbs is another kind of miracle. “And then everything else that happened. Beanstalks, and Cora, and magic beans and—” “—You came back,” Emma cuts in. “Seems you’ve returned the favor several times over, love.” “That’s how it’s supposed to work, I think.” Maybe he’ll marry her.

The thought strikes him as suddenly as the lightning that flashes outside, a spark that’s eerily similar to the flames Emma was just talking about and there are far too many metaphors bouncing around his skull. He might just have a headache. 

And yet the thought doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. No, it settles. Threatens to grow at the forefront of his brain, where the institution of marriage has never been given much consideration. Until now. With his left shoulder close to popping out of his socket, and Emma’s fingers in his hair and her back contorted while half a dozen bruises on his legs refuse to heal. 

“I love you,” Killian says, unable to do anything else. Except propose, apparently. He should be alive for that. 

And sitting up. 

He can’t bring himself to sit up. 

Only pull himself closer to Emma, until it’s obvious how much he wants and possibly needs and something about a circle. Coming back. Over and over. 

“I know. Which is—” “—Good?” “Better,” Emma says. “I love you, too. Just you, you know that right?” Nodding leads to jeans scratching at his cheeks, but these pants fit fairly well too and both of them flinch at the noticeable creak coming down the stairs. Tufts of Henry’s hair stick up in every direction. 

“You ok?” Emma asks her son, only to get a teenage-type shrug and genetically inherited head tilt. 

Killian narrows his eyes. “What’s the matter, my boy?” The head tilt reaches an angle unaccomplished by anyone over the age of twenty-five. Killian isn’t even sure he could attempt such an angle. But it doesn’t seem to bother Henry and neither he nor Emma point out the use of those particular words in that particular order. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, already stumbling forward. Falling is likely far too generous a descriptor for whatever Henry does next, another mess of limbs that adds to Killian and Emma’s knot, and there are a few more grunts than there should be. 

From all of them. 

Until they find something resembling comfort, Killian’s head still on Emma’s thigh and her legs stretched out so Henry can take advantage of her right one and— “Probably should have found a pillow,” Killian mutters, hoping it sounds like the apology he wants it to be. It’s not enough. Nothing ever could be, really. And he’s not all that surprised by Emma’s head shake, the way it makes her hair sway and brighten under the bit of light they’ve probably created just now and she winces when Henry’s chin digs into her knee. He starts snoring five seconds later. “I’m fine,” Emma says, and it’s impossible to argue with her. Even in this impossible place. “You’re comfortable like this.”

His heart thumps. 

With wishful thinking or more misplaced hope, but it’s there all the same and he kisses exactly where his lips land. 

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #laura writes canon #CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP WRITING SEASON FIVE ANGST #i saw some gifs of this moment last night and my brain was like: alright go #also: if the timeline of this doesn't make sense #don't tell me #i kind of looked at some episode synopsis and then decided i absolutely did not care #and if you can't see main street from mary margaret's loft then that's just too bad