#Yes. Tad is holding bread

[satoruhour]

Nanami, who bakes fresh bread at least once a week probably subconsciously kneads your ass when you cuddle, sometimes even in his sleep. You'll give each other massage often and he'll spend tad longer literally kneading your breasts and ass fghj

a/n: PAUUUUSEEEEE THIS IS SO CUTE !!!! made it a little n*sfw too

warnings: fem!reader, making out, dry humping, p -> v sex, slow morning sex, n*sfw under the cut

bread has always been part of nanami’s life. whether it’s the hindbærsnitter and direktørsnegl his grandparents made him when he was young or when he’s mellowed out into a buttery croissants and cream puffs and now, when all he’s got time for is simple cinnamon bread and sourdough. he’s not complaining — it’s not like he doesn’t have the money, he’s already making bread once a week.

not to say that it’s expensive, but it does take up a lot of time; in the time where it takes him to properly knead everything, he could’ve already made two trips to the bakery and buy his baguette sandwich.

but nanami likes organic when he can afford it, and so ever since he tries his best to make weekly bread on sundays. it’s a habit even after successfully asking you to be his partner with red cheeks, an annoying gojo holding up a boombox and a yuji shaking a banner in the background, and you’re saying yes whilst keeping in your laughter. later they both agreed it was because of them that you said yes, while nanami only asked the older to shut the fuck up.

that habit garners other habits, like how he purses his lips when he needs to get the exact measurements. he does it all the time now when he’s focusing on some sort of task, twisting his mouth here and there. the other relates to the gathering and pushing of dough, having kneaded so much these few years that it’s the only way now to work out the kinks in his body. and yours.

you realise it after date night at home, ignoring every single piece of dialogue in the movie to make out with your boyfriend. you’re sat in his lap, grinding slowly into his clothed bulge as his lips work wonders on yours. you’re sinking more and more into his embrace, leaving him breathless at your hips.

“sorry, i only ever invited you under the ruse of watching a movie,” you grinned, brushing the sweaty blonde locks from his forehead, “i was hoping this would happen.”

“i’ve got a scheming one on my hands, huh?” nanami’s smile is relaxed, letting his hands trail over your ass, but not before he asks and you’re putting them there yourself (“you don’t have to ask every time, kento.”). your ass is so plump and full, he just can’t help but pull and push at the flesh as your lips meet his again. you pull at his hair as the kiss deepens, feeling his hot breath every time you both come up for air. his hands move subconsciously, nudging you deeper into his arms via your ass, but you don’t say anything.

that next morning you’re awoken from the same thing, groggily stirring and blinking through the brightness of the sun, but something else pulls you from your state of unconsciousness — that is, nanami’s hand upon your bare chest, kneading at your breasts. you have to stifle a laugh because you can hear him rouse from sleep, too.

he continues on for a while, grinding his pelvis into yours and now you struggle to hold in moans. you feel dizzy from the bare morning wood pressed into your ass, trailing a hand to your clit to relieve some of the frustrations. you’re wet within seconds, paired with the hand on your chest and the feel of his shaft against your back—

“already in the mood?” nanami mumbles against your neck, pressing feather-like kisses there as he continues to buck his hips into your ass. without much effort, you’re lifting your legs and grabbing his half-hard cock.

“y . . yeah,” you moan softly. with your boyfriend’s help, he pushes past your cunt and in. the feeling overwhelms you as much as it does him, shown in the way his hand squeeze your tits, “f-feels good, kento . .”

where nanami likes to get ready quick in the morning, he likes to take his time when he has you around, hips moving slowly and stretching you out so early in the morning. he flips you over gently as his thrusts stay slow. too slow for your liking, because you’re already fucking yourself back onto him.

“patience, little lady,” he sighs, loving how your ass moves each time it meets his pelvis and the sheer coat of your juices gets him hypnotised. he grabs onto your ass, not sparing you one glance as his hips meets yours halfway and a drawn out moan leaves your lips.

“do you know— you do that . . by the way?” your eyes are scrunched up but you aren’t left to pleasure just yet. you turn your body just right so you could meet nanami’s eyes.

“do what?” nanami grunts out, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“that.” you nod towards his hands, soft pants leaving your mouth at the two contrasting sensations of the gentle morning and your lewd actions. they’re kneading your ass again and nanami doesn’t seem to know what you’re talking about until you voice it out plainly. “you like to knead my tits and ass quite a bit, don’t you?”

he hums, leaning forward over your body to line his chest up to your back, “yeah. yeah i guess i do.” and he laughs, grinding his cock into you and you gasp; he takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply, hands sneaking back onto your tits and he kneads more knowingly, now, smiling into the kiss.

“can’t blame me with how soft you are.”

“not you comparing me — shit . . — t-to bread,” both your laughter mingles even as his hips speed up and your eyes roll back into your head, wrapping an arm around his neck to feel all of him and he whispers possibly the cheesiest line you’ve known to date, making you both clench around him and giggle uncontrollably.

“it’s true . . i need you daily.”

[sushi-computer]

This blog has existed for like 3 seconds and I already have a question

This is pressure related but I must know….what are your Sebastian solace headcanons. //gently pushes the mic to ur mouth and do you have any songs that remind you of the character in general?

(U don’t have to answer right away take ur time! 🫶)

yes i do...*ominous* i've been cooking this up over the past few days so buckle up mwehehe

🎸he has two stomachs, he grew it as he grew in size, hes constantly hungry (cant eat enough bc lack of food in the blacksite, also pre lockdown urbanshade couldnt care enough to give him more food aswell as give him food accustomed to his dietary needs, both human and animalistic- his esophagus also just cant handle big portions of food, its still relatively human sized unlike stomach) ,,, as he grew it he also grew partial animalistic appetite (craves meat a lot) but still has human appetite as well, like vegetables, bread etc. - because of his meat cravings he usually has to tear himself away from the bodies he scavenges from, he has very moral distrust towards cannibalism

🎸his hair is really gross LOL he was barely able to shower pre-lockdown and now its even harder,,, he only has his fingers and water, (he COULD use some stuff in the medkit but its unlikely??) the water is most likely salt which makes it even worse, he can filter it but filtering water by hand is very time consuming and he has to drink most of it anyways (idc that its canon that he showers, why would urbanshade keep their water running if they knew sebastian is still in the blacksite…/lh)

🎸his handwriting is very bad, his main 2 arms only have four fingers and are webbed, also have grown in size (very hard to hold a pencil, esp a normal sized one) his third arm has five fingers but he doesnt know how to write with it properly, also its injured duh

🎸his eyes dull when he sleeps, it almost looks like hes dead

🎸i feogrt the word for it but its this thing snakes do where they lift their bodies up to appear bigger, he does this when you enter his shop and it gives him major back pain o.:{ he usually moves close to the ground, like propelling himself forward with his arms (crawling?)

🎸he has pupils, they are very big all the time, but they dilate extremely with intense emotion (very tiny)

🎸his eyes and teeth changed first. his teeth changed over time though due to the amount of dna he was mutated with

🎸he hates the smell of disinfectant- it reminds him too much of his experimentation. the only time he can bare being around it is when he’s downing the bottles of rubbing alcohol to get himself drunk, regular alcohol doesn’t do the trick anymore due to his size

🎸 he HATES his teeth- how they look on him, how sharp and monstrous they are. he constantly tries to grind/crack/break them with bone or rock. it hurts, ofcourse (because why wouldnt it?) but anything to make himself just a tad more comfortable in his own skin (even if he knows it wont help him feel better at all) ^ this plays into his eating as well,, tearing so easily into the food he eats scares him. this applies especially towards meats / fish

🎸he’s only aggressive because he *has* to be. he is not a natural fighter- he is only defending himself, an example is when he shoots player/throws player when climbed on,, he doesn’t want to kill/hurt expendables (which is why he doesn’t shoot you at first when you flash him with the beacon ). he doesn’t want to be vulnerable again, especially to the people that are literally sent by urbanshade to take the only thing he needs to survive (crystal)

🎸he *hates* water , swimming is a very much hated task of his, he tries to avoid it unless necessary (being submerged underwater in general though is one of his biggest fears)

🎸sometimes he likes to draw on pai’s screen, he obviously isn’t very good but neither of them have protested…

💿 bonus: sometimes seb likes to hang out in p.ai.nters containment, he likes to put his head on top of pai and feel the hummmm. he also likes the warmth its nice to him :)

as for songs, here are some that remind me of him-

I Can’t Fix You - the living tombstone Drunk Walk Home - mitski ATWA - system of a down Over & Over - rio romeo Love, Me Normally - will wood <3333 Iron Lung - musiclide, the stupendium also a good handful of nirvana/system of a down/metallica songs because i imagine he’d listen to them :)

[crackedpumpkin]

All Too Human (07)

taglist: @chennqingg @theblindhag @elysiuansstuff@professionalrodent @mikadough @jenniferontheblock @blackparacosm @goth-detectives365 @crystalbeetle888 @filiswingman @beescomet@itz-moonlight @barnesmunsonlover14 @redsakura101 @1loveryangosling @perplexingteacher @blackparacosm @crystalbeetle888

| 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 |

A hangover, you conclude, is nature’s way of saying “go fuck yourself”. It’s a miserable punishment for reckless choices, a reminder that your body absolutely keeps score.

Which is exactly what you’re dealing with right now.

As Bilbo shakes you awake, you let out a groan and mumble an incoherent, “jsuebebdsmwj” which he effectively translates to “just leave me here to die”. Then, with all the elegance of a rolling boulder, you flop off the bed and land on the floor with a thud, blinking up at the ceiling in bleary confusion. Bilbo’s lips twitch, desperately trying not to burst into laughter at the sight of your puffy eyes and dazed, floor-bound self.

“Good mornin’ to ye!” Balin’s cheerful voice feels as sharp as a fire alarm, jolting through your aching head. He’s perched on the edge of his bed, his smile faltering slightly when he gets a better look at you swaying on your feet. “Ach, lass…ye look as weary as an old pack mule after a fortnight’s journey.” He pauses, a hint of hesitation in his voice as he tries to gauge your state.

You cringe, catching Balin’s concerned look, and give him a weak thumbs-up in an attempt to reassure him. It must be a really sad sight because his usually confident smile falters slightly, and he clears his throat, trying not to laugh. “Aye, go on and wash up, lass,” he says, gesturing to the washbasin. “Wouldn’t want you faintin’ from hunger. Or shame, for that matter.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he stands to follow Bilbo out.

With a sigh, you drag yourself over to the basin and splash cold water on your face, hoping to wash away the hazy headache from the night before. Once you’re mostly awake and presentable (well, at least presentable to their standards), you make your way down the corridor, stomach rumbling at the faint scents of roasted meat and warm bread drifting through the halls.

Pushing open the doors to the dining hall, you’re greeted with a rambunctious sight. Dwarves are scattered around the long tables, some already deep into their second mugs, and others halfway through their plates. The moment you step in, a few heads turn, and then the teasing begins.

“Well, well, look who’s finally crawled out of bed!” Dori calls with a smirk, earning a few chuckles from those nearby.

“You look a tad peaky this morning, lass. Couldn’t hold yer drink?” another dwarf chimes in with a grin. It was Dwalin, but you find yourself just shaking your head. You have a soft spot for that guy. He reminded you of a roasted marshmallow — gooey on the inside, but rough around the edges.

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you make your way to a seat. “It’s not usually this bad,” you retort, giving them a wry smile. “I just haven’t had a drink in a while.”

Bofur raises his mug in mock salute, laughing. “Aye, likely story! Don’t worry, we’ll make a dwarf out of you yet.”

More chuckles erupt around the room, and you shake your head, trying to hide your own smile. Taking a seat across from Balin, who eyes you knowingly, you’re just about to reach for some bread when Kili nudges a pitcher toward you.

“Here,” he says with a grin, his voice low enough to be heard only by you, “a bit of water will do you good, unless you’d like to go for round two?”

You can’t help but laugh, grabbing the water gratefully. “Maybe later,” you reply, trying to match his cheeky smile, though you doubt you’re pulling it off with your current state. 

As you bite into the warm bread, the memories of last night flicker through your mind, unbidden. The heat rises to your face, and you try to ignore it, glancing around the table with forced nonchalance.

You chance a look at Kili, hoping he hasn’t noticed. But his eyes meet yours, his grin widening just enough to hint he might know exactly what’s on your mind. That knowing glint — shared like some secret between you two — sends a new wave of warmth through you, as if you’ve been caught red-handed.

Fuck me.

Swallowing hard, you manage a shaky smile, then quickly look away, pretending to concentrate on your meal. You’re spending too much time with him. You need to get away, to get your mind off of whatever you guys are.

With a barely audible sigh, you rise from the table. “I, uh…need to use the bathroom.” Kili watches you leave, his shoulders relaxing when you muster a reassuring smile. He turns his attention back to the rest, lively conversation never ending.

Once you’re outside the dining hall, you head back to your room and grab a cloak. There had to be a back door somewhere in this place. 

As you tiptoe through the hallways, every creak of the wooden floor and flicker of torchlight feels amplified, echoing in the silence like a guilty conscience. Guards and servants appear out of nowhere, forcing you to duck into shadowy alcoves and behind pillars, your heart hammering each time.

Tripping over a small stone in the path, you stagger, catching yourself in time before your face meets the ground. You roll your eyes at yourself, mentally noting that sneaking around is decidedly not your strong suit. But something told you that striding out of the building as if you had every right to would have its own risks, especially given the prying eyes you’ve felt on you since you arrived. And there’s always Alfrid. You haven’t seen him today, but it feels like he could reappear at any moment, leering from a corner like a bad omen.

With a final deep breath, you manage to slip past the last set of guards near the main door and slip into the brisk air outside.

A small victory, you think, relieved — until you realise you’re not exactly sure where Bard’s place is. You follow the winding streets. The cobblestones are slick under your footing, dodging vendors and weaving through market-goers. After a while, though, the roads start to look suspiciously unfamiliar. The bridge you crossed is nowhere in sight, and with each turn, you’re increasingly certain you’ve somehow managed to wander into the farthest reaches of Lake-town.

Honestly? Not the best slay you’ve had so far, you think, shoulders slumping with a defeated sigh.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost miss the figure in front of you, until you catch a glimpse of her braid swinging as she moves from one vendor’s stall to another. Recognition lights up in you as you realise it’s Sigrid, Bard’s daughter. A wave of relief rushes over you, and you approach her with an apologetic smile.

“Sigrid!” you call, trying to keep your tone casual despite your obvious state of being lost. She looks up, surprise flashing across her face before she breaks into a warm smile.

“Oh! I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her eyes bright. “You’re…a bit far from the Master’s hall, aren’t you?”

You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I took the scenic route.”

“What brings you here to our humble market?” She asks, glancing from your cloak to the other vendors with a tinge of uncertainty. “I’m sure the Master has provided you and your companions with everything that you need…”

Her tone is innocent, but the unintentional implication drives the guilt deeper into you. “I’m sorry we left so suddenly,” you say, clenching and unclenching your clammy hands. “I can explain…”

As she stands there listening, she assesses your nervous eyes, and the uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one foot to another. “Would you like some tea?” She asks softly, with a tender gentleness that almost makes you hug her tightly. 

You nod.

Relief washes over you as you walk beside her through the market, weaving past bustling stalls until you reach the quieter side streets leading toward her home. You don’t miss the curious glances from a few of the townsfolk as you pass, pulling your cloak a little closer and feeling the nerves settle in your stomach again. 

At last, her home comes into view, and as you approach, you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity and warmth from the modest house. Sigrid opens the door, motioning for you to step inside.

“It’s been a busy morning,” she says with a small chuckle, “but there’s always room for one more.”

You thank her as you step in, greeted immediately by the comforting smell of herbs and the crackling sound of wood in their fireplace. Tilda’s bright, excited voice rings out. “You’re back!” she exclaims, running over with wide eyes and a joyful grin. She throws her arms around you in a warm hug, and you can’t help but smile as you return it, feeling the last bit of tension ease from your shoulders.

As you make your way into the house, Bain stands in the kitchen, glancing up at you with a slightly shy smile, his cheeks colouring a bit at the sight of you. His usual bravado seems to shrink under the weight of his bashfulness. You catch the glimpse of a quick look away, as though he’s unsure how to act, and it makes you smile inwardly. It’s almost like seeing a younger sibling trying to figure out how to behave around a guest.

“Uh, hey there,” Bain says, clearing his throat, though his voice still has that hesitant edge. “It’s... good to see you again.”

You grin. “It is, isn’t it?”

His eyes widen slightly, and his lips twitch as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I... well, no. I mean—yes, but you know...” He trails off, his attempt to sound serious clearly faltering under your amused gaze.

You chuckle softly, warmth spreading through you. “It’s all good, bro. Don’t stress over it.”

Bain mutters something under his breath, his face turning even redder, but it’s clear from the way he fiddles with his sleeves that he's both embarrassed and pleased by your easy going nature. Tilda, noticing her brother’s bashfulness, rolls her eyes playfully but with affection.

“Don’t mind him,” she says, winking at you. “He’s always like this around people he’s not sure about. I think you’ve officially broken him.”

You laugh, feeling the tension in your chest loosen. As you settle into a seat near the fire, Tilda brings over a cup of tea, carefully balancing it as she hands it to you. “It’s a special blend,” she whispers proudly.

You take a sip, savouring the warmth that seeps into you, and realise with a small smile that maybe, for a moment, you can enjoy this simple peace. “So, what brings you here outside of the manor?” Bain asks, his question unassuming but still somewhat pointed. 

It’s so valid. We did kinda just kick their hospitality in their faces.

“I needed to get away from them. From everything,” you admit with a sharp exhale, your words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

Tilda, fiddling with a makeshift ragdoll, suddenly notices the shift in your tone and, sensing an opportunity for comfort, clambers into your lap. Your hands hover above her, unsure of how to secure her without causing more discomfort to your already sore leg. The moment she presses down on it, a sharp pain shoots up your thigh, and you stiffen, trying to hide the wince from her.

Sigrid’s eyes narrow with concern as she notices the shift in your expression. “Tilda!” she scolds, standing up quickly, her voice high with alarm. “You forget that our guest is still injured.”

Tilda looks up at her, eyes wide with innocence. She doesn't seem to understand the weight of the situation yet. “Did I hurt you?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly, a frown forming on her young face.

The sight of Tilda’s concern makes your heart ache. You hesitate for a moment before smiling softly, pulling her gently into your lap, adjusting her so that you can keep your weight off the injured leg. "No, love, you didn’t hurt me," you reassure her, trying to hide the tightness in your chest behind a lighthearted laugh. “It’s just an old wound. Nothing to worry about.”

Sigrid and Bain are still watching you with furrowed brows, their faces drawn with concern. You can feel their worry in the air, thick and unspoken. But you keep your tone steady, trying to hide the strain in your voice. While Tilda snuggles into your lap, you silently adjust her, making sure the pressure on your leg is minimal.

Tilda’s gaze lingers on you, her wide eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. You force a smile, even though it feels like it might crack your ribs if you hold it too long.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she says softly, her voice small. “I can tell you’re hurt.”

That simple, innocent honesty stabs at your chest. You swallow hard, and before you can stop yourself, you pull Tilda into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around her like she’s the only thing holding you together.

Tilda’s small arms circle your neck, her cheek pressed against your shoulder, and you close your eyes, letting the warmth of her presence momentarily drown out the ache in your own heart. You don’t let her see the tears threatening to spill, instead letting the hug speak for you.

Sigrid and Bain exchange a glance but wisely stay silent.

The innocence in her gaze, is almost too much to bear. You have to fight to keep your composure, but for this brief moment, you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her embrace.

"Hey," you whisper, pulling back just enough to smile at her, "I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m fine, really. Just... a bit tired, is all.”

Sigrid, still watching, takes a step closer, but there’s a gentleness in her now, as if sensing the delicate moment between you and Tilda. “Are you sure? You don’t have to hide it from us.”

You nod slowly, eyes flicking to the others before returning to Tilda, who is still clinging to you with a quiet understanding that makes your heart ache.

“I’m sure,” you say quietly, “just... just need a bit of time.”

Tilda nods solemnly, then gives a small smile, squeezing your hand before returning to her makeshift doll with a slight bounce in her step, though you can tell she’s still watching you closely.

Sigrid gives a soft sigh, her concern softening into something more affectionate. “I’ll bring you some more tea. You need it after everything, I think.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, though the gratitude comes out in a hushed tone. 

As you sit there, with Tilda curled up in your lap, you can’t help but let your mind wander. It’s a quiet moment, the bustling sounds of the marketplace just faintly filtering through the window, and you find yourself reflecting on how comfortable you’ve become here. 

You never expected this, never expected to find any comfort in a place so foreign to you. The warmth of the fire in the hearth is nothing compared to the heat spreading through your chest.

Despite your best efforts to stay detached, a small part of you is beginning to care about these people. They’re kind to you, even when you’re not sure you deserve it. Tilda’s innocent trust in you, Sigrid’s quiet understanding, and Bain’s shy attempts at helping… it all stirs something inside you. You’ve been running from attachments for so long, pushing people away, afraid of being let down. But here, among the siblings, it’s different.

You squeeze Tilda a little tighter, her soft head nestled against your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you let the walls down. It’s been so long since anyone showed you this kind of kindness, this kind of acceptance. It’s almost... overwhelming.

You blink, trying to push away the unexpected lump in your throat. You can’t let yourself get too attached, can’t let your heart soften for them…Not when you know what you’ll eventually have to leave behind. But, for now, you let yourself feel it — the fragile connection that’s starting to take root in your chest.

The quiet hum of the house, the occasional chirps from Bain and Sigrid, the feeling of having a place that’s not a prison or a battlefield brings about a gradual realisation. 

