Because I apparently have an emotional weakness for stories about grumpy old men being redeemed by the love of family, even if all the characters are animated muppets (Gravity Falls) or cartoon ducks.
One of the neat things about the original Ducktales and the Ducktales reboot is the first episode of the premiers of both shows follow similar outlines. In both, Donald takes the kids to stay with Scrooge, Scrooge wants nothing to do with them, locks them in a room and passes them on to his butler/housekeeper, the kids break out, get in trouble with Scrooge, who still wants nothing to do with them, but then after a series of misadventures in which they have to work together, Scrooge and the kids warm up to each other and family adventures ensue. The plot specifics are different, but it’s kind of doing a similar thing.
One of the big differences between the first episode of the original and the first half of the reboot premier is in what kind of change of heart Scrooge has at the end. At the end of the OG episode, the reason Scrooge warms up to Huey, Dewey, and Louie is partly because they help him in a scrap with the Beagle Boys, but mostly because he realizes that he’s lonely and that he kind of loves having these kids around. The reason Scrooge warms up to the kids at the end of the first half of the reboot premier, on the other hand, is because he’s impressed with them and they remind him of how much he loves adventure. (At least, that’s the outward reason.) Donald and the boys move in at the end of the second half and they start to become a family, but they’re not quite there yet. We haven’t seen a, “What a family!”, “Fine, take the dime, Magica. Just don’t hurt the boy,” or even a big family hug moment from reboot Scrooge yet.
The reboot is playing the character as meaner, tougher, and far less openly affectionate than he was in the original series—and like the Barks and Rosa versions of the character, the reboot version is probably going to have to be dragged kicking and screaming before he openly admits how much he cares about family, maybe even before he shows that he’s vulnerable at all. Because, and correct me if I’m wrong, but besides some jokes and that little “Used to be a big deal?” moment in the premier, reboot Scrooge has been a nonstop invulnerable powerhouse of wit and badassery. He’s played as always five steps ahead of everyone, and the only time he’s really been caught off guard so far has been, again, in the premier when Dewey throws his, “Family is nothing but trouble!” line back in his face. Caught off guard is probably the wrong phrase. Scrooge is stunned. It takes him a moment to recover, and when he does, he’s furious, frighteningly so.
So here’s a thought: Family is a sore subject for Scrooge, and not just because of whatever happened with Della and the spear of Selene.
Matt Youngberg and Frank Angones have said that the reboot team is taking inspiration from every version of the Disney Duck universe to make their show. Anything’s fair game. Paperinik, Donald Duck’s alter ego from the Italian comics, could show up. We could get a reference to the infamous “A SEA MONSTER ATE MY ICE CREAM??!!!!??” scene from the original. A lot of Don Rosa’s version of Scrooge’s backstory, including his first confrontation with Glomgold and the genuinely horrible way he finds out about his ma’s death, could be there.
So here’s another thought: In the reboot continuity, this scene from The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck where Scrooge finally manages to push his family away for good:
(… including the part where Donald gives his uncle a well deserved kick in the butt …)
… happened at some point in reboot Scrooge’s life. Maybe it happned a little earlier or a little later, depending on how old this version of the character is supposed to be (seriously, HOW OLD ARE YOU?), but it happened. And the Christmas on Bear Mountain/Richest Duck in the World stories, or something like them, happened too, but instead of them involving an adult Donald and Huey, Dewey, and Louie meeting/remeeting Scrooge for the first time, it involved a teenage or young adult Donald and Della. It’s Christmas, Scrooge hasn’t spoken to any of his relatives in years, and he decides to play a prank on his young niece and nephew (because ‘everyone hates him, and he hates everybody’), but ends up being so impressed with them that he invites them over for Christmas dinner and they become an awesome team of adventurers.
Until Della disappears.
And Scrooge gets estranged from his family all over again.
Addendums to this thought:
1. If Donald ‘grew up’ with Gladstone, this suggests Hortense, Donald and Della’s mom, passed away when they were still fairly young and that they were raised by Grandma Duck, like they are in some comics. This would mean that Donald lost his parents and his sister. No wonder he’s overprotective.
