#((Rung did not volunteer for this either

[rung-reforming-kaon-au]

I hope you’re getting paid for this, Rung.

"I wish that I could say that I was"

"but, not to worry! if this.. plan.. works out, then it'll all be worth it"

[fatherforgivethem]

Hotd meets the Hunger Games 🫢

“I keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don’t own me. You know, if I’m gonna die… I wanna still be me.”

Alicent Hightower had never expected for her name to be called at the reaping. She had never expected to talk to Otto Viridis as a crowd laughed at her sweet words. She most certainly did not expect to win her games and make it back home to Distract 4 when she was only sixteen years old. Her life seemed to be full of surprises; and it had not ended there. She had met Criston Cole by chance when she was walking down the docks in town. He had been bringing baskets of fish back to his shop when Alicent had bumped into him. And after a few words of apology, her life had changed once again.

She had taken a job at his shop where he sold the fish he caught. She needed something to do after moving to Victors Village. From there they got to know each other, and it was in that little shop that they fell in love. They had married and before she even knew it, they had three children, soon four, running around the docks.

Her life had continued to change when her son’s name was called at the reaping, when her eldest son at volunteered for him, and when it had happened all over again two years later. She had to watch them again and again go through what she went through, watch the way that they became killers like she did. Her arena had been so different from there’s. It was hot, dead, unlivable. She had only won when she had found poisonous berries that she forced two people to eat. The sound of their cannons going off still rung in her ears. And now it wound ring in her children’s ears for the rest of their lives as well. It was a cycle, and it would take a certain kind of person to break it.

Criston Cole never would have thought that he would have four children and wife that he called his. He hadn’t even expected to live past thirteen, let alone twenty. But he did, and he met the love of his life and they brought the most beautiful children into the world. A world that would take them away from their parents.

He had been forced to watch his two oldest boys kill others to stay alive. On most nights, he was either waking up in a cold sweat, or trying to get Alicent to wake up from one of her nightmares. Since winning their own games, Criston had been traveling down the hall to help Aegon and Aemond as well.

His life was full of horror as he watched those he loved crumble before him. When it would end, Criston would never know. What he did know, was that he would find a way to make it end, all of it.

Aegon had always been told to keep his head down. His mom made it clear that he was to never say the words “I volunteer!”. Those were words for careers, and Aegon and his siblings were not careers; they were the sons and daughter of a victor and a fisherman. And, if his mother could help it, it would stay that way. But it hadn’t; not when Aemond, who had only been thirteen, was called at the reaping.

Aegon had never raised his hand and said words so quick before. It was so quick that it almost felt like a thought that had slipped through his head. But it had happened, and before he knew it, he was being pulled to the stage and asked what his name was. He had tried his best to ignore the look of horror and unshed tears in his mothers eyes.

The capital had loved him. They loved his confidence, the risky jokes he would say. They saw him as a flirt, someone with a dashing smile. It worked, and before Aegon even knew it, people were placing their bets on a fifteen year old Aegon. He had hoped for an arena full of something similar to what he grew up with, maybe trees and water, but when he was shoved into a suit meant to keep him warm, he knew it would be an arena meant to kill. His hopes were crushed even further when he rose to an arena full of snow, a frosty forest, and a frozen and freezing ocean.

He had been the son of a fisherman, and it showed. He had set traps made out of rope that would strangle the other tributes. He had only won the games because he was a good swimmer. And so, when a boy from 2 and Aegon were in the water, Aegon was able to keep the other boy under as he continued to tread above the surface. Aegon had almost died from the cold. When Aegon was on the train back home, he swore he would find a way to make it all end, to stop the games.

Helaena hated each reaping with every fiber of her being. She hated the way that parents cried and children clung to friends and family. She hated seing videos of her mother, who was only a little girl, forcing another child to eat poisonous berries. She hated them more when her brothers were taken away from her, changed and never the same. She hated so many things, and it was because of the games, because of the President. Those however, were words never to be spoken out loud. Not if she wanted to have her family live to see another day.

When Aegon had won, stylists from the capital had come to their home in District 4 to force Helaena into puffy clothes and pin her hair back until her head was pounding. The times that she did love were when the games, the PR that her family did, were over and done with. It was a time that allowed her to sit by the water and sketch her designs. Or where she could bake in the kitchen as Aegon and Aemond taught Daeron how to play chess.

Her name had never been called, and for that she was incredibly grateful. It spared her parents more pain than they needed. It spared herself the pain. So, for now, in between games, she would simply be with her family.

Something was brewing, she could feel it in the air. She could see it when Aegon and their mother went on long walks in areas no one was allowed. Something was about to happen, a storm, and Helaena would try her best to be ready for it.

As soon as his little brothers name was called, Aemond had done the same thing his elder brother had done. He’d volunteered. He had done the one thing his brother had to go to the games for. It was as if they were in a cycle, like someone was testing to see how strong their family could hold. Well, whatever it was, Aemond was falling into the trap like the fish he caught each day.

With Aegon as his mentor, Aemond had felt prepared, something very rare when going into the games. His brother had prepared for almost everything. On how to survive the night if it was cold without attracting other tributes. He even taught Aemond how to appeal to the capital. They had loved his confident, yet shy, demeanor. People had commented on how much of a mix Aemond was with his older brother and mother. With Aemond entering the games, they had become obsessed with his family, and Aemond had tried his best to hide his distaste for their awing behavior.

He had hoped each night before bed that his arena would be nothing like Aegon’s. And when he had risen into an arena full of mountains and flowing waterfalls and rivers, Aemond had tried his best not to smile. Throughout his games, he did all he could to survive. He avoided the cornucopia and instead stole a backpack from a boy from 7. The way that Aemond’s flying knife had logged itself into the boys chest still popped into his head before he went to sleep every night. The boys name had been Luke, and Aemond would always remember that after having to give a speech to the boy’s family.

Aemond had won his games staying up and catching the smoke of the last four tributes. He had climbed high into the trees and had skillfully let his knives drop onto them. He had done it to get home. And when he had been pulled into his brothers arms on the train ride home, he knew that it had been worth it. To survive is to kill.

It had been hard to watch her little boy die by the hands of another child. Because Rhaenyra knew, within her heart, that the boy from 4 had no choice. And if her own son, if Luke, was given the chance, she hoped he would have done the same. She supposed it was better for Luke to go in the beginning than for her to watch him die as he got nearer to the end. Almost close enough to reach out for and touch, before being ripped from her. No, the boy from 4, Aemond was his name, had done her a kindness. However selfish it might have been. She had seen the sadness, the regret, when Aemond had come to district 7 on his victory tour and had given his speech.

She thought that she was given peace after her sons death, but as the games went on, another boy’s name was called. Her boy, her Jace. Another son was taken from her, Though, Jace had fought and he had lived. She didn’t know what was worse, watching her son die, or watching the other live yet die inside of himself. He had never been the same, it had taken months for him to sleep in his own bed. He had, after some months, finally been able to chop wood without having to cover his ears and sit curled into himself on the ground. He wasn’t a victor, he was a victim of the capital’s wicked games.

So, when her son, after coming home from another game of mentoring, had taken her deep into the woods to discuss a brewing rebellion; she had listened, she had agreed. It would end, it had to.

His brother had been killed and now he was sent to do the same thing to other children. Children like him who only wanted to survive. But only one was allowed, and everyone wanted that to be them. Jace included. It had only been two games since his brother had been killed, and now, at eighteen, Jace too had been chosen at the reaping. Not a soul had volunteered. All of the boys around him had stayed quiet, had looked down at the ground. Jace didn’t blame them. If it wasn’t for the shock, Jace would have laughed. It was his last year to get picked, and after seven years of not, he was chosen. What a joke.

His mentor had only taught him one thing, and that was to never team up with others. No matter what they offered, Jace was to refuse them. Luke had made the mistake of being naive, and Jace wouldn’t do the same. He wouldn’t let his mother lose another son. After their father had died, it had only been the three of them. And then Luke had been taken away, and then Jace. Each smile he graced the wretched capital with, he did it for his mom.

The arena he landed in had been a shock. After being able to finally open his eyes against the light, Jace had looked upon a land of sand. Only sand. It had taken more supplies than he wanted to find an oasis. He had been lucky in winning his games. He had gone against what his mentor had said and he had teamed up with others. When the rest of them were asleep, four cannons had gone off, and it had been Jace that had slit the throats of the other two tributes whilst they slept. It had been an easy win, is what the capital said. However, like the majority of other victors, it hadn’t felt like a victory.

It didn’t take much convincing to join the rebellion. After returning home, his mentor had taken him out into the woods, away from prying ears, and had told him everything. How there was a plan, how the famous Hightower family from District 4 was in on it. That after this coming games, they would bring an end to the Hunger Games and the conniving capital once and for all.

….Part 1 of 2

[fedorahead]

we spend our entire lives being taught how to identify phishing and nigerian prince and love scams but never taught why they work, only derision for the people falling for them

they work by exploiting our compassion for our fellow man, and a little bit our greed

if someone is asking for your support and not offering anything in return, it's not a scam, it's just a request.

if someone is on the main drag flying a sign, you can just walk past, you can give em something, you can make a new friend, or you can harass them. if you care that their spaceship probably didn't actually run out of fuel, that's kind of a you problem because the rest of us understand that the spaceship is a rhetorical device used to represent their real life struggles. and either way, the odds that you're gonna stop walking, stand and point, screaming about spaceships and liars, are pretty slim to none because you're a coward even if you did feel some major ethical violation for their sign being representational rather than literal. also because you know that some dude spanging is already in a lower position than you in society, doing what he can to try to survive. you understand that, and maybe you don't support his spacecraft habit, and you walk on by and none of this takes more than five seconds of your life. and fuck it, maybe he really did have a spaceship and it really did run out of fuel. it's not like you can cerify that.

so when you log onto tumblr and you see a bunch of requests for assistance for people in a warzone, it can feel really weird if you've lived a life of privilege and never seen people trying to survive before. when you think making rent is the biggest stressor in your life, it can be hard to understand there's a level below where getting a bottle of water is the line between life and death. your life is hard and nobody can take that from you, but you still have to recognize there are people on a lower rung with lives that are also hard and that fucking with them would be extra shitty and really unnecessary.

and maybe you see something that seems suspicious. maybe it's not a rhetorical device like a spaceship, but something that alerts your compassion scam sense like a gofundme being based in a different location than the person in need, or someone seeming to coordinate a huge amount of money to "several families" that you aren't sure are real. and it's not a spaceship, so they're not being upfront with their misleading if that's what they're doing, and so it makes you extra uncomfortable because you see others throwing as much care and compassion at these people as they can while you sit with an eyebrow quirked wondering how they could be so stupid to fall for these scams.

but you've skipped a few steps here. you have decided they are scams based on some red flags, which is fine when you're making a decision for yourself. but some red flags aren't enough to discredit someone, just enough to keep yourself safe. so scroll past and live your life.

if you want to start a campaign to tear them down, you have a lot more work to do! you have to actually do some digging! maybe even talk to strangers for more information!

when you come at someone, you gotta come correct. because whether you destroy their life or not, your oversight is gonna destroy you. and if you did not get absolute fucking proof that the person you're targeting is a genuine scammer, ignoring all of the ethical ramifications of attacking innocent people, you've chosen to alienate every single one of those passionate compassionate donors who are pouring their lifeblood into trying to make the world a better place. and they've been fighting for these people in the face of genocide (as far as they are concerned), so why the fuck would they back down in the face of someone on tumblr?

it's pretty weird to insist someone is scamming the greater internet for spaceship parts when there's an actual spaceship parts vetting process going on by volunteers specifically designed to rule out the people who don't actually have spaceships vs the ones who genuinely crash landed and need a hand. and there's photos of the spaceships. and you can converse with the people, actually talk to them, about their spaceship experience. hell, even have a friend also talk to them and see if you both get the same story. maybe look into the people aggregating all the spaceship requests into a spreadsheet of legitimate spaceship victims and see if their stories add up. communicate with the donors who say they talk to the people requesting parts every day. learn how the effort is going, how the money is getting to the families.

i'm sure there are some very real scams happening as these situations are rife with people trying to take advantage, and maybe you'll uncover some of them with your digging and then people can actually step in and help. but until you've put in that work, you're just kicking wildly into a crowd with better vetting and more community work than "dude sitting on the corner with a sign".

and if you wanna call the whole thing a conspiracy or flawed or whatever, do that without pointing the finger at people who are likely also victims of that conspiracy. do it honestly and with integrity instead of being an outrage culture harnessing little bitch.

[meganmackieauthor]

I Can't Get the Vampire Rogue to Romance Me - Ch 7

“Just leave off me,” Valerian snapped as he shrugged off Evangeline’s hand and straightened, clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t just revisited the contents of his stomach all over the ground. 

She didn’t care to take them in, either, knowing what she knew about him… that he was… he was…

Dammit. I did know a little bit ago, she thought. She kept reaching for those thoughts, but it was like they were behind a barrier she couldn’t quite get past.

“Are you alright?” Hagor asked her, setting a concerned hand on her shoulder.

“What? Oh, yes. I guess. I’m just having trouble thinking right now. Probably still the effects of whatever the goblins hit us with, you know?” She brushed a tendril of hair back over her ear, which allowed her to politely shrug off Hagor’s hand without seeming like she meant anything by it. “We need to find somewhere safe to hunker down and figure out our next move,” Evangeline said, then gestured at Valerian, “before the sun comes up, especially for his sake.”

Valerian’s eyebrows shot up while Hagor’s crinkled together. “Why would that be a concern?” he asked. 

“Well, because he’s a…” and again, she couldn’t remember, even more so when Valerian’s eyes narrowed to threatening slits at her. “I… Sorry. I knew why a minute ago.”

“Sounds like you really got your bell rung harder than the rest of us,” Valerian said with a jovial tone of voice that also had a note of warning to it, contradicting the coldness of his stare. That look certainly made his handsome face look ugly.

“I can find us sanctuary,” Hagor volunteered, seemingly oblivious to the tension between his two new companions. “It will take a few minutes though.”

He resumed sitting on the ground, his legs crossed once more. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths. At first, nothing happened, but then a light shimmer seemed to coat his skin, like a veil of starlight. 

“I guess we just wait,” Evangeline said.

Then, as if that statement summoned them, goblins shouted from nearby. Immediately, Evangeline and Valerian crouched down, eyes snapping up warily to peer into the dark. Unfortunately, Evangeline didn’t have any special abilities for night-seeing. 

“Anything?” she asked Valerian, and even though she had been speaking softly, he shushed her sharply. He continued focusing for three breaths.

“Dammit, they’re coming this way,” he said, and he reached out each of his hands to touch her and Hagor. Inky shadow peeled off from the ground under him, filling the space they were crouched in, obscuring what little the moonlight revealed. “Stay quiet. As long as they don’t try to detect magic, they shouldn’t see us.”

Evangeline nodded, and even though she knew he couldn’t see her, she reached up to take Valerian’s hand so he could lean back and not have to stretch so uncomfortably to touch her. For a brief moment, she thought he would pull away, but then he gripped her back. If it wasn’t for the deadly situation, it would be pretty nice.

Long seconds passed as they waited, the shouting getting louder.

Then like a pair of deer, two figures leapt over a bush to run past them. In the moonlight, their collars winked, another pair of prisoners escaping with less luck.

The goblins were right on their heels. One swung with its club, connecting with the figure on the left’s body, knocking them over. The fleeing prisoner cried out in pain, bringing their arm up to defend way too late. The other slowed, spinning on their heels to lift up their hands before them. 

“Sezar[MM1] !” they shouted, and a bright flash popped up in front of the goblins both blinding and pushing them back with an otherwise unseen force. 

“Come on, get up,” a deep, musical female voice ordered harshly, as the figure who cast the magic rushed forward to help their partner up.

More goblins poured in around them, however, and he had to turn again, blasting a fire bolt from his hand that went wide, and only managed to force the goblins to dodge around, but not stop them.

Evangeline couldn’t help herself. She attempted to rise, grasping for her +1 dagger, only to remember she had sent it to her camp inventory, which meant it wasn’t equipped. And they hadn’t gotten to camp yet. 

Naturally, Valerian grabbed her arm, stopping her. “What are you doing?” he dared to hiss, more urgent and alarmed than angry. 

“We can’t just leave them,” Evangeline hissed back, wresting her arm away.

The goblins were forming a loose circle around the mage and his unmoving partner on the ground. 

“We have to save ourselves,” Valerian argued.

One of the goblins lunged, scoring a hit with a rough-looking piece of metal they were using as a sword. The mage grabbed his arm, crying out in pain, even as he attempted to shoot another fire bolt out of that wounded arm. It took went wide, but it did hit the goblin beside them. 

“Careful, idiot!” another goblin barked. “You kill him, we’ll have to drag back a corpse. No way to get the collars off otherwise, so don’t kill ’em.”

“My back hurts enough as it is!” a third goblin roared, then laughed heartily at his own joke. 

“I’ll burn you all if you so much as touch—” 

Then the mage’s partner attempted to make a run for it, moving so fast they actually outpaced the goblins and would have gotten away, but then their collar flashed. Like someone had yanked them back on a string, their feet flew out as their head snapped back, dropping them to the ground. At the same time, Evangeline and Valerian were yanked forward, not enough to fall over, but offset their balance to need to catch themselves. Hagor shifted too, but it had not broken his trance.

Then the two rogues looked at each other, barely visible in the darkness they were cloaked in, conscious of a newly discovered fact. 

Their collars had linked with the two newcomers. 

“Dammit,” Valerian muttered and slid his hand down his thigh, somehow pulling a hidden blade out of the lining of his clothes. He offered it to Evangeline, then slid his hand down the other one. “Okay, fine,” he sang out. “Let’s go be big damn heroes.”

[lctibule]

❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. / si-u (i think it’d be interesting to have them meet 👀)

assorted dialogue promptsㅤㅤ☾ㅤㅤaccepting!

ㅤhe doesn't do anything to stifle the quiet laugh that escapes through his nose at the words, a sentiment he's all too familiar with and not so far off from himself in this particular moment. if he worked a job after school like sol does — as he's all too aware that sol does because byan never shuts up about the guy the rare time that they're actually in the room he shares with them these days — he's sure he'd already be there but, lucky for him, he hasn't even got a volunteer shift this evening. if he wants, he can go straight home and have a nap, and something tells him that even if sol isn't working tonight, he won't be quite as lucky.

ㅤㅤ" yeah, well... i'm sure byan'll make sure you don't have to worry 'bout that. "ㅤa wry sort of smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, though it holds more dry amusement than it does anything mocking — he's experienced being dragged along at byan's whim many times for himself, after all, and can only imagine how much worse it must be for their boyfriend.

ㅤㅤ" they're, uhm. they're pretty good at doing all the thinking for you, is all i mean. ...maybe not thinking, exactly, but making the decisions, for sure. "ㅤhe laughs again, a little harder this time, but catches himself with a quick clear of his throat. falling silent then for a moment, si-u listens to the sounds of the schoolyard — the loud chatter coming from all directions as everyone meets up now that the final bell has rung, either to say goodbye before heading home or to move to a more interesting location together, paired with the shouting of some of the sports teams as they start getting ready for practice in the field, as well as... that weird sort of silence that lingers when you're used to having byan around but they aren't there.ㅤ" ...speaking of, did they get detention again? they're usually the first one out here... —then again, i'm always more surprised when they're actually at school for the whole day than i am when they're late leaving. "

[giesswrites2]

ೃ ⋆｡˚. DARYL DIXON X FEMALE READER.ೃ࿔* WARNINGS! — suggestive (?), baby talk, and mild swearing! CONTENT! — reader and daryl share a moment while feeding judith; soft, mutual pining, one shot.

LOOKING DOWN at judith’s precious face, you feel the smile form on your lips as you rock her gently. you had eagerly volunteered to feed her, anxious to finally hold rick’s new baby girl in your arms. now she slept soundlessly, both you and daryl watching her in wide eyed wonder. she was so tiny — so gentle — you felt your heart clench as you whispered: “god, she’s an angel.”

“a little badass is what she is.” daryl corrected, voice soft beside you. the two of you stood side by side, suspiciously close together but too enamored by the baby to care.

the longer you stared at judith, the more you weighed the risk of having a baby of your own. lori’s fate should’ve been enough to scare you straight, but your heart screamed otherwise. had someone asked you a year ago — still wide eyed and cheery from starting college — if you were considering having kids any time soon, you would’ve said “absolutely not, are you kidding?”. it was almost ironic that now, in a world where the dead was walking and the living fought to get by, you were considering motherhood. you almost laughed at how drastically your views had changed.

