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gurugirl · 5 months

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Can We Start Over? | Ch. 2 The Job Offer

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 2. Summary: You can't stop thinking about what happened the night you met Harry and how much you hate him. But then you get some really good news about a new job. Except there's a catch.

Word Count: 9k

Warning: 18+ only, angst, alcohol consumption

Can We Start Over? masterlist

“Oh my god, Y/n. What a fucking dick. But your response was gold! I wish you’d stayed to see what happened. Holy shit!” Brandy laughed as she clinked her glass with yours, “That was some gangster shit right there!”

You both laughed at your recount of what had happened with Harry. You met your best friend Brandy for Sunday brunch at your usual spot. You had called her on Saturday after your exit paperwork was taken care of with Mr. Spector and said you had some very interesting news to tell her but that you wanted to share it in person. This wasn’t over-the-phone kind of gossip. It was a with-a-martini-in-hand face-to-face kind of gossip.

“And besides… the most important thing is at least you got off. Typical fuck-boy, good in bed but an absolute slut.”

You nodded, “Exactly. And it doesn’t bother me too much, really. Not now. Plus Mr. Spector gave me a really nice parting bonus. And I’m sure I’ll be matched with someone soon for another gig but even if it takes a few months, I won’t have to dig into savings thanks to him.”

And it was true. Mr. Spector presented you with the check and a hug and well wishes and you were nearly in tears by the time you left his estate. The movers were there the whole time, taking furniture out of his lovely home. A home you’d gotten to become very familiar with over the years. You held events and small parties there, you helped him redecorate the master suite and all the bathrooms (well you organized it all and helped the decorators and builders with the design and material selection). You even had your own room there. Not that you often needed to stay but that was part of your job description as a personal assistant. Sometimes you needed to stay. But usually, you’d go home at night.

The service that you worked for assured you there were a few clients in need of a personal assistant and if it was a good match, they’d refer you. That was important. To have the right match. You were lucky you were single and without kids. That meant you were more flexible. But that didn’t guarantee a good match.

You were sure you’d be enjoying a couple of weeks off work off to do nothing. It sounded fantastic.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to get an offer so soon. When Monica emailed you on Monday afternoon with the file and details of your new assignment (if you accepted) you perused the document with your mouth agape. You’d been matched with someone with what was known as stealth wealth (most were), who traveled frequently. You’d need to keep a bedroom in their home (not out of the norm) and travel with them from country to country. You would negotiate holidays and time off once meeting in person but the salary offered was the first thing you saw when you looked at the contract. There was no pressure to sign but how could you say no to an offer that would erase your college debt and allow you to buy a home in a year? You couldn’t let this one slip away.

You emailed Monica back right away that you’d accept it and like to move forward. The next step would be to meet in person. Then, you’d find out more about who you’d be working for. The service was very discreet. The client was always given absolute anonymity until it was time for the first meeting.

You stared at your computer screen as if to will Monica to respond faster. Sipping your coffee you tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation. You kind of would have enjoyed some time off. A week or two of downtime. Sleeping in. Catching up on all the movies and shows you hadn’t had time to watch on Netflix. Order in pizza and Chinese, and day drink in your pajamas. But this opportunity wouldn’t be on the table for much longer. Another person would snatch this up in a heartbeat. That dollar sign alone would see to it.

When Monica finally responded you placed your mug of coffee down, held your breath, and clicked the email.

You’ll be meeting with the client tomorrow at 8:00 am at an address that will be sent to you via our private messaging app at 5:00 am. He requests you bring a physical copy of your resume and if you both agree to terms tomorrow he’ll bump up your salary 10% automatically. Confirm this is okay and I’ll set up the rest. Monica

You squealed as you quickly typed back a resounding Yes! Book it! Thank you!

You stood up and paced. Okay. So you learned the client was a he. Well, you’d blow him away. You’d make him want to hire you on the spot with that lovely little 10% bump.

You already knew the outfit. Thanks to working for Mr. Spector, you’d been allotted a stipend for very nice, and well-tailored outfits for when you needed to look chic and professional. Great for a first meeting, your double-breasted jacquard wool coat in neutral colors with a pop of blue, and your blue silk button-up tucked into your jacquard wool skirt, matching the coat. Stylish, flattering, and appropriate for meetings with a wealthy man who would undoubtedly be dressed very nicely as well.

It was perfect. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. A new assignment so quickly and one that paid so well? It felt like fate.

. . .

Harry had his house manager, Lucio, contact a highly recommended service to find a personal assistant for himself. He hated to find someone new because that was just one more person who knew his business. And he preferred having very few people in his circle. But Thasi was dumb. He couldn’t bear to have her working for him another minute. She had trouble with very basic tasks, like adding events to his calendar. She’d even missed two flights that he had booked for her and the last flight she missed he only realized it when she came into his study with a folder asking him about an account he needed to close out.

He stood from his desk and looked at the girl in astonishment, “Thasi. Why are you not 30,000 feet in the air right now? Why are you here standing in my house asking me this question? You are meant to be headed to New York City.” His voice was firm. Irritated.

The girl dropped her mouth open and blinked her eyes until it had finally dawned on her that she had forgotten to make her flight to meet with an art dealer on Harry’s behalf.

“I take it by the look on your face that you now realize your irreversible blunder. You’re fired. I’ll have your things sent back to your home by tomorrow afternoon.”

The poor girl couldn’t even argue with him. She knew she’d blown it. That was her second missed flight, of equal importance. And Harry felt he’d been quite generous and patient with her by giving her another chance. But he shouldn’t have.

So when he learned about Personal Premier Services from a few of his colleagues he decided to look for a PA that way rather than on his own like he had with Thasi. Harry’d had good luck finding staff for everything he needed for the last five years without help. The personal assistant was something rather new to him as he usually did most of his own errands by himself or had Lucio do them. But things were changing in his business and he needed an assistant quite desperately.

Harry woke before the sun rose and took his morning jog. He loved getting his day started earlier than most people. It meant he had time to do things like, exercise, catch up on world news, meditate, shower, and eat breakfast all before most other people would even be out of their beds. He also wished he could just stay awake forever. Wished he didn’t need sleep. There were so many things he could accomplish during the hours he wasted sleeping. But, being that he was only a mere human, his body required sleep.

“Sir? Y/n Y/l/n has just arrived. I have her waiting in the sitting room. Would you like me to bring her up?”

Harry cocked his head and looked to Lucio as he sat his pen down, “What did you say her name was again?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

Why did that name somehow feel so familiar?

“No. That’s okay, Lucio.” He stood from his chair, “I’ll go and greet her myself. Thank you.”

Harry’s immediate instincts told him that name was familiar. But why? And oddly, he first let his mind wander to it being you. But it couldn’t be. You were at the ball and he was certain you were wealthy just like him based on your outfit and your demeanor. He’d only gotten your first name that night, not your last name. And while Y/n was your name, the person looking for a job waiting for him downstairs certainly wouldn’t be the same woman who had put a used condom on his hotel door’s handle only to have his now ex-friend-whatever-she-was find it.

Yes. The ex-friend. Aster. He knew he should have stopped their little arrangement before she got too attached. It was never meant to be anything serious. From the start, he told her he was seeing other people but she never wanted to hear about anyone else he might have been sleeping with. And when he realized she started getting attached he should have recognized it was time to end it. But he didn’t.

Harry clenched his jaw and swallowed.

The knocking on his door had come a lot faster than he’d hoped. Aster wasn’t even supposed to be there. Her flight had been canceled so she wasn’t going to make it to New York City. He told her he’d see her the following day when he flew back. But of course, she rebooked a later flight without him knowing. As a surprise. And the call from Aster telling him she was on her way had shocked him and really put a damper on the night he thought he’d be enjoying with you. He just hoped she hadn’t passed you on her way to the door.

As soon as he opened it up, Aster slapped him across the face and held up a napkin with a blush-colored lip stain on it and a scribbled note. But what really had his attention was a droopy condom on his doorknob. Fresh with his come.

“What the fuck, Harry? What the fuck?!”

“Aster, I don’t… what is this?” He knew goddamn well what it was. It was you. “I think someone is just playing a joke on me. This isn’t mine…”

“The note, Harry? Whoever it is knows your fucking name.” Aster pushed passed him to make her way into the room.

Harry looked down the hallway and then cringed as he pulled the condom from the knob with the discarded tissue he picked up off the floor.

“Babe, this was just a cruel joke from someone–“

“Don’t you dare call me babe! And I don’t believe you. Who is going to play this kind of joke on you and then write your name on a napkin from the event you were just at?” She tossed him the napkin, “Hmm? I bet I know who. Someone you just fucked and kicked out because you didn’t think I’d come.”

Harry looked down at the napkin. Sure enough, it said A Secret Garden in the City with Alfred Spector’s company logo printed on it, as well as the note you’d written – Thank you, Harry xx. Bitch. He dropped the napkin onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn’t know what to say. And it wasn’t like he’d been all that serious about Aster to begin with. She was gorgeous and they’d known one another for a while but that was where his attraction ended. In all honesty, he didn’t like her that much. Perhaps this was for the better, as much of an asshole as that made him seem.

“Aster, look…” he sighed and sat down at the edge of the messy bed, “You and I weren’t exactly serious. It’s always just been casual. You know that,” he looked at her with her hands on her hips, red in the face, tears just breaking her lash line. “I’m sorry. You and I were never headed for marriage. It was just some fun for a bit.”

“Some fun? I flew out here to see you on a whim. Not because I thought you were just a bit of fun but because I actually did like you. But you know what? You’re right. I don’t think I could have ever pictured myself marrying someone like you. Selfish, pathetic, overly regimented. You’re doomed to die alone, Harry.”

She pressed her lips together and waited for a response but when it didn’t come she stomped toward the door, slamming it behind her on her way out.

Harry smoothed his expensive blazer out and brushed off the feeling he was getting as he walked through the hallway to the foyer and then peeked into the sitting area where his interviewee would be sitting and waiting for him.

He nearly jumped back when his eyes met yours. Both of your faces held the same expression. Complete shock lined with minor disgust.

“This must be a joke,” you stood up from the plush silk-lined chair you’d been sitting in and looked around the room as if someone were going to pop out and tell you that you were on that show, Candid Camera, and it was all for a good laugh.

But the only person in your sight was the man you had a one-night stand with. The cocky asshole who’d treated you like garbage and then kicked you out of his room when he got a call from someone.

“I think there must be a mistake… You’re… are you a personal assistant? I’m confused.” Harry mimicked your body language, pivoting himself to look around to see if he could find someone and demand answers.

“Yes. That’s what I do for a living. But clearly, I have no intention of working for anyone like you, so if you don’t mind…” you picked up your briefcase and began to walk toward Harry to move past him and see yourself out.

But just as you walked through the threshold of the sitting room to the foyer Harry spoke, “Y/n.”

You stopped and turned to look at him in question.

“Come. Let’s have a chat,” he turned and began walking toward the grand stairwell that led upstairs, turning back to make sure you were following.

You blinked your eyes and scoffed as you looked down at your red-painted nails. Should you follow him? What would be the point? Just to hear him insult you and turn you away at the end anyway?

“You are looking for a job, are you not?” Harry spoke from the bottom of the stairwell, his hand on the lacquered wooden banister.

“I am. But… I don’t think this would work out.” You gestured at him.

“You and I are professionals and you come highly regarded. I’m in great need of an assistant. At the very least we can have a discussion and see where it takes us. I don’t like my time wasted and I’m sure you don’t either. You came all the way here. Let’s at least talk.”

Harry thought you looked cute and he could see the gears turning in your head. He could deal with the one night he’d had with you and the very improper thing you’d done which outed him to Aster if you were good at what you did.

“Yeah, but we…” you chose your words carefully, “Friday night? I honestly don’t think–“

“I can look past that if you can. This is strictly professional. I’ve no interest in anything more.”

What were you to do? He hadn’t just been a one-night stand. He was an asshole. Could he really pretend that none of that had happened? Could you?

But. There was the matter of the salary he was offering. An enticing and frankly irresistible number that could have you swallowing your pride.

“Fine. But I can assure you I will not tolerate being treated like…” you paused to carefully choose your words again. You were certain his house had staff listening in.

Before you could find the word you were seeking, Harry spoke, “Like an assistant who is paid to do her job flawlessly?” He began to take the steps upward and you followed.

You frowned at his description. As if you wouldn’t do your job flawlessly. You weren’t sure what he was implying but you had a bad feeling about this.

When you followed him into a large study with dark woods and big windows with heavy drapes, a huge walnut desk with an expensive chair and bookshelves lining one of the walls he closed, and locked, you noted, the door behind himself, “Sit.”

You looked at the plushy green velvet chairs with tufted cushions and ornate carvings in the arms and legs and placed your bag down on the chair next to the one you sat in. He sat in his own chair at his desk and looked at you, a harsh expression on his face. He was far more intimidating in this setting.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he spoke clearly as he kept his eyes pinned to yours, “What you did when you left that night is unforgivable in a personal setting. And because of that, you and I will never be friends. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work well together as boss and employee. I expect complete discretion and a professional attitude from anyone that works for me. Is that a problem for you?”

You felt your ears growing hot as your anger slowly rose, “I am the most professional and discreet personal assistant you’ll ever find. Anyone else will disappoint you and I would also expect that any employer would treat me professionally and fairly. What you did to me that night was insulting and something I will never forget nor forgive. So don’t worry, I’d never want to be a friend to anyone like you.”

Harry clenched his jaw at your response and nodded, “Fair enough. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk job details and salary.” Harry looked down at his folder and opened it up.

“Salary? That part was already determined. Plus 10% on top if we come to an agreement on terms of employment today.” You reminded him.

Harry laughed and looked up at you with his head tilted to the side as if he were curious about you, “That was before I knew who I was offering such a generous salary to.” He looked down at the paper in front of him, marking something out and scribbling over it. He held the sheet of paper out to you.

You squinted at him and leaned forward to take the paper and your eyes widened at the new number he’d written in on the contract. You laughed and crumpled the paper as you stood from your chair, dropping it onto the floor and lifting your bag, “Goodbye, Mr. Styles.”

Turning and walking over the grand Persian rug that took up most of the floor you reached for the handle and when you pulled realized the door was locked. You placed your fingers over the keyhole and turned back to the smug fucker. He sat comfortably in his chair with his brows raised at you, unimpressed.

“Unlock the fucking door. This conversation is over.” You were fuming.

“And why’s that? I feel like that’s just a starting place. A negotiation if you will. Tell me why you deserve more and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“This isn’t a game. You had a perfectly fine offer that I was willing to negotiate off of but now you’re just insulting me, once again might add. I’d never work for anyone for that wage. Much less a self-absorbed man who treats women like rubbish.”

Harry folded his lips into his mouth as he tampered his grin. His cocky attitude was infuriating, “Oh please. Save the dramatics. Sit.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “No. You’re an overly egotistical moron with nothing to back it up. I will not stand for being insulted this way.”

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and began to walk toward you, “Nothing to back it up? Wrong,” he grinned as he looked around his extravagantly decorated room and back toward you, “This home is a great example of what I’ve got to show for my accomplishments. My bank accounts as well,” he slowly walked to your side and put his hand onto the heavy oak door you were standing in front of as he licked his lips and looked down at your outfit before looking directly into your eyes, “And I’m pretty sure I had you crying my name over and over again when I made you come. I’d say that’s a great reason for my inflated ego. You certainly thought I was great when I had my dick inside of you.”

You swallowed and then scowled at his nerve to bring up such a thing, “Well, like you said, I’m a bit dramatic. I was overplaying it that night because I didn’t want you to feel bad. Now open the fucking door.”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fall as he leaned in closer, “Liar. You loved it,” then he backed away, giving you enough space to breathe, “Not that you’ll ever have a chance to experience it again.”

“Like I’d want that little thing anywhere near me. Now, are you gonna open the door or do I need to call 911 for attempted kidnapping?” You dug into your bag and pulled your cell phone out.

Harry laughed and you watched in dismay as his dimples appeared. He looked too handsome to be such an asshole. He put his hands up in surrender, “Okay. Fine. We’ll go back to negotiating off the original salary plus 10%. Okay?”

You sighed. You hated that you were even considering it. The salary he was offering was too good, though. You could handle him if he kept personal matters out of your working relationship. The worst-case scenario would be that you quit and told the service about him and how he treated you (of course you’d gather evidence so no one else had to put up with his shit) and then find another job working for someone else.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to go back to your seat.

Harry rounded the desk and sat down, putting his elbows on the desk once again, just like he’d done when you both first sat down to negotiate terms, “There we go. Money talks doesn’t it?”

Unfortunately, he was right. Money does talk.

You rolled your eyes again and looked at the back corner of his office to relieve yourself from his intense gaze.

“Less attitude, Y/n. Let’s begin, shall we?”

You suffered through an hour of going back and forth on expectations with Harry but at the end realized it wasn’t that bad. Once you both got out your frustrations at the beginning it seemed to flow smoothly after.

You even talked him into paying you 15% more, rather than just the 10%. Which you felt was a big win. Harry didn’t seem that phased by it.

He led you to what would be your room, which had your jaw dropping to the floor. It was… gorgeous. Like the rest of the house, it was grand and old but well-kept. The wide plank dark floors were covered with a light cream wool rug with small yellow, green, and blue flowers woven into the fabric. Long soft, lacy drapes hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor over the tall windows that overlooked the massive back garden full of trees and flowers and fountains. The king-sized four-poster bed had a pale yellow, silk canopy with tiny blue birds sewn into the material. The bedspread was white silk with the same yellow and blue birds sewn in. Ornate, heavy wooden side tables, a dresser with a big vanity and silk-covered cushion sat across from the bed. An antique chandelier hung in the center of the room, high above the bed. Flowers and potted plants with green leaves rounded out the space. There were two closed doors. One led to a small closet (not a surprise it was so small for the period of the house), and the other to a fully updated, spa bathroom which… you really had to pause for a bit as you took it all in.

Harry handed you keys to the house and a fob key that would allow you in the gates that surrounded the home and told you to arrange to have your things moved in by the following day (on his tab) and that you would start work at 8am sharp.

You called Brandy the moment you drove out of the gates to tell her what had just happened.

“It’s him. It’s the asshole one-night stand. I just accepted the offer to be his assistant.”

“I’m coming over with a bottle of wine. I need details in person.”

“Brandy, I’ve got to make arrangements and get everything ready, I don’t know…” you hemmed as you drove down the road with your heart beating fast in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just accepted to work with Harry Styles.

“Don’t make stupid excuses with me. You can do all that with a glass of wine in your hand.”

. . .

“I see why you took the job. Damn. I’m jealous,” Brandy spoke as she stood in your bedroom doorway while you packed up things you’d need right away. Harry explained that you’d be staying at his house more often during the week than your own apartment. He ran a tight schedule and driving an hour to his house every morning didn’t sound appealing and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Yeah. I was going to say no. I really was but… how can I turn down that offer? I’ve never made so much in my life and honestly? Probably never will again. I figure it’ll be like a trial run. We’ll see if he can be professional.”

You called around and found movers and arranged for them to have everything delivered to Harry’s address the following afternoon. It was still early in the day so you scheduled to have a set of your spare keys delivered by a courier by 5 pm so they could have access to your apartment the following day as you’d be gone.

You were busy the whole time Brandy was there but you were glad she was with you. You marked items you needed to have delivered and printed out a sheet of paper for a checklist for the movers.

But by the time your keys were picked up by the courier and you were halfway through the bottle of wine, you’d finally had time to sit and relax.

“You two are totally gonna fuck again,” Brandy grinned as she looked at the TV.

You scoffed and smacked her arm, “We are not. I’d never go near him again. Not after that night. I actually, fully despise him.”

“Yeah… sure. I mean… I know he was an asshole but also the way you spoke about how good he was in bed? How do you turn that down? You two are gonna practically be living together and traveling together. I don’t know… I looked him up. He’s hot, Y/n. An asshole but… we all have needs.”

Shaking your head you sipped your wine and ignored her. The thought had very very briefly crossed your mind but it was quickly pushed away because the reminder of how he treated you Friday night couldn’t be ignored. You’d never ever forget the way he made you feel so little and so disgusting.

“He literally cheated on someone while he was with me. He had a girlfriend. He fucked me as she was on her way over. Like…” you flailed your arms dramatically, “how could I possibly sleep with someone that is a cheater? I mean willingly? Now that I know?” You shook your head.

Still, Brandy didn’t seem deterred in her assumption, “Yeah… but we don’t really actually know who called him. And if it was someone he was seeing? I mean… come on. It’s not as if they were married. We can gather that much. Yeah, he’s shit for what he did but like… I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s not like he cheated on his wife or something.”

Brandy had always looked at things through rose-tinted glasses which was annoying. Where you were more practical and stubborn. There was no way you’d end up in his bed ever again. You didn’t know the excuse for why he kicked you out after he spoke on the phone and called someone babe. But that was beside the point. The more important factor was the way he treated you and that was simply unforgivable.

. . .

You were running late. You couldn’t believe it. Your alarm had gone off on time. You showered, ran through your quick morning routine, double-checked that all your things would be delivered to the correct address, and then you were on the road by 6:45 am. You allotted an extra 15 minutes in case of extra bad traffic.

But traffic is unpredictable.

“Hello?” Harry spoke into the receiver. You had your phone on speaker.

“Harry? Mr. Styles!” You corrected yourself, “Um… I’m stuck on the highway and it’s a bit backed up. I’m just giving you a heads up that I’ll be like…” You sighed and looked at the clock trying to make some kind of conservative estimate, “twenty minutes late?”

You heard him grunt in response and then sigh, “Fine. Please come up to my office the minute you walk in.” And then he hung up. That was it.

And of course, you half expected such a response. He gave you little indication of his opinion on you being late. You just hoped he didn’t hold it against you on your first day. It had genuinely been out of your hands. But then again, you being at the house with him on subsequent mornings would mean that being late in this way wouldn’t happen ever again.

When you parked at the front of the house you finagled your suitcase out of the backseat and lugged it up the front steps just as the door opened, “Good morning, Miss. Can I bring this to your room for you?” An older man stood with a smile as he scooped your suitcase away from you.

“Oh. Uh… Okay. Are you sure?” You followed him inside.

“Absolutely. Mr. Styles is expecting you right away.”

You swallowed and watched the man walk away as you took a breath. Your first day working for Harry Styles. Possibly also your last, depending on how everything went.

You climbed the stairs toward his study and knocked twice before pushing the door open gently.

“Come and sit.” He spoke right away. He didn’t even glance your way as he continued typing at his computer when he spoke.

You sat in the same chair you had the day previous and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.

He cleared his throat and squinted at his computer screen, “I’m an art dealer as I mentioned yesterday. But… it’s more complicated than that sometimes. I deal in art and cultural artifacts that can sometimes be a bit…” he looked at you, “morally grey in the way they are handled. It’s rare but I do occasionally have opportunities and come across certain pieces when a collector is willing to pay an exorbitant finder’s fee for the item.”

“Morally grey. Which means illegal.” You corrected, keeping your eyes on him.

He shook his head, “No. Nothing I do is illegal. Some take issue with some of the items I procure and where they come from, but ultimately, everything I do is technically legal.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what he meant exactly. But you assumed you’d be finding out soon enough.

After Harry explained in detail your schedule from day to day, he had Lucio give you a quick tour of the parts of the house you didn’t see the day before. He even had a binder with your tentative weekly schedule, important numbers to have on hand, addresses, passcodes, a new laptop, and passwords to his login details for various online accounts. He also handed you a credit card, “You’ll make all your own arrangements as well as mine. The limit on this card will cover the cost of flights and accommodations. You and I will be traveling frequently, as I mentioned yesterday.”

Your morning was filled with short bursts of Harry giving you information and what to expect, but half of that consisted of you waiting while he spoke on the phone and typed out emails. You couldn’t imagine why an art dealer would be as busy as seemed to be. Clearly, he was making lots of money so there was no doubt that he was busy with clients. But why?

You researched the ins and outs of being an art dealer the evening before, once Brandy’s Uber arrived to take her home. The typical art dealer did not make the kind of money you knew Harry had. Most also typically worked through auctions, galleries, and museums. Harry seemed to be his own entity doing deals as an individual. So you knew he wasn’t typical in his field.

At lunchtime you were hungry. You’d eaten something small before dashing to your car that morning but that had long been digested.

“Mr. Styles?” You looked at him from your spot in your chair as you closed your new laptop.

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s lunchtime for me. I was hoping I could get something to eat if that’s okay? You should probably also eat. I can bring you something if you take your lunch up here.” You honestly couldn’t have cared less if he ate, but you were so used to making sure Alfred ate that asking Harry was automatic.

Harry’s brows scrunched together and he looked at his computer screen, “Hadn’t realized the time. Sure. Feel free to make something for yourself or you can ask Carl to. I’d like a vegan cassoulet.”

You stood and looked at him in confusion, “A vegan… what?”