2. If that’s true, and if reboot Scrooge did have the same family disowning blowout as Rosa’s Scrooge did, then it’s possible he never made up with Hortense.
3. I’m guessing and/or hoping that Matilda, Scrooge’s other sister, is still alive and shows up at some point.
4. Della’s disappearance isn’t actually Scrooge’s fault, but he and Donald both feel like it is.
5. WHY DID DELLA TAKE THE SPEAR OF SELENE AND WHERE DID SHE GO?
Mediterranean Mermaid Lovers 🌊 ❤
🌊 عاش من شافك (”Meeting you revived me” - used to express longing and affection to loved ones after a long time of not seeing them)
*deep intake of breath*
This took me a month to complete.
(┛`д´)┛ For some reason I decided I would base the design of each mermaid off of real Mediterranean species as much as possible…. even though I did bend that rule quite a few times.
Body: Exocoetus volitans (Blue Flying Fish) Headband: Black pearls
(Mediterranean Parrotfish) Hijab:
Caulerpa taxifolia (a type of seaweed–which I made red instead of green) Hair ornaments: Echinaster sepositus (Red Sea Star/Starfish) and white pearls Bodice:
(Violescent Sea-Whip, a type of coral) Bra:
Paracentrotus lividus (Purple Sea Urchin (but dead))
“do the hustle” was a popular dance in the 1970′s. i tried to drawing out the typical fashion of that era and honestly all i got was america looking like rebellious teen england’s suburban dad. i might consider doing a series of these for each era but. lol
i say “i’m seeing a therapist” and he takes a step backwards. why he wants to know. what happened. what made me like this, basically. what was the final step that pushed me safely into the side of scary people like them.
there’s a lot i think about. like how my illnesses effect me outside of the actual symptoms. like beyond the weight there’s a second river to drown in.
i mean we don’t talk about having to stare at employment papers where they ask you to self-identify your problems. that little bead of sweat that forms when you worry - what if i don’t tell them and i need help? what if i tell them and they think i’m a risk factor? what if they won’t give me the job?
we don’t talk about the way some people act when they find out. the ones who are rude about it are one thing. but then there’s those people you thought were your friends who act like you just told them you’re infectious. who become weird and distant and suspicious like a switch flipped. like if they get to close to you, you’ll give it to them.
we learn to be okay with things we overhear on the bus but we never get used to it coming out of the mouth of the people we love. we carry this secret with us like a rotted fruit, clutching it to our bodies. we’re ashamed of our scars in front of our boss. we don’t talk about our panic attacks during lunch breaks. when the cop pulls you over “i’m disassociating” isn’t an excuse we can open the page on. when you watch people make these ranting posts about how real friends always text back, how if someone loves you, they’ll find the time to spend. success stories make other people cry with inspiration while some part of your brain is saying you can’t do that, you’re not like them. things are uglier at the bottom. you can’t explain why you can’t just make friends. you can’t write because you’re depressed but when you’re depressed you write best. you can’t eat today and no don’t ask why please. nevermind taking the train. never mind trying to be happy. never mind reading books and watching movies and wondering where exactly are people like you in hero stories. i watch a video where a man tells me that being depressed is just a mindset. when i wear all black someone remarks i look particularly emo today. it’s 2017 does anyone say emo anymore, i ask her, and she laughs, “you just look like one of those fake-depressed girls.” okay.
i don’t tell him my therapist is actually why things don’t happen anymore. why i’m getting a handle on it. my tongue feels swollen. i feel embarrassed talking about it. in the highest twist of irony, i think of how many people know my problems anonymously on the internet. i almost spill out all my troubles onto him. instead i tell him it’s just a precaution. that i think everyone should really see a therapist, they’re brain mechanics and we all need a tune-up now and then. he relaxes.
Imagine: You are always quiet in math, a class you happen to share with Peter Parker. Once you finally muster the courage to speak up, Peter finds a type of excuse so he can spend more time with you.
