#save the cat though...peak...nothing can top that

[akari-hope]

Save the Cat, Promise, Heart Part II, Remember, & Princess Prom

this took me so long to decide but

1. Save the Cat

2. Heart Part II

3. Promise

4. Princess Prom

5. Remember

put 5 of anything in my ask box and i’ll rank them

[senor-plume]

Splendid

The book I’ve been reading Is sitting on the carpet Like a hardbound butterfly Next to the table That houses my Pipe And baggie

The snow outside is something ever magical And all of my blinds are wide open Despite the lateness of the hour

Let them peak in at me As I puff away on my glass pipe Getting high While Rubber Soul Plays on Spinning as the expensive needle Reads the grooves And I ask how…how does that work But my brain begins to throb When I think of things Mechanical So I drop those thoughts And exhale a nice plume of gray smoke To the ceiling As each tender snowflake Makes its journey To my eyes Then to my heart Where it bounces around a bit Until my Soul consumes it And I feel like A million bucks

And by the looks of it My kitty cat Feels rather content as well Laying there on top of the sofa Looking out the window But I am somewhat confident that I can write a better poem than she

And so With that as motivation I take to the desk And stare at the horribly stained keyboard And begin to Pump out a few words

Words that drip off my cranium Sliding down my neck Branching out inside my shoulders Until they go Downhill Into my waiting fingertips And just like that I Have the beginnings of A poem

And this will be my wintery evening

Stoned Yet sober

The cans of beer in the refrigerator (That I no longer desire or need) Sit waiting for a guest to come To Pop them open… To breathe life into those Tin can beauties

But no one is coming No one has been invited And I do not like surprises

I just want to write a bit tonight

And there are evenings such as this Where it all just Flows out So easily that I am amazed that Not everyone is doing What I am doing

It’s fun you know

So I complete five good ones And call it a night And if I used my ancient typewriter I would compile all the papers And place them somewhere safe …Like my empty freezer But I am bound to this computer Happily And all of the poems Are safely saved In a little yellow folders that says “CRAP”

Rising from this chair (Which gets nothing but compliments When my guests sit in it) I high tail it to the couch And lift the book from the floor… I find my marker And continue on my journey of Fine Japanese literature With a smile glued on my unshaven face

It’s good to be alive On nights when it snows heavily outside And you have nowhere you need to go No people to see And only one living thing Needs your attention tonight So I let my kitty sit on my lap As I continue on With my book Wishing I had the magic that This author is able to Conjure up So eloquently

And I wonder if he has two beers in his fridge Waiting for nothing Next to the milk and cranberry juice Like I have

So I flip the pages rather quickly Engrossed heavily in his prose As my cat yawns on my lap And I absently pat her head a few times Even though I am miles from here In fact I am in Tokyo…1984 And I am having a wonderful time there And here As the snow continues to fall Outside my window Quietly And I am a seeping tea bag Taking it all in Warm…cozy And contented

[saintrocklee]

title: Need prompt: I’ll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you pairing: itachi x reader publish date: 09.08.22 non-massacre AU

“Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

dedication: to anon; who asked for this prompt like three decades ago. i love you dearly & i am so sorry. i hope the wait was worth it. warnings: none! just pure fluff & a sprinkle of angst. itachi is, in my bestie @chanfictions words, “an aloof house cat.” we love that for him.

The chill from the early morning’s air has the hair on your arms rising, but you don’t move. You’re waiting for the sun to fully come up, so you can climb back into your apartment window and sleep. Sleeping in the dark was difficult after missions; the weight of the things you’ve done seemed heavier at night.

There’s an irritating itch on your neck and you distantly think it might be some blood you missed, so maybe you’ll shower before you crawl into bed. Your latest mission plays back on a loop and you can barely hold in the cringe that comes with remembering what you did. Typically an assignment like that would require some form of comfort from your team afterwards. A quick lunch. A light training session. But they’re all out of the village and you don’t think you have the required energy to go and find anyone else to lean on.

Someone specific came to mind, but you quickly dismiss the thought. You hadn’t seen your old friend in weeks and you know clan duties on top of whatever the ANBU required of him left him out of the village for days at a time. You were busy as well, and you didn’t seek him out as much as you used to. There was a confusing swell of feelings in your chest regarding the man in question and you weren’t in the mood to try and sort them all out. So you let the divide between you two fester. Grow.

Maybe one day you’d process your feelings. Maybe you’d even speak to him about them. Not today though. Not for awhile.

You’re not sure if you’re being protective of yourself, or a coward. Probably both.

It’s crippling, the loneliness that seems to gut you in this moment. You’re not used to sitting still like this, to being stagnant. Just a rare moment, that you’re separated from your teammates and friends, with nothing pressing to attend to.

And your successful mission, replaying on a loop.

The blood, the pleas. This one will haunt you for awhile. Your brain is starting to buzz, to tune everything out, and you think you’ll get a moment of peace while the sun finishes rising.

You hear him before you sense him.

“I didn’t know you’d be back so early.”

The silk in his voice is deeper than you remembered. As always, it settles right under your lungs, and you can already feel the warmth start to spread through your chest. His arrival was completely silent, and you idly wonder how long he’d been standing behind you.

“Keeping tabs on me?” You ask dully, your eyes not once leaving the view in front of you. The sun was just about to peak above the surface and you didn’t want to miss it. You’d been waiting for awhile for it to come up.

Itachi settles himself down next to you and it takes more control than you thought for you to not immediately turn toward him. You’ve found that your last few encounters have been more heartbreaking for you than you’d anticipated, and the storm of feelings you’ve kept a lid on for years begins to swirl.

“Your mission was successful, I take it?” He evades your question easily, which typically meant that he had information he didn’t want you to know. That he was keeping something from you.

If you were less tired, you’d dig your heels in. Instead, you shrug.

It’s quiet between you two for a moment as the sun continues to rise, until Itachi breaks it with another question.

“What do you need?”

He asks it quietly, seriously, and it blooms butterflies in your chest. It’s a question that defines your friendship, a question that is only asked when the other is in visible need of help. You’ve lost count of how many times Itachi has saved you from yourself by asking. There’s a lump forming in your throat and it hits you, right then, how much you’ve missed him.

You wished it was strictly platonic.

“I can’t stop seeing them.” You whisper back, hating the way your voice cracks. You’re greeted with more silence before Itachi stands. The sun has now broken through the surface so you turn your head to finally look at him. He’s devastatingly beautiful as always, and the early morning hues only add to it. He doesn’t have his Sharigan activated, and his hair is tied back at the base of his neck like always. The soft look he’s giving you leaves you feeling a bit breathless, and you find yourself trying to memorize him in that moment.

He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, sliding your fingers along his palm before he tightens his hold and helps pull you up. You wait for him to drop your hand, but he continues to pull until you’re standing close; too close to be socially appropriate. His eyes flick to your neck, to the dried blood that’s no doubt spattered there, and they trail down slowly. You think he might be looking for more, all while his thumb starts to lightly rub the skin on top of your hand.

“You need a shower, and then we’ll have breakfast.” He states and you frown in response. Itachi, of course, notices immediately and his thumb stops it’s slow caress.

“You don’t need to stay.” Your words are still quiet, like your voice has forgotten how to be strong. Loud. The look you receive is borderline chastising.

