#I keep stopping halfway through because I feel like it sounds bleh

[astarioffsimpmain]

"Gods, darling.” Astarion moaned softly, his fingers threading through your damp locks as you licked a generous stripe up the underside of his thick cock with your tongue. You took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hole, collecting the salty precum as you went, your eyes rolling back in your head when he twitched. You never thought this was something you would enjoy, but having the handsome vampire moaning and writhing at the warmth of your mouth had you keening around his pulsing member as you sucked him further in.  “Mmph!” you cried out around Astarion’s cock as long, thick fingers pressed against your slit from behind.  “Gods above, you’re already so wet, my love.” the wizard’s voice crooned in your ear approvingly. “Does taking his cock alone truly make you this excited?”

Well.... something is happening.

[lu-sn]

the theerapanyakuls go to barbenheimer

kinn: the oppenheimer message flies straight over his head. the barbie message, unfortunately, is also totally lost on him.

porsche: in the same boat as kinn, mostly because kinn pulls him aside ten minutes into both films so they can make out and [redacted] and also [redacted redacted redacted].

tankhun: forces everyone at gunpoint (literal) to come to barbenheimer. forces everyone at gunpoint to wear themed outfits. screeches and hollers during the whole barbie movie, and immediately places custom orders for all of barbies's outfits and half of ken's outfits. (none of the outfits from the kendom era, though. bleh.) ends up feeling very thoughtful about oppenheimer -- and makes sure nobody notices.

kim: wants to perish. khun had to handcuff him to the theater seat. at least kim managed to stop khun from stuffing him into a bespoke neon pink leather jacket.

chay: is having a great time! very much enjoyed dressing up with khun for the Event Of The Century. is currently very much enjoying watching kim suffer. cheered at all the right moments during barbie. (oddly quiet during oppenheimer.)

pete: kind of tilted about having to dress up, but finds himself genuinely enjoying both movies. empathizes with every character on screen, which is not what khun wanted him to do.

vegas: identifies way too much with oppenheimer in perhaps the worst possible way. barbie puzzles him on a molecular level.

macau: spends the entire time "subtly" (not subtly) filming both movies on his phone. his camerawork is absolute garbage. his thumb is in the frame the whole time. his flash accidentally goes off halfway through. he immediately uploads both bootlegs to utorrent.

pol: the barbie movie was made for pol. he is THE target audience. it changes the trajectory of his entire life.

arm: absently pats a teary-eyed pol on the back throughout the entire barbie movie. is a little too consumed by thoughts of how relatable some of the oppenheimer scientists are.

and last but not least, big and ken: are standing at the back of the theater. they weren't allowed to sit. ken has been stuffed into the "i am kenough" tie-dye sweatshirt and maintains his i've-stepped-in-dogshit face throughout the entire barbie movie. "i don't sound like that," he keeps hissing at big. big is too busy sobbing under his sunglasses to humor him.

(brought to you in conjunction with the legendary @pomslices)

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

[remingt0nleith]

thorns | remington leith

try & find the hidden palaye royale song title in the fic! & additional A/N at the end. 

A/N: hi wow long time no write :( SORRY! I have ideas and I try to write then my brain just doesn’t want to put the ideas on the word document. + y’know having depression doesn’t help things bleh... BUT I did write a full something finally (yay bare minimum author things!) This was requested! gonna keep trying to turn out requests & work on dark cherries also my birthday is on thursday and i’m turning 24 (wow im getting old help) & also the bastards comes out the day after so yay! lets chat about it when its out ok?

Request: Where Remington cheats on the reader and she finds out, but he does everything he can to get her back? 

Thorns - A Remington Leith one-shot. || 1.9K words || under cut.

The catalyst for a ruined night came in a round of shots. Emerson poured the amber liquid into hot pink shot glasses that the boys had picked up days prior. Remington wasted no time in downing his, barely flinching at the bitter taste that now coated his tongue. 

“Slow down there, cowboy” 

Sebastian laughed before throwing his own shot back, placing a hand on Remington’s cheetah print covered shoulder.

“We can’t have our lead singer fucked up out of his mind, can we?” 

The eldest brother chided playfully as he took the bottle from Emerson and poured more shots.

As the brothers drank and talked anxiously about their first show of a new tour, Remington’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, taking it out he suppressed an eye-roll at the message filling his screen;

My Love <3: HEY BABY JUST WANT TO WISH U LUCK TONIGHT YOU’LL KILL IT. LOVE U. 