You can’t not do anything to help them. Even if it goes against the original plot of the story, you have to help them escape at the very least. The rest of the world could burn, as long as it’d never harm the ones you’ve grown to care for. 

Swallowing hard, you shift slightly as Tilda blinks up at you, her small, innocent eyes awaiting your words. The pressure of the moment builds, but you force yourself to sound casual, even if your pulse quickens.

“What if…” you begin, then trail off, unsure of how to phrase it. You don’t want to push them too much, but you also need to know. “What if you thought about leaving? I mean, sometime soon. Just… going somewhere else.”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Bain and Sigrid exchange a glance, both of them momentarily quiet before Bain shrugs, seemingly unfazed.

“Not really,” he says, the words simple, but they feel final.

Sigrid, a bit more thoughtful, adds, “We were born and raised here, after all. This is home.” She pauses, as if considering your question more deeply. “Besides, where would we go?”

You feel a knot tighten in your chest, but you smile faintly, trying to ease the tension. They don’t understand. How could they? Lake-town is a trap, a temporary haven at best. But you can't burden them with your knowledge. You don't want to make them afraid.

Your voice comes out softer this time, as you try to play it off as nothing serious. “I suppose you’re right,” you murmur. “It’s hard to imagine leaving a place that’s always been home. But… well, I just thought it might be nice to think about other options.”

Bain raises an eyebrow, his expression softening. “Thinking about running off, are we?”

You laugh lightly, shrugging. “No. Just... curious, that’s all.”

They laugh too, though it feels forced. Sigrid smiles at you, but there’s a subtle wariness behind her eyes. She’s not buying it completely. Neither of them is.

Tilda, who’s still curled on your lap, looks up at you curiously, but she doesn’t ask anything. You shift her slightly to avoid putting more pressure on your leg, a quick motion that buys you a little more time to regain your composure. The conversation may seem lighthearted, but inside, you’re already working through the next steps. 

The most pressing issue is whether you should stay here to help them, or leave with Thorin’s company. Both options are leaning towards certain death, one more so than the other. Nope, you conclude, both are equally shit.

“I heard you were from a village far south,” Sigrid asks cautiously, her curiosity evident. “What’s it like there?”

“It’s…” You pause, trying to find the right word for it. “It’s beautiful.” You’re oblivious to the way your lips curve into a smile. It feels so right to talk about it, to remember the places you used to walk, the feeling of the salty ocean air. “San Francisco, that’s where I live. It’s full of hills that lead right to the water, and the city lights twinkle at night like stars. And there’s this incredible bridge… Golden Gate Bridge, it’s like something out of a dream.”

The smile widens as you continue, unaware of how much you're letting your guard down as you describe the place you once called home. It’s strange how easy it is to talk about it, how you almost forget where you are.

Tilda watches you with bright, eager eyes, clearly fascinated. “That sounds amazing!” she says, her voice full of awe. “Do you have stories from there? Like bedtime stories?”

Your heart flutters a little, the question reminding you of how much you miss those simple moments, those stories you used to hear when you were younger. “Bedtime stories, huh?” you repeat thoughtfully, nodding. You give Tilda a smile, a little more serious now. “I guess I could tell you one.”

Tilda’s eyes light up as she snuggles closer, her little face full of anticipation. You settle back a little, thinking back to all the fairy tales you used to hear as a kid. The one that comes to mind is one of the oldest: Rapunzel.

You begin slowly, “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Rapunzel, who was locked in a tower. She had the longest, most beautiful hair you could imagine…” You pause, your hands unconsciously gesturing, the words flowing easily as you recall the story you used to read before bedtime.

“The tower was tall, tall enough to touch the sky, and she had no one to talk to except for the birds and the wind. But every day, she’d sing to pass the time. And one day, a prince came to the tower, heard her singing, and—”

As you continue, your voice softens, becoming quieter, drawing Tilda into the story, her small form leaning closer, captivated by the tale. You find yourself enjoying the moment. 

For a few minutes, you’re able to share something from your world with someone who truly appreciates it. It’s a brief but precious connection, one that makes your heart warm. Sigrid and Bain find themselves listening in awe at your fairy tale, amusement in your eyes as you watch the latter pretend to be fiddling with something else but still keenly listening.

When you finish, it elicits a unanimous sigh of relief. Looking down, you spot Tilda’s closed eyes and even breaths, guessing that she might’ve fallen asleep halfway through. Another glance out the window shows that it’s approaching dusk, the door opening just then to reveal Bard.

His expression shifts, a mixture of confusion and wariness clouding his features as his eyes flick from you to his children. “Da’,” Sigrid greets, her voice warm, as she rises from the table to take his coat. Bain follows suit, grabbing what looks like a set of fishing rods from his hands. You’re unsure whether to disturb the peaceful stillness of Tilda’s slumber or let her stay resting in your lap. Before you can make a decision, Bard does it for you.

With a soft grunt, he bends down and gently scoops Tilda from your lap, holding her with surprising ease as he carries her to another room. You can’t help but watch, still unsure of how to act in his presence. The movement sends a ripple of discomfort through your stiff legs and aching back, forcing you to stretch with a grimace.

Bard reappears moments later, walking past you without a word, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual. He heads straight for the kitchen, taking the bowl of stew that Sigrid offers, before settling at the wooden table with the other two. He eats a mouthful, the silence stretching between you for a few seconds.

Finally, he looks up, his brow furrowed slightly. “So,” he begins, his voice cautious, but not unkind. “What brings the companion of the dwarves here?”

Sigrid, having sensed the subtle tension, chimes in. “I found her at the marketplace, Da’,” she explains, her voice light. 

“That’s quite a distance from the Master’s manor.”

The words hang in the air, and you shift uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. You open your mouth to apologise, but Bard cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Whatever you did after you arrived in Lake-town is none of my business,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, but his eyes sharp. “I’ve got my coin for helping you, and that’s enough for me.”

You fall silent, unsure of how to respond. His words are blunt, but there's no malice behind them. There’s just a quiet understanding that business is business. A small, uncomfortable lump forms in your chest as you try to process the mix of relief and unease.

Bard glances at Sigrid, giving her a small nod. She stands, and with an understanding smile, takes a bowl of stew from the counter and places it in front of you.

"Sit, eat," Bard says, his voice unexpectedly softer now. “Can’t have you going back to Thorin’s company hungry. Not with the way things are.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to impose, but his tone leaves little room for argument. The warmth of the stew and the gesture of hospitality is hard to refuse. You give a reluctant nod and sit down at the table, feeling a bit like an outsider. 

To your surprise, the simple meal is miles better than any of the dishes you had the night before. The poverty disparity tugs at you, unable to believe that the Master of Lake-town withheld such wealth from his people. It’s disgusting to read about, and even more disgusting to see in person.

The wooden bowl is scraped clean, and your belly full from the meal. “That was amazing,” you grin at Sigrid who waves a dismissive hand at you with a smile. “I’m legit in a food coma right now.”

“Careful,” Bard’s wry grin finally emerges, having relaxed over the meal. “Can’t have people going around saying that the Master doesn’t treat those affiliated with the King under the Mountain well.” 

“Anything is better than having to eat in that obnoxiously big room, and Alfrid’s gaze on me with every mouthful I take.” You grumble, crossing your arms at the thought of having to see that guy again. 

“Ah, Alfrid,” Bard says with a quiet chuckle, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Always lurking about, isn’t he? But that’s not the real problem, is it?”

You frown, confused. “What do you mean?”

Bard tilts his head, an almost knowing glint in his eye. “You’re not fooling me. Not with the way you’re always looking over at a certain dwarf whenever he’s around.”

Your heart stops in your chest for a moment, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Wha-?

You shake your head, trying to shrug it off, but it’s no use. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer, voice cracking under the pressure.

Sigrid and Bain glance between you both, and Sigrid’s lips quirk upward, clearly finding the situation amusing. Bard’s grin only widens. “Oh, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He seems like a good lad. But you’re not fooling anyone with that red face of yours.”

The heat on your face only deepens as you shift uncomfortably in your seat, wishing the ground would swallow you up. “There’s no… There’s nothing going on,” you mumble, your words almost inaudible.

“Sure there isn’t,” Bard says, his tone teasing yet surprisingly gentle. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell Thorin. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You almost choke on your own breath, trying to laugh it off but failing miserably. The idea of Thorin finding out sends a chill down your spine, but Bard’s expression softens, and for a moment, you think he’s being kind. Or maybe just humouring you.

Either way, you wish to escape from this situation.

“It’d never work out anyway,” you say whilst picking at the skin beneath your nails. You don’t know who you’re trying to convince — the people around you, or yourself.

Bard’s knowing smile softens as he watches your flustered expression. He chuckles, clearly amused by the way you fumble for words. “Don’t worry,” he says with a hint of understanding, deciding to drop the topic. “We all have someone we care about.” With that, he rises from his chair, collecting his empty bowl. “Let’s get you back before Alfrid starts lurking about again.”

You can’t help but laugh as you stand and stretch, grateful for the change in topic. “Thank you… for everything.” You glance around, giving the siblings a grateful smile, and they each offer you a warm farewell.

“Drop by anytime for tea and more fairy tales,” Sigrid tells you with a grin. “I’m sure Tilda will be utterly delighted.” You nod at that, a silent promise already made.

Bard walks alongside you as the two of you head back through the quiet streets, the light from the Master’s manor visible from a distance. “Not the most welcoming place, I’m sure,” he says, gesturing toward it. “But don’t take it to heart. This town has its fair share of complications.”

You nod, thinking of the kindness Bard and his family have shown you, so unlike the chill of the Master’s halls. Before you can reply, however, the figure standing at the manor’s door comes into view, unmistakable even at a distance. Thorin.

Bard’s footsteps slow, his expression hardening just slightly. Thorin crosses his arms, waiting as you approach, his gaze shifting warily from you to Bard.

“Bard,” Thorin greets stiffly, his voice carrying a formality that barely conceals his mistrust. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Bard’s brow furrows slightly, yet he manages a composed nod. “Only seeing to it that she returned safely. Lake-town can be… lively after dark.” His voice is level but guarded, a hint of protective defiance in his tone.

Thorin’s eyes narrow. “And we’re grateful for your vigilance,” he replies, though there’s a subtle edge to his words. “But we can take it from here.”

Bard’s retreating figure fades into the shadows, leaving you alone with Thorin, whose eyes have a slight glint of suspicion, softened by his calm self.

As the two of you approach the manor’s entrance, Thorin’s gaze turns sharp, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s considering how much he should say. He stops just shy of the door, turning to face you fully.

“I’ve noticed,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate, “the way you look at my nephew.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. Thorin’s expression is unreadable, a flicker of something protective glinting in his eyes. “Kili is young and… quick to form attachments.” He pauses, as if measuring his words. “But for someone bound to this company, it’s a dangerous thing to get… entangled.”

The words, though harsh, carry a faint undercurrent of something almost like care, a reminder of the dangers you both face. You open your mouth to respond, to deny, but he raises a hand, halting your words.

“Whatever feelings you have, or think you have, keep them guarded,” he continues, his tone softening just slightly. “For both your sakes.”

You swallow, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his unspoken warning. And yet, as he steps back, his expression shifts, his voice a shade warmer than before.

“Regardless,” he adds, with a grudging respect, “you’ve proven yourself. It takes courage to do what you did, standing by us… by me.” There’s the faintest hint of a smile, though it quickly fades as he looks toward the door. “Eat, and rest. Tomorrow will be no easier, but…” he hesitates, “it’s better to face what lies ahead with strength.”

[admirationandromantics]

Affection

Yay, another request! I felt a bit stumped on this, but I just hope it works out lol. Listened to Fantastic (King Princess) once, and now it's the only thing I listen to. Why am I not sick of it yet? I have listened to it at least 100 times today... Anyway, enjoy some Chris <3

Word count: 2,2 k (Unedited)

We make our way over to the picnic table. Everyone is waiting, some of them already eating. I grab Chris's hand harder, dragging him with me as I walk faster. 

“Hey guys!” I shout, getting to the benches. Everyone is here. Everyone except for Emily and Matt. Matt had a game, and prayed for her to join and watch. Of course she said yes. 

The table is covered in cut up fruit and vegetables, bread, jam, cheese, rolls, cinnamon buns and donuts. It all looks amazing. 

“Why are you only eating the fruit?” Chris asks. 

“Because someone came late, and they had the butter, cutlery and honey” Jess whines, holding out her hand to us. I open my bag, finding the things stated and pulling them on the table. 

“Well, you can only blame this little guy” I smile, pointing my thumb at Chris. He gives a pouty face in return, not liking the nickname. 

“Oh really?” 

“You switched t-shirts three times dear”

“I wanted to look good” 

“All of them were white!” 

“Are you telling me this whole getup took you less time than me?” he asks, hand waving to my whole outfit. It’s true that this would normally have taken longer to plan, considering my style and all the intricate details of the whole fit. 

“Normally, yes. Today? No. I planned this yesterday” I state, clapping his cheek and giving him a small kiss to signal the end of the conversation. 

People go back to their conversations. Jess is talking about some purchase she made a couple of days ago, a white gold necklace which hasn’t been shipped yet. I ask to see a picture, and it’s gorgeous. Small, delicate chain with a circle charm adorned in diamonds. I look over at Ashley and Beth, and they’ve both laid down in the grass, one book each. I try to make out the titles, but the sun’s reflection stops me. I give up, turning to the feast in front of me instead. 

Sam has filled her plate to the brim with fruit, while the others start with bread. I take a couple of strawberries, shoving one in Chris’s mouth and the rest on my plate. 

“Already got my mouth full” he muffles, eyes wide. 

“I’ve seen you take more” I smirk back, and something in his eyes shift. Something dark and different. I ignore it. 

“You guys are nasty. Didn’t think you as a couple would be as freaky as you are” Josh comments, taking a sip of his drink. 

“You’ve got only yourself to blame” I tease, taking a bite of the fruit. Chris lets go of my hand, and I look up to see if something’s wrong. He’s eating, looking over at Mike and talking about our apartment. Not seeing anything wrong, I shift my focus to the food and Sam in front of me. She starts talking about her week and how busy it was. Hannah and I listen intently. That is, before I feel a hand placed on my thigh. I can’t help the blush that covers my cheeks as he kneads. He slowly moves upwards, a little too high. Not relieving the pressure of his touch as he shifts. My breathing gets heavier as I try to stay calm, erotic images appearing in my mind, one after another. 

Despite the distraction, I keep my smile plastered on. Nodding and engaging with the others. 

“You look a little burnt, you should put some sunscreen on” Hannah says, taking hold of my face, looking back and forth on my cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it” Chris says, giving me a last tight squeeze before standing up and walking to the car. I look down, and he’s left a big red mark. A tad too visible. 

The day continues, and I urge him to put some sunscreen on as well. He whines, responding that he doesn’t need it, and will be fine without it. I don’t listen to him, putting some on my finger and pressing it in his face. Now he has to smear it out. 

As the hours pass by, the hand continues caressing my thigh, occasionally going between them. I kill a whine, feeling myself heat up and get wetter from his touch. 

Slowly but surely, people start leaving. First the Washingtons, then Mike and Jess, lastly, Ashley and Sam. They both take some of the leftovers with them too. As they leave, I turn to Chris, capturing his lips in a rough kiss. 

“Do you know, I’ve sat on this bench for five hours, not moving, because of a certain someone. 

“You don’t say” he smiles, proud of himself. 

“Chris, I swear to god” 

“Nothing to do about it now, too late” he snickers, standing up and packing our things. 

“We are not done talking about this!”

“Are we really not?” he teases, trying to mimic my tone. I’ve been worked up for five fucking hours, and he just makes fun of me? He’s quick, packing everything in one bag, holding it and reaching for my hand. 

“Don’t think for a minute that I’m gonna touch that hand again” 

He laughs, walking over. His arm moves around my waist, and I automatically lean into his touch, even though some part of me doesn’t want to. I want him, I have wanted him for five hours. He holds harder, and before I can react, he swings me up over his shoulder. 

“Chris!” 

“Let’s go home” 

“Chris put me down!” 

“Almost there” he teases, and I can’t do anything but lean against him, waiting to get to the car. I look at his other hand, flexing as he holds both the heavy bag and me. How does he manage? We finally get to the car, and he puts me down. 

“Great trip!” he exclaims, sweaty from the carrying and hot weather. 

“Need some water?” 

“Yes, please” 

I go into the bag, finding a filled bottle and handing it to him. He doesn’t waste time, chugging almost all of it and spraying some on his face. I can’t help but stare, watching as the droplets run down his chin, jaw, down his neck. He gives me a nudge on the shoulder, waking me up. 

“Guess that was today’s workout”

“Wait what?” 

He gets into the car, and I do the same. This was not supposed to be the only workout today. He’d been teasing me the entire day, and was just gonna leave me like this? 

“That’ll not be the only workout for you today, you’ve got a lot to make up for”

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah really”

“What have I done wrong?” He acts innocent, as if he doesn’t know what such touches do to me. 

“You know” 

“You have to tell me, cause I just cannot think of a single thing I’ve done today which could lead to this” 

“Chris!” 

“I mean, the only thing I did today was hold my girlfriend, kiss her, eat food… No, nothing wrong there” 

I roll my eyes, heat pooling and left without attention. When we get home, I walk inside, put some of our stuff in the fridge and go to the bathroom. It was a hot, exhausting day, and I am in need of a shower. I undress, and go into the shower, putting on a little colder setting to wash the heat away. 

The door opening catches my attention. Chris walks in, leaves his glasses on the counter and starts undressing. “I’m using the shower” 

“Alone I hope” he laughs, walking in and standing in front of me. 

“Got something to say Hartley?” 

“Hartley? Got you that mad?” he smiles, leaning down and kissing my neck. His arms go around me, pulling me tighter. I start warming up again, despite the colder water. His arms, hands, fingers. God I want to feel his finger. 

“Chris…” I sigh. 

“You were quite a mess on the way home” 

“Please” 

“All hot and bothered, unable to do anything about it…”

His hands wander to my ass, groping the flesh. He moves forward, causing me to take some steps back till I hit the wall. His lips capture mine in a passionate and wet kiss. 

“You think you deserved it?” 

“Absolutely not” 

He grabs my hips, forcing me to turn around, chest pressed against the cold wall. A loud smack is heard, followed by a sharp pain. I gasp loudly, and he places his hand on the sore spot, rubbing soothing circles with his palm. 

“You sure?” His voice sends shivers down my spine, mouth closing the distance to my shoulder, giving small kisses. Hard contrast to the pain. 

“I-I” 

Another smack, but this time, I shout his name. I’ve never felt so weak and vulnerable in his arms. It’s like I’m turning to putty underneath him. His mouth gets more aggressive, the kisses turning to bites against my neck. I whimper, unable to conjure anything literate. 

“Do you deserve this type of treatment?” 

I whine again, managing to get out a weak “yes”

“You’ve held yourself so high all day… Aren’t you exhausted?” 

He takes hold of my hair, collecting every strand and pushing them aside to get better access to my neck. His hand moves upwards my stomach, groping my breast. I feel him getting harder the more he grinds against me, pressing me harshly against the tiles. 

“Yes, I am” 

“Want me to make you relax a bit?” 

“Yes” 

“Yes…” he teases, dragging out the word. 

“Yes please” 

In a quick motion, he turns me around, capturing my lips yet again. This time, it’s hungry, like he’s desperate for more. His hand moves down to my soaked folds, running over them gently. My breath hitches from the touch, and I feel him smirk against my lips. He kisses down my chin, neck, stomach, and stops when he gets down on his knees. 

“Are you gonna be good?” 

“Yes”

He doesn’t need me telling him twice, and uses his left hand to lift my leg in the air. My arm immediately goes to the side, grabbing hold of the shower railing for support. 

His fingers don't waste time, two of them going inside me, pumping and curling. The sudden sensation makes me give out the most erotic sounds ever, moaning, whining and whimpers. 

His mouth finds its way to my clit, and he starts sucking. The pleasure makes my leg jolt in the air, but he holds it steady, gripping it harder. He starts licking soft circles, and I automatically grab hold of his hair, keeping him down. 

I feel my high come closer. It doesn't take long after being edged all day. I let out a cry as I come all over his tongue and fingers, but he doesn’t stop. He licks me up, taking all of me. 

I throw my head back, getting dizzy from all the pleasure. He rises, pulling my head forth and kisses me. I taste myself on him, making sure to lean even more into it, roaming his mouth with my tongue. My arms go around his neck, pulling him closer. He groans, dick pressed up against me. 

“Jump”

Despite my wobbly legs, I oblige. He catches me in his arms, grabbing both of my thighs harshly so I don’t fall. I press my legs around him, holding myself up while still kissing him. He slams me against the wall yet again, the impact making me gasp. He adjusts himself, and I feel his dick against my folds, sliding up and down carefully before making his way in. I whimper against his shoulder, taking deep breaths while trying to adjust. 

“Shhh, you’re taking me so good” he purrs, breath getting uneven as he keeps lowering me. Every time we have sex, I seem to forget how big he is, how he stretches me out and fills me so much. 

He starts moving, the intense pleasure and pain mixing in a passionate manner. He groans, trying to kill the moans that escape his lips. Bouncing me up and down in the air, I can’t do anything but keep holding on to him. The angle makes him hit my spot deep inside, and I cry out. I’ve already come once, so another is not far away, especially when he goes so deep. 

The water still keeps going, making his hair run down his forehead and sides, it’s surprisingly long when not styled. 

