#I could barely see it light was reflecting off the screen and hitting the scratches on it weirdly

[okcoolthanks]

Oh dear

pov your dog what huh who said that

[neochan]

GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

[corysmiles]

(little streamer)

I can only imagine Wilbur's big brother instincts going wild when Shroud shows up- because first off that spider is definitely big enough to eat Tommy, and secondly tinies have actually gotten attacked and eaten by spiders before- and Tommy is just laughing off this one being so close to him as if it's nothing? All I can see is a panicking big brother-

Shroud 1: Wilbur: 0

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Little Streamer AU

CW: language

Notes: I wasn’t even planning to write a whole fic for this ask but I started answering it and then my brain vomited out a whole fic. Hope you like it :] and thank you for the ask Roman!!!

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The first time Wilbur saw Shroud was when he was on a call with Tommy after a stream. The two were just exchanging stories the moment Wilbur caught sight of something reflective in the back of Tommy’s room.

At first he didn’t think much of it- it was probably just the light hitting something or a strange looking shadow.

But then it moved.

Wilbur was barely paying attention to Tommy’s story about his mom anymore as he stared at the black shape, watching it get closer and closer to the chattering tiny.

“Hey Tom-“

“Ah what now,” Tommy puffed up, “Are you even listening?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and subconsciously tapped his fingers against his keyboard, “Yeah yeah, just wondering what’s behind you? Add something to your room?”

The tiny’s face scrunched up in confusion as he stared back at the monitor, “I have no fucking clue what you’re taking about.”

“That thing!” Wilbur pointed, “The thing behind you.”

Inquisitively, the tiny turned back to his room, giving Wilbur a much clearer view of the strange object. He watched as the dark shape moved again and as it got closer he finally figured out the object- or creature- he was looking at.

And god did his heart stop.

“Tommy! A spider-”

“Shroud!”

Wilbur felt his jaw drop as the tiny turned back to the screen with a gigantic spider now cradled in his arms. Its beady eyes stared forward blankly as one of its legs tried to tap at the screen.

“This is just Shroud Wil, nothing to worry ‘bout,” Tommy hummed before scratching at the spider’s head.

While Tommy seemed content to relax with the spider, Wilbur felt like he’d just been punched in the face. He didn’t know much about tinies before Tommy, but he had heard countless stories on the news of them getting mauled by spiders. The arachnids were huge compared to tinies (the one on the screen was almost the size of Tommy’s torso), and venomous spiders could take out an adult tiny in just minutes.

“Nothing to worry…” Wilbur gaped before shaking himself out of his stupor, “Tommy that’s a- fuck that’s a spider! Get that thing out of there what the fuck? Do you have a death wish?”

Tommy’s mouth gaped opened before settling into a shit-eating grin.

“Awe is Wilbur afraid of a lil spider,” Tommy cooed as he grabbed one of Shroud’s legs and waved it around at the screen, “Look he’s just like a little puppy. Could probably fetch too if you want.”

“That thing is fucking terrifying Tommy,” Wilbur glared.

Tommy huffed and hugged the spider closer, earning a small hiss from the creature.

“You’re being a dick to my spider.”

“That thing could literally eat you Tommy!” Wilbur glared. But the tiny didn’t seem too concerned.

“Nah he wouldn’t do that,” the spider hissed, “See, he agrees.”

Exasperated, Wilbur sighed and leaned forward on his arms as the tiny continued to play around with the arachnid. As much as his mind was screaming to get the boy away from the spider, Tommy seemed very calm about his “pet”. And even if he was in danger Wilbur was way too far to help him.

He guessed as long as Shroud didn’t hurt the teen he’d be alright with the spider. Even though it’s weird beady eyes made his skin crawl.

“Whatever,” Wilbur yawned, “Too tired for this shit. Have fun with your ugly dog.”

Before Tommy could even form a retort the human hung up and leaned back into his chair. He’d been awake for almost 20 hours, and the lull of sleep seemed extra convincing. Sleepily he pulled on a soft shirt and fell back into his bed with a thud, the small stuffed animal he’d won with Tommy still sat next to him on his bedside table.

However, before he could fall asleep the sharp ding of a text pierced through his room. He groaned as he opened the message only to be met with a close up of the spider with the text “sex beast.”

Fuck, that kid was going to be the death of him.

[sunshineandcybertronians]

Make Your Choice - Megatron x reader x Starscream (TFP)

Word count: 2,621 Warnings: angst, conflicting feelings, major character death A/n:  Finished this in one day 9/21/19 at 11:01 PM (holy heck, that was a long time ago). I read pages 140-144 in Transformers Exodus. I never thought I’d write something that’s even slightly Megatron x reader, but here I am. But this oneshot turned out good.

"Where is he?" You searched the dark corridor of Nemesis for a friend.

As a Decepticon you served under Megatron, and Starscream at times. You were lucky enough to be close to both of them. Although Decepticons would never admit to having friends, you called them this secretly.

You were kind to everyone, even those you didn't know. It hurt you to think of anyone in pain. The majority of the Decepticons knew this, and it was miraculously pardoned thus you were given tasks that required no violence. Perhaps it was your soft words and consideration that made this so, finding a soft spot in the seemingly merciless Megatron. Starscream also respected this when he was in control for about three years.

It was very possible someone would question why you were a Decepticon with your nature being closer to an Autobot. This had occurred to you before, but you hoped to change the Decepticons. If everyone who was good left the Decepticons, there would be no chance of changing it to good in the future. Plus, most of your friends were on that side.

You looked through a doorway, he wasn't there either. "Where are you, Starscream?" You whispered to yourself. Well, you said friend earlier, but recently your feelings for him were becoming a little... different.

Since you finished some work sooner than you presumed, you now had free time that you intended to spend it with Starscream. Upon coming to a T in the halls, you paused to think of a plan. Snapping your fingers, you rushed in the direction of the medbay, to not waste another second of your time. Maybe Knockout knew where he was. Out of everyone he was the second closest to the second in command. While jogging, you remembered when you first started to develop feely for him.

Despite the fact you were kind-sparked, this didn't mean that you were not immune to frustration. At the point of time Megatron had just left on his journey through space, Starscream attacked a vehicon because he was dissatisfied with their lack of progress. For no good reason, out of anger.

"Hey!" You had barked at him, startling both him and the vehicons. "Don't do that. They did nothing to you."

He examined you with his red optics. A snarl and an un-amused expression decorated his faceplate as his tilted his helm back. Releasing the vehicon whilst shoving him away, he shifted his attention to you. He approached you, in attempt to intimidate you.

Your held your ground.

"And I believe you should be reminded of your place. You are a subordinate, who doesn't even have the fuel tank to draw energon. You don't tell me what to do."

"No! You listen!" When his servos flinched, you stepped forward to grab them to prevent him from attacking you. You shoved your faceplate near his, with barely any space apart. "They're on the same side as you. Don't hurt people for no reason. It's not nice." After your anger faded, you realized how close your face was. Energon rushed through you.

He smirked, which didn't help your flustered look. "Are you blushing, little femme?"

"No!" You stepped away.

You thought a little more and decided you wanted to clear something up before you left. "But you are a good leader. You just need to avoid letting your anger get the best of you. If you make emotional decisions, you might mess up your chance to succeed, like I know you can."

Shock filled his expression, his optics widening and eyebrows lifting at the thought you actually believed in him. He quickly regained his senses. "You mean like you did just now?" He showed teeth while displaying the irony.

You pursed your lips and averted your gaze to the ground. "Yes. Just like that," you mumbled.

And strangely enough, after that you had become very good friends with him and would have many conversations with him. Knockout would occasionally tease you for it.

Another example was before leaving Cybertron, when Megatron first learned of Dark Energon (unbeknownst to you and Megatron at the time, Starscream already knew of it long before and was attempting to learn more). He privately admitted to you, something you found shocking at the time, that he knew it was unwise to use the Dark Energon due to its unknown and most likely dangerous properties. Yet he felt it necessary to end the war. He, the gladiator, was tired of fighting. It nearly melted your spark and made you want to hug him in order to make him feel better. Then he said that maybe he would finally defeat the "treacherous Optimus Prime," which then caused you to want to call him an idiot since you knew Optimus never betrayed Megatron.

You had mixed emotions like that. If you wanted someone to be the best version of themselves and to be their friend, their flaws and evil mistakes made you upset for that same reason. This mostly fell under your emotions about Megatron or Starscream.

Your thoughts were put to an end when you reached your destination. Without missing a beat, you opened the door and marched right in.

"(Y/n)! Did you need repairs?" Knockout picked up one of the tools he was organizing.

"Hey, Knockout! No. I was wondering if you knew where Starscream was," you explained.

He chuckled, his finish reflecting what little light there was in the room. "Of course you came here to ask where your boyfriend was."

You stiffened. "He's not my boyfriend, we're just friends."

"You could've fooled me." The mech lifted his optic ridge, clearly not convinced.

"Do you know where he is?" You cut to the point again, wanting to leave the awkward conversation.

"I may," he answered wistfully, "but you may have to give me some more buffing solution as payment."

"But I just gave you some yesterday. In fact, I think you almost always get it from me, and I never ask for anything in return. By the time I get you more I'll have to go back to work."

"Just joking. He's heading to the energon supplies to check inventory." Knockout didn't even give you a glance as he picked up a buffer in the corner and spun the correct pad onto it. "Make sure you remember to propose to him."

"Knockout," you drew out his name in annoyance, almost out the door.

"Just kidding."

You rolled your eyes, mentally forgave him, and bolted to the direction of the energon stock. The clanging of your pedes hitting the floor slowed and came to a halt when the entrance was just on your right.

"Starscream?" You stuck your helm in and searched. Finally, your optics locked onto the thin seeker, with sharp features and expressive wings. He looked to you with surprise, his long digit hovering over the control panel that contained information on how much energon there was, how much was used in the previous month, and the chart of how much energon was found compared to other points throughout time on Earth.

"(Y/n)? Aren't you supposed to be organizing files right now?" He inquired.

"I was done early." You hopped into the room as the door slid closed behind you. It was now dark, except for the illumination from the energon. The way it dimly shown on him and cast shadows on the edges of his figure made him look even more attractive. You shifted and swatted away the thoughts in your head.

"So, what are you up to?"

"Nothing much," he groaned, waving his servo. "I was simply accessing the inventory to find if we had enough and needed to lower rations."

"Hmm. From what I read in reports, it's getting harder to find energon, but we found a good stock recently."

"Yes. I saw that on the chart." He nodded to the glowing screen.

Before you could stop yourself, you began admiring his wings. Then your gaze shifted to a part that wasn't quite as smooth as the rest.

"What's that scratch on your wing?" You exclaimed when you finally noticed it.

He bit his lip, looked to it, and shrugged. "I flew too low and my wing got clipped by a tree."

Studying the scrapes, you delicately traced your fingers on it. He winced in pain and reached to shove it away, but stopped when you flinched away on your own after seeing his reaction.

Letting, your servo fall softly onto the undamaged surface. His wings relaxed in please and a smile crept onto his face. You gently rubbed the spot below it and held his jaw with your other servo. He seemed to melt at your touch and closed his optics. His arms snaked their way around your waist.

His optics flickered open again and stared at you with an emotion you had never seen present in them before... love. Without thinking or even considering the consequences of it, you began to close the distance between your lips and his. However you were cut off when light filled the room coming from the door.

You both turned your heads to see who it was. The expectation was that it was just a vehicon, however it was anyone but a simple minion. It was Megatron himself.

You both stepped back. What was he doing there? He was probably either looking for you or Starscream. You passed some vehicons on the way, so he could have definitely inquired where you were from them, if you were indeed the one he was seeking to find.

When he noticed you and Starscream together, and not just that, but that you were having... erm, a moment, his face twisted from a hurt shocked to anger.

"What have we here?" He marched in, servos behind his back. The door closed, blocking the light once more. You weren't exactly sure why he was so furious, he had never been that mad at you before.

"Well," Starscream stumbled on his words and shrunk back. "You see-"

"Trying to steal yet another thing from me!" He exploded at the seeker. He took the second in command's neck in his hand and held him in the air.

"Megatron! What are you doing?!" It made no sense, why he was just suddenly deciding to kill Starscream. Had he tried to kill him recently? What did he mean 'steal'?

"What are you... Talking... About?" Starscream gasped with his legs dangling.

"(Y/n)," he turned to you. You flinched back, yet noticed how his voice was softer. "Be my sparkmate."

This thoroughly confused you and sent a chill through your frame. "What?! No."

A mix of despair, anger, and desperation showed on his faceplate.

Deciding to elaborate you started carefully, "Why? I thought we were just friends. I thought of us as just friends." You had nothing against him. You cared about him, but never thought of it in a different way. Perhaps you could have explained more, although in your baffled state, you couldn't get out much.

"Those years in space," the leader of the Decepticons began, "it was so lonely I once thought I would lose my mind. The only two things that kept me going and what made me able to live after every near-death experience are my desire to extinguish Optimus and to be with you. You somehow make everything better and chase away darkness and solitude." A blade launched from above his hand and he aimed it for the dangling Cybertronian in his hand. "I want you to always be by my side. Be my sparkmate, or Starscream dies."

You couldn't believe it, well, maybe you could considering how violent he was and how many other times he came close to killing Starscream. The Decepticon leader had even expressed fear you'd leave him for someone else before. Yet, you had assumed that it was platonic and never guessed this would happen.

"Please," you pleaded, "Don't terminate him. I know you have kindness in your spark, and it is not weakness, it is a virtue. Please. Starscream has always been useful to you. For me?" You held your servos together, your sad optics sparkled.

This seemed to make him consider, as he started to reflect your sadness then shook it away. Replaced with anger of how greatly you cared for his second in command that seemed to undermine everything he did. "No. Only if you become my sparkmate."

The seeker decided to take matters into his own servos and aimed the red missile on his arm while distracted. Megatron noticed and tore it and the other off and let then drop to the floor with Starscream wailing in pain.

You shook your head in horror, still in disbelief of what was happening. "Why are you doi-"

"I CAN'T LOSE YOU TO STARSCREAM!" He raised the sword. "And now he won't keep you from me anymore!"

"NO!" You screamed. Panic surged through you. This couldn't happen, you couldn't lose Starscream. You just couldn't. You didn't want him to die. If he were to die, you would never see or talk to him again, and it was something you could never afford.

Without thinking, you lunged forward and converted your servo to a blade. Only focusing on saving Starscream, you slashed at the one threatening his well-being.

Then time slowed. Your optics widened. You stumbled back with energon stained on the sharp edge. Megatron opened his mouth, yet nothing came out as his grip loosened and he fell to the ground. His helm nearly falling off of his body, with almost all severed off. Your mouth hung open watching the glowing blue liquid puddle onto the floor, seeming to form a lake. He gave the saddest look you've ever seen, making you want to scream as he seemed to stare right into your spark, before his scarlet optics flickered and the life faded from them.

Then the gravity of what you did. You stared at the blade, then your dead friend.

"NO! What am I doing? Why did I want to hurt you?!" You screamed. Switching back to your hand, feeling the energon drip into your parts, as you ran forward and held Megatron. You answered your own questioned, "It was to save Starscream, but why did you make me do that?! I didn't wanna hurt you. I'm supposed to be a friend, be nice. I just wanna... wanted to be your friend." You changed the word since Megatron was now no more. You wrapped your armed around him in a hug. Overcome by grief. Then anger resurfaced.

"Stupid head! Why do you have to be like this? Why do you have to be an evil overlord? I wanted to be friends. I care about you!" Then you sank back into sadness.

With a sigh, you attempt to pull yourself together. He was set to the side and you stood up, energon dripping off of you.

This whole time, Starscream, who had crawled away when he was first released, watched you. He really had no idea what to do or how to help you. All he knew was that you probably needed to be left alone at that moment, thus he stood there. Although he was flattered that you, as a pacifist, would kill to save him, he hated that you were unhappy. He waited until a few nanoklicks after you stood in silence.

"All hail Starscream?" He hesitantly questioned, his wings giving a shrug. He clearly didn't want to bother you in such an emotional state, although still desired to know if he'd be leading the Decepticons.

With a small smile creeping to your lips, you nodded while trying to move on from what happened. "Yes. All hail Starscream."

[wonderlustlucas]

home - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 2.7k ⇢ genre fluff, kind of angsty? ⇢ warnings insinuated that this takes place during covid & that reader has some case of depression/anxiety i literally wrote her as me so like ⇢ summary In which Hyunjin shows you just how special you are.—college!au ⇢ a/n happy birthday to my love, my comfort, my home

What am I doing here?

Unfortunately, there is no one else to blame but herself for being left without plans on this Friday night. Regretfully so, she instead finds herself alone on the upper level of the business building. Scratch that, the whole building, probably – she’s been here since four, and the few students that were once alongside her left hours ago. Initially here to work on an essay, she now occupies her time bouncing between YouTube, Twitch, and Crunchyroll, watching whatever she is feeling at the moment despite Monday’s deadline looming over her.

Sighing, she looks away from a boring page of YouTube recommendations, stretches her neck, and reaches for her hot chocolate. Well, not hot anymore, she realizes with a wince after taking a sip, struggling to swallow the now cold drink. Gaze flicking to the time on the corner of her laptop, she frowns. 9:43. She considers walking home once it hits ten, the unstirred silence of the building starting to prick up her spine like needles. Home, she thinks with an amused exhale from her nose. A too small, overheated double dorm room that technically is a single now that her roommate has gone online for the rest of the semester. Home.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone were to miss her if she were to go home home. If anyone would even notice, anyway.

She wouldn’t expect them to, honestly. It’s not as if she goes out of her way to hang out with anyone, usually opting to cozy up in her room and pretend she does not see the groupchat blowing up with plans to meet at the dining hall, a study session at the library, a trip to the mall. She loves her friends, really, but can rarely find it in herself to actually participate in said friend activities. Sure, there are some nights she actually leaves the confines of her room to join them, but to be quite frank, she’s glad they have learned to simply stop inviting her. Makes the whole looking for an excuse problem a lot easier.

Besides, who would want to go out on a night like this, anyway?

Just as she has flipped to page fifty-three of The Old Man and the Sea, she looks away in boredom, instead opting to gaze out the window. Focusing past her reflection on the tall glass pane, a warm feeling she can only describe as peace seems to settle over her, watching the snow fall like moonlit glitter across campus. The snowstorm had started light when she first arrived, soft enough she could manage with her hood down, dotting her with only miniature droplets of water. Now, though, the flakes are so large she can focus on one at a time as they fly past, covering the ground with a solid two or three inches at this point. In the distance, she can spot snowplows making their rounds to clear the pathways, the route to the business building already turned slushy blue as salt melts the continuous snow.

She sighs, eyes wide like a child as she represses the urge to go outside and grab a handful of it, maybe fall onto one of the lawns and make a snow angel, stick her tongue out and try to catch one of the large flakes. Tomorrow, maybe, she thinks, looking at her grey sweatpants and deciding walking back with soaked pants in this weather would not be the best idea.

So late into March, she cannot help but chuckle at the number of students complaining about the snow and cold temperature on SnapChat, even her friends having to change their plans. She, on the other hand, finds such last chance snowstorm beautiful; sure, she was ready for spring and eventually a break from school, but watching the snow dancing under the streetlights, choreographed by the gentle wind, she thinks it’s something to hold on to, keep her grounded to reality that albeit the stress and monotony of college, such moments like these still exist.

She jumps at the sound of the front entrance slamming closed.

Who the hell? She frowns, annoyed at whoever decided now was a good time to come inside, subsequently ruining her little moment of serenity. Turning red at the thought of some raunchy couple thinking to spice things up in the presumably empty building, she considers packing her bag and heading out. But no matter which exit, they would still see her, and that would be painstakingly awkward. Maybe she could escape into one of the smaller reservation rooms, or at least make some exaggerated noise so they at least know they’re not alone.

Could just be a janitor, or maybe someone else deciding to shelter somewhere other than their dorm to buckle down and do some work, she thinks. No matter who it is and what their intentions are, her leg is already bouncing a mile a minute having gotten used to having the space to herself.

So caught up on how or when she should take her leave, she does not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs until they’re right behind her. Tensing up, she watches in the window’s reflection as the business building’s second occupant steps up onto the platform and… heads towards her. Panic setting in, she tries to decipher who it is through the blurry reflection but to no avail, heart racing at the thought of a stranger approaching her, one of her friends finding her here on a Friday night, a janitor going to ask her to leave.

She turns her head as soon as they stop beside her.

“Hyunjin?” She blurts, taken aback. This was the last person she expected to be here. Somewhat relieved but heart still beating in her throat, she blinks up at the tall boy to make sure it’s really him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he returns, pulling his mask down below his chin and smiling cheekily at her. “I went to go pick up my food and saw you in the window,” Hyunjin explains, tugging the beanie off his head and shaking his hair out, showering her in the tiny droplets. Wrinkling her nose, she takes notice of the Chipotle bag in his hand and how soaked his coat is.

“Here,” she offers, reaching for the bag. Passing it to her with a grateful smile, Hyunjin unzips his coat and sets it over a chair beside her alongside his beanie, wipes the melted snow and sweat from his eyes, and tries to fix his now mused bangs. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks while doing this, regarding her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Work,” she sighs. Then, glancing to the screen of her laptop and realizing it’s still the home page of YouTube, she grimaces. “Trying to do work. Not really. Just watching the snow.”

“It’s a lot prettier when you’re inside,” Hyunjin comments, following her gaze to watch the frenzy of snow before taking the bag from her and offering a quiet thanks. “But I meant more why are you here?”

She isn’t quite sure what her relationship with Hyunjin is. Having been one of the many acquaintances she barely made at freshman orientation, he did not seem like the kind of person she expected to still be in her life. She wouldn’t exactly say they were close, but she considers Hyunjin a friend, she thinks. After a good month or two forgetting he existed, she randomly bumped into him at the dining hall, recognizing that unfairly attractive face of his in line for chicken nuggets and immediately falling into conversation. Turns out, he was mutual friends with her lab partner, Kim Seungmin.

She does not see Hyunjin as much as she wishes she did. She had not shared any classes with him in the past three years, and even if her friend group and his overlapped in the slightest, it was not always a given that they both would be able to hang out as much as their closer friends do. Still, there always seems to be a random occasion, such as now, where they bump into one another. Each time is a pleasant surprise, of course, and not just because of his pretty face and wide shoulders, but because he has always seemed to care for her in a way no one else does, and that in itself is enough to have her heart racing every time he comes close.