He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him lately, usually, he’d be thrilled at the love and adoration his girlfriend of three years was showing him. She was always cheering him on, listening to his music, and supporting his band in every way she could. Although she was unable to come to most shows due to a fast-paced work schedule she always made a point to let the band of brothers know they had her support. That should’ve been enough to keep Remington happy but recently he had become cold towards his girlfriend and as he put his phone away without responding all thoughts of her disappeared as well. 

Remington headed backstage after the show still high from the performance. The adrenaline from the encouraging crowd and kick-ass concert his band delivered had Remington feeling happier than he had in months. Once in the dressing room, the boys quickly changed out of their sweaty stage attire into more relaxed outfits, and like clockwork, shots were once again being handed out.

Once everyone had a decent buzz going the boys and their crew headed out to a nearby nightclub to celebrate the success of the show. Remington realized halfway to the club that he had forgotten his phone in the dressing room, a fact that didn’t phase him, in fact he was happy to be rid of the constant ringing. 

Once inside the packed club, Remington waved goodbye to his brothers and made his way to the bar.  His buzz had diminished slightly in the car ride and that was a no go for Remington so he ordered a drink, which quickly became two, then three before he headed to the dance floor. 

Packed in a sea of bodies the singer danced to the music, enjoying the happiness that came from the night’s events as well as the alcohol in his system. When a manicured hand grabbed him and pulled him close, he didn’t object, instead, he wrapped his arms around the dark-haired beauty. 

The pair danced together to the techno music blaring overhead, strobe lights illuminating their faces, hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies before the woman leaned in and planted a sloppy kiss to Remington’s lips. 

If there was a moment of panic, a spark of recognition somewhere in the sober part of his mind, Remington ignored it. Instead, he deepened the kiss with the gorgeous stranger, when the pair eventually pulled away from the kiss, they headed to the bar for more drinks. 

When Sebastian came to let Remington know it was time to head to the hotel, the frontman wasted no time in asking this new girl if she’d like to go with him. Much to the dismay of the older (and wiser) brother, she said yes and everyone piled into the van and were chauffeured back to the hotel to continue the party. 

Morning light filtered through the window a sign of a new day, but as Remington opened his eyes the gravity of last night hit him. He was alone in his hotel bed, the white sheets crumpled and covered in streaks of makeup (his or hers, he wasn’t sure). Flashbacks of last night filled his mind and all at once he realized the hickeys on his body were from a stranger, the realization filled him with shame and dread. 

He found his phone which had been placed on his nightstand by one of his brothers or their touring manager (who always cleaned up after the boys’ wild nights) and on it were several unread texts and calls which came in at varying points of the evening. 

[9:13 pm] My Love <3: It should be time for u boys to be on stage! I’ll be stalking twitter for updates and vids love u 

[12:02 am] My Love <3: Watched a ton of vids that are already being posted! Get back to me when u get this my love so proud of u xx 

[3:56 am] My Love <3: Guess your phone died or your out celebrating a great night. Call me when you see this or wake up. I love you. 

[10:20 am] 5 missed calls

[10:27 am] *attached photo* REMINGTON.... FUCK YOU.

The photo on his phone screen displayed the girl from last night under the covers as a passed out Remington slept beside her. The caption didn’t say anything besides a winking emoji and she tagged him and his band’s account. 

Instantly, he was dialing his girlfriend’s number, hands shaking as he paced around the spacious hotel room desperately waiting for an answer.

“Hello?” 

Rose answered, soft voice hoarse from hours of crying. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry..” 

Remington started to explain, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could form them.

“Save it” 

Rose snapped before continuing her voice harder and more assured now than it was just moments ago. 

“I never thought you’d do this even as the band started to gain an audience, I told myself that I had nothing to worry about. All the pretty girls and boys didn’t matter because what we had was strong but it sucks being proven wrong huh?” 

Remington’s sudden surge of tears prevented him from speaking as the pain in his chest grew with each word. The saddest part of it all was that she was right and that ripped him up inside. 

“Rose I-” 

he whispered, voice barely audible even to himself. 

Instead of an answer he was left hearing the sound of the call disconnecting. 

The tour passed by in a daze for Remington and while his brothers desperately wanted him to be more present, they understood. He’d get on stage and sing, forgetting about the pain in his heart for that hour or so, as soon as the curtain closed the ache in his chest was back, a cruel reminder to the life-changing mistake he’d made.

