#Matt better be getting some well-tailored suits again!!

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

Me thinking about the suits Charlie wore in 2022 for She-Hulk and Treason: You’d better get my boy a properly tailored suit for Daredevil: Born Again, Disney. Or else. 🥊👿🥊

I don’t wanna hear any more bad suit jokes - once was enough. 

(Okay, no serious complaints here, but only because Charlie is so frigging pretty I can barely see anything but him. 🤭😍)

THIS is what I want to see, okay? 😘💗

Don’t do an iconic blind man dirty like that, Marvel!! 🙏🙏🙏

#seriously though as someone who worked in men's retail selling suits the fit of the suits they gave Charlie left much to be desired #Matt better be getting some well-tailored suits again!! #my random ramblings #matt murdock #charlie cox #daredevil #daredevil born again #adam lawrence #treason 2022

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Reception ||

Pairing: Frank Castle x f! Reader

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: meet cute, fluff, smut, a dog, and be careful - you might fall in love.

A/n: I can't with this man. He has my heart and soul. Dogs 4 Eva.

"Bride or groom?"

The husky voice from over your shoulder at the bar makes you spin around, and you were suddenly face to face with someone you'd only ever seen in the news. Oh how different he appears standing mere feet away from you, and to use a clichéd phrase he did indeed scrub up well.

For starters he was wearing a suit and tie, and an immaculately tailored one at that, mid blue with a waistcoat and everything. His hair was a little less severe than you'd seen it before, maybe a little longer and you noticed it held a slight wave at the top of his head. His eyes were so far from the black pools they seemed on screen or in the mugshots, instead a warm and inviting honey brown gaze met yours. And then that strong boxers nose that had obviously been broken more times than he could count, you couldn't help thinking it was cute.

"Bride," you replied with a smile, still taking in the sheer mass of man and reputation in front of you. "I've known Marci since school."

He nodded, his lips curling a little. "another lawyer then, guess I shouldn't be surprised."

You laugh knowing the two of you are likely the only ones at the reception that aren't in the legal business. "veterinarian actually, we've just kept in touch over the years." You gave him your name. "You with the groom then?"

"Kinda. Friend of a friend. You know Karen, right? I'm Frank." He reaches out his hand to you. "Castle."

"I know, you're somewhat famous round these parts." You smiled, taking his offered hand to shake as he dipped his head slightly in embarrassment. "Hi Frank, it's nice to meet you."

"So uh, you know all about me then."

You shrugged, "only what matters, mostly what Foggy has told Marci has told me."

Frank nodded. "So... the good stuff, huh?"

"Just the truth?" You answer.

"And that don't make you wanna run for the hills?"

You laugh, and Frank decides there and then he wanted to hear more of that sound.

"Well, only if you don't buy me a drink. You were gonna buy me a drink right?"

Frank chuckles, "uh yeah, yeah I was. What can I get you?".

~

"I don't really get out much socially, so this is nice." You tell him, nibbling on the cherry in your cocktail.

He takes a sip of his beer. "Yeah, Karen keeps tellin' me I need to 'extend my social circle', so I guess I'm 'extending', or somethin'."

Your musical laugh hits his ears again and he grins. "So a vet huh?" He asks, raising his brows.

You take a sip of your drink and nod. "yeah, I've got my own practice, and a couple of days a week I work at a charity for people who can't afford to pay for treatment for their pets."

"That's, wow... that's really amazing. I've got a dog, rescue pittie. He's my best buddy."

"Aww no way? What's his name?"

He smiles warmly, "Benji."

~

The party was starting to wind down, Marci and Foggy both wailing drunkenly on the karaoke machine with Matt desperately trying to wean them off it. You both realise you'd been talking for hours.

"Wow, it's so late! Urgh, I kinda hate that I've gotta work later this morning but I guess I should head home and get at least a few hours sleep."

Frank nods. "Yeah, hope you're not sufferin' from all my yakkin."

"No! I've had a really nice time. Actually I uh, better give you my number... in case your dog ever needs me I mean." You felt your face heat up as Frank smiled and fished his phone out his pocket giving it to you to put your number in. You gave it a quick ring so you had his.

"Thanks, maybe we could meet up for coffee or somethin'?" He suggests hopefully.

You nodded, "yeah, that would be great. Gimme a call midweek? Should know when I've got some free time then."

"You got it."

'Goodnight Frank," you call over your shoulder as you make your way towards Marci and Foggy to say goodbye.

"G'night sweetheart."

You grinned to yourself as your stomach flipped at the endearment. You weren't normally one for pet names but there was something about Frank saying it that made it acceptable and you liked it. He wasn't at all what you were expected and that was more than okay.

~

Three days later your phone buzzes on the table, Frank's name showing on the display, which you're a little surprised by at 11.30pm.

"Frank, hi?"

"Hey, I uh, I'm really sorry to call so late but it's my dog, I think he's stood on a broken bottle when we were out, his paw's cut up real bad, I dunno if I got all the glass out, it's bleeding a lot...I didn't know what else to do this time of night, had your number and-"

"Of course! it's ok. If you can loosely wrap his paw with some clean cloth, I'll text you my address, I've got an emergency kit here just come over as soon as possible and I'll take a look."

You get your kit ready and when the doorbell went you buzzed Frank up and waited out on the landing for him and your new patient.

"Shit, you weren't kidding about the bleeding!" you exclaimed, taking in Frank's hands and arms covered in red but no dog to be seen. "Where is he? In the car?" As Frank came up the last of the stairs and under the light you could see his face was cut, his lip bust open and bleeding, and even more blood soaking his jeans.

"Frank what the hell..."

"I need your help..."

You were slightly taken aback by his appearance but your wits returned quickly and you usher him into your apartment before any of your neighbors decided to get nosy. "C'mon, come in and tell me what the hell is going on."

As you follow him inside you see he's limping slightly, the back of his jeans damp with more blood. This was much more the Frank you had expected at the reception. "You look like you need a hospital, what happened?"

"Nah, no hospitals. Too many questions, and that ain't good right now. Can I..?" He gestures at the sink to clean his hands.

"Yeah, sure," you cock your head at him, eyes narrowing. "But I have some questions too -"

Frank nodded. "I got shot."

Your eyes widen. "The fuck-?"

He leans up against the counter. "It ain't as bad as it looks, normally I'd pull the bullet and stitch myself up but...uh, I can't see to reach it. It's in the side of my ass. I could really use your help, please."

You roll your eyes. "I'm a vet Frank, not a human doctor."

"I know, I know. It ain't too much, just need another pair of hands and eyes is all. Maybe some hard liquor..."

"Christ. Okay." You grabbed your kit and got him to follow you into the bathroom. "Alright, um, obviously you'll need to pull your pants down so..."

Frank nodded and unbuckled his belt as you look around anywhere but at him. He huffed as he slid his jeans and boxers down a little way to the tops of his thighs. "You see it?"

You snort taking in the trail of red dripping down from the gunshot wound in his right cheek. "Little hard not to, yeah. Ouch. Okay let's get it cleaned up first. Who the hell shot you in the butt anyway?"

Frank leaned on the sink and winced as you wiped over the bullet wound with disinfectant so you could see what you were doing.

"A gang of assholes who thought they were gonna get away with mugging a girl. They're regrettin' their life choices now but one of em managed to tag me before I got him."

You pick up a pair of forceps. "Okay that's worth an ass-bullet if anything is. Was she alright?"

Frank grunts as you start digging around for the metal. "Yeah. Bit shaken but fine. Took her to the cops and told her to report it."

"Bet she was glad you were in the area. I know I'd sure feel safer."

He catches your eyes for a second and bows his head. You quickly swing your gaze back to what you were doing.

"Okay, I've got a hold of it, gonna pull it out now alright? I'm sorry, I know its gonna hurt."

Frank grit his teeth. "Yeah just do it. Fuck!"

You yank it out and drop it in the wastepaper basket, pushing some gauze firm against the wound.

"Hold this and keep pressure on it." You tell him before disappearing into the kitchen. You return with a 3/4 full bottle of Macallan and pass it to him.

"Thanks." He says after taking a huge swig.

"Right, just a few stitches and we're good."

You quickly sew up the wound, cleaning and securing a dressing over it. Then you checked over his other cuts and bruising which thankfully didn't need much attention aside from a quick clean.

"You can pull your pants back up." You tell him, turning away again as he did.

"So do you even have a dog, Frank?"

"I do. He's fine, he's at home. I'm really sorry I lied to ya, wasn't sure if you'd freak if I laid the whole story on you on the phone."

"Well, I admit it's not the weirdest thing that's ever happened, and at least I got to see your ass."

"Yeah, sorry bout that too..."

You chuckle. "Thought it would be under slightly different circumstances but hey."

Frank's lips quirk. "Only slightly different huh? Well thanks. I mean, shit, I really can't thank you enough."

"If you wanna thank me maybe you can buy me lunch sometime soon?"

"You mean you're not done with me, after all this?"

You shook your head. "I'm a firm believer in second chances, I've helped a lot of waifs and strays over the years "

"S'that you sayin' I'm a dog sweetheart?" The swagger in his tone made your stomach flip.

"Mmm, you're a dog, but you're not in the doghouse." You grinned, starting to wipe down the sink.

Frank chuckled, "well I gotta be grateful you're so understanding. Not many people as forgiving as you out here. I'll get outta your hair... but you sure I can't at least help you clean up?"

"Nah don't worry, just take it easy and rest for the next few days huh? You free Saturday?"

"Uh yeah," he replies, making his way to your door. "How bout I bring Ben along with me?"

"Of course, that would be great!

"Listen, thanks for doin' this and I'm real sorry I lied to you. Won't happen again. Promise."

"I know." You waved him off watching him limp down the stairs. "See ya Saturday Frank."

"Seeya."

You were so busy that Saturday swung around in no time and although you were exhausted you felt on a high as you walked to meet Frank at the dog park. His face lit up when he saw you coming and you very quickly got acquainted with Benji playing with him, throwing the ball as you and Frank talked and joked with all the ease of the night you met. Frank wasn't limping anymore which you were glad about, but he put it down to your 'expert ass surgery' which you folded over with laughter at. He took you to a gorgeous deli and you got your favourite sandwich as well as some pastries and drinks, and sat down under the shade of a huge tree in the nearby park for an impromptu picnic, sharing bits of cheese from your lunch with Ben.

"If he wasn't sure about you before, he definitely likes you now." Frank had said, rubbing Benji's ears affectionately.

You could say the same for you and Frank. You really enjoyed spending time with him.

You were both absolutely stuffed after lunch, Frank sitting up against the trunk of the tree watching you roll around on the grass with Benji. He loved how easy it was to just hang out with you. Even before the whole bullet thing but maybe that had helped somehow. You didn't seem to be afraid of much. He buckled seeing you mimicking Ben scratching his back on the grass and his mind was made up.

"Can I take you to dinner?"

You stopped and sat up, shaking the grass out of your hair at the same time Benji shook it out of his fur.

"You can. But I won't be able to go out until Friday next week, that okay?"

Frank scrunches up his nose like you'd wounded him. "Jeez, almost a week till I can seeya again? I dunno..."

You smirk, "sorry, just really busy this week. You a limited time only deal or something Castle?"

He was quick to dismiss that even though you were joking back at him. "Nah, course not, I just... my dog's just bonded with you so good and, I think he'd miss ya is all "

You saw the tips of his ears redden. Never in a million years would you have thought you'd see Frank Castle blush, and because of you?! But you weren't so cruel as to make something of it so you played along, and truth be told you already couldn't wait to see him again either.

You grin. "Well, I'll miss him too. You can always call me and I'll speak to him? Text me some pup-dates? It'd keep me going through the week for sure."

Frank ruffles Benji's fur, "I'm sure he'd like that." He looks up at you and you return his shy smile, practically melting inside at his softness.

Your first text from Frank pinged on Monday morning just as you got into work. When you opened the message you were greeted with a photo of a very happy looking Benji.

Benji hopes you have a great day at work.

You smiled, replying:

That's very sweet and thoughtful of him, thank you! 😊

On Wednesday afternoon you took a selfie of you with Rowan, a scruffy mixed breed and one if your regular senior dogs who was in for his check-up.

Hope Benji's not the jealous type, been spending a lot of time with this old man today!

The response had you feeling warm.

He's in good hands 😊

On Thursday late morning Frank sent you a photo of a sleeping Benji, presumably on his bed. The only part of Frank visible was his bare arm curled around him.

The bros are getting a lie-in today, you jealous now? 💤 Sorry 🙂

Very! Benji looks so cute and peaceful, but where's the big dawg at?

A few minutes later he replied with another photo. You allowed yourself an inner squeal as this time he had included himself in it, hair looking adorably soft and disheveled by sleep, his half-lidded eyes looking at the camera and even although the covers were pulled up it was obvious he was, at the very least, topless.

You texted back before you could overthink it too much.

Aw he's cute too!

He replied with smile emoji and you returned to work. The muscles in his arms had definitely given you something to think about and you had a bit of a hard time reigning your concentration back in for the rest of the day. Thankfully it wasn't too hectic.

You called him after work to tell him you'd picked a place to eat, a cosy Indian restaurant that Karen had recommended to you, and that he could come to yours to pick you up tomorrow night at seven. Even though you'd hung out casually already, this 'date' was getting you nervously excited.

Frank was feeling same way. You'd said it wasn't anything fancy so he'd thrown on a black shirt with jeans hoping he looked okay. When he buzzed and you came down he was staring at you like you were chocolate cake.

You grin as you greet him. "Hi! Everything okay?"

He swallows and nods, you can see the nerves on his face.

"Yeah, you just... you look real pretty is all, feelin' like I'm lucky."

You dip your head and take his arm. "Thank you, you're not the only one!"

As you walked to the restaurant you had a sudden thought.

"Benji's not gonna be all alone tonight is he?"

"Nah he's with Karen, his favourite dog sitter. She gives him way too many treats." He grumbles with a slight smile.

"Ahh, I was just worried, y'know just in case it's a late night."

Frank raised his brows. "Oh? Well you ain't got nothin' to worry about sweetheart."

The restaurant was gorgeous, full of multicoloured pepper fairy lights draped all around. The food was absolutely delicious and you ordered a couple of different things and had way too much fun feeding them to each other. After polishing off a bottle of house red, you realise you're staring across the table at Frank like he's dessert.

"I uh, guess we should get the bill..."

Those warm brown eyes are looking right back into yours and he's stroking over your hand. "Yeah..."

You try unsuccessfully to pay for both of you but he insists it's on him. It's only right he says, gentlemanly. But he assures you he's totally a feminist and knows you're a strong, independent woman who doesn't need a guy to buy her dinner and you just laugh, falling against him.

"Walk me home?" You ask him when you're standing outside in the slightly chill night. He offers you his arm.

"I was just thinking," you say as you reach your door, "about how I've had such a great time with you the past couple of weeks..."

"Yeah," Frank agreed, "me too."

"And uh," you fiddled with your keyring. "I was thinking that I really like you..."

"Oh yeah? S'funny cos I was thinkin that too."

You stepped in ever so slightly closer and you could almost feel the heat of him.

"You know what else I was thinking?"

Frank cleared his throat, his eyes looking right into your soul. He'd been a gentleman all evening, so considerate and patient with you, not trying to rush anything which you wholly appreciated, but the tension and heat that had been building between you the whole night was becoming too much to bear. You were yearning for him to take control and just take you. There was no doubt that he wanted it too.

"Frank, If you don't kiss me I'm gonna-"

His mouth was on you before you could think of a threat. He was kissing you slow, but god so firm and sure and you felt your toes curling in your shoes as you both stood there entangled in the street outside your apartment building.

When he eventually stopped you were breathless. He gazed at you, his thumb running lightly along your jaw as he still held your face.

"You're gonna what, sweet girl?"

You laughed and he chuckled along with you. "I dunno exactly, I was just hoping you would do it and I wouldn't have to think of a real threat!"

"Was that okay?" He asks.

"Yeah." You breathed out in a sigh. "Come upstairs?"

Frank planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. "If you're sure you want..."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door quickly turning your key in the lock.

"I want."

You barely make it to the top of the stairs, halting on the way up with frantic touches while you explore each other, but now you're kissing him up against your door. His hands are up around your face, curled around your neck, weaving through your hair, but you knew he was letting you take the lead, controlling how far you want this to go, but all you crave and need is for him to touch you, to consume you. You grab his hand, pushing it down to clamp firmly against your ass hoping he'll get the message that you want this, you want him.

He tentatively squeezes and as you moan into his mouth he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips and meeting yours messily as you grasp and pull at his chest and shirt trying to get even closer. You fumble with your keys unable to focus as you can't keep your mouths off each other. He eventually takes them from you, hoisting you up by the ass to wrap your legs around his hips as he manages to open the door and carry you inside. He pushes you up against the back of the door as it slammed shut, letting you down slowly as he kisses and nips at your neck with a hunger that feels like it comes from deep in his bones. Your body arches against his as his hands are on you again, skimming down your chest and stomach and pushing the fabric of your dress hard up at the apex of your thighs making you keen.

"Frank, please..." You beg.

"Yeah?" he holds his hand there still, waiting for your consent to keep going, you can feel the heat of it against your core.

"Yeah... Frank, just touch me, please." you breathe shakily against him as he quickly hooks his hand under the hem of your dress, tracing his fingers over the damp fabric of your underwear. He kisses you, at the same time dipping his hand into the front of your panties and finding just how wet you are for him.

"God...damn." He curses, drawing your slick arousal up and over as he starts circling his fingers against your clit. You moan high and desperate, letting your legs spread wider to give him better access as the tension inside you is stretched so thin like an elastic band ready to snap at any moment, so turned on that you know you weren't going to last long. He watches you, drinks you in as he easily works you closer to your climax, your legs shaking as you pant against his neck. You palm the front of his jeans, squeezing the delicious thickness of his cock in your hand drawing a deep groan from him that sets you right on the edge.

"Ohh... oh Frank I'm gonna c-come-"

"Yeah sweetheart, I got you..."

He never takes his eyes off you as he curls his thick fingers into your wet heat, thumb pushing against your clit and you're gone, whimpering and grinding as your cunt pulses around him, rolling waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body. Your mouth hangs open and he catches your bottom lip in his teeth, sucking gently.

"Shit... that was..." you gasp against him.

The way he grins, licking your juices from his fingers as if it was ambrosia when he pulls away, you almost jump him right there. Instead you manage to keep it together enough to guide him to your bedroom, wrenching his shirt off on the way, smoothing your hands over the scars old and new that mark the broad muscled expanse of his bare chest. You tug him along with impatience, unzipping your dress and letting it drop to the floor, flinging anything in your way to one side before pulling him down onto the mattress over you. "Beautiful." He murmurs, taking the view of you in as he cages you beneath him before kissing his way down your neck, his mouth warm and wet across your collarbones and the tops of your breasts. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, arching off the bed as he makes his way down your body, pulling down the cups of your bra to lick and suck at your nipples. You moan and writhe and then can't help giggling as he trails his tongue down your stomach, swirling around your navel and lower towards the waistband of your panties. He hooks his fingers over the top and pulls them down your legs as you wriggle to try and help him get them off.

"Baby you taste so sweet, I gotta have more..." he rasps, and you nod vigorously, your heart skips a beat at the way he gently presses your thighs apart, reverently kissing his way to your centre as he hikes your knees up and then,

...oh god.

He laps his tongue slow and sure over your clit, swirling and sucking it into a kiss before plunging it inside you. You shudder at the sensitivity, the hot scratch of his stubble on your skin, gasping as the deep groan he lets out vibrates right through you as the taste of you fills his senses. You can't stop your hips from bucking up into his mouth as he works it over you humming with satisfaction. Huge strong arms curl around your thighs, fingers pressing indents into your soft flesh as he holds you firm, taking what he wants and giving you exactly what you need. His nose nudges against your clit over and over and the way you respond with a whimper and the tightening of your thighs around his head is all the encouragement Frank needs to keep going.

"Good girl," He growls out between swirling the tip of his tongue around that little bundle of nerves. His hand slides up your body to massage and squeeze your breasts, "such a good girl..."

His praise pushes you over the edge, your eyes flutter shut, head tilting back, fingers gripping for his shoulders and your back bowing up off the bed as it hits you. You bury your fingers in his hair, the desperation in your pleas as you come undone going straight to Frank's cock.

You moan long and loud, grinding against his mouth, your pussy clenching as you want nothing more than to have him inside you filling you up. "Frank, I want you... I wanna feel you..."

He licks up everything you have to give and no sooner than the aftershocks of your orgasm start to subside, Frank is up off the bed, whipping off his belt and pushing down his pants and boxers. You watch, practically drooling as you get your first look at him naked, rolling on the condom he snatched out of his back pocket and holy hell he's everything you've fantasised during all your lonely nights. He crawls up your body, hand softly trailing up your leg, hip, and caressing over the swell of your breast to finally settle at your neck, lightly stroking as he looks down at you. He's waiting for permission, but you can see it in his eyes and the tautness of his body that he wants you just as badly as you want him. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers close lightly around the hard shaft of his cock, sliding the tip of him through your arousal. You guide him inside you, eyes never leaving his, lips parted and quivering with the breath you exhale as he stretches you blissfully open. When he's fully sheathed deep within you wrap your legs around him, immediately addicted to the sound he makes and the sheer haze of sensation that burns through you as he starts to move. The urgency has faded now that you've reached this point - this slow dance where the rest of the world fades into the background and it's just the two of you. He noses your cheek and you smile, sharing a little huff of breath as he reflects it back at you. As you close your eyes lost in the sensation of each long drag of his cock he catches your lips in his. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes the heat within you burn even brighter and hotter.

He coaxes a soft sigh from you as he takes his time, his hips moving back and forth slow and steady. You're torn between chasing the inevitable fireworks and wanting this feeling to last forever. Your hands flow over the shifting muscles of his back and furrow in his hair as his lips trail up the side of your neck and under your jaw. His hand grips your thigh firmly pushing it up higher and you gasp as his thrusts hit even deeper.

"So good sweetheart, so fuckin' good.."

You can only moan your agreement, pulling his lips to yours again and holding him tightly as he's pushing you closer to your edge yet again.

You pull at his arm urging him to roll you both over and he does, taking in how gorgeous you look, how fucking lucky he is as you start moving your hips and riding him. You're looking at him too, with such passion. This supposed fearsome beast of a man you had under you, now looking up at you so adoringly. Wanting you. Needing you.

"God..." He groans, seeing you rise and fall on his cock like that. "what did I do to deserve you?"

You smile against his lips. "You talked to me," you replied, kissing the corner of mouth while you rock your hips, his hands settling there and stroking your skin. "and you like animals.... mm, and you make me laugh,"

"I do." Frank nods, his hands sliding up you back and pressing you closer.

"And oh, you make me feel good."

Frank catches your lips in his, kissing you deeply. "Issat right?"

You hum, nodding slow as you luxuriate in the delicious drag of his cock. When you reach your fingertips down to your clit his entire body jolts with a grunt.

"Yeah, Frank, feels real good..."

Breath and moans mingle and rise, both of you quickly nearing the peak of your pleasure. You feel the rumble of his groan right through you as you rake your nails over his back.

He meets your movements with his hips and your eyes flutter shut as he caresses your breasts. He can't stop staring, the way your eyelashes kiss against your skin, the soft undulation of your body over his, the perfect 'o' your mouth forms as you start to orgasm...

Then your eyes snap open and you're gazing back at him, basking in the unguarded expression of utter bliss blanketing his features. He's split wide open for you, nothing hidden, not since the bullet. He wants to give you everything but you think you'll be happy with just him.

You shower kisses all over his face as he pulses inside you, grasping and holding onto each other until you can't move anymore.

Afterwards, he cuddles you up in his arms under the covers, kissing you so soft and sweet on the forehead. "Think you'd wanna keep digging bullets outta me darlin'?

"You bump his nose with yours. "Think I just might Castle, as long as you don't mind me stealin' your dog?"

He smiles. "Well I don't think he'd mind one bit."

"Okay," you say, curling your pinky finger around his, "it's a deal."

Frank tags @sweetieswiftie @pedrito-friskito @saintmurd0ck @freshabogados @mindidjarin @peterman-spideyparker @castlesnchurches @mattmurdockspainkink @father4giveme @honeyedheartss @nice-work-bonedaddy @tea-and-wine @hellskitchenswhore @phoebe-danvers @grippingbeskar

#frank castle fluff #frank castle smut #Frank castle meetcute #the punisher fluff #the punisher smut #frank castle fic #punisher fic #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader

[lumau]

Here is another puzzle piece of the Froststorm vintage arc. Some day soon I will come up with a title, I promise.

mild warning for mentioned transphobia

❄🤍🖤❄

“Lord Li Ming, I am sorry to disturb you. His majesty the king would like you to receive this, please.” The bow with which the servant handed him the small black box could not quite hide the curiosity with which she eyed him. A curt and polite, but clearly dismissive “Thank you” from Li Ming discouraged any further interest though and she quickly left.

After the first few days in Marseille Li Ming was convinced that, regardless of what he said his intentions were, this was a holiday home to Ao Shun, a space where he could deviate somewhat from courtly customs and protocols, allowing himself more freedom and extending that leeway to his servants as well. And the business he was building up for himself gave a good cover - so far Li Ming had spent most of his time here accompanying Ao Shun to exhibitions, galleries and museums, so they could gather information on the local culture and art scene. The ship tours around the old harbour and to the Île d'If were necessary as well, so that they could give knowledgeable recommendations to potential visiting business partners. As were the dinners at the city’s most renowned restaurants of which Ao Shun insisted on trying a new one every evening. It did make sense. And yet…

Li Ming had never had any interest in joining the other courtiers and staff in their seemingly endless discussions of interpersonal relationships. He rather focussed on his work than on how many people of which status had been sharing minister Zhong’s bedroom of late. Still, he was an intent observer and knew how these situations usually played out. Li Ming was also not oblivious to the more or less subtle cues in the king’s behavior. He knew how it had to look, and why it would be food for gossip, something he generally did his best to avoid providing.

He opened the presentation box, and found a pair of matte black cufflinks on a white silk cushion. They were simple and exquisite. He toyed with them for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts. Then he found it was probably a signal for him to get ready for dinner.

His wardrobe had proven to be put together according to his preferences, just like his rooms. Li Ming was particular about his clothing, but every piece fitted perfectly. While the cut was that of the latest local fashion, he could recognise the work of the royal tailor, who, of course, was well accustomed with his needs and style.

The splendid three piece dinner suit, light grey with the slightest natural shimmer to its fabric, had seemed a little over the top for all his appointments so far. Li Ming considered it for a moment, then, with another look at the new cufflinks and the twitch of a smile on his lips, he took it out and began to dress.

Tonight the location for their dinner was one of the most exclusive gentlemen's clubs, members only - a dinner table had been reserved for them by recommendation from another art collector Ao Shun had met at an event some days ago. Their waiter had shown them to their table in a discreet corner. Li Ming wondered what assumptions he might make about them, but didn’t bother giving it too much thought. He had brought his notebook, and informed his lord about dates for upcoming auctions with some potentially interesting items, when the wine and hors d'oeuvre were served.

After sampling and approving the wine, Ao Shun raised his glass, and Li Ming mirrored his gesture. 

“Ah”, Ao Shun set his glass down again after a sip, and smiled, “Let me see them properly again.”

When Li Ming inclined his head in incomprehension, Ao Shun reached across the small table and took hold of his hand, pulling it slightly towards him to expose his cuffs under the hem of his suit jacket. ‘Alright… apparently touching hands is a thing that keeps happening now.’ Li Ming thought slightly giddily.

“Yes, I knew they would be perfect for you.” Ao Shun said, clearly pleased, and continued to drink his wine. 

The thoughts began racing in Li Ming’s head. For some reason, Ao Shun was still holding his hand. What did he expect him to do now? His grip was not demanding, it was simply casual and warm. Could he move his fingers to return the gesture, and acknowledge the touch? But what if there was no intention behind it? It would seem quite inappropriate. Yet, if this actually was Ao Shun making soft advances to him, and he simply remained completely impassive, he might interpret it as a rejection. And while he could not say what was going on or what he wanted, he knew that he did not want to reject him. 

The waiter made the decision for him, when he approached the table to politely inquire whether everything was satisfactory. Ao Shun’s hand smoothly moved over to his glass of wine instead, and Li Ming quickly pulled his back, aware that his cheeks must have turned deep crimson.

After the interruption, Ao Shun changed the subject back to the upcoming auctions, and no more hand holding entailed. Food was served, glasses refilled and the evening unfolded rather pleasantly. 

When the king wished to leave, the driver was notified and their waiter accompanied them to the door. As a professional, he had clearly picked up on the hierarchy between them, and addressed Ao Shun exclusively.