Not that she has a crush on him or anything, but it definitely is hard trying not to fall in love every time he even so much as smiles at her.

Face heating up in embarrassment at his question, she avoids looking him in the eyes and randomly minimizes the Chrome tab on her laptop. “You know,” she drones on, “just taking it easy for the night.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, opening the lid of his burrito bowl and stabbing a fork into the layers. Even her mouth waters. “I feel like I never see you,” he contemplates, finally taking a bite. His words surprise her. “Uh, yeah,” she coughs, forcing herself to look away before she gets too enraptured over how beautiful he looks even after trekking through a snowstorm, long hair messy but falling over his face in a way that has her fingers twitching to tuck away. “I usually don’t go out with everyone. Not my scene.”

“Aw,” he coos, “I get that. Sometimes I’m the same way, I just want to relax on the weekends after working so much all week.”

Thank you!, she almost shouts, but bites her tongue. She agrees, but even she does not know why she can’t find it in herself to go out and party with everyone else. She’s just lazy, to put it simply. Nevertheless, his words put her at ease, no longer worried that he might think she’s a loser for staying in every weekend.

“Exactly,” she agrees, “parties are fun, sometimes. But I just prefer laying low. I don’t think my friends like that, though.”

Gaze finding his, her heart does somersaults at the smile he offers. “Nah,” Hyunjin says, confident, “no one thinks that. Everyone has their way of having fun. Honestly, all I’ve ever heard is your friends complaining how they miss you and that you would make going out more fun since you’re so funny.”

“Which is true, by the way,” he adds.

She feels as if she is going to combust. “Oh,” she croaks, throat dry, “um, thank you. That’s sweet of them. And you. I guess I didn’t consider that they miss me when they go out.”

Hyunjin scoffs, raising a brow but finishes chewing before speaking again. “Are you nuts? You’re so fun to be around, of course they’re going to miss you.”

“Okay, stop that,” she laughs, burning from the inside out at his compliments. “Just being honest,” he laughs, opening the bag of his tortilla chips. “Want any?”

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” she huffs out an airy laugh, rolling her chair closer to his. Miscalculating that he was going to move, too, she quite literally feels her blood pressure skyrocket as her knees bump into his. And he doesn’t move. “Here,” moving the bag closer to the edge of the table, Hyunjin glances at her for only a split second before focusing on his bowl again.

Reaching into the bag, she feels emboldened not only by his previous flattery, but his proximity as well, and scrambles to continue the conversation. “Why are you eating Chipotle so late?”

“Pre-birthday celebration. Also, DoorDash took forever,” Hyunjin laughs.

“When’s your birthday?” She asks, munching on a chip.

“In,” he pauses, tapping his phone, “two hours.”

Oh. “What?” She gasps, blinking at him. “What? Why aren’t you out? It’s your birthday weekend and you’re here eating Chipotle?”

“Woah, okay Miss I-Prefer-Laying-Low. Maybe I wanted to chill tonight, since tomorrow I’m going out? Hm?” Hyunjin chuckles at her scowl, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah, I guess but—”

“No but’s,” he interrupts, the amused glint in his eyes disappearing, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right? I’m lucky I saw you in the window.”

“I guess,” she mutters, realizing her heart has not stopped its staccato frenzy since moving closer, “you scared me, by the way. I’ve been here alone for hours and suddenly someone is walking up to me, I think I shit my pants.”

Hyunjin bellows out a laugh, and such an airy sound momentarily leaves her awestruck. Oh, god, she’s in deep. It’s over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggles, battling her hand to reach for a chip. Even the touch of his long fingers against hers has the entire butterfly population roaring to life in her gut. “Look, I made up for it by gifting you chips.”

“True,” she hums, licking residue salt off her fingers before leaning back in her chair to catch a breather. Too much physical contact and emotion for one night.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Hyunjin asks, taking her by surprise. Again. She thinks she is going to faint if she isn’t able to wrap herself around him within the next fifteen seconds.

“Um,” she starts, then remembers her previous idea of going home after this week was over. “I was probably going to go home next Friday.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin says, seemingly disappointed. “Why?”

She grits her teeth. Why? Really? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, not even convinced herself, “I’m bored and lonely here. I love everyone here but I miss my friends at home. I might as well be slightly less bored at home.” Hyunjin frowns.

“Okay, what about this,” he starts, leaning close enough she can count his individual eyelashes and nearly smell the flavor of his lip balm, “you go out with us tomorrow night and if you have fun, you hang out with us next weekend, too. Oh, and whenever you want some company, you text me and we’ll come here or somewhere else and do homework together or just chill. How does that sound?”

All she can do is blink at him. Her initial thought is how dare he try negotiating whether I go home or not? But, there it is, again, she realizes. That extra step he takes, the genuine care he shows her, acting like her well-being is his responsibility. “You don’t have to do that, Hyunjin. I don’t want to bother you every time I feel lonely. I’ll be fine.”

“Christ, you’re dense,” rolling his eyes, Hyunjin sets his fork down, wipes his hands on his thighs, and suddenly leans in to hold her face with both hands, “I wouldn’t offer to sit around and do homework with you when you’re in need of a friend if I didn’t want to.”

Her heart is racing so fast she fears he may be able to hear the thud of it against her chest. What he’s saying is starting to sound a lot more than some friend-to-friend comfort, and it’s making her head hurt, especially with his thumbs ever so slightly swiping against her cheeks. At her silence, he starts again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “don’t go home. This is your home, too, you just don’t want it to be.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she thinks she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. There is nothing to say. Hyunjin is right, he has read her like an open book, and he’s here to offer his shoulder to lean on. “Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go out with everyone tomorrow. And I’ll try and stay here for the rest of the semester.”

“That’s my girl,” Hyunjin smiles, leaning closer and pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. At first, it takes her by surprise. But then it all starts to make sense. The snow makes sense. Her essay makes sense. Being here makes sense. Hyunjin makes sense. His birthday makes sense. She makes sense.

Outside the glass windows, the wind starts to howl, blowing the composed ballet of snow to its final act, covering the pathways and the streetlights and the roof of the business building in perfect white glitter. Inside these windows, she realizes they would notice if she were to go home.

Why would she ever do that when her second home is right here in front of her?

[touyasdoll]

Complicated - Chapter Two

Chapter One: Here

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x reader

Warnings: self-degradation/self-doubt

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: Gonna rework this and ditch the first person POV, jsyk.

A/n pt. 2: This story does contain spoilers for the show/manga. The dates/ages of characters are going to be shifted around a bit.

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

It's been two days. Is he gonna call? Text? Completely forget I exist?

I sigh, trying to expel the anxiety balled up in the pit of my stomach.

Why would he call? We talked for, what, five minutes? He seemed older too. You were in your damn school uniform, idiot. He's obviously got more important shit to do than chat up a schoolgirl who can't mind her own fucking business.

"Ugh," I groan to no one but myself in my apartment. "I'm really just the biggest fucking jackass, aren't I?"

Flopping down on my bed, I let out another weighty sigh and bury my face in the plethora of pillows piled beneath me.

Relax. Maybe he'll text. Maybe he won't. And if he doesn't he's just sparing you the embarrassment that you would inevitably bring upon yourself.

A yawn escapes my lips as I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Glancing at the clock, I could see it was hardly 5 PM.

Fucked up sleep schedule, here I come.

The familiar comfort of my bed allows me to quiet my thoughts enough to fall into a shallow sleep, until I'm startled awake by a vibrating sensation coming from underneath my chin.

I blink against the harsh light emitting from my phone, squinting to see who was disturbing me.

What the--oh shit!

It was an unknown number. Recognizing that it could be him, I sit up faster than I have ever managed to after a nap and fumble the phone into my palm, eagerly sliding my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Hello?"

My breath hitches and I bite my lip in anticipation as I wait, eager to hear his deep, silky voice on the other end.

But the pause on the other side of the line seems just a little too long. Something is off.

Is this him? Is it..just some creep? A prank? What the hell?

"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."

My eyes slam shut, a shake reverberating through my spine as a cocktail of anger and embarrassment wash over me.

That's it. Hope is off limits from now on.

"Fucking great."

I tap the end button, half ready to throw my phone out the window.

Instead, I decide to check and see if I missed anything else while I was out.

Hope is off limits.

I shake my head, trying to erase the little embers of hope that persist, praying that maybe he did reach out.

To my surprise, there's a text from an unrecognized number.

Unknown: You free tonight, doll?

Holy shit.

Looking above the message, I see: Today 6:58 PM. I wince as I dare to look at the clock, which mercifully reads 7:26 PM.

Tapping the text box, I don't give myself the chance to overthink this opportunity.

Me: For you? Sure thing.

Tossing my phone onto the bed, I nod my head, processing the sudden burst of confidence I seem to have found.

I'm not like this. What is it about this guy? He's just that--a guy. One that I don't know. And now I'm just gonna meet up with him?

He's literally a stranger. Who the hell do I think I am?? Is my vagina just running things now? Gonna run out and meet up with some strange dude, because he's pretty and charming?

You know who else was pretty and charming?? Ted Bundy.

That's right, you said it. This is dumb, logically. This is everything everyone’s ever warned you about.

My phone buzzes and my heart rate spikes in response, tearing me from my spiraling doubts.

Unknown: Our spot. 30 minutes. See you there.

A noise that I've certainly never made before eeks past my lips as I process his instructions.

Fuck it. The possibility of this guy being a serial killer has been assessed. I'm going, risks be damned.

You're an idiot. You're an idiot. You're an idiot.

I sigh for the umpteenth time today, waging war in my own mind.

I don't know what it is about him, but I have to see him again. Nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be fine.

That's what I tell myself as I exhale, until I catch my reflection.

My hair is disheveled, my mascara askew. I didn't even bother to take off my uniform before I passed out.

As if I weren't flustered enough, now I gotta make myself looking somewhere near presentable and get down there in time.

Here goes nothing.

Fifteen minutes fly by and I think I've managed it as I step back to look myself over in the mirror once more.

The shortest pair of high-waisted shorts I own, paired with a low-cut black crop top and my favorite slip-ons. My make-up doesn't look perfect and there's not much of it, but it's touched up, and my hair is at least brushed.

Okay, no turning back now.

Grabbing my keys, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and make my way to the meeting place.

+++++++++++++++

Our spot. The man is smooth and I think that he knows it.

I re-read the last message he sent for probably the thirteenth time in the past five minutes.

The clock in the corner of the screen reads 8:02.

Maybe he won’t show. Maybe this is a joke. He and his buddies with come around a corner and laugh as they speed off.

Damn, can I chill? No. He’s going to be here. And I’m going to act like a human fucking being. A normal girl. Someone he could like; I’m capable of that.

Aren’t I?

Scanning my surroundings yet again, I take in the scenery. I never really get out at night, but the city looks so pretty this way. There’s not too much traffic, especially considering that it’s a Friday night, but there are some people milling about up and down the sidewalk. Some look like they’re on their way home. Some look like they’re on their way out for a night on the town.

“Hey there.”

My eyes are quick to follow the sound of his voice. I look up and he’s strolling up to the bench where I’m seated, the same one where I bandaged his arm the other day.

His hands are shoved in his front pockets, thumbs pushed through the belt loops of the tight, black jeans he’s sporting. His white t-shirt dangles off of his frame in a way that suits him, offering a glimpse of his muscular chest. A black coat completes his ensemble and he certainly looks the part of the typical bad boy.

But, damn, does it look so good on him.

“Hey, there. How’s the arm?”

I scoot over a bit, allowing for ample space between us if he were to take a seat. To my surprise, he sits towards the middle of the bench, so that his thigh brushes against mine as he settles.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, glancing down and covering the noise I want to make with a quiet clearing of my throat.

“It’s good. You do make a pretty decent nurse, sweetheart.”

He grins and pulls his coat sleeve back, revealing the still bandaged wound.

“Wait, have you changed that?”

You’re such a mom. You better hope he’s into MILFs, because otherwise this ain’t gonna get you where you wanna go, girl.

His brow furrows in an expression that tells me all I need to know before he even speaks.

“What do you mean? Changed what?”

A quiet sigh leaves my lungs as I hold out my hand.

“May I?”

His puzzled expression doesn’t falter, but he shrugs and offers his forearm up for inspection.

Carefully, I pull back the tape holding the bandages together and slowly begin to unwrap them.

That is, until the smell hits me. I barely catch of glimpse of the reddened skin before my nostrils detect the scent of burned flesh and excess viscera.

“Oh, dear. Have you even unwrapped this thing?”

Trying not to agitate anything further, I delicately wrap the bandages back around his arm, taping them down once again.

“No, should I have?”

I look up and my gaze meets his, a sense of true ignorance evident in his expression; I try not to laugh. I really try, but a soft giggle escapes nonetheless.

“Yes! I mean, if it doesn’t hurt, I’m sure it’s not that bad right now, but you should be cleaning and redressing a wound like that once every 12 hours at the very least. It’s been what, like, at least 50 at this point?”

His good arm reaches for the back of his neck, scratching at it as he dons an apologetic half smile.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly nurturing by nature, doll. I don’t know the first fucking thing about this kind shit.”

I cock a sympathetic smile as I look at him, sitting there looking almost helpless. I guess he is, in a sense. It’s actually kinda cute how he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of how to properly care for himself.

Because that’s absolutely what you want in a potential relationship. Someone to fix, how fun! Why not open up a shop for broken boys? Girl, when will you learnnn??

“Well, I don’t have anything on me right now, but if you don’t mind coming back to my place, I could clean it up there? And I’ll teach you how to keep up with it this time.”

I guess not today, motherfucker.

“Coming to my rescue again. You must be in a hero course, huh, doll?”

His smile is so naturally disarming as he stands and offers his hand out before me.

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure you don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable and I don’t wanna be a burden. I didn’t ask you out tonight for you to have to play doctor on me again.”

He seems so sweet, so genuine. Maybe he is broken, but everyone deserves kindness. He looks like he hasn’t seen much of that. And as cliché as it is, maybe I can help him. Maybe he can help me.

I slip my hand in his, smiling as flirtatiously as I can manage as he pulls me to my feet.

“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping I might get to play doctor on you again anyway. Maybe you could even return the favor.”

I brush my fingers against his as our hands disconnect, taking a page from his own book and watching his expression as my skin glides against his.

Or maybe we could just do this. This works too. No muss, no fuss. But oh my goodness what if what I just did was weird and he’s not even interested??

His eyebrows rise for just a moment as he chuckles and glances down, still grinning as he puts his hands in his coat pockets.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know much about medicine, but I do know how to give a pretty thorough physical exam.”

Something twitched deep inside my belly as my breath caught in my throat and I damn near tripped over my own two feet as we started walking.

Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than my inate ability to fuck things up and his good arm reached out to steady my frame as he stepped in front of me.

The delicious scent of his cologne mingling with remnant cigarette smoke nearly made me dizzy as my hands connected with his chest, now completely unable to ignore the muscles just beneath his thin shirt.

“You all right there, doll?”

Long, slender fingers find their way under my chin. His thumb just barely brushing the edge of my bottom lip as he strokes it over my chin.

His eyes are practically piercing mine as he carefully lifts my face to his. Who knew being in such close proximity to someone so beautiful could be this paralyzing.

Holy fuck. Forget fixing me. He can break me and I’ll probably thank him for it.

The strong hand on the small of my back threatens to rob me of my breath all over again and I have to fight to keep any semblance of composure in his arms.

“Yeah.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and will myself to break eye contact. “You always have girls falling for you this quickly?”

I pity laugh at my own joke, wishing my quirk was something that would allow me to disappear.

But then he’s chuckling too. It’s melodious at first, but then it morphs into a deep reverberation that sends all the right chills down my spine as I level my eyes with his again.

He looks like an enigma personified. His eyes look so gentle and warm, but his smile reads so sad. The words that leave his lips sound like both a warning and an invitation to my flushe red ears.

“Trust me, princess. You don’t wanna fall for me. I’m no good for you.”

Oh, but it’s too late for that.

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

WIP... Tuesday?

Just in case anyone was wondering what useless novelty project I’m spending my time on now, may I introduce:

Or more accurately: “Shisui Uchiha and the Saga of the Overly Complex Movie Poster that’s Taking Up all of the Author’s Writing Time.”

Or: “Shisui Uchiha and the One-off Story that Accidentally Turned Into a Trilogy, much to the Author’s Total Lack of Surprise.”

So anyway, I have 30,000 words (3/9 chapters of the first part) so far and as usual, no timeline for completing this story. But I’m definitely in too deep to back out now! My new approach to stories is to write the whole thing, then post week by week. So this one is still probably several months away at least...

But here’s a quick preview:

The list of things Shisui Uchiha regrets in his life is pretty small.

A handful of ill-considered one night stands, several embarrassing bets with members of his family, the summer he decided to turn emo, oh—and one particularly notable fuck-up early in his career that very nearly ended it prematurely. But, for the most part, it’s been smooth-sailing.

Sure, maybe the odd rival takes a pot shot at him here or there. Ancient booby traps try to kill him, or the local wildlife steps in where they’ve left off. He and spiders are categorically never going to get along. But he’s never had cause to regret his career itself. He loves everything about treasure hunting—the adventure, the danger, the intellectual challenge of it all. The way his heart races when he finds some ancient artifact supposedly lost for good.

So, all in all, his current position—perched twenty feet up a silk cotton tree in India, surrounded by about two-dozen armed thugs personally out for his blood—well, that’s just another day at the office.

Two of the men walk below Shisui’s hiding place and he holds his breath, watching. They’re thick-built meat-heads; improbable amalgams of every jackbooted thug to ever grace a movie screen, with jawlines Chuck Norris could break a fist on, and brows that would make a Neanderthal proud. Supressing the snicker that threatens to escape him at the thought, Shisui wonders where Gato keeps finding these idiots. Some sort of steroid-fuelled body building conference maybe…

Comfortable they’re far too stupid to realise he’s here, he swings his legs back and forward, checking his bag to make sure his prize is still undamaged. Thankfully, despite having beaten a hasty retreat through the crowded city streets, the jewel-encrusted golden elephant winks up at him like a winning lottery ticket. One that’s going to pay for fancy canapes, champagne and extra leg room on Shisui’s flight home. Then a lot more afterwards.

But karma, as they say, is a bitch.

And karma, for Shisui, makes itself known in the form of a fluffy grey creature that plops down onto the branch beside him, joined in short order by half a dozen other partners in crime. At first, the macaque just fixes its intelligent gaze on Shisui, as though assessing what to do with him. Then, one very pregnant pause later, after the apparent realisation that no food is immediately forthcoming, the ringleader opens its mouth and screams. Loudly.

Shit.

“No, shhh…” Shisui orders in a loud whisper. “Oh come on, don’t be an asshole.”

The screaming continues, soon swelling to a cacophony as the others join in.

“Shoo!” he pleads, waving his arms around to try and scare them off. “I’ll buy you bag of bananas or something when I get down from here, just please shut up…”

But the little bastards don’t stop and, if anything, Shisui’s heated objection only seems to be pissing them off more. Which is fantastic, because truly the last thing he needs today is to catch rabies or—

From the bottom of the tree, someone clears their throat. “Ahem.”

Or that.

It’s smug, officious, and quite frankly, about the last voice Shisui wants to hear right now. Every part of him sinks. On reflection, maybe it was a bit arrogant to think he wouldn’t have been followed to the temple. To think he was just going to walk in, pilfer a several-centuries old treasure, and walk out again, a comfortable five-figure sum the richer for it.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Sighing, he looks down to see his least-favourite human approximation of a turd. “Gato.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite globe-trotting Uchiha. Fancy seeing you here,” Gato says, appearing inordinately pleased. His trademark sunglasses sit awkwardly atop his bulbous nose, straddling a pencil moustache that looks like a worm met its unfortunate end on his face some years ago, and he never bothered to wipe it off.

For reasons he can’t currently articulate, it annoys the shit out of Shisui. Possibly because if there’s anything he hates more than someone getting the better of him, it’s someone who’s as much of a fucking waste of space as Gato getting the better of him.

“Yeah well, you know how it is,” he says, glancing around for a quick exit. “Ancient treasures to find, damsels in distress to rescue…”

But unfortunately, the crowd of highly armed men around Gato is growing by the second, and Shisui’s options are looking somewhat thin on the ground. At least, all the ones that don't end with him riddled in bullet holes. Damn macaques…

Gato grins. In the pre-monsoon heat, sweat rolls down his neck and spreads like an oily stain across his collar. “Oh, I’m well aware of how you operate... You’re a businessman, just like me. Always taking jobs for the highest bidder.” Before Shisui can open his mouth to disagree, Gato holds up a hand, adding, “I know, I know… you don’t see yourself that way. Moral code or whatever it is you like to call it. But in reality, the only difference between us is that you have the air of legitimacy that comes with an academic backing, whereas I’m willing to admit what I really want.”

“And what do you want, Gato?” Shisui asks flatly, already knowing the answer. The tired old game they’re playing here.

“That trinket you have in your bag.” Gato licks his lips, as though he can taste the champagne he’s going to be drinking once he returns the statue to whoever hired him, to disappear into some private collection, never to see the light of day again.

“What do I get in return?” Shisui asks, even though it’s obvious from Gato’s expression that he’s not going to like it, whatever it is.

A mirthless laugh assaults his ears. “I’ll let you live to cross paths with me another day.”

As offers go, it’s not very believable. But as much as Shisui hates to admit when his luck’s run out, even he can see the writing on the wall. Today really isn’t his day. Sure, he might trust Gato about as far as he could throw him, but even Gato isn’t stupid enough to shoot him on a main street, in broad daylight. Probably…

Retrieving the golden elephant from his bag, Shisui tosses it carefully down.

Turning the trinket over in his hands, Gato lets out a hum of appreciation. “Very nice. My client will be pleased.” He hands it off to one of his many thugs to box up, then peers back through the branches, looking more like a slug than Shisui would ever have thought possible. Reinforcing the impression, his lips twist with a slimy smile. “Well, as always, it’s been nice doing business with you Shisui. But I think, unfortunately, you’ve caused me trouble for the last time.”

Far too pleased for Shisui’s taste, Gato steps back, raising his hand in a gesture that looks awfully like it’s intended as a final farewell. Or a smug ‘fuck you.’ Either way, the message is perfectly clear.