“can you image yourself being a parent?” you asked absentmindedly, watching the baby girl’s little nose scrunch up. “or at least, did you ever imagine it before the world went to shit.”

“nah,” daryl huffed, and you felt him shift beside you at the question. “never crossed my mind.”

“i never really thought about it either.” you confessed earnestly, recalling all the times you had avoided babysitting in favor of literally anything else.

“why not?”

“i was young — i am young, i know that. holdin’ her just makes me wonder.“ frowning, you let the following words sit on your tongue for a bit before speaking them out, “am i willing to bring a baby into this world?“

“thoughtchu said you were young.”

“what does it matter now,” you sighed, thumb caressing the soft skin of judith’s cheek. “i just wanted my freedom; didn’t wanna sacrifice it to raise a kid.”

“well, what do you want now?”

“i don’t know,” you admitted, and with a heavy heart you added: “a purpose?”

the silence rung between the two of you for a couple seconds but you couldn’t say you were all too surprised. they already carried the responsibility of one baby, they didn’t need you adding another to the mix — not when it was already so difficult to find enough baby supplies for judith alone. you mentally readied yourself for daryl to chew you out, to snap you back to reality before you got ahead of yourself. instead he said:

“i can give you a purpose.”

at the implication, your head shot up to look at daryl, finally acknowledging your proximity; his face is so close to yours that you can see the dirt speckled on his cheeks, the sweat on his brow, and the slight shimmer of green in his bright blue eyes. “yeah?” you mumbled, gaze flickering to his lips for the briefest of seconds.

“yeah,” daryl hummed, and you’re almost positive that he’s leaning in. that is, until he backed up completely and picked his crossbow off the table. “ask rick to give you ‘nother shift at that watch tower, you’ll have plenty of purpose there. ”

“shut up,” you exhaled a laugh, careful not to startle the baby and ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest.

“think you’ve been spendin’ too much time ‘round little ass kicker.”

“get out of here, dixon.” you glared playfully, watching the man bite back a smile as he left the cafeteria.

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Two (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: Okay so the first chapter kinda flopped but that is okay, we shall persevere. I’ve already written half the chapters so there’s no going back now. Thank you so much to those who commented and supported the last chapter, I’m so glad you liked it. Let me know if you want to be added to either the series taglist or my main taglist!

“Well, well, well,” Robin began as soon as you walked into the video store. “If it isn’t my favourite customer.”

“You might want to cool it a bit there, Buckley. Vicki might get jealous,” you retorted, a blush instantly erupting onto Robin’s face at the mention of her crush.

“Have you still not asked her out?” Steve called from where he was re-shelving video tapes in the ‘new releases’ section.  

“It’s not that easy, Harrington, she does have a boyfriend, remember? Plus, last time I checked you were just as single as I am.”

“Woah, woah, woah, why are we attacking me now?” Steve approached the counter, smiling as he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. You guys were really great last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that? I am in the band too in case you’ve forgotten,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want the compliment to go to your head. It’s already big enough.”

“Says you.”

“I saw you talking to a pretty girl last night, Steve,” you interjected. “Any luck finding the love of your life?”

“Oh yeah, Samantha,” Steve reminisced. “I don’t know. She’s pretty, but I just don’t know if she’s for me, you know?”

“It must be so hard for you,” you responded with a smile. “Having to reject girls left and right. Should I get you a stick so you can beat the hordes away?”  

“Excuse me for taking my love life so seriously. It’s not all about sex for me, you know.”

“How chivalrous of you,” you said before wondering over to a nearby shelf. “Do you guys have anything new in? I feel like watching something different.”

“You? Different? Please,” Steve responded. “I’ll recommend something and you’ll still take out something you’ve already seen.”

“Ghostbusters?” Robin interjected.

“Hmmmm,” you said.

“Sixteen Candles?”

“Hmmmm,”

“Back to the Future?”

“Oh, yeah!”  

“You’ve seen that film like 8 times!” Steve protested.

“You just need to be more in tune with the customers,” Robin teased as she rung up the tape for you. “What are you doing tonight? Did you wanna come to the movies with Vicki and me?"

“No can do,” you said. “I’m working tonight. Plus, I refuse to third wheel.”

“It’s not a date!” Robin quickly clarified. “At least I don’t think it is.”

“I promised Henderson I’d drive him somewhere,” Steve added.

“You two are boring!” Robin whined.

“And I thought I was his babysitter,” you said with a smile.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve flipped you his middle finger which caused you to let out a loud laugh just as the bell above the front door chimed.

“Speaking of the devil,” Steve said as you turned around to see Dustin, Mike and Lucas entering the store.

“Y/N!” Dustin exclaimed.

“What do you want?” you responded with a quirked eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed to be excited to see my friend?”

“You’re never excited to see me,” Steve interjected. “And I’m the one volunteering my time to drive to Eddie’s place tonight.”

“Stop being a martyr, Steve,” Dustin said before turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Working. Why?” you said suspiciously.

“By yourself?”  

“I’ll be with Meg for a little bit but I’ll be closing by myself. Why?” you asked again.

“Oh no reason. No reason at all,” Dustin said as a wicked grin spread across his features.

“Is it just me or did that sound super sinister?” you asked, turning back to face Robin and Steve.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Robin responded. “I’d prepare for your shift to be eventful.”

“I swear to god if you guys rope me into another one of your prank wars I will not show mercy this time,” you said, pointing a finger at all three of the boys. Mike and Lucas turned to look at each other, something close to fear passing between them.

“No, no. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise,” Dustin said. “Just another boring night at the record store, I’m sure.”

You squinted your eyes at Dustin suspiciously. “You’re a weird kid, Dustin.”

He simply smiled back.

---

As much as you didn’t want to, you had to admit that Dustin had been right; your shift was indeed exceptionally uneventful.

It had been tolerable at first when Meg’s shift had overlapped with your own, for even though the girl was not the chattiest of people, you had grown to find comfort in the long stretches of silence that would often ensue when you were in her company.

“Did you read over those lyrics I gave you?” you asked, calling across the empty store to where Meg was tidying by the door.

“Yeah,” she called back. “I like them, but I made a few changes so that they fit in with this chord progression I’ve been working on.”

“Cool. You can show me at practice tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

And then the silence was back, interrupted by the sound of the record that was turning slowly on the record player by the counter. It was the first album of The Smiths, the melodic tune of Morrissey’s voice flowing throughout the store. You hummed along as you reorganised the sale’s bin, your finger tapping away subconsciously to the beat as it skimmed over each record.

“I’m off,” Meg said suddenly from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound of her voice.

“Jesus! How do you walk so quietly?”

Meg shrugged her shoulders, her face emotionless.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and keep me company? I’ll be ever so lonely here by myself,” you continued.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m not,” Meg responded with a curve of her lips that could almost be considered a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, though.”

“Ugh, fine then, leave me to my loneliness!” you cried as Meg exited the store with a half-hearted wave.

The music continued to float lazily throughout the store as the sun continued to set, the little bell above the door periodically chiming every now and then as customers wandered in. You assisted the ones that looked lost and left others alone, their ears usually covered by the headphones of a Walkman so that it was clear they didn’t want to be disturbed. When the store was empty you allowed yourself to linger by the counter, lazily flipping through your notebook. The cover was black, the book looking wholeheartedly uninspiring from the front but containing almost all of the songs you had ever written. With a pen held in one hand, you idly scribbled within its contents.

When The Smiths album had finished you searched through the racks for something more upbeat to finish off the night with, pulling out an album whose cover had been worn down from excessive use. You smiled before pulling the record free, placing it gently upon the turntable before guiding the stylus into place. Freddie Mercury’s voice filled the store as you found yourself unable to stop from swaying to the tune. You looked towards the clock that sat just above the desk and smiled; merely half an hour left of your shift to go.

As you began packing up the store, you sung lazily here and there, oftentimes glancing around to make sure no customers had somehow wandered in unnoticed. With the broom in your hand, you made your way throughout the aisles, pulling the bristles along with you as you slowly began to accumulate more and more dust. At the familiar notes of the opening of one of your favourite songs, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Can anybody find me somebody to love?” Freddie’s voice sang, resounding throughout the store.

In one swift motion you leant the broom against one of the racks and hastily made your way over to the counter, hoisting yourself up and over it so that you could just barely reach the record player. With a twist of your wrist, the volume was turned all the way up, the music now blasting throughout the store.

“Each morning I get up I die a little,

can barely stand on my feet.

Take a look—take a look in the mirror and cry,” you sang, trying to cover all the different parts and failing as you meandered your way back over to your broom and picked up sweeping where you had left off.

Whether it was because the volume on the record player was turned up to its maximum or whether it was because you were completely consumed in the song, in the end it didn’t really matter. Either way you still failed to hear the chime of the bell above the front door.

“I work hard—he works hard—every day of my life

I work till I ache in my bones.”

The sound of shoes tapping against the floorboards was again drowned out by the sound of the music as a figure drew closer to you, the footsteps slow and hesitant until they eventually came to a stop a few feet behind you.

Eddie couldn’t quite help the smile that erupted onto his features at the sight of you. He thought it wise that he should probably make his presence known to save you any more embarrassment than you would likely already feel. But then you were singing once more and Eddie could no longer bring himself to do so. Your back was to him as you swept, your pulls of the broom languid and half-hearted so that you missed several spots upon the floor. And although Eddie could not see your face, he knew that you were smiling.

“I get down on my knees and I start to pray,

‘til the tears run down from my eyes.”

You continued to sweep as you sang, slowly making your way backwards as you dragged along your pile of dust. You were getting closer and closer now, Eddie realised, although as much as he knew he should, in that moment he seemed incapable of moving. It could have partly been because his legs had slightly turned to jelly now that he was back within your presence, but it could have also been because, somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted you to run into him, if only to feel you against him for the briefest of moments.

“Lord, somebody, ohhh, somebody.

Can anybody find me somebody to love?”

You were belting the note now, smiling as you did so, quite positive that you would have sounded far better had you taken the time to warm your throat up properly. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care as the music blasted throughout the store. Banging your head to the beat, you pulled the broom backwards quite forcefully this time to gather the mound of dust you had accumulated.

“Oof!” sounded from behind you as your elbow connected with something.

The sound that left your throat was somewhere between a scream and a choked cough that was wholly embarrassing as you scrambled away from the figure. Your heart was pounding now, thumping so loudly and so forcefully that you had to hold a hand up to your chest to make sure it didn’t rip right through your skin. Your eyes were wide, your breaths ragged and heaving as you glanced to the figure before you who was bending over, clutching at their stomach.

The mane of hair was the first thing you saw, and then it was the large brown eyes staring up at you from under it, paired with what appeared to be almost an embarrassed grimace.

“Hello,” Eddie said, his hands still clutched to his side where you had undoubtedly elbowed him.

And then it was your turn to be embarrassed as a heat crept up onto your cheeks.

“Jesus…fuc–sorry! I didn’t…you weren’t…the bell, I-”

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him, your heart still pounding, the urge to bring your hands up to cover your face almost overwhelming. Instead, you rushed quickly past Eddie and headed towards the counter, scrambling quite unceremoniously over the top of it until you reached the record player and moved the stylus until the music stopped. When you turned back to Eddie, the corner of his mouth was curved slightly upwards.

The silence was deafening.

“I-” you tried to begin again, the heat from your cheeks having in no way lessened. “I didn’t hear you come in. The bell…I didn’t hear the bell.”

Eddie was failing quite miserably at hiding the smile that threatened to consume his features as he watched you stumble, quite thankful that you wouldn’t meet his gaze lest you think he was laughing at you. He watched as you shook your head slightly to yourself, bringing your hands up to rub briefly at your temples.

“B-but anyway, sorry for all the trouble but we’re actually clo-” you began, looking up at the clock only to find yourself stifling a groan.

8:55PM.

You sighed, forced a smile onto your face before finally bringing your gaze up to look at Eddie.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Eddie swallowed a laugh as the tone of your voice changed; rising in pitch with a hint of fake enthusiasm mixed among it. But then he noticed that you were looking at him quite expectantly and he realised that although he had extensively prepared himself for this meeting, he had not quite thought this far ahead.

“Ugh…yeah! Yeah, I’m looking for...” Eddie’s gaze scanned the store. “I’m looking for…Metallica. Yeah! They’re new album!”

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly at Eddie before turning your gaze from his.

“That’ll be in the rock section,” you said, before rushing off unexpectantly so that Eddie found himself scrambling to keep up with you. You weaved expertly through the aisles before stopping abruptly, your fingers instantly coming up to flick through the rows of records that sat before you until you eventually found what you were looking for. “It’s a good album. Got some great tracks although the last two songs aren’t my favourite.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie questioned, not being able to help himself. “They’re the perfect way to end the album. They’re like the fusion of the savageness and beauty of all the other songs.”

Your eyebrows furrowed once more just as Eddie’s eyes went wide, the realisation of what he had just said hitting him all at once. He averted his gaze from yours, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“That’s…ugh…that’s what I’ve heard anyway,” he quickly tried to rectify.

“Uh-huh,” you responded to break the silence that had erupted between you. “Soooo…do you wanna buy it or…”

“Um,” Eddie stumbled again, not knowing what to say. He did not particularly feel like paying for an album he already had sitting upon his shelf back at his trailer. But then he looked up towards you once more, the record still held within your hands, and he could not quite allow himself to be weirder than he had already been. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Cool. I’ll ring it up for you at the counter,” you said before rushing away from Eddie once more. Eddie followed you to the counter, watching as you concentrated on the large computer before you, clicking away absentmindedly on the mouse and periodically typing something into the keyboard. The silence between you had returned now and Eddie so wished you hadn’t turned off the record player even if you had been playing Queen.

“I’m, ugh,” Eddie said hesitantly as he tried to break the silence. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“I know,” you responded, not looking up from the computer. “I was in senior year with you. We had Mrs Click’s class together.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to furrow his brows. “You remember me?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your gaze looked up towards him, suddenly serious. “Of course I do.”

“I-I just thought,” Eddie stuttered, feeling a heat begin to creep up his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

You turned your attention back to the computer a small smile perched upon your lips that Eddie found himself unable to look away from. “You’re a hard guy to miss, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, his blush now so vibrant he had to turn his head downwards in an attempt to get his hair to cover it. He cleared his throat and forced himself to stand up straight as he looked at you.

“I saw your gig last night,” he tried to say with some semblance of confidence.

You smiled again. “I saw you at my gig last night.”

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant. “You guys were alright.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze back towards him. “Alright?” you questioned, acting offended. “That’s quite the scathing review.”

“Yeah, well, if you limit yourself to ABBA covers I can’t really rate you any higher.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?”

“Oh, I don’t know, their music.”

You smirked upwards at Eddie now, crossing your arms in front of you as you leaned onto the counter; leaned closer to him. Eddie tried to keep his composure as the scent of your perfume suddenly encompassed him; something sweet and yet smoky that for some reason had his mouth starting to salivate.

“Just because somethings popular, Munson, doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Eddie said, bending down so that he was also leaning on the counter. For just a moment, he swore he saw a tint of red appear on your cheeks, but then you were rolling your eyes and turning away as you returned your attention back to the record that sat between you.

“So I suppose you think these guys are musical geniuses?” you questioned.

“Of course they ar-”

“Why?” you interjected.

“W-well,” Eddie fumbled, trying to think of a response. “They’re manipulation of music is legendary. They create art.”

“Art. I like that,” you said so softly it was almost a breath, another smile encompassing your features. “Do you want to know what I look for in the artists I choose to listen to?”

“Is it whatever’s on the popular rack at the time?” Eddie said with a smirk. He nearly laughed as you rolled your eyes, pulling away as you began to place the record into a bag.

“A story. Music is just another form of storytelling, and I think the addition of instruments only enhances the story more when it comes to the listeners emotional response.”

“Emotional response?” Eddie scoffed as he unfolded himself back to his normal height.

You looked up at him. “Have you ever heard a song that makes you want to cry?”

Eddie furrowed his brows at your sudden serious tone. “No.”

“Well then you’re missing out on the real beauty of music.”

Eddie found himself at a loss for words as he looked down at you. He thought he should probably say something profound, maybe disagree with you whilst he was at it. But as he opened his mouth nothing came out.

“That’ll be $15.”

Eddie blinked. For just a moment he wasn’t quite sure whether the conversation had even ensued between the two of you as you smiled at him, the bagged record extended towards him. He grabbed it tentatively.

“R-right,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to extract his wallet. As he handed you the cash, he made sure to do so in a way that would have your fingers brushing against his. And even though he was expecting the contact, he couldn’t quite help the racing of his heart as your soft skin brushed against his.

You hesitated slightly as you took the money, and as you realised what you were doing you tried to compensate by hastily shoving the money into the till. A silence settled between the two of you as you continued to look up at Eddie and as he continued to look down at you.

“Were you guys entering the Battle of the Bands?” Eddie questioned.

“Ugh, yeah,” you said. “Took me a while to convince the others since they’re pretty sure the judges won’t score us high cause we’re girls but-” you paused, realising that you were rambling. “Were you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot upwards, surprised that you were even aware of his band.

“Y-yeah! We are!” he exclaimed. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you responded. “So what does that make us then? Enemies?” you said with a laugh.

Eddie smirked. “I suppose it does. We probably shouldn’t be seen fraternising with each other then. Some people might think I’m giving you tips.”

You scoffed. “Who said we needed tips from a mediocre rock band?”

Eddie shot his hands towards his heart, pretending to be wounded.

“Mediocre? Now that’s a low blow.”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

“You said we were alright.”

“That’s still better than mediocre.”

“Well that’s because we are better than you.”

Eddie leaned down towards you tauntingly. You refused to pull away.

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to let the competition decide.”

Eddie smirked down at you and you smirked back.

“May the best band win.”

And then you were pulling away, leaving behind the scent of your perfume that had Eddie urging to follow you. He inhaled deeply before leaning back himself, slinging the bag of the record over his shoulder.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Munson. We did technically close three minutes ago and I have places to be.”

Eddie smiled, walking slowly backwards towards the door. “You know I might just have to start coming here instead of the store across town.”

You smiled back. “And why is that?”

“Well, here I get great service and a show.”

A deep blush crossed your face, your smile dropping. “I swear to god, Munson, if you tell anyone what you saw tonight, I’ll murder you.”

Eddie smirked. “Next time if you switch the broom for an actual guitar I might leave you a bigger tip.”

“Next time it might be the broom I hit you with!”

Eddie couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him.

“Night, princess. Have fun with the sweeping.”

And then the bell was chiming above him as he left.

---

Eddie couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face as he walked back to his van with a skip to his step, a record he already owned held within the bag slung over his shoulder. A mop of brown hair stared at him through a pair of binoculars from the front seat of his van as he walked, a toothy grin situated upon Dustin’s face as he noticed Eddie’s smile. At the sight of him, Eddie’s smile faltered, remembering all at once the purpose of the outing.

“So it went well then?” Dustin asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows as Eddie hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Eddie mumbled half-heartedly.

“So she said yes?”

Eddie turned to look at Dustin, confused.

“What?”

“When you asked her out? She said yes, right?”

“Ugh,” Eddie stammered. “No. Well, not yet. I didn’t actually ask her.”

Eddie turned his keys in the ignition and backed out of his spot with slightly more speed than was strictly necessary.

“What?” Dustin exclaimed. “That was the whole point of this mission!”

Mission. Eddie flinched.

“Yeah well, it didn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t feel right. The competition’s a week away! You don’t exactly have time for everything to feel right.”

“Well then we’ll just do a cover for the first round. It’s not the end of the world.”

Eddie kept his gaze fixated on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles went white. Dustin, noticing the silence in the car, turned his attention to the bag that sat beside him, the label of the record store clearly printed on the front.

“Ohh, what did you get?” he questioned, not waiting for Eddie to answer as he opened the bag and rummaged through. “Wait,” Dustin hesitated. “Don’t you already have this album?”

“Shut up.”