Rose had cut off all contact with her now ex-boyfriend instead choosing to go through Emerson to inform him she was moving out of their shared apartment in LA. 

Each night in his hotel bed, memories of the past three years filtered through his brain until he exhaustingly cried himself to sleep. 

Remington used Emerson’s phone to send a series of texts to Rose to apologize, to accept full responsibility but the only reply he received was instructions to give Emerson his phone back and to leave her alone.

Just as quickly as the tour started it was now coming to a close a few months later. The boys were back in LA for a sold-out show in typical Los Angeles fashion. Remington never stopped trying to get ahold of Rose -- he sent flowers to her new address, letters where he begged for her back, apologizing and pleading for her forgiveness yet he was never awarded a reply. He didn’t blame her at all but that didn’t mean the pain hurt any less, he’d do anything for a second chance. 

Shots of vodka were taken, cheers and high fives were given and the boys hit the stage.  Remington gazed out into the crowd, a see of silhouettes behind bright stage lights.  After a few songs, Remington sat down at the end of the stage, dark boots quietly thumping against the side. 

“Y’know fans like to think we’re perfect” 

he stated which earned a chorus of “I love you’s” as well as cheers from the crowd. 

He smiled before continuing, 

“As much as I love to hear it, it’s not true and sometimes we royally fuck up. I fucked up and these past few months have been hell so I wrote this song.”

The crowd applauded as they watched their favorite singer head to the piano, the spotlight shining on him as he sat down. 

“This song is called Thorns,” 

Remington began to play a hauntingly slow ballad about losing the love of your life and how apart of you is lost as well. 

The pain in my heart is defeating me

Cracking me open for all to see

I’m numb to life, deep inside

Needing you to realize, you’re the better part of me

An illusion of love is what I fear

Taking each step is now unclear

A rose garden in my dreams,

You leaving now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging for my rose to please believe

I made a mistake that I can see

Yet this pain without you is deafening

My heart of thorns cuts me deep 

Paralyzing me and making me weak

Please my rose I beg you, have sympathy.

The rose garden in my dreams,

But you’re leaving right now in front of me

Take my heart it’s filled with thorns

A rose trapped inside a perfect storm

Throw me to the wolves I’m on my knees

Begging my rose to please believe 

I love you Rose it’s all I know, I’m sorry for all my sorrow

By the time the song ended, Remington had tears blurring his vision. He was so wrapped up in playing the song he didn’t realize he had started to cry but to the audience that just made it so much more beautiful. 

After the show, Remington hurried off the stage in order to collect his emotions but in the dressing room sat Rose. Her blonde hair was curled and she wore a red dress and in a true movie moment a dozen roses sat in her lap. 

“Rem that song…” 

she started but before she could finish, Remington ran over and threw his arms around her, hugging her to make sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I’m so sorry”

he whispered once she hugged back. 

“The flowers were from Seb” 

Rose mumbled, green eyes flicking down to them after their hug. Sebastian must have ordered them because he knew what Remington was planning. That was his older brother alright, always playing the papa bear role. 

The singer’s mind was racing a mile a minute, he had a million questions but all he could do was apologize. 

Rose shushed him with a chaste kiss before speaking,

“By no means have I forgiven you completely. That song however beautiful doesn’t make everything go away but I’m willing to work on us”

Remington nodded, happy she was here and willing to give their relationship another shot.

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” 

he whispered, wrapping her in another hug.

They knew it would be a long road to get back to where they were before but Remington was happy he had his Rose back in his life. 

xx

A/N: omg that song was not that good I came up with it on my own though and I’m not a lyricist lol hope u enjoyed xx 

[wayward-mikaelson]

A Real Date

200th Follower: @idabbleincrazy​

Request: So, how about a fluffy Sam x reader, where they’ve just started a relationship and finally have some down time between hunts to go on a first real date

Word Count: 13

Pairing: Sam X Reader

Characters: Reader, Sam, and Dean

About: Reader and Sam go on a first real date

Warnings: Language (Few swear words here and there), Fluff (Pretty fluffy, who doesn’t like a fluffy Sam?) 

A/N: Tag your Sam/Jared stans 

A/N 2: What color do you think Jareds eyes are? I went with Hazel cause most people with Hazel eyes are known for their eye color changing depending on their mood and lighting.