He starts going faster, and I know he’s nearing his own edge. I feel mine closing in, but try to hold it, try to give him more time. I fail, and moan his name as I clench around him. He falls right behind, burying himself as he comes inside. He puts me down, hands still caging both of my sides and body presses against me. He’s breathing heavily, head resting on my shoulder. I give him small sloppy kisses while he regains his strength. 

“Need help washing yourself up?” he asks, looking at me with his signature goofy grin. 

“We’re in the shower” 

“Even better”

[brabblesban]

Without garlic I simply would not care to live, or

The vampire ascendant discovers the virtues of the humble garlic.

Here's a small AA/batstarion x reader fic that I wrote for a giveaway on Twitter!

Read on AO3

The slice was laid out before him, plated carefully by the chamberlain, accompanied by a small block of butter and a knife.

The smell was familiar, although it no longer had that acrid tang that made his lip curl. Instead it was… pleasant, in the way the smell of blood did - soft notes of toasted bread, accompanied with that scent, the one he’d avoided for centuries - it made his mouth water.

From your usual seat, you inclined your head at him.

“Are you going to keep staring at it, or are you going to take a bite?’

Astarion shot you a glare, scoffing. “I am savouring it.”

“You could savor it once you’ve actually tasted it.” You reached for your own slice and bit down, chewing aggressively at him. He pointedly ignored you in favor of lifting his piece between thumb and forefinger, staring at it as if it would suddenly strike him.

Pausing with bated breath, you waited.

He narrowed his eyes at you one last time, and sank his teeth in.

That was the last time you’ve had a meal that didn’t involve garlic in some major way. If you were honest, it was to be expected. Astarion was always a man who chose to indulge himself; it just so happened that garlic was his new vice.

Almost every meal now came with it, and slowly you began to… not hate it. If you were honest you never really could hate it-

Tire of it. Yes, that was the word.

You grumbled every meal as the mind link was opened, the taste of garlic suffusing your senses as he bit down and moaned.

Shaking your head, you grumbled. “How much longer, until this obsession fades, love?”

“Until I’ve at least tried every dish involving it, and even then, only perhaps.”

“Have you considered eating it raw?” The thought wasn’t purely out of simple beneficence; you figured the taste would be so bad it would snap him out of this obsession.

Gods. You had taken a sip from his wineglass the other day, and almost gagged - even the blood had been infused with it!

To any normal vampire that would have meant retching. To you, it seemed as if he had extended his immunity to garlic. There was that, at least. The mixture, however, still felt… unholy, and you bit back a snarl as you set his drink down.

“Astarion! Gods- what is this?”

He flicked his eyes over at you, a smirk toying at his lips. “It was an experiment. There are two things I love most in this world-” his eyes raked over you, “other than you, of course. Blood, and well…”

“Garlic,” you supplied for him. Unbelievable. He nodded.

“It didn’t take long for this idea to take hold. Were I to combine both, something no other vampire could do… would it taste heavenly, or…”

He waved his hand. You sensed hesitation there, and prodded.

“It tasted like shit, didn’t it?”

Astarion refused to answer, and you snorted. “I don’t need the mental link to know how rancid this mixture is, given how it smells.”

“Then I need not provide you with further answers, do I?”

You had tackled him with a kiss at that point, too annoyed and amused to do much else.

His voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Darling?”

“Sorry. Still thinking about that whole… garlic-infused monstrosity you had the other day. You were saying?”

“Raw,” he repeated. “It might be a tad too strong, considering the scent, but I would not mind trying.”

Before you could say much else he already waved a servant over, asking for one from the kitchens. You placed your chin on your palm, the smallest shake of the head the only thing you managed to say in response.

“Astarion… I was kidding.” At his raised eyebrow, you sighed. “Perhaps half-kidding, then.”

He hummed in assent. “And yet some places do ingest their garlic raw. Besides, what harm could it do?”

The answer, as it turned out, was a lot.

He ate a clove, commenting on how it burned on its way down - much like fine vintage, which made you groan - but the watering of his eyes told you everything you needed to know. That, and the way he put the rest of it aside, gingerly pushing the plate away with his index and middle finger, as though it were some caustic, poisonous thing.

A small well of satisfaction filled you. Perhaps the days of smelling garlic every meal would be over. Astarion ate the rest of his meal in relative silence, one you were all too happy to let stretch.

“I must be off,” came his voice, breaking the silence. He looked at you, eyes soft, hand reaching to cover your own. “A quick meeting, a survey of the new balustrade… you wouldn’t miss me too much, would you?”

You pushed your plate away and took a small sip from your goblet. “Probably not.”

You would, of course. But he and you both enjoyed this little game. Astarion huffed and stood, buttoning his suit jacket. Leaning in for a kiss, he whispered into your ear.

“Be a dear and await me in our bedchambers, my love. I assure you your… patience, if you do so, will be generously rewarded.”

As sweet as those words were, however, his breath was anything but. The tang of garlic filled your nostrils and you hissed, pushing him away with a playful swat of your hand.

“Gods, no. Maybe another day?”

He paused, sniffing his own breath, eyebrows raising in surprise and amusement. “Mm. Perhaps await me in the bathroom, then? I could always bathe and clean myself before coming to you.”

“Brush your teeth twice,” you held up a finger, “and I’ll consider letting you kiss me.”

The laugh that answered you as he left the dining room was nothing short of music to your ears.

When he finally came to the bedroom, it was as a white bat, flying in through the open windows. But he did so in such an ungainly manner, wings flapping as he fought to right himself, landing on the bed with a graceless thump.

You looked down at him, watching his ears lie flat against his skull. He had caught you by surprise - his usual schedule meant that you had not expected him to come back for another hour. A small, plaintive squeak answered your silent inquiry.

My stomach.

He folded his wings, curling into himself, resembling a small, rather fuzzy ball. Concern won out; you picked him up and set him on your belly, peering at him.

What happened?

Those large eyes refused to meet yours. Tucking his head under a wing, he burbled.

The garlic did not seem to agree with this… physiology.

Ah. You ran your index finger down his back, from the mop of fur resembling the usual swoop of his hair, down his spine. He shivered pleasantly, eyes peeking out at you from a velvety wing.

You must find this amusing. The eyes narrowed, and he chittered. Don’t you?

You shook your head, your hand continuing its slow, gentle strokes. He leaned against your touch, pressing his small body against your fingers. No- ow!

He had nipped you. Sighing, you shrugged. Okay. Perhaps a little. I do honestly think you’ve overdone this whole… garlic thing.

My love, came the response, decidedly exasperated even through the mental link, I have not had it in centuries. You can’t possibly blame me for indulging!

You reached towards his front, gently poking his belly. I think you indulge far too much for a little bat.

That was met by a squawk of surprise and offense; fangs sank into your finger again, and you allowed him to latch onto it. He sucked, eyes narrowed, as the blood no doubt soothed his upset stomach. You rubbed his back again, a gesture of atonement. That was rewarded by a much happier squeak. There was a flutter of wings as he shifted, getting a better angle to feed.

Better? The silence had been filled by the sounds of his feeding, and the feel of his downy fur. It was now sticking up everywhere, and as his fangs detached from your finger he shook himself, attempting to rearrange it.

Spreading his wings he looked down at himself, sighing dejectedly when the fur still looked mussed. Baleful eyes fixed on yours.

You ruined my hair.

At least your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore?

There was a small huff, one that amazed you - even in this form his penchant for dramatics was not lessened one bit. He flopped down against you. I suppose I can accept that compromise.

No one’s going to see you anyway, you retort.

The smallest tilt of his head was a sign of begrudging acquiescence. He shut his eyes, ears flicking lazily as he eased into your embrace. Running your hands down his back, you scratched behind his ears. A coo escaped him at this, his snout pressed against your body.

If there was one thing about this whole debacle that you liked, you thought, it was getting your little bat to come cuddle far earlier in the day than he usually would.

Between that, and the small, sleepy purr he just made as he nuzzled you, the endless days of tasting garlic were worth it.

[meowzfordayz]

emphasis-on-helpless

Author’s Note: welp, stay tuned for pt 3 aka the conclusion of this lil series. 🤭

emphasis-on-helpless

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: explicit language

they’re-both-so-helpless, helplessly-in-love

~faqs~

“WHY DID YOU ALLOW ME TO SEND THAT?!”

Tengen’s cackling is interrupted by a swift smack to his bicep, Kyojuro’s expression distraught as he listens to his friend’s gleeful laughter.

“You like them, don’t you?” Tengen drawls, patting Kyojuro’s back with an enthusiastic thud, “So it’s about time you tell them.”

“I tried to ask them on a date,” Kyojuro admits, the tips of his ears matching the tips of his hair as he furiously blushes, “But all they did was Snap me a thumbs up!!!!!”

Eyes rolling, Tengen crosses his arms, eyebrow raised pointedly, “What exactly transpired?”

“I’ll bring you next time and then It’s a date! and then a. Thumbs. Up.” Tengen is once again cackling. “We even bought each other’s favorite flavors and they dabbed my nose with ice cream!” Tengen is shuddering now. “But when it was time to part, they simply smiled and waved and then walked away so quickly I was worried I had started to smell bad!”

“What deodorant were you wearing?” Tengen snickers.

“The one you recommended!”

Grinning proudly, Tengen claps his hands together, oozing confidence as he stares unwaveringly at Kyojuro.

Groaning, Kyojuro checks his phone, dismay flooding his chest at your lack of a prompt reply. At least they are not ignoring me he assures himself, mouth twitching as Tengen proceeds to poke his shoulder. Surely they are not ignoring me?! Poke. Perhaps the free slice of banana bread was a tad too much? reminiscing on your most recent stop by his cafe, heart clenching at the memory of your sweaty fingers brushing against his when he handed you your iced latte. Poke. Poke. I could have sworn they looked my way through the window before leaving… Poke. Poke. Poke. Maybe it was just the sunlight.

“Done daydreaming, lover boy?” Tengen winks playfully, glancing at Kyojuro’s phone with a sympathetic, “No response?”

Kyojuro’s moody grunt says enough, regret weighing his limbs at the thought of what he’d sent you.

“Are you and [y/n] together?” Tengen muses, noodles slipping distractedly off his chopsticks, “You don’t use social media, and yet, you’re always snapping them.” Kyojuro pauses, spoonful of broth freezing as his brow furrows. “Y’know,” Tengen gestures with his chopsticks, “Together.” “I know,” Kyojuro chuckles, a gentle puff of air prolonging the anticipation, “To be frank… no.” “NO?!” Tengen exclaims, chopsticks slamming onto the table, nearby patrons glancing curiously in his direction, “Dude. What do you mean no?!?!?!” Faintly alarmed, Kyojuro takes a sip of his soup, the steaming liquid calming his nerves as he murmurs Umai! “Kyojuro,” Tengen emphasizes, “They clearly like you, and you clearly like them, so why are you not together?!” “Nothing is clear,” Kyojuro patiently corrects him, “Much like this hazy broth, I cannot discern whether or not they like me.” “Okaaay,” Tengen scoffs, “But you like the broth!” “But they are a real person with real feelings.” “Unlike the broth,” Tengen deadpans. “Precisely,” Kyojuro smiles easily, slurping his broth with a resigned sigh, “Unlike the broth, I cannot impose my will upon them, nor would I ever wish to.” “But,” Tengen smirks, “You wish to eat the broth.” “Uh…” Kyojuro hesitates, cheeks warming, “... yes?” “SO EAT THE DAMN BROTH!!!!!” “Tengen, that is not how consent works.”

With a bored yawn, Tengen picks up Kyojuro’s phone, unlocking it to play Clash of Clans—Kyojuros’ quite dedicated to his base—only to snort amusedly at his home screen.

“Man, I hope they open your Snap soon.”

Eyes widening in realization, Kyojuro makes a frantic grab for his phone, huffing as Tengen immediately holds it above his head, cursing how—despite his own tall stature—much taller Tengen is than him.

“You have a photo like this with them, and you can’t figure out their feelings for you? And I used to consider myself clueless!”

“You have three girlfriends,” Kyojuro grumbles, “So cease your fake modesty.”

“They’re practically hugging you! If I was a random person and I saw your home screen, I’d assume you were in love!” Tengen teases.

“Well I am,” Kyojuro admits, voice softening as he gazes at his phone in Tengen’s grip, “But I… I could not bring myself to presume that they are too.”

I could not bear the heartbreak that would ensue, should my presumption prove untrue.

With an exasperated Tsk, Tengen returns Kyojuro’s phone, perceiving his unuttered fear with sincere solidarity.

—

“Do you think they are preoccupied?”

“Kyojuro, it’s been five minutes. Suma takes longer than that to answer me, and she’s clingy as hell.”

“They do not feel the same.”

“Kyojuro, they could be shitting and forgot to take their phone with them. Or hanging out with friends and not checking it. Or-”

“-injured in a ditch?!”

“NO,” Tengen’s lips purse, patience dwindling as Kyojuro’s face falls, “For fuck’s sake! How about you call them?”

“Absolutely not,” Kyojuro interjects, “I already sent them the stupidest Snap confessing my stupid, stupid feelings for them! I ALREADY CONFESSED MY FEELINGS. Using Snapchat! I am the opposite of romantic.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid, and romance is dead anyway,” Tengen shrugs.

“You bought your girlfriends personalized bouquets last month,” Kyojuro retorts.

“If snapping them your feelings is this difficult, then I struggle to believe you could’ve told them in person.”

“I would never.”

Inhaling deeply, Tengen mutters darkly, “Rengoku Kyojuro, I am going to fucking-”

“-they snapped me!”

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 12 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 12: Lodge Me A Date.

Dean was pining.

You and he were on the outs.

Your first fight as a sorta couple didn't happen for months. Not until you both came to Australia and you tried to throw him a lowkey, very late dinner on the second night, after Dean had had a gruelling day dealing with the masses. You'd only wanted to do something nice for him, something epic like he did often.

So you'd readied the dinner by hiring a local chef and you had her cook all the comfort foods of the native land: Vegemite toasts (which you learned shouldn't be spread like peanut-butter), a mince beef and gravy pie, a sausage sizzle (or a Sanga, as Chef Beth had been graciously explaining everything, is barbequed beef sausage wrapped in bread and sauce), there are the hamburgers and the classic fish and chips, and something called the fairy bread that is served during birthday parties. You also went to the local bakery, while Beth put on the finishing touches, to buy finger buns, vanilla slices, and lamingtons - all Aussie desserts.

You were starving, just listening to the menu. The lovely Beth had helped you carry the food to the back garden in an out-of-commission maze, the route to which was out of sight of all the bedroom windows of the rooms where the Leaders were sleeping.

'You know the way back out right?' she asked, her Aussie accent pleasant to your English ears. 'Because this is creepy.'

You laughed softly. 'Your life's safe in my hands, Ms Olivier.'

She helped you bring everything out by midnight. By the time you brought her out of the maze one last time, Dean was approaching you.

'Hey,' he said. 'Found this in my pocket,' he said, holding the chit you'd slid him, glancing at Beth.

'Yes,' you giggled. 'Thought it'd be romantic.'

Dean's lips twitched with a smile, but he glanced at Beth again.

'You're secret's safe with me,' Beth said. 'Signed a non-disclosure and everything.'

You shrugged. 'Thought I owed you one,' you told him. 'We didn't need to do the Convention. You hate crowds. But you did it anyway. For me. The least I can do is spring for dinner, with the help of Ms Beth Olivier here.'

'If I may add,' Beth chimed in. 'You were splendid today. Had the crowds in stitches.'

Dean was bashful, scratching his neck shyly.

'Well,' you said, a tad awkward now. 'I promised Beth we'd pay her in exchange for a hearty meal, but she said she'd take a picture with us instead.' You glanced at Dean, a little worried: 'I hope that's okay?'

Dean smiled genuinely. 'Ms Olivier helped us steal a quiet moment and a dinner—we'd be happy to take a picture with you, Beth.'

She chuckled excitedly, leading you both to a well-lit spot and striking a few poses with you two.

'Thank you,' she laughed. 'I've never taken pictures with live soulmates.'

The halting, awkward laughs that spluttered from you two were so not dignified, along with the words that tumbled over one another.

'We're not—'

'—Soulmates,' Dean completed. 'Not even my girlfriend.'

'We can't be. It's, like, impossible.'

'Oo-kay,' she smiled weakly. 'My bad, total foot in the mouth moment,' she smacked her lips. '. . . You guys just have this incredible chemistry. And since you're dating, I thought—'

'I just can't be his soulmate,' you forcefully said. 'Okay?'

'Yeah,' Dean's grin was strained. 'She can't handle me,' he nudged you playfully.

'I—will be leaving now,' she threw a thumb over her shoulder. 'Have a nice evening?'

'We will.'

Then she firmly shook your hands, thanked you both for your Leaderships and went towards the garage where you had a cab waiting for her.

You guided Dean on the well-worn path of the maze.

'A labyrinth is an interesting choice . . . for a date,' Dean said, arm crossed with yours, his heart pattering nervously.

'Wait, we aren't labelling this, are we?' The note of panic in your voice disheartened him.

'I guess not.'

'I mean, I'm still against marriage, you know?' you said.

'What, you'll never change your mind?' Dean tried jokingly. 'I mean, to be honest, you freaked a little too much about the soulmate thing.'

'Can we not talk about that?' you said sharply. 'Let's just focus on the nice food and nicer company, yes?'

'Yeah.' But his mind was in a well of disappointment now. 

You led the conversation back to Europe and told him about your phone conversation with Sebastain and Baz, updating him on everything you two were missing. You managed to distract him a little with some well-placed jokes, and then you told him about the Percy Jackson series that you'd been reading in your spare time and how you were scouring other Universes' journals for fun alternate versions of your lives.

Dean especially enjoyed the food—your history lesson on the said foods might've been grating, but he thinks it all stemmed from his earlier grievance.

You noticed it slowly, when you ran out of things to share and Dean wouldn't pitch in. You got to observing him, but he was unreadable.

On the walk back, you hesitantly broached the subject. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah. Fine,' he said.

'How was your day?' you tried another angle.

'Not the worst.'

'But the dinner cheered you up, right?' you asked, eager for his approval.

He sighed your name. 'I'm tired, all right? Dinner was good, but I just don't want to talk about it.'

Your mood soured as well, and you went quiet the rest of the way as Dean escorted you to your room. It was dead silent in the house, and everyone must've conked out from the exhausting day. He opened your door for you, you turned for the usual good night kiss he would sweep you in but he just nodded and muttered a lame good night.

'All right, that's enough,' you whispered, pulling him by the wrist into your room. 'Are you mad at me about the soulmate thing?' you demanded as soon as the door was shut.

'Oh, so you can read a room,' he said dryly.

You crossed your arms as your lips tugged downwards. 'What's on your mind? Spill.'

Dean sighed. 'We don't have to talk about this, okay? You're off the hook, we said we wouldn't label it.'

'Yet it bothers you.'

'That doesn't matter,' he insisted.

'It matters to me,' you argued.

'Why?' 

'Because you're . . . different,' you said. 'You . . . I don't like your mood.'

'Do you know how many times I've handled your mood swings?' Dean threw back. 'I have one, and suddenly, you can't handle it.'

'That's not what I said,' your frown deepened with the sting.

He set his jaw, trying not to utter anything he'd regret in the morning. 'I'll be fine by the morning,' he said in a measured tone. 'You don't have to worry about it. I can handle myself.'

He stepped towards the door, and you blocked him. He shot you a warning look.

'You can't leave until you tell me what's wrong. And we fix it,' you stood your ground.

'You can't fix it,' he said. 'These are my emotions, you can't just magically fix them.'

'We can fix the problem,' you countered. 'Clearly, the soulmate thing is eating up at you. So let's talk about it.'

Dean stared at you defiantly.

'I'll go first,' you said. 'I'm not blind. I know that all the other Leaders have soulmates. It's a rare phenomenon - some believe it's from the prophecy. But I can't be your soulmate because I'm a Temp.'

Dean nodded slowly, 'No offense, darling - you've never sounded stupider.'

'Hey!' Plenty of offense taken. 'Just because our views don't match, doesn't make me stupid.'

He could think of numerous other situations where you'd been stupid, like when you supported your parents. Prickles of anger twinged his chest, and he couldn't understand why he was even talking to you. You were impossible to deal with, and such a fucking brat!

You don't mean that, a voice cautioned him. You're just angry. And when he was angry, he was mean. If you'd only let him through, he could be calm about all of this in the fucking morning . . .

'Dean,' you broke his reverie. 'Please just talk to me.'

'If you know what's good for you,' he said, 'you will step aside.'

'Or what?' your voice dropped to a deadly octave. 'Don't threaten me.' It seemed that your fuse had short-circuited as well. 'I don't believe in soulmates, Dean,' you said. 'Sue me for that!'

Alarm bells tolled in his head. He tried to step past you, but you literally levelled with the door to stop him.

Her funeral.

'You are the most exhausting person I know,' Dean scoffed, 'Did you know that? Did you know that I have to clear my head every morning just so I can deal with whatever bullshit you bring to the table that day?'

You swallowed, but you shook your head. 'You're lying. I can tell you're lying. You're just mad at me.'

'Or I'm telling you the truth and you're just too damn obnoxious to see it!' he snapped. 'I mean, how would you even know I'm lying or not? You're not my damn soulmate, are you? You're just a fucking Temp off the street. You will be gone by what? The end of the year?'

This time, you blinked back your tears. The sight suffocated Dean, but he was too far gone.

'You know what? Maybe I should go where I'm actually needed,' he suddenly said. 'I don't know why I bothered investing so much time in you, you're clearly a lost cause with broken intentions! Spending time with you has been a waste of my energy, hasn't it? Because this clearly isn't going anywhere!'

