#T-Mobile Edge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

syoddeye · 25 days ago

Text

kinktober - day 14 - make-up sex

ghoap x f!reader | 1k words cw: established throuple, blowjob, masturbation, brief mention of piv a/n: can you write makeup sex without mentioning what the argument was about? yes. very lightly edited, written on mobile. went off list for this. summary: making ‘em kiss. aka, playing the mediator. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

The heat always puts them in shitty moods.

Since you separated them after dinner, after their yelling match, they’ve sat on opposite ends of the living room, partly absorbed in their phones. But their frustrations are palpable things, simmering in the way they move and the way they avoid looking at each other. Every slight sound or movement—Johnny setting a glass down too hard, Simon sighing a little too loud—seems to deepen the divide.

It’s alien, seeing them like this when they’re usually so in sync, each functioning as an extension of the other. Wrong.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, the air cools, and everything starts to feel lighter. If the temperature can break, you think, so can the tension. They just need a little guidance.

It takes some coaxing, more Simon than Johnny, but you corral them to the bedroom. Make them face each other as you undress the few layers they wore in the day. Let them talk it out in stunted, strained sentences as you help them along, knelt between them, each fist curled partway around a cock. Rogue droplets of sweat trickle down their chests to their abs and over the planes of their stomachs. Evidence that the heat is not entirely gone.

It’s Johnny who tries to puppet you toward his leaking head first, breaking the conversation to urge your mouth onto his dick with a few sweet words. You don’t fall for it.

“You want your cock sucked, MacTavish?” You bat away his hands, then give him a little scritch through his happy trail with a small smile. “Ask Simon nicely. Apologize.”

Johnny whines when you pull away and perch on the edge of the bed.

Simon stares down his nose at your other boyfriend, uncrossing his arms and rolling his wrists. He huffs like a bull through his nose, looking undecided and unimpressed when Johnny turns back with a sheepish look.

He rubs the back of his neck and grumbles. “Sorry for how I spoke to ye. Didnae mean it.”

A beat of silence passes before Simon reaches and pushes a hand over Johnny’s mohawk, his palm coming away slightly damp before he wipes it along the stubble on his cheek. It’s tender until—

“Yeah? Sure you don’t just want to get off? Use me like you always do?”

“Hey.” You correct, eyes narrowing. “Do we need to step back to talk more?”

Both men return their attention to the other, and an entire second discussion transpires without words. Neither of them seem keen to use much of them anymore, especially as Johnny grips the base of his cock, and shudders.

“Simon…”

The big man rolls his eyes skyward, raking a hand over his own face, smothering some muttered version of can’t say no to that face. When his knees hinge, and his weight starts to drop, you and Johnny both hold your breaths and do so until Simon is on his knees in front of Johnny.

“C’mere,” he grunts, grabbing Johnny by the ass cheek and hauling him closer. His mitt wraps around the cock in front of him, fingers closing without issue in a firm grip. “You’re gonna give me another apology, aren’t you?”

“Mm, f-fuck, yes,” Johnny groans, hips bucking further into Simon’s hand. “Use your mouth? Please?”

Simon doesn’t answer or comply immediately. He meets your eye first, lip tugging up when he spies you snaking a hand into your shorts. He chuckles. It’s a filthy sound. “Always gets what ‘e wants…”

Your fingers slip inside as Simon’s mouth closes around Johnny’s cock. The latter lets out a prolonged, deep moan, cursing up a storm as his hands slide over Simon’s buzzed scalp.

It’s a sight that’ll never get old. Your boys making up in their favorite way.

You come once around your fingers when Simon pops off Johnny’s cock to nuzzle, then suck the sensitive skin of his sac into his mouth, stretching it just enough to get the Scot to squeal. He kisses the tested skin, pumping his fist lazily along Johnny’s cock once more.

Johnny’s a moaning, blubbering mess. The vein at his temple throbs, probably from restraint. You know he’d love to just fuck Simon’s face like this. He chokes up when he speaks. “I…I dinnae want to use ye. I’m just–what do ye want me to say–”

Simon laughs again, nuzzling the base of Johnny’s dick. “Fuckin’ rare to find you at a loss for words. Got a suggestion for our boy?” He eyes you over the length in his hand, mouthing it idly.

You pause from licking your fingertips. Looking between the men, you swallow. “Say ‘thank you’ first, Johnny. Then apologize again.”

He nods, complying at once with a stuttering whine when one of Simon’s fingers wedges between his cheeks.

“That’s a good boy,” Simon rumbles. “You can come any time. Use me, Johnny.”

You tense up and find yourself rubbing your sensitive clit yet again. Lip caught between your teeth, you shudder as Johnny slides home into Simon’s mouth again.

This time, he fucks him. You don’t let him do it to you, afraid he’d break your nose with his speed and force—but Simon’s made of tougher stuff. Made to take Johnny in all meanings of the words. He doesn’t gag, doesn’t push. He absorbs the rough thrusts into his face with a few grunts and swallows around Johnny when he comes howling.

The room goes quiet after, save for all three of you breathing heavily.

Except, you’re still going—still chasing your own orgasm. Greedy and unashamed.

Simon pops his neck when he stands and herds Johnny closer to you. The men loom. You watch their glassy eyes sharpen in real time as they watch you touch yourself, and it’s a team effort when they join you on the bed. Simon nudges your knees open, and Johnny settles beside your head.

Johnny strokes your cheek and coos at your pinched brow before snatching your hand away from your swollen clit. He kisses your fingertips, tongue flicking out to taste.

“Yer owed an apology too, aren’t ye, hen.”

Your breath hitches as Simon’s cockhead presses in. A blissful delirium slips over your face. You beam up at him.

“We made you worry, yeah? Therrre’s a girl—We’ll make it up to ya. Give you a few big sorrys.”

Later, sandwiched between them, your sweat and other fluids cooling in the long stretch of night, you belatedly count their apologies. Dizzying.

#sy kinktober #kinktober #ghoap x reader #ghoap x f!reader #ghost x soap x reader #ngl not my best but i am posting anyway in a desperate bid to not fall too far behind

567 notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 8 months ago

Text

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared.

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt.

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands.

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car.

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being.

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car.

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you.

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked.

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off.

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot.

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away.

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks.

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink.

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament.

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in.

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny.

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in.

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave.

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car.

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied.

“Look, man—” you started.

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised.

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it.

“Oh-kay,” you muttered.

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed.

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked.

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head.

“Well, do you know anything about the case?”

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along.

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked.

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled.

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge.

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said.

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!”

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing.

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered.

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights.

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him.

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them.