“Monsieur Ryu, we appreciate your visit, and hope that we will be able to welcome you as one of our esteemed members in the future.” The slightest change went through his expression, as he leaned almost unnoticeably closer. “I am aware that you only just arrived in Marseille, so please allow me this small advice. Next time, Monsieur should want to consider the company of a different associate.” Ao Shun stared blankly at him with the attention that a great tiger might give to a mildly distracting fly that had just landed on his piece of meat. When he did not get any reaction, the waiter added emphatically, “This is a gentlemen’s club, Monsieur.” Li Ming felt the air grow cold around him. He knew where this was leading, and he hoped against hope that Ao Shun either didn’t, or let the matter drop and leave. A small frown appeared on the king’s forehead. “Li Ming is from a noble family,” he said with an air of growing annoyance.

“Ah, excusez-moi, Monsieur. There is no doubt about that, of course.” The waiter bowed, and Li Ming almost breathed a sigh of relief, as Ao Shun gave a dismissive nod and turned to leave, when he continued, “Monsieur, you must see though that there are limits. We had complaints from our members this evening. You will understand, I’m sure, that this is an exclusive establishment.”

As he grew even colder, Li Ming saw the flare of red in Ao Shun’s eyes and felt the tingle of static in the air. He had gotten used to running into more or less irksome issues in public human locations, but it was always unpleasant. Whenever possible, he generally just avoided them. It would be best to simply leave now, and not get drawn into an uncomfortable discussion. Raising a storm on the building would not make things any better either. He unobtrusively took a step forwards into Ao Shun’s field of vision.

“Mr Ryu, the car is outside now.” he politely addressed him with the agreed upon alias.

He avoided looking at the waiter, just like he had ignored him in turn throughout the evening, and did his best to keep his face impassive. Ao Shun’s heavy gaze shifted to him, and a roll of thunder sounded from outside. Li Ming  did not want to show any sign of weakness, which was much more difficult when it felt as if the king was looking right into his core. ‘Don’t cause a scene. Please, just leave already,’ he mentally tried to urge him. After a long, awkward silence, Ao Shun turned swiftly towards the door and with a single, angry snort left the room. Li Ming followed right after him, not dignifying the bowing waiter with any sign of attention.

Outside he took a deep breath and with a sigh of relief he quickly entered the car, before the already lashing rain could get to him.

Li Ming fell heavier than usual into his seat opposite Ao Shun. The air in the small room was thick with pressure and ozone, and he felt the king’s piercing gaze on him.

“I will level this place to the ground,” Ao Shun snarled, and the thunder echoed in his words. In the privacy of the limousine his scale patterns were gleaming on his skin now, and his elongated claws were balled into fists. “Those wretched minions! How dare they question you? The audacity!”

“Please, your majesty, you should not need to be bothered by this matter. It has no significance,” Li Ming said appeasingly, “Those humans don’t matter.” 

“No significance?” 

The fury rang in Ao Shun’s voice and made Li Ming avert his eyes. He felt suddenly exhausted, and lacked the focus to deal with the raging king. He simply wanted to forget about the incident and not waste any more energy on it. “They don’t matter. But you do.”

Li Ming looked up in surprise, and met Ao Shun’s gleaming eyes. Beyond his grim frown lay a deep concern that Li Ming found difficult to bear. He bit the side of his mouth hard, struggling to maintain his calm composure. He felt exposed and weak under Ao Shun’s intense scrutiny. And while it made him uncomfortable and he had to keep his hands from trembling, a part of him wanted more of that care he felt directed at him. He had spent so much time in Ao Shun’s company. He trusted him probably more than anyone. But it was quite different to feel so vulnerable around him.

For a long moment, only the motor and the heavy drumming of the rain against the outside of the car was to be heard. Li Ming’s throat was dry, even if he had known what to say, he probably wouldn’t have brought out a word.

Then Ao Shun blinked, and with a somewhat resigned sigh he sat back in his seat again. Li Ming felt both relief and pity at the break of their connection. They sat in silence for the rest of the ride, and while Ao Shun stared broodingly out into the rain, Li Ming tried to divert his thoughts by recalling the warm feeling of his hand on his own.

#the invisible library #froststorm #li ming #ao shun

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 04

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m sorry i’ve taken so long to update, i’ve started my online internship and for the past 24 hours i’ve been looking at papers about various medicines so i had to give myself a break 😂 hope you enjoy this one xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Sebastian hated to miss the opportunity to see Y/N go through a whole lot of various dresses, however, working with clueless idiots meant he had to drive straight to his place for an impromptu meeting. It was boring to say the least and at the end of it, he didn’t feel like getting dressed up with a silly mask and host a ball in the reception of some sleezy hotel. However, appearances mattered and although most people had known he was bethroted prior to before him even knowing him, he still had to parade around with Genevieve as if they were the happiest couple on Earth. They weren’t and they would never be.

For starters, Sebastian despised the tactics applied by the Forrests when running their business with absolute trust in everyone who worked for them. Additionally, both his prior encounters with Genevieve had been awful and none of them were really interested in keeping the facade of happy couple behind closed doors.

However, he had to admit that having Y/N parading around as a direct consequence of his future wedding was no bad thing. He had a sly smile as he sat against his chair, thinking about her. He found her delightfully naive and extremely sheltered for someone who followed Gwen around like a lost puppy. There was something extremely captivating in seeing a woman who was untainted by the environment she lived in and due to his extremely good sharp-eye he had mostly memorised her reactions. How she would bring her hand up to only her left cheek when she felt embarrassed, the constant lip bitting which on its own could possibly attract all the unwanted attention in a room, the constant pulling and smoothing of her clothing fabrics whenever standing next to someone of power ... If it was an act, well, then she was a very good actress.

He would’ve probably been stuck in the mindless act of thinking about someone who’d probably run to the hills at the mere thought of being intimate with him, had it not been for the clock in the wall showing that it was already time for him to possibly get ready.

Sebastian got changed out of his suit into a new one, grabbing the mask on his way out and proceeded to pace the floors of his living room expecting Gwen. Of course, part of him was only pacing the floors and not in the car because he wanted to take a quick peak at his fiancée’s handmaid but he wouldn’t admit that to himself. At least out loud. This was quickly thrown out the window once he saw Gwen coming down the stairs in her red gown, black satin mask in place, followed by her bodyguard and not by Y/N. 

     - I see your shadow is missing. - he asked in a teasing manner, something Gwen didn’t take too lightly, rolling her eyes as per usual. 

     - Y/N is getting ready. Can we please go to the car and get this charade over and done with? - the heiress huffed, holding the fabric of her dress slightly up so she wouldn’t trip on it. Sebastian decided not to comment on it, thinking that poking the lion would only make it for a worse evening, so he ordered one of the countless bodyguards he kept in his penthouse to drive Y/N. The man nodded, as men usually did whenever he gave them orders and with that Sebastian left with his bride-to-be. 

Y/N on the other hand had finished setting her hair in place, sliding in a few star shaped pins onto her hair which had been a gift from Dan once she graduated from university along with Gwen. She extremely cherished them and thought there was no better occasion to wear them but tonight. 

Her eyes slightly gazed onto her reflection in the mirror, thinking she looked exactly like what she used to believe princesses looked like in fairytales and couldn’t help but slightly smile at the sight. Once she stepped out of the room, ready to supposedly join the rest of the people downstairs, she was met with another bodyguard who gestured for her to follow him. 

    - Did Gwen leave already? - she questioned, her instinct of making sure her friend was safe on the back of her head screaming at her. 

    - Miss Forrest and Mr. Stan left early. - he replied in the usual monotonous voice that didn’t leave room for many questions. - We shan’t take too long. 

Meanwhile, Sebastian was having a tedious time. Wherever he turned to there were either people trying to lend money from him, talk business with him, or congratulate him on his engagement, all things that made him want them removed from his inner circle. Yet again, he can’t just get rid of people because they’re a nuisance, usually they have to give him a reason, which after some time they always do. 

He knew exactly what he had signed up for when he agreed to this ludicrous show off party, he had signed up for a night of fake kissing and fake laughing all while wearing a stupid last minute Phantom of the Opera mask he had from the last time he’d seen it. It was a pretty boring night except for the champagne flutes that luckily seemed to find him whenever he felt like putting a bullet into someone’s head for talking too long. 

Contrarily, Genevieve seemed to thrive in these functions as shown by the way that she was introducing herself in several conversions and, very unprofessionally, flirting with various mob family’s bodyguards. It wasn’t like Sebastian really cared, having a unfaithful wife wasn’t something new, however he still would like her to be at least respectful. 

His eyes roamed over the crowd, champagne flute in hand, as he noticed the commotion that settled at the entrance of the room. From the door emerged one of his bodyguards and in front of him Y/N. He couldn’t help but stare at her, his brain explaining that behaviour by telling him he could do so as he had paid for the dress. She stood slightly smaller than the crowd due to her constant habit of looking down but he could still see her perfectly clear in a ankle length beige dress covered in lines of pearls which matched her equally beige shoes. Just like everyone else she had a masquerade mask wrapped around her face with a bow made of black ribbon. 

The moment Gwen set her eyes on her friend, she was pulling her into her own social circle leaving Sebastian to observe her. As per usual, she didn’t speak much unless addressed and even when addressed she would bounce the conversation to someone else, hands always slightly tucked in front of her stomach, and a look that told him she probably disliked this party more than she did.

Social gatherings weren’t Y/N’s cup of tea, despite going to at least more than a hundred of them in her life time. She always thought them to be extremely fake with people putting on several different personalities throughout the evening in order to entice various upper ranked mobsters. 

     - We must discuss business someday, Miss Forrest. - one man pulled Genevieve away from Y/N leaving her by her lonesome. Her fingers drew over the top of the champagne flute looking around at everyone. Some people she knew, some were men close to Mr. Forrest with their new wives, some their sons. There were some people she had seen from hit lists and others from birthday presents. Her eyes laid on Mr. Stan and his perfectly tailored navy suit. His posture screamed power, dominance and authority without even trying, even with that matte white half mask. 

She cleared her throat, turning her head to face the opposite wall once her gaze was met by his. Y/N couldn’t stare at him, he made her nervous without saying a single word. Funny thing was, she did not know why he made her nervous. Sure he was a mob boss with probably a few kills under his belt but she had grown up around that type of people, yet he made her nervous. He made her feel like digging her own hiding hole whenever he look slightly in her direction. 

    - Miss Y/N ... - came a voice from behind her, making her drop the flute on the ground. Despite the noise, no one turned their head, too busy in their own conversation. - Didn’t mean to frighten you.

    - Mr. Sta... Sebastian, good evening. - she took a step back, noticing how close he was to her. He was close enough she could smell his cologne, the type of smell that made a girl want to wrap herself in a guy’s scented clothing. - I spoke with the saleswoman and she said I could return the dress later. 

    - It’s a gift, angel. You should keep it, it suits you. 

    - This is the type of gift you give to Gwen, not to me. - she smoothed over the fabric of her dress.

    - Miss Forrest has enough dresses as it is. Speaking of gifts ... - his hand went to his pocket, pulling a golden chain. - I believe this is yours. 

    - My necklace. - her heart swelled up as she saw him hold her golden necklace. Mindlessly, she wrapped her arms around him, taking him by shock. Normally, he’d have the head of whomever tried to hug him. - I can’t believe you found it. 

    - You dropped it on the club. I’ve been meaning to return it but it passed my mind. - he handed it over to her who like an over excited child getting a new piece of clothing for Christmas, immediately wrapped it around her own neck. However, it was slightly hard for her to clasp the necklace herself which automatically and mindlessly led Sebastian to hold both ends of the chain in his hands, her hand slightly grazing his as it left the clasp and rested upon her abdomen. 

It was a rather easy clasp leading the moment to be over in less than a second if so, however his hands instead of returning to stand politely over his pockets, he instead left them softly against her warm shoulders, a stark contrast to his cold ones. This contrast did not go unnoticed by her, her skin trembling and shivering at the touch that seemed to last a whole millennium.

    - Uhm ... - she cleared her throat, slowly turning around to face him. - Ho...how are you enjoying your evening?

    - I would rather be doing anything else, Miss Y/N. - he chuckled darkly, grabbing another flute as a tray passed by. 

    - You should call me Y/N if I’m to call you Sebastian. - she walked alongside him, through crowds of people which like the red sea to Moses would part so he could pass through. - It’s only fair.

    - Fairness isn’t exactly my strongest suit, angel.

tag list: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/y/n #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #au!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble

[crashdevlin]

Another Second Chance 1- Black Hole

Another Second Chance Masterlist,  Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: It's been five years since Jensen broke Y/n's heart and she's avoided him completely, but avoidance only lasts so long.

Pairing: past Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2302

Story Warnings: past cheating, little bit of background angst, mostly no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things change. Either gradually or in catastrophic leaps, things change. Fact of life, unfortunately. Songs have been sung, books have been penned, movies have been made, all centered around that single inarguable fact.

When I was a younger woman, I thought that nothing really ever changed, that the facts of my life were that I was weak and stupid and I was always going to be in love with people who didn’t want me and were too good for me, that I was going to be miserable and alone forever. I was certain that I was the same person at 26 that I was at 16 and that’s just how things were always going to be.

I can honestly say, at 34 years old, I’m a different woman than I was at 16 or 26 or 30...and I may be alone, but I am not miserable.

I’m successful. I’m happy. I have friends and I have fans. I am well-rounded and, despite a hundred things working against me, well-adjusted. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be dating someone to be happy. In fact, without all the drama surrounding me whenever I do date someone, I’m happier. I have my children and I have my friends and I am happy. 2025 is shaping up to be one of my best years yet and I am ecstatic to see where it leads.

I’m sitting at my computer when my phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number so I Google it. King Woods Private School, the school Jensen wants to send Mav to. Weird that they’d call me when Jensen has primary custody. I answer immediately. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/l/n? Maverick Ackles’ mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi, Ma’am. I’m Caroline Smith, Dean of Admissions for King Woods Private School. Your son’s father applied to our institution for the Fall semester for Kindergarten.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me. Said his father is very excited to get him in there.”

“His father didn’t tell you?”

“Mav’s nanny mentioned it, too, but...Jensen and I-”

“Had a very public falling out a few years ago, we’ve done our research,” she interrupts me. “But the thing is, King Woods is a very family-oriented institute and we need both parents to participate in all activities like monthly PTAs and volunteer nights. We need to make sure that both active parents can work together amicably. On that note, we have an admissions interview with little Maverick on Friday and we require your presence. Can you make it? 10:30 am.”

“Ten-thirty on Friday? Y-yeah. I can...I can totally do that. I will...see you then, Mrs. Smith.”

“See you then, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you and your son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” I set my phone to the side of my laptop and take a deep breath. Jensen and I haven’t been in the same room since NolaCon 2020. We’ve emailed a few times, but haven’t even spoken on the phone...in several years...and that’s better. It’s better for everyone if we don’t talk because then we don’t argue and we don’t fall into patterns that leave us in bad shape.

But for Maverick’s future, for Maverick’s good, I will have to do it.

I call Misha. He encourages me and tells me it’ll be okay. He supports me. He’s an amazing friend, has been for years, one of the few I got in the breakup. Most of our friends specifically didn’t take sides. Kim and Briana and Misha, they sided with me...the girls a little more vocally than Meesh, but it ended up a small rift between Misha and Jensen. I put an end to J2M and it hurts a bit when I think about it. They still talk sometimes but nothing like they used to.

Jared still talks to me every once in a while, but he sided with Jensen. Of course he did. Jensen’s his brother. But Jared tries to keep me involved in his life, he tries to stay a friend...but he’s Jensen’s first, always has been.

“It’s gonna suck,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yeah. But still. You gotta do it, right?” Misha says and I chuckle. To the point with Mr. Collins.

“Yeah. I gotta do it. It’s just...I haven’t seen him in years. I mean...except pictures on Instagram. It’s gonna be weird.”

“You know what I say about weird, right?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the GISH and Random Acts kinda weird, this is...a pit in my stomach that feels like a bowling ball and a fear of reversion to the person I was in the past kinda weird.”

“You’ve grown too much to revert and that bowling ball will go away when you get comfortable again.”

“That’s…that’s the problem. What happens if I get comfortable with him again, Misha?” I’m scared of it. “He’s like this black hole that sucks me in every time and the only way I’ve been able to stave off the destruction of my universe these last five years is to keep my distance. I don’t know what to do when I’m in close proximity to the black hole.”

“You can do this, Y/n. You won’t have any problems...and maybe Jensen’s grown over the last five years, too.”

“Well, you’ve talked to him more than I have. You’d know how much growing he’d done.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re spending all our time together anymore.”

I nod. “So...hope for the best, that he’s grown and things will be okay, and keep my distance from the dark vortex.”

“Exactly.” Misha smiles and looks directly at the camera. “You got this.”

Yeah, I do. I got this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wear an embroidered black silk Joanna Mastroianni dress to the interview. Not a lot of makeup, but enough to accentuate my features. I keep my hair out of my face and I wear sensible, cute shoes. I look good, but not like I’m trying to look good. I look like I’m trying to look presentable and classy for the people in charge of my son’s education.

I make it to the school first and I sit in a plush chair in the waiting room and wait with my legs crossed neatly to the side. I pull out my phone and start playing a game of Solitaire.

“Mommy!” Maverick’s voice pulls my attention away from the Seven of Hearts that is stuck behind the Six of Diamonds that is arresting my forward momentum in the game. I smile as he runs at me, full-speed, and I slip my phone in my purse as he throws his arms around my neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Mav!” I exclaim. I lean back and look into the beautiful green eyes he inherited from his father. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

“Yes! All the time!” Mav says.

He turns his head to look at the door to the lobby as Jensen walks in. Holy shit. He let his hair grow out a bit...little longer than when he was playing a demon. It's multi toned, what would be called 'Salt and Pepper' in any other man, but it looks more like 'Walnut and light Roux' on him. He's rocking his ginger beard and it has some actual salt in the color. He's wearing a blue suit...a masterpiece tailored to take away your breath. The man knows how to make an entrance.

He's still gorgeous...and I’m still stuck on him. Fuck.

I stand and take Mav’s hand as Jensen steps closer. I focus on his forehead. I can’t look at those eyes. I can’t look at those lips or those freckles on his cheeks. Forehead is safe. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and licks his lips. “Hi,” I greet him, and my voice sounds awkward, too high-pitched.

“Hey,” he responds and oh, God, that voice.

Breathe. Stay away from the singularity, avoid being pulled into the black hole. “You doin’ good?”

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Just fine.” Dying, being sucked into a vortex in space.

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something else when a tall brunette woman in a smart pantsuit walks out of the office. “Mr. Ackles? Miss Y/l/n?” We nod as she drops to kneel in front of Mav and me. “And this must be little Maverick.”

Mav turns and hides his face in my skirt. “Sorry. He’s a little shy around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s natural.” She stands and extends her hand to me and then Jensen, shaking our hands. “Good to see you both here. So, we’re going to take Maverick in and watch him play a bit, get a sense of his social and developmental placement and if he’s a good fit for King Woods, then we will make that happen.”

Jensen and I nod, then I gently pull Mav away from my legs. “You’re gonna go with the nice lady and play with some toys, answer some questions, okay? You can rock that, right, buddy?” Mav nods and smiles at me and Jensen.

“And you two will be just fine out here together, right?” Mrs. Smith says. She’s making sure we won’t freak out on each other. Freaking out on each other is not the problem.

“Of course we will,” Jensen answers. “We’re gonna park ourselves right here in these chairs and wait for you to tell us how brilliant our boy is.” He winks at the woman and she swoons a bit...I have to stop myself from doing the same as I step back toward the chair I was sitting in before. She offers Maverick her hand and he looks back at me before he takes it and follows her as she leads him away toward a playroom. I play with the hem of my dress for a few moments as Jensen takes the seat next to me, his bowlegs stretching out in front of him a bit. “So...listened to that cover album you did...with, uh, Rob, Rich, and Mark. It came out real good. ‘A Little Dive Bar in Dahlonega’ was perfect.”

I look down and my cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh...you and Steve are working on Volume Four, right? How’s that comin’?”

“Pretty good. Not bad at all, actually.” There’s a moment of silence and I sneak a look at him. He’s biting his bottom lip. Black hole, black hole, black hole. “Oh, and how’s that Shakespeare thing goin’?”

My eyes light up and I look over at him. “Midsummer! Yes. My pet project! It’s coming. Rich has signed on to direct a few episodes and Matt signed up to be my Puck. I’m really excited to see what we can do with that universe. Fairies are so my jam!”

“Are you just producing and writing it, or are you gonna be acting in it?” he asks, leaning forward, showing interest, active listening.

“I’m Hermia, actually. It’s coming along very well.”

“That’s really good. I’m...happy for you.” He smiles and I bite my tongue. God. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I look away from him. “So, uh, I heard that you RSVP’d to Padalecki’s July Fourth barbecue, but you never showed up.”

I shake my head and sigh. Of course Jared told him I flaked on Independence Day. “Yeah. I was, uh...I was gonna go but-”

“But then you heard my shoot in Georgia got rescheduled and I wasn’t gonna be in Atlanta like I planned so you decided not to risk runnin’ into me?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod and look over at him. “It was fine. I ended up watching fireworks with Nova over Skype.”

“You know...it’s been years. You don’t have to avoid me. We can be adults. Jared misses you.”

I lick my lips and nod. “It’s just hard for me to be around you. I miss Jared too, but I can’t be around you. It’s too hard.”

“This is hard?” he asks. I open my mouth to respond ‘Unbelievably’, but he keeps talking. “Because it’s not hard for me. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.”

I close my eyes and shake my head, settling back in the chair to lean away from him. “This is why it’s hard.” I open my eyes and pull my phone out to finish that game of Solitaire.

He doesn’t say anything else until Mrs. Smith walks out with Maverick fifteen minutes later. “They had a lot of toys in there!” Maverick shouts.

“Indoor voice, Mav,” I say as I stand up. I focus on Mrs. Smith. “So?”

She smiles brightly. “He’s a brilliant child. We would absolutely love to have him here at King Woods.”

“That’s great news!” Jensen exclaims.

“Indoor voice, Jay,” I joke before it hits me that I just called him ‘Jay’ and teased him. Slippery slope. Don’t get comfortable. “Uh, a-anyway. That is great news.”

“We’ll send you the information for tuition and supplies. It was wonderful to meet you both,” Mrs. Smith says.

I bend down and give Mav a hug as she walks away. “You’re awesome, kiddo. I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!”

He runs to his dad and I pick up my purse, stepping toward the door. Jensen puts his hand out as he picks Maverick up to hold him on the other side. He pulls me into a half hug and I go stiff as his hand lands on the small of my back. God, he smells so good...and his hand is so big and…

I pull away and lick my lips. “You and Daddy have fun, Mav!” I almost run out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby  @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @sunnyroadtrips @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie Hunter Tags - @atc74 @sandlee44 @spnbaby-67 @kalesrebellion @tumbler-tidbits @hoboal87 @stoneyggirl @kbl1313 @cookiechipdough @mrswhozeewhatsis @winchesterxfamilybusiness @holylulusworld @pretty-fortune @screechingartisancashbailiff @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits @imperiusimpala @supernaturalenchanted Gaga For Green Eyes Tags- @typicalweirdbookworm @deanmonandnegansbitch @jadesupernatural @stoneyggirl @4fareader @squirrelnotsam @lyarr24 @akshi8278 @pretty-fortune @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits Happily Ever Eventually Tags- @deanmonandnegansbitch @jamielea81 @xhannahbananax03 @traceyaudette @fabinaforever11 @pretty-fortune @vicmc624​

#cassie writes stuff #spn rpf #jensen ackles #reader insert #jensen x reader #happily ever eventually

[heychangbin]

The Camping Trip ║ Part Two

Summary: You and Billy find your way back to your campsite, learn some things and spend the first night out in the woods. 

Wordcount: 4876

Warnings: More smut towards the end. 

A/N: picks up where part one left off, tag list at the bottom.

You didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it, there was no way in hell that Billy Russo, whose job demanded that he be on high alert and commit, even the most minute of details to memory, was lost.

“8 years of military service," you began, fingers fastening the button of your jean's, "134 confirmed kills, 3 tours in Iraq, 1 in Afghanistan, CEO of your own private security company and you can’t remember from what direction you came from when you found me?” you cried incredulously, walking between the breaks in the trees, eyes squinting to see if you recognized some gnarled branch you might've passed by.

 “In my defense,” you turned to look at him over your shoulder, shoulder pressed against the truck of a tall tree, jeans buttoned and zipped back up, dark gray t shirt smoothed down against his torso, “when I got those kills and was doing my tours I wasn’t getting my brain sucked out through my dick.”

 You rolled your eyes as you turned away from him, brows furrowing as you caught the color of the sky. Was it getting darker? It definitely looked darker than when you arrived. Were there bears in New York? Oh god, were you gonna get mauled by Winnie the Pooh?!?

 Your breathing started coming in shorter bursts, the rising panic making you start to hyperventilate.

"Stop panicking." He said, his voice controlled and calm as if he wasn't lost in the middle of the woods with no idea how to get back to the campsite. Probably due to all his training, you were sure that being a Lieutenant in the marines special forces he had to have nerves of steel.

But you didn't and you couldn't pretend you did. 

"Billy, we're lost, how am I not supposed to panic!"

"Panickin’ about it ain’t gonna help, you're just gonna work yourself up--"

"Of course I'm gonna get worked up, we're lost and we don't have our phones Billy! what if a bea--"

"STOP." He said over you, voice hard and commanding, sounding every bit the decorated Lieutenant he was under all the expensive tailored three piece suits, silk ties, and immaculate personal grooming. 

You froze mid step, shocked, Billy had never raised his voice at you, not like this, not even during the heated argument you've had over the years. 

"S-T-O-P," he continued, voice back to its usual soothing tenor, "Stands for: stay calm, think, observe, and plan. First thing you gotta do is calm down." He pushed himself off the tree and walked over to stand in front of you, ducking his head down until his eyes locked on yours, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze., the weight of them helping to ground you and regulate your breathing. "Now, think….observe." 

You take a moment and look past him at your surroundings, your eyes dancing between the breaks in the trees, 

“Everything looks the same!” you groan out in frustration

“Hey, hey,” his hands come to cradle your face, dark eyes seeking out yours, “breathe.” you did, pulling a lungful of air and exhaling it slowly, “Alright, now think, where are you?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Cute,” the corner of his lips giving a slight twitch, “think of where you are.”

“The woods? A forest?”

“Good, what does a forest have?”

You rolled your eyes and looked around again, taking in the trees, grass and….mud. Huh. Your head cocks to the side as you noticed the tracks in the damp dirt.

“Billy,” your eyes follow the prints on the ground that lead and disappear into the trees, “how long do footprints last in mud?” you step past Billy and walk  to the edge of the tracks

“If undisturbed, they can last days, weeks, months even.” he says from somewhere behind you.

“Think we can follow those,” you nod towards the prints, “back?”

“It’s worth a shot, if they don't lead us to our site, they can always lead us to somebody else’s, and we can go from there.” His voice has a satisfied tilt to it, you took a few steps alongside the tracks when a rustling made you stop and turn. Billy was crouched down near the ground, large hands gathering the bulk of the sticks you had collected.

“Are you serious?”

“What? I ain't about to let all your hard work go to waste.”

You rolled your eyes but walked over to where he was and helped pick up the remainder of branches on the ground. After picking up the final gnarled branch he nodded to the tracks, saying,

"Lead the way."

With your eyes trained on the ground, you followed along side the clear indents on the wet dirt, It wasn’t long before you were able to hear the familiar sound of Foggy’s voice. 

“All I’m saying is, they’ve been gone a while, maybe we should go out and make sure they’re okay!”

“You got nothin’ to worry about tenderfoot, Bill’s with ‘er, she couldn’t be in better hands.”

“What if he didn’t catch up to her? These woods are huge and easy to get lost in!”

“And lets not forget it’s—”

“We don’t need to worry about them cuz they’re about to break through the treeline.”

You heard Matt say as you took the final step that put you and Billy out from the cover of the trees, 

“There you are! What took you guys so long?” asked Karen at the same time that Frank let out a “Finally decided to show up, eh?” making Karen toss him a glare over her shoulder.

You rolled your eyes ignoring Frank instead choosing to answer the clear and genuine concern in Karen's eyes. 

“Just headed out too far and lost track of time.”

You heard more than saw the amused huff Billy gave at your words, but you were not about to admit to your group of friends that you had gotten frisky in the great outdoors, especially not when at least two of them had been worried about you being lost. 

“Well, that's a relief but we kinda need to get this fire going if we wanna have dinner.” Foggy said as he hurriedly waved you over to the center of your site, where he sat, hunched over a ring made of rocks. You walk over to where Foggy is, Billy a step behind you,

“First thing you need to know is how to build a fire.” Said Foggy as he took the branches from under your arm, “what I’m about to show you is the Nelson method,” he said as he snapped several twings in half, tossing them into the ring of stones. “It’s a family secret that’s been passed down from Nelson to Nelson ever since the old country and has a 99.9% success rate.” he had gone through the majority of the sticks you had brough when he continued, “When you have a nice pile goin’ you get them nice and close, then, you take your trusty box’a matches,” he says pulling a small box from the pocket of his pants, sliding it open and taking one of the wooden matches, pushing the box close, quickly striking the red head of the match along the stripe on the side, the match head bursting to life with a puff of smoke and a menacing fizzle. Foggy held the burning match to the edge of the pile of sticks, the flame transferring to the thinner ends of the twings, consuming the dry wood in a matter of seconds then dying out. Foggy struck another match and tried again. And again, and again, and again. Finally giving up when he burned himself for a second time. 