---

Songs Used:

- Somebody to Love by Queen

---

Main Taglist:

@alicetweven​ @juggernort​ @theh3aven​ @manamitoyota​ @mimiluvsualot​ @cherrypieyourface​ @kaqua​ @c0untryclub​ @goldencherriess​ @emotionaldreamer​ @givemethesleep​ @milkiane​ @miscreantsnopossoms​ @legendaryfestsoul-blog​

Series Taglist:

@grungegrrrl​

[tarydarrington]

It’s only a murmur at first. One more of the Mighty Nein has married, with a small but beautiful wedding in the Menagerie Coast. The Bright Queen is mildly offended to have been both uninformed and uninvited - particularly after the same offense had been given by both the Lavorres and the Nydoorins - but sends her regards, nevertheless. Then the curious part makes its way through the grapevine into Xhorhas. For Caleb Widogast had always been almost overly friendly with the late Shadowhand, and all the whispers name his new husband Essek.

It’s absurd, of course - Shadowhand Essek perished in the Astral Sea years ago. The Mighty Nein had given the tearful report themselves, and what reason had they to lie? His replacement had made sure, regardless; scrying had turned up no trace. But the Dynasty is nothing if not thorough, and so the first Taskhand to volunteer finds himself far away from home with a mystery to solve.

The rumors get clearer the closer he gets to the Nein’s favorite haunts. The Taskhand’s heart skips a beat the first time someone suggests the mysterious husband is indeed a drow, and is surprised that most others he asks confirm it.

He gets nothing from the Blooming Grove. It’s difficult to tell whether the firbolg, the aasimar, and the tiefling are playing dumb or not playing at all, though he suspects it’s a mix of the two. They run him in circles with intentional misunderstandings, and he writes them off as a lost cause at the end of two days.

The Lavorres are even less helpful, though this time he’s absolutely certain it’s on purpose.

He goes to the monk, next; he wrings out of the others that she spends most of her time at the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum these days, and from there it’s easy enough to track down her home and wait there. She rolls her eyes when he explains his business, but agrees to let him question her as she sits down for dinner.

“It’s a common name,” she says through a mouthful of food, when he brings up the coincidence.

“It really isn’t,” the Taskhand replies.

She shrugs. “You know I met a guy named Bo once? That was pretty weird.” She pauses to chew for a moment. “Cause my name’s Beau.” Before he can press further, she waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “Listen, man, I met the Shadowhand and I know Caleb’s husband. Definitely not the same guy. Trust me.”

She points him with a heavy sigh in the direction of the Brenattos, whose brand new apothecary is nestled into a bright little street in Nicodranas. A grinning little boy answers the door, but is quickly shuffled behind a pair of stone-faced halflings. He begins the same way as he had with the others, but gets not even so far as his first question before finding a crossbow aimed directly between the eyes.

None of it is enough. He will get no information from these people, and it isn’t worth getting shot to try. What he needs, in the end, is to find Caleb Widogast, himself.

The Taskhand considers waiting there. By all accounts, the man and Veth Brenatto are close as friends can be, and he’s almost guaranteed to find him if he waits here long enough. But he’s itchy to find what he can as quickly as possible, and instead he asks around some more.

It isn’t easy. The leads almost always take him either nowhere, or to yet another cryptic clue in this odd scavenger hunt. The wizard in Nicodranas claims not to have seen him in years, despite assurances from the local courtesan that he had been seen entering the tower not a month ago. A shopkeep in Zadash runs him around for nearly an hour before at last admitting that he has no information, but would the Taskhand like to buy a potion anyway?

Then, at last, by chance, he sees him. Passing through the town of Trostenwald on the word of a guard in Alfield, he passes by a red-haired wizard in the market, speaking with a Zemnian accent and wearing a ring on his finger.

“Caleb Widogast?”

The man turns, surprise and apprehension on his face as he takes in the Taskhand’s armor. Nothing too conspicuous in the heart of the Empire, but clearly of Rosohna to those who know what to look for.  The helmet must be the most intimidating part of it, even without the usual beetle-like shape.

The Taskhand bows. “I have business with you, on behalf of the Bright Queen.”

Caleb shows him to a little, nondescript house on a little, nondescript street. It seems his aversion to revealing his hiding place is outweighed by his desire to have this conversation somewhere private. With the door firmly locked behind them, Caleb sets about drawing a teleportation circle on the floor as they speak. A tactic to draw the Taskhand’s attention away from his reactions, perhaps?

“Your husband.” No reason not to get to the point.

Caleb’s fingers catch in their pattern for just the shortest instant, but it’s enough to catch the Taskhand’s attention. “Ja, what about him?”

“Word has reached the dynasty that he may be someone of interest.” He clasps both hands behind him, clutching his own fingers a bit too tightly. “Someone we were told was no longer with us in this life.”

Caleb tilts his head a moment, as though trying to remember something. “Ah,” he says at last. “The Shadowhand, you mean. No, he is not.”

The Taskhand arches an eyebrow. “Is he present?” he asks. “I would like to meet him for myself before returning to the Bright Queen.”

“Ah, no,” Caleb says apologetically. “He did not accompany me to the city.”

“Where is he, then?”

Caleb’s fingers drum against the wood floor. “He has business elsewhere, I did not ask.”

The Taskhand moves to stand across the circle from Caleb. “I’m very curious,” he says, “where did you meet a drow outside of Xhorhas?”

Caleb looks up, brow furrowed in what might be warning. “I am pretty well traveled,” he says. “There are not many drow outside of your country, but that does not mean there are none.”

The Taskhand hums. “I have heard that this particular drow is a dunamancer,” he says. A little white lie, but it catches Caleb’s attention.

“No,” he says firmly. “Your sources are mistaken.”

The Taskhand takes another step forward. “I don’t believe they are.” He leans down, watching the discomfort in Caleb’s posture grow with every second. The Taskhand gestures to the ring on his finger. “I think it would be in your best interest to stop lying.”

Without warning, Caleb’s hands flash away from the circle on the floor and towards him, magic buzzing angrily in the air.

“Wait!”

Something about his tone must have rung in just the right way, as Caleb’s hands freeze. Carefully, slowly, as though trying not to frighten off a stray cat, the Taskhand lifts off his helmet.

Caleb’s eyes scan his face for only a moment before his eyes widen. “You are…” His eyes catch on the slope of his nose, the lavender of his eyes, the angle of his cheekbones.

“Verin Thelyss.” He bows his head in greeting.

Caleb’s hands fall to his side, and he makes a weak little sound of acknowledgement before nodding himself. “Well, that is a surprise.”

Verin weighs the words on his tongue, running through every practical question he’s been told to ask, every ounce of professionalism he’s expected to uphold. “He’s spoken of me, then?” he asks instead.

Caleb nods silently. The conflict is written plainly on his face. The two of them don’t know each other, aside from whatever Essek has told him. He has no reason to believe that Verin won’t sell out his own brother. He’s under orders to do just that, after all, and the twinge of guilt hasn’t left his chest since he got here.

But… despite it all, it’s Essek. His brother. His blood. It might not mean much to Essek, but it does to him. He tucks the helmet under his arm and bows his head again.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. “But I think we should speak.” He chances a glance back up at Caleb, and lets the slightest grin tug at the side of his mouth. “We are brothers, after all, yes?”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

A Compulsive Gambler?!

Yumeko Jabami x She/Her Reader

A/N: Could you imagine Yumeko dating someone and they have no idea she’s, ya know, a gambling freak? I bet she would have a hard time pulling back like, she’d still gamble with her SO but in a sneaky, more subdued way. Something like, ‘if you can guess what number I’m thinking of you can pick what we eat for dinner’, or something like that. Seems innocent enough but she just can’t help herself into turning some interactions into gambles. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy! Word Count: 5,170

For perhaps the first time since Mary met Yumeko, the girl was a nervous wreck. The usually carefree gambling addict was pacing around the near empty classroom while she twisted the ring on her thumb around and around again with no sign of stopping. Finally, Mary had had enough. If Suzui wasn’t going to be useful and ask what the hell was going on, she would do it herself.

“What the hell is your problem? Are you going through withdrawals or something?” Mary asked with an annoyed huff.

“Oh Mary-san!” Yumeko practically moaned, the back of her hand raised to her forehead with over dramatic flair, “I don’t know what to do!”

“About what?” Mary asked, accompanied with an annoyed eye roll.

“My girlfriend is coming to visit tomorrow and she’s going to be staying with me over the weekend!” Yumeko blushed cupping her hands over her face at the mere thought of it all. It just made Mary more annoyed.

“And? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Ryota blinked, the poor boy seemed to always be falling behind.

“Yes, we’ve been together since our last year of middle school. We went to the same high school too until I transferred,” Yumeko gushed while she hugged herself, twisting and swaying slightly on her feet, “I love her so much! It’s been hard to be away from her all this time!”

Ryota scratched his cheek. “Then... why do you seem so uneasy?”

“Well that’s easy!” Yumeko cheered, a dazzling smile over her lips. A moment passed by and Yumeko appeared to pale considerably and a nervous sweat dotted her face, her body trembled and yet, the smile stayed in place. Mary and Ryota side eyed each other before staring back at Yumeko, waiting.

“She doesn’t know about my severe gambling addiction!” Yumeko finally disclosed.

“What?!” Mary and Ryota spoke in unison.

“Yes, it’s hard to believe isn’t it?” Yumeko sighed. “I’ve kept it hidden from her all this time because I feared what she would think of me if she found out. That, and I wouldn’t want her to get hurt from tagging along. I love that girl dearly and I can’t risk losing her.”

“How are you going to keep your secret, Yumeko?” Ryota’s worry for his friend was plain on his face.

“That’s where I’m hoping you two will come in!” Yumeko grasped a hand of Mary’s and Ryota’s in both of hers, a pleading pout on her face. “Help me keep her occupied and away from any mention of gambling!”

“Are you an idiot?” Mary scoffed, not waiting for an answer. “This school is all about gambling! Not to mention we’re in the midst of this insane election. You’d be better off just having her wait off of school grounds rather than parading her around for all your enemies to see.”

“Please Mary-san, it’s only for one day!” Yumeko cooed. She tried to wrap the blonde up in her arms, but Mary stood and held her away at arm’s length.

“I’m not gonna go out of my way for this fool’s errand. I’ve got to go meet with Ririka now. Figure it out yourself, but if you want my advice you should just come clean.” Mary said, giving Yumeko one last shove as she made her way out of the classroom.

“Oh yes, do you think Ririka-san would help? Maybe we could get Itsuki in on it as well!”

“You’re on your own!” Mary called from the hallway, making Yumeko whine.

“I’ll help you Yumeko.” Ryota predictably volunteered.

“Thank you, Ryota!” Yumeko bounced giddily, “Hopefully everything will run smoothly tomorrow if we play our cards right!”

***

“(Y/n)!” Yumeko jumped the girl as soon as she saw her approach the gates of the prestigious academy and showered her face with dozens of little kisses that made her girlfriend laugh and try to wiggle away from the continuous onslaught.

“Yumeko! I take it you missed me too then?” (Y/n) smiled, catching Yumeko’s face in her hands so she could land a few kisses of her own.

“Of course! You know it was one of the hardest decisions of my life to transfer here. I need to make up for lost time!” Yumeko grinned in return. She was about to steal another kiss when someone cleared their throat behind her.

“Oh, right!” Yumeko recalled, pulling (Y/n) to her side until they were near flush together. “Ryota, this is (L/n) (Y/n). (Y/n), this is Suzui Ryota, one of my friends!”

“Nice to meet you.” Ryota said. He was no stranger to feeling out of place, but after that intimate display he had never felt more awkward.

“Nice to meet you too, Suzui-san. I hope Yumeko hasn’t caused you too much trouble.” (Y/n) joked.

Thoughts of millions of yen in debt, gambling for nails, house pets, guns in a seedy basement, among other things, flashed almost violently in Ryota’s mind but he managed to keep a somewhat pleasant expression as he answered.

“Not at all! Yumeko’s a model student,” he lied.

“Oh god, I thought you’d be in the classroom by now. So much for a quiet morning.”

“Mary-san! Good morning!” Yumeko pivoted, still holding (Y/n) close, “Come meet my (Y/n)!”

“Hi. Saotome Mary. It’s a pleasure. Excuse us a second.” (Y/n) blinked and Mary was halfway through the courtyard before she noticed Yumeko being dragged along with her.

“Are you stupid?” Mary whispered harshly with no preamble once she found a secluded spot in the trees.

“Mary-san, what are we doing?” Yumeko asked, tilting her head like an inquisitive puppy would.

“How about what are you doing?” Mary hissed back. “The whole school must know you’re dating at this point!”

“Well that’s good isn’t it?”

“It’s the exact opposite of good! Do you have any idea how many people are gonna try to use her against you now? Use your head a little!”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to help me, Mary-san.” Yumeko giggled, “but you really do care about my happiness, don’t you?”

“Shut up!” Mary blushed, pushing Yumeko away before she could hug her. “I just don’t want some innocent girl to get caught up in this crazy school. Just be more discreet from now on. She already sticks out like a sore thumb without the Hyakkaou uniform.”

“I’ll do my best Mary-san!” Yumeko clapped. “It’ll be hard though since she’s just so kissable.”

“I didn’t ask.”

When they got back to the gate, they only saw Suzui looking around desperately while sweating bullets. When he finally saw Mary and Yumeko walking towards him, he ran up to them, breathing heavily.

“Ryota? Where did (Y/n) go?” Yumeko smiled.

“Iki... Ikishima’s girls took her! Tried to.. stop them but—“ Ryota panted and wheezed, stopping the retelling of his account once Yumeko rose her hand to his lips, directing him to silence.

“See? What did I tell you?” Mary groused. “And Ikishima of all people...” Mary shut her mouth tightly upon seeing the look on Yumeko’s face. The pure disgust and hatred that rolled off of her made Mary’s skin crawl.

“Ryota, Mary,” Yumeko eerily called, “it’s time for me to get my (Y/n) back from her visit to the trash heap. You’ll accompany me won’t you?”

It went without saying that Mary and Ryota followed after their friend. Whether out of fear or support, it could have gone either way. Even Mary thought it wise not to berate the usually carefree girl with ‘I told you so’s’ in this state.

They hurried to the bowels of the school and pushed through the beautification committee members. The members didn’t retaliate, one look at Yumeko’s face was enough to make them part their ranks like Moses and the sea. Yumeko approached the big metal door and knocked three times, loud metal echoes rung out over the hum of generators and fluorescent lights.

A wild laugh sounded upon the knocks. An eager cry of, ‘she’s here!’ could clearly be heard from inside as quick steps over linoleum could be heard tapping in rapid succession towards the door before it was wrenched open with a heinous squeak from its hinges that nearly matched pitch with Midari’s own delighted squeal upon being face to face with Yumeko.

“Yu-me-ko!” Midari sang, “so glad you could join us!”

Yumeko breezed past Midari without so much as a glance and went straight for (Y/n) who was tied to a chair in the middle of the room like some crime movie.

“Oh my (Y/n), are you alright?” Yumeko cooed, freeing (Y/n) from the gag and turning her face in her hands to look her over.

“I think so,” (Y/n) shivered, “just what kind of school do you go to where people are kidnapped at gunpoint?!”

The thought of Ikishima pressing that dirty gun against (Y/n)’s head made Yumeko want to curb stomp Ikishima’s head into a fine paste, but the deranged girl would have just loved that, wouldn’t she? Instead she worked on untying the ropes from (Y/n)’s middle, comforting her girlfriend along the way.

“It’s alright my love! The beautification committee is just really serious about following the dress code. They won’t bother you anymore.”

“Yumeko,” Midari moaned from behind her, “I brought her her so you would gah—!”

Mary slapped the girl hard over the back of her head and gave her a warning look. Midari shut up more out of the delight of being hit more than anything else.

“...’Gah’?” (Y/n) flicked her eyes over everyone in the room, trying to get some kind of explanation for what the hell was going on.

“‘Gah?’” Yumeko repeated right back with a smile. “Whatever does that mean, my dear?”

“I don’t know, the girl with the eye patch said it.” (Y/n) replied, finally loose from her bindings, she rubbed her hands over her arms where the scratchy rope had dug in.

“Oh sweetheart, you must be seeing things. I see no such girl here.” Yumeko said, causing a whimper to fall from Midari’s lips. “Let’s get to my class now, shall we?”

“Anywhere is better than here.” (Y/n) sighed, choosing not to question Yumeko about the girl who had taken her. She clearly didn’t like her and after being dragged here against her will, (Y/n) couldn’t say she enjoyed the crazed girl’s company either.

“That’s my girl,” Yumeko cooed, pulling (Y/n) tightly against her side. They walked past Midari as she blubbered and crawled over the floor towards Yumeko only to have the metal door slammed in her face.

“Come on, we’re already late!” Mary griped. “Some of us have scholarships to keep!”

“I just can’t wait to be sitting in a classroom with my (Y/n) again,” Yumeko sighed dreamily, “it will be just like old times!”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) smiled though she was still coming to terms with being held at gunpoint for wearing the wrong uniform. Yumeko hadn’t even seemed to be phased by it. Like it was something that was part of the school policy. We’re all rich people schools like this? Whatever, (Y/n) wasn’t going to let this one setback, no matter how momentarily terrifying, ruin her weekend with Yumeko.

Before they could make it to their classroom, the were jumped by another second year student with literal stars in her eyes as she grabbed Yumeko’s hands.

“Yumeko, I’m so glad I caught you!” She cheered.

“Oh hello Yumemi, what are you doing outside our classroom?” Yumeko asked.

“Waiting for you! It’s been so long since the Dreaming Creaming Sisters have performed and I need you to pretty please join me for a concert!” Yumemi sparkled.

“Dream—“ (Y/n) tried to muffle her inelegant snort with her hand but the action immediately drew in Yumemi’s attention, the idol’s face darkened slightly.

“Oh? What’s so funny stranger?” Yumemi asked with faux sweetness.

“I, um, sorry. It’s just uh, a unique group name you’ve got there.” (Y/n) answered sheepishly.

“Well, I’d like to see you come up with a better rhyme for dreaming!”

“Scheming, beaming, redeeming... meme-ing.” (Y/n) listed the first words that came to her head, making Yumemi’s smile tighten further with every suggestion.

“Who’s your friend, Yumeko?” The idol asked, fake interest rolling off her tongue.

“This is my girlfriend (Y/n)!” Yumeko said with pride. “Isn’t she just so cute and smart?”

‘Smart ass maybe.’ Yumemi thought to herself.

“Anyway, I’m sorry but I can’t perform with you right now. I’ve got class and I don’t want to leave (Y/n) alone.” Yumeko explained, hugging the girl for emphasis.

“I didn’t know you were part of an idol group now, Yumeko.” (Y/n) said as Yumeko guided her towards the doorway.

“It’s just a side hobby really.”

Before they could enter Yumemi pulled (Y/n) out of Yumeko’s hold, hugging her from behind, her starry eyes dancing with mischief.

“You’ve never seen Yumeko preform then, have you (Y/n)-san?” Yumemi asked, still hugging the other girl close as she weaved her trap.

“Yumeko has sang to me before, so I know she can sing very well.” (Y/n) admitted bashfully. “I’ve never seen her act as a full blown idol before though.”

“Isn’t that something you’d like to see? We could have it all set up in a matter of minutes, wouldn’t that be great?” Yumemi coaxed.

“I wouldn’t want Yumeko to do something she doesn’t want to do. Besides, her class is starting soon.” (Y/n) said.

“I didn’t hear a no.” Yumemi sing-songed while (Y/n)’s face buzzed with heat.

“If you’d like to see then I don’t really mind, (Y/n).” Yumeko grinned, pulling her away from Yumemi, “I like the idea of singing directly to you in a sea of people. They’ll all know exactly how much you mean to me.”

“Yumeko..” (Y/n) hid her face in the giggling gambling addict’s chest.

“Oh for the love of— are we going to class or not?” Mary yelled impatiently.

“I’m afraid I have a concert to prepare for Mary-san. Will you come watch with (Y/n)?” Yumeko asked.

“Fine whatever.” Mary bristled.

They all made to leave when Mary halted Ryota with a hand to his chest.

“Wh- what?” He asked, jumpily.

“You are going to stay here and take notes. They better be good ones too.” Mary threatened.

“But—“

“Notes, Suzui.” Mary commanded. The poor boy gave a resigned nod and with drooping shoulders he sulked into the classroom.

***

While Yumeko and Yumemi prepared backstage, Mary and (Y/n) found their seats and made light conversation as more bodies filed into the seats around them. Despite dating Yumeko, Mary found that (Y/n) seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.