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible.

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response.

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door.

“Your car okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process.

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room.

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together.

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall.

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around.

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom.

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean.

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it.

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled.

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his.

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted.

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again.

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—”

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest.

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?”

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him.

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him.

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out.

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive.

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops.

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear.

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped.

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation.

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.”

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered.

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward.

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him.

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off.

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up.

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully.

“Sam!”

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her.

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you.

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots.

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled.

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest.

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car.

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought.

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window.

“I think,” Sam responded weakly.

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother.

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car.

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs.

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor.

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau.

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.”

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly.

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly.

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid.

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head.

“No, no, I shouldn’t—”

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college.

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat.

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map.

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in.

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist.

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex.

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat.

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded.

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away.

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.”

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay.

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.”

Dean then began to drive off.

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped.

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail.

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment.

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom.

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex.

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed.

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say.

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly.

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

611 notes · View notes

drarryspecificrecsdaily · 27 days ago

Text

2024.10.11

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. The Banned Pasta by @hoko-onchi-writes [T, 1k]

“Draco keeps cooking for me. Weird, right?” “Well, not really,” Ron says, “because you’ve been dating for the past year. Haven’t you?” [...]

2. Come, Sweet Death by EvilDime [E, 27k]

When Draco's ancestor passed on the mantle of Death to him, he failed to mention that the Deathly Hallows had at long last found a Master.

3. I Can Hear Your Smile in the Dark by Ace_Phoenix [E, 2k]

Draco wasn't the biggest fan of Muggle things, but when Harry insisted that he get a mobile phone so they could always contact each other, Draco relented. The first time they call, things take a turn neither of them could object to.

4. Nostalgia Can Be a Turn On by Devious_Muffin [M, 1k]

Harry doesn't understand why Draco would keep his old Hogwarts robes, and Draco has fun explaining it.

5. Raising Hell! by @wolfpants [E, 21k]

Harry and Draco are sent undercover as a married couple to investigate a dodgy Muggle love cult. Something evil is lurking in Glastonbury… but to get to it, the reluctant partners must be initiated first. And this is, after all, a love cult…

---

Fest/Exchange

1. At a Glance by Anonymous [G, 2k]

Stripped of his magic, Draco has settled nicely into the muggle world. He goes to university, has muggle roommates, and enjoys his afternoons drinking coffee in the local café. That is until Harry so happens to pass by the café window. ★ 2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

2. But Don't Miss by Anonymous [M, 15k]

After a mysterious attempt on Draco's life, Harry reluctantly allows Draco to stay with him until the culprit is caught. Draco's insistent questions about Harry's muggle flat, and Harry in general, push Harry to the edge, and then over it. ★ 2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.10

128 notes · View notes

abigailywrites · 12 days ago

Text

bargain. [din djarin x reader]

part two of indebted.

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 2.8k warnings: none

Karga gives you a break from secretary work the next day, apparently realizing that yesterday’s workload was too much for a beginner. He sends you to pick up groceries instead, shoving a handful of credits into your hand and telling you to “buy whatever you know how to cook.” Then he returns to work which seems as bad as it did yesterday.

There’s something about the liberty that the Nevarro marketplace affords you that puts a spring in your step. It’s hot and crowded and people are shouting from every direction for every reason. It’s loud, and you hate the noise. But you’re effectively by yourself. No one is lording over you. You’ve got a handful of credits to spend on whatever you like. If this was your job every day, you could get used to it. Twenty years wouldn’t be so bad.

But it would still be twenty years.

Maker, you need to figure out how to convince Mando to take another puck. Just one more. If he’s as good a hunter as Karga makes him out to be, how much would it hurt? But you sincerely doubt you’ll be able to convince him by asking “why not.” There’s little else you can use to convince him, as the man at the bar made abundantly clear yesterday. Not that you would necessarily offer that. You’re going to have to pray that, when the moment comes, you’ll know what to do.

It’s little more than a half-hour later when that prayer is put to the test. At an intersection of streets, the glint of the sun off a beskar helmet catches your eye, and you see Mando march across the marketplace with a satchel slung over his shoulder. You’re chasing after him before you know what you’re doing. Your head is swimming again, this time with the idea of a year of freedom you wouldn’t otherwise have.

You can’t run; the streets are too crowded for that, and Mando wouldn’t respond well to that, anyway. Besides, the idea of approaching him and immediately engaging in a conversation is making your step falter as you get closer and closer.

He’s bartering with a vendor in a language you don’t understand, and you just hover in the background, trying to map out your plan, pretending to be involved in your surroundings. Every step you take closer to him is more time you have to remind your heart to keep beating. Maker, you've never been so disoriented before, and it scares you to death.

Still, you persist. When he moves to a different stall, you move too, giving him space to get ahead first. You're still racking your brain for what the hell you say to whatever the hell a Mandalorian is. If you knew anything about him at all, this might be easier. Maybe you should just observe for now.

He goes under a tent that takes up three stall spaces, and you follow him there a few moments later. It’s an artisan’s tent; shards of stained glass in every shape you can think of hang from the posts of the tent, shining in the sunlight and casting rainbows of color onto the dusty ground below. It’s the most color you’ve seen in years, and it nearly distracts you from your task.

There’s a mobile with shards of deep blues and purples in abstract shapes lined with silver along the edges that catches your eye. You haven’t seen anything quite so vivid in years. Almost without thinking about it, you reach for it. Your fingertips barely brush against the smooth surface—

“Are you done following me?” a voice from behind you asks.

Mando’s sudden attention hits you like a punch in the stomach, and you drop your hand to the side. He’s no more than a couple of feet behind you, and you hadn’t even noticed he moved at all. You suppose you should’ve known better than to try following a bounty hunter without being noticed. “I—” you start, as you spin around. “I wanted to apologize. For yesterday, I mean…”

Mando doesn’t shift an inch. “It was Karga’s fault. He should know better.”

Great start. "He wasn’t trying to be rude,” you tell him. You’re still aiming for an apologetic tone, but it comes out defensive. You need to rethink your strategy. What you need is a lie. Well, no, not a lie exactly. Just a different way to frame the truth. “I wasn’t even supposed to meet you at all, but I pestered him about it. It was all my fault. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…?”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says. “Tell Karga that if he thinks sending his errand girl to—”

“Karga didn’t send me,” you interrupt him without thinking, and in the silence that follows, you realize that may have been a mistake. He’s staring at you, helmet tilted to the side. All you can do is take the fact that he hasn’t turned to walk the other way as a prompt to elaborate. “That is, he didn't tell me to talk to you. Opposite, in fact.”