Foggy pulled this thumb from between his lips, his arms falling to rest a top his knees, turning to look at Billy.

“You wouldn’t happen to have one of those fancy portable gas stoves packed away in one of the SUV’s, would you Russo?

‘Fraid not,” Billy answered, 

Foggy’s head falls, his chin pressing against the middle of his chest, letting out an exaggerated sigh as his shoulders slump, before looking up at the others and solemnly saying, 

“Got some bad news guys, looks like we're gonna starve.” 

“Y’all better get a fire going over there Billy, I did not spend the last 20 minutes prepping these dogs for nothin’.” Curt said, not lifting his eyes from the work his hands were doing on the picnic table.

With that, Billy scooted closer to the edge of the stones, hand reaching in to pick through the pile of twigs and branches Foggy had made, 

“First, you need to know the different materials it takes to build a fire.” he said, picking and snapping some of the more spindly ends of the twigs off, “Tinder should be thin and dry, ideally it would be birch bark, dry pine needles, grass, or leafs, but these,” he waved the growing fistfull of thin twigs, “will do just fine.

“The thing you wanna remember about tinder is, it should be easy to burn, it's what you’re gonna light directly and will spread to your kindling.

“Next, you got your kindling. These should be sticks no thicker than your fingers and go on top of your tinder.” he turned and picked some of the thicker pieces of branches you had found; gathering them into a loose bunch and setting it aside.

“Now, there’s several ways to go ‘bout it,” Billy said, pulling out a pocket knife from the inside of his boot, pulling the the blade from the metal casing, it locking in place with a click, and shoving the tip into the ground and shoveling out dirt, “the most efficient and easiest is the a-fram—”

“Ey! Don't you be teaching ‘er that shit!” Frank hollered making you, and everyone else, turn to look at him

“Pipe down Frankie, we’re trying to build somethin’ here!” Billy threw over his shoulder at the same time that Curt groaned out, “Oh lord, it’s Afghanistan ‘03 all over again.” 

“Afghanistan ‘03?” Karen asked Curt as her eyes jumped from Frank to Billy, just like yours were.

Curt heaved out a sigh, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Story for ‘nother time Karen,” he said, sounding far more exhausted than he had seconds ago, “Just get a fire going Billy.” he added without looking up. 

Billy threw a salute in Curts direction that he didn’t see, then continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. He picked up one of the thickest branches you had found and shoved it into the ground at an angle, adding two sticks at the end that stuck out, propping it on the “y” at the ends. He grabbed the bunch of tinder and placed it in the middle of the space that rested under the three sticks, then layered some of the kindling on either side of the structure. When he deemed it finished, he pulled out his own box of matches, struck one along the side of the box and held the burning match to the front of the tinder, the small pile quickly catching the flames, white smoke forming and rising to the sticks above it, followed closely by the lapping of the fire. In a matter of seconds, the layered sticks caught the flame and were burning warm and bright, the tails of the fire flicking and licking at the open air above them.

The fire had been burning steadily when Foggy asked Billy about the hole he had dug up.

“It’s to let the oxygen flow under the tinder, fire needs oxygen to burn and not choke, that helter skelter shit you pulled would’ve worked had you not packed it so tightly.” 

Foggy nodded along with Billy’s words, “Oxygen, not choke, gotcha.”

Billy laughed good naturedly at the intense look on Foggy’s face, poking at the fire as it continued to consume the branches, poking at them a few more times before he twisted to look behind him and called behind him. 

"Hey Frankie, how ‘bout you make yourself useful and bring over the fuel wood and the grill racks to set up!”

Frank threw a glare at Billy before he pushed himself off the bench connected to the picnic table, picking up one of the bundes of chopped wood in one hand and with the other picking the steel rods and grill racks, walking over to where you were, setting down the bundle of wood, rods, and grill racks beside Billy. 

By the time they had set up the grill racks and had added a few large pieces of wood to the burning fire, the sky had turned a shade darker, everyone gathering around the warmth and idly sipping from beer cans as you waited for the hot dogs to finish cooking. After the timer on Curts phone went off the meal went by pretty quickly as you made plans for the next day, which consisted of hiking and catching lunch. 

It wasn't long before Frank was coaxed into bringing out his guitar as everyone held long sticks with skewered marshmallows over the flames.

"C’mon Frank," you said, pulling your marshmallow away from the fire and quickly sandwiching it between a pair of graham crackers and a piece of milk chocolate, taking a bite before parroting his earlier words, " it's part of the experience."

"C'mon Frank," Karen said from beside him, gently bumping her shoulder against his, making the last of his resistance disappear muttering out a low "fine." pushing himself off his chair and going to grab his guitar.

"Didn't know Frank could play," said Foggy around a mouthful of crackers, chocolate, and burnt marshmallow.

"He's actually pretty good," said Billy as he slowly rotated his stick, the marshmallow at the end getting an even golden coating all around. "Self taught if you can believe it."

Just then Frank sat himself down on his chair, resting the body of the guitar on his thigh, the pad of his thumb strumming and plucking at the strings, his head tilting to the side whole his other hand turned the tuning knobs at the top of the headstock. He turned a few more before he began strumming the strings in earnest. The fingers of his other hand dancing along the fretboard, the crackling of the fire complementing the easy familiar melody that filled the air. Frank cleared his throat a few times and began to sing, his usually gruff voice turning just a bit smoother and wrapping around the well known lyrics.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Billy shift beside you, heard the slightest bit of rustling over the strumming of the guitar strings and the words that flowed from Frank, you turned to look at him, mouthing "You okay?", to which he just smiled and winked at you.

Frank was coming to the end of the first verse, his voice fading as his hand changed chords, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips as a twangy whistle came up from beside you making you turn to see Billy, sitting up straight with his eyes closed and his hands cupped around his mouth. The whistling changing as he slid the harmonica across his lips, his hands opening and closing over the slim metal instrument, making the pitch rise and fall, before fading completely as Frank began the second verse of the song. 

They continued like that for the remainder of the song, the melody swelling before Frank plucked the last remaining chords as Billy blew on his harmonica, the twangy whistle tapering out as Frank continued to strum the guitar, the fingers of his left hand dancing quickly down the frets as he changed chords, a new melody quickly starting.

Frank and Billy did a couple more songs and had everyone around the fire humming and singing along to his rendition of Thunder Road, before you knew it, the fire had dwindled, the temperature had dipped, and the sky had turned and inky black, it’s after Karen had slumped against Frank’s side, eyes struggling to remain open that Matt suggested putting an end to the night.

The low flame that had been doing a good job at keeping you warm was put out, the mixture of reds, oranges, and yellows hissing as water was poured over them, extinguishing them and giving way to billowy wisps of gray smoke, Billy waved you off, giving you a small smile and saying, “I’ll catch up in a few, wanna make sure this doesn’t come back to life while we’re sleepin’.”

You nod and push yourself off your chair and walk to your and Billy's tent, you reach for the zipper and slide it along the length of the opening, the fabric going slack and letting you step through, pulling your phone out of your pocket and using the light to illuminate your way.

The first thing you notice is the inside of the tent is organized with the same meticulousness you've come to associate with Billy. The large raised bed that takes up a large portion of the left hand corner is made, the sheet and bulky spread pulled taunt, had you had a quarter, you're sure you'd be able to bounce it off the smoothed out surface, beside it a small table with one of the power stations he had sent in the text group. On the opposite corner a couple of hanging organizers, the clothes in them folded with the precision that is, at this point, second nature to Billy, under the organizers an empty mesh hamper, and hanging from the ceiling, an electric lantern.

You reach for the knob, turning it clockwise past the initial click until the room is flooded in a soft, barely there glow. After a few flicks of your phone screen you take your phone cable and connect it, laying the phone on the table and make your way to the organizers, eyes and hands going through the handful of clothes to find an old Anvil t-shirt Billy had once left behind in your apartment and you never returned. It’s worn and frayed around the collar and along the right sleeve but soft to the touch from repeated use; it’s easily your favorite thing you own. Billy has tried to get you to get you to throw it out, swap it for a new one on more than one occasion, mentioning the tiny holes that litter the left side, the stitching that’s coming undone from the right shoulder, but everytime you just shrug, not telling him why you refuse to part with the shirt. You refuse to tell him that it’s the only thing that kept you from breaking down when you—

No. You stop the memories of those lonely nights and days before they are able to fully form. He’s here now, that’s all that matters, not the past, only the future. Our future. Together. 

You shake your head, tossing the shirt onto the bed, maybe one day you’d tell him, when the ghost of the things he did and endured for the people he called his family wasn’t so present on his face and dimming the light of his eyes. You strip your clothes, tossing them into the hamper, followed by your bra, pulling the dark shirt over your head, settling it over your shoulders, the hem falling a few inches short of your thigh. 

You bunch the front of the shirt over your stomach and pop the button of your Jean's free, pushing them down and off your legs. On your way from picking them up off the floor you felt a body press against your back and a pair of arms circle around your middle.

“Curts right, we really should put a bell on you.” you say, relaxing against his chest, closing your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. You waited for his witty retort, something about no one getting any sleep if he had a bell on, but it never came. You peeked at him outta he corner of your eye and noticed the way his eyes were locked in on your shirt.

“Y’know, I almost tossed this out when I pulled it outta your bag,” he murmured against your temple, his beard grazing against the side of your face as he spoke, long fingers paying with the frayed hem, “knew you woulda served me my own balls for breakfast if you didn’t see it.” he paused for a beat and rested his chin on your shoulder. “You ever gonna tell me why you hold on to this thing?” 

Someday. The word echoed in your mind as you lifted the shoulder opposite him in a shrug,  “It’s comfortable, ‘sides,” you take a step away from him and turn, resting your hand on your hips, “it looks good on me.”

He smiles, his gaze traveling down your body then back up again, eyes lingering where the soft fabric clings to your body, “it does, holes ‘nd all but,” he closes the small distance between you, hands coming to rest on your hips and pulling you close, “it would look much better on the floor.” with that he seals his lips over yours. 

His hands came up to cradle your head as his lips molded over yours, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips before pushing past them and delving into your mouth, you angled your head, meeting each swipe of his tongue with one of your own. His hands trailed down, the pads of his fingers caressing the column of your neck, the curve of your breasts, and down your ribcage before circling around your waist, fingers kneading the swell of your ass. Your hands running up his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt, going further up, past his neck to bury themselves in the long tresses at the back of his head, nails dragging against his skull, making him groan into your mouth. 

His fingers are bunching the back of your shirt against the small of your back when you break away, panting into his shoulder as his hands go back to your ass, digging into the supple flesh.

“Billy,” your voice sounds paper thin as Billy kisses the side of your neck, beard scratching the thin skin, “Billy,” you try again through labored breaths, getting an acknowledging hum from him as his lips work on the slope of your neck, “Billy...we can’t…the others--”a moan interrupts you as Billy sinks his teeth on a sensitive patch of skin that makes your knees buckle, your hands gripping the front of his shirt 

"We'll keep it down.” he whispers against the shell of your ear before nipping your lobe and sucking it into his mouth, teeth worrying the sensitive skin before moving to kiss his way down your neck. A hand coming up to circle your breast, thumb swiping across your hardened nipple through your shirt, you breath out a moan and Billy smiles against the side of your neck as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Billy," you breath, voice thick with want and need, your hands clenching the material of his shirt, pulling yourself impossibly closer against him, 

"I’ve got you," he murmurs, lips brushing against yours as he guides you backwards toward the bed, his hands reaching and pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side while your hands work on the button and zipper of his jeans, pulling his own shirt up and over his head. You leave a trail of open mouth kisses that start from his left shoulder to his neck, sinking your teeth on the tendon there, making him hiss and stumble as he struggles to step out of his jeans. 

When he’s successfully gotten his jeans off, he kisses you with renewed vigor, his lips hungrily devouring yours as he lowers you onto the mattress and settles himself between your legs, rolling his hips into yours, the outline of his harden length making you a bit desperate to have him inside of you. 

You open your mouth to tell him to stop teasing you when a moan pushes itself past your lips as Billy works your clit through your underwear, the speed and pressure varying every few swipes, keeping you from reaching your peak. When he pulls his hand away from between your legs it feels like it’s been an hour, your body is hot, sensitive and you’ve been reduced to a whimpering mess. He shifts around, hooking his fingers in the elastic of your underwear and pushes them down and off your legs. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, kissing the inside of your bent knee and up your thigh, the jut of your hip, the hollow under your sternum, between the valley of your breast, the base of your neck, and lastly on your lips. Your hands dig into his hair, nail scratching against the back of his head, moaning into his mouth when you feel the tips of his fingers touch your core, slipping between the wet folds and running up and down the slit, wetting his fingers before circling your clit, keeping the pressure light and the speed just slow enough to keep you on edge. 

You roll your hips against his hand letting out a whimper when you feel the tip of his long fingers at your entrance, pushing in so slowly that the groan you let out was half pleasure half frustration, the frustration fading as he started pumping his fingers into you, quickly adding a second finger and picking up speed, the undulation of your hips making the heel of his palm brush against your clit every so often, turning you into a withering mess as he helps you chase your peak. 

It wasn't until he added a third finger that he fucked you in earnest, long fingers reaching and curling inside of you while his mouth nipped and sucked at any skin within reach, it was the combination of a particularly hard shove and his teeth sinking into the skin over your jugular that hurtled you to reach your climax, body tensing, eyes rolling back of their own accord and mouth falling open in a silent scream. 

Your chest rises and falls heavily as you catch your breath, your body jerking when Billy pulls his fingers away, you take a few deep breaths, tongue coming out to swipe your lower lip while your hand reaches for the front of Billy’s boxer briefs, he catches your wrist and holds it above your head, lowering himself against your body, lips slotting over yours and tongue delving into your willing mouth as he lazily rolls his hips against yours, dragging his covered length against your mound. His teeth nip and pull at your bottom lip before pulling away from you and climbing off the bed. 

“Where’re you going?” you slur breathily as he walks over to the hung organizers on the opposite wall, rummaging through one of the cubbies for a moment, then makes his way back to the edge of the bed, pushing his briefs down his long legs, wrapping his hand around himself and give his length a few lazy strokes, the motion practiced and familiar, you'd seen Billy put on a condom countless times, before climbing back on and between your legs.

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs against your skin, hand settling in the crook of your knee and gliding up to your thigh, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he rolled his hips, the tip of his hardened length dragging between your folds while he leaves a trail of open mouth kisses across your chest. 

“Billy….need you…” your voice is caught between a whine and a plea, your leg hooking around his hip and bringing him down to you, rolling your hips against his. Billy hisses and lets out a string of curses before reaching between you and guiding himself to your entrance, letting out a rumbling groan as he pushes into you. 

Despite his prep, you still feel the stretch when he enters you, clamping your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as Billy slowly works himself into you, the speed and force with which he moves increasing with every few thrusts. You feel your second orgasm of the night approaching fast as Billy fucks you in earnest. You struggle to keep yourself quiet as his thrusts become harder, your own movement helping you race towards your finish, Billy pulls your hand away from your mouth and crashes his lips to yours, letting out a moan that Billy swallows as you crest, back arching off the bed and the leg over Billy’s hip pulling him impossibly closer. You’re riding the tails of your high when Billy’s thrusts stutter, hips flush against yours and he bites the top of your breast, groaning as he climaxes. 

You're a heaving, boneless mess, struggling to keep your eyes open when Billy pulls out and rolls off of you, you turn and catch him tying off a condom before your eyes close and slip into unconsciousness.

Last part will be uploaded by/on 6/25/20

Gen: @juguitos @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12 @suchatinyinfinity​ @bts-smolarmy @elanor-of-imladris 

Billy Russo: @nananananananananananabatman @shinebrightlikeafanbase  @emyyjemyy​

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#billy russo #billy russo imagine #billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo fic #billy russo fanfic #the punisher au #the punisher fanfic #the punisher billy russo

[mister-lady]

I did fic gmkfkdkfr. And it what, only took me several weeks to write a fic for Dice? Mvgkdkkf. This was still fun and I liked it :3 and sorry if ttheres a lot of typos, I only seemed to be able to write this before I went to bed or before I woke up so it might be a little sloppy fkdkdkdk this was also a lot longer than I intended so ubm,, sorry about that

AU: uhh.. I dont know if theres a proper au name? Store clerk au? Idk but you'll get it cjfms

TW: talk about food, mention of blood, mention of looking like someone got murdered, talk about sharks eating someone

----------

Matt had a party he was invited too, and for Matt this was a special occasion, so he decided to go out and get some formal wear! He had a few dresses and such at home, but he wanted something with a newer and fresher feeling. Lucky for him, there was a nearby tailor shop that he knew about. He's never been to the tailor shop because he's never really needed anything from the place, so he was a mixture of excitement and nervousness at going. Thankfully for him, the nervousness wasn't too overwhelming this time.

As Matt stepped into the tailor shop, he was quickly hit with the smell of strong perfume- or was it cologne? Either way it was powerful enough to give him a small headache the second he walked it. He couldn't help but notice the small bell that jingled as he walked in, and smiled at the noise. Matt decided to look around, and caught a glimpse of a perfume stand that had it's own counter and shelf to it. Matt could only guess that's what was causing his headache. He couldn't help but also notice how big the store was too. He expected it to be some small tailor shop like the stores you would find inside a mall, but this once mind as well be the mall. He could only imagine how much money this place was gaining to be so big, and the concerned him because that normally ment it was pricey, and Matt wasn't really in the mood to go 50 miles elsewhere because he was a broke sucker. The interior had bright white walls and white floor tiles too, and the lights made the whole place seem to glow, only contributing to his minor headache. Though, it did make sense that they would need good lighting if it was a tailor shop, which seemed to have mini stands inside that sold other stuff, like the perfume one he had spotted earlier. Matt walked further in to get a better look and saw some other people that were presumably with store clerks that were taking their measurements or picking out clothing that would work with them. Matt also noticed that the majority of customers were females, which made him grow a little self conscious and contrary to what the website said, he almost started to doubt if this place had items for more masculine customers like himself. Matt hadn't gotten too far into the store before being abruptly stopped by someone. Matt shrunk a little, the person that stopped him looked rather intimidating, they were wearing mostly black clothing that hugged his body and had a scarf wrapped around his neck even while indoors, and also had a pair of shaded circle glasses that made it harder to see his eyes, again, while also indoors. 

"And what brings you here?" The mystery person had asked.

Matt quickly scanned the person for a nametag, and found one on his chest with his name written on it. "Uhmm… I came here to maybe find an outfit for a party I need to go to later?" Matt was debating if he should bother using the person's name, as he wasn't ready to potentially butcher it.

"A party? Tacky; but fine. Come with me I'll help you pick out something." The man waved his hand, signaling Matt to follow him.

"T-tacky??" Matt blurted out before wishing he hadn't spoken up.

"Uhm, yeah. Tacky. We sell things like dresses and suits, not poorly colored and terrible silk clothing for a party no one is going to remember." The person didn't even turn around to face Matt while speaking, and kept walking.

Matt was left speachless, he didn't even know how to respond to that, especially because it was a slightly true statement. After a few minutes of Matt not knowing what to say, and feeling stupidly shy, he decided to at least look around and see if anything caught his eye. Matt didn't realize that the person he was following had stopped, and almost bumped into him. 

"Here, stand on this stool." The guy pointed to a small stool that was set infront of a mirror against a wall. 

Matt obeyed and stepped onto the stool. He looked at himself in the mirror before quickly looking away for several reasons.

"Stand up straight." The idiot wearing glasses indoors ordered.

Matt quickly shot up and fixed his posture and stretched his arms out straight and was quickly filled with embarrassment. The worker pulled out a tape measurement and quickly started taking Matt's measurements. Matt, like the dork he is, felt his cheeks flush at someones hands being so close to his body, especially when taking measurements for clothing, which that normally required waist and bust measurements. Matt looked away, avoiding eye contact like it would kill him. He was probably making the situation seem worse that it probably was. The worker stood up and put the tape measurement back into his pocket before seeming to think about something.

"Don't you need to write the measurements down?" Matt shyly asked.

"I do this every day as a job, I have it in my head." The worker spoke with a tinge of sass in his voice. "What are you particularly looking for, anyways?" 

"Uhm.. well, I was mostly looking for a suit, though I normally don't wear the overcoat with it so maybe just a fine button-up shirt with a tie?" Matt had subconsciously reverted back to being slightly hunched over and his hands were fiddling around with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

"I'm sure I can find something for that. Any particular color you're looking for? And what type of tie? Are you allergic to any fabrics? I need all the details." 

Matt was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of so many questions and almost immediately blanked on anything he was just asked. "Oh I uh.. I'm not allergic to anything, uhm.. I'm not too picky about color, and I'd prefer a bowtie." 

"Very specific, aren't we?" The worker teased.

"Well I don't want to seem too picky, I mean I don't want anything too expensive." Matt stumbled over his words.

"Darling, being picky here is what we need. Lucky for you I'm not someone that just throws anything on you for money." 

"Ah yes, how lucky I am." Matt muttered sarcastically.

"So, are you sure you don't have a preference? Becuase I don't want to pick soemthing for you and you go complaining." 

"I won't complain!" Matt stubbornly said.

"Fine, fine. You're words not mine." Then he walked off, probably to go and find something for Matt.

Matt couldn't help but think how oddly the place was ran. Matt didn't expect it to be that they pick something for you, he thought it'd be like any normal clothing store, where he could pick out what he wanted to wear. Of course, if a customer pointed out something they liked then the worker would probably get it for them or allow them to look around, but Matt would rather die than speak up like a normal person. Plus, this guy seemed to know what he was doing anyways, so Matt didn't mind too hard. While Matt was thinking about looking around he decided to see what was around him anyways. There was a small jewelry section nearby which probably had necklaces and earrings and chains and bracelets. There were also shelves on either side of Matt, not too close to him, but if he stretched out both of his arms fully, he could probably touch the two shelves. They looked like they would be shoe wrecks, but actually had folded clothing on them. Matt noticed an orange Hawaiian shirt with pineapple print all over it and three white buttons extending down from the collar of the shirt. He couldn't help but giggle as he picked it up, but made sure to not unfold it in the process. I mean, it was a party after all, right? Not some elegant ball. And it's not like a silly pineapple shirt hurt anyone anyways, right? He carefully set it back where he had grabbed it from, and eagerly scanned the shelves for anything else that might catch his interest. Most of the things on the shelves, as for the rest of the store, were all silky material stuff or fancy and were probably meant for more special occasions rather than a party that Matt was going to sit out in the bathroom all night. Yet… something felt different about the clothing on these shelves. Most of the shelves were a beaming white, and only had three or four shelves near the bottom for shoes and some folded pants or socks and stockings, and had hangers at the top for skirts and dresses and shirts and gowns and such. The shelves near Matt were brown and only had folded clothing on it. And Matt just noticed the prices were a lot cheaper too. It was like he found the discount regect section of the store. Though, Matt didn't mind it too much because he found a shirt he liked.

Matt was so lost in thought, he didn't realize his "buddy" had already came back. Matt actually didn't even know until a shirt got tossed at him, causing him to almost drop it. Matt held it up and examined it. It was a green button-up shirt with black buttons. Matt glanced up at the worker, like he was expecting him to say something, which just lead to them kinda blankly looking at eachother for a little bit.

"Well?" The worker prompted.

"Well what?" Matt echoed.

"Do you like it? I found a pastel purple one too, and you could maybe wear brown slacks with them, but I think black would better suit you." 

"Well I don't mind it, than sounds fine." 

"Don't mind it? We need something you'll love, not just feel neutral towards." The worker said it as if he was offended. "Did anything catch your eye maybe while I was gone?"

Matt hesitated for a moment, and shyly glanced at the pineapple shirt and pointed at it as if he wasn't allowed to touch it. 

"Really? That?" The worker questioned and furrowed his brows.

"W-well you did ask…" 

"Yeah it's just… theres a reason it's in a separated section from everything else." 

"I assumed so, but it's pineapples.." 

"But you'll look like a a torrist that got lost."

"Ouch, thanks."

"Look, I'm trying to say it nicely, but you'll look like a complete dork."

"No dorkier than your name." 

"Hey! My name is not bad, if anything it's plenty better than whatver yours is."

"I didn't say it was bad! I said it was just dorky." Matt said defensively. "I like dorky things. I am a dork." Matt added.

"Yeah, uh, you do realize normally dork isn't a compliment, right?"

"Emphasis on normally."

"Look, if you like my name I'm not going to complain, alright?"

Matt huffed out a sigh. "I just wanted a shirt how do these situations happen to me." 

"Here, I found this too." The worker said and tossed another shirt into Matt's arms.

"Jesus christ." Matt muttered.

"What?" 

"Dice- can I call you that? I mean it's your name but..- Anyways, this shirt stinks."

"How? I mean if you think it's bad you don't have a sense of fashion." 

"I mean, I don't but…anyone looking at me far away will think I got stabbed." 

"And then they come up, see what it really is, and want to try it themselves. It's perfect."

Matt shook his head in silence. The skirt was white, but it had big flowers on it that were a deep red color, making Matt look like someone tried to shank him all over. Matt loved flowers but this was just asking to mess something up.

"If it helps, it's better than your pineapple shirt that you wanted." Dice said, like that was supposed to help somehow.

"If you don't like the pineapple shirt so much, cant I just buy it then?"

"No, I'm trying to save you."

"Save me? The only saving I'll need is from when someone calls the paramedics cause I look like I swam with some sharks." 

"Oh yes, because being dressed like a fruit helps. It's not even a floral print it's a pineapple. I don't even need to explain what's wrong with that."

"Do you do this with every customer or?.."

"No, just you." 

"Wow"

"Theres so much good clothing in here like suits and dresses and better patterns and nicer clothes and things that compliment you, than some pineapple shirt you can get at a Dollar Tree store."

"Y'know, you almost make me want to thank you."

"Well, you should be thanking me." 

"I'm not going to." Matt made sure to say this in a rather playful tone, even though most their conversation had been teasing banter.

"Here, how about we just find something we can both settle on?"

"You're best idea yet. That sounds fine."

"Good." Dice walked off to go and look for something for Matt, but this time Matt decided to follow him as well.

It didn't take long for Dice to spot something and show it to Matt. "Here, how about this?" Dice offered.

Matt recoiled a little bit when it saw it. "It's not bad but..-" 

"But?" Dice cut off Matt.

"Well.. it's so scratchy looking!" 

Dice looked over Matt as if he was trying to check if Matt was being genuine or not. "You haven't even tried it on yet!!"

Matt timidly reach out a hand and rubbed it across the shirt before cringing back a little bit. "No."

Dice sighed before putting the shirt back and going off the hunt for something else suitable for Matt. Matt glanced around, he felt a little bad and a little afraid that he was being annoying, but he tried to push it away. Matt let in an excited gasp as he spotted something, before scampering off to go and pick it up. 

Matt picked it up with a wide grin and held it up to show Dice like he discovered something new.

"That one?" Dice questioned.

"I am not letting you talk me out of this one! It has a space theme and that is final." Matt pointed at the shirt he was holding up, which had stars and planets all over it.

Dice held up a hand to his chin and looked over the shirt like he was considering it. He ended up giving in. "Okay, it's not too bad and I suppose it's better than that pineapple shirt…"

"I don't know what's with you and pineapples but I'll take it!" Matt was beaming and was bouncing on his heels from happiness. 

Dice gently took the shirt from Matt's hands and checked for a price tag. Matt frowned a little, he completely forgot that prices were a thing since he was so caught up in his excitement. Dice glanced around and snagged a pair of long purple jeans and handed the clothing to Matt. 

"How much will it cost?" Matt asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"....I'll just say fifteen dollars." Dice responded.

"For both?" Matt asked, surprised.

"I want to help you pay for it." 

Matt was surprised by the answer. "Are you sure?" 

"Mhm." 

"Isn't that illegal in a way though?.." 

"Maybe if you want to look at it like that, but you're cute so I'm letting it slide."

Matt felt himself get flustered at the comment, whether it was supposed to be flirtatious or not. He decided to not respond and just shake his head in response, though he was pretty sure Dice had noticed anyways.

As Matt ran up to the nearest counter to pay, he couldn't help but feel the need to Wave goodbye to Dice. Things like that happen when you become attached to people after five minutes. Matt was oddly surprised to see Dice wave back but was warmed by the feeling. As Matt ran off to his car so he could try on his clothes sooner, he noticed a small paper hanging out the pocket of the shirt he had just picked out. He grabbed the paper before it could fall out and got deeply flustered and joyous at what was written on it. There was a small drawing of a single die cube, and a phone number written next to it. It didn't take long for Matt to quickly punch the number into his phone and pray it wasn't some rouse. He decided to just send one small message saying "hi :D". Right as Matt went to put his phone back into his pocket, it buzzed signaling he got a new notification. Matt checked it and tensely checked if it was what he was truly hoping for. He read the message so fast he had to read it a second time after not picking up what it had said. It read:

Already texting me right as you just left? Someone's clingy and in love.

