#with an hour and a half left of the day I realised it was pi day

[0rph3u5]

QT 3.14

#original photography #original photographers on tumblr #with an hour and a half left of the day I realised it was pi day

[saiyanmyname]

Hi, I just want to wish everyone a lovely Christmas, however you’re spending it Xx

My gift to you is this goofy pic of Endeavor… and a reader insert ;)

Enji kept looking at the clock, how much longer until his shift was over? Just over half an hour.

He couldn’t believe they were making him work Christmas, especially since he’d done so the previous three years. Not that he had anything to go back home to, but he’d rather be at home doing nothing, instead of having to watch all of the happy families out and about on Christmas Day. He almost found himself wishing a terrible villain would turn up, at least then he’d have something to do, turns out even villains took Christmas Day off. He chuckled to himself at his own silent joke.

“Merry Christmas Endeavor”

“Still working Endeavor? Have a good Christmas”

Why did people have to talk to him? He grunted and nodded. He’d never liked dealing with the public, it was partly why he made himself so unapproachable, because he was scared of talking to people, making small talk was something that came naturally to most of the pros, but he’d always been introverted. Not that you’d believe it if you’d seen him, with those flashy flames and booming voice, but it was just an act, an act to get by.

That’s when he saw them, five of the most perfect mince pies, stacked neatly in a row of three and a row of two, they looked delicious, pale shortcrust pastry and sugar on top that had been caramelised to a hard shell, they were in pale blue and green festive foil wrappers, and he had to have them. He checked his watch, and peered through the window biting his lip hungrily, it looked like they were closing, it would be impolite to go in now, so close to closing time, but he just had to have one. He didn’t have any at home, and it would be a terrible thing not to have at least one on Christmas Day. He’d rather hoped Fuyumi might bring him some, but she was away on a trip for Christmas.

“Are you sure you’ll be Ok on your own dad?” She’d asked.

“Of course, it’ll be fine, go and enjoy yourself.”

He’d replied, it was a lie, and now he had no mince pies at two minutes to five on Christmas Day.

He pushed on the door and the little bell rang. He tried to sound casual.

“Oh sorry, are you closing?”

“Yes, I was.” You reply bluntly, without looking up from sweeping the floor, back turned.

“Oh…” he was not expecting this response, he was Endeavor, usually people went the extra mile for a hero, he was stunned.

You paused waiting to hear the bell as he left, but he didn’t move. You leant your broom against the counter.

“Look, I’ve just closed up, you’ll have to…” you turned, the last person you’d expected to see was Endeavor. His flames were roaring from his jaw and his boots, snow had started to fall outside, but the the windows had already started to steam from the intensity of his heat.

You briefly wondered how his wife had ever gotten close enough to him to produce four children, he was hotter than the sun, but then again, you’d heard she’d had an ice quirk.

Enji looked at you, trying to discern the look on your face, you looked like you were solving a mathematical puzzle.

“Could you move away from there?”

“Sorry, from where?”

“Behind you, you’ll melt the truffles.”

“Oh, I’m sorry” he stepped forward.

“What is it you want?” You asked folding your arms across your chest. It brought his eyes to hover briefly over your breasts. You noticed and tried not to smirk.

What was the number one hero doing waltzing into your shop and checking you out?

“Are you this rude to all your customers?” He asked bluntly, he shouldn’t have said that. He realised straight after he said it, but he still really wanted those mince pies.

You replied before he could apologise.

“Only the ones I like” You smirked, wiping your hands on your apron. His eyes hovering over you again, where of course they shouldn’t be. You wondered if it was only more noticeable because his eyes were so glaringly blue, so bright and icy against the billowing flames that burst around his face. “Do you check out all your shop keepers?”

“I was not…” He stepped back.

“Truffles!” You exclaimed.

“Sorry” he said jumping forwards again. “You should put them somewhere further from the natural place to stand”

“Most of my customers aren’t on fire.”

God this was awkward, he shouldn’t have come in, this was exactly the kind of social exchange he hated, it was uncomfortable.

“So, what can I get you?” Your face softened, you had a lovely smile he realised. His heart settled a little, and his flames reduced.

“Um… the mince pies in the window.” He paused, you looked like you were waiting for something. “Please.” He added, tentatively.

“Sure, how many would you like?”

“All of them…” You raised you eyebrows waiting again. “Please” he added gruffly. You were winning and he didn’t like it. Making him say please, it was annoying… and maybe a touch erotic? He tried to get the thought out of his head, but it stayed like one of those trick candles, reappearing with a flicker.

You took them out of the window.

“One each is it?” It was common knowledge he had four children, but he felt it a little presumptuous of you to ask. Or was that small talk? He wasn’t sure.

“No, I’ll be on my own.”

“Ah, me too.” There was that smile again, like butter, your lips… they were really… pretty. He thought to himself. “Big appetite fighting all those villains?” He was fairly sure you were mocking him now, the question was rhetorical.

You placed them in a white box. With six gaps. “Room for one more if you want anything else?”

He was still thinking about your retort about spending Christmas alone.

“Excuse me?” He asked, wondering if he’d heard you wrong.

“Box holds six, you have five, do you want anything else?”

“Oh, of course.” He held his chin, gazing down at the glass cabinet. Most of the really good things had sold out, but there was still too much to choose from, aside from the five mince pies. He was rather pleased with himself about getting those.

“Spoilt for choice?” You leant over the counter. “Need some help Endeavor?”

The way you added his name at the end of the sentence made him blush, what was it about the way you said it that made it sound so intimate.

“I think so…” he hummed.

“Ok:” you jumped up squatting down behind the other side of the glass.

“These ones,” you tapped the glass, “are a big hit, they’re custard on the inside but with a hard crème brûlée type topping, most people think they’re going to be soft until they bite into them, and they are, but I just like the way the crunch adds something special to the experience. Custard pastries are usually a hit with men, I don’t know why. Sound like something you might like?”

“Perhaps,” you were really quite passionate about the subject. He smiled, you were pleased you’d managed to break down a barrier, Endeavor wasn’t known for smiling, it felt like a little win.

“Well I’ll take one out for you try. Then we have these, don’t confuse them with mince pies, they’re Eccles cakes.”

“But they’re not cakes?” He looked at them confused.

“Look, I didn’t invent them so take it up with the name police. What does Endeavor mean anyway?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” You’d struck a nerve you realised, this could prove interesting.

“They’re filled with currants rather than mincemeat and then wrapped in flakey pastry, that’s what sets them apart from a mince pie. Hawks flies, Jeanist… jeans, All Might is a cool name because he’s ‘All Mighty’ and strong etc, so I’ve always been curious, why just Endeavor? Why not… Flamey McFlame Face?” You giggled. “Sorry I wasn’t being rude, I promise, I just assumed I may not have another chance to ask.”

“They sound good, could I try one of those too?” He paused then “I’ll pay for these too of course?” He added hastily.

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask since I need to get rid of the stock, but since you’ve offered, how about I do you a deal?”

“Ok.”

“Good.” You didn’t mention anything further about the deal and it got his mind ticking.

You continued to explain each of the different flavour and textures of the treats, they all sounded delicious.

You glanced at the clock, you’d been going through all the different items for about quarter of an hour, he’d chosen four to try, although he’d struggled to whittle it down to so few.

“I’d really like to try them all.”

“Well if you’re really good maybe Santa will let you.” You smirked. “Maybe not all in one day though.”

You were definitely flirting with him, at least he thought so, people didn’t tend to flirt with Endeavor, he was unapproachable, and that’s the way he liked it, or so he’d thought.

He decided to try his luck.

“I am good, very good actually.” He said, picking up the first pastry.

“Oh?” The corner or your mouth twitched. “Then you’ll have to show me.” You leant over the counter.

“Oh my god, this is so good.” He said as he finished it up.

“Isn’t it?” You grinned, eyes lit up.

“How do you make these?” He asked, mouth half full, chewing away.

“Trade secrets.”

“Hmm, I bet.” Endeavor raised an eyebrow.

He made the rest of his way through them deciding to buy the remainder of each, 1, 3, 1, and 5. He smirked. All your stock was in odd numbers and all the boxes were even. A smart way to suggest people leave with more than they intended to buy.

“What’s your quirk?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Is it perhaps a… disappearing quirk?”

“Very perceptive Endeavor. People do like filling things up. It’s not illegal, reducing your stock is it?”

He leant over the counter in the same way that you were. Suddenly you felt very very close, noses almost touching.

“Would you like it to be?” His voice was almost lower up close, you could feel the heat from his flames and the breeze of his breath. He was actually quite good looking up close.

“Why, will you arrest me Endeavor.”

“No,” he grinned, a boyish grin that you rather liked. “The police arrest people, I just bring them to justice for what they’ve done.”

You were blushing now, you didn’t think he’d pluck up the courage to be so blunt, afterall you’d be coaxing him for about half an hour or so now.

His lips brushed yours teasingly, an invitation to open your mouth, his hand sliding gently around the side of your neck. His fingers big enough that he could stroke his thumb down your cheek, you bit his lip gently and he groaned. You found yourself leaning further over the counter, hands in his hair, pulling it a little, he groaned again. You smirked as he kissed you, you were fairly sure he liked it a little rough.

“Hold on” he paused, making his way around behind the counter. “Mind if come back here?” He asked, arms instinctively wrapping around you, leaning to kiss you again. He was a good kisser, and it was better now the counter wasn’t in the way, you could feel his whole body against you. You wondered if his kiss would feel just as good elsewhere. “So…” he continued, speaking, about an inch away from your ear. “About this deal?”

“Only if you say please.”

#endeavor mha #enji todoroki #endeavor x reader #enji x you #minors dni #endeavor x y/n #enji todoroki imagine #enji todoroki x reader #enji x reader #enji todoroki smut #endeavor x female reader

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a damp and drizzling Bar-sur-Aube, where the temperature is currently 6c.

This week I have been in full Christmas mode, I bought cards for my grandchildren as well as a Disney colour and sticker book for each of them, yes they have to be posted but I am sure they will enjoy working on them. Anyone who knows me well, knows that Christmas is not my favourite time of year but since moving to France I have taken an interest in baking Christmas cake and making my own mincemeat (above photo) for mince pies. I have made stuffed dates, peppermint creams, ginger biscuits and crunchies (biscuits my mum used to make) plus chutneys and even golden syrup! I have given (some) of these to friends for Christmas (which I think they have liked). I have also made my Christmas and New Years Day “special” by making myself a lovely meal which has about 4 or 5 courses and which I eat over 2-3 hours.

Anie came to see me on Sunday and brought some dried sunflower heads, she put them into the garden and all I had to do was wait for the birds to come to feast on them. I wasn’t disappointed there were mesange charbonniere (photo below) as well as what I call “spuggies” not all of which are sparrows.

As the cleaner had tested positive for Covid, I was left to my own devices all week. I dealt with my usual chores and on Friday I messaged her to see if she was feeling better, yes, she had tested negative so she will be coming on Monday 😊.

Pauline is back in town 😊, she has returned from Dublin and won’t be going back. She brought with her some lurgy so won’t be coming to visit until she is completely well. Having not seen Monique for over two weeks , she told me she had bronchitis. It is self diagnosed and she has been treating it with thyme 🤔 yes the herb, I think a visit to the doctor may have been a good idea (my thoughts only). I mentioned that I had made some English delicacies (didn’t quite know how to describe making mincemeat). She said oh can you send me the recipes…… well heck no! Translating ingredients and method not my idea of whiling away a good few hours of my time, maybe try google! Maud may come to visit this afternoon but as it looks as if the rain is set in for the day she may put it off. I wouldn’t be too bothered either way as beef is in the NEW slow cooker (oh no, just realised I haven’t used a liner for the pot, what a numpty) and it will be ready anytime I am ready.

It was the meeting of the knitting group on Friday and I had intended to call in, however, with Claudine telling me that one lady had been hospitalised with viral meningitis (I was going to take some fabric for her) I put it out of my head. I was just composing a message to Claudine when she messaged me, the lady was back from hospital and at the group. I almost threw my coat on and drove up then changed my mind. I will go for a short time on the 24th (I hope) if I am not too fatigued.

I have been buying new clothes, following the weight loss (almost 18kg), and have been fortunate to pick up some bargains along the way. Well the bargains have now extended beyond clothes and onto …… plants! Yes the local supermarket were selling a large chrysanthemum plant half price (I picked the one that looked the “freshest”) they also had a cyclamen with flowers that were so droopy I prayed that some water would revive it. Anyway, brought them home, stood them outside, gave them water and just left them. We had sunshine that day, plus it poured with rain during the night, what a difference that made to the cyclamen, the flowers were upright with more buds waiting to open the following morning. Not so the poinsettia that I had stored in a dark place through the summer. I really do not think that it will grow again, what a shame it was beautiful last year.

“The Daddy” and I are still working in tandem doing the Tesco order for my elderly relative who lives in London. I rang her yesterday and she had her list all ready. I will be inputting that as soon as possible.

Speaking of “The Daddy” he will called in to look after his daughter on Monday as it was a teacher training day at her school. They had a good time, then he went to collect his son from nursery, where he was told that his son had been “trouble” that day. My grandson told me he had pushed someone and poked another person in the eye, now not sure if these were “accidents” but when he related them to me he had an impish grin on his face 😉. The children are with Daddy this weekend and had a visit to York yesterday, to get new clothes. It’s not easy being a single parent coping with two children in busy streets but he does it. Mind you he said they had worn him out yesterday.

“The Trainee Solicitor” has (finally) prepared his course application for Uni, he had left it for his boss to sign and would then email it to the University. I am pleased he has got that sorted. He was left in charge for three days this week. He has dealt with a lot of work and it was noted and appreciated. Mind you it has left him very tired but he has still had time to read his books (a good form of relaxation).

“The Ex-Graduate” has also been trying to catch up on rest following her gruelling 40 odd hour working week the week before. Fortunately she had Thursday and Friday at home. She caught up with the housework, did the school run for her young sister on Friday and she too managed relaxation time with her book. They are busy deciding on a theme for Xmas decorations. I do believe it is just going to be small gifts this year as they are both busy saving. I know a nice holiday next year would be appreciated by both but there are other things that take precedence.

Having still not heard anything from the hospital about starting my next treatment, I rang again. The lady explained that I would receive a call after 13 November. I hope they give me more than one days notice!

Now to this weeks songs, for the first one we go right back to 1967 (wow I was still at junior school, the one that faces onto the Terry’s Chocolate Factory (ok so the chocolate factory is gone and the building is flats now but I can live in the past sometimes can’t I). It’s “The Letter” by the Box Tops. I have to say for the past 56 years I always believed that this group were black, what a surprise to ses a video and guess what they are all white!

The next song is “Night Games”, realised in 1981, by Skegness born Graham Bonnet. Bonnet was one of the duo “The Marbles” who had a hit with “Only One Woman” in 1968 the B side of which is “By the Light of the Burning Candle” another great song written by the Gibb brothers. Bonnet also was vocalist for Rainbow on songs such as “All Night Long” and “Since You Been Gone”.

Now it’s time to (perhaps) have a walk, prepare for a friends visit, do some knitting or none of the above 😂.

Have a good week until next week.

#nature #trees #photography #baking #60’s music #80’s music #livingthedream #barsuraube

[inatelescopelens]

amsterdam 17th december

Today was Saturday, market day. One of my clearest memories of Amsterdam from age sixteen was wandering between the stalls of the organic farmers market in Noordermarkt with Camilla, buying fresh produce for our dinner that night. It was a part of the city I wanted to experience again, so we left on foot early for the northern neighbourhood of central Amsterdam. The market comprised the usual fare of fruit and vegetables, cheese, meat and bread; I was particularly taken with the stall selling an endless variety of mushrooms from the familiar white button or portobello to the truly alien rare types. Neither of us had eaten a proper breakfast in expectation of getting something there, so we surveyed our options.

In the square where the farmers market takes root we were tempted in the door of Winkel 43, an unassuming café I had known about since my first visit that is famous for its apple pies. So popular are the generous, caramelised slices of this dessert that on market days such as today the café doesn’t even serve its usual food menu, and the workers were in a constant process of cutting up enormous freshly-baked pies and plating them up to be served. We each got a slice—I enjoyed mine with their offering of whipped cream, and fresh mint tea to drink. The pie was incredible, not dry or cakey but rich and the perfect combination of melting apples and crisp warm pastry. Buoyed by this new culinary highlight in our lives, we walked through the rest of the Noordermarkt to see the rest of the typical food, clothing and bric-a-brac stalls, the lunch stands and trucks just beginning to set up for the day.

I had planned to take us to Tony’s Chocolonely after the market, but it was only half past ten and the less well-known and touristy location up in Westerpark didn’t open until midday. Instead we returned to the city centre through the Jordaan neighbourhood and along Haarlemmerdijk where we came upon the main Tony’s Chocolonely Super Store, remarkably devoid of the awesome queue which we had seen snaking around the street outside the day before. It was eleven or eleven-thirty then, in another hour or two the line would be back. The line is not for the store itself, perhaps because at least half the full range of Tony’s flavour is available at every supermarket in the Netherlands, but for the ‘design your own Tony’s’ experience’ that draws hundreds of participants each day.

Since there was no queue at all, I claimed one of the screens before the chocolate-kitchen window and designed my Tony’s: dark chocolate, pretzel pieces, raspberry, red and white wrapper since black was not one of the options. I arrived at this combination after many minutes of troubled paralysis before the list of possibilities; I realised most of my ideas were recreating the flavour combinations of Tony’s bars that already exist, so I decided to go for something ninety per cent random. I put in my phone number to be notified when my custom chocolate bar was ready for collection and we headed back up from the colourful basement shop into the cold.

A bit short on shared activities for now, Mum and I went our separate ways and I pottered around the streets until I received the message that my custom chocolate bar was ready back at Tony’s. The tourist swarm had descended by then—I had to fight my way through the mob to make it to the front of the store, where I witnessed the shameless seagull-like behaviour of the people attempting to snatch handfuls of free samples until the harangued man behind the counter took it out of their reach. From there I crossed over to Centraal Station and, after a brief detour to the supermarket where I rescued someone’s forgotten credit card from the self-serve checkout, I took the north-south metro down to Europaplein.

I remembered the station. It’s nothing like London’s Underground, or Paris’ metro, which are cramped and often dirty—it’s a vast platform, dark grey, clean, not far below the earth. I took the north-south train from here into the city centre when I was staying with Camilla and Rob the first time. Above the station is an expansive, comfortably bleak square and convention centre, today occupied by a winter wonderland funfair with rides and a ticketed entrance. It was clear the cold hadn’t put off any local families from attending this seasonal event, but I passed it by, and went around the corner to de winkel van nijntje (’Miffy’s Shop’) which, a bit like the Moomin Shop, sells every product imaginable in a Miffy bunny rabbit version.

I have fond childhood memories of Miffy, and the shop was so charming with its Miffy Christmas window display and its staff of friendly young people—about my age, running a playlist of popular indie music over the speakers. I ended up buying a soft, classic white Miffy plush toy for myself as a souvenir, and a little crocheted Miffy charm wearing a blue dress for my best friend Madeleine, who loves Miffy and owns many iterations of her in different forms. Before I went on my way back towards the centre of town I sat for a while in a nice café opposite Europaplein, where I drank my coffee and ate my complimentary bite-sized spice biscuit at the window and watched the fairground Ferris wheel turn in the distance. 

This was a neighbourhood I knew better than most of the inner streets from being there before, actually, and it was with half-clarified nostalgia that I followed the wide Ferdinand Bolstraat across the canal and into De Pijp. I walked past an Albert Heijn supermarket and there on the street corner stopped dead—I was looking at a white-painted shop a few metres across plonked in the middle of the pavement; I remembered it. Dutch flags hung over the entrance of the fish stand, a permanent structure with the air of a market stall, unassuming and unnamed. This shop does not appear on any online maps or in search results. It was only by the look of it, there in the flesh, that I knew what it was. Camilla and Rob took me there to try Hollandse Nieuwe—Dutch soused raw herring, traditionally served with diced raw onion and slices of pickle—when I stayed with them. There’s a photo of me standing in front of the same glass refrigerated case, under the same LED panel lights, laughing next to Rob with the paper plate of fish in my hands. 