“If Karga didn’t send you,” he starts, “why are you here defending him?”

“Well, I— I’m trying to be a good employee,” you stammer. “I just want to do my job.”

“Never met someone so invested in working for Karga. It’s always something else. I’m not interested,” he points out, and that seems to be the end of the conversation for him. He brushes past you out of the tent without another word, leaving you standing dumbstruck.

By the time you turn to follow him, he’s so far ahead of you that you have to jog to catch up, and he’s certainly not slowing down at all. “Well, isn’t there anything I could do to make you interested?” you insist. You're not even going to attempt feigning pure intentions.

“Are you gonna follow me around all day?”

“If it comes to it,” you answer. “Would you hear me out?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes but keep following. "You don't even know what I'm asking!"

"Don't need to."

“It would help us both,” you promise.

“I said no.”

That's three times he's said no, now. It won't help to become even more of a nuisance, but you can't give up. “You don’t understand. I’m talking about a year of my lif—”

Mando’s arm shoots out suddenly and grips the arm on your far side, stopping you in your tracks just as a heavy-duty transport drives a little too close on the path in front of you. If he hadn’t done anything, you absolutely would’ve walked right out in front of it.

He doesn’t release your arm until the transport is well out of the way of your path. When he does, he turns to look at you. “Go back to Karga. You’re gonna get hurt out here.”

“I can’t—”

He grabs both of your shoulders and turns you around back in the direction of the cantina. “Go,” he tells you, and his hands leave your shoulders.

It’s not worth another shot, you decide. As far as Mando is concerned, the conversation ended before it even started. By the time you turn back around, he’s disappeared into the crowds.

That evening, you cook dinner for yourself and Karga with the groceries you picked up. The usually relaxing process of cutting and steaming does nothing to ease your disappointment in your colossal failure. Maker, you were so stupid just approaching Mando like that. You know nothing about him at all. If you had waited, you could’ve figured out things about him and his culture that could have helped you influence his mind. But you had to take the mudhorn by the horn. Had to do things your way as soon as you got the chance. Had to get drunk on the little bit of freedom you were given and abuse it. You want to kick yourself.

When Karga returns to the house, he’s even more tired than he was yesterday. “I can’t give you a break tomorrow,” he tells you. “I need to keep training you to take over the records. It’s getting to be too much for me to handle by myself.”

You nod your understanding and have dinner in silence. Sleep comes to you in hazy, broken patches that night.

Once again, it’s an early morning at the cantina, and most of it is spent training. Record-keeping is an even more harrowing job than Karga prepared you for in the weeks before he brought you to Nevarro. Even making entries in the transaction ledger makes your head spin.

Karga lets you practice it a few times, but you think he gets some kind of sick amusement out of watching you struggle with all the fucking numbers. Just when you think you’re about to rain curses on the sick freak that invented math, Karga takes the holopad out of your hands.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s take a break.”

You slam your head down on the table. “Thank you,” you mutter. “Today is a bitch.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” Karga tells you.

“She’s a bitch,” you insist.

“You’re just being irritable,” Karga counters. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You lift your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You would be too. First the whole thing with the expired bounty a couple of days ago, then the thing with Mando yesterday, now this—”

Karga holds up his hand. “Hold on, hold on,” he says. “What about Mando? What happened?”

You hesitate, unsure how much you’re willing to say. More and more, you’re realizing that you have tested the limits of what Karga said you could do. “Nothing, I just…”

When you’re silent for too long, Karga leans in. “You just what? What did you do?”

It’s at that moment that the door slides open, and the Mandalorian walks in as he did a couple of days ago.

Karga sits up straight. “Mando!” he says as the Mandalorian approaches. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. I assume this means you’ve made up your mind?”

He doesn’t answer, but he takes the seat across from the booth.

Karga turns to you. “Go wait outside—”

“No,” Mando interrupts. “She stays.”

He doesn’t elaborate on this sudden change of attitude, but Karga glances at you and seems to come to a realization. What that realization is, you have no idea, but there’s a definite new, conniving spark behind his eyes.

“Right,” Karga agrees, his voice noticeably controlled. He rises slowly. “Give me a moment. I need a drink. Open up Mando’s profile and the available bounties on the holopad while I’m gone.”

No, wait, what? All you’ve been trained to do is take transaction notes. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to follow all of these new instructions. Especially when the Mandalorian is sitting across from you, staring you down. Nevertheless, you swallow your objections and nod while Karga walks away.

Deep breath. “Okay,” you mutter to yourself, getting only as far as you know how to. You come to a roadblock way sooner than you hoped.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

After the long silence, the question catches you off-guard so much so that you wouldn’t even dream of being dishonest. “Not really,” you admit. “But I can manage until Karga comes back.”

Mando lets go of a deep sigh and reaches his hand out across the table. After a moment’s hesitation, you give him the holopad. He accesses his profile in less than a minute and hands it back to you.

“How do you know how to do that?” you ask him.

“I’m observant,” he answers.

You look down at his profile. Most of his personal information is redacted. There’s no given name. No physical description beyond “beskar helmet.” What little information is available to you is mostly transactions and statistics about his performance as a hunter. No wonder Karga agreed to five percent. There was no way in hell you were gonna be able to find anything out, to begin with.

“Well,” you say after clearing your throat. “I guess I’m not as observant as that.”

“Apparently,” Mando says. Is that irony in his voice? “You almost got yourself killed crossing the street.” Okay… irony.

Something like dread swirls in your stomach. “Right,” you say, looking up at him. “If you could keep that between you and me, I would appreciate it. Karga doesn’t have to know about that… that whole encounter.”

“How many favors do you want from me?”

He’s playing with you, now. You might not be able to see his face, but you can sense that much. “Please?” you ask him, your voice somewhere between desperate and irritated.

“Karga doesn’t have to know,” Mando agrees. “As long as you tell me what you meant when you said it’s a year of your life.”

Is that it? Is that the entire reason you’re here now instead of waiting outside while he and Karga talk business? You furrow your brows and shrug. “I had a deal with Karga, that’s all,” you answer him. “If I could convince you to take more than two pucks, he’d take five percent off of the debt I owe him. It would usually take a year to pay back five percent.”

“That’s a twenty-year debt. What did you do to owe Karga so much?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer. “I inherited my debt from my grandfather, and Karga bought it a couple of weeks ago from my former employer. I’m honor-bound to pay it back no matter who I owe it to.”

“So, you’re a slave.”

Your jaw clenches at the statement. “I’m an indentured servant,” you correct him. “There’s a difference.”

“What’s your job again?”

“To do what Karga tells me.”