Word Count: 1100??? maybe
A/N: This is shitty and rushed but I have an assignment due on Monday that I haven’t really started sooO soz
Your fingers cramped as you attempted to write the answer before the timer at the front of the class went off. Several groans could be heard around the room as the renown alarm bounced off the walls of the quiet room. You rubbed your tired eyes beneath your glasses in hope that it would somehow get rid of the slight sleepiness that began to claw at them. Nevertheless, you began gliding your pen over your answers with concentration in attempt to find any mistakes.
“Alright then,” Coach Johnson, your Maths teacher spoke enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Who’s up first?”
The room remained silent as heads lowered to look down towards their work. Coach’s voice was louder this time, sounding slightly more impatient, “Any volunteers? No? Alright then. You’re up, Parker.”
Guess who was going through the Langst tag and got inspired and sad?
So Lance and Keith were friends in high school, but fell out of touch when Keith moved away for college.
Half a year later, Keith moved back home after deciding college wasn’t for him and dropping out. Lance was thrilled that one of his friends had moved back and reached out to his old friend to reconnect.
Keith agreed and they went out to a bar together.
They woke up in bed together the next morning with horrible hangovers and evidence of last night’s deeds dried on the sheets.
Keith tells Lance that he doesn’t do relationships but that the sex was amazing and he would be up for it again if Lance was.
Poor, pinning Lance has had feelings for Keith since high school. He figures that a friend’s with benefits relationship is the best he was ever going to get with Keith and agrees.
It becomes apparent that Keith was more interested in the Benefits part of their agreement very quickly. Sex was soon all he wanted from Lance, no hanging out, no talking, nothing but a few hours in bed.
Lance is deeply hurt, feeling like he has lost one of his best friends all over again. He keeps trying to repair the friendship that he thinks he’s at fault for breaking, but nothings working.
If he invites Keith over for pizza and a movie, Keith thinks it’s a booty call. They have sex and then Keith’s gone.
If he asks Keith to go to a bar or club with him, Keith gets handsy and they end up fooling around in one of their cars and then Keith goes home.
Lance is at the end of his rope and pulling his hair out in frustration.
Then he finds out that he isn’t the only one Keith has been sleeping with. Turns out Keith’s got a new guy in his bed every other night.
Lance is heartbroken. He had thought he was the only one. He feels used. It’s like he doesn’t even know Keith anymore. He’s lost Keith.
He can’t do it anymore. He can’t keep giving and giving himself to Keith for nothing.
He starts ignoring calls and texts from Keith.
Hunk and Pidge worry and ask if he’s alright, but he just smiles and waves away their worries. It’s hard for them to keep tabs on Lance when they have college classes and live in different states now, but they try their best.
There are nights when he’s tempted to call Keith and invite him over because his bed is way to empty and he misses Keith like nothing else, but he manages.
Its around this time that his friend from college, Allura, introduces him to her friend since childhood, Lotor.
Lotor is hands down the most gorgeous guy Lance has ever seen. He was charming and just as flirty as Lance and laughed at his jokes. The two hit it off right away and Allura is so fucking smug because she’s been trying to set the two up for months.
They begin dating and Lance is honestly in awe of his boyfriend. Lotor seems perfect. Wealthy, handsome, charming, and loving. Lance is head over heels, stupidly in love.
Then Keith comes over to his apartment one night.
Keith asks him where he had been and why Lance hasn’t been answering his texts- he was worried!
Lance has no time for this. He’s blunt and harsh and tells Keith to go to someone else for sex, because Lance is dating someone now.
Keith goes pale. He tries to ask something, but keeps stuttering and restarting. Finally, he pushes past Lance and runs out of the apartment, leaving a confused Lance behind.
Things are going great with Lotor. Lance falls fast and hard and Lotor is right there with him. Lotor talks about Lance moving in with him and about their future together. Lance is so happy about the prospect of a future that he doesn’t stop to wonder if its what he really wants with Lotor.