'Fine.' You stepped aside, finally. 'Be somewhere else then, if that's what you want.'

Dean hesitated, but he could sense more hurtful words off the top of his heart, so he stormed out.

And he wondered the entire night if he'd left you crying. In the morning, he woke up without a wink of sleep, his pounding headache a manifestation of his guilt.

He'd realised one thing about you - you didn't know how to fucking argue. What happened last night shouldn't have been so one-sided, and still, you let him go with his heart intact. He hated himself for it.

'You good, Dean?' Joanna asked him in the morning, as he poured himself a third cup of coffee.

'Yep,' he said, boiling his tastebuds with caffeine; his tongue should suffer for how he wielded it on you last night.

'You look like crap, dude,' Charlie informed him kindly.

'Thanks.'

They tried to pry him open, but in the end, they recognised his mood - it had been the same for five years. They'd actually been astonished that Dean had been happy at all, for the first two days of this Meet; it made sense to them that he would revert to his broody self soon enough.

Everyone eventually left him alone in the corner of the room. And he was the same depressed persona he had been - no one could peg the difference except Sam, and surprisingly, Seth.

'How's Y/N?' Sam asked, interrupting Dean's staring session where his eyes followed you around the room like they were leashed to you.

If you'd been affected last night, you sure as hell weren't letting it affect your work this morning.

Reluctantly, he looked up at his brother.

His mood dimmed further when he noticed how oily Sam's skin looked, his hair lacked their usual shiny gloss, and his face was sallow. He had two glasses in his hand.

Dean returned Sam with a framed answer: 'Great. Fun to work with.'

You two have been in Australia for three days now. The first day was the actual Meet and then some team-building hunts in Oceania (a bunch of islands off the coast of Australia). Then, Jack had made the After-Meet Party, a Leadership Convention, so you and Dean had done panels together for thousands of people for six hours, followed by photo-ops and signings. To deny the chemistry that has been live-streamed is dumb, so you both played it off as being best friends. (Even though you did try to play off the whole Convention as acting—still calling him "Mr Winchester" this morning; you made him want to strip himself off his last fucking name.) Today is the third and last day, where the Leaders have a common breakfast before departure. 

Sam nodded, unconvinced by Dean's answer, taking a seat next to his brother. Dean accepted his glass.

'Seems too serious to me,' Sam commented. 'About work. And overkill, if I'm honest,' he said. 'Shrill. Kinda like her mother.'

Dean bristled at that. 'She's nothing like her mother,' he snapped, a thin film of anger overtook him, and he shot Sam a careful look. 'Don't ever compare her to that woman - Y/N's compassionate and selfless. She's . . . great.'

She isn't a screw-up like me. Yeah, at least you didn't unload on unsuspecting individuals when you were hurt. It wasn't your fault he wanted something long-term, and you didn't. You'd both decided going in that this was a no-strings-attached deal; he got attached, he got comfortable, he got hurt.

'Really?' Sam said, pretending doubt.

'Believe me,' Dean insisted. 'She's like a walking, yapping knowledge bank. And she is so fucking badass—saved my life a buncha times.'

'She seems so annoying, though,' Sam said.

'She's not,' he snapped again. 'She has her moments, all right? But she makes it better. She's . . . awesome. Anyone would be lucky to have her in their corner.'

Fuck, was he missing you right now?

He was regretting the fight last night, and he was really regretting what he did this morning . . .

'Right. Otherwise, you wouldn't be dating her.'

'Exactly.'

Wait. What?

Dean's gaze was ripped away from your direction, eyes widening. Sammy knew him too well sometimes. Dean was sitting with his brother on one end of the decent hall, dazzled to match the enthusiastic After-Meet Parties - so no one else heard, he hoped.

'How'd you know?' Dean hissed to his brother.

Both were nursing a strong dose of one of the most expensive whiskeys on the planet. It wasn't Sam's usual choice, but the little brother had been swayed to the benefits of alcohol, namely, temporary memory loss.

'You're happy,' Sam shrugged, sipping from his glass.

'Well, that explains everything,' the older man sassed.

'Well, you were. So, I have to assume that you're both in a fight?'

'None of your business.'

Sam raised his hands placatingly. 'Just trying to take an interest in my brother's life.'

Dean pursed his lips. This was not his day.

'Why are you trying and failing to hide it anyway?' Sam quirked a brow, the ghost of his old "little shit" smile gracing him.

'Because this isn't going anywhere,' Dean sighed. '. . . We haven't even been on a date yet, and it's been months,' Dean found himself sharing. 'After last night, she might just be done with me.'

Sam zipped his lips, following Dean's gaze to where you were laughing about something with B/F. He couldn't tell if you were faking it or not, while Dean could see the weariness in your eyes, clear as the flaming sun - it made him feel all the more horrible.

'I think you should ask her out,' Sam said after a beat.

Dean laid a critical eye on his brother, a seriousness engulfing him. 'You don't have to—With everything that's been going on, asking her out is the last thing on my mind, okay?'

It wasn't the last thing. Yet, ever since he'd seen his brother, he'd been torn. And you'd made, at least this decision, very simple for Dean, if not painful.

Sam scrutinized his brother. 'I know that look. It's your "I'm about to say something stupid look".'

Dean let the jab slide. 'I talked to Bobby this morning. I would be allowed to transfer to Asia.'

Sam frowned. 'I don't want to step down.'

Dean made a face of confusion. 'No, we would be the Leaders.'

'And Y/N's okay with stepping down?'

'She's not moving, Sammy,' Dean clarified. 

'You want to do long-distance?' Sam leaned forward, contemplative. 'It works for Jody and Bobby, but aren't you like a touch-fiend?'

'Sam, you're not listening,' Dean said. 'Y/N doesn't want me.'

You made it clear that it wasn't going anywhere. After what he said, you'd break up whatever this was between you two, and he wouldn't feel conflicted about wanting to take care of his baby brother in his original Continent.

Yep, Dean's chest wasn't splintering at those thoughts . . .

Sam couldn't keep a straight face at that; his laugh was rough on his throat as if he'd almost forgotten how to laugh at all. The crinkles at the edges of his eyes were strained from being under-used. It made a wave of unease sweep in Dean.

'What?'

'Stupid,' Sam claimed. 'I was right.'

'Bitch.'

'Jerk,' Sam grinned reflexively. 'You think you can leave her,' Sam shook his head, chuckling about it.

'I can leave a girl,' Dean affirmed. His eyes darted to you; he didn't know they were tinged with fear. 'I was fine when Lisa left,' he didn't know if he was convincing himself or Sam.

He imagined setting off in another ship with Sam, and he imagined seeing you once every six months on occassions like this . . . Unless you stepped down, in which case he would never see you again.

Were his organs being pulled into a fucking vaccum?

Sam gave him a superior look, as if he knew something Dean didn't. It was that smartass look that Sam had carried all his life.

'Don't you see it?' Sam proded.

'See what?'

'She is to you what Jess is to me,' Sam said. It was all plain and clear to the hazel-eyed man: 'She's your soulmate, Dean,' Sam said gently.

Dean would like to think he handled that news like a pro. 'That's not—no, she's not!' he spluttered. 'She doesn't believe in that thing for herself!'

He made a very conscious and mighty effort to not look at you. Impossible, right?

If you were his soulmate, he wouldn't be sitting here, pouting his damn face off in the first fucking place.

Sam gave him a knowing look, sighing as he fished out two identical gold rings, topped with gold hearts. He handed them to his brother who looked like the rings were about to turn him into dust.

'Soulmate rings,' Sam said. They'd been of John and Mary's.

There were only seven pairs of jewellery to exist for soulmates. Sam and Jessica had matching bracelets like that; the rings were the only soulmate jewellery left that a couple wasn't using - it was Dean's now.

'Why are you giving these to me?'

'We have a feeling you'll need it to propose my sister some day,' Seth said, patting Dean's shoulder as he sat next to him. The gold soulmate chain dangling from his neck.

'You figured it out too,' Sam said in bemusement.

'My sister hugged me of her own free will and told me she missed me.' Seth seemed impressed. 'How could I not?'

Your respective brothers raised their glasses to cheers while Dean sat in the middle, utterly dumbfounded.

'You . . . Did you talk to her?' Dean wondered.

'About the soulmate thing?' Seth asked, answering himself, 'No, thank you. I like my neck on my shoulders.'

'So, you know,' Dean confirmed. 'You . . . Do you think she's my—?' He couldn't fathom. 'So, I wasn't overreacting? Y/N was. I mean, I was a dick, but I was right!'

'Now, see, your question implies I know what happened,' Seth said.

Sam chuckled. 'You know what? While you two bond, I should catch up with my sister-in-soul while I still have the time.'

'Good idea,' Seth said.

'Wait, but—'

'It's alright, Dean,' Sam said. 'We'll talk later.' Then, Sam added when he saw Dean about to protest, 'Don't worry about Asia. I have Donna, okay? I'll be fine, I promise.' He patted Dean's shoulder before leaving Dean with your brother.

Dean's gut churned and his throat tightened as he turned to Seth who had a sympathetic understanding, along with the same analytical look you got when you were trying to choose your words carefully. Dean was expecting something formal, perhaps, a warning, the "if you hurt my sister" bit.

But Seth surprised Dean entirely.

'I feel sorry for you,' Seth said.

Dean's brows pinched. 'You do?'

'That's not entirely true,' Seth held up a finger. 'You may as well be the luckiest man alive. I haven't decided.'

'You sister speaks in riddles too,' Dean said. 'I'm not a fan.'

'Fair enough.'

Seth flagged the waiter down and got two mugs of coffee from him, placing one in front of Dean (it was decaf).

'I need your attention, Dean,' he said. 'For what I'm about to say, chances are, Y/N might not in years.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Our family history,' Seth tempted.

Dean's widened eyes darted in your direction, still on the other side of the room.

'She won't be happy about that,' Dean considered. 'It's her secret.'

'No, friend, it's our secret. Hers and mine,' Seth said. 'She's not the only one with the family trauma, you know?'

Dean bit his lip, imagining the repercussions, but his avoidance wasn't big enough to curb his curiosity. Eventually, he nodded.

'Great,' Seth said. He took a deep breath and in his best Joey voice: 'Dean Winchester, you have been bamboozled.'

'Is that a—?'

'Friends reference?' he finished. 'Why, yes, it is. I like good shows. It is also to remind you that you've shown my sister that show. A show that I have been trying to get her to watch for fifteen years—a show that you managed to make her see in, what? Six months?'

'What does that have to do with anything?'

'I overheard you talking to Sam,' he said. 'Well, I overheard because I was trying to eavesdrop.'

Dean's brows slanted with mistrust, but Seth waived it.

'You would've done the same thing if someone was talking about Sam.'

Points for being the big brother.

'What I'm trying to say is,' Seth circled back, 'that you don't realise just how much control you have over her.'

'That's not true,' Dean said. 'I'm not trying to control her.'

'You're not,' he agreed. 'Yet you can't deny you both have this undeniable pull that'd make you both do just about anything for each other.'

No matter how much Dean concentrated, he couldn't debate Seth's claim. 

'I have a soulmate,' Seth pointed out. 'I know I'm right.'

'You're just as annoying as Y/N, you know that?'

'All part of the L/N charm, I'm sure,' Seth laughed. 'But here's why she's the more annoying sibling: she doesn't fucking give up. She has . . . non-commitment-phobia, if you will.'

Dean's hand drew closer to his torso and his fingers clenched around his mug. 'She doesn't want to settle down, Seth. That's commitment-phobic 101.'

'Do you know Grandma Via?' he changed the subject, much like you would when you wanted to try another tactic. 

Dean played along. 'Nice old lady. Passed away when Y/N was five. Spun fairy tales and bedtime stories.'

'Exactly, passed away twenty-one years ago,' Seth said. 'To this day, Y/N is adhering to a promise she made twenty-fucking-one years ago.'

'I don't understand.'

'Y/N didn't tell you the best part about Via, Dean,' Seth explained. 'She was a toxic fucking traditionalist. I hate her as much as I loved her.'

Dean blinked in surprise. 'What did she do?'

'When my mom was a child, she was kidnapped by traffickers.'

Dean's lips parted in shock, reacting to the hardened dismay in Seth's eyes by straightening his back. 

'I didn't . . . I didn't know.'

'Grandma Via and Grandpa Jace - both absolute pieces of shit, soulmates in their own merrily misguided ways,' he said. 'When Mom went missing, they didn't bother to find her. Said it was part and parcel of being Leaders. They had every possible amenity in the world, and they didn't bother to find their own daughter.'

Seth didn't seem as rattled by it as Dean was. He never imagined that something as horrible could happen to a woman he loathed so much - it was disturbing in more than one way because he was actually feeling pity now. Seth calmly sipped on his coffee and went on. 

'She was found by Aurora Stun, years later. The famous Governor who took down one of the largest monster rings that trafficked humans.'

'Layla Stun's wife,' Dean recalled you telling him.

'Yep,' Seth said. 'As compensation after returning to the human faction, mom was made the European Leader, along with—'

'My mom,' Dean nodded. 'I remember. But mom didn't know or say anything about what happened to your mother.'

'That's because she wasn't the neglected girl who simply wanted the attention of her parents anymore,' he said. 'She was now a traumatised woman who'd learned that her body would get her anything she set her mind to - and she'd set her mind on money. She wanted enough that she wouldn't be abandoned ever again.'

'That's horrible—what happened to her,' Dean said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. 

Seth sighed. 'I suppose. She also makes up for it by being horrible to everyone in her life. She married my gambling father to whom money was most important; he would only cook for us affectionately when he saw Y/N and I conducting acts that would earn him more money in the future.'

'Like successful hunts,' he pieced together. 'Or being famous so you'd have more sponsers.'

'Yeah,' Seth said. 'Mother encouraged it. In fact, she took it one step further—I mean, how many times has my mother . . . offered Y/N to you yet?'

Dean's head jerked up in surprise and shame. 'You know about all that?'

His jaw worked, a glaze overtook his eyes - the same haunted look that resembled death; the one that Dean used to see in your face in the beginning.

'One of the reasons Y/N doesn't want to get married is because she doesn't want to bring anyone in her life - you know, as a son-in-law to our dear mother.'

'Why doesn't she just give up on her?' Dean had to ask. He knew the answer - family; he still had to ask. 

'Brings me back to Grandma Via,' Seth said. 'She couldn't bear to see the lack of love betwixt my mother and father—wasn't how a couple should behave, she used to say. After Grandpa passed away, she went a bit . . . crazier, I guess. In her last year, all she did was take promises from Y/N and I that we wouldn't stop until we united our parents and healed them or some crap.'

'That's a lot to put on children,' Dean frowned, feeling the weight of those words as if he'd been there with you, years ago, making promises that's too much to keep for any human, let alone a child.

'She hasn't given up, Dean,' Seth said, swallowing the painful lump in his throat. 'She thinks that if she earns their respect and achieves the impossible, they would listen to her.'

'They won't.'

'I know that!' his voice raised an octave in exasperation. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before settling onto his last point. 'She hasn't changed in years - not until she came to Europe, not until she met you,' his desperation was dripping from his words. 

Dean's orbs held utter disbelief for his fellow soldier. 'What can I do?'

'Show her true love,' Seth said as if it were the simplest solution. 'She's been loyal to the idea of familial love for two and a half fucking decades. Show her what family truly means.'

'Why would she listen to me?' Dean huffed, verging on a humourless bark of a laugh. 

'You're her soulmate—'

'Yeah. Rejectable soulmate.'

'You're not listening,' Seth insisted. 'She doesn't leave. She cheated you into believing that she won't commit to you when she already has! And once she commits, she's not known to ever leave, Dean! She's fooled you and everyone in her life into leaving her so she doesn't have to. So she can keep defending people who don't deserve it.'

Dean's heart honestly broke, a chill zipped down his spine.

'I realise that you also have a right to reject her,' Seth said, searching Dean's pleadingly. 'And I won't ask you to attend to her when you have your own family, who actually loves you, to take care of. But I will have you know that I've done everything in my power to protect her from my family - she will never be as safe, however, as when she's with you. If you're willing, please, take her away from this life.'

A spoon clinked delicately on a champagne glass; it was Jody, calling for a toast. And neither older brother had time to end that conversation.

That night, on the homebound ship, Dean would be profusely apologetic, and you'd forgive him with a hug. In his mind, Dean would promise to protect you till the day he died. 

1.5 months later . . . 

Those three days was what Dean was thinking about when he stole a glance at you, nervous beyond belief. The entire ship home, Dean had contemplated ways to ask you out, now that nothing truly stopped him.

Except when he imagined you saying "no".

You wouldn't, he knew that now. Seth's words from all those weeks ago, had strummed his confidence to it's highest possiblities. A date was the perfect loophole - it wasn't a marriage and it wasn't a soulmate thing. He realised now that you hadn't rejected calling that night a date that day, you's panicked because you thought he'd label it . . . He won't be making that mistake again.

But he was still nervous. This would be his official date with his soulmate.

Softly, in the background, played Dean's rock music. Your head rested against the cool glass window of the passenger side door. You looked so exhausted; your eyelids shuttered down, but he knew you were awake because your eyes were moving beneath. You both had stepped off the ship and had been flagged into a case in the nearby city where your team had been wrangling with Ferals, a few dozen Ferals. You both were too high on adrenaline to actually sleep soon.

The fast passing moonlight illuminated your face now and again, the moon cutting through the trees to set your features aglow. Dean's gaze would stray over to you, no matter how much he tried to temper his fucking heart eyes. The lull of the Impala's engine, purring and revving, was a small cure for his anxiety.

Earlier, upon seeing Dean's car that Sebastian had been safekeeping, you had patted Baby's hood and greeted her with: "Good to see you, Baby", then you'd shot Dean a smile, slipping into the shotgun. Where she belongs.

You were curled up in your place, your knees drawn to your chest and your arms holding your legs against you, carefully relaxed, wearing white short shorts, a sky blue tank top, a black denim jacket and Dean's leather jacket that he had placed around you when he thought you were cold. Seeing you drowning in his large garment did things for him. The only thing that could trump it was if you were snuggled into him instead.

His eyes strayed to the road again, and in the side-view mirror, he noticed the cars tailing the Impala drifting apart and away. The first phase of his plan.

All this while, he was softly humming to his music, his head bobbing up and down, fingers tapping lightly against the wheel - all in effort to curb his nerves.

His dirty blond hair were tussled from his fingers running through them. The sleeves of his red flannel were rolled up to his elbows and his near stiff hands were fixed at ten and five of the wheel, his black t-shirt beneath rippling against him as he shimmied a little to Black Sabbath. All paired with freshly washed jeans.

A smirk curled up on Dean's lips when he felt the prick of being watched. He felt your eyes take him in with an unobjecting stare.

That went on for a while: silence, you dozing on and off and waking up back again to gaze at him which was the only time Dean wasn't observing you. And it might have gone on forever had Dean not steered the car to an unmarked road, off the trails that lead you both to Moldova.

'Wrong turn, Mr. Winchester,' your voice chimed in, all polite.

Color him irked.

'How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me by my name, darlin'?'

You smiled apologetically, 'Force of habit. It feels like I'm not used to taking your name anymore.' Except that one day of Convention in Australia, you'd been calling Dean as "Mr Winchester" for almost three months now. It was what was required to maintain your secret.

'Well, if that's the case, then I took the right turn,' Dean said, hoping you wouldn't kick his ass.

'How so?'

'I kidnapped you and now we are going on a date,' he said, with mustered confidence. 'Non-labelled but sure-to-be outstanding,' he added in a hurry.

You opened and closed your mouth, taking a few moments to process it; Dean's heartbeat peaked. He noticed you glance in the mirrors of the car to realise that your securities had left you both.

'What did you—?'

'I told everyone it's for a case,' he read your mind.

You smiled softly. 'Right. Hmm. Still unbelievable about Selina and Sebastian, eh?'

They have decided to get married in a few months' time. Selina was ecstatic when she conveyed you the news, and astonishingly asked you to be the Maid Of Honour. As a Leader, you'd been asked as a Bridesmaid before, you'd been asked to Officiate and all that, mostly because to have celebrities like you and Dean could be considered as one of the highlights. You and Dean would mostly decline because of your busy schedules unless they were Governors or highly decorated civilians.

But this was different, Selina and Sebastian asked you and Dean as friends, as close loved ones to be the Maid Of Honour and Best Man respectively. It was impossible you and Dean wouldn't do it for them.

'Y/N?' Dean broke you out of your train of thought. You'd lost yourself in your mind like you did sometimes. 'What do you think?'

Oh, right. He's kidnapping me.

You finally spoke, 'A date?'

'Yep,' he popped his "p", a mischievous look taking over his face and a carefree smirk covering for his anxious ass. He had to bite his lower lip under his pearly whites so his smile didn't turn upside down.

'About time,' you said, a smile threatening to break free from you mask of annoyance.

He didn't even know how to react to this; somehow this wasn't a situation he prepared for.

'You . . . won't protest?'

'I get what I want, Mr. Winchester,' you teased to make it sound like this were a business deal. 'Some things I get fast, like the monsters I'm hunting. And some things I have to wait for, like the only guy I ever liked,' your expression softened and the heat of your gaze stopped his heart for a moment, 'you.'

He chuckled brethlessly, blushing for once instead. 'You're awesome,' left him thoughtlessly. Then, reluctantly, 'You don't feel pressured, right?'

Your smile faded as deeper, fearsome thoughts tried to reason with you. You pulled your legs closer to your body. All you knew is that despite being angry, Dean stayed, he apologised and he made up for it in more than one way.

You knew that you weren't an ideal person - one day, he would tire of you and leave. But by not making it official, you'd been protecting your heart . . . you didn't see a point of it when you were hurting him in the process.