“And you get paid for that?”

“Well… no.”

Mando goes quiet again and tilts his helmet to the side as if he’s trying to make a point.

You let out a huff. “That’s not the point,” you say. “The point is that I was supposed to get you to take another puck. Just one more.”

“I don’t take more than two.”

You blink once. “Hence… the challenge.”

“What was your strategy?”

You take a deep breath and let it out on a hiss. “Didn’t have one, really. I figured I’d try a bunch of different angles until something stuck. Unfortunately, you didn’t let me try any of the angles.”

He just stares at you. If he’s taken aback by your honesty, he doesn’t say so. You, however, are shocked by the sound of your own voice saying nothing but the truth. It’s not really as much a choice as it is something that he seems to draw out of you.

It’s as you open your mouth to say something (anything to fill the silence) that Karga calls your name. You rip your eyes away from Mando as he approaches the table, drink in hand. “Go back to the house and get lunch started, would you? I’ve had enough of cantina food for a week.”

The last thing you expected was for Karga to say something so contrary to Mando’s instructions. But Mando doesn’t say anything, and you can tell that Karga has some kind of purpose he’s not telling you about. So with an obedient nod, you stand and leave the cantina. Once again, the Mandalorian’s gaze follows you out.

When Karga returns to the house that evening, he calls you to the main living room. “What did you say to Mando while I was gone?”

The question takes you aback. “Um, I don’t know,” you say. “I just answered his questions.”

Karga raises his brows. “Oh, is that all?” he asks. “What questions?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Just about who I am and why I’m working for you. It was like a job interview. Nothing happened.”

Karga lets out a sound somewhere between a sputter and a laugh. “Well, whatever arrangement you’ve got going on, keep it up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell Karga. “There’s no arrangement. As far as I know, as soon as I left, he took his two pucks, and left.”

Karga stares at you a moment. “He didn’t take two pucks,” he says finally “He took four.”

Four? Where the hell did that come from? What did you say to convince him to take double his usual count?

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Karga questions, seeming to finally come to the realization.

“No, I didn’t...” you answer. When you can finally clear your head of white noise for a moment, you look up to see Karga looking at you thoughtfully. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karga says. “I’m just thinking you might be even better for business than I thought.”

#mine #my writing #star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mandaloria #mando #indebtedfic

44 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 11 months ago

Text

sew you up

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hurt/comfort' rated t wc: 993 cw: injury tags: post-vecna, someone finally takes care of steve's bat bite, getting together

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

He just had to get them all safe. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to keep an eye on Eddie, make sure no government officials tried to take him or let the police arrest him. Then he could take care of the bite.

He just had to help Wayne get them moved into their new trailer. Then he could take care of the bite.

Excuses kept piling up, one after another, and the pulsing, searing pain of the bite became easier to ignore. That meant it was healing, right?

But one month later, the bite was still as open and ugly as it had been when the bat latched on, and he had to face the facts.

“You okay over there?” Eddie asked from his bed.

He was mostly mobile, but moved much slower than he used to and had a lot of aches and pains from still-healing scar tissue. He rested in bed more than he did anything else, and Steve usually kept him company long after everyone else left.

“Yeah, think I’m just tired.”

He was tired. But he was also in pain, and could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he clenched his jaw to avoid groaning.

He’d just moved wrong a little while ago and the pain wasn’t subsiding like it usually did. He’d be fine.

“You’re pretty pale, Stevie.”

“Might be coming down with something,” he shrugged it off. It could be true, after all. He was feeling feverish.

“Oh! Meant to ask you the other day. How’s that bite doing?” Eddie asked casually.

Too casually.

Steve stared back at him, eyes squinting in suspicion.

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah? Mine’s kinda hurting still. Can’t bend down all the way.”

Still so casual.

“Yours was worse than mine, man.”

Eddie nodded, seemingly accepting that as a response, almost looking like he was going to move on.

“I saw a doctor for mine. Many doctors. A few nurses. One government person who took an hour bandaging it up. Not sure what that was about,” Eddie shook himself out of a thought. “But you didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Steve bit his lip.

“No. But mine wasn’t that bad. It’s healing.”

Eddie put his notebook down and took in Steve’s posture. Steve tried to sit up straighter in the desk chair he was lounging in, but as soon as he tried, he let out a hiss and small whimper.

“Let me see it.”

Eddie’s tone was short, serious, something Steve had never heard from him before.

He stood up slowly, wincing as the area around the bite pulled painfully.

Eddie slowly moved to the edge of his bed and parted his legs, waving his hand to get Steve to come closer.

Steve moved closer, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when Eddie’s hand gripped his uninjured hip to tug him even closer.

His other hand lifted Steve’s shirt up enough to see the wound.

“Steve,” he breathed out. “This needs to be stitched up. It’s too deep to heal on its own. You’ve just been walking around with this?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s gotten a little better.”

Eddie looked up at him with wide eyes.

“This is better?”

Steve nodded.

“This is. Steve, does Robin know it’s this bad?”

Steve shook his head.

“Does anyone?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Alright. I’m fixing this.” Eddie started to get up, gently pushing Steve away from him, but not removing his hand from his hip. “You lay down. I’m grabbing my sewing kit and alcohol.”

“Wait. What?” Steve felt himself panic. “You can’t- you’re not!”

“Steve. Do what I tell you to do before I call Robin and tell her you’ve been ignoring a fucking demobat bite for a month.”

So Steve got as comfortable as he could on the bed, lifted his shirt up to his chest, and waited.

Eddie took his time, but Steve didn’t mind, would much rather wait than Eddie hurt himself worse.

Eventually, Eddie came back and pulled the chair to the side of the bed.

He worked slowly, but confidently. He gave Steve a pillow to hold so he wouldn’t flinch too much while he worked, closing up the main part of the bite so it could actually heal.

When he was done, he bandaged it up tight, and then traced the edges of the bandage.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He whispered.

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Steve whispered back.

“You didn’t think an open wound like that was bad? Jesus.” Eddie shook his head. “I knew you were self-sacrificial, but this is insane. You can’t hide this shit, Stevie. You could get an infection, you could die.”

Steve gulped.

He’d considered it a few times, but figured he would have already ended up in the hospital if it was going to happen.

“Yeah. But you fixed it, so I’ll be fine.”

“You better let me change your bandages every day for the next week so I can make sure it’s healing right.”

“Won’t that get annoying?” Steve asked.

Eddie didn’t answer for a moment, just watched as Steve pulled his shirt back down.

And then his lips were gently pressing against Steve’s forehead, lingering heat making Steve close his eyes.