“A vegan cassoulet,” He pronounced the word obnoxiously, “Carl will know what I want. Just tell him.”

You repeated the word to yourself. Cas ooo lay – cas ooo lay… You thought it sounded like one of those French dishes you’d never ventured to try.

In the kitchen, you found Carl right away and told him what Harry wanted.

“And what for you?” He began to pull out pans and got to work right away.

“I can manage. I think just a sandwich. Is everything here in the fridge?” You opened up the door and immediately were overwhelmed by the amount of groceries and items packaged inside. The fridge itself was state-of-the-art. Everything in the kitchen was.

Carl laughed and stepped up behind you, “You can find everything you might need in this kitchen yes. But perhaps we’ll leave the cooking to me today, just until you get used to where everything is. What kind of sandwich would you like?”

“Oh. Maybe that’s a good idea. You don’t mind?”

Shaking his head, Carl reached passed you to pull out some vegetables, “Not at all. This is what I do. How about a French bread panini? I can slice up some turkey and Swiss, load it with vegetables? Or maybe you’d prefer grilled chicken and pesto? Egg salad? Or are you vegetarian?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I’m definitely not vegetarian. And the first one sounds fine. Turkey and Swiss panini. Any veggies you put on it will be good. I just don’t like mayo.”

It was wild to be having lunch made for yourself by a professional private chef. And Harry’s cassoulet looked divine but after googling it you learned it’s usually made with various kinds of meat and that the duck confit is what makes the dish. But since his version was supposedly vegan, you couldn’t imagine it tasting anything like it was probably supposed to.

You also learned that Carl wasn’t just a personal chef. He also did all the grocery shopping.

After lunch, your belongings arrived. The movers placed everything in your new bedroom and handed you the key to your apartment before they left.

“This is it?” Harry asked standing in the doorway as he looked around at the boxes and bags you’d had delivered.

“Yeah. I don’t have much I need to keep here. You’ve got the room fully furnished. Just my clothes and essentials.” You shrugged as you opened up the box near the bed.

You could feel Harry’s eyes on you as you dug into the box and pulled out your potted Pothos plant. “What?” You looked at him as you placed the plant on the floor.

“Nothing. Um,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think it’s a good stopping point today. We’ve got you set up on everything so you can unpack and relax. Normally our days will be longer but since it’s your first…” he put both arms down by his side and stopped fidgeting, “It’s good for today. And like I said earlier, you are free to watch TV in the main room downstairs or get anything from the kitchen you need at all. You don’t need to just stay in your room all night unless you choose to.”

You squinted at him, wondering if there was some kind of catch. He was rather pleasant, you had to admit. After you both got everything out of the way the day before things had been fine. Normal even. But you still had to keep your guard up around him. And all it took to remember who you were dealing with was what he’d done that night.

You decided against going downstairs to watch TV. Maybe you’d feel comfortable enough to do that later on but that night, it felt nice to take a long bath and listen to music and then curl up on your soft, silky bed with your laptop and Netflix.

Though you did get thirsty. And a bit hungry around 8. So you ventured down and hoped to not run into anyone.

Except of course, you ran into someone. When you entered the kitchen you saw Harry standing in front of the refrigerator looking in. Apparently, he had the same idea as you.

You cleared your throat and Harry turned to see you there, “Oh, hey.” He closed the fridge and faced you, “Need something?”

You nodded and stepped toward the pantry, “A little hungry and thirsty. Is it okay?”

“Of course it is. Help yourself to whatever. I was just about to make some pasta. Something simple. Would you like some?”

“Yeah. I can help you make it. What do we need?” You neared the fridge and opened it up, pulling out a glass pitcher of water.

Harry ran down the list of ingredients, which weren’t many, and you helped him slice garlic while he boiled the pasta and poured a can of San Marzano tomatoes into a small pot.

Everything came together quickly and you both sat at the island to eat the late-night meal together.

“Tomorrow we’ll book a trip to Vancouver. Someone has a few pieces I’d love to see in person.” Harry explained what to expect on the trip as you listened.

Then you got to talking about your parents and then college. Harry shared a little about himself but it wasn’t much. You didn’t expect that he would, but he did tell you about his mom and sister. You could tell how important they were to him just by the way he spoke. It made you feel warm toward him in a way knowing that he cared about people other than himself. Something you hadn’t been sure about as he seemed so cold.

When you were both done you tried to help him clean up, “You don’t have to do this, Y/n. I’ve got a housekeeper who will be here in the morning. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Are you sure? Are you headed to bed?” You asked as you placed the forks into the sink.

He nodded, “Yeah. Time to call it a night.”

“Do you always go to bed this early,” you grinned as you refilled your water to bring it with you to your room.

He raised his brows, “Yeah. I get up at 4:30 in the morning to start my day so 9:30 or 10 is about when I go to bed.”

You cringed to yourself. 4:30 in the morning? That sounded like hell.

You both went your separate ways as you bid Harry good night.

. . .

You had a busy morning. You booked a trip for the following week to Vancouver for yourself and Harry. Two nights at The Four Seasons (2 separate rooms, connected), first-class airline tickets, a reservation for the 2nd evening at a nice restaurant for four people, an on-call driver for the whole visit, and set-up details with someone’s assistant named Lana for the meeting.

Harry wanted everything to be perfect so you had to work at extracting as much information from Lana as possible. At first, Lana sent you an itinerary that was rather simple and would have most people feeling good about the meeting. But Harry took one look at it and knew he needed more information. So you spent the majority of your morning speaking with the young woman and filling in details that appeared to be missing.

“This is excellent, Y/n,” Harry looked up at you as he stood from his desk. The itinerary and all the bookings were taken care of. “I’m leaving to take care of something personal. You can have the rest of the day off. Thank you.”

You felt pleased. So far, working for Harry hadn’t been all that bad. He was picky and hard to please but you could handle him. You just hoped that the momentum you two had would continue into the weeks ahead.

. . .

You met Brandy out at your favorite club. You wore a cute black dress and black booties and your black leather jacket.

“Oh damn, girl! You look good!” Brandy called to you when she spotted you through the crowd.

“I can’t stay all night! I have to work in the morning, so I stop at 2 drinks!” You spoke loudly so Brandy could hear.

Brandy’s side eye told you that your friend would be trying to get you to enjoy yourself for longer. But you couldn’t. The last thing you wanted to do was to be on Harry’s bad side and be hungover the next morning.

But, Brandy was convincing. Too convincing at times.

Four martinis in and you were painfully aware that you wouldn’t be driving back. You’d need an Uber and that kind of sucked because Harry would know when your car wasn’t there. But… since you’d already need to Uber and you were already out, you had a fifth martini and danced with Brandy and forgot all about your promise to yourself.

The night grew blurry and you couldn’t stop talking about your boss.

“He’s so put together too,” you slurred as you and Brandy leaned into one another, too drunk to dance or drink anymore.

“I know. You keep saying that. And how big his cock was,” Brandy laughed and you pushed her, causing her to stumble back dramatically so you reached out to steady her but wound up falling with her to the floor in a fit of laughter.

Yeah, you’d gotten sloppy drunk.

“I need to go,” you pushed yourself up to stand as you reached for your cell phone. You could hardly see straight, and pulling up the Uber app was simply not going to work. Instead, you called the second to last person you’d texted, Harry. You really hadn’t put much thought into it.

He answered the line and you pushed your way toward the front of the club to go outside, dragging Brandy with you, “Harry!” You howled loudly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Club Yega. Can you pretty please come pick me up? I’m so drunk.” Your voice was scratchy and your words were watery.

Once you got outside you repeated your question, unable to hear what Harry had responded to you.

“Okay. Just wait for me outside. Is there anyone with you?” He sounded concerned.

“Brandy is here and the security guy standing by the door,” you said matter-of-factly before hiccupping.

Harry told you he’d be there soon and Brandy wobbled into your side as she used one eyeball to call an Uber for herself.

You were unable to recall how long it took for Harry to arrive, or when Brandy had gotten into her Uber and left but when you saw him, he was standing over you with his hand out, “Up you get,” he grasped your hand and helped you stand up. You’d been sitting on the sidewalk.

“Should be more responsible,” Harry chided you as he helped you to his running car, “No one’s watching over you. Where’s this friend you had with you?”

“She was here I promise but her Uber came to get her,” you stumbled into his car and plopped down into the seat with an umph!

Harry looked back at the front door security person and nodded to him as he rounded the car and got inside.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I was going to only have 2 drinks. Swear.”

“It happens. But you should have called me sooner. Don’t like that you were sitting out there alone like that. It’s late. And we have an early day tomorrow.”

You turned to look at him as he pulled into the street and reached a hand up to the curl that covered the top of his ear, “You’re so pretty. Which is weird because you’re such a fucking dick.”

Harry shook his head and laughed to himself as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m serious. You’re too pretty for it to be real. Your voice even.” You croaked.

Harry glanced at you quickly, “Oh yeah?” His grin widened. He knew the alcohol was talking but he certainly didn’t mind hearing your thoughts about him while you were inebriated.

“Yeah,” you lowered your finger to his shoulder and then poked at his bicep before dropping your hand back into your lap, “Nice everything. Except you’re not actually nice are you?” You let out a garbled laugh and closed your eyes for a moment.

“Hey… Come on. You’re drunk. Just close your eyes and we’ll be home soon.”

You shook your head and looked back at him, “Bossy too. But it sucks because it was so good that night. God I still think about it… and then I remember how you kicked me out like I was filthy. That was mean. Hurt my feelings.”

Harry sighed and stayed quiet. He was not going to engage in this kind of conversation with you while you were drunk. He was sure you wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.

But you didn’t stop there, “I wish I could stop thinking about it, though. S’not fair.”

Harry kept his eyes on the road and listened.

“The way you sounded when you were coming. I keep hearing it,” you squeezed your thighs together and looked out the window with a soft sigh. “Never had it like that before. But fuck you.”

Harry swallowed and blinked his eyes. He was a little surprised by your drunk confession. He liked that you thought fondly of some aspects of that night. Clearly you had enjoyed the sex. But to hear you saying how your feelings were hurt and that you were still angry about it all?

He looked over at you and down to your thigh where your dress had ridden up quickly before looking back at the road. He still refused to engage in this. You were drunk. Very much so.

“And your hands, Harry…” you reached over to brush your fingers over the back of his hand that was gripped on the steering wheel, “Oh god…” you breathed your words, “Your fingers. How good you are with them,” you bit your lip and leaned your head back into the leather seat and closed your eyes. “But still fuck you.”

When you were silent for a few minutes Harry looked over at you and noticed you were asleep.

He was glad you’d stopped staying the things you were. Your words had him confused. You were going from hot to cold fast. But he knew you wouldn’t ever reveal such things to him if you hadn’t been so far gone.

Waking you up gently, he put his arms under yours to help you out of his car, “We’re home, Y/n. Let’s get you up to bed.”

You were able to use your legs, but things were spinning. You clung tightly to Harry as he slowly brought you upstairs to your room.

When your bottom hit your mattress you laid back and sighed, “I might throw up,” you said.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head as he helped you out of your shoes. He knelt down and unzipped the leather to pull each one off. He didn’t intend to let his eyes wander over your legs and your thighs, but your dress had gotten bunched up so he could practically see your panties. And then they were fully on view when you scooted yourself into your bed further.

Harry leaned over you and pulled your blankets up over your body, “I’ll be right back with water.”

He couldn’t believe how adorable he thought you were. Even though you were still angry at him over what he’d done he liked the sass a little. He was definitely attracted to you. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He tried not thinking about that night with you but after you’d brought it up he couldn’t help himself but to indulge in thoughts of the way you felt and how wet you got for him. Your body, your voice… You were good with your hands too, he smiled remembering your comment about how you liked his hands. But of course, the smile fell from his face when he remembered how the night ended. How shitty he’d been. But now things were too complicated and he wasn’t sure that any kind of apology would ever be enough.

When he got back to your room you were asleep. Out cold. He placed the water on your nightstand and brushed his fingers along your forehead. You were cute.

He plugged in your cell phone and smiled at your sleeping face.

“Good night, pretty girl,” he whispered as he turned off the lamp next to you before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.

Part 3

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godsfavoritebabe · 1 year

Text

Gameday Lay

This is based on an ask from one of my new followers. It took me the longest because well, life. But I'm so excited to put this up.

Mature

Minors skedaddle.

It was Sunday, gameday, and Shelby was back to her regular shenanigans. She was dressing up for another Chiefs game, hoping to grab the attention of a particular tight end. She wore a jersey and basically a thong along with Jordans, the team's colors. She looked in the mirror and thought she looked hot, which was an understatement. Shelby was incredibly hot and everyone thought so. She didn’t care about what everyone thought, she only cared about what Travis thought.

Travis, who was preparing for the Sunday night game couldn’t help but allow his mind to wonder what skimpy outfit Shelby would be wearing this week. He thought back to last week, her bright red dress tight and shiny. The material was so soft and he wished he would’ve been able to take it off her.

Today, he played his very best. He scored a total of 3 touchdowns and sacked 2 players. I guess you could say he was showing off for his audience. Even his little dances after each touchdown gave him just the response he was looking for.

After the win, he eyed Shelby in her skimpy outfit and felt needy. He wanted her. But they were friends and he shouldn’t want his “friend”.

She congratulated him after his win with a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. He hugged her a little too long and allowed his hands to rest near her ass long enough to raise her eyebrows.

“Travis Kelce, did you just grab my ass?” Shelby asks and he chuckles uncomfortably.

“What?!” He exclaims “Nah!”

He tried playing off his embarrassment by playfully punching her on the arm. She tried holding back her laughter but failed miserably.

“What’s so funny?” he asked her, and she continued to laugh.

“You grabbed my ass then punched my arm. It was very immature of you and hilarious,” she replies to him when her laughing finally subsides.

“Sorry,” he states, then licks his lip casually. His eyes cover her like a blanket as he clears his throat.

“Killa Trav!” Patrick exclaims, then jumps on his shoulders.

“Amazing job my man! You really put it all out there!” He congratulates Travis and they hug tightly.

“Well Kelce, I’ll see you later,” Shelby states then nods her head toward Patrick.

“Yeah, yeah!” Travis replies and she walks toward the group of girls she came with.

“Please get that celebratory lay,” Patrick tells Travis in an advisory tone.

It was later that night when Travis ran into Shelby at a party that he finally decided not to tiptoe around his growing sexual feelings for her. She was sitting with a few of her friends and laughing wildly at whatever joke was told.

“Hey,” Travis softly states and Shelby turns around.

“Kelce,” she replies and places a hand on his shoulder.

“I will catch up with you people in a second,” she tells her friends and gives Travis her undivided attention.

They stepped outside and started a simple conversation.

“Did you wanna pop by my house later?” Travis casually asks, leaning against the building.

“Okay, yeah,” she replies “You having a little afterparty?”

“I guess you could say that,” he replies, purposely making his voice sound deeper than it was.

“Okay, what time?” she asks and he hesitates before replying.

“Umm, maybe 10,” he answers and she nods.

Ten o'clock couldn’t roll around fast enough. When his doorbell finally rang, he was casually pouring himself his 2nd bourbon.

He opened his front door to the vision of Shelby leaning against the doorframe with a twinkle in her eye.

“I expected a ton of people to pop up,” Shelby states as she walks inside. “But I guess I’m early,”

“Who said there would be a ton of people?” he replies as she sits on the long couch that looks like it would be in a minimalist painting.

“Can I get you a drink?” he leans his head sideways and they make eye contact.

“Am I the first girl you’ve had over at this new place?” she asks him and he shrugs.

“You know how it is,” he begins “I’m busy. And plus, I don’t just wanna get laid,”

“That’s right, you’re old and mature,” Shelby jokes and he sits beside her.

“Not old, just mature and tired of the young fuckboy bullshit,” he huffs then she chuckles.

“So if a girl wanted more than just to fuck you,” she begins then takes a breath “What would you say?”

“Depends on the girl,”

“Kelce, come on,”

“Shelby,” he chuckles lightly. “You’re not gonna like how clingy I’ll be or how much I’ll wanna be with you,”

“You don’t know that,” she tells him then stands up and walks through his house, toward his bedroom.

“Shelby,” he groans and follows her. She is found sitting on the edge of his king-sized bed. It was perfectly made, a little too neatly to be true.

“I’ve never been on your bed before,” she tells him and he sits beside her.

“True,”

“I like your room, it’s chill, and I like the lighting,” she observes as her eyes travel across the room.

She walks over to the long, wide window that gave a nice view of the city. He trails her and his hands find their way to her waist.

“Kelce,” she softly states then turns to him. Her eyes lock with his and her hands touch his muscular shoulders. She tiptoes to kiss his lips. His kiss is soft, yet firm. His hands grip her waist as their kiss deepens. She guides him over to his bed and he sits in front of her. He kisses her neck as she stands between his legs. Her hands rub his head while he removes her top.

“Looks like you’ll be getting laid,” she states as she lifts his shirt over his head.

“Yeah, lucky me,” he replies and their lips meet. Their kisses intensify and he pulls her on top of him.

“Here, let me,” he huffs as she kisses the side of his neck. He pushes her on her back and kisses down her body. The sight of him between her legs made her melt. His red hair looked like fire as his tongue met her clit.

“Oh my god,” Shelby moans loudly as his kitten licks start getting her close to finishing. He pulls her lower body closer to his face and licks up and down her slit.

The noises she made, got him harder by the second and when she came, he felt himself slightly unravel. He grabbed a condom from his dresser and slid it on quickly.

He traveled up her body and kissed her lips. She flipped them over and got on top of him. He smiled at the view of her. She slid herself down his length and he groaned, not expecting to feel so winded.

“Oh Shelby,” he moans as she continues to ride him. His hands guide her hips up and down. HIs eyes follow the bounce of her tits and her facial expressions.

She leans her head back and moans when his fingers rub her clit.

“Oh god,” he groans as she tightens around him.

“Don’t do that,” he huffs

“Do what?” she asks innocently, pressing her hands down on his chest and tightening around him again.

“Damnit Shelby,” he shouts then finishes inside her. “You know what you did,”

“Mission accomplished,” she whispers as his hips involuntarily jab upward.

“You did that on purpose,” he whines and she lays beside him.

“So you won a game and got laid today,” Shelby states after a moment. “Lucky you,”

“Lucky me,” he repeats, then turns on his side to look at her.

“Will you stay the night?” he asks as she sits up, holding his sheets to her chest.

“Yeah,” she replies, then kisses his forehead. “You obviously need me,”

Sooooo.... I hope you guys enjoyed that!! Because I had a lot of fun writing it!! Like, reblog, comment. Give me the whole shebang!

#travis kelce smut #travis kelce x oc #liv tells all

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sunwarmed-ash · 1 year

Text

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

The Eden Club

Chapter 5: Closing time

Fandom: Detroit Become Human

Ships: Honnor(main), Convin(secondary), Hankvin(previous), HankConVin(Eventual)

Rating: Explicit (sexual content)

Tags: Eden Club AU, Post-Revolution Hostile Public Opinion, Undercover android, relationship dRaMa, sexting, blow jobs, all the HankVin backstory you could ever want, Evil Kamski, eventual poly, Sex worker Connor, Angst and smut

Summaries:

“Is this about Connor again?”

Tina’s voice to his immediate left had him nearly toppling out of his chair in surprise. He slapped a hand over his heart dramatically indicating she almost gave him a pulmonary attack before sending her his trademark fuck off glare and finger.

“What? No, why the phck would it have anything to do with that plastic prick?”

She smirked and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Well A, because if you stare at your mug any harder I think it's going to explode, and B, you only look that way when you're thinking about Hank, or more recently, Connor.”

Gavin scoffed.

“What are you, a cop?”

That got a genuine giggle out of Tina, and Gavin’s heart immediately ached at how much he'd missed the sound of her laughter.

“Yes, a damn good one too! Even if my superior is kind of a dick.”

Gavin raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Yeah, what's that make you?”

She rolled her eyes fondly.

“Someone who's known you for far too long, and regrettably, far too well. So come on, what’s eating you?”

Gavin looked up from his best friend just in time to catch Anderson coming out of the breakroom with a new mug of coffee. He shook his head.

“We can't talk here.”

She shrugged.

“I could use some fresh air...”

“I’m sorry Lieutenant,” Connor practically purrs when he’s allowed to speak again.

Hank’s breath hitches on the inhale, and when Connor's soft, doe eyes look up into Hank’s fully dilated pupils, does the android know he has him.

“D-Don’t call me that, not when we're like this,” Hank pants unsteadily.

Connor can't help it, he has to take the low-hanging fruit, it's too hard to resist.

“Like, what, Lieutenant?” he asks innocently, pushing his own body up against the humans until their skin met through their clothes in almost every place. Connor was hard, that was apparent the second he came in contact with Hank’s thigh. But luckily for his pride, Hank was hard too, and its presence against his thigh has Connor groaning in pleasure again. His hands itch to touch it, but he doesn’t want to ruin anything with Hank, so he starts with one hand on the taller man’s hip, the other draping around his neck and shoulder.

A groan finally breaks through Hank’s tight throat, and Connor cheers internally in victory.

“You know damn well what,” Hank finally says, defeated by his own libido and ‘assigned prototype android’.

“Why would I do that Lieutenant? You obviously like it as much as I do.”

Connor’s fans are working so hard to cool his systems it’s audible to both of them and it boosts the human’s self-esteem enough to get his own hands moving, gripping each of Connor’s hips tight. His smile reaches his ears.

“You still didn't answer my question,” Connor tries again gently because although their ‘activities’ have lowered Hank’s stress levels, they are still plateauing at 57%.

Hank shook his head hard, something bursting behind his eyes to be heard, but it wouldn't be tonight. Not if they wanted this to continue.

“I don't want to talk about him now, please,” Hank begs, and as soon as the stress levels bump up to 64%, he yields.

Connor makes a quick pivot. He’s overstepped and now it was time to do damage control. Lucky for him, he got a crash course on how this works tonight.

“What would you like to talk about Hank?” he purrs, letting his hand now rake up Hank's thigh until he felt the heated head of the man's cock through his nighttime pants. His precum is soaking through the thin material and Connor’s fingers trace it.

“I don't want to talk much, honestly.” Hank moans into the touch and his hips push forward.

Connor smirks, he can work with that.

“Do you want, maybe, something like this, instead?” He asks, looking up at Hank with the most innocent look he could muster before starting a slow descent to his knees.

“Fuck,” Hank gasps, and that does have Connor chuckling.

“Yes, I suppose we could do that too.”

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shoshiwrites · 2 years

Text

while spring is making promises outside — a flower shop AU featuring my OC Jo. Chapter 5/9. Some chapters a little NSFW.

Catch up on Chapters 1-4 at the link!

They start talking more, somehow. Probably has something to do with the fact that he's on Jo's block more often than not now, if he's not fixing up a busted cabinet or doing one-off woodworking jobs or running arrangements out to clients. Either at the shop or the tattoo place a few doors down, talking to Angelo about getting some pieces fixed up or maybe even a new one. He doesn't really have the money for it if he's being responsible, but he didn't really have the money before, either. That's why he's only got a couple real good pieces, the ones he'd basically bartered for, and the rest are the stick-and-pokes of an unsupervised youth.

The lights are always on, at Fran's.

He can always busy himself with whatever tasks are urgent that day, mostly heavy lifting that Jo says she'll do herself. He's the one on call the most now, since Bill's at home with Fran and the newest addition — a baby girl. Something inside Joe's heart hums at the thought. He's already at work on the gift, a little music box where you can see the mechanism under glass.

Today it's unpacking shipments for Easter, lilies and Easter cactus and hyacinth and azaleas. He doesn't care so much about the differences between flowers. It's nice to be surrounded by things that smell nice and look nice, especially the colors that usually crowd the store. But white lilies he hates. White lilies are funeral flowers, are the same church twice over, headstones and suits that are too big or too small, a flag-draped casket that makes your ribcage feel too big for your body. He swears he's seen Jo make a face at them too. He wants to ask her who it's for.

It's Sunday, after closing, but they're here behind the scenes while Frankie does a big wedding consult downtown.

Clara raises her voice from the front of the store. "You want a coffee, Joey?" Clara might be the only person who gets away with calling him Joey other than his Ma or Ann or Sarah. The reason for it is practical, but he still fights a wince. At least it's better than mister, which is what he'd gotten the first few weeks. The answer's yes now, more often than now, but bless her, she always asks.

"How come you never ask if I want a coffee?" Jo says, ignoring the half-drunk glass in front of her, the melted ice. They work shoulder to shoulder, like an assembly line, if you count all the interruptions about beverages or to switch the music or to argue about spring training prospects.

"You know where the machine is."

Jo snorts.

"We have vanilla syrup if you want some, Joe. Oh! And I just made some almond too. Sort of an amaretto vibe."

His voice crackles with a laugh as he eyes Jo's face. "Vanilla sounds nice. Thank you, Clara."