Weeks after Keith’s last visit, he comes back drunk at 4 in the morning.
Lance lets him in, fully intending to call a taxi to take him home, but Keith has other plans. He’s throwing himself at Lance within minutes, asking him for just one more time.
Lance aint having that. Nope. It is not a thing that is happening.
Then Keith starts to cry. He keeps saying that he’s sorry and that he needs Lance and that he doesn’t care that Lance loves someone else. Says that he needs Lance, that he loves-
“Lance?” Lotor comes out of Lance’s bedroom still half asleep and hair a beautiful mess. He’s instantly awake when he sees Keith and his face goes dangerously blank. “Whats going on?”
Lance explains that he’s just calling a taxi to take Keith home, since he’s been drinking. Lotor’s face looses the blank look and he’s all sweet smiles and helpfulness again.
Keith curls up on Lance’s couch and tries not to cry.
After sending Keith home, Lance apologizes for waking up Lotor, but his boyfriend says he has nothing to be sorry for. Lance is sweet enough to help anyone, and Keith is in the wrong for taking advantage of that, that Lance did nothing wrong.
Lance is so lucky to have Lotor.
Keith wakes up to a text from Lance asking if he got home safe. Keith’s heart clenches, because he is so in love with Lance and he fucked up so badly.
He lies and pretends that he doesn’t remember going over to Lance’s place and humiliating himself because its easier.
The next day, Keith ventures out to get food and finds himself getting shoved into an alleyway between abandoned buildings and getting the shit kicked out of him.
He gets thrown around a bit, the wind knocked out of him, and a more then one bruise before he’s thrown to the ground.
Lotor and four girls are staring down at him once his head stops spinning.
Lotor tells Keith that if he tries to contact Lance again, the beating will be worse and a bone or two may be broken. Tells him that if he tries to tell Lance about this, Keith’s landlord will suddenly find a reason to evict him from his apartment.
Doesn’t Keith realize that he’s going to ruin Lance? That he’ll drag Lance down with him if Keith keeps holding onto him? He tells Keith that Lance deserves better then a college drop out turned slut whose going no where in life.
Keith already knows all this, he doesn’t need to reminder.
Keith is left in the alley with a split lip and bruised ribs while Lotor and the girls drive off in a sports car more expensive then Keith’s student debt.
SO. I’m kinda half way through actually writing this as a fic…
Plot: Jimin always thought his traditional Korean girlfriend was perfect – that was, until he realized how beautiful foreigners could be.
Pairing: Idol!Park Jimin x Backup Dancer!Reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Notes: I based this off of every single MTL I have seen of BTS dating a girl of a different race or a girl of color – Jimin always seems to be one of the people who were least likely to date one. I definitely do not think that Jimin is this ignorant in any way. This is only a work of fiction. This is for all the international beauties! 2,536 Words
“I’m missing you too, my love. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few days, okay?”
One of the worst parts about tour was leaving lovers behind. For Jimin, it wasn’t only his lover, it was his home. He enjoyed tour, performing for all of the ARMYs around the world, going on stage; but he wasn’t a huge fan of being in a foreign country. He didn’t know English that well, and he wasn’t fond of being in a place where he couldn’t understand anything.
“I know,” The soft voice of his significant other brought pink to his cheeks. “Call me when your rehearsal is over.”
“I will, I love you,” He glanced at the leader of his band, who was calling him over.
“I love you too.”
With that, he had ended the call with a sigh, and headed over to his band. It hadn’t even been a few minutes since he cut the call, and he was already missing her – a thought he had experienced after each long-distance conversation with his lover. The short male shook his head and got his head back in the game, his eyes going up to meet a group of people dressed in black.
“This is your dance crew for this city,” The manager announced to the band. “Not all of them know Korean, so if you have an queries, just talk to Jihoon. He is the leader.”
Once that brief introduction was done, they were all left to their own devices for a few minutes, whilst the leader of the dance team talked to the leader of the band. Jimin had let himself scan over the people he would be working with; not that he would talk to them, he was just curious and bored. Most of them had masks on – no one had really caught his eyes, except for one person.