“You could never annoy me. The only thing annoying to me is that you thought that being taken care of was annoying,” Eddie said, lips still resting against Steve’s skin, his breath almost tickling.

“So you’re my nurse, now?” Steve asked with a smirk.

Eddie pulled back and cupped his cheek.

“Yep. You better be a good patient.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll steal your hairspray.”

Steve gasped.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would. So you better do as I say and make sure you take care of this.”

“Fine. Do I get a real kiss for being on my best behavior?”

Eddie bit his bottom lip, his cheeks going red.

“Maybe if you make room for me in bed.”

“Deal.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #hurt/comfort

290 notes · View notes

jeffcbliss · 2 years ago

Text

The Edge of U2 - T-Mobile Arena; Las Vegas, NV (5-11-18). @U2

Photo: Jeff Bliss

#the edge #u2 #u2 concert #u2 band #u2 eit #las vegas #t-mobile arena #rock and roll #rock shots #concert photography #rock photography #concert #vocalist #music #musician #guitarist #audience #fender stratocaster

13 notes · View notes

makethatelevenrings · 5 months ago

Text

Angel by the Wing // Thirty-Five

Chapter Warnings: discussion of emotional abuse from a parent, abandonment, crying, pregnancy as per usual

Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)

There’s radio silence for three days.

As much as he didn’t want to, Bradley had to leave to meet his new squad before they began training in a few days. So he brought in the big guns.

“Move,” Sofia barked as she shoved past him and into the house. The dark haired woman made a beeline for the bedroom where you were curled up on the mattress that was suddenly too large now that Jake was gone. Skipper chirped at the sight of his second favorite person and settled on the pillow next to your head. He gratefully accepted Sofia’s gentle scratch under his chin as she climbed onto the bed.

“Hi,” she announced. “We’re not going to wallow in bed, you lump.”

“Go away.” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of the pillow. “I’m not in the fucking mood.”

The pillow was ripped away from your head and you met the glittering dark eyes of your best friend. Sofia tossed your pillow across the room and loomed over you. For a petite pint-sized individual, you could see why she was so terrifying to the military personnel that she strong armed into getting their vaccine appointments. Folks think that Natasha was the feral one of the couple thanks to her propensity for getting into high speed jets, but Sofia was the one who one told a three-star general to fuck off when he tried to get her to break HIPAA.

“I’ll be home at five-thirty,” Bradley said from the doorway. “Please don’t make me bail you out of jail.”

Sofia answered him with a wicked grin before she settled in next to you on the bed. Her slim fingers slid over your head and started to pass through your hair. You pressed your cheek against the mattress and shut your eyes at the soothing ministrations. Three days of silence and three days of you just going through the motions. Today was your first day off since the fight and now you were confronted with the crushing realization of everything. It didn’t help that you woke up to a voicemail from your mom and threw your phone across the room, which prompted Bradley to call Sofia.

“What’s going on, momma?” Sofia cooed. You turned to face your friend and one look at the concern on your face had your face crumpling in seconds. Sofia swept you into a hug as you shook with sobs. Your hand fisted in the fabric of her worn t-shirt and you felt guilty for a moment for staining it with your tears. Sofia rid you of that guilt in seconds by rubbing your back and whispering assurances.

“I fucked it all up. I fucked it all up again,” you wept. “Every goddamn time.”

“No, no, honey. What’s going on?”

You pushed away from her and untangled yourself from the blankets so you could grab your phone and play the voicemail. Your mother’s voice made you cringe as she treated everything so fucking blase.

“We already turned your room into an office but if you insist on acting like this, we can remodel it for you and the baby until you get on your feet. I need you to understand that you’re being stubborn right now and that’s not a good sign of a mother. I hope this child turns out just like you so you can understand what we’ve had to deal with. You’re being unreasonable, thinking these boys will do the right thing. Just come home and we’ll figure it out.”

You swiped out of your messages and swallowed the rising tide of bile and snot that bubbled up in your throat. Sofia stared at your phone in silence and you had no idea what was running through her head. A hiccuping sob escaped you and you dropped your phone onto the bed so you could bury your face in your hands. Sofia tugged your wrists away from your face and then guided you to sit back down on the bed. She kneeled at the edge of the bed and clasped your hands tightly with hers.

“That was the biggest load of horseshit I have ever heard,” she said fiercely. “You are going to be such a good fucking mom, do you hear me? Your mother is a cunt and I’m not afraid to say it.”

“She would leave when I messed up,” you whispered. “She would get so angry and scream about how she had to do everything and then she would say that she was leaving our family and finding someone who cared. And she did. She would just walk out the door. I don’t know where she would go, but she would be gone for a few hours and I…I thought she would never come back. A-And my dad didn’t care. I hardly saw him because he was always at work and when he was home, he fell asleep on the couch.

I would do the dishes wrong or forget to move the laundry over and she would just walk out. When she came back home, I promised to never do it again and she’d tell me that I learned my lesson and she would never actually leave me but she still did. And…and Jake just fucking…walked out.”

Your shoulders slumped down at the end of your sentence, as if you were a marionette and all your strings were cut. Sofia wordlessly pulled you in for another hug and you collapsed into her.

“Everyone leaves me and it’s always my fault.”

“No. No, don’t you dare say that.” Sofia shushed you gently and inhaled deeply, forcing you to match her breathing. Your sobs subsided into little hiccuping coughs and then into shaky, stuttered breaths.

“It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. Your mother is an adult. She made the choice to leave because she wasn’t a good parent. Jake left because he’s emotionally constipated and can’t have a mature conversation to save his life. That’s all. That’s the only reason. It wasn’t anything you did or said.”

You knew she was right but, at the same time, you couldn’t believe her. Why would you have a pattern of people walking out of your life if not for you? Your mom, exes, and now Jake. It was all because of you.

“I can practically hear you trashing yourself in your mind,” Sofia warned. “Stop it. No. Bad. Stop talking about my best friend like that.”

Despite the fresh tears quickly drying on your cheeks, a giggle escaped you at her words. She grinned and pulled away from the hug so she could see your face. She cupped your face in your hands and smiled.

“You are going to be the most amazing mother because I know for a fact that you are an amazing friend and boss and person. And while I don’t have experience in this area, I’m sure you’re a damn good lay too.”

Another startled laugh escaped you and her grin grew wider. “Alright, momma. Let’s get up, get dressed, get some food in you, and then we are going to do some errands. Go to some boutiques. Buy cute baby clothes. And we are not going to cry unless it’s about how teeny tiny baby shoes are, okay?”