Matt sighed and smiled and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He had a feeling this was going to end up being something he needed to buckle in for, but whether that was necessarily a bad thing? He didn't think it was.

#geez what is wrong with my TW section for a store au- JDJGKFKG #future edit: i scanned over it and my gosh its littered with typos hhh #im too lazy to fix it sorry gkkgkg #:||D #decided to show a bit of my saltiness which u might not see a lot of gngjfjffk #yyeyeyee :D!!!!!💖💖💖

[hitsuackerman]

A Different Hashira (Giyu x Reader) pt 1

At age 10, (Y/N) (L/N) became one of the first Hashira's along side her mentor Sakonji Urokodaki.

However, despite the honor of becoming a Hashira, she does not see herself fit for the title. Only Urokodaki and Ubuyashiki know about her breathing style.

10 years have passed since that faithful day. Now that the Hashira's have grown into 10, she starts to open up to her fellow demon slayers. One of the newer Hashira's catch her attention. The one with the mismatched haori.

-I do not own Kimetsu no Yaiba. None of the characters nor story do not belong to me. -I will try to incorporate some scenes of the anime ;)

-this is also in ao3/quotev/wattpad :)

------------------

You slowly sheathed your sword back to it's scabbard.

It was a full moon tonight and you admired the silence the forest had to offer. Each chirp the crickets produced, the sound of a nearby river flowing with nature, and a random owl hooting in the distance effectively calmed you.

Still gripping the handle of your Nichirin blade, you reminded yourself to regain control of your slightly trembling body. It took a considerable amount of effort but you managed to take control and used full focused breathing once more.

Feeling that your senses were now tranquil, you opened your eyes. In front of you were the remains of seven demons. All had their heads severed. Save for one of which you ended up disintegrating. But that was your goal so it was alright. Blood stains were now present in your haori. Your haori had absorbed a decent amount causing it to droop a bit.

Tonight's one on one training was rather... unique. Instead of using nature, Urokodaki decided to take you into the woods to see how far you had developed your breathing style.

"You seem to have trained behind my back, (Y/N)."

You hadn't noticed that he was now beside you. Both of you now staring at the full moon.

"The blade hates being sedentary."

The moon cast a yellowish glow to the rocks and grass. Whatever demon you had slain, they were now non-existent. A gentle breeze embraced the two of you. In your own absurd way, you liked to think that the wind was the way of demons saying thank you for releasing them from the curse given to them. Whether it's true or not, you didn't really care.

"Shall we head back?"

Heading back to the water estate, the comfortable silence between you and your teacher got cut with a messenger raven.

"It still perplexes me how you managed to convince Ubuyashiki-sama to give you a raven and not a crow." Urokodaki commented with a hint of pride in his voice. You were one of his protege's and being given a privilege to care for a different messenger bird was a small accomplishment.

"(Y/N) (L/N) to report to Ubuyashiki-sama."

"Even managed to train it to talk calmly. As expected nonetheless." He gently patted your head. "I will be fine on my own, proceed with utmost caution (Y/N)."

Without waiting for a reply, you watched your teacher walk towards your home. His light blue kimono glistened a silvery hue once the clouds showed the moon's presence once more.

"Leggo, Karasutori."

Nipping on your palm once, Karasutori took flight and lead you to the Ubuyashiki manor.

Though the distance wasn't too great, it took a good 30 minutes of walking (granted you got lost). When you finally arrived, you were greeted with his children. Despite people claiming them to look magical, in your head, you still saw them as creepy. The way their gigantic eyes would stare at you always put you on edge. Thankfully, Ubuyashiki-sama has the Soothing Voice.

Tea was served as you waited for the 97th leader to arrive. Fiddling with the chains at the of your handle, you only noticed that each chain had a red glossy finish.

"Good evening, (Y/N)."

"Ubuyashiki-sama." You gave him a bow. Looking at his face sent pain through your veins. You had made it a personal mission to somehow find a cure to his curse. Though you had no clue as to how, yet.

"I see you have quickly mastered your breathing style."

"Not all ten yet, Ubuyashiki-sama. The 9th and 10th are a bit difficult, but nothing too much to handle."

"Sakonji-kun has taught you well."

Simply nodding, you shifted a bit in your seat. In all honesty, you were tired from the training session. You started from morning and barely took any rest.

"What is my purpose here, Ubuyashiki-sama?"

"I have heard and seen your abilities, (Y/N). You see, my foresight has shown me that you will achieve many in the near future." Taking a sip of his tea, he stared at you through his blank lavender eyes. "It is about time you become a Hashira."

"Huh?" Taken aback by his statement, your jaw hung loosely as you processed what he had just told you.

"Become a Hashira, (Y/N). You have all the skills and mastery to be one. I have already informed Sakonji-kun. It is now up to you to grab the opportunity or reap another future."

"I would love to... But my breathing style, Ubuyashiki-sama. It's not suited to be a pillar."

"Nonsense."

"Can I still live with Urokodaki-sensei?"

"For the time being you may, but in due time, you will have to live in your own estate."

The picture of having your own estate boggled your mind. The estate would probably be dark and empty as hell.

"Alright. If it brings calm to your foresight, then I will agree."

As a token of his appreciation, he instructed Kiriya to get a box from his personal quarters. When Kiriya arrived, he held onto a rectangular box. The box was matte black tied together by a gold ribbon. The tips of the ribbon were raggedly cut and stained with black. You couldn't help but smile at the beauty.

With the box in front you, you carefully pulled on the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a haori. It had a geometrical pattern consisting of red, white and black. The hems were lined black. Lifting it up, you could feel how soft the material was. It was far better than the haori you had on. This one felt luxurious.

Taking your haori off, you carefully folded it and placed it beside you. It was only now you saw just how battered and blood stained it was due to the light of the room. Embarrassment entered your system till you wore the new haori.

In an instant, you felt calm and collected. Whatever thoughts than ran through your head slowed down. It felt as if a huge burden was taken from your shoulders.

"Ahh, you can feel it."

"Is this supposed to happen?"

"Only to that one. That haori of yours is a special one. I specifically made that for you. It's calming, is it not?"

"What if I outgrow this?"

"Inform Amane. She will make one tailored to your height."

This time, you couldn't contain the smile anymore. You continuously thanked and bowed to the leader till he excused you from his manor.

The journey back to the water estate felt surreal. This morning you were nothing but a 10 year old trainee under Urokodaki. Now, you were a Hashira. Running now, you couldn't wait to feel the happiness of your mentor. He had raised you and taught you everything you had to know despite not being able to use Water breathing techniques.

By the time you reached the estate, you could smell the aroma of soup coming from the building. Opening the doors, you were met with the familiar red mask and a bowl ready for you.

"You make me proud, (Y/N)..."

With a pounding heart, you ran towards your mentor and gave him a gratifying embrace. This was not a shock to the masked man since he knew you saw him as a father figure. Patting your back, he could feel the sense of calm engulfing the two of you. Realizing what their master had done, caused him to hum in content.

Letting go of your teacher and waiting for the soup to be served, you fiddled with your haori. Even your blade felt much lighter and clearer.

After finishing dinner, Urokodaki motioned you to follow him to the patio.

The sound of the river was relaxing as ever. The cool breeze that swept your faces, occasional frogs croaking in the distance, and the sound of the cackling fire made things fall into place.

"(Y/N)."

"Yes, Urokodaki-sensei?"

"I am stepping down as a Hashira."

You weren't surprised. After being with him for a good 4 years, you could somehow read his actions. He wasn't too keen on the Hashira lifestyle. If given the option, he would rather live by the woods and chop trees. He did mention he would still train but only if he sees the person fit. Though you were not going to deny, it caused a bit of sadness on your part.

"I understand. Will you still train me if I ask?"

"Of course. You are the exception."

"Where will you go?"

For a moment, only the sound of the rushing waters could be heard.

"I am not sure yet, but I shall send my crow when I settle."

Nodding your head, you stood up and excused yourself. Leaving your teacher to ponder on his thoughts. Exchanging good nights, you silently closed your door and flopped to your futon. Loneliness slowly taking over you.

Dragging your futon near your window, you took in the moonlight. It usually managed to soothe your insomnia. 

Though you didn't really mind, you decided that it was time for you to better know who the others were.

One main reason why you chose not to was due to the fact that you were too young and they seemed to be coming and going. Ever since you received Karasutori, you had recieved multpile announcements saying that this hashira had perished in a mission. It just grew to you to avoid the unwanted pain of losing someone you know.

Sleep finally took the best of you.

Waking up with the rays of sunlight blessing your face, you exited your room only to find breakfast ready. Along with a note slipped under the bowl of rice.

You were alone once again.

Knowing that sulking wouldn't make a significant change, you ate your food and took a bath right after.

Taking a piece of paper, you scribbled a small note and attached it to Karasutori.

"Send this to Tecchikawahara. If you make it back in 3 days, I'll give you mochi."

"Bribes. Always with bribes." Your raven replied before speeding his way out. "Make it 3!"

Grabbing your haori and blade, you slowly made your way to the common training grounds. It's time you finally acquanited yourself with the others.

#tomioka giyuu #kimetsu no yaiba tomioka #tomioka giyu x reader #Kimetsu no Yaiba #demon slayer

[olkarianprincess]

Can you write a shiro x pidge and one-sided Pidge x loter were there on opposite sides of the war Pidge is Gaara and betrothed to Prince lotor shiro is a pilot of Voltron

1

Huff. Huff.

Shiro doubled over the moment he rounded the corner. Inhaling as deeply and quietly as he could, he attempted to catch his breath. He couldn’t relax, though. They were still on his trail. The dark alleyway was a temporary sanctuary from the alien police force, but stopping also meant losing his momentum.

All too aware of the sweat pooling beneath his armor—of the painful tension in every muscle of his body—he waited in silence. The footsteps grew louder. Closer. In one hand, he clenched his bayard, ready to strike. In the other-

The sphere was gone.

Suddenly, everything melted away. The pain, the sounds, the worry of being caught—all gone. After all, none of it mattered if he had lost the one thing it was all for. Frantically, he searched the small satchel looped around his torso, and then the ground. The sphere was nowhere to be found.

And then there were footsteps.

On instinct alone, he spun around, but he was unprepared for what he saw.

At the end of his bayard was a single, cloaked figure. No police. No guns aimed for his head. Just an entity shrouded in darkness.

“I think you dropped this,” the mysterious stranger said.

Shiro paused before he looked down to their extended hand. A reflection caught his eye. Barely visible, beneath the shadow of a hood, he saw a yellow visor. Behind the visor, two piercing eyes.

And in the outstretched hand was the sphere.

Realization, followed by relief, swept into his body as the air did in his lungs. Without hesitation, he snatched the sphere and tucked it safely into his satchel. His eyes were only off the figure for a moment, but when he looked up, his strange ally was gone.

When Shiro peered out of the alleyway in hopes of spotting them, he saw nothing but the bodies of unconscious, bruised police littering the ground.

2

Music filled the grand room and, although he was certain it sounded like a fanciful masterpiece to the planet’s resident aliens, it was utter torture for Shiro’s human ears and acoustical tastes. Still, he forced a smile on his lips and waited, eyes glancing around the ball.

The wine, or whatever deep purple liquid it was that swirled about in his glass, wasn’t half bad, and he did recognize a few of the attendees. But Shiro was still bitter. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission.

Lance was the one that suggested they make a covert exchange with their informant. Lance was the one that insisted it had to be at a diplomatic ball. LANCE was the one that emphasized how much he wanted to go.

And yet...

Shiro tried to push away the bitter thoughts that attempted to take over his mind. He knew Coran had his best interests in mind. He also knew that he and Coran had very different ideas of what a “much needed relaxing break of a mission” looked like.

With a sigh, Shiro abandoned that train of thought and focused on finding his contact. Unfortunately, being a super secret matter of intergalactic importance, team Voltron got very little information on what their ally looked like. There was but one clue: the contact would wear a flower pin. They’d at least been given a photo. If they hadn’t, Shiro was certain that Matt would’ve gone on a full out rant about how disappointed Colleen would be that a group of intelligent aliens didn’t recognize not only how common flowers could be in decorative attire but what variety of flowers there are across inhabitable planets. Fortunately, the green lion’s paladin had only done a mini-rant.

Two hours into the ball, Shiro had seen no flower pin. Awkward conversations were plentiful, as were suspiciously jiggly finger foods. But no pin. With a sigh, Shiro pressed his back into the column behind him. He was about to contact Allura to see if the plan was a bust when something caught his eye.

Across the ballroom floor, in a perfectly tailored Galra-equivalent to a suit, stood a handsome gentleman with a gold flower pin on his chest. Wolfs-bane, Shiro recalled Matt saying. That’s what the flower resembled. He stared for but a moment, and startled when brilliant yellow eyes stared back.

A genuine smile on his lips, he moved swiftly across the dance floor. On the other side, his companion awaited with an extended hand. Warmth bloomed in his chest, as did a different feeling. Familiarity. He felt as though this was not the first time they’d met.

“May I have this dance,” Shiro asked as he delicately took the other man’s hand into his own, pressing a soft kiss to the back.

“That’s what we’re here for,” the Galra replied.

“Oh is it?” Shiro asked.

He would never tell his friends, but he was enjoying the opportunity to flirt with a pretty stranger. The Galra had a short, slim body, but was clearly in good shape. His mess of deep purple, puffy hair reminded Shiro of Matt, although Matt didn’t have two soft cat-like ears hidden beneath his cut.

“I thought a gentleman like you would be here for something else,” Shiro continued.

“Perhaps I’m here to meet a friend,” his dance partner replied.

“That makes more sense. For some reason, you don’t strike me as the kind of person to voluntarily attend these events.”

A delightful laugh spilled from the Galra’s mouth, forcing Shiro to turn his head away. It was hard to hide a growing blush when in close proximity with another person. So he switched tactics. The conversation changed, ebbing and flowing with the melody that surrounded them. Until, at last, the song ended.

“I think you dropped this,” his partner remarked with a grin.

Eyebrows furrowed, Shiro tried to decipher the words, but was answered by warm hands wrapping around his own. His heart skipped a beat and then his mind took over. The Galra drew away, but left something behind. Grasping the small device firmly, Shiro moved toward the edge of the crowd. He had to let Allura know that the data had been delivered.

3

Please be safe.

Shiro’s heart pounded heavily in his chest. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the beat alone was shaking the cockpit of the black lion. They hadn’t been able to respond. The distress signal came just after Haggar’s forces launched a surprise attack. There was no way for them to respond.

Shiro prayed to whatever gods would help him that the city was safe. The Rodlians had been one of the first members of the Voltron Coalition. They didn’t deserve to be punished for that.

The black lion entered Rodlia’s atmosphere. As they descended, smoke obscured the lion’s screen, and Shiro’s heart raced faster. Prepared to launch straight into battle, he was overcome with dread when the city became visible and no enemy was spotted. The worst, it seemed, had already come to pass.

Landing roughly, Shiro sprung from his lion-ship, ready to do everything in his power to find survivors. But the streets were not littered with victims of war. Here and there, buildings suffered damage, but the citizens seemed to be in good health, if not tired. Spotting him, the city leader came forward.

“What happened? We were attacked and couldn’t get here in time. Did you defeat them yourselves?” Shiro launched into inquiry.

“It’s alright, son,” the older alien patted his leg.

Her head only went as high as his thigh, and yet her voice commanded respect. Instantly, he felt a little better.

“We’re alright. Lady Pidge came to our aid.”

A bony finger pointed in the direction of a cloaked figure, several yards away. Shiro thanked the leader and apologized once more (to which he got a gentle head shake in response) before heading over to greet the one called “Pidge.”

“Excuse me,” he called out.

The figure turned at the sound of his voice, revealing a familiar face.

“Lady Pidge?” Shiro sputtered, “Oh shit I’m so sorry, I called you a man before, I-“

Pidge, the handsome contact he had danced with at the ball, waved off his words with a smile.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t care.”

“Ah, alright. Well, what are you doing here?”

“The Coalition sent me. I’ll tell you more, but it’s going to cost you.”

Once again, the Galra had thrown Shiro for a loop.

“What?”

Pidge pointed and Shiro followed the direction of her finger...all the way to his metal arm.

“Let me take a look at it?” she asked, an intense sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh, okay,” he responded with a laugh.

Warmth filled his chest as he trailed after her towards a laptop (of sorts) situated at the base of a statue.

4

“No fair! How come Shiro gets a secret admirer?!” Lance whined.

“Yeah! How come Coran lets Shiro have two girlfriends and I get none?” Hunk joined in, a huge smile on his face.

“Hunk,” Keith shot him a glare, “That’s biphobic.”

“Oh, you’re right Keith, my bad. How come Coran lets Shiro have a girlfriend and a boyfriend and I get none?”

Keith collapsed onto the couch with laughter at Hunk’s response and even Shiro couldn’t keep himself from grinning. He scooped up the package Coran had deposited on the table and turned to make his escape, sparing Allura a brief glance before he went. She looked...done, to put a word to it.

In his quarters, alone and away from prying eyes, Shiro gingerly opened the heavy metal box. Of course he knew it wasn’t a present from a secret admirer. That whole bit of drama was entirely a product of Matt’s desire to stir up trouble. But he still didn’t know what it was or who it was from. All Coran said was that someone from the Coalition had sent it.

With bated breath, and a quick prayer that there was not, in fact, a bomb inside, Shiro pressed the buttons on either side of the box and watched as it clicked open. Inside, delicately wrapped, was a thin holopad. He activated and it glowed with life, displaying the message:

Thought you could use an upgrade.

(PS: I’ve included installation instructions.)

And below the message was a little icon of some cute gremlin face with swirly glasses.

Shiro set the device to the side and opened the compartment below the first one. He almost cried when he saw the gift.

Inside was a brand new, clearly custom-made, prosthetic arm.

5

“I’m still not comfortable going into the heart of the Galra empire, invited or not,” Shiro stated as they approached the massive space station.

“I’ve gotta agree,” Matt said, although his voice lacked its usual carefree tone.

“Relax,” Allura assured, “now that Lotor’s emperor, we don’t need to worry about the Galra attacking us. At least, not the ones under his command.”

“Oh yeah and what about the other 40% of Galra that aren’t?” he heard Lance mutter.

Apparently Allura heard him too, as was indicated by the thump and yelp that followed.

“Lotor is gaining more and more of the Galra’s allegiance each day,” Allura reassured them. “I’ve heard a large part of it is due to the support for his fiancé. Many of the Galra feel more comfortable about his rule knowing they’ll be married.”

“Must be some lady. Or dude. Or, ya know,” Hunk added.

“Quite right,” Coran chipped in. “Maybe you’ll get to meet them.”

Further conversation was cut off by their arrival. Boarding the station was tense, but otherwise uneventful. As they walked through halls radiating with purple light, Shiro couldn’t help but make a pattern of clenching and unclenching his fist. It was an uncomfortable situation for all of them, but Shiro would be lying if he said it wasn’t worse for him and Matt. In truth, there were several thoughts on repeat in his mind keeping him sane.

First was the knowledge that they’d receive valuable access to Galra tactical data and technological schematics. He’d be able to study it and come up with better plans to free the universe. Second was the thought of getting to punch Lotor in the face, should the emperor step out of line. It was an unlikely situation, but the fantasy brought him joy. And like that fantasy, his third thought, of potentially running into Pidge again, kept him going.

Lotor greeted them outside of the throne room and Shiro focused on taking deep breaths while his friends questioned the new Galra ruler. He could barely process what everyone was saying. It was just another mission, he told himself. It would be over soon. Hunk asked about culture and Lance exclaimed something that sounded like “a nanny,” but the full conversation didn’t register in Shiro’s mind. They were being swept into the throne room, Lotor monologuing some nonsense, and light flooded through the opening of the heavy doors as they stepped in.

Shiro blinked once, twice, and then his gaze locked onto a pair of familiar yellow eyes. Warmth flooded his chest. A smile danced on his lips. The tension melted away and suddenly he found himself able to focus. It was just in time for him to hear Lotor say:

“And I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé, Lady Pidge.”

The yellow eyes that had met his quickly looked away.

#anon #fic request #the princess is feeling gracious today #*proceeds to word vomit all over your dress* #also i wrote this on my phone in the middle of the night in an episode of divine inspiration #so i cant add the read more thing #gotta do it on computer #ok real tags now #shidge #my fic #kat’s fic #galra!pidge #shidge!au #bi!shiro #uhhhh #idk #angst #oh the fic tag #lets see #five times galra pidge x shiro #yeet mfs #fic #thx for the request this was fun for reals #lol i just realized i totally ignored the opposite side of the war thing #sorry i have one brain cell

[aroworlds]

The Vampire Conundrum, Part One

When Rowan Ross is pressured into placing an aromantic pride mug on his desk, he doesn't know how to react when his co-workers don't notice it. Don't they realise he spent a weekend rehearsing answers for questions unasked? Then again, if nobody knows what aromanticism is, can't he display a growing collection of pride merch without a repeat of his coming out as trans? Be visible with impunity through their ignorance?

He can endure their thinking him a fan of archery, comic-book superheroes and glittery vampire movies. It's not like anyone in the office is an archer. (Are they?) But when a patch on his bag results in a massive misconception, correcting it means doing the one thing he most fears: making a scene.

After all, his name isn't Aro.

Contains: One trans, bisexual frayromantic alongside an office of well-meaning cis co-workers who think they're being supportive and inclusive.

Content Advisory: This story hinges on the way most cishet alloromantic people know nothing about aromanticism and the ways many trans-accepting cis people fail to best communicate their acceptance. In other words, expect a series of queer, trans and aro microaggressions. There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual", but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with romance.

Length: 2, 951 words (part one of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

What is pride merch for if not petty passive-aggression in response to allo folks’ amatonormativity?

Beset by dizzying anxiety, Rowan places a green mug, printed on one side with a five-striped flag, on his desk. Done. He exhales and takes another furtive glance around the poky ten-desk office, but only Shelby sits close and she’s too busy peering at her computer to notice him. There: mug at work! Right where people can see! He grabs his phone, snaps a quick photo to send as proof to Matt and then, before anyone can ask about the mug or Rowan’s behaviour, moves it beside his pen caddy, the handle angled to hide the stripes.

Why does he have to be this scared? Everyone knows he’s trans. Hormones aren’t yet magical enough to give Rowan cis-unquestioned masculinity; coming out felt less damaging than constant misgendering. At the same time, being trans is why he feels like to pass out from nervousness. The initial slew of queries, concerns and clarifications, followed by daily episodes of cissexism, isn’t something anyone should care to repeat!

Trans identity, after the passing of marriage equality, at least possesses the dubious state of being the new conservative-favourite punching bag. Before he sent Damien his “I accept the position, by the way I’m trans” email, few people here would have been ignorant of Rowan’s theoretical existence.

Aromanticism, by contrast, requires more than revelation: it requires conceptualisation.

He thought he was prepared, last time.

Rowan Ross, master of whiteboards and planners, came for his first day armed with a list of resources and print-outs of an article he wrote for his university’s student magazine. He’d written out answers to likely questions and rehearsed them at his mirror. He wasn’t going to have another panic attack when faced with questions he couldn’t answer. He was going to be fine.

Instead, he learnt again that one can’t prepare for all the shapes of cis ignorance.

Hesitating to mention his aromanticism because being out as trans already ramps up the difficulty of his working life shouldn’t be cowardly. Why can’t Matt see that?

He stares at the mug, dizzy. Damien may not notice the striped flag, but Shelby uses anything as an opportunity to provide unneeded reassurances. Melanie has enough enthusiastic, unrestrained curiosity for ten people!

I read that trans men bind their chests. Is it comfortable? Do you do it every day? Are you allowed to wear a bra when you don’t?

Rowan shudders. No. He’s survived her interrogations; can’t he survive this, too? He practiced a short explanatory speech, made an email-ready digital PDF booklet and packed printed versions inside his satchel. He rehearsed his responses to as many provocative and prying questions as possible, including the line I’d rather not answer that. Maybe it won’t be as bad, this time! Maybe they won’t notice immediately, giving him more time to prepare and anticipate. Melanie doesn’t come back until next month; perhaps this mug, so bright and green, will pass unremarked until then.

Does the want to return it to his bag make Matt right?

Rowan touches the handle for luck and wonders if this will go better should someone not Melanie ask first.

***

“Good morning, everyone!” Melanie breezes through the office in an aura of floral-with-vanilla perfume, making a beeline for Rowan’s desk. She’s small, curvy and grandmotherly-but-modern in appearance: coloured slacks and loose floral-print blouses worn with dangling gold pendants and stacks of bangles over freckle-dusted forearms. Aside from her pixie-cut grey hair, she looks to him like a walking Millers advertisement. “Rowan, can you tell me how to put the new logo in my email again? Please? I know you told me last time.”

Rowan doesn’t understand why people who send emails on a daily basis don’t take the time to learn these things, but he’s worked here long enough to accept this lack as a fundamental truth of the universe. He turns to face her, his flag mug held in his right hand. “Do you want the instruction PDF I wrote, or do you want me to just do it for you?”

A few months ago, caught up in a fit of hopefulness inspired by a new SSRI and the less-inspiring reality of being the youngest person in the office, he spent his spare time typing up Rowan Ross’s Ultimate Guide to Basic Office Computing—a guide languishing unread by anyone not Rowan.

“Just fix it for me now.” Melanie beams at him, paying his mug no attention. “Thanks, Rowan!”

What will it take for someone to notice? Pouring his coffee on their shoes? He swallows the dregs, stands and follows Melanie to her computer before setting his mug on her desk, flag facing outwards, to take up her mouse and open her email settings.

To think he worried about someone’s asking questions! Rowan didn’t consider the problem of a lack of interest, but he’s spent the last five weeks drinking from a flag mug without as much as a passing glance.

“You’re a doll, Rowan!” Melanie hesitates; Rowan holds back a sigh. Here it comes. “Wait. Is that offensive, even though there’s male dolls, like Ken? And gay men collect dolls, don’t they? But gay men like feminine things and you don’t when you’re trans-gender, do you? You’re a darling? I know! You’re a treasure.” Melanie grins, as though she didn’t make an easily-overlooked statement into a thing shaded with too many queer microaggressions for one bi trans man to untangle, and grasps his mug. “I’ll get you some more coffee! One sugar, a dash of milk! Thank you so much!”

Her pink-painted nails and beige hands cover the flag, only a small section of black and grey visible at the edge of her pinky finger.

Maybe she’ll notice when she fills the mug.

Maybe she’ll notice when she brings it back to him.

Maybe pigs will fly and she’ll stop placing that too-long pause between “trans” and “gender”, too.

This way, there’s no need to endure alloromantic absurdity or criticism. No suffering the pain of being unable to explain or correct, given how often cis people dismiss even small gender-related requests. He did what Matt demanded; he left the mug on his desk. How is it Rowan’s fault that nobody’s knowledgeable enough to express curiosity? That he forgot to factor in the remarkable cishet tendency to avoid anything suggestive of unknown queerness?

Going ignored, somehow, doesn’t feel like a victory.

***

When Rowan sees a mug online featuring a shield in aromantic colours behind a design of crossed arrows in pride colours for other aromantic-spectrum identities, he snatches one with frayromantic blues. He also buys an unneeded but matching pencil case followed by a journal covered with rows of arrows coloured in aro stripes.

If he needn’t fear curiosity or question, why not pride up his desk? At least he can gulp coffee from a frayro mug emblazoned with an aro shield every time Shelby asks him if he’s found a partner yet.

What is pride merch for if not petty passive-aggression in response to allo folks’ amatonormativity?

A fortnight later, he arranges his mugs on his desk, stashes his decorative paper clip collection in the pencil case and ponders, just for a moment, if anyone’s made a pride-themed whiteboard.

“Rowan!” Damien appears out of nowhere and claps his hand on Rowan’s shoulder. He’s a raw-boned giant of a man with an improbable ability for stealth; Rowan, cursed with a body that reacts to unknown stimuli as though lethal rather than first checking, still can’t keep himself from jumping out of his chair on Damien’s approach. “I’ve got this photo from last night I want for Facebook. Can you crop out an arm from the side for me? I just sent it to you.”

“Sure,” Rowan murmurs, once his heart stops threatening to burst from terror. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Thanks. I’ll get you a coffee.” Damien snatches up the new mug, tiny in his oversized hands. Rowan doesn’t care to imagine how much of Damien’s pay goes to custom tailoring, but his pinstripe suits are the living dapper embodiment of every How to Dress Like a Professional Man guide Rowan has read and failed to implement. “Huh. I didn’t know you were into archery. One sugar, little bit of milk?”

“Yeah. I … uh...” Rowan blinks, struggling to find an answer, but Damien heads for the hallway and the kitchenette they share with the rest of the floor. Archery? Surely none of the arrow designs are realistic enough for any archery enthusiast to regard them as an expression of interest for the sport? Not to mention the stripes?