"Don't mention it."

"You guys are so cute," Jo says flatly, clacking her gum on her back teeth, and he laughs. "You wanna run some practice questions?"

That's how they find themselves at a folding table in the back, Jo sketching a twine-tied bunch of herbs and greens and pale orange poppies, and Joe hunched over his exercise book. Jo can technically pass off what she's doing as work, since Frankie asked her to design some new promotional materials for the store. He looks up a little too long, at her eyes and the freckles scattered under her jaw, the press of her mouth.

"What?"

"Have you thought about what Evie and Angelo offered?" Evie won't stop talking about Jo's drawings whenever he walks in the place and neither does Pat or Angelo. How they'd love someone with that eye for detail to get into the business. Joe sees it himself, her careful sketches and the way she shades, the subtle colors. They want her to train with them.

She moves her mouth around a little, but doesn't say anything. Probably the same face he'd given her when she'd softly suggested he call his ma after he'd been looking at business courses at the local community college. But he'd actually picked up the phone and done it. Maybe next week he'll try Ann and Sarah. Jimmy's still a wildcard, though. The guilt comes in waves. Joe bites at his tongue with his back teeth.

"Listen, I know it's scary."

"Human skin, no big deal," she says. She doesn't look away from the bouquet. The tiny gold hoops in her ears glint under the bright lights.

"Well, there is this thing called practice."

"Are you volunteering?"

Done with the last question on the page, he drops his pencil on the table. It starts to roll. He leans back in the metal folding chair, nearly tipping the back legs. "Call me scratch paper, baby."

She finally looks at him. "You're full of it."

"Yeah, probably."

She turns back to her paper.

"I'm heading out, Jo," Clara calls.

"Have a good class!" The bell above the door chimes as Clara leaves.

Joe puts himself back upright, now acutely aware of the fact that they're the only two people in the store. "Listen sweetheart," he says. "You'd be good at this." The word sweetheart pulses like an exposed nerve. Fuck. Why did he say that? He can see her swallow.

"I'll think about it."

She always says that, but he doesn't push. He doesn't have a right to, does he, with everything he knows about her and everything he doesn't. With the mess he calls his personal life. With Allie.

There hasn't been a sweetheart since the two of them had met at a rock show god knows how many years ago, back when he felt a swing in his stomach when she smiled, back when he thought she looked so cool and unbothered and he couldn't believe she was talking to him.

Do you wanna go get a beer, he wants to say, and to his shock he realizes that he's actually said it. Even more shock when Jo says yes.

This is how they find themselves at some dive that's open, and somehow also has a patio. It's a little too cold to be out there but not terrible, as they huddle in their jackets with their drinks.

Jo-with-a-beer isn't much different than Jo-with-coffee, he finds, at least at first.

They stumble around what they can. He hears about Berlin, from her, for the first time. Very small pieces. He swears her eyes look a little watery, in the fading light, but when he blinks it's gone. There's a tension in him, watching her skirt around things that have clearly hurt her, but that she doesn't name. He tells her about his family, the parts he can, at least. The facts, or some of them. She smells so sharply of green, and the soft floral smell of her shampoo.

This isn't a date, so he lets her pay her half. He walks her back to the shop, and gets in his car. He can't bring himself to call Jimmy so he texts, something that says nothing but still feels like too much. The air is like winter still, but the light... In his room he thinks about her, the way she must have looked there. Filling in the spaces of what she'd said about supplemental income, artists and modeling. The look on her face as she'd said it, something like regret. It feels wrong, the clench of his jaw here in his bed, the way his skin feels too tight. His hands fumble. He flips over on his stomach, hips begging artlessly for release.

#while spring is making promises outside #jo's tag #sort of #shoshi writes #i'll make a post with all the links soon #genuinely ty guys for just. letting me go wild w this this week #i need/ed it #shoshi's au problem

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purplebirdsees · 1 year

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Warm-up 1: Whatever - Part 1

Hello! I am Citron! Yes, again!

Remember my notes? If yes, good job! If no, why?

Thanks!

(citronslation: basically, this is kind of an excerpt of this piece of fiction, written by my boy tsuzuru. you don’t need to read it to understand this one but pls do bc quality of life u get me yeah. ok. thanks.)

(footnotes were not made by tsuzuru, unless stated otherwise) (theyre mostly itaru)

Children, without exaggeration, are horrible beings.1

It’s always those kids you just stumble on, maybe in a convenience store, or in an absurdly long line from the cash register, or even during church, especially during Sunday Church (my parents aren’t Catholic, but my grandparents father’s side is). As soon as I step foot on the Church’s white and gold tiled floor, my immediate response is to look around on every single pew for someone who may look like my age. I’d feel relief if they were sitting out of sight, but if they weren’t.… Well, usually, I’d try to avoid eye contact as much as I can, but whenever I accidentally glance at them, they’d always have that smug look, with the straightest posture, and the loudest, most obnoxious singing. Sometimes, when they’re near enough for me to hear, I’d catch a few words they’d whisper loudly to their parent. Usually, it would be along the lines of, ‘We’re going to (insert fast food chain name here) after this, right?’ like it added to this nonexistent leader board on who is the best kid in Church.2

I could go on and on about my horrible Church experiences, but somehow, none of those were the ones that struck a nerve more than that one time in a bookstore.

It was a week before classes started, and as much as my parents wanted to scrounge as much of last year’s school materials, the pens and notebooks either had only a sliver left of its use or was completely depleted. Mom had to double check it though, as she gathered all we had in a cardboard box. After her third inspection, she said she could debone the frayed used notebooks to separate as much of the blank papers to make new notebooks. Which was the reason why she decided that dad was the one who should do the shopping instead, which in the end he did do, but we had to try to convince her that the old and used were completely unusable and should be left to retire. After a few prying and pleading, we were able to sell the whole box to the waste courier.

I was appointed to go with dad to the bookstore; the others had to help mom with the kitchen… and to make sure she won’t chase the waste courier and end up blending up all the notebooks into a pulp to make new paper.

She did this before, but her faux notebooks were extremely unusable because the paper was too thick, and for some reason, felt a little wet and made the ink bleed into the pages. During the first week of classes, my school bag smelled of wet dog, and every time I had to take down notes, I wish I didn’t. The moldy smell would make my seatmates turn their heads away from my direction. Even the resident class clown once remarked how ugly the cover of my notebook was, saying it looked like his grandmother’s post-chicken pox skin, puss and all. One afternoon, just as I was about to arrive home after school, I remember passing by Tadoru and Meguru sitting by the riverside, their backs hiding their guilt ridden yet determined faces. At that point I knew, and the absence of the wet, moldy dog fur smell was enough evidence.

Like an unspoken vow, we made sure we never, under any circumstance, let mom DIY anything. 3

-----

1 Understatement. They’re dickheads, actual hellspawn. I have never met a kid who was genuinely kind, they ALWAYS have an agenda at the back of their pea-sized brains. I’m qualified to say this because I’ve been a tutor example? Sure, but im tired so no (actuallly I don’t have to prove myself you literally juST READ A PRIME EXAMPLE WHY)

2 When they say yes, ding-ding-ding! Wow! His parents ACTUALLY love him enough to buy him food! As if that isn’t the lowest bar, bare minimum a parent should do f[word redacted due to profanity] mot[word redacted due to profanity] why don’t I f[words redacted due to vulgar language] mom then once im your step dad ill kick[words redacted due to vulgar language] space until yo[words redacted due to vulgar language]eath

3 [tsz] wording feels awkward/weird

part 2

#A3!#fanfic #ao3 stuff #part 1 of 3 #Dandelion Fluff #a3! tsuzuru #a3! citron #a3 itaru #dont worry im back i just got a little burnt out #is this an excerpt? actually idk #ig its not? its like a draft but ig its slightly relevant to the fic in terms of pacing but honestly not that much #anyways hi how are u #breastpocket cookies #tsuzuru minagi

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kenovele · 5 months

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Bogs Blog 46

2024 has started with a bang, we have been climbing outdoors, water skiing, doing home improvements and now we are back in the good old comforts of routine and work, although in my case, only for a few weeks before I finish my job at Tilsley Engineering next Friday. The start of the year was blessed with warm weather, close proximity to the lake, a good balance between relaxing and activity, social time and time to recharge our personal batteries. Despite all the family, including my grandparents being together at the lake for a few weeks which could be a recipe for disaster with my family dynamic, the sailing was reasonably smooth, perhaps this was thanks to the holiday atmosphere, the good weather, or a tilting of the earth’s axis – whatever it was we were grateful for the summer holidays and the quality time we were able to all spend together.

This week as been slow getting back into things, I went down to Te Aroha for the penultimate time, and then back in the office in Pukekohe for the rest of the week. Work has been steady, and the weather has been incredibly hot, so it has been a rough way to get into it. Benoit has been on deliveries for the most of this week, and although it sounds relaxing driving around and listening to podcasts, he has also been tasked with teaching two girls to drive a manual truck. Currently Benoit is the only one that can drive a manual and thus the only one that can drive the delivery truck, however the company is future proofing and has asked Benoit to teach two unwilling millennials to drive a manual. If anything, it has been a great test of his patience. A great new year’s resolution for him!

As far as resolutions go, Benoit and I have decided to continue attempting to fast once a month approximately, and so this week we have done our best to fit fasting into our schedule. Due to it being summer and there being multiple social commitments, we have managed only to do two-day fast, however we did it twice; Sunday night till Tuesday Evening, and Wednesday Evening and Friday evening, a pretty solid effort. Perhaps the effects of the fasts were not as impressive as we didn’t manage to push the fast to the three day mark, however we both enjoyed the two day format, as it didn’t seem mentally difficult as after the first evening it is already half over, and we both felt reasonably energised thanks to our morning black coffees, and the break on our digestive systems. Overall a positive fasting week. Which was broken by some lovely family and friends dinners. On Tuesday night, we went climbing and then to Jojo and Nicos for dinner with Jamie, then Wednesday night Benoit and I had Ried (Benoits friend from highschool) and Jamie come for dinner at the Tiny, and then Friday night we went to Cathys for a swim and catch up, then Saturday night Mum and Dad came for dinner at the tiny house, so a social week all round!

Our weekend, although siestas were planned, we did not manage to squeeze them in, instead we spent our weekend working on home improvements, cooking and generally just enjoying our space together. After a weekend full of work, we now have some gorgeous second hand stairs going up to our deck. We have gotten into the habit of covering our deck with the rug we picked up from Leons house in the evenings and creating an additional outdoor area with our beanbags and poofs, it really is relaxing, apart from the onslaught of mosquitos that come out at dusk. The rug makes the space very cosy and the new stairs have made the area feel so much bigger and more inviting, it is a shame we didn’t have them ready for the filming as they do look very smart. It is a testament to the building progress that Benoit has made and retained as the fact that he was able to put the stairs up in a half day with all salvaged materials. Although it is not the best-looking deck as far as some of the decks Jamie and Benoit have worked on previously, they are great stairs and he should be proud of his work and new abilities. On Sunday we decided that we needed even more space to grow our vegetables, so spent the day turning the dirt and creating a new space to grow, we also fenced the area and improved our existing fences to hopefully protect our vegetables from the sheeps hungry mouths. It was a hugely fulfilling day, working on creating this new area, although it was extremely hot work, it was so rewarding to work outdoors on a space that will give us a lot of joy in the future. We are loving our space and our garden and are slowly starting to reap the rewards. This weekend we harvested our first cucumbers and tomatoes which tasted even better knowing that they were our cultivation. Our hearts are full. Even if we are a bit tired this Monday morning!

Love Kate xxx

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amphibeans · 8 months

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October 2 - busyhead

Hey hi ! This blog post came out on Monday instead of usually on Sunday. Very sorry if you were excited to get a new blog post of mine that day, but I was really really really busy this weekend and couldn't finish this blog in time. Currently writing this Monday evening actually. The title of this week's blog post is dedicated to some friends of mine who are big into a musician named Noah Kahan. They recommended me a ton of their music and started listening to him to see what all the fuss was about. Today (reminder that it's a Monday I'm writing from) I listened to his debut album 'Busyhead'. I loved it a lot, it's lush folk pop and it reminisces feelings of nostalgia to me. I am quite the victim of nostalgia, so that's why this appealed to me in a big way. Shout out to my lovely friends who recommended me this, I hope to meet them sometime. Listen to the album here

My first experience working at a venue

The big event I did this week was working at that venue I've been chatting about for the past week. Well that day came and went and was awesome, nay scratch that it was legendary ! Let me get you an overview.I arrived at the venue after taking a 2 hour train ride to there and it started pretty quickly getting ready for my job, which was stagehand. What that includes is basically building and breaking apart the stage for the acts that were playing; which were two bands and a DJ booth. The band (which was Glasvegas) arrived at about the same time that I came to work, and I helped with getting their material upstairs to where they were set to perform. They were very nice, just 5 dudes (4 were the band, one was their sound techician) from Scotland having certain doubts if people were ever to come to their gig or not. Their show sold about 300 tickets, and I'm confident most people came in the end.

Glasvegas performing on the tiny stage of the club surrounded by spectators.

Back to setting up however, it was extremely fun and interesting doing this for the first time. Setting up cables, giving the band their material, seeing it all being built in front of me was awesome. It took us about 4 hours setting everything up and at that point most of my work was done. Another band, The Christian Club from Belgium, came in later but couldn't set up their stuff due to Glasvegas having tons of technical difficulties with their soundcheck. In the end the Belgian band only had 30 minutes to do soundcheck before they were set to perform.

The Christian Club perform their aura in the Club (not Christian).

After all that was finished I ate some dinner with the latter band and they went on to perform. They were honestly really really good and I also bought a tape from them. Pure vibes, and the main singers' voice was deep and pure. I unfortunately couldn't see Glasvegas' complete set because I needed to catch the train back home. It's a bit of a bummer because the songs they did perform were bangers, and I would've loved to stay.I had an amazing time and I hope to do this more often. In fact my next one is already planned as of writing.

Halloween creatures?

With Halloween around the corner, I have decided that it's finally time to start releasing some new music again. And it's coming in the form of a reimagining of an earlier track. One of my favorite tracks I've ever produced is 'Pumpkin' from my debut EP. Before I made the track I was figuring out how to create the perfect string arrangement plugin to use to program violins. At the time I didn't know how to play the instrument (I can do it now but still with a bit of trouble) and was fighting teeth and bone to create something that sounds like it. One day, it finally worked out, and the end result was the track. My vocals weren't as fresh and lush sounding back then, and my singing was sub-par. With this reimagining of the track I'm hoping to fix this issue.

The cover of the new single, I took the photograph.

It's gonna drop on Oct 26. And it's gonna start a brand new era in Acacian. One thing that not a lot of people realize is that all my songs are connected with each other. I got hugely inspired by twenty one pilots and their huge lore that they have and I decided to do the same for my projects. Just for clarification, CALMUS is not connected. The story of Acacian that I'm trying to tell is really deep, and it's still in a lot of its early stages. I think once I have an album this will become more and more clear, but for now what I can only tell you is that it's inspired by tons of folklore I read and that the things happening in the songs aren't quite as real as you might think. They're inspired by the abstract dreams and ideas I'm having everytime a revolution happens around the earth. But to answer the question of a brand new era in Acacian, it's coming. A new story is forming. One with a lot of creatures, and one which will take some time to write and to conceptualize. I'm taking my sweet time with creating this new world, and I hope that in the end it'll be worth it for you reading this blog. Thank you by the way for reading, you are very special to me.

A look back at September

To end this blog post I wanted to look back on what I've accomplished in September. I want every last day of a month to be a sort of thinking point on what I've done that previous month, and to see what nice and not so nice things I've done to take with me next month. I want you to try and do the same. Think about the things you've done this month. Most people tend to look at the bad things they've done and not the great things they really accomplished that let them grow as a person, so I want you to focus on the positives. Of course, we shouldn't disregard the negatives, but see them as opportunities to learn. For me my positives can be big and small; the big things I've done is starting this blog and working for the first time in a setting I'm comfortable with. Small things for me are going out with my family to a couple theatre shows and enjoying being with them. For things I want to take with me to approve are definitely my school grades for math and get better at starting routines. I still struggle immensely with getting everything on time, having a schedule, and believing more in myself. I want to work on that more and that could be my focus for this month. Writing down what you want to change about yourself or what you want to stay the same helps you to better understand yourself and know what's really going on when doubts start to arise. I hope that these tips might help.

I took this photo after my parents and I went to a musical. It was awesome. The sun shining was a nice touch.

Song of the week: I Might Bore You. by milk. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have an amazing spooky month. - Acacian

#blog #student life #lifestyle #music blog #musician #photography #musicals #new music #concert

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sif-the-tsunami · 3 years

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Ok prompt! Sy is teaching you how to cook and maybe things get frisky ? 😁

Oooo I like this. Its not 100% on the nose but this is where the muse took me.

Did you want a novel? Because, I hope you like novels.

Warnings: chili with beans, sweet cornbread, swearing, smut

"Listen hear, you chicken fried fuck. If you don't like my cooking, you are welcome to eat something else at the damn pot luck!" I snap at a grumpy retired soldier who was talking trash about my chili recipe. Like always. Whenever we have a party, he has to say something about how I'm dressed, what I brought, or the beer I was drinking.

"All I'm saying here, California, is that where I'm from we don't put beans in our chili. And don't get me started on this abomination you call cornbread. Why is it sweet, why are there vegetables in my bread?" He says in his drawl.

"Because honey and roasted jalapenos taste good together!"

"I guess. You don't need to fuss so much Princess, I'll gladly show you how to make real Texan food. Make some wife material out of you." He smirked. I think he knew he was getting under my skin.

"Come on, Sy, give her a break. Take a bite of her cornbread with the chili, they are delicious together." One of our mutual friends told him when he could see that I was not having any more of his attitude.

I walked away from the conversation, feeling incredibly salty. The man was Syverson, we had been in the same group of friends for the past couple years and honestly he was usually at least cordial with me, but the sheer audacity of his tone today. The rest of the party was really fun, at least. Occasionally, I would catch eyes the color of the ocean after a storm staring me down. He kept looking like he wanted to say something to me but I would find reasons to leave the room. Fortunately there was always a way to get out and around.

Towards the end of the evening, I go outside to enjoy the cooling air and watch the stars, listen to a couple of the guys from inside sit on the tailgate of a truck and talk about football or something. The breeze would kick up occasionally and I could smell an orange tree blooming in the distance.

"Hey, oh shit, I didn't mean to startle you." I jumped damn near out of my skin when the grump showed up out of nowhere. "I actually really wanted to say that I'm sorry, I can be a real asshole sometimes. You are usually more aware of it than others. I'm used to giving people a hard time. Your food was delicious. I just don't know how to talk to you sometimes."

I looked at the large man skeptically. I'm not used to people going from snarky to nice to me. "Thank you for apologizing. Glad you liked it, Chicken Fried. You can just talk to me like anyone else, I don't mind some teasing, but you just know how to push my buttons."

Sy looked at his feet for a moment. "I will be nicer to you, I promise."

"I'm sure." I had heard that before.

"I still think mines better," back to sounding arrogant already, "I am willing to bet that it would blow your mind."

"Do you really want to bet?"

"Yeah... sure. I'll bet you. If my chili it better than yours.... you have to go on a date with me."

"Is that how you get most of your dates these days? Tinder just isn't cutting it anymore?" I tease. He is actually kind of good looking. Sort of. If you are into that hand crafted by the gods kind of look. I'm not saying I am, but I could get the appeal.

"You'd be surprised. Most of the women I meet want to figure out what's wrong with me. Almost 40, never married, I have a job I like. They keep waiting for my skeletons to come out of the closet. Like shit, girl, I just don't like olives or sweet relish. I think I'm pretty cool otherwise." He said talking with his hands out stretched. I think he might have been being earnest with me, but his tone is almost always sarcastic.

"You were in the military, right?"

"Yeah."

"That's what's wrong with you." The big man started laughing harder than I thought he would.

"Well, California. You up for it?"

"I don't know Chicken Fried, I don't like dating, I would really just like something casual, low maintenance. What happens when I win?"

"When?" He chuckles. "If you are looking for something casual and low maintenance, baby, there is a reason when I was still in the Army they called me Captain Cunnilingus."

"It sounds like either way you win." I smirk, "I would need a real incentive to try to beat you."

"How about bragging rights?"

"If I win... you shave your beard. Then I get to use your face as a chair." He looked shocked.

"Fine, when I win, you have to wear a dress on our date, and heels. Maybe even some of that shit you all put on your lips with the glitter and fruity flavors."

"Ok, now that's unreasonable. I don't even own heels."

"I'll buy you some." Well color me impressed. We decide on the terms of the bet. We would invite a couple of friends over to his place next Sunday and they would pick a winner with a blind taste test. We would also have one canned chili and one restaurant chili to make it a little more interesting.

Sunday came, and we all gathered in his house. This was the best batch of chili I have ever made. Fresh peppers, bacon, beer and some good quality beef all swam together in a symphony of flavors. When I walked into his house, the smell was... pungent. I could smell cooking vinegar. It wasn't bad but there was something just a little off putting.

"Glad you showed up, Princess." He looked me up and down. to surprise him just a little, I did show up in a dress. I figured a special occasion needed a special outfit.

I looked over at the big man as he took my slow cooker from my hands and plugged it in for me. To be fair to both of us, we had enough time to set up sides and toppings. I even baked more cornbread. Sy made his own savory cornbread that he pulled out of the oven in a cast iron skillet.

"It was my mama's." He told me when I asked about it.

"You bake also?"

"Sometimes, if the mood hits me. I like making peach cobbler too. If you are lucky, I'll make you some. Maybe after our date."

"So sure of yourself, Chicken Fried. I hope you got some good shaving cream and a new razor, you'll need it." In his kitchen, I lifted the hem of my sundress clear up to my naked hip showing him that I was ready to win this bet of ours. His pupils blew out with lust as he stepped up to me.

"Princess, you are a hell of a tease. I have wanted you so badly ever since the first time we met." He breathed, lusty and hot. He pinned me to the counter, radiating his desire. He bit his lip, looking me up and down, he looked like he wanted to kiss me or maybe consume me whole. Suddenly he pulls away, leaving me breathless. "We will have company soon. I need to walk this off, but I really do want to continue this conversation when we don't have to risk being interrupted."

Before anyone could walk in on us, Syverson rushed up to me and kissed me more passionately. My knees buckle for a second and its like I've been set on fire.

When our friends came into his house, he set up bowls, spoons, Fritos and cheese. He set up blind tastings for the guests, only he and I knew what everyone was eating.

The canned chili was a flop. The restaurant chili was a better batch but it wasn't as good. When our friends tasted my chili, they all keep saying how wonderful it was.

Then we tried Sy's. Everyone was quiet for a moment and then the group started to try to figure out what it was about the chili that we didn't like. It was too sweet as far as I was concerned and there was a weird aftertaste. It was an overwhelming agreement that Sy's chili was terrible. After we cleaned up his kitchen, Sy was pouting about having lost.

"So, when would you like for me to shave my beard?"

"Maybe later tonight. I think we have to finish that conversation we started earlier."

"Oh yeah, California?" He said, standing close to me. He grabbed me by my hips and lifted me to the counter top. I lace my fingers through his beard hair and pull him closer so I can finally kiss him again. He broke away from the kiss and then started nibbling on my neck. His hand found the seem of my dress and he slid his hand up my thigh. When my skirt was pushed up to my hips exposing my sex to him, he leaned me back. I watched him look at my core and lick his lips like a man starved.

"Wait a second. Before you start, what was going on with your chili? Did you throw the bet?"

"No, not at all." He looked at me confused. "I don't know what happened, I've made this a bunch of times and its always been good. This was terrible."

"Did you do anything different?"

"Well. I was out of tomato paste, so I used ketchup. A buddy of mine suggested it."

"Oh my god, Sy. No wonder! Thank god you are pretty, my guy." I tease.

"Your guy? I like the way that sounds. Now lean back, Princess. I'm going to try to convince you to let me not shave."

#henry cavill fanfic #my apologies to henry cavill #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #asks answered #captain syverson #captain sy x reader

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comfortscripts · 3 years

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May I Have This Dance? ¬ Steve Rogers

Plot - After retiring his shield, Steve's partner realises that he seems to be missing something.

Requested? Yes/No

Genre - ☁️️Fluff ☁️️

Note/Warning - Steve didn't return to Peggy after Endgame (I refuse to accept that ending honestly), I think this is GN but please let me know if I have used fem!pronouns, also the reader wears a dress in this so if you are uncomfortable with that be aware.

Word Count - 1.7k

After your husband Steve retired from the superhero living, life seemed dull in his eyes. You could see that his once vibrant baby blues had lost their sparkle, their joy for life.

Whilst him having more time meant that your relationship thrived, Steve was missing something and you were missing him being truly happy.

It was Sunday and a rule of the Rogers relationship is that Sunday was an "Old School Day".