Pairing: Dean/Cas Length: 2.5k Tags: Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, First Kiss, Canon Divergent Read on AO3
A special thank you to @braezenkitty for being my awesome beta <3
“You just gotta get laid,” Dean said, reseating the burger beside the pile of fries on his plate, this time with a big bite missing. “Or a decent kiss, at least.”
He crumbled a napkin between greasy fingers, tossed it to the middle of the table. Shoved his shirtsleeves up one more time as he tucked his black fed tie under the table ledge and away from the plate. “It’d loosen you up, buddy. And maybe you’d quit tryna live vicariously through horny eighteen-year-olds.”
This was because of the door-to-door canvas. The couple at the park who’d been all over each other, that Castiel hadn’t been able to stop looking at—even after the old, blue-haired lady at 512 Bakersfield Court had made a comment. “Your partner likes to stare…” like she’d never in her seventy-five years of life seen someone curious about such a thing.
“If only that was the first time I heard it, too,” Dean’d smiled back from her stoop, the sharp sun cooking them both in the stuffy Tennessee heat. A marked jab to Cas’ ribs, and a walk to the nearest pub later, and Dean was bringing it up again, because, of course he was. Why talk about the case?
“I only glanced at the couple in the park,” Cas sighed. “It’s not a recurring issue. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Dean laughed, lipped his beer bottle, and took a stout drink. “Sure,” he said. “Glanced at them. Glanced at those girls holding hands last week—though, I’ll give ya that one. I gave ‘em a couple once-overs too.”
“Point is, it ain’t the first time, and you’re a damn liar.”
Cas rolled his eyes. “My being, or not being with people has nothing to do with anything—”
“Has everything to do with everything when you’re touch-starved.”
“I’m not starved. I’ve been… touched.”
Dean scoffed, swirled his beer bottle. “Sure, if you wanna count Reaper-Fools-Day.”
“I’ve kissed more people than April,” Cas bristled back. “How about we talk about what you know of touch starved instead?”
Dean snapped shut, cocked his head as a follow-up comment seemed to slip from his mouth quick. He replaced the words with a couple fries and averted eyes. “Fine,” he relented around the bite. “And?”
He looked back up, eyebrows jumping. “Were they any good?”
“Who? The people?”
“The kissing, idiot. Was the kissing any good?”
Cas’ heart flopped. He slipped a hand down his beer bottle, and then back up again nervously. The motion pulled Dean’s attention in a glance, so Cas tucked the rogue thing back onto his lap instead. Fingers lacing together under the shelter of the slick waxed top where no one could see. “I don’t know. Yes?” he offered carefully.
“Are you tellin’ me, or askin’ me right now?”
“No—I mean… ” Cas cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and listened to the wood slats groan. “They were fine. They were… wet.”
“Wet?” Dean repeated. “Cas, wet is how you describe a swimming pool… Oregon in the winter, maybe… Not a kiss. Never a good kiss.”
“Then how should I describe it?”
“No, I mean… if they were wet, then they were wet—”
“No, please. You tell me.”
Dean’s face suddenly fell wide in mock innocence. “What? You want me to describe a good kiss to you right now? In the middle of a restaurant.”
“If wet is insufficient—”
“Oh, yeah. It’s like, miles of not-sufficient-ness, dude.”
Cas chewed a smile down and gestured Dean’s way. Crossed his arms, and sat back. He watched Dean waffle before finally sliding back in his chair to think. He splayed wide, elbows up on the armrests and knees hugging the corners. His face caught the dim overhead lights, and the sun-kissed healthy pink of his skin shone back like warm earth.
He had white in the creases beside his eyes where his smile lines had shaded him from the harsh afternoon sun. A little cut of tan at the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat after he’d gotten sick of squinting through the reflections of every bright midday door.