It took a long time to summon up the courage to go in alone. I nervously asked the man running the shop for the herring dish, though he explained to me that his card reader was broken and he could only accept cash. I didn’t have any but I knew I was going to let nothing stand in my way now. I promised to be back in a minute and rushed across to the supermarket to withdraw twenty euros. Then I hovered before the counter while he prepared my herring fresh, slicing everything up and adorning it with one of the same tiny Dutch flag toothpicks that I had eaten with three years ago. I thanked him in earnest and ignored the embarrassment of taking photos out on the street in front of locals like the tourist I was. It meant something very heavy to me to have this moment again. And I hadn’t meant for it to happen, unlike almost every other detail of this trip which I have planned meticulously, accounting for every destination and event along the way. In its obscurity I had no method of finding the same fish stand again; I hadn’t even considered it, I found myself at its door of PVC strip curtain by accident alone.

The herring itself was delicious. The raw fish of this dish is fresh and delicate in flavour, paired perfectly with sharp onions and pickles. Perhaps it might be offputting to some. It’s not to me. I finished it quickly and cleaned off the toothpick so I could keep the little flag in my pocket as a memento. 

I made it back to the hotel mid-late afternoon and promptly collapsed on my shoebox bed for a rest. For dinner I had booked us a table at Restaurant Entrepot, a fine dining sort of place up on the Entrepotdok canal of reappropriated warehouses. We speed-walked there, mistakenly for stretches along the sardine-tin streets of the central tourist district—I’m afraid I rather put Mum through it getting there on time, but we did. The restaurant was an expansive single dining room inside, very simple and chic, with kitchen and bar exposed. The very kind waitress brought us their daily menu of dishes constructed with all the best seasonal produce of the Netherlands and told us when the wine we’d picked a bit at random was probably not going to be to our tastes. We opted for three courses a la carte.

My first plate, a cold starter, was the most surprising dish of the night to me. It was pearly strips of squid served on a bed of burrata with a garnish of seeds. The squid was almost a little bit like al dente pasta presented with cold creamy cheese sauce, hard to describe without rendering the image somewhat disturbing, but I thought it was incredibly tasty. Next I ate a hot starter dish of roast pumpkin and mushroom, then a main of crisp-skinned, tender-fleshed skate wing; the restaurant served their remarkable food along with a plate of crusty brown bread. Mum and I shared a sweet potato dessert of elegant textures and subtle sugariness. Like everything else we had eaten there, the flavours and form were so precise in a way that was neither overdone nor left unappetizing by pretentious service. It was good food.

We walked back to the hotel around the eastern curve of inner Amsterdam rather than cutting across the middle. We saw Centraal Station and the great towering Christmas tree of Dam Square outside the department store glittering in the night. I dislike using the word magical—I don’t think I felt an awe beyond human nature in view of the lights, as we skirted there around patches of frost and ice forming in the wake of a new cold snap in the city; nothing was inexplicable, I was trying not to forget anything about it because it all meant something to me.

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fluff

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Would You Cry If I Died, Would You Remember My Name?’ - a Ranbutler Fic

Remember how much you loved Ranbutler during the first half of the Masquerade stream? Me too! Everytime Billiam said something about punishing him I wrote it down. Here’s 1700 words of an unnamed character suffering :)

tw for starvation, Egg manipulation, implied beating.

“As a bonus,” Sir Billiam joked with a kind of triumphant smile. “If we die down here, they’ll never find our bodies!” He laughed voraciously, and Karl soon joined him.

---

The Butler didn’t think it was very funny.  There were crimson tendrils at the edge of his vision, like bloody hands trying to ensnare him. They were red, like anger and violence and pain. So much pain. Billiam had laughed at him earlier that day. Invited him to talk over an afternoon tea in the library. None of which he would be getting. The Butler swore he’d seen his employers eyes turn red, like the Devil himself was sitting across from him. It couldn’t be though, because the Devil seeks out the greedy. He just wanted something to eat.

He just wanted something to eat.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and it was a battle to stay on his feet. He was bent double, leaning hard against the rough wall of the secret passage, one hand gripping grooves in the wood with the tips of his fingers to hold him upright, while his other arm was wrapped tightly around his midsection, squeezing as if it could somehow counteract the pain. Despite his frigid surroundings, he didn’t shiver: he couldn’t feel it. He could’ve been submerged in the aquarium and drowned without realising. He was empty, stomach growling, demanding food, but there was nothing he could do. He felt his grip on the wall slipping, and he bit through his tongue with the effort to stay upright. If he sat down, he feared he’d never get up again.

Domed dinner plates, silver serving trays and deep-dish bowls piled high and poised precariously danced through his subconscious. Sweet and savoury pies, delicate canapes, a roasted round of venison, sautéed mushrooms. He’d made all those, some with assistance from Hubert, for a dinner party Billiam had thrown over a week and a half ago. He’d slaved away for hours prior to his master’s gathering of rich friends and richer acquaintances, preparing four courses, organising the alcohol, cleaning the dining room and ballroom, pressing tablecloths and watering the potted plants (some of a more reddish hue than normal). His intention was to make too much food: then he’d be scolded with no follow-through and get to retreat to the kitchen to finish the leftovers. It was a perfect plan.

But Fortune did not smile upon him; she glowered angrily as she often liked to do. From the moment he’d turned the corner from the dining room to the hall, time seemed to slow, and he watched with detached horror and a muted resignation as he collided with Lord James, and the wine he’d been carrying splashed all over the newly-divorced gentleman’s dinner jacket. The gent’s formerly suave cream blazer now bore a closer resemblance to the coat of a fallen soldier. The Butler wanted the ground to swallow him whole as his master came marching out of the ballroom to berate him, the guests exchanging smug looks and glances that filled him toe to top with shame.

“James I am so sorry, I’ll lend you a dinner jacket - there’s a rather fine one in the second guest bedroom’s wardrobe. Please, I invite you to clean yourself while I deal with him,” He shot the Butler a glare that sank his heart with dread, “And I’ll replace your jacket tomorrow. Hubert!” Billiam’s other butler immediately stepped out of the nearest extraneous doorway. “Show James to the second guest room and help him clean up.”

“And as for you,” The Butler shrunk back involuntarily as Billiam loomed over him, leaning closer to his ear. “Twenty lashes, no food for two weeks and the cost of his jacket comes out of your wages.” It felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs, but the Butler held his tongue. Often Billiam would make empty threats he’d forget about hours later, so long as the Butler remained well-behaved and/or invisible. “Now get out of my sight.” He didn’t have to be told twice before he retreated upstairs, stuffing himself into a small cubbyhole where no guest would find him by accident. He would be left alone for the remainder of the party, when he’d leave and get something to eat without being seen or heard. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.

The kitchen doors were locked though when he tried to silently open them in the early hours of the morning, and when he turned away he was met with the sight of Hubert holding a candle in one hand and a cane in the other. A cold sweat formed on his brow like condensation on a chilly window pane.

“Hubert?” “Take off your shirt.” “But-” “Take off your shirt and step outside, please.” Hubert’s icy-grey eyes showed no sympathy as the two of them walked through a side door and stepped out onto the grounds of the estate. The Butler heard him set down the candle by the door as he shrugged off his waistcoat and undid the buttons of his shirt, trembling. Hubert took them out of his hands and cast them aside as he raised the cane, looking the Butler in the eyes as he tensed all the muscles in his body in anticipation. “No hard feelings.” “Right.” He murmured, shutting his eyes.

At least the agonising pains of starvation had distracted him from the raw ache of his back as it made contact with the wall behind him. He’d lost the fight to stay upright and was now huddled on the floor in the dank passage, tasting the blood in his mouth from where he’d bit through his tongue. It was better than nothing, he would only admit in this state. The tips of his fingers played with the canteen of water on the floor beside him: his only hope of surviving. This wasn’t the first time Billiam had withheld food from him, and he’d learnt that if he drank enough, he could about sustain himself through achingly empty days and endless torturous nights. Still, it did nothing to relieve his torment. It had been eleven days since the dinner party, and though the Butler knew he could survive this, the throbbing pain in his belly felt like Death consuming him from the inside out, withering him away in the secret passage. He was safe in there from his master at least, but what about his fellow servant? Did Hubert know about this hidey-hole?

If he died in here, would anyone find him? Would anyone care?

He titled his head back and let out a low moan as another wave of dizziness clouded his thoughts and senses. No one would care if he was gone. Not even his master, Billiam, would pay it any mind: Hubert was more than capable of running the show on his own. He never incurred Billiam’s wrath; he was never locked out of the kitchen or taken outside to be beaten or scolded for simply existing. Billiam and Hubert had conversations; the Butler was denied speech at all times. The Butler wasn’t even permitted his own name in Billiam’s establishment: he whispered it to himself while he was alone at night so he wouldn’t forget it. The memories of being called by his name grew dim in his mind, wasting away with no one else to value them. No one to value him.

The next time he was swept with a wave of nausea and weakness, the red tendrils returned to his vision, and this time they didn’t leave. “Oh Butler, or should I say, John...” “How… How do you know my name..?” He whispered back, without considering the source of the voice intruding into his mind. “You poor mortal soul, suffering alone with no one to care.” “How- How do you know that? Who are you?” The Butler’s voice was weak as he rasped questions to the darkness. “What is it that you want, hm? More than anything in the world, what is it that your heart desires?” “Are you Satan?” “No, child.” Somehow that pronouncement scared him more. “Please- I don’t want anything…” “Oh but you do!” The voice then fell silent, leaving the Butler alone with his thoughts for a long moment. The presence remained, but without the voice to distract him, the Butler once again whimpered aloud from the pain of his hunger pangs. “I- I guess- I guess I’d like something to eat.” He admitted, his voice a soft whisper as he basked in the shame he felt. “Yes, child, and that I can give to you, and so much more. I can grant you everything you’ve ever desired. Food, so much you’ll never go hungry again, rich and filling like what you serve to your master and his guests. You may have Billiam’s approval… He may even call you by your name.” The Butler’s vision was swimming. “H-How.” He mumbled, barely finding the will to whisper the words.

“Come. Come to me. In the library, behind the second painting. Then, lowly mortal, I will make sure you never starve again.” He tried, searching inside himself for the last of his resolve, tried to find the willpower to hold out against the pull of whatever demon was beckoning to him. His parents, were they alive, would never approve. Billiam would never approve.

But they didn’t matter. His parents were dead. And Billiam was the reason he was too weak to resist in the first place. His willpower shrivelled up and died as he dragged himself across the floor towards the rickety ladder upstairs. If just trying to survive made him a sinner, then he hoped at least that Hell would be warm.

---

“Karl,” He stared down the peculiarly-dressed stranger. “I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside.” He watched as the man hesitantly stepped under his arm where he held back the painting, his eyes darting between him and his master at the far end of the room, standing proud next to the Egg. He listened to him give Karl a small speech without hearing any of the words as he retrieved the scabbard from behind the other painting, then himself stepping through the hole in the wall.

As he reappeared, Billiam smiled and folded his hands before him. “Oh, the Egg is hungry.” The Butler unsheathed the wicked-sharp blade, stained with the blood of the Egg’s previous victims. As he looked at the last of the night’s targets in the eyes, he had only one thought.

‘So am I.’

#so this was interesting to write #lot of really specific googling #lot of synonyms for pain #symptoms of starvation #types of food they served at banquets in the olden times. that sorta thing #i reread half of the second hetty feather book halfway through because that also contains an ailing servant #crim writes #dream smp #tales from the smp #dsmp fic #ranboo #ranbutler #technoblade #billiam the third #dream smp egg #i hope you guys like it! #oh also! i wrote this before the wild west stream but i added in my hc that ranbutler and john john are the same person #so that's on his name being john

[oftenderweapons]

Apple of My Pie — Jin

A Small Town Swoons story

Chapter 1.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Buttercup)

Wordcount: 3.5k words

Genre: non-idol!AU, Baker/Café owner!Seokjin, University student!reader Flatmates!AU, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, slightest angst.

Rating: suggested 18+ (there are brief apparitions of dirty thoughts, also future episodes will contain NSFW material)

A/N: Hello my sweet poppies! Welcome to the Small Town Swoon Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Jin and Buttercup met when she was nothing but a scared, homesick first year student. Four years later, the two share an apartment close to her university and his bakery and café, and are the best of friends, sharing the house, several meals and, most importantly a sacred breakfast ritual. However, as far as sharing goes, Seokjin’s heart has belonged exclusively to Buttercup for four years. Exhausted, Jin finally decides to let go of his unrequited feelings, or at least try.  

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Oh, this is chill. Light swearing, heavy infraction of The Silent Roommate Code (aka don’t do the nasty with your bf when your roommate is sleeping in the bed at the other end of the room. Especially if she’s a virgin, first year and very homesick). Also, there is a quick flash image of breast worship, sorry.  

Remember to vote for next prompt (check the link in my bio) and in case you need it, here’s my masterlist 💜

In case you need it, here is the music companion

Enjoy! ✨💜

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

It was a slow morning at Jin’s café, only a pair of clients sitting at the small table in the corner, two girls who always met there on Sunday morning, at an illegal hour for the weekend. They had outdoor equipment with them, and probably it was just a stop for a quick breakfast before going skiing or trekking, which was strange considering the disastrous downpour outside, but who was he to debate.

Plus the usual early birds were late too, probably because of the university bonfire the night before.

Seokjin yawned and silently cried over his lost hours of sleep. He was ready to sit down, tip the back of his head against the wall and sleep — actually, rest his eyes —, when the bell at the front door dinged, announcing a new customer.

He inhaled and wore his best smile, standing up. “Good morn— Oh my god, sweetie are you alright?” He asked, seeing a drenched young girl stand at the door.

“I might use a friend.”

That girl was you, running away from your roommate and her boyfriend fucking in your dorm room. Right in the bed beside yours. With you there. And they didn’t even bother keeping quiet.

Seokjin was awestruck. You were soaked like a stray kitten left out in the rain, your hair sticking to your face, your eyes wide and your lip trembling, speaking of several degrees of trauma. “Poor thing.” He murmured, “wait, I should have a blanket back here.”

He dashed for the small cot he had in his office, in the back of the shop, gripping the fleece blanket and bringing it back to the counter, jogging around it and opening the blanket wide as he stared at you. “It’s better if you take off your robe. It’s dripping wet.” He said discreetly.

The girls at the front stared at the scene, a bit worried about you but mostly endeared at the cute barista taking care of you.

“May I use the restroom? The shirt underneath is, uh, thin... Oh, god this is so embarrassing.” You hid your face in your hands.

“Of course,” Jin blushed to his ears, offering you the blanket. “Would you like some coffee? Tea? Cocoa?”

Your lip wobbled, eyes watering and not for the rain. “Cocoa?”

“Yes, sweetie. Go get changed, the restroom is over there.” He pointed at the door.

“Thank you so much.” You said, placing the blanket in front of your chest.

Seokjin rushed behind the counter, grabbing a rag to dry up the wet patches you had left on the floor before someone slipped. Next he got your cocoa ready.

In the quiet morning, through the background music and the gentle chatting of the other two clients, he could hear you using the hand dryer, glad that it was set on hot air so that you could hopefully warm yourself in the process. He even thought of bringing you in the actual bakery, where he had a small traditional stove operated by firewood, other than the big oven working for croissants and banana bread and brownies and pies.

You emerged from the bathroom a little more composed, bundled up in his blanket.

It smelled good. Like raw sugar, butter and apples. A tinge of raisins.

It smelled domestic, like your granny.

You missed your granny.

You missed home.

Your lip wobbled again.

“Come sit”, he said, pointing at a chair in a private corner of the room, somewhere you would be a bit protected from the rest of the shop. It was also conveniently close to the counter, so he could check on you and ask you if you wanted to talk about what had happened. His first thought was that you were a teenage runaway with very bad planning skills, considering that you had run out in your pyjamas and a jacket, your shoes definitely inappropriate for the weather outside, holding only a pair of keys and your wallet in your hands, placing them on the counter once you sat.

“I’m Seokjin.” He said kindly, offering you his hand.

You caught his hand and introduced yourself.

“So, what brings you here with this devil weather so early on a Sunday morning.”

“Running away from my roommate and her boyfriend.” You said, hugging the blanket tighter around you.

“What hap— Nevermind, I think I got it.” Seokjin said, blinking repeatedly. Goodness, people were nasty. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, placing the cup of cocoa in front of you. “Cream? Cocoa powder? Cinnamon? Chocolate sauce? Marshmallows?” He asked.

You teared up. “Marshmallows.”

He poured an abundant amount of them as he pouted, noticing you had become even more upset.

“There you go, Buttercup.” He said, smiling at you so kindly.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice weak and your forehead creased as you desperately tried not to let your tears spill.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, delicately letting his hands move toward yours, moving slowly to see if you took it away. “May I?” He asked, his fingers hovering over yours.

You nodded. While your left hand held the blanket close to your chest, your right ended pressed between his warm palms, the one on top rubbing your knuckles.

“How old are you?” He asked, worried. He wore a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, you look very young, I’m just asking to see if I should call your parents or anyone adult.”

“I live at the dorms. I’m in college.” You said, frowning a little.

“As I said, you look very young. And there are some underage students here so...” He explained, his deep, dark eyes breaching through your bad mood.

“I’m a first year. Nineteen.” You said.

“Poor darling, that must be so hard on you.” He said softly, still patting your hand.

You nodded. “I miss my family. My granny.”

“Oh, buttercup.” He cooed.

If you were in a sane state of mind you would have snickered at yourself and at how miserable you looked.

Still, you were grateful for the kind and gentle Seokjin. And how easily he had brought you back home, with the scent of his café, the taste of the cocoa and the specific brand of marshmallow that your grandmother always got for you when you were little.

“It’s a three hour drive. And it’s tough here.” You said, hiding your face as you dried one tear.

“Do you have any friends here?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Seokjin smiled, his eyes becoming even kinder as his cheeks became round and puffy. “From today, I’m your friend.”

Seokjin, you are a strong-willed, honest man. You are a gentleman. You are a good human. He kept repeating in his brain.

You are a polite, friendly, reliable. You are her friend. He repeated as a mantra.

Still, his brain was completely drowned with thoughts of you in the shower.

The two of you had become flatmates in rushed circumstances after you found an apartment ten minutes away from your university, which allowed you to walk there without having to take the bus or end up in the decrepit dorms, sharing a room way too small with someone way too rude or too loud.

Seokjin still didn’t know what had convinced him to share an apartment with you. It was hell. And heaven too, when he didn’t keep reminding himself that you weren’t his girlfriend, that you would never see him like that, and that he shouldn’t be playing house with you.

It was torture and bliss. Bliss on your Sunday mornings, when you could have breakfast together, or random nights when you would have movie marathons together and you would fall asleep against his shoulder, when he would cook for you and you would have dinner together over a glass of wine, laughing and making jokes. The more he spent time with you like that, seeing you drink your morning cup of coffee while still half asleep, on those days when he had someone else doing the morning shift — which was extremely rare — the more he realised you were absolutely perfect for him.

And then torture.

In moments like this, while you were under the shower, when you got out of it and as usual you walked around the house clad in nothing but a towel, absolutely comfortable in your skin, or when you thought he wasn’t home and he could hear your breathy moans and little whimpers, and then again on those two or three nights you had taken somebody home — in those circumstances he felt like he was paying for an ancient crime he didn’t know he had committed.

You had convinced him to move in with you since the apartment — being close to the university — was also incredibly close to his shop, and once he saw your eyes glimmering, your pretty face begging him to accompany you to visit the apartment, he couldn’t really say no.

So, he had said yes.

And once he saw the building, and the warm, domestic ambience, he realised that even if he would never be your lover, the least he could allow himself was to live this small daydream with you.

A week later you and him had signed the papers to rent the place. And everything had escalated from there. You had become the closest of friends, trusting and leaning on each other in every moment, through every difficulty.

However, the more he got to know about the men you dated, the more he realised you would never be attracted to him.

They were all fancy preppy boys who very likely knew the entirety of the Oxford dictionary and could probably recite Shakespeare sonnets impromptu. One of them could easily have been grandson to a duchess or a marquise. And he was pretty sure the first boy you had dated — second year university — had even a trust fund.

It was basically unreal for you to look at him with anything but friendly appreciation.

In an attempt to silence his thoughts, he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen, starting the coffee machine and getting your breakfast ready.

Maybe you would have completely ignored it being January and you would have simply climbed the barstool by the counter wearing your bathrobe, your hair still wet, and the two of you could have had breakfast just like that, without any kind of embarrassment.

As soon as coffee started brewing, your nose appeared from the bathroom door, barely ajar as you slipped out in a soft-looking white t-shirt.

As he threw a glance in your direction he knew immediately that you had very likely stolen the undershirt from his freshly washed laundry.

You slithered out of the bathroom and with stealthy footsteps you occupied your regular spot in the kitchen, watching as he prepared all the necessary material for a respectable breakfast.