*18+ Content. Anyone younger than that will need to scroll along. I don’t want to risk my account thanosed.

**Please DO NOT copy and paste my work anywhere WITHOUT my permission and WITHOUT giving me the proper credit. I work super hard on my work and I would hate for it to be stolen.

***This work is also posted on Instagram, Wattpad, and AO3. Please go show some love over there

****Follow my other accounts Instagram, Wattpad, Twitter, and AO3

*****DMs are CLOSED for requests. I have to two other projects to finish up and I am super behind on them. 

Forever Tags: @donnaintx​ @myinconnelly1​ @magssteenkamp​ @elansaidaris​ @hobby27​ @440mxs-wife​

Shy’s Masterlist

Shy’s Favorite Fic List

I wake up and roll out of bed. My body still sore from the hunt the boys and I finished a few days ago. It's not everyday I'm thrown by a werewolf into a cement wall but. I've had worse. I once had a vampire feed on me for days, but that's a different story.

I limp over to the dresser and grab clothes for the day, when I notice the time on the nightstand through the mirror. It's almost noon. I hang my head and pull a simple jeans and a t-shirt out and throw them on. Not before I put on the herb cream I made to help with the sore muscles.

As I walk into the kitchen, I'm throwing my hair up into a hair band when I hear, "Thank God, she lives!" I stare Dean down, who has a mouth full of food.

"Fuck off, Dean," I mumble as I make coffee. "My body is simply doing what its supposed to do. Unlike yours." I turn to see Dean glaring at me.

He gets up, clears his plate. "I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he says and walks out of the kitchen. "Sam! You girlfriend is being rude and mean." He adds.

"I'm going to kick his ass," I mumble to myself pouring myself coffee. I turn around to see Sam standing in the entryway. Staring at me with his perfect hazel eyes.

"How are you feeling?" He walks up to me and brushes a strand of hair that had managed to escape out of my face. His hands lingers under my chin and uses his thumb to rub my cheek. "You sleep okay?"

"I did actually," I sip my coffee and let the warm liquid do it's thing. "I'm still sore and still limping some. Not bad though, so don't worry about that."

Sam leans his head on mine. "I'm always going to worry about you. Hunting or not."

I smile and close my eyes. "You're so sweet and nice to me."

"Bleh," Deans voice is back in the kitchen.

"I'll make it up to you later tonight," Sam kisses the top of my head and pulls away. "Dean and I are going on a quick supply run. Just be ready to go after we get back."

Taking a deep breath I say, "Okay." Sam smiles and reaches out and brushes his hand across my cheek. "It's a date."

"A real one at that," Sam calls after me as he walk out of the bunker with Dean.

Now, I am left with either going to take a bath or going and setting up a prank in Deans room. Sighing, I opt for the bath, who knows what Sam has planned for me this evening. It's our first real date since becoming a thing about a month ago. With case upon case and literally stumbling onto a case, Sam and I haven't really had any time to go out and have fun.

***

When the boys finally come back, I am cleaned up and ready for whatever my tall hunter has planned for me. I watch as the boys put the stuff away. Dean waltz's off to his room only to turn around and eye me.

"Did you do something to my room while we were gone?"

I slip out of the kitchen chair and pocket my phone. "No, Dean. I was going to though."

Sam slips his arm through mine. I look up and see this huge smile on his face. "Shall we go?" He asks. I nod and Sam starts to lead me out of the bunker. "Don't wait up for us," Sam calls back after Dean.

"Dean is letting you drive this?" I raise an eyebrow when Sam leads us to the impala.

"Yep, took some convincing," Sam opens my side of the door and watches me as I slip into the front. Sam closes the door and with a few strides he in slipping into the driver seat and turning the car on.

"What do you say, we go to the buffet you like? Or that pizza parlor?" Sam looks at me and in the setting sun is at the perfect angle to see the color change in his eyes. My heart skips a beat and I almost instantly melt in my seat.

"You have said yourself that those two places should be shut down for who knows how many health code reasons," I shake my head and regain my composure.

"I mean, if you don't want to go to either places, I'm all for that because it's true, they should be shut down," Sam runs his hand through his long hair as he puts the impala into drive. "I just thought that maybe, I could shove it and take you there."

I smile and look at the road ahead of us. " You, Sam Winchester, are the sweetest man ever. But," I look over at him and he gives a quick sideways glance at me. "There is one place I want to try."