You wouldn't make the same mistake you did all those months ago. If it's a date he wants, you're going to date his ass off . . . in a non-creepy way, you thought.

'No, Dean, I don't,' you said.

It wasn't a lie - this was your choice, even if you were bracing for heartbreak in the future.

And under your smug, I'm-too-strong-to-have-give-a-fuck attitudes, you both were relieved - thinking the other person was happy.

'So, where are we headed?' you raised a brow, your tiredness waning in the wake of his announcement.

'Oh, it'll be while,' he relayed. 'I know you miss land dwellings sometimes, so I booked us a lodge - a place called The Druidian Housing.'

You recalled it as a series of magical lodges; one of the most famous spots for vacationing.

'Oh, that's wonderful,' you crooned.

'Wonderful's my brand,' he grinned, feeling excitement return to him full-force.

'We're going just for one night?' you asked curiously.

'A week,' he said. 'Thought we'd take our vacation days in one-go.'

You don't remember the last time you'd taken an "off". Even dinners with your family had felt mostly like work. You never took time for your own holidays.

As you melted into the seat, inspite of knowing better, you felt tender excitement bubbling in your gut—it was silly, but you wondered if Dean would allow you to sleep in, and if you'd get to avoid talking about work altogether, or if you both could eat dinner without keeping an eye on your watches . . . You wondered if you would forget time itself in Dean's arms.

You glanced at him once more, fondly, drowsily, because the promise of a bed was too special . . . And you wondered how this ordinary human could be magical enough to allow you to relax.

Could you be any more grateful?

You slept through rest of the car-ride. Dean had slept earlier that night while you'd been on a shift, so he decided some sleep would help you experience the full impact of the Dean Winchester effect (as media called it).

Dean gently took you in his arms, in a craddle-carry, after he handed his car over to the vallet. The Druid appreared as a short pleasant man, and he was extra friendly to Dean because he'd been the one to grant the Druids permission to start their Lodge business that would help them maintain and curate their magical portion of the forest.

In a few steps, he was ducking past the hanging creeper plants and entering a secluded spot where a breathtaking house stood. He was too excited to not share it with you.

'Rise and shine, darlin',' his deep baritone rumbled you out of deep sleep.

He half-wondered if you would punch him; he wasn't in a position to defend; but you were ushered into wakefulness with a calm breath.

'Whoa,' you yawned slowly, noticing the starry sky first and foremost. It looked like little diamonds studded into the black cloth of night.

Dean's lip twitched. 'Indeed,' he was looking at you.

Your e/cs drew down to his greens and the literal magic of the place undid your defenses. You both were awed by one another as if when your eyes had slotted against each other, you both had simultaneously struck jackpot.

'I think I can walk,' you suddenly whispered, afraid to shatter the beauty.

'I know.'

Yet he carried you up the stairs of lodge assigned to you. He only deposited you near the railing so you could stand on the porch and take everything in.

There was a seemingly endless straight line of lodges, left and right of yours, after entering through the leafy door.

'I can't see another soul here ,' you noticed even though you couldn't see the end of this hotel.

'The Leaf Door only opens to your lodge, and no one else's, if you wear this,' he showed you the string with a small dried leave with the number "205" etched on it. He gestured to you, and you realised that you were wearing one too.

'Huh.'

'Yeah. And there are people everywhere. We can't see them because they're magically hidden from us,' Dean smiled.

'So no one will know we're here,' you said, beaming at the man. 'You're very clever.'

'I try,' he grinned. 'Do you want to praise me more when you see the inside of the place?'

You giggled in that cute way you had, taking his hand in yours and passing through the lockless door. A single romantically dim light enlightened the whole cottage-esque room. You gaped at the woodsy and homey decor of the quiant place.

'The room makes itself a reflection of people living in it,' Dean told you, his palm perching on the small of your back.

Your eyes zeroed in on the bookshelf lining an entire wall, only cut in the exact centre, in the shape of a rectangle to fit a large television and it's speakers. The queen-sized bed faced that wall, in all its fluffy glory with a multitude of pillows on one side and a single lone pillow on what you assumed was Dean's side; the place even got your preferred sides right!

While the side of the bed didn't have anything above it but the ceiling, the bookshelf had a little extended roof and a ladder on the right side of the room. Dean reached for that area, and climbed the ladder first, whistling as the upper room came into his view.

'What is it?' you asked, too impatient to see it yourself.

'It's an open bathroom,' Dean laughed under his breath.

'No way!' you exclaimed, reaching his side.

And sure enough, the whole upper level was a freakin' bathroom. An open closet to one side, a Jacuzzi to another. At least the toilet had a door. There were candles everywhere. And through the batroom window, you could see a majestic lake.

'It's an illusion, through the window,' Dean replied to your unasked question.

You moved onto another. 'Is this open bathroom your idea?'

'It's every guy's idea,' he deflected, going red in the cheeks. 'We can have it changed if you want.'

You considered his offer, feeling your cheeks heat up, but you shook your head. 'It's fine. We don't have to be . . . naked or anything. Right?'

'R-Right,' he nodded vigorously. 'You're safe. Scout's honour.'

'Good. Is there a balcony here?'

You didn't wait for him to speak as you rushed back downstairs where you'd seen the ceiling to floor windows, mostly shrouded behind the classy royal blue curtains. They parted when you neared them.

'Motion sensors?'

'No, magic. The room can read us,' Dean said.

'Fascinating.'

The clean glass doors also divided automatically in the centre and the outside world was a luxurious cove. It must have been an illusion again, but the balcony had a deck. The deck was a platform that ended with a circle, the rest of the area was filled with water in which the petals fell. The petals were an autumn blossom, continuously falling from the imaginary trees above, they didn't fall on the circular part of the deck though - where the table was. A long wax wick sticking out the centre and blazing with unending fire. Two loveseats adjacent to one another and two empty golden plates and goblets.

'Candlelight dinner,' you smiled. 'This is amazing,' you said, feeling an overwhelming swell of emotion in your chest for Dean.

He slinked his arms around your waist and placed his chin on your shoulder.

'I did good, didn't I?' Hints of his pride bled through his words.

Instead of ribbing him as was usual, you turned in his arms, clasping at his nape, and rising on your toes to hug him tightly. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and closed your eyes to hold him for a long few minutes. Dean reflexively held you back, his cheek resting on your head. He let you stay in his embrace for as long as you wanted.

'I don't even know what to say,' you spoke after a good three minutes. 'This is . . . the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me,' your voice quiets at the end, melancholic and pensive, 'I wouldn't even know how to thank you.'

'I'll be happy if you are,' he uttered, feeling mushy in your arms. Hell, he'd take this hug every day, without moving for minutes.

You rolled your eyes. 'You don't have to say stuff you don't mean.'

'But I mean it,' he persisted, tugging you closer as if there was space in between.

Your hands slid down his chest and he thought you were pulling away; instead, you slinked your arms around his waist, fitting perfectly against him. Your ear pressed against his chest, and he prayed you wouldn't judge him for his galloping heartbeat.

'I'm happy,' you mumbled. 'I'm very happy.'

You both tried the hot tub first, donning the swimwear from the closet that somehow fit you both just right.

You tried to look away from Dean's physique but you'd be lying if you didn't say that his shirtless figure didn't make you want to sidle up next to him and snuggle . . . and kiss his tattoos and touch every square inch of the skin available to your eyes.

He winked at you when he caught you staring and made you blush fifty shades of red. He sat on the opposite side of the hot tub to let you have some space, he was even respectful about his own ogling, i.e. he was fighting tooth and nail to keep his eyes above your shoulders.

You blew out a breath after a while, trying to relax so that the purpose of the hot tub was fulfilled.

'Is the water pressure okay?' Dean asked. Did his voice drop a notch and become more alluring somehow?

'Yeah,' you swallowed your squeak. 'This is great. We never get to pamper ourselves like this,' you said, wondering why you'd never done something like this before. You could sit in the water for ages and let it massage your muscles until you were a pile of goo.

Dean chuckled. 'We are taking an unscheduled holiday.'

That reminder made your face twist. Yeah, you could see why you wouldn't be willing to do this too often.

You sighed deeply, floating your hands on the water and watching the steam with a tad bit of longing. You almost wanted to contemplate your whole life and wonder why you couldn't just . . . be.

Later, once you both had pruned sufficiently, you both decided to change for the "official" date.

The bathroom was segmented into a his and hers sections, and both you and him picked a few items off the rack to try on.

Dean settled on a casual suit. He wore a white undershirt which showed through the open upper buttons of his black vest, and a smooth black jacket to pull the look together. He even wore dress slacks and socks and shoes, gelling his hair to style them back in gentle curves. He applied some light gloss on his lips and layer of powder on his face, trying not to overthink it. He cuffed his sleeves with the only links he found, they were shaped like the Impala.

'Dean?' your voice called right about the time that he was done.

'Yeah?' he stepped out.

'Can you help me with the strings?'

You'd choosen to go with a dress that flowed like liquid silver. It tied around your neck and a little lower on your back, otherwise sleeveless, and came down to your mid-thighs, clutching all your curves. You'd worn black knee-length heeled boots that could be laced shut at the top. Your make-up was mostly light, a little bit of everything except your shadowy eyes and deep red painted lips; your hair was let down, framing your face. Your earrings brushed your shoulder, a pair of large silver circles and a silver eagle pendant the would dip into your dress if you bend down enough.

'Is the dress too low?' you asked, panicky in the mirror while Dean stood stunned at the door of your changing room.

You hadn't noticed yet how Dean's pupils had dilated or how he'd swallowed. Oh, Universe, save me, ran through his mind. 'Nope. Perfect.'

'Really?' you tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear self-consciously.

'Mm-hmm,' he had to stop his thoughts from running rampart. This woman has me all turned about, he whined internally.

Your lips were pursed as he took the silk strings, tying them into a gentle knot that he wished he was unraveling.

N'uh-uh, he bit his lip. Think unsexy thoughts . . .

'You couldn't reach behind yourself?' he tried to tease, trying as much to avoid running his fingers up and down your accessible back, or letting them trail down to your delectable ass. He knew you were tickly, so it was a feat that he didn't have you squirming in his arms at this point.

'I don't usually wear cocktail dresses,' you said. 'I didn't know what knot would look good.'

'Why don't you wear it more often?' he asked. 'Except to save noses of men who I'd definitely beat up with you looking drop-dead gorgeous.'

Your burst of surprised laughter drove the insecurities out for a minute. He smiled with you, resting his hands on your hips—the safe zone, when he was done.

'I'm too muscly,' you finally replied.

Dean snorted.

'I'm serious,' you huffed. 'I bet your Lisa would make a prettier woman out of this dress.'

Dean rolled his eyes at the comparision. 'You do realise that she left me. Besides,' he whipped you around and then squashed you to him, making you giggle. He watched his hands caress your skin in the mirror, and felt you shivering. You tentatively glanced up and he had to tilt his head back to meet it. 'I like your muscles,' his hands came up to squeeze your biceps. 'You are like beauty with brains and brawn. I can rely on you to save me as much as I save you,' he smirked.

You sobered at that. 'Was it hard? Being in a relationship with a civilian?'

Dean tucked strands of your hair behind your ear. 'This is . . . somehow easier,' he admitted. 'You're as dangerous as me, and in as much danger as me - levels the playing field, you know? I don't worry that I'm not good enough for you.' As much, he withheld.

You cupped his cheek and he leaned into your warmth. 'You're better than me.'

'Debetable,' he chuckled in self-depreciation and kissed your palm, swallowing your protests with a kiss.

The dinner plates simply conjured food.

Dean got himself "The Winchester Special" and an American apple pie. He explained the science of his mother's love behind them. 

'Grams used to make this,' you stared down at your dish in disbelief. 'I haven't had her Spaghetti and Meatballs since I was a child. She would cook it every Friday - so we'd know the weekend is coming, even if Friday isn't a thing for hunters. She was the only sort of parental figure I saw until after her death when I met my mom.'

Dean was bittersweet to your story; he could understand why you would want to hold onto the good in your Grandma. You saw good in everyone, despite the bad . . . No wonder she got saddled with me for a soulmate.

'And what's the story behind the PB&J?' Dean asked, trying not to dwell on how many ways he could be bad for you and you would never see it.

'Oh,' you smiled, a bit embarrassed. 'It's essentially the only thing I can cook. My father cooked for me sometimes, but . . . when I was a child, and my caretaker would forget my meals now and again, so I would sneak into the Palace kitchens on the unbearable nights and make myself this.'

'That's awful.' Like a gut punch.

'No, it was delicious. You know how anything tastes heavenly when you're hungry—it was like that,' you said, thinking he was talking about the sandwich. 'I guess,' you hesitated then, 'maybe it is a bit plain. You're a master chef and a foodie, must be silly for you.' You chuckled, looking a bit mortified, your hand retreating from his. 'You've been feeding me for a while, and I wanted to return the favour with my signature dish. And this is all I know to cook since before I met you.' 

His heart melted a little, he exhaled from his nose. 'Of course I want to eat that—I meant, the caretaker thing. Why aren't you angry?'

You blinked at the unexpectedness.

'It made me strong, didn't it?' you said. 'I'm a Leader because of it.'

'There are better ways to raise a child,' he persisted. 'No one should have to go hungry!'

Your lips set in a defensive line. 'But now I can empathise with other people. I can fully understand their pain.'

'And yet no one can understand you,' he said. 'Did you ever think of that?'

Instead of snapping like you would have a few months ago, you reflected on his words.

'Can't you?' you finally asked, a tad timidly. 'Understand me?'

Dean's instinctive reply was to say that he would always understand you, but that would be a lie. He shook his head a little. When your face fell, he tried to salvage it.

'I don't mean I won't try,' he began. 'But if I say I understand when I haven't been through something that's even remotely the same, I would be wrong.' He paused. 'My parents doted on me. And I lost them, I don't think you'd fully understand me either.'

'If it's not about understanding, then why do people date?' you posed.

He offered you a rueful smile.

'It's about promising to support each other, even when we don't understand.' He shrugged, 'I guess.'

'That's risky,' you frowned.

'You just have to trust one another,' he advised. He felt a bit awkward doing it: after losing too many relationships, he was prone to second-guessing everything he told you.

'I don't trust humans a lot,' you mused. 'Or anyone, for that matter.' You eyed him critically then. 'Can I trust you?'

His brows furrowed. 'No one's ever asked me that before. They either trust me or they don't.'

'You didn't answer.'

'Are you serious?'

'I am,' you challenged, locking your gaze with his. 'Will you hurt me or not?'

Your e/c orbs were a curse for him. He was obliged to answer you, sans humour. His heartbeat paced up, and he was expecting you to laugh at his sincerity when he said: 'I'd die for you.'

As two people who were constantly fighting for their lives, death was usually a common gift. But it could also be meaningful if it were given up while saving another's life. It was an easy promise to make for Dean; he'd rather get a lobotomy than even imagine you dead.

Your lips curled at the edges, and you nodded. With the same energy, you said, 'Me too.'

The atmosphere did lighten soon. It turned to funnier stories, mostly Dean's, where you both laughed till the wine almost spewed out of your nostrils.

Dean took it upon himself to tick items off of your bucket lists, most of them your firsts that you'd accepted would always be part of your wishful thinking. 

'It's so unfair,' you mumbled around a spoonful of brain-freezing ice cream. 

It was a new day, and Dean was making you eat the whole tub of delicious ice cream while he plowed through one himself.

You were quite enjoying yourself, your mind alight with copious amounts of sugar and dopamine from the morning walk/climbing session Dean took you to. Later, you both had woven baskets and plucked flowers and mushrooms from the forest. Your biggest thrill, however, was when he allowed you to drive a short drive outside in his vintage Impala—he was teaching you more about cars. You had lunch after that. Then, you both baked a pie from scratch that was popped into the oven right now, waiting to be ravished, the flour from the small ingridient fight you both had was clinging in both your hairs still; the flour fight had led to a game of tag where you two had run around the lodge's garden like little children for a long time. 

Turns out you both have insane stamina. 

'You don't have any firsts,' you complained. 'I owe you so much.'

He licked his spoon clean. 'You don't have to keep tabs, Y/N.'

You petulantly swirled your spoon into the rocky road with extra brownies cut up in it. 'You've done everything,' you said. 'I must be so boring to you.'

'I'm having fun,' he disagreed. 

He hadn't felt this free in ages . . . hadn't felt like his old self for seven years now, since he'd gotten that damned Mark. He could feel his dark urges receding in your presence . . . Amara receding in your presence. Your innocence was like an eternal light that shooed the literal Darkness away. 

'There must be something you haven't done,' you scooted closer to him on the marble kitchen counter—the kitchen had appeared behind a secret doorway through the bookshelves as soon as you two decided on baking—placing your box aside to take Dean by his collar. He went with your hands, standing to his full height; he was tall enough to be a couple of inches longer even when you were sitting on a higher platform. He twined his hands around your waist so he could lean in and trace his nose against your jaw, resting his cheek against your shoulder and closing his eyes. When he talked, his lips moved against your neck.

'I miss being this mundane and uninteresting, okay?' he said. 'This is exactly what I wanted.'

'Truly?'

'Uh huh.'

You could feel the shape of his smile on your skin; it left gooseflesh.

'So there's nothing else you want to do?' you confirmed.

'I want to stay just like this.'

You grinned when he kissed the joining of your neck with your collarbone. 'That can be arranged.'

'Come on, please?' you pouted on another day.

'Would you look at the time?' he feigned horror, trying to lift from the cozy armchair, but you held him back by the wrist.

You were both slouched in the single, fluffed-up armchair where you were majorly on Dean's lap (he insisted). You had both watched the movie "Encanto" that way. Later, he'd bribed you with a book to keep you in his lap a little while longer, and he'd been listening to his music on his headphones while you two had been feeding each other the leftover pie whenever either of you reached the spoon. When the confectionery had finished, Dean had turned to you with a sleepy sigh and asked you if you were ready for bed, which was when you'd asked the unnecessary question.

'It's late, we should sleep,' he pretended to yawn.

You rolled your eyes.

'I will not freak out,' you promised. 'Just give me the number!'

He slouched back into his seat. 'I really don't want to.'

'It can't be that bad,' you said, expectantly.

'It's not fair,' he huffed stubbornly. 'You've only ever dated me.'

'Which means you know all the guys I've gone out with,' you pointed out.

He frowned at you. 'You really don't want to know.'

'But I really, really do,' you crossed your arms, waiting.

Cheeks pink, he whispered to you the number of women he's been with.

On a regular day, with regular people, his drive might've been something he'd brag about. During the date week, with you, it was plain wrong.

'Whoa,' you said in a hushed voice. 'Dude, you've gotten around. You're like a man-whore!'

His brows furrowed. 'How much sugar have you had?'

'Clearly not as much as you,' you stifled a chuckle at your own stupid joke.

Dean's lip twitched in amusement. 'You're taking this far better than I thought.' Perhaps, he'd been worried about nothing.

'Everyone has a past,' you shrugged. 'We've just got to pick the memories worth our time, eh?'

He considered you with fresh eyes. 'You're very forgiving, princess.'

'That's a new nickname,' you arched a brow.

He chuckled, flowing with the conversation. 'You're a Leader, a Royal.'

'Hey, then I'm the Queen,' you smirked.

He chuckled, 'Sure, Your Highness.'

'Blessings be with you, my—King?' you ended with an interrogation, bursting into laughter upon Dean's amused expression.

'Long as I'm your King,' he bestowed you with a wolfish grin.

'Alright, last activity of the checklist,' Dean said. It was around two in the night, nearing the end of the week. Dean had brought you to the porch and switched on the porch light.

'Okay,' you said. 'What is it?'

'Well, if you'd watch the movies I show you more closely,' he snarked, 'maybe I wouldn't have to explain every little detail.'

You smiled at him thinly.

'Anyway, first date ends when the guy drops the girl off at her house, and they kiss for the first time,' he grinned mischievously.

'Ah, so we're recreating that moment,' you chuckled. 'Alright, let's do this.'

'You do it,' he urged.

'Me?' You went to cross your arms but realised how Dean hated that defensive pose, so instead you tucked an errant strand behind your ear awkwardly. 'I don't know,' you said.

He helped you by stepping closer to you and taking you in his arms, your hands instinctively rested over his, sliding up until you were playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck. You glanced at him shyly, and he simply waited, watching you with a fond look, giving you time.

You hesitated, considering thousands of ways you could do this, and hating all of them. As if lagging, you raised yourself on your tippy-toes, and he leaned down with the same speed to help you.

Your lips met with that electrifying buzz that was always in the air when you were around him. Shocks ran up and down your body, despite having kissed him at least a thousand times before.

You made a conscious effort to move your lips and hands. He mirrored your movements and went with your lead easily; you both were moving like you were made from the same element, made for one another.

Dean's hands slid down your hips and down to your thighs, which made you tense: I'm not ready, came to your mind.

But you'd once again assumed wrong when he spoke between kisses. 'Jump up . . . so you . . . don't . . . feet don't hurt.'

You relaxed, feeling silly for judging him so quickly. You broke away from him, making a whine escape his throat: he was panting, eyes closed; he moved his lips down to your neck, unwilling to part his lips from your skin. His beard tickled you, but you breathily managed to whisper in his ear.

'Aren't I too heavy?'

He snorted, 'No.'

'I just don't want anything to dampen—'

'The only thing stopping me from kissing you is your silly chatter,' he groused.

You scoffed. To teach him a lesson, you jumped up suddenly. He nearly buckled with surprise, eyes wide, and he laughed at your revenge. Your boot-clad legs crossed around his waist, and you clung to his shoulders like a cat on the bathtub; he just barely adjusted himself so that you two didn't go toppling ass over tea kettle.