No technology, no going to the city and no current news or media of any kind.

It took a while to get use to but you soon learned to love it because it meant that you had the whole day with your soulmate, no distractions. But today was different, there was one thing that had taken up your entire focus all day.

A few days prior, you were in line at the supermarket when you spotted a flyer.

DANCE YOURSELF BACK TO THE 40s!

Have you ever wondered what a 40s dance was like?

Well if the answer is yes, get yourself down to the Michaelton Hall this Sunday at 7:30pm

The cashier was a motherly looking woman in her late 60s named Dorothy, her family had owned the supermarket here since the 1920s and being a cashier here was her first job. Twice a week she would come down and "relive her youth" as her husband always jokes.

"I thought that might catch your eye" Dorothy spoke after watching you inspect the flyer. "The old music, the clothes and just that feeling of a simpler time. I'm hoping to convince William to take me but getting him to dress up like a princess is more likely than getting him to dance."

You laugh at the woman's joke but mainly at the idea of William in a frilly dress. William and Dorothy had been married for 52 years but the only time William ever danced with her was on their wedding night, a story that you thought was sad but Dora took it in her stride.

"Well I am thinking that this might be a good way to get Steve out of his funk, even for only a night" You say with a wistful look on your face whilst piling fruit into your shopping bag.

"What a wonderful idea my dear!" Dorothy exclaimed whilst scanning the final item "There is a quaint little vintage store about half a mile out of town, I am sure you'd find a dress to knock Steve's socks off"

Smiling at the woman, you hand her some cash before taking one last look at the flyer "You are like a fairy godmother Dora. Have a lovely day and hopefully see you at the dance".

By the next morning, you were keen to start prepping for the Sunday surprise. Giving your husband a kiss goodbye, you headed off to 'run some errands'.

First stop was buying the tickets, then that left you with finding the perfect 40s dress.

You headed out of town to the vintage store Dorothy mentioned but you were not prepared for how beautiful the shop was. Flowers in corners all over the place, fairy-lights decorated the clothing racks and old pieces of sparkling jewellery was displayed throughout the store.

You could have spent hours in there, it felt like a visual time machine but it seemed luck was on your side. As you strolled further into the store, you noticed a stunning pastel floor-length satin dress with light embellishments near the sleeves. That was exactly what you needed.

Everything was ready. Tickets were bought, dress was found and Steve's old military suit was ready to be worn. All you had to do now was keep it from your husband till Sunday.

Making it to Sunday evening was difficult, you had nearly exposed the plans twice but thankfully Steve believed the excuses you came up with. But now it was time to get ready.

"My love, guess what I found the other day in the attic" You call out to your super-solider husband. "Your old army uniform. Perfect condition as well".

Handing the outfit to Steve, you see his eyes light up with the memories of his time back in the 1940s. Although he looked only slightly older than he did the last time he wore it, it was like looking back in time.

"Wow, I didn't think I would ever see this again." He spoke caressing the material.

"Steve, do you think you could maybe try it on again? I would love to have a glimpse of what use to be the fashion" You asked carefully, trying to make sure he didn't suspect anything else.

A small smile graced his face. "Of course, I probably would have wanted to try it on either way" And with a laugh, he headed upstairs to suit up.

Whilst the super-solider was getting ready, you slipped into your dress and quickly slipped on an oversized shirt which made it look like you were wearing a long skirt and t-shirt. Applying a bit of makeup before double checking that your purse was ready with the tickets, car keys and some other essentials.

Hearing footsteps descend your staircase, you turn around to a fully suited and confident looking Steve Rogers. This man has managed to make you fall more in love every day for the past 6 years but in this moment, he took your breath away.

"You look so handsome. How did I ever get lucky enough to call you my husband?" You express as you reach up to lay the corner of his collar down. Even though you compliment your husband all the time, Steve still flushes a bit red at the sweet words.

Leaning in to give him a small kiss, you suddenly remember that you are on a time constraint. You pull back with a mischievous grin dancing on your face.

"Oh no, I know that face. What have you done?" Steve asks with a little chuckle. Instead of responding, you grab his hand and head out to the car. After instructing him to get into the passenger seat, you settle yourself in the driver's seat and start the car whilst Steve sits beside you watching like he was trying to solve a puzzle - the puzzle being you.

"I have a surprise for you but I am going to need you to put this blindfold on whilst I drive us there" With a grin on your face and your hand offering a silk blue blindfold to your incredibly confused but handsome husband.

Cautiously Steve reaches for the blindfold and puts it on, he would trust you with his life so why not trust you with a small surprise.

After driving for 15 minutes or so, Steve feels the car stop and turn off.

"Wait one second" You say before he hears you open your door.

Bubbling with excitement you quickly discard of your t-shirt, place some kitten heels on and apply a sultry shade of red on your lips before throwing anything you don't need in the trunk.

Walking over to Steve's side of the car, you calm your nerves slightly with a deep breathe. Opening the passenger door, you take a hold of Steve's hand and carefully guide him towards the entrance of the hall.

Sounds of Moonlight Serenade songs fill his ears as he enters, still completely oblivious to his partner's scheme. He notices that it is far warmer in this area and that he can smell a mix of perfume and whiskey.

"Okay baby, when I count to 3, you can take off your blindfold" You finally say.

"1"

"2"

"3"

As Steve removes the silk blocking his vision and is immediately hit with a feeling of nostalgia. The hall looked like something out of his memories; men and women dressed in 40s fashion dancing the night away, a small band playing all the most popular songs from the decade he yearned for, men who reminded him of Bucky trying to pick up girls at the bar.

Steve thought that he was blown away until he saw his Y/N. The person who made life worth living, who made everything seem light again. There they stood, looking like they had just walked off the silver screen from an old movie. Steve never really believed that he could live such a happy life but somewhere along the way, he must have done something right because now he is married to an angel.

Walking up to you, he placed his hands on your waist and looked deep into your eyes. Drowning in Steve's ocean blue eyes was a favourite past-time of yours but this felt more than that.

"I noticed you have been a bit down since you gave up the shield and I couldn't see you frown anymore." You whisper quietly as if you were nervous that this plan wouldn't work.

"I know I say it constantly but I love you, Y/N Rogers. Your kindness, your care, your effortless beauty, you." Steve recited, filling every word with pure love and appreciation. "Sometimes I think that I am no one if I am not Captain America or I don't belong in this world but you. You, Y/N, you made me realise that you are my home, not the past. You are the only one I need in this life-time or any other life-time because you taught me who I am beyond the shield."

Tears start to well up in your eyes as you hang off his every word.

"This dance is amazing but what makes me happy is that I get to spend tonight and every night with my soulmate" Steve takes a step back and extends his hand. "So, may I have this dance my darling?"

Reaching for his hand, you make your way onto the dance floor amongst the other couples. As the song dies down, Stella by Frank Sinatra starts filling the hall with a romantic atmosphere and you feel Steve place his hand on your hip before placing another in your hand. This was truly a night to remember.

As you sway with your husband, you let your eyes wander to the other dancing couples and near the centre of the dance floor, you spot Dorothy and William smiling and swaying like teenagers again.

All you can do is hope that you and Steve will be dancing together when you are old and grey.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers fluff #captain america imagine #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #marvel imagine #steve rogers oneshot #captain america oneshot

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

Flutter

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Contains: pregnancy talk (kinda), angst, and drama

Pairing: Dante x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and a brief mention of terminating (like a sentence but still)

Back on my bullshit with the baby fics lol. I love the trope idk why.

Thump thump thump-thump thump thump

Dante stirs with a huff of annoyance, his ears twitch focusing on the insufferable rhythm that was stopping him from resting. It started a few hours ago. Nothing major, something he could definitely doze through. The slow irregular was almost calming, until it got louder. At first he had chalked it up to one of the many freaky experimental weapons dangling in Nico’s tiny workspace at the back of the crowded van. They tended to pop and hiss if some raw materials got too close. But it had picked up in the past hour, growing consistent and strong, really strong. Strong enough to make it hard to ignore. Dante cracks open a bloodshot eye looking around at the van’s occupants to find the culprit.

Nero sat oblivious to the world on the floor across from him leaning on the side of the van’s tire well. His eyes are shut, and his face relaxes as the adrenaline of the day finally starts to seep out of his system. He nods his head along to the tunes blasting out of the jukebox in the corner. He was oblivious to the accusatory glare of his uncle. Dante crosses the kid off as the likely suspect of his annoyance. Nero looked about ready to pass out, each bobble of his head becoming more erratic and jerky as sleep started to take over. He clearly wasn’t hearing this.

So, he turns to the front of the van to check on the others. The ladies were chatting idly in the front. Nothing super exciting gossip wise. The three of them were tossing little jabs at each other. Well, Lady and Trish were, Nico was hiding a smirk behind a freshly lit cigarette as the two grew heated. The three of them called it “friendly bitching” but he still wasn’t all that sure. Whenever Lady or Trish used that tone with him he was about to either get robbed eight ways to Sunday by one of them or his ass kicked. The two human women seemed oblivious to the noise...perhaps Trish heard it? Hmmm-nah. Trish didn’t seem to notice the steady thumping that had now become a hyper fixation to him.

Huffing the hunter settles back down in the couch cushions of the couch to look out the window at the blur of the scenery passing by. The hum of the van’s engine and the low roar of the A/C were almost enough to drown out the noise filling his skull. He pops a finger in his ear digging out some wax. Did that smack across the head early knock something? Did a gun go off too close? Wait... shouldn’t he hear ringing if that was the case? Ye, the more he focused on it, it wasn’t inside his head. He checks out the window, his hand itching for a gun. Was a demon really that dumb to follow a van filled with demon hunters? He snorts at his question. Of course, they were. He was pretty sure they had finished the contract with a 100% kill count. Still, he checks out the window, just in case.

“I’m guessing you hear it too?” Vergil stirs from his meditative stupor, popping his neck with a satisfying grunt before turning his gaze to Dante. All of his younger brother’s squirming finally got too much for him to ignore. Vergil focused on his sibling, arms crossed over his freshly bandaged chest. “Really?” He looks down to his lap in disgust. Dante smirks, wiggling his muddy boots where they rested crossed on his thighs.

“What can I say? You’re ridiculously comfy.” Dante smirks. He knew his dick of a brother would threaten to stab him for dirtying his clothes, but he had a trump card, and he was going to use it. They both look down at your sleeping form sprawled on Dante’s chest and a part of Vergil's legs. You lay on him, curled up in a neat little ball on his chest. A dark spot grew beneath where your cheek was squished on his cotton shirt. Dante can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. He pulls his signature coat tighter around you and strokes your face with a only slightly grimy finger. Vergil sighs, settling back down, careful not to wake you either. He had a big ol’ sweet spot for you, and damn Dante couldn’t blame him.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

Dante hisses, pulling away from your peaceful expression, jealous for a brief moment that your weak human hearing couldn’t pick up on the invasive noise. “You sense where it’s coming from?” He rumbles low in his chest, careful not to disturb you. His brother sits silently for a moment wiping at his drowsy eyes. Dante watches his ear twitch minutely picking up on every sound in the immediate vicinity.

“No, I-” His head snaps back to Dante so fast he was surprised Vergil didn’t give himself whiplash. His silver eyes are wide with shock for a moment before softening to an expression Dante only saw when he would talk with Kyrie over dinner. It was warm, protective, and far too gentle a face for him to be pulled out for him. Dante looks back over his shoulder on instinct before it hits him, hard. Vergil wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at you. Oh shit, oh shit.

Dante focuses his senses on you before he had been merely using his broad range listening figuring it was an outside threat. He smells you first, your natural scent was a soft and sweet thing, like moss by a river bed, or freshly turned soil. It only got earthier after a day of hard work. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered on you too, and something else, something more hormonal and almost floral. Beneath your changing scent, he hears your heart thumping steadily in your chest. That was always a comforting sound to him, an anchor whenever he worried for your safety. But underneath it, he heard it. It was a rapid rhythm over yours, in you.

Dante jerks up, tumbling to the floor and cracking his head hard on the metal guards of the stairs. You would have toppled with him if Vergil hadn’t lunged to grab you. “What?” You look around confused but alert. The van is silent in the aftermath of the sudden burst of energy, all faces now turned to the three of you. Vergil holding you close to his chest while you focus on Dante. “You ok?” You look him over, noticing how pale he suddenly was as he looked at you. He was breathing heavily and panicked. His silver-grey eyes flitting between yours and up to Vergil’s.

“Ye,” He croaks, running a hand through his dirty hair not moving from his spot on the dirty floor. “Ye-shit, sorry just slipped in my sleep.”

“Quite a ‘slip’.” You wiggle out of Vergil’s hold and come to bend over Dante. You put the back of your hand to his forehead. You had all gotten pretty banged up this mission, and as usual, Dante had taken the brunt of it. He laughs a little too forcefully to be considered natural and pushes your hand away to get up.

“You know me. I’m full of surprises.” He flops back onto the couch looking at you oddly before opening his arms up to you. He fights against the tremble he feels spreading across his whole body.

You catch the sour look growing on Vergil’s face, it was boiling over to murderous. He shakes his head before sitting back in his spot and reaching for a magazine.

“Everything alright back there?” Nico shouts looking up into the rearview mirror.

“Yeh-yeh.” Dante waves not taking his eyes off you. “Just my old man senses getting to me.” The van collectively snorts at that, all turning back to what they were originally doing. Picking up his discarded coat you climb back into the cradle of your boyfriend's arms.

Boyfriend. You smile into his sweaty neck. It was a new term for both of you and your relationship. You two have been skirting around the idea of a committed relationship for months now. You’ve been with the gang for years now, flitting in and out of each other's life mission after mission as a freelance mercenary. Dante welcomed you into the fold of his merry band of misfits well enough, but you could see the line in the sand he drew pretty easily.

You respected it. Life in this business was hard and sometimes very short. He was slow to open up and trust, not with just you, but anyone. You got it, you understand his hesitation. Once you both established that the feelings you felt for each other went beyond good friends the lines and walls he built began to fade. The few months of you two trying out the word have been going well. Or, at least you thought so. Dante seemed pleased enough too. The few dates you two were able to scrap your collective pennies together for were a blast. Spontaneous coffee dates, walks down none demon-infested streets and parks. Once he even took a weekend off to go cross country with you. That weekend had been the most relaxed you had ever seen him, and as a bonus, the sex had been phenomenal too.

“You ok?” You kiss the stubble on his strong jaw, taking in the hard look in his eyes. His arms were rigid around you, protective yet also isolating. He looked shut-off, lost deep in his mind back in that place you knew he went whenever something was deeply troubling him. Dante said nothing for a moment, his large palm rubbing your lower back in stiff robotic movements. “Dante?”

He snaps out of it with a jerk. “Ye babe- just tired.” He kisses the worry from your brow and slips back into your original position, arms locking securely over your middle. He listens to your breathing and heart slow as you drift off, the little thumping underneath beating on.

From the moment Dante stepped out of the van he shut down. Not just from you, but everyone. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or just instinct after years of protecting himself. He noticed it happening from afar like he was on the sidelines and completely unable to control what he was doing. He took job after job that Morrison threw at him, not waiting for backup or help. He began staying in his room, slinking upstairs instead of his usual hang out spot down in his office to be social. He just leaves everyone behind. He knows Lady and Trish will blow it off, they were used to the odd mood swing by now, chalking it up to mission fatigue. You knew better though, and he loved you for it. Even if it irritated him right now.

The first few days after that mission Dante saw you trying to pretend like you didn’t notice the walls he was rebuilding around himself. He wanted to believe that you couldn’t see how he turned up the jukebox every time you stepped into Devil May Cry, or that you pretend not to notice how his eyes would drift to look at anything but you when you stood in front of him. It hurt, it hurt to do this, but he couldn’t stop this self sabotage he was inflicting on himself and the stress he was pushing onto you. He just couldn’t take it.

He saw his mother every time he looked at you, could smell the ash and sulfur, could remember how his young lungs filled with smoke as he cried for something he could never get back while his childhood burned around him. He couldn’t do it, so he stopped seeing you. Not that it helped much. He heard the beating every time you came near trying to talk to him, so he stopped listening too. He didn’t know what else to do.

“If you put your hair back I swear I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from your brother anymore, especially with that new attitude you're sporting.” Dante hears the slight edge in your voice. You sat in your now usual spot on the edge of his desk, before that day his lap would have been filled with your warm sweet body. You didn’t look happy in the least bit. You looked exhausted. He doesn’t look up from his magazine, a slow buzz of panic begins to fill his ears. Were you sick? Did you know?

He puts up another wall. “Doubt it,” He flips a page of his magazine reaching blindly for his beer. “I’m still the better looking one.” More silence. Dante feels your hard stare from where you sat.

“Need something?”

Your shoulders slump. “No-it’s nothing Dante.” He feels himself break just a little at the moisture threatening to spill from your lashes before they are blinked away. You leave without saying goodbye. He doesn’t see you again after that, your spot is soon replaced with piles of empty bottles.

“I expected better from you.”

Dante chokes on his beer, the foam shooting up into his nose and bringing tears to his eyes as it burns its way back to his throat. “Damn it, Vergil! Knock sometime?” His brother says nothing storming over to his desk and kicking a chair out to sit next to him. The look on his face was venomous. “Don’t give me that look.” Dante sighs, popping the cap off of another beer bottle.

“What look?”

Dante waves the butt of his bottle at him. “That! That look. It’s the one you always give me right before you stab me.”

Vergil chuckles humourlessly. “I just might if you continue to ignore your growing issue.” He pushes leaning into Dante’s space.

Dante bristles feeling like a trapped dog. “They should find out on their own-”

“Brother-”

Dante cuts him off with a swipe of his hand, amber liquid sloshing over his desk and lap. He feels his control slipping. The heat of his devil form simmering just below the surface. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I don’t want to acknowledge this.

“It’s been weeks.” Vergil presses on lean in close to his twin. “Will there ever be a right time?”

Dante bares his fangs in warning. His fingers itching to curl up and punch his brother. “That is rich coming from you. Remind me again, how many times have you tried to kill your son?” He meant for it to hurt, to let that barb sink in deep and fester. Vergil doesn’t even react, his gaze still cool and steady.

“I regret it-in parts. But I am not doing this for you.” Dante frowns. He had figured that. When Vergil arrived with Dante all those months ago torn up and bloodied from quite literally crawling out of Hell the welcome he got from the crew had been...lukewarm to put it mildly. They weren’t openly hostile, but it got pretty close sometimes. Only you and Nero had been pleasant to his brother right off the bat. The others came around eventually, but Vergil had taken a real shine to you. You were inquisitive and hungry to prove yourself, but smart enough to know when to back down. It’s what drew him to you, so it would make sense Vergil liked it too. “I cannot change my past actions, nor would I,” Dante scoffs. “But you have been given yet another opportunity that I envy.” He looks over his shoulder to the empty office. He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t still envy his younger brother and his successes. To be free-to have had a life, dare he say to act almost human? Dante had always been the friendlier and kinder of the two, even as kids. He was sociable and street smart. Most importantly, people trusted him.

Then he found you, a most extraordinary mate. Vergil knew Dante would never admit it vocally but he shows his love with how he acts around you. Dante was always brash and foolhardy but he was milder with you. Whenever you were in the room his sole focus was always on you. His eyes, his body, every part of his being just seemed to gravitate to you. Whenever you paced, pissed from a recent job he would follow in his chair rolling left and right to keep his body in line with you. Even on the field, he stayed close, a towering figure of red and flames. To have him cast you out like this... Vergil shakes his head. “Why are you stalling?” He asks.

“They should find out on their own,” Dante repeats himself.

“And what if they decide not to tell you? What if they decide not to go through with it? You are limiting their time frame, Dante. You are putting them both in danger.” Vergil’s words strike deep. If he can’t get his brother to see reason now, then he will have to intervene. If Dante never forgave him for this transgression, then so be it.

The roar of primal rage was the only warning Vergil got before he was airborne. His back colliding hard against the old oak bookshelves across the room, Dante’s splintered desk pinning him for a moment before he is being dragged up the shelves by his neck. Empty bottles and old tomes clatter to the floor. He matches his brother’s energy shifting in a blaze of blue fury until he faces his red counterpart. “You lash out, why? Because you know I’m right?” He hisses around bared razor sharp fangs. “Do you hope they will leave you?” Something passes through Dante’s scleraless eyes. “It won’t be like before, brother.”

The whine Dante emits sounds like a wounded animal. It was high and reedy, it was filled with turmoil. Vergil couldn’t stop the sharp bark of laughter that fell from his lips. Unbelievable. “Dante.” Vergil grabs one of the claws locked around his throat. “For all your foolish and idiotic behavior you have built yourself a family. Do you honestly think any of them would let something happen? Do you think I would let something happen?” The fist around his neck loosens and drops.

“I want them to live a normal life.” Dante steps away, his voice uncertain. “Look at us- at Nero and Kyrie. Being what we are, we have royally screwed them over.” He stares down at his rough armored hands. His elytra pulses red veins with demonic energy. “And a damn kid? Nero got by alright, but narrowly. Do I look like someone that can handle this?”

“No.” Vergil can’t lie, it would only hurt you in the end. “Not at first. While I have no right to talk about being a father, I know you can do it far better than I.” He smiles to himself. “‘sides, at least your better half has a head on their shoulders.”

“Gee, thanks.” Dante grunts retreating to where his desk used to be. He breathed deeply and shifted back to his human form. Damn it, he had just paid off the repairs from the last time he wrecked the place. Bending over to pick up his magazine, the two were interrupted by his door bursting open. Nero and Lady bursting through bickering heatedly at each other before they notice the mess.

“Did we interrupt something?” Nero steps open the splinters of Dante’s old desk taking in his half triggered father.

“No.” The brothers say in unison.

“Good-” Lady pushes forwards, tossing a missive to Dante. He catches it with deft fingers and rips it open. “Normally I would have taken this on myself with the kid-since you’ve been sulking.” She shoots him a scathing look. “But we need all boots on the ground. Trish and your flickering flame are already there, but this portal just isn’t budging.”

“What!” Vergil snaps. Dante stares blankly at the letter, a high pitch whining growing in his ears. It was getting hard to breathe. “You left them there? They are vulnerable.” The blue devil grabs the letter from his brother looking at the address briefly before grabbing Yamato before rushing for the door.

Nero shouts after his father in confusion, his outburst uncharacteristic for him. “The hell was that about?” Nero watches the skies as the blue figure disappears. “They are perfectly capable of handling themselves…”

“Get in the van. I’ll see you there.” Dante grits out, crumbling the paper up and tossing it aside. He flys out moments later, guns and swords are forgotten. Anything that touches you would be getting ripped to shreds with his bare hands. He travels in a blur of panic fighting the sense of guilt threatening to overcome him. How could he be so stupid? Just because you weren’t at the office didn’t mean that you weren’t still taking jobs. He always worried when you went out solo- or without him, but he was confident in your abilities. A few scrapes and bruises weren’t anything to stress over. It wasn’t something to stress about before. You were still on the field and it was his damn fault.

The sound of gunfire and the roars of dying demons draws him in. Dante’s sharp eyes find you immediately. You were holding your own. You back in a corner but your guns were hot, dropping demon after demon with near flawless aim. Instinctively his demon side rumbles in pride before he squashes the feeling. Now wasn’t the time. Vergil beat him there by minutes but was already covered in gore as he assists you from above, slicing through the almost endless wave of beasts. Dante lands near you grabbing a Fury in midjump throwing it away to splatter against a building yards away. “About time you showed up!” Trish shouted from her perch lightning crackling around her. He ignores her, instead he launches himself at the gaping maw of the portal. He fights with reckless abandon, each wound and injury fueling his fire. One more hit on him just meant one less directed at you.

The fighting didn’t last long after Nero and Lady arrived adding enough fire support that he was able to destroy the portal and clean up the remaining hellspawn. The moment it was Dante was on you. “The hell were you thinking!” He rounds on you his massive body crowding your space.

You hold your ground staring up at him. “Hey, so glad to finally hear from you.” You crane your neck up to meet his glowing eyes. “I love it when my boyfriend finally remembers I exist.”

“You could have gotten hurt!” He glosses over your snark and checks you out. You were fine, good.

You back away from him throwing your hands up in confusion. “Yes? That’s kind of par for the course isn’t it?” You were baffled by his behavior. Weeks. Weeks! Weeks of ignoring your calls, and a conveniently empty office every time you tried to drop by, and now that you have his attention the first thing he does is yell at you? Where did he get off? In fact, his shit attitude only angered you more. “Ya know what? I don’t want to hear it.” You turn your head to where Nico sat leaning out of her driver-side window. She waves at you. “Can you give me a lift back to my place? I got to grab some fresh clips before heading back out.”

A red hand blocks your exit. “No-” Dante grabs your forearm gently tugging you to look at him. His natural heat was a comfort you didn’t realize you missed so much. “Babe-let me handle it.”