Shisui rolls his eyes, mentally scratching off another predictable villainous turn on his treasure hunting bingo card. “All right,” he calls after Gato’s retreating back. “Nice doing business with you too! See you next time...” Under his breath he mutters, “Asshole…”

Truly, Gato doesn't have an original bone in his body. It's like he once read The Idiots Guide to Being a B-Grade Movie Villain, then internalised it on the spot to make up for a lack of anything remotely resembling a personality. But, pathetic imitation of a villain or not, his bullets are still effective.

The leaves around him shred beneath the pop, pop of gunfire as Shisui sucks in a rushed breath, bracing himself for what he’s about to do. The branch wobbles precariously beneath his feet as he races along it, pushing off into air that rushes past, disconcerting and empty. The slender gap to the building seems to widen to the span of a gaping abyss—

He hits the rail of the apartment with thud, clambering quickly over it to fall on his back on the balcony, winded, but mercifully unharmed. A macaque peers over the guttering at him, with a leering grin that clearly threatens more screaming.

“Don’t you start,” he warns, waggling a finger at it.

But there’s barely a moment to catch his breath before the sound of splintering wood below indicates another problem. Or an extension of the same one. Bounding to his feet, Shisui scoops up his hat, settles it back on his head, and checks over the railing. A bullet clips the plaster nearby—a pretty good indication that Gato’s men have every idea where he’s gone. That, combined with the way they’re currently pushing through the lower doors to the complex probably doesn’t mean anything good for him.

“Shit,” he announces to no one in particular. It’s times like these he really wishes he carried a gun…

Forcing his way into the mercifully empty apartment off the balcony, Shisui slips quickly through it. Cracking open the door on the far side, he checks the coast is clear. It is.

Of course, it doesn’t stay that way for long. Halfway along the open air corridor, there’s a cry of discovery from his pursuers, followed by more shooting. Seriously, why are the bad guys always bringing guns to Shisui’s knife fights?

Ducking, he runs faster, bursting into another apartment filled with hazy cigarette smoke and shocked faces before finally making it to an exterior stairwell on the far side. Looking at the next building over, it’s immediately apparent the gap is way too far for him to use the same trick he did before. But with Gato’s men advancing on him from below, maybe he can just make it to street level and bypass them altogether…

A thicket of power cables criss-crosses the span between the buildings, with one nearby running almost to the level of the shop awnings below. Sending a rash of silent prayers to whatever gods take care of Indian power line maintenance, Shisui detaches a length of rope from his belt and flings it over the wire, gripping each side like a makeshift zipline. Holding his breath, he pushes off into empty space. To his surprise and considerable delight, the line holds.

It sweeps him across the street, picking up more and more speed, until the side of the other building is rushing at him like—

Shit.

He impacts it with his shoulder, coming to an uncomfortable and jarring stop. Pain shoots down his arm and he lets go of the rope, crashing through a fabric awning and landing ungracefully in a huge stack of bagged flour. Dust floats down around him and Shisui groans, moving each of his limbs in turn. By some miracle, nothing seems broken. Not even his tantō in its leather holster at his back.

Oh well. Fall down seven times, stand up eight…

Apparently his exit was none too subtle though, because Gato’s men are leaning over the stairwell railing, yelling and pointing at the mess he’s made. Dragging himself to his feet, Shisui evades an angry store owner, brushes flour off of his clothes and resumes running for his life.

Never let anyone say archaeology is boring.

As he emerges back onto the main street, searching for quick and easy exit, the sound of screeching brakes and angry honking carries from the road. Cutting a wild path through traffic is an old open-top olive-drab Jeep with several gold charms dangling from its rear-view mirror. It jerks to a stop just before hitting Shisui, both side wheels riding up on the curb.

“Need a ride?” the female driver asks, grinning.

Her windswept hair hangs past the fashionable silk scarf tied at her neck. Unmanicured nails wrap around the slender metal of the steering wheel, like they couldn’t be more at home there. They’re a stark contrast with the cream suit linen she’s wearing, rolled up neatly to her elbows. Speckled with dirt, it looks like she’s probably travelled halfway across the country to be here, and been up to her elbows in the grease of the Jeep’s engine at some point to do it. She’s a walking contradiction—albeit one Shisui is delighted to see.

“Izumi!” he exclaims happily.

Eyes sparkling, she waves. “Hey.”

“I thought you were practicing on the course in Reno this weekend… What’re you doing here?”

A shot rings out, kicking up dust near one of the tyres. Glancing behind him, Izumi rolls her eyes, reaching across to throw open the door. “What am I always doing? Saving your ass, you idiot... Now get in before one of us gets shot, or I have to find out whether my rental insurance covers illegal firefight damage.”

[cassiecasyl]

nibble, nibble, little spider

By @cassiecasyl for @an-odd-idea 

Rating: Teen and Up  Relationships: Peter & Morgan, Peter & Tony  Characters: Peter Parker, Morgan Stark, Tony Stark, a witch  Summary: Peter and Morgan are lost in a forest, alone and hungry when they stumble upon a house made of bread and candy. It couldn’t harm to take a bite, could it? Well, yes, it very much could. 

Hunger weaved through the trees, riding on the wind directly into Peter’s lungs, causing the boy to cough. It was a screaming and scratching complaint of displacement. His stomach rumbled in answer to its sneaking sibling. Peter stumbled from the effects of their argument, catching himself against a trunk. The bark tickled his senses, the rough surface scratching at his skin. He recoiled from the sensation. The quick motion made him sway, and he fell back against the very thing he tried to avoid. He didn’t know what was wrong. He just felt so—

“Peter?” Morgan asked, watching him with big, brown eyes. They were the perfect mix of Tony’s eye color and Pepper’s concerned expression stabbing right into him. He could see the same pain reflected back at him. Peter closed his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he assured her. 

She moved closer and leaned against his leg, tucking at his shirt. His spidey senses barely objected, uselessly hiding behind a headache. Peter looked down at his adoptive sister. Her intensive gaze looked right through his lies in the same way her father always did. They were heartbreakingly similar. 

“Can you try your phone again?” she asked, searching for hope. Peter fumbled it out of his pocket with shaking fingers and blinked against the artificial light. His heart sank into the void the lack of bars at the top of the screen signaled. He sighed. “Still no signal.” Morgan deflated slightly. 

Peter tried to swipe over to the GPS settings, to maybe get some information this way, but right as he did the screen froze. He grunted in frustration, shaking the device lightly. His head pounded as if obnoxiously cheering the phone on. Peter remembered the time he had landed near a stadium during one of his sensitive episodes, leading him right into a sensory overload then and there. -20/10, would not recommend. He’d needed two days in the soundproof tower to recover from that before even trying to go into louder environments again. 

Peter winced as the screen suddenly flashed bright with an app loading screen before turning completely black. Great. Any buttons proved useless. “Looks like it’s dead,” he confessed to Morgan. She nodded bravely, clearly holding back tears, little erosions in Peter’s heart.  

Peter slid down the trunk, shuddering at the sensation, until he was on eye level with her. He stretched out his arm, nudging Morgan closer and into his embrace. She buried her face in the nook of his neck as she cried. “It’s gonna be alright,” Peter promised, rocking her gently, “Tony will find us, you’ll see.” 

“Dad can fix everything,” she mumbled into the hug and Peter chuckled. 

“That’s right! So don’t give up hope, Mo.” 

They stayed in the relative silence the forest provided for a while. Peter stared up into the leaf-obstructed sky, the gears in his head scraping by just barely. The leaves whisper-sung false promises, inviting him to climb up towards the first stars visible in the darkening sky. He entertained the thought of climbing up to see where the damn woods ended, but the bark’s texture made him want to crawl out of his own skin. His stomach acted up again, not a fan of possible altitude, and his headache became nauseating in a warning. He hated it when his body conspired against him. But, he also couldn’t just leave Morgan alone on the ground. Especially not with night approaching. 

“I’m hungry,” whispered Morgan. 

“I know, Mo,” Peter answered and rubbed her back soothingly. There was nothing he could do. If only he knew enough about flora to know what was safe to eat. Though they didn’t have the option to wash whatever they found, adding further danger. “I’m too.” 

The nagging feeling only grew as they sat there, calling and pulling them away, as it caught them with an invisible string. It was a weird by-taste of hunger, one Peter had never experienced before. If they were at home - where he knew where to find food - the pull would make sense, but here, in the middle of nowhere, it puzzled him. He couldn’t even remember how they got here. All there was, was the forest and hunger, slowly taking over them. His spider sense buzzed loudly, sounding slightly like a radio without a proper signal. He wondered dully whether ghosts could speak through it. 

Suddenly, Morgan sat up, tearing Peter from his dazed thoughts. “I know what we have to do!” she exclaimed, standing up. “We can only follow the path we know,” she said and took off. Peter scrambled to his feet. 

“Wait, Mo,” he called out, “What do you mean?” The girl didn’t answer. 

The hunger’s call became louder as they walked. Peter could almost hear it now, the ringing in his ears resembling more and more a feast. He meant to smell chocolate and his stomach grumbled as if to ask how much longer? Huh, he realized, Morgan must feel it too. 

Old leaves crackled underneath their feet, a crystal clear signal of where they were. A deer looked up a few trees over, mustering them before fleeing, its flock following. But Morgan paid it no mind as she walked towards her goal with Peter on her heels. 

The boy couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It felt like a trap almost, leaving them no choice but to fall for it to survive. His dizzy mind screamed for food, growing more excited the more signs of it hit Peter’s senses. 

They came to a brook and Peter signaled for Mo to stop. He leaned down to drink, hoping the water would quill some of the overwhelming hunger he felt. It was better than nothing. Underneath the pull, his stomach ached, begging, as if what had been there before was only a phantom, an illusion rather than the real thing. Peter blinked. 

A bird landed on the other side of the stream, picking at something on the ground. The spider looked up, meeting the animal’s eyes just for a moment, before it rustled its feathers and took off, carrying a big breadcrumb in its beak. Something was definitely wrong. 

Something about this all rang a bell, but he couldn’t find it. It rang and rang, a warning of impending nightfall, so annoying Peter wished he could just turn the sound off. It didn’t help in the slightest with remembering. An old story, he mused. A fairy tale, maybe?  

“Morgan?” he called, but she didn’t answer. He spun around, almost hitting a tree as he swayed in response. He felt sick and weak, and the moss on the ground looked so invitingly soft. He briefly closed his eyes in an attempt to regain focus. Morgan. Where was Morgan? She couldn’t be gone. Mr. Stark would kill him. His mind conjured up her image, covered in blood, gnaw marks on breaking her tender skin, half-rotten. His stomach grumbled, sending everything it had upwards, a meek army marching to attack his mind. Not one soldier passed the cavity of his mouth. 

“Morgan?” he called again after swallowing, panic inviting nausea to dance. 

“Peter, look!” the girl's voice finally sounded to the right of him. Peter breathed and steadied himself with the aid of a tree. Nodding a short thanks to his involuntary crutch, he stepped into the bushes to find his little sister. 

Now that he was back on the path, his muscles didn’t protest as much anymore. A strange peace joined the hunger-inducing air, washing over him and taking his care. Like gravity, he was pulled towards a place in the middle of the woods, and tired as Peter was, he let himself fall right into it. 

The woods smelled like freshly baked bread, like those obnoxiously sweet candies Morgan loved, like the brownies Happy baked one time, the best goddamn brownies he had ever eaten, like the hot chocolate he would drink with May on late nights when they would just talk and catch up with each other or simply enjoy each other’s company. 

Peter was positively drooling, sludging out into the little opening. A house stood there, idyllic in the middle of the forest, glowing with magic, promising every meal Peter had ever had and more. Its walls were covered with a little flour like a bread’s crust, and Peter could see the softness inside from where something had bitten into it. The windows were adorned with sugar, whipped cream, and colorfully sprinkled candies. The roof was the color of Minecraft’s dark oak, sturdy and soft. Peter reached up and broke off a piece before he could think. Morgan grinned at him, stuffing her mouth with candy. He tiredly smiled at her, taking in her happiness, gleaming louder than the sun. It was all washed away as the brownie roof touched his tongue. It was just the right temperature and consistency, and it filled his mouth with the taste of chocolate without being overly sticky. It was heavenly, it was every peaceful late night conversation and every birthday party combined. This was what ambrosia must taste like. 

His mind stopped screaming, and he was wholly content in his body with only one bite. The overwhelming hunger was suddenly satisfied, yet his stomach still rumbled. He didn’t feel it. Peter looked at the piece of heaven in his hand, smiling brightly in childish wonder. He wanted more. So, he devoured it and took another piece from the house. 

Dully, shushed by peace, a noise drummed on in the back of his head. It was hidden behind a labyrinth, closed off by heavy prison doors. It didn’t matter. Yet, why was it loud enough to bug him? Why couldn’t it just shut up? He rolled his eyes and reached out towards the soft bread wall. 

But, before his fingers touched the food, he stopped. This was wrong. He was stealing, wasn’t he? The buzzing grew louder. A warning. It was his spider senses, Peter then realized. They were in danger. He turned towards Morgan, panic slowly overriding the happiness, weaseling past every magic firewall. He opened his mouth to call out to her. They needed to go, to get away from here. 

“Knusper, Knusper, Knäuschen, wer knuspert an meinem Häuschen?” a high, scratchy voice sang behind them. Peter froze in horror. “Or should I say ‘nibble, nibble, little mouse, who’s nibbling at my house’? Such a peculiar translation…” 

~~~

A warning was drumming on his head, shaking him until he blinked his eyes open against the stabbing light. It roasted him and hung him up to cool down. Peter groaned. A stagger of noise opened his skull, and he flinched. Only after a moment did he recognize words, let alone the voice. 

“Let him out!” Morgan demanded with as much rage as the five-year-old could muster. Which was a lot, Peter knew from experience. She was an angry embodiment of human wrath, her narrow eyes staring down the witch towering above her. Morgan did not back down. 

“I can’t do that, Sweety. It’s for your own good,” the witch talked down to her with a voice like sugary wood. A shudder ran through Peter as he remembered the rough bark under his hands outside. He clenched his teeth, waiting for an onslaught of pain from somewhere as he slowly sat up. 

“He’s my brother,” Morgan argued, “let him out!” Her eyes turned the sunlight into weapons. The witch, a shadow, did not yet realize the danger she was subjected herself to, as self-assured as she was. 

“He is corrupted,” the witch judged, “You, on the other hand, are still young, little lady.” 

Morgan blinked up at her. “Do you know who my dad is? He’s Iron Man. He’s a hero. And he’s gonna come and rescue us,” she threatened. 

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Her smile sent little spiders crawling down Peter’s back. They examed the walls of his cage for any way of escape, the tiniest crack, but ultimately, they gave up and settled in the farthest corner. She mustered Peter with predatory eyes, pressing her lips together in disappointment. “It’s really a shame you’re all muscle and bone. It’ll take longer to get you tender enough for the grand meal.” 

Peter’s wide eyes met Morgan’s deer-ey ones as they processed the words. “You don’t wanna fight Iron Man,” the girl threatened again. 

The witch sighed. “This is gonna be harder than I expected. He’s really grown his vines around you, didn’t he?” 

“What’s your plan here?” Peter asked. “Kidnapping children, provoking Iron Man while you’re at it, and now what? Waiting for your trial?” 

The witch laughed. “Stark’s a warmonger, but I am not afraid of him.” She quenched any protest from the kids with her next words: “He’s only made himself believe that he’s better now, that he somehow redeemed himself. It’s a mask. We’ll see how good the great Tony Stark really is soon enough.” 

She turned to her sugar windows as a crow landed on the windowsill, picking up some bread crumbs that had fallen from the damaged wall. Her yellow teeth showed in her evil smile, and Peter suddenly felt very self-conscious about the fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth since the day before. Granted he hadn’t lost more time unconscious in a crazy fairytale witch’s cage. 

“Frolick, my children, he is on his way,” she cheered, spinning around in a dance towards the stove in the corner. “We will have a grant meal to greet the powerful.” Peter strained his ears in hopes of hearing the familiar sound of repulsors. He wanted to scream out, get out himself so Tony wouldn’t have to walk into this weird trap. He wasn’t even sure what the witch’s plan really was. 

The witch grabbed Morgan’s hand and pulled her with her. The girl struggled, hitting and scratching, grounding her feet into the ground as much as she could. She looked back at Peter in pure fear, mouthing a word. Peter frowned at her. 

“A wild one, are we?” The witch addressed Morgan, leaning down to her level. The girl spat at her. “Now, this is really not a way for a lady to behave,” the witch chastised, sighing. “Maybe you’re further gone than I thought. I really had faith… Maybe, we will have you for dessert.” 

Finally, Morgan tore her hand free. She stepped back, suppressing a shiver. “You’re joking like a pirate,” she said, emphasizing the last word and waving one hand at Peter behind her back. Peter frowned, and then observed the cell door he was sitting in front of. Half pin barrel hinges. With the right kind of leverage, he could open them no problem. They had recently watched the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, much to Happy’s dismay, but Peter couldn’t be prouder of Morgan at that moment. 

He examined his cell as inconspicuously as he could. There was a blank in the corner, probably meant as a sort of bed, with stains Peter rather wouldn’t know about. He grabbed and pulled at it, and, with a crank, it broke free. Unfortunately, it also brought attention to him. 

“What are you doing?” With two big steps, she stood next to him behind the bars. Peter kept still, ignoring her to the best of his abilities. Morgan followed her and then clung to her hand demandingly. It did nothing but annoy the hag more. “I asked you a question, boy. What are you doing?” She spat out every word, spelling it out for him. 

Peter shrugged and finally looked up at her. “I just thought, if you plan on keeping me here, I might as well redecorate.” Morgan snorted and quickly ducked to avoid the veiny hand flying her way. 

“Do you think this is funny? Tony Stark waged war and I’m going to give him what he’s earned and you think this is all a joke?” Peter shook his head, slightly retreating. “And you, little lady, are truly your father’s daughter, aren’t you? I thought there was hope for you, other than for the boy who got drawn into the family that he doesn’t share blood with, but it seems it’s already too late.” 

She grabbed Morgan in retaliation, holding her even tighter than before. The girl screamed out in surprise and pain before going back to fighting. Suddenly, a rope snaked into the air and approached them curiously. It gently wrapped around Morgan, keeping her in place. The tears on his sister’s face might as well have been acid poured over Peter’s head. 

The witch sighed. “I should’ve done this earlier.” She turned to Peter then. “And now to you…” 

“Let her go,” Peter demanded. “You can do whatever you want with me, just, please, let her go.” 

“The time of bargaining has long passed, boy.” She looked back at the giant pot on the stove. “It’s time to get to work.” The door creaked as it opened, as ominously warning and high-pitched as his spidey sense. He stumbled backward, more crawling than walking, until the wall stopped him. It was giving into his touch, and it took all in Peter to not recoil from the touch that felt a little too much like mold. 

The rope peered over the witch’s shoulder, mustering its prey. Just as she reached out to grab his hand, Peter opened his mouth in protest and let the first words that came to his mind tumble out. “Do you know the Muffin Man?” 

The witch stopped mid-motion. “The Muffin Man?” she asked with raised eyebrows, entirely bamboozled. 

“Yeah, the Muffin Man,” Peter repeated, allowing himself to breathe a little, “You know, the one who lives on Drury Lane?” The hag’s eyes narrowed at those words and Peter suppressed a flinch. Fuck. 

“This is another of your jokes, isn’t it?” Before he could answer, the rope shot forward, rolling tightly around him, leaving no place for air. Soon enough, he joined Morgan on the floor, just as Peter’s ears picked up a familiar, wheezing sound. 

“I’m sorry,” Morgan whispered. 

Peter shrugged to the best of his abilities. “It was worth a try.” 

~~~

A knock on the door disrupted the sharp, unruly tension in the room. Peter tried to breathe, hoping, knowing it to be Tony. He heard the telltale sound of the repulsor de-powering and the suit landing. Yet, fear still continued its marathon through his veins. 

The witch sighed. “It’s a real shame,” she mumbled, “I will have to cook you with magic. Things always taste better if you let them cook naturally, but he’s not giving me much of a choice, is he?”  A shudder ran through the siblings’ bodies. 

“You could also just not cook us. Just a suggestion, you know,” Peter spoke up, earning a slap. Heavy air climbed onto his tongue, rolling up and falling asleep like a cat. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out except for a quiet grunt. The witch was clearly amused by his attempts to speak. Without another word, she turned around and opened the door just wide enough to slip out. 

“Hello, Forest Lady,” Tony greeted the witch, “I’m searching for two kids. Have you seen—” 

“Well, if it isn’t the great Tony Stark.” Peter could hear the malicious grin in her voice. “The fabled merchant of death.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony dismissed her, “Listen, there are two kids missing, it’d be a great help if you could just tell me— Wait a minute, what did you just call me?” 

“You are who they call the merchant of death, are you not?” 

Tony was stunned into silence. Peter strained to hear his quickening heartbeat, wanting to cry out, Tony, we’re here, don’t listen to her!, but the airy cat on his tongue wouldn’t budge. Everybody knows that one doesn’t wake a cat, even if they trap you, and the spell took it to another level. It didn’t stop him from trying, however. The rope hit his thigh, annoyed by his constant movement. 

“That’s what they used to say, yeah,” Tony now admitted, “now they call me ‘Earth’s best defender.’” His cocky voice could not hide the anxiety in his veins, not to Peter. 

“Still, you’re wrapped in armor and weapons,” the witch pointed out. 

“Look, it’s not my job to justify myself to random women I encountered in the woods, which is not something that happens a lot, I must say. Actually, I think this is the first time. I’ve got better things to do at the moment. I’m looking for two kids, a girl of five years and a boy of 16. Have you seen them?” 

“Tony Stark, always so ready to fight,” the witch said, completely disregarding his recent words, “Take off that armor and I might tell you.” 

“So you know where they are,” he stated. Peter closed his eyes, letting the familiar clank of the Iron Man suit lull him in, but instead, it just cut into his skin. They were so close. So close to being found, so close to being rescued. 

“I was just preparing dinner. Why don’t you just sit down and stay? It’ll only take a few minutes.” The witch’s steps were silent on the grass. Tony’s vibrated through the ground, which meant he was still in his suit. 

“Now wait just a moment here, lady. You know where my kids are. Why don’t you tell me?” 

“You’re a warmonger, Tony Stark. Why would you ever think I’d leave kids in your care?” Peter laughed out loud in irony, but it was muffled by winding fur catching in his fur. Coughing made it only worse, so he took a deep and slow breath to take back control. 