He laughed at your smug look, straightening, 'You're unbelievably infuriat—'

You smashed your lips to his, shutting him up. And his eyes widened before they fluttered shut against the sensation, his heart promising to beat out of his chest as you moved fervently against him. His hold on you tightened, slightly worried that his legs might not hold after all, his knees already shivering with the heediness of the kiss—of this demanding woman taking him for everything he is worth; and he'd gladly let you.

He knew Sam was right about you because of the feelings you gave him; no woman ever could. Never had, never will.

You were his, well and truly his. Just like he was yours.

You were submerged under your usual pile of pillows that Dean found excessive. You hadn't asked for a bedroom change, just as you hadn't asked to change the bathroom. But when Dean brought up snuggling during sleep, instead of recoiling like he'd expected, you struck a bet with him, a "compromise", you playfully said: if he could extract you from the border of pillows, at any point of the night, without waking you up, you'd throw out all of them forever.

It was absolutely ridiculous, ludicrous, atrocious, incredulous, exasperating—okay, yes! Dean had lost six times in a row. He couldn't believe that he was getting jealous of the accumulation of feathers that got to cuddle with you; he couldn't believe he'd agreed to the goddamned condition in the first place!

On the last night, he'd made sure you were lightly snoring before he began slowly hostage-taking your pillows and banishing them to the cold floor. One at a time, like the mastermind he was. He was on his sixth one, the most successful he'd been yet (and there were around ten) when he felt it.

The earthquake.

You shot up in bed, making Dean groan for more than one reason. Your hand flew to catch Dean's shoulder, your long nails dug into his skin.

'What's going on?' you questioned when the world stopped shaking after twenty seconds.

'Just an earthquake, I think,' his brows scrunched. 'A mild one. Maybe a side-effect of some Druid-magic—they do dubious spells all the time.'

'Oh, sorry!' You retrieved your hand finally. 'I didn't mean to—'

Your nail dents were already fading. 'It's okay,' he said. 'I'm fine. Except I lost,' he huffed, 'again,' he dramatically swept his arm over his eyes.

You chuckled, distracted by his antics. 'Told you to give up after the third time.'

'I don't give up,' he mocked you. 'Besides, this doesn't prove anything. I'm stealthy, and I don't need to prove it to you.'

You laughed this time. 'I never said you needed to. And, if you're gonna be this grumpy about it, maybe I'll do it next—'

The lodge rattled more vigorously than in the last earthquake.

'Whoa!' Dean said, flattening you against the mattress, securely by his side. 'Okay, it might be more than a spell.'

'Do you want to go out and check on the Druids?' you asked, reading his mind.

'Yeah, let's put something on first.'

As soon as you both stood up, another far more powerful wave rocked the lodge. You both fell to your hands and knees, onto the floor on your sides of the bed respectively.

The ladder leading upstairs broke, ruining the magic in the process. And it fell towards Dean.

You screamed his name in warning, but he'd already levelled himself against the wall, and you both watched the ladder splinter before his feet.

'I'm okay!'

But it was only starting.

The cause of all the earthquakes across the lodges became known to you as soon as a fiery red ball, like a meteor, came hurtling towards your lodge. You both saw it through the balcony windows. The side you'd been sleeping on.

'Y/N, RUN!'

Just like Dean before, you'd needed no prompting. You were already cartwheeling across the bed to reach Dean safely.

You only crossed halfway when the ball of fire slammed down into your candlelit dinner table on the balcony. The roof blew upon impact, and the walls crumbled as if made of cards. You both experienced the worst wave of the "earthquake" yet, as the ball created a crater in the ground. You were both tossed into the air like vegetables, Dean lower than you.

While Dean crashed back into the ground from where he'd been thrown, you tumbled right out of the house, through the weak wall, and disappeared into the nearby treeline. 

A/N: Shoutout to the lovely @bettystonewell , or as you know her for this chapter, Chef Beth ❤️, for all her wonderful recommendations of the Aussie comfort food - thanks, darling, really appreciate it 🫂😘. Anyway . . . as you saw, I'm all fluffed-out, so, um, yeah—* Hides until next week, she's a survivor after all *.

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@bettystonewell @jollyhunter

[cosmicarchivist692]

Radiorose Week Day 3: Rosie's Fun

[6/8]

"Rosie darling, why do you insist on having garlic bread every time we eat together?" Alastor asked as Rosie handed him a piece of garlic bread. "You don't even eat it! You just give it all to me..?"

Rosie smiled and stifled a laugh, "What? Do you not like garlic bread?"

"Well, I do, but-"

Rosie interrupted, "Exactly! So just enjoy it and move on!"

"But I don't think that I need it with every meal... especially, when said meal is waffles and eggs." Alastor continued, poking at the bread with his fork. His smile may've been stitched onto his face, but she could tell, he was not amused.

"Well then don't eat it, but I... will be right back" Rosie quickly fled the room and turned the corner, instantly breaking out into a laughing fit.

It took 5 minutes for her to calm back down, and while she was laughing she thought, "I'm glad Al's getting back to normal. He came back super distant 4 months ago and then he..."

She stopped thinking about that. She didn't want to process those memories right now. Perhaps another time.

Rosie came back to the table. Al eyed her up and down before returning to his food.

"You haven't touched your garlic bread, you really should-" Rosie started.

Alastor threw his garlic bread across the table and it hit her head with a:

Al's eyes opened wide, he did not think his aim was that good.

They both sat there, silent, for 5 seconds, looking at each other, before busting out into laughter.

"I'm so sorry! I did not think my aim was that good!" "You're the Radio Demon! When you were human you never missed your targets, why would I be any different?!" They continued laughing, barely stopping to breathe.

Eventually they stopped laughing and Al started talking about his life at the hotel. "I swear, they would be even further from 0 with their little redemption plan, if I wasn't there." Al vented.

"I work harder than a bootlegger before one of FDR's little 'fireside chats...'" Al said with an eye roll, mocking the late heaven-sent president.

Rosie sighed, Al would never catch up with the modern times, would he?

"Well what about Husker and Nifty? Don't they help?" "Well yes, but Nifty is obsessed with roaches and other assorted creatures, while Husk would rather be gambling his life away. Which he did, and he died for it. And then he did it again, and now I own his soul. One would think he would learn..."

"What cards did you beat Husker with again?" Rosie asked, a slight smirk appearing on her face.

"I had an ace of queens and an ace of spades, but I don't see why that's important." Al asked curiously as his head tilted.

Rosie responded with a smug grin, "Oh it's not. It just makes sense though." "Why?" "Seeing how it's all aces with you." Rosie said, holding in a laugh.

Alastor glared at Rosie, "There it is again! You've said something along those lines 3 times now. Why?" He said as his teeth didn't move, glowing instead as he spoke.

Rosie put a hand to her mouth and started chuckling again and didn't give Al an answer. Alastor sighed, and his smile went back to normal.

A couple weeks later Alastor came back into Cannibal Town with Charlie. Rosie made another ace joke, just different enough that it went over Al's head.

Right after Rosie finished giving relationship advice to Charlie she says, "Charlie, Alastor doesn't know it, but he's aroace."

Charlie's eyes lit up and a huge smile appeared on her face, "We should tell him that!"

"No!" "Wait, what? Why not? He should be able to understand himself more." "Just wait a little while, he still doesn't get all the jokes I make." Rosie smiles an mischievous grin. "I have fun teasing him about it when he doesn't even know. It's absolutely hilarious."

Charlie left that interaction both hopeful about the advice she was given for her relationship, and a tad confused about Rosie and Alastor's relationship.

Author's Note:

First off! I did make a bit of an assumption of when Al died. From what I searched, Al died in 1933. The fireside chats started in March that year, so I assume Al died in the later half. Maybe August, September, or October. It would be prime hunting season after all.

This is smaller because I have to do so much for some other ones that I didn't really want to overwork myself. Sorry!!! Tomorrow's is going to be amazing though! But a bit of a warning, it's a little dark and there are some trigger warnings. It's nothing too intense, but just fair warning.

@radioroseweek

[Previous] [Next] [Masterlist]

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

It's the little things (7)

Previous / Next

After nine years of knowing him, Christine Vega had about lost hope about ever learning how to not give in to John MacTavish's puppy eyes.

So when he had started whining about how long had it been since she had last cooked fried chicken (it was last month), she just... got to work. She couldn't help it.

And there she was, in the small kitchenette that Price had made install in their private common room, up to her elbows in flour and spices, coating chicken in it, then in eggs, then in panko crumbs, then dropping it in oil, checking over it with the wood tongs...

It was a tedious and messy process for just one person, but both Soap and Gaz had been roped into taking the privates to the assault course. So they'd be hungry when they got back. And that day Price had mentioned mournfully that Dr. Heather was having lunch with a friend. So she had to make sure it was enough food for five people, four of which ate like they were always famished.

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel joy seeing them devour the food she cooked. It made her feel useful to know that she was good at something.

Now, if only she had been good at tying her damn hair properly, that would have been awesome.

For the last ten minutes the shorter strands of her hair had escaped from her loose bun, and brushed over and over again her face, tickling her nose when she leaned in. And her hands were sticky with the mixture of flour and egg and bread crumbs, so she couldn't just... brush it back. So she did as she could using her forearms, to no avail. She even blew softly to get the loose strands out of her face.

''What are you doing?'' Simon's deep, gravelly voice sounded right behind her, and Christine let out an undignified squeak, almost dropping a piece of chicken and turning her head.

He was standing there, hands inside the pocket of his hoodie as usual, looming over her and watching curiously the messy display on the counters.

''One day, Simon, I swear I'll scare you to death just like you do when you sneak up on me'' Christine mumbled, facing again her task, but she couldn't help but smile. And then frown when with the movement her bun definitely came undone. ''Well, shit''

''Problems, lovie?'' His low rumbled laugh made her heart flutter as always, and the left corner of her lips hurt when her smile widened without control.

''Bad hair day, I guess. I can't seem to keep it up, and my hands are filthy and I can't...'' She froze when he felt hands... his hands, gently brushing her hair back and bunching it up until he could hold it with just one of his enormous hands.

God, he even had taken off his gloves.

''Does this help?'' His voice sounded lower than before, and a tad more uncertain, and she resisted the urge to nod like an idiot, trying with all her might not to tremble.

''Yes...'' Christine murmured, exhaling the breath she had been holding, and continued working while he stood there beside her, holding her hair with one hand and the other still inside his pocket.

Simon wasn't even sure why he had done that. And even less why he had taken his gloves off before touching her hair, but he had remembered Belarus. When she asked permission to touch the skull plate on his mask, and when he agreed, she had taken her glove off to touch it with her bare fingertips.

As if it would have been disrespectful, unholy, to touch him with anything less that her exposed skin.

Maybe that was why he had shed his gloves before touching her hair, and now, was still trying to decide if it had been a good or a bad idea. Feeling her hair between his fingers, the back of her head almost resting on his palm, made him feel things. Things that made him clench his jaw beneath the balaclava, his eyes focused on the nape of her neck.

Soft, pale and delicate skin where he could maybe...

Her low humming distracted him from his less than chaste thoughts, and he couldn't help but look at her fondly. Busy as a bee, completely dedicated to feed them like a mother hen, fiercely taking care of her newfound place.

Without thinking, his fingers tightened his hold on her hair, craddling her head in his palm, and he saw her shoulders relaxing, her humming becoming sweeter and softer, almost a purr.

Wait, he knew that tune.

''What are you humming?''

''Ah... Think, by Kaleida, it... it's in the first John Wick film'' Christine barely turned her head to look at him, not bothered in the slightest by how tight he was holding her hair now. If she had to be honest... she liked it too much.

Simon pretended to be deep in thought, and then shook his head.

''Don't remember it'' He was lying. That was the song that he heard in the video that Soap sent him during his last solo deployment.

She fell for it. Or maybe pretended to fall for it. But she turned her head back to her task preparing food and started to hum softly again, until she ended singing just as softly, warming his heart.

Think of me, I'll never break your heart Think of me, you're always in the dark I am your light, your light, your light Think of me, you're never in the dark

[hotvinimon]

Symphony of date No. 10

Sawamura Daichi x Reader

Part 2

Plot : What's the best feeling you ever had ?? 4 times reader felt like having best feelings but one time, she was sure that this is the best feeling that she will cherish forever. A/N : Images are not mine. Credits to the owner. Likes, Comments and re-blogs are appreciated. Please don't steal my work. Enjoy ;) Warnings - English is my second language.

Master List

So, there you were, on your 10th date with Daichi, arriving fashionably late by 11 minutes (who's keeping tabs, right?). Well, apparently you are, marking each date on your secret calendar with red hearts and circles. It's like your own undercover mission!

You dressed up in that cute floral chiffon sundress, paired with your favorite handbag, feeling like a vision of elegance and grace. You were secretly hoping that this time Daichi would beat you to it. But, as luck would have it, he was the early bird of this romantic duo.

Then, the moment of intrigue arrived - you found Daichi, scrolling through Instagram, a habit he swore off. "Aha, someone's smitten," you teased him, watching him swoon over the photos from your past dates. Daichi, caught in the act, blushed like a ripe tomato.

In a sweet and almost cinematic move, he stood up and pulled your chair out, proving that chivalry was not yet extinct. You couldn't help but give him a little theatrical swoon and quip, "Thanks, Ichi, and they say chivalry is dead." You added a sly grin for that extra touch of charm.

The scene was set at a cozy, candlelit Italian restaurant, the kind of place where romance and dreams intertwine. The mood was perfect, and the world seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment with Daichi.

The date was a feast for the senses. The garlic bread was like a fragrant invitation, the pasta dish a creamy delight, and the chocolate lava cake was, well, pure dessert heaven.

However, Daichi's behavior was intriguing and mysterious. He appeared a tad jittery, like he was drifting into a world of his own, and it left you puzzled. Was this the moment when he'd break the news? Your heart raced with curiosity.

Unable to hold back your inquisitive spirit any longer, you took a deep breath and decided to broach the subject. "Daichi," you began, "I've noticed something different in our recent dates. Is there something on your mind?"

Daichi snapped out of his daze, looking genuinely surprised. He cleared his throat, his eyes locking onto yours, and your heart felt like it skipped a beat. This had to be the moment of truth, right?

But Daichi had other plans. "I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he confessed, "I've been lost in thought, trying to find the right words."

Your heart sank - you were convinced this was the preamble to a heartbreaking revelation.

But then, Daichi took a deep breath and, with newfound determination, said, "I've been reflecting on our time together, and it's been nothing short of magical. You mean the world to me, and every second with you is a treasure."

There was tension in the air, but with another deep breath, Daichi mustered the courage to declare, "I want more than these wonderful dates, (Y/N). I want to make this official. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Your eyes widened, and your heart soared. It wasn't a breakup; it was a love declaration! Relief and euphoria washed over you like a dreamy, sun-kissed ocean.

Without a moment's hesitation, you beamed at Daichi and replied, "Yes, Daichi, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

Daichi's face lit up like a constellation of stars, and he reached across the table to take your hand. The confusion of the day seemed to evaporate as you shared a dreamy, heartfelt moment, relieved and ecstatic about your newfound commitment.

The night continued with laughter, warmth, and the shared dreams of your future. It was undeniable that you were stepping into a thrilling new chapter of your relationship, where dreams and reality merged into a beautiful love story yet to be written.

With every passing moment, you realized that this could be the prelude to something magnificent, and that perhaps, the best feeling was yet to come.

V- Chan's Dilly Dally

Finally part 2 came. Next part will be sooner than this and I would do my best to complete this series before October, as won't be able to write in next 2.5 months due to my exams.

I'll do my best to update you guys with short drabbles and incorrect quotes.

Join me for taglist by commenting for the same

Love you all.

B-Bye

💗

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬' 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: swearing

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿  

・You had seen Keeley on the tv before you ever saw her in person.

・And when you did see her in person, you went up and introduced yourself. Only because you were making yourself do things that were difficult (it was supposed to be character-building or something - an idea from your therapist)

・And talking to a pretty girl was one step toward having more confidence

・But she was absolutely lovely

・And you were left feeling so light and bubbly after the conversation

・But fate somehow had a hand in your relationship because you kept bumping into each other.

"I'm not stalking you, I promise!" You blurted out one morning after entering the coffee shop she was exiting.

But she only laughed.

"I've had stalkers before love, you ain't as good as 'em," she winked and walked off. Leaving you with a very fast beating heart.

・You fantasised about her; daydreaming about how your relationship would be. What your wedding would be like, how many kids you would have, if you would be the bread winner or Keeley

・And then you would be brought back to reality with a yell from your boss

・Your pining lasted a few months, until one of your friends got fed up with your inaction and added her on Instagram

・She accepted, and to your surprise, she dm'ed you first

'we go to the same coffee shop, don't we?'

・You were stunned and didn't think this would happen in a million years. Were you supposed to answer straight away? In 10 minutes? In an hour, oh god a day??

・This was why you were terrible at dating and relationships in general - you never knew what to do

・But Keeley had made you feel so at ease, and you made up your mind. Even if you looked stupid, at least you were being polite

'Yeah, we do! Too bad today they didn't have their croissants :('

・You waited and waited and saw that she had read the message. It took two minutes for the bubbles to form and you were squealing

'I could get you one tomorrow!'

・You nearly threw your phone across the room. FUCK WAS SHE FLIRTING OR JUST BEING NICE?!

'Really?? thank you! What time do you get there?'

・Was this a date? Were you inadvertently creating a date?

・The answer was yes. A big fat fucking yes. Which led to more and more dates.

・And then she asked if you wanted to sleep over at her place and it was the best time of your life. The next morning she made snails out of pancakes and various other creatures. It made you fall in love with her even more.

・There was something about Keeley that made you feel confident and weak in the knees at the same time

・She always loops her arm with yours, nudging you and then holding you close.

・And Keeley always has something to say, so there's never a lull in the conversation

・She's asked you if you'd still love her if she was a worm, and you said yes. And you'd make a little worm house for her, and get her food. And she started crying.

・Who knew a B-level model and D-level celebrity would fall in love with you?

・You honestly never thought Keeley and you would work. Or at least, get this far. Past the point of talking to each other in the coffee shop.

・But you did, and you moved into her place

・She brings you to all the Richmond games (or the important ones, if you don't like sports)

・Roy and Jamie cornered you one afternoon, both had their arms crossed in front of each other.

・But you weren't intimidated in the slightest

"You hurt her, and we'll break your face," Roy grumbled. And Jamie nodded and then looked at his captain with a tad of horror.

"Fair," you said and walked away.

・Would definitely get two ragdoll kittens with pink collars and love heart name tags.

・Her favourite things to do with you are staying up late watching movies - especially romance. She can't help but love them. Especially 'Leap Year' and 'Mamma Mia.'

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Chaotic Dumbass Duo

Always Hold Grudges (You) x Forgives Too Easily (Keeley)

You Didn't Believe The Other Could Ever Love Them Back But They Do

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆    

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Underground by Cody Fry

[mpc-unofficial]

Pelipper mail: Mx. Kalani.

They're barely conscious-- strange, perfectly circular bruises dot their arms, and a slightly older one blossoms in the crook of their elbow. Hair askew, rashes on their skin from the abrasion of tiny hooks on the skin of the malamar, bound hand and foot with tape and curled into a rather uncomfortable position.

But they're here.

A video is attached:

[It shows Irene in her room with Byte, typing something onto her computer. A knocking sounds from the door. Irene sighs, before getting up and opening the door.

“Yes, I’m alive.” Irene says to the person behind the door. “You know, you don’t need to keep checking in on me.”

“After what you’ve pulled yesterday? Forgive me if I’m a tad bit paranoid. Also I’ve uh… brought food, if you want some.”

“Thanks, and yea, sorry about that.” Irene allows the person in, it’s the same guy seen in the last mysterious camera video. He’s holding two packets of bread, alongside a cup of coffee. He sets the coffee down on the table, before passing Irene one of the two packets of bread.

“It’s not your fault, though I have to admit that I’ve been a bit jumpy since…”

It was then Byte made a noise of concern. A portal appears out of nowhere, a pelipper flying out and dropping Kalani on the floor before disappearing.

The two (conscious) people in the room scream.

“KALANI?! OH, OH SHIT I SHOULD GET A MEDIC—“

“BUT YOU ARE A MEDIC?!” The other guy in the room looked absolutely terrified.

“Right! Right, I’m on it!” Irene rushes over to Kalani to give them a basic check up. Byte flies over as well, a slight whirling noise could be heard as the porygon2 started up a couple of scanners.

“Was… was that pelipper mail?! It could do that?!” The guy looks over, still panicking and clearly at a loss.

“Yes, be it fortunate or not, this is the reason they’ve been missing from the center for the past couple of days.” Irene checks in on the scans, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank god, they aren’t in any critical condition.”

“Wait a second, I thought them being missing was due to the whole shadow exploration business?”

“Oh,” Irene looked genuinely taken aback by that.

“Oh shit, I completely forgot about that part… Cover our backs if a supervisor asks?”

The other guy’s eyes widened. He was rendered speechless for a second before finally being able to force a couple of words out.

“O-of course I will! But would you mind explaining all this,” he gestures to the room. “To me later? I wouldn’t tell, I promise.”

Irene takes in a deep breath. “Sure, ok. At this point I’m pretty sure I owe you quite some for all this… bullshit.”

“Alright, cool, now uh… medical attention?” The guy asks, eyeing Kalani.

Irene nods, taking in another deep breath. “Medical attention, after I switch off the account’s pelipper mail.”

“You could have switched it off this entire time and you didn’t?!”