“But I will.” He counters, and you feel your lips tug upward without your permission. He drops your hand and takes a step back, to give you room to climb down. You look at him for a moment and nod, feeling very grateful and not as lonely as you did before.

“Thank you.”

A few days go by before he comes to you again. This time you’re inside your apartment, deep cleaning your horribly disgusting kitchen. You hardly used the damn thing, yet dust seemed adamant on collecting there, and your fridge was a disaster. You’re almost done when you hear your window opening and turn with a frown, only to be met with Itachi climbing into your living room. In his ANBU uniform. Covered in what you hope is dirt.

“Itachi?” You call out, moving from the small space of your kitchen. His feet meet your carpet and he stands, only to sway slightly which sets off warning bells in your head. You move to his side immediately and steady him with your arm around his waist. He leans into you, furthering deepening your panic, and you move him to your couch. Itachi sits down harder than normal, almost like he’s collapsing into it, and tilts his head back with a soft groan. There’s blood and dirt caked to him and his uniform like a second skin, and you crouch down in front of him.

“Are you hurt?” You ask hurriedly, looking for any signs of fresh blood to signify that he was actively bleeding. You’re answered with what sounds like a negative grunt and you frown, eyes flicking upward to look at his face. He’s still got his head resting against the back of your couch, eyes closed, leaving his neck completely exposed. It’s a rare sight indeed, to see Itachi Uchiha so open like this, and his voice is slow when he speaks again.

“I overexerted myself.”

Okay. That explained why he practically stumbled into your apartment. It didn’t explain anything else.

“And you’re here and not at the hospital because ... ?”

Itachi finally moves his head up, only to look down at you with a cocked eyebrow. Like it should be obvious. Like you were the one being ridiculous.

You’d strangle him if you thought you could move fast enough. But you’re still concerned, because if Itachi came to you then that meant something was wrong.

“What do you need?” You ask, your tone dipping into something more serious. The cocky brow relaxes itself and Itachi stares at you with a tired, almost numb look. He doesn’t answer, and if you’re being truthful he never really did when you asked. But you know what he needs. He needed to stay, to not be around his clan or doctors or the Hokage or anyone else.

He needed to be left alone.

You nod once you understand.

“Okay. I was just about to heat up some dinner, but if you’re going to be here you need to shower. You smell horrible.”

You stand and can’t help but smile when you’re greeted with an amused snort. Good. Normalcy. You move back to your kitchen, missing the way Itachi’s eyes follow you and the small, tired smile on his own face.

It strikes you as odd, when you run into Itachi yet again only a couple days later. This time you find him, standing on top of your apartment building. You’d sensed him when you were walking home, and if there was one thing you knew about Itachi - he only let someone sense him when he wanted them to.

He’s giving you a choice you realize as you maneuver yourself to the roof. You could have easily gone into your apartment and ignored him, but that was silly.

You’d never do that.

His back is to you when you finally see him and you stop when you’re only a few feet away from him.

“Hey.” You call out, and he turns his head to glance at you. He raises that elegant brow expectantly and you shake your head as you continue to move forward, till you’re standing next to him.

“Hello.” He greets and you shoot him an amused look.

“Care to explain why you’re on my roof, Itachi?”

He glances around, brow furrowing, before turning his full body to face you.

“I didn’t realize you owned this building.”

His retort pulls a chuckle out of you and you watch as his mouth curls into a smirk.

“Funny. You should quit your day job, take your jokes on the road.”

Amusement sparkles in his eyes.

“Would you join me, if I did?”

You’re taken aback by his question and try not to show it on your face.

“Can’t. I’m too busy owning the building.”

Your comeback is lame and a bit breathless. Itachi hums, cocking his head ever so slightly as he considers you. You’re not sure what exactly he’s looking for or even looking at, and decide to try and question him again.

“Seriously though. Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

The bold bluntness of his statement sends you reeling. You blink dumbly and swallow at the way his face changes. Almost as if he’s relaxing. His eyes turn softer as they meet your own and the butterflies you kept carefully hidden were starting to escape and make a mess of your insides.

“We’ve seen each other a lot lately.” You murmur, hoping he answers the unspoken question. Why? Why did he want to see you? Why did he seem to be around more? Did something change?

But Itachi never did anything unless he wanted to, never answered a question he didn’t feel like answering, and his next smile shows teeth.

“Yes.” He agrees easily, much to your disappointment.

Your face falls into a deadpan and you shake your head in amusement as well as frustration.

“Come on in then, you can make yourself some tea. I’ve got laundry to fold, so don’t expect me to be very entertaining.”

Itachi hums and follows you down, that smirk still present on his face.

You’re so tired you think you might collapse before you can open your door. The keys in your hand are fairly uncomplicated but your fingers aren’t cooperating and you watch as they slip out of your hands and fall to the ground. You’d just finished another mission and had to spend what felt like hours at the hospital. One of your teammates was exposed to a toxin and they needed to do blood tests on all of you, as well as scrub you clean, before you could leave. Your hair was still wet and the borrowed clothes you had on were too big, leaving you uncomfortable and cold.

And now your keys were on the floor.

You bend to pick them up when your door creaks open. You freeze and snap your head up, only to be greeted by Itachi standing in your doorway. Inside of your apartment. His hair is pulled back but he’s missing his forehead protector and is dressed in what you can only describe as civilian clothing. Your brain and body feel like they’re lagging as you stand slowly and the noise that comes out of your mouth is confused. Itachi arches a brow and moves to the side, allowing you entry, and you walk in before turning to watch him close and lock your door behind you.

“What are you ...” Your questions trails off into nothing as he carefully takes your keys and pack from you, setting them on your kitchen counter like he did this everyday. You blink, your brain still trying to catch up with everything, and Itachi speaks - his voice like sweet honey in your ears.

“You’re exhausted.”

It’s a question that wasn’t a question. You blink again.

“Long mission.” You reply distractedly as he moves toward you, hands coming to rest on your back and elbow.

“You were due back sooner.”

You frown in response. How did he know that?

“Got held up at the hospital. Why are you here?”

Itachi hums in that annoying way of his as he presses you towards your bedroom, his thumb beginning to slowly stroke the small of your back through your thin, borrowed shirt. He hadn’t bothered to turn any of your lamps on and the setting sun shining through your blinds is the only source of light throughout your small apartment.

“To see you.”

You’d roll your eyes if you were positive they’d stay in your head.

“Did you break in?”

There’s a snort from somewhere behind you.

“You’d need adequate locks to define entering your home as breaking in.”

You snort tiredly and feel your shoulders sag when your bed comes into view. Yes, yes, yes. Perfect.

“Still.” You mutter, kicking off the sandals you loaned from the hospital into the corner. Itachi lets go of your elbow but keeps his hand on your back, thumb still stroking you through your shirt. It felt nice and grounded you enough to press him again for some kind of answer.

“Why are you here to see me?”

His movements stop and you turn your head to look at him. His gaze is focused on your bed, his head turning towards you before his eyes do. The hand on your back moves to the side of your face, and you freeze as he curls a finger through your damp hair. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, offering you clarity where you previously had non.

Itachi was in your apartment. Itachi had been waiting for you. Itachi had, once again, sought you out. You bring your own hand up to rest on his forearm.

“What do you need?”

His shoulders settle at your question, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask. His hand leaves your hair to hang limply at his side, causing your own hand to drop.