Tony sighed. Iron Man opened his suit, and it cracked and screeched slightly, and Peter was reminded of the joint he had been meant to oil. His heart sank. “There, I’m out of the suit. Now, will you tell me where my kids are?” 

After a moment of silence, the witch asked: “Did you ever count?” 

“Count what?” 

“How many children were killed with your weapons.” Peter sucked in a breath in shock. 

“Roughly 2.47 million people were killed by Stark missiles. Approximately 9.4% were kids. Probably more. It’s hard to tell. Plus, about 50 billion dollars damage to property—”

“Money,” the witch spat out, “Of course you care about the money more.” 

“It’s just easier to estimate that number,” Tony tried to defend himself, but the witch wouldn’t hear it. 

“All that money will never buy back your soul,” she judged. With that, she walked back to the door, leaving Tony to stand outside. Peter stared at her through tears as she came inside. He almost missed the slight hand wave she pointed at the door, presumably to prevent Tony from following her. 

He changed, you know, he wanted to tell her, but still found his tongue pinned down. He’s a better man now. He’s not responsible for his father’s sins and being dragged into that business. 

The witch glared at him. “Don’t fool yourself, boy. Stark has blood on his hands. People like that don’t change.” Peter blinked up at her in surprise. 

You can hear me. 

The witch groaned and rolled her eyes. “You’re too loud,” she decided and grabbed him by the living rope enwrapping him. Peter tried to kick her, but it was more a battle with the snake of a rope than with the witch. She laid him down next to the stove. The steam from the pot wandered down to caress his cheeks, whispering false welcomes into his over-heating ears. He was sweating, staring into the fire that burned high in the fireplace opposite the kitchen. The taunting flames danced, showing off their relation to hell. 

“Stark Tower is falling down, falling down, falling down. Stark Tower is falling down, my fair lady,” the witch sang quietly as she prepared the last few things. Peter couldn’t tell whether the shiver he felt was from the sweat cooling his skin or from fear. 

Finally, the rope loosened. He stretched his limbs while moving as little as he could. Then, just as the witch came to pick him up, Peter sprang up. The hag waved her hands at him while she mustered him with raised eyebrows. As if he wasn’t intimidating her one bit. Peter channeled his hate into his stare and shot forwards, grabbing her hands to prevent her from casting her magic. All the while, he tried to keep Morgan out of the witch’s view. 

The witch pulled him back, making Peter stumble. He caught himself and kicked at her feet. His feet connected with something soft and he inwardly cheered. Though, somehow, the witch fell forward right towards him. Peter panicked. He did not want an old witch on top of him, not ever. He could already imagine the jokes Tony would make and ew. Stepping back, he evaded her falling body barely. 

Only then did he realize that he had let go. Shit, he thought, somehow dodging a spell. It whirled in the air next to him, wooing before splatting against the wall. The cat on his tongue moved a little and Peter almost hoped it had woken up. 

He launched at her again, struggling to grab her hands. Something hard bumped into his back, sending pain up his spine. Peter tried to push forward with the stove as his leverage, but the witch was heavier than expected. She didn’t budge, instead continued to struggle against the hold he had on her hands. 

Somehow, in the whirl of their fight, Peter’s elbow connected with something hot. He wailed and jumped as it burned him, pressing it protectively against his body. But the witch didn’t follow him. Peter watched as she stumbled back with burns everywhere on her body. In a disoriented attempt to get away from the pot of steaming water Peter had knocked over, she staggered and bumped against the fireplace. 

The witch fell into the flames with an ear-piercing scream and was never heard of again. Peter was shaking, staring at her, heavily breathing even as the air cat left him. Morgan came up next to him, hugging his legs. 

Peter barely registered as the door opened. In a frown, he remembered  the knocks and blasts he had heard during the battle but had ignored. He was there, frozen, forever entranced in the flames’ deadly dance. 

“Daddy!” Morgan screamed and left his side. Peter flinched at the noise. 

Despite the warmth, Peter knew that hell was freezing. It was frightening and un-moving and icy and he had just killed a person. He had ended someone’s life. Watched as they burned without any attempt to help them. I’m a terrible person, he thought. His pledge or morality to never kill was broken forever. 

Warm arms wrapped around him, trying to melt the ice that had claimed him, and Peter broke. “I—I killed her. Oh my god, I killed her. I killed someone. I didn’t mean to. Tony, you have to believe me, I didn’t mean to.” He sobbed into a shoulder he didn’t deserve to.

“Shh,” Tony soothed, gently rocking them and moving his hand in circles over his back. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not okay. I killed someone, Tony. I’m a murderer.” Peter couldn’t tell whether he was snapping for air or snapping in self-directed anger and disgust. Yet, as much as he wanted to recoil, to flee, and just run, he couldn’t move. He was trapped here in comfort that he didn’t deserve. 

“You did it in self-defense. She was gonna— God, I don’t even wanna think about what she was going to do to you.” Tony held him even closer if that was possible. Though, his right hand left him briefly to invite Morgan into the hug. 

“You saved us,” Morgan said as if that was all that was needed to be said about the situation. 

“Let’s go home,” Tony decided, and Peter melted into the touch as all the tension suddenly left his body and he was drowned in exhaustion. Home sounded like heaven, it sounded exactly like the place he wanted to be right now, and the place he may didn’t deserve to reside in anymore after what he’s done. But Tony pulled him along, guiding his kids home, never once faltering to assure himself that they were safe and that Peter was welcome. 

[sevlgi]

I need u

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: angst

contents: pyromaniac!reader, based on bts hyyh universe. [26/33]

warnings: fire, mental health issues, mentions of abuse, death, mild violence, suicide attempt

synopsis: Rosé would be nothing without your fire, but what happens when she’s the one who has to rescue you from it?

a/n:  DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ: this is not meant to portray a healthy relationship in any way. this is based off of a music video, the HYYH series to be exact, and is not meant to reflect how I think rosé would act. PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNING

word count: 1.7k

Before she met you, Chaeyoung didn’t think she was missing anything.

Sure, she knew that it wasn’t exactly normal to be so indifferent about everything, to not feel an ounce of passion for a single thing in her life. 

As soon as you first blazed into her life, though, it all became so much clearer. There was so much fire behind your eyes, the intensity of your feelings fueling you in an incredible explosion that was too close to burning you up for comfort. Where she was calm and level-headed, you were impulsive, the fervor you felt for your dreams the direct opposite of her slow pace.

And suddenly, she felt things that she had never had before. Chaeyoung finally experienced the butterflies she read about, something that might even be called love.

Either way, she was fascinated by everything about you. Your fires and your storms, your passions and your anger, everything that formed the blazing light that illuminated her darkness.

She needed you-- Chaeyoung knew that she was nothing without you. Without your fire, she was just a trickling stream, cool and silent in a way that no one would miss.

But slowly, that intensity to you began to scare her. The sheer passion you held burned you up from the inside out, too much fuel and not enough time or room to contain it. The calluses on your hands from playing piano in the middle of the night became the imprint of a lighter’s ridge, the excitement you felt at mastering a new piece becoming fury at the world around you.

You didn’t seem to love anymore, only hate. And that meant you didn’t love her anymore, which was what scared Chaeyoung the most.

Because she needed you, and you were burning up like the last sparks of a bonfire in the last night of summer.

“Does it hurt?”

Shrugging to hide her wince when you touched the bruise on her cheek, Chaeyoung assured you, “It doesn’t. Promise.”

It did nothing to quell the anger furrowing your brow, but you sighed and turned back to the cloudy gray sky, legs swinging over the side of the trailer. Below the two of you, the sounds of your friends playing echoed, scaring away the crows perched opposite you. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” the lavender-haired girl asked, her hand cold compared to your warm one. “It’s not your fault.”

“It might not be,” you agreed, reaching over to brush some hair out of Chaeyoung’s eyes. Somehow, you were unaware of the effect you had on her. “But I still hate it. There’s just so much wrong with the world around us.”

Chaeyoung huffed out a breath through her nose, crossing her legs. “Don’t say that, Y/N. Aren’t you always the one telling me to see the brightness of things?”

Frowning, you got the lighter out of your pocket again, your thumb rolling over the ridge mindlessly. “Yeah. But I was wrong whenever I told you that, Rosie. You can’t believe that. Just look at your face- strangers did that to you, just for bumping into them.”

“It’s not their fault,” she tried, watching as the hem of your jacket was nearly singed. “They were angry. You’re angry, too, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t hit someone if you were mad enough.”

You looked over to her disbelievingly. “I wouldn’t. God, Chaeyoung, who do you think I am? I wouldn’t hit someone, never mind you, not unless they hit me first.”

“Good.”

After some silence between the two of you, you began flicking at the lighter again, the clicks louder than they should’ve been almost a story above the ground. “We should leave someday.”

“Leave?” Chaeyoung cocked her head at you, tapping a stray rock she found on the blue-painted metal of the trailer’s roof. “What, all of us? To where, Y/N? Where would we go that would accept us?”

Sprawling out on the roof, despite all the dead leaves and dirt surrounding you, you watched the clouds go by and sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that none of us can stay here, jagiyah. Seoul, maybe, or somewhere else in the world. Your English is good, we can survive.”

She let out a breathless laugh, scooting back so that you could lay your head on her thigh. Plucking the lighter out of your hand, she blew the fire out and tossed it aside. “Maybe. Would we go to America?”

“Where do you want to go?” You squinted up at her, the sky reflected in your eyes. “I’ll go anywhere you and the others want to.”

“What about Australia?” Chaeyoung giggled. “I’ve always liked their accents.”

“Australia, then,” you agreed, smiling up at her. It was moments like this that she would forever treasure, just talking about the possibilities of the future with you. No matter how hopeless it was, you had each other to brave through all of it, and it was enough to make her want to keep going.

Jennie appeared from below the trailer, her hands steady on the railing leading up. “What about Australia?” she grinned, Lisa hitting her from behind to make her go faster. “Yah, Lisa!”

“Y/N, stop it!”

Chaeyoung grasped futilely at you as you shattered a glass bottle on the concrete stairs leading up to your bedroom, screaming out as the spray of leftover alcohol hit you. With a shove, all the empty bottles on top of your dresser smashed to the floor, your unhealthy coping methods creating an even larger mess to have to clean up.

She rushed at you, arms wrapping around you in an attempt to stop you from doing anything else you’d regret. You only laughed and swayed, your girlfriend’s hands digging harder into your back. “Let go, Rosie.”

“No, not until you stop,” she panted, feeling her eyes sting as she squeezed. “Please-”

Once you found that your struggling was futile, your hands shot out, pushing at Chaeyoung’s stomach hard enough to slam her into the wall away from you. She gasped, even though it didn’t really hurt, sliding to the floor as you stumbled away. “Told you to let me go,” you snapped, stumbling over your own two feet as you backed away.

Desperation hit her, desperation to bring you out of your alcohol-induced fit, and she lunged forward, her hand bracing on your chest before her fist connected with your face.

There wasn’t much power behind the hit, but under the influence, you collapsed onto the stairs next to the remaining shards of glass, coughing out as you felt blood on the corner of your mouth. Chaeyoung hauled you up, her hands fisting in your shirt as she begged, “Come back, Y/N. Please, I need you.”

“You need me?” Once again, the sheer fury in your eyes was scaring her, seeming somehow cold in all its blazing glory. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to live without me. I’m gone, Chaeyoung, I’m leaving. I’m leaving this-- this shitty town, and you’re coming with me.”

The lavender-haired girl practically sobbed out, “I’m not! I’m still in school, Y/N, I can’t go without you. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Instead of a response, you twisted hard, flinging Chaeyoung onto the couch by the stairs and walking off. “Y/N! Jagiyah, don’t-”

The door slammed behind you, and she could only stare up at the ceiling to push down the boiling tears welling behind her eyes.

Where did it all go so wrong?

The lighter was warm from how long you had held it, an imprint of the switch seemingly permanent in the side of your thumb.

Your initials and your girlfriend’s were scratched in the cheap plastic; every time you bought a new one, you did the same thing. Recently, you’d started using the dull knives you could find in motels and other places.

After the day you threatened to leave, you were evicted. That made it easier than it ever had been to just up and leave, the only possessions you owned being the flannel Chaeyoung lent you and the clothes on your back, but for some reason, you stayed.

She had just graduated the night before, and you had asked her to finally go with you. Even Lisa was ready to leave, and all it took was Chaeyoung coming to your motel room.

Glancing over at the clock, you sighed, realizing that it was 4 hours past when she said she’d arrive. The plan was to pick her up, then go to Jisoo’s, where you could steal her brother’s car and leave, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards any longer.

Hauling yourself up, you seized the open tub of kerosene, splashing it all over the room. It soaked the sheets, the rugs, until your bare feet were wet with the liquid where you stood. Alcohol, anything that could be burned- you poured it all over the room and yourself, staring at the blank screen of your phone. I’m so sorry, Chaeyoung.

The lighter thudded to the floor and orange light lit up the room.

“Shit,” the girl gasped when she saw the smoke billowing out the window of what she knew to be your hotel room. Her bags were dropped to the floor as she pulled out her phone and charged for the motel, banging the door open faster than she needed to.

“Excuse me, young- hey!”

Chaeyoung ignored the receptionist yelling at her, turning the corner onto the stairs as she called the fire department. “H-hi, there’s a fire. Yes, in the motel on the corner of Main, please get here as fast as you can!”

She kicked your door open, gasping when she found you lying on the bed amidst the flames. Covering her face with the sleeve of her jacket, she rushed in, shaking you. “Y/N, get up. Y/N!”

The lighter, she realized, was on the floor. That couldn’t have been a mistake- you never let it out of your sight.

Either way, she looped her arms underneath yours, struggling to pull you out without touching any of the flames. “Come on, Y/N,” she groaned, hissing when she stepped right by the fire.

“I need you.”

[1rintooru]

When Life Gives You Lemons

Pairing: post-timeskip Bokuto Kotaro x fem! reader (its p gender neutral with a few exceptions)

Themes: fluff, fluff and more fluff

Word count: 2020 one-shot

Warnings: light swearing - that's it!

Summary: just you and bokuto remembering how you first met and started dating. And Bokuto being Bokuto 💖💫

“Do you remember our first date?”

You cocked an eyebrow at his question and shook your head incredulously, “Kou, how could I ever forget that?”

“I’ll never forget that face; you looked so beautiful.”

You smiled at the thought. You remembered that night so vividly as if it were only yesterday. All you wanted to do was dash in and out of the store to collect a few missing groceries. It had been pouring all day and within the short time you were outside, the rain had managed to soak through your paper bags, causing your groceries to rip through the softened paper. You were so upset that you ended up hastily tossing your individual groceries into the backseat of your car before getting in and speeding off.

“And I remember yours,” you chuckled, “that stupid, dumb face that looked right back at me.”

You had a hit a series of red lights – normally annoying you – but the downpour had gotten increasingly aggressive on your drive home. Your car felt like it was vibrating from the fat raindrops that hit the window and roof. You were mindlessly listening to the radio when a loud thump sounded from the hood of your car. Your eyes darted to the sound and you just barely caught a glimpse of white-gray hair and golden eyes staring at you like a deer in the headlights before quickly vanishing as the person rolled off the side. You shrieked and hopped out, mentally preparing yourself for the worst, only to see a young man lying on the road, illuminated by your blinding headlights.

“I really though I hit you…”

“Baby, you were at a red light. I had this all planned out,” Bokuto grinned smugly, then scratched his chin contemplatively. “Besides, how else was I supposed to catch up to you!”

He had plastic fruit net entangled in his fingers but you couldn’t quite make out what was within it. Once his eyes met yours his shocked expression was replaced with a confident boyish grin. He held up his bag, pointing it towards you.

“And then you had the nerve to say something as dumb as ‘Uh, you forgot your lemons!’”

“And you were all like, ‘Oh, you’re my hero! You’re so sweet. And handsome too!”

You rolled your eyes, trying – and failing – to stifle a giggle. “I did not say that!”

At the time, of course, you were beyond annoyed. You had barked a couple of insults and promptly snatched the lemons from him before you stomped back into your car. When you arrived home, you threw the fruit into the fridge before changing into a pair of dry clothes. You had managed to calm your nerves but the man from before never fully left your mind. The entire time you tore into him, a goofy smile was plastered on his face. Despite that, he was admittedly quite attractive. His wet hair stuck to the sides of his face, his drenched clothing clung to his body, contouring his muscular physique and he looked almost angelic with the headlights reflecting off his glistening skin.

He cleared his throat,” A couple of days went by, so I thought you didn’t even notice…”

And you almost didn’t. A few days passed and you ended up forgetting about the incident and the lemons altogether until one evening you stood in your kitchen wondering what to eat. You had raided your cabinets and scanned your pantry, but it wasn’t until you opened the fridge for a second time that you noticed the lemons from earlier, still safely contained in their netting. Suspicion began to bubble within you as you had started to realize something.

“I didn’t even buy lemons in the first place…” your voice trailed off.

In the commotion of that night, you didn’t even think twice about what you had snatched from the man. You were cold, wet, hungry and just had a lunatic jump in front of your non-moving vehicle; the last thing you were worried about were the intentions behind some fruit. You debated whether or not you should have simply thrown them away entirely, but you noticed something different about one of the lemons. You fished it out of the net and realized what you had seen earlier. You could just barely make out the digits that were scribbled in thick black marker – most likely written in a hurry – with his name underneath, followed by a crude smiley face.

Bokuto

Call me :)

You remembered how you rolled your eyes upon seeing that. ‘Who did he think he was?’ you thought. Despite your exasperation, something held you back from throwing away his eccentric proposal and to your own surprise, you ended up texting Bokuto that very night.

Your message finally reached him in the early hours of the morning. Bokuto instantly replied back the moment he saw his screen light up. In all of your retellings of the story, he always omitted just how anxious he’d become the past few days. You lived in his head rent free and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t evict you from his mind. Did his master plan really fail him? What if you didn’t even like lemons? Maybe he should’ve taken his shirt off instead. Better yet, he should’ve spiked your car with a volleyball to show off how athletic he was. He really would’ve loved to see you watch him during his matches. He pouted and let out a defeated sigh since he finally understood what it was like for Akaashi when he would overthink.

Your first message way terse and dry but it gave Bokuto enough serotonin for him to snap out of his slump. You ended up texting each other until someone caved and fell asleep, the rays of the rising sun already peeking through your blinds. Texting quickly turned to daily phone calls and that eventually escalated to the two of you constantly facetiming each other. At some point, without you fully realizing, Bokuto had turned into a quasi-roommate – always inviting himself in with the excuse that he didn’t know how to cook for himself. (You came to learn that this was very, very true).

You hadn’t even realized how lonely you’d felt before you met Bokuto, so you wholeheartedly enjoyed being able to see him all the time. However, what you didn’t enjoy was seeing him walk behind you through the monitor of one of your zoom meetings, with nothing but his boxers hanging loosely from his waist. You immediately sprung from your chair, shouting profanities and demanding he leave. The entire time he just smiled at you bashfully, shifting his weight uncomfortably and once you looked down, you finally understood why. You had forgotten that you only got dressed from the waist up – just a pair of barely-there panties prevented you from mooning your co-workers. Needless to say, your colleagues never let you forget you and Bokuto’s peepshow.

“It really was never a dull moment,” you smiled fondly, your mind flooding with memories of all the dates and silly adventures you shared together on a whim.

Bokuto hummed agreeingly, “So, when did you finally know?”

“Know what?”

“Well, you know… when did it feel like love for you?”

That was a good question – you hadn’t really put too much thought into it. A relationship with Bokuto was like having a tidal wave of love and affection hit you. All the time. At first, you tried to resist his efforts in order to protect yourself from getting hurt – turns out, he was the one who needed protecting. He had a knack of getting himself into trouble or diving head-first into something without realizing the risks or consequences. The time he dragged you to an annual food-fair on the boardwalk immediately popped to mind. He had begged you for months to take you there on a date. Once you finally gave in, his face lit up like a small child’s on Christmas and it stayed that way for the entire day while you both tried food from all the different food vendors. You’d both reached your limit but unlike you, Bokuto continued to scarf down food like there was no tomorrow – you suspected this was just another way for him to show off. The only reason he did stop was because the vendors had started to close their stalls and by that point, he had started to realize the error of his ways. The rosiness of his cheeks had paled as he hunched over clinging to his stomach, pain written clearly on his face. ‘I told you so’, you said, already digging through your purse for pain medication. He held up a hand, effectively stopping you, ‘Don’t worry babe, I’ll swim off the pain.’

Before you could even argue, he had already made a run for it, beelining towards the ocean. You chased after him, only catching up with him once you were both neck-deep in the water.  You tried to pull him out, but it ended up with you both playfighting instead. Every time you’d aggressively splash him, he would throw you into the air in retaliation and this went on until you were completely exhausted and he was complaining about the saltwater burning his eyes.

You remembered distinctly how your wet shoes squeaked as you walked along the boardwalk. You were glad the life had returned back to Bokuto’s cheeks, even though his hair was disarray and his eyes completely bloodshot. He had an arm twined around the small of your waist and despite his best efforts to hide it – you could feel him shiver underneath his drenched clothes. Someone once told you how your favorite things about your partner would eventually be the same things you come to resent them for. When you looked up at your boyfriend, you couldn’t have disagreed more. Every time you passed a streetlight his features would illuminate – reminiscent of how you saw him for the first time. You met each other through his idiotic plan and you’d be damned if you if you were ever going to miss out on these chaotic adventures together.

Your attention turned back to Bokuto, staring at you fondly through the monitor.

“I guess I just always knew,” you said with a coy smile.

“C’mon that’s not a real answer!” he whined, but even through the pixelated screen you can tell he was hiding a grin.

“Well, answer me this instead, Kou,” your voice quickly turned serious, “when will I get to see you again?”

Bokuto leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before finally resting his hands behind his head.

“Not long. Besides, you’re lucky enough to see me on TV even when I’m not around,” he grinned mischievously and gave you a wink, making you roll your eyes, “Besides, I uh… I left you something before I left. I hid it behind our junk food stash, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow, but decided to go look without questioning him further. What you found hidden deeply in the nook of your pantry didn’t clear anything up and raised more questions instead.

“Lemonade?” you couldn’t contain your confusion as you held up the can to your camera.

“Read the label.”