“Look, Kalani needed a way back, and none of us had any idea that this would happen. Heck pelipper mail even saved their life once.” Irene quickly punches in a couple of commands into the computer as Byte shapeshifts themself into a stretcher of sorts.

“I have way too many questions, but I suppose those would have to wait.” The guy was already trying to gently move Kalani onto Btye.

“Alright, done.” Irene pulls back from the computer before helping the guy move Kalani onto her pokemon.

Byte lifts off the ground as soon as they were done, floating between them.

“If anyone asks, say a shadow did it.” Irene grabs ahold of a handle her pokemon has provided her with.

“You got it.” The other nods before they move out of the room.]

The video ends there.

[paulinawoodpecker]

Tad the lost explorer and the spear of blood and tears

Dagenia talks to tad about becoming the next bravest hero

Dagenia: tad? Tad! Where are you?!

Dagenia: *hears tad throwing up*

Dagenia: I know where you are…

Dagenia enters to the balcony where tad is throwing up…

Dagenia: is everything okay?

Tad: no…not really…

Tad: I blew it! I literally blew it.

Dagenia: 😑 you had to throw up at the entrance….

Tad: I’m sorry…I couldn’t hold my stomach…there wasn’t a trash can…or a bathroom, or even a bucket…I mean somebody better clean that, do you guys have a janitor here?

Dagenia: tad…*‘what’s going on?’ In Zulu* kwenzakalani?

Dagenia: why were you acting so nervous?

Tad: I don’t want to pass on the bravest hero to the next generation…

Dagenia: but that’s how it goes… once a man marries a woman and raises a family who he identifies as the bravest hero, he needs to move on.

Tad: do I have to move on?

Dagenia: yes. You have to. That’s how genetics work.

Tad: I don’t think I’m ready to move to on. This never happened to me! I just became one for two adventures! And now your mom is telling me to “move on.”

Dagenia: sometimes it’s hard to move on. And even though you are going to be the bravest hero for the last time, you’ll always have memories when you first became one.

Dagenia: *‘little brother’ in Zulu* umfowethu omncane

Tad: thanks Dagenia.

Dagenia: have some fufu.

Tad: fufu?

Dagenia: it’s like a bread or a dough, perfect for soup or stew, definitely can ease a person’s stomach.

Tad: *eats the fufu*

Tad: mmm. It’s so good!

Tad: *continues to eat the fufu*

Tad: that was so delicious.

Dagenia: now do you want to go back out there and restart?

Tad: no…I don’t think I might…

Dagenia: don’t worry tad. You can do it whenever you’re ready.

Tad: alright Dagenia.

[gaykarstaagforever]

They opened a new Chick-fil-A near where I work, so I decided to spend some of my Homo Bucks on the esteemed American Bigot Chicken.

I've only ever had Chick-fil-A as room-temperature catered food, and it was soggy and chewy and unimpressive.

Is fresh Chick-fil-A better? Is it worth betraying my sexuality over? Are all the old people rushing the place all hours of the day, like zombies trying to get into a 1970s mall, on to something?

Let's find out.

I got a Deluxe meal. 900+ calories of chicken, bread, fried potato, and Coca-Cola. Go big or die trying, I always say. In the previous sentence.

It is a fried chicken sandwich, that's for sure. The lettuce, tomato, and pickles are nice. The chicken itself is fine. The cheese is kind of pointless but I guess Americans will cry foul if you sell a sandwich without cheese (plus they asked if I wanted it and I said yes, so this is my fault).

It is, to steal DankPods bit, "an fried chicken sandwich." It is perfectly adequate in every way, and never once exceptional. I could make the same thing at home for 35 cents and be just as emotionally neutral about it.

I tried it with the notorious Chick-fil-A Sauce. It enhanced the sauce slightly (more on that later), but the sauce itself did nothing for the sandwich.

I rate it 2.5 Republican flag lapel pins out of 5.

Their cups are styrofoam, something everyone else stopped doing in the 90s, because it fills the ocean with styrofoam for no greater reason than your cup is slightly easier to hold onto than waxed cardboard for the 12 minutes of your meal. But Chick-fil-A obviously doesn't care. Or they do, but only because they have decided that their logo all over the Pacific Garbage Patch is free advertising.

Yes yes, these cups also keep the drink warm or cold longer. And they DO. So yes, if you need your Chick-fil-A Coke to stay cold for the next 6 hours and don't have access to a refrigerator, surely this is all worth it. Kill the planet for your weird personal habit. How white of you.

Also their ice is little round pellets? I actually really like that. It made them easier to crunch. And I did crunch them, because they were the other 2/3rds of the soda I paid for.

My straw was getting stuck in the ice, guys. That's pushing it.

1.5 Pacific Garbage Patches out of 5.

Their fries are...slightly above average. Taste-wise, at least. Maybe a tad too salty, but I was still mildly impressed. They were more chewy than I like, but had a little outer crisp. Solid chain homefries.

I don't get the waffle cut thing, however. That just makes them big and awkward and they really don't work in this traditional fry container. Just put them in a sandwich box. And do them as thick wedges. Who are you trying to impress with this cut? Your primary customers are too old to see and too toothless to chew. Don't tease them.

3 orders of homefries in boxes out of 5.

Chick-fil-A Sauce. THIS garbage.

It is, according to the ingredients printed on the flap, barbecue sauce mixed with mayonnaise.

...Why...?

...Who told you to...?

Look. I like barbecue sauce. And I like mayonnaise in small doses. But you don't mix them. You NEVER mix them! Mayonnaise is like celery or garlic, where it is fine in very specific situations, but if you mix it with anything else it just destroys the other thing.

Chick-fil-A Sauce is vile. I try to not be hyperbolic when I don't like food, because no, the thing you don't like does not actually taste like poop, Web Review Man, you just don't like it.

But this stuff literally tastes like melted plastic. It is weird and bad and weirdly bad.

And no, my packets weren't expired. I just...I can't imagine a world where barbecue sauce and mayonnaise don't taste like crayons when you slap them together. What was the goal with this?

On the actual chicken, it isn't as bad. The peanut oil of the fried chicken smooths it out with a touch of savory. But it is still a mild version of whatever the hell lunatic flavor they were going for, mixing vinegary smokey tartness with sweet egg yolk.

It even LOOKS gross. "Smokers' teeth" is not an enticing food color. I don't understand any interest in this slime at all.

Zero Bigot Chickens out of 5.

So what is my final assessment?

Other than the gross sauce, Chick-fil-A makes completely okay food that is baseline edible. It is an food. You could make the same thing at home, better, for an 8th the price. And you should.

I do not understand why people love this place. It is chicken and fries. It offers no one anything. You can like it all you want, for whatever reason. But the passion for it a lot of (old) people have must be a political thing, because there is nothing else remarkable about it.

And what is your life that you are buying fast food chicken primarily because Christian Fundamentalists from the Deep South run the parent company? How did you reach the point where THAT is how you are making dietary decisions? That is very, very stupid.

Go make a fried chicken sandwich at home. And there, you can yell about how much you hate f*ggots the entire time you are preparing it, if you want. ...And your spouse and grandkids are out.

Overall I rate my first Chick-fil-A experience as 2 Pride Flags out of 5. It is utterly average food, with a half point taken away for the stupid political nonsense. I was not impressed and so will not be getting this again.

And no, I'm not boycotting them for political reasons. If you knew the political leanings of everyone who runs every company, and made buying decisions based entirely on how bad the organizations are that they donate money to, you wouldn't let yourself buy about 98.6% of anything.

And unless you can get 50 million people to stop buying a thing with you, your personal boycott doesn't matter to anything. I mean, do what you want with your money, but understand that no one but you and the worst children on Tumblr are impressed.

Plus in this case, you should already not buy this stuff because it isn't very good (or good for you). So the fact that it is Bigot Chicken is kind of irrelevant.

People eat it because of politics. You not eating it because of politics is equally stupid. It is whatever chicken. Die on a higher hill.

[otgolokh]

[CHOCOLATE] (sorta)

He had taken the liberty to create a small box of treats for the man he was currently looking for. Taking note of the less flower-filled streets the farther you go from the campus, there was less revelry as he takes notice of lovers and families all taking to the streets. Family, a thing he will have again outside of his lord and what his lord decides with his life... and if he keeps it that way, he'll be just fine.

Through the sea of groups, came the single figures of workers or people of varying status he does not wish to pry into. He doesn't have to go far for the sight of a sword upon a hip, robes unlike the common fashion, and long hair to become noticeable in the narrowed streets. Even with the other not facing him he is sure he's probably heard from his boots and stature—something he hopes for as the man is sensible and honest. He wouldn't want to sour anything.

"Sir Karel, today is quite the festival and I knew you'd be outside, compared to my classmates. Today is known for its declarations and grand gestures, so I apologize for disturbing your time." He apologizes in advance, and holds up a box. Made of pastry paper folded evenly and neatly, it could fit quite heavy in another's hand, slightly dwarfed by Dedue's own. "I have made something for your greater expertise during our trying times, and because I had made this with you in mind."

If Karel opens it, he would see a form of milk bread rolled with lightly sealed chocolate between the creases, and dusted with cinnamon. If bitten, you could probably tell chocolate was shaved in with the flour as well to give it a dark color after being baked, keeping the moisture alongside the milk. Perhaps a tad sweet for his own liking, but he tried reigning it in.

...Sir Karel. It sounds ridiculous, utterly so — He will never be someone worthy of any such title, no matter who says it to him. The man hovering over him now is... Dedue, yes. He requested his aid during the waning days of the crisis, courteous in all regards. That is something Karel can appreciate, especially now.

In his hands lays a box, something he says was made with him in mind. It'a an odd sentiment for a stranger, Karel would think, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. It's a bit heavy, and it piques his curiosity slightly.

When Karel opens that box, the first thing he notices is the scent — It smells sweet, of spices entirely unknown to him. Looking at it properly it looks to be some kind of bread, but it appears much softer than the bread of common men.

The box is shut. He's not sure how to feel about the gift, in truth.

"I have no need for repayment for the help I gave you," He says, slowly. "But your consideration honors me. Thank you."

[slashingdisneypasta]

Supernatural!MultiVillains x Reader || Drabbles

Plots / Includes: I wanted to do some more traditional monster/victim stuff so here we go! Okay so Bowzer isn't exactly traditional but he's serving as the sorta dragon-type. Let me have Bowzer. Sort of fairytale/black and white movie feels hopefully.

Basically- MONSTERS.

Bowser x reader || Monstrous Captor ||- Your Prince Charming is on his way- but maybe the way the monster gets your heart beating, and the size of his hands; the total non-humanness of the thing, and the honest way he talks to you... will get to you first.

Ghost!The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn x reader || A Ghost ||- You work at what used to be, the Hellshire Penitentiary, which is now a hotel rather then a prison. Not all of the place is used, and what isn't is creepy as hell and rumoured to be haunted because of its terrible history, but these abandoned depths are exactly where the laundry room is. And you are in charge of laundry... which leaves you plenty of time, with the mysterious ghost you know i truly real, and who sometimes reveals himself to you; Caleb Quinn.

Duke (The Night) x reader || A Vampire ||- You've always wanted more then this plain, typical life that's been set out for you by the universe. And he's offering you so, so much more... but you know just as much will be taken away if you accept. Still, its getting harder and harder to hold out.

Hades x reader || The King of the Underworld ||- Some people get proposed to by men with dowries, and flowers, and a nice townhouse. Some people say yes the first time. Some people's suitors stop asking after they say no. In none of these ways are you some people.

Inkubus x reader || An Incubi Demon ||- You meet a mysterious fellow on your walk home from work, late at night. And he says all the right things.

*PLATONIC Seedeater x reader || A Wild Beast ||- You're out camping one night with an insufferable man, who you refuse to even consider as a suitor though your family desperately want you to, when a wild beats tears into your camp ground and an interference from you causes your suitors bullet to miss- and the monster to kill him, instead.

Ursula x reader || A Sea Witch ||- You make a deal with the devil, and now you belong to her.

Warnings: Monster loving (Perhaps some monster fucking... later... ). Kissing. And Duke must drink your blood a lil. Just a tad. A LIL. A sIP.

Song recommendations: Just A Little Peck (I Kissed A Vampire), Twisted Teeth (35MM), Enchanted Ballroom (Derek Fiechter), any part of Danny Elfman's Alice In Wonderland Soundtrack, Queen Of The Damned (Richard Gibbs)

Bowzer || Monstrous Captor ||

"Let me out! Let me- Edward will come." You assure your captor, a tone in your voice that is demanding and proud- just as royal as your ancestors had been. His glowing golden eyes grin at you from the darkness beyond the bars you're locked behind- they force you to feel their stare. They demand that you know, he's looking.

Nevertheless!- "He's going to come save me, and when he arrives he's going to slice your head off!"

"Hm," The monsters deep voice reverberates throughout the room, ricocheting off the stone walls as he turns and heads for the door. "Graphic language for a young royal. You've haven't been here an hour yet and you talk like that? Heh, you'll fit in perfectly."

You gasp, outraged and scowling as your fingers encircle the cold metal bars- tightly. "Go to hell."

"Ohhh, scary." He rolls his eyes, opening the tower door and slipping through it. His parting words, though, seem to hang in the air even after his heavy, stomping footsteps disappear down the stairs.

"Aren't we already there, sweetheart?"

~

He came back hours later when the sky is a deep blue, and the stars are out and you have an oddly lovely, calming view from your tower prison, with dinner- some blue sludge and chunk of bread. The monster slides it under the bars of your human-sized cage

That calm feeling from looking at the sky disappears the moment he looks at you; Replaced by a powerful, aching feeling all over your body.

Bowser's voice is akin to massive, heavy tires carrying a dense load slowly over the ground. That crumble and growl of slowly crunching stones under rubber.

He also sounds amused. "Sorry, your highness. But you'll get better to eat once you start behaving yourself; Actin' like the consort for me that you're going to be- for now, though, chow down. That's the best you're going to get from us."

"Consort for you?" Your head swims, but your eyes narrow like you're stable, and not shocked. He wants you be to what now!?- The corners of his strong mouth lift up an evil grin. "Like hell."

His face twists up in a mischievous grin, now, reminding you of what he had said earlier.

This is hell as far as you're concerned... as far as he knows.

As it should, be...

You press your lips tightly together and kneel down to your food, not quite sure what to say. What is there? There's no point! All you can do, is wait for Edward to come. He's probably close, just trying to get into the castle... figuring out where you are... As you tear off some bread and eat it, you find a little spark of dread blossoming in the pit of your stomach at the thought.

Despite being locked up, the last couple hours here have been peaceful, to be entirely truthful. Not that you don't want to leave this cell, but... at least nothing has been expected of you. Nothing except for you to be you, in your rawness. Just sit, and be alive, and be the person some people call Y/N.

You haven't been expected to talk like you know what the hell your talking about, or to think like those stuffy old goats that call themselves royal advisers... or worry about getting married to a virtual stranger...

Yes, Edward is lovely. Or he, seems, lovely. You've only known him since his parents shipped him over a few weeks ago, and most of your meetings have involved your parents. But while he's very handsome, too, and also admittedly has quite a decent sense of humour, and you do like him - you may even develop a crush on him one of these days, - , your relationship is certainly in no shape resembling engagement!

... But you are engaged. Neither of you have a choice.

And so he makes your stomach turn a little bit every time look at him, no matter how much you might like him otherwise.

As you're contemplatively chowing down on your bread, slowly making the chunk disappear, Bowzer is watching you... wondering what you're thinking. You're so lost in your thoughts, which are so full of dread and misfortune, that you somehow completely miss the monstrous form slipping across the room and into your cell- only getting your attention when he clicks the cell lock loudly into its place again. Your head snaps his way, eyes widening to see the creature in your cell now, with you. It makes your heart start to beat rapidly with panic as your eyes resemble dinner plates.

"You seem pretty lost in thought there, Y/N." He says your name casually, lightly, like he's known you for years. His eyes narrow, then. "Care to talk about it?" The corners of his tough, gnarly mouth lift up in the smallest grin, looking out the little window. "S' not like I'm gonna tell anyone- no one listens to the monster."

You roll your eyes, immediately dropping your shoulders in frustration and muttering through grit teeth, before you can think through what you're telling him. "Yeah well no one listens to me, either." He just seemed so right- he's separate from your normal life. If you're going to talk to someone, it would have to be him.

It might be a mistake... but now words are tumbling out of you and there's nothing you can do about it. "Everyone seems to know what's best for me without my input!... " Suddenly you get quiet, eyes downcast. "At least that's what they say... - my parents, - that what they do," The decisions they make without you. "is what's best for me... but sometimes I think its more like; What's best for the kingdom. Not, me."

The King Kooper is contemplatively silent for a few moments, still gazing out the little window - that shows little more then starry night sky and ocean, - , his big leathery arms held behind his back in an uncharacteristically thoughtful pose- eyes calm looking. Its a weird way to see the violent Kooper King, that you've been told for so long is noting but filth and fury... act calm, and thoughtful.

And its because of something you, said. You told him something and he's stopping to actually, really think about it...

That makes you feel powerful, for the first time in who-remembers-how-long. Maybe ever. You feel like you aren't just talking to a wall... like your parents. And the ambassadors, and the advisers, and the maids and cooks and everyone else that tells you what to do back home.

Eventually he shifts, and you listen to his words with an entirely knew outlook on him for the first time. Really wondering what he has to say. Really considering any proposition he may have come up with.

"... So you're saying, that if I promised that you would be made involved in decisions, and whatever, that you would be more inclined to... say yes?" He peaks over his shoulder at you, dangerous, dark eyes narrowed and lips pressed firmly together, watching you for any physical responses. He looks so imposing at this moment - well, he always does, - but in this moment it doesn't scare you. Rather, it intrigues you. Impresses you.

He really is impressive to look at, you find as you finally allow yourself to really look... He's spiky and tough, from head to toe, with a shock of red hair atop his head. He looks like one of his hands wrap around your body very damn nearly, and lift you up all on its own- easy. Muscle bound and... monstrous, yes. But is that such a bad thing?

Really, you aren't so sure that it is. Certainly not enough to stop you from wanting it, even just secretly.

You tilt your head to the side. "What kind of decisions?"

You watch his imposing - which is a word that can so easily turn into magnificent, - shoulders roll back, as the penny finally d r o p s, - along with your remaining inhibitions.

"All of them?"

~

When Edward comes, its already far too late. This is days after your capture, days after you agreed to stay with Bowser,

Days after you married him.

He comes thrashing in, outfit torn and sword dirty- mud leading all the way up to his shoulder and from his feet to his knees, and face stuck in a concerning state of... shock. Maybe it would soon turn into unabashed fear - As far as you could tell, Edward was never the type to pretend when he was anything other then charming. Its one of the lovely things about him. But you wanted more then lovely, - , but right then he had a job to do.

And you saw this look, and you understood it... too bad you weren't going with him to complete that job. You didn't need to be saved. And you didn't want to go home.

Still, as soon as you saw him break in through the front doors - as Bowser had let you out of your cell the moment you were married and allowed you free reign of the castle, - , you rushed over - nearly tripping down multiple stairs but not really caring, - and catch him before he slipped to his knees from exhaustion, and brush back his hair- assessing him for any serious wounds. "Edward! Are you okay??"

He lifts his head to assess you in turn, finding you perfectly fine and being slightly confused- bust mostly relieved. "I'm fine... I'm fine... Are- are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." The words the slipped so easily out of you cause you to cringe- maybe you should have lied a little bit? Here is Edward, clearly worn and tired from fighting his way to save you... and you're 'fine'? Damn.

Edward lifts his head again, then, and raises a brow. "You're fine? Well, uh, that's good. Um... " Carefully you lift your hands off of him, and he straightens up as you both quickly calm down from seeing each other- returning to your typical polite awkwardness around eachother. The way it would have always been, if you had married him. You watch his -lovely, - green eyes slip over the scenery, focused and looking for the threat as you chew the inside of your cheek, hugging your arms to yourself now- how do you break it to him?

And how do you do it before Bowzser realises he's here?

"So um, come on. We should get out of here- " Edward goes to pick up your hand and lead you out, but you flinch away from him... and he seems to finally gather, at that, that something here is off. Or, he already knew, but now he admits it to himself. Something is not quite right. You're not quite right. His brows furrow and knit together, lips pressing together as he tilts his head to the side in bewilderment, and concern. "Are you okay?"

"Edward... I... " You run your bottom lip through your teeth, looking around for any signs of the King Kooper yourself; Nervous he might turn up and hurt Edward. And even more nervous about telling Edward... what you've done. "I'm not going back with you."

"Wait- what?" You had his full attention from the start but now you can feel it- his scepticism and his patience. Waiting for you to tell him why- why he has just made it through miles and miles of fiery earth and fought through monsters to get to you and save you... just for you to tell him it was for nothing. Why he's going to have to return to your parents empty handed.

You want to explain it to him, you do. But how do you even begin? "I'm sorry, Edward- " You suddenly hear heavy movement down a hallway to your right, and your wide eyes snap back to Edward who's mirroring you, but gripping his sword- ready for a fight. "- But you have to go. I'm- I'm really sorry- " You turn him around by the shoulders and guide him out the door, shutting the huge, grand front doors behind the both of you and leaning against them and listening out for any sounds inside.

"Y/N- " Edward looks seriously at you, slightly miffed but easily controlling himself - because he's a genuinely good guy. - , searching for an answer. Waiting for it. "You need to tell me right now, why I stuck my neck out for you on a journey that is going to be just as hard on the way back, just so you could tell me to bugger off."

"I'm- " What can you say? I'm married to him now? I'm happy here? None of that sounds quite right. Maybe there's no way to say it. Your cheeks are aflame in embarrassment, and you're looking away to the ground beside his feet in unsureness. You just want this all to be over.