“To stay.”

You inhale slowly at his words, their meaning settling heavy on you. Your hand twitches forward, brushing his own, and you find yourself searching his eyes. They’re so dark, bottomless, and tired. You nod slowly, realizing that his request is something you both need.

“Okay.”

Your voice cracks and you swallow, taking a step back toward your bed. He follows, as if on autopilot, and soon you’re both under the comforter facing each other. It’s not as awkward as you thought it would be, and the annoying flutter of wings in your tummy is beating a ferocious rhythm inside of you. You’re physically tired, but your brain has woken itself up since arriving back home, and you consider the man in front of you carefully.

“What’s going on?” You question softly and Itachi regards you with a serious look. The darker oranges and reds coming from your window bathe him in a soft light and you can pick out each individual hair on his head, each individual lash above his eyes. He’s truly beautiful, handsome in a heartbreaking sort of way, and you almost miss his response.

“I had a dream you died.”

It takes you a full second to register what he said, and your mouth parts in surprise.

“When?”

“Several weeks ago.” He pauses, eyes unfocusing like he was remembering. “It was ... unpleasant.”

You frown and move your hand to cup his face. He lets you, even closes his eyes at the contact, and your chest swells.

“I’m sorry.” You offer quietly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. This dream obviously disturbed him deeply, and you wonder if that’s the reason for all the sudden visits. He hums and you’re distantly reminded of a cat purring while being pet. It makes you smile.

“It’s my apology you should be accepting. I’ve been a coward.”

Your thumb halts it’s movement and your smile fades.

“A coward?” You echo, confusion evident. Itachi opens his eyes, holding your gaze with a serious look.

“I purposefully distanced myself from you.”

The warmth in your chest halts and you feel what feels like ice start to prickle at your fingers. You had just thought he was busy, that you were both just busy, and to know he did it on purpose ...

“Why?”

You want to keep the hurt from showing but you can’t hide the way your voice wavers. Itachi doesn’t move, doesn’t turn his gaze away, and his tone turns to honey, to silk wrapped in velvet.

“Because of my feelings for you.”

Oh.

You open your mouth to ... respond? Gasp? Laugh? Yell? To do anything but freeze, which was what you were currently doing. Your brain had turned into mush, your body was collapsing in on itself, and your heart and lungs were somehow tightening but also moving at an impossible place.

Because of my feelings for you.

Itachi seems minutely amused by your reaction and turns his head to brush his lips against your fingers.

“I have dreamt of you often, these past few months. It was foolish to avoid you, to try and create distance where none was needed. It took seeing you broken and dying to realize my mistake. My hope is that you will forgive me, with time. I have tried to make it up to you, to ease back into the friendship we once had, but I find myself wanting more.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing. He turns his head to meet your gaze again.

“It’s becoming increasingly difficult, to be away from you.”

Okay, yes. You’ve definitely stopped breathing.

Itachi pauses, to give you time to absorb his words, before speaking again.

“If I am being too forward, you may tell me.”

You blink.

“It’s not ...” You start, frowning at the way you’ve just decided to lose all ability to think. Or talk. You pull your hand away to rest on the bed in between you and start again, fingers digging into your sheets.

“I’m ... processing.” You answer, lowering your gaze. You can’t keep looking at him if you want to be able to formulate actual words. He says nothing in response, giving you time to think, and you eventually speak again.

“I think I’ve loved you for a very long time.” You start, still unable to look at him. You feel him stiffen next to you and find yourself taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I understand, though. I’ve been avoiding you too, I think. Caring for someone in our line of work can be damning. It can end horribly, or never even begin. I think we were both cowards, in a way. I also think you’re a bit of an ass, but that’s more of a fact than an opinion.” A breathy chuckle interrupts you and you smile softly, eyes floating upwards to meet his again.

“I think that you can stay … however long you’d like.”

Itachi’s eyes flick down to your mouth and stay there as he responds.

“I’d like that.”

You smile and try to fight against the heavy weight currently making itself at home on your eyelids. Sleep was calling your name urgently and you fight back a yawn. There’s another breathy chuckle in your ear and it takes you a moment to realize Itachi had moved closer, even going so far as to loosely wrap an arm around your waist. His fingers are trailing soft patterns against your back and you press yourself into his chest, deciding that anything else can wait until tomorrow.

“Sleep.” You murmur into his collarbone with a smile, “I’ll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you.”

Itachi hums a tired laugh and you feel something soft brush against your forehead as you drift off into an easy sleep.

[mrpenguinpants]

Xiao and Diluc: Opposites Attract HCs

Minor spoilers for Xiao’s and Diluc’s backstory.

Yes, more xiao content. Oh and Diluc. Diluc is there too. I wonder who my favourite child is? Honestly, it’s probably Childe. Every time I write “child” I end up misspelling it to “childe”. It’s consumed me. But yes anon I love the opposites attract trope. It’s so nice having person A be this cute cinnamon roll and person B is the ew don’t touch me go away I hate you, just mwah 💕

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Today’s appreciation post goes to imlikemoony. My entire reblog notifications have just been you and thanks for the spam haha. I love seeing new people go through my work and enjoy it so thank you^^ Please don’t feel like this is a callout post I swear it isn’t 💕💕

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Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ]

Diluc HCs

[ Comfort HCs ] [ Relationship HCs ] [ Being Fathers HCs ] [ Jealously HCs ] [ Unrequited Love HCs ] [ String of Fate [Soulmate] ]  [ Fainting ]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji  @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @youaskedfurret @snowy224 @mayumintsu​ @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki @legionqueensav

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Xiao and Diluc: Opposites Attract HCs

Xiao

It occurs to Xiao one day that despite being alive for centuries, he doesn’t know a lot of people. Xiao has only known Rex Lapis and his fellow adepti and only just recently introduced this life to others such as Verr and Ming. It never bothered him and still doesn’t, he prefers his life to be peaceful and in solitude since it’s safer that way, but when you crash into his life with all your unrestrained energy. He’s a bit of a loss for words. The only other person he knows that acts similar is Guizhong, but it’s still a bit of a troubling memory but either then that, he’s never interacted with someone so...open with their feelings. Though he supposes that Hu Tao was somewhat similar but in a different way. Unlike the craziness and exasperated actions that Hu Tao brought, your presence was a breath of fresh air and sometimes he found himself caught up in your antics.

When Xiao thinks about it, if he were to ever find love he suspected he would prefer someone who was calm and independent. He wasn’t the most affectionate so he wouldn’t want a partner that relied on that and he liked the peace and quiet the inn provided. That was until he saved you one day and you felt it was your absolute responsibility to return the favour, even though he told you many times that you really did not need to. If you wanted to return the favour you could leave him alone. Simple as that. Which didn’t work and in hindsight he was glad you were so stubborn to hang around until you managed to find out his favourite food was almond tofu.

The moment that set in stone Xiao’s love for you is when he told you his past. When he was named Atalus. How he had been possessed and forced to kill against his will. How he devoured dreams and lived in agony before he was saved by Rex Lapis. He was scared that you would fear and leave him, only for you to slowly lace your hands with his and wept for his own misfortune. He’s never had someone cry for him and he realized that he never wanted to see you upset like this again.