“Saotome-san, what is that boy taking bets for?” (Y/n) asked.

“It’s just some weird niche idol thing Yumemite does. Don’t worry about it.” Mary dismissed, though inside she was worried this would become a bigger gamble that she couldn’t possibly cover up.

“This rich people school is so weird.” (Y/n) commented offhandedly.

“Tell me about it.” Mary agreed.

The house lights dimmed and the stage was set aglow. Upbeat music began to play and the crowd around them cheered as Yumeko and Yumemi entered the stage.

They sang their opening song and (Y/n) watched with delight, her heart beating faster every time Yumeko would meet her eyes throw a flirtatious wink or smile her way. (Y/n) would wave the red glow stick she was given in return.

“Now it’s time for the event you’ve all been waiting for!” Yumemi yelled over the crowd, causing them to cheer again. “The rematch of the century!”

“Rematch? What is she talking about Saotome-san?” (Y/n) asked.

“Ah, there just seeing who can do best in various idol based competitions.” Mary responded, truly hoping that that would be it, but Yumemite wasn’t done talking just yet.

“Before you all got here, one lucky seat was chosen for the spotlight! Let’s see who it is, shall we?”

Yumemi swept her hand across the packed auditorium and one light after the other blinked across the sea of bodies while the audience cheered. A bright light shone on (Y/n) and she blinked at the sudden brightness, surprised when the light didn’t immediately flicker back off.

“And there we have it! Our visiting guest from another school, how lucky you are!” Yumemi said with mock surprise as if she hadn’t had the thing rigged from the get go.

“You’ve won the opportunity to go on a date with one of us, the Dreaming Creaming Sisters! How will it be determined who you go out with? Well, it all depends on which one of us wins this gamb—“

“Game!” Yumeko hurriedly interjected, a faint gleam of sweat streaked down her cheek.

“Well, yes, I suppose ‘game’ is also accurate.” Yumemi cocked her head at the strange outburst. Yumemi didn’t really care what Yumeko called the gamble, she just had to win it. What better way to get back at the girl than to steal her girlfriend away for a night.

“The rules to this game are simple Yumeko-chan! There will be three rounds: perfect pitch, name the tune, and choreography memory match. Win two out of three, and you’ll get to go out with our lucky chair holder! Lose, and you’ll be paying for mine and (Y/n)’s night out. I’ll warn you, I’m not cheap!” Yumemi said with a showy laugh.

“But, I’m already dating Yumeko,” (Y/n) frowned, “I can’t go on a date with someone else!”

“Just hope Yumeko wins then.” Mary sighed. At least Yumemi’s way of gambling wasn’t too obvious. Her gambles were big and grand, but to an outsider they weren’t immediately discernible as anything but stage entertainment.

“Let’s make this quick, Yumemi-chan!” Yumeko smiled, hoping she could keep her desire to up the stakes in check.

Yumeko won perfect pitch, matching nearly every note with perfect accuracy. Yumemi won name the tune as many of the songs were conveniently of a western selection. Last was the choreography memory game and (Y/n) was nervous.

(Y/n) knew that Yumeko had a splendid memory, but the girl also detested demanding physical excursions such as this. She was probably already tired from dancing at the start of the show. To (Y/n), it was not looking to good for her girlfriend.

But to (Y/n)’s surprise, Yumeko followed the impromptu routine like a champ. Yumeko refused to let Yumemi outdo her, all for the sake of keeping (Y/n) close.

“She’s going to be so sore after this.” (Y/n) marveled. “You know I used to have to threaten her to make her go to gym class?”

“You could actually make her go to gym class?” Mary rose a brow, impressed. She hadn’t seen Yumeko attend gym class since the first week of her transferring. While Mary was still a house pet, she took great pleasure in watching Yumeko suffer through that class period.

Minutes went by and the two girls each adorned a a sleek sheen of sweat as they continued to dance, matching each other step for step. The fans were going wild at the display, waiting to see how would win the dance battle of a lifetime.

Then it happened in a flash. Yumemi, in her desire to get back at Yumeko for their last gamble against Natari Kawaru, tried to add a very complex step in her next turn and fell to the stage which led to her loss.

“Jabami Yumeko wins!” The MC announced.

Saori appeared from behind stage to help Yumemi back to her feet. Though pissed and embarrassed, Yumemi hid her feelings well and congratulated Yumeko on her win.

They closed off the concert with one final song and then the event was over.

“Have a nice dinner on me!” Yumemi sparkled, shaking (Y/n)’s hand after the show before walking back to her dressing room with Saori in tow. The poor manager was sure to get an earful from the idol once they were away from polite company.

Yumeko practically collapsed in (Y/n)’s arms.

“(Y/n), I’m so tired! Carry me!” Yumeko whined.

“After all that hard work you did? Happily.” (Y/n) hoisted Yumeko onto her back and the sweaty girl squeaked joyfully, wrapping her arms around (Y/n)’s neck.

The trio talked about the show as they walked (or in Yumeko’s case, carried) through the halls, slowly making their way back to the classroom for the next class period. Mary paused in her next comment as loud, purposeful steps were quickly catching up to them.

“Jabami Yumeko!” A voice filled with contempt called from behind them.

“Oh, Sayaka! How good to see you!” Yumeko smiled, sliding off of (Y/n)’s back to try to greet the secretary with a hug.

Sayaka dodged the attempt on her life, zapping her taser in warning as she glared at the demon before her. (Y/n) wondered if all the students were allowed to carry such dangerous items at school.

“You are in violation of school rules!” Sayaka sternly informed. “You did not fill out the proper paperwork to bring an outsider into Hyakkaou.”

“Really Yumeko,” Mary scoffed, “those are like, the easiest papers to fill out.”

“I’m sorry Sayaka, it must have slipped my mind.” Yumeko apologized.

“Your apologies mean nothing to me. Escort the girl out now.” Sayaka clipped.

“All I want is to spend time with my girlfriend. Surely you could make an exception just this once, Sayaka, friend?” Yumeko pleaded.

“Don’t refer to me as your friend,” Sayaka’s jaw clenched, “better yet, don’t refer to me ever.” Then Sayaka’s expression switched from hostile to something akin to a hopeful curiousness. “Did you say girlfriend? Like dating... monogamously perhaps? As in, you aren’t looking to be dating someone else right now? You want to spend more time with her than anyone else?”

“Yes!” Yumeko nodded, smiling obliviously.

Sayaka turned her attention to (Y/n), walking up to the other girl and grasping (Y/n)’s hands tightly in hers.

“Never break up with her,” Sayaka said, the closeness of her face scaring (Y/n) slightly, “please.”

“I um, wasn’t planning on it.” (Y/n) stuttered in reply.

“My, what do we have going on here?” A silky voice called from behind the group. Sayaka gasped and removed her hands from (Y/n) as if they had burned her.

“President! Vice president! What are you doing here?” The secretary asked.

“I’ve been hearing rumors of Yumeko stirring up my aquarium with a new fish.” Kirari’s lips curled in an interested smile as she eyed the unfamiliar girl. “This must be the one, hm?”

“This is (L/n) (Y/n), my girlfriend. She’s visiting me over the long weekend and I wanted to show her around the school to maximize our time together. Unfortunately I didn’t fill out the proper forms, you’ll allow it won’t you president? Please?” Yumeko explained with a cute pout that made Sayaka livid.

“Of course.” Kirari easily complied, tapping a blue nail against her smiling, equally blue lips. “She’ll just have to gamble with me first.”

Oh no. She said it.

“Gamble?” (Y/n) looked at the president questioningly while Yumeko and Mary hosted a silent eye battle between themselves to figure out how to deescalate the situation.

“Yes, dating Yumeko, I can imagine you must be amazing at it to catch her eye,” Kirari produced a pack of cards from her blazer, “any preferences?”

“I’m not much of a gambler, neither is Yumeko. I’m not quite sure I understand.” (Y/n) answered.

“Not much of a gambler, Yumeko?” Kirari’s lips rose into a highly amused smile.

“What she means to say is that I’ve dabbled in some friendly school gambles while I’ve been here. It’s kind of a tradition at this school, (Y/n). All in good fun.” Yumeko laughed.

“Yes, try telling that to the house pets.” Kirari mused.

“Could you just, shut up for like, five minutes?” Mary seethed, turning to the masked girl standing silently at Kirari’s left, “I thought I told you to keep your sister occupied today so this exact thing wouldn’t happen.”

Ririka shyly removed her mask, looking contrite. “I tried but she wanted to know what Igarashi-san was doing.”

“Could someone please explain to me what is going on here?” (Y/n) asked holding her hands out expectantly as she looked over each face in the little group they had formed in the middle of the hall.

“How about this,” Kirari circled the girl, “you beat me in a gamble and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“And if I lose?” (Y/n) questioned.

“No penalty. This is highly entertaining for me as it stands. I just want to know if I can see what Yumeko sees in you.”

“Then I guess I don’t see the harm in it.”

“Excellent. Let’s take this party to the student council room shall we?”

Yumeko nervously twirled her ring as she watched (Y/n) sit across from the president. Kirari had all sorts of gambling dirt of her, as much as she loved (Y/n), she hoped the girl would lose this one.

“Blackjack?” Kirari asked as she shuffled the deck.

“I don’t know how to play that actually.” (Y/n) said.

“That’s fine. Texas Hold ‘Em?”

“No, sorry.”

“How about gin rummy?”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“Thirty-one?”

“Nope.”

“Ten card no peek baseball?”

“Is that a real thing?”

“What card game do you know?” Kirari tried instead.

“...Go Fish?” (Y/n) replied.

“A woman after my own heart.” Kirari said, causing Sayaka to pout severely.

Kirari dealt the cards, spreading the remaining deck face down between them and the game was set. The pairs flowed evenly for the first couple minutes until (Y/n) had to go fish and Kirari obtained a small lead on her. (Y/n) just as quickly turned the tides a few turns later with a good guessing streak that landed her five more pairs.

The casual luck and easy going attitude (Y/n) presented while gambling with the president made Yumeko even more attracted to her girlfriend by the second, but still she hoped Kirari would turn it back around somehow.

It appeared luck wasn’t on Yumeko’s side however, as (Y/n) won the game with three more pairs then Kirari. The president smiled, mildly impressed by the outsider’s victory.

“Well then, what questions do you have for me?” She asked, shifting in her seat to cross her legs the other way.

“So this is some crazy gambling school, right?” (Y/n) asked with no preamble, not pulling any punches.

“Crazy would be subjective, but gambling is as important in this school as breathing. I’ve made sure of that.” Kirari answered.

“And Yumeko gambles.” (Y/n) said, mostly looking for acknowledgement that clarified the validity of the statement.

“Yes, one of the best in the school.” Kirari praised.

“It’s not dangerous though, right? She hasn’t done anything too drastic?”

Yumeko bowed her head, twisting her ring with a bit more force. A blush coated her skin as her heartbeat pounded in her chest. This was like a gamble in itself and oh, how intense it felt!

“Mm, hard to say.” Kirari shrugged, “I feel as though our definitions of these terms may differ.”

(Y/n) turned to face Yumeko who looked every bit the part of a scolded puppy. She didn’t need to ask any more questions. Not for Kirari to answer anyway.

“Yumeko, just what have you been up to?” (Y/n) asked, covering Yumeko’s hands to cease their twisting.

“(Y/n), I’ve been hiding something from you.” She sniffled, “I’ve been hiding it from you for a long time!”

“What is it?” (Y/n) asked gently, patting the girl’s silky hair.

“I’m, I’m a compulsive gambler!”

“Really?” (Y/n) was stunned.

“Yes, it’s true. I’ve had so many gambles I know you wouldn’t approve of.” Yumeko blinked her tears away as she allowed the truth to be out in the open. “I’ve gambled myself into millions worth of debt just so I could gamble even more, I’ve bet my finger nails, I’ve played Russian Roulette, I’ve bet my free will against become a pop idol and never being able to date again... I’m sorry you had to find it all out like this.”

“Yumeko...” (Y/n) was speechless, she didn’t know what to make of all this. Her sweet, adorable girlfriend had an intense gambling addiction that made her put herself in harm’s way on the daily?

“Please don’t break up, please don’t break up, please don’t...” Sayaka mumbled quietly to herself, rolling something that looked suspiciously like prayer beads in her hands. All the poor secretary wanted was for the snake to have a keeper that would pull her attention away from her president, was that so much to ask for?

(Y/n) sighed through her nose and pinched Yumeko’s arm harshly.

“Ow!” Yumeko whined.

“That’s for keeping secrets.” (Y/n) huffed, pinching Yumeko’s other arm, “that’s for putting yourself in dangerous situations. And this,”

Yumeko closed her eyes, waiting for another stinging pinch. Instead, she received a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“This is an apology for making you feel like you had to hide from me. I love you.”

“I love you too!” Yumeko sniffled, knocking her head into (Y/n)’s chest as she hugged her tightly.

“This doesn’t mean you’re getting a free pass anymore though, no more life changing gambles!”

“...how about three a week.” Yumeko asked shyly.

“Once a month max. You’ll kill me, my heart won’t be able to take the stress.”

“This day has been exhausting.” Mary groaned. “I thought I wasn’t going to let myself be dragged into this idiotic mess.”

“You’re a true friend, Mary-san!” Yumeko clapped.

“Ugh,” Mary ignored her, “come on Ririka, we’re running late for our next election gamble.

Ririka hurried over to the blonde and they exited the room together. (Y/n) and Yumeko followed after giving a cheery goodbye to the amused president and her disgruntled secretary.

“Lessons are over for the day,” Yumeko grinned, hugging (Y/n)’a arm as they walked towards the front gates of the school. “I bet you’re hungry, we didn’t even have time for lunch.”

“Food sounds awesome right now. Any suggestions?”

“I know a few places that might be good. We can go over them while we get ready in my apartment.”

“Sounds great.”

“Don’t let money discourage your final decision. Remember that Yumemi has graciously agreed to pay for our date tonight!”

“Oh yes, how could I forget my almost date with a pop star. How are your legs feeling by the way?”

“They’re so sore (Y/n)! Every step hurts!” Yumeko whined.

“Alright,” (Y/n) bent forward, “up, up.”

“Yay!” Yumeko cheered hopping onto (Y/n)’s back.