How do cishets cultivate their air of continued obliviousness? They’ve all seen Rowan’s trans pride phone case and bi pride pin; nobody won’t have seen the rainbow flag in the news. Shouldn’t one of them catch on to the concept of pride flags?

Why complain when their ignorance is easier than their questions?

He shakes his head, opens his emails and finds the photo from yesterday’s event, complete with a stray arm on one side and a half an empty chair on the other. He crops out the arm and the chair before adjusting the contrast and colours, until the photo appears as though only maybe taken on a cheap phone, indoors, by a man with his back to the window.

“Hey, did you know that Rowan’s really into archery?”

Rowan looks up. Damien stands by the door, showing Melanie Rowan’s newest mug.

He should say something before he gets archery gear in the office Secret Santa. He should say something even though they’re on the other side of the room and a lifetime of good manners, parental expectation and disabling anxiety says one doesn’t intrude on someone else’s conversation. What if someone in the office secretly likes archery and asks him questions? But corrections mean doing the one thing Rowan hopes he can continue to avoid, so...

He slides his hands under his legs and inhales slowly in a vain attempt to head off the giddy anxiousness. Does this mistake desperately need fixing? Can’t he wait to see what happens first?

“Archery? How does anyone get into archery?” Melanie shakes her head. “You don’t do it in school. Is it a country thing? Or a rich kid thing?”

“I did. Year nine, I think? And my school wasn’t that fancy. I think kids do more of that stuff, now, than real sport.” Damien shrugs and heads towards Rowan’s computer, setting his mug down on the desk. “You fixed the lighting! I don’t suppose you can make my face less red? It isn’t that red in real life.”

It is, but that’s easier to fix than the burgeoning fear that this archery misconception won’t be a one-off incident.

***

Another awful conversation with his housemates pushes Rowan into getting out his sewing box, despite a Melanie-induced fear that showing himself to be good at a traditionally-female art will result in another expression of cis nonsense. Too many friends still ask why he buys plain T-shirts from the women’s section (better fit) or has lavender-scented shower gel on his shelf in the bathroom (he likes it). He’s a man to the not-completely-cissexist people in his life if he meets a boring, insecure definition of manhood. “Oh, great God of Trans Men,” he mutters, “please pardon me for the crime of unmasculinity, because everyone knows you don’t allow true men to embroider.”

How is cross-stitch not just analogue pixel art, anyway?

He flips off whomever it is Melanie thinks “allows” him to defy gender norms before sketching a pattern, struggling with the shape of the R. His embroidery floss stash doesn’t allow him to perfectly colour-match the greens, but after the best part of a weekend Rowan produces a patch reading “ARO” in aromantic stripes against a background of allo-aro yellow and gold. He needs another hour to stitch it to his satchel beside a cluster of badges (trans pride, pronouns, bisexual flag), but the finish is worth the late night and sore fingertips.

Surely this will tell people that those five stripes mean something more than a liking for archery or the colour green?

He fists his hands, lips trembling. What call does an allo cis gay like Matt have to mock the idea of coming out as aromantic when Rowan, who lost his home, his family and his dog to the mistakes he made in coming out, knows exactly what those words mean? Why did Matt have to say that “someone like Rowan” only put a lousy mug on his desk because he knew nobody will ask? Yes, he owns a collection of anxiety disorder diagnoses, illnesses fairly earnt, a disability unchosen. That doesn’t make him cowardly!

Matt doesn’t emerge from his bedroom before Rowan dashes to catch the train, so he lacks even the questionable satisfaction of seeing his housemate note the large patch on his bag. He’s just left with a mood bouncing between frustration, anger and the quieter, sickening fear that making the patch didn’t challenge Matt’s opinion as much as validate it. Should Rowan have done that? What else can he do?

Why does Matt have to be so damn allo?

By the time he arrives at the office, Rowan focuses just enough to concentrate on the distraction waiting for him in the kitchenette. The walls need painting and the air conditioning smells like mice, but sharing the floor with four other sub-governmental community projects meant everyone pitched in for a decent coffee machine without too many hassles. Damien needs to stop taking terrible work-related selfies, but he does enforce a cleaning rota so Rowan can enjoy avoiding the horrors of instant coffee.

“Aro?”

Groggy annoyance fades into a heart-pounding, palm-sweating, vibrant wakefulness. Rowan wheels to face Melanie; she peers at the satchel hanging off his hip. Matt’s wrong about Rowan. This will prove it!

“Uh, yeah,” he says, fighting to sound casual. “I’m aro.”

There. He said it!

“Oh, like the movie vampire?”

The movie vampire? What vampire? There’s no obviously-aromantic vampire in a well-known movie; someone online would have said so! “I’m sorry?”

“The Twilight movies! You know the ones the teenage girls liked, with the family of glittery, vegetarian vampires and the human girl? And it was supposed to be romantic somehow? My daughter had posters and a quilt cover and T-shirts and Barbie dolls.” Melanie pulls a face, her lips twisting. “But she loved them, and there’s a vampire called Aro.”

Belatedly, he remembers a joke that posts about a minor character used to turn up in aro hashtags. “I suppose? But it isn’t a name when—”

“Damien! Rowan’s called Aro now! Should we hold a meeting telling everyone? Or just send an email around?” Melanie looks out into the hallway dividing the floor into its suites of offices: Damien stands outside their door, his battered phone held to his ear. “I didn’t know trans people were allowed to change names twice! Although I don’t suppose there’s a limit, is there? If I married someone five times, I could change my last name five times, couldn’t I? Is it really that different?”

“It,” Rowan says into the barest break in sentences, “isn’t—”

“Damien! Stop gasbagging about golf or whatever … I swear, that man never listens when you want him. Always on the phone! Damien.” She bustles out into the hallway with the determined stride of a woman on a mission. “Rowan’s Aro now!”

Panic spurs him into running after her. “Melanie!”

“Aro!” Shelby grabs his forearm as Rowan skids into the hallway, her brow furrowed in concern. If Melanie seems like the plump, huggable sort of grandmother, Shelby looks like the muscular, marathon-running grandmother who hits the beach every morning. Salt-coarsened long hair in a single braid, a fashionable black blazer worn over a T-shirt, hiking boots. “Is that European? Don’t worry, we’ll all do our best to remember, and you’re allowed to growl when we don’t. We said there’d be no problem, and we meant it. You’re allowed to growl at us when we make mistakes, okay? Okay, Aro? Promise me that you will correct us!”

The self-appointed protector figure of the office, she was kind during Rowan’s first week. Kind in a way that draws unnecessary attention, given her inability to correct someone else’s misuse of pronouns without crafting a production of hushed voices and pointed nudges—followed by scathing lectures that never happen far enough outside his earshot.

Why are the only options complete stealth or queerness front and centre in a way that never lets him be just a different shape of normal? Where exists a blessed middle ground?

Melanie reaches Damien and stares up at him, waving one hand and tapping the opposite foot, until Damien lowers his phone.

“Uh … thank you, but my name isn’t—”

“You absolutely must correct us.” Shelby squeezes Rowan’s forearm in a firm grip. “We’re not used to all this, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. Aro. Do you people usually choose unusual names like that? You know, you trans people? Promise me that you’ll correct us. You need to know that we don’t mind in the least, truly we don’t!”

“I’m not—”

“Anyway, how was your weekend? You didn’t stay at home, did you? It worries me that you haven’t found a girl yet. Or a boy!” Shelby clasps his hand between hers, looking into his eyes as though hoping to impress upon him the depth of her sincerity. “You do know, Aro, that any girl—or boy!—will be lucky to date a sweet boy like you, don’t you?”

What does it mean, Rowan wonders in irony-fuelled despair, that returning to Births, Deaths and Marriages now feels like the easiest option?

#aggressivelyarospectacular #aggressivelyarospec #aromantic #aro writing #alloaro #arospec creations #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #contemporary #amatonormativity #cissexism #queer antagonism #romance mention #aromantic and bisexual #aromantic and transgender #k. a. cook #long post #very long post #extremely long post #physical intimacy #frayromantic #love mention

[bamon4bamily]

TVD 9x13 (part 1) The past is never dead. Enjoy! =)

Cut to – The secret facility, Augustus’ office. Matt is waking up from the surgical procedure.

AUGUSTUS: I have some good news; you won’t need to wear an eye patch; the prosthetic fit perfectly. Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Anyway; better get ready for your father’s funeral. We put in an extra bed in Edward’s room so you can bunk with him for tonight, then you’ll be free to leave tomorrow and forget this ever happened, both of you. I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up. Your suit is in the closet, took the liberty of getting you a new one, the one you brought was an insult to fine tailoring. I’ll let these gentleman help you to your room (a group of what look to be soldiers take him to Edward’s cell room).  

Cut to – Salvatore mansion living room. The gang has returned from their time travel adventure. Katherine is back in her body and sound asleep in her room. Bonnie, Caroline, Stefan, Damon, and Alaric, are having a night cap.

 ALARIC: Well, that was insane… but I’m glad it all worked out, thanks to you, Bonnie.

BONNIE: We all did our part, that’s how a team works. If anything, it was all worth it just to see Katherine stuck in a teenagers body (they crack up).

DAMON: Totally worth it!

CAROLINE: Speaking of…

ALARIC: I knew there was no way I would avoid what’s coming…

CAROLINE: And you would be right. You made a major hiring decision without asking me, not cool.

ALARIC: I didn’t want to bother you during your vacation. If it helps, surprisingly, her students adore her.

CAROLINE: (In bitter acceptance) I know…

DAMON: (Taking the opportunity to bring up the subject) Who would have thought Kitty Kat would be teaching at the school, and actually give something back to society. Guess that in a twisted way, it kinda worked that she was given the opportunity…

ALARIC: Guess it did. Everyone deserves a chance.

CAROLINE: As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true.

DAMON: Makes you wonder about Kai…

BONNIE: (Gives him a look, he was not very subtle with his approach) Damon…

ALARIC: What are you talking about?! Kai and Katherine are very different stories.

DAMON: How exactly?  

ALARIC: For starters, Katherine didn’t murder her entire family, or my wife for that matter.

DAMON: No, but if it’s about headcount, Katherine is above Kai; and if it’s personal, don’t forget she killed Caroline, and Jeremy.  

CAROLINE: I almost forgot about that … that bitch! But I do love being a vampire, so it worked out in the end. But back on point, Kai also tried to kill the girls, and would do it in an instant if he could.

ALARIC: Them, and everyone else.

BONNIE: He could have killed all of us in the prison world, but he didn’t…

ALARIC: Because he was not being himself, somehow his psychotic break worked in our favor.

DAMON: Maybe he wasn’t “being himself” because he really has changed…

ALARIC: Are you hearing yourselves?! What are you guys implying? That Kai deserves a chance because he didn’t kill us? Are you serious! Bon, I’m surprised that you, of all people, would side with that train of thought.

BONNIE: Don’t patronize me, Ric. You are entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to mine. All I’m saying is that forgiveness is a virtue; and, repeating your own words, everyone deserves a chance, or at least the benefit of the doubt. You know, for a person that prides themselves for being objective, you are being anything but…

ALARIC: Bon, you know I love and respect you, but your talking crazy talk. Or did you forget what Kai put you through?

BONNIE: No; and I never will. But still, I found the strength to forgive him.

ALARIC: Sorry, but that’s not strength, if anything, it’s fear.

BONNIE: Oh, you’re gonna psychoanalyze me now?! Professor Saltzman, didn’t know you had so many specialties! Please, enlighten me!

ALARIC: Don’t push my buttons, Bon.

BONNIE: Don’t push mine, Ric.

ALARIC: I can’t believe we went through all that trouble just to spare you from having to see Kai; and now you pull this out your hat.

BONNIE: Well, your so called “masterplan” didn’t even work, so…

ALARIC: That one hurt.

BONNIE: It was meant to…

ALARIC: So much for forgiveness being a virtue, ha?

BONNIE: So much for objectivity being the reason behind judgment.

DAMON: Wow, wow, wow… guys, chill out. We are just having a conversation, no need to get personal.

BONNIE: Too late for that.

ALARIC: (Recognizing that got out of hand) I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say those things. Seeing Kai opened an old wound. I, I…

BONNIE: I’m sorry too; don’t know what got into me. I understand your feelings, and I have no right to judge.

ALARIC: Neither do I…

DAMON: Aw, my besties are friensies again.

CAROLINE: Why don’t we make a deal, no mention of Kai, ever again… that escalated way too fast.

STEFAN: I agree.

ALARIC: It’s okay, Caroline, that’s what friendship is about. We might not always agree and bump heads on our views, but we speak our mind. And, in the spirit of being honest and direct, I have to say that I do have a double standard when it comes to Kai.

CAROLINE: Ric, literally, I just said not to mention the “K” word!

BONNIE: Ric is right, Care, we are all friends here, no need for bans. Listen, the reason this came up is because Damon and I had a long chat with Kai, he really did seem remorseful… And, in full disclosure, I’ve also been having these dreams, more like visions of him… His past, his future…I don’t know, changed my perspective… and when I finally saw him, I sensed it, the change, the remorse, the pain…  

ALARIC: Full disclosure? I know, we had a chat of our own; didn’t remember it until we got back. I think he compelled me to forget, but the compulsion broke once I got here.

DAMON: So, what did he say?

ALARIC: That he was sorry, told me more about his past, but to be honest, I let his words come in and out. I didn’t want to hear it; I wasn’t ready… don’t know if I ever will. But I did feel like his words came from the heart. (To Bonnie) Forgiveness is a virtue, a clear sign of true strength. I admire you for that. And, if you want to give him the opportunity to redeem himself, and let him out of his prison, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s your call. The only thing I ask is for you to give me my time, space, and, of course, make sure he doesn’t present a danger to anyone. If you’re game, I’m on board.

CAROLINE: Uhm, so we are seriously considering this?

ALARIC: I guess we are. But we all have to agree; and set the ground rules.

CAROLINE: In favor of speaking the truth, I’m sorry but I have to say, when did we become a villain’s reform facility? This is Kai we are talking about, Kai! But, then… I did a lot of horrible things with my humanity switch off… God, I’m so confused! Never expected this conversation to turn into Ethics 101.

DAMON: None of us did, Blondie, but here we are…

BONNIE: We don’t have to decide now, let’s take some time to think this out.

ALARIC: I don’t need more time. I’m ready and willing to do this if you all are.

BONNIE: You already know my answer. I’m in, as long as he agrees to our terms.

DAMON: I’m with Bon.

STEFAN: I’m with Care; (looking at her) whatever you decide…  

CAROLINE: (Turns to Ric) What about the girls? I don’t think Kai will be able to resist the temptation of eliminating the competition.

ALARIC: He doesn’t pose a threat, at least in that sense. There is no Gemini coven to compete for.

CAROLINE: And the psychological damage? Knowing their uncle killed their biological mom, and their family…

ALARIC: Even if he were here, they will never know that. They’ve been spelled to erase that from their mind.

CAROLINE: When was this? How come I didn’t know?!

ALARIC: Guess it never came up. I had Valerie do the spell as soon as they were born.

CAROLINE: And when he came back from hell?

ALARIC: They never knew who he was… and like I said, they’ll never know.

BONNIE: You know I would never put the girls in any danger. If I thought there were the slightest possibility of them getting hurt, I wouldn’t be considering this.

ALARIC: We know, that’s the only reason I agreed.  

STEFAN: If we could take away his powers, it would make it easier to trust that he won’t use them for the wrong reasons…

BONNIE: We can’t take them away because of his vampirism, but I can bind them. And when, and if, he proves himself, I’ll give him access to them again.

ALARIC: Let’s talk supervision. He will need to be close to keep in check, but not too close.

DAMON: He could stay at the cottage, it’s not exactly the house, yet it’s close enough to supervise.

CAROLINE: Works for me, as long as he is banned from the house and the school; at least until I know he can be trusted.

BONNIE: (To Ric) … are you really okay with this?

ALARIC: Not nearly enough, but I understand why we should at least try. So let’s give that bastard the chance he never had; and if he doesn’t take it, we’ll send his ass right back where it came from. Everyone agree? (They nod).

DAMON: So, when are we doing this?

BONNIE: How about Thanksgiving, to go with the spirit?

CAROLINE: Only if you promise me that he won’t ruin my dinner!

BONNIE: He won’t, I promise.

ALARIC: There’s no way in hell he’s having dinner with us, right, Bon?

BONNIE: No; Damon and I will set him up at the cottage, then we’ll join you guys. Everything will work out.

CAROLINE: How can we be sure he won’t flee the minute he’s left alone.

BONNIE: Binding spell, he won’t be able to leave the cottage.

STEFAN: Can’t he just siphon the spell away?

BONNIE: Not with his powers bound.

DAMON: Well, it’s all figured out… Look at us, who would have thought we would ever be thinking of this, let along doing it.

BONNIE: Who would have thought I would be the one to put it on the table … Guess some things do change.

ALARIC: Guess they do… Okay, now that that’s settled, I’m gonna call it a night. See you guys tomorrow (he leaves).

Cut to – The Powell mansion, Edward arrives after being MIA for some days. Anthony is relieved to see he is alive and well.

 ANTHONY: Sir. (gives him a fatherly hug); you had me almost go mad of worry!

EDWARD: I’m sorry, Anthony, I’m fine. I just needed a couple of days off the radar to clear my head.

ANTHONY: Would it be too much to ask to inform us, next time you feel like performing a disappearing act?

EDWARD: I will. I promise.

ANTHONY: You should inform The Madame you are here…

THE MADAME: (Walks in the room, looking mad, and worried) That won’t be necessary. I swear I could smack you right now!

EDWARD: I am sorry, I should have told you both. But I’m back, and fine.  

THE MADAME: (Hugs him) Thank god! Where the hell did you go?

EDWARD: (Hesitant, he doesn’t seem to remember himself) Uhm, just some place I know… Listen, I’m really sorry for what I put you through, but I’m exhausted, and really need some decent sleep. Goodnight, we’ll talk more in the morning (goes up to his room).

THE MADAME: Something is off with him…

ANTHONY: Something indeed.

Cut to – Fell’s church, underground tombs, late at night. A large number of bodies, that look like they have been horribly attacked, are piled up.  

 VERITAS: That was a beautiful dinner, my love.

LUCINDA: I had them specially wined and dined, just for you (kisses him).

VERITAS: I know this is not what I promised, but once I get what I need from this god-awful place, I swear on my soul that I will give you anything you want.

LUCINDA: (Teasing) You don’t have a soul.

VERITAS: Would you still love me if I did?

LUCINDA: Of course not… (One of the bodies makes a sound, she approaches) Oops, looks like this one didn’t get enough. Want to finish him off?

VERITAS: Please, you do the honors. (She savagely tares into his neck, until she rips his head off).

LUCINDA: (As she wipes the blood from her mouth) And where exactly in this puny little town is that “thing” you are looking for?

VERITAS: It’s in the church’s altar, but given our “situation”, we can’t access that area; or so it is believed. I don’t want to risk turning into dust, only to find out if it is in fact true. We need to compel someone to fetch it for us.

LUCINDA: Why didn’t you compel one of the dinner plates to do it?

VERITAS: It’s not that simple. Only the worthy ones can have access. (Looking down at the bodies) Do any of these seem godly to you?

LUCINDA: Not judging from the place I got them… (They smirk).

VERITAS: (Kisses her) God, I love you, woman!

LUCINDA: And I love you.

VERITAS: Trust me, once you see what it is, you’ll know its worth it. I would tell you, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise.

LUCINDA: I understand. When are the others arriving?

VERITAS: Tomorrow. So let’s not waste any more time, and take advantage of our alone time… (grabs her passionately; they make love, unperturbed by the massacred bodies that surround them).

Cut to – Munich University, operating theatre. Elena, Sage, and Alex, are working on an assignment for a Biomedical Robotics project.

 ELENA: (Trying to surgically implant a chip in a corpse, and failing badly) This is so above my abilities! Hell, I can’t even open a regular corpse, let along insert this thing inside it! I’m premed for Christ sake; how do they expect me to know this.

ALEX: Relax, Elena, no one expects you to. That’s the beauty of this program, it’s about the challenge, not your educational level. You’ve read the books, seen the lectures, now practice. It’s all trial and error, and they know. That’s why they give us dead bodies to experiment.

SAGE: They do that in Med school too, Alex. The only difference is that here, we don’t have to follow the rules.

ELENA: I don’t even know what the rules are!

SAGE: Trust me, you don’t need to know them. Medicine is about knowledge and experience. Know your art, master your art, fuck the rules.

ELENA: No disrespect but that sounds very irresponsible.

SAGE: Do you think Marie Curie was following the rules when she discovered radium and polonium? Love what you do, work your ass off, and believe in yourself, that’s all you need. Nothing irresponsible about that.

ELENA: Guess not…

ALEX: Where’s Sam anyway? Wasn’t he assigned to this project too?

ELENA: We had a little fall out, I asked him to team up with the other group; needed some space.

SAGE: What happened?

ELENA: You know what happened.

SAGE: Wait? Is this about the test tube thing? I swear, I was just doing a solid for a friend.

ELENA: I know, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him for not telling me, especially for not destroying it like I asked him to.

SAGE: You were right to do that, by the way. That thing is creepy.

ELENA: Were you able to find out what it is?

SAGE: It was impossible, molecules behaved very strangely… almost like they purposely changed themselves when they knew they were being watched… Never seen anything like that before. Maybe if I had more time to study it, I could have figured it out, but Pietro caught me red-handed and confiscated it. Listen, in Sam’s defense, he is very protective of the people he loves, he was probably just trying to find out what it was, and why someone would send it to you…

ELENA: I know, but still, he should have told me.

SAGE: Well, no arguing there. Hey, can’t say I didn’t try.

ELENA: Thanks, but I’m gonna punish him for a bit longer.

SAGE: I have some whips, if you’re into that sort of thing (teasing wink).

ELENA: (Smirks) I’ll let you know. Anyway, about Pietro, you guys really need to be careful with him.

ALEX: (Mocking) Because he’s a vampire?

ELENA: No, because he’s insane.

ALEX: How so?

ELENA: I don’t know, he rubs me the wrong way.

SAGE: He’s just eccentric, in a blood sucking type of way.

ELENA: Just be careful with him…

SAGE: Why, did something happen?

ELENA: No, I haven’t even exchanged one word with him, but I have a gut feeling.

ALEX: I get where you are coming from.

SAGE: (With lust in her eyes) But he’s so yummy! Wouldn’t mind a little evil if it comes in that package.

ELENA: He’s like 200 years old…

SAGE: (Sarcastically) Uhm, really?

ELENA: Okay, forget I said that, putting my foot in my mouth.

ALEX: (Snarky) Oh, come on, Sage, can you not let your panties blur you’re judgement, for once. Didn’t’ you hear what Elena said, she has a gut feeling, maybe you should listen.

SAGE: What I do with my panties is my business, so mind your own.

ALEX: No problem; I was just trying to be a friend.

SAGE: No, you weren’t; but whatever, over it.

ELENA: (Sensing the clear tension between the two) Okay, why don’t we get back to our patient; he might be dead, but if he weren’t, he’d definitely be dead by now.

Cut to - Alaric’s bedroom, late into the night. He’s sound asleep, in full rem mode. In his dream, a familiar face appears.

 JO: Ric…

ALARIC: Jo?

JO: (Smiling) Last time I checked, that is who I was…

ALARIC: (Hugs her tight) Why haven’t you visited? It’s been so long since the last time you came to me…

JO: You needed to move on, and if I kept showing up in your dreams, you wouldn’t have.

ALARIC: I miss you.

JO: I miss you too. But you have to let me go, I’m fine, I’m at peace. And Radka, is absolutely wonderful… Don’t you dare ruin that.

ALARIC: (Smiles) I won’t, I promise. But you didn’t come here to tell me that, did you?

JO: No, I didn’t.

ALARIC: We are insane for thinking about it, I’m sorry I even gave it a thought. I’ll backtrack it all tomorrow, I swear.

JO: Don’t. That’s why I’m here, but not for the reason you think. I understand everything now, and giving him an opportunity is the right thing to do. He’s ready for this, and so am I. That’s why I’ve come to you… to let you know that I support you, all of you.

ALARIC: But how could you be fine with this, after everything he’s done?

JO: He’s my brother, Ric. I want to...  I need to believe in him… You weren’t there when we were growing up, they treated him horribly since he took his first breath. He never had a fighting chance; they broke him before he could even be a whole… I never understood what that implied, until I died.

ALARIC: Jo, I…

JO: I know, but don’t be. There is nothing to be scared of. Our girls will be perfectly fine. You, me, and Caroline, have made sure of that.

ALARIC: But…he killed you…

JO: I killed him first… by not trying, by not standing by his side when I was witnessing all the abuse. He deserves for someone to fight for him, to believe in him… and you are the one.

ALARIC: Jo, I don’t know how to do this…

JO: You’ll figure it out, you always do (smiles and kisses him). I have to go, just know that I love you, and the girls, always and forever. You have made me even prouder for finding it in your heart to at least try.

ALARIC: (Crying) Wait, please, don’t go… don’t leave me alone.

JO: You are not alone; you never will be.

ALARIC: I love you… 

(she vanishes as his dream transcends into consciousness).

Cut to – 2018 prison world. Kai is having another one of his uncanny tea parties with the Miss. Cuddles replicas.

 KAI: I told you she wouldn’t leave us here. We are going home! Any day now, any day… (smiles, sips his tea, the same Beethoven song lingering in the background).

TVD 9x13 (part 2) coming next! Hope you stop by, read, and enjoy! =)

#TVD #tvd fanfiction #bamon #bamon fanfic #bonnie bennett #damon salvatore #belvafore #ilovefanfic86 #animeeyes21 #minalblood #mademoisellevalerie85 #stephm1587 #jakkoftreyde #yinx1 #absentmindeddreamer #bamonbrigade1 #bamon-fanfiction #queenmiydem #kikimagic2 #bonniebennettkingdom #raejustrae #bamondomesticity #stellanoble #clararosetylor #luanahensi #bamon shippers club

[toocool2btrue]

Distance 2/2

Lance currently lay in his bed his brows furrowed as thousand thoughts swarmed in his mind, the Garrison was going to announce the result of the pilot exam on Monday and the mere thought of it gave him the goose bumps, he shook his head, trying to push those thoughts at the back of his mind and instead eyed the clock wondering when will Katie will come back. Although it was Saturday, she had been called in for an emergency at work and she had yet to come back home. To keep his anxious mind busy, Lance had spent the whole day doing small chores but now there was nothing left to do. He hoped that Katie would come home soon and hopefully they could play video games together.

If she actually gets the time that is, he wouldn’t be surprised if Eric had already something planned beforehand. Lance grumpily sighed, he felt guilty for getting jealous of her boyfriend like that after all she had every right to prioritize Eric over him but still…

The memory of Katie holding onto his hand was still fresh in his mind, just thinking about it made a chill run down his spine and he knew for sure that Katie had felt something too but at the same time she had made it clear in her own way that she didn’t want to or wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

His trail of thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang on his door, ”Hey Lance, Can I come in?” Katie called out from the other side. Lance gave himself a moment to recover his breath, Katie made her entrances like a serial killer. 

“Yeah!” he called back and true to his earlier statement the door was kicked open almost out of hinges by a frantic looking Katie but instead of holding a knife or a chainsaw she had held up two dresses in each hand.

“I just got back from work and I need to attend a formal party soon. So help me decide. Black or Green?” she questioned holding them up better for Lance to see. His eyes flitted from the black one to the emerald green one. He always considered green to be more of her color so he immediately replied, “The Green one”

Katie inspected the two dresses again and then nodded in agreement, “Yeah I don’t think I am in a mood for a backless dress. It’s gonna be freezing there. I’ll wear the green one and tie my hair in a high ponytail and call it a day” she grumbled exhaustively.

Lance frowned at her idea and spoke up “Katie, I think a side bun will suit the dress more than a high ponytail” he suggested helpfully.

Katie groaned rubbing her temple, “I know you are right but I am too tired to even attempt something like that right now. I spent the whole day trying to fix the stupid malfunction in the prototype. My hands are numb” she sighed dramatically, displaying her hands to him. 

Lance mentally awed, they still looked so small as compared to his. “Well if you want. I can help you with that. You’d be surprised to see how skilled I have become” he declared proudly and Katie raised a brow in amusement, it had been a longtime since she had a glimpse of his old cocky personality.

“I hope you’re a better hairstylist than you were a tailor”

Sometime later

“Lance, please tell me that you know what you are doing” Katie asked as Lance took hold of her hair, “Will you just relax? It’s going to look amazing!” he assured.

“Although you could have at least brushed it before. It’s all tangled up” he reprimanded, picking up a brush. Katie scoffed in an offended manner, “When I gave you the responsibility of my hair, this was included in it. You can’t back off now buddy”

Lance chuckled as he gently brushed her auburn locks, “Don’t worry I am not backing off. This is my Everest and I will succeed!” he declared. Lance watched in the mirror as Katie rolled her eyes, “Stop being so over dramatic,“ she scoffed again but there was telltale hint of a smile on her face.