At first your larger than life personality put him off a bit, how could someone run through life as if nothing was wrong? What would happen if you finally faced loss? Wouldn’t that make things worse? It wasn’t until he spent more time with you that he saw your point of view, that while he couldn’t adopt the same idea, he respected it and began to appreciate it. It was nice having some sort of solace in his day even if it was just for a few minutes. Something to get his mind of the darker things while you start chatting about this really nice old lady with a domain sized teapot.  

Though, there was a bit of a downside to this. Since you bared your heart on your sleeve, perhaps in Mondstadt it would seem normal but here in Liyue, everyone hid behind some kind of mask so people found you a bit naïve and would try and hassle you. It always sent Xiao into a worried state when you left the inn to go out on your next adventure. Verr likes to compare him to a cat waiting for it’s owner at the door, but as soon as they return he acts so moody as if he wasn’t waiting at the balcony trying to see if he could see your clothing peak over the hill. He has no idea how she comes up with these ridiculous ideas.

Another “downside” Xiao discovers is that you have mini bursts of affection. You describe it as a those anemo slimes that pop when you shoot them, morbid as that description is, you’re not wrong. Your bursts of affection always manage to startle and embarrass Xiao, especially when he was with others. He wasn’t going to tell you to change yourself, never will he do that, but when you clasp his hands and tell him with all your love and shining eyes that he’s “doing such a good job” and “you’re so proud of him”. He wants to melt because wow, he never noticed how much he values your praise and how it sends his heart flying. But he can’t because Childe and Zhongli are right there.

Zhongli smiles pleasantly while Childe looses his absolute shit, which causes Xiao to kick his spear at Childe because he refuses to let go of your hands and hisses at him. Even when you try and scold him it doesn’t last long because this has become a weekly occurrence. Only now Xiao will give you a quick kiss before he goes off to gut Childe while you and Zhongli wave pleasantly and talk about how the weather is faring. Everyone that isn’t a native to Liyue think’s you’re all insane as they hear Childe’s screams as Xiao attempts first degree murder.

It interesting to see you both interact to outsiders. Xiao has his piercing yellow eyes and reserved demeanor while you’re this sweet and bright person. Before Xiao met you, people could never get a good look at the mysterious man that stays in the top balcony of the Wangshu Inn. But now if they came at the right time, they could spot a soft smiled man in green listening to a very animated talk with someone else, using their hands with a dramatic flair. That is until the man notices them trying to eavesdrop and the softness in his eyes drops and goes to irritation as he glares at them, curling a hand around his partner’s waist, and he let’s off a warning growl. His partner never seems bothered, only turning around to give a small wave in greeting, smiling as if the dangerous aura radiating behind them didn’t exist, before giving the man a small kiss as they go back to their conversation.

While you live a larger than life way, you also enjoy the small moments with Xiao. Xiao prefers to spend his time sitting above the inn and overlooking Liyue which you enjoy too. Resting near each other as you watch the sun go down is calming and takes the stress of life away. But sometimes you just want to bring Xiao out and have some fun.

Which ends up with you dragging him off to the pond near the Wangshuu inn, you wanted to catch frogs for whatever reason. Weren’t you both a bit too old to be playing with frogs? But he stands by and watch's you chase around the poor animals, tracking mud all over your clothing and skin, he can’t help but let a small smile slip. It isn’t until you end up falling into the pond after slipping that he’s on alert mode that he runs over worried.

Only for you to pop up and start bursting out into laughter. Xiao is stunned for a few moment as he watches you laugh at your own mistake, mud scrapped all over your face and clothes, the fact that you’re still in the pond with a frog on your head. He can’t help but feel his face fall as his mouth twitches into a smile as he chuckles along with you. He reaches over to try and scrub the dirt off your face but it only ends up smearing it more but you appreciate the effort. He carefully lifts you up as he carries you back to the inn. He thinks back to when you both first met, how he spent so much time worrying over his life as an adeptis and you as a human, but now those thoughts have been flung out of his mind. He wants to take your approach, that why worry over the little details of the future when you can enjoy the bigger moments you have now.

Diluc

On days that Diluc works as the bartender for Angel Share, if you come at just the right time when the sun was still high in the sky, you might be able to catch the ever distant man smiling and engaged with a conversation with one specific patron. Of course, this silly “rumour” was made up by the ladies of Mondstadt with too much free time on their hands but given Diluc’s reputation and demeanor it did make some travelers curious. Only for them to write it off as this special patron to be a green bard or cunning captain. One that Diluc surely did not crack a smile at. In fact it seemed to be the opposite. But the tavern isn’t so bad, there’s this nice individual that will listen to all your sorrows with kind eyes and a gentle heart.  

As soon as the last customer leaves and Diluc locks the door, does he let his shoulder drop and he breathes a sigh of relief. Before turning and walking to you as he let’s himself relax in your embrace. He listens as you re-tell on the woes of a jewelry saleswoman from Liyue to how Venti is still getting ID checked at the Cat’s Tail as he basks in your warmth. He’s glad that this is what’s troubling the people of Mondstadt and not anything incredibly dangerous relating to the Fatui or the Abyss Order. He asks if you’re doing alright to which you grin and nod that everything was perfect, before placing a small kiss on your forehead and he leads you out back and into the night and ready to return home.

Kaeya finds a lot of enjoyment going to up to you and discussing his “concerns” about Diluc. It always leads to you fretting over his health and if he was working too hard and he should take a break. Diluc is whipped and cannot say no to you so he always begrudgingly let’s you lead him away as Kaeya smiles and waves him off. It’s gotten to the point that no matter what Diluc is in the middle of, unless it’s of the upmost importance, if he catches Kaeya anywhere near you he’s swooping in and leading you away.

Diluc has always been straight to the point, non-nonsense idle talk, but when you drag him away to simply lie down at Starsnatch Cliff just because you were worried about him, he can’t help but feel his heart warm. Watching you blow on dandelions and enjoy the peaceful winds of Mondstadt does he let his hectic life standstill. 

When Diluc first met you, it was during his three year long journey to discover the truth of his father and the Delusions. You had saved him during his escape from a Fatui stronghold and explained you were apart of a third-party observer from the North. A vast underground intelligence network that approved of his actions and wanted him to join. Diluc, still deep in his anger and untrustworthy state of anyone, declined the offer but you still hanged around him. He didn’t understand why, and frankly did not want you anywhere near him, but you did save him. Something you very much liked to bring up, even after returning to Mondstadt. He couldn’t necessarily push you away and despite leaving the Knights of Favonius, he still maintained the same chivalry that all knights had.

From then on it had just been the two of you, him looking for the next Fatui base while you travelled with him as an “observer” despite helping him and being overly chatty. Asking where the next destination is like you’re some sort of overeager kid. At first, he really disliked your presence. A lot. In his mind you were a second Kaeya and after the events of what had happened, he might have been far colder to you than he should have been. He thought you were hiding behind the same kind of mask Kaeya did and that you were secretly some Fatui agent sent to kill him. But that never seemed to deter you, even making fun of the idea that the Fatui would seriously try and send an agent to con him rather than try and kill him outright with all the information he had on them.