Yumeko refused to get off of (Y/n)’s back until they got home... which made taking the bus a little awkward.

~~~

Bonus Scene

Ryota sat stalk still in his desk, watching the hours tick by in the darkened classroom only lit by the soft light from the street lamps outside. He looked down at his notebook, filled with notes, two identical hand written copies for Mary and Yumeko. He looked back at the door, waiting for it to slide open.

“Yumeko, Mary-san,” Ryota weakly called, “please come back soon, I’m so hungry.”

[hashtagartistlife]

IR hunger games AU

pt 4/???

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

bonus comics under the cut + some more exposition 

bonus cut 1: 

bonus cut 2: 

Recap of the story so far: yuzu gets picked as tribute for the hunger games. Ichigo manages to volunteer in her place. Rukia gets drawn to replace yuzu, and ichiruki end up being the tributes for district 12. 

Ichiruki then meet urahara, their mentor, on the train to the capitol. On this train they may or may not have a conversation regarding the fact that Rukia saved Ichigo’s life as kids, and that they have consequently been dancing around each other for years now. I reserve the right to add more to this section later. Either way, they are awkward at best and frosty at worst as they enter the capitol. 

At the capitol, they meet their stylists, uryuu and orihime. They are new stylists, who only graduated last year. This is their first official stylist job. This in itself is not that surprising, as district 12 was unpopular and often stuck with the inexperienced or not-quite-so-talented stylists. However, though uryuu and orihime are inexperienced, they are the furthest thing from untalented or unpopular - since they had been students, they have been somewhat of a rising star in the styling community. So, everyone is surprised when they both (separately) apply for the district 12 styling job, because they really could have had their pick. 

Ishihime were both born and raised in the capitol, but their childhoods were far from the lavish, glamorous lifestyle commonly associated with capitol citizens. If the capitol had a caste system (which they do — it’s just unspoken, is all), they would be on the bottom rung — orihime grew up under her brother in as close to poverty as what you can get in the capitol, dreaming of the glitz and glamour of the upper crust life. Ryuuken, meanwhile, is very rich, but for whatever reasons uryuu ran away from home young and has been surviving on his own since. The fact that they both clawed their way up the ranks to become hunger game stylists out of pure talent and tenacity was a novelty for everyone, and contributed to their rising stardom. 

Ishihime hadn’t met prior to their appointment as district 12 stylists, but they HAD heard of the other— it was a pleasant surprise to both of them that the other had also applied for the job. Though they only meet on the job, they click instantly and develop an easy working partnership to create a sensation with ichigo and rukia’s opening ceremony outfits. The outfits had a fire + ice theme, based on the fact that district 12 was a mining district (coal > fire, diamonds > ice). 

Orihime applied to the district 12 job because of Ichigo— she saw him volunteering for his sister on TV and maybe fell a little bit in love with him, with the idea of him— how romantic, how heroic of him, how noble to be able to volunteer for his sister like that— the same age as her, and so handsome, too, she wants to be by his side, she wants to help him, she wants to make sure he looks his best at the games so that he can maximise his chances of returning to his sister… as stated previously Orihime grew up entrenched in the capitol mindset so she is not yet aware of how fucked up the whole system is. Uryuu, meanwhile, nobody is particularly sure why he applied for the job… he said something trite about wanting to use his skills where it’s most needed, how he likes a challenge, but orihime wonders if that’s really all there is to it— outwardly, he’s the picture perfect new graduate, enthusiastic, happy, proud of his job— but there are moments when they are being applauded for their latest creations when she thinks his expression goes a little sour… it’s always fleeting and gone so fast that she can never be sure however 

Ichiruki, meanwhile, are the talk of the town. What with their stunning entrance at the opening ceremony and rukia’s public confession, all they have to do now is ride this wave of popularity all the way through the games for an easy win— unfortunately, they are both terribly bad at knowing how to manipulate this situation to their advantage. They both understand the gist of urahara’s plan — act like they’re falling in love— but neither of them understand WHY or HOW this will work. Why would the audience be invested in their falling in love? What exactly do they want to see? HOW do they act like they’re falling in love? (and, in Rukia’s case— how much of it should be pretend, how much of it is real?) 

Enter Rangiku, the previous district 12 stylist. She and gin grew up in one of the districts, both hating the games and the capitol, until one day at 14 yrs old, gin said to her ‘i’m gonna make it so that you don’t have to be afraid of your name being called at the reapings no more’, volunteered as tribute, won the games, and promptly disappeared from her life. 

Years later, rangiku sees gin on tv as the new host of the hunger games. She’s stunned and infuriated— she thought they both hates the capitol for what they did to the districts and now he’s WORKING for them? What the hell is he thinking? So rangiku packs up and moves to the capitol— her plan is to try to see him, to talk things out, surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding— but gin is all rich and famous now, and very heavily guarded, and she’s a nobody. There’s no way anyone will let her within ten feet of gin at all— so, rangiku decides she’s going to have to join the circus to talk to its head clown, and becomes a stylist. 

Unfortunately, even as a stylist, she can’t get a word to him edgewise— and she’s starting to suspect that maybe it’s not that she can’t get to him, but that gin is actively avoiding her. She COULD climb the ranks until he can no longer avoid her— she is very good at this stylist gig, much to her surprise— but she doesn’t have the heart to do the backstabbing and bribing necessary for that. She is constantly warring between ‘I cannot pour my talent into something this morally bankrupt’ and ‘but maybe if I do my best, I’ll give my district’s kids a fighting chance’. 

Eventually, by the time ichiruki step up, rangiku is so sick of having to dress kids up nicely for slaughter that she hands in her resignation, gives up on gin, and is getting ready to move back home to her district. That is, until she sees what an absolute record-breaker ichiruki are becoming, and start to hope again— that maybe, this year things will be different. That maybe, they will be different. That maybe, at least one of ‘her kids’ won’t go home in a coffin this year, will instead require outfits for a victory tour instead— a victory tour that is accompanied by their stylists… and the host. 

So, rangiku comes back in an unofficial capacity to help ichiruki refine their act a bit more. But with less than one month left till the games commence, will what they come up with be enough to carry them through the entire games? And, even if it does— what will happen if at the end of it all, the two people who remain are ichigo and rukia— when only one person gets to return home alive? 

Very unrelated point, but: ichigo apologised to rukia for grabbing her wrist post-tribute interview. Just wanted to clarify it is NOT alright to grab at people under any circumstances— ichigo did it in the heat of the moment, but when everything was cleared up he apologised for it. Had to mention this somewhere because it bothered me so much while drawing this installment— Ichigo you have NO room to be scolding the reporter for grabbing rukia, you did it not too long ago yourself! Having said that, that’s probably why he’s being very touchy about this— it was something that had been a sore point for him too very recently. 

To be continued! 

[thetoadghoul]

Volunteering: (Ohtani x Reader) <333 (Part - 2)

part 1!

plot: Wednesday’s game arrives which Ohtani invited you to, some bonding time before the first pitch <3 slowwwburn, long cause idk details are fun lol

Wednesday quickly arrived, made much faster by the crazy amount of work you were required to do for your ‘actual’ job. The last three days had been spent with you running around the LA area, as well as cyberspace, to serve your role as interpreter. It was hell, for more reasons than one. The biggest of all being that even though you were not in Japan at the moment, you were still required to wear a proper suit. That meant a tight navy skirt, stockings, and some blasted heels. Sexist men, long meetings, and endless paperwork aside, you enjoyed your job for the most part - but this aspect really wore on you. However, the pain in your feet wouldn't damper your excitement for tonight’s game. Today you were not actually volunteering at the Angels stadium.

The day before yesterday, when you were actually volunteering, a bashful Ohtani had tapped you on the back while you were picking up baseballs from the batting cages. When you turned around the giant man was holding out a lanyard with an attached document, marked ‘VIP Guest of Player’. It took all you had not to let your hands shake with nerves as you reached out and grabbed it gingerly.

“Uh, see you on Wednesday.” The man looked to the side awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

“...Yeah.” You responded with a small smile, feeling stupid, but it was all you could think of.

“Well, uh, I better go...” He motioned behind his back with a lazy thumb, staring to jog backward.

You nodded quickly, rushing to go back to picking up balls before you said something super lame, or weird.

It wasn’t till you were on the way home did you take a look at the back of the stadium pass. It read ‘Guest of Shohei Ohtani’. So he had put in the request for you, that was just like him, so kind. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t excited for tomorrow.

-----

Currently, your heart was still racing, but for another reason other than a certain super cute and insanely talented baseball player. It was because it was almost three-thirty in the afternoon and you were running around your company-provided apartment, trying to get ready as fast as you could. Ippei let you know you should get there around four-thirty, by then the team would have been done warming up and starting to enjoy a pregame meal while the away team got the field to themselves. From that point onwards, pretty much everyone was free to relax in the clubhouse till just before the first pitch.

With little time to consider, not even enough time to take a shower after having just got off work, you went with an oversized red T-shirt, baggy jeans, and some cool Jordan’s. This was your go-to, and it was comfortable. You don’t have many clothes anyway, living out of a suitcase.

Right as you were about to run out of the door you remembered to grab your standard Angels cap, it had been provided to you as part of your volunteer uniform a while back, slipping it on over your tight work bun. You would let your hair down later.

All right, everything was in order, Uber scheduled, lanyard secured.

It took about half an hour to arrive at the stadium, and once it came into view, you instructed the driver to let you out in front of the ballpark entrance. It had been a long time since you got to go through the gates as a member of the audience, it actually gave you a wave of nostalgia seeing everyone in their gear, so hyped up for the game, tailing gating outside for what was probably hours.

Once you were through, you started walking through the concession stands and various other stalls, dodging around the fans that were already inside watching the warm-ups, as well as hanging out drinking and eating. There were pictures of Ohtani everywhere, people taking turns snapping pictures of each other in front of the various cutouts of him. The air was buzzing with energy, and it seemed like all for that guy. Honestly, you had worked for a couple different teams over the years, but you had never seen hype like this. It was surreal, seeing a legend in the making.

You smiled, gripping the lanyard around your neck, making your way through the stadium. Shohei was super nice to do this for you, really, you should show him your support. Maybe a quick peek in the team store would do? Plus, you deserved to spend some money on yourself. After all, this was the first time you had really been ‘out’ in the almost three months you had been in California. Your free time was either working, volunteering, video games, or sleep.

You took a couple moments in the Angel's merch shop, quietly perusing the aisles, keeping an eye out for any Ohtani-themed items. Unfortunately, there weren’t really that many, probably sold out by the fans. What was there, was way too small for you.

“Y/n, you here to watch the game?” A young voice sounded.

When you turned to see who addressed you, a familiar girl was standing there grinning.

“Hey Jordan! I didn’t know you were working tonight.” You grinned back.

Jordan worked at the store as a stock manager, she was close in age to you so the two of you often hung out. You had invited her over a couple times, both bonding over your love for crappy reality TV, beer, and of course, baseball.

“Yeah it was last minute, a girl was feeling sick and there wasn’t anyone else cept’ me.” She sighed.

“Bummer, text me if you need help?” You offered, to which she waved you off.

“Nah, you enjoy being here and NOT working.” She chuckled, walking over to organize a messy shelf.

“So, you looking for something in particular?” The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“Uh yeah, you recommend any cool Ohtani stuff? Or is there any at all... seems wiped clean in here.” You said while looking around.

“Ohtani? You here to cheer him on too then. Wanna catch his eye.” She teased.

“Don’t say it like I’m just here for my like, prince charming.” You snapped back playfully, but, maybe a little too fast.

“Aren’t you?” She pressed with an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” You pouted, fake walking away.

“I’m just kidding, actually, stay here for a second I might have something you’ll like.” Jordan yelled as she jogged off to the back room behind the counters.

You did as you were told and when she came back there was a large white Angels jersey in her hands.

“Ta-da!” She grinned, twisting it around to show the player’s name on the back.

“Oh, it’s in Kanji? That’s cool, I didn’t know these existed?” You questioned, running your finger over the ‘tani’ character of Ohtani.

“It’s the last one on the floor, had to grab it off the mannequin. Hope it’s not too big? It’s XL?” She questioned, passing it to you to hold.

“Nah it’s perfect, can’t you tell.” You joked holding the jersey next to you, while you showed off your oversized clothes.

“Figured it'd be fine, wanna get rung up? I’ll give you that ‘good good’ employee discount. But, don’t tell anyone.” She smiled, heading to the register, to which you nodded and jogged after her.

After you finished your purchase and waved bye to Jordan, it was time to head to the clubhouse. It was around five, so you were later than you planned but Shohei usually practiced batting in the cages a little while longer while everyone headed in. Slipping the plastic shopping bag into your purse, and ripping the tags off your new jersey, you slipped it on over your T-shirt, smoothing out the material as best you could. It felt great to finally have some real merch from the team, and part of you sort of wondered what Ohtani would think when he saw you. Hopefully, it wasn’t too much to just show up in his gear after he pretty much randomly invited you, let alone in the stadium-specific one, as you just learned from your colleague.

After you got to an employee-only doorway, you pushed on it hoping it was actually open. Ippei had also let you know via text that it would be unlocked for you. Another kindness of Shohei, not just inviting you, but making sure you had access to all the catering and AC inside the resisted area of the building. You slipped in and locked the door behind you, not wanting to encourage some intoxicated fans to follow. The hallway was empty and cool as you started making your way to the clubhouse.

You were admittedly a bit nervous by the time you got to the doors, feeling a bit awkward about strutting in as anyone other than a volunteer for the first time. Carefully you pushed open the door, making sure not to hit anybody. The room was full of chatter, some players eating, some playing cards, others watching TV on the room's monitors. You looked around for Ohtani, but he wasn’t there yet apparently. No matter, you strolled in and went for the snack area. Truthfully you hadn’t eaten since that morning, and that was just a toasted bagel. Turning your back to the rest of the room, you began filling up your plate with cocktail shrimp and grapes.

“Nice jersey.” Ippei said, coming up next to you, grabbing small sandwiches for his plate.

“Is that sarcastic?” You questioned with a smile, finishing your plate.

“Nah, I’m sure he likes it.” Ippei jerked his head to the left.

He? You leaned back to see around the man, meeting Shohei’s surprised face almost immediately. Had he been standing there the whole time? He had obviously been staring at your back, at his name, bashfully looking up to your face when you moved, blinking a couple times to clear his eyes.

“I uh, got it ten minutes ago.” You grinned awkwardly, pointing your thumb proudly at the jersey, hoping he wouldn’t think you were a weirdo.

The large player didn’t say anything, blinking more slowly this time before opting to just nod gently, with a quick “thanks for your support”, hurriedly leaning forward to start filling his plate with all kinds of foods.

—-

Once everyone had their food the three of you found a place to sit while you ate, it was at the back of the room away from the noise, and where the two usually sat before a game anyways. A small conversation started while the three of you ate calmly.

“Why... do you only have grapes, and shrimp?” Ohtani questioned suddenly, looking at your plate baffled. You looked down at it as well, pausing for a moment trying to find out what was so weird about that.

“Uh, well, it’s because... these things are... super expensive in Tokyo. It’s like a rich person food to me.” You smiled, eating a couple shrimps happily.

“Wow. That’s so sad.” Ippei chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Shohei on the other hand burst out laughing at your response, making you laugh a bit too at your pitiful confession.

“Seriously, I feel like a mega-rich, and very posh, Ginza lady right now - eating nothing but shrimp and fruit. So fancy right? ” You exclaimed, popping a grape in your mouth.

The Japanese player laughed even harder, tears building up as he wiped his eyes.

“Those people wouldn’t touch that stuff with a three-meter stick.” Ippei stated, letting out a small laugh.

“Just let me have my moment.” You pouted through a smile, shoving more shrimp in your mouth.

The other man calmed down finally and was now sitting there smiling while he ate.

“So, fancy y/n, are you okay to sit in the dugout tonight. Not too unrefined for you?” Ippei questioned with a smirk.

“That’s, allowed?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, if you want to. Can’t stay there the whole time, but.” The man responded nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s the best place to hear, ‘the surprise’.” Shohei added, food in the process of being shoved in his mouth.

“Well, doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.” You smiled at the player, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“He’s batting first tonight, you won’t have to wait long.” Ippei spoke, starting on the next sandwich.

“Hope me being in there won’t be bad luck.” You joked.

“You believe in that?” Ippei smirked.

“My family ingrained it into me, wasn’t allowed to watch a single super bowl game in the living room till I literally moved out.” You frowned, stabbing a grape.

“Harsh.” The man smirked with a small laugh under his breath.

“You will be good luck, for sure.” Shohei leaned forward in a hunch to take another bite of food, smiling sincerely at you as he looked up from his food.

“Then, I will see to it that will become a very good omen. Please believe in me.” You responded in the highest form of keigo you knew, bowing rigidly from your seat for comedic effect. Since you never studied that level of grammar, it was really freaking bad, causing the two men to laugh again.

“You’re funny.” Ippei chuckled.

“Yeah, and your Japanese is so good though?” Shohei exclaimed, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

“Nah it’s pretty bad, I fell off the study wagon a long time ago.” You laughed awkwardly, waving a hand in front of your face.

“You’d be there forever if you stayed on.” Ippei chuckled again, while Shohei nodded in sullen agreement.

“Writing would be nice though, having to look up every other kanji at the doctor's office, or like city hall makes me literally sweat, like, a lot. Buckets. But when I look around, I'm the only one.” You giggled.

“You’re so honest.” Shohei chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin, still leaning forward in his chair, you grinned back at him. Your eyes locked for a while, you had never noticed, but his eyelashes were sort of long.

At that moment Ippei had to take a call, letting the two of you know he’d be back in a bit, walking off. The two of you looked away and finished eating in silence.

When you looked up from your empty plate, the large player was now staring at you with a soft expression. The warmth in his eyes made you blush, he didn’t even break his gaze once he was caught like he usually did. You responded back to him simply with a shy smile, before being the one to avert your own eyes to the floor again.

Thankfully at that moment, a group of Angels came over, slapping the Japanese man on the back, starting up a conversion. They were going over strategies for the game and overall just getting hyped up. You didn’t have much to input, so you just kind of sat there enjoying the excited chatter. Shohei smiled merrily the whole time, inserting little jokes, completely affected by their excitement. The way he carried himself really reminded you that the essence of baseball was really just about having fun with your teammates and giving it your all. He looked simply happy to be there, and it made you smile too, just watching him goof off. It was charming to see his duality of being a just big kid with endless laugher, versus the super-serious, and seasoned player he was on the mound.

You were really trying hard not to but, you were rapidly developing feelings for Shohei. The last three months of volunteering here, you of course thought he was really cute and kind, classic boyfriend material. A simple crush, like many of the girls working around him, surely had as well. However the possibility of you two actually dating had always been a foreign concept, one which stopped you from even considering it, at all, you just didn’t know if you even could. With you both traveling for work, how would there be time? Plus, what about the media? His family? Yours? All those things seemed unscalable walls, that is, until this moment, when you could feel his gentle eyes on you once again.

Maybe, there was something? Or maybe, he was just a super nice guy, and you were treated no different than anyone else.

When you snapped out of your thoughts, Shohei was starting to stand up, grabbing everyone’s empties plates. He reached his hand towards you, asking for the one in your hand with a tiny nod of his head, to which you thanked him, stood up, and handed it over.

Well.

Either way, you were so screwed.

-------

Hope you enjoyed! <3

[dingdongitsbees]

Gojo is a strong person | Gojo x gn!reader oneshot (Angst)

Synopsis: Gojo is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

Ao3 Link

WC: 3k Tw: canon typical violence, death Just send an ask to be added to Gojo taglist! (specify if you don’t want angst etc)

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Gojo Satoru is a strong person, that’s what everyone knew. That fact was known by every shaman that had had their first breath and by anyone that laid their eyes on him, even if only for a split moment in the bustling crowds of Tokyo. It was a fact that the man knew himself, it could hardly be called egotistical if it was simply the truth that he was the strongest, though he toed the line of cocky so much that he had fully passed its threshold far before he even attended school. But his parents and his clan and the servants that worked there never gave him anything else to think. 

He was better than them by the time he had first opened his eyes. He was a man whose mere existence disrupted the world so chaotically that any possible adversary would tremble at the mere thought of facing him. Gojo Satoru is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

He was stunned. People rarely smiled at him, only when trying to please him or gain something from him, laughs and giggles became shushed when he came near. Never had he heard such a clear laugh from someone aware of his presence, let alone laughing at him.

And like you had expected his frozen form, you gave him a knowing look and a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you, Satoru.”

To say that he was enamoured by you by the moment your smile reached your crinkling eyes was an understatement.

His high school years began and never had he felt more challenged in his life. He was the strongest, that still rung true, but until then he had never felt a desire to prove it, a desire to impress. His ideals and methods were questioned and criticised, his techniques scrutinised and forced to improve and adapt. His teachers, Getou, Shoko, even the younger students like Nanami, all challenged him.

Prove to us that you are the strongest. We will not accept a statement like that at face value. Prove it.

Now get better.