“I like to give you a warning. My hair has a mind of its own, so we are gonna need a lot of bobby pins” she informed opening the top drawer of her dresser. Lance blinked in disbelief at the mountain of bobby pins in the drawer, “How do you still have so many of them. Don’t they disappear?” he wondered, after all that’s what years of living with his mother and sisters taught him.

“I buy them twice a month just in case. There was a time Matt used to steal mine to try all these crazy hairstyles. Thankfully he has got a normal haircut now” she replied. 

“I see what you mean” he mumbled as a small curl popped out from the half done bun and Katie laughed handing him a handful of bobby pins.

“Anyway what have you got planned for the night?” she asked. “Uh.. nothing, Veronica has to attend a friend’s bridal shower and you have that party so I’ll be at home and probably order pizza” he replied trying to sound upbeat.

“I see..” she mumbled falling silent as Lance continued to work on her hair. After the bun was complete. Lance frowned unsatisfied, it looked perfect from the back but as he glanced at her reflection in the mirror, something was still missing.

So he walked over to the front and gently pulled out a stray curl that framed her face. Katie beamed at him in response as she inspected her reflection. “Thank you, Lance. It looks beautiful”

Lance wanted to correct her and tell that it was she who actually looked beautiful. More beautiful than anyone he had ever seen before but instead he softly smiled in response and accepted the compliment.

He glanced at his watch, there was still half an hour but Katie probably would want to get there earlier. “Well its almost time for you to go. Have fun” he smiled getting up to leave her room.

“Wait!’ she called out suddenly. “I am pretty sure that I am allowed to bring one person so why don’t you come with me?” she offered. Lance blinked in surprise before shaking his head. “Thanks but-”

“Oh come on, It would be better than you staying here. Shiro got back from his intergalactic trip yesterday so you will even get to meet him. Also the food is going to be amazing” She informed gleefully and Lance laughed.

“As much tempting that all sounds. It’s a formal event and I don’t even have a suit” He reminded. “You and Matt are about the same size. So you can wear one of his and dad has this blue tie that would really suit you” she supplied instantly.

Lance grinned, “You really thought this through?” to which Katie nodded proudly.

"There is a reason I am considered a genius. So will you please come” she asked tugging at his arm and Lance finally nodded after it was the same girl he had robbed a water fountain for. He didn’t have much resistance against her. 

______________________

“I feel dizzy seeing you like this ” Lance exclaimed holding his head and Shiro chuckled, “I think your being a tad bit melodramatic. I just dyed my hair black”

“It’s been a longtime since I saw them like that. What made you dye them black again?” Lance wondered.

“It started when I coincidentally met Matt during my intergalactic trip. We were just hanging out when he dared me to dye my hair black again. I was kinda hesitant and then he suggested that we could use temporary dye. Unfortunately none of us had any experience in hair dyeing and by the time we were done, we had blackened half the bathroom” Shiro chuckled and Lance joined in.

“Next morning when I woke up and looked in the mirror, I felt so young again and then I realized that I was only in my thirties I didn’t need to have a head full of white hair like some grandpa” he laughed in a thoughtful manner.

 Shiro glanced down at his drink before taking a sip, “I realized something important that morning. No matter how glorious or terrible your past is. Dwelling on it too long will destroy your hope for the future. That’s why I erased that part of me”

“What if there is something you can’t erase?” Lance questioned, touching his cheek. Lance knew Shiro would understand, after all he was the first one to get scarred by the war.

“Don’t let it” Shiro firmly replied, “Anything that is stopping you from being happy. Don’t give it that power. Lance, you need to understand something. After what we have gone through, we all deserve to be happy. I know it seems difficult at times but search and go after whatever makes you happy” Shiro stated.

Lance nodded taking in his words, by no coincidence his eyes fell to the figure standing at the opposite side of the room.Katie stood with Eric,chatting excitedly to a group of scientists.

Shiro knowingly smiled to himself witnessing the whole scenario, it was probably the fifth time he had seen Lance look back at Katie ever since she had gone to talk to the other group. 

He couldn’t believe that perhaps his years long suspicion might actually be coming true. “So things look better between you and Katie again” he mentioned casually, Shiro’s curiosity turned into glee when Lance’s face slightly flushed.

 “Oh yeah, she is the one who actually dragged me here” Lance mumbled shyly.

“I knew you two would eventually figure things out again. True friends always eventually come back to one another”

“You think we could be as good friends as before?” he questioned hopefully. Shiro shrugged in response, “Who knows maybe you two might actually be closer than before. It just depends on how much effort you put in your relationship”

Lance smiled to himself, “Thanks Shiro”

Shiro nodded slyly taking another sip of his drink, Keith and Hunk were in for some news.

“Takashi can you come here. We need to introduce you to the Emperor of Besaiv!!” someone called out from the crowd.       

Shiro rolled his eyes in an annoyed manner “To think they might spare me for one night. I’ll be right back ” he said patting Lance’s shoulder and then disappearing in a sea of people.

Lance nodded refilling his drink, he leaned against the wall next to the food table. In order to keep himself amused he looked around the large room despite it being more of a private event the place was still packed with Garrison employees and various alien delegates. There were even paparazzi spying from the windows avoiding security and trying to get a good shot of the event.

Lance considered joining Katie but he didn’t think her ‘boyfriend’ would be very pleased. After all his face looked like he had swallowed a bug when he saw Lance tonight but still managed to amiably greet him for Katie’s sake.

Speaking of the devil, Lance’s eyes widened in surprise when he noticed that Eric was no longer in his previous place. Instead he was seen again moving through the crowd and heading right towards him. Well to be fair, Lance was standing next to the less occupied food’s table so that was more likely why he was coming here.

Eric finally reached the table and filled his plate with few appetizers. “Hey there Lance. Having a good time?” he asked good naturally to which Lance nodded.

Instead of going back with his plate, Eric decided to join him next to the wall. They stood there quietly as Eric ate the appetizers which frankly wouldn’t take much time since they were a bite size only, the silence wasn’t a comfortable one and Lance really hoped that Eric would finish his tiny food quickly and leave.

“So Katie told me that your exam went well” Eric mentioned offhandedly. Finally something they could talk about, Lance sighed in relief. “Yeah I was really worried but thanks to-”

“That’s good to hear” Eric remarked cutting him off, by this time the plate was empty and before Lance could suggest the stuffed cheese chicken in a vain attempt to keep the conversation going, Eric spoke again.

“Lance” Eric cleared his throat, his eyes raced through the crowd before turning back to Lance. “There is something I need to ask” he said opting for a stern tone. Lance nodded uncertainly placing his glass back on the table, "Ok..”

“I need your honest answer to this. Is there something going on between you and Katie? Do you two have any history that I should know about?” he asked, much to Lance’s horror.

“What?! No!” Lance blurted out, his face turning bright red. “We are just close friends. Nothing else!” he replied hurriedly.

Eric frowned in disbelief, “Look, I am not an idiot who is just jumping to conclusions. It’s not like I haven’t met the other paladins, Katie is close with them as well but with you-”

“I already told you that there is nothing going on. How can you not trust her?!” Lance hissed as fury danced in his cool blue eyes.

“Of course I trust her!” Eric replied getting agitated “It’s you that I don’t. After all, it’s pretty obvious that you have feelings for her” Eric pointed out.

Lance stood there tongue-tied as Eric continued, “Oh come on, it’s not like I haven’t noticed that the entire time you have been here you haven’t been able to take your eyes off her nor did I miss the forlorn look in your eyes when I came to pick her up a few days back. So.. can you deny it now?” he questioned harshly.

Lance’s eyes fell to the floor, his face burning with embarrassment and anger but Eric still wasn’t done, “I am surprised to be very honest. Everyone knows how hopelessly devoted you are to the late princess. You even carry her marks on your cheeks so what happened now? Finally got tired of playing the sad lover?”

Lance looked up and glared daggers at him, “That is none of your concern!”

Eric simply gestured towards the auburn haired girl and then eyed Lance dangerously. “You have made it my concern”

Katie laughed forcefully, as Dr Frank cracked what felt like the thousandth joke of the evening. Despite the cool atmosphere, the nervousness was starting to make her hands sweat. Although from afar, it looked like two men just having a serious discussion but she doubted they shared any common interest to have this long of a conversation.

She glanced around her group, it didn’t look like Dr Franks story was going to end anytime soon but she really needed to come up with to escape soon or else tonight’s party would be remembered for very different reasons.

“ I am feeling a bit thirsty. Let me just get a drink” she informed trying to get out of the conversation. Just then a waiter arrived carrying a tray full of drinks, Dr Frank picked up a glass and handed it to Katie.

“Oh would you look at that. Lucky you” He commented joyfully and Katie had to refrain from rolling her eyes, lucky her indeed. Dr Frank’s eyes lit up and Katie prayed that he hadn’t remembered another one of his dreadfully long and supposedly funny stories yet to her dismay.

“You know this reminds me of the time..” he started and Katie internally screamed. She glanced back at the two men. Their postures looked more stiff than before and it looked like the discussion had now turned into a full blown argument.

She wanted to slip away from the group but Dr Zenia had a good grip on her forearm. Just as she was planning her next move, Shiro came to her rescue.

“Uh..sorry to interrupt but there is this urgent matter that needs Katie’s attention” He stated politely, tugging her away from the group of disappointed scientists.

“Thanks Shiro” she mumbled as the two friends swiftly navigated through the crowd. Shiro nervously glanced at the two arguing figures, luckily they hadn’t grabbed a lot of attention, aside from a few waiters who decided to stay clear of them and handful of Besavis who simply blinked their multiple eyes in confusion at the scene.

“Maybe thank me after this gets solved” He replied worriedly. Katie didn’t reply for her eyes were trained right where Shiro’s were a moment ago. Her mind buzzed with various solutions at the same time her heart twisted with worry.

What could have possibly lead to this? She anxiously thought. She hadn’t even brought up the idea of break up by now but then Eric despite his cool nature did have an irrational streak to him and it made her worry about what exactly was he assuming and excusing Lance off.

“Fine, so what do you expect me to do? What is the point of this conversation?” Lance questioned irritability.

“I think the point is clear enough. I want you to stay away from Katie! ” Eric snapped.

Lance sneered in response to Eric’s annoyance,  “Katie and I have known each other even before the discovery of Voltron. Since then, we have faced things together that you can’t even imagine in your worst nightmares. She is one of the most important people in my life so if you think that you can actually try and scare me away. You need to get your head checked for loose screws”

Thankfully before the fight could have further escalate,Katie arrived. She cleared her throat grabbing attention of the two men and at the sight of her both of them paled. 

“Katie..” Eric was the first one to speak up much to his misfortune, Katie acknowledged him for a brief moment before turning back to Lance and Shiro. 

“Excuse us” she stated politely before turning back to her boyfriend. “Eric follow me, we need to talk” she stated firmly and he complied silently.

Lance watched as the two of them disappeared yet again in the crowd. He and Shiro stood silently for the remainder of the time till Katie finally arrived again. Eric was nowhere near to be found and Katie’s earlier strict demeanor looked crumbled as well, it was obvious what had happened.

Shiro and Lance shared a worried look and Shiro stepped forward to comfort her but Katie wasn’t currently in the mood for sweet words and decided to call it a night, “Good night, Shiro. I’ll see you on Monday” she simply mumbled to the older man who nodded understandably.

She then turned to Lance and he gulped wondering if she had some choice words prepared for him as well but she only sighed softly and said, “Lets go home”

______________________________

Katie slammed the door of her car shut with bang, Lance expectantly glanced at her to say something. He didn’t even care if she would start shouting at him, it would be less scary than this silent Katie.

Katie started slowly making her way towards the house as Lance followed but instead of going inside. She slumped down on the front steps of the house, “Ugh!” she groaned in frustration , covering her face with her hands.

Lance took a hesitant seat beside her, “I am sorry” he mumbled causing Katie to look at him and to his surprise,her eyebrows were cocked up in an amused manner.

“What are you apologizing for?” she asked. Lance looked at her in disbelief, he had thought that Katie would be somewhat furious with him as well. “Because of me. You and Eric got into a fight and you guys broke up” he tried to reason, still feeling confused.

Katie let out a short giggle to his horror, “It was going to happen soon anyway you just catalyzed the whole thing. So don’t feel guilty” she tried to assure.

“Why?” he asked confused, last time he checked Eric looked like he was ready to challenge him to a duel for Katie.This question brought back the earlier gloominess, Katie hugged herself before explaining “It wasn’t gonna work out. I know that eventually he wanted something serious for us but I am not in the same place. I tried to bring myself to that place but I can’t” she cried out helplessly.

“And do you know why?” she added softly, the vulnerable look in her eyes was back, the pale moonlight added a silvery glow to her amber eyes. Lance’s throat felt dry so he only nodded to hear her answer.

“It’s because I am an Idiot!” she declared, “You were right. I can’t do these easy going relationships, it will always be the case of all or nothing for me but I was still stupid enough to do it” she stated miserably. 

“You are not stupid. In fact, that’s the exact opposite of what you are” he comforted jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. Unfortunately Katie didn’t seem much amused, “I am stupid at this whole relationship stuff and because of my indecisiveness he is the one who actually got hurt and he deserved better” she whispered.

“Pidge..” Lance called out, wrapping his arm around her, Katie welcomed the comforting embrace and she moved closer to him. She softly sighed, as she placed her head on his shoulder. The two friends remained quiet for a moment, enjoying the tranquility of the night had to offer.

“I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people” Katie mumbled, her voice slightly muffled by Lance’s jacket. Lance chuckled, “The world would then be a very boring place”

Katie playfully scoffed at his cheesy praise tragically the light atmosphere didn’t last long after all Lance had his own burdens of the heart.

“Since it’s the night of failed relationships. I have a confession too” he declared. Katie lifted her head from his shoulder and eyed her friend with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“What are you talking about?” she questioned, pulling away from him.

“Allura and I. Our relationship” he started nervously with his eyes trained to the ground.

“It was a mistake”

“A mistake?” Katie repeated. Lance winced, it felt more painful hearing it out in words. “Yes it was mistake. Don’t get me wrong. Allura was a great person and I still love her but now that I think about it, I only ever loved her as a friend and I am pretty sure she never thought more of me either”

Katie looked at him as if he had grown a second head, “Are you sure?” she questioned and to be fair she did have the right to be suspicious, after all he had spent some good years tending those juniberries and avoiding his friends.

“Yes I am sure” he stated. “To be honest there was always something off about our relationship. Sure we were there to comfort and be there for one another but none of us were actually ..happy" 

"I used to think that maybe I had exaggerated the idea of love in my head thanks to those stupid writers and poets and this is what it actually felt like” Lance mumbled, glancing at Katie. 

He had always found her fascinating, even long before he had known she was a girl. There was this pull and connection he had felt that compelled him to know her better and he feels disappointed that only now he knows what that truly meant.

“But now I know better. Love was never exaggerated by those poets or writers. In fact, it’s such a strong feeling that I don’t think anyone can ever properly describe it” he breathed in amazement, he could feel the warm glow on his cheeks.

“Lance. Your marks are glowing” Katie whispered, reaching out to touch them. Lance laughed heartily, “They are?” his heart wildly danced in his chest as he felt her soft hand against his cheek.

A moment later, the glowing stopped. Katie retracted her hand and beckoned Lance to continue. He cleared his throat, trying to remember his words,“Truth is that we never felt this way about each other and probably if she had lived on. We might have broken up but then she sacrificed herself and gave me the Altean marks and at that time, I was really confused about the whole thing but when I got the Altean marks. I somehow convinced myself that maybe we had been truly in love and now it was my destiny to keep her memory alive”

“And then you know it got out of hand” he mumbled, feeling embarrassed. “I felt confused, lost and trapped. The only goal that made sense to me at that time was keeping her memories alive and then when you guys tried to help me move on. I couldn’t do it. It felt like too much pressure” He confessed as Katie rubbed his back in comfort.

“But hey look at yourself now. You have come so far, you actually are moving on and you know the best part is that you decided to do it on your own. That means you are ready for a new life” she pointed out to which Lance smiled.

“I am” he agreed, “and now when I think about it. I realize that Allura would never want me to keep my life on hold like that. I am pretty sure if she had the opportunity she would have kicked me back to the Garrison” he stated lightheartedly and Katie silently agreed.

"i realized something important today. Team Voltron sucks at romance” Katie declared glumly. Lance chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“What about Hunk though?” Lance asked suddenly remembering one of them was actually in a stable relationship.

“You’re forgetting that he chickened out three times before he finally asked Shay out for a proper date” Katie reminded.

“I don’t think you could add Keith to our group” Lance pointed out, “Mullet managed to seduce three princesses and almost caused war in a planet”

“Whoa! Who knew that Keith was the true lover boy but what can be said girls do love the broody artist type” she grinned. 

“The ponytail must have surely helped” Lance added and the two of them broke into fits of laughter.

After the laughter died down.They sat in amiable silence,enjoying the peace and security the other’s company provided.

“I missed this” he confessed breaking the silence, Katie smiled softly and nodded in response. Somehow that soft smile provided him the courage to say the words, he had kept off his lips the whole time. Although he had thought about this for a very long time, always wondering and worrying for the right time to say them and it seemed like the moment had finally arrived. 

“Katie, I am sorry” he whispered, taking hold of her hand. “I should never have pushed you away like that, it was the stupidest thing I have ever done and you should know that I really regret it. I regret driving you away to the point of ruining our friendship because Katie you mean so much to me” he confessed, tightening the grip on her hand.

“I felt miserable during the period we stopped talking and it made realize how important you are to me. I never ever want to lose you again” he declared.

Katie was grateful for the lack of light for she was sure her face was redder than a firetruck still her lips curved into a smile, “Never?” she questioned cheekily.

Lance grinned in response, “Even when we die. My ghost will find yours and since Keith is gonna live longer than us because of his galra genes. We will go haunt him”

“Lance..” she tried rolling her eyes at the ridiculous statement but truth was she couldn’t be happier so she finally decided to be honest. Honest with him but most importantly to herself.

“I am glad you are back. I missed you so much” she finally confessed. Lance’s heart practically jumped out of his chest when she pressed a kiss on his cheek and then pulled him into longing hug. He responded, holding onto her with equal desperation. 

“I am sorry too” she whispered in his ear. “I should have been more understanding and patient with you”.

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter anymore. I am just glad to have you back” he replied, closing his eyes as two stray tears slid down his cheeks. As the tears made contact with the marks, they glowed for the last time before finally disappearing forever.

Epilogue 

Leon, come back here!!“ Lance called out running after his three year old son. Leon shrieked in excitement as his father finally caught him and then lifted him into the air.

"Leon is flying in space!” Lance declared, spinning his son in the air. “Papa higher!” Leon demanded, failing his arms.

 Katie smiled to herself as she watched the little scene. In a minute she had to go and remind Lance to stop messing around and put Leon to bed but for now her she let herself relax and be grateful. 

She was reminded of an interesting discussion they had at work, there existed multiple realities in the vast universe and each reality had a different conclusion to their story, in some they might have never even met and led their lives contently without the knowledge of other.

Probably in another, they fell in love at first sight and never parted or maybe they did meet but their feelings never surpassed the platonic line. She slightly frowned at the idea that perhaps in a few they did fall in love but the time hadn’t been right and they didn’t end up together. 

“Mama!” Leon called out, Lance had finally put their dizzy toddler down and now he was running with full speed towards her. Katie slightly toppled as Leon crashed into her legs and urged her to pick him up. 

She dutifully did so and then showered his face with kisses. Leon giggled with delight but the excitement didn’t last long for his eyes had now started to grow heavy and the familiar scent of his mother was lulling him to sleep, Leon wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and a few moments later he was fast asleep.

Lance immediately came over to her side offering to take Leon from her. She softly smiled and shook her head assuring him that despite her exhaustion she could carry her boy. 

After tucking Leon into bed, the couple quietly walked out of the room. Lance reached out and engulfed his wife in a needy hug,“ I missed you so much. One month is too long ” he pouted referring to his recent mission from which he had just returned.

“I gotta say I am surprised that you didn’t immediately come over to my lab after landing maybe becoming the Head pilot changes people” she teased and Lance further pouted still holding her firmly in his arms.

“I was just coming over to your lab when Iverson stopped me and asked me to give report of the mission. I swear that man is plain evil, he purposely stopped me from seeing you!” Lance declared and Katie shook her head.

“You’re forgetting, it’s only because of Iverson we met in the first place. Who the heck is Pidge Gunderson?” she reminded and Lance softly smiled, kissing the top of her head.

His eyes fell on their wedding rings and he sighed in contentment for out of all the billions of possible realities that existed. They managed to exist in the one where despite the internal conflicts, mistakes and uncertainties they had to go through they had finally found true happiness.

“My wife” he proudly replied.

Thank you for everyone who read this! I hope you enjoyed it and please reblog if you did and tell me your favorite moment. Thank you @artemisarya for letting me borrow Leon for the ending.

#soft plance #plance #pidge gunderson #post season 8 #canon divergence #fix it fic #plangst #lance mcclain #keith kogane #vld shiro #rainforest #pigance #katie holt #voltron hunk #flirty robot #leon

[eye-raq]

Let’s Unwind

Adonis x Bianca 

Summary: Adonis and Bianca haven’t experienced any time to themselves lately because of their busy schedules. But tonight is the night for them to unwind with drinks, food, and good sex.

This was a fic request! I hope it’s just as fluffy as the person wanted it to be.

“Hey, Adonis?”

Bianca walked into their wide open living room, Adonis seated on the couch in front of their 86” LED Smart TV, watching Sports Illustrated. They were discussing the big fight he had just two days ago, the one where he came out on top, yet again. They all celebrated as a group with his team and his family. Rocky couldn’t make it, but he gave his congratulations and promised to visit soon.

Bianca held a sleeping Amara as she tucked herself in a comfortable spot on the couch. Amara cooed, stirring in her sleep before gripping one of Bianca’s fingers tightly, causing Bianca to smile before looking up at her husband.

“Donnie?”

“Yeah.” He turns down the TV, giving B his undivided attention now.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Adonis blinked twice before raising his brows in question.

“Thinking what B?”

“Well, we’ve both been pretty tied up with work and I’ve been thinking that we should make it a priority to do husband and wife things.”

Adonis chuckles.

“We don’t do that shit now?” He had a confused expression that made B want to mush his face.

“Married couples don’t just come home late at night from studio sessions or work out sessions to take separate showers and get in a quickie.” She says with sarcasm.

“So what you saying, that’s all we are?” He points an accusatory finger between them both.

“Stop it, D. What I’m saying is I want us to be more romantic. Let’s go on Friday night dinner dates, have picnics on the hood of your car, pop up at each other's work places with gifts or small talk, have risky sex, have family dinner, TRAVEL THE WORLD. Anything…”

Bianca has Adonis’s attention now, causing him to flick the TV off on a scene of him K.O.’ing a famous Mexican boxer.

“I’m listening B. I want all those things too, I want to keep our relationship romantic, fun, passionate, all that.” He was having trouble expressing himself. Bianca grips his hand, running a thumb over the scarring on his knuckles.

“Since we are both on the same page, why don’t you get dressed in something nice and make us a dinner reservation.” Adonis gives her a half smirk, before gripping her chin to kiss her soft lips. He loved the little humming sounds that escaped her mouth each time he would kiss her, her soft delicate hands running over his face, the rings on her fingers adding temperature to his skin that caused him to shiver pleasantly.

“I called your mom, and she said she would be more than happy to take Amara for the night while we enjoy ourselves. She said she’s a phone call away when we need time alone.”

Both Adonis and Bianca stared down at their sleeping beauty, Adonis leaning in to kiss her tiny feet causing Bianca to smile. Finally lifted from the couch, Bianca places Amara in her crib to get ready, while Adonis went to take a quick shower. He figured B would want to do a fancy steak house dinner, so he booked a reservation at The Capital Grille. Bianca wanted them both to dress nice for the occasion, so Adonis put on a tailored suit of his in a navy blue color with gold cufflinks and a white dress shirt underneath, not completely buttoned. He sat on his bed to tie up the laces on his dress shoes, watching his woman at her vanity applying some makeup. She went for a red lip, using the Fenty Beauty Stunna Lip Paint, her eyes smokey to bring out the big brown irises she had, her hair pressed straight, the strands clinging to the beautiful creamy skin of her back. She had on a backless black cocktail dress with a slit on the side to give a teasing view of her killer legs. Her feet were covered in Saint Laurent heels.

Adonis couldn’t wait to get back to their place so he could properly dissect his women with his tongue, and stroke her surface with his fingers. Bianca caught him staring, a goofy grin on her face.

“You like what you see?”

“Hell yeah, you lucky we have dinner first because I’d rather skip that and eat you.”

“So you’re a cannibal now?”

They both shared a laugh.

“Hurry up beautiful so we can drop Amara off.”

Bianca put on her last Tiffany diamond earring before grabbing her black clutch, smoothing her dress over her hips.

“Okay, so I think I have everything Amara needs. Her bottle cleaner, I packed extra breast milk just in case, her favorite pacifier, those new booties that keeps her feet warm, extra pampers…”

“Babe. It’s cool, aight?  My mom will be fine she can handle it B.” Bianca squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Okay...I’m overreacting. You ready?”

“You look so damn sexy tonight.”

Adonis drinks from the bottle of Champagne sitting on ice, watching Bianca sip her wine in a sexy manner, her eyes low and fluttery.

“You look just as good yourself Mr. Creed.” She pulls out a tiny mirror to check her lips, smacking them together.

“Keep doing that to your lips they’ll be staining this dick in a minute.”

Bianca couldn’t lie, she wanted Adonis to do the things he talked big about, but her stomach rumbled and she needed some food.

“Let me eat first I’m STARVING.”

Right on cue, the waiter comes over with their tray of food. Bianca ordered a prime rib with Parmesan cheese crust, creamed spinach, and a baked sweet potato with brown sugar maple glaze and butter. Adonis had a ribeye with caramelized mushrooms and onions, garlic butter mashed potatoes, and roasted broccoli with green peppers and onions. It was tender, savory, and juicy, each bite getting better than the last. Both of them could eat, and that’s all they did too, Bianca getting thicker all over. Donnie definitely took notice when she would walk out of the bathroom in her naked glory, rubbing herself down with her homemade whipped body butter. The voice inside his head begged him to calm the heat that began to brew deep within his skin, deciding on ignoring the erection that attempted to grow and ask his women about her music.

“Tell me about the studio sessions lately, how have they been going for you?” Bianca removed her napkin from her lap, dabbing her mouth delicately, before clearing her throat to speak.

“I’m not gonna lie, I may have hit a snag.” Bianca finally spoke with a sound of defeat in her tone.

“A snag? Where exactly?” Adonis ran his tongue over his teeth, his eyes focused on his women as her shoulders slouched, reaching to pour a generous amount of champagne into her glass.

“Well...for one I haven’t had the motivation. Every time I feel like I have a lyric, just a SPARK, something, it just falls flat.” Her silky tresses from the right side of her face slipped over her shoulder, causing her to stroke it back, exposing her creamy skin over her protruding clavicles.

“I’ve been thinking about Amara a lot lately, and the hearing tests, the pressure from everyone expecting more from me now that I’ve given them this gift, my music.” She lets out a breath that sounded strained.

“B. This is what I want you to do.”

Adonis took her hand in his, rubbing the surface with his thumb.

“When you walk in that studio, I want you to close those beautiful eyes of yours. Then, I want you to do what I see you do at home, just hum to yourself. Let that pretty little hum coarse through you like it’s awakening you. Stay still, and let the melody, whichever melody you decide to create, let it cloud your brain and let it get you into the zone.”

Adonis watched the downcast of her eyes, reaching across the table with his other hand to grip her chin softly, lifting her head, and making her look him in the eyes.

“Hey, like you always tell me before a fight, YOU GOT THIS. My girl did not get a record deal and become internet famous in less than a year for nothing.” Adonis playfully jabbed her chin, causing her to perk up more, taking that same hand to kiss it, leaving a matte red lip stain along his almond skin.

“You are the epitome of a man. I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t have you.” Adonis gives her a soft smile, a light chuckle escaping his throat.

“I should say that about you, girl. You and Mara, and my mom are the light in my life. After the entire Drago thing, I’ve grown and… I needed that.”

Bianca’s bright smile could have swoon the entire restaurant, her hand bashfully coming up to cover her face, her eyes on Adonis unwavering.

“You are something, you beautiful human.” She loved the allure in his eyes, she loved the way he softly smiled at her like she was the only one in that room. She loved how his fingers would caress her hand gently and without pause, making her woozy.

“Adonis Creed?”

Adonis’ eyes looked up and over at a young man who looked to be about 18 years of age, an excited gleam in his eyes and a broad smile.

“Yeah, how you doing man.” Adonis put his hand out to shake the teenage boys, watching as he reluctantly shook his hand with a nervous gleam in his eyes.

“I recognized you from my graduation dinner party and I figured why not take a chance and say hi.” The young boy reminded Adonis of himself when he was 18.