“Okay, it’s like this,” he said finally, tapping an erratic finger on the neck of his bottle, and pausing to worry his lip. “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, til it ain’t. If you’re with the right person, then the tension between you’s gonna be thick enough to cut. It’s gonna feel like you’ve got a firecracker in your gut, and that other person’s just flicking the Bic. The minute the two of you kiss, the fuse lights. That bastard explosive rips up through your chest, and pops behind your eyes, and I’m talking—screw seeing colorsat that point—you’ll be so wrecked, you’ll know what they sound like.”
Castiel smiled as Dean came back in with a languid look, and a tongue tip between his teeth. He peeled forward, hovering over the table, so much closer than before, that there was only the dragging smell of his burger all tangled up in his woody cologne for Cas to breathe.
“That’s a good kiss,” he said slowly, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but the sun kiss on Dean’s cheeks had spread to his ears now. “Sounds good, don’t it?”
“It sounds very good,” Castiel agreed. “Very surreal.”
Dean let a long, animated sigh into the room and it mixed happy with the gentle murmur of the busy forks and glasses around them. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “Just not very common.”
He poked absently at the pile of cooling fries, and sucked the salt from the end of his finger. The gorgeous smacking sound it made curled red ribbons in Cas’ stomach. “Still, you find someone who’ll give you that, and it’s the kinda thing that’ll right some wrongs. Know what I mean?”
Cas took a long drink, smile falling as the carbonation from his beer prickled reality back into his tongue. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Dean’s mouth thinned, and his eyes ping-ponged away uneasy. He tailed and tacked down the waitress, kept locked on her as she floated behind the counter poking something into the mounted LED screen beside the register. “Doesn’t that rub you, though?” he asked, “not knowing for yourself. Don’t you… want that with somebody?”
Cas puffed surprised, and his mouth went dry. Try as he might, the beer wouldn’t wet it. “I mean, yes…” he said earnestly, and the admission ate holes in his stomach.
“Then… how come you ignore all the waitresses I send your way? You’re never gonna get it if you don’t even try.”
Cas was suddenly, and shamefully aware of his attention at Dean’s lips, and when Dean snagged a glance at him, Cas tore his eyes away, shoved them onto the table instead. Focused everything he had on the bleed of condensation below the cool, brown bottle to his left.
“Those people wouldn’t change anything,” he said to the ring. “Colors were never meant to make sounds for some.”
Dean fidgeted the fries again, finally pushed them aside, and brushed the salt off his hand this time instead of eating it. “I guess we better head out,” he said, flagging the waitress. “Sam’s waiting.”
They paid, and headed back out into the melty summer heat. It was sunset, but the air was still laying in the city thick as a wool blanket. Shadows stretched through the streets like plastic-capped Halloween fingers, crowding up in the alleyways and turns, painting the dingy brick walls black.
Cas flared his coat to check his back pocket for his wallet as they passed a couple people with hungry eyes, but just as quickly remembered that he’d dropped his last twenty for the meal, and let the impulse to feed them drift out. Still, he welcomed the brief breeze it gave him, and he wondered if maybe it was getting time to rethink the coat. Grace or not, he seemed to be touchier to the temperatures these days, and it was starting to seem like wardrobe was becoming more important—practically speaking.
Dean shed his own suit coat as if he’d just read Castiel’s mind, and slung it over his shoulder with a hooked finger. His shirtsleeves were still shoved up to his elbows under the blazer, as if he’d put it on after dinner, distracted. “Nothing fancy,” he murmured to his feet.
“Hmm—?” He looked over quick, eyes wide, before blinking them back down. “What?”
“I just didn’t catch what you said.”
Dean shook his head. “I didn’t—” But when Cas frowned, opened his mouth to contest, Dean relented. “Oh, you mean the, uh, thing I said out loud…” He cleared his throat, added “apparently” under his breath, and slowed down for some oncoming foot traffic.
“I was just thinking about the, uh, Nichols’ story,” he said, temporarily falling in line behind Cas as a group of people passed. He touched the small of Cas’ back out of nowhere, and kept his hand there. Cas’ chest snagged. “The alibi Brent was peddling didn’t feel right.” His voice was soft in Cas’ ear, almost breathy—but brief, and when he pulled up beside Cas again, sidewalk clear, Cas grabbed a shaky glance, but Dean wasn’t watching.