"Anywhere you want to go, my dear," Sam takes his free hand and rests it on my leg.

"Well," I take a deep breath. "It's a backyard-alley like taco spot. They make everything right in front of you, tortilla included. Everything is fresh. I've been thinking non-stop about it since Dean first mentioned it a few weeks ago."

Sam looks at me and back at the road. "Back alley taco shop. Do I need a gun?"

I laugh, "Maybe for the best. Let me text Dean to see if he has the directions."

***

When we pull up to the house, the sun was just about gone. Sam puts the car into park and opens the door and walks around to let me out. As I step out of the impala, Sam's hand lands on my waist. Pulling me up against his chest. He brushes my hair out my eyes and places a gentle kiss to my cheek before letting me go.

"Why the face?" Sam asks when he sees my scrunched up face.

"You missed," I take the collar of his shirt and press my lips to his. I instantly begin to feel my legs to shake.

"Indeed, I did," Sam mumbles. He wraps an arm around to keep me steady. Pulling back and keeping an arm around me, Sam says "How about we get you some tacos." He boops my nose with his index finger and links his arm in mine and leads us to the smell of tacos coming from the backyard of the house in front of us.

***

Back at the bunker, and full of tacos. Sam walks me to my room. "Tonight was fun," I say lacing my fingers into his. "We should do this more often when we have more down time."

Sam smiles. "We should."

Sam places a free hand on my waist and pulls me towards him. I place my hands on his chest and meet him halfway. Our lips move together like a dance. Sam slowly pushes me onto the wall where I wrap my arounds his neck and sigh into his lips.

"Ugh! Guys, not in the hallway, get a room," Deans voice ruins the moment.

Sam pulls away and give me an apologetic smile. I can see that even Sam wants to kick his brothers ass. Sam quickly kisses me and runs his thumb over my cheek and tells me goodnight before leaving me in the hall by myself.

I go into my room and get ready for bed. Once my head hits the pillow, I pass out.

I am slowly awakened by the bed sinking under me. I roll over to see Sam slipping into the small space beside me.

"I'm sorry," He whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you." He gathers me into his arms and tightly wraps his arm around me. His head resting on my head. "I just wanted to come lay with you."

I sleepily nuzzle my face into his chest and smile. "This is just what I need." I listen to the sound of his breath and soon I'm falling back asleep. But not without noticing Sam placing a gentle kiss to the top of head.

[loki-superwholockin]

Oblivious

xXoOoXx

“Bleh!” Bucky complained, flopping face-first onto the couch.

“Hmm?” Natasha replied, not looking up from her book.

Bucky pressed his face further into the sofa. Nat just raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. He finally rolled over and faced her.

“Shannon Carter asked Steve to Prom. Right as I was walking up to ask him, too!” He complained loudly.

“That bitch.” An idle voice said from between the couch and the wall. Bucky looked at his sister, but she just shrugged.

“And why exactly are you behind my couch, Barton?” Bucky asked, vaguely exasperated.

“I’m bored, my house is really noisy, and I’m actually in the vents. Kate has all her friends over. It’s annoying.”

“Couldn’t you just take your hearing aides out?” Barnes asked again.

“Nah, I have to listen to this super-boring lecture for Pym’s class, so I have to keep ‘em in.” He said, sounding bored.

“Ah. I already-”

“No, you didn’t.”

Clint chuckled a bit, but stopped when Tasha thumped her fist against the wall.

“Just pretend I’m not here.”

Tasha coughed politely, closing her depressing Russian novel.

“Soo? What did Steve say?”

“To Shannon? That he was planning on asking someone else. To me? I didn’t ask, just went back to my locker.”

Nat sighed at her brother’s obliviousness.

“Like, who else could he like? Peggy? Pepper? Maria? Jan? Daisy? Jemma?! Wanda?!”

“Get it together, Barnes!” Clint said from the vents.

Bucky stuck his tongue out at the vent.

“You know he’s not straight, right?” Nat said, lips quirking into an incredulous smile.

“What? Yeah he is! He used to date Peggy, before they decided they were better off friends!”

“Nope, not straight,” Barton said, clanging around a bit, presumably to emerge into the outside world.

“Bi? Yeah. Not straight.” Nat said at the same time.

Bucky groaned.

“Then who could he be asking? T’Challa is pretty cute. So is Pietro if I’m being honest. Tony? Thor? Loki?! Bruce?! No, not Bruce. It’s probably Tony. Oh my god! He’s asking Tony!”