You both had your clashes when it came to certain things, especially when it came to taking breaks and sightseeing. He felt that you were way too relaxed for something so important and you felt he was way to uptight and needed to stop running through life. But overtime, he found that he actually somewhat enjoyed your personality and quirks. While you could kick a Fatui’s guard head off if you tried hard enough, you would also drag him to feed the ducks by a pond. He had come to learn that you and Kaeya were different, you didn’t wear a mask and bared your heart to the world. He thought you were a bit foolish for doing that since you can never really trust anyone but you instead offered that not everyone was a bad person, that if he spent every waking moment trying to backstab someone would that really be a life worth living?

It’s during the lantern festival in Liyue does he really come to understand his goals in life. Writing down wishes for the new year to send off in paper lanterns is when he acknowledges his shortcomings and finally agrees to join the underground intelligence network. You offer him a bright grin as you cheer that he finally finally got off his stubborn self and you’re now officially partners in not-really-but-still-technically crime. For the first time since Diluc started his journey, he gives a small smile and let’s himself relax as he watched the golden lanterns fly through the sky beside you.

When he decides it’s time to return to Mondstadt and take up his position as Diluc Ragnvindr, he tries to not so subtly ask if you would want to join him. He knows that you still have ties to that secret organization and you probably have your own agenda but Diluc has gotten used to your bubbly personality, he doesn’t want to live without you. But his worries are quickly squashed when you tease him for a bit but slip your hand in his and ask where the next destination is. 

---

Gripping my writing hand, I went overboard and ran with it. I really want to write pre-hcs of how you met Xiao and a continuation of young Diluc and you. But I must finish my inbox.  Also my joke of Xiao beating things into submission started all the way back to my first Xiao HCs of friendship. I did not know this lol. I just think it’s funny to imagine xiao doing it. I’m about to high five my past self.

By the way, should I break up my hcs more? I feel like they are actual paragraphs and that might be annoying to read.

[goldenraeofsun]

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

[idkcantthinkofaname]

It Takes Time/ 17

Pairing: BTS x Reader (ft. Ateez)

Gene: angst, smut(certain chapters), Dark themes (in certain parts)

Warning: slight blood mention but nothing else really

Summary: after finally getting the house y/n always wanted, she find a hybrid hiding in an old shed. Unlike most people who find strays, y/n doesn’t turn him into h.c mainly because there was a lot of shady things that happened with the hybrid control in the area.

Prev

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Jungkook was laid up against the floor of the truck, his eyes peaked at her. He could see blood on the side of her face. He was slightly beat up as well, though he knew the impact was coming long before the drivers of the truck knew. He had all his senses on alert the moment he heard her truck tire squalled against the asphalt. At first he assumed she was just going to leave, But he notice the sound was coming in close and fast. He remained as still as he could to not alert the other two guards that were in the back with him, what was to come. At the last second he jump off the seat, and was in the air the moment the impacted happen. The guards distracted by him had been thrown across the truck as it rolled. Jungkook tried to keep himself for too much injuries but with how hard she hit them, and his hands being hand cuffed together. He wasn’t as successful as he wish he had been. After the truck came to final stop he was laying on the wall trying to get his barring, the two guards were unmoving. As he got up slowly he went to each searching for the keys to unlock him. Once he was uncuffed he looked up and took a deep breath. Everything in him was screaming to shift into his wolf, but he knew it would be to painful to do so.

“Hand me the keys!” Y/n voice was trying to sound so strong. He had heard her struggle with the guy. He still couldn’t believe that she was still trying to help him. She should have left him. She didn’t make any sense to him, or the fact that he slightly liked that she was still here to help him.

The door swung open and the street lights was filtering in. “Jungkook?”

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

My voice was soft and uncertain, he was leaned up against what should have been the floor of the truck. I climbed into the truck to go to him.

“You just had to hit us with a truck?” Jungkook asked.

“I didn’t know what else to do...I couldn’t let them take you.”

Jungkook looked up at me. “We have to get out of here.”

Jungkook walked forward and gripped my wrist and started to pull me off towards the woods. “Jungkook what abou..”

“Listen we just have to get out of here. Don’t worry about the truck.”

“but?”

“just keep moving, Trust me, the other group of h.c will show up before the cops do and we don't want to be around when they do.”

We had been walking in silence for over an hour.. or what felt like an hour. “Jungkook you need to rest, and so do I.”

Jungkook’s tail stiffen. “I am fine.”

“You may be but I need a moment” My head was still pounding from the wreck. and My arm was still bleeding slightly.

A hefty sigh left  his lips “Five minutes, that is all you get. I’m sure the boys are already worried sick about you, And I know the H.c is most likely still looking for us.”

"What do we have here?” Said a light voice. I jumped up and Looked towards the bushes where the voice sounded from. Jungkook growled and stepped forward and placed himself between the new person. 

A giggle came from the left of us. “Looks like we have some trespasser San.” A fox hybrid was perched on a tree stump. His red black tipped ears stood tall. “Hongjoong will not like this.” 

Another hybird approached from the right side. “What should we do then, dear Wooyoung?” He smirked. His white and black spotted tail twitched at the end. He was slightly shorter then Jungkook but almost as broad. especially when he puffed his chest up. 

Jungkook tail was puffed out and he stood taller then he was a second ago. “We are just passing through.” 

The fox, Wooyoung smiled. “Well, we don't like other coming into our territory.”

Jungkook growled more. Wooyoung cocked his head to the side and his tail was swaying much like when tae and jimin’s would when they were about to start pushing the others buttons.  

“Wooyoung! That is enough!” Out stepped three more hybrids, two were staring down the fox. His ears laid back against his head. 

“I apologize for wooyoung behavior.” One of the taller ones spoke, He was looking at us threw silted eyes...A snake hybrid.

The other tall one standing next to him was staring wide eyes at the two of us. He was the tallest and had bear like ears on the top of his head.  The shorter of them stepped forward. “What are you doing in our territory?”

Jungkook growled again. He stepped forward. “when did you move here?

Hongjoong stared at him. “just before the winter storms that hit here...You must be one of the hybrids who scent was here before us.”

Jungkook’s fist cliched. “Yes I am, Now why would you move here if you could scent us?”

Hongjoong just shrugged his shoulders. “Well since you guys never showed up to run us off, we assume you did not care for this land. So we made ourselves at home.”

Jungkook stepped forward, but the short man meet his approach. “I would think twice there Pup. You are out numbered.” He smirked. “and one bite from Seongwha and you will be dead within minutes.” 

I was right, He was a snake. "Jungkook we need to get home before the H.C finds us.”

This made Hongjoong cat like ears twice. He looked at the both of us. “Go, If they come looking for you we don't want to be in the middle of it.” he stepped back and started to walk off the others following him. 

Jungkook was shaking with anger. I placed my hand onto his arm. “Deal with this later.”

He whipped around with so much speed that I almost lost my footing. He was breathing heavy and there was so much fire in his eyes. He stepped closer to me and before I could even realize what happened he wrapped his arms around my waist and shoved his head into my neck. He let out a growl and pressed harder into my neck. I just stood there and allowed him to do as he pleased. After some time he seemed to relax some and he stood up and gripped my hand. “Let’s get home.”

We may had made it a few more yards before I started to get dizzy. “Jungkook” I almost lost my footing as I went down, Hearing Jungkook shout my name. I could feel that he had caught me but my vision was going black.

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

Jungkook was scared, He was actually scared for her. She just dropped. He was and idiot not to even think about the damage she might have after wrecking the truck to save him. He held her close as he ran with her in his arms. He needed to get her to Jin as fast as he can.