“Not a problem bro, you box?”

“Yeah! I’ve been doing it since I was 7.”

“You love it? Like enough to want to pursue it?”

The boy nodded his head rapidly, causing Bianca to laugh lightly.

“That’s wassup, what’s your name?”

“Calvin.” He stuttered.

“Listen, Calvin.” Adonis pulled out his phone, handing it over to the boy.

“Why don’t you put your cell number in there, and I’ll contact you about private boxing sessions with me, hows that sound to you?” Bianca looked at Adonis as if he were something to cherish as if he were a piece of heaven.

“For real?! MAN of course definitely. I would really appreciate that.” Calvin couldn’t stop giving his thanks, his smile still plastered and his head shaking back and forth in astonishment.

After he entered his number, Calvin said his final goodbyes to Bianca and Adonis, retiring to his family with more pep in his step.

Adonis took a sip from his glass, eyes gazing out into the street of LA, watching people cruise by and the palm trees sway. He could feel the eyes of his wife on him then, so he looked up to find Bianca with glossy eyes and a genuine smile on her lips.

“That was really fucking nice of you D.” She wiped at her eye quick, grabbing both of his hands.

“Thanks, baby, I saw something in him that reminded me of how I was. And plus, I love seeing young black boys involved in other things besides what’s happening on the block.”

Not wanting to let their food go to waste, the both of them continued to eat, silence hanging between them as the silverware clashed with the plates of food. Nothing needed to be said, just his presence was enough for Bianca and the same for Adonis. Peeking at each other, and the bare skin of Bianca’s leg rubbing against Adonis was just enough to spark heat.

—-

Her body stood in front of the ceiling to floor mirrors of their luxury loft, her hand pressed to the glass as one of her new singles, Midnight,  played softly in the background. The song drummed through her, causing Bianca to sway her hips, eyes closed as she took in the lull of the sensual instrumental and her soft voice singing about losing control to a man.

Creeping up behind her with unheard footsteps was her husband, both of his hands running up the length of her arms, up and over her shoulders, and then down her exposed back before resting at her hips. Bianca lets out a soft chuckle, her breath hitching softly as Adonis’ body pressed firmly against hers.

“What was going through your mind when you wrote this?” The drag of his voice when he asked her that had her body pressing further against him, her eyes closing against the cityscape of LA.

“I was thinking...of how close I wish you were with me. How being away from you, even for a second, has me itching for your hands.”

Adonis strokes his lips over her ear.

“Just my hands?”

Bianca quirks a brow, leaning her head back to look him in his eyes.

“And your mouth.” Adonis took no time to press his lips to her divine lips. Bianca melted against the moist cushion of his lips, her body automatically turning to face him as their tongues crashed like dangerous waves.

“Keep kissing me like that and watch what happens.” Adonis teases.

“You started it D. Now you gotta finish it. I’m horny husband. I want you to fuck me.”

Adonis’ lips paused over Bianca’s his eyes searching hers, taking in the heat that began to flare behind her pretty brown irises. He was certain that the heat looked just the same within his.

Adonis and Bianca kissed further, practically sucking each other's faces, the back of Bianca’s legs crashing with the arm of their black leather couch, falling crimson her back causing her dress to hike up. She giggles from the surprise change in position, causing Adonis to clamp a fist to his mouth, snorting laughter.

“Oh god, we couldn’t even make it to the bed.” She shakes her head, watching Adonis remove his jacket and shirt.

“Doesn’t matter what surface I fuck you on, just as long as I feel that good pussy I’m straight.”

Adonis took no time to rest his body over hers, kissing her further while his hands roamed. She moaned sweetly into his mouth, her heart drumming against his solid chest frantically, and her hands rubbing over the waves on his head.

The intense passion that they both still felt for each other was mind blowing and gratifying. This is what they both wanted, a marriage where even the slightest gesture makes them erupt in pleasure.

Adonis began kissing from Bianca’s temple, down her face, and to her neck, taking his tongue to trail spit after every kiss. She whispered a repeated yes into his ear like a soft echo, her back arching into his solid frame, causing him to take his hands, removing the fabric of her dress inch by inch until it pooled around her waist.

“I can’t get enough of you ma, I need you ma.” Adonis nibbles on her clavicles, his eyes staring up at her extended head, her eyes low and lustful up at the ceiling.

“Keep going, don't stop.” His mouth finally found one of her caramel nipples, taking his lips to latch around one, savoring the sweet skin. He noticed how her skin shimmers with glitter, his other hand coming up to cup her breast. She chokes on that home groan, her fingers itching to grip the leather of the couch.

One of her smooth legs runs up Adonis’ side, her toes trying to push his black slacks down his hips.

“Skin Adonis, I wanna feel more skin.” Donnie kisses in between her breasts, giving her a lazy lopsided grin.

“Okay, wifey.” Adonis lifts up, approach Bianca at the head of the couch, watching as she takes her dainty fingers, undoing his pants, allowing them to fall loosely, her fingertips taking no time to pull his Calvin Klein briefs down, revealing a smooth veiny shaft, that hung with a throbbing erection. Bianca lifts her head to kiss him on the tip, before licking him there slow, her eyes watching every move. Adonis brings a hand to her head, running his fingers through her pressed hair, gripping the silky strands as he rubbed them between his fingertips.

Head from Bianca was something Adonis could never get over. It always brought him back to the first time he experienced it, that look in her eyes and the way her mouth did tantalizing things had him hooked, even before he had sex with her. She gripped him tightly, wetting him up with her spit and squeezing him good with her lips. Adonis hisses, his eyebrows worrying and his lips attacked by his teeth. Bianca could stare at that list filled face for hours, causing her to bob her head quicker over his length, earning a low but slow fuckkkkk to escape him. She was addicted to her husband's dick, and with every suck, she felt him quiver or twitch.

“Shit B, damn B….fuckkk baby.” His head falls back, hand coming down hard to the back of her head as he came, a low cry escaping his mouth.

Adonis was on his knees now, gazing into the pretty peach that Bianca had nestled between her legs, the wet fruit begging to be licked and many other things. Adonis could never forget the way she tasted; like a sweet piece of fruit dipped in fresh honey from a honeycomb. Bianca had an obsession with eating honeycombs too, the taste was overly sweet and the texture sticky, like how her pussy was now. Adonis trailed his tongue flat against her, liking from her hole all the way to her clit. No more quiet moans escaped her mouth, her heeled feet pointed to the sky and her ring-covered fingers rubbing over his head. Bianca tilts her head, watching the light from the city and the moon reflect off of his face and that shiny tongue that battled to get a taste.

Her legs drew back further, and her face contorted in bewilderment, her man's eyes never leaving hers, the undeniable attraction so clear and so pure. He took those lips and latched onto her clit, sucking deep without retracting, obscene noises loud between them and her creamy thighs shaking.

“Ah, take it.” She moans. Adonis was proud that he still made her feel this way. He opened up wide, attempting to kiss her inner folds, his lips brushing over every surface with persistent need, her legs never clamping around his head. She wanted, needed, craved him.

“Keep that up and watch I cum.” The innocent way she spoke that had the primal nature within him growl.

“I guess I gotta keep going right?” He spoke into her pussy with a low voice.

He kept going and going with the same motions, now adding two fingers, curling them over her g spot. The leather grew sweaty from her perspiration, a repeated gasp escaping her mouth like a melody, causing her belly to tremble, and her legs to shake as she orgasmed without warning. Adonis chased her cum, still sucking her through it until he felt she had enough.

——-

“I love you.” She whispered into his ear before sucking on his earlobe. They were on their second position that night, Adonis sinking back into her tight pussy, Bianca’s hips bringing him closer, her face was buried into the carpet, and her body was arched off of the ground, her pussy quivering around him with each deep pound. His strokes weren’t rushed, it felt like he was trying to remember her this way like he wanted to map out how her pussy felt around him.

“I love you, I love this pussy.” Adonis ran his fingers through her head before gripping tight, his eyes enjoying the way her back looked. Her arch was deep, and her spin dipped in the middle, making him trail his thumb there, catching up the sweat.

“Fuck me, harder.” Whatever she wanted, Adonis would give her, his hips slapped into her ass swiftly, her fingers rubbing into the carpet with a tremble.

“Touch me more.” She could feel the palms of his hand's jiggle and pinch her ass, before trailing both hands up her slim waist, digging his fingers into her flesh. Adonis buries himself deeper, bending over to kiss her spine.

“Throw that ass back,” Adonis slapped her ass, watching as B, began grinding her hips back over him slowly, a moan leaving her mouth after every stroke.

“Look at you. So damn beautiful with this dick in you. Such a beautiful sight baby.” His eyes couldn’t leave the nasty way her pussy swallowed him repeatedly. He felt her clench him, a hiss escaping his mouth.

“I felt that too, cum on this dick B.” Adonis began thrusting to meet her strokes, her ass bouncing and her cries muffled by the carpet.

“AHHHHH.” Adonis lets out a growl so deep Bianca could feel it vibrating through her flesh. She couldn’t even warn him, her words jumbled as she came on him for the third time that night.

LA received a beautiful view that evening, Adonis pressing Bianca’s body into the glass window, her legs around his waist as she bounced over him with a slow, forceful jerk of her body. She had her arms hanging loosely around his neck, and her eyes closed in bliss, head smashed against the thick glass. Adonis loves the image of his wife on him, her skin flushed, lipstick smeared, hair curling in the roots, her eyes wet in the corners. She was so precious, the vision of her made him want to fuck her harder.

“Yes, Donnie, yes give it to me, fuck me, I miss this!” She brought a hand to the back of his head, her nails grazing his head.

“You feel so good, you always feel so good.” He whispers, bringing both of his hands around her to hold her up, bouncing her rough over him. His wife, his beloved, his beautiful black women, she was a sight to see.

“B, fuck…”

“Cum in me, give it to me.”

“Imma give it to you baby, I promise.”

“Yeah, ohmygod ohmygod.”

“Take it, girl, take this dick…”

“FUCK D!” She clenched around him, her head falling back.

“Damn girl.” Adonis smacked her ass, his body shivering from how sensitive he was. He walked back to the couch with her still around him, falling back against it while his women bounced on him, leaning forward to kiss and nibble on his lips with her his grinding deep and his hands buried into the flesh of her ass. Her hands crashed with the couch on either side of his head, her back arching and rolling. Adonis lay there stunned, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hanging open. Bianca arched deeper before lifting from him with a swing of her head, her hair crashing with her face, bringing Adonis hands to grip her breasts.

“I’m fucking this dick D, this is my dick.”

She began bouncing, earning a slap to her ass, and a string of moans from him.

“This fucking pussy, GOT DAMN.” His head extended, eyes squeezed shut.

“This pussy is straight fire.” He couldn’t hold back anymore, his hips meeting hers, slapping skin loud. Bianca practically clawed his chest, her body shaking over him in another orgasm, drawing him on further.

“SHITTTTT!!” Adonis lifts from the couch, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hips snapping up into her rough before finally, with a shake, cumming within her deep, shooting his cum against her cervix spurt after spurt. His lips latched to her neck, soft mumbling vibrating against her flesh. The hold he had on her was tight, and the loud thumping of his heart against her chest made her squeeze him tighter.

“If I told you, that this felt like the first time we had sex, would you believe me?” Bianca rubbed her nose into Adonis’s sweaty shoulder. 

“I would, but what if I told you that it was EVEN BETTER than the first time we had sex?” Adonis kisses her hairline, enjoying the way her body bounced in his lap from laughter.

“It’s probably because of how freaky I’ve grown to be with you.” Adonis hummed in agreement.

“I’m glad we did this B, it just goes to show how much we still care for each other.” His fingertips rubbed at her back, making her eyes close.

“Just keep loving me like you do, it’s the best feeling in the world.” 

@panthergoddessbast @whoramilaje @allhailnjadaka @vikkidc @erikismybitch @eriknutinthispoosy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @trevantesbrat @bakaris-shorty @wifin-niggaz @killmonger-dolan @killmongersaidheyauntie @killmongersgurl @killmongerdispussy @killmongerthirst @killmongersmistress @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @bartierbakarimobisson @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-inspired @vibranium-chakra @muse-of-mbaku @thiccdaddy-mbaku @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @bidibidibombaclaat @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @laketaj24 @supersizemeplz @abeautifulmindexposed @blxckquiescent @thehomierobbstark @thehonorablekingerik @missmohnique @missumuch1918 @unfriendly-blk-hottie @blue-sunflowerr @youreadthatright @youcantkillamutant @marvelpotterlove @drsunshine97 @iamrheaspeaks @loosewindmill @janelledarling @purple-apricots @softnani @forbeautyandlife @deja-r @calitexastrillgoddess @wakandawinning @jozigrrl @halcyonscry @shesakillerkween @raysunshine78 @forgottenthoughtsandmemories @shookmcgookqueen @teheeboo @disneysdarlingdiva @hidden-treasures21 @alexundefined @thadelightfulone 

[genderhawk]

22, 30, 35 (for the romanticized asks!)

Hmmm........

22.  Describe the wtiches curse Turning a love spell into a curse takes creativity...  But this witch had that in spades.  Knotting the red silk thread around the crystals and bundles of assorted herbs with swift and practiced movements.  The last step was to bind the power of the curse to it’s target.  Choosing one last stone, a piece of Alexandrite to represent the target’s true and chosen name, the witch added it at the grounding end of the cord and intoned the incantation.  

and thats the story of how I got cursed with horny

30.  My ideal outfit for a masquerade you get TWO bc I’m gay and I want a suit and a dress version TYVM

The first is inspired by King Midas and I tried to do it as an awkward teenager surrounded by other teens.  I wear a matte and simple but well tailored black suit with black shirt and a thin golden silk tie.  My mask is gold and it shimmers like real gold in the candlelight.  It covers most of my face and has a pattern of black spiderwebbing across it as though the gold would crack apart.  The black shimmers as well, like some sort of precious stone.  My every accessory is gold.  Pocket watch, pocket square, silk gloves, a black wooden cane tipped with the head of a panther made of gold, I wear black dress shoes with a slight heel and gold accents.  My outfit is simple, only black and gold, but so very extravagent in the details and in the sheer weight of the jewelery and accessories I’m wearing.

Then at midnight I change clothes yeah?  this masquerade is for new years and it goes from 8pm to 4am.  So just before midnight I make my excuses from the crowd around me and I change my clothes in secret.  Returning in a blue and silver ball gown with full skirts.  The fabric is blue and the skirt is made up of layers and layers of scale shaped pieces of blue shiny fabric outlined in silver embroidery that glitters.  The shoulder straps are off the shoulder and the bodice of the gown has the same scale pattern as the skirt although the scales are smaller and the color is an ombre from dark blue at the back to a pale blue that is near to white around the naval.  The mask is delicate silver wiring that extent no lower than the eyes but run in spirals and more jagged peaks over my forehead and out beyond my face.  For this look I have had my eyes outlined with the smallest mimickry of the scales around my eyes and down my cheeks.  My lips are a deep saphire color.  I am again wearing a great deal of jewelry although this time the focus is on silver settings and a rainbow of gems.  I also have those cool ear cover things and blue silk gloves that reach past my elbows.  I’m secretly barefoot but nobody knows bc my dress hides my feet

35. what song would bards sing about me?hmmm....... I hope they sing of a hero who changed and saved lives... Someone who went through some of the worst and became someone who made the world better.  and i hope they talk about how strong my arms are too

#Anonymous

[acklest]

Threesome, Party of Two

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Dean Winchester

Genre/Warnings: Wincest, One shot, Outsider POV, Top!Dean (implied), Bottom!Sam (implied), alcohol use, cursing. Nothing is truly all that smutty.

Words: 6,668

Summary: Whitney Evans meets two very charming and attractive FBI agents at a bar. Dean is intent on taking her home with both of them, but Sam clearly has some reservations. Fortunately for them, she’s a problem-solver by trade, and there’s definitely something up with these two.

Author’s Note: Inspired by an idea from @jbt111886 - thank you! Sorry Not sorry for all the gratuitous movie references. This was mostly an excuse for an outsider POV and some brotherly er, partnerly bickering. I’m hoping that if I officially post this, I’ll be less likely to delete it altogether.

✯✯✯✯

She had no intention of checking anyone out tonight, but his hands caught her attention.

Whitney had a thing for hands and picking up on small details was literally her day job. It wasn’t something she had ever managed to turn off.

He was leaning against the bar right next to her. His left hand was in a semi-relaxed fist that forcefully staked his place at the bar, and his right was palm-down with cash under it. They were broad, rough, and freckled, and three of his knuckles were healing up from bad abrasions. When he absently played a drum solo with the right, she noticed a couple more bruised knuckles and that his nails were short and clean, but cut bluntly across and chewed around the cuticles. No rings on either hand. The matte black watch on his wrist was more special ops than stylish. 

The most intriguing part was that absolutely none of this matched the well-tailored sleeves of his suit, which was a tastefully muted blue-gray. A man with a suit like that should’ve had a manicure and a shiny watch, and a man with hands like that should’ve been in a biker bar with a jukebox, not a busy Irish bar in midtown with polished wood and delusions of grandeur.

Whitney almost turned to look but thought better of it. Nope, not here for that.

Then the pretty redheaded bartender leaned toward him, asking, “What can I get for… you?” That little hesitation should’ve been Whitney’s first warning. She had been here for an hour and a half, and had watched a half-dozen men flirt shamelessly with the bartender, and found her friendly but professional. But this guy, whoever he was, had gotten through.

Then he gave his order and Whitney was momentarily distracted by the sound of him. “I know it’s practically a felony to not order Guinness in a place like this, but I think that tap over there says Murphy’s Irish Stout on it.”

She grinned. “Sure does!”

The right hand flashed two fingers while she still was watching it. “Pints, please. Don’t go easy on the foam.”

The bartender seemed to twinkle up at him, Whitney’s second warning. “One of today’s specials is our bomber size, that’s our 22 ouncer for the same price as the pint.”

“Mmm. Hurt me, Riley,” he half-growled flirtatiously. She could hear his grin without seeing it. She also noted that in her time here, no one had bothered to learn Riley’s name, or if they had, hadn’t bothered to use it.

But his voice is what brought her up short at the moment. He spoke with a lazy, ambiguously accented drawl. His voice was low and rough, in that perfect Johnny Cash sweet spot between Barry White and Tom Waits. If he smoked, he certainly didn’t smell like it.

It was just one more thing that didn’t match the suit and Whitney finally gave in to curiosity and slightly turned to check him out.

Unfortunately, the stunned “oh” that played in her head was simulcast to her mouth.

Turning his head to glance down at her, his face softened from what she imagined was a resting smolder to a knowing half-smile that clearly stated, “I get that a lot.” But he seemed more pleased that she was pleased, rather than pleased with himself, which made the silent acknowledgement endearing rather than insufferable.

He was a few years older than Whitney and, though she was sitting down, seemed like he was about a head taller. In his suit, he looked kind of pleasantly solid all over, his thick torso balancing his broad shoulders. In American football, he’d be a running back, built for power and speed all at once.

Green-gold eyes appraised her with a not terribly subtle once-over. He had a well-defined jaw with maybe three days’ worth of stubble, a strong nose (ah, more freckles) that would’ve overpowered a lesser profile, and a generous, pouty mouth. With his dark hair in a frat boy cut swept up with product and a navy-blue foulard tie done up in a Prince Albert knot tucked neatly into his waistcoat, he was James Dean dressed up like Cary Grant and it shouldn’t have worked. At all.

Attractive men didn’t really impress her. Over the last few years, she had worked with hundreds of powerful, attractive men who wore even nicer suits than his, and had developed something of an immunity. But this guy had something else: Total, unabashed, panty-dropper confidence, earned through – if she dared to guess – years of rigorous study in the discipline. It radiated off of him in waves. She could almost guess that his first act had been to imagine her naked, and that his goal from that point on was to find out what made her tick.

He glanced down at her nearly empty glass. “Martini, huh? Can I get you another one?”

“Sure,” she managed a smile. “Thank you.”

His eyes lit up and he asked silkily. “Do you like ‘em dirty?”

That totally shouldn’t have worked, but he sold it through sheer audacity. She found herself almost as flustered as the time she met Gerard Butler at a party. Well, there was nothing she could do but play through the pain. “Yes, very,” she answered, then waited a couple of beats. “Wait, did you mean the martini?”

The smirk turned into a warm, appreciative smile, complete with the glimpse of teeth, that made little wrinkles fan out at the corners of his eyes. Okay, maybe the Cary Grant thing wasn’t entirely the suit.

He easily got Riley the bartender’s attention again. “Gin martini, stirred, extra dry, straight up, four olives, and —” He cut her a vaguely obscene sideways look. “Very dirty.”

“Wow.” Whitney was legitimately impressed.

She’d been right about the resting smolder, as he lapsed back into it while straightening a tie that didn’t need straightening. Just as she was starting to miss his big, open grin and all the crow’s feet that came with it, it snuck back across his face. “I overheard you orderin’ the first one. But, admit it, I almost had you.”

You had me well before that, she didn’t say. Besides, he clearly already knew, and it was a little late for her to play hard-to-get. Also, this meant he’d noticed her before she noticed him and since he continued to flirt with her, she liked her chances.

“Dean,” he told her, unprompted. Then, almost as an afterthought. “Gillan.”

“Whitney.” She mimicked his pause. “Evans.” 

As the bartender deposited a fresh martini in front of her, Whitney asked, “So, Dean Gillan, what it is you do that you wear such nice suits, but also look like you start fistfights for fun?”

Dean stepped back to examine his suit, hands spread defensively. “A man can’t dress up for a fistfight?”

She was still laughing at this when another man walked up and stood behind Dean, flashing her an apologetic smile. He wore a nice suit as well, in a somber charcoal gray. His tie, she noticed, was the red version of Dean’s blue one, done up in the same knot. 

This man was taller, broader across the shoulders but much narrower in the hips. His suit was cut to flatter both, and he seemed to wear his more comfortably. He had dark hair, too, but his was thick and collar-length and fell slightly into his face when he looked down. His deep-set eyes were either blue or hazel, or possibly neither, and he had a sharper side profile. 

She didn’t get the same dirty “down for anything” vibe from him that she got from Dean. At the moment, she was thankful for that. She didn’t think she could handle two of them. However, the hand that gripped his phone was big, his fingers longer, but with the same blunt nails. No ring on him, either.

With his earnest expression, all he needed was a pair of half-rimmed glasses and a tweed suit, and he’d be that college professor who didn’t understand why so many students sat in the front row. How was it that they hung on to his every word and were still failing the course? 

Without thinking, she asked faintly. “Are the hot guys traveling in pairs tonight?”

She glanced quickly at Dean, expecting him to bristle or look hurt since the two of them had been hitting it off. All he did was give her a small smile that she couldn’t quite interpret.

Dean turned to the other man and fixed part of his shirt collar that had fallen. He theatrically licked a finger and made a move toward the man’s hair, which was only narrowly avoided as he turned back to her with a smile. “Whitney, this is my partner, FBI Agent Sam Blackmore. Sam, Whitney Evans. She thinks you’re hot for some reason, so try to act like it.”

FBI agents. Now the suits and busted knuckles made a little more sense.

Sam briefly glared at his partner, a blink-and-miss sort of thing, before looking down at her to smile, revealing dimples in his cheeks. He turned back to Dean, showing him his phone. “Get this.” 

The two of them stood with their heads almost touching to peer at Sam’s phone, eyes tracking back and forth, Dean’s lips moving slightly. Then the two had the most truncated (and possibly most dude-like) conversation she had ever heard in her life.

Dean leaned in closer to scroll his index finger down the screen as their eyes tracked some more. Dean straightened to look at Sam. “What the hell?”

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously, what the hell?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, more insistently this time.

“And there were —?”

“Two.”

“They find ‘em both?”

Sam frowned. “Just one.”

Dean turned to Whitney for a moment, smiling apologetically. “Bureau business, sweetheart, don’t go anywhere.”

“Why?” Whitney asked playfully. “Am I being detained, Agents?”

This earned her a shy grin from Sam and a much more suggestive one from Dean.

Besides, two hot guys, and the one coming on strong was apparently secure enough that he didn’t mind that she thought the other one was hot, too? How often did that happen? Why on earth would she go anywhere?

Dean turned back to Sam, their conversation picking back up right where they left off. “If there’s only one —”

The two pulled back from the phone, processed something for a moment, then chorused, “Vernal equinox.”

Whitney laughed. “You guys have been working together too long.”

The two peered at her over the top of the phone and Sam smirked. “You have no idea.”

“When?” Dean asked him.

“Not until March,” Sam answered. “But then –” 

“The other thing.”

“Right.”

“And?”

“Well they —” Sam looked furtively at Whitney and seemed to select his next words carefully. “We probably won’t hear anything back until Friday.”

“Friday?” Dean brightened and happily braced Sam by the shoulders, giving him a firm little shake that made him roll his eyes. “You know what I’m gonna say next, right?”

“No idea,” Sam answered sarcastically. “But I’m guessing ‘something something pick this up tomorrow something something see you in the morning, Sam.’”

“Then you guess wrong.” Dean handed him one of the two big glasses of beer that were waiting next to him on the bar, before ducking his head to look the pretty bartender in the eye as he passed her a tip. “Thank you again, Riley.”

Whitney didn’t think it was the tip that made Riley straighten a bit and smile up at him.

“Why do you always do that?” Sam muttered as they turned away. “Give her a chance to finish her college education, Hef.”

Dean visibly balked at “Hef” but moved one hand palm-up under his chin and along the side of his head as if displaying a game show prize. “This is just my face, dude. It does what it does. I can’t control it.” He turned to look conspiratorially at Whitney, voice mock-mournful. “God knows I’ve tried.”

Whitney didn’t actually know which of them she liked better.

Sam ignored him and looked down at the beer in his hand. “Why’d you get me a beer if I’m just going back to the room?”

“’Cause you’re not going back to the room, you’re coming back to our table with me and Whitney.”

Whitney was as taken aback by this as Sam seemed to be. Not that she was complaining.

“C’mon,” Dean prodded gently, like he was trying to coax a pet back in from the outdoors. “You gotta sit for serious drinking, not as far to the floor.”

Sam shook his head, but followed them to the corner-most table in the back. Whitney noticed that Dean had a sort of hip-rolling strut. Because of course he did. She wondered if it was an affectation for her benefit.

The two both moved to pull a chair out for her, but Sam surrendered the right of way to Dean. After she was seated, Dean squeezed around her to the chair wedged directly in the corner facing the front doors, and turned it around to straddle it and rest his arms on the back. The suit now looked more incongruous than it had back at the bar. She found herself wondering what he wore when he was off-duty. Or maybe he had been a cop before a fed and hadn’t ever shaken it off?

Dean made an abrupt “put it away” gesture at some books and papers that were in Whitney’s place and Sam swept them into an open messenger bag before she could really get a look at any of it, though it didn’t seem like official research materials. Then again, if their case really involved the vernal equinox...

Sinking into his own chair, Sam watched Dean’s face intently.

“What?” Dean wiped at his mouth with his hand. “Do I have foam?”

“Uh... no. You... you got it.” Sam took a big swallow of the beer and leaned back in what she immediately recognized as feigned relaxation.

An attractive blonde server in her thirties stopped to ask them if they needed anything, and Dean jokingly gestured at Sam. “Can we get a double milk for this kid?”

As the server laughed and walked away, Whitney perked up. “Was that a quote from U.S. Marshals?”

Dean grinned. “I knew I liked you. See, Sammy, some people watch fun movies.”

Did he say Sammy? Hmm.

“Wait.” Sam blinked a couple of times. “Are you talking about the sequel to The Fugitive? That’s a terrible movie.” 

“Actually…” Dean paused to take an operatically prissy sip of his beer and raised his chin haughtily. “Since it doesn’t continue, expand, or resolve the story from The Fugitive, but instead moves existing characters to a new story, U.S. Marshals is not a sequel, but... a spin-off.” Dean gave Whitney a wink that should’ve come with some sort of warning and then smugly looked at Sam across the table.

His beer glass stopping halfway to his mouth, Sam asked, “Wait... was that... were you being me?”

Dean nodded his head with a smirk. “Huh? I nailed it, right?” He added, sotto voce to Whitney, “I’ve been practicing.”

Shaking his head as if disappointed in both of them, Sam’s thumbs moved quickly across his phone’s screen and then turned it around so they could see it. “Look, 26% on Rotten Tomatoes.”

“Yeah, you’re right, now I can never watch it again,” Dean said drily. “That’s a solid flick, man. You’ve got Tommy Lee Jones, RDJ, and that cute French chick who played Wesley Snipes’ girlfriend.”

“74% of the world isn’t as easily amused as you.” Sam winced at what he’d just said and looked at Whitney contritely. “Or... you. Sorry.”

Whitney shrugged, feeling like she was a supporting character in a buddy cop movie like Lethal Weapon. Dean probably liked that one. Sam probably pretended he didn’t.

“This kid looks up the reviews for dive bars before he’ll agree to go,” Dean told Whitney incredulously. “Dive bars. What’s the review gonna say? ‘I had seven beers, they were fine, I passed out on the pool table and no one drew a dick on my face, will recommend to my friends’?”