“Good morning.” He said as he saw you perched on your favourite seat.

“Morning.” You replied, your feet bare, your toes gripping the small bar connecting the two front legs of the chair. “I thought you were at the café.” You said, pushing your hair away from your face. They weren’t dripping, but they were still a bit damp, especially since you had stopped drying them as soon as the smell of hot coffee reached you in the bathroom.

“Lara is covering the morning shift. I’m doing tea time today. The ladies love me and Lara can’t stand them asking about her boyfriend. I can’t have her kiss and grind on her girlfriend in the middle of my distinguished bakery out of spite.” Jin placed some apple slices on your plate, together with a quite large piece of apple pie.

In a small bowl, he poured some dry fruit before placing it on the table.

“Petty, angsty thing she is.” You said, clicking your tongue. “A true hero.”

He snickered. “Not surprised you’re friends.”

“I am patience made person.” You said, playfully offended.

“Like that one time you smashed a plate on the floor because you had burnt yourself when taking it out of the oven.”

“It was an accident. I dropped it.”

“Like it’s hot.” Seokjin murmured under his breath, lightly swaying his hips as he finished aesthetically placing your food on the plate.

“What?” You asked, comically confused.

“Nothing.” He said, stopping altogether before pouring you some coffee, adding a spray of whipped cream and decorating it with caramel and crushed caramelised almonds.

Jin asked himself how many more times he’d be able to cook you breakfast; how long until he would have to teach someone else, until you would move out with another person and you start your day with crappy industrial food instead of homemade pies and organic apples and his grandmother’s dried hazelnuts and almonds and freshly toasted chestnuts when the season was right.

Whenever he was home, he spoiled you with homemade breakfast. It was the only way he truly allowed himself to show you how desperately in love with you he is. Anytime he cooked, love simply seemed to pour out of his body through the powerful way he kneaded biscuit and pie batter, and the delicate gestures he used to place each part of a dish to form beautiful works of art: crimson red wine risotto on white porcelain plates; juicy cuts of meat, perfectly cooked in that wondrous oven of his, with a deep brown layer on the outside and the most tender dark pink in the middle, laying on the freshest bed of lettuce with a thin dribble of balsamic vinegar and crushed green peppercorn on deep blue rectangular plates.

And every Sunday was sacred. Every Sunday morning he woke up like he had spent all Saturday night courting you and making love to you — minus the obvious relief and satisfaction that come from spending all night on a bed with the person who is your partner and your lover at the same time. Sunday morning was his favourite ritual. Waking you up with the smell of your favourite hot chocolate — the one you seemed to be addicted to, and that he used on you and against you very wisely — and then cake, a different one every week, and again fruit and sometimes, in summer he would go to the closest farm, buy the milk directly from the farmer, a friend of his grandmother, at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, bring it home, pasteurise it so that it was ready for Sunday morning, when he would use it for the healthiest of smoothies.

He loves you. He has loved you for years. And after two years of living together, losing hope was a possibility.

A possibility a bit too vast at the moment. Actually — hopefully — reality.

Today would be like any other day if it weren’t for one small fact.

Two days ago it had been four years since he first realised he had fallen for you. And two days ago he had decided he would stop chasing after you.

Therefore, he had decided that from then on, he would let go of you, even if that meant losing a part of himself. And today he would actively start walking a new path.

Once the table was ready, he arranged both your and his plate there, without passing you your cup of coffee — as he usually did — and waiting for you to come to the table.

You moved your hair out of the way as you sat down, taking your fork, not even noticing Seokjin’s first sign of petty detachment. You immediately stabbed your fork inside the apple slice and bit into it.

“Do you have lessons today?”

“Romantic Philology in the afternoon.” You replied munching, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, accidentally exposing two wet patches on the front of your t-shirt.

Actually, Seokjin’s t-shirt, but you decided he didn’t need to know that: you had simply forgotten to carry your clothes to the bathroom and once you heard the bustle going on in the kitchen, you managed to find a pair of pyjama pants in the clean laundry, but not a shirt. And you had stolen one of Seokjin’s. Not like it was a big deal.

“Romantic as in love?” He asked.

“No, as in 1830s, German, English and Italian. We’re looking into Byron and Shelley. Sometimes it’s outright boring, but our professor is so hilarious, she sees right through all those pompous arses.” You said, getting started on your masterpiece of a coffee.

“Oh.” Seokjin said. One more point for the preppy kids.

“No, it’s just academic stuff. Nothing that is actually worth something in real life. Some days I just wish I could give up on Goethe and Scott and the Brontes so I could bake cookies without a care in the world.”

And every day he wished he could give you just that. Turn his bakery into your sanctuary, hold you there, half guest, half hostage.

He decided to halt his thoughts there. No more.

“So you have teatime. Do you want me to make dinner tonight?” You asked.

“Actually no.” He said casually.

You stopped munching on your food. “Oh. It’s not Tuesday, though. Are you out with the guys, random meet up? Is Namjoon in town?”

“No.” He glued his eyes to the plate. No, he had not noticed your hardened nipples, a vague halo of dusty pink appearing from underneath the thin, wet white cotton. No. He would not let his mind wander. No, he would smash the thought out of his mind. 

Smash you. 

No! The thought. His mind. Out.

Like the colour didn’t remind him of fresh raspberry ice cream, like he hadn’t imagined dragging frozen raspberries against your oh-so-responsive buds, only to warm them with his mouth afterwards, pinch the small fruits between his fingers, crush them until tiny droplets of ruby juice landed on your lush breasts, his tongue lashing out to collect the liquid and lave your luscious curves.

But this time the thought did not enter his brain. This time he let it wither and dissolve into fine, sterile dust.

“Are you having dinner with your granny? And you didn’t invite me?” You said, pouting. “Her roast-beef is—” You stopped and swooned. “The definition of perfection.”

“I’m out on a date.” He said briefly and simply.

You frowned and quickly lifted your eyebrows, not letting the confusion show. “You sure you still know how those work?”

“It’s not like I’m celibate.” He said shrugging with his humongous shoulders. Lifting all those sacks of flour… And helping at the farm— You frowned again.

“Cinnamon?” He asked, knowing that the spice sometimes bothered you.

“No, no...”

“Do you need assistance, for your date? You sure you don’t mean the exotic, typically Egyptian fruit?”

“I mean I’m going out with a girl.” Seokjin started growing impatient.

“Who is it?” You asked, out of curiosity. In two years he had never brought a girl home. And in four years you had know each other, you had never seen him with a female friend or an actual girlfriend. You didn’t even know what is his type.

“Her name is Grace. She’s been a regular at the café for a few months now. She asked me out and I thought it would be rude to say no.”

Your interest poked, you placed down your fork. “Did she invite you?” You held your coffee in your hands, trying to keep yourself from gesticulating nervously.

“No. I did.” He said, finishing his pie and starting to eat all the hazelnuts in the small cup.

“I mean. Plenty of girls give you their phone number on a weekly basis. I literally find them everywhere. There’s around thirty on top of the washing machine alone, because I can’t do your laundry and have all those pieces of papers disintegrating and infesting our laundry and the drain. Why didn’t you ignore her like all the rest?” You asked, a bit upset.

“Because she seems a nice person,” who could love me back, which you don’t. He replied, leaving half the motivation silent in his brain.

“Cool.” You said, finishing your coffee before standing up and placing the cup in the sink.

“Cool,” he replied, neutral, watching as you left all the almonds and dried banana slices in the cup, the pie on your plate. “You’re not done with breakfast.”

“I’m late with my homework.” Which you weren’t, but you felt like your breakfast had been poisoned. Maybe that’s why you felt sick in your stomach.

Seokjin pouted and finished his food before placing your leftovers in small boxes. He knew you would come back hungry from uni and finish the food you had abandoned.

He didn’t read too much into your reaction. He was done trying to understand you.

Today he was finally done being stuck at a crossroad, and although your path in the woods felt and looked lovely and smelled even better, he opted for the safe, trodden and charted way that led out of the woods, into the uneventfulness of the ordinary.

———————————————————

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7 (7/7)

#bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #kim seokjin x reader #Jin x reader #kim seokjin #Baker!seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts blog #seokjin fluff #Seokjin flatmates!Au #Seokjin friends to lovers

[life-rewritten]

GIANTS OF BL 2021 AKA SHOWS LINED UP FOR GMMTV THAT WE WON’T STOP SCREAMING ABOUT!

Is there a way I can get over the addiction of BLS? Apparently not because GMMTV came and slapped me across the face for ever thinking I could. Like what even was that conference? I came in like yeah I've heard the rumours. 6 BLs! LOL, you're kidding, like nothing I'd want would even happen. But I still made a list of everything I wanted from them and held that checklist in my mind and boy was I shocked! I ended up just on the floor, brain exploded, mind shut down and can you believe I was crying? Like why on earth was I crying for GMMTV BLs? Crazy right? I am absolutely left floored, I'm going to be crying as I write this by the way just so you know, I've got my heart full ready to burst, talking about the change we've seen in BLs this year, the journey, the growth; there's still some work to do, but GMMTV said they were also part of that, they were going to change and make us stay, wanting more. They did that in a 3-hour conference. My brain is ready, my mind is prepared, my heart is available for all these shows, and I can't wait to see what 2021 unfolds. Let's begin screaming:

Ratings: From 1 to 5 (1 being least excited to watch, 5 being most,) how excited am I to delve into these shows?

THE NICE SURPRISES

BAKERY BOYS

Genre/Themes: Thriller, Bromance, Mystery, Psychological, Drama, Friendship, BL? (The manga is), Baking

Verdict: You know I love Antique when immediately I see that Foie's hands shaking as he has to be one of the waiters in the cafe, reminds me back to another favourite bodyguard of mine doing so. I was in shock; One because Antique was one of my first Korean 'BL' movies I saw, with all my favourite actors, an unusual and intriguing plotline and I ate it up; all of it. I didn't like how censored it was and the weird open ending for the relationship in the show. But I couldn't care less, something about it made me happy. I just loved the characters I think, and I enjoyed seeing our 4 bakers become friends and find a weird found family with each other. Add in a mystery to why Joon’s character wanted to kill himself and hated cakes? And I was sold. Now GMMTV is making a remake for it, and SINGTO is playing my favourite gay baker. Like I am so happy with this. Do I expect this to blow my mind? No. Do I expect more BL? A little? I'm not sure like GMMTV could make Antique a BL if they want to, Korea hinted to it, Japan ignored it in anime and others, but Thailand could change that. I'm not holding hopes for it, but I love this cast just as much as I love the Korean Cast like Lee Thanawat is perfect for this role, Singto is greater (I just love him so much) and we even have Pleum and Foei?? Are you kidding me? Greatness. It's going to be fun to see what they do with the mystery—something I greatly liked in the movie. Let's hope it's more fleshed out in the tv show. So excited!

Ratings: 3.5/5 I mean it's not really a BL so it'll feel queer baity for me and I may end up being annoyed it, but I really do have fond memories of the Korean movie, so I want to be excited, and the cast is everything so we'll see.

FISH UPON THE SKY

Genre: Unrequited Love, Comedy, Romance, Rivalry, Haters to Lovers, 

Verdict: 

DID SOMEONE SAY JITTIRAIN: THEORY OF LOVE? 2GETHER??? Sorry for screaming but like what else am I meant to do. Theory of love is my ultimate BL show, one of it anyway, one of the reasons will be discussed even more later with another show, but this is not about them. Also, 2gether is like one of the biggest BLs ever right now. Jittirain is genius, she has this ability to make you feel for her characters, root for their love stories whilst throwing plot twists everywhere. I also like that she always has a focus; theory of love, we had film theory, 2gether we had music, and now we have Fish Upon the Sky, and we have?

 Medicine? Love rivalry? Honestly, I don't know, the title even makes me feel even weird; what the hell does Fish upon a sky mean? But who cares it's a Jittirain classic, comedy, pain, longiiiing, and unrequited love, and scheming to get unrequited loves requited, more side couples and secretive characters. This time we have PHUWIN (had to emphasise that because he's impressive people stop sleeping on him!), one of my favourite youngins, showing up and becoming our main Pi and we have Pond a newbie, who has charisma for days, and he plays Mork, and they are love rivals. Wait what? A love story between two people who fall for each other after chasing after one guy? I'm ready for this, the haters to lovers, the pain of unrequited longing, but hold on it seems like a plot twist! Seems like we have another oblivious protagonist on our hand aside from Tine in 2gether, Pi can't even see that Mork isn't chasing after the same person as him, but for he's chasing after him! Sarawat scheming activated! I'm expecting giggles, chemistry and a great story. And it's going to be great because it's Jittirain. 

Ratings: 4.5/5 It's not anything new but do I need to repeat my self? Theory of love pining and longing and emotions mixed with 2gether's secrecy, scheming and obliviousness? It's going to be great. The cast is also excellent, I have total faith in this show, better be a good director though (oh no nightmares from the last half of 2gether has returned). 

FINDING ENCHANTE

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Angst, Drama, Friends to Lovers, Haters to Lovers, Harem, Mystery, 

Verdicts: 

Enchante that means nice to meet you aww. Wow, now I know French. Yay now where do I sign up to be like Theo and have 5 men chasing after me? Actually, that sounds like a nightmare, and I don't have time for that. He does apparently. Guess what guys! I knew I had a feeling in my gut when I watched this drama, I felt the memories, the intuition, the clues, hitting my brain, and I realised why. This show is also written by My gear and your gown's writer. YES! You mean more mystery and subtext filled storytelling, a show where I can analyse the character dynamics, and find clues to piecing the story together??? Perfection. As much as My gear and your gown wasn't everything to me, it was everything to me when I analysed it, I have fun with this writer's works when directed properly her works have great potential to be one of the best. I love GMMTV giving new actors the time to shine, and choosing stories that make my mind start working again. Thank you. 

With this show we're having a love Simon flashbacks with our Simon being sent secret messages through a book by Enchante, he's sweet, caring and totally all about making our lead comfortable. Who could he be?

 The best friend who's totally pining from afar and playing off his feelings like its nothing?  My gut is already saying that Tine definitely wants it to be him (so again requited but they don't know trope? you've got me!)

Is it the playboy guitar extraordinaire played by GAWIN you heard me right GAWIN my Mork in Dark Blue Kiss!! Like what? Where've you been boy? He looks so great in this, by the way, he's a tease, likes to play our lead's feelings, and has chemistry because they're haters to lovers.  

Or is it FLUKE PUSIT?? What even is this cast how is it both my favourite actors are here? Anyways Fluke is an artist, he wants our lead to let him in so he can draw him, our lead is his muse apparently, and again chemistry that makes your head hurt because like who is this damn Enchante?? Who will Theo choose? 

Anyways we then have two people who I don't know that well sorry, Boom is the football captain that likes our lead and is always protecting him, and the other is a genius/nerd? Who helps Theo with his studies? Like wow, it must be great to be Theo, guys from different lifestyles and aesthetics have found him, they want him, they need him and one of them he wants and needs. I wonder who it is. 

Ps people already thinking it's the best friend, not me, I think bestie is obviously endgame Tine is definitely also secretly wanting him to be with that pining and longing (I'm sure it's why he wants to find enchante desperately). I can't wait to see why these two refuse to let each other know how it feels. All I beg for is, please don't let New direct this. Guess what it's produced by X (Theory of Love! Hold on while I cry again) and Film! (Also theory of love!) Oh, this is going to be brilliant!

Ratings: 4.5/5 This drama is probably going to be the most underrated because people have other things to care about I don't blame you, but I think for me, this would be a same favourite way I loved MGYG and I'm ready for new faces, Gawin and Fluke and a requited but they don't know it angsty love story plus I know the directing is going to be amazing!. Ps, I actually hate harems, but the excitement is in figuring out who on earth is Enchante and why this is happening! 

THE BIG BOYS

GMMTV decided to not let me rest next year. How is it that I already felt happy by seeing Phuwin, Gawin, Fluke etc... I was content you know, I was like great we have a great line up I'm excited now I don't think there's anything else I secretly want that will happen. I'm being a clown, BUT NO. EVERYTHING I ASKED FOR: EVERYONE I WANTED TO SEE, EVERY TROPE I WANTED, THE DIRECTOR, THE PLOTS, EVERYTHING WAS MANIFESTED BY THESE THREE TRAILERS. That's why I ended up crying.  Because even till this day I can't believe this is real. I don't know when I'll finally think they will be real in 2021. Crying again!

NOT ME 

Genre: Gang, Mafia, Crime, Romance, Drama, Stolen Identity, Twins, Angst

Not me? Not you? Not us? See how my mind scrambles when it comes to this show. Because I was determined to not be a clown and believe in this even when I saw OFF GUN hold onto each other on the motorbike I was like HA, nope they're just guest stars, when I saw them as gang members I was like HA; interesting probably not BL. When I saw two Guns, I was like HA, nice Gifted character flashback but still not BL. I won't fall for it,  this is a BAIT! You get me? BAIT!! Don't fall for it and then GMMTV was like shut up here's a kiss. And then I broke down and cried. Because it was a journey. 

Remember when I said Theory of Love was my favourite? It's because of these two; OffGun is everything, my favourite BL couple on screen, my favourite fanservice couple, everything. I thought that the end of theory of love meant I won't be seeing them for a while, they'd be in other series separate, they'd not want to be typecasted. Gun would go for serious roles, Off will choose more het romantic comedies, don't blame them. Still, I didn't think I'd see them again, and I wasn't sure I wanted to see them in another university setting. I set my mind on only seeing them in fan meetings and side projects, I'd made up my mind to miss them. And then NOT ME happened, and now I'm crying just at the thought;

This isn't a cringy, comedic, cheesy BL. 

This isn't set in University.

This isn't'  unrequited pining from Gun to Off.

Gun is Dark! I repeat Gun went Dark he became a gang leader determined to break the law, called Black and Off; OFF went serious and he's Gun's right-hand man called Sean, and I'm just like wait is this real?? We're getting dark, gritty OFF GUN??? Are you serious?? See?? still can't believe it, and it's BL??? What is this? Christmas?? Like how did we get this, who came up with this idea THANK YOU SO MUCH. 

I thought nothing could beat theory of love for me and now OffGun came back and said HA you thought. I have a lot of feels about this, I will never stop screaming, I've rewatched that youtube trailer now for about more than 20 times, I'm not even kidding you, every day it's on repeat, I'm just ready, ready to write, to scream, to talk about this in so much detail. Let's get a plot that's deep, thrilling and mysterious, let's get a romance that is interesting, angsty but also sweet, let's get acting that is full of range, that will break my heart but fix it together again, let's get chemistry that would make me forget everything else. I'm ready for this. I've never been more ready!

Ratings: 5/5 What were you expecting? I can't even rate this anything else, nothing about this is worrying; even the director I trust she's also worked with Gun before in another movie of his, she respects LGBTQ, and she wants to make a great BL. I just can't believe this is real. 2021 come faster, I beg you. 

BAD BUDDY 

Genre: Forbidden romance, Haters to Lovers, Romance, Comedy, Opposites attract, Angst, Friends to Lovers, 

Verdict: 

You thought my screaming would be over. But no. GMMTV wasn't done with me yet. It's like it knew I was mourning from my lack of Ohm Pawat after rewatching He's coming to me (review here) and it knew I had just finished watching Gifted Graduation and felt slighted to see my opportunity at seeing Nanon as a BL character being taken from me with that finale. GMMTV knew I was empty without them and decided to mock me, and put me back together by making OHM NANON in a series together,. 

Again the same process as Not me; I started laughing when I saw the trailer like a mad person. I was like this is clearly a queer bait bromance, HA, not falling for it GMMTV almost got me this time, but then there were the stares, the Romeo and Juliet energy, the sneaking into each other's rooms, the becoming secret friends despite being haters to lovers, the skinship, the intimacy, and then the jealousy, the pining, the longing, the are we just friends scene??? WAIT, WHAT IS THIS?? Why is AOF directing this (same director of ALL my favourite BLS), what is this GMMTV? 

Nanon wouldn't be in a BL we know this, we've been clowns, but we accepted this with defeat, why is he now saying he's doing one because of the cast? THIS IS A BL? NOT BAIT? NOT A TRICK? BY AOF? WHATTTTTTT???? see my mind exploded. 