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade :)

“I know it’s been tough for you baby, but we’re almost through it. Just a couple more weeks and I’ll be back home. I promise.”

You felt tears threaten to spill over as you read the label again. It was such simple gesture but it truly did encompass your relationship beautifully. Bokuto always had a thing for silly melodramas and goofy sentimentalities. Even after two years you still felt like you were a fresh couple – you never lost the feeling of butterflies in your stomach or the habit of rolling your eyes over his antics. You managed to collect yourself and you couldn’t help but smile when you looked back at him through the screen. He may have been an idiot, but he was your idiot.

“I love you Kou. Don’t keep me waiting.”

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels: SHORT SERIES PART 4

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Member: Lee Juyeon

Genre: angst and smut i promise (how can i not write smut with this gif right)

A/N: idk if you guys read my A/Ns... but look for the ** in this chapter, and play the bonus track i’ve linked. i apologise in advance if it hurts... it’s going to be a long chapter, so sit back and relax

Taglist: @muvtharecca​

“you always try to hide the pain”

kevin is sitting opposite you in a 24-hour convenient store, the scent of kimchi flavoured instant noodles wafting through the air. the snow outside was only making this hot, late-night supper even more endearing as if it wasn't already on its own.

the chopsticks snap away from each other with bare minimum energy while you pull off the flap and greet the cloud of hot vapour.

the day concluded with kevin and the interviewer thanking juyeon, and they must've known something was wrong because you shook his hand without a word.

they've never seen you try so hard to force out a smile.

"go ahead and eat, kev," you jam your chopsticks into the nicely cooked noodles, shaking the strands apart. "do you need an invitation?"

kevin is accustomed to your work ethics; he knows you don't like to talk about work outside the studio or the office building.

so he deems it valid to ask when he decides that there was something more than "work" between you and the guest they had today.

"so, lee juyeon," kevin mirrors your movements, watching you in some corner of his eyes. "he's an ex-boyfriend?"

the food masks your need to throw something at kevin, and frankly, you weren't really in the mood to go against your kind-hearted colleague. not just that, you were spent from the day.

the vast amounts of strength you had to summon from the witch scratching your insides out was enough to drain you. it feels like you had to entertain more than a guest today, when you only had one.

any other day and it would've been an easy day.

but not when it is lee juyeon. not when he has his lips on yours in your studio. not when you still love him.

"you can talk to me if you need to, y/n. it sucks to see you like this, and we've been colleagues for two years."

the hot noodles leave a scalding sensation on your lips when you slurp it up, but instead, a sourness wraps itself around the nerves in your nose.

"for context, if our boss was in the studio, he would not have condoned your behaviour. you know that," leaning forward, kevin tries to meet your eyes.

"but he wasn't, so case closed."

he sighs, shaking his head gently as he takes his first mouth of instant noodles.

it is a few minutes of silence that brings you peace. every now and then, one of you slurps and kevin's lips began to pink with the heat and spicyness of the food.

yet, when kevin breaks the silence to return to the topic, it is both a relief from the tension and an added stress to the fact that you have no clue how to run anymore.

"i know he followed you into the storage room, did he do anything to you inside? are you alright?"

"i'm fine."

silence.

you look up through your lashes and see that kevin is slurping a lone strand of noodles extremely slowly, squinting his eyes at you and shaking his head.

"i think you should know you can't lie for whack."

a scoff runs your warm throat dry, and you shove another good mouth through your lips.

"i know he was talking about you in the interview, y/n. why are you denying a bad break up? most couples go through this. so what if he lost you to another man? he said he wasn't prioritising you over his work.”

kevin knows you are trying to avoid the topic and you weren’t one to be aggressive with him. 

he chooses to pry.

“from what i got from the interview, it sounds like he was the one in the wrong.”

sure, he started it. 

but you were the one who slept with someone else.

“any normal girlfriend would’ve been upset, and of course if there was another, better guy in the picture, i wouldn’t have blamed her for moving on. i wouldn’t blame you.”

but you didn’t move on, did you?

“i highly doubt any of that was your fault--”

your attention pulls to kevin from the bowl and lock eyes with him. 

“i slept with someone else, kev.”

the silence is deafening, only the jingle from the entrance of the store interrupting the still air between the two of you. 

“...while you were with--”

“yeah,” your eyes gravitate back downwards, and a frown gets cemented into your forehead. 

the food no longer looks edible; it looks more like a bunch of dead worms floating in a pool of blood. 

you hear kevin suck a deep breath through his nostrils as you push the bowl away, your appetite shrinking by the second and then it disappears completely like dust in the wind. 

“is it...” someone pays for a cup of coffee and leaves the store. “...safe to say that the two of you were already estranged when you did it?”

estranged. 

more like non-existent.

“it felt like we broke up and i didn’t know about it. i don’t know how great of an analogy or explanation that is, but i know that it felt like that,” you pause, because it feels like you were going to hurl out half the portion of noodles you had. “we were on edge for like... months. four, five months. it’s like his phone got thrown out into the middle of the pacific ocean and he never bothered to get a new one or at least save my number and i just...”

you look up from the bowl because your eyes were welling and your lungs were beginning to collapse in on themselves. there was a look of pity and sympathy in kevin’s eyes. 

his lips were pursed and brows slightly furrowed; he doesn’t know what to say and you don’t blame him. 

“the other guy was just there for me in that time of... vulnerability. i just let myself fall for that temptation.”

your colleague is stunned, but never does he once look at you like it was your fault. it was extremely out of character for you to crash and break down in front of him, and you were sure he could tell you were putting in effort to keep yourself composed. 

“sorry,” a tear falls without mercy, and you hurry to get rid of it, simply offering a weak laugh to hide your feelings. 

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you emotional.”

“it’s alright,” you shake your head and sit up straight, eyes looking to the fluorescent lights above and blinking away the layer of tears in your eyes. “saw this conversation coming anyway.”

kevin pushes out a tiny, bare smile by pursing his lips. 

you let kevin continue with his food because you couldn’t eat anymore, and your attention gravitates back to the outside world where the snow was gently falling onto the pavements. 

bright white lights reflected off the snow on the floor looking like crystals from afar, and you just can’t find enough strength to push the memory of juyeon out of your head. 

the gush of wind that greets your face would’ve been refreshing had you not just been on the verge of crumbling infront of kevin. 

he thanks the cashier behind you and follows you out onto the streets, pulling his beanie over his ears. he watches you close your eyes, snow falling into your lashes and your hair over the back of your coat. 

“i know it’s not in my place to say much, but if it’s anything i learnt from being in a relationship, it’s that you need to face whatever haunts you.”

his words sink into your skin like a cold blanket of truth, because you know it’s right. the tip of your nose numbs with the cold weather when you open your eyes and look at kevin, his presence alone enough to comfort you. 

there was probably no other person you’d be this comfortable talking to about the biggest mistake you made in your life. 

“i know.”

he nods, and turns to the left, expecting you to follow because you stay just about a ten minute walk from him.

but when he notices that you don’t budge from the spot you were standing on, and two passerbys were visibly confused with your lack of movement, kevin returns to your side and gives you a pat on the head. 

“call me if you need anything.”

like before, a nod shakes your head before you could process the movement, and kevin walks away, giving you one last look before he disappears around the corner of the building.

it is taxing to hit the button on the lift panel, watch the numbers on the display screen decrease number by second. 

it is overwhelming when the doors open, and snow falls off your shoulders when you stroll in, finger hovering over the button.

“i didn’t know i needed her until i lost her, and i lost her to another man. it was the biggest mistake then, and it’ll probably be the biggest mistake i’ll ever make.”

your lungs fill itself with a deep breath, the cold air piercing through your pores and nerves as the button lights up with a displeasing shade of red light. 

i’ll believe you this once, lee juyeon. 

we both found a chance to slit each other’s throats open and we both did. 

the gears of the lift doors grind open and a door along the corridor is wide open as someone walks in after pulling off his shoes. 

you step out without much thought, that is, until that person’s head sticks out beyond the door frame and the striped shirt is glaringly familiar to you. 

juyeon picks up his shoes and naturally, his eyes follow his line of movement. 

the eye contact seizes you in your footsteps, and it freezes juyeon the same. his back was slightly bent over, very obviously surprised that you were standing in the hallways of his residence. 

it takes him a few moments to process your face, your hands that were covered in gloves and the handbag you had dangling around your waist. 

your hair, lashes and brows were sprinkled with bits of snow; your grip around the straps of your handbag tight with tension. 

juyeon slowly resumes a proper standing position, each shoe hanging on each of his index and middle fingers as he blinks at you. 

he doesn’t say a word and the lift doors close behind you, but his door doesn’t when he turns and disappears into his apartment. 

just this once.

apologise, and you’re through.

he is not good for you and neither are you, for him.

his apartment is cozy; shoe rack, dining table on the right and a small kitchen beyond, living room. carpet, television, sofa, hallway to the private rooms.

you use your feet to get your boots off, carefully placing them by the shoe rack after dusting off the bits of snow from the wool outside the door. 

the apartment smells like juyeon and it makes you sick to your stomach when it haunts you like a dream you never woke up from; when it rips you apart all over again after five years. 

he walks into view from the hallway, arms crossed tightly across his chest and he looks at you like he was expecting something from you. 

just say what you need to say and go. 

you do not owe him anything. 

“are you here to gawk at my apartment like it’s a showroom or are you here because you wanted to do something?”

fool. 

it is surprisingly easy to contain the frustration now, because you were simply sick of it. there was no reason to remain annoyed with him, nor let him get to you all so easily when he was like this then; obviously he hasn’t changed that much. 

“i...” the neurons in your head struggle to piece the sentence together. “i came to apologise.”

kevin’s words repeat in your brain like a broken record when you look away, for juyeon was staring at you with slightly widened eyes now. he doesn’t even try to hide his surprise or shock -- or maybe he just couldn’t.

you apologising was probably the last thing he expected, yet you were here on your own initiative, spitting out words that he never thought he would hear. 

it requires a rather commendable amount of courage to look up back at juyeon again, his gaze tearing through you like a chainsaw through wood. 

“we had our differences and problems back then but i know it broke you when you found me... with sangyeon.”

you pause, thinking that he’d say something to piss you off or aggravate the situation, but his temples are tightened because he is hiding his feelings; his pain. 

“so... i’m sorry,” a pause. the muscles in your forehead contract and juyeon doesn’t move a single inch. “i don’t need you to apologise, because i don’t know what exactly happened... maybe something happened and i didn’t know but i know myself that i should not have slept with sangyeon, regardless the status of our relationship.”

at least say something, juyeon.

anything.

**  

a car honks outside, the snow getting heavier and falling like feathers of doves being shot down from the sky. the city lights outside the window were flickering with the snow blocking your view of them, but the still atmosphere was holding you by the neck; the cold temperature a knife at your throat. 

there was a kind of pain and trauma in his face that feels like paper cuts on your heart. you know very well he was playing that fateful day like a movie in his head, seeing you in bed with another man. 

you would’ve stopped him right there and then, tell him not to think about it, but that’s what you were here to apologise for anyway. 

gravity pulls your chin down to the ground with shame, your jaws clenching and your temples tightening under your beanie. the skin around your knuckles whiten with the amount of strength you were offering the straps of your handbag, 

a soft shuffle snaps you out of your blank, yet panicking mind that glued its eyes to the floor, and you watch juyeon’s feet with his socks on enter your field of vision. 

your lids squeeze shut, his voice rumbling through your nerves like an internal earthquake and you suddenly berate yourself for thinking this was a good idea.

“did you mean what you said today?”

his touch on your chin forces you out of your mental escape, your jaw being pulled upwards so you could meet his eyes.

i still love you, and i don’t want to break you again... so please don’t break me anymore.

it feels like all your motivation and confidence had drained into him through his finger under your chin, and if you weren’t already beating yourself up inside for saying that to him earlier today, you would’ve probably passed out. 

the layer of glistening tears in his eyes feels like boiling poison in your stomach, because the realisation of his truth only hits you now. 

but you don’t want to hear it.

the last time you were in love with him and he was in love with you, it was like pairing a matchstick with a wax candle: both eventually die out because of the other. 

denial washes all over you like waves during a thunderstorm in the form of an abrupt, shake of your head, even under his touch. it ached more than you liked it to have to deny the truth in what you said today, but you cannot break juyeon again.

“no, i--” your chin shifts out of his hold and your eyes dart away from his face. “i didn’t mean it--”

but didn’t you?

juyeon has your jaw in his hands again, lips cushioned against yours. 

it feels like a spear had been driven through your face when you taste his tears between your lips. 

it tastes like toxins and rotten eggs and saltwater and it makes you want to hurl; not because you hated it but because you hated how much it was hurting him.

“juyeon,” your hands push him away but he grabs both your wrists, the seizure halting you in your movements. 

“what are you so scared of?”

the question is like a dump of cold water on you, and you see nothing but remorse in his eyes. 

“...breaking you... it hurts me to know that i can, and i don’t want to do it anymore. i did it once, i don’t want to do it again.”

your voice cracks under the pressure and a tear rolls down his cheek. the urge to reach up and wipe it off his face was so intense, your hands started to tremble in his grip.

“i meant what i said during the interview today. and if you meant what you said, then it means there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

life has just shoved you off an edge, an edge that you were standing on after running away from juyeon.

only for you to fall off and into his arms again. 

he shoves his lips between yours, almost violently, when he pulls you forward by your wrists. 

he guides your arms around his shoulders and behind his neck, while his hands find your waist and rest on your lower back, keeping the length of your body close to his. 

your hair under your beanie loosens when he pulls it off, and the next to go was your handbag that he slides off your shoulder and lays it somewhere on the ground. 

don’t make me close one more door

it still doesn’t feel too far for no return, until he takes your hand and rests it on his cheek while he kisses you softly. his lips part and so do yours, instinctively, but he doesn’t force himself into your mouth. 

i don’t want to hurt anymore

the warmth from his palm over yours on his cheek melts you like the snow outside, and before you knew it, he pulls away, looking to see if you were going to turn your back on him and run.

stay in my arms if you dare

yet, the want to run is no longer in control. 

or must i imagine you there?

there was no need to say anything, because it was written all over his face and in his eyes. 

he slots his lips between yours again like puzzle pieces, this time feeling much more whole, much less in pain, much more in love; in love again.

the supposedly dead doves on the street writhes to life as a familiar fire in your chest lights up again. 

don’t walk away from me

both his hands cup your cheeks and your hands are gripping onto the material around his elbows when he starts walking you backwards. 

i have nothing 

a wall meets your back, sandwiching you between the cold concrete and the warmth that was emitting from the length of his body.

if i don’t have you

his scent fills your nostrils like flowers in a field and it is almost nauseating to have it so near to you. not only were you smelling it, you were tasting it, and having it in your grasp was extremely surreal.

you break the kiss first and look at the skin on his neck before finding the courage to look back up at him. 

there is a mild frown on his forehead, his palms still holding your face so gently, it feels like you were cushioned in feathers.

“juyeon...”

the name rolls off your tongue like a song lost in time, and juyeon simply angles his head downwards to meet your lips again. 

you must’ve been a fool to believe that five years was enough for you to forget about juyeon, not when you’ve spent nearly the same amount of time being his significant other. 

either that, or you were just never meant to escape juyeon’s life, nor rid him from yours. 

maybe now you understand why people do stupid things when they are in love, because they just don’t think it’s stupid. they do it because their heart propels them to do so; they do it because nobody can replace the feeling that this special someone can offer, that only this person can offer.

so when he has you cushioned cozily into the pillows of his bed and your coat and winter wear long gone somewhere, leaving you in just the first layer of clothes you have on, you realise what he’s trying to compensate.

you couldn’t tell if juyeon was just childishly bitter about the fact that you lost your virginity to another man, or that he was still in disbelief about how he treated you back then. 

one thing was for certain though, he is showering you with kisses and caresses that you would’ve otherwise not expected from juyeon. 

the whines and sighs pouring out between your lips sound like a soft lullaby and  he was revelling in the fact that he should’ve given this to you sooner. 

instinctively, your fingers find the rim of juyeon’s top and riles it up, running your skin over the warmth of his skin and smelling more of his cologne when the material brushes across your face as he removes it. 

he looks down at you and his gaze causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

they are loving and desperate for love. they are warm and cold with the memory of how you ended. they are full of desire and hungry for validation.

it doesn’t take him long to attach his lips to yours again once he’s done admiring the features on your face; features that he had lost for so long, he was worried he might forget them. 

as strange as it seemed, having him drag your clothes off you only to stop and stare at the shade of your skin makes you feel like you were truly exposed to him. it is alien and it makes you want to shrivel up under him, because he was not the person you slept with.

but before you could hide yourself away from him, he litters kisses all over your skin. your cleavage, your stomach. fingers brushing over the skin of your hips and thighs, encouraging your hand reaching down to look for his face.

when his cheek is brushed with your fingertips, he looks up through his lashes and it feels like this should’ve happened in place of sangyeon. 

the memory of sangyeon providing you the love and affection you needed engulfs you in flames and your chin tilts to the ceiling, silently begging the heavens to provide you enough strength to keep your tears in. 

juyeon, reading your body language, reaches to his nightstand and pulls out a black sash, something that looked like it belonged to his costume when you saw him at the club two weeks ago. 

“hey,” he leans forward and gives you a peck on the lips. pulling you upwards, he wraps his arm around your waist as he sits down. the position confuses you for awhile, until he pulls you onto his lap and lets you sit on his thighs. 

looking down at him while feeling the warmth of his legs under your rear is slightly unsettling; it has been way too long. 

“me saying sorry won’t cut it,” he slides the sash into your hands and brings them up to his face. “so i’m letting you do whatever you want.”

you decide that lee juyeon has lost his mind when he guides your hands and ties the sash around his eyes.

a frown draws itself into your forehead before you realise he can’t see your expression. 

your lips part in a bid to protest, to ask if he’s lost his fucking mind; but juyeon grabs your wrists and plants kisses into your palms.

your stomach is churning and your eyes are tearing up all over again when he starts trailing them down the inner side of your wrists and forearms. the intimacy of this entire ordeal draws a high on your consciousness, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips when he pulls away.

if this is his way of earning validation, then you have no authority to keep him from being validated. 

your palms press flat against his shoulders, gently pushing him backwards until he’s lying down on the mattress with your knees straddling the sides of his hips. 

the scent that you remember wafting through your nose for so long, so long ago is strongest around his neck. fragile memory invites you to that very spot, dipping your nose into his skin and attaching your lips to the spot under where his jaw led up to his ear.

the heavy breathing from his inflated nostrils already sounds like frustration, and it begins to hurt in your chest that juyeon is punishing himself.

he’s letting you do it only because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

your fingers replace the spot where your lips were, and circles of innocent pain draws themselves into his skin. 

his adam’s apple bobs up and down when he gulps, and you try to contemplate your next move. 

it shouldn’t be this difficult.

it really shouldn’t. 

not when he deserves to suffer for what he did.

but you were the one who slept with someone else.

frustration builds up inside you like a pressure flask, or a volcano for that matter. 

juyeon and his affection were the only things you ever wanted.

punishing him would be as good as punishing yourself. even if it was valid, it was, unfortunately, driving a nail through your spine. 

it hurt to let the realisation of his self-punishment sink in. 

“juyeon,” you pull off the blindfold and shake your head at him. “i can’t.”

a muscle in his cheek twitches, and his bare chest heaving up and down under your palms allows you to feel his heartbeat. 

what was this? some dumb game of chess? were you too dumb to let up so easily or was juyeon just too petty about what happened five years ago? it feels like a game of push and pull that was never going to end.

that is, until juyeon opens his mouth. 

“i’m sorry.” 

your eyes dart around his, frantically searching for any sign of pretence or inauthenticity. 

but you are shocked when you see sincerity, and nothing but him wanting to prove himself. 

your heart is racing and thumping so hard, you were sure juyeon could hear it.

it feels like the weight of the world has crashed down on you, at the same time the heavens finally ridding you of the witch that has been peeling your insides and throwing them out of your body in the form of tears. 

the gravity of the apology sinks into you too soon, because you shove your lips between his before you could even process your own actions. 

digging his fingers into your thighs, he pushes you back so you were lying down again, never once breaking the kiss.

you wonder if you were giving in too easily when he slips his tongue through your lips without much effort, but feeling his heart rush against yours is a sensation to be reckoned with.

it does not feel real. it does not feel like you deserve it.

the friction of your pants being pulled off your thighs earns your attention, but he is drinking your moans and feeling you writhe under him. 

the cool air followed by a thud tells you that your pants are on the floor, leaving you in your lingerie and him in his pants. so your fingers run across his biceps and reach south, slightly aggressively undoing his belt. 

sparks fly when juyeon smiles into the kiss. 

oh, how much i missed you. 

he shifts around in a bid to get rid of his pants, breaking the kiss in the process. 

panting and trying to catch your breath from the excessive making out, juyeon slides his arm under you and flips you over carefully.

he doesn’t remove your bra, and maybe it was because he wanted to know he wasn’t doing this because he wanted sex, the way you accused him of it two weeks ago. 

chills run down your spine with every instant his lips are on the skin of your back, and then your inner thighs and you find yourself shaking under him.

not because you were scared, but because this was right. 

the mattress around your legs shift, a finger trails the skin near your core and the air meets your needy wetness you didn’t even realise was becoming prominent. 

the bedsheet gets crumpled in your hands when he pulls it off, lifting your legs for you to remove it. 

then his palms are gripping the back of your thighs and his tongue meets your entrance. 

a hiss runs through your teeth and you shut your eyes.

the bliss is overwhelming, and your entire body was tremoring from the sensation of him dipping his tongue into you. 

his fingers find your sensitive nub, making you pool more for him to lap up. 

just when it becomes too unbearable, he removes himself from your south. burying your face into the pillow, one of his hands grips the flesh of your rear.

it feels like a warm blanket when he leans down, chest against your back and his left arm supporting his weight next to your ear. “tell me if it hurts.”

he greets you at your entrance, prodding slightly and driving inappropriate thoughts into your head as if you weren’t already halfway there. 

so you nod, and he plants a kiss on your shoulder as he pushes into you. 

your temples tighten with the pain when you feel him stretching out your walls, your fingers gripping onto the bedsheet like you were strangling someone. 

his right arm is holding your stomach under you, his lips still leaving lingering dollops of love and care on your shoulders. 

he waits until the look of pain has vanished, and the thrusts start out light because you were still adjusting to him. 

but it doesn’t take long for the small winces of pain to turn into gentle mewls and moans of pleasure. 

you turn and bury your face into the pillow, trying to muffle out your own desperation. 

so it is a surprise when juyeon abruptly pulls out and flips you over on your back, and you provide him one extremely annoyed sigh. 

he smirks at you, and you don’t mind it one bit. 