He was gripping her tightly to him. Her head laid back almost lifeless, if it wasn't for her heart beating he would have thought she was dead. 

“JUNGKOOK!” The sound of Namjoon was like music to his ears

“Namjoon here! she is hurt! I don't know what to do!” Jungkook was still holding her tightly to him when namjoon and the others got to him. 

“Let me see her” Namjoon asked holding out his arms. But jungkook refused to let her go.

“No, I will carry her. She is like this cause she came to save me.” Namjoon looked jungkook over then nodded as they all hurried back towards the house. Jin and Hobi sprinted off to get to the house to set up everything they would need to help y/n

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Next

Note: I think, im going to put this on pause for a while only to take my time and write this story the way I like it. and I can post them quicker after I have a few of them written. I am not happy with some of these chapters.

Tag list

@beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @ghostkat23 @jiminslye @4evahevah @vantaescupid @calling-dips-on-j-hope @jennyjq @purplelady85 @sana-b @deeepvibes @purelyecstacy @peachyjk97 @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @j3ngkoo @unicornbabylover @yourlipssoirresistible @shileh @sometingreallycool  @beeeb05 @fanoffandomss @ambersaesthetics @ ego-allie-bap

[dragonfairy67]

Alucard (smut) form my old account not edited

They say that everyone has a mate, and once you find your mate nothing and no one can take you away from them. I was not a normal human being I was a feral muntin of the cat kind and with my power, I can change into a large cat or a small one it really depended on what I needed.

" (Y/N) I have a need for you to take the wild geese and go and track down the vampire who is draining a town full of people" I looked over at my boss who just so happens to be the one who was the master or monsters and I fit right in with that. I was a monster and I had no problem with that.

"Of course, my Master," I said bowing down to her before walking out of the door It was about 30 years since the blitz in London and they were still waiting for this Alucard guy to show up. I had come to Sir Integra just after that day having saved her life back then and I was the one who helped run things after. I did just about anything she needed me to and with the power I had I could go days without sleep and would be just fine.

"Let's go Pip grab the guys, we got a job to do," I said looking over at my best guy friend as he lit up a cancer stick. In the acatke, on the manner, Pip was wounded so badly and almost died only to bring himself back from death by drinking the blood and becoming a vampire.

"Oi (Y/N) where are we headed?" he said as the guys got into the jeeps

"We're going to cheddar to kill a vampire" I said grinning my fangs on full show Pip smiled back.

(Later)

I walked into the manner after writing up a report and headed down to my room I knew my master was asleep and would give it to her in the morning. I heard the sound of gunshots and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to my master's room where I came face to face with sears and her big ass gun. She kicked open the door flashing everyone when I heard her gasp.

"Master!" She yelled out before lowering her gun I, on the other hand, kept my tense stance.

"What the hell is going on? Master are you alright?" I asked coming to stand close to her as I walked more into the room the scent of this man made me purr out before I could stop myself making My master looked at me with a raised brow.

"Yes, I'm sure you would like to know who this is (Y/N) this is Alucard the one who we have all been waiting to return," she said while sitting on the bed I felt a pull towards this man and was hoping like hell he was not my mate.

"Well if there is no danger than I shall take my leave, good night master," I said not looking over Alucard and walked out of the room. I had no clue what was going to happen now but I had a feeling I was being followed and just as I opened my door Alucard was sitting in my chair.

"So you took my place while I was gone?" he asked with a bored tone I had to give it to him he sure was sexy.

"Somewhat, I'm not really human so I can do things other can't trust me though it's been really boring," I said thinking all of the times I went on hunts only to come up with someone who was not worth even my time to fight.

"Tell me how old are you?" I looked over at him finding that he looked like someone I had met before only I could not put my finger on where i had seen him before.

"Eh, about 300 years old give or take," I said sitting down on my bed he was nice to talk to even if he is prying into my life. Even though I know this I find myself unable to hold back when he asks me things. "If you have nothing else to say I'm gonna get some sleep," I said as I pulled the blankets back so I could get into bed I felt the air around me heat back up and knew that Alucard had left.

(One Month Later)

"You was reckless! If I didn't step in you would have been killed" Alucard growled form everything I knew about him the only one he truly cared about was our master and the police girl.

"Oh please, I can't be killed, trust me I would have been dead a long time ago," I said stripping off my top to show him I was healed I felt his cool body get closer to mine and felt him run his fingers down my back.

"Tell me when do you plan to stop fighting this and give in?" he growled out his face close to my neck inhaling my scent.

"I have no clue what you mean," I said turning around to face him and felt my knees go weak at the look on his face.

"You are my mate, my queen, my fourth bride," he said with each kiss to my lips before deepening the kiss and stealing my breath away. I was lost to his touch and the taste of him I knew what he was saying was true but I was still going to make him fight for it. I was not the type to lay down and give in, I was a fighter.

"Oh really? You think that? Hmm, how about you prove it then" I said holding him close to my body his cool hard body felt wonderful against my hotter body with what I am I ran a little hotter than normal.

"I plan on it" Before I knew it I was laying on my back naked with a very sexy powerful vampire laying on top of me kissing sucking on my neck. I could feel his fangs scrape my neck and turned my head a little more giving him more room to work with. I had a plan to fight him but I didn't say I would not enjoy what he was doing.

While Alucard was working on my neck I tightened the hold on his hips and flipping us over so I was on top and I leaned down to crash his mouth to mine our fangs clashing and our tastes mingled together making me moan. I could feel how hard he was and wanted to taste him badly so I started to kiss down his neck leaving little bites as I went until I was face to face with his manhood. He was the biggest I had ever seen and couldn't wait till he was inside of me.

"Who said you could be on top? I heard him growl out as I licked the tip tasting him I locked my eyes with his before taking him fully into my mouth and down my throat making myself gag on him. I felt him grab onto my hair and held me in place before thrusting up and fucking my mouth while he was doing that I started to rub on his balls making him lose his pace and thrust up into me a little harder.

"Fuck, You suck my cock so well, take all of me I plan to cum down you pretty little throat" Alucard growled out before fucking my throat how he wanted I loved how he was using me even though I was on top he was very much in control and I loved a man who knew what he wanted and could take control of me in the bedroom. I knew he was close and sucked extra hard on him making him jump over the edge and cumming down my throat. I slowly sat up keeping his cock in my mouth as long as I could before I let him go with a loud pop and licked my lips. Before I knew it I was back on my back and he was raging hard again.

Alucard kissed me biting my lip till I opened my mouth to him and our tongues dueled for dominance. He won in the end only because he cheated by playing with my clit. I was dripping wet and was close to begging him to fuck me. I don't even remember the last time I had been fucked good and hard.

"Your dripping already and I have barely even touched you, my queen," he said while speeding up his pace I was a moaning mess by the time I felt his long as fuck tongue plunge into my hot wet cunt fucking me. I arched up and grabbed a fist full of his hair and was pulling him closer to me my claws starching his scalp making him groan.

"Fuck! Please don't stop, make me cum on your tongue" I begged while I started to thrust into wet needy cunt on his warm tongue I heard him growl and throw my head back at the feeling, it sent me on my clit. I was so close to coming that when he pinched my clit it sent me over the edge Alucard was making a happy sucking sound as if I was the best thing he has ever tasted in his life.