Since then it hasn't still comprehended this. This is insane, do you know how good, how genius, how amazing Nanon and Ohm Pawat is?? Do you see the power this holds? The fact it's directed by Aof who's like one of the best directors ever in GMMTV??? Do you even know what this means? For this GENRE??? Sorry, I have to scream. I still can't believe this! This is something someone would say, and we'd laugh it of as a joke like yeah right, in your dreams, but it's real, and it looks absolutely amazing, is it a university setting YES, so what? This is everything, with haters to lovers but not really, to Romeo and Juliet pining and longing, to the chemistry that takes your breath away. To just Ohm and Nanon in a screen together being in love. Yep, you guessed it my mind is never goanna be whole again after this breakdown. Guess what I'm okay with it. 

Ratings: 5/5 OhmNanon, Aof that's it. That's the post.

A TALE OF A THOUSAND STARS

 Genre/Themes: Military, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Heart Transplant, Unrequited Love, Fish out of water, 

Verdict:

 And we come to this big one here. You see it? It screams 2021 show of the year to me, it screams incredible plot and romance to me, it screams unique and exciting BL to me. Guess what? It's also by Aof. Ha. It took me a year to accept this is happening because when the trailer came out, I knew that with this cursed genre that this was too good that there'd probably be some kind of issue with it. But did it matter? No! Because this was real. Earth and Mix were in a BL together, and it looks so amazing, so great, and it's coming in less than 3 months. I'm going to cry. And it means everything; because there's a hint of character dynamics, angst and also haters to lovers. I see the chemistry, the production, the plot, the actors, and I just feel so ready for this show that I have no other words to say except I love it, I love it, I love it!. 

Ratings: 5/5 It's taken years, but I'm ready for this, I just want the trailer now, I want the show now, I want 2021 to start now. This is definitely a giant for sure, it's everything, and I can't wait for it. 

After screaming at everything; 2021 starting with ATOTS is already a sign, we're in for a great year with so many incredible changes in this genre. GMMTV isn't messing around, with subs in their event to show international fans are no longer forgotten and are heard and respected, with actors that have made their way into my heart and refuse to leave, and I'm just so happy. It may seem so extreme to be this excited for a BL series to be good, but I love this genre, I love seeing what it represents to so many people, I love the interesting storylines, the discussions you can have for days because of it, the tears, angst, and happiness you feel. But most of all I love how BL has brought out writing from me, I'm happy when I analyse this genre, I'm delighted discussing real-life links and conversations derived from it, I'm so glad learning and humbling my self and opening my mind to new things. BL has been a source of excitement, shock and happiness this year. I can't for next year to be even more splendid, and with this line-up, it's going to be even more than that. It's going to break the world. Can't wait. 

#thai bl #gmmtv 2021 #gmmtv #bl series #bl drama #antique bakery #baker boys #singto prachaya #fish upon the sky #phuwin tangsakyuen #enchante #not me #off gun #offgun #bad buddy #ohmnanon #ohmnon #fvete #2021

[goonandfightme]

Numbers Pt.1

After a particularly horrifying case involving a serial killer starving his victims, Spencer Reid of the BAU relapses into old habits as past trauma resurfaces. The team slowly catches on as Reid falls further into his eating disorder and addictions but will they be able to help him before it's too late?

Pt.1 Concentrate

Trigger Warnings - EDs, drug use and addiction, child abuse.

Spencer Reid knew he has a problem at age 10. He had a routine, and once Spencer Reid had a routine it became part of him. He would wake up at 6 am, ensure his mother was asleep, pick his outfit for the day. His messenger bag would be packed with textbooks, notes and pens. He would brush his teeth, shower, then get dressed He went through this mental checklist, these motions were fluid, practised and precise. The clock would read 7:30 am, he would leave the house to grab the bus to go to school. High school. He was two years short of graduation, his mother had insisted on it, he was smart, he was special, he could be anything he wanted, he could have anything he wanted.

He would leave his lunch behind.

He would get picked on, laughed at, kicked, bruised all too easily, then go home. If his mother was lucid, he would have a proper meal, if not, whatever he could reach from the cupboards. He was malnourished, the corner of his lips cracked from b-vitamin deficiency, the rims of his eyes white from anaemia, his hair messy and breaking. People only knew him as his shadow of himself, no concerns were raised.

He would complete his homework, lay on his bed, his heart would palpitate, his world would spin. No one noticed, his grades hadn’t slipped, he never participated in sports. No one noticed.

His alarm sounded; it was 6 am. He started again; his lungs screamed, his heart pounded, and his headache came back, he always had a headache, but Spencer Reid had a routine, and he would stick to it. He went to check on his mother.

--Present Day--

It was six-thirty and Reid was getting ready for his day at work, removing his pyjamas while he waited for the shower to heat. The top came over his head easily, it was baggy, it was more than a couple of months old, it didn’t fit him anymore. He looked forward towards the full body mirror, tossing the clothes into the hamper, his face was thin, as it always had been, even when he was a healthy weight he’d always struggled with his figure. Brushing his hair out of his face he looked closer running his fingers over his features, saw how his eyes were more hallow, he pulled the lower lid down the reveal the ghostly white colour it had become, his cheekbones slightly more pronounced and painful to press against, his jaw slightly sharper in contrast to how he felt. His hand dipped and traced over his ribs, he could count them all, name them if he wanted, then his hand lowered to his wrist. His thumb and middle finger enclosing the joint, measuring how far he could raise it, whether it would come past his elbow, would it fit past his bicep. It stopped just after his elbow and he squeezed as if trying to rip his flesh after, from the bone, the white marks lingered across the already pale limb.

“White marks that last after applying pressure to the skin suggest poor blood circulation, common among those with anorexia nervosa.” There was no one there to hear him but when he was alone, he liked to talk aloud it helped him think through things slower, it helped keep him calm. “It also causes the exterminates to become cold and discoloured,” he looked down towards his feet. He removed his trousers, the shower warm and producing a numbing white noise as Reid continued his routine. Checking how each bone moved under his skin, thin, grey and translucent. He had so much more to lose.

“Grey skin indicates poor blood oxygenation, which can be caused by anaemia, a low level of iron within the blood that prevents red blood cells from delivering oxygen effectively. A common symptom of malnutrition.” He breathed out slowly to calm himself as he turned on his heel to enter the shower, it was much warmer than his apartment, the floor cold and unwelcoming, he was always cold anyway. He made quick work of scrubbing down his body, no longer wanting to look at it, feel it. He spent longer on his hair, it no longer sat right, it would always fly away as it became more brittle, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the longer-haired look but it suited him, made his face slimmer, so he kept it.

Reid turned the tap off and jumped out as quickly as his legs would let him, he swiped his towel off of the rack and placed it on his face, holding the weight in his hands as his head stopped swirling, then used it to finish drying himself off. He walked back into his bedroom where his clothes laid neatly. He placed on his underwear socks and trousers, a cream shirt and striped tie, a thick soft orange jumper to go with it, then blazer, then belt, he tightened and placed it through the newest punched hole. It was a nice belt he didn’t want to get rid of it. Checking that the apartment was in order and that everything had been done, everything he needed was in his bag, he picked up his keys from the dish and left after briefly sorting his hair in the hallway mirror.

It was another day at the BAU for Reid. Walking over to the staff space he started the kettle and placed his bag down, he retrieved his favourite mug and placed three teaspoons of coffee in. Once the water was boiled he filled his mug and let the thick scent waft through the air, he grabbed the sugar and poured, originally he would have counted the spoons of sugar but decided that cutting out the middle man would save time, he was slightly late as it was. “Want some coffee with that sugar?”

“Had a long night, need something to keep me functioning” Reid retorted as he turned to face Morgan who stood behind him placing his lunch in the fridge. “Nice one pretty boy, what was she like?” Morgan smiled. “Not that kind of long night,” he picked up his bag and walked towards his desk before Morgan had a chance to reply. He slouched down into his seat while taking another sip of his coffee and reached down to grab a file from the bottom of his desk drawer and after rummaging for a while he found it. A wave of nausea hit and Reid lent forward over the desk to stop his stomach from protesting, his body wasn’t used to this level of starvation. He’d lowered his intake from 700 to 500 yesterday, it was taking time to adjust.

The BAU hadn’t had a case for over two days so the team was catching up on all paperwork that needed doing, anything that had been shoved in draws to be forgotten was to be finished and filed.

He opened the file and glanced over the first page, thumbing over the papers to spread them out. Emily Moore, aged 25, died of malnutrition after a serial killer had starved her to death. Reid placed his right hand beneath his chin and ran his thumb over his mouth as he traced a finger over the outline of her body and closed his eyes. That was four months, two days and three hours ago that case started, and it was four months, two days and three hours since Reid had relapsed. He could see them still so vividly, all of them hung up like puppets, so skinny and frail. He still couldn’t bring himself to finish the file.

“Reid?” Hotchner asked, Spencer, opened his eyes to see the team filling into the meeting room as Hotch stared at him from across the room. Reid quickly snapped the file shut and followed behind everyone else, Hotchner joining the line afterwards. Spencer enclosed his hand around his wrist to help his heart stop beating as fast. It calmed him down, he didn’t even realise he had done it. Hotch was absorbed in his paperwork.

Reid sat down next to Morgan in his unassigned assigned seat as Gideon began the brief and Reid for one of the first times since he had met Gideon, didn’t listen to him.

I shouldn’t have had that much sugar, how much did I have, right, the coffee cup was about 5cm in diameter so that means the area of the cup was five multiplied by pi, then to find the volume of sugar the cup raised about 1cm.

“The victim was found face down lying in a pool of her own blood.” Gideon turned to the board displaying pictures of the woman.

The volume of sugar would be 15.7cm squared, which equates to about 25 grams of sugar which is 80 calories.

“Nothing was left at the crime scene, but her hands were bound with what appears to have been some sort of rope shown by the burn marks.”

“Could have suggested the killer was physically weak, needed to restrain her to get his way” Elle interjected. “Judging that the unsub took the rope it probably means he also brought it, premediated, definitely an organised killer,” Morgan added.

Why didn’t I just measure it out it would have made this so much easier, I’ll round it up to 100 just in case.

“Local police teams have already sectioned off the scene,” Hotch added, “alright but why call us, nothing about this case seems extraordinary, seems like a run of the mill homicidal rapist,” Elle questioned while looking to Gideon. “Well,” Gideon started.

If I can get home by 8 pm I can burn off that coffee, wait no if I run home then I can leave later but still burn it so if I have the 500, well now I can have 420 no 400, then I can-

“Right let’s go, the jet leaves in half an hour.”

With that the team all stood up abruptly, creating a whirlwind around Reid that made him snap out of his thoughts, his head and eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was happening. He jumped out of his seat to follow everyone out but was stopped at the door.

“You alright Reid?”

Spencer spun back round to face Gideon who was looking at him, seeming to expect an answer. “Sorry, what was that?” Gideon's face became stern as his eyebrow slightly lifted along with his chin, he was not just looking at him, he was analysing. “I just wanted to know if you were alright?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine” Reid frantically looked across the room trying not to meet the other man’s gaze, “I’m just going to go grab my stuff” he stated while starting to walk backwards out of the room, pointing behind him with his thumb. “Uh yeah, see you on the plane,” he turned almost bumping into JJ “sorry JJ I uh didn’t see you sorry,” and with that, he took off to go grab his bag.

JJ turned to Gideon with a questioning look. “Keep an eye on him” was all he said before also going to grab his bag. Gideon wasn’t a man to say anything unless he was sure unless it was important, but he was worried. His intuition was screaming at him that something was wrong, but Reid would be at least three steps ahead if he didn’t want anyone to know. Damn profilers.

They had all swarmed into the jet and had taken their seats. Reid lay in the long seat reading a book, but not at his normally inhuman speed, it was slower, only just noticeably. Hotch sat next to Gideon reading all the information they had on the case thus far again, making sure nothing was missed. Gideon watched. They were sat at the other end of the plane with Reid’s back to them, the other team members preoccupied with their activities.

“Something’s wrong with Reid.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look at him.”

Hotch looked up from his papers and looked towards Reid, Gideons line of sight hadn’t wavered since he sat down. Hotch looked back from Reid to the man next to him. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s anxious, jumpy, overreactive,” Gideon still looked over to the boy and Hotch joined back, “I asked him this morning after the brief, he didn’t turn his back to me once until he was out of the room.”

“He was being defensive, wouldn’t turn his back on the perceived threat,” Hotchner added, “he knew the answer but couldn’t tell you, he looks at you as a father figure you know, he doesn't want to disappoint you”

Gideon paused, “he probably does, he doesn’t know much about his father,” he said shaking his head, they sat and observed in silence.

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,”

“He’s not turning pages as quickly as he normally does,” Gideon repeated, “how’s his paperwork?” he finely looked away from the younger man. “Still exemplary, maybe a little less than normal but handed in on time, it hasn’t suffered any more than anyone else’s while we’ve been busy.”

Gideon nodded “somethings eating away at him, I just don’t know what.” There was a pause.

"There was one file I never got back."

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #sad #angst #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #spencer reid drugs

[mmvalentine]

Home is Where You Are pt 2 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. Part 1 Part 3

Of course she had a fiancé. Feyre was talented, sweet, gorgeous, and did this really cool thing with the mud pies where she sprinkled dry dirt on top like cocoa. Okay, that last one was a childhood memory but Rhys hadn't seen her since they were kids. It was a very confusing moment for him.

"Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, extending a hand. He pushed down on the swell of jealousy that rose through him. It was ridiculous really, he hadn't seen the girl in a decade and some part of his animal brain thought it was allowed to be jealous. Surely he was better than that.

"Still live on Velaris street, do you?" Tamlin asked. His had was clammy when he shook Rhys'. "No, I moved out to the city some years ago," Rhys replied. He put his hands in his pockets. "Feyre invited me back."

"Rhys was always over," Feyre explained. She looked at him now, and the affection shining in her eyes made him forget to wonder why she had never told her fiancé about him. "His dad... wasn't great so he practically lived with us. I thought he might want to be here before we sold off the old place. Rhys is my oldest friend."

"Daddy issues, huh?" Tamlin said, in what Rhys had to imagine was an attempt at a sympathetic look. This did nothing for his first impression of the man. Feyre frowned at him, but Rhys just tilted his head to one side. "Do you know," Rhys mused, "I think even as a child Feyre had such a protective side to her, and I think that's why she loved me extra hard."

Tamlin glowered, and Rhys gave him a winning smile. Even as all the while the voice in his head whispered play nice, play nice.

"Why don't we go for lunch?" Feyre suggested. "I'm starving." "You're always starving," Tamlin said, rolling his eyes. "Lunch would be perfect," Rhys said. "We drove in, do you want a lift?" "Sure, thanks."

The three of them climbed into Tamlin's irritatingly red car to a diner not far from the old house. The neighbourhood wasn't bad, actually, it was just Rhys' attached memories that made it seem decrepit. He reminded himself that he had rather liked this diner, that Feyre's family had eaten here often and sometimes brought him with them. Particularly when Feyre's parents noticed he hadn't been eating very much.

A waitress came to take their order, and Rhys ordered a club sandwich. He looked at Feyre through one eye.

"Cheeseburger, no pickles, right?" He remembered this, because he had always been the one that ate said pickles after she picked them off. The sweetest grin started to spread over Feyre's face. But then Tamlin cut in.

"Actually," he said, "we adhere to a strict paleo diet. Well, some of us more strict than others." He nudged Feyre in the ribs, and turned to the waitress.

"We'll have two of the chicken caesar salad, with no dressing, and no cheese. Oh and no croutons."

Rhys stared. Feyre's face seemed to fall a little, but then she smiled at the waitress and handed back her menu.

The food came quickly, and Rhys' sandwich came with a side order of fries. Feyre's and Tamlin's meals looked, unsurprisingly, disappointing. Half way through, Tamlin asked for extra grilled chicken to add to his meal, and didn't offer any to Feyre. Rhys watched Feyre out of the corner of his eye. She had said she was starving.

"Hey," he said to her. "Can you help me with these fries? I'm full and I hate wasting food." "Sure," Feyre said brightly, and he shuffled them onto her plate where she practically inhaled them. "Babe," Tamlin said, aghast. "Come on, you had fries last week." He leaned in and spoke quietly to Feyre- but not so quietly that Rhys couldn't hear him. "Lay off the fried foods for a bit, huh?"

Feyre pushed him off. "Leave me alone, Tamlin," she said. "I'm selling my dead father's house. And I'm hungry."

Rhys concentrated on the remains of his sandwich. Good, he thought. That was more like the Feyre he knew. Had known.

After they were done, Tamlin got up to use the restroom, leaving Feyre and Rhys alone. Rhys couldn't help himself.

"That guy?" he barked with a laugh. "That's your fiancé? What are you doing with him Feyre?" "Hey don't be a dick," Feyre said, surprised. "You only just met him." "Yeah and I already know him. 'You had fries last week'? That sounds familar." Feyre's face twisted in anger. "Tamlin is not your father," she hissed. "He was my personal trainer when we met, I said I wanted to lose a few pounds, he's helping me keep on track." Rhys leaned back in the booth. "Oh so he met you as a professional, started a relationship with a client, and is still commenting on your eating as your partner. Yeah, that's much better."

Feyre opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. "You know what," she said. "It's been a very long time since we were friends." "Best friends. If I recall." "That's a childish term. I am not a child, and I certainly don't need you to come rescue me."

At that moment, Tamlin reappeared. "Are we ready to go?" he said. "Yes," Feyre replied curtly, and slid out from the bench. "You two go ahead," Rhys said, toying with his water glass. "I'll walk. It'll be good to revisit the old neighbourhood." "Fine," Feyre said. "Alright," Tamlin said, "how should we split the bill?" "I've got it," Rhys replied. "Fine," Feyre said again, and towed Tamlin out the door.

When they were gone, Rhys let his head drop back against the back of the seat, and closed his eyes. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he chanted to himself. He stood, paid for the food, and began the walk back to the house.

By the time Rhys reached their old address, he had calmed down enough to feel ashamed. He had not meant to sound so condescending, he had just been shocked that Tamlin was who Feyre had ended up with.

When he walked up to the house, the red car was nowhere to be seen. He opened the door, still unlocked.

"Feyre?" he called. "Here," her voice returned. Rhys walked through the house, gazing around himself as he did. It looked smaller than he remembered- although that was likely because he was taller. The Archerons had left so quickly that they hadn't bothered to take everything with them. The old furniture still remained, under now grey drop sheets.

Feyre was standing in the kitchen, with her hands braced on the island countertop. "Tamlin was called back to town for a work thing," she said. "Ah," Rhys said. "We were supposed to stay a few days and get things checked off before the funeral... but I can do it myself, I guess." She suddenly sounded very tired.

"Hey," Rhys said gently. She looked up at him, with those heart-stopping, stormy eyes. "I'm sorry about earlier." Feyre sighed. "It's okay." "It's not," Rhys said. "You were right. I don't know him, and I don't know you, really. I had no right to come in and make comments about your relationship." "No," Feyre said slowly. "You didn't." "I won't do it again," Rhys said. "And, I would love to get to know you. You know, as adults."

Feyre smiled. "I would like that too." She leaned her elbows against the counter top. "You're forgiven." She flashed a wicked grin. "Prick."

Rhys smiled. She had called him that when they were young- it was one of the first grown-up insults she had learned and took great delight in hurling it at him.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked. "I guess, we go through the house and find out what's in here." She wrinkled her nose. "I almost want a HAZMAT suit." Rhys laughed. "Let's open some windows," he said.

For the rest of the afternoon, they uncovered the Archeron's abandoned belongings. Some things were completely unrecognisable. Many of the things brought back memories, funny or happy or sad, and Rhys was warmed by the realisation that he had just as many memories here as Feyre did. Eventually, the sun started to go down, and of course there was no electricity in the house. They had been drinking water out of a tap in the neighbour's garden.

"Where are you staying?" Rhys asked her. "Well, here I guess." Rhys looked around himself, at ten years of dust and debris. "Is this... liveable?" "Probably not," Feyre said. "I think we might suffocate to death in our sleep. I thought about going back into town, but Tamlin's rushed off with the car. Where are you staying?" "Do you know, I never quite got that far." Rhys gave her a lopsided grin, embarrassed. The truth was, he had been so focused on making his way back to her that he hadn't even considered logistics like where he might sleep that night.

Feyre straightened up, and her eyes twinkled. "I've got an idea," she said.

An hour later, as it got dark in earnest, Rhys stomped down the last tent peg. The had muddled through the garage until they found the old camping gear, in surprisingly good nick.

Feyre lay down, and Rhys squeezed his broad frame in beside her. "Does it horrify you a bit that after ten years, these plastic nylon sleeping bags haven't degraded at all?' Rhys asked. "It does," Feyre agreed, "although I'm also thankful we have the option. That house is not fit for the living." "Well," said Rhys, "tomorrow we can spend the day cleaning. It'll be good as new." "Okay, deal!" Feyre said happily. They lay in silence for a moment.