“nothing to be ashamed of.”

he wraps his legs around his hips as he looms over you, arms on either side of your head against the mattress. the combination of him pushing into you and pressing his lips against yours is of immense bliss and satisfaction.

you have all of him now, and this was meant to be. 

hips hips roll against yours instead of rampant thrusting, so that he could maintain his lips on yours. he was careful and meticulous and he wants you to know that he still loves you.

if that is what he’s doing, he’s doing a damn good job at it.

his hips are grinding against your sensitive nub and the rolling was maximising the friction of his length inside you, so it doesn’t take much for him to help you reach your high. 

“juyeon--”

“i know,” he whispers to you, lips just about an inch away from yours when his eyes dig into your half-hooded ones.

you expected your body to regurgitate all the memories of sangyeon, but nothing comes to mind.

the only person in your head is juyeon, and you had absolutely no problem with it.

he helps you reach your high and your back archs off the mattress as he drinks the pleasure spewing out your throat. 

he pulls out, just after he helps you ride it out, and he releases on your stomach and your thighs with sweat sticking his gelled hair to his forehead. 

your arms slide under his pillows and your chest heaves from the intimacy. it takes you awhile to realise you are staring at his chest and collarbones and face before he crawls back towards you.

he angles his head to kiss you again, this time willingly smiling into the act of affection. 

“does this mean you accept my apology?”

you suck your lips between your teeth when he pulls away, his hands brushing your hair out of your face and stroking your cheek.

“yes,” you nod subtly. “but only if you clean your mess off me.”

juyeon jabs the inner side of his cheek with tongue and looks away for a second.

he leans forward once more, kissing you on the forehead this time. 

“i love you.”

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

to be continued (final)

[kyber-kisses]

Where Nothing Stays Buried

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: violence, cursing, blood, spn level gore.

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: Blood from mouth

Summary: When the reader is hit by an unknown curse, things suddenly turn for the worse in the bunker.

A/N: So this is hella long and I have no idea how to feel about it, but I hope you guys enjoy this hot mess!

“I fucking hate witches, have I ever told you that?”

“About half a million times, Dean. But thank you for reminding me.” You sighed, letting out a yawn near the end of your sentence as you adjusted the straps of your duffel.

The two of you descended the stairs of the bunker, the metal steps creaking slightly beneath you with each step. The hunt had practically been a milk run. A witch a few towns over had been using communing with a spirit of some sort to pit people against each other. The witch was now six feet under and lives were saved. The whole thing had been wrapped up in less than a week and now you and Dean were back home, Sam having chosen to stay behind this time around.

“But seriously, they’re gross and creepy and I hate them immensely.”

“I know, Dean.” Sliding off the straps of your pack, you dropped it onto the map table.

“We still on for movie night, tonight?” Dean questioned, siding up besides you as he began unloading the weapons from his bag onto the table.

“Dude it’s -“ you reached over and grabbed his wrist, flipping it over to look at his watch. “9:30 at night.”

“But. . . Butch and Sundance.”

“Can wait one more day.” You smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder as you turned. “I’m gonna go shower. I smell like roadkill.”

And just like that you were gone, disappearing down one of the many hallways of the bunker. Dean watched you go, eyes fixed one the corner you had just rounded.

“Well that’s adorable.”

Deans head spun to look towards the library, watching as his brother leaning against one of the pillars.

“You shut up.”

“All I said was that's adorable.”

“Yeah, and I told you to shut up.” Dean hissed, jabbing a finger at his brother before snatching up his own bag and leaving the room.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Around an hour later you found yourself standing at the kitchen counter, the bunker mostly silent as you made yourself a sandwich. Sam was seated at the kitchen table, typing away at something on his laptop, and the last you saw of Dean he was in the library rifling through one of the lore books.

“I didn’t have time to ask earlier, but how was the hunt?”

“It was fine.” You shrugged, licking a crumb off your finger as you continued to assemble your meal. “Thing was practically a milk run. It was almost too easy.”

“Dean told me the two of you got thrown around a lot.”

“Well witches are bitches.” You nodded, picking up the kitchen knife besides you. “But we’re both fine. . . I mean I think Deans a little disheartened that I didn’t want to do a movie night tonight, but he’ll get over that.”

“End it.”

Eyebrows suddenly drawing together in confusion, you looked back over your shoulder at Sam, the hunters eyes still glued to his screen. “What did you say?”

“ I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you sure? I could have sworn-“

“They’re playing you.” The voice came out of nowhere, like a soft breeze, barely audible to even your own ears. You shook your head. You were tired, that was all. You were just hearing things.

But not a second later a wave of warmth rippled through every nerve in your body . For a moment you tried to fight it, unsure exactly what was happening, but you quickly gave up. It wasn’t painful or scary, it was almost as if a heated blanket had been wrapped around you. Your body instantly calmed, shoulders relaxing.

okay, weird. Maybe it was just your body relaxing after a long day. Nothing to worry about

After a second your eyes were suddenly found interest in drifting towards the kitchen knife in your hand. The reflection from the overhead light refracting off the clean metal as you turned it in your hand. You pressed a finger to the top of the blade, not enough to break skin, but just enough to leave an indent.

“Move.”

At the sound of the voice, you did. Your body remaining relaxed as you turned on your heel and headed out of the kitchen, knife still in hand and Sam still too busy to notice.

As you stalked down the hallway, your strides full of purpose, you felt your fingers flex against the handle, almost as if trying to fight the movement all together. At the far end of the hallway, Dean walked into view, a book balanced in his forearm as he read. He glanced up from the page for a half a second, acknowledging your existence, and then looked back down.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Throw it.”

It was only when Dean glanced back down at his book that he had to do a double take, looking up just in time with wide eyes to see you pull your arm back, and with a light hop in your step, throw the kitchen knife down the hallway. Your steps not even faltering even after the utensil left your palm.

The hunter quickly ducked as the knife flipped end over end before burying itself in the wall behind him with a solid thwunk, the handle quivering from the impact. With wide eyes Dean looked up at the blade and then back to you.

“Y/N, what the hell?!”

There was no answer from you as you closed the distance between you and him. Still stunned by what had just happened, Dean didn’t have time to brace himself before you were sweeping your leg underneath him and knocking him to the floor, pinning him beneath you instantly.

“Y/N!”

He could see that you were winding up, your hand pulling back. In whatever way he could to stop you, his own fingers wrapped around your wrists, struggling to keep you from plowing foreword. Unfortunately that didn’t help, and even though your wrist was locked in his grasp, you brought your elbow upward, slamming it into his chin. Losing his hold on you his hand slipped.

Possession. It had to be possession. . . Or maybe a hex bag? One of those two.

As you delivered the first solid punch, the voice continued to coax you foreword, whispering softly into your ear. You listened. Giving yourself fully over to the force rippling through you.

“Y/N- listen to me-“ Dean gasped, eyes wide as he watched you bring your hand back. “Somethings- somethings wrong.”

Another solid punch had his head knocking back against the linoleum floor, a groan leaving his lips. He didn’t notice the commotion down the hall until your weight of your body was gone and you were suddenly being pulled off him by two strong sets of hands.

Gasping in a lungful of air, he slid back, his back hitting the wall as he tried to gather himself. Both Sam and Cas were holding you tightly back as you tried to lunge at Dean, a fire blazing in your eyes.

“Let me go!”

“Y/N-“

Clearly they were trying to keep their hold on you somewhat loose as if to not hurt you, but that was a terrible idea because you managed to fight them off and throw yourself forward as Dean again. His hunter reflexes kicked in before he could stop and all of a sudden he was driving his fist into your jaw, making you stumble back.

This time Sam and Cas grabbed you with more force, looping their arms underneath your armpits as they pulled you back.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?!”

“Does it look like I fuckin know?!” Using the back of his hand to wipe the blood away from his mouth, he watched the two struggle to keep you back.

He had punched you. He could see the welt already forming on your jaw. What the hell was happening?

“We need to tie her down-“ Sam struggled with the words, your strength still being difficult to keep under control.

“The dungeon.” Cas spoke, looking to Sam for approval before the two were pulling you down the hallway. Your heels kicked against the floor as you were dragged backwards screaming.

And then the words to leave your mouth had Dean heart stop in his chest momentarily.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” You screamed, face pulled up in pain as you struggled. Your eyes both glassy and full of rage as you fought. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

A second later you were dragged around the corner, you yells continuing to echo through the bunker. Trying to process what was happening, Dean slumped back against the wall, eyes full of confusion and pain.

Something happened on that case that he didn’t see. . . Because that wasn’t you. Not at all.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Twenty minutes later, Dean found himself seated at one of the library tables, an ice pack pressed firmly to his eye. He had tried to go see you after you had been dragged into the dungeon, but one thing was very clear : Whatever was infecting you was making you target him. Sam and Cas had told him it wasn’t a good idea to be within your line of sight.

“She still angry as a little viper?” Dean mumbled, his eyes cast downward when he heard the two enter the room. He knew that answer though already. You had practically been screaming nonstop for the last twenty minutes. The sounds muffled by the walls of the bunker.

“Yeah. She’s locked down. She’s not getting free of the bindings we put on her.” Sam sighed, sinking into one of the vacant seats across from him. It was only when Dean finally looked up, did a hiss escape his teeth. Clearly you had gotten a few good licks in with both Sam and Cas. The two sporting several welts and scratches.

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Let’s just say she’s not holding back or pulling her punches.” Sam winced.

“It’s gotta be possession. It’s gotta be.”

“We already checked. It’s not.” Cas butted in. “Plus, she has an anti-possession tattoo, remember?”

“So then it’s a hexbag.”

“Guess again. We didn’t find anything on her.”

“Well then what the hell is happening to her?” Dean picked up his head fully. It felt like his thoughts were moving at a million miles an hour. “She was fine when we got back.”

“I don’t know. Could be a curse maybe?” Sam shrugged. “Something that latched onto her during the case?”

There was a pause as Dean sucked in his lips, silently contemplating what to do. “I want to see her.”

“Dean, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She seems to be the most angry at you. I mean, she did attack me and Cas as well but. . . Even just the mention of your name while we were in there made her go ballistic.”

Dean ignored his brother, instead moving to push himself out of his seat, dropping the ice pack on the table. “Well we cant help her if we’re all just sitting her twiddling our thumbs.” He paused again, looking back down at his hand. “. . . I hit her Sam.”

“It was instinct. You were protecting yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter, Cas! I punched her and I-“ Dean knew he shouldn’t feel guilty but he couldn’t help it. He had hurt you. You. One of the people he cared about the most. He needed to make this right. He needed to help you.

*. *. *. *. *.

Struggling against the stiff bindings keeping your arms securely bound to your chest, you leaned forward in your seat, taking in the shackles on your ankles. The room was empty aside from yourself. Sam and Cas having locked you in here a good five minutes ago.

“They’re talking about you, you know.”

“Let them.”

A sudden shadow off to your side suddenly caught your attention, making you look up. You thought you were alone. Clearly that was not correct.

“You’re the voice I’ve been hearing.”

“That I am.”

The shadow slowly slid into the light, revealing a thin figure wrapped in black. She moved like smoke, her hair long and a shade of purple so dark that you originally thought it was black when you first looked. Hers eyes shining like molten golden. A soft smile played on her dark lips as she moved foreword.

“Who are you?”

You see, for most people in this situation they would be scared out of their minds. But that didn’t happen. Not to you at least. All you felt was calm, the same way one might feel when held in their mothers arms.

“A god. But that doesn’t matter.” Her smile widened as she dragged a nail across your cheek. “What matters is that I’m helping you.”

“Oh.”

At that same time, the doors to the dungeon were pulled back open by one Dean Winchester, his brother and Cas standing behind him. You expected them to say something, to direct their attention towards the unknown woman besides you, but then you realized it was because they couldn’t see her.

Only you could.

“Look at them. So oblivious to the pain they’ve brought you.” She tutted, head tilting slightly in amusement.

You looked past Dean as if he wasn’t there, instead directing your attention towards Sam. “Sam, let me out.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Let. Me. Out.” Taking time to sound out each word, you began your struggle against your bindings once more. It was like there was in itch underneath your skin, and the only way to get rid of it was to attack.

“Y/N, we wanna help you.” Dean tried, attempting to take a step closer, only for you to lash out even more. He stepped back.

“He’s lying. They don’t help people. All they do is send them to their deaths.” The woman whispered, leaning down close to your ear. “Think about it.”

“You even listening to us?”

Your eyes blazed again as you looked up through the strands of hair hanging over your eyes. “I want you dead. . . I want you all dead.”

That caught them slightly off guard. The three men sharing a look between them like they didn’t know what to do.

“Look at you.” The figure cooed, hand coming to cup you cheek. The contact making you relax slightly. “They cause you nothing but suffering. Don’t you want to be free of it all?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it. How you’ve lost so many friends because they roped them into to helping them fight their battles.”

It was like throwing fuel onto a fire, and like a million times before you attempted to lunge foreword. The rage running through you like a wild animal.

“You’re terrible people! You keep getting the people I care about killed!” You snapped, almost on the verge of tears. “It’s like we’re all pawns in your game! Charlie, Bobby, Kevin-“

You ignored the heartbreak on Deans features. The hunter clearly losing his battle at hiding his emotions.

“Unravel him.”

“Am I next? The next person in your line of sacrifices? The next person to give up their life to keep you going?”

“It has never been like that. Ever!” Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“Liar.” You paused, suddenly a new idea was slipping into your brain. “You know what, let’s make this all easier. Instead of waiting for my eventual death to come, no doubt somehow because of you. . . Just kill me now.”

“Y/N-“ Dean choked out your name like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Don’t say that.” One second you wanted them dead, and now you wanted them to kill you. He didn't know which was worse.

“Why not? It’s true isn’t it? I’d finally be free of you, and all the death that follows you. If I can’t kill you-“ you gestured to your restrains keeping you from going anywhere. “this is the next best option.”

“Y/N, we care about you. We’re not going to do that.” Cas spoke up, reminding you that he was there.

“They’re trying to pull you in. Don’t let them. They think your weak.”

“If you care about me, you’ll kill me.”

Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, but only snapped it shut once more. Shaking his head he pressed passed his brother and Cas. He couldn’t be around this. This was a whole other type of pain.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Three days.

Three days of combing through the lore for anything that might point them in the right direction, and nothing. Resting his chin in his palm, Dean flipped the page of the book he was currently reading through. Sam sat across from him in a similar position. They had barely gotten any sleep in days, too busy trying to find a way to help you. A moment later, Cas was walking back into the room, even the angel had a tired expression.

“Well?”

“Well, she is still refusing to eat and I can’t remember the last time she actually drank the water we brought her.”

Dean cursed under his breath. Along with the violence and hurtful words, you now refused to cooperate. It was like you were trying to get them to snap.

“I’ll go check on her.”

“Dean-“

Dean was already down the steps before either of them could stop him. “don’t try and stop me.”

You were exactly where they last left you, your head hanging low up until the point in which Dean stepped into the room. At the sound of his foot pattern you looked up. The fire in your eyes still hadn’t gone out, and he could practically see the fury radiating off of you in waves.

“Well look who decided to visit.”

“I didn’t come here to talk.” Letting out a deep sigh, he knelt down to inspect your restraints, making sure they hadn’t loosened at all.

“You finally come here to finish me off like I asked?” Flexing your fingers you leaned foreword, the hunter looking up to find his face inches from your own.

“I ain’t killing you. Ever.”

“You’re just a pawn in their game. They will still be ready to sacrifice you at a moments notice for the greater good. That’s all you are. An pawn.”

Rising back to his feet, Dean made his way around you to check the chains keeping you to the chair. The heavy metal had been looped several times around you, a lock fastening it to a ring at the base of the chair.

“Do you know how many people would still be alive if you hadn’t let them wander into your lives? So many. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, the hunter tried to ignore your words. You were trying to make him snap.

“Stop talking-“ he began, only for his words to fall short as he glimpsed something beneath the collar of your shirt. Taking a step back he tilted his head before suddenly rushing to pull down the back of your shirt. “What the hell?”

With a newfound urgency the older Winchester dove his hand into the pocket of his jeans to fish out his phone. Snapping a quick picture he was gone before you could use anymore words against him.

The hallway towards the library had never felt longer as he rushed through it, eyes fixated on the photo.

“Sam, I think I got something!”

Both heads turned quickly as he entered the library, his feet momentarily sliding on the wooden floor.

“Good, because I think I got something too.” Turning the book around on the tabletop he pushed it towards Dean and Cas before taking Deans phone from his extended hand and looking down at the picture. “That’s what I thought.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the five fingered hand of Eris.”

“. . . Okay I’m gonna need a bit more than that, Sam.”

The hunter sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Eris is the Greek goddess of strife and discord. it says here that she’s marks her victims with the symbol, basically feeds them lies and tries to pit them against others.”

“Goes it say why she keeps lashing out more towards me, and not you? I mean she aint giving any of us friendly looks, me especially.”

“It says the stronger the emotional attachment, the stronger the hold. but that's about it.” Sam shrugged.

“Alright, then how do we stop it? Get rid of the symbol?”

“Um- give me a sec.” swinging the book back around, Sam flipped through a few pages before stopping. “Yeah, you can stop it but— oh.”

“Oh? What’s that mean oh? Was that a good oh or a bad oh?

“There’s not exactly a spell to get rid of it.”

“Not exactly?” Dean repeated, looking back over his shoulder at Cas who merely shrugged.

Sam pressed his lips together. Dean wasn’t gonna like this. He wasn’t gonna like this one bit. Hell, he didn’t like this- but it was the only option in the book.

“Sam?”

“All we need is a silver knife.”He could see Dean buffering, the hunter trying to put two and two together. He gave him another minute before adding “we have to cut it out of her.”

“what?” Suddenly Deans voice was much quieter, the man taking a step back from the table. “no, there has to be another way.”

“This is literally the only way to stop it. There is no other way.”

Dean already felt terrible for hitting you that one time, and now they were telling him they had to literally carve out a symbol that was basically branded to your back? No. That was too much.

“You can’t ask me to do that.”

“You don’t have to. I can do it, but someone needs to hold her down. We can’t do it if she’s chained to that chair.” Already rising from his own seat, Sam looked past Dean towards Cas. “Do you still have that blade we found in that crypt a few months back?”

“Yes.”

“Then that should work.” Sam nodded, it was only when he and Cas were at the door did they realize Dean had yet to move.

“Dean.”

Snapping out of the zone, the hunter nodded before quietly following them. Just the thought of bringing harm to you was too much. The image making his stomach flip.

The three made quick work of releasing you from the confining chains, the metal clanging against the cement floor of the dungeons as they slid from your body.

“Finally come to kill me like I asked?” You spoke, eyes glancing towards the blade in Sam’s palm. The younger Winchester remained silent, watching as Dean suddenly replaced the thick chains you had grown accustom to with a pair of handcuffs.

What happened next was so fast that you barely registered it. Dean suddenly tugged you firmly against his chest, locking his arms around you. The action made you struggle in his grasp as he sunk to his knees, bringing you down with him. It would be easier keeping you still this way.

“What the hell are y-“

It was Cas who stepped in next, pressing two fingers to your temple. Dean wasn’t exactly sure what the angel was doing but he felt you slightly loosen in his arms, your struggling slowly stilling as you panted.

“Sam, do it.”

The hunter didn’t need to be told twice before he was pulling up the back of your shirt. The marking was nestled between your shoulder blades and was almost the size of Deans palm. It looked like a brand, two opposing arrows converging at a common point.

“Hold her still.”

“I fucking am-“ Dean hissed through his teeth, turning his head away as Sam brought the tip of the blade to your flesh. Dean didn’t need to be told what was happening because a second later that’s when you started to scream, lurching in his arms. The heat from your breath seeped into the fabric of his shirt as you cried out, struggling in his grip.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-

That was the only thing running through his head as he buried his face in your shoulder, clutching you tighter to keep you from moving. Soon enough your screams mixed with sobs and Dean couldn’t tell if he was feeling your tears or his own. For the longest time Dean thought he could never truly feel someone else’s pain, but those screams of yours came close. They ripped through him like shards of glass and brought a whole new type of agony. The worst part was it felt like it went on for an eternity, but once it stopped, Dean was still afraid to loosen his hold. Your screams faded into sobs and your weight fully fell into him, face buried in his shoulder.

“Please tell me it’s over.”

At the sight of Sam pulling away with bloody hands, Deans stomach lurched again. That was your blood.Yours.

“It’s over.” Sam looked towards Cas, the angel lifting his hand from your temple before touching it to your back. A warm light spilled over you skin momentarily and then he was pulling back.

“I’ve healed most of it, but she still needs bandages.”

Seeing that Dean wasn’t going to be moving, Sam nodded already moving towards the door. “I’ll go get em. I need to wash my hands anyways.”

“Okay-“ Dean sucked in a lungful of air, suddenly feeling as if he had just run a marathon. “Okay.”

The worst part was over.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The bunker was quiet. At least much more than it had been before. As Dean made his way down the dimly lit hallway he saw that your room was still empty. It had been for the past week, ever since they cut that marking out of you. Moving past your door way, he stepped into the dungeon, knocking on the door frame to alert you of his presence.

“You gonna come out and join us for dinner?”

“No.”

“Y/N, you’ve barely eaten.” Dean sighed, stepping into the room. “Plus, you need to sleep in an actual bed. Not on the floor.”

Your back was facing him, knees tucked into your chest as you let your hand run over the devils trap beneath you. “I’m not leaving.”

Another sigh. He knew you would say that. Even though the symbol was off of you, you were terrified you might hurt someone again. . . So you had chosen to stay in the dungeon. Sam and Cas had taken off your restraints days ago but you had clamped a shackle back over your ankle for good measure.

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone. Sam got that thing off of you.”

You couldn’t allow yourself to face him. Your eyes instead going to your hands. “We don’t know that. . . “ you paused, eyes stinging with inside tears. “I hurt you. I said terrible, awful things to you- I tried to kill you.”

“It was a curse. That happens.”

“If it was the other way around, could you let it go?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought.”