“You, uh, think they have something to do with the black magic we’re seeing?” Cas asked, and his voice managed to pour out level, despite his stomach coming off that quick rollercoaster dip.
“I mean, the house was a little much for a twenty-hour a week gas-slinging gig at the local area Gas n’ Sip, don’t you think?”
It was the most they’d talked about the case all day.
“Fancy,” Cas reiterated, then, “I certainly never would’ve been able to afford that place when I worked there.” For some reason, the comment pulled Dean tight at the joints. “But I couldn’t even afford hourly motels.”
“Well… the hourlies charge more.”
Cas frowned again, started to ask why when Dean squirmed past it. “But, you’re right,” he said. “Doesn’t add up no matter how you flip the numbers.”
“So, do you suspect they’re the source of the black magic, or victims of it?”
They hopped down the curb, checking the way for traffic, and ended up on the grassy side of Spring Street, just down from their motel. Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, balled the wrapper, and stuck it back in his pocket instead of tossing it away.
“I suspect there’s something screwy going on,” he said, “and that’s as far as I’ve got.”
He plucked the gum from his mouth a moment later, and flicked it to the bushes, ran a hand down his face. “Sam’s doing backgrounds as we speak. Here’s hoping there’s a smoking gun in there somewhere. But, ‘til we get that, we’re pulling straws.”
The streetlamps kicked on, buzzing like fireflies in the thick night, the light falling on the street in goldweave strings as they hustled past a defunct sporting goods store—hollow bones brick and mortar now. No one missing what used to be inside.
Dean scanned the streets, watched another few strings of dusk foot traffic pass on the left while he chewed his cheeks.
“Did Sam find anything at the morgue?” Cas pressed, because the silence seemed oddly unnerving.
“No—I mean, uh, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”
“I thought we were meeting him.”
Dean’s attention caught up in a little alcove at the end of the street and he gripped his jacket tighter, tucked his chin and let a heavy breath out. “We are,” he said quietly.
“Not at the morgue?”
“Um, no, he’s at the motel,” Dean said, and he sounded nervous. “Waiting to take us.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find a hex bag, or—”
Dean suddenly shoved Cas’ sideways, off the street and into the alcove, shadows tangling up in the corners of it, all those long witch fingers bleeding to flat black. Castiel grunted, surprised. “What’re you—” and his throat went dry as Dean pushed him into the stuccoed brick backside of a closed Chinese restaurant, hands curling up on both sides of Cas’ jaw, but fingers combing a soft arc “—doing?”
“Nothin’, if you don’t want me to,” Dean whispered, conviction skippy at best. His body was hot against Cas. Heavy and hard. Nothing like April’s… Meg’s… Hannah’s…
The question—and it was a question—coiled in Cas’ belly like a fever dream, but an answer never had a chance of bubbling back out. Because a response would’ve been moot before it ever left his lips. Castiel’s pause was too long to be a no, and his fingers had already found their way to Dean’s waist. They were making note of the way his blue button down clung to his sides, like the tee underneath had been soaking in all that sudden, nervous heat since before they’d ever even left the bar.
And so, Dean brushed their lips together, not a hesitation so much as dipping a toe, and a rush of butterflies went right to Cas’ head without mercy. Cas whimpered without meaning to, and Dean landed the meat of the kiss, hands falling down Cas’ neck and dragging that unruly sensation through. His lips were soft and his cheeks, five o’clock gritty. He worked Cas’ mouth open with a roll of his jaw, and a flirty burst of mint graced Cas with the pass of Dean’s tongue.
Castiel melted into it, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s head as he tried desperately to get a handhold on something. Their hips rolled together. Cas stole himself a handful of Dean’s ass. Felt Dean hard against him as he moved against Cas’ thigh.