"Do you know," Rhys said. "I'm pretty sure the last time we saw each other was in this very tent." Feyre laughed a husky, gorgeous laugh. "Oh I'm very aware. We were each others' first kiss."

Rhys rolled onto his side to look at her. "What's happened since then?" he asked. "What have you been doing for the last ten years?"

Feyre gave him an odd look, taken aback a little by the sudden intensity in his voice. Rhys didn't care. He had thought of her so many times through the years, but she had become some sort of distant, nostalgic memory.

Now she was here, he had to know. Everything.

Feyre rolled slowly to face him, and became serious. "What happened is my mom died," she said. "And my dad, he couldn't cope with it. He never recovered, and so I didn't know it at the time but I lost both my parents that day. We moved into some shitty rental, and then something would remind him of her and we moved again. He couldn't hold down a job, couldn't stay in one place. I think I haven't had a real home since I left here."

Her lovely eyes were filled with such sadness, it was all Rhys could do not to reach out and touch her face.

"Me neither," he said quietly. "Next door was never home for me, you know that. And after you guys left... after you were gone..." "Where's your father now?" Feyre asked. "Dead," Rhys said. "I'm sorry." "I'm not."

Feyre didn't respond. Rhys sighed. "I shouldn't say that about him." "He was a bastard," Feyre said. "He was, at that." Rhys said. Feyre rolled back to stare at the ceiling of the tent, and Rhys wanted so much to pull her back. But instead, he rolled over, too. He listened to her breathing in the dark, and for a moment, they could have been thirteen again. For a moment, it was as if no time at all had passed and he had his best friend back and they were home.

Then Feyre spoke.

"At least I've got Tamlin now," she said. “We just rent our apartment right now but in a few years we’ll buy a house, and then I’ll have a home again.”

And with that the moment was over.

****

Mm. This is not quite where I thought this would go, but let's embrace the angst for a hot minute and see where it goes.

Keep reading: Part 3

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #mine #angst

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part two

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: thank you guys so much for the incredible response i got to part one!! it made me so happy so thank you. let me know wha yall think of this bit, we’ve got some plot going on which i always enjoy. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one

You don’t hear from Bucky for a while after the party. It’s disappointing - you’re self-aware enough to admit that. But you also aren’t stupid enough to expect anything else. Bucky asked you to that party as a favour, you got a one-night-only special being in his life and you’re not expecting anything else.

You had hoped it wouldn’t have impacted your nightly rendezvous, but those had stopped too. You suppose Bucky decided not to trust you after all.

Almost three weeks later and you’re at work, thoughts of Bucky barely a buzz in the back of your head compared to the job at hand. You’ve always been able to let your work consume you, and it pays off in your line of business. Being a private investigator requires attention to detail, lateral thinking, and a questionable moral compass. Your patented paranoia doesn’t hurt either. Your dad tells you every time you visit that he wishes you’d get into something more stable, something less dirty, but you’re not really good at anything else. Considering the majority of your clients are partners trying to figure out if their significant other is cheating, it also pays well for quite minimal effort.

Quick rule of thumb for aspiring PI’s: they’re almost always cheating.

Today is one of those clients. You’ve tailed the guy in question to a tattoo shop in Red Hook, which is already a red flag. He’s an investment banker and buys Louis Vuitton cufflinks for his ugly work suits. He stands out like a sore thumb in this grungy neighbourhood. You snap a few photos of him outside the store, very obviously checking left and right for a tail before entering the place. People suck at being subtle, you’ve come to realise over the years. And at being observant, because all you’ve bothered to do to hide is sit at the cafe across the road and pretend to be taking photos of the latte art on your coffee.

Entering the tattoo parlour is a no-go, even if your grunge aesthetic would fit in with the clientele more than your straight-laced prey. There are other ways, though. You leave some bills on the table and cross the street into the alley beside the tattoo shop, wrinkling your nose at the dumpster smell. There’s a fire escape which you can reach if you stand on the lid of the offensive dumpster in question, leading to a window you hope will get you some insight into what Mike Shorditch of suspected-cheating fame is up to. Maybe he has a tattooed, lip-ringed young girlfriend he meets here? Or a heavy-set biker boyfriend? Or he just wants a tattoo and his wife is as paranoid as you are.

Squeezed uncomfortably between the bars of the fire-escape, you manage to aim your camera lens at the window and zoom in - jackpot. It’s a small window near the ceiling of the high-roofed shop, letting in minimal light to ruin the dark aesthetic of the place, allowing you a somewhat clear view of the shop inside. It’s really nice, you notice, and they have good taste in music. Slowly Slowly bleeds minimally through the glass and you try focus your lens on the faces inside, catching Mike among them like a unicorn in a goth reunion. He’s talking to someone, waving his hands around dramatically while the guy he talks to towers over him, arms folded over a ginormous chest.

You know that face, you realise as you aim your lens a little higher. The shock burns, almost makes you drop your camera and fall off the fire escape you’re precariously lying on. It’s Steve, blonde head unmistakeable as he glares at your target and dismisses whatever Mike says to him with an eyeroll. Without questioning it, you snap a few photos of Steve’s imposing figure - so at odds with the friendly, downright cuddly man you met at the party a few weeks ago. Just when you thought you’d gotten rid of thoughts about that night, they show up at your work. How is this possible?

None of this sits right with you. This strange coincidence, the weird behaviour at the party towards Bucky and his friends, Bucky’s general evasiveness and the feeling you get of being watched just being around him. Nothing is adding up and you’ve never been the kind of person to leave well enough alone. You snap photos of the shop, as much as you can - Steve’s tattoo sleeve that had been hidden under a jumper at the party, the stencils lining the walls, the locks on the front door, the counter where a scrawny kid in glasses bends over what looks like genuine high-school homework and ignores the adults in the shop. There are too many variables - you have to start making sense of one of them.

The easiest thread to pull is Mike, and he’s the one you’re being paid to solve, so it makes sense to start there. Clearly it isn’t cheating his wife should be worried about, but the meeting he’s having with Steve and the others doesn’t look like a friendly catch up with friends either. His personal cybersecurity is poor enough you figure you’ll be able to solve that particular mystery easy enough.

Bucky and his friends, however? That’s going to take a bit more digging.

***

According to Mike Shoreditch’s bank records, he owes somebody a lot of money. You get this from an account his wife doesn’t even know he has, believing all their money goes into a shared account with a completely different bank. Mike has a lot of secrets but cheating isn’t one of them - the print outs of his secret bank account statements and the pictures of him at Steve’s tattoo parlour would be enough for you to close the case and get your money. But you don’t. Not just yet. You have your own itch to scratch, now.

You’ve taken to watching the tattoo shop’s comings and goings, snapping pictures here and there. Steve comes in at ten in the morning, ready to open the shop up by lunchtime for customers and doesn’t close it until midnight. His customers are the usual sort you’d imagine at a rough tattoo shop in Red Hook - heavy set guys with full sleeves and chest pieces, grungy couples who probably live upstate but are rebelling against their trust-fund parents, random walk-ins who’s nerves you can sense from across the street at what’s become your usual table. There are a few, though, who stand out. Leather jackets and motorbikes they park in the alley beside the shop, using the back entrance you snap a shot of one night once they all went home.

You’re not jumping to conclusions just yet, you’ve learnt the hard way from doing that, but you’re also not stupid. Whatever Steve is into, whatever Bucky is by association a part of, there are some shady looking people involved as well.

It’s one of those days where you’re watching the shop from the cafe, camera left on the table in favour of devouring an almond croissant and cataloguing the people you’ve now dubbed regulars at Steve’s as they enter the shop. You should probably be doing your actual job but you can’t bring yourself to, too caught up in the shady business across the street from you. Absorbed, in fact, so you practically jump out of your skin as your phone rings and you send it flying to the pavement with an errant elbow.

You pick up without checking the ID, and boy was that a mistake. Heart pounding painfully in your chest, you answer, “Hi, hello, hi, this is (Y/n) speaking,” all in a rush.

A familiar, honey-warm laugh rumbles down the phone to you and your previously racing heart all but stops beating. Bucky says, “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Does he know? Had Steve caught you spying and called Bucky asking why the random girl he brought to a party that one time was stalking him? You glance around the street, half expecting Bucky to be standing behind you and catching you red-handed. He’s not, of course he’s not, you’re just losing your mind a little bit.

“No, no, sorry,” you say, running a shaky hand through your hair. “I’m at work. What’s up?”

“I won’t keep you long,” Bucky says, sounding amused, and you hate how the rough catch of his voice through the phone all but erases the suspicions you have for him, warning you to stay away. You had missed him, is all. He says, as if plucking the thought from your brain, “I was missing you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, glad he can’t see the grin you send to the table. “That why you disappeared after the party?”

“Let me explain over drinks?” Bucky asks, dodging your jab with ease. No, no, no, don’t be stupid, he’s bad news and you’ve got the proof, don’t-

“You’re paying,” you say instead, silencing the smart side of your brain.

“Always do,” he says, which is blatantly not true but whatever, “Nine at Joey’s?”

“See you there,” you say, and hang up before you can do anything else stupid.

You bury your hands in your hair, leaning your elbows on the table and letting out a frustrated sound probably inappropriate for a public place. How are you going to go meet Bucky and pretend you aren’t, essentially, investigating his best friend? Maybe you don’t. Maybe you use this to get more answers, full-stop some of the question marks that have been playing havoc with your head all week.

And sex. You’re not going to pretend you won’t be ending up in Bucky’s bed again, shady secrets be damned.

***

Joey’s is a divey, underground bar you absolutely adore, and you’ve met Bucky here multiple times. He introduced you to the place, actually, a week or so into meeting up him. He’d laughed at how excited you were over the movie posters they used as decor behind the booths, the bartender who squeezed fresh apple juice into your shot of Jameson, the dirty bass-heavy music you eventually convinced him to dance with you to. Bucky is clearly trying to win you over by meeting you here, and you can’t say it’s not working. Just a little bit. You’ll still make him work for it.

Bucky’s got a booth at the back when you arrive, two whiskey apple’s already waiting on the table as he stands up to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, not letting you set the tone at all, but you can’t find it in you to mind as you’re crushed into his chest and he rests his stubbly chin atop your head. He smells nice, reminding you of spiced rum or something else warm and comforting, and his hands feel real nice as they dip under your top to press against your bare skin. Had you really missed him this much? You squeeze him tightly, ignoring the thump of your heart as he starts rubbing circles into your back, and you stand there in his arms for far too long to be appropriate.

Pulling away, though, feels like you’ve lost something.

Across the booth from you, now, Bucky slides a drink towards you with his usual cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, popping the straw in your mouth and looking out at the bar so you can pretend not to pay attention to him. He bumps your foot under the table but you ignore him, hiding your smirk in the rim of your glass.

“Doll,” he says, exasperated, and reaches across the booth to place his giant hand on the arm you have resting on the table. You look at him then, scrunching your nose up at the pet name which makes him smile. His eyes crinkle up at the sides, all soft and blurry blue, and you feel yourself forgetting why you’re supposed to be mad at him in the first place.

“What,” you say, mimicking his tone just to watch his jaw clench. His frustration is hot, what of it? You love winding him up like this.

“Brat,” he retorts, and oh, that makes you feel something you probably shouldn’t, all low and coiled hot in your belly. “Did you think I was avoiding you?”

“You were avoiding me,” you correct, raising your eyebrows at him. He hasn’t let go of your arm, now taking to rubbing his thumb back and forth across the leather of your jacket. You refuse to let it melt you.

“I was away,” he says, eyes sparkling. He’s practically laughing at you, which is- rude. You huff, barely believing him, and he says, “I was! Did you want me to tell you I was going or something?”

“No,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. You sigh - he’s right, what did you expect? Nothing, and yet you were put out anyway, but that’s a problem you’ve got to deal with on your own. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything and he knows it. You relax, finally, putting your drink down to cover Bucky’s hand with your own. You smile, say, “I’m just messing with you, Bucky.”

“Sure you are,” he says easily, but you know he doesn’t believe you. It’s dropped, then, forgotten as you sit there staring at each other in the dim light of the bar. You really had missed him, even if you still barely knew him. His stubbly jaw, the close-cropped sides of the new haircut he’d gotten since you’d last seen him, the glint of his dog togs against tanned skin disappearing under his t-shirt. The swirl of his chest piece peeking out from the neckline, and you can fill in the blanks because you’ve seen what’s under that t-shirt. You’ve traced your tongue over it, as well as every other inch of him you’re trying to memorise in case another month passed before you saw him again. If you ever saw him at all.

“What?” you ask when you realise he’s starting to smile at you, holding back a laugh. He shakes his head, looking down to pick up his drink and take a sip. You lean back, retracting yourself from his grip and folding your arms across your chest - he’s making fun of you, you know it, but you don’t know why. He does laugh then, also leaning back in his seat and regarding you with that head tilt that infuriates you.

“Nothing,” he laughs, eyes saying the opposite. “It’s just- it’s nice to see you.”

“You going soft on me, tough guy?” you tease, but he sobers at your words, the smile dying on his pillow-plump lips. He stares you down, that deep thing that reminds you how easy it is to get lost in him (if you aren’t already).

“Maybe I am,” he says, and that surprises you. You had been joking, but the heady way he’s looking at you turns it serious. “Would that bother you?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to say the right thing. You don’t even know if that’s a good response or not, but you’ve done it now and Bucky nods, downs his drink, all without ever breaking eye contact with you. You get the distinct feeling you’ve just agreed to something you don’t entirely understand, entangling yourself further into Bucky without even trying to. Given what you’d been uncovering about his friends the past week, you should know better. You should leave.

But you don’t. You lean across the booth, coming to him this time, and peel his hand off his glass to entwine your fingers with his. The cool metal of his signet rings offsets the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way he grips your fingers tightly signs the deal. Bucky is too enticing to stay away from, and you are too tired of trying to.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you ask, but it’s not really a question. You watch his eyes dart across your face, tongue flicking out over his lips, stalling for time. You wonder what he’ll say. My friends run dodgy business deals out of a tattoo parlour? I’m involved in that, too? I’m dangerous, I’m a liar, you should stay away?

“I’m a mechanic,” he says. You try not to show your disappointment, but still, this is information you didn’t have before and you’re greedy for anything. “I have my own shop in Queens. Natasha helps me out, helps me run it. I’ve been obsessed with cars and bikes and shit since I was five.”

You smile at that, imaging little Bucky running around a car yard trying to convince his dad, or whoever, to teach him how to drive even if he couldn’t reach the pedals yet. You imagine him now, the hand you’re holding all greased up and elbow deep in a car’s guts, maybe with his shirt off and sweat dripping down his back. You’ve got to see that one day before you die, you decide right then. That’s too hot to just stay in your brain.

“Your turn,” he says, shit-eating smirk in place like he can read your mind. You blush, despite yourself, and scramble for something to say that’s not I’ve been investigating your friends all week and it’s not looking too good for them.

“My dad,” you blurt out, and Bucky give you a funny look like he thinks that’s your fact - you have a dad, isn’t that something. You curse yourself for starting this, you could’ve gone with anything and you said ‘my dad’? But you’re here now, so, “He raised me on his own, like, I don’t know my mum at all, but he always said he wanted me to have something of her so he taught me Russian. She taught him, apparently, and he taught her English. Now it’s like our secret language.”

“Russian, hey?” Bucky asks, and he seems far too surprised for the anecdote you’ve just given but you suppose it is the first actually personal thing you’ve told him. He doesn’t seem off-put by it, though, like you have expected him to be because you don’t do personal. In fact he just leans closer, almost unconsciously, baiting you to tell him more.

“Yeah,” you say, compelled to keep going. “We’d leave each other notes around the house in ‘code’, y’know, but it was just in Cyrillic. Thought it was so cool.”

“It is cool,” Bucky says, smirking at you again, “You’re cool.”

“Fuck you,” you laugh, kicking his ankle under the table but immeasurably grateful for the tone change. You don’t know why you’ve just told him that. You don’t know if you’ve ever told anyone that - Russian isn’t exactly a handy language to know. You feel drunker than you should be after a tiny bit of whiskey, high on the rush of unleashing a secret. Drunk enough that Bucky unlatching his fingers from yours to grip your wrist tight, a bit bruising, tugging you close, makes you flush from your scalp to your toes.

Bucky looks at you, dark and heavy, and asks, “Want to?”

You nod, throat suddenly very dry, and Bucky tugs you out of the booth without another word. Usually you wait a bit longer before getting on Bucky’s bike, have a few more drinks, maybe dance a bit if you can coax Bucky into it. Not tonight. You’re both on the same page - it’s been too long and you need his mouth on you about five days ago.

He pushes you into the apartment by the shoulders, rough enough you stumble but you’re quickly righted as he strides through the door after you and grabs you by the hips. Bucky crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your needy whine with soft lips and velvet tongue as you fist his t-shirt and drag you both backwards, going and going until your back hits a wall. His palm slams into the drywall by your head but you don’t flinch, only groan as he smudges his spit-slick mouth across your jaw and down your neck. Bucky bites down, sharp teeth on soft skin, and you rake your nails down his stomach as payback for the mark you’ll have later.

“Off,” Bucky grumbles as he shoves at your jacket, getting it stuck at your elbows and trapping your arms by your sides. He seems to like like this, eyes flashing something dangerous in the dark of his hallway. You hold his eyes, heart thrumming something wild in your throat at being caught, pinned, vulnerable. With Bucky, though, you like that.

You want to reach for him but you can’t, so you wait for him to come to you. Kissing you breathless, hand fisted in your hair, other undoing the front of your jeans. God, you wanna touch him so bad but Bucky has you in his grip, yanking your head back to kiss that same bruised spot.  He sucks another under your chin as you cry out, pinpricks of pain-turned-pleasure bursting at the base of your scalp.

He gets his hand in your jeans, in your panties, runs two fingers down your cunt so easy with how wet you are already before rubbing bruising, slow circles on your clit. Your whole body jerks against Bucky’s hold on you, his thighs bracketing your body into the wall and his hand still fisted in your hair. Your mouth drops open in a soundless moan and you feel, rather than hear Bucky laugh against your throat. All executive function has diverted to the radiating ache of pure pleasure from Bucky’s fingers on you.

Bucky lets go of you hair only to press his hand on your throat, cold rings digging into your burnt-up skin and pressing you back into the wall. Long fingers tilt your jaw to look at him, increased pressure warning you against looking away, but you don’t want to anyway. Bucky’s eyes are dark like a sea storm, molten blue, and he squeezes his grip just once before saying, “Still think I’ve gone soft?”

Jesus christ, but you can’t answer him like this - not with your pulse thundering against his palm and the way he picks up the pace on your clit, making your thighs shake with the effort of holding yourself up. Bucky grins, boyish and crinkly, and it’s so at odds with the way he slides his two fingers down and pushes into you, twisting to the knuckle, that you think you might be losing your mind. Unravelling, Bucky pulling at the threads, and the only thing holding you together is his hand on your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, his name a broken breath as you start to lose focus. Everything’s hazy, glassy, your toes are going numb and tingly so you know it’s coming, building tight in your stomach as he rubs his fingers back and forth inside of you. At his name Bucky makes a sound almost like a growl, pressing his body against yours and somehow further into the wall. You need that contact,  the press of his muscles holding you up as it gets harder and harder to breath with the heat coiling up inside of you. He presses his forehead against yours so all you can see is blue edged out by black, claiming your every breath and moan, drawing you in deeper and deeper because you’re his, now. There’s no way back from this.

He presses his thumb to your clit, thrusts his fingers deeper into you, mouth parting with yours as you moan as if he means to swallow the sound. You’re there, you’re right there, and then he kisses you so soft you might’ve imagined it and you’re coming, your whole body clenching up and whiting out while he finger fucks you through it.

Trembling muscles come to leant against the wall, barely holding yourself up as Bucky extricates himself and allows you room to breath. He gently tugs your jacket all the way off, freeing your arms to come up sluggish and heavy around his neck, holding on. He laughs, just quietly, letting you nuzzle your way into the side of his neck and breath in that warm honey Bucky smell as you try and regain mental functions. It’s hard. You think Bucky’s just blended up your brain with a swizzle stuck and sucked it out through a straw.

“C’mon,” he says, gravel rough, and nudges his nose against the side of your head. “Not done with you yet.”