Suddenly Dean was kneeling down in front of you, big jade eyes staring at you with tenderness. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just- I don’t want you believing anything of what I said. I don't want you thinking for even a second that I hate you.”

“I don’t.”

“I told you guys that you use your friends like pawns. That it’s your fault that we’ve lost people. . . That’s not- that’s not true.” You stumbled on the words, finding it difficult to speak.

“Hey, hey it okay. I get it.” He squeezed your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. “I went through something similar when I had the mark of Cain. I was spitting out stuff that wasn’t true as well.”

“How can you forgive me?”

“The same way you forgave me when I had the mark.” Dean mumbled against your hairline. “Now how bout we get you out of here and get back to normal?”

“How do we do that?”

“One step at a time.”

“. . .I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl  @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester  @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans @mrsmaybankhere @malindacath  @littleagxs @deanwanddamons @idksupernatural​

[westmoor]

voices from within (a post-halloween special)

(other parts can be found here)

Following the success of his latest novel, Jaskier accompanies Geralt to fulfill a contract. He only hopes to get some sounds on tape, film some furniture moving, get his name out there and maybe catch the start of a new story - but some houses are haunted by more than just the ghosts of former residents.

---

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice barely rang above a breath. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” For a moment he stood staring up at the building that was to shelter him for the next twenty-four hours, until the slamming of the driver’s side door snapped him out of it and he turned. “Geralt-”

Geralt only hummed his assent. It was impressive, stately even: When Jaskier had referred to it as a castle, it wasn’t far from the truth. 

Wide and squared and two storeys tall, brick painted a light creamy beige offset by dark brown, a dozen arched lattice windows gleamed in the afternoon light. Had he believed houses had personality he might’ve said this one looked friendly, inviting.

“What do you think?” Blue eyes twinkled at him, clearly pleased. “Do you like it? Think it will meet our expectations?”

He didn’t. He was decidedly less excited than his counterpart by what awaited them, and truth be told he would’ve preferred not to be there at all - or rather, preferred for Jaskier not to be there. It was a rule of his, one he’d reinforced after they had gotten together. He did not allow humans near his line of work.

But the novelist, after the success of the initial story featuring a Witcher, had been the one contacted about the job and had even brokered the contract, holding it over Geralt’s head until they had reached a compromise. He would be given free reign to do what he needed for the night, gather whichever so-called supernatural evidence and material he required, as long as he followed direction and kept a safe distance when told to. He had until dawn.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help the sneaking feeling of foreboding lurking at the back of his mind.

So no, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way it loomed behind the lean figure of his partner, deceptively calm, crouched like a beast lying in wait.

Geralt was saved from the attempt to voice his concerns - as brash as his boyfriend could be, he was remarkably perceptive - by a second car pulling in behind theirs.

No outside involvement had been another one of Geralt’s demands, triggering a tirade of protests from Jaskier, who in turn had argued that he couldn’t possibly cover the necessary ground on his own. Not within such a short time frame.

Unable to move his witcher, that particular settlement had eventually been perched on a technicality: No outsiders would join their so-called expedition.

How Jaskier had been able to get hold of Lambert and Eskel, much less convinced them both to join in, Geralt would never know.

Sneaky bastard.

Watching his brothers emerge from the car and approach them, however, he felt the restless beast in his chest subdued. Jaskier drew trouble like a spoonful of sugar drew wasps, but surely even he couldn’t manage to put himself in too much danger, not with three pairs of seasoned witcher eyes at his back.  

Rounding the silver hood of the vehicle, Eskel nodded at Geralt and extended a hand in friendly greeting to Jaskier. The two of them had only briefly met but hit it off immediately, which wasn’t too surprising - anyone with the sense not to balk at his scars would find the older wolf to be good company. 

Still waters run deep though, and his brothers knew better than anyone what it would take for a stranger to work through the layers of Eskel’s polite facade and earn real trust. Luckily for all of them, Jaskier’s openness and frank speech - verbose but earnest - had battered at it in much the same way as he’d broken down Geralt’s own walls.

Lambert, on the other hand - 

“Thought you said this place had ghosts, or whatever.” His hands were buried as deep in his pockets as they would go. “Are we going to go find some, or just stand out here until we join them? I’m freezing my tits off.”

Lambert was an acquired taste.

Jaskier didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, and eagerly grasped the incentive to get moving. Within moments he had ushered them all up the double stone steps with an authority that probably wasn’t appropriate for a young man to direct at three monster-hunting mutants twice his size, but seemed entirely natural to him. 

Geralt thanked his lucky stars that neither brother commented on the quickening of his heartbeat.

---

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was overwhelming.

Heavy oak doors swung open on well-oiled hinges and they were led through to a lounging area, masterfully decorated to reflect the wealth and status of its original owners, walls practically dripping with frames illustrating its rich history. Past cushioned chairs, rococo sofas and tables on spindly legs, a grand staircase twisted up to the second floor, banister continuing along an interior balcony wrapping around the entrance from above. Beyond, rows of pearly white doors and pastel hallways would carry them into the heart of the manor.

Crossing the threshold felt like stepping through time. Despite the electric lights and vague distant hum of heating units, each piece in sight was as close to original as could be hoped for, selected and maintained with utmost care. 

But there was something else, too. Not so much a smell as a breath, an unmistakable lingering of things long lost.

Neither witcher voiced it, though they all clearly noticed - eyes skimming walls and nostrils flaring momentarily before they discerned what couldn’t be pinned down.

Jaskier slipped seamlessly into the role of the enthusiastic guide, throwing tidbits and details left and right while introducing the trio to the building’s past and present characters. His brothers exchanged glances at the shift in demeanour, but Geralt remained unfazed. He knew the writer hadn’t stumbled into his profession by chance, but lived and breathed for such occasions. Be it in speech or in prose, he was a born narrator.

What followed was a thorough tour of every notable room, nook, and cranny, all with a performative flair and tinged with what Jaskier referred to as reported phenomenons. Geralt hung back. He had already heard the broad strokes of it, but listened nonetheless, the added structure and dulcet tone of his lover’s voice crafting it into a proper story. 

The other two were paying the attention of hearing it for the first time, and his mind revived the question of how they’d been convinced to join in the first place. He might end up having to ask.

Though Jaskier was an entertaining host - and only got them lost twice - an hour had come and gone by the time they completed their loop and found themselves back at the top of the staircase.

“Now, gentlemen!” Clapping his hands, their guide halted in front of one of the large white doors. One, Geralt noted, they hadn’t opened yet. “If you would so kindly help bring in the equipment and start setting up for the night…” His lips quirked in that mischievous way at least one of them had come to know all too well. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

A lesser man would have succumbed to Lambert’s baiting comments and Geralt’s glare, but Jaskier’s penchant for dramatics could weather any storm. 

Only once the car had been emptied of gear and devices, wires stretched and screens installed, and after he’d procured a sturdy meal for his companions through a particularly scared-looking pizza delivery person, were they allowed back near the second floor landing.

“I want to look everything over one more time before we start recording, and maybe move another cam down to the first floor. The maid’s quarter is said to be particularly reliable, lots of people claim to have heard voices - lullabies even - between 3 and 4am.”

It was Eskel, who so far had been the most amenable of the group and asked only the most practical questions, that finally raised the issue that had crawled steadily closer to the surface as they worked. “This seems like a pretty big contract for a few disembodied voices.”

“Ah.” Jaskier’s grin grew wide. “But we’ve only scratched the surface so far. “

“In here,” he tapped the great door behind him, “lies the heart of this little castle, the grand salon, where the original owners would entertain guests. Basically the entire staff claims to have heard sounds coming from here. Music, clinking glass, the clamour of voices, as if there’s a party taking place, dragging well into the night. But when they open the door and look inside…” He snapped his fingers. “Nothing! Dark and abandoned, quiet as a grave.”

“If the claims are true, this is where it all began. There was an accident, you see, a real tragedy, one that cost the master of the house - a mister Lamm - and all six of his sons their lives. His widow, Dora, unable to let go and half mad with grief, prayed day and night to be reunited with her husband and to see her family again. But when religion failed her, as it’s wont to do, she cast her net wider, and gathered every prominent mystic and occultist of her time to aid her quest.”

Geralt stepped closer, the crux of their stay finally about to be revealed to his brothers, who were following the recounting with rapt attention.

“And she succeeded in bringing them back. Not to life, perhaps, but the halls were filled with children’s laughter and the sounds of running footsteps once again. Dora is said to have sat up nightly, listening, speaking to them until dawn. Only, it wasn’t the only thing they brought along.”

Eskel nodded, an idea of which road the story was about to go down, but waited for the man to continue.

“Now, I don’t know that I believe everything -” 

Lambert snorted, earning a sharp elbow to the side.

“- but according to mediums and other visitors who’ve stayed here over the years, the house is open somehow. Like a friction point worn thin. Supposedly whatever leaks through serves as a sort of battery for the rest - the knocking, the voices, the singing - but it’s not just that, either.”

Jaskier’s voice lowered a note as he dropped the theatrical edge, turning serious. “Previous employees say it… changes people. Makes them ill, triggers things. Makes them say and do things and behave in ways they otherwise wouldn’t. Most don’t stay very long. Others won’t leave, even after their employment is terminated.”

“The current owner wants it shut, whatever it is,” Geralt interjected. 

If Jaskier was annoyed at having his flow broken, it didn’t show, and he smoothly picked back up. “And that’s why we’re here! By morning, thanks to Geralt’s ministrations, this place should be as devoid of any spiritual activity as any regular old heap of rocks, and I want to catch it before it goes.”

Silence fell over the group.

“That’s it?” Lambert looked at Jaskier, brows raised. Then at Geralt, and back at Jaskier, who nodded affirmatively. He shrugged. “Okay. Fun.”

Geralt released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, and Jaskier leaned up to the door. 

“Well then, friends, if you’re ready!” He flicked the lock, before stepping back and turning to Geralt, features seeped in expectation. 

“Darling, would you do the honours?”

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[sp00kworm]

A Den of Iniquity (Part 4)

Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader

Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Violence, Vomiting and Adult content.

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Part 1    Part 2      Part 3    Part 5 

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The vampire felt a tiredness seep into his very core. His rest in the icy cold storage had made him lethargic and slow. He eased himself upwards, standing on two legs out in the grass of the hospital gardens, wobbling on his legs a little. The night air was cool, but not as cold as the locker had been on his dead flesh. There wasn’t a soul in sight as he peered around, red eyes burning against the dark. Dracula felt his cold flesh regain a bit of movement. He was lethargic as he took a few steps forward, heading towards the fences where the hole he had entered through remained. Thankfully, there was no one to witness the naked form of a man rushing through the gardens, and the vampire turned his gaze to the moon before shifting into a wolf and rushing through the metal wire fencing and into the streets. He raised his black nose and sniffed at the air, remembering where his closest apartment was in a flood of pictures, turns and jumps towards the property. The beast howled before it took off, pink tongue hanging between sharp teeth as it bolted through the streets of inner London. The night air was cool against his black coat as he ran.

 The apartment block was quiet, and he awkwardly stumbled in through the window before regaining a semblance of grace, snarling as he shed fur and sniffed at the air. There wasn’t anyone here, and the cleaning lady had been recently. Lemony scents clung to the floor as he moved through the apartment, bare feet dragging along the carpets and slapping against the stone floor of the kitchen. He turned on a light, and squinted at the brightness, before turning it off again and heading towards the small bedroom. There was a wardrobe with some clothes he had stashed in case of an emergency. The vampire drew out a shirt and a pair of trousers, forgoing underwear in favour of collecting a pair of boots and heading to bathroom. The water was cold, but he showered quickly, scrubbing the clotted blood from his mouth, chin, neck and chest. He turned his hands under the spray and gouged at the blood beneath his nails before daring to run his hair under the spray. Pink water circled down the drain as he scrubbed his hair with whatever shampoo had been left. The smell of roses clung to his nostrils as he washed and washed, removing as much of the evidence of his murder as he could manage.

Dracula dressed slowly, twisting, as if unused to the human skin covering him as the shirt clung to him tightly, the material feeling claustrophobic against his skin. He towel-dried his hair and hissed at the mirror, watching the glass erupt into shards with his cursed gaze, the reflections of shadows and bones shattering before he could really catch a glimpse of it.

“The vanity of man.” He grumbled as he rubbed a hand over his styled facial hair. His form was still the same, not a hair had grown nor a freckle on his face. The same. Cold and dead but changeable, malleable to his own and other’s desires. With a deep breath, he stood and tied his hair back, before heading to the door, snatching a coat off the hook as he headed back into the dark London streets, intending on getting home with another meal in his dead stomach. As he took a deep lungful of air, he scented a cut on the wind, and headed towards the scent with a deceitful smile on his face.

 His home was dark as he arrived back, feeling energized yet ready for the rest of the night in his bed of foul earth. He’d had a little bit too much of an adventure over the past couple of days. He was becoming an old vampire with the taste for the sedentary luxuries of wealth. Striding up the drive, he came to a halt as he spotted a black cat splayed across his doorstep, its thick tail flicking with irritation as he approached. The cat hissed, claws flashing as his shadowed form loomed ever closer, flickering and spitting back at the beast.

“I will have her.” He promised in heavy Romanian, amidst the fog of his own form, “Whether you want me to or not.” The words echoed around him as he watched the beast snarl at him again, claws scratching his leg through his trousers, opening three tiny wounds which sealed as soon as they opened. The black cat bounded from his doorstep, fluffy with anger as it leaped into the bushes and disappeared into the street, yowling as it went. Dracula watched with a smile before a leaned over into his front lawn and clicked on the cat repellent machine, grinning as the awful noise warded off another beast that was hiding in his bushes.

 It had been three days since you sent the restocking email to Vladimir, and you’d yet to have a reply. A text message was still sat unread but received and you were beginning to wonder if you had stepped over an invisible line.

“Maybe he’s not interested, Drac?” You cooed as your black cat wandered around the shop, purring against your legs before he jumped onto your serving counter and chirped for your attention. You ran your hand over his thick, black fur and smiled at your cat as you messed with the fur on his neck. A sharp tone rang through the shop. Your phone blinked awake as you received a text message. His name was across your screen.

‘I apologise for my absence. I had to attend a business meeting in Romania. I only just got back. Forgive me, for I did not mean to make it seem like I was ignoring you. I look forwards to seeing you again soon.’

 Another notification chirped before appearing on your screen. The invoices for the next order and the scheduled payment date. You smiled at the text message and replied as Drac attempted to bat the top of your phone.

‘Don’t worry about it. See you soon.’

He read the message as soon as you sent it, the bubble indicating he was typing a reply.

‘Shall I see you at my home again this weekend? I found an interesting selection of English movies I have never seen in Romania.’

With a smile you sent him a small bat emoji and a time for the date before he replied with how he was going to bed, claiming to be tired from the flights and work he’d been dragged into. Drac successfully hit the phone onto the counter with a yowl, his tail swishing back and forth over the wood until you relented, laughing as your cat pushed himself into your arms and purred, a sandpaper tongue licking underneath your chin as he enjoyed your sole love and affection.

 Your movie night was cut short with your own business. Vladimir hadn’t been too upset with the disruption to your plans together but did pop in to see you in the shop. He’d even gone as far as to offer his help dressing the place for the wine tasting you had booked, grinning and joking about his own brands that were laid on the table for the guests to give a try. You’d enjoyed his presence, the man helping to calm your nerves with soft gestures and consoling words.

“You have nothing to be nervous about, my dear. The shop is dressed to perfection and the wines are delectable. You will do fine.” You could remember the ghost of a kiss on your cheek before he left you in peace to host the evening, his coat fluttering as he disappeared past the glass front windows of the shop and down into the dark street. It had been a success, and many people had complimented the low lights and fine decorations. When you thanked him, he was nothing but kind, turning the success around, pinning it on your own abilities.

 The supermarket was dead this time of night. You scowled at the tins of tomatoes and beans on the shelf, looking for the usual deal with a huff of hot air between your lips. The deal was on another brand this week, and you shrugged as you threw four tins of tomatoes into your trolley and ticked your list on the scrap of notebook paper clutched in your hand. You still had quite a few things to collect. You peered at the list as you walked up the aisle. You trolley collided with another with a metallic bang.

“I’m so sorry!” You rushed to apologise to the other person before gazing upon the tall stature of a familiar man, “Vladimir? I didn’t expect to run into you!” You laughed as he tipped his head at you, clutching his own list of shopping in his hand.

“I too did not expect to see you here.” He chuckled before holding his list up, “I decided to come and collect the ingredients for my next dinner event.” The man tucked his trolley to the side of the aisle, pressed against your own, to give other shoppers room to pass, “Are you here doing your…how do you say it here? Weekly shop?” He offered, his accent thick and heavy as he rushed to think of the words.

 With a nod you laughed, holding up your own list, “I’m here doing my weekly shop, yeah. I was running out of cat food, so I figured I should come before Drac kills me in my sleep and eats me instead.” You joked.

Vladimir gave a thin smile, “Cats are such mean beasts.” He offered, “I did not know you had one. What was its name again? Drac? Is it short for Dracula, perhaps?” He joked.

Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, “Ah yeah, it is. He’s so big and scary so I just named him that when I picked him up from the rescue woman. He used to bring me all sorts of bleeding things, so the name just stuck with him.” You explained before tapping your trolley handles, “Do you want to walk together? I can help you find the things you have left, if you want?” You offered.

Vladimir smiled, “But of course. I am a little lost, I must confess.” He admitted before offering you his list, “I do not know where the meat counter is.”

“Oh, all this is on my route around anyway! I’ll show you.” You smiled up at Vladimir before waving for him to follow you, “The meat counter is just up here, but I think this cut of beef will be expensive.” You offered him his list back.

“Money is no problem. I must impress these men. They are part of the chain I would like for my warehousing here.” He confessed as you both approached the small butchers counter.

“Well then we best get you the finest we can find!” You joked as Vladimir turned to take his meat from the butcher on duty.

“Only the finest, indeed.”

 Your trip around the shop was brief, or it seemed very brief as you both laughed and talked about what had happened since his impromptu trip abroad.

“I heard Miss Westenra is engaged?” You asked, “Harker told me the last time he was in the shop buying that wine he likes to impress with.” You rolled your eyes at your friend before smiling at Vladimir.

He nodded, “She and a man named Doctor Harvey Seward are to be married. Apparently, his family are all Doctors, and have been since the Victorian era of this country. I hope the marriage is favourable.” Vladimir stopped at the end of the aisle and smiled, “I think I am finished shopping, my dear, but this has been wonderful.” He took one of your hands in his own and placed a kiss on the back of it, “Will I see you this weekend?” He asked as you looked into his dark eyes, admiring the way his long, dark hair framed his face.

“How about we have coffee in the square by the shop?” You whispered as he drew close.

“Nothing would make me happier.” He whisked himself away with a grin and a flip of his coat, and you were left holding the pack of toilet rolls, flustered and hot to the touch.

 When you got home you found a bunch of black roses tucked on the doorstep of your shop. You picked them up and admired the deep, scarlet ribbon that was wrapped around them, styled into a beautiful bow. There was a tag attached with a small note.

‘I hope we can spend more time together- Vlad’

You took them inside with a smile, unaware of the red eyes and fanged grin watching you from the mist curling in the shadows across the street.

 The vampire watched as you entered the book shop across the square. The café inside the book shop was where he was supposed to meet you. He looked into the window as you passed them by, smiling to the clerk before you headed into the back through the aisles. Curiously, the vampire followed, ducking through the crowd as he entered the shop and smiled as the cashier with a wave of his hand. She smiled back pleasantly at him and continued to price the books stacked on the counter. He followed the route you had taken into the back of the shop and paused in the entrance to an aisle as you passed around the end aisle with a heavy looking book in hand. Dracula smiled as he watched you, ducking into the next aisle to watch again before he looked at the metal watch on his wrist and peered at the time. It was still early. He too, had some time to look around and pick up something to read. With a graceful spin, he headed towards the world books and peered at the titles, wondering if there was something in his own language that he would be able to read properly.

 “Vladimir?” You asked as you turned the corner in the bookstore, gazing up at the man curiously, “I didn’t expect to see you in here just yet. With a smile, you tucked the book under your arm and looked up at the ‘around the world’ section.

Vladimir jumped at your interruption, smiling as quickly as he could as he held up a selection of a couple of books. They were all rather heavy looking reading. He offered you a smile, “I was looking for something to read in my home language.” He looked embarrassed, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, tucking a few stray hands of his dark hair back into his bun after the motion.

“I thought you could read in English?” You asked, confused.

Vladimir smiled before tapping the cover of a novel that was in Hungarian, then another that was in Romanian, “I can read English, but the meanings of many words and phrases escape me in it. My home languages are much easier to comprehend.” He confessed.

You looked at the adaptations of old horrors before tapping the front of your own book, “Maybe I can help? I know you find it easier to read in your mother tongues but maybe if we read together you can get better at understanding certain words?”

Vladimir considered your offer for a moment, dancing from hip to hip before he hummed, “This was not the ideal coffee date I had in mind.” He joked as he plucked another Romanian book from the shelf.

 “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” You soothed with a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll happily sit and read with you…It…” You tucked your book higher, “It actually sounds like a nice time.”

The vampire felt his chest ache as you smiled, face red from the cold outside.

Vladimir smiled back at you and tipped his chin, “You have convinced me. I will read and you will instruct.” He offered you his arm as you both headed to pay for the books in your hands. As you reached the register he plucked the short stories from your hands and smiled deviously, “I insist.”

You reached to take it back, “You don’t have to do that! I can afford it, you know.”

Vladimir shook his head, his gloved hand raised to silence your protests, “Think of it as payment for your instruction.”

“Thank you.” You relented and smiled warmly. Vladimir returned the gesture by reaching for your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. The lady at the register took the total from his card and packaged the books before ushering you both on your way. With your book in hand you headed upstairs to the café, Vladimir following close at your heels.

 The smell of black coffee was somewhat calming as you sat by the window and watched the British rain fall in violent sheets. It didn’t seem to want to calm so you and Vladimir had ordered a second coffee each to pass the time a little more, hoping to not have to run out in it. You listened to him read, your head rested in your palm as you listened to him read softly across from you.

“The subway train lost its life current between two stations and for a quarter of an hour they could hear nothing but the dutiful beating of their hearts and the rustling of newspapers. The bus they had to take next was late and kept them waiting a long time on a street corner, and when it did come, it was crammed with garr…” Vladimir scowled at the word in the book before spinning it to you, pointing at the word in the middle of the page.