“Dante,” You try to pull away. “It’s my job. What has gotten into you?”

He looks over to his brother, the conflict he had been trying to avoid closing in too fast for him.

Vergil holds his stare and shrugs. “Come-the two need to talk, let’s head back for now.” Asshole. The rest of the group follows his eldest brother casting curious glances over their shoulders as they pile into the van. He really wasn’t ready for this.

The two of you watch them go in silence. “Let me take you back? Please?” Dante let’s go of your arm. You nod, it’s not like you have any choice now. Well, you could walk, your body screams at the thought of moving any more than necessary. You’ve been getting exhausted faster and faster these days. Perhaps the stress of the job was getting to you. He scoops you up in his giant arms stretching his wings out to their full and impressive length before taking to the sky. He glides through the city taking extra care to make it as smooth as possible for you. His landing was as silent on the empty streets surrounding your apartment building.

The mid-afternoon sun was high overhead, the perpetual fog of the city finally breaking enough to let in the heat of the day. You slide from his arms and lead him up the steps to your door. Swinging the door wide you look up at him. “Do you mind?”

“What?”

You point to his devil form. “Shrinking? I don’t think you can fit.”

Oh right. He chuckles nervously. “Ain’t nothing a bit of lube and patience can’t fix right?” You don’t laugh, your lips pull taught. He coughs shifting in a flash of heat. Once he’s human he squeezes through the narrow door frame and just stares at you. Dante shuffles from side to side. Great. Now what?

You rub at your neck weary you could feel another knot growing. Weeks ago you had a whole speech laid out for when you got him through your door. You wanted to chew him out, to yell at him for cutting you out so unceremoniously. Shout that if he was going to break up with you at least do it cleanly, not this emotional roller coaster. A sense of anger fills you. Damn it, was this really it? It wasn’t like this was the first time a partner has done this. You just had hoped that Dante would be different. He had always been so dependable. “Just make it quick, Dante.” You didn’t have the steam for this right now. You felt nauseous and a pulsing head coming on. Ugh, and you still have that job waiting for you.

Dante’s silver brows scrunch up. “Make what quick?”

You wave at the distance between the two of you. “This. This breakup. Do it fast so it’ll give me the adrenaline to get through my next job so I can pass out tonight and get some sleep.”

Any other day Dante’s look of sheer shock would have been hilarious- today just wasn’t one of those days. “You think? Heh-shit yes, I can see why...” He rakes a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s not like that, I- I was running from my problems again.”

Your hackles raise in anger. “I’m a problem now?”

“What! No, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He points to himself. “I’m the problem. I ruin everything I touch!” His hurt cuts through your aggression.

“Dante-” You have had this discussion before. “You know I don’t think that.”

“You should.” He cuts you off, his expression imploring. “I messed up-I messed up big time with you. I should have said something the moment I knew but I just locked up and ran, like always.”

Knew? Knew what? “Dante, I don’t understand.”

“I-you...how are you feeling of late? I don’t know anything about this stuff, different?” His eyes swipe over your dusty battle garb. You feel his eyes stop at your navel holding there too long to be considered a coincidence before dropping to your feet.

“I’m sorry.” His breath hitches, getting dangerously close to a feeling he had been bottling up for too long. You are quiet, doing the math in your head. He hears your heartbeat pick up, your breathing becoming fast and shallow.

“Get out.”

His heart sinks. What did he expect? Closing the distance between you he reaches for you, his hand hovering by your face waiting to see if you will let him touch you. You don’t move, don’t even look up at him when his hands cup your face. So he moves crouching down to get a look at you. Your gaze is blank but resolute.

“I’m sorry.” He tries again. You ignore him far too engrossed in your revelation. Idly you trace a palm down to your stomach before flinching away is burned. “I’ll-I’ll be around…” He trails off all steam lost. At a loss he does the only thing he can think to do and flees, disappearing back into the streets outside your home like the coward he was.

#devil may cry #dante x reader

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kisses-for-cas · 3 years

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Summary: When a witch hunt forces the Winchesters to go undercover in a suburban neighborhood, Dean finds himself fighting with his upcoming feelings for a certain angel. To be more precise: the angel, who currently pretends to be married to his brother Sam.

Ships: Dean/Castiel

Word Count: 8,200

Read on AO3

Tammy has lived in this neighborhood for almost 30 years – she raised her kids around here and now is enjoying her well-deserved retirement with her husband Harold. And if she knows one thing for certain, then it’s this: there’s something wrong with the new neighbors. It’s not because they are gay, Tammy tells herself. She believes herself to be quite open-minded, one of her nieces is actually a lesbian. It’s something else, but she can’t quite put her finger on it yet.

The men moved in today, only a few days after the last tenants died in a horrible and tragic accident involving the lawnmower and a malfunctioning electric wire. Tammy doesn’t like to admit it, but she always knew those two didn’t fit the neighborhood. Sarah brought it up several times at Sunday Brunch, and as it turned out, the entire neighborhood held a grudge against the deceased couple. At least the house still looked well enough to get sold almost immediately again.

It’s hard to catch glimpses of the movers, but she catches a few sights as she stretches out of her bedroom window. One of them has dark hair and is wearing a tan trenchcoat, the other one seems to be taller and is coated in a flannel shirt. Not really the type to be moving into this street, but they might turn out to be nice. She tries to keep an open mind, she tells herself, even though she doesn’t understand how somebody could possibly move while wearing a trenchcoat.

Shortly after dinner, the doorbell rings, and Tammy almost jumps forward to get it. Sarah told her she’d call once she had a proper talk with the new neighbors, but the phone’s been quiet so far. But to her surprise, it’s not her friend in front of the door, but two handsome men holding a basket with muffins.

“Hello, you must be Mrs. Philipps. We’re the Winchesters,” the taller of both says, as he holds his hand out. Tammy shakes them politely, as she smiles at them.

“Tammy is fine, and my husband Harold is probably already asleep in his lounge seat,” she jokes as she shakes their hands. The man in the trenchcoat seems a bit more reserved, but he still gives her a small smile when she looks at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tammy,” the other man says again. “I’m Sam, and this is my husband Cas.”

5 days earlier

“Lawnmower accident?” Dean laughs, as he re-reads the headline again. “Well, if this isn’t our kind of thing, I really don’t know what is.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Sam replies, turning his laptop back to himself. “Apparently there were several deaths within the last 10 years in this neighborhood, and all of them were classified as accidents.”

“All over the area? So less likely a spirit, and more like –“

“Witches?” Sam finishes his brother’s sentence. “Probably, the victims weren’t exactly popular in the area. One of them had a kid, but the couple wasn’t married. Another person wanted to move in with her wife, but she died before she could. Seems like they are most likely targeting people, who don’t fit the community.”

Witches and conservative suburbs sure aren’t Dean’s favorite things in the world, that much is sure. But if people are in danger, there’s no way he’d let them down. Especially, if he might get to kill some fundamentalist witch.

“Huh, so what we’re thinking? I’d say go undercover, but brothers usually don’t go buying some white picket fence house in a conservative neighborhood,” the older Winchester proposes, while settling back in his seat. He remembers how they tried to infiltrate that neighborhood so many years ago and how the salespeople kept mistaking them for a couple.

“I thought Eileen and I could maybe do it, but her leg isn’t healing as we hoped,” Sam thinks out loud, wincing at the thought of his injured girlfriend. The recent werewolf hunt was tougher than expected and left Eileen’s leg badly hurt. Cas tried his best to heal her, but she was still struggling.

“Maybe one of us could team up with Mom?” Dean suggests but cringes once the words leave his mouth. “Urgh, never mind. I’m not very strong on the Oedipus thing.”

“What about me?” Cas chimes in, all eyes turning to him. Dean didn’t even realize the angel entered the room. “Since we are not related, it might be less awkward to pretend a relationship.”

Dean is left more or less speechless, as he babbles incoherent words. He likes Cas very much; they are best friends for a reason. But pretending to be in a relationship? Heaven and Hell have been teasing them for years about their “profound bond”, so they might even get away with it. But Dean’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the mere thought of calling Cas a pet name or holding his hand in public.

“Uh-Uh, no way I’m getting fake-married to Cas!” Dean protests once he finds the ability to speak again. His reaction was apparently a bit harsh, judging by the looks both Cas and Sam give him.

“Okay…,” Sam sighs, drawing the word out in a long breath. It sounds like he wants to say more but instead turns to face the angel. “Castiel, would you like to pretend-marry me?”

Dean can feel a blush creep up his neck, as he stares at his brother. It’s the reasonable thing to do, but it just feels wrong. Nobody ever questioned their status as friends, and Dean can’t even picture the both of them acting in love. When he thought his stomach felt bad before, he’s now actually feeling sick.

He’s close to suggesting a fake relationship with their mom again when Cas simply nods to answer Sam’s question. “Of course, Sam. I mean, I do.”

The two share a hinted smile as if they are both part of a joke Dean doesn’t get. The sick feeling still doesn’t leave him, as he stands up from his seat. He must have eaten something wrong today, that’s the only logical explanation.

“Well, Mazel Tov to you guys then,” Dean mutters, more to himself than to the other men. They don’t even look at him when he leaves the room behind.

———————————————————————————————–

“I still think this is a stupid idea,” Dean protests, as he puts the meatloaf in the oven. Somewhere behind him, he knows Cas is preparing the salad and Sam is busy fluffing some pillows on the couch.

“We need to connect with all the neighbors, and a housewarming party is the easiest way to do so,” Sam replies annoyed. He and Cas introduced themselves to everyone in the neighborhood, but nobody seemed guilty so far. Cas tried his best to “sniff the witch out” but only found some kitchen herbs in the local gardens and a loud laugh from Dean, when he explained his plan to search for witch-like smells. So far, they had no clue who the responsible party could be.

“Dearest, could you make space in the hallway closet for the coats?” Sam calls out to Cas, and Dean almost burns his hand at the stove. He had a few days to adjust to the idea of Sam and Cas pretending a relationship, but the term of endearment still surprises the hunter.

“What’s next? You’re gonna kiss goodbye on the porch when Cas drives to work?” Dean snaps at his brother, who seems confused by the sudden anger.

“If the situation needs it, sure…,” Sam replies, but Dean interrupts him before he can continue.

“What the hell, Sammy? Dearest? What kind of weird pet name is that even supposed to be?”

“The one Sam and I agreed to,” Cas replies drily. The look in his blue eyes leaves no space for any further discussion. “This act is completely planned out, and we can’t risk our standing because you are having trouble adjusting, Dean.”

Just as Dean wants to argue again, they are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. They can only hope nobody heard their yelling, the last thing they need is unnecessary gossip from the neighbors. Cas and Sam waltz towards the front door, while Dean stays a few steps behind them.

“Hello Tammy, Harold. Welcome to our humble home,” Sam greets the guests, as the couple enters their hallway. Cas takes their jackets from them, hanging them in the biggest coat closet Dean’s ever seen. Well, at least the house got some perks. Before he can think more about the architectural features of the house, his brother calls for him.

“This is my brother Dean,” Sam introduces him, and Dean tries his best to give a fake smile and nod politely at the boring stories the neighbors tell him. This is going to be a long evening…

—————————————————————————————-

“Well Ladies, let’s begin Sunday Brunch,” Irene happily pronounces, as she raises her mimosa in the air. The other women do the same, cheering each other. It’s the first Sunday Brunch after the Winchesters moved to the area, leaving more than enough gossip material for the group.

“They seem nice enough, but I heard Sam is unemployed. He just sits around all day at home and waits for his Cassiel to come back home!” Jennifer complains with a deep sigh. It’s no secret she isn’t the biggest fan of the new couple, but even she can’t deny the quality of the served meatloaf at the housewarming.

“His name is Cassiel, dear,” Beth replies, eying the salmon pieces hungrily. “They said Sam’s working in IT and can do it from home. Clearly, an excuse, if you ask me.”

The gossip continues happily: Tammy found out they only have one toothbrush. Irene asked about Cas’s job, and apparently, he’s working in a nearby library. And all of them agree, their marriage is weird. Whenever Sam touched his husband, it felt unnatural, and they didn’t kiss once the whole evening.

“We need to address the elephant in the room,” Sarah sighs, and the group’s attention draws over to her. She’s been quiet so far, which means her news are far bigger than everyone else’s: “The brother.”

“If I were only twenty years younger…,” Beth starts, earning a peal of laughter from the women around her. “He’s very handsome, that’s true.”

“Yes, and I think Castiel would agree with you there,” Sarah speaks, before taking a long sip from her teacup. The reaction is immediate, as all the women start talking at once. The Winchester barely lived a week in the neighborhood, but they already produced the best gossip they had in a while.

“Do you think they are having an affair?” Tammy asks shocked. Of course, she had felt the tension between the family members, but she blamed it on the stress of moving. But now that Sarah suggested it, it seems like a possible explanation.

“We can’t be sure yet, but I bet something is going on. Dean surely looked rather unhappy every time he saw Sam touching his hubby. And Cas got some serious heart-eyes for his brother-in-law.”

“Besides,” Irene steps in “their marriage just seems – off? There’s more sex happening in the way Cas looks at Dean than in his marriage bed with Sam”

“Irene!” The shocked gasp from the elder women makes the other guests laugh, as they refill their mimosas.

“Oh, poor Sam,” Tammy sighs, fiddling with her wedding ring. Being cheated on must be awful on its own, but having your husband fool around with your own brother? That’s a new level of tastelessness.“

“Anyways, have you seen Mrs. Ericson’s new haircut? Just awful…”

——————————————————————————————

Dean excuses himself early from the housewarming party, not knowing how much more of the charade he could have handled. He expected to get some blackmailing material for his brother, it was supposed to be a funny sight after all. What he didn’t expect was the burning sensation on his inside, as he regarded the play right in front of him.

He’s still mad about the whole thing, and how caught up both of them were. It’s one thing to hold hands and present in the couple in front of others. But Sam calling Cas by a pet name in private? That’s just unprofessional, even Dean knows that. And then Sam told him, he would even kiss Cas if the situation needs it…What the hell was that even supposed to mean? Nobody is going to force them to kiss, the party guests are all far too old to play “spin the bottle” anymore.

Would Cas even kiss back, if Sam initiated a kiss? The angel doesn’t seem the type for physical affection; hell, he only lost his virginity a few years ago! The image of Cas pressing Meg against the wall, kissing her passionately, popped back up in Dean’s mind. And then the image changed to Cas and Sam in the same manner…God, Dean’s gonna have to swallow some holy water to get rid of that mental image.

Carefully, he watched the way his brother and his friend interacted, and the sight made him feel uneasy. He thought it was a stupid idea for them to fake a relationship because it would just be weird. But now that he was watching the way Cas’s hand rested on Sam’s lower back, Dean realized it’s something entirely else: he’s jealous. It’s not a feeling he knows very well; after all, none of his relationships ever lasted long. But as he watched Cas laugh at one of Sam’s stories, their sides pressed together – it’s setting something inside of Dean loose.

If he hadn’t acted like a child, he might have been the one standing beside Cas at that moment. He would have been the one holding his hand, laughing at his jokes, and maybe even pressing soft kisses on Castiel’s cheek. Nobody would even question their act, he’s sure of that. And then his mind kept wandering, back to the memory of Cas showing off his kissing skills. Except now it wasn’t Meg, but himself getting pinned against the wall.

Dean’s not stupid; he knows he likes men the same way he likes women. It’s been a long journey to finally find self-acceptance, but he’s finally contempt with it. That doesn’t mean he’s going to buy pride stickers and tell everyone around him he’s bi. No, it’s his secret and he’s the only one who needs to know about it.

He also knows Cas’s vessel is very attractive. But those two things – his attraction to men and his profound bond with Cas – were never something he considered might be related. But thinking about Cas kissing him – it’s something Dean never knew he wanted that much. When the sight of the happy couple got too much for him to bear, Dean excused himself to get a drink. Only then he remembered they are actually on a job, and he’s supposed to be on the watch out for possible bad guys.

And he’s totally going to do that.

Once he had a proper drink.

——————————————————————————————

“Please tell me your stupid charade is at least getting you somewhere,” Dean groans, once Cas is settled in his seat across from him. They decided to meet up in a close diner to discuss their next steps, while Sam is hacking the public security cameras from their house. Dean refuses to call it their “home”, hating the implication it’s setting.

“There are a few people we can surely rule out,” Cas replies, stirring some sugar into the coffee mug Dean pressed into his hands. “On my drive yesterday, the energetic waves were much stronger at the end of the street.”

“Great, so what’s next? You and Sammy going to play house for some more weeks, until we finally got our suspect?”

Dean can only hope the hunt will be over rather sooner than later. He barely slept the night after the housewarming party, his mind racing with thoughts. Not even liquor helped to drown them out and the night left him feeling not only exhausted but more upset than ever.

Castiel releases an annoyed groan. “Can you just…you’re undermining this plan at every given opportunity, and Sam and I are getting worried you might risk the entire thing.”

“I just want,” Dean starts, the words twisting in his throat. He knows exactly what he wants, ever since seeing Cas and Sam casually holding hands and snuggling on the couch. But at the same time, he knows it’s something he can’t have. Angels aren’t supposed to have emotions, he knows that. But when he catches Castiel’s blue eyes carefully watching him, Dean can’t help but feel a spark of hope.

“Do you ever think things could be, you know, different between you and me? Maybe we could be…more…or…”

“Dean,” Cas replies, his name sounding almost like a prayer from his lips. “Are you saying…”

“Well, hello you handsome fellas,” a sudden voice snaps them back to reality and when they look at its owner, Beth is smiling at them. “I thought it was you, so I just had to pop in and say hello.”

“Hello then,” Dean grumpily answers, his eyes focused on the table before him. Of all possible times, Beth had to disrupt them just now. He remembers the way those nosy neighbors had eyed him at the housewarming party, and how it made him uneasy. But then again, he only had eyes for Cas that evening.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work, Cas?” Beth asks, an obnoxious tone hidden under her sweetly sick smile. Right, Dean remembers, they told everyone Cas works at the library. Good enough of an excuse to spend their time there.

“Uhhh – Lunch break,” Castiel answers stiffly, his eyes shortly glancing over to Dean. The hunter seems to have grown smaller by the second, as he fiddles with the menu.

“Well, tell Sam I said hi,” she comments cheerfully, as she finally leaves them alone again. Silence falls over the table, only disturbed by the noise of the diner around them. Dean can feel Castiel’s watchful eyes on him, but he’s not ready to face them yet. He might not believe in fate or destiny, but the disturbance came just at the right time. A few seconds more and he might have destroyed the best friendship he had his entire life.

“Dean…,” Cas finally breaks the silence, but Dean interrupts him before he can speak more.

“Just forget it, Cas…Let’s focus back on the case.”

They don’t pay any attention to Beth, who silently snaps a picture of them from the outside. It feels like the ultimate proof those two are actually having an affair; why else would they meet up in a diner during Castiel’s work hours? She can’t help but grin, as she sends the picture to her friends.

TO: BRUNCH LADIES

“Look who’s having dinner instead of working….”

——————————————————————————————

“It’s Jennifer,” Cas says, once the image of Dean flashes over the laptop screen. After several neighbors pointed out how attached Dean seems to be to his brother, they decided to stick to virtual conversations for the moment.

“You sure?” Dean asks as he watches his brother and his best friend sit on their couch. He should be glad to once have an entire motel room for himself, but for some strange reason, he misses his family. Okay, he knows exactly why: he hates not knowing what’s happening between his brother and Cas. Sammy isn’t interested in Cas that way, he knows that. But the thought of them holding hands is enough to get Dean bothered.

“Absolutely,” Sam replies. “She was already one of our suspects due to some lucky incidents in the last few years, but when I was at her house, I clearly saw some witch supplies.”

“Her magic doesn’t seem too powerful, destroying her supplies and her altar should be enough to stop her,” Cas adds up, and Dean nods along.

“She’s working from home, right?” Dean asks while trying to remember everything about the suspect. Jennifer didn’t talk to him a lot; she was more of a loner. Apparently, her husband died a few years ago and left her enough money to start her own jewelry company. “How are we going to get her out of the house long enough to take care of the situation?”

“We could throw another party. Maybe celebrate a birthday or a wedding anniversary. And you and Mom could handle the house in the meantime,” Sam suggests.

“She didn’t stay long at the housewarming,” Cas throws in. “We need some more time, there might be warding at her house – maybe we could try a distraction, so she stays longer?”

“You could fake-break-up your fake marriage,” Dean huffs under his breath, knowing already they won’t agree to it. If their plan fails, the entire cover-up story would be blown up. There’s a bottle of beer in Dean’s hands and he takes a deep gulp from it. It may not be noon yet, but he stopped caring about that years ago.

Cas answers once Dean finished drinking. “No, that’s hardly enough to draw her attention.”

“We could call Jack, maybe he can help out. He could be your unknown son from a secret affair,” Dean jokes next. It sounds almost like a cheap plotline from Dr. Sexy – except Dr. Sexy’s secret son actually appeared in season 3 and needed an organ transplant, which could only be donated by his father. While Dean tries to remember how the episode ended, Sam and Cas nod in agreement.

“I’ll call Jack right away,” Cas speaks, his phone already halfway pressed to his ear. A second later, the angel disappears from the couch, leaving only Sam in his view. The younger Winchester seems to wait for Castiel to leave the room before he addresses his brother again.

“Dean, promise me you won’t act up,” Sam tries to reason. “We can’t risk the entire thing because you are getting jealous.”

“Jealous? Don’t be ridiculous, Sammy,” the older Winchester mumbles, trying his best to not sound petty. “Scout’s honor, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

——————————————————————————————-

Dean’s promise lasts around 20 minutes, which is already longer than he honestly would have expected. He and Mary will enter Jennifer’s house at 1800 sharp, leaving them with just enough time to trash her little altar and the supplies. Jack is going to start with his distraction around 10 minutes earlier, giving Dean enough time to slip out quietly. It’s all planned to the minute, which of course means, it’s destined to fall apart.

They invited their neighbors under the premise of Castiel’s birthday, even though the angel technically doesn’t even have a birthday. It doesn’t matter anyway, since Sam promised some BBQ and apparently that’s enough to motivate everyone to show up. Dean watches the spectacle from a distance, occasionally sipping his cold beer. He planned to handle the grill, but some bored husband hushed him away to deal with it instead.

Cas looks beautiful, Dean notices as he watches his best friend talking to his guests. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt and a pair of dark jeans, and Dean makes a mental note to thank his brother for finally getting Cas out of his usual outfit. Then he remembers it means Sam took Cas shopping at some point, and Dean’s gratitude turns sour in his mouth.

“How long have you two been married?” one of the ladies asks Cas, and Dean tries his best to hide a snickering laugh.

“Too damn long,” Dean jokes under his breath, but loud enough for several heads to turn in his direction. Maybe he had a beer too much, but watching Sam and Cas acting in love isn’t a thing he can handle sober.

“Two years,” Cas replies shortly, shooting angry glances at Dean. A second later, he mumbles to his guests again. “May you excuse me for a moment?”

Dean steps back, ready to hide from Castiel’s anger, but it doesn’t work. Barely a moment later, Cas is already in front of him. His hand closes tightly around Dean’s arm, keeping him from turning away.

“What’s the matter with you, Dean? You’re acting like a child,” Cas hisses when he catches him in the hallway. It’s enough to make Dean angry again, as he pulls his arm away from Castiel’s tight grip.

“The matter with me?” he shoots back. “This is honestly so ridiculous, you’re acting so…”

A middle-aged man bumps into them, and Dean stops talking immediately. There are far too many people around and if he says anything about the case, it could ruin their entire plan. The guests are spread all over the house, leaving no place to talk in private. Well, almost no place…

“We need to talk,” Dean whispers, before dragging the angel into the coat closet. Some curious eyes seem to follow them, but Dean shuts the door before anyone else can spot them. The closet is surprisingly spacious, but the walls seem to suffocate him. There’s a bit of light coming in through the shutters, and he can see the concern written all over Cas’s face.

“What’s going on? Ever since Sam and I began working this case, you’ve been acting weird,” Cas presses on and Dean knows it’s finally time to come clean about his feelings. He doesn’t want to lose Castiel’s friendship, but he can’t keep lying anymore.

“I wish it were me,” Dean rushes before he can chicken out again. “Instead of Sam. I wish it were me you’re married to. And I know it’s all fake, and you’re just pretending, but it’s driving me insane. Watching him hold you and call you those cheesy pet names. Because - because it’s something I want to do with you…not pretending, but for real.”

Once Dean starts speaking, the words don’t seem to stop rushing from his mouth. Cas just regards him with those hauntingly blue eyes, his head tilted in a way that always makes Dean’s heart melt. When all is said, Dean feels like the air was punched out of his lungs, as he awaits his friend’s answer.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I was too stupid to realize it for the longest time. And then I just didn’t know how to say it,” Dean admits. He came close to confessing in the diner, but Beth interrupted them and afterward, Dean felt ashamed and stupid.