Dean’s breath went rocky, like he was fighting some kind of tightrope walk of heavy and thin, and the sound he made was dirty enough to sin. Castiel nosed him, combed fingers through his hair as Dean pulled back. His eyes fell hot on Cas’ mouth. The shadows ate the flush from his face, but not the burning heat of it.
“Now tell me again,” he whispered, voice licking at Cas ear and coming out like gravy. “Tell me again what a kiss feels like.”
Castiel huffed, tried to catch his running brain. He couldn’t help himself, hands still at Dean’s waist, he held him there. The both of them were hard, and neither of them were in a hurry to do anything about it. “I would say… green makes a helluva sound,” he whispered back.
He watched a wicked smile crawl through Dean’s face. “There it is,” Dean hummed, dragging a chill with his thumb from the skin he’d bared at Cas’ side, and chasing it to Cas’ neck with a soft breath, a kiss. “An’ I’m just getting started too.”
Then, he pulled away, the absence of his sticky heat leaving Cas bare. The gravel chewed under Dean’s heels as he headed for the street, pausing only to stoop for the jacket he’d shed at some point on the way. He shook it off, straightened his tie. “Let’s go! We’re late!”
Castiel swallowed, hand to his stomach, and peeled himself from the brick.
He had been so confused when he couldn’t find his favorite pink hoodie (the one he wore almost every day in Bon Voyage). He looked everywhere for it, even blaming Jungkook for stealing it just to mess with him. The answer finally came when you had it balled up in your arms when you went to visit him one day. After a whole “YOU HAD IT THE WHOLE TIME” scenario, he would finally ask why you were returning it. When you told him why, he would get flustered and pull you by the hand into his room, only to open his closet and tell you to pick which hoodie you wanted.
When you entered his room and silently handed you his hoodie, he would be confused. When you said it didn’t smell like him anymore, he would get that signature smirk on his face and tease you a little. After he was done teasing you, he would grab his special you-can-only-buy-it-in-Dubai cologne and spray it on the fabric before handing it back to you
He, automatically thinking the worst, would freak out when he saw his hoodie folded up on his bed when he got home from practice. He would call you, not caring that it was 2:00 in the morning, immediately demanding to know the meaning of this. After you’d woken up enough to register what was going on, you would explain that it didn’t smell like him anymore, so you returned that one and grabbed another one when you had been by the dorm earlier. He would feel embarrassed after your explanation and would immediately apologize for waking you up.
He would also be confused at first, but your explanation would confuse him anymore. “But I don’t have a scent.” taken from when Yoongi said that Namjoon doesn’t wear cologne or body sprays When you explained that you were talking about his natural scent, he would still be confused, but would go grab you another hoodie from his closet just to try to move on from the conversation.
When you gave him his hoodie back and asked for a new one, he would ask why as he moved towards his closet. Once he heard your explanation, a blush would immediately appear on his cheeks and he would giggle quietly. He would hand you the new one he picked out and would whisper “I hope you like this one as much as the other one.” Before hiding his face so you wouldn’t see how flustered he was
The second you said his hoodie had stopped smelling like him, he would pull off the one he was wearing and try to pull it over your head for you. You would finally push his hands away and tug the hoodie over your head before staring at him in bewilderment. “What other hoodie would smell as much like me as the one I’m currently wearing?” He would inquire as he pulled the hoodie you just gave back over his own head.
“Aish, you know I don’t like sharing clothes!” He would nag at you and complain nonstop, all while going to his closet and pulling out another hoodie before throwing it at you. “You’re just as bad as Yoongi hyung!” He would pout as you stared at him.
Prompt:💕+ Tae +“You have to be very very quiet, the others are around.”
Pairing:Kim Taehyung x Reader
Warnings:moaning denial, dirty talk, fingering, Dom!Taehyung, almost getting caught
Notes:For my 3k present <3 2k Words
There was complete silence in the dorm room of the two 95 liners, nothing to be seen since darkness enveloped the area as soon as the clock struck eleven. It had taken only a little time to get adjusted to the black, silhouettes easily spotted due to the light coming from the green digital clock on the bedside table which separated two queen-sized beds.