You leaned forwards, hot coffee clasped between your hands, “Garrulous.” You smiled at his confusion, “It means, chatty or talking excessively about something trivial.”

Vladimir nodded, rolling the word around his mouth as he repeated it back to you and then himself. He turned the book back to himself before starting the sentence again, “The bus they had to take next was late and kept them waiting a long time on a street corner, and when it did come, it was crammed with garrulous high-school children. It began to rain as they walked up the brown path leading to the sanatorium.” He continued reading, his English seeming to get better and more pronounced as he practiced aloud, and you listened in a trance, watching him for a while before looking out at the bouncing rain.

 Vladimir’s soothing voice lilted in the air as you took another sip of coffee and looked back at Vladimir’s handsome face, admiring the angles of his strong jaw and the stylized facial hair. Dark eyes locked with your own as he finished the last line of the story.

“He had got to crab apple when the telephone rang again.” He closed the book around his finger as he reached for the receipt and marked the page for now. He’d gulped his expresso down in the true way, three quick swigs before he’d continued reading to you. Vladimir smiled as he moved his chair out, “Excuse me a moment. I must use the bathroom.”

“Oh, its fine. I’ll be here when you get back!” You joked as you sipped your coffee and turned your gaze back to the window.

 Vladimir’s shoes tapped as he walked across the café to the small, single male toilet. The door was heavy and wooden. A thick fire door. He locked the stall with a snap of his wrist and inhaled the smell of bleach and toilet cleaner before he crouched down over the toilet and pushed the seat out of the way. The vampire drew a vial from his trouser pocket and grimaced at the sight of the heavy Ipecac syrup in the plastic tube. Dracula drew the stopper out before squeezing the tube harshly, feeling it coat his tongue and throat before he tossed it into the waste and swallowed with a violent gag, waiting for the influx of coffee stained stomach lining to pour from his body. He stared into the water, a reflection of bone and ash, and gaged as the first mouthful of vomit dripped past his lips.

 “You took a while.” You observed with a light tone as Vladimir returned, sitting at the table with his usual smile. He’d changed his hair, “But now that I look at you, I realise that you spent time messing with your hair. Preening in the mirror were you.”

“My hair was a mess, what can I say.” Vladimir teased as he turned his cup upside down on its saucer, pushing it to the side of the table for the waiting staff to pick up.

Gently, you reached to tuck a long piece of his hair behind his ear, watching the man remain still to let you do so, “I think it looked just fine. You always look handsome, Vlad.”

Vladimir took a deep breath as he caught your hand, pressing it to his cool cheek before he laid a kiss on your palm and leaned forwards, “Just as you are always beautiful.” He complimented before releasing your hand and nodding to the window, “We should make a dash for your home while the rain has paused.” He stood up before you to wrap your coat back around you before storing your book in two layers on plastic bag, “Hopefully we can keep the books dry.”

“Here.” You took your card out and paid for the drinks before he could protest, “You can get the next one, Mister Gentleman.” You teased as you paid and turned.

Vladimir offered you his arm with a chuckle. As your arm wrapped around his own, he purred, “Are you implying you would like to go out again, my dear?”

You jabbed his side with a finger, “Yes I am, you big tease.”

 The two of you laughed as the sun set, making the streets of London an even drearier grey, plunging them into darkness. The rain splattered across the pavements and tarmac, drenching everything, making the concrete city smell of ash and rain. You laughed, hand in hand, as you dragged Vladimir across the road, dodging a speeding cabby, who promptly stuck his finger out of his window along with some screamed verbal abuse, and jumped up the curb, heading towards the front door of the side stairs to your apartment above the shop. Vladimir dragged you back under his black umbrella as you rifled through your bag for the keys to your apartment. You laughed as the rain poured off the sides and snatched your leys, unlocking the door. Before you could swing it open, Vladimir pushed himself closer, taking your hand and pushing it against the wood before he dived to claim your lips. A cool kiss pressed to your skin and you responded tentatively to the pressure before opening your mouth and feeling the caress of his tongue. It was cold, chilled from the rain, but full of emotion, a desire that was locked deep inside both of you. The man pressed against you, his free arm dropping to wrap around your waist as you clutched at his neck. He drew back with a heavy exhale and pressed his nose to your throat.

 Dracula merely pressed a kiss to the hot skin, fangs sliding free at the feel of hot flesh and the blood pumping under his lips. He relented. He controlled himself and then, he pulled away, looking into your half-lidded eyes, wanting nothing more than to steal another intoxicating kiss.

 “What are you?” Vladimir whispered against your cheek, “It is like there is a force. A pull I cannot resist…” He kissed the column of your throat again, “It drives the beast wild.”

“What…” You heaved a breath, “What do you mean?” You asked before he kissed you again. Gently, you pushed him away by the chin, “Not…” You steadied yourself, “Not yet. I don’t…”

Vladimir’s eyes appeared black in the darkness, the whites gone, “I understand. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He pressed another hurried kiss to your cheek, “Goodbye my darling. I will see you again soon, I hope?”

You nodded before opening the door, “I’ll message you.”

Vladimir turned his collar up against the wind, “I await your call.” A ghostly kiss pressed to your face once again before he disappeared. In the time it took you to open your eyes he was gone. There was an ache in your chest that you couldn’t describe as you entered your apartment and flopped onto your sofa.

 Your dates and meetings with Vladimir were few and far between as Halloween finally rolled around. Sales of his products went crazy and you found yourself contacting his supply team more and more often in the weeks leading up to the holiday. You closed early on Halloween, watching the kids rush around the streets in their costumes, giggling and screaming with joy as they held buckets of sweets and chocolates in their grasps. There was very little to do but finish tidying up. You jumped at a knock on the door and rolled your eyes as Harker made faces in your window.

You unlocked the door and peeked through the gap, “If you’d learn to read, you’d realise I’m closed.”

“Aw come on, love. I just want a bottle of that brandy you keep selling!” He remarked and you sighed before letting him in, rushing to grab him the bottle so you could get rid of him faster and close for the evening. You had a movie night planned with Drac, your ever faithful grumpy cat. Vladimir had insisted, with much regret, that he was busy tonight.

“Nice vampire costume. Very gimmicky.” You joked as you plonked the pricey bottle of brandy on the counter, “You sure you want to pay for this for a Halloween party?”

“Sure, I’m sure. I have some guests to impress.” Harker joked as he offered his card and slid the chip into the machine.

 A black wolf watched from outside the shop, snarling with teeth as it watched you hug Harker and usher him from the shop. The wolf became a man and snarled again before melting into the shadows, wishing a fall upon the accountant as he staggered back to the early starting party from which he had come. The vampire watched, his hand reaching towards the streetlamp as he moulded back into the shape of the great wolf-dog you had shown such love and affection for last time. He craved your touch. The caress of your fingers. It calmed the lust and hatred for a moment in his everlasting existence.

 The taste of your skin was sweet.

 A whine made you look up from the counter as you finished packing away the cash for the night. A great paw clawed at the glass and you smiled as you caught sight of the dark eyed, great black dog once more. It had been a long time since you’d seen it. You’d assumed it had been taken in or disappeared altogether. You walked towards the door and unlocked it, letting the hound inside the shop. He was dry this time and the dog rushed to jump up at you, snuffling and licking at your face as it whined and wagged its tail.

“Hey there. Its been a long time since I’ve seen you.” You cooed as you pushed the wolf-dog down and ran your hands through its thick fur, enjoying the warmth trapped in its fur as the animal curled around your legs close.

The dog sniffed his way to your door to upstairs and you smiled before sighing, locking the doors and lowering the shutters before you headed to the door and pointed at the big dog, “You can come up but only if you promise to behave, okay?” The dog stared at you and you opened the door, watching him bound on before you, up the stairs, turning on the landing to watch you follow it up.

He barked sharply and you laughed, “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” You petted his nose as you took the scruff of his neck and opened the door.

 Drac, your cat, scowled from the counter in the open kitchen as you eased the dog inside. He hissed, jumping up his fur on end as you looked between them. The dog was silent, watching your cat with a mild amount of interest.

“Come on Drac, be nice. He’s just here for the night. I’ll call the rescue service in the morning.” You cooed at your cat let go of the dog and watched the two glare at each other before Drac jumped up on top of your cabinets and bedded down for the night away from the new house guest. You fixed yourself dinner as the dog padded around. He saw fit to laying underneath your window, dark eyes looking up at the moon, ears pointed back to listen to the noise you were making in the kitchen. It slept as you ate, black fur like silk against your wooden floor. Only when you plonked yourself on the sofa did it open its eyes and perk up, standing from the floor in favour of pushing its way onto your couch.

“Come on, you can’t get up here.” You scolded before the wolf-dog was in your lap, its giant head rested in the crook of your arm, its tongue licking at you as a sign of peace and contentment. With a soft sigh, you began to work your fingers through its fur and turned on the television, content to watch the movies you had planned with your hot drink and the dog in your lap.

 “Sleep my love. Sleep without fear. Tonight, I will keep the darkness at bay.”

You felt your eyelids drop at the movie, your hand combing the fur before fisting at the hound in your lap, holding onto the beast as you listened to the movie and the soft lines whispered by a deep voice. A tongue lapped at your cheeks as you felt the great hound exhale. You lulled off into a pleasant, warm sleep, wrapped around the mysterious dog.

“For tonight, your dreams will be mine.”

 An old castle stood before you when you opened your eyes, as though you had been awake, and just blinked on a walk. Black silk rippled over you as you walked towards the castle in a dark trail of liquid dress. It almost flowed from you as you opened the great doors and peered inside. There was silence in the main hall, a great shadow of a cross blinding you as you peered down at the stone. You walked through the last of the sun’s orange light and cast no shadow as you moved towards the old, grand staircase. The stone was laid with plush carpet, Turkish and heavy, thick against the soles of your bare feet as you climbed, gazing at old paintings of great battles. Red curtains hung from the ceiling and you ran your hand along one as you reached the top of the stairs, feeling the fine material before you continued, walking in the direction of the ache in your chest. More old stone connected with your fingers as you continued into a labyrinth of corridors before eventually arriving at another old door, the wood engraved with a dragon spewing fire towards its own tail, curled around a sword. With a gentle push, you eased one door open enough to slide into the room.

 Warm candlelight greeted you, four giant floor-standing candelabras lit with twenty of so candles each glowing in every corner. A man made no move to greet you, laid across a luscious canopy bed, surrounded by sheer white fabric, hidden from sight. You walked over animal skins and pulled aside the sheer fabric to see a man asleep in a thin, billowed cotton shirt, his trousers loose as though he had simply collapsed into bed. Gently, you eased his face to the side and smiled down at the picture of your mysterious suitor. Vladimir’s sleeping face was restful and calm. A smile curled across his face, telling you he had never been asleep. The man reached to grab you with a great laugh, easing you into his lap on the bed, your hips pressed together as he reached to move a veil you did not know you were wearing.

“My love.” His words burned your throat with adoration, “I have missed you. My heart has longed for you.” You watched his lips move to reveal fangs and reached for his face gently, thumbs pressing to the points. He drew your hands away before continuing, “The beast in me cannot be sated without you, my little tamer.” He rushed to kiss you soundly, thoroughly, moulding his front to your own as his hands sought to pull at the silk covering you to reveal skin and flesh.

 You remained silent, soaking in the adoration in his touches and kisses as sharp teeth grazed at your skin.

“I remember your scent.” He purred as his features blended into something more beastly, his red eyes burning as his mouth filled with wolf-like teeth, “I kept your clothes close, everything to remember you.” The beast snarled, a wolfman’s claws tugging at your clothing. You watched the beast, mouth open, wondering where this dream was going as he laid back and pulled you on top of him, “Please, my dearest, let me feel you. I have missed you.” He blathered as you leaned over to kiss him again, tongue catching against the fangs in his mouth, blood mixing with spit. He was cold underneath your hands as you raised yourself, palms against his pectorals. You reached for his groin as he tore his shirt free and pulled his bottoms away enough to reveal his cock. As you grasped him you felt his nose press against your throat, human and cold. Raising your gaze, you looked back at a human shape with a mouth full of teeth, spit dripping between his jaws as they unhinged wide and grasped at your shoulder. With a cry of agony and bliss, you gouged your nails into his back and opened your eyes to see bats fly from the window, screaming into the sunset as your lover’s tongue licked blood from your neck. He dragged you down for another kiss then, blood and spit mixing as you slid him inside of you.

 Dracula felt himself stir in the dream, watching as a woman clad in black slid into his bedchambers. He remembered the woman and played at being asleep on the bed as the faceless creature parted the silks and crawled along his body, fingers teasing over his face, admiring his bone structure before he turned to catch her, dragging her hands up before he grinned with fangs and drew her into his lap.

“I’ve waited for you to return.” He purred, feeling the beasts of the darkness howl and coil outside in the beginnings of the night, “I have missed you.” The vampire drew her wrists closer and licked at the skin exposed out of the silk sleeve, “I have missed the taste of you, my love.”

She said nothing as she mounted his hips, watching through the black veil as he grunted, pushed back against the bed by some invisible force, his wrists pinned to the cushions and furs. Her hands dance over his chest and he feels the pull of his own change, howling as wings spread from his back and claws grab for her. He is naked, he realises with a start, before she draws her fingers between her legs and reveals a wetness to his gaze. The bat-like form howls at the scent, and Dracula pumped his hips upwards as her legs spread and she welcomes him inside of her. The hooked claws of his wings slam into the wooden frame of the canopy bed, anchoring him as his clawed hands reach to pull the veil free.

 Your face peers down at him, a mouthful of blood dripping from your lips as you look at the hole his other wing had made in your chest. He watched the hole between your breasts close and opened his mouth for a bloodied kiss. As he gazed up, claws shredding the silk covering your skin, he slowed his own hips, snarling when you refused to let him slow. A pair of greying wings thrust over his vision, appearing over your head, a thousand eyes glaring at him from within the feathers. The vampire’s claws snapped the faceless woman close, clutching her close before Death’s bony hands covered his eyes, the two eyes within each of the bony palms rolling, looking into his own in the darkness as he felt the form over him melt away into ash in his arms. Darkness crippled him, dragging his form in on itself.

 “She is not yours yet, Dracul.” Death whispered in his ear, “Not unless you can give me what I want?” The cloaked figure appeared before him in the darkness, wings burning with fire that was once radiant.

Dracula snapped his own leathery wings, “What do you want from me so badly?! Is it so worthy of you making my dreams so miserable and tormenting me with the agony I have suffered a thousand times over!?”

Death watched him for a moment before opening its palms, “One death.” He whispered.

“Give me the name.” The vampire hissed.

“Her.” Death offered him a burning flame, “I want her death.” He laid the small burning fire of your life in his hands before stroking the vampire’s leathery wings, “I need her life, but her soul is yours.”

The vampire whipped around with claws and fangs in the darkness, but there was no one there to listen to his dark screams of anguish.

 You awoke to an empty sofa and old horror movies still rerunning. Drac had taken the hounds place in your arms, curled tightly against you. You frowned and looked up as a chilly breeze graced your legs. The open window let in another frigid gust of air and you rushed to close it as a great black smog rushed around the corner of the building, just in the corner of your eyes. You ran a hand through your hair and swallowed as you remembered the dream that had haunted you last night. You clicked off the TV and clicked the hot water on before starting to make yourself some breakfast to distract yourself from the realness of what you had seen.

“Halloween is crazy.” You muttered as you boiled some water for a hot drink.

[idreamofplaid]

A Longing for Home

Summary: The reader has made a home for herself, but it isn’t complete without Sam.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Dean

Word Count: 1641

A/N: It’s another fic from along the way on my journey as a writer. It’s Part 1 of a two parter.

Raindrops hit the window pane gently soothing your worn and bruised heart. You opened your sketchbook and took your favorite drawing pencil in your hand. The sound of the graphite scratching across the page was the only noise in the room. With each line, an image of Sam began to materialize. This was your own kind of art therapy. 

When you were done, the result was a good likeness. Anyone would recognize it as Sam, but you hadn’t been able to capture the warmth in his eyes the way you wanted. Who he had been was still perfectly clear in your mind. You still heard his voice whispering to you in the dark of a motel room in Nebraska, Indiana, or Tennessee. It had never mattered to you where you were as long as you were with him. That was when Sam had a soul.

He had no feelings for you anymore, you or anyone else. You’d reached your breaking point and told Dean you needed to get away. It was too hard for you to be around the man who looked so much like Sam but clearly wasn’t him. Your Sam would have never flirted with other women right in front of your face, not that you could even call it flirting. It was too calculated. What Sam did, he did with purpose. And that purpose was to...

You slammed the sketchbook closed and tossed it on the bed next to you. Rain was still hitting the roof in a steady rhythm that should have been calming. You closed your eyes and hugged yourself. The flannel of the shirt you were wearing was soft and warm to your touch. There was a time you had worn Sam’s shirts, and he’d smiled every time he saw you in one of them. Sometimes you’d worn them just to see his dimples, but this wasn’t one of Sam’s shirts.

You shook your head to clear away the memory and dropped your hands to your sides. You scooted across the bed and stood up taking a minute to stretch before heading to the small kitchen. This cabin had always been your refuge. Your aunt had brought you and your cousin, Brianne, here when you were little girls. It was your aunt who had raised you and taught you to draw. She’d also taught you how important it was to take care of yourself. Self care was her legacy to you, and you needed it now more than you ever had.

You wished Aunt Laura was here now to offer her advice or give you a shoulder to cry on. It had been nine years since the heart defect she’d been born with had taken her from you, eleven since Bri had gone to France to be a pastry chef. When her mother had passed on, Bri told you the cabin was all yours. You were, after all, the sentimental one.

It was that part of you that longed for a home. So, you’d made this cabin as cozy as you could and let it serve as the representation of that dream for you. You filled it with your favorite things. There were bookshelves overflowing with every kind of title to suit any of your moods and a big overstuffed chair where you could sit and read by the window. There was a soft wine colored throw draped over that chair that you could wrap around you when you felt the need to be held. The kitchen was stocked with every flavor of coffee and tea you liked best. In the cupboard, there was a supply of your favorite shortbread cookies to have with your warm beverage of choice.

Today, you decided some peppermint mocha coffee was what you needed. You poured some water into the coffee maker and put a filter in the chamber. You opened the bag of coffee and inhaled the rich scent, one of your favorite smells in the world. You emptied some out of the bag onto the filter without measuring. You never measured. The sound of the coffee brewing filled the tiny cabin. 

Steaming mug of coffee in hand, you positioned the pillows on the sofa just the way you wanted them and snuggled in with your throw over your lap. The first taste of chocolatey richness was warm and comforting. You picked up a favorite book from the end table with the hope of losing yourself in another world for awhile to take the edge off the pain you were feeling in your own. It wasn’t long before your eyes began to droop, and you lay your head down allowing memories of a better time to invade your dreams.

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

Seeing Sam smile gave you the same feeling you had on the night before Christmas when you were a little girl. It felt like being on the verge of something wonderful and not knowing exactly what it was, but having him here in the cabin, in this place that was so special to you gave you a very good idea of what that something wonderful was for you. It was Sam, being with him, having him as a part of your life. 

More and more, you were certain that you wanted him in your life forever. That’s why you’d brought him here. You wanted to let him into your past by opening up this part of you. You’d never brought anyone here. It was your refuge, and you were letting Sam in hoping he would want it to be his too. It was a new feeling for you, wanting to share yourself like this. 

You handed Sam a mug of the hot chocolate you’d made and sat down next to him on the sofa tucking your leg beneath you. Sam took a sip then gave a little shake of his head and almost smiled. “I don’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.” 

“If you don’t like it, I can make coffee.” You pulled your leg from beneath you and started to sit up.

Sam reached out and put his hand on your thigh stopping you. “No, I do. It’s perfect.” 

He took another sip as if to prove his point. When he finished, this time his smile was big. For right now at least, Sam didn’t look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His dimples softened his face taking away the hard edge that was there too often from carrying the burden of knowing too much.

Sam took your cup from you and put both mugs down then cupped your cheek in his hand. He brushed his lips softly over yours, barely touching them before he kissed you with such an intense and tender passion you saw your life flash before your eyes, not as it was but as it could be. You saw the way it could be with Sam in it and how you could show him a little of the normal he had never known. You could feel Sam’s hand resting just below your waist on your hip. It was warm, solid, and strong. 

He stopped kissing you to look in your eyes slipping his fingers up into your hair. When he kissed you again, it was even slower and more deliberate. Sam’s tongue pushed against your lips seeking entrance, and you let him in. He held you and kissed away every doubt you’d ever had that you could be happy. 

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

The sound of your cell phone ringing pulled you from your dream. You rubbed a finger over your lower lip, the feel of Sam’s mouth on yours still so real. The phone kept ringing pulling you back to now. You pulled it from your pocket. It was Dean. You dragged your finger across the screen to answer it. 

Dean got right to the point. “I think I know how to get Sam’s soul back.” 

“Sam’s soul is in hell, Dean. In...Lucifer’s cage.” Your voice broke on the words. “It’s not like we can just walk in there and get it.”

“We can’t, but Death can.” Dean outlined his plan. He was going to have someone stop his heart so he could see Death and make a deal. It was a long shot, but it was the only one you had. “I want you to meet me at Bobby’s, Y/N.”

When you ended the call, you sat staring at the phone for several seconds before you moved. Hope stirred in your heart, fueled by the vision of Sam sitting next to you on that sofa with that same hope lighting his eyes. You could hear him saying, “Thank you for bringing me here.” It has eased his pain if only for a little while, helping him forget the apocalypse loomed. 

Your hand reached out to the empty place next to you remembering how he’d looked with the firelight reflected in his golden hazel eyes. You whispered the words you wished you’d said to him. “I love you, Sam.” You could feel the prickling of determined tears behind your eyes, and you spoke again to the emptiness. “I’m going to tell you. You’re going to know.” 

You walked back to the bed and picked up your sketchbook. You picked it up and looked at the likeness of Sam you had drawn. “You are going to know. This is going to be okay somehow, and I’m going to bring you back here. You will know something besides struggle and pain. I swear it.” 

You tore the picture from the pad, folded it, and put it in your pocket. Your rain jacket was hanging on a hook by the door. You put it on and pulled the hood over your head. Then you walked out into the storm. You were going to bring Sam back, bring him home to you.

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