"Are you ready for me?" Alucard said as he moved his body back up was he was nestled in between my legs I was more than ready for him. I wanted him to fuck me tell I could not move anymore.

"Fuck me, Make me your, Make me forget about anyone else but you" I moaned out while thrusting my hips up into his feeling his hard manhood rubbing on my clit.

"As you wish" was the last thing I heard before my world was crashing down when he plunged into my cunt fucking me right off the bat. Alucard didn't wait to let me adjust he fucked me like he was a man possessed. My nails were digging down into his back drawing blood making him growl out his fangs got longer. I could feel I was losing control of my animal side and flipped us over where I was on top of him. Alucard grabbing my hips and started to thrust upon me as I took control of the speed and rode him how I wanted. I was so fucking close to cumming that I had nothing else On my mind but finding my peak.

"Fuck, Yes, Fuck me just like that! You feel so good inside me" I moaned out I was flipped back onto my back with him on top of me the whole time we were fighting for who was going to be on top. Our fucking was more like a fuck and fight only this time no one would die.

"Who do you belong to" I heard him growl in my neck but I was too far gone to speak and was only able to moan for him. The feeling of his hand around my neck choking me brought me back to myself and I could understand what he had asked me.

"You! I belong to you!" with my words I felt him sink his fangs into my neck drinking my blood I had this uncontrollable urge to bite him as well and did just that. Marking him as my mate for the rest of his undead life. The feeling of him sucking my blood pushed me over the edge and I came screaming his name my nails going down his back drawing blood.

When I finally came back to myself I realized that he was no longer on top of me and that a blanket was over us both. I rolled over and laid my head on his chest where his heart should be beating only to find it wasn't. Alucard's cool body helped to cool me down after our mating.

"Well, That was fun," I said yawning my eyes were getting heavy and knew sleep was not far off

"Agreed" was the last thing I heard before I was pulled into the darkness of the dreamworld.

[lupismaris]

Blackberry Crepes- silverflintham black sails modern au ficlet

(i saw a few posts about how love is sharing food and making breakfast for your loved ones and lets just say this is part 1 of a series in which Flint cooks for his loved ones when saying i love you might not be enough)

Sleep was something of a stranger to Silver. He liked to joke that he didn’t need it, that he could just cat nap for half an hour here and there, and be good for a few days, that he was just built different, the perks of life on the run and never having a real routine. But in truth he’d push himself until his body gave out and he slept for 18 hours and woke up feeling like death warmed over. That was the only way he’d be able to get any real sleep. Pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, or, as he had eventually learned with Flint and Thomas, getting well and truly laid until his brain shut off and his body felt like lead.   He preferred the latter, of course, but it still wasn’t something he felt he could readily ask for. Especially when it wasn’t enough to keep his mind quiet. Dreams, nightmares, they’re funny things. You can think you’re too tired to dream and then on your way into an REM cycle you get blind sided by the most vivid night terror you’ve had in the past three months. You could be napping on the couch when the phantom limb starts acting up and your mind conjures memories of when you lost it or just vague ideas of what life would be like if you hadn’t and you wake up unable to tell which is worse. You could be strung out and coming down from an orgasmic high and then feel your stomach drop when you finally fall asleep and your mind tells you it isn’t safe, jolting you violently back to consciousness. Or you could be dozing in the early morning hours, the way Silver had been, after a good night, a genuinely good night, and find yourself halfway between deep sleep and waking, faced with fears you’d buried so far deep you hoped they’d suffocate. They’d gone to dinner, on a date even. Flint and Thomas had made a point to be home and get dressed up and take him out on the town and pay complete attention to him, like he was just a normal lover and not, well, himself. It was still an adjustment for him, this idea that he could just have this, a normal relationship with men who actually wanted him, where using each other wasn’t part of it, where the end game wasn’t someone’s bank account or an act of violence, where there wasn’t even an end game to consider. By the end of July the charms of summer had started to wear thin, even for Silver, and he was tired of the heat and the mirror like cage of the city, he was tired of the long days and the long conversations and the longer shadows on the blistering asphalt. He was tired of the haze that made his mind question what was and wasn’t real, despite knowing what was. It left him on edge and he knew Flint could tell, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. If Thomas knew, he was at least polite enough not to give it away. Dinner had been lovely. A little Spanish place by the promenade, followed by a short walk since the evening was cooler than expected and a breeze of the Hudson meant it was almost blissful. There had been wine and Flint’s homemade limoncello tarts when they got home and endless lazy kisses and one of them always touching him as if trying to keep him tethered. There had been sex, great sex, not that Silver had ever had bad sex with the pair of them (the smug rotten bastards), but the kind where Silver had been able to let go and drown in it for a while, let someone else carry the load, and do the thinking for a while. It still hadn’t been enough.