But none of them came close to you. You hounded him at every open opportunity, around every corner. And oh, did he welcome it. You’d challenge him to fights, lose almost every time, but always find something he did badly or should have done that he would obsess over for the days and weeks to come. You’d think of new ways for him to apply his techniques and go further beyond anyone that had inherited Infinity, aiding him reach potentials he didn’t even think existed or that he needed. You’d come back with an argument to anything and everything you disagreed with, answers he couldn’t look past or debunk, forcing him into a state of reflection which his parents had deprived him of.

Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but he learned very quickly that he wasn’t perfect.

He continued to change; adapt to everything you threw at him. His cocky attitude stayed carved in stone, his laughs at the weak were never missed, but he looked forward in excitement. He had never had that before you. His life path was laid out perfectly for him since birth, a life he had never asked for he once said. And you had replied.

“Then why are you following it? You’re the strongest, aren’t you? Then do what you want, no one can stop you.”

He soon realised that the flutters his heart experienced as he laid down in the grass next to you, staring up at the stars, was not just his heart stuttering at the beauty of the universe. His heart imploded whenever your fingers came close to his, subtle shoulder touches from passing in the corridors, laughs at his jokes that would get you into stitches, smiles that seemed to lighten his heart and drop his stomach like a rollercoaster, and eyes that stared into his soul.

And you knew, oh by god you knew what effect you had on him. You were no fool. But oh my, was it fun.

You had feelings for him too, you weren’t that cruel, and you knew that he knew that too. But you weren’t going to jump headfirst into a boy who couldn’t differentiate between what he wanted, and what he was expected to want. Who he was, and who he was supposed to be.

One night, like many nights before, you laid on his bed together, chips and chocolates and any wrappers of sweets he had impulsively bought surrounding you two. And that night he turned to you, question hesitant on his lips.

“What do you think of me? Who do you think I am?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head towards him, thinking of what to say but you already knew the answer the moment he asked.

“You’re Satoru,” you said, a grin taking up half your face. “You’re just Satoru.”

He would never admit it, but he cried that night, he cried hard. And he wouldn’t have to worry, because you expected this of him, of course you did, you always did, and you held him. You held him as tight as you possibly could, as tight as you could hold a lonely boy crushed by the weight of the world that he never volunteered to lift. He was Atlas, but you were next to him, helping hold the world on your shoulders, even if you were scared that it would crush your shoulders into splinters, never would you have mentioned it.

The two of you continued to dance to the song that the pair of you had been listening to for years, waiting for one to take the step forward, to dip the other into no return. Dance the dance that had been safely done with a metre in between the two of you, not wanting to step on the other’s feet, not wanting to come in before the bridge started, not wanting to get the timing of the beat drop wrong. Things caused chaos around the ballroom that you danced in, friends lost to death or to wars of morals and ideals, faith lost in elders meant to protect you but instead fetishized tradition, guidance into the adult world being left in the air. But the two of you continued to dance, getting incrementally closer to each other, breath reaching skin, fabrics tripping over each other, but never quite close enough to feel the other, always a hair width away.

And like you had expected, like you had waited patiently for, he stepped closer, bridging the gap between the two of you. A smile stayed on your lips as he pressed his mouth to yours gently, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks in greeting. Satoru had finally become him. Not the shaman that was whispered between hands, the sorcerer who elders expected great things from, not just the strongest. He was Satoru, and that was as perfect as he was ever going to be, and as perfect as you wanted him.

Years passed and not even for a moment could you be bored when existing in the same world as Gojo Satoru. Every day was something new, something to tease about the other, another sign of affection that would make the other’s heart stumble, another reason to fall even more irrevocably in love.

You stood by his side with everything he stood for, staying grounded and as a point of reference of what he wanted this world to be. The world he wanted you to be able to live in. You argued by his side when trying to revoke death wishes that were put on Itadori, giving a smile to the higher ups when he insinuated the length he would go to in order to get the world of his own design. You would be slitting throats next to him before he had the chance to ask and everyone knew it. 

Your name was whispered beside his now, one couldn’t be mentioned without mentioning the other. The strongest and the tamer. The one that had incapsulated every corner of Gojo Satoru’s heart and would never leave. The one that the man would burn down the world for if it dared to insult the love of his life, and the two of you would just smile through the flames. 

Good and evil is relative, but neither compares to the terrifying ordeal yet comfort of being known by someone else through and through. Every pore and freckle and hair studied by the other until they know the other’s face and soul better than they know their own.

Satoru was only ever approached when you were away on a mission. There was no chance of compromise or pushing when you were in the vicinity. You knew what he wanted, and you wouldn’t settle for anything less than. Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but you had him happily in your hands at your mercy and direction, you were the scariest.

So it was no surprise to either of you as your missions were set far away from each other and at the most inopportune times. You barely had anytime to look in his eyes let alone talk of creating the world together like gods. But if they thought that mere curses would separate the two of you, they were fooling themselves. No amount of time, nothing the other could do, would ever stop the tyrannical love you held for each other, nothing would be allowed to get in the way.

Every night the other came home, they would hold the other’s cheeks in their hands softly, letting their love’s head surrender to gravity. You wouldn’t need to say a word, and neither would he, just quietly in your world for another moment before the other would inevitably have to leave. You would figure it out, the two of you always did, you would eventually get the world you talked about in the company of the stars like you had since you were teenagers.

When you got the call of your next mission you frowned. It seemed off, a special grade that had been spotted in Osaka, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before, but the slight stutter of the caller rang alarm bells in your head. As you packed for your mission Satoru stared at you from the other side of the living room, reading you.

“How bad?” he asked, his blue eyes caressing your face gently, a book on his chest he had long abandoned to just watch you.

“Just a special grade but…” you started.

“It feels wrong?”

You nodded. Asking him to come with you was out of the question for multiple reasons, both of you worked better alone, leaving no risk of the other getting harmed by a technique, Satoru had a lot on his plate already, caring for students and attempting to research and protect his students from the special grades that had begun popping up. And well, you were capable, this was something you knew how to do and had done for years. But still, at the back of your mind, it was screaming at you to run, to take the man in front of you and just run.

But you didn’t.

Instead, the two of you swayed in your kitchen together to silent music, his arms holding you tightly, afraid you would be stolen from him. You held your ear to him, his heartbeat calming down your neurons that were lighting fires in your brain. You stayed there for a little eternity, intoxicated with the other’s touches and love, but soon you picked your bag up from the kitchen counter, and gave him a soft and slow kiss. His eyes looking down at you half-lidded, drunk on the person in front of him, euphoric he got to be called yours. He watched as you left, your eyes catching his through the closing gap, giving him that knowing look and smile you always had.

It was worse that had been described in the report, far worse. The paper was practically a list of lies. You wished you could call for back up, to call for Satoru, but there was literally no time. The moment you arrived the scene was already in chaos, people getting eaten and dismembered like playthings by not one, but three special grades.

People weren’t listening to your directions, practically running into the mouths of the curses, several lower grade ones had come as well, as if called, making everything so much harder. You were in the middle of the war zone, trying to kill lower grades that were seconds away from killing a civilian, getting people out of there and to run, and fighting the special grades that didn’t give you a moment to breathe. Adults' limbs were torn off of them as they screamed to be helped, kids' heads exploded as you held them under your arms. The special grades just laughed.

They had cut you down more times than you could count on the fingers you had left, you couldn’t differentiate the blood pouring down your body from the ones who had died around you. You had managed to kill two of the three special grades, but the other evaded everything with a wide grin, directing the other curses like an orchestra. A symphony of shattering bones and blood curdling screams filled your ears everywhere, inescapable.

A child, one that couldn’t have been older than four, ran to you, stumbling over their feet as they sobbed. The special grade geared up, charging their attack. You took a deep breath and calmly looked at the world in front of you for a moment, time slowing down. Your mouth twitched up at the ludicrousness of it all and looked to the sky you had spent a lifetime staring at.

Sorry Satoru, looks like I won’t be coming home.

You grabbed the child, and curled around it, protecting it as best as you could, and waited for impact.

There was no other answer to draw from your mission than the fact that the higher ups had sent you on a suicide mission, they knew you worked alone, they knew that there was a limit to even how much you could handle. Because after you all, you weren’t the strongest. You were the disposable one. They had sent you, but not just so you would be the one to crumble.

No. That’s all Gojo Satoru could think as he raced through the corridors, he didn’t want to believe it, he refused to believe it. There was no such timeline where you could be separated from him, it was simply not allowed. A reality that was forbidden from coming to fruition. He slammed open the doors to Shoko’s lab, teary eyes glanced up at him before looking to the ground. They surrounded a table in the middle of the floor, barring him from seeing. He just stared with wide eyes, looking insane, not a single thought that they would be able to read. But you would know, you would only have to take one look at him and you would know what he was thinking, because you would sit up and look him in the eyes with the smile that he had carved into his soul. You would, you had to.

The group parted slowly, giving him access to the metal table.

There you were, lying down in what had to be a deep slumber, eyes closed, looking as beautiful as you always did and would continue to be. You had to, you had to. He took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides, he reached forward, touching your cold cheek, his shaking sending little waves across your skin.

Shoko stood next to him with red eyes. She reached up to touch his shoulder, but her hand froze, stopped by Infinity. Her eyes widened. He took no notice of her, not acknowledging her for even a second. Her hand curled into a fist and dropped, looking away with a wobbly breath.

He cupped his hand underneath your head, lifting you to his chest. It was a mystery of how he managed to keep you steady. Ever so slowly he picked up your whole body, walking out of the room. No one stopped him.

He refused to acknowledge what his six eyes were telling him. There was no way, no conceivable way, that you could have left him. You would never do that to him. You would never dare leave him all alone in this world, the world that hadn’t been theirs yet. There were so many things they had left to do. So many things they were meant to fix. So many more days left to love each other. So many more days where you were meant to look at him and just see him, just see Satoru. So, there was no way you left. You wouldn’t do that to him, right?

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought. He was the strongest. But the sound that came out of him as he knelt in the dirt outside the building as his body wracked with sobs, cradling you to his chest desperately, haunted all the hearer’s waking and sleeping states. Their dreams stayed infected with it for weeks. He begged to the universe and to you, begging through screams. It was so loud. It was so excruciating. And it was so, so raw. It sounded like his vocal cords were being ripped apart, and they wouldn’t have been surprised if that came to be true.

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought, but now they weren’t so sure.

.

.

.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Just ask if you want to be added to Gojo taglist! (specify if you don’t want angst etc)

I’ve created a ko-fi so if you feel like sending anything you can do so here but there’s absolutely no pressure to do so!

[my-writings-and-musings]

Same anon thank you for answering my question! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for MTMTE Rung, Megatron, Rodimus, Minimus, and Swerve with an Artisic human reader that just sees the good and creative artist side of everything? From books to pictures to even their own bot? Like they can just look at their bot and go out on a whole rant on how beautiful their optics are from the color to their expression. if that’s too many characters you can take any one, I don’t mind! Thank you and have a good day ❤️

You're welcome! I'm always open for clarification, so feel free to ask questions about whatever you'd like if you're unsure on anything. I took a little liberty with this one, but I've got all the requested bots because darn it all these beautiful mechs deserve recognition!

Rung

·He discovers your artistic inclination thanks to years of experience reading personalities and emotions at a glance, but he wasn't prepared for the depth of your conviction in seeing the world through a creative lens, which he learned upon speaking to you about your process as an artist. This surprise grows as he sees you sketching around the ship, your exuberance for the inherent beauty in everything coming through in every conversation you share.

·When he praises some of your sketches on a quiet day in his office and is compelled to ask how you developed your style, he's fascinated by your explanation, and his spark is warmed by how beautifully you describe the world around you and credit it for inspiring you. He's visibly shocked when your list of current subjects and muses includes him specifically, and you can't help but chuckle at the usually calm bot looking so absolutely flustered. There's no way for him to hide any of that feeling when he requests a bit of clarification; there's hundreds of bots on board, what about him could possibly stand out?

·You're happy to elaborate on your process to a bot who so regularly underestimates his worth and lay out why he in particular piques your interest. The warmth and goodness of his being is such a rare and beautiful thing, you explain, but also so rarely appreciated that it drives you to try and capture that essence in a manner one can see. How could you not? Such compassion and empathy and forgiveness should be remembered! You've also seen that he's capable of accepting any genuine apology, and to have that level of mercy after so much war is beautiful, enough that you have to try and show it.

·To say he's touched is an understatement of unfathomable proportions. Removing his lenses to clear optics blurred with tears, he doesn't even know how to begin processing your praise of his character when you add that his physical self hardly fails to encourage you either. His glasses nearly slip from his hands when he hears you say that. You continue quite easily; the kindness in his optics and the sweetness of his smile, combined with his genuinely handsome profile, simply inspire you to start sketching.

·He's touched, but you have to understand, he is NOT accustomed to this level of praise. Between the near tears and the blushing he has to politely excuse himself to recover from this absolute tsunami of emotions, but being flustered and melted at once is enough to have him smiling through a little blush all day long. While he tries to take a little bit of your mindset into his everyday life going forward, he gets a bit dazed every time he sees a sketch of yours that includes his face, as that level of artistic devotion being dedicated to him is more than he'll ever be able to process. Not that he minds...

Megatron

·Being more familiar with the written word, he enjoys the arts but has little experience with those who create them, and time has not been on his side in regards to learning more. Thus, you're one of the first artistically inclined individuals he's been able to discuss the topic with, which he was motivated to do after catching a glimpse of your work. He could swear some of your sketches bear a resemblance to him, but he says nothing on the matter and is certain his optics are tricking him.

·Your talk of technique quickly surprises him by shifting to inspiration, which to you is the primary driving force of your work, as it influences how you go about conveying the subject matter. Eager to share what you mean, you explain that anything can have beauty worthy of capturing if you just take the time to look at it right. Even the most mundane or seemingly unappealing things can be remarkable if you know their story, and you want to convey that energy as wordlessly as possible.

·A little overwhelmed but quite impressed by your manner of reasoning, he rather jokingly asks if even beings like himself could ever inspire you, or perhaps another artist with your mindset. He's caught off gaurd like never before when you, quite enthusiastically, reply that he most certainly can and does! To keep his composure he recalls portraits of his likeness being commissioned to inspire his soldiers, but never believing these fell under the category of art so much as they did propaganda. They often depicted him quite... violently as well.

·Having never seen these pieces, you reply that your own experience is tied more to how you see him now, and you flip through your sketchbook to demonstrate. As close to your level as can be, he's speechless while you explain what you wanted to capture about him in each sketch, whether it's a quick study or a detailed project; and that's how safe he makes you feel. Hearing himself referred to as a protector cuts straight through his powerful armor.

·You depict him looking almost... gentle? Hearing you describe the his immense size as a source of comfort and his strength as a tool of keeping peace processes about as clearly to him as a foreign language, but he nods along and keeps the conversation going until his duties call him away. Though he says nothing of it, he volunteers himself for more of the physically demanding work around the ship. His body's purpose had always been decided for him, but you've reminded him he has the only true say in its use, and that everything really is a matter of perspective. Perhaps he'll take up sketching once this is all over.

Rodimus

·He's certainly always had an appreciation for visual appeal, even if his idea of beauty doesn't often overlap with what most would consider artistically valuable. This and his natural alertness makes him quick to notice you often sketch about the ship, frequently when he's present, but at first he leaves you alone to work in peace. Having a hobby on this crew is beyond valuable, and he doesn't want to distract you from a passion... That is, until he decides on one especially slow day to just ask you what you like to doodle about.

·You can tell he wants to be a little nosy, if only because he's naturally a curious bot about these things, but you're more than happy to share regardless. There's a lot due to the ample downtime on the quest, and he has to squint so he can properly scan the many sketches on the human sized paper. He happily recognizes friends, locales about the ship, even earth things he knows about... but he's not ready when he finds a picture of himself.

·While he remains outwardly playful, teasing you with how he'd pose if you only asked, he's internally flattered that you took the time to draw him. More specifically, he's touched by the way you drew him. The sketches and portraits portray him as a calm but amicable leader, standing tall and serving as a guide to those around him, a true "father to his men" kind of bot... it's everything he wants to be, but is quite certain he's not. He's barely able to keep up his smooth persona when he asks about your process.

·You explain that you find inspiration in everything, but he's been your chosen subject lately for a lot of reasons. It's no secret he's handsome, but you see something more when you look at him, and you did everything you could to show it here; there's a real leader in him. Maybe some bots don't see it under all the bluster and sarcasm, but you see how much he cares for every bot on his crew. He wants to be the best for all of them, and even if he struggles at times, that effort is beautiful to you.

·It takes everything in him to bite back some very embarrassing tears, and the crack in his voice doesn't help him hide the emotion, though he covers that up with unconvincing coughs and claims something got in his optic. From then on he seems to stand a little taller and find his assigned duties a little easier to bear, but you absolutely notice how he poses in what he believes to be heroic fashion whenever your sketchbook comes out. Inspired by his enthusiasm, you invite him to model more officially, and the crew is just happy to see him so enthusiastic.

Minimus

·Being as observant as he is, your consistent appraisal of your surroundings is not something he'd ever miss, but your frequent sketching in the most random places does leave him absolutely mystified. Every time he sees you there's artistic supplies on your person, but he can't find anything that appears to be worthy of putting to paper, so what could you be drawing? He respects your privacy too much, and feels too silly about his curiosity, to interpret and ask you for an explanation.

·Thus it's with some small eagerness that he finds one of your sketchbooks after it's been misplaced, and he sees the perfect opportunity to slip in a question. For the sake of handling something so tiny, he approaches without his armor, offering the lost item back with barely concealed pride at your delight to have it returned. In the moment of truth he nearly falters, but does indeed manage to ask what you draw around the ship. He leaves out the fact that he's observed you whenever you draw in his presence.

·The question has an answer only he seems to think isn't obvious; him! You spend time together frequently, and while everything is fair game for sketching, he's a very regular subject for you. Whether he's wearing the Magnus armor or not, you explain that the commanding aura he radiates is something you can't help but find beautiful. That word choice baffles him enough that he has to interrupt; beautiful? Commanding? Even without his armor?? You're delighted to assure him that you absolutely mean that.

·Hearing you describe the details of your reasoning, like the quiet dignity of his stance or the calm intelligence of his red optics, touches his spark in ways he wasn't expecting. He's calm and speaks softly as he keeps the conversation going, asking questions about your various works and listening attentively when you answer, processing your view of the universe as being packed with beauty in all the places people don't think to look.

·Any bot that sees him during the remainder of the day absolutely notices the change to his entire demeanor; namely that he's smiling a soft and barely perceptible smile. It's not long after he requests a few sketches from you to keep in his office, whether they're of him or not, and he has them framed in places of honor. He doesn't tell you, but you figure it out, that one particular drawing of him you gift for his sake is kept securely stored in a compartment by his spark.

Swerve

·Many bots may see him being a tad bit on the shallow side when it comes to the arts, but our beloved barkeep has his own unique appreciation for creativity and all the ways it can be visually expressed, and you recognize it not long after meeting him. As his bar is a frequent hangout for everyone, you find it to be a fantastic place to sit and sketch, as the variety of bots makes it quite easy to have your choice of subjects even if you have to sit on a table. Obviously Swerve notices and asks you what you're drawing when traffic slows one evening.

·You're happy to show him your work and he's always eager to hear what everyone is up to, so he starts asking questions about your art in general. How long have you been an artist? What's it like suddenly having a whole ship of aliens to sketch? Why draw here all the time? At that query you light up brilliantly, and he's delighted by your enthusiasm as you describe all the incredible sights the bar has to offer.

·You list some of your favorite things to draw, like the many friend groups on the ship that gather here, the brilliant colors of the glowing vats of enjex, and him smiling and rushing with orders through it all. That last one gets a flash of surprise from behind his visor, which is quickly overtaken by exuberant delight; you've been drawing him?! He babbles out a surge of confusing statements that you're eventually able to interpret as a request to see, just one he's too bashful to say directly.