“Dean,” Cas whispers. “I want those things too.”

There’s the beginning of a bright smile on Castiel’s face, and Dean swears his heart skips a beat when the words finally dawn on him. Before Dean can overthink the situation, he presses closer to the angel and is relieved when Cas is doing the same. And then their faces meet in the middle. Kissing Cas is the easiest thing in the world, it turns out. Whatever Dean was so afraid of, is right forgotten once their lips slot together.

It starts out innocent and gentle, just like the way relationships start. But then Cas opens his mouth a little bit, letting Dean lick inside and, oh – now things are getting heated. Dean presses even closer to Cas, their chests flushing together and their arms holding each other close. Somewhere, Cas’s back hits a wall and Dean pins him against it. The moan that falls from Cas’s lips is almost obscene while motivating Dean only further.

It’s perfect, and amazing, and breathtaking – until the closet door opens and they stumble onto the floor. Tammy’s surprised gasp draws everyone’s attention over to the couple, still entangled on top of each other on the floor. Everyone’s, even Sam’s.

“What the hell do you two think you are doing?” he yells loud enough to attract the entire house to the hallway, where they are watching them closely. Dean and Cas are still on the floor, slowly stumbling back to their feet.

“Sammy, I can explain…,” Dean starts, but now Sam turns his attention to Cas. He steps closer to them, his pointed finger slapping against Castiel’s chest.

“You’ve been screwing my brother?!” he yells, before locking eyes with Dean. “And you! Is this why Fernando broke up with me?”

Dean is taken aback for a second. Who the hell is Fernando? It’s only then when Dean remembers their lesser-used codewords. He can still recall how he wrote it down in his own leatherbound journal: Fernando – just play along.

“This got nothing to do with Fernando, this is about me and Cas!” Dean replies with an angry voice, before taking Castiel’s palm into his own hands. Cas gives him a quick squeeze, and Dean decides to have at least a little fun with the situation.

“I finally understand now, why I was so against your marriage. Because you two don’t belong together! Your whole marriage is a scam! You act all perfectly happy when in reality, you’re not even sleeping in the same bed anymore.”

Dean can hear the people around them gasp a little. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of the elder people would end up with a heart attack due to all the fake drama being uncovered right now. Besides him, Cas draws in a deep breath, before speaking to his (fake) husband.

“It’s true, Sam. I’ve been having feelings for your brother for a while now, but I never knew how to address them.”

Sam just looks at them with the biggest puppy eyes Dean’s ever seen. His time in drama club surely played out. “Are you two in love?”

Dean takes a deep breath, looking over to the familiar blue eyes, and the truth slips easily over his tongue.

“I think I love Cas more than I’ve ever loved myself.”

The look on Castiel’s face is everything and without even words, Dean knows he feels the exact same about him. The room is quiet around them, and from the corner of his eye, Dean spots Jennifer amongst the watchers. At least their little distraction worked well enough for her to stay.

“As your brother, I wish you all the happiness in the world,” Sam speaks, his eyes fixed in the distance. When Dean turns his head, he spots their mother coming in through the entrance door, breathing heavily but otherwise seems okay. She gives them both a small nod, signaling them she took care of the altar.

The crowd seems satisfied for the moment, and Dean is about to lead Cas out of the house when a voice stops them midway. It’s Jack, who is shouting loud enough for everyone to hear: “Sam, I am your secret son!”

The drama is enough to make at least one elder lady faint.

——————————————————————————————-

Dean and Cas depart soon enough, leaving Sam to deal with the rest of the concerned neighbors. Everybody seems to be too caught up in the drama to notice their quiet leave. They end up back in the diner, this time holding hands on the table. Surprisingly, everything feels the same and yet, completely different than before. Dean can’t put it in words, but for the first time in years, he knows he’s truly happy.

It takes a bit of time for Sam to finally text him, saying his guests finally left them alone and they can come back to talk about their next steps. When the Impala roars down the road, Dean can feel the eyes of every household staring at them. They are probably wondering why he would be back so soon enough, but Dean doesn’t care. He just holds Cas’ hand on the way to the house, fully knowing he won the grand prize.

Jack and Mary greet them happily, and even Sam can’t hide his grin as he approaches his brother. “Well, if it isn’t the homewrecker himself.”

“Come on, I bet several of your neighbors would have consoled you all night long, if you had asked them,” Dean shoots back, throwing a wink at Sam. He remembers the way one of the ladies had clung to Sam’s arm, trying her best to cheer him up about his failed marriage.

They all settle in the living room: Cas and Dean on the couch, Mary and Sam seated in each of the armchairs, and Jack sitting cross-legged on the floor. It may not be much, but it’s their own little screwed-up family. While Sam gets them beers from the fridge, Dean considers putting his arm around Cas. They haven’t had time to label their relationship yet, but they’re both too old to play games. So, Dean decides to go with his gut and wraps his arm around Castiel’s shoulder. The returned smile lets him know it was a good decision.

“Sorry for the way I acted earlier, it was just for show,” Sam says when he passes the beer over to the couple. “I’m actually glad you two finally figured things out.”

“Me too,” Mary chimes in with a laugh. “Even though I was patiently waiting for your back-up at the house.”

“Bet you still did an amazing job without me,” Dean returns, an honest smile on his lips. He holds his beer towards her, and she clinks it with her own.

Sam fills them in with the details of the last hours, and how he watched Jennifer leave her home in a panicked state. She packed a few bags, before driving away with screeching tires. Well, another case successfully solved. They talk for hours while laughing about stories and eating the leftovers from the party.

“Damn, I could really use some sleep now,” Dean yawns, stretching his arms. A short glance at the clock lets him know it’s almost 2 am and they gotta hit the road early the next day.

“How about you two head to the motel, and Jack and Mom stay here?” Sam proposes. When Dean checks on Jack, the kid is curled up in his seat, snoring quietly. No way they’re going to move him somewhere else, so this plan might be for the best.

“You just want me to stay, so your neighbors see this pretty lady leave your house tomorrow,” Mary jokes, earning some quiet hollering from her elder son and a laugh from Castiel.

“Guess we’re heading back to the motel,” Dean finally decides, before clumsily standing up from the couch. If it weren’t for the awful neighbors, this place might actually be nice. The furniture for one thing is comfortable enough. And the closet sure gave him a few ideas what to do with Cas in the future. He takes a few steps towards the door until he notices something is missing. “Cas, you coming?”

“You want me to come along?” Cas asks, and Dean just nods.

“Of course, would be weird to stay with your husband now that you scored the hotter brother,” Dean replies, pressing a gentle kiss on Castiel’s cheek. He never knew angels could blush, but it’s a sight he will never get enough of.

“We’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine, better be dressed!” Sam shouts after them when Dean is already halfway out of the door.

“You’re such a buzzkill, Sammy. No wonder your husband left you”

“I’m just glad you’re finally out of the closet,” Sam shoots back with a grin. Dean already knows it’s a joke he’ll hear a thousand times in the upcoming years, but when he looks over at Cas, it sure is a price worth paying.

The drive to the motel is rather short, and soon enough, Dean unlocks the door to his room. Luckily, he had booked a room with a king-size bed. He rarely had a room for himself during hunts, so he had decided to enjoy that. Cas closes the door behind them, while Dean strips out of his flannel and his jeans. He’s still wearing a shirt and his boxers, but compared to a fully dressed Castiel, he almost looks naked.

When Dean comes near him, the angel wraps his arms around his torso and pulls him even closer. Once again, their lips meet in a kiss, growing more heated by the second. It’s with a sigh that Dean slowly pulls away again.

“Maybe we should take it slow, honey. How about we just cuddle tonight?” Dean murmurs, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw. The exhaustion of the day lies heavily on Dean’s bones, and all he wants to do is cuddle into bed, his lover beside him.

“Honey?” Cas asks with a raised eyebrow, and Dean feels himself blushing yet again.

“It’s just – every time I see a bee or something, I have to think about you,” he admits. “Remember how you collected honey yourself? Or when you showed up covered in bees?”

Cas smiles at the memory. “Of course, I remember, but why would you bring that up now?”

“It’s just a term of endearment, a pet name. I can stop if you want”

Dean was never a big fan of pet names. He usually called his partners by their names, not some silly phrase. But then again, he was the one who turned Castiel to Cas, so maybe the angel has always been the exception for him.

“No, I like it,” Cas decides, before pressing another quick peck onto Dean’s lips. “And I am fully contempt with cuddling you.”

After some discussion about clothing choices, Cas also strips down to his underwear. Cuddling in jeans and a dress shirt would have been awful, and Dean luckily managed to convince the angel of it. The bed is more than big enough for the both of them, as they lie facing each other in the dark.

“We should make you a proper Winchester someday,” Dean mutters, gently kissing Cas’s knuckles. He isn’t thinking about marriage, not yet at least. Most marriages he’s seen over the years ended in death: his parents, Bobby and his wife Karen, Ellen and her husband…The list goes on and on, including those couples they couldn’t save during their hunts. When he saw his own father stricken with grief for his lost wife, part of Dean swore he’d never marry. But then again, Dean never would have believed he’d ever live past the age of 30. It’s with a smile upon his lips that he finally falls asleep.

All his life, he expected monsters in every dark corner, and more than enough times Dean was proven right. He’s been long enough in the business to smell danger from miles away, Dean believes. Which is why he’s surprised to wake up to the sound of Castiel shouting his name.

When he opens his eyes, all he sees is purple. The room seems to be painted in the color, reflecting on every surface possible. And in the middle of it all stands Jessica, glaring at them with violet and angry eyes.

“You! You really thought destroying my altar was enough to stop me?”

Dean’s hand finds its way under his pillow but returns empty-handed. He must have forgotten to place it there, too caught up with his lover. And when he looks around, he can spot his faithful gun sitting on top of a dresser, which is inconveniently placed behind the wrathful witch in the room. Cas is already standing beside the bed, and the sight of a half-dressed angel ready to fight would be hilarious if it weren’t for the mortal danger they’re in.

“You’re an abomination,” Jessica yells again. “Dirty and sinful, and…”

The angel blade hits her right in the chest. Her purple eyes glance downwards, where the blood comes rushing out of her body. Apparently, she was so caught up in looking dangerous, she actually forgot to ward herself. And with Castiel’s heavenly aim, that could only end deadly for her. Jessica sinks to her knees; the purple flashes of lightning slowly disappearing from the room. It’s only then when Dean decides to approach her. Blood is running down her mouth, but she’s still alive, watching the hunter carefully as he kneels down in front of her.

“I’ve had a voice like you in my head my entire life, whispering awful things about myself,” Dean tells her, keeping eye contact as he pulls the angel blade out of her bleeding chest. “But now, that I’m finally happy, do you know what happens to this voice?”

Jessica doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t need her to.

He would have slit her throat either way.

———————————————————————————————

“Welcome to Sunday Brunch, Agnes,” Sarah announces, as the women settle down at her dinner table. It’s been a while since they had another brunch, but it was long-awaited. Today, a new face sits at the table with them.

“So sad Jennifer decided to move away, but we are glad we got you in the neighborhood now.”

“Thanks for having me,” Agnes replies with a shy smile, as she glances around at the other women. “It’s wonderful to have such nice and caring neighbors, my old neighborhood was so scandalous…”

“Scandalous?” Irene laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh dear, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

“Are you referring to the Winchester?” Tammy replies while stirring her tea. It’s been weeks since those men came and went, but it’s still everyone’s favorite topic of discussion.

“Don’t be silly, of course I mean the Winchesters!”

Beth releases a deep sigh. “I’ve heard they did it right in Dean’s fancy car after the party.”

“No, they threw Sam out of the house and then had sex in the bed Sam used to sleep in. How tasteless of them,” Sarah corrects her immediately.

“That can’t be.” It’s Tammy’s turn to speak now. “I saw him the next day with a blonde woman in front of the house”

“Guess he got over it quickly then,” some other woman giggles. “Have you seen the kid too? Sam can’t have been older than maybe 25 when he was born”

Agnes just smiles quietly, as she listens to the stories. She may not know the Winchesters, but they sure are entertaining as heck.

———————————————————————————————

Castiel becomes a Winchester on a sunny day in July.

It’s been months since the case that started their relationship, and they never spared another thought to those nosy neighbors. Dean suspects the rumors they started that night, but he couldn’t care less. Once the town disappeared from the Impala’s rearview mirror, none of them ever spared another thought to the neighborhood. Dean and Castiel couldn’t be happier, and that’s all that matters to them.

Jody invited all of them to her cabin at Lake Alvin, just outside of Sioux Falls. They are celebrating Claire’s graduation from college, and Dean couldn’t be prouder of the kid. He talks Cas into buying her the cheesiest greeting card they can find, paired with the most beautiful gun in the entire bunker. It’s got engravings all over and Dean even finds somebody who puts “C.N.” onto the side of it. He would rather have Claire live a normal life, but he knows it’s not going to happen.

It appears like everybody in the hunter community got the invitation: Sam and Eileen, Mary, Donna, the Banes twins, even Garth and Bess together with their kids. It’s not often hunters get to celebrate something, so everybody immediately jumped the opportunity. It’s a beautiful day, and at some point, Dean finds himself standing next to Claire.

“So, when you gonna put a ring on it?” she asks, nodding over to Castiel, who is chasing his little namesake all over the lawn in a playful game. Dean’s heart swells at the thought of this man being his husband. They hunt less and less these days, especially since Sam decided to move in with Eileen. It’s still a secret, but he and Cas recently bought a house in the same street as them. It might finally be time to leave the hunting life behind.

“There’s no rush,” Dean simply answers, trying his best not to settle on the thought. If he’d ever marry someone, it probably would be Cas. His eyes are still fixed on the laughing figure when Claire continues speaking.

“Whatever, old man. But if you ever want to tie the knot, just call me,” she says, shrugging with her shoulder. When Dean looks at her with a raised eyebrow, she continues. “I’m actually a licensed officiant, not that it would matter for you two anyways. Could marry you just like that –“

She snaps her fingers, before taking a gulp of her soda. Dean looks over to Cas again, his thoughts running in his head. What if…? The idea seems insane to him, but Claire seems to catch his thoughts. A smile breaks over her face: “Go ahead, dude. Just ask him.”

“Don’t want to steal your thunder, kid.”

“There would be no thunder without you,” she confesses, and Dean can’t help but pull her into a tight hug. He never expected to have kids, but he loves Claire just like his own blood. Her first weeks in college were rough, he remembers. But every time she came close to quitting, she’d call Dean. At this point, she’s just as much his kid as Jack, and he couldn’t be prouder of the people they’ve become.

When they step apart, Claire pulls a necklace from her neck. Two golden rings are connected on it, and Dean immediately knows who they belonged to.

“Here, this one should fit,” she says and presses the larger ring into his shaking hands. Dean mutters an honest thanks, smacking a gentle kiss on her forehead, before sprinting over the lawn.

“Hey Cas, can we talk for a moment?”

“You’re not dragging me into a closet again, are you?” Castiel laughs, but willingly follows his boyfriend a few feet away from the crowd.

“If I remember correctly, you rather enjoyed that…,” Dean counters with a grin, before kissing the angel gently. Cas is still smiling against his lips, and Dean pulls away with a deep breath.

“I have an idea…well, actually Claire had the idea, but I think it’s kinda awesome. And since everyone we love is already here, it would just be such a good opportunity and…”

“Dean,” Cas simply says, putting a stop to Dean’s blabbering.

“Will you marry me? Tonight? I know, you actually deserve a much better proposal and a wedding that doesn’t take place in flannel, but I love you so very very much”

Dean’s stammered words are silenced by a loving kiss. When they pull apart, Cas is smiling brighter than the sun.

“I’ve adored you ever since the moment I touched your soul in hell, of course, I’ll marry you”

The biggest smile flashes over Dean’s face, and Cas returns it just as much. A moment later, a loud shout draws their attention over to the cabin, where Claire is cheering in a way, that reminds them far too much of Dean. And when they tell everyone else, the mood just keeps going up.

It’s not a traditional wedding, but then again, their whole lives aren’t exactly normal. Jack insists on being the flower girl, even though Dean and Sam try their best to correct it to “flower-boy”. The music comes from a beaten-up boombox, which plays “November Rain” on repeat and the couple agrees not to exchange vows, deciding to wait with them until they can talk privately.

Dean’s hands shake when he slips the ring onto Castiel’s finger. It’s only now that he realizes they only got one ring, but before Dean can freak out, the angel pulls another golden band from his pocket.

“Where did you get that ring from?” Dean asks, and Cas casts a glance over to Jody, who is currently trying to stop crying. They barely knew her husband, and sometimes Dean still feels a pinch of guilt they couldn’t save him. The ring, he knows, is not only a final peace offering but an official invitation to the family. Dean shoots her a thankful smile, and she just nods in return.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Claire announces from the front, but the crowd remains luckily silent.

“We’ve been waiting for ages, no way we’re going to object now,” Sam shoots from the side, making everybody laugh. If Dean wasn’t close to bawling his eyes out, he’d probably throw a witty remark at his brother.

“Well then,” Claire says, clearly holding tears back herself. “I shall pronounce you officially hitched!”

Everyone cheers when Cas pulls Dean in a kiss, marking the beginning of a new chapter. The rest of the evening passes in a blur: they dance, they sing, Sam proposes to Eileen, Claire and Kaia finally get together, and Dean and Cas once again find themselves fooling around in a closet. But it’s perfect in every way.

Not every family contains of two parents and a bunch of kids. For them, family contains of two washed-up hunters, their time-traveling mom, a badass Irish huntress, a fallen angel, the devil’s son, and dozens of other people they got to know over the years. Bobby once told Dean, family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either.

And as Dean watches his happy and fucked-up family, his hand tightly holding onto his husband, he just knows truer words were never spoken.

#destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fic

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.2k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fxf smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, technically a mff threesome

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and with a special appearance from eight special guests

A/N: due to burnout, i’m unfortunately putting tgm on hold and logging off of tumblr for a little while, so there will be a bit of a wait before you get the new chapter. i’m going to log back on after 48 hours when the vote is done, because i’m considering putting the results behind a ‘read more’ option so that if you don’t want to wait, you can choose to reveal who is being voted out, otherwise you have the freedom to wait for the chapter. i have a post coming out explaining why i’m going on hold and what that means. please keep an eye out for it xx

ELIMINATION

The vote has closed.

DAY TWENTY-ONE

Your ass is still still a little sore the next morning, and having Hoseok smirk at you every time you shifted is a special kind of torture in and of itself. Waiting for everyone to gather, you’re one moment away from begging Taehyung for a massage right then and there before Sejin finally enters, rapping awkwardly on the doorframe as he steps in.

Skipping the pleasantries, he hunkers down on the coffee table in the middle of the couches, gesturing for you to join.

You swallow, aware of the attention on you. “Can I just stay on the couch?” You stubbornly avoid Hoseok’s gaze, leaning further back into the cushions, Taehyung’s arm wrapped around you as you tuck your head against his shoulder. Maybe you’d ask for that massage later, you reason, massages are platonic, right?

“Sure,” Sejin allows after a moment, eyes softening in sympathy. You flush at the unspoken reminder that he definitely saw the footage, but the producer powers on. “Let’s get started, then, we have quite the day ahead of us.”

Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. You’d been chatting earlier this morning over text with your friend, who was already on a train on his way here. You wonder how the boys will react to Eric. Part of you had worried, but you’ve yet to meet a single person that didn’t like him. It would be good to finally catch up.

The other guys don’t seem suspicious about the news, but before you can dwell on it, Sejin is clearing his throat and lowering his voice into the announcer-like tone he used for the meetings. “This week’s theme was Work Hard, Play Hard. According to the Bangasm Bomb, Week Two’s fan favourite Yoongi was allowed to distribute them. Instead of asking Y/n to guess, I want the players to each say whether they were happy with Yoongi’s choice or not. Starting on the right with you: Jin.”

Perhaps due to their splitting up yesterday morning - you hope their conversation went well in the end - Jin and Yoongi are on opposite couches, and Jin is a little subdued when he speaks to Yoongi. Not necessarily sad, just calmer than normal, like they were old friends. “So, Yoongichi gave me foodplay. As much as I appreciated getting the prompt, and I had a wonderful time with Y/n, never fucking again will I use something so messy. I swear to god, there’s still caramel in my hair, and I don’t think it’ll ever come out.”

You wince at the description, jostled slightly by Taehyung’s laughter rocking his body. Sejin confirms that he’d successfully fulfilled his prompt, and moves along to Namjoon, who looks about as red as a fire hydrant.

“Mine was ageplay,” Namjoon explains, voice dipping so quiet that you can barely hear him, before he clears his throat and glances up again. “I enjoyed it a lot, if I’m being honest. Um- thank you, Yoongi. I’m a little concerned that you knew to give it to me, though.”

“Come on,” Jin jibes, punching his shoulder lightly, “you’re absolute Daddy material. When it doesn’t look like you crawled out of someone’s pocket, at least.”

Namjoon frowns down at himself, the denim overalls rolled up at the ankles, mismatched socks and a t-shirt with a little embroidered sun on it. “Was that a compliment?”

Jin sends him a solemn, meaningful look. “It’s whatever you need it to be.”

“Anyways,” Sejiin jumps in, “congratulations, Namjoon, you’ve avoided the bunks again. Following on, we have Jimin. Go ahead.”

With legs that look a mile long in some skinny black jeans, Jimin winks across the room to Yoongi. “I got breathplay,” he explains, “which I’ll admit isn’t my favourite prompt out of them all, but I still had a really good time. Though I did try and go a little easy just in case.”

Your eyes widen, remembering ringed fingers around your throat and his cold smirk which contrasted with the heat of him inside you. “That was going easy?”

Jimin shrugs. “I’ve barely scratched the surface, Y/n,” he states vaguely and sits back, tilting his head to Sejin to indicate he’s finished.

The producer quickly informs him he was successful, and moves onwards. On your couch, the only active player is Hoseok, who sits on the opposite side to Taehyung. He sends you a mischievous grin before leaning out to face Yoongi. “Wax play for me,” he reveals to the group, “which was an absolute delight. I’m very glad I got this one, just for safety reasons. It sounds like some of the prompts this week were a little more intense.”

He sits back, but Sejin doesn’t move on this time. “Hoseok, unfortunately you failed your prompt this week.”

Hoseok blinks, brows lifting. “But there are cameras in that bathroom! I checked.”

“That’s not the issue,” Sejin explains with a sympathetic smile, “it’s that you directly revealed to Y/n what your prompt was. Now-” he begins, seeing Hoseok’s clear disappointment, “I had a talk with some of the editing and producing teams on this, as well as the higher-ups. Because we understand and appreciate that you revealed the prompt for reasons related to safety and wellbeing, we’re going to change things up a bit. You have a choice. Either you take the penalty and stay in the bunkrooms, or you stay in your own room. The caveat is that you randomly have to draw a name, and that person will join you.”

Hoseok winces. “God, this feels like a variety show,” he complains, “but I’ll risk it and take my bedroom. At least I’ll be comfy, and I’m fine sharing a bed with most of you anyway.”

Sejin’s already prepared, nodding and retrieving seven strips of paper from his pocket, all folded in two. The rest of you hold your breath as Hoseok’s hand hovers over the splayed-out options, finally tugging one out from the bottom. He takes it, flicks it open, and immediately deflates with a frustrated groan.

“This is fucking rigged,” he protests, ripping the paper into two, “I pick the bunkrooms.”

Sejin patiently holds his hand out for the torn shreds, reading them over. Is that a smile on his lips? “Jung Hoseok, you’ll be staying in the comfort of your bedroom with fellow contestant Park Jimin until the date of the next Sunday meeting.”

“Hey!” Jimin shrieks. “I did my prompt! Do I get no say in this?!”

“You don’t, unfortunately,” Sejin replies promptly. “Next up is Jungkook.”

Jimin squawks, collapsing back onto the couch with his arms tightly folded and his mouth screwed up into a scowl. Across from him sits Jungkook, clinging to Yoongi. With his legs tucked under him and his sleeves balled in his hands, the youngest gentleman is reminiscent of his subbier side when you played with him. “I got anal play,” he declares proudly, “I can’t believe it took me three weeks to get pegged. Shoutout to homeboy for sending that prompt my way.” He punctuates the comment by gently bumping his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, like a cat on its owner’s leg. Rather than sitting up, he stays there.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, finishing off before Sejin can even step in. “I was cumplay,” he states plainly, “so of course, I took that. Who needs to fuck around with wax and food and shit when you can stick to the basics?”

The producer nods formally, tapping his shoe against the carpet. “And the two of you both successfully completed your prompts, congratulations. That means nobody will be staying in the bunkrooms this week. Taehyung,” he turns and fixes the boy with a warm stare, “you’re welcome to go back to your room for the rest of the competition.”