Silver sighed, a cloud of smoke curling around his face as he watched the rooftops shift and glimmer in the faded teal skies of four am, his second cigarette of the hour dangling somewhat carelessly from his fingers. He had tried, valiantly he felt, to stay in bed with Flint and Thomas, to sleep curled up with them the way Flint always hoped he would after sex. Some nights it worked and he’d wake up when Flint went for his blasphemous morning run. Most nights though he’d wait until Thomas was out cold and snoring like a bear, then kiss Flint goodnight, and slip back to his room next door. He’d fallen asleep tucked into Flint’s chest, with Flint’s arm around him and the deep rumble of his breathing filling his ears. Thomas was spooned up behind Flint, clinging to his husband like a child and snoring loudly, but that too was somehow comforting. He was safe, he was loved, he was home. And suddenly the next thing Silver knew he was choking on nothing and fighting the air, sitting bolt upright in bed with a wordless, noiseless scream of fear. The only saving grace was that it didn’t wake the others, Thomas still sound asleep and curled up under the covers, Flint spooned up behind him, years younger in sleep, a different man. Silver had sat there shaking for some time, half an hour, five minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Once he could breathe without wheezing and his hands had stopped shaking violently, he steadied himself and slipped out of bed, grabbing his crutch from where it rested dutifully against the nightstand. There wasn’t much he was good at in life, but John Silver had always been good at running. This wasn’t any different. Now, he was wrapped in an old blanket, hidden away on the roof where he’d been putting together his own little makeshift garden. Plants that he’d found half dead or dying on the curb, abandoned succulents from friends, houseplants he found on discount at the hardware store that he’d barter down to a dollar. He liked the distance heights gave him, always had, was always climbing things as a kid to try and get a better view, try to hide away from prying eyes. It was harder now that he had the prosthetic, but the elevator could take him up to the loft, and the stairs to the roof weren’t too steep, so he could manage them with his crutch. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the little patch of green paradise that Flint and Thomas had nurtured down below, he loved it and the time they spent there. But this- this little scrap of roof top, with it’s homemade shelves of plywood and resurrected plants, was his. Silver took another drag from his cigarette and watched a flock of pigeons shift their course in flight, heading west towards Manhattan where the morning crowds were no doubt slowly beginning to stir. Even on Saturdays, the city got a bright and early start if it ever truly decided to rest. He could hear tidbits of conversation from his perch, voices carried up to him like secrets as their owners walked past, heading home from work, from a night out, leaving home to go to work, whatever their little lives demanded, existing in spite of themselves, for themselves. Cars hummed past, cabbies and uber drivers trying to catch the last of the club goers as they left the bars in search of a trip home, picking up the true early bird tourists as they tried to beat the others to some absurd event or another. He could even hear music, someone’s window open on their block he thought, and the faint repetitive sound of a piano as they worked through their scales. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. The neighborhood would be well and truly awake soon. The running group would be on the corner waiting for the stragglers, hitting the asphalt by five am. The store fronts and bodegas would start opening up around six, the bars by eight if they served brunch, and the world would come to life at Silver’s feet. He had until then to quiet the noise in his head and remember how to put his mask back on. The sound of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought for a moment that maybe, if he kept still, he’d go unnoticed, they the sparse shelves and plants and the blanket might hide him well enough that Flint, because it was always Flint, would go back down stairs and go for his morning run and leave him well enough alone. But he knew better. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been up here?” came the sleep heavy rumble of a voice. “Depends on whether you want to be disappointed this early in the morning,” Silver replied dryly. And there it was, the telltale sigh of disappointment, because Flint was going to be disappointed no matter what answer he got. “Silver-” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “Do what?” Silver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He heard Flint move across the roof, the soft footsteps of bare feet on the weatherproof matting slow and well chosen, stopping next to him. “This thing you do where you try and bully answers out of me. I don’t fucking feel up to these games, alright? I just- I don’t,” Silver said, risking a look upwards. Flint was shirtless, as he always was when fresh out of bed, but he’d pulled on a pair of old sweatpants before going to look for Silver. He’d left his hair loose, the rich copper strands hanging in a curtain around the left side of his face, the shaved under cut peaking out along the right. Silver could still see the pillow prints on his cheek, and his beard was disgruntled and unbrushed the way it rarely was when he left the house. Silver loved him like this, he loved Flint always, but there was something about Flint like this, soft and at ease, bare chested and vulnerable that managed to settle even the worst of Silver’s deep seated insecurities. Because who else got to have Flint like this? Who else but Silver and Thomas got Flint at his gentlest? They looked at each other for a moment, Flint frowning softly with his hands on his hips and Silver wrapped up in his blanket, saying nothing, saying everything they could. Then Flint sighed and sat down next to him. “I’m not here to bully you,” he said gently, taking the cigarette that Silver was neglecting. “You were gone when I woke up, thought I’d check on you,” He paused, relighting the cigarette with his trusty old lighter, “but as you were not in your room I figured something was bothering you and you’d be either working in the office or up here.” “You didn’t have to check on me.” “It was for my sake, not yours.” Silver smiled faintly, his eyes stinging from what he hoped was just exhaustion but was probably tears. He didn’t look at Flint, just blinked them away and watched the sky lighten little by little as Flint finished the cigarette. “You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” Flint asked after a few minutes of silence. “Whats not what you’re doing?” “Bullying you.” “I mean it’s kinda what you do.” “Is that how you see it?” Flint wasn’t looking at him. He was reaching for the French enamel cigarette case that was sitting next to Silver, one he’d stolen in Monaco several lives before, and lighting another cigarette. Silver watched him, a little wistful, and incredibly exhausted all at once. “No.” He said. “Yes. Depends on when you try and do it I guess.” That got a low hum from Flint, smoke filling the air for a moment in a pensive cloud. Silver waited, oddly tense, hoping that Flint would listen to him, and not try and play one of their fucked up little games so early in the morning. They were doing really well these days, not playing any games at all, having real, honest conversations like well adjusted adults who hadn’t done all the awful things they’d done, to each other, to others. But sometimes it was so much easier to just be awful to each other, to fall back into the old way of doing things. “I only check on you to know you’re still here,” Flint said finally. “I only ask if you’re alright because if I can fix it, I want to. I don’t care if you lie to me about what had you out of bed this morning. I don’t give a shit if you never tell me the names of your ghosts, I’ve told you that a dozen times, I know you remember that as well as you remember the names of my own ghosts.” Silver did remember, both the ghosts, and the plaintive way Flint had asked him to trust whatever it was they had between them. “I just want to know you’re still here. That you’ve not gone running off again. That you’ll run to me next time this,” he waved at the rooftop and the skyline as if encompassing all of Silver’s faulty coping methods, “fails and you’re out at sea. I just- I ask those questions to reassure myself, alright?” He paused, taking another drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. Silver could see the age starting to show on his face again, in the soft lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, the scars on his nose and throat, the endless sea of freckles, the faded ink of his tattoos, the streaks of gray in his beard. Before his eyes, the man he loved, his Flint, was appearing, returning to flesh and blood from the land of dreams. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, pup,” Flint added, finally turning his head and catching Silver looking at him. The sea green of Flint’s eyes always seemed to hook Silver, regardless of whether he wanted them to. They could be the deep inky black full of secrets or the still gray of quiet waters, it didn’t matter- if Flint looked at him, soft and open and endlessly patient the way no one else was, Silver would eventually break. Flint knew it, but so far, he never seemed to abuse the power he held. Silver smiled faintly. With a soft groan he shifted onto his knees, loving the way Flint’s hands immediately reached to steady him whether he needed it or not, and crawled into Flint’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping the worn blanket around them both. He took the cigarette from Flint’s lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray, as Flints hands settled like an anchor, warm and sure, at the small of his back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, old man,” Silver said, brushing Flint’s hair out of his eyes, “I promised you were stuck with me. No amount of nightmares are gonna change that.” He kissed Flint softly, smiling at the low rumbling purr it got him, at the way Flint’s hands pulled him closer, spread wide on his back. It was a soft, innocent thing, no heat, no hunger, and that too was still something novel to Silver, that he could have this innocent kind of intimacy with someone, with a man like Flint. He craved it as much as he craved the wilder side of love and was grateful that Flint seemed happy to satisfy both moods whenever they arose. “Good,” Flint said, once the lazy kiss broke and Silver tucked his face into Flint’s shoulder with a happy sound. “Because while I would absolutely give chase, I’d rather not have Thomas trailing after us as well. You know the kind of trouble he gets up to, just imagine him trying to find you.” Silver snorted with an undignified burst of laughter. “No, god, he’d be impossible.” “Exactly. I’d have my hands full just trying to keep him in one piece. I’ve got enough gray hair as it is, pup, don’t go giving me anymore before my time, alright?” Flint lifted his chin as Silver’s fingers petted the gray streaks in his beard, letting out another soft rumbling sound. “Alright. Though I do think it’s sexy.” “Yeah yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, nuzzling his messy curls. “C’mon, why don’t we head inside, I think it’s a reasonable time for coffee.” “What about your run? Your awful five am morning ritual I can almost never talk you out of even for a blow job.” “I feel like skipping this morning.” Silver lifted his head, leveling Flint with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. Flint returned it with a fond smile. “Its Saturday, I feel like making breakfast,” Flint said with a shrug. I love you, Silver heard. “Can we have blackberry crepes? And scrambled eggs?” Silver asked after a moment. “And that fancy bacon you got from the farmer’s market?” Flint smiled, still fond and impossibly warm. Silver’s heart skipped, flipped, and settled in his chest. Flint had heard the unspoken, skittish, and undeniable “I love you too” tucked into Silver’s reply. Flint coaxed him into another soft kiss, still wearing that same smile.

  “Blackberry crepes it is.”