·Happily obliging, you're touched by how he smiles at every little sketch, and feel compelled to explain that he's a big part of why you love drawing here. You try to see beauty in everything, even what often gets overlooked, and there's so very much of that here. The bar is one of those places that everyone knows is special, but you know he's the reason they love it like they do, and that his enthusiasm and hard work hold it all together. You find that inspiring, and actually quite beautiful. It doesn't hurt that his brilliant smile is always a treat to sketch.

·Trying to play it cool and totally failing, he doesn't quite hide that he's near to tears when he asks if you'd like to hang some of your work up in the bar, or maybe have a little corner for yourself to draw from. He just doesn't want you getting squished while you sketch, is all! And having a better vantage point is ideal for someone so small! When you accept, he gives you your own human sized accommodations not too far from the heart of the bar, and every so often when you sketch he'll glance up at you absolutely beaming.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

Tommy doesn’t know who Queen is and Steve goes on a quest to get Tommy to listen to all different types of music. Billy gets dragged into the shenanigans. The three of them start hanging out together when Steve falls asleep, but he has a super bad nightmare. (I think they were probably drinking or smoking weed or both before. Which made the nightmare worse.) Then comes cuddling with Tommy choosing the music and light teasing.

i love this so much. they’re all musically ignorant in one way or another anyway. lemme just sprint with this now :)

---

He was just trying to get his history books, it wasn't his fault that their lockers were right next to each other. Or that Tommy was apparently living under a heavy rock.  

“I’ve never heard of Queen, unless you’re talking about the Queen of England or some shit. Other than that, I’m at a loss.” Tommy was yapping to one of Carol’s friends. Sarah? Betty? They all looked the same honestly. 

“What do you mean you’ve never heard of Queen?” Steve hadn’t actually really meant to just start abruptly start speaking to Tommy again, but here they were. In the hallway. Around nosey onlookers. And Sarah-Betty who was definitely staring and definitely not happy for the intrusion. 

Tommy grinned boyishly, “Talkin’ to me again, Harrington?”

Steve didn’t let up, “You haven’t heard of Queen? Freddie Mercury? Brian May? They’ve been all over the radio for years, man.” Tommy died down a little with the snarky attitude, but the flare was still there through the dilution. 

“I don’t know, Harrington. Guess I have too many people around to pay attention to the radio much anymore.” Tommy crossed his arms and Steve almost gave up as the bilious emotions started up towards the boy again. 

Steve shook his head, “Meet me at my house tonight at 6. I’ll order in and I’ll show you myself what Queen is. ‘Kay, Tom?” Now that really took the other aback.

“It’s been, what, a year?” Hands on his hips just as Steve was doing, “All of a sudden you’re interested again?”

Steve looked him in the eye and nodded, “Six o’clock on the dot, Tommy. Be there!” he pivoted on his heel and blended in the crowd.

He had the pizza box and the stereo up and ready to jam long before the bell rung. Only three minutes late. It was honestly a record for Tommy, Steve knew for a fact that Tommy had the worst time management skills. Which also made Steve a little on edge as he opened the door. He wasn’t actually that surprised to find Billy Hargrove right there beside Tommy. Both grinning in their own devilish manners. 

Steve vamped them with the most unimpressed look he could produce and traveled back inside, “Well, come on!” he ordered impatiently. 

Billy spoke up first as they entered the living area, “Nice place, very...” he seemed to contemplate a moment as he examined the vacant side tables and mantle, “Modern.”

“Tell me about it,” he rolled his eyes, “I’ll go get beer,” he started making his way towards the kitchen. “Pizza’s on the coffee table, don’t make a mess.”

When he returned there wasn’t any mess on the floors or furniture, but Tommy had enough sauce on the corners of his mouth and cheeks to slather a whole slice itself.

“Oh, Tommy,” he sighed and grabbed a napkin to clean the sauce before it dried. Billy and Tommy stared like owls but Steve ignored them and instead focused on putting the first cassette in. “Now listen, no one gets to speak.” He pointed to the table, “You have free food and drinks, so indulge me,” he took his own seat on the floor between them. A Night at the Opera. 

“Well this is eerie,” Tommy griminced and bit into another slice. His face lifted a moment later as the song changed gears, “Oh wait, no I change my mind, this is cool.”

“Have you found a new toy to replace me? Can you face me? But now you can kiss my ass goodbye Feel good, are you satisfied?”

Steve looked at Tommy and found him already looking back. 

Billy coughed, “Next, Pretty Boy?”

“Bicycling on every Wednesday evening Thursday, I go waltzing to the zoo”

Tommy swayed with the steady smoothness, “I like this one, I like it a lot.” Billy’s thigh brushed and planted against Steve’s shoulder as they watched Tommy tap along. The touch sizzled excitingly. 

“I'm in love with my car Got a feel for my automobile Get a grip on my boy-racer rollbar Such a thrill when your radials squeal“

Tommy’s face pinched just a little, nose wrinkled cutely, ”I don’t know about this one. Sounds like a song Billy might appreciate a bit more. WIth Margo and all that.” 

Tommy smiled at Billy and Steve felt something churn in is tummy, “Margo?” he tilted his head back so it rested on Billy’s knee in order to look at him.

Billy sighed and tilted his own head back to take a sip of the beer can he'd been working on, “It’s my car’s name, after my dog when I was a kid.” Steve shifted back so he was facing the stereo again after nodding once. 

“Oh, you're the first one when things turn out bad You know I'll never be lonely You're my only one And I love the things I really love the things that you do“

Tommy immediately smiled at the opening and his foot made its way from nudging him happily to resting in Steve’s lap, “This one is my favorite.”

“Really?” Steve and Billy asked simultaneously. Steve turned his head painfully fast and they stared in mutual shock. They were quick to get over it though and both went back to waiting for Tommy’s decisive nod. His eyes were closed and calm in enjoyment. So, Steve forcefully settled whatever Billy had stirred and did the same, back rested against both boy’s shins comfortably. 

“My sweet lady Though it seems like we wait forever Stay sweet, baby Believe and we've got everything we need“

“That one was...interesting,” Tommy commented.

Billy snorted as Steve smiled, “I’d say.”

“I feel like dancing in the rain Can I have a volunteer? Just keep right on dancing What a damn jolly good idea“

Tommy smiled sweetly through the that one, Steve felt as though he didn’t need to ask why.

“I dreamed I saw on a moonlit stair Spreading his hands on the multitude there A man who cried for a love gone stale And ice cold hearts of charity bare“

“How come they are so short and so long at random? It’s weird,” Tommy leaned forward and grabbed another beer, condensation dripping onto Steve’s bare knee.

“Sometimes things are more difficult to interpret,” Billy answered. Steve leaned a little more into them as he felt his hips settle. 

“Oh, back, hurry back Please bring it back home to me Because you don't know what it means to me Love of my life“

“That was kinda sad,” Billy was the one to say something between the track then. 

Steve agreed, “Yeah, a little.” He felt eyes on his head but gazed instead on the slight glow to the stereo. 

“Take good care of what you've got My father said to me As he puffed his pipe and baby B. He dandled on his knee Don't fool with fools who'll turn away Keep all good company“

Steve felt a leg press firmer into his shoulder and he laid his head on it, above him Billy sighed just above being silent, “How was that one, Tom?”

Tommy didn’t answer for a moment, “I’m not sure. It sounded good.” The feet in Steve’s lap crossed themselves jitteringly. 

“Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see, I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little low“

“That one was freaky,” Tommy sat forward in awe, “But it was also awesome.” Eventually the last cord divvied out, all of them lazy with alcohol and sleepy with muddled calm that none of them had felt in a while. Although, Steve already was sleep on Billy’s knee. He didn’t get the chance to regret the beer he’d consumed before he was overrun with horrific, viney tunnels and humongous monsters. Screams of people he knew and cared for. Dustin, Nancy, his parents, Johnathon, El, Lucas. But what had him waking up in a bolt, yelping and screaming, was the one’s from Billy and Tommy. The pain those ones harbored, the ones that made Steve tremble too much to bare. 

Heavy hands grasped his shoulders and softer ones held his face when he came to. He closed his mouth and the wailing stopped just as it had reached his ears.

“Steve! Steve- sh, it’s alright, Stevie,” Tommy’s voice filtered in subtly and he thought he heard a breeze from behind. 

“We should get him to bed,” Billy said and the warmth from behind Steve was suddenly gone. He didn’t know what he must of done, was too out of it, but suddenly he was in someone's arms and being coddled.

“It’s okay, Pretty Boy, we’re still here.”

And then they were in a bed, and his room by the looks of the plaid and blue walls. He had two bodies on either side, and while the comfort he felt was something he couldn’t recognize. It was something new and he felt he should feel overwhelmed by all the sudden figures beside him. But instead he felt relieved and willingly open to allow these two boys in with limited hesitation. What a change in events. Truly. 

“Talk to us, Stevie,” Tommy whispered in his ear. 

“Have you heard of Blondie?” he whispered a bit hoarsely. 

“No. Unless that’s Billy.”

“Add that to the list of things Tommy needs to learn about.” He got a slight tickle above his ribs in response from Billy. Steve held in his laugh as best he could but Billy didn’t stop the movement until he finally coughed out a yelp in protest. He tried his best to portray a steady glare in return but it didn’t quite work. “What about The Smiths?”

“Nadda.”

“Tears for Fears?”

“Mmm,” Tommy finally came into clear vision for Steve to see, even in the dark, “Maybe, maybe not.” He was grinning like the dumbass Steve knew he was. And then he was gone.

“Wah-?” he almost whined. Almost. 

“Don’t worry, Stevie,” there was a clicking sound, “I’m just trying to culture you up a bit. Gotta keep you calm so we can actually get so sleep.” He laughed loudly when he seemingly found something. Tree branch arms coiled around Steve’s waist and he couldn’t be bothered to tell Billy off as the warmth radiated into his skin and heart. 

Tommy came back while the Eurythmics, of all people, made some sort of soft noise through the room. And Tommy’s own hands somehow managed to sneak their way past Billy’s and just barely grazed his ass. The blanket bundled them all together and Steve felt as though he finally had the loves of his life in sight. That definite path made for him. Finally and just maybe. 

send me headcannons!<3

[whumpinator]

Wren and Zander AU- Recaptured.

These characters are the property and creation of @spookyboywhump and @ihaventwritteninsolong and are not my original creations. This story is not canonical with the writer’s current storylines which can be found at their linked accounts.

- Wren is absolutely one of my favourite whump ocs I’ve encountered in the community so far. I really wanted to see him hurt, so, have a drabble. I hope you enjoy. 

______________

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the air as Zander settled on the couch and allowed himself to relax, just for a moment. It was a beautiful morning, shaping up to be a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky an eye-aching shade of blue. Somehow, someway, Zander had managed to get over his chronic insomnia to sleep in for three extra hours, cuddled up with Cathal. And even though he’d woken up late, his wonderful mother had still volunteered to make breakfast for the both of them.

It was moments like this that made everything worth it. Every day, the past managed to shed itself a little bit, mingled as it was in the present. Zander’s body aching, a sordid reminder of old hurts. The nightmares. The fear.

But today, Zander felt happy leaving it all behind, not even giving a thought to his old life as he stared out the window, wondering what he should do today. The sky was clear but the winds were strong, so maybe they could go to the park. Give kite-flying a try. He smiled as he heard his mom’s voice ripple through the rooms.

“Cathal, hon. Would you mind checking the mail while you’re up?”

Zander heard his boyfriend’s- fuck, it felt good to say that- happy affirmation. They got along well, Cathal and his moms. The front door opened and Zander listened for the scuffle of feet hopping outside . . . but it never came. Zander could just see Cathal lingering on the doorstep, hesitating to walk outside. But why? Was everything okay? Was he in danger? Should Zander get up and check?

Then he heard the door slam shut and Cathal patter inside again. Zander roused himself from the couch and walked in to the dining room where his boyfriend had entered.

“There was a package on the doorstep.” Cathal explained. He held it in his arms and placed it, carefully on the table.

Zander was instantly on guard. There was no name written on it, or address. It was small, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with a string. Deceptively simple and that made it threatening. He walked around it, appraising the threat. His mom appeared in the doorway and Cathal explained the situation.

“Hmm” she said. “I wasn’t expecting any packages and I know your step-mom wasn’t either.”

Zander grunted. “Should we open it?”

“I don’t see why not” she replied and disappeared again. The eggs were burning.

Cathal pursed his lips. He picked the box up, pushed the string off gently and turned it around, looking for where the paper was taped down. Zander took over, roughly ripping the paper off and revealing a hot-pink box that he set down on the table again, scowling at it.

Cathal looked at him nervously.

“Just do it” he sighed. “Just get it over with.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“So, open it then.”

“I hate the colour.”

“Maybe we should text-”

Zander quickly took the lid off the box and promptly dropped it on the floor with a loud clatter.

“That’s disgusting!”

“What is it? What is it?” Cathal squeaked, peering around.

Inside, there was a pretty bed of pastel tissue paper and placed angelically upon it was a dead bird. Its little neck had been snapped and the wings had been brutally plucked, the feathers glued down to the tissue paper around the body, in a picturesque manner. Cathal backed away from the table nervously.

“Who would- what the fuck!” Zander swore, looking at the package confusedly. None of it made sense. His mom appeared again, her brow wrinkled worriedly.

“What happened?”

“Someone sent us a- a bird- dead fucking bird!” he explained, gesturing at it. She approached the sight, with a confused, disgusted expression and leaned over to examine it.

“Maybe some sort of prank?” she suggested. “I’ll ask the neighbours if they got anything.” She straightened up again. “But I don’t know who would think sending someone a dead wren is funny.”

Zander felt his heart drop down a six-feet canyon.

“What did you say?”

She looked at him sharply “Wren. That’s the species of bird . . .”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I see them all the time.  Are you okay hon? you look kind of pale.”

“I’m- just give me a second.”

She nodded worriedly and gave him some space. Swearing silently, Zander pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulled Cathal close to him and rung Elias.

It went to voicemail.

So, he rung again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Going on Sixty

Dean’s fifty eight. 

He’s pushing sixty, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s pushing as hard as his back allows - but it doesn’t seem to be working, and if he’d had a stick - though he doesn’t need one, thankyouverymuch - he would’ve been using it too.  

And it’s not just the number. 

He’s old. 

Bobby Singer’s words have never rung truer, and that man has said plenty of wise things in his life. “Old age is both - forgetting things like a drunk, and hurting all over like you’re sober.” It’s ridiculous. Dean won’t vouch for having had a brilliant brain before, but he didn’t used to forget why he went into the next room, he’s quite sure.

And, oh lord, his bones. His joints creak when he sits, and he wishes he’d given older hunters less shit for it when they’d all been whining in chorus about their goddamn hips. He gets sick easy too - Sam, the ever smart-ass says his immunity is as trash as the meals he’d have when he was thirty. He might be right. When it’s flu season, he wheezes like he might cough his heart out; and he’s sure anyone who hears him is positively scared about it too.

So, there. He’s old, and he’s grey, and he’s slow, and he’s grumpy. 

But hell, is he happy. 

Everyday, he wakes up on a mattress that’s known him for just the perfect span of time, under a white, fleecy comforter; all seasons of the year because they’re settled in Key West - who set their bets on Florida, ‘twasn’t him - and he wakes up next to the man he loves. 

Cas is either curled around him, hands tucked around his middle, or he’s cuddled up, pressed to Dean’s front, and Dean gets to wake up hugging him close, leg slot between his, and his nose in Cas’s hair - which frankly, he’s gotten so used to, that it doesn’t even make him sneeze anymore. 

And then they wake up - Dean mostly second; and breakfasts are cooked and coffees are made, newspapers are fetched and kisses are shared, until dressed in fresh clothes to go mostly nowhere in particular, he finds himself seated across Cas on their little table for two - they’d reasoned family meals are more fun on the patio anyway, and ninety percent of the time, it’s really only just them.

And every day, Dean thinks about how lucky he is, and it mostly happens while he’s staring at Cas unabashedly as the beautiful, wrinkled man solves the crosswords, and writes his lists on less printed pages to conserve paper.

Days pass slow, but years are always in a hurry - they’ve been married sixteen years, already. It had all Sam’s doing, that one, he’d never meant to have a grand big day out, with white linen tablecloths and calla lilies and a goddamn wedding photographer.

But he doesn’t need those pictures to remember. Cas, in his cobalt tuxedo, and Dean in his black blazer - both walked up the aisle because either one of them doing it had sounded unfair. He remembers the vows, the dances, and the kiss. It had been everything he hadn’t known he wished for, and he’d cried that into Sam’s shoulder a week after, when Sam brought homethe gigantic album from the studio. That day, he’d gotten to bring Cas home, and make honest men of themselves, he remembered saying - and then, they’d moved into their house together, husband and husband.

The house is close to where Sam teaches, close enough to the shelters they volunteer at twice a week, and at walkable distance from the diners, movies and parks. They have a library debossed in a wall, a garden at the back, and a study for where Dean and Cas alternate taking calls, pretending to be the FBI. 

It’s perfect.

And Dean Winchester’s happier than he’d ever been - and it sucks, because it doesn’t really seem to count. Because now, he’s old.

*

The troubles started slow, as you’d expect them to do.

Dean misplaced the keys to the Impala one fine evening when they’d planned in advance to go play pool and darts at Wren’s. He’d found them at Sam’s, the next day. And if he hadn’t been as busy as he was, correcting Cas whenever he called it ‘losing’ the keys, because he’d ‘known they were at Sammy’s, dammit’ - he would’ve given more thought to how that had been the very start of a long line of similar mishaps.

A particularly embarrassing once, he’d forgotten the other side of the grocery list when he’d gone out - Cas had justifiably nagged him about the lack of oranges, post-it pads, and condoms for the rest of the day.

Once, he got so utterly exhausted performing Baby’s monthly maintenance routine, he fell asleep - and Cas just assumed he was staying over at a friend’s and had forgotten to inform him, so Dean spent the entire night and then some, in the garage.

Yeah, because he slept ten frigging hours a day now.

Dean occasionally complains how it’s happening all wrong for him, because this stuff’s supposed to start at eighty! And Sam and Cas both shine their intellectual scowls at him, and he’s told that he’s been mislead. Cas goes on to add, with a smirk, that since Dean hadn’t exactly allowed himself to age till forty two - when they finally took down Chuck and bowed out of the game - it might be a way for his body to compensate for the delay then. Dean tells Cas then that he’ll make him sleep on the couch, and Sam points out that it’s not Cas who develops a crick in his back from that, and Dean declares that he hates them both.

If someone had told him - and honestly drilled it into his head too, that exercise at thirty would mean surviving at sixty, he would’ve fucking joined his brother on his smug-faced morning runs. He still wouldn’t have yoga’d, to be completely truthful, but he could’ve fucking ran. (Though, he wasn’t sixty yet. That was far, far away.)

But the point stood as it did. Dean felt multiple times the old Cas seemed to be, and especially on the times he messed up and Cas turned even more thoughtful and nice - he has to seriously resist the urge to pull a Crowley and tell his ridiculously understanding husband that he has no idea what old feels like.

Except he isn’t a hypocrite, and theoretically, Castiel is older than mankind, and Jimmy’s older than Dean.

*

A day just so, when Dean’s home and Cas is gone visiting Claire at her new place - she’d moved in with Kaia only last month, after dating for more than a decade, with a quiet, beautiful wedding in the backyard, so Cas had taken with him a waffle maker to keep up the tradition of wedding gifts in their family - and Dean’s sat by himself on the porch contemplating the nature of being old as crap and acting like it, he’s struck with a horrifying thought. 

He hadn’t realized it yet, but all the things he’d been doing wrong, have been affecting his relationship with Cas, somehow. 

The keys? They’d had to postpone a date, that Dean couldn’t even remember them going on later. It wasn’t his fault, but Cas had had a busy week. The condoms? Well, go figure that one. The sleeping in the garage? He’d smelled so much of motor oil that even he couldn’t be disgusting enough to lean in for a kiss the next morning. 

Perfect. So, it hasn’t been enough to ruin Dean’s dignity and his sense of normalcy. The ghost of two-years-to-sixty had to mess with the best thing in his life, too. 

Though, he reasons, Cas has been nothing but accommodating all those times - well, except for when he’s a smartass about it.

Mostly, he just tries to convince Dean that it doesn’t matter, really, and that he understands - but it just irks Dean further. It isn’t fair that Cas can still walk at the same ex-angelic-pace from before, or that he doesn’t have colds and acid refluxes. He’s happy that Cas doesn’t suffer, of course he is - but it doesn’t seem fair. 

Cas might be aging with him, but he isn’t growing old. 

Instead, while Dean developed body aches and lines on his face, he’d just developed more pronounced crowfeet from the ever increasing smiles, and it just made him more beautiful. And he’d widened some, but Dean just likes that more. 

Cas doesn’t forget keys, or sexy items on the Walmart list, or any of the shit Dean pulls. He doesn’t do things which might compromise their time together, or date nights. 

Dean’s the one who does that. 

He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before. He shudders at the thought of becoming like one of those old married guys who stop putting a goddamn effort - because he knows he’s grateful for the life he lives, everyday. Getting married to Cas is one of the best things that have ever happened to him. But does Cas know? Does Cas remember? Dean loves him, but he’s hardly able to show it anymore. He can hardly plan elaborate and adventurous dates, and he certainly can’t orgasm thrice in a night. He’s old, and he knows Cas gets it, but does Cas get it?

Suddenly very troubled, Dean takes another sip from his beer. 

As the years passed by, his tolerance for alcohol has gone lower. It even tastes bitter, going down his throat. 

Old age just became exponentially worse. 

*

The last straw is something as inconsequential as a backache is at this age, and as horrid as one too.

Watching Netflix’s Queer Eye in the living room, they’d fallen asleep on the couch, in the middle of the day. Their white settee isn’t large enough for them both to lie down, but they’ve managed to settle pretty comfortably, and it doesn’t even feel like they’ve had to squeeze in, because Dean gets to have his hand around Cas, who has his head rested on Dean’s left shoulder.

The episode is long over, and owing to autoplay, Dean wakes up to the Fab Five spending the week with a completely different person altogether; and Cas stirs too, and lifts his head from Dean’s chest, having migrated downwards to hug his hips, and -

“Fuck.” Dean winces. The loss of weight had allowed his spine to straighten mostly, and a sharp pain shot through his back. He has to fight his tongue to not swear again, because Cas is looking at him concerned - albeit, still drowsy.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, in a sleep-roughened pitch, and Dean tries to focus on that instead on his back. How wonderful Cas sounds, and sure he does, but - holyshit, his back.