Taehyung beams, a boxy grin and crescent eyes. “Noted, sir,” he says with a chirp. “Do we get to find out fan favourite now? I know who I’m rooting for.” Taehyung sends Jimin a shy smile, and the older boy winks at him fondly.

“Yes, of course,” Sejin allows, clearing his throat. “As usual, we tallied up the results from the voting page on our website. I’ll say the top three. Third place this week was Jungkook. Congratulations.”

The youngest man sits upright suddenly with a wide-eyed look. “Seriously? I didn’t even dom! Oh, wow, uh-” he cuts himself off and looks around, finally fixing his sights on one of the cameras near the roof that are streaming to the fans. He pumps his fists with a little cheer, then folds them together and bows. “Thank you! I’ll do even better next week.”

Yoongi’s cheeks go pink as he tries to act like he isn’t cooing over the boy, reaching out to ruffle his ever-growing hair. “Good job, kid,” he compliments shortly.

“Second place,” Sejin continues, “Seokjin.”

It seems as if the therapist hadn’t seen it coming at all. A picture-perfect expression of shock blooms on his face before he lets out a bright peal of laughter, clapping his hands together with a single smack. “I did it! Ah, I knew I still had it in me. Old age won’t stop me yet, see. Everyone should learn from this.”

You shake your head with bemusement, lifting your brows at him. “Silver medal and it’s already going to your head, huh? The fans have created a monster.”

“The fans have seen the light,” Jin corrects placidly, before a line forms between his brows. “Wait. Who got first, then? Who outdid me plus caramel sauce?”

“In first place, and winning the chance to spend an evening outside the Villa with Y/n,” Sejin starts, before pausing for dramatic effect, “is Hoseok. You’re having quite the emotional rollercoaster this morning, Mr. Jung.”

Instead of a hooting cheer, a smug grin, or even disbelief, perhaps the one thing you didn’t see coming was Hoseok blinking quickly, before pressing the back of his hand to his nose. You don’t have to be watching a 1080p close-up to see his eyes misting.

Taehyung immediately croons, throwing his arms around the dom in a tight hug, wiggling in place as Hoseok laughs tearily. “I’m so proud,” you hear Taehyung say, muffled in Hoseok’s shirt.

“I- Goodness, I’m sorry- I really just wasn’t expecting that,” Hoseok admits, tilting his chin up to stare into the ceiling light. “That means a lot. Phew, wow, the audience are some kinky fuckers,” he finishes, relieved when the strange atmosphere splits into easy laughter.

Heart warm, you reach over and squeeze his arm. “I’m really happy for you, Hobi,” you say in a soft voice. “You deserve it.”

“Where will you take her tonight, hyung?” Jungkook chimes, teeth poking out of a teasing grin. “Is it ‘take your fuckbuddy to work’ day at the Red Room by any chance?” His comment rouses whoops and whistles around the room, Taehyung giggling and pinching the dom’s cheek.

“Ah, about that,” Sejin jumps in quickly, a hand held out to settle the noise, “the reward won’t be scheduled for tonight, unfortunately. We’re going to put it on Monday night, since today - as I’m sure you all know - we have some special guests.”

Your brows lift. Guests, plural? Maybe you weren’t the only one who was asked to contact a friend. Your heart skips a little faster at the prospect of being exposed to close friends from the boys’ real lives. What if they didn’t like you? Would it even matter?

Sejin isn’t done, standing up from the coffee table to give the announcement on foot. “A few days ago, you all received text messages from me with some instructions to find a close friend, colleague, or family member to join you on the show. This was up to your discretion, as long as they agreed to a quick police check, however there was one condition. Y/n; you were asked specifically for a male friend. The guys were asked to bring a female friend.”

You suck in a gasp. After three weeks being surrounded exclusively by dudes, you’d suddenly have seven new ladies to talk to. “Just for the day, right?” you question, knowing the plans you’d had to make with Eric.

Sejin’s lips quirk up. “For most of the guests, yes. However, for one lucky lady, they’ll have the opportunity to stay for a full week. At any point today, Y/n, you can draw a name from this box-” he pauses, glancing down at his again-empty hands, “-I’ll, uh, I’ll bring the box out in just a moment. But you’ll be able to randomly draw one name, and if the recipient agrees, they’ll be staying in the bunk room for seven nights. Questions?”

Taehyung raises his hand tentatively. “Hypothetically, would we be allowed to have sex with the guests?”

Sejin sighs. “All but two of them signed a contract in which they consented to the possibility of sexual interaction, yes. But none of them will be required to at all.”

You bite your lip. When talking with you, Eric had mentioned the contract, and stated that since it was just one day he’d rather not offer himself up for that. One of the girls must have done the same, then, but that still left six people who were joining for a day - or a week - willing to consider having sex with the others on the show. Perhaps you were raising your sex drive being on the show, or maybe you just missed the company of women, but that thought excited you more than anything.

“When do they come on?” Yoongi asks with a grimace. While the others are practically vibrating with the anticipation of being reunited with their friends and meeting new people, Yoongi seems begrudging, and you can’t help but wonder what girl in his life he asked to join him.

“They’re waiting outside right now,” Sejin reveals, “we’ll bring them in one by one to introduce themselves. As they come in, I want the person who invited them to get up and stand on the side with them until everyone’s paired up.”

Taehyung’s hands slip into yours and Hoseok’s, gripping them into tight fists with a hoot of excitement. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you sit up straighter, eying the doorway. “Do you think there’ll be a game?” the masseuse hisses, positively wiggling in his seat.

On the other couch, Jungkook’s eyes widen comically. “We’re doing a game? Oh, hell yeah!”

Sejin, who had been sending a text, glances up quickly. “The game isn’t ‘til the eve-” he cuts himself off, but it comes too late. “Ah, dammit. Anyways, please give a warm welcome to our first guest. Please come in.”

Before the person even rounds the corner, you hear an excited squeal. A slender girl with toffee-coloured hair and bright features careens into the room, her giddy smile widening as she lands her eyes on Jin.

If you had pictured someone to be friends with the therapist, it probably wouldn’t be this boisterous woman in tiny shorts and strappy sandals that’s currently cannon-balling onto him, but he lets out an oof, wrapping his arms around her with a fond smile.

Sejin clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself?”

“Oh!” The girl sits up, elbowing Jin in the stomach as she gets up to smile at everyone. She looks gorgeous in a summery red lipstick, and the voice that comes out is just as sweet. “Hi everyone, I’m Hyuna, Soogie’s better half.”

Rubbing his hip, Jin scoffs. “You’re my sidekick at best.”

Ignoring the person whose lap she’s sitting on, Hyuna beams. “If he’s been cool on this show at all, it’s my positive influence.”

“Thank you, Hyuna, the two of you can go stand to the side,” Sejin deigns, glancing towards the doorway. “Next?”

In this way, all the guests appear one at a time and pair off. Eric’s next in, and you rush up to give your old friend a tight hug, grinning as he immediately stands beside Jin and Hyuna and begins to schmooze, making the two of them alike fawn over him.

“Hi, everyone,” he announces in a cheery tone, “I’m Eric, longtime friend of Y/n and aspiring Gentleman. Pleased to meet you all.” Sejin nods at him, and Eric’s smile turns down a few watts to sober up. “Also, I didn’t sign the contract, so if there’s any funny business, feel free to not invite me.”

Unlike the first two, the third person that enters the room is shy, a reserved posture and sweet smile. She dresses in a corduroy dress and long-sleeved shirt, her dark hair up in a ponytail. Introducing herself as Ji-eun, she explains that she, too, chose not to sign the contract for sex, blushing at the word.

Equally blushing is Jungkook, who repeatedly bows to her as she comes in, hand hovering over her waist as he leads her to the side. You and Jin share a bemused look as the girl introduces herself as a family friend and Jungkook’s old babysitter.

Picking up the energy, the fourth guest is someone you actually recognise. Jessi, a Bangasm powerhouse in every right that Jimin is, turns the corner with a sultry look, sidling up to Sejin playfully before tugging Jimin up from his seat.

“Jessi, as most of you are probably aware,” she introduces, looking insanely stunning in a fitted crop shirt, high waisted shorts and eyeliner to kill. “Come on, Park; you’re with me.”

As he stands up, letting her ruffle his hair and gushing over his choice of earrings, you marvel at how different he appears around her. In the industry, if you’d heard of Jimin, you’d heard of Jessi. She started a few years before him, met him on a shoot, and the two were practically a power duo ever since. From the videos they had together, they portrayed an image of the King and Queen of porn, always working with each other whenever they could. But now, instead of some sex-crazed couple, all you see is Jimin being fussed over like a younger brother, leaning into Jessi’s fond yet teasing touches.

The two of them sit beside you, and your cheeks can’t help but burn up when she pokes her tongue out between her teeth and flicks you a wink, turning to Jimin and giving him a meaningful nod.

So far Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi remain on the couches, and when the next girl rounds the corner, you just about think you must be seeing double.

With a black bob of hair sharper than her jawline, perfectly arched brows and a pouty mouth, an absolute copy of Min Yoongi scans the room. Her face changes, turns mischievous when she spots a begrudging Yoongi, and jerks her head. “I’m the hotter twin,” she announces, “Min Yoonji.”

As Yoongi huffs and gets up to join her, you watch with wonder as the two lookalikes stand together. She mumbles something low, ruffling his hair as he desperately tries to duck away, and the twins settle on the far side of you, beside Jungkook.

Quickly, another raven-haired girl steps in, barely even looking at you as she takes in the decor. “Fuck, this place is nice,” she mutters, before her eyes look directly ahead of her, maroon lips stretching into a smile, “Joon-ah, you’ve been here rent-free for the past month? Holy shit.”

Namjoon winces, bowing awkwardly to her, and you tilt your head. Why does it seem like they barely even know each other? Sejin must hear your internal monologue, as he clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself and state your relationship to Namjoon?”

“Oh, my name’s Sunmi,” she says with ease, “Namjoon and I are...” She trails off, looking to him for help.

Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he blurts, “best friends!” before going bright red. “Uh, we’re, um, we’re best friends.”

Sunmi beams, nodding matter-of-factly to the rest of you, before walking forward to pinch his cheeks and wiggle his face back and forth lightly. “Oh, yes,” she coos, “we go way back.” Letting go, she takes his hand and guides him to the side of the room where everyone but Taehyung and Hoseok are gathered.

You try to send Namjoon a questioning gaze, but he avoids everyone’s gaze but Sunmi’s, nodding shyly at the things she tells him quietly.

Luckily, the second-to-last guest takes up your attention fully. With velvet boots that reach the middle of her thighs, and a black shirt that reaches just as low, she’d look cute and preppy were it not for the black harness that brackets the shirt, reminiscent of Hoseok’s leathers, the sharp smokey eye and a red lipstick so dark it’s almost black. It doesn’t take you much to work out which of the remaining boys she’s accompanying. “Thank you to Hope for inviting me,” she begins, and your eyes widen at how silken and sweet her voice is, a total 180 from the typical dominatrix stereotype, yet it seems to fit her perfectly. “I’m Bee, I’ve worked at the Red Room for several years, and been friends with him for just as long.”

The two share a light hug, but you can see the affection there as his eyes crinkle and her beam widens. She hooks a finger around one of Hoseok’s belt loops and follows him to stand beside Jimin, barely enough room for them as it is.

Lastly is Taehyung, who’s already on his feet by the time a gorgeous blonde enters. Before you can get a good look at her, the two are bear-hugging, Taehyung lifting her off the ground for a moment as he grins so widely all his teeth are on full display. It warms your heart to see, and even when she settles back on solid ground, the two are attached at the hip, his arm tightly holding her to him.

“This is Chungha, my best friend,” Taehyung announces proudly, “we met at work when I was a trainee.”

“Aren’t I supposed to do that?” she questions with a throaty laugh, but still gives a warm smile to the rest of you. “But yeah, that’s me!”

They go to move over to the crowded corner, but Sejin steps in, clapping his hands once to gain everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone!” he declares. “Welcome to all our new faces! You’ll have until 10pm tonight to socialise, have fun. For lunch today, we’ll be having a barbecue and picnic outside, but after then, you’re free. Be sure to respect Ji-eun and Eric’s choice not to partake in any sexual activity. And Y/n, I’ll be right back with the box. Make sure you pull a name before 10.”

Once he leaves, you let out a dramatic breath, collapsing into Eric’s side. “Today is gonna be busy,” you anticipate, “so many pretty girls to talk to. So little time.”

“Hey!” your friend protests, wrapping his arms around to trap you against his front. “Forget about the girls, you should be hanging out with your best friend! I’ve missed you, lest you forget!”

Suspicious, you wiggle around to face him, narrowing your eyebrows. “You just want me to be your wingman,” you accuse, “who is it? What guy here are you crushing on?”

Eric scrunches his face up, clutching at his chest in offense. “I am not crushing on anyone,” he insists, before glancing over to Hyuna, Jessi, and Sunmi have gathered around Namjoon like a flock of seagulls, cooing over the little embroidered patches on his overalls. “I just want the Iron Giant over there to crush me.” Squinting his eyes, he inspects the room until he locates Yoongi, who’s pouting like a wronged child as Yoonji makes herself at home in the kitchen, pulling out drawers and cabinets like she’s searching for something.

“He’s the doctor, right?” Eric asks of Yoongi. You nod, suspicious. “He likes to eat cum, I have cum to spare… I’m no mathematician, but x equals sex, you know?”

You wince. “Not your best line,” you say in a disappointed tone, “but anyways: I thought you told me you didn’t want any funny business? You didn’t sign the contract.”

Eric’s eyes skirt over you, taking in the seven men as he shakes his head slowly. “I was young then. Foolish. I know better.” Suddenly, he grips your shoulders and ducks his head to look you intensely in the eye. “Take me to Sejin’s office. I have a contract to sign.”

It’s a beautiful day for a picnic, and an even more beautiful day to watch the muscles in Jin’s back flex under his t-shirt as he mans the barbecue.

Sharing the same sentiment is Jessi, who sighs dreamily at him, sitting beside you on the sun-warmed grass with her legs stretched out in front of her. “They don’t make men like those anymore,” she muses, “face of a fucking god. You get to fuck him?”

You chuckle at the abrupt question, quickly learning that Jessi wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Generally once a week, yeah. Unless I vote him out, I suppose.”

“God, please do,” she enthuses, “save some for the rest of us, you know?” Suddenly she sits up straighter, glancing around to take everyone in. “You know, when I heard about this, I thought for sure they’d either get a bunch of porn-addicted dweebs who jack off into crusty socks or all the airheads in the industry would sign up for a vacation. I guess they really filtered out the duds. I’m impressed.”

“They did good,” you admit, smiling fondly as you watch Taehyung jump around a small cross-legged group on the picnic blanket, holding out handfuls of beads. The masseuse had discovered Hoseok’s penchant for jewellery-making somehow and had demanded a tutorial. Jungkook and Namjoon look like two flustered schoolboys as they quietly help their respective friends, and Yoongi has his sister in a headlock as he tries to tie a bright pink and green bracelet around her wrist. Hyuna and Chungha are practically in each other’s laps, giggling as they wind delicate anklets onto each other.

Some of the others hang around Jin as he cooks. Bee is chatting up a storm with him, hip propped against the edge of the barbecue, and Jimin steals pieces of caramelised onion, sneaking glances towards you and Jessi. Your heart warms at his inquisitive look, the look of happiness and relief on his face when he sees the two of you getting along.

So caught up in your observation of the group, you don’t realise you’ve been silent too long until you get roughly punched in the shoulder. “Holy shit!” Jessi declares. “You like them!”

“Who?” you counter defensively.

She laughs, her whole face lightening up. “Fuck, maybe all o’ them. Is there anyone you don’t have a crush on? Anyone that doesn’t make you feel all giddy and happy?”

You’re stumped at that. For a long time, you’d been seeing having a crush as some grand, dramatic realisation. Realising you liked Tae and Jimin, and then more recently being confronted with your feelings for Jin, those romantic notions seemed so loud and all-encompassing. But the guys making you feel giddy and happy? Their presence cheering you up, missing them when you spent time on your own? It was a lot easier to admit to yourself that perhaps all seven of them fit within those constraints. “I… I hate to say that you have a point.”

Jessi squeals, briefly attracting the attention of the haphazard circle of jewellery makers. “I knew it! Oh my goodness, isn’t this so exciting? Have you had an orgy yet?”

You gape. “Jessi!”

“What?” she asks innocently. “If you’ve been here several weeks and you still haven’t had an orgy, you’re wasting your time, girl. Get onto that.”

“I have, actually,” you admit with firing cheeks. “Before Tae got eliminated.”

“The puppy?” When you send Jessi a bewildered look, she just shrugs, tipping her head over towards the barbecue where Jimin has taken to kissing the back of Jin’s neck and shoulders, standing up on his tiptoes to try and bribe the older man for some food. His friend sighs at his antics. “Park told me,” she explains in a matter-of-fact tone, “said he was an absolute delight to play with when he’s got his collar on. Fuck, and looking at him now really solidifies the image, you know? I’d love to make him beg for a treat.” Your face must sour, because without a pause Jessi is cackling, poking you lightly in the cheek. “Oh my goodness, you’re jealous! You can’t fuck him anymore so you don’t want me to!”

“It’s not that,” you protest, not wanting to expose that selfish desire.

“It’s fine, I get it! I’ll keep my distance,” she allows, rolling over on the grass to lean in, chin almost resting on your shoulder as her voice deepens to a conspiratorial tone. “But if I’m honest, you should just fuck him and take the penalty. I know I would.”

You bite your lip. “What if he accidentally touched me? He’d be sent home. It’s such a risk.”

She just shrugs, leaning back to watch him as he sits in the middle of the group, Chunga reaching out to playfully ruffle his hair. “Tie up his hands,” she deflects easily, “there are always solutions, you know? And if you really like him, I kinda think he’d appreciate you making the sacrifice to be with him.” Sighing out one last time, she stands up, brushing off her pants. “Food for thought. And speaking of food, there’s a big hunk of meat over there that isn’t on the barbecue.”

As Jessi makes her way over to Jin with a heavy swing to her hips, you decide to join the group. There’s a small gap between Ji-eun and Jungkook as they keep a respectful distance, so you wedge yourself in with a few muttered apologies.

Up close, Ji-eun is gorgeous, rosy features and kind eyes. It’s no wonder Jungkook looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. Perhaps you’d normally feel jealous, but you get it. “So,” you start, reaching out for a cord to begin a bracelet, “the two of you are family friends?”

Jungkook nods hastily. “Our parents went to high-school together,” he divulges, fiddling with his finished bracelet to look busy. “And since my mom and dad both worked full-time, noona babysat after school.”

You coo, tying a knot at one end of the waxed cord so the beads don’t fall off. “That’s so cute, oh my goodness! Ji-eun, was he a troublemaker as a child? I bet he was.”

“Hey!” Jungkook protests, but the older girl just chuckles, sending you a genuine smile.

“Gukkie was actually a sweetheart,” she admits, “always super polite. He was cute, too, had this coconut haircut and the roundest eyes, little tiny hands. Not like now.”

Jungkook gasps again, clutching at his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “How dare you! I’m still cute!”

You hum in an unconvinced way, turning to poke at his cheeks, tapping his button nose. “You’re a little bit cute,” you allow. “Though I bet you were cuter with the bowl cut.”

The camboy’s temporary pleased look vanishes and he abruptly stands up. “This is slander, it was not a bowl cut, I just have a very round head! I’m going to find Yoongi-hyung, he respects me.”

You glance around the group in confusion, but Yoongi isn’t in the immediate vicinity like he was earlier. In fact, the group has dissolved into a few stragglers finishing off their bracelets as most of the gathering emigrate to the sheltered patio. “Oh shit, is lunch ready? I’m starving.”

“Looks like,” Ji-eun chirps, but once the two of you stand up, she hooks her hand in your elbow, preventing your departure. “Before we go, I just wanted to say,” she begins, eyes earnest as they lock onto yours, “thank you for making Jungkook so happy. I know it’s not like it’s just you, and I’m going to try and thank everyone in due time, but he speaks so highly of you especially. He’s really coming out of his shell here, I can see it now.”

Your heart swells, instinctively turning to seek out the black and red hair in the crowd. Jungkook has slipped a glove on one hand and is cutting up pieces of meat with tongs and a pair of kitchen scissors, a broad grin on his face as he hands them out. “I’m really lucky to have met him. You helped raise him well.”

She beams at that, tugging on your arm as the others call out for you to join them. “It’s not me. That’s all just our Jungkookie.”

Throughout the lunch, you can’t help but think that every time you look at him. Our Jungkookie.

Much like Taehyung, Chungha is very generous with her hands.

The offer comes quickly after lunch. Most of the guests and guys are still outside socialising (Eric has managed to con a bunch of them into playing a rather hands-on game of football on the grass), but while you were inside getting a drink, both massage parlour workers joined you, Taehyung’s arms naturally slipping around your waist for a lazy back hug.

“Pour us one?” he requests casually, his voice like molten brown sugar. “I want you two to get to know each other. Maybe we could go upstairs for a bit?”

Beside you, smiling with her eyes as well as her baby pink lips, Chungha pats your hand. “I’ve heard so many good things,” she assures. “But Taehyungie is so disappointed that he can’t take care of you anymore.” Your heart freezes in your throat when she comes in close, smelling like cherries. Her voice dips so that only you and Taehyung could hear, the latter nuzzling his nose against the back side of your neck. “I could take care of you for him, if you want?”

You turn around in Taehyung’s grasp, seeking out his confirmation. He smiles, nods, and lets go to take the two extra drinks you’d poured. It’s only lemonade, but he takes an indulgent sip as if it were champagne.

Without another word, he begins to make his way to the stairs, glancing back to make sure you’re following. You think back to Jessi’s words, of showing him that you cared. It seems like, in his own way, he’s reaching across that divide and showing you he cares too. Chungha’s fingers winding between yours, you follow the two masseuses upstairs.

Perhaps it’s their job experience, or maybe just their sweet, puppy-like personalities, but being near them both feels so comforting and relaxing. In Taehyung’s bedroom, he sits on a chair, as close to the bed as he dares. Chungha tugs you directly onto the mattress, and you gasp as a slight push to your shoulder sends you collapsing backwards, head on the pillow.

She looks divine above you, smiling down as her pale golden hair hangs down and brushes against your collarbones. With a knee on either side of your hips, she straddles you and leans in closer, lips barely brushing. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Your heart thuds strongly against your ribs. You nod, feeling dizzy as the pressure on your mouth increases and her hands slip into your hair. Her lips and fingers move in sync, massaging your lips and scalp indistinguishingly. Perhaps she’s even a better kisser than the others on the show, or perhaps it’s that the touch of a woman after three weeks of men feels like pure oxygen, like eating with a gold spoon after years of stainless steel.

Her fingers slide further, molten relaxation with every stroke. Soothing your temples, the crown of your head, the nape of your neck, she keeps you feeling warm and light, even a little hazy. Lips parting from yours for just a moment, Chungha whispers to you, her fingers playing with the waistband of your pants. “Will you let me taste you?”

Arousal thrums hot between your legs, but something makes you hesitate. Or, rather, someone. You shift your head on the pillow, looking past the curtain of Chungha’s hair to where Tae sits, cross-legged, on the armchair.

His eyes widen, soft and concerned. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/n,” he assures.

Chungha pulls up at that, sitting back against her heels again. Losing the closeness makes a whine catch in your throat. “It’s not that,” you confess quietly, “I just… I don’t want you to feel left out.”

The blonde masseuse straddling you coos as Taehyung turns pink, and she beckons him closer. “I don’t feel left out,” Taehyung assures you as he tentatively perches on the edge of the bed, tugging your hand gently to clasp between his own. “I can’t touch you like you deserve, at least not now. But Chungha can. If you want this, I want you to have it, Y/n.”

Your hand feels so warm between his smooth palms, but your heart feels even warmer. “I do want it. But… Stay close to me.”

Taehyung laces his fingers through yours, holds your hand up, and delicately presses a kiss to the back of your hand, making your breath catch. Afterwards, his eyes dart accusingly to the cameras recording your every move and sound. “That was technically platonic contact,” he insists quickly, “they do it in movies all the time.”

You laugh softly, but it quickly mutes into a silent gasp as Chungha suddenly moves down, hooking her fingers into your waistband and undressing your lower half as she goes.

Spreading your knees and sinking to her chest between them, her perfectly manicured fingers run teasing lines up and down your bare thighs. “Just relax,” she coos, “just let yourself enjoy it.”

Her hair, like spun gold, tickles your thighs as she lowers her face closer. So light you can only just feel it, she presses a kiss into the seam at the top of your right leg, so close yet too far from where you need her. Doing the same to the other side, she begins slowly trailing them closer to your core, giggling onto you when your breath hitches in impatience.