You were immensely grateful for Sofia Trace’s presence in your life. She dragged you around San Diego to small little boutique shops and slapped down her credit card with a pointed reminder that she was going to be an aunt and it was her God-given right to buy her future nibling some “cute ass baby clothes, damnit”. You found a few items that you purchased yourself, your fingers pressing against the buttery-soft fabric as you realized just how small this baby was going to be.

Sofia dropped you back at the townhome a few minutes before Bradley was set to come home which gave you a chance to start on dinner. Usually it was Jake who cooked dinner with you helping, but now you were at a loss as to what to make. You settled on some basic spaghetti and sauce from a jar. The water began to crest and boil when the front door opened.

“Hi,” you greeted quietly as Bradley made his way into the kitchen. He offered you a small, tender smile and you hated this. You hated this gap that suddenly appeared between you two. Jake’s absence felt pretty damn hard between both of you.

“Hey.” He eyed the bags shoved in the corner of the living room and bent down to scratch Skipper under the chin. “Good day?”

“Yeah, Sofia went a little overboard with the baby clothes but hey, we’ll need it. Dinner’s almost ready. It’s nothing fancy. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart,” he said gently. Your lips pulled down and your brows creased. He crossed the room and tugged you into a hug. He felt the way your body trembled slightly and he pressed you closer, tucking your face against the column of his throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I know it’s hard to be with me,” you whispered. His grip on the back of your head tightened minutely and he shook his head.

“No, baby. No. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get him back.”

“Don’t say things you can’t guarantee.”

Bradley huffed out an indignant snort. “You doubt me? I’m very persuasive. I’ll drag him back here kicking and screaming if I have to.” He pulled away so he could see your face and brushed some sweaty strands of hair out of your face. You blinked up at him with glassy eyes and he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not leaving, angel. Not now, not ever. I promise.”

“Pretty sure I just said you can’t say things you can’t guarantee.”

For a startling moment, Bradley thought about the days when he was a kid, fresh off the bus and full of energy after a day of school. He would bound up the steps of the small house they had in Virginia and open the door to find his mother bent over the kitchen counter and sobbing into her hands. Carole always tried to hide her tears from him but he caught her a few times like this. She would brush away the tears, stand up straight, and launch into asking him about his day, but he always knew. Bradley could only remember his dad in the abstract, fuzzy details of childhood memories and stories told to him by others, but he could feel his loss acutely, both in his own life and in the pain reflected by his mom.

He wouldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t. That was his kid you were carrying.

But he felt the loss of the smart-mouthed blond in this small kitchen. Bradley needed to get Jake back, for the both of you. For the three of you, he corrected himself. This baby was just as much Jake’s as his, as far as he was concerned.

His family had been fractured once before. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I miss him too,” he admitted. “So I promise, angel. We’ll be a family. Just like we’re supposed to be.”

He could see the sliver of hope shining in your eyes and he counted it as a victory. Bradley nudged you towards the bags as he grabbed a spatula. “Show me what you got, sweetheart.” You lit up and began digging in the bags to pull out the tiny clothes. “Okay, so, since we don’t know the gender, I tried to go for neutral clothes. But also fuck gender roles, right? I found this adorable little duck onesie and fucking hell, bear, look at how small it is.”

Tag List: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @atarmychick007 @itsmytimetoodream @krismdavis @emma8895eb @startrekfangirl @hangmandruigandmav @lunamoonbby @sihtricswife @jstarr86 @drakelover78 @abaker74 @hardballoonlove @nerdgirljen @primroseluna @espressopatronum454

#jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #abtw #hangman x reader #rooster x reader

78 notes · View notes

onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 7 months ago

Text

Tap on My Window, Knock on My Door

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

1.4k words

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting, heavy kissing

The next couple of days were a blur of making eyes at Roy on the pitch and lying to your parents about your whereabouts as you ran out the door to meet the midfielder for takeaway, movies, and snogging. Finally, your dad reminded you that it was Tuesday night; family dinner night. You plastered on a smile and assured him that of course you remembered, you’d never forget Tuesday night dinner. Once your dad seemed satisfied, you scurried upstairs and made a quick call to cancel your plans to meet Roy. Your heart couldn’t help but swell at the disappointment that he couldn’t hide from his gruff voice; Roy Kent wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him.

The thought had you smiling all through dinner and offering short, dreamy replies to your parents’ and younger brother’s conversations. Your parents exchanged looks over their plates, but you barely noticed. Not when Roy Kent was on your mind.

After you and your brother cleared the plates into the sink, your dad pulled out a deck of cards; another Tuesday night tradition. As your dad began to deal out the cards for a game, you wondered what Roy would think of a family dinner. Not that you were thinking of inviting him over or anything anytime soon; this thing was so incredibly new, and you weren’t even sure what this thing was. Most of all, Roy didn’t seem like the family dinner type of guy; he seemed much more comfortable sneaking around for clandestine meetings. And you had to admit it was kind of fun too.

In your bed that night, you turned on your bedside lamp and tried to read. You really did. But your mind just kept wandering. It was like you were a teenager again, thinking about some beautiful boy. But this wasn’t some guy in your class; this was a gorgeous, famous footballer who, for whatever reason, decided he wanted to spend his time kissing you. It was more than a bit mind-boggling, if you were being honest.

Trying to figure out what your love life had become was interrupted by your mobile ringing. You snatched it up quickly, not wanting the sound to wake your parents.

“Hello?” you whispered into the phone, not needing to check to see who was calling. It tended to be one person these last few days.

“What’re you doing?”

That growling voice had you smiling into the receiver. “Reading,” you answered quietly. “You?”

“Waiting for you to open the fucking window.”

With a perplexed frown, you stood and went to your bedroom window. Sure enough, Roy Kent stood in your backyard, mobile to his ear and grin on his face. He offered a small wave when he saw your figure.

“Open the window,” he hissed into the phone. “’m coming up.”

Scoffing, you hung up and did as he asked. It was a fucking sight, watching Roy Kent climb the giant tree outside your window and tumble into your childhood bedroom. He winced when he hit the carpeted floor with a small thud and offered you an apologetic smile as you closed the window. After stuffing a t-shirt under your door to muffle your voices and double-checking the lock on your door, you turned to Roy, who still sat on the ground.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked incredulously as you perched on the edge of your bed.

He shrugged. “Wanted to see you.”

The smile you wore was pure dopiness, but you didn’t care. Not when those brown eyes were sparkling at you.

Roy stood, rubbing the elbow he’d landed on in his less-than-stellar landing. “Your dad cuts those branches too short,” he grumbled. “Almost broke my fucking neck.”

You stuck your chin out haughtily. “I used to use that tree to sneak out all the time as a teenager,” you gloated. “And I never had a problem.