“Hmph,” you say, but let yourself be picked up under the ass and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck you can reach with every second your body comes back online, digging your teeth in a little when he squeezes your ass as he walks. You’re both still fully clothes, basically, but you don’t plan to be for long. You’ve got tattoos to kiss and a dick you want anyway Bucky’ll let you. You’ve got all night, after all.

***

It’s late, you should be going, but you steal a few more minutes lying on Bucky’s chest. He’s sat up against the headboard, trying to braid little pieces of your hair with the cutest look of concentration on his face. The way he goes from dirty to dork always makes your heart do complicated things in your chest. You’re drumming your fingers on his chest, right next to his dog tags, and before you can overthink it too much you pause your drum solo to pick them up.

Bucky doesn’t pause in his hair-braiding but you can feel him watching you as you turn the worn metal over in your fingers. They’re well loved, a bit bent in places and the letters starting to rub flat  but you can still read it. His birthday, March 10th, and his name. You’d never thought to read these before - they always seemed part of Bucky’s past, something you weren’t allowed into yet. But tonight has made you bold, and you run your thumb over the letters of his name so you can memorise the feel of them.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you mumble, words half said into his skin. Bucky hums but doesn’t respond, so you say, “I always knew no mother could look at their newborn child and call it Bucky.”

“Watch it,” Bucky warns, but without any real heat. You don’t ask what the tags mean, which war he fought in, when he got back. You lay them back on his skin carefully, straightening out the chain, before turning in Bucky’s arms to prop your chin on his chest piece and look at him.

“I should go,” you say, as you continue to lie there with legs tangled and Bucky’s hand now resting idle, cupping the back of your head. He bites his lip, strokes his big hand down the back of your hair and making you close your eyes for a second. You’re enjoying his touch too much, you’re getting too close for a man you don’t know. A man who you know has secrets you probably don’t want to uncover, but you can’t stop yourself.

“You could stay.” Bucky’s words hang there, suspended in the space between you. He’s never said that before. You never thought he would say that, ever. Bucky looks at you, face unreadable, and you don’t know why you feel sick to your stomach all of a sudden but you do. There are lines being crossed that you can’t backtrack from. You’re not ready to make that step yet.

“Not tonight,” you say, and it’s not a no but it’s not what Bucky wants to hear. He withdraws his hand from you, letting it drop uselessly to the bed beside him. You take that as your cue to go, rolling off the bed and dressing silently with Bucky’s eyes burning a hole in your skin.

You’re pulling away, trying desperately to regain some distance and control from his man who already has you swallowed whole, he just doesn’t know it yet. Even still, you can’t stop yourself crawling back on the bed and straddling his lap, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him. You want him to remember this - not you saying no, but the way your body will always say yes to him as he holds your hips and keeps you there, kissing you back as desperate as you feel.

But now you know you have reason to climb through the laundry room window that night and sneak away from Bucky’s apartment building, that you’re not just being paranoid because you’ve got photos to prove it. It’s that thought alone that makes it bearable to leave him, even if your heart is begging you to stay.

Part 3

#bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader fic #bucky fic #reader insert fic #pov fic #biker!bucky #biker au #biker!bucky au #avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #11 hours

[btsmosphere]

How to Win at Christmas in 7 Easy Steps | KSJ

~summary:

How to win at Christmas... and maybe meet someone along the way. The story of how Jin ended up crawling through your hedge dressed as santa on Christmas eve. And how you were totally not heading to his house for the very same reason.

Jin x reader

~word count: 2.6k

~neighbour au, idiots to lovers, humour, crack, getting together

Rating: pg

Warnings: general chaos and gardening shears

~a/n: thank you to an anon for this idea for the ‘kim seokjin’ bingo square! (my requests are no longer open) I had a lot of fun with this one!

Step 1: pick your battles

Jin stared out of the window.

How dare she?

His neighbour across the street was currently on a ladder, fastening the end of a large string of lights to her house.

Previously, he had thought she was quite cute whenever he passed her in the roads.

But he would have to push that aside, given she was to be his nemesis now.

This was war.

The declaration was loud and clear, staring him in the face outside his window. If he wasn’t so intent on despising it, he might have admitted that the lights looked very good. There were fairy lights around the windows of the house, and hanging from the roof like glittery icicles.

Even the wreath on the red front door had little lights glimmering from within the foliage.

The final straw was really the series of colourful stars forming a stripe across the middle of the house. Other than those, he would say his decorations were roughly the same as these new arrivals.

Which was why it was very clearly a direct attack.

Step 2: make the first move

Looking between the Christmas lights on the shelf in front of him, Jin wondered if he was reading too far into it.

He was sure the stars on the left were the exact ones you had on the front of your house. Would that be too obvious? Settling for the ones on the right, although they were slightly smaller, he walked further into the store, looking for something that would really make his house stand out.

Half an hour later, a large wire Christmas tree could be seen walking across his front lawn, emitting several curses as it went.

Eventually, Jin managed to place it in such a way that it nestled among the plants in his garden without squashing any, and he hurried to switch it on.

Standing back, he admired his work with hands on hips. Perhaps he wasn’t very subtle, looking between your house and his, but he liked what he saw. That would show you. Stars bedecked his front porch in a very pleasing way, and now he had a Christmas tree lighting up his lawn.

What could be better?

A nagging hum nudged at Jin until his eyes cracked open, cursing as he found his room still dark. Legs still tangled in his sheets, he flipped himself over in order to peek out of his window.

The early morning light made him squint, but the moment his eyes were adjusted, he swore out loud.

As it turns out, the source of the humming sound was an inflation device, pumping air into a massive snowman on your lawn. It did look slightly like a melting marshmallow, but as it grew it grinned maliciously up at him, stick arms wobbling tauntingly.

He just gaped, dumbfounded, wishing he had thought of that.

Looking in panic down at his own decorations, he was alarmed to note that his Christmas tree would only look nice at night. Now that daylight slowly seeped into the sky, it looked more and more dull.

“Oh shut up,” he scowled down at the snowman’s growing grin.

A smart move on your part, he thought bitterly. Show off.

Step 3: make another move when your first one fails

Jin would settle for nothing less than a real showstopper.

He had gone to another shop this time, a little further out of town, but, most importantly, bigger. And therefore it would contain Christmassy treasures you could only dream of, little miss look-at-me-I-have-a-snowman.

He bypassed garlands, trees and wreaths, ignored the ‘Santa, stop here!’ signs and those weird window stickers he would never understand. Maybe he had been too optimistic about finding his Christmas holy grail in this place.

But then he turned the corner.

He had just entered a treasure trove. He had the surreal sensation that he was being bathed in a golden glow from the splendour before him.

Now this was more like it!

Everything in this section was large enough to fill his car, a life-size moving Santa beckoning at him from one side while a fake reindeer scuffed its hoof on the ground, mechanical whinny uttering from its mouth.

Walking further in, he identified the golden glow as coming from a large nativity scene. Rather disappointing, if you asked him.

But it couldn’t be helped, so he quickly came to terms with this and found himself not long afterwards debating between a full size sleigh and an igloo.

Chewing his lip, he rotated, assessing both of the items, which were on opposing shelves. The igloo would look very wintery alongside the white lights on his house and the tree in the garden… but maybe not quite Christmassy enough. A sleigh, on the other hand, was unmistakeably festive-

-and being stolen right in front of his nose.

He was rather taken aback to find a woman already halfway up the aisle with the box under her arm when he turned around. A strangled yelp escaped him as he realised it was the last in stock, and he had just been robbed.

Hearing him, the woman turned around.

It was you.

“Oh, hi Jin!” you exclaimed, grin taking over your face. Meanwhile, he just sputtered, mouth hanging open in outrage.

“Um, your lights look really good!” you spoke again, quirking an eyebrow at his silence.

The cheek of it!! He could not believe you had the audacity to speak about decorations in front of him like this.

“Thank you,” he spoke curtly, “yes, they do.”

“Okay,” you laughed lightly, “I better be going. See you around.”

Grumbling to himself, he spun back around forcefully, coming face to face with the igloo he would have to settle for.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he hissed at said igloo, “you are gonna be the most glorious, majestic igloo this side of Seoul, or else! We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.”

In the end, admittedly, it was actually the shop assistants laughing at the man who seemed to have punched above his weight in Christmas props.

Staggering out of the door, he finally dumped his haul into the back of his car and took a breather leaning against the door. His house had better look spectacular after this.

Step 4: implement step 3

Jin would like to describe himself as modest. Among many other great things.

But even a modest man such as himself had to admit, his decorations looked pretty darn good.

Since fate had so cruelly stripped him of Santa’s sleigh, he had gone all out with the igloo. It stood proud and strong in the middle of his front lawn with presents stacked up at the entrance and a couple of little polar bear cubs just outside.

They even had little hats on.

He was sure the fearsome army he had created would scare you into submission. After all, no more items had appeared over at your place yet.

You probably bought that sleigh just to spite him. Classic sabotage tactic.

Shaking his head, he turned to go inside for a well-deserved cup of hot chocolate.

Step 5: contemplate defeat

When Jin opened his curtains the next morning, he almost fell over in shock.

At first, he thought it had snowed.

But he was mistaken, unless a snow cloud had in fact visited and snowed very specifically on your house.

When the hell had you found the time to do that? Or the ladder to do that? Your roof, as well as the tops of your windows and porch, were dusted in white. And the more he looked, the more he saw. You had even sprinkled some on your wreath!

Worst of all, that damned sleigh sat smugly in front of it, the cherry on the cake.

Begrudgingly, he was impressed. He should take a leaf out of your book when it came to intimidation tactics. Because they had certainly succeeded on him.

How on earth had you accomplished all that?

He sat down heavily in his kitchen, deliberately leaving the curtains closed for now. He leaned heavily on his elbow as he stirred a mug of tea, thoroughly fed up.

What was this feeling?

He had never met his match before. The smug satisfaction of victory had been rudely swiped from his fingertips by you.

But while he stewed in his disappointment all day, it seemed you had been busy. A knock on the door later heralded your arrival with a steaming plate of mince pies.

Oh, so you had to be better at baking too, huh?

“Oh. Hello,” he greeted as he stood in the doorway. His hand still gripped the door in his surprise.

“Hi,” you smiled, “would you like any of these? Maybe you already have some since you’re the only other one on this street with any Christmas spirit, but I thought I’d stop by and offer-“

“Yes. I would like to try some,” Jin cut you off, jutting out his chin. Then, realising himself, his eyebrows drew together and he uttered a sheepish, “thank you.”

Even your laughter sounded like Christmas, tinkling like bells as you followed behind him.

Once he had brewed tea for both of you, he completely forgot his intention to spit your baking back out in a dramatic display of disgust. His disappointment in himself only grew when he found himself reaching out for his third one, only then remembering that he was supposed to be opposed to your insufferable ability to do Christmas better than him.

It was only when it started to grow dark that the two of you realised the time you had wasted just talking. And only a small part of Jin offered to pop over with Christmas baking of his own purely to prove he could do it better than you.

A weighted breath left him as he shut the door behind him.

This would not do. He had to stay true to his ulterior motive, for goodness’ sake!

Across the road, your lights flicked on and he made another unfortunate discovery. Those weird window stickers might have been a good investment after all.

Silhouetted by the warm light of your house, a row of houses stood along the windowsill, dark blobs of snowflakes floated on the glass above them.

Tomorrow, he would completely coat his house in lights and wipe that smug, arrogant, gorgeous smile off your face.

Step 6: make a last ditch effort

By the time Christmas was only a few days away, your little competition had become quite obvious.

Your road lay in darkness, a few lone strings of lights flickering on the odd house… and then the vision was assaulted by two houses opposite each other: yours and Jin’s.

However, Jin only looked out with satisfaction. The plants around his lawn were lined with glittering lights, and more still were piled on the igloo that had become his centrepiece. Even the polar bear cubs had been ensnared in the cheery twine.

As he watched from his window, a family walked along, two kids clutching their mum’s hand. The abundance of light helped greatly by illuminating their smiles as they gazed at the lights on display. But to Jin’s dismay, they turned to your house first, pointing at all the things decorating it and jumping up and down in excitement.

Just a passing glance was thrown at his, before they were on their way.

His hands curled into fists. This simply wasn’t good enough – he had to win at Christmas. He always did! Who were you to threaten the reigning Christmas champion, Kim Seokjin?

There was a chance this was a questionable idea.

Just a small chance.

A little, teeny-weeny, itty-bitty chance.

However, this thought only crossed Jin’s mind as the twigs in the hedge he was currently crawling through nearly ripped his santa hat off his head.

Clutching it tightly to the top of his head, he shuffled a bit further.

It was a strange sight, from your end. As you stepped quietly across your back garden, a movement caught your eye. Freezing where you stood, you had to bite back laughter as Santa himself clambered inelegantly to his feet at the other side of your garden, emerging from below the hedge that divided your house from next door.

Just as he bent down to brush dirt from his red fuzzy trousers, you spotted what he was holding.

You were certain you hadn’t asked for a pair of gardening shears for Christmas.

Then Santa’s head raised, and your suspicions were confirmed. Eyes meeting yours, you could see the thought of I fucked up flit across Jin’s face. Very quickly.

“Um, err- merry Christmas!” he cried in a gruff voice, throwing his arms out.

And then very hurriedly tucking them behind his back as he remembered what he was holding.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” you pointed out.

“Well, um,” he glanced at his watch. It was still Christmas eve for a few hours yet, “I wanted to get to you early! You’re right at the top of the nice list… Hold on! What’s that!”

Following his gaze, you quickly chucked your own pair of shears behind a tree.

“What are you talking about?” you smiled sweetly.

“Were you going to sabotage my Christmas lights?” he cried, cocking his hips to the side and placing a hand on them, still clutching his shears.

An eyebrow raised indignantly. You just laughed.

“Clearly you thought of that first.”

“Yes, that’s right, I did!” he exclaimed, pointing the shears towards you and tilting his head as he berated you, “so don’t you go stealing my idea- why are you laughing?!“

Trying desperately to calm down, you put a hand over your mouth to little effect.

“Why don’t we just go inside?” you giggled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Come inside,” you repeated, “it’s Christmas eve, and I could do with someone as festive as you.”

“Is all this not festive enough for you, Miss Christmas?” he challenged, gesturing towards the glow emanating from the front of your house.

“Miss Christmas? You’re literally dressed as Father Christmas,” you appraised.

“Good point,” he shrugged.

Smirking, you opened the door and waited for him to follow you inside.

“So you… you knew I was trying to one-up you?” he asked as you got two mugs out.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed.

“I’ve never known anyone who can decorate like you,” he sighed, “what’s your secret?”

“Like I would tell you that,” you chuckled.

“So cruel,” he lamented, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, “what can I ever do to make you tell me?”

“Go out with me,” you laughed.

Nearly choking on air, Jin stared at your back as you continued making drinks as if you had said nothing.

“What?” he gaped.

“I said, go out with me,” you explained, finally turning around, “on a date. I like you.”

Blinking rapidly, he swallowed against the fluttering in his chest.

“Can’t say no to that,” he stuttered, “can’t have you teaming up with anyone else, now, can I?”

“I’m not normally so competitive,” you laughed, the bells tinkling once again.

“So why-“ Jin frowned, but he cut himself off, eyes widening, “wait- was this- have you been… flirting with me?”

“No,” you replied, “I’ve been winning.”

“Yah! I definitely won! What are you talking about?!”

Step 7: maybe accept love as a consolation prize

Thanks for reading! Please reblog x

Taglist (message me to be added): @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​

Masterlist here

#thebtswritersclub #purplearmynet #btsholidaybingo #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bangtanuniversity #jin imagine #jin scenario #kim seokjin fluff #jin fluff #kim seokjin crack #kim seokjin neighbour au #jin crack #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin idiots to lovers #jin humour #kim seokjin enemies to lovers #kim seokjin humour #jin christmas #seokjin x reader

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A/N: Hi guys! This was something I came up with whilst talking to @hotchsbabygirl and this fic was born, so enjoy! 

Possible Triggers: Swearing, reference to a bad previous relationship where consent was not given and smoking.  It’s called... Sugar, yes please! 

You sigh, typing up your report of the last case as you rub your eyes. “Anyone else jet lagged?” You ask Spencer and Emily who work at the desks beside you. It’s your fourth case with the team, and as much as you are settling in well, the flying is taking it’s toll on you and you suffer badly from jet lag.

“You get used to it. Took me a few months.” Emily said patting your shoulder relating to how you are feeling. “3 months, 1 day, 4 hours and 1 minute and 59 seconds.” Spencer added. “Oh, so the first few numbers of Pi then?” You smirked. “I didn’t think of that, but yes, I suppose you could think of it that way.” Spencer said, adjusting his glasses. “Nerds.” Morgan said. “Anyone wants a coffee speak now whilst it’s fresh.” “Nothing nerdy about numbers and statistics.” You smile, walking over to the coffee machine as Spencer looks at you with googly eyes. “Just like that, IQ of 187 drops to 60.” Emily laughed knowing Spencer has a crush on the young agent. Spencer snapped back into reality and went to join you at the coffee machine where you were deciding which donut to have, settling on the chocolate sprinkles one. “That’s my favourite too!” Spencer exclaimed “Oh, sorry! Do you want it? I can have the cinnamon sugar instead.” You offer “No. It’s fine really.” Spencer smiled picking up the cinnamon one. “You have it.” “Or we can share.” You offer taking a large bite of the chocolate one, leaving Spencer the remaining half on a napkin. Spencer nods, doing the same thing and hands you the other half of the cinnamon one, noticing you make a coffee. “You want one?” You ask, noticing Spencer is still staring at you, not that you mind. You’ve developed a small crush on the slightly older agent, with you being 25 and Spencer being 28. “Please. My mug has my name on it.. The one you have been drinking out of.. But it’s fine. A different mug will be sufficient.” Spencer says blushing “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry, I thought all these mugs were the same!” You say, feeling awful. “I don’t wear my glasses very often.” “Don’t worry Y/N. Honestly. They are mostly the same, apart from the brightly coloured ones. They are Penelope’s.” Spencer said. Meanwhile . . .

“Rossi, you won’t believe this. Y/N used Spencer’s mug and shared a donut with him, and he didn’t even flinch.” Derek said, sipping his coffee. “Damn. He must have the hots for Y/N. You know she’s studying for a PhD in psychology and forensics?” Rossi said signing off a document that Penelope gave him. “What are you all talking about?” Hotch said in a stern voice noticing the agents  are not doing their work. “Well…” JJ began and told Hotch “Pretty boy better say something soon or I’m going to flip a table.” Morgan said “Keep it professional.” Hotch said, pleased that Spencer has a crush. “No. We will not rest until genius makes a move.” Penelope giggled Back by the coffee machine . . . “You want sugar?” You ask Spencer getting it down for yourself, adding an unhealthy amount. “Please, same amount actually.” Spencer smiled, trying to buck up the courage to ask Y/N on a date. This weekend he had planned to go to a pumpkin patch and get a sweet pumpkin spiced latte afterwards, but would much rather have company, and take Y/N with him. “And I thought I was the only one who liked sweet coffee.” You say putting the now empty bag of sugar in the bin. “Looks like they’ll have to order more sugar.” Spencer smiled as you both walked back to your desks as everyone goes back to pretending they were busy and not listening/watching your conversation.

 Later in the day . . .