Taehyung shifts, situating himself behind you so that your head lies back and rests on his lap. With the same hand that holds yours, he takes the other, holding both of your wrists together in less of a restraint and more of an embrace. Together, him and Chungha bracket you in this cocoon of gentle touches, and as his other hand begins taking over the scalp massage Chungha had started earlier, you can’t help but let your eyes slip shut.

It’s because of this that when she finally licks a bold stripe up your folds, it catches you by complete surprise. You squeak, jolting between them, but Taehyung just tugs on your hair lightly, shushing you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Taehyung asks softly, bent over so he can speak lowly.

Chungha, now that she’s started, uses her tongue and lips just as expertly as her fingers, marking Taehyung’s question redundant. You nod anyway, and are rewarded with the subtle vibration of her chuckling, lips wrapped around your clit.

There’s something inherently different about the way Chungha eats you out, that’s clear even with your eyes shut. Her lips are plush like Jin’s, her cheeks soft like Yoongi’s and her tongue roving deep like Jungkook’s, but with every second that passes, it feels like she’s explored your pussy a million times before. Each swipe and suck and nibble seems practiced, learned, and in mere minutes your thighs are trembling.

She alternates attention to your clit with fucking you on her tongue, and Taehyung’s hand never ceases its languid journey through your hair. The two poles of pleasure have you unable to catch your breath, unable to even open your eyes as every movement makes the lids heavier.

Two separate people, yet they work in unison. When Taehyung presses behind your ears, Chungha flattens her tongue on your clit in a slow drag. When that muscle becomes pointed, flicking over you to make you jump, Taehyung’s fingers curl so that the nails run over your scalp. Each nip of Chungha’s teeth is punctuated with a tugging of a lock of your hair, and caught between these tides, the only things that feel incomplete are your lips. What you wouldn’t give to have Tae bend a little lower and brush his mouth against yours, even for a moment.

Instead, you slip your bottom lip between your teeth, occupying them needily. A coil tightens in your stomach so slowly, like a gentle bubbling simmer, but it isn’t until you feel two slender fingers sliding inside you that there’s a tangible shift in pleasure. Like taking an exit on a highway, you feel a distinct change of path, like you’re now moving directly towards your orgasm. Driven by that desire, you rock your hips, moaning as her mouth hones in on your clit and her fingers curl, seeking out that spot inside you.

Unsurprisingly, she locates it with ease, and before you can even catch your breath she’s massaging it without mercy, twisting her fingers inside you with every audible thrust so that the pleasure is inescapable. You writhe, but she still has an arm free to throw over your stomach and hold you down.

Taehyung is still deliriously in-sync, and you can’t hold back a moan as his fingers press harder and nails drag stronger. Eyes rolling back, you feel that crest build, so close you can taste it, and your moans become desperate.

The two of them read the signs and up the intensity one last time. Taehyung drops your hands so that both of his can bury deep in your hair, and Chungha switches to three fingers inside you, scissoring and grinding them against your g-spot.

You come with a broken cry, seizing up as the pleasure wracks your body. While Taehyung stops his massage to brush your hair back, carding his fingers through it comfortingly, Chungha fucks you through it without mercy, sucking harshly on your clit and spreading you open on her fingers.

It’s not until your whole body is shivering and you try anad wriggle out of her hold that she finally lets up, leaving you boneless in Taehyung’s lap.

Far more full of energy than you are, Chungha straightens up with a satisfied sigh, licking her lips. As you fight to catch your breath, she runs a hand up and down your thigh. “You’re a fucking gorgeous specimen,” she compliments warmly, “when you get out of here, come by anytime.”

Suddenly Taehyung’s arms wrap tightly around your arms and chest, chin tucked onto the crown of your head. Even as you can’t see him, you can hear the pout in his voice. “When she gets out, she’ll be coming by for me,” he protests sweetly, “but I’m sure we could invite you too if she wanted.”

You laugh tiredly, leaning your weight back against Taehyung. “I’m definitely not turning that down, holy fuck.”

Chungha giggles prettily, chin still glossy from going down on you, though it doesn’t seem to bother her. “Won’t you give me one last kiss before we go clean up?”

You can’t deny her sweetly batted eyelashes, though you wouldn’t even want to. Once Taehyung begrudgingly lets you go, you lean forward and meet her halfway, tasting yourself on her tongue. It’s filthy but chaste, a quick swipe of her tongue into your mouth, a peck, and she’s pulling away with a wink, jumping off the bed.

Once she prances into Taehyung’s bathroom and closes the door behind her, Taehyung goes slack, winding his arms around your torso from behind and tucking his face into your neck. “I hope you liked it,” his voice comes out, muffled and shy.

You ruffle his hair fondly, wishing you could do more than that. “It was perfect,” you say without a doubt. “Thank you, Tae. I-” There are words that you can’t say, shouldn’t say now. “I like you a whole lot.”

If it’s possible, his hug tightens. “I like you a lot too.”

The rest of the day goes without hiccups. You spend your time getting to know the girls - albeit in less intimate ways than you had with Chungha - and slowly the idea of pulling a name out of the box becomes both exciting and worrying.

Hyuna brings out a new side of Jin. He looks more unburdened with her than he has the whole time on the show, and their vibrant energy together is contagious. Jungkook acts like a smitten schoolboy around Ji-eun, and she’s so patient and endearing that you can’t help but sympathise with him. It’s very clear Namjoon and Sunmi don’t actually know each other very well, but fuck you could watch their awkward banter and dynamic for hours. Sunmi is a relentless, unflappable tease, and Namjoon eats it up with a nervous laugh and bright eyes. Chungha seems more interested in the other girls than she is with Taehyung, but they’re never far apart, sharing countless meaningful stares between conversations. Bee is much like Hoseok, in that she’s so sweet and bubbly when she doesn’t don her dominant persona, and quickly she wins you over, her kind words and cheerful laughter a highlight of the evening. Jessi seems like the type of bossy but protective older sister that seems perfect for Jimin, whose usually-concealed soft interior lifts closer and closer to the surface with every minute spent in her easygoing, boisterous company. And finally, Yoonji is an absolute enigma, commanding attention with ease but seeming entirely disinterested with it. The moment a conversation bores her, you watch her eyes shift, inspecting some person or other like they’re a science experiment. You’ve been under that gaze yourself, and you practically feel the heat of the magnifying glass. But at the same time, when she does get engaged and speaks up, she’s just as articulate and sharp as Yoongi, and you can’t help but hang off her every word.

After relaying all this information back to Eric, who seems equally supportive and bemused, the only conclusion you can draw is that it would be entirely preferable to have all seven of them stay.

“Goodness, you insatiable minx,” your best friend teases with a mock look of disapproval. It’s 9:58pm, and the two of you have been stuck in the living room for almost the whole hour, staring hopelessly at the box. “Seven men is good, but fourteen people is better?”

“It’s not that,” you defend with a whine, “not that I would protest. No, it’s just- I wanna get to know them more, you know? And I feel like I’m learning more about the guys while they’re here, which is going to prove very important for tomorrow’s decision. And once I pull a name there’s nothing separating me from elimination, and I have no fucking clue who to eliminate, but then at least-” You huff, unable to articulate it. “I’m procrastinating.”

Eric grimaces, nodding. “It took you roughly fifty-nine minutes to come to that conclusion, but I’m glad we got there eventually.”

You kick your feet up over his lap, throwing yourself back onto the couch in despair. “I could’ve been out there researching this whole time, why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, bouncing his knees so that your feet are jostled off. “I thought you wanted to work it through and that explaining every vivid detail of the past three weeks was necessary. It was riveting, by the way,” he adds in a drawl, “I’m certainly relieved you felt it pertinent to describe exactly the size and appearance of all the cocks in this house.”

You jump up, kicking him in the shin. “Hey! Don’t be sarcastic, I’m in a crisis!”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Eric defends, brows lifted. “I’m doing my own research. Taking into account the past several hours, as well as the interesting mental pictures I’ve now been able to make, I’ve decided I wish to become the sexy meat in a Namjoon and Hoseok sandwich. Do you think it’s feasible?”

You open your mouth instinctively to protest, but then you stop, mulling over the combination. They had spent a lot of time together…

Eric claps his hands together with a victorious cheer. “You considered it, that’s basically a yes! Anyways, I hate to say it,” he digresses, quickly sobering up, “but it’s time to draw a name.”

Nerves immediately alight down your spine, but you fight them off. “Fuck, okay, I guess it’s random so it doesn’t matter, right?” Before you have the chance to second-guess that statement, you lean forward and plunge your hand into the circle-shaped slot in the box, feeling sharp edges of paper bumping against your skin.

Managing to close your fingers around a slip, you pull it out, opening the fold. Two words, three syllables. Eric and you read over it in silence for a moment, before you let out a amused chuckle. “Yoongi’s going to be pissed, huh?”

ELIMINATION

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star-maiden · 4 years

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🕯Candle Magick for Success 🕯

⭐️ Hello Everyone! I thought I’d share this little candle spell I did recently. It’s a bit long, but it works well! Please feel free to use and modify as you’d like in your own practice. If you do use it, and you want to share, please consider tagging me! I’d love to learn how other witches perform this spell.

🕯 Purpose: To manifest success. You can use this for academic success, monetary success or promotions/success in your career. Anywhere where a little success and prosperity is needed.

🕯 Materials:

One (1) beeswax tea light candle - This is better if it’s raw, sustainably sourced beeswax. The candle gives off a subtle honey scent, and corresponds to success and prosperity.

Anointing oil - You can anoint the candle, yourself or both. Any anointing oil will do, but for extra oomph, try one with citrus in it. I used a neroli and sweet orange blend, diluted in sweet almond oil.

Three (3) Coins - Any type of coins will do. These represent prosperity. I also used them as an offering for Tyche/Isis-Fortuna (goddess of good fortune).

Representations of the elements (earth, air, water and fire). I use crystals for this, but you can use more traditional elemental representations if you’d like. The crystals I used are Amethyst = air, Sunstone = fire, Mookaite = water and Raw Emerald = earth.

A toothpick or some other small, pointed object for carving sigils into the candle.

A prepared sigil for success/anything related to prosperity that you’d like to call into your life. You can use whatever sigil method you like to use. Some options are bindrunes, letters or free drawn sigils. I design all of my sigils in my grimoire beforehand. It’s a good idea to have a copy of your sigil nearby before you begin carving. This way, you have a reference.

A bowl, plate or some other fire safe container to burn your candle in. It needs to burn out completely by itself, so make sure your container can withstand heat. Better safe than sorry!

Matches or a lighter

Incense

🕯 Correspondences: All of these can be used to add some extra power to your spell. You don’t have to follow all of them, but in my opinion and experience, it really helps.

Days: Wednesday (for academic and communication based success).

Sunday ( for all other/general prosperity and success)

Lunar Phase: New Moon or Waxing Phases

Timing: Noon

🕯 Steps:

Start by cleansing yourself and ritual space with any method that you usually use. I used a selenite wand and some incense. Cleanse the tea light by passing it through the incense smoke. You’ll also want to ground yourself. Any grounding method is fine.

Set up all of your tools and materials on your workspace. You’ll also set up a mini altar (like in the photo above). Place your fire safe container in the middle, with the candle inside. Then set the elemental representations around it. I like to place my elemental representations in the actual north, east, south and west corners. If you don’t know where these are in relation to your space, that’s ok. Just go with what feels right.

If you like to do your workings within a circle, cast one now. I use a quartz wand to do this.

Call in the quarters/elements. Ask them to lend their energy to your working, and to be present during the ritual.

Cleanse/consecrate the tea light candle using the 4 elements. I do this by passing the candle over each elemental representation and saying something to the effect of “I consecrate this ‘name of object’ with the power of ‘name of element’. May it bring ‘desired quality’ to this working.” Place the candle in the fire safe container once this step is finished.

If you plan to call on a deity, invoke them now. Make whatever offering you feel is appropriate. If you want to call on Isis-Fortuna, then call her name, State your intentions for the spell and offer her the coins. Otherwise, just place the coins around your altar space. I always like to tell my spell components what their job is. This can be simple. Try “These three coins represent prosperity, may they bring prosperity into this working and into my life.”

Sigil time! Take your candle and carving tool, and carefully begin to carve your sigil into the candle. All the while, stay focused on your intention. You may find that a chant or repeating your intention out loud helps with your focus. I like to carve sigils into the top of the candle, but anywhere is fine. This can leave little bits of wax everywhere, so be careful. You might want to carve over a piece of paper to catch any little wax pieces.

Anoint your candle. To bring things into my life, I always begin annointing from the top of the candle, to the middle, and then from the bottom to the middle. The idea is to intersect both paths. If you have a different annointing method, it’s ok to do that instead.

Now you are ready to light your candle. State your intention as you light the candle.

Now you can meditate or journal if you wish. Otherwise, thank/say farewell to any deities, thank/banish the elements and close your circle. You can leave your work space with all your magical tools as is, until the spell is finished.

Leave the candle in the fireproof container until it has burned out completely by itself. Once it has burned out, it’s ok to clean everything up.

#witchblr #witch community #candle magick #magick #spell #spells #bos #grimoire #candles #success spell #prosperity spell #witchcraft #manifestation

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nineteen | Temmie Village (Part 1 of 2) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

Temmiefied Version

Alternate Chapter Title(s): Stand by Me (no duh) or The Corny One With A Song Title Reference, Part 1

• • •

The shopping district’s as busy as the roads you’ve just driven by; food courts are the most bustling with the hour your phone marks: ten minutes past noon. Contraire to her punctual self, Brenda’s running late, though you settle for waiting ten more before sending her a message. You sit by an empty booth and take the last chair available in the row to avoid disturbing those who’re already eating. Then, you pull your planner out and skip through a few pages until you find the right one. Aside from your usual schedule, you had her visiting again this Friday, a meeting with Toriel regarding some plans she wanted to discuss with you on Saturday, and another one with Sans on Sunday to arrange the second step towards homeschooling Frisk while you enrolled them somewhere else.

It’s still hard to read that last one, not for what it was, but for the fact that almost every school you’d tried to sign them up into declined having other guardians aside from you and Jerry to pick them up. They declined Toriel just as much as they declined Undyne, all due to the new rules and regulations set up in schools since the monsters’ arrival. What Toriel wanted to discuss with you was related to that, though you hadn’t been given too many details as to what it was, exactly. You glance back to your phone to see over ten minutes have passed by already, yet Brenda's nowhere to be seen. You start typing up a message, only to be interrupted by her call; the device almost slips off your hands with how abrupt it is.

“H- Hello?” you answer, catching your breath.

She screams an accusation at you, not an ill-minded one per se, but one questioning over why you’d kept information hidden from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re that close to him already?” she asks, words jarringly loud. You have to turn down the volume despite it not being set on speakerphone. “So he's going to help you with Frisk? That’s serious boyfriend material, honey!”

Thankfully, she sounds happy.

Still, a correction's deemed necessary.

“What do you mean, Brenda?”

“Auntie Brenda, mind you.”

You huff and bring a hand to the side of your neck, tension consuming it. “Alright, Auntie Brenda… Where are you right now? I don’t have much break time left anymore.”

“Just go ahead and eat, dear. I’ll drive over on the weekend.”

Right as you’re about to complain over her choices, she speaks up again, calmer than before.

“Or why not come over after you have lunch there?” she asks, words cooed. “You work close to him, don't you?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stay here.” You can’t help feeling a little sour over her suggestion and with the reminder you’ve waited almost half an hour for her at the mall. With the call, it’s now thirty-five minutes past noon, giving you barely sufficient time for you to eat -- let alone listen to her rambling over how she’d misinterpreted your relationship and how Sans was better than she expected him to be. “You didn’t bother him with questions about his job, right?" you add. "He’s-”

“Why would I? He’s working an office job just like you!"

“He, what?”

You can’t avoid blurting that question out; a blank canvas replaces the image of him working at a hot dog stand. You try to imagine him working an office job, but it's near impossible to. Even if he knew plenty on various subjects, the monotonous yet fast-paced ambience of a desk job didn’t quite fit with your view of who the monster was to you.

“He works an office job, honey. Don’t you know where your own boyfriend works?” You can almost hear her shaking her head, disappointment made known through the blatant change in her voice. “Shame on you!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and stand up, too vexed to sit still. “That’s not what I meant, Bre- ...Auntie Brenda,” you say, trailing off on your words. “I just… didn’t know he worked two jobs.”

“He does?!”

You lower the volume once more, Brenda's voice taking up a speakerphone quality to it again. Her tone then grows fainter as she questions the skeleton about the legitimacy of your statement. When her voice turns louder, you figure he’s given her an answer -- one you’ve no clue of. If he had two jobs, then you’re not so sure over how she'll be reacting. And if he didn’t, then you’d inadvertently put him on the spot by letting the truth known, something that didn’t really make sense if he was supposed to be working -- or at the very least, ending his lunch break right now.

Feeling it’s going to take a while, you stand in line at one of the fast-food establishments nearest to you; a growl from your stomach reminds you time’s running out. “So what did he say?” you speak up, knowing she’s getting distracted again.

“He does!” she exclaims, almost in a cheer. “Why didn’t you tell me he was that well-off, then? You should marry him now that you’ve got the chance to.”

“Weren’t you scolding me over the opposite barely a week ago?”

“Maybe so, but that was before I knew him better, dear!”

You roll your eyes and sigh, headache worsening. “Alright, I’m hanging up now. Don’t bother him too much, and stop interrupting his-”

“Wait,” she calls, excitement still there. “Have you ever thought of learning more about monsters? There’s a bunch of workshops going on right now… And I figured you could take one, since you’re dating one and all!”

Nearly the time for you to make your order, you let your tone become sterner, hoping to get your point across. “That… That sounds good and all, but I really need to go now. My lunch break’s almost over.”

Brenda huffs. “Fine.” Her voice comes out dragged, and it’s almost possible for you to hear her pouting. “But we need to talk all about this on Friday!”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Farewell, dear!”

You hang up, slip your phone back in your pocket, and turn to the register when you’re done, right on time to make your order.

• • •

Breathe in, breathe out.

You repeat that sentence along with those actions as you clock out of work, more than ready to relax, but less than capable of with how much you've left to resolve.

Before turning off the computer, you click on your boss's e-mail for a third time today and read it once more.

>> Come to my office as soon as you're done with your shift for the day. I'll be waiting. – Sent from my ayPhone <<

You huff and glance at the pills on your desk. Despite these being given to you by the doctor herself, you're trying not to take them as often as the instructions on the bottle tell you to. You don't want to grow dependent on them, yet -- at the same time -- it's nearly impossible for you to go by your usual routine without having the repercussions of not taking them delay your progress. The side-eyes and looks some of your co-workers offer you on occasion reveal they're not too thrilled by the idea of having someone in your state around, either. Dizziness takes over and your headache worsens; they're enough for your body to finally give in, causing you to stumble out of your desk chair and direct all gazes on you.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It's just as impossible trying to ignore everyone, and it's even more difficult trying to stand up without making a complete fool of yourself.

Breathe in, breathe-

A hand's offered out to you; you accept it, yet you refuse to look at the person until you're back to your feet.

When you do look up, you recognize who the person is in an instant. It's the same man Sans had taken a picture with the day you first met. His hair looks different, but his face and clothing style remain the same. His hand stays holding yours until you assure him you're capable of standing straight again, and even then he still has his doubts. A subtle frown shows on his visage, fueled by concern.

"Are you alright, or should I call someone?" he asks, forehead creasing. "That fall looked pretty serious."

"I'm alright," you reply, managing a smile. You're still dizzy, the headache has only grown worse, and having people still looking in your direction doesn't help much with any of that, either. Even so, having him by your side along with a few other, approachable co-workers helps with bringing you back down to earth and allows you to find some more stability before going to meet with your boss.

"Excuse me, (L/N), but…"

You turn to the voice to see a woman -- tall, pale-skinned, and dark-haired -- offering you your phone. It takes some time, but you're able to recognize her as one of the few co-workers you spent your lunch break with before Frisk went missing. She's as professional as ever, and her formality still shows subtly through speech, yet it doesn't erase how warm and genuine her tone sounds. "Your phone broke with the fall." She pulls her hand back as soon as you have the device in your hold; her body language reveals she has a hunch in terms of just how 'alright' you really are, and what a twice-broken phone in less than a year could do to your current, physical and mental state alike. "It seems like it still works though, since it was ringing just a minute ago."

"Thank you." You turn it on to view a cracked screen. The update Alphys gave it appears to have made it more durable, based on how minor the damages are compared to the first time it fell. You're capable of unlocking it and even checking your notifications to notice you've got a few unread messages from Brenda and Frisk's school, coupled with a missed call from Sans. That last one is harder to take in. He already knew what hour you clocked out, and he had enough common sense and decency not to call you unless it was an emergency -- unlike Brenda, who didn't really know how to read the room, and Frisk's school, which called only when it was absolutely necessary. "I, uh…" You're not sure on what to do first. Brenda could be easily set aside with what she did during your lunch break, but the same couldn't be said for everything else.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You flinch at the sudden sensation of needles on your forehead and a dizziness so strong and wild, it makes your stomach far too queasy for you to manage with. Still, you combat that feeling by grabbing some gum from your belongings, taking a few, and chewing them all at once. The sharp taste and scent of mint helps wash away nausea, yet the dizziness persists.

"Do you want us to take you home, (L/N)?" the man from earlier asks, sounding more concerned than before. Meanwhile, the woman approaches you with some water, one you accept and drink as quickly as it falls in your hands. They both help sit you down on a different desk chair -- one without wheels to prevent you from falling over again. Most have left, while some stay and try to offer more aid. Your boss stands by the exit, arms crossed, stance firm, and face hard to read with how bad your symptoms have turned. "Or maybe accompany you to the bus stop, at least? You shouldn't drive in these conditions."

"It's…"

Your eyes fall on your phone again, tempted to make a decision.

With your priorities now changed to the subject of your health, you set Frisk's school aside with the knowledge they're with Toriel at this hour and forget about the meeting with your boss, aware she's already seen you from a distance. Only his name remains; truthfully, you'd rather limit how much time you spent with him, knowing what the opposite did to your heart and mind alike. You hesitate and stare blankly for a short while before you click on his missed call. One tap and two rings is all that's needed for you to reach him. It takes a second for you to answer back at him, half as much as it takes for your hand to stop shaking and for your voice to gain a better semblance of strength. It's too late to hang up now -- and his call could likely be an emergency -- so you continue forward with it.

"You don't sound too great. Everythin' okay?"

"About that…"

You share some words with him and refuse to tell him of your situation until he gives you his own reason for calling you at this hour.

"...Why did you call me?"

"It's about Frisk, but it ain't an emergency or anythin' -- it's good news, actually."

"Then why did y-"

"Listen, I don't mean to be harsh or nosy, but you sound awful right now. I can give you all the answers you need later, but could ya tell me what's wrong?"

You heave a small breath and look at the time, along with the hour of his missed call. He made it around eleven minutes past the end of your shift, so it wasn't exactly interrupting your job, but you're not sure how to interpret his call and the fact it was his first occasion calling you so close to your work schedule. Even if you were overthinking it, you didn't want to overlook anything, either. And then again, the state you're in isn't really the best for you to be questioning every little thing about your relationship with him -- at the moment, of course. "I feel sick. Kind of similar to that day at the hospital." You decide to be earnest, regardless of how dry your throat feels and how fast your heart goes. "I, well…"

"Want me to pick you up?"

Your ears turn hot while your hands do the opposite. "Y- Yeah…" Your chest tightens and your words grow faint, until you continue with, "I need your help, teddy bear."

"Teddy bear?" he asks, chuckling.

"You're calling me puddin' now, aren't you? You're a teddy bear in my eyes, then."

"I wonder why."

You smile.

"...See you in a bit?"

"'Course. I should be there in ten minutes max."

"Thank you."

With that, you say your farewells and hang up.

Now left to wait, you put your phone away, pick up the rest of your belongings, and stay with the company of your two co-workers as you make it to the exit. Your boss is still waiting next to it, yet she steps aside as do other people standing nearby, providing you with space to pass by. She says nothing, so you stop for a second, only to have her nod for you to carry on walking.

"Come to my office as soon as you recover, (L/N)."

That's the only thing she says as the door closes, leaving you with one co-worker by your left and the other by your right, both waiting in case you were to fall over again.

Breathe in, breathe out.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Small but Important™ Q&A regarding healthcare and whether it's American-based or not

To clarify for everyone else possibly having that same doubt, based on a question made by a reader in terms of Chapter Six and Seven's events:

All healthcare/medical attention mentioned in this story is based off my country, meaning it's either free or at the very least, affordable enough that you don't have to choose between an Uber or an overpriced weewoo vehicle in case of a medical emergency.

For example: I pay only $10 for 4 different medicines I'm meant to take, 3 which are for a lifetime (example: thyroiditis), and the only thing my insurance doesn't cover is optometry, which is around $300 to $500 a year for a full exam and prescription!

Tl;dr: It isn't. There's no debt here so far, lol.

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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