“It’s - I’m good, Cas.” Dean placates, trying not to speak through his teeth, still trying to ignore the pain.

“Did we really fall asleep at three in the afternoon?” Cas smiles at him, and his eyes are bright and eyebrows are up. “I’m surprised at us, Dean.” He adds, in a not very surprised tone, and scoots upwards to Dean’s level.

The pressure helps a little bit, only enough for Dean to screw his eyes shut and kiss back.

Cas is slow, soft and warm. He is half draped over Dean’s front, and cupping Dean’s face with both his hands like he wants to take his sweet time kissing today - like he has nowhere else to be, and Dean knows he doesn’t, and he wishes to dedicate all his time to Dean’s lips and Dean goddamn wants him to, too.

It’s been some time since they made out like this. It’s leading to no where - of course it isn’t, they aren’t monkeys who do it on the couch anyone; it’s just what it is, it’s very in the moment, and it’s one of Dean’s favorite things to do. Except right now, he’s not in the moment. 

He tries to return the best he can, letting an arm fall over Cas, and move his lips in sync with his. Cas is adequately pleased to be the one leading, and makes a happy, contented sound as his tongue enters Dean’s mouth.

And it feels wonderful, but Dean’s back still hurts, in spite of the weight now, which means there’s really no easy way out of this.

Cas chooses that moment to let go of Dean’s face, and his left hand trails under Dean, while the right one moves up into his hair. “Dean.” He sighs, and it’s so perfectly gorgeous, that Dean begs for it to stop hurting, so he can start enjoying too, because they haven’t kissed like this in a while, and he’s missed it.

There hasn’t been a reason to not do it - they’ve obviously kissed good morning and good night, but this is still the fortnight Dean forgot the lube and condoms so they haven’t had sex, and now that Dean thinks about it, his back has been showing signs of impending doom, as well as -

“I love you,” Cas breathes out, still nice and tender on him, and his mouth still engrossed in kissing him. 

“I -” Dean looks at Cas, sleepy blue eyes and soft, shaven cheeks, engrossed so completely in Dean - and feels an overwhelming wave of lucky again. “I love you.”

Shit, the least he can do is give Cas what he’s asking for - his back could be tended to, some other time. He’s been a hunter all his life. If he can’t even kiss his husband back without thinking about his aching back, what has he even been doing?

He stops thinking entirely, and gives himself up to making Cas feel good - he hums under his breath like he knows Cas likes to feel on his lips, and tugs Cas closer, and he almost feels better himself, until Cas’s wandering hand somehow snakes to the exact spot Dean’s pain is focused on, and as Cas groans, he presses, and -

“Fuck!” He cries out, almost yells, leaping a good inch off the couch. Cas is on his feet almost instantly, kiss swollen lips now frowning in earnest, studying Dean.

“Was that -” Cas pauses. “Is that an erogenous zone you’ve newly developed, and not told me about?” He asks, and he’s frank is all that matters. “Did you -” His eyes track lower along Dean’s body, where his member is definitely perking to attention, newly so under Cas’s curious stare.

“What? No.” Dean flushes, at the idea of coming in his pants like a horny teenager, from perhaps the most innocent drawn-out kiss he’s ever shared with Cas. Only because he’s been thinking about his back, that is. 

“It’s -” He almost tells Cas. Then he remembers the way Cas had looked at Dean, how much he’d wanted this, and how long it’d been. “It’s nothing. Just got reminded of something, or…whatever. Come back.”

Cas squints at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dean swats He still doesn’t dare to move his spine though, because after he’d sprung up in pain from Cas’s hand brushing the area, he’d managed to find a spot where he wasn’t quite feeling the pain.

Cas continues to squint.

“C'mere.” Dean motions, and makes the mistake of turning towards him to persuade Cas with full-blown puppy eyes, which usually work - because another bout of pain shoots through him, and he visibly squirms.

“Backache.” Cas declares, crossing his arms on his chest. “You have a backache.”

“S'no big deal.” Dean shakes his head.

“Okay.” Cas agrees, and sits down on the couch next to Dean, but not touching him anymore. Dammit. Cas had wanted to kiss him, wanted to keep kissing him, and Dean hadn’t even been able to get kissed. He was a complete moron, and now he knew he wouldn’t be able to get Cas to return to the kissing, till he’d dealt with the situation. 

“Tell me where.” Cas demands.

“I said it’s not a -”

“Falling asleep on the couch must’ve triggered it. You’ve been stiff since Thursday.” Cas notes, ignoring him. “I’m going to shift the TV to the bedroom tonight. You’ll help me with the plugs and the chords, you always know how to get the wires right. Now, can you walk?” Dean opens his mouth to protest that he doesn’t want to, because all he wants to do is sit on that couch, and have Cas on top, kissing him. “Because if you can’t, I’ll have to pick you up and put you on the couch which can be pulled into a bed, and you can stretch out.”

“Cas.” Dean whines.

“Dean.” Cas replies, matter-of-factly. Dean can’t tell if he’s pissed because Dean’s killed the mood by getting a stupid backache, or because Dean didn’t tell about it before.

Who’s he kidding, though? This is Cas. It’s the latter.

“Well, I haven’t tried to walk yet.” Dean finally gives in. Cas smiles, and it’s not a triumphant smile, Dean must have imagined it. But the fond twinkle in his eyes, he couldn’t have imagined.

Cas gives him a hand in getting up, and hooks Dean’s arm around his own shoulder to mostly drag him into bed. He plants Dean on his side, almost with a nonexistent grunt, and rewards him with another smile.

“Lie down. On your front, if you can.” He instructs. “I’ll come back with some ointment. Do you need help flipping to your front?”

“Y'know, you may wear a coat all the time, but you’re not a doctor.” Dean’s only trying to be annoying because Cas is a goddamn dream, and it is a miracle he loves Dean, so Dean must test his patience to make up for it. 

“I used to be able to heal - I think I’m close enough to one.” Cas replies, if a bit sad. “And if nothing else, I’ll kneel next to you, and rub the ointment into your back.”

Dean involuntarily sighs at the thought of that, because while the change in setting is helping, it still hurts like a bitch. And a massage sounds like heaven, right now.

But he realizes instantly after, how he just sighed at that thought like an nineteenth century actress, and grumbles. “Never thought I’d be this happy about a massage. And it’s not even a sexy massage.”

“I’ll have to take your shirt off. I could take my shirt off too,” Cas offers, from the other room, and now he’s moved on to the part where he’s snarky about it instead of kind. “We’ll bag the sexy, don’t you worry.”

“Shuddup. I’ll be lying on my front, anyways. Won’t even get to see ya.” Dean’s cranky, but Cas’s laugh comes across the hallway to him and makes him smile. Cas walks back into the room, sporting a smirk, as he unbuttons his shirt and gestures at Dean to flip over. Dean steals a proper glance. He gets to look at Cas everyday, naked if he wants to, but Cas never stops looking good to him. He’s got the toned abdomen, though you can’t see the formerly well-defined abs. Plus, he’s got chest hair, and there’s his pecs, and the shoulders, and his collarbones - and Dean has a flashback of the time he drunkenly confessed that he’d totally sleep with him, even if he hadn’t been around to see the coverboy model looks he’d had before, or even if he wasn’t the best man Dean had ever known, just because of those arms. 

So, sulking, but without his heart in it, Dean adds. “Sixty six’s not your fucking prime, you massive show-off.”

“Ouch.” Cas deadpans, and it’s not even funny, but Dean just loves his wisecracking idiot so much, so he laughs.

*

But this episode just reaffirms his fears. This newly-old thing is really trying to fuck up his marriage. That stupid backache - which subsided the next day, because Cas’s fingers are magic, and not just when they’re around Dean’s dick or up his ass - had cut into his quality time with Cas. He doesn’t want to let another old-person problem interrupt his time with Cas. He can’t possibly keep this up. 

Even if he has to put in more of an effort, he’s going to make it through this. 

*

“Say, Cas.” 

Cas raises his eyebrows as means of asking Dean to go on. 

“Wanna go out with me friday?” Dean proposed, putting on his most charming smile. Cas looks at him properly, as if analysing his face. Dean reruns his own words through his head, and suddenly realizes how much he sounds like they’re both in highschool. That’s what you say to the cute guy you have a crush on in the boy’s locker room. Or, in the case of Dean’s very heterosexual adolescence, the chick you share fries with in the lunch hall. In any case, it’s not what you say to your husband, suddenly and without preamble, when you’re both in the same bed, having ice cream for dessert while you watch Bohemian Rhapsody.

But Cas’s smile lights up his entire face, when he answers Dean. “Of course, Dean.” And he proceeds to slip a little closer to the middle, so that Dean can have his arm around him while they watch the movie. Dean feels a warmth blooming in his insides as well. Maybe the old thing won’t ruin this for him, after all. He can still make it right. 

“It’s a date.” He mumbles, squeezing his hand. 

“I thought so too.” Cas replies, and Dean can hear his amused smile in his voice. It’s wonderful. 

“Good.” Dean beams. “I’ll meet you in the living room at seven.” After changing clothes beside you in the bedroom at six thirty, he doesn’t add, because it sounds cheesier this way, and one thing Dean’s always loved about Cas, is that the guy really does dig the textbook chick-flick moments. Almost enough that he converts Dean into it. 

*

It’s a goddamn wonder that he doesn’t look as old as he feels, Dean thinks, adjusting his tie in the bathroom mirror. He can’t remember the last time he had to wear one.

He may have wrinkles now, but when he smiles, they look just like the smile lines he’s had since forty. Got to smile more then, he notes, grinning at the mirror, and feeling satisfied with the results. 

He’s wearing a blue shirt, which is a much lighter color than Cas’s eyes are - he’s not even trying to be cheesy, but when you spend all your time looking at your husband’s spectacular eyes, you develop tendencies to compare it to everything else blue you see. And he’s trying out a new-ish fad, and wearing a tie without a blazer. It’s too hot for a blazer. But Cas likes him in ties, so he’s wearing the one Cas got him for his fifty sixth birthday.

It’s indigo, with grey stripes. Cas is wearing grey, he knows. He caught a peak when Cas picked it out of their closet. He likes that shirt.

Dean looks at himself one last time.

For all his whining, he can still clean up nice. He marches out of the bathroom, feeling a little proud of himself, and excited to find Cas. Sure, blame him for wanting to see Cas’s reaction when he checks him out.

He reaches the living room, and is stunned, momentarily. "Cas.“ He just says, without meaning to. The word rolls off his tongue, like it does a thousand times each day, and Cas turns towards him. 

He is in the grey shirt Dean anticipated, but he hadn’t been prepared for how it looked on him, and he’s rolled it up to his elbows in just the way Dean’s told him multiple times he likes - and he’s wearing jeans instead of trousers, and he’s done something to his hair that Dean has no time to process, because Cas is soon walking up to him, and Dean’s definitely losing his peripheral vision too now, fucking presbyopia - or maybe all his eyes want to do is focus on the eyes, and tune all else out.

He has no time thinking about Cas’s reaction on seeing him, not when Cas looks like this, does he?

“Good eve - Okay, hi.” Dean abruptly ends, eyes widened, as Cas reaches him, stopping unbelievably close. It’s stupid how he’s literally done everything there is to do, with this man - and his proximity still gets Dean flustered sometimes. 

“Good evening. You look breathtaking.” Cas tells him, having to look just the little bit up to meet his eyes. 

“Well, I - uh, we still got it.” Dean corrects, leaning downwards to close the gap. Cas hadn’t been expecting it - why not, Dean has no idea; but it’s fun to take him by surprise as Cas slowly melts into the sensations, and Dean only pulls away for air. 

He’s never going to get tired of kissing this man. He’s never going to have had enough. Even if it had been all he did in all of his life, till the day he breathes his last, it’s not going to be enough. Dean’s gonna get old and Cas is not, because he might not be immortal anymore, but he never learnt to start aging - and Dean’s gonna wither and fucking die someday, and all things in the world are gonna get old, but kissing Castiel? That’s never going to get old. 

Cas inhales slowly, deeply, and looks at Dean in that particular way which he reserves for Dean. Dean really fucking loves it.

“I thought we were going to go out.” He says, and the teasing is loud and clear. Dean almost gives in too. As if he’d turn down an offer to stay back in bed with him. 

“Yeah, but we aren’t roleplaying a first date.” Dean says, instead, his upstairs brain getting the better of his downstairs one. “We’re still going to be married. We still get to kiss.”

“Then why was I looking up icebreakers, earlier?” Cas grins back. 

“Because you’re a weird, dorky little guy.” Dean offers, but pulls back too. The further away he stands from Cas, the lesser is the risk of them not being able to make it to the date.

“I’m hardly little.” Cas looks satisfied enough by pointing that out, to not respond to more, and instead goes to pick up his trenchcoat. “Are we leaving now?”

“Sure, big guy.” Dean rolls his eyes. He puts on his own coat, having to stretch his back to get in it. It’s a pleasant surprise, but none of his body parts are aching presently. He’s hoping it stays this way. “I’ll drive the car out to the front. Wait outside for me?”

Cas nods, and Dean goes. He settles in the driving seat, and slides his hands down the cover of the steering wheel. “You ready to charm my date for me, Baby?” He mutters, affectionately, as the engine roars to life and soon subsides to a purr as he drives it out of the garage.

Cas gets in next to him.

“That’s fresh air.” He points out.

“I know.” Dean grins at him, sideways.

“You used an air freshener.” Cas adds. “In your car.” He pauses, as if to process. “This doesn’t smell like the house either. You used a car freshener.”

“I know.”

“You must really love me very much,” Cas jokes, and Dean’s stomach almost drops because hell, that was quick. And of course he does, kind of why he orchestrated the entire thing. He doesn’t know what to say, so he does the one-shoulder-shrug - the universal sign for, I guess.

Cas ducks his head at that, and it’s all sorts of adorable. “So.” He starts, as Dean starts to drive. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ve had plenty of time to ask me before,” Dean remarks. “I know you like being surprised. Are you sure you want me to tell you, or is this just one of the icebreakers Buzzfeed taught you?”

Cas chuckles. “Both? And I’m not an amateur. I used Bustle.”

“Well,” Dean grins back. “It’s this newish continental place, near the bowling alley we went to on my last birthday. I looked it up on the internet after hearing of it from various sources, and they have pretty good reviews. We’ll have to try the thukpa.”

“Then we shall do so.” Cas answers.

“Yeah, place is real busy too.”

“Oh.” Cas bobs his head. “What time did you book for us?”

“Yeah, funny thing, I had a problem getting - oh, son of a bitch!” Dean suddenly pauses, horrified. The car swerves as he realizes, and stops thinking entirely. Then he’s pulling over, taking an acute turn from the middle of the road, and Cas is staring at him, trying to figure out the cause for the strange behavior. Nothing had happened on the road.

“Fuck!” He swears, still gripping the wheel. Cas is beginning to panic, asking Dean what’s wrong, on repeat. Dean doesn’t know where to begin. Horrified at himself, absolutely whitening rage - he turns to glare at Cas, though he’s only furious at himself.

“Fuck.” He repeats, for emphasis. “I forgot to make the fucking reservations.”

*

Dean storms into their house, having parked the Impala on the road, trusting Cas to follow. He keeps up, indeed, constantly asking Dean what was up with him. Dean unlocks their door frustratedly, and prances inside.

“Please sit.” He motions, waving his arm in the direction of the couch.

“We could just have driven around!” Cas protests. “Dean, I get that you’re irritated at yourself, but -”

“No.” Dean states, flatly. He sits gingerly down on the armrest of a couch, as Cas takes the other sofa. “I need to do this. We need to talk.”

For a fraction of a second, Cas’s eyes widen, and they’re a little bit worried. Frightened. It must be the pop culture affiliations that phrase has.

Dean leaps to correct himself. “No! Not like that - Never like that. You’re perfect, Cas.” He sighs. “You’re everything I could ask for.”

“And you’re upset about that.” Cas points out, blinking.

“No, idiot. I’m fucking thrilled. But I’m not.”

“So, you’re thrilled, and you’re also not thrilled.” Cas repeats, squinting at him now. Cas is leaning towards him, and Dean gets up from the armrest, and begins to walk around, to avoid Cas’s eyes.

“No. I am thrilled. I’m just not everything you could ask for.” Dean admits, with resignation. He’s tried to fight it, he’s tried to be better, he’s tried everything, but he’s old and pathetic and cannot even keep Cas assured that he loves him - as was just exhibited. He’s been doing everything wrong, for everything right that Cas does.

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but Dean goes on. “I don’t remember stuff, and I can’t do things anymore - and I creak, Cas - and you’re always so fucking okay with all of it, but you shouldn’t have to be with someone who can’t even remember to book a table for a date!”

“I told you we could’ve driven around the town, and then microwaved leftovers for dinner.” Cas throws back. “I liked that car smell.”

“You shouldn’t have to compromise!” Dean argues. “You give me everything I want. You should get everything you want too, Cas! That time, we had to cancel a date cause I lost my keys -”

“You didn’t lose them.” Cas tells him, cutting him off. Dean can’t tell exactly what mood Cas is in right now, but he sure sounds annoyed. Wow, so now Dean’s managed to do that too. Kudos to him. “And I don’t even want to go there now. Claire told me the owners were loud Republicans.”

“That’s not the point.” Dean complains, trying to remember what the point was, himself. “That afternoon! You wanted to make out, and my back was killing me, and we couldn’t -”

“I could always just kiss you now.” Cas declares, standing up, as if to prove his point.

“Not the point.” Dean hurriedly passes the opening to postpone this conversation. “Cas, I just want you to know that I wish I could be more. Like before. Or better yet. I was never enough -”

“Stop.” Cas positively yells, at this point. “I don’t care about the 'point’ you’ve conjured up, Dean. I get a say in this.” Dean’s silenced by the glare he receives. “I love you.” He begins, softening.

“I know.” Dean sighs.

“And I could not have asked for anything more than you are, Dean Winchester.” Cas takes a step towards him. Dean - okay well, he doesn’t move away, as much as he shuffles his weight to the other hip. He wants Cas to get there. “Because you’re everything.”

Dean blushes, though it’s a stupidly common line, because Cas isn’t just saying it. He’s practically emanating it. “Cas, no -”

“And you talk about not putting in an effort?” Cas rolls his eyes, and his neck goes with it. “Well, what have I been doing, then? I’ve been so comfortable with what we have, that I haven’t been initiating newer things, or asking you out, or -”

“That’s not your fault.” Dean says, shortly. “We’re not a week into dating. We’re settled, and domestic, and those are good things. If you were on your toes about us doing new things all the time, what’s the meaning of all the time we’ve spent together?”

Cas looks appalled, though Dean thinks he’s done a good job explaining it. “Awesome. You can whip out thoughtful lines like those when I talk about not putting in an effort anymore, but when it comes to you, I suddenly seem to want more?”

“Don’t you try to Dr Phil your way outta my fuck-up, Cas.” Dean warns, knowing exactly where Cas would take this.

“I don’t have to.” Cas replies. “Because it’s not your fuck-up. It’s mine. Somehow, I’ve failed to make you realize how much I -”

“You’ve not failed at anything!” Dean frowns. “I know you’re going to say you love me, and I -”

“What, you think I just say it?” Cas retorts. “There are millions of words out there, Dean. I have an exquisite vocabulary. I adore you, and I’m bewitched by you, and I cherish you, and I’m devoted to you, and I’m enchanted by you. But at the end of it all, I love you, for nothing could say it better.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Now, you’re going to let me apologize for allowing you to let such insecurities fester.” Cas tells him, having caught Dean in a daze. “You’ve always made me feel loved, Dean. And in these last sixteen years, you’ve made me happier than I could ever have known. You’ve smiled my bad days into better ones, and cooked meals for us to share on that little table, and you’ve let me kiss you, and make love to you, and be wedded to you, and you’ve never once let me feel alone. And since that’s what I’ve most felt, before you, I am more grateful for you than you could ever imagine.”

Dean feels his throat clog up.

“And every day, Dean, I’ve woken up knowing I love you, but gone to bed at night, next to you, somehow even more deeply in love.” Cas emphasizes. He’s standing much closer to Dean now.

“And I cannot believe I’ve never said this aloud, for I think about it all the time.” Cas swears, his tone delicate. “But you’ve grown and changed so much, that it’s that much easier to love you now. It was always too simple, but little by little, you’ve molded into all my nooks, and filled every strange-shaped crevice of everything I ever wanted.”

Dean’s lips tremble, as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and lets Cas hug him close. He feels a tear slip down his face, but it doesn’t matter, because Cas’s arms are around him, pulling him close, and he can just pause, and listen, and breathe Cas in.

“I don’t know how long it took, the first go-around, as you call it. Maybe I fell in love with you when I rebuilt you, or when I fought with you against Heaven, or by that river in Purgatory.” Cas whispers, words a little garbled as they’re spoken into the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “But if I had met you today, I would’ve fallen in love with you in a day.”

Dean lets out a choked sound, he wants to believe is a scoff. “You only had to ask if you wanted me to have a dad-bod, buddy. Back then, I mean.”

“You’re nicer to hug.” Cas justifies, and on cue, holds on tighter. “But it’s all the other things too. Now, you -”

“Please. Stop, Cas.” Dean begs, and it’s only a little bit of a joke. “If you go on anymore, I’m going to have to sit down, and then I’m not going to be able to get up, without being vastly unattractive about it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Cas informs him, pulling away to look at him better. “But fine. We can finish this conversation later.”

“And I can tell you more of my side,” Dean looks down at the floor, embarrassed. “Without you rambling off poetry about our relationship, and making it all sappy like you love to do.”

“Only if you aren’t determined to fault yourself.” Cas conditions, smiling now. He’s so beautiful.

“But I -”

“Dean.” Cas scowls, and Dean shrugs, quieting down. “Only if you swear to skip to the part where we talk about how to help you overcome this. Because, I’m sorry, but it’s not me who feels what you think I feel, at all.”

“Shuddup.” Dean mutters.

There’s a silence, a warm and comfortable one. Cas smiles, again, little but pleasant - and Dean mirrors it. He loves Cas so much. And Cas loves him.

“Date nights.” He blurts. “We could do date nights.”

“Of course.” Cas looks amused, but in a good way. “I think we could pull those off.”

“Let’s have them thursdays.” Dean smirks, and Cas grins.

“Good choice.”

“And let’s go on a vacation.” Dean suggests, suddenly. The pressure is gone, but the adrenaline hasn’t worn off. Their entire future seems to be a sky of possibilities. To make each other feel loved, and to be happy. To put in efforts, without making it a big deal. They can do this. “Let’s go to a beach. Out of the country. We could go on a cruise.”

Cas beams. “I would like that, yes.”

“And -” Dean stops himself, blushing.

“Yes?” Cas urges.

Dean squirms.

“- would you like for me to choose more panties for you?” Cas says, tentatively, at the same time that Dean says, “I want to dye my hair.”

Dean lets out a nervous chuckle, as Cas’s eyebrows go up. “Both?”

“Both.” Cas nods, stepping closer again, but this time it’s not a hug, as his hands go around Dean’s middle, but his head doesn’t go on his shoulder. Dean’s the one who closes the gap, exhilarated.

They’ve got this.

*

And as they eventually fall back on one of the couches, Cas straddling Dean because he’s the only one of them who can still do that - Dean remembers that they never pulled the curtains down, and moves to stop Cas.

“Curtain.” He pants. “Could you -” Cas doesn’t seem to get it, and continues to lavish kisses on his clavicle. “Cas.” Dean groans. “The window, please. No one wants to see two old geezers getting sweet on each other through the window.”

“Maybe exhibitionism would rekindle the spark you claim is dead for me.” Cas mocks. “And I prefer lovely, married couple. Less old, less geezer.”

“Sure you do.” Dean laughs back, burying his face in Cas’s chest. “You’re a billion years ancient ex-wave, and I’m definitely a geezer, but sure you prefer lovely, married couple.” Cas’s laughter rumbles through him, and Dean can feel it too.

And just like that, it’s pretty frigging perfect - the sixty 'round the corner be damned.