He narrowed his eyes at you before he began strolling around your room, looking at your walls. “Well, I spent my teen years training for a football career, not climbing through pretty girls’ windows. Gimme a fucking break.” He stopped in front of a Chelsea poster, smirking at the sight of himself and his teammates. “You kiss this before you go to bed?” he teased.

“I use it for dart practice,” you snarked. “Can’t you see the holes in your face?”

Roy let out an annoyed huff as he sat beside you, the bed giving the softest creak. “Oi, be nice. I did just climb a fucking tree for you, you know.”

“I suppose I could cut you some slack, just this once.” Your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close your faces were, how Roy’s smirking mouth was just a whisper away from yours. “Hi,” you murmured.

“Hi,” he hummed back. He cupped your face and closed the gap between your lips.

You sighed against his mouth and closed your eyes, letting him guide you onto your back and climb on top of you. His hands gripped your hips as his mouth explored yours, swallowing the soft groans you tried to hold back. Roy’s tongue was dizzying as it danced with yours, making you wonder how it would feel in other places. Your legs tangled together as you both brazenly began to grind softly against each other’s bodies, unashamed of your need for the other to provide friction.

“Fuck,” you whimpered against his cheek as his mouth made its way to your jaw.

He gently shushed you. “Is everyone asleep?” His breath was hot on your skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded as your hands roamed his back. “Yeah,” you assured him quietly.

He continued to press sloppy kisses to your neck, eliciting soft gasps from you. When your back arched off the bed, he smirked against your skin. For a while now, you’d given in to your curiosity and read all about Roy Kent, the already legendary lover, in trashy tabloids. And if his kissing was anything to go by, every single rumor was one hundred percent correct.

Deciding that you needed to collect more evidence, you slowly slid your hands down his back and around his front, until you found the button on his black jeans. He let out a small, curious hum and shifted; when your hands followed their target, he pulled away from your neck, eyebrows raised.

“And what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

Your face was furiously hot as you stared up at Roy, whose eyes were dark and lips were already swollen. “I want you,” you whispered, too desperate for him to feel an ounce of embarrassment.

Roy’s chuckle was low, an almost tortured sound as he let his face fall into the crook of your neck. “There is no fucking way,” he hissed, “that I am taking off my pants with your dad down the hall.” He glanced back up at you. “You’re worth a lot of things, princess, but I’m not sure being murdered is one of them.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, a soft one now, and shook his head at you. “Needy thing,” he teased, rolling off of you so he laid on his back beside you.

His hand found yours as you stuck your tongue out at him. “Coward.” But you couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Roy Kent in your bed, looking as if he belonged there. It was a sight you wouldn’t mind getting used to. “Thanks for climbing a tree to visit me,” you whispered, turning onto your side to face him.

He turned to mirror your position and lifted a finger to trace the shape of your nose. “I’d climb any fucking tree for you, princess.” His smile was playful, but you knew he meant it. “I’d probably do a lot of things for you.” He leaned close, pressing his forehead to yours. “But getting naked while your dad’s home is not one of them.”

The two of you laid like that until scandalously early in the morning, whispering and exchanging soft kisses. Finally, when the clock on your nightstand got close to three, Roy reluctantly removed himself from your bed and made his way back to the window, where he said goodbye with a searing kiss.

“I’ll call you later,” he whispered against your mouth. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

As if you could have any other kind of dream when they were filled with Roy Kent.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent@veryprairieberry@itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782

#roy kent bright baby blue #Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

118 notes · View notes

seoksgrl · 9 months ago

Text

rather be dead than cool, 2. : jjk nerd!jungkook x popular!reader college au, dislike to love genderbent she's all that au

tws: rich antics, irene and mina being mean girls, name-calling

m.list prev | next

The address you texted to Jeongguk, after obtaining his mobile number, is in the centre of Gangnam, a street lined with row upon row of stores fit for those who have cash to burn. If you’re going to get Jeon towards your end of the popularity spectrum, it’s imperative that you get him out of whatever baggy, dark outfit he plans to turn up in today. Once the clothes are dealt with, you can work on that shaggy mop of hair before figuring out how to introduce him to your scene.

That will likely be the easier part - once Jeon is seen with you, campus interest will soar.

“How are things going?” Irene coos down the phone, an edge to her tone that often came when the two of you would play these kinds of games. Finding ways to one up the other, whether it be over boys or over money. While Irene is the friend you have known the longest, you can’t say she’s the one you trust. Though, your competitive streaks have always run alongside each other, the perfect match.

You check your appearance in the store window, the first place you’re expecting to visit with Jeongguk. There’s a party this weekend at an old friend’s cabin, and if you’re going to bring Jeongguk, he needs to wear something that will enhance the foundations you managed to spot upon your first meeting. Brushing your hair over your shoulder, you reapply lip balm, using the window as your mirror, “Things are going according to plan. Jeon isn’t anything I can’t handle,”

Irene hums on the other end of the phone, though it’s anything but encouraging, “As long as you don’t plan on throwing in the towel before we’ve even started,”

“Not at all,” You grin at your own reflection, “He’ll be walking into the spring formal with all eyes on him when I’m finished. And I’ll take a ride in the Porsche as a reward,”

You can see it now, Irene’s eyes flashing with annoyance at your confidence. You often wonder if pissing off your best friend should bring you this much joy, but before you can ponder any longer, a familiar dark frame comes into sight down the street, skulking through the people on the sidewalk, and you end the call with Irene as your eyes land on Jeongguk.

He’s dressed in what appears to be his favourite colour, black, paint-stained jeans and an oversized t-shirt. All that covers him from the unpredictable spring weather is a thin, denim jacket - also paint-stained. You wonder if it’s intentional.

He stops in front of you, large frame so imposing you have to take a small step back, your Gucci boots hardly a match for Jeongguk’s height. Your head tilts, eyes meeting his own weary gaze before you flash him your winning smile.

“I’m glad you got here in one piece,” You hadn’t asked if Jeongguk drives, but you assume he must, having walked from the direction of the parking lot behind the row of designer stores, “I hope it was easy for you to find,”

He frowns at that, shuffling from foot to foot and adjusting his backpack a couple times. The wind has already managed to wriggle some fly-away hairs loose from whatever excuse for a ponytail he has, the strands falling around his face and brushing his chin. You cannot wait to get a few inches chopped - the length doesn’t bother you, but you can spot the split ends from here, for goodness sake.

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, and so you press on, still wearing the bright, chirpy grin you save for meeting new people. You always like to make a good first impression, and you remember it being one of the few things your parents instilled in you as a child. Your other habits were picked up from movies, being that you rarely had time to do anything else as a youngster. Father was never home and when mother wasn’t shopping, she was organising charity events for your father and his work colleagues.