Since there isn’t a case, you and the team go for a beer after work to celebrate your first month with the team. You sit in the middle fiddling with your converse and sipping your beer. “So, what do you guys have planned for the weekend guys, if we don’t get a case?” You ask, attempting to make some form of conversation that isn’t work related. “Chocolate thunder and I are going to his Mom’s birthday party.” Penelope smiled, sipping her cocktail as Derek smiled as Penelope snuggled into his arms. You think Penelope and Derek are adorable together, and wish you had a relationship like that. “I’m taking Jack go-karting with Henry.” Hotch smiled “They had so much fun playing mini golf last time.” JJ said showing you photos on her phone. “I’m taking Sergio for a check-up and meeting some college friends for a drink.” Emily smiled “I’m revising for my Psychology exam. You all have much more fun planned than me.” You sigh, wishing to be doing something fun. “I’m going to a Pumpkin patch and getting some pumpkins to carve.” Spencer smiled “Do you like Halloween Spencer?” You ask, sipping your beer as everyone groans knowing what’s coming. After about 5 minutes of Halloween facts... “So yes, I guess you could say I like Halloween.” Spencer says sipping his fruit cider. “Well the pumpkin patch sounds like a lovely way to spend a Saturday.” You smile, “I’m going for a cigarette and to get another drink. Does everyone want the same of what they have had?” I’ll get a round on my way back.” You say Everyone nods, and Rossi joins you outside. “So pretty boy, you going to ask Y/N to the pumpkin patch with you?” Morgan asked “No! I’m sure she was just being polite.” Spencer said sipping his cider, trying to hide his blushing cheeks. “Just ask her Spence, I think she’d love to go with you.” JJ smiled “You have nothing to lose besides us embarrassing you for a while regardless of the outcome.” Hotch said “Besides, you have already shared cooties with her anyway.” Penelope said reminding them all of earlier “Fuck this. I’ll do it if it shuts you all up.” Spencer sighed getting up Outside …

“I can’t believe you have been here a month Y/N.” Rossi said exhaling from his cigarette. “It feels like you have been here longer.” “I hope that’s a good thing Rossi.” You smile “It is.. and Spencer has taken quite the shine to you too.” He says “I think it’s that I’m studying for a PhD, or that he’s no longer the youngest on the team.” You say Rossi chooses not to say anything, as the door opens and out comes Spencer. “Hey guys.” He says and gives Rossi a facial expression that means, “Please go away”. Rossi nods in understanding and goes back inside where the team are all behind the door like children, about to listen to the conversation. “Hey Doctor Reid.” You smile at him “Hey future Doctor Y/S/N.” He smiled back “You come out to smoke or just to say hello?” You ask. “Both actually, plus I got a leg cramp.” He said stretching his leg “I didn’t realise you smoked.” You say lighting another one up “Mainly after cases as a way of relaxing, or if something is on my mind.” Spencer said. “Can I use your lighter?” He asks “Sure. Which is it today?” You ask handing him your lighter. Spencer lights his cigarette and hands your lighter back. “Hm?” “You said you smoke after a case, or if something is on your mind. Which is it? It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.” You say taking a drag from your cigarette. “The latter.” Spencer says taking a drag from his. “I’ve been thinking...” He begins “You? Thinking? No.. Really?!” You joke, trying to cheer Spencer up from whatever is on his mind. “Come on pretty boy... You can do this.” Morgan whispers from the other side of the door. Spencer flushed his cheeks. “Do you like Halloween?” He asks as a few quiet groans are heard from the other side of the door. “Must be the game on the TV.” You say “Or our bastard co-workers.” Spencer thinks to himself. “Probably.” Spencer says through gritted teeth “I love Halloween! I’ve got pumpkin and ghost lights around my apartment at the moment.” You smile. “Why?” “Er..” Spencer shakes a little dropping his cigarette which he quickly picks up again. “I was wondering… It’s okay if you don’t… But do you fancy going to the Pumpkin Patch with me tomorrow?” He says looking down at his converse, with his Halloween socks, little ghosts on one and Frankenstein’s on the other. You smile, a single tear going down your cheek. It has been a while since a guy asked you out, since you left your ex after he cheated. “Spencer, are you asking me on a date?” You ask “Y..Yes I am. But like I said, it’s fine if you say you don’t want to.” Spencer says, still looking down. “I’d love to go with you Spencer.” You smile, lifting Spencer’s head up with your hands as cheers are heard from the other side of the door. Spencer looks at you, smiling wide. “Really?” You nod. “As long as I get to buy a pumpkin for my apartment.” “As long as I get to kiss your cheek.. Like, right now if that’s okay.” Spencer said biting his lip. “Damn pretty boy.” Derek whispered. “We didn’t discuss this.” “But he did ask for consent. That’s more than her ex did.” Penelope whispered “Her ex?” Derek whispered back “Long story delicious.” Penelope whispered “Yes Spencer, that is more than okay.” You smile as Spencer softly kisses your cheek making you blush. “I’ll pick you up at 12.” Spencer smiled, putting his hand on yours. “For now though, I think you promised the team a round of drinks.” “Shit. I forgot about that.” You say getting up, still holding Spencer’s hand and walk to the door. “MOVE MOVE MOVE.” Emily said shoving everyone back to their seats but it was too late, you and Spencer caught them all in the act. “I didn’t realise a sticky bar floor was comfortable to stand on for more than 2 minutes.” You chuckle, finally clocking what the cheers were about earlier. ________________________________________________________________

Well guys, I hope you enjoyed that! I have a few more in the works, and let me know either in the comments, asks or on messages, if you’d like to be on my taglist! Requests are OPEN!  Follow up coming soon! Taglist: @pumpkin-goob , @jpegjade , @andiebeaword , @hopebaker , @hotchsbabygirl , @hercleverboy , @cupcake525 , @aperrywilliams

#my fics #spencer reid #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid fluff

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

HIII!!! Long time lurker so I’m gonna stay anon if that’s alright. Congrats on 100 followers by the way! Your writing is so fantastic and I’ve followed you for a bit now so I thought I’d request something finally :p

Could I (she/her) get a fanfic with Asahi maybe? Maybe with a timer of when you 2 would meet. Maybe it happens during the date tech game? And he’s already super nervous about the game so he doesn’t even realize how fast it’s counting down? ☺️☺️ sorry if it doesn’t make any sense! But I love your stories and hope you’re okay with it! 💜💜💜

This one came to me soooooo easily ahsjhgsdjgfsdjhgfjgsfjh I hope you like it my lovely because eeeeee. Also of course you can stay as a lurker, I’m happy for all the support you give. If you want to interact more, you can always just send them through asks because I would love to get to know ya’ll

----

3 hours 15 minutes 21 seconds

Asahi hadn’t had the time to pay attention to his clock today. He knew it was getting closer, which meant he’d finally get to meet you; right now, his biggest worry was the game against Date Tech. They’d all but destroyed him last year, with each passing day he was growing more anxious.

Even with his team by his side to support him, he couldn’t help the twisting of his stomach, the light headache that threatened to peak over. He didn’t realise how badly this was affecting him until he looked at himself in the mirror.

Bags under his eyes were obvious - he had barely slept last night after all - it wasn’t surprising him.

He sighed, ignoring his reflection and turning towards the bathroom door, deciding that eating something might calm his nerves.

2 hours 36 minutes 43 seconds

One last look in the mirror only made him more anxious. His hair was more dishevelled than usual; God today was going to suck.

He could already see the impending failure over the horizon. Even with the new first years they stood no chance; he just had to accept that this is the last time he’d ever get to be on the court again.

1 hour 12 minutes 06 seconds

Staring out of the bus window never did much to ease his worries, even listening to the world around him wasn’t enough to distract his thoughts. Conversation filled the air and he did little to participate.

Because he just knew that he wouldn’t be able to make it past the iron wall. And that he’d let everyone down again. He didn’t even know why he was here - he didn’t think he was good enough for this. Everyone was so much more talented than him.

He sighed, resting his head back against the seat. 

He just wanted to get this over with.

0 hours 10 minutes 54 seconds

Asahi was doing his best to not feel so anxious. Talking as Daichi explained why Nishinoya was more wild than he was; he laughed along. His heart pounding in his chest.

Even with the worry of the match that was to come, there was also something else that injured within his anxiety. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t understand the feelings. Like his stomach was lighter than normal - or that it was just him in general - like something big was coming.

But what?

Maybe he would win after all. That was the only explanation.

0 hours 0 minutes 15 seconds

He locked eyes with Aone - one of the parts of the Date Tech iron wall - as he pointed at him. Despite the front he was putting up, it only made his nerves go even higher. Like there was a tightness in his throat.

0 hours 0 minutes 10 seconds

The blocker didn’t put his arm down, even as Moniwa pulled on his arm, trying to get him to stop. They all simply tried to laugh it off, saying they were going to have a good game or something; he couldn’t focus. His heart pounding in his ears.

His wrist vibrated a little but he was too focused on the boy in front of him to check what it was.

0 hours 0 minutes 5 seconds

The tension sat thick in the air. He wanted to run and escape this, but God knows that wasn’t going to happen.

0 hours 0 minutes 2 seconds

Aone glanced to the side, almost pulling his attention to it.

0 hours 0 minutes 1 second

In that one second, a girl ran up and jumped onto Aone’s arm. She turned and met eyes with Asahi.

0 hours 0 minutes 0 seconds

The world seemed to stop as a small alarm sounded. His heart was pounding but it was for a different reason now. You were still hanging off of Aone’s arm; slowly, the white haired boy dropped his arm, giving you a chance to gain balance.

“Aone, you can’t just go about doing that,” you sighed, planting your hands on your hips and brushing off your skirt. You were wearing a volleyball jersey, smiling up sweetly at him.

“Hi…” his voice was softer than he wanted it to be, but he couldn’t help it.

As Date Tech’s boy team left, you stayed and talked with them. He found out you were on the girl’s team - a Libero, to be exact - and that you preferred wearing skirts because they just make me look pretty, what’s so wrong with that? And he could only agree with you. When he won against Date Tech, he’d half hoped you would watch him, but you were busy in your own game; he was surprised when you congratulated him for this win. Even as your best friend - Aone - stood close by. You exchanged numbers, you’d message him every single chance you got; whether it was in between classes, or in the middle of your practise. When the world was too overwhelming, you were only one phone call away.

You really were the best soulmate he could ask for.

----

General Taglist:

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If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a DM or an ask!

#haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #azumane x reader #azumane asahi #hq asahi #hq #haikyuu writing #noodles.anons #thisnoodlewrites

[fanfic-corner]

Wrapped In Red

Merry Christmas, @masterofevilmonkeyness! I’ve really enjoyed writing your secret santa for @destielsecretsanta2020 this year, and it has actually ended up being the longest fic I have ever written!

First of all, here’s the playlist. My friend found some perfect songs for the different scenes, and we had a lot of fun trying to find songs with specific vibes!

Without further ado, here’s the fic. And, if you’d prefer, the link to it on AO3.

{o0o}

“So you’ll do it?” his brother’s voice crackles though Dean’s cracked phone, and he sighs. So yeah, maybe he hasn’t been on a case in a while and has been going slowly insane just hanging around the bunker, but he also doesn’t want to leave Cas alone. Since his grace had faded completely a few days ago, the former angel had hardly left his room, and Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

He rubs his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on simply from this conversation, and replies, “I’ll ask Cas.”

“Okay, text me if you’re going,” Sam responds, the phone making the muffled noises that Dean has learnt means that he is holding his phone on his shoulder, freeing his hands to talk to Eileen.

“Stop worrying, anyway,” Dean tells him, cracking his back as he stands up. “You’re on holiday. Leave the cases for a while, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean slips his phone into his back pocket and wanders down the hallway, so engrossed in his plan to invest in some thick socks because the bunker floor is freezing that he nearly walks straight into Cas. His dark hair sticks up in every direction and he is wearing an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants, which look like they are being held up by some kind of miracle. Paired with the bags under his eyes which are so dark that Dean mistakes them for bruises, he could be mistaken for a ghost. 

“Hey, uh,” Dean stutters, not sure what to say. “Sam has a case that I was thinking of going on, but we don’t have to, we can just pass it on to Garth or-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas interrupts, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don’t look...great. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas’ steely blue eyes had always been able to pull off a frighteningly good stare, and Dean just decides to go along with it. It would do them both good to get out of the bunker, in any case.

“Okay,” he agrees, “shall we go in about an hour? That’ll give me enough time to pack for both of us and you enough time to have a shower.”

Cas nods, and they part ways, Dean watching the angel hoist his borrowed pants up and disappear around the corner before shaking his head and fishing his phone out to text Sam.

We’ll take it. Send me the details, setting off in an hour.

{o0o}

Dean had tried his very best to hold a conversation when they set off on the fourteen hour drive, but he had long given up and they were only at the two hour mark. Every question he asked so far had either gone unanswered or had been graced with a monosyllabic response. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Well, no one could fault him for trying. 

Flicking his wrist out lazily, he turns on the radio without looking with the kind of graceful expertise that only comes from years of driving his baby at night. It takes a full ten seconds for him to realise that the sound of jingle bells is coming from the speakers before he groans. “Nope.”

A surprisingly warm hand shoots out to stop him before he can turn it off, and Dean looks up in surprise at Cas’ imploring face. “Please can we listen to it?”

Considering what the dude had lost recently - and the fact that apparently his puppy eyes are almost as effective as Sam’s - Dean was hardly going to deny him this one thing. He did, however, have one condition. “Okay, I’ll leave it on, but only if you fish out my Christmas mixtape from the box.”

Dean never took his eyes off the road, but he was acutely aware of the way Cas stared at him for a moment before excitedly rummaging through the old box of tapes. Eventually, he pulls it out, admiring the battered stickers and fading drawings that he and Sam had added when they made it all those years ago. Cas gently slides it in and the first few notes of Mariah Carey grace the air.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, grinning wildly. “You, Castiel, are about to be educated in some proper Christmas music.”

By the time the mixtape finishes, they are both in a much better mood, so Dean decides it is probably a good idea to stop for a little bit to get some snacks and some gas. Frowning, Cas informs him that he needs the toilet, before disappearing towards the nasty looking bathroom. Dean can’t help but feel bad for him; as much as he loves being human, he knows it must be annoying to suddenly have the weird experience of a human body. They always seemed to hurt or need something, and he could tell that Cas found the whole thing incredibly repetitive and exasperating.

The gas station is like every other gas station Dean has ever seen; empty, with a layer of grime that seemed to cover everything and the bright lights that ensured that no matter what time of day it was, it always seemed to look the exact same. This one, however, is also covered in Christmas decorations. Glittery tinsel and rainbow paper chains swing from the ceiling, the air conditioning coaxing them into a gentle dance. Fake snow covers every surface, and flashing fairy lights force him to blink and look away. 

Dean moves on autopilot, picking up snacks that Cas hasn’t tried yet and a couple of bottles of water, before reaching the counter. He has to yell to the cashier - who is decked out in a festive jumper and Santa hat - in order to be heard over the deafening Christmas music.

“Here,” she practically sings, disappearing into the back room for a second before reappearing with a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers. “These are for you, sweetie! No charge. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”

Dean tries to refuse the antlers, but the lady - Lucy, her name tag reads - is not taking no for an answer, so eventually he gives in, telling himself that it is just so he can leave this Christmas Hell and get back to driving. Cas is waiting for him outside, leaning on the car and watching as the first few flakes of snow start to fall.

Dean hesitates for a moment before offering the antlers to him. Cas just stares at them, his head tilted to one side. Sighing, Dean just steps closer and puts them on Cas’ head, laughing when the bells jingle as he tries to look up at them without taking them off. He slips his phone out and sneaks a picture of the bewildered former angel, hastily putting it away and bundling Cas in the car so that they can set off before the snow gets too bad.

“Why did you give me a pair of fake antlers, Dean?” Cas asks as they set off, turning them over and inspecting them in his hands. Much to Dean’s dismay, they wouldn’t fit in the car. 

“Thought you liked Christmas stuff?” he replies, grinning.

“What do fabric antlers have to do with Christmas?” 

And so, Dean finds himself spending the last leg of the journey attempting to explain Christmas traditions to Cas, who can’t help interrupting and pointing out the real facts, rather than Dean’s Christmas cracker knowledge. They go over Santa and his reindeers (“reindeers can’t fly, Dean”), the birth of Jesus (“I remember Balthazar telling me about that”), and mince pies (“why are they sweet? Mince isn’t supposed to be sweet.”). By the time they arrive Dean is so eager to escape the onslaught of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, he hits someone with the car door as he gets out.

The actual reason that they have driven into the middle of absolutely nowhere dangerously close to Christmas is because a couple had gone missing last week and hadn’t been seen since. Usually, they would assume that this case wasn’t their kind of thing, but Sam had been asked to check it out by another hunter who knew them (and who apparently had some beef with a ton of shapeshifters), and so here they are..

Dean suggests that FBI agents might be a bit too suspicious for a small town in the middle of nowhere, so instead he and Cas decide to pretend that they are just family visiting them for the weekend. They knock on next door under the pretense of asking for the spare key, and are greeted by possibly the grumpiest people Dean has ever met.

“Fine,” the lady snaps, the half of her face visible from behind the door frowning at them in disgust before turning back into the house. “Harold, get the spare key for next door!”

“Do you happen to know where they have gone?” Dean asks politely, the pleasant smile on his face starting to ache.

“No.”

Cas raises his eyebrows at Dean, before he tries. “When was the last time you saw them?”

The woman huffs impatiently. “Probably when they went to that stupid office Christmas party. We could hear the music from here. It was so inconsiderate.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, sharing a look with Cas. “Where was this party?”

The door opens fully, a man appearing behind the lady - Harold, Dean assumes - who hands the key over to them. “It was those blasted Mitchells.” He turns to his wife, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Did you hear that they are throwing another goddamn party tomorrow, Ann?”

“Thanks for all your help,” Dean interrupts before they can get too carried away. 

“Merry Christmas!” Cas adds, already backing away. 

They speedwalk back across the victims’ house, making sure that the neighbours’ door is shut before they completely break down laughing. Dean can barely open the door, but when he finally manages to correctly align the key in the lock, they both tumble into the front room, shaking uncontrollably.

Dean collapses next to the couch, sliding to the floor. He takes a couple of deep breaths before managing to speak. “Sounds like we’re going to your first Christmas party, Cas.”

{o0o}

After making their way through most of the people in the town, two things have been made very clear. First of all, the last anyone had seen of the victims - Adam and Amelia Knapp - was at their office Christmas party. Which nearly everyone in the town had been at, and yet no one knew anything remotely helpful. Secondly, there was another Christmas party being held tomorrow night by the somewhat popular Mitchell family, and the chances of their mystery monster striking were high, in Dean’s opinion.

The most logical course of action would be for Dean and Cas to pretend to be guests at the party, so they could stop their creature before anyone else went missing and then they could disappear back home in time for Christmas. However, Dean had found that nothing in his life could ever be that simple, so instead he found himself standing in front of a wide array of hats, trying to wrestle a fez away from a former angel of the Lord.

Because of course it had to be a costume party, and just as the icing on the cake, it had to be a couples only costume party.

“Dude,” Dean says, finally managing to wrench the fez from Cas’ iron grip, “if we’re wearing hats, at least try a good hat.”

Dean plops an example on Cas’ head, laughing as it slips over his eyes. “These aren’t Christmassy, Dean.”

“Sure they are,” Dean says, grabbing a hat more in Cas’ size and a matching one for him. He strolls over to the till, grabbing a couple more things on the way. “You’ll see.”

Since they have a few hours to kill before the actual party, Dean decides that they can waste some of the day doing some Christmas shopping, especially after he finds out that Cas hasn’t got any presents yet. He drives them to a nearby mall, throws Cas a handful of notes and his antlers, and gives him strict instructions to buy some presents and then meet Dean in the food court in an hour. 

“Why can’t we do it together?” Cas asks, and Dean could swear he was pouting.

“Because the presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he explains, shooing Cas away with his hands. “Look, I’ll see you in an hour, and if you need anything you can just call me, ‘kay?”

Cas nods and meanders off, disappearing into the crowd without further complaint.

It is nearly ten minutes later, while he is rummaging through some shirts in an attempt to find one in Sam’s size, when Dean realises that this is the first time that Cas has been alone since he lost his grace. A sudden jolt of panic rushes through him, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

Castiel was older than humanity. He had led armies of angels. He had fought against demons and archangels and every monster under the sun. He could handle buying a few Christmas presents.

But, at the same time, Dean can’t help but worry. The dude has questionable social skills at best, and he is still trying to get to grips with his brand new human body. He often has to be reminded to eat or drink water or sleep, and there were several embarrassing occasions in the beginning where he had forgotten entirely.

Dean’s hand itches, his fingers curling towards his back pocket, but he resists the urge to call and check up on Cas. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He tells himself that he should just get his presents for people and then he can meet back up with Cas as soon as possible.

The mall is packed, the usual last rush as people get the last few things they need for Christmas. Conversations and the sound of toddlers crying fight to be heard over the echoing music, festive music adding to the deafening noise. While dodging people, making his way to their meeting place, Dean tries to remember the last time he was in a mall. Certainly not recently - he thinks it may be some time before he met Cas - and he definitely doesn’t remember them making him feel this claustrophobic. The sea of people pushing against him makes him want to throw up, and he finds himself having to duck into the nearest shop to avoid the crowd, shutting his eyes and leaning heavily against a railing.

“Dean?” a deep, familiar voice asks him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dean cracks one eye open, laughing when he realises what shop he found Cas in. He knew he should never have introduced him to Hot Topic. “I’m fine, Cas. Just hungry.” he deflects, standing up straight and patting his friend on the shoulder.

Cas gives him a look that says ‘I know you’re lying but I’m going to let you get away with it just this once’ and instead says, “Let me pay for this, and then we can go and get some lunch.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dean is watching Cas eat a taco for the first time and has completely forgotten that he ever felt bad, because he is laughing too hard to care. Cas looks highly bemused at the stain on his precious trench coat, but Dean thinks that, secretly, he doesn’t mind.