Sam glared. “What if they had a salmonella outbreak or rancid bathrooms? Wouldn’t you want to know in advance?”

“I’m with Sam on this one,” Whitney conceded. “I don’t want to end up at The Titty Twister.”

“First of all, I’ve spent my entire life looking for The Titty Twister like it was El Dorado.” Dean scowled at both of them, but rounded on Sam first. “Also, any respectable dive bar has a rancid bathroom, that’s why it’s a dive bar.”

Sam interrupted to huff in disbelief. “Did you just use the word respectable and --?”

Dean plowed ahead. “And... And, as we’ve been over so many times, you don’t use that bathroom under any circumstances. Not even to hover.” 

He turned to address Whitney now. “And you… you lost a point by agreeing with him.” His forced stern expression faded back into a smile. “But then you got it back by referencing From Dusk Till Dawn. That was a close call.”

Sam groaned and spoke to Whitney with a mischievous air that she liked very much. “We have to change the subject or he will talk about the snake dance and I can’t go through that again. Last time he talked about it for an hour, and it’s only a four-minute dance.”

“Not if you keep replaying it.” Dean fixed his eyes on a point behind his partner’s head, and he must have been watching the video in his own brain because Sam waved a hand in front of his eyes to interrupt.

Whitney ate one of her four olives, looking from one of them to the other. “You guys are fun. I thought feds were supposed to have sticks up their asses.”

“He carries both of our sticks,” Dean said. Was that a little wink he gave his partner? “He won’t admit it, but I think he likes it.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh more at Dean’s proud “yeah, you heard me” expression or the dirty look Sam shot him from across the table. The comment would’ve seemed strangely sexual, but she knew that law enforcement officials had that unvarnished way of trash-talking that civilians didn’t often understand.

“What do you do?” Dean asked as Sam’s dirty look faded in intensity. “When you’re not being picked up by two federal agents?”

“I’m --” Wait. Had he said -- two? Did he mean “picked up” as in...?

It was obvious from his reaction that Sam had the same question, but Dean was looking only at her.

Whitney watched them for a moment and started again. “I’m a high-level intermediary for some of the corporate interests in the area.”

Sam squinted, then laughed under his breath. “So, you’re a fixer.”

Whitney smiled at him demurely, tilting her head slightly. “That term has taken on some unfortunate connotations. But... yes, I pay attention. I solve problems.”

The two of them exchanged a brief look, eyes widening and brows raised. 

“Like Winston Wolfe?” Dean asked, intrigued. 

“Or more like Michael Clayton?” Sam offered. 

Dean had another one. “Madeliene White?”

Sam broke away from Whitney to look at him. “What?”

“Inside Man. You’re the one who wanted to watch it. We watched it.”

“I know the movie, Dean, I just didn’t think you were paying attention, since it didn’t have Salma Hayek dancing with a snake.”

Dean pointedly scratched the corner of his eye using only an extended middle finger, and Sam just as pointedly ignored him.

So, they watched movies together? Was being FBI partners not enough time in each other’s company?

“She was more of a power broker, actually,” Whitney said. 

Dean frowned. “Those aren’t the same thing?” 

“Power brokers are more about politics,” Sam explained. “Influencing things to turn out a certain way rather than trying to fix them. Like Henry Kissinger.” Sam added glibly for Dean’s benefit, “You might not have heard of him, since he’s not from a movie. He’s a real person.”

A nod and an obviously fake smile, all cheeks and no teeth, was his reward from Dean. There was just enough hostility in that look that she thought Sam might pay for this put-down in some small way when they didn’t have a guest.

Whitney took a sip of her martini to forestall laughing. “Well, if we’re sticking with fictional fixers, I guess I’m more like Alec Baldwin’s character in Glengarry Glen Ross. Though I’m much more diplomatic, I’d like to think. Usually.”

Dean leaned back, almost more in the corner than the chair. “Hmm. So when someone needs a fire lit under their ass, they call you.”

“Something like that.” She ate another olive. “When things are broken, they probably call someone else. But before that, they call someone like me to get things moving when they’re stopped, or stalled.” She smiled at Dean. “Not as many corpses to dispose of on that side of things.”

Smiling back, Dean raised his hand to get their server’s attention. “I’m orderin’ another round.”

Sam objected. “Dean, we haven’t even eaten anything.”

“Why do you think I’m ordering stout, dude?” Dean drained what was left in his glass and set it down with a thump. “The steak of beers. I bought you a burrito this morning, it’s not my fault you didn’t finish it like I told you to.”

Whitney sat back to watch them as they continued to bicker. There was no malice in it for them as near as she could tell. It seemed like more of a sport.

It wasn’t that they were excluding her exactly, and Sam especially would turn to her and loop her into it whenever he saw an opportunity, but the person they were trying most to entertain was each other. Which was fine. She usually preferred observing people to actually talking to them anyway.

As the give-and-take continued, she couldn’t help it. She started to notice things.

When she and Sam had started talking between the two of them, Dean would act out in some small way to get Sam’s focus back on him. She was flattered at first, thinking Dean didn’t want to share her. But when it happened the second time, she knew it was Sam he didn’t like sharing.

Dean was possessive then, jealous. Each time she watched it happen, Sam played annoyed but the rest of his body language betrayed that he was pleased. This was theatre.

They struck her as two very different people who shouldn’t have gotten along: Well-spoken vs. blunt, intellect vs. instinct. It was like the president of the chess club had hit it off with the motorcycle bad boy, and the two had bonded over some kind of shared experience, or maybe they had survived some kind of traumatic event. And now they filled in each other’s blanks.

But it was the little flickers of light between them as they argued that struck her the most. It was a little half-smile here, and a fond eye roll there, putting on a show for each other and, to a much lesser extent, her. The jaded, bossy senior partner and the eager, put-upon junior partner, each pretending they didn’t enjoy their roles.

There was more than friendship here. Or partnership. These two had tunnel vision that was only aimed at each other. 

Whitney had guessed wrong: She wasn’t in a buddy cop movie. She was in a rom-com that thought it was buddy cop movie.

After they finished a second round, Sam started to relax, and Whitney was delighted that his cheeks flushed red when he was drunk. Sam touched them self-consciously. “It happens sometimes, I don’t know why.”

“It’s adorable, makes me feel like I just bought him his first beer.” And the little light in Dean’s eyes matched that statement of “adorable” with actual adoration that she wasn’t sure he knew he was showing. “Alright, this needs to be the last round, or we won’t be having fun tonight for very long.”

There it was again, that cryptic “we.”

Sam rose awkwardly, the handle of the messenger bag already in his hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to glance down at Whitney. “It was nice to m—”

Dean silently pointed his finger from Sam to the chair. After a moment, Sam sat back down. 

The two of them then seemed to go into some silent discussion, somehow conveyed only through facial tics, Dean’s more forceful, Sam’s more uncertain.

If Sam didn’t want to be part of this, why was he? He was a big dude, the bigger of the two. He didn’t have to do what Dean was suggesting. He could’ve just gotten up, said “goodnight” and walked away. But he didn’t.

Did he want to be talked into it? And why did Dean want him there if Sam clearly didn’t want to be?

Oh.

Ohhh.

This was shaping up to be a very interesting evening.

As their secret sign language thing continued, Whitney looked up local hotels on her phone and found one that looked like it was very nice. “Let’s skip another round and just get to the main event.”

Dean beamed at her. “You are singin’ my song.” Absently, he reached over and slid the beer that Sam clearly wasn’t going to finish toward him, picking it up and draining it in one swallow, looking at Sam directly the whole time. Then, with another hand command that indicated Sam and then he and Whitney, Dean went to settle the bill.

Whitney had never made a wager in her life, but she was ready to bet money that these two were in love.

✯✯✯✯

When she got out of the bathroom and walked outside, they were standing together (very close together) against a shiny black muscle car. (She could guess who did most of the driving.) From the body language, it seemed that Dean was giving a pep talk, one hand flat against Sam’s chest. 

She approached only to hear Dean say, “Think I’m gonna poke you in the eye? You’ll be at the other end.”

They didn’t see Whitney yet, so she decided she might as well eavesdrop.

“But it’s --” Sam’s hand was anxiously raking through his hair. “We don’t -- It’s weird, right?”

“Nothin’ you haven’t seen before, puritan boy.”

“Dean, those times weren’t by choice.” Sam protested. “They were usually because you forgot to hang the thing I made on the door.”

Hold up. Hold. The. Hell. Up. 

Did these two... live together?

Dean braced him by the shoulders again. “Look, we only get to play it one day at a time, man.”

Sam stared at him, confused, then rolled his eyes and huffed. “Bull Durham? Right now?”

Dean’s laugh was in no way repentant. “Seriously, you’re good and lubed up and you’re probably feelin’ a little loose so you just have to go with the --”

Sam noticed Whitney standing there and slapped at Dean’s chest quickly in the universal “stop talking” gesture.

The two stepped away from each other slightly. Slightly. Sam was obviously considering the last words Dean had said, and his face flushed as if he was going to try to explain that Dean didn’t mean that kind of “lubed up” or that kind of “loose” but Dean held up a hand to stop this before it started and asked her, “You ready to go?”

“Absolutely, I already picked a place, but I need to make a stop on the way over, won’t be ten minutes.” She pointed at a silver Audi in the adjacent row. “Follow me.”

Dean’s grin was infectious as the prospect of sex grew nearer. Sam smiled, but also looked like he wanted a trapdoor to open beneath him and pull him down into the earth, never to be seen again.

✯✯✯✯

The hotel clerk was a lady in her 60s and, to her credit, when Whitney paid for a luxury suite with one king-sized bed for the three of them, her expression only changed subtly. It was that kind of place, with all the discretion that the rates could provide.

Dean caught the woman’s reaction and grinned back shamelessly, then turned to look at Sam as if sizing him up. Sam seemed to be carefully pretending that none of this was really happening, staring in feigned fascination at the shelf next to the front desk with all the different pamphlets for local tourist attractions. 

“California king,” Dean amended, turning back. “If you have it.”

Whitney wasn’t sure what to expect when they got into the room. More small talk? Not that she hadn’t enjoyed their small talk at the bar. Should she call room service and have them send up more drinks?

The two of them shared a soft “huh” as they walked into the room. Likely, the FBI only paid for the minimum accommodations while they were on the road.

As soon as the door was closed behind Sam, Dean casually took off his jacket and draped it over the armchair next to the door, and she watched as Sam, who seemed to be foundering, followed his lead with their socks and shoes next.

Under his jacket, Dean wore a horizontal shoulder holster in soft brown leather that looked like it was out of the 1940s. Whitney was considering asking him to put it back on once he had taken off everything else.

Next was Dean’s waistcoat. Sam didn’t have one of those, so he went with his button-down next. Just as Dean was deftly removing his tie, Sam tried to do the same and hesitated. He looked at Whitney as if he hoped she wasn’t watching, but she couldn’t not watch this play out.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

Sam’s eyes darted back to Dean. “I can’t undo your stupid knot.”

Dean stripped out of his own button-down like he didn’t care if it still had buttons tomorrow or not. He had good, solid biceps. “I’ve shown you like three times, dude. Watch the YouTube video I sent you, and practice.”

“Whenever I try to untie it, it gets worse.”

Sighing wearily, but not at all convincingly, Dean stripped out of his white undershirt. He was just as broad and meaty as she had imagined, but none of it was fat. Given the amount of stout he had just put away, he must’ve had the metabolism of a hummingbird. If she knew him better, she would’ve warned him that metabolism slows down at forty, and she figured he was coming up on that. 

When he turned around to rescue Sam, she could see every ripple and groove of his back. The deep valley down the middle looked more pronounced because of the bulk of muscle on either side. Out of the suit, and from the side, he looked almost svelte compared to how he looked from the front.

Sam raised his chin and exposed his throat so Dean could more easily access the knot. Dean picked at it from where Sam had tightened it and then undid it as effortlessly as he’d undone his own. Whitney wondered if Dean had picked out their ties this morning, and if he had tied Sam’s tie. She was wondering a lot of things.

Dean was unfastening his belt as Sam was still unbuttoning his shirt. When Dean turned, Whitney saw an ornate tattoo with a star at its center, just under his collarbone. She was actually expecting more ink on him than that.

After Sam pulled his undershirt over his head, she gaped at him, stunned. She wouldn’t have known it, but Sam was some kind of Greek god under that suit, his muscle was more structured, more by design, whereas Dean’s seemed more incidental. They were intellect vs. instinct even in this. Dean could’ve posed as Michelangelo’s David (though he was packing considerably more heat, given the outline of his black boxer briefs), but Sam was the Farnese Hercules.

Thank god both types coexisted. She wouldn’t want to live in a world where they didn’t.

As Sam reached up to smooth down his disheveled hair, Dean slapped his hand away. “No, we talked about this. You get that middle part every-thing-behind-the-ears thing, it looks stupid.” Dean stepped closer. “Here, look at me.”

She watched them, open-mouthed, enjoying this unguarded moment.

It wasn’t the way that Dean reached up with both hands to muss his partner’s hair further so that it hung messier around his face. It wasn’t the way that Dean stood back to admire his handiwork, and then stepped forward to make minor adjustments.

It was the few seconds before that, before Dean had made any move at all, where Sam had ducked his head with a good-natured eye roll, waiting patiently for Dean to “fix” his hair.

And then it was a few seconds after where Dean seemed to give his partner a critical assessment that was not only confined to his hair. “There. Looks better that way.”

Was she watching a live gay porno? That’s what this felt like. The “story” part of a porno before it got to the good stuff.

Sam turned to put his pants on the chair and she saw it.

The same tattoo that Dean had, in exactly the same location on his chest.

“Alright, guys, time out,” Whitney said finally, leaning forward.

Both men jerked toward her in unison.

They had literally forgotten she was in the room. 

She smiled. “This is where I get off.”

Their bewildered expressions matched like their damn tattoos, and Dean’s eyebrows were raised, mouth quirked in a half-smile. He had only just realized that she hadn’t removed any of her clothes, not even her shoes.

“The ride,” she expanded. “This is where I get off the ride, now that I’ve got you two where I want you.”

As Dean put himself between her and Sam, he went through an abrupt transformation. Suddenly, he moved with military bearing and every muscle she could see was... not tense, exactly, but ready. There was no more Cary Grant; it had all burned away. There wasn’t even James Dean. 

This, she ventured, was Dean Gillan. The real one, under all the charm and showmanship. She was looking at Mr. Fistfights-for-Fun, in the flesh. In almost all of his flesh, actually. 

“What are you?” He asked, voice stripped of any sultry teasing. 

In that moment, she could see the man who wanted to wrap his fingers in his younger partner’s long hair and fuck hard into him for those little disparaging remarks back at the bar. 

As Sam stood just behind Dean to back him up, puppy face gone hard, she realized she was legitimately frightened of them both.

“I’m a fixer,” she said quietly, hoping to bring down the temperature in the room just a bit. “I get things moving when they’re stopped, or stalled.”

She indicated Dean first. “You want to be here. You want to fuck me. But, more importantly, you want him to see you fucking me. You want to show off, you want him to see how good you are. Because he’ll see what you do to me, and he’ll wish it was him, and you like the thought of that.”

Dean stepped just a little closer, but she continued.

Then Sam. “You do not want to be here. At least, not for me. You want to be with him, and you see sex-by-proxy, even sex you don’t want to have, as a way to get that. Something might accidentally happen between the two of you. That’s your hope. But me?” She smiled. “You don’t want me. You don’t want anyone else but him.”

Dean snorted derisively and glanced at Sam with an unspoken “can you believe this bullshit?”, but drew back slightly when Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice that Dean made no specific denials of her assessment of him.

She went back to Dean. “You want him. Maybe more than you’ve ever wanted anything, but you don’t think you can have him.”

Then to Sam. “And the same for you. What is it, FBI regulations about fraternization?” Neither of them would look at her now. “Because I have a newsflash for you: It’s really obvious. You’re not subtle. Any supervising agent you have who hasn’t noticed is either oblivious or looking the other way because you’re good at your jobs. If I hadn’t had three martinis before I saw you at the bar, I would’ve picked up on it a lot faster.” She went back to Dean again. “You gave it away, almost right away, and I missed it at first. When I made the remark about your partner being hot, you didn’t get jealous. You didn’t get angry. You were... honored. Proud. You were gratified that someone else found him hot.”

She could tell by the hard line of his jaw and eyes that looked all but dead that Dean’s temper was barely in check, and even though neither of them could look at the other, Dean held one hand against Sam’s stomach as if holding him back.

“We could all still hook up,” she said calmly. “Or the two of you could hook up, and I could just watch.” To Dean, “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Why is it that when you’re fucking a woman and your partner’s around, you can’t seem to lock a door, or hang a sign? You want him to see you, just like that, in all your glory. All sweaty, red-faced and fucked-out.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably behind Dean.

“And you,” she addressed to Sam. “Your partner doesn’t strike me as being a particularly quiet lover, and I doubt the women he’s with are quiet, either. And you’re a trained FBI agent. You listen at doors before you open them. You already know what’s happening on the other side, so why do you open it? Why are you always so, so shocked by what you see?”

“You’ve got us wrong,” Dean said finally, but even he seemed to realize that this was a weak rebuttal.

“I’m wrong about a lot of things,” Whitney admitted. “But not people. I’m always right about people.” 

Whitney stood now, hands spread placatingly with a plastic bag hanging from one wrist. “You can treat this room like a pocket universe if you want. A place where you can resolve all this tension and want and then, if you don’t feel like talking about it after that, you agree to never speak of it again. But I don’t think your partnership would survive. I think you’ll like what happens in here, if you give it a chance.”

She handed that plastic bag to Dean, who took it only reluctantly, letting it hang from two fingers like it was something foul.

“That’s what I picked up on the stop before we drove here,” Whitney explained. “I don’t think either of you have done this before, so I thought it might ease things along. For your bottom... or that is to say, Sam’s bottom.”

Dean looked a little smug at this appraisal, which Sam caught. As if fully realizing what he was being smug about, Dean’s face went carefully neutral. 

“You’ve got the room until noon tomorrow.” Whitney put her purse on her shoulder. “It’s a luxury suite. There’s room service. You can simply decide that you’re going to sleep here and nothing will happen. But if I were you...” She smiled. “I’d make it memorable. I might even see it as a challenge to break the bed.”

Whitney walked past them, still not entirely unafraid but playing it off. Right before she closed the door, she said, “It was nice being an intermediary for something other than a multinational corporation.” Finally returning the wink Dean had given her earlier, she said. “Good luck.”

#wincest #dean winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #spnfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #i write things

[spideyxchelle]

hellooo! re-read your hollywood au and just wanted to say it brought a smile to my face the same way it did the first time 😊 i know it’s been a while since awards season but was curious if you had new headcannons in that verse? Especially with zendaya pulling off looks at the met gala? Again, just wondering 🤗 thanks for taking time out of your days to share your talents with the rest of us, it’s always appreciated 😊😊

i actually wrote a little something. its a short, sweet hollywood au continuation. have fun, babies.

peter gets the matte black invitation to the met gala on aSaturday. it is addressed to michelle jones and guest. and he immediatelydreads the entire thing. in the six years they have been dating, mj has alwaysgone to the met gala alone. peter dreads red carpets. as a two-time oscarnominee, he knows that he is expected, to a certain extent, to take pictures andgive interviews. but he feels more at home in his ratty baseball caps behindthe camera.

but his girlfriend, oh his girlfriend, shines in front ofthe camera. the soft corners of her mouth that effortlessly turn upwards in ateasing smile, melt the hearts of millions. she does not relish the limelightbut, damn, she is so good at it. at every event he has ever been to with her,mj is the best dressed. without question. her stylist, Flash Thompson, is aninsufferable dick. but he has an eye for fashion. though, peter does find itquite cutting when he shows up in his worn jeans, t-shirts and baseball capsand flash fixes him with the ‘look’. theyou-are-on-the-arm-of-hollywood-royalty-up-your-game-parker look. he knows heshould do better. he just doesn’t wanna.

and the met gala means he is going to have to actually try.or enlist the help of a stylist. mj could show up in a pillowcase and wouldstill make it look couture.

it is a lot of pressure to be her arm candy. he can’t wear ablack tux and call it a day.

he spends six whole hours bent over the invitation,spiraling. so, when mj gets home and he’s sitting at their kitchen islandpanicking, she sighs and asks, “you good, baby?” he lifts the invitation andshe rolls her eyes, “its just the met.”

“sure,” peter says back, “when you look like, you know, youdo…its just the met gala. but I have as much fashion sensibility as a dog.” mjpecks his mouth, “a very cute dog.” he frowns, “don’t tease me.” “its so easy,though,” she grins.

the next two and a half weeks leading up to the event are anon-stop stressfest for peter. he goes to work and cindy throws water on himfive different  times. the last time, hedoes not try to flinch away. he takes his punishment and wallows in his ownsadness in the director’s chair. soaking wet. cindy groans, “you take all thefun out of teasing you.” “I’m sorry to take the fun out of bullying me.”“pranking,” she corrects, “seriously, though, what’s wrong with you?” “the metgala.” “still?” cindy rolls her eyes. “yes,” peter exclaims, pulling himselfout of his chair, “people are going to expect me to look better than good. andI’d rather stay home in my pajamas.” “so do that,” cindy reasons, “say you’resick or something. mj’s gone to the gala the last six years without you. shecan do it again.” “what?” peter frowns deeper, “so harry osborn can fawn overher all he likes?” “harry and mj are not—” cindy starts. “I know, I know. hedoesn’t like her like that. still don’t buy it,” peter mumbles.

“have flash help you, then,” cindy tries. peter shakes hishead, “he’s a little too adventurous for me.” cindy takes a deep breath, “havemj do it, then. or do something else. I don’t care. but you being grumpy isn’tworking for me. so figure it out.”

with an order from cindy there is nothing for peter to doexcept buckle down and fashion it up. and he does something he never thought hewould have to do—he goes to flash thompson for help.

he walks into flash’s studio and is assaulted by feathersand sequins and fabrics of all textures. it is a lot to take in. flash issitting at a counter sticking something and peter tries to speak but ispromptly cut off, “you really wore those jeans here?” peter glances down at hisoutfit, “these are comfy jeans.” “they hang off your ass, parker. how is that agood look, hmm?” flash challenges. peter falls silent.

Flash drops his project and starts to circle around peter.he feels super self-conscious but he takes it all in stride. quietly. flashtuts a few times and, then, announces, “burgundy.”

peter blinks, “excuse me?” “did I stutter, parker? burgundy.black will make you blend in. anything brighter will make you stand out. and mjneeds someone that matches her but not someone that tries to outshine her.she’s the movie star.” “I’m not arguing with you,” peter agrees, “in fact, Idon’t feel the need to stand out much, you know?” “burgundy,” flash repeats.

he goes to four separate fittings. it is exhausting and afew of the alterations don’t even seem necessary. the suit doesn’t look allthat different to peter, to be honest. but flash always hums in approval whenthe tailor changes some small detail. he must be missing something.

they fly to the gala and flash carries a rattling fabric bagon the plane. michelle and him share a private look. peter tips his baseballcap back and questions, “what are you two planning?” she plops herself down inhis lap and kisses him soundly, “don’t worry about it, baby.” peter pulls hisarm around her waist, “if you’re planning to look heart arrestingly beautifulyou should warn me. I’ll need some kind of armor. I’m only human, after all.”“scouts honor,” she crosses her hand over her heart, “I will not be packing anykind of weaponry.” flash snorts and peter knows he is missing some kind ofjoke. she swallows whatever questions he has in another kiss.

when they touch down in new york, peter thanks the pilot andmichelle tugs him into the black car to their hotel. she is in yoga pants, herhair is a mess and she is beyond stunning to him. he leans across the leatherseats to kiss her. her eyes flutter open and she cups his cheek gently, “whatwas that for?” “just love you,” is his answer.

michelle yanks the divider between the back seat and thefront seat closed. they spend the rest of the ride to the hotel getting lost ineach other.

when the driver politely knocks on the tinted window of thecar, michelle and peter lung apart and begin to fix rumpled clothes. mj smoothshis hair back and peter steals one final kiss before the door opens. they aremet with a flash of lights. peter fits his baseball cap on and he shields hiseyes from the lights. he lifts his bag up so that his face is somewhatconcealed and walks to block michelle from the onslaught of unexpectedphotographers.

they shout a wave of questions. about the gala. about hernext film. about his next film. about their sex life. and peter has to grit histeeth. the media attention has not gotten easier to handle in the subsequentyears since he has been in the limelight.

the front door of the hotel is opened and closed behindthem. the paparazzi are locked outside.

when they are safe inside the elevator, mj slips her handinto his and whispers, “you did it. its over.” it takes a moment for him toregister her words but when he does, he ducks his nose in her neck andbreathes. she quietly scratches his back.

the next morning, he decides he wants coffee. he has aphonecall with cindy. he kisses mj’s naked shoulder and heads to the lobby.when he walks outside, he thankfully is not met with the trick of lights. thereare no vultures today.

the coffeeshop on the corner is quiet. until the internet.when he hangs up one of the girls at a nearby table leans over and asks, “areyou peter parker?” he tips his head down to hide his face, “uh, yea.” she turnsher phone around and there is a sneaky picture of him sitting in the coffeeshopon the phone talking to cindy. someone across the shop must have snagged apicture of him when he wasn’t looking. he begins to look around for the culpritbut no one is meeting his eye.

the girl that spoke to him shyly asks, “can I get a picturewith you? I love your movies.” he softly smiles, “sure.” that is how he ends uptaking seventeen selfies in a row.

when he gets back to the hotel and hands his girlfriend ato-go cup of coffee she giggles, “got caught up in a selfie parade.” he blinks,“how’d you know that?” she turns her phone around and there are a stream ofpictures of him on instagram on the account michellejonesupdates. “proud ofyou,” she opens her arms for snuggles. he easily falls into her arms. “I don’tdo this celebrity thing as well as you do.” “it takes practice.” “I’ve hadyears of practice.” “you’re a director, you dork. its never gonna come easilyto you. but you’re a sweet man and you deal with it.”

he is so in love with her it is a physical ache that settlesin his chest. he lays on top of his girlfriend as she runs her fingers throughhis hair. he knows he would give up everything, fame and fortune and notoriety,to have her. he is the luckiest man in the world.

“hey, mj?” he kisses her shoulder. “hmm?” she hums. “marryme?”

there is a sharp intake of breath. then, she pushes him offof her forcibly. “you did not just ask me to marry you in bed.” he grins wildlyand scoots closer to her, “sure. why? did you want some fancy proposal.” “wellno—” “so then, will you? marry me, I mean.”

her voice is wonderous and quiet, “seriously?” he nods andtakes her hand in his, “yes. god, mj I love you more than anybody. more thananything. you’re my rock. my whole world. and, I’d really like to stand up infront of all of our friends and family and tell them how much I love you. sothey can be crazy jealous of our love.” through tears, she nods, “its true.we’re, like, the coolest couple ever.” “totally,” he agrees, “so…what do yousay?”

she sniffles. she nods, “yes. of course. of course I’llmarry you.”

peter cups her face between his two hands and showers herwith kisses. she laughs and cries through all of the laughter.

that night, when flash arrives to get  them both ready for the gala, he zeroes in onthe antique ring that used to be peter’s mother’s engagement ring. the onesitting on mj’s hand. “no,” flash immediately says. “what?” mj questions. “thatring. you can’t wear that. I have designed a game changing—nay—a WORLD CHANGINGoutfit for the met gala. and if you wear that ring nobody is gonna payattention to my genius.” Michelle squishes flash in a hug, “oh flash, nobody isgoing to ignore your work. you’re a genius. but the ring stays.”

it is so hard to love mj. every minute he loves her more andmore. it does not feel sustainable. and yet, every day proves him wrong. god.he’s so fucking lucky.

he discovers he is even more lucky when mj gets dressed forthe gala. his jaw drops. “you promised you’d warn me if you’d be heartarrestingly beautiful.” “no,” she pecks his mouth, “I promised no weaponry.”“jesus, mj,” peter groans, rubbing his face. his makeup artist smacks his handand warns him not to smudge his makeup.

when they arrive at the carpet, his burgundy is a niceaccent to her silver warrior couture. and if she asked him to swear allegianceto her, he would have dropped to his knees on the entry carpet and done so.damn.

she parts oceans as she walks. people gawk and awe. she is avision. she is fierce. and he belongs to her completely.

he is overlooked, as he had expected to be. but damn. gettingto walk at her side all night is an unparalleled treat. no one else even getsclose to looking as singularly wonderful as she does. in fact, she is sostriking nobody notices her ring.

well. in person.

the internet notices immediately. and twitter is floodedwith a lot of capslock flailing.

he is so happy the next day he decides to go on his mostlyunused Instagram to upload a picture of her from the gala with the caption— #putaringonit

and mj follows suit uploading a picture of him drooling intheir bed with the caption—#forbetterorforworse

#headcanon ask #hollywood au