You shake away the oddly sombre memory and continue with the task at hand, leading Jeongguk into the first store - Gucci itself.

“We’ll start here,” You say, maintaining control as you lead Jeongguk further into the store, towards where the men’s shirts and slacks are kept, “I have an appointment booked for your hair,”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jeongguk reach up and tug at the strands by his chin, brushing them behind his reddened ear. You continue to talk him through the itinerary for the day, though his pleading eyes continue to drill into the side of your head, and you have no choice but to turn, brow quirked, “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah -” He clears his throat, “I can’t afford anything here,”

You wave away Jeongguk’s worries, exhaling a short laugh, “I can take care of it. I have more than enough money, and plenty of good friendships with the staff. You can use my black card,”

“Black card?” He asks, dark brows furrowing, creating a tiny wrinkle between them, “Is that like store credit?”

You exhale again, but this time you’re not laughing. You realise not everyone pays for their tuition into Yonsei, and you’re just now realising perhaps Jeongguk is there on a scholarship. That would mean he’s very talented, something that intrigues you, though you don’t have time to be intrigued by your science experiment.

“It’s a luxury credit card, Jeon,” You blink, “My family is very wealthy, and like I said,” You flip your hair over your shoulder, “I want to help,”

Not completely the truth, but Jeongguk doesn’t need to know that.

His lips part for a couple moments, before falling shut, and you continue walking with him towards the Oxford shirts. The sales assistant, eager and a little annoying, strolls over, their brows raising a fraction when they spot the tall, out-of-place guy beside you. Their lips part, their welcoming disposition betrayed by the obvious judgement in their gaze before their eyes slide back to you.

“Miss Y/N, so lovely to have you back,” The young girl says, hands clasp in front of her, bright pink nails start against the black of her uniform as her eyes once more stray to Jeongguk, confusion marring her strictly sunny expression, “How can we help you today?”

You step forward, gesturing at Jeongguk with one hand and sliding a thumb across your phone screen with another. You had spent last night brainstorming the optimum stylistic direction to take with Jeongguk, wanting to enhance what good features he has in order to make his transformation believable. He still has to win Spring King, after all, and to do that, he needs to look and act the part. Turning up in head-to-toe designer the day after wearing his paint stained baggy jeans isn’t gonna work.

“My friend is looking for a few staple capsule pieces to add to his wardrobe,” You say, walking further into the store, followed closely by the assistant, and then Jeongguk who lags behind, looking entirely like a fish out of water, “Nothing too flashy, just several timeless pieces to get him started. He’s new to designer,”

The shop assistant makes a noise as if to say yeah, I can tell and you raise your brows expectantly, watching as she stumbles over her words, rushing towards the back of the store where the men’s shirts are displayed neatly, “O-of course, miss. Absolutely,”

When you turn, Jeongguk is watching the whole exchange with curiosity and a little disbelief, his brows are drawn together, eyes impossibly brown and impossibly wide. You pause in your step, raising a manicured eyebrow in response, “Do you have something to say?”

“Does everyone always do as you tell them to?”

You smile, “Yes, now come on,” clicking your fingers, you turn and walk to where the assistant is waiting for you, not bothering to turn to check if Jeongguk is following.

He is.

Irene smacks her lips as she reapplies her lipgloss, using the mirrored wall in the new sushi restaurant, Stix, to see her reflection. You watch her fluff up her hair, wiping at the corner of her mouth, and you decide to check over your own appearance.

As expected, it’s flawless. You always apply a lip tint if you know you’re going to be eating, saving you the time of reapplying. Your mother always told you that was rude, and so the habit has stuck. The urge to make a dig at Irene raises it’s ugly head, but you successfully shut it down. After all, you’d hate to make a fuss, and to embarrass your friend.

“Have you played with your little lab rat yet?” Irene asks, grinning as she turns away from the mirror, putting her lip gloss back in her purse and pulling out her compact. Her makeup is flawless, but you don’t say anything as she begins to touch up her already perfect skin.

“I took him shopping a couple days ago,” Mina snickers, and you shrug, continuing, “I didn’t have a lot to work with, new clothes were imperative if I want to recreate his image,”

Irene giggles, “Sounds like you had fun dressing up your little pet project,”

“It was a means to an end. The shirts were basic, Jeongguk didn’t want to branch out,” In fact, he didn’t take any of your fashion advice beyond pointing out what he would need from around the store. He picked up a few white t-shirts, white button-ups and some black slacks. You had to practically force him to get the shoes you suggested, if only to prevent him from wearing Gucci dress pants with his sneakers.

You can safely say you’ve never met someone so stubborn.

“Are you gonna bring him to Jimin’s party on Saturday?” Mina asks, wiggling her brows as if the mere idea is mischievous, “He could be your date,”

Irene let out a yelp of laughter, and Mina joins in, the pair of them cackling like two evil witches. You watch them with a vague sense of annoyance, a familiar flare of stubbornness coming to life in your chest as you remain stone-faced, waiting for their laughter to die down. When it does, it peters out, their eyes shifting between you and each other as the silence grows.

“Y/N, did you hear Mina’s joke?”

“I did,” You smile, cat-like and confident, “I didn’t get the joke. I mean, Jeongguk’s reputation is about to be improved tenfold. Why not let people think he’s my date?”

Mina gasps and Irene’s plucked brows raise in a look of abject horror, she actually puts a hand on her chest as if she has been scandalised by your question. You can hardly see the problem with it - after all, it was your understanding that in order to ensure you winning the bet, the whole thing would end with you and Jeongguk attending the Spring formal together anyway. It makes sense in your head.

“Y/N, you can’t be serious,” Irene says, snorting, “bringing that loser to Jimin’s party? You two just broke up, Jimin will think you have gone insane,”

You frown, taking a sip of water, “I’m not sure about that. Nobody knows who Jeongguk is, and once I’ve got him styled appropriately, people will just assume he’s a random hot guy I’ve picked up. If Jimin can be a cliche and score a cheerleader, why not be a little mysterious?”

Irene mutters, "I don't know about 'hot',"

You smile, brittle and a little annoyed, "He will be when I'm finished with him. Have some faith, Irene,"

When you glance at Mina, she seems to be grasping where you’re coming from, but as per usual, Irene doesn’t see your side of things, and she rolls her eyes, returning to her useless endeavour to fix problems that don’t exist with her makeup. You smile blandly at Mina, sipping at your water and scrolling through your socials.

taglist: @kyglover @jk97bam

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

96 notes · View notes