{o0o}

There is no question that they are in the right place when they pull up outside the address they were given a few hours later, if the ridiculous amount of fairy lights and assorted decorations are anything to go by. They can’t help but stare at the blinding display for a moment, before Dean turns to Cas to make sure he remembers the plan. “Okay, so we go in, find our mystery monster-”

“Sam thinks it is a shapeshifter.” Cas interrupts.

“Okay, so we grab this shifter, gank it, grab some food on the way out and then drive home in time for Christmas. You remember the cover story?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. We’re the Bassons, and we’re thinking about moving here. Do I need to repeat the rest?”

“Alright then, you ready?” Dean intertwines his fingers with Cas’ - in order to keep their cover, obviously - takes a deep breath, and then opens the door.

A wave of heat rolls out from the crowded house, contrasting with the painfully cold air outside. As they step inside, Dean picks up a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen, a mixture of turkey and cranberry sauce and mulled wine and gravy. The third thing he notices is the music blaring in from the other room, loud enough that he can feel the vibrations thrum through his body. He laughs when he realises what song it is. Space Cowboy; he couldn’t have picked a more fitting song.

After they had come home from their spontaneous shopping spree, Dean had spent an hour making the perfect couple’s costume. Considering the only supplies he had were ones he had picked up from the dollar store, he was actually pretty impressed with his handiwork. Both him and Cas were wearing their normal fed suits, however, it was the hats that really sold it. Dean had affixed - using an alarming amount of superglue - a strand of purple and blue glittery tinsel to his cowboy hat, and a set of fully functional Christmas lights to Cas’. 

Cas had protested at first - “How are cowboys Christmas related, Dean?” - until he had been convinced by the hidden practicality of it: any weapons they brought with them could be written off as part of the costume. Also, cowboys are awesome. Dean has yet to find someone who can prove him wrong on that point.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand to get his attention, nodding towards two people who appear to be the hosts of the party. The music shifts into some Christmas classic, and they make their way over so they can start ruling people off the list of suspects.

An hour later, Dean officially decides that he is never attending a Christmas party again. Luckily, they’ve only had to deal with one homophobe, who Dean ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole plate of food on, but that doesn’t mean that none of the other guests are driving him up the wall. It seems that everyone is slightly drunk apart from them, and the only reason Dean hasn’t joined in is because of the dirty looks Cas sends him every time he so much as glances towards the punch bowl. 

It’s the karaoke that does him in. Cas is somewhere (Dean couldn’t tell if he genuinely needed the bathroom, or if that was his attempt at saying he was going to scout the house) and there is a woman wearing a skimpy reindeer outfit and wailing along to Last Christmas. God only knows what caused her to get on top of the table and join in while crying, but Dean suspects the answer includes lots of alcohol and the fact that the man who she had arrived with had disappeared upstairs with an elf some time earlier. Her rendition certainly isn’t going to win any awards.

With Cas not there to see, Dean manages to finish two plastic cups worth of surprisingly nice punch before he can be stopped. Considering the dude has flashing lights on his head, Cas can be remarkably sneaky when he wants to be.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“Oh, what wonderful costumes!” a woman interrupts, and Dean forces a smile back on his aching face before he turns around to face her, just in time to see wink at him. She is wearing a green dress and is covered in baubles and tinsel, and the man standing next to her is literally wearing a massive cardboard box, wrapped to look like a present. It takes all of Dean’s self control not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his waist in order to confirm that they are, in fact, a couple. The few times he had touched Castiel, he had been cold; it had felt like touching a corpse. As a human, Cas was like a hot water bottle, and even though the house was boiling, Dean couldn’t help but latch onto him whenever the opportunity arose. 

“I’m Natasha,” the woman continued, staring at Dean in what he had to assume was her version of ‘seductive’ and completely ignoring Cas. “Oh, and this is Cole,” she adds as an afterthought.

Cole also winks at Dean. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he went to Hell. Although, he has also never had both members of a couple separately flirt with him while fake dating someone else.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he replies, pulling the former angel even closer into him. “My husband.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and Dean doesn’t think he is imagining the disappointed tone.

“Sorry,” Natasha adds, not sounding in any way apologetic. “I didn’t realise you were a couple!”

Dean didn’t think he could make it more obvious, but… if she didn’t believe them, then they might be at risk of blowing their cover. There were already at least seven people who had been avoiding them after the usual weird questions and some not quite realistic ploys to get them to touch a silver coin that they had brought with them. 

“Why’s that?” he asks, and regrets the question almost as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“For starters,” Natasha proclaimed, way too eager for this to end well. “You’ve been standing under mistletoe this whole time and haven’t kissed!”

Dean’s whole body freezes as they both look up, and sure enough, the bastard plastic plant is hanging directly over their heads.

“I didn’t realise,” Cas says, somewhat dazedly.

Dean takes a deep breath - there’s nothing they can do now, not with these nosy, weirdass people watching and waiting and expecting a kiss - and pulls Cas closer, turning to face him so their bodies are pressed together. In the dim lights, the lights on Cas’ hat make his startling blue eyes twinkle like starlight, and Dean wonders how he never saw how gorgeous he was before now. Maybe he had, and it had just been buried along with everything else.

“Dean,” Cas’ low voice rumbles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Kissing a man is not so different to kissing a woman, and Dean can’t help but notice how much he likes the feeling of Cas’ chapped lips on his own. Something lights up inside him like a firework, and he realises exactly how much he wanted - no, needed this. He feels better than he has in a long time, as if a missing puzzle piece had suddenly slotted into place.

Cas pulls away first, and Dean’s mind suddenly catches up with his body. Holy shit, he just kissed Cas. He barely registers Natasha and Cole walking away, still transfixed by the fact he finds a former angel of the Lord - who is a man - devastatingly handsome.

“Dean. Dean, are you okay?” It is only the feeling of Cas’ body heat leaving him that gets him to look down, absentmindedly fixing the shorter man’s hat.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, choking on the words. “Yeah, I just gotta - I’m just gonna…”

And, like a complete and utter cowardly dick, he walks away.

{o0o}

It has been twenty minutes, so Dean can be fairly certain that Cas isn’t gonna come looking for him. Which is fine. It’s not like he was expecting him to. They only kissed to keep up the pretense, and Dean’s weird behaviour has probably ruined that anyway. It meant nothing.

The problem is that Dean can’t stop thinking about how amazing it had felt to kiss Cas. He had tasted like mulled wine and honey and the promise of a thousand lazy mornings. It had felt like flying and drowning all at once. Dean had never understood when people had described kisses as things that had nothing to do with the act, like earthquakes or lightning or fireworks, but the only way he could explain the ecstasy he had felt when their lips had touch was an act of God.

And that thought only spiraled into another: Dean had kissed an angel of the Lord. An angel. Even though Cas was human now, he still remembered the birth of existence and every word that came out of his mouth was fueled by eons of knowledge and memories and experience. He held himself with a grace that only a true warrior can execute, and to him, Dean must seem so small. How insignificant was he compared to that brilliant man?

Finally, there it is. The real issue. Castiel is a man.

It had taken some time, but Dean had taught himself, eventually, that John Winchester was a terrible parent. In fact, it was generous to call him a parent at all. It was Dean who had raised Sam, raised himself. And, even now, he couldn’t help but fall back into his old mindset, into an old version of Dean who would have done anything for his father’s approval. But, if he is being honest with himself - and, let’s be frank, it’s about time - Castiel was not the first man he had liked. He probably wasn’t even the third. 

In that moment, Dean decides that he doesn’t want to be a coward any longer. If he never expected his life to be a long one, then it is all the more reason to go for what he wants now, rather than later.

Yeah, maybe he’ll lose Cas, but… the possibility of what could await him if Cas does reciprocate is far more frightening than the former angel laughing in his face.

{o0o}

Castiel considers himself very knowledgeable in Dean Winchester’s emotions. He knows exactly how long to avoid Dean after eating a slice of his pie, he knows that he can hold full conversations with just a look, and, as an example, he knows that after their kiss, Dean Winchester was panicking. Badly.

That was fine. Castiel was fine with that. It wasn’t like he had been secretly in love with a man who had repeatedly called him a brother for over ten years. Nothing like that.

Sighing, Cas gently puts his paper plate on the corner of the kitchen table, the food he had been so excited to try half an hour ago now making his stomach roll. He figured that Dean had just needed some air; he would cool down, shove all of his emotions down in true Winchester fashion, and then return and pretend that nothing ever happened. The problem wasn’t just with the fact that Cas would very much be remembering that kiss until the day he died, but that Dean had been a really long time. 

Time moves differently now that he was human. As an angel, everything seemed to move so much faster. There was always something to do, the faint crackling of angel radio like a comforting background noise or a million particles to study. A blink of his eye and a century could have passed, and yet here he is, thirty minutes feeling like an eternity.

It’s by the time Cas has checked every room downstairs that he really starts to worry.

Dean is not in the kitchen stuffing his face, and he is not in the dining room drinking punch, and he is not dancing to the rather annoying upbeat song that is playing in the living room. He is not in the hallway, or on the stairs, or in the bathroom. When Cas starts asking, people give conflicting answers. A bauble saw him go upstairs, a Christmas tree could swear he was in the kitchen, an elf insists that he went outside. 

Since it is the only place he hasn’t checked, Cas heads outside. There, on the floor, is Dean’s stupid hat, the tinsel loose on one side, dangling pathetically into a puddle of melted snow.

Cas immediately calls Sam, who picks up surprisingly quickly. “Cas? What’s up?”

“ImighthavekissedDeanandnowIdon’tknowwhereheis-”

“Cas, slow down,” Sam urges, forcing Cas to take a deep breath before continuing.

“We’re, uh, at a couples’ only party, and we had to kiss and then Dean freaked out but he’s been gone for ages and I think he is in trouble,” Cas says, only marginally slower than before.

“Shit. Okay, send me the address. We’re on our way.”

Sam, Cas thinks as he tries a door handle that he missed before, is excellent at coming up with plans. Maybe it’s the time spent in college, maybe it’s his years of hunting experience, but even over the phone he had pointed out things that Cas had failed to spot. Like, for example, the door to the basement.

Cas turns the phone flashlight on like Dean taught him, the beam still not strong enough to light up the impenetrable darkness. The music fades to a distant hum in the background, becoming distorted and frantic as Cas feels. His eyes have barely adjusted enough to see the familiar but unconscious form on the ground - “Dean?” - before something solid connects with the back of his head, and Cas tumbles forwards, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs.

{o0o}

“Cas?”

Cas groans. When he had finally fallen completely, he had been surprised by how much being human hurts. Something always aches, and everything is so easy to damage. Even the smallest of injuries - a stubbed toe or a papercut - hurts way more than it should.

Apparently, a combination of blunt force trauma to the back of the head and the general bruises one acquires from falling down a flight of stairs hurt a lot more than a stubbed toe.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A familiar voice asks, and Cas tries to turn his head so that he can see Dean, instead finding out that that particular head movement causes his vision to blur and swim. When he attempts to bring his hands up to survey the damage, he can’t understand why they don't move for a moment, before his brain finally manages to catch up and he remembers the night’s events. 

So, maybe he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Dean to be followed by being kidnapped and tied up in a basement, but this is a Winchester they are talking about here. 

“Come on, talk to me here.” Dean says, sounding worried.

Cas swallows, aiming to say something to ease Dean’s concern and instead causing a coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he eventually manages to gasp.

Dean snorts. “Sure sound like it.”

They are silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room an echoing drip and Cas’ raspy breaths. Cas isn’t sure how long they have been down there, but since Dean isn’t wriggling about in an attempt to escape, it has probably been long enough that he has already checked whether or not he can untie himself. From what Cas’ fumbling fingers can tell, though, the knots keeping them bound to this stupid pole are very good.

He feels utterly pathetic. He used to be a soldier - he had led armies, fought battles that humans couldn’t even comprehend - and here he was now, entirely useless, taken out by a baseball bat and kept prisoner by a length of rope. If he was still an angel this would have never happened. He could have saved Dean, he would have killed whoever did this, and they would have been back in time to enjoy the end of the party.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

Dean sighs, and Cas can feel him against his back as his whole body sags down. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but wait.”

Cas didn’t think he had ever heard Dean give up so easily, and it scared him. “What?”

“I don’t exactly see a way out of this, Cas. I’ve been trying to get these ropes off for half an hour and I think they’re probably just tighter than they were when I started.”

Cas gave an experimental yank, and Dean hissed in pain. Suddenly, the wetness on Cas’ hands made sense. “You’re bleeding, Dean.”

The hunter didn’t reply.

Cas had always thought that his death would be noble. Previously, it had always at least been in battle or a sacrifice, but this was just… pitiful. He was going to die at the hands of some random shapeshifter in someone’s disgusting basement, while wearing a cowboy costume.

“I - uh, I just wanted to say,” Dean starts, sounding unsure, “that I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block out the conversation. If he was going to die, he would rather not be rejected first.

“It was a dick move,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas. “I was just - I mean - I want to say…”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Cas’ eyes snap back open, and he hits his head on the pole in his confusion. “You would?”

“You don’t… I thought… I mean, I’m just kid-”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts, not wanting Dean to panic all over again. “I would like that.”

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Dean replies, and Cas shuffles around until he manages to hold his hand. It’s sticky and wet with blood where Dean’s wrists have been hurt by the ropes, and every aching muscle in Cas’ body screams at the awkward position, but he thinks it might still be the happiest he has ever been.

{o0o}

Dean isn’t sure how long it is until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, but it’s long enough for him to feel much too tired for a fight. Can’t the universe just let him be happy for once? Is it too much to ask to not have to fight tooth and claw for one scrap of peace?

“Well, hello there,” a man’s voice says, and Dean feels Cas stiffen. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he would have heard it before.

That is, until a second voice speaks. “What have we got here, Harold?”

The next-door neighbours. The old couple who had been complaining about the parties. Of course the only two people in this godforsaken town who they hadn’t checked were the bad guys. He should have seen it. They should have asked them more questions when they weren’t tied to this stupid pole in this stupid fucking basement.

“A pair of cowboys, Ann,” Harold tuts, and Dean cannot believe he is about to be killed by a weird old couple, of all things. He had prevented the apocalypse at least twice, had defeated God, and yet he was going to be killed by the monster of the week. Who looked like they were about three hundred years old, owned fifty cats and knitted in their spare time.

Ann walks around them, her heels clacking on the stone floor, until she comes to a stop in front of Dean. “What a shame,” she says, looking down at him like he was a stain on her shoe. “I was hoping we’d get a crier. Men rarely cry. Apart from that last fellow, of course.”

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly regrets eating so many pigs in blankets at the party. 

“What are you?” Cas practically growls, his hand squeezing Dean’s to comfort him.

“Whatever do you mean, son?” Harold asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Oh shit, Dean thinks, letting out an amused huff of breath. Great. He isn’t even going to be killed by the monster of the week. He’s gonna be killed by an actual old person.

“Is something funny, sweetie?” Ann demands, frowning.

Dean smiles up at her, deciding that he may as well die how he lived: a snarky bastard. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I got kidnapped by someone’s grandma.”

Ann steps closer to him, crouching down so she is his height. A sliver of silver reflects in the dim light like a shooting star, slicing downwards and cutting a thin line across Dean’s neck. “Don’t give me cheek, boy.”

“Let’s kill the other one first, sweetheart. Then that rude fella has to watch his boyfriend die.” Harold suggests, spitting out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it physically hurts him.

Dean clutches Cas’ hand tighter, trying not to let the panic that is welling up inside him, cold and merciless, show on his face. He tugs desperately at the ropes around his wrists one more time, hoping for a miracle that he knows isn’t coming.

“Say goodbye, now.” Ann says, and Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that he can’t deal with losing Cas again, even if he’ll be gone soon after. He spares a brief thought wondering where Cas will go when he dies; is he human enough to avoid the Empty? And even so, would he go to Heaven or Hell?

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered, because even though he is scared, he knows that Cas deserves to know.

If Cas says anything back, Dean doesn’t hear it over the gunshot.

{o0o}

Dying was not a new experience for Castiel, nor was dying as a human. What was a new experience was the pain he felt in his chest that no bullet or knife could replicate. It was the knowledge that he had the opportunity to be happy and it had been ripped from him. It was knowing that someone loved him and cared for him and was being taken away from him.

When Harold dropped dead instead of Cas, his heart fluttered. Maybe he did have a chance.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s voice calls out, and Cas finally allows himself to relax slightly.

“Sam?” Dean asks, surprise and confusion and relief all mixed together.

Eileen appears from nowhere and stoops down, grinning at Cas and slicing through the ropes. She winks at him but doesn’t say anything, simply helping him to his feet when it becomes obvious he can’t do it by himself. Sam has backed Ann into the corner of the room, his gun pointed at her with an unwavering hand, but Dean whispers something in his ear and he lowers it slightly. He signs something over his shoulder, not even glancing away from the threat, and Eileen rushes off upstairs, essentially shoving the injured Castiel into Dean’s side.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Dean asks gently, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist to hold him up. His wrists are still bleeding and they are both cold from sitting in a freezing basement for ages, but the simple action fills Cas with a warmness.

“I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, you assbutt,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles down at him, somehow looking charming even covered in dirt and blood, only looking up when Sam clears his throat.

“Look, we should get out of here,” Sam suggests, standing up. He’s tied Ann to the same post that they thought would be their deathbed only a few minutes ago, and he is shooing them towards the stairs back up to the party. “Eileen’s getting someone to call the cops and we don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”

Cas ducks down, for a moment, holding Dean’s hand so he doesn’t completely keel over, and grabs the two hats off the ground. Reaching up, he puts his on before gently placing Dean’s on his head. The tinsel is falling off on one side, the lights have run out of battery, and they are both caked in dirt, but it still makes Dean smile.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says, leaning down and softly kissing Cas.

{o0o}

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam and Eileen said nothing about his new relationship with Cas. In fact, when he tried to bring it up - he knew Sam had seen them kissing for Christ’s sake - Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Jody owes me fifty dollars,” was all he said, and their discussion was over.

Cas didn’t seem too perturbed by the whole situation, and Dean found himself wondering whether it was just him who found their new relationship strange. Not that anything much had changed, for that matter. They both behaved the exact same way, with added kissing. So what if Sam thought Dean was weird for still calling Cas ‘buddy’? He wasn’t the one dating a former angel.

What Dean had decided, after their fun little kidnapping escapade, was that Cas deserved an awesome Christmas. It was his first one as a human, after all, and what kind of boyfriend would Dean be if he didn’t show Cas all the wonders of the holiday season?

And that is how they found themselves turning the drive home into a Christmas road trip.

Cas wore his reindeer antlers wherever possible, and Dean took a million photos of him. On the first day, they visited a Christmas market. Dean thought it was much too busy and annoying, but it was all worth it for the smile Cas had after drinking his first hot chocolate. On the second day, they went to a drive-in movie. Cas gave both the funniest and most irritating running commentary that Dean had ever heard, having to remind him every five minutes that “it’s a romcom, Cas. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

On Christmas Eve, they spent most of the day driving to make sure they got home in time for the dinner that Sam and Eileen had promised. They sang carols at full volume and blasted Christmas songs and Dean taught Cas how to play the air guitar. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such a sense of freedom and happiness. Maybe it was just a Christmas miracle.

Christmas day rolled around, and it was the nicest Christmas that Dean could remember having. Sam and Eileen had decorated the entire bunker with tinsel and streamers, and had even managed to bring in a huge tree from outside. So maybe not all the decorations on it were technically Christmas related, but the silver bullets were shiny and although no one was quite sure what the pentagram they were using a star on the top did, it looked pretty cool.

By the evening, they had eaten enough food to feed twenty people for a week and had exchanged presents. Sam was sitting at the table with his new fancy pens, Eileen had disappeared to take a shower with her new soaps, and Cas and Dean were firmly planted on the couch. Cas’ new fuzzy socks were warm and ticklish against Dean’s feet, and the angel was a surprisingly good cuddler. 

All of a sudden, Dean sat up, dragging Cas with him. “Come on, dude. We should dance.”

Cas snorted but agreed, wrapping his arms around Dean tightly. They swayed slowly to the music, his head on Cas’ shoulder, gently singing along to the slow music.

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con.

Dean’s mouth twists into a smile. “I could spend forever with you,” he whispers, and he leans down to kiss his angel again.

#i hope you enjoy! #destiel #destiel secret santa #my writing #fanfic