“You, my dear friend, are an idiot.” Clint proclaimed loudly.

Bucky flipped him off.

“He’s not wrong.” Natasha muttered, having picked up her book again.

Bucky sighed and was about to flop back onto the couch when the doorbell rang. He sighed again, looking at his sister hopefully.

“No.”

“Aww!”

He pushed himself off the couch and walked to the front door, pulling it open without checking who it is.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, uh, hi?” He says, blushing furiously.

“Are those flowers? And… donuts?”

“Um, yeah. I uh wanted to ask-”

“My sister to the dance.” Bucky said, trying not to let his disappointment noticeable.

“That’s good, I mean, She’s great, and you’re great. Both very attractive, not in a weird way! Just, you two will look good together.” Bucky said in a rush.

“Uhh, I, uh, actually wanted to ask you. I, I mean, I know that we’ve been best friends for pretty much my whole life, even when I was super tiny and sickly, you stood by me, and you never made me feel lesser, and I guess that I just sorta kinda fell in love with you and I know that you probably think it’s weird, now, all the times that we shared a bed and cuddled on the couch but those are some of my favourite memories, and now I probably just ruined our whole relationship, but I just wanted to ask you to Prom.” Steve said, looking like he wanted to run.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He took a deep breath before saying, “I sorta kinda fell in love with you, too.”

Steve’s face broke into a huge grin, eyes lighting up, all traces of fear gone.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile in return, chuckling slightly at his best friend’s (boyfriend’s?) happiness.

“Actually, I need to tell you something.”

Steve looked at him, smile fading a bit.

“Today, at lunch, when Shannon asked you to Prom, I was actually gonna ask you. I was walking up to ask you. I heard you say you had someone else in mind, and I may have spend the rest of the day, and then a while freaking out and complaining to Natasha.”

Bucky blushed and looked away after the admission. Steve reached out and traced Buck’s cheekbone with his first two fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Their lips were together before Buck had finished speaking. It was soft, but both boys were pouring years of feelings into it.

“Ahhh!” Thud! “Owww…”

The two jumped apart as Clint fell from the ceiling.

“Clint?” Steve said with puppylike confusion. Bucky just sighed.

“Why were you in Bucky’s ceiling?” He turned to Buck, “Why was he in your ceiling?”

“I was in the vents because a) it’s fun, b) it’s quiet, c) I get to listen to him and Tasha gossip, and d) it’s actually very warm and surprising clean. Also I can get in anytime from the outside. Bucky sleeptalks.” Clint said, completely unperturbed.

“I… okay?”

“I don’t sleeptalk!”

“Yeah, you do.” Steve agreed sweetly, holding the flowers out to him.

Flowers accepted, Bucky tugged on Steve’s wrist, pulling him inside the house and towards the kitchen.

Steve set the box of donuts on the table while Bucky placed the flowers in a water-filled vase.

“Do you want to marathon Doctor Who? Doctors nine through twelve!” Bucky poked, smirking at the blond.

“Well, I don’t know, I do love Doctor Who, with all it’s amazing bigger-on-the-insideness, but maybe you should open the donuts first.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. He slowly opened the lid of the donut box and saw a disc case with ‘Sh’ on it. He gasped, pulling it out and hugging it to his chest.

“Season 4 Of Sherlock!?” He squeaked screamed, eyes wide. Steve pressed their smiles together. Natasha walked into the kitchen at that moment.

“Fucking finally. Took you dorks long enough.” She said, pulling a red velvet donut out of the box.

“Oh yeah, help yourself, sis.”

“Rogers brought some for all of us. He knows you won’t eat red velvet, and he doesn’t exactly like it.”

She was halfway out of the kitchen when she turned around and looked at Bucky.

“I know you used my mascara, by the way.”

“I was out!” He said indignantly.

Steve chuckled.

“What? I was!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Bucky huffed and glared at him, but could only manage it for about five seconds before bursting into laughter.

“So, wanna start watching this decades’ worth of Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman?”

“Yes.”

xXoOoXx

Bucky sighed as the blue light of the television washed over him. He felt safe, cuddled into Steve’s arms, donut crumbs on the floor and coffee table, Sherlock theme playing softly in the background.

Steve shifted against his back.

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah, just thinking about how wonderful it is here with you.”

“I love you, Buck.”

“I love you, too, Stevie.”

xXoOoXx