Then, finally, your eyes flicker up to Edward's, and slowly raise your hand. His eyes widen and he takes a step back.

On your ring finger sits a ring made of igneous rock, and Edward realises what that means immediately- and one look at your face tells him all he needs to know about your willingness in the union. He lowers his sword.

Neither of you say a thing for a few moments, just looking at each other. Its an odd thing, two people who were supposed to be more then they are or ever would be, who could have been more, looking at each other with fresh eyes and knowing neither of those things are ever going to happen. You have no clue what's going through Edward's mind, and you wish he would say something. Just say something, so you know where you stand. What you should be doing. Should you disappear quietly or explain yourself more?

Finally, finally, he opens his mouth. For a moment no words come out, and you're afraid he's going to close it again, when he takes a deep breath. "So- "

Then the doors behind you suddenly open and, as you were leaning on them, you plunge backwards- before a huge almost-familiar, but certainly not unwelcome, hand catches you and pushes you up right- and when you look behind you and up, Bowser is glaring daggers at Edward. That huge hand rests on your shoulder and his tail sets itself on the ground around you, protectively. "What's happening out here."

Edward, not a fool, takes up his sword again at seeing the threat, eyes hard. He does not swing though. He does not make a move as stupid as that. Bowzer smirks, his bumpy, gnarly lips pulled into a grotesque, obnoxiously dangerous grin. You take in a deep breath. "He's leaving."

"Doesn't look like he's leaving. Looks, like he's threatening me."

You look up at him again, craning your neck to do so, and crossing your arms. The look on your face determined, and firm, and just slightly annoyed. He said he'd listen to you- he better not be going back on that deal. It takes a few moments, but eventually he gives up on stubbornly keeping his gaze averted from you, looking down his chest at your little face that demands so much respect, and eventually love, from him, and rolls eyes deeply. "He's leaving." You repeat sternly, hissing out the words. Showing your meat as a Koopa royal yourself, now, and he cant help but listen.

You look back to Edward, who's eyes go from Bowzer to you... surprised. His sword arm slowly lowers again. "Fine." Bowzer growls out, in displeasure as your eyes soften on Edward. In goodbye. "You can leave alive, prince. But don't come back."

"Trust me, I wont." Edward agrees, flashing Bowzer a glance half-respectfully, but mostly just glad to leave. Then he looks at you one final time, not-quite understanding why you're doing this, but understanding that you are. And that you want to. And knowing that's enough, and that he has no stake in the matter. "Goodluck."

You cross your arms over your stomach, flashing him a warm, hesitant smile, and return to sentiment wholly. "Goodluck." For even though you're staying back in the Koopa Kingdom, with Bowzer... he's got to return to your old lives, and fix up your mess. In both your minds, the other has the worst situation.

Then finally, Edward turns his back on you, waives and walks off- along with the life you never wanted. And you feel total relief.

Because while he is lovely, and fancy foods are lovely, and your parents, are lovely... Lovely isn't for you.

As Edward slinks off, Bowzer returns his full attention to you, a small victorious grin on his face. His eyes flicker deliciously over you, and you turn around all to happy to sit and splendour under his attention. "Now your majesty... what shall we do with the rest of our day?"

Your flash him a dark, mischievous look.

Ghost!The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn || A Ghost ||

"Oof," You moan, as the load of sheets in your arms is dropped off into the washing machine, and you're released from its burden weighing you down. Throwing the door closed and listening to it click shut, you press a few buttons on the top of the machine and turn a dial before walk away listening to it rumble awake.

As you walk back towards the centre table, you feel that familiar prickly feeling, the nauseated sick feeling, the unmistakable inkling that you're being watched crawl up all over you suddenly, where it hadn't been for the first ten minutes of you being here. It means that someone, a ghost certainly, and Caleb hopefully, is watching you. A smile slips across your lips as it always will at the notion of Caleb, and even better the idea that he's near, but you do not say anything- lest you scare him off.

He does that, sometimes. Your ghost; Caleb. He makes his presence known - by grazing his fingers over your skin, or hair, or sliding and clicking the barrel of his shotgun into place,- , but apparently doesn't want you to respond, so quickly then disappears again when you call out to him.

And you're no fool- you've picked up on it. And you wont act like a ditz and try anything too accelerated for his tastes. Not if seeing him is on the line.

So you just hop up onto the folding table, your legs hanging off the end and swaying slightly, and pick up your book. You bring it for times like these, when you're stuck doing laundry for hours and you know you'll have to wait out Caleb - assuming he comes out at all, - , to make the time go faster. Or- not faster. Because you enjoy this time, in the spooky, dark depths of the old penitentiary turned bed and breakfast. The place has a gruesome past, which is the whole reason you went out for this particular job, and the foreboding feeling of terror that climbs all over you and makes an almost stifling home on your skin like ectoplasm that comes with feeling that... and all the ghosts watching you, wondering about you... is really entertaining. In fact, its the only time you truly feel alive- so close to death.

Especially sweet, horrifying, cranky, secretive Caleb.

Humming, listening to the washing machine toss and turn the pretty flowery sheets so mildly violently, you read. You don't know for how long you read, but it felt like an all-consuming while, though not long enough for the washing to be done,... before, finally, you get a sign.

See, the laundry room is made up of a couple of rooms - they used to be cells, - and the hallway between them which is where the folding table is situated. The bars had long been taken away from most of the old cells and inside them live various washers, dryers, and basic storage. To anyone sane, the place would be far too horrible and scary to sit in so calmly - and don't get yourself wrong, you do find it to be both of those things... even unbearable at times... but it just so happens that that sets off a dangerous heat between your legs, and delicious excitement in your soul, -. But anyway, a few feet in front of where you're sitting, is a cell that still has its bars attached. In fact, the door is still locked, and no matter how hard or what the construction workers had tried- it would not budge.

You assume, nowadays, that that was Caleb's cell. And he doesn't want anyone else trespassing.

In that cell, right now, you watch out of your peripheral vision as the dust kicks up off the floor and the bed suddenly, in the dark of the room, and leans back as it shapes itself slowly into the vague image of a man. At least, you assume its a man. You're afraid if you look up now, he'll dissipate and wont return again for hours; You wont risk that, so while your attention is on the movement inside the cell, your eyes are glued to the pages in front of you.

Excitement fizzes in you like fireflies. Dead, swarming, dimly lit fireflies; But fireflies none the less. Zooming and flittering around in your chest- aching for you to look up and risk it all. Just to get a glimpse of him, which you've never done before. Although you've 'met', many times before now... you have never actually seen your ghostly companions face.

You assume that its grizzly, and perfect in its disgusting, gory messiness, of course. And you do ache, to your very core, to look him straight in the eye... but you're also terrified of him leaving. Of him leaving you to the rest of these other, B-Level ghosts. Spirits that don't make you feel nearly as heightened, as he does. He's like a drug, like cocaine, and these other ghosts... are but morphine. Not enough. Not, nearly, enough.

But... still. You cross your ankles, swinging them back and forth underneath you in badly kept excitement. Surely, a glance... wouldn't ruin everything...

You can see him too-vaguely, as you strain your head to continue facing your lap but your eyes to be pushing their limits, upwards. He - this figure, made entirely of the dust that in its absence has left the rest of his cell perfectly clean, and like new, - is sat on his old bed, legs spread like he owns the damn place, with his gun set over his thighs; Sitting in companionable silence with you. Even so, you feel his coat brush against your hanging legs as if he's standing closely, in front of you.

For minutes, you fight with yourself over whether to look up... what could happen if you did... when finally, his voice sounds around the cell block. Err, the laundry room.

"Y/N... sweetheart... " His voice is nothing but a pained whisper at this point, but still- you can hear the subtle huskiness to it that must have been its totality at some point and the deep, old-fashioned southern accent that leaks into every word he makes, and must squeeze your thighs together. "C'mere."

That one contraction causes you eyes to widen, and your fireflies to freeze. The darkness, the fear in your heart at his very presence builds and you finally look up, and over at him.

He's moved back, into the darkness of his cell so you cant quite see him... but that doesn't disappoint you. Not when he's asked you closer.

Hopping off the table and leaving your book behind, not caring that you've lost your page, you walk deftly over to the bars of the cell and press yourself gently to them, wrapping your hands around two. "Caleb?"

"You look... " In the darkness you see his outline, and watch his head tilt to the side. You feel fingers run through your hair and graze your neck, and shiver. You know this is dangerous, you're well aware. "Mighty nice today... "

You grin broadly, unable to help it. Most compliments you get are nice, but they never quite hit the spot... you never quite believe them... but Caleb's- oh, Caleb's. His are everything. They light up everything in you for days. "Thank you... and how're you today?"

He pauses for a moment, thinking about it, before you hear the sound of fabric rustling from his direction. "Unsure actually sweetheart...

That's up to you."

You tilt your head to the side. "How so?" How can I make it good for you?

"I wanna... try something... Think I'm... strong enough, now... "

This time you aren't able to say anything, before he speaks again. "Close your eyes."

You're all too willing to do as he commands, eyes shutting closed quickly, tightly so you see nothing.

A few moments later, and your anticipation, and anxiety, is building up in your chest like the pyramids thousands of years ago, to unimaginable, and terrifying, heights... when you feel the texture of his cold non-tangible fingers graze over your cheek again. You feel his whole body, in fact, behind the bars. Close to you. Not just his fingers, and not just his coat. His whole, fricken, body.

To your utter surprise, you feel those hands - rough, and freezing cold, and more like air from a fan then actual, physical body parts. But pleasantly enough, not at all like dust, either, - on your neck; His thumbs on your jaw. They tilt your head back, forcing your face to look upwards, almost towards the ceiling. It would be uncomfortable, if you weren't nearly shaking with excitement.

A moment later, he's dragging your face slowly closer to the bars, till the cold metal bites at your cheeks, and lips - cold and not-totally-real, like the hands, - press ever so gently... against yours.

A gasp slips out of you, as this is all you've wanted for a while, and you immediately kiss back, aching for nothing but to pull his body flush against yours and experiment with all the things maybe you could do with him, if he can kiss you like this. You cant help your thoughts spreading out to other things, as he slowly, deliciously deepens the kiss- an icy, slimy tongue sliding over the tip of yours.

If he can kiss you, surely he can touch in other places, cant he? He can let his fingers stray from your face, and towards your chest? Or lower?

What about his cock? How would that feel; Cold, and hard, within your walls?

And on top of that, regarding just his kissing skills, if he can do this much, turn you to mush with just his kiss, then there's no doubt in your hopeless, dumb, horny little mind that he could totally wreck you in a bed.

When he lets go of the back of your neck with one hand though, and wraps it ever-so-softly around your throat- feeling your pulse beat-beat-beat... you forget everything. Your mind goes empty.

In fact you go so totally dumb that you snap your eyes open-

But before you can see him, he's gone.

The cell is covered in dust again, and you cant feel him kissing you anymore; You're left pressing against the bars of the cell he wasted away inside in life, missing him already.

Duke || A Vampire ||

The feeling of having blood literally sucked out through little pierces in your skin, never gets less weird. The pain of having your wrist bitten into, does. The ticklish feeling of having Duke's lips attached to your wrist for a prolonged amount of time, does. But the weird, slightly nauseating feeling of having him siphon and guzzle your life force out of your veins, will never ever get old- unfortunately.

Still, every once in a while - which is becoming every week with all of Dukes nagging, honestly, - , you'll sit down and flick through Tumblr, letting him sit next to you, hold your arm in his hands and carefully drink- not too much, he knows when to stop. But just enough to sate him.

Then, like now, he'll slip his fangs outs from your skin and veins - coming out perfectly clean and white like they never touched anything but apples and bananas, -, a smug, pleased smirk on his lips as he cleans up his mess. And while you're wrapping up your own wrist, he sweeps off to get you juice and a plate of cookies- like when you donate blood for hospitals.

"Well you did donate." He teases, holding your juice and your cookies for you while you stick down your bandages, rubbing your thumb over the sore spot. "For a really good cause, too. Huh? Keeping your, uh," Duke glances at you, mischief pulling the corners of his lips up. "Snuggle bunny, going?"

Rolling your eyes, you yank the plate of cookies from his hands as he chuckles and take a chomp out of one. "Ugh, Duke... I was sleep talking! Let it go!"

He just giggles, fixing his collar with one hand and continuing to hold your juice for you as you quietly chew on your cookies.

As you do so, Duke turns his head to watch you. There's nothing extraordinary about the way you eat, nothing particularly sexy or gross, but as a vampire - an old one, at that. One that certainly doesn't remember the taste of normal food like a newer one might, vaguely, - one of the things he does enjoy watching his human mate do, is eat. Its adorable. So delicate, so human. Especially if one day, hopefully someday soon, they'll allow him to turn them.

Speaking of... His eyes narrow as a cheeky grin spreads his lips. "So, love... " You take the juice from him, giving him a suspicious look. Yes? He shifts closer to you on the couch now that his hands aren't occupied, and your sceptical expression - because you know him, - deepens. "Have you put anymore thought into my proposition?... "

Immediately you make a 'Pfft' sound and snort, bringing the glass up to your lips. "Ah, yeah. No need. We are never, ever doing that in the bedroom."

Dukes expression immediately falls, and you laugh at his scowl/pout, before taking a sip of your juice with a smile. Oh, he's an idiot. But he's also very cute. "Well- while I think you're making a huge mistake on that front, love, and this is not over- I wasn't talking about that proposition." Looking back at him at that, you watch his eyebrows raise meaningfully up his forehead..., and realise.

"... Oh."

He nods. Then his eyes flicker down to your hand, laying on your lap by the now empty cookie plate, and picks it up. Then gives you an uncharacteristically gentle smile. "I'd, really, like to do it." He presses the brim of his hat to your forehead affectionately. "To experience eternity with you, has been my dream since- "

An easy grin slides across your lips and you chuckle, nudging the brim of his hat back. "Lemme guess... the night I suggested you mix chocolate syrup with your 'Bloody Mary' drinks?"

He snorts, squeezing your arm gently, and lacing his fingers through yours. "Well, with ideas like that, how could I resist you?" Then he presses forward, taking the juice from your hands and setting it on the coffee table, before crawling over you, hovering over your body. "But I was thinking of a different night... " He raises your chin up so you're looking at him, and your brain wants you to push his annoying, horny ass off you and off the couch too, but the part of you that really likes him wants you to kiss him- so you just end up looking perturbed.

"Duke... " You whine, relaxing into the couch. "If I become a vampire... if I say yes... what's going to happen with my other relationships?" Your eyes flicker from everything but him, to his eyes finally, where he sees how reluctant you are, and sigh. "I don't want to lose them."

Duke shrugs. "But you'd have me, forever. They're all gonna die, anyway."

You promptly push his insensitive ass off of you, to the floor, and step over him as you head towards the kitchen- picking up your drink on the way. You're going to put tequila, in this-

Before you can get through the kitchen door, its slammed closed in front of you and Duke's cornered you against it. "... Okay maybe that was rude. Still working on my manners, Y/N, my bad. But I am working on them, huh? I get points for that!"

"Points?" You ask, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes over your shoulder to him.

Dubious and dumb, Duke raises a brow. "What's improvement without a point system?"

"Ugh- " You try to open the door again, but Duke uses his strength against you this time- turning you around and swiftly pinning you to the door.

His eyes catch the glass, still halfway full, and despite your disagreement, taps the bottom. "Drink that juice." He tells you firmly. "You lost quite a bit of blood, and I don't need you collapsing at any point."

After a stubborn moment, you sigh and do as he said, gulping down the juice at a steady pace as to not shock your system. Its also a good excuse not to think about the conversation you're having.

Because... its just... the hardest decision, you've ever had to make. The hardest decision you may ever have to make. It depends on hope so's (Will Duke stay in love with me? Will I stay in love with him? Will I like being a vampire? I hope so.), and faith, and not having faith in what if scenarios, too (What if I never see my family again, what if we come upon a hunter, what if Duke gets staked and I'm still there forever?), even if they're just as dependable as hope so's. And on one hand, staying human means you get to stay with your family, and your friends. You may not get Duke as well, but... he's just a guy, right? You can meet someone else... you cant replace your family, quite so easily. Right? You would be hard pressed replacing them, but guys... come and go... right?

But on the other hand, you're in love with Duke. You've never felt this way before, you cant even take it sometimes how irreversibly, unexplainably in love with him you are including everything obnoxious about him. You know you'll never find another Duke. You tell yourself you can, and you might have to so you will... but under the surface you know he's the love of your life. He's it. And there's no replacing him.

Ugh. Thinking about this does your head in... Your gaze lifts up from the window over his shoulder, to his face, and you knit your brows together. In frustration and apology. You know he's been patient... and you do feel bad for that... but this is also a huge decision, and you're not going to make it out of want to make him happy. "I don't know yet... I'm sorry... "

For a moment, he doesn't react... but then he sighs, and collects you up against him in a hug. "Take your time, love... we have a long time, to go... " He squeezes you tight, and you relax under his affections, totally. "But there is a cut off date, so, just try to make your decision before you die okay?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

Hades || The King of the Underworld ||

Rolling your eyes, you kneel over the campfire and sprinkle the seasoning on the roast instead of kicking those two 2 foot tall dwarf's to Tim Buk Tu like you really want to do. Alas- making your dinner delicious and refraining from taking it off the hot fire, and throwing it at Pain and Panic, will have to do.

And this is your reaction from just noticing them hiding in a bush nearby. They haven't done anything yet, but you just know. You know, that when they turn up, it has something to do with Hades. Usually, that he's not far behind. And you're so damn e x h a u s t e d, by turning him down. Over, and over, you have to do this. Tell him no, you wont marry him, thank you for stopping by now go home. Thanks...

And after the last time he did this, you really aren't in the mood to humour him this time. You get a prickly feeling all over, just thinking about looking at him, after what he did.

~

A week ago, you had just finished getting ready for a date, and the one who was taking you out was surely close by, and you were giddy. Excited, to for once, not be working, or fending off the Lord of the Dead, or falling down drop dead exhausted in bed every night. Tonight, you were going to have a good time, for once. You were so, so excited.

But, then Isa was late. And a few minutes... turned into an hour... and that turned into two... and by that time you had totally given up. The ass had stood you up!

You were so looking forward to this, and that bastard left you all alone at home, looking hot, waiting for absolutely fricken nobody. What a dick. How could you have been fooled, into thinking they were worth your time? Your rare quiet night, at that?

"Gods!" You cursed, throwing your shawl down on the kitchen table and wiping a hand up through your hair. "I should've known. I feel like such an idiot!"

Then their was a knock at your front door, and you snatched up your shawl and raced off to get it. Maybe they had an accident???

You swung the door open, and

immediately, deflated.

"Hades... its you."

An amused grin graces his features as his gaze licks up and down your form. You're all ready for a date, and you look gorgeous. "Well don't sound quite so ecstatic about it babe, I might forget you don't actually like me- or so you say."

"I don't. And especially now, I'm having a terrible night. Thanks for stopping by, no I don't wanna marry you, no, no, no, did I cover all the bases? Great, so please go home-" You attempt to close the door on him, but smoke shoots out from the mysterious whatever's-under-his tunic and shoves itself, solid, between the frame and the door. A deep groan escapes you as you roll your eyes, opening it again. "Drat." You hiss, letting go of the door and leaning against the frame instead, crossing your arms. "Look Mr Lord of the Dead, I have had a bad night- "

A smirk creeps across his lips, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Or was it worse? Yes, you think. Its a lot worse then mischief. Still, you don't let up your cold, blasé front, nervous - afraid? - of his reaction to anything else. How might he use your discomfort? "Oh yeah, you got left all high and dry t'night, huh? Yep... Shame."

There's something about the way he's talking... that just sets you at total unease. How did he know? You lift carefully, slowly, cautiously off the doorframe, confused. "Um... yes... he did. How did you know?" Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. "Stalking me?"

"Oh, of course. How else am I supposed to get to know you? You sure as hell wont sit down for a dinner with me, you've made that clear." He runs his bottom lip thoughtfully through his teeth. "At least- without a little sweetener, eh? And I am a great deal sweetener- if I do say so myself. So!" You watch him turn around, clapping his hands together firmly- a call; A signal.

And sure enough, a moment later, the bumbling fools Pain and Panic came tottering out of the woods beside my house, whipping a poor, squealing pig ahead of them.

Your brows furrow at it- something really not quite right at all, about any of this.

You watch the pig for a few moments, unable to figure out why it makes you feel... something; You aren't quite sure what... until a sharp blue finger touches the underside of your chin, and guides your head up to look at the face of Hades, instead. Another evil smirk presses his smug face. "That's what happens to little fuckers that try to touch what will be, mine." At that, your eyes widen and snap back to the pig. Is that... Hades grabs your jaw now, dragging your attention back to him, this time uncaringly. "Remember that, sweetheart. Its up to you how many poor sods I turn into swine."

"Hades- " You gasp, horrified.

"I'm a God, Y/N." The fire sparking as head flickers orange, well-hidden fury showing itself for just a moment- enough to terrify you. "We're notoriously bad at taking rejection."

~

"You gotten over your little human melodrama yet, Y/N?" Hades voice rings out through the clearing in front of your house, and you feel your skin prickle all over; Knowing he's here again. After that awful thing he did, last time. "I had to do that, showed you who's boss I guess. But I'm sick of staying away from you... " He appear across the fire from you, but you refuse to look up at his face. "So... what? You want an apology?"

Wincing, you wrap your arms around your knees and press your nose into your dress. "No."

"Whadaya want from me?"

"I want you to go away," You mutter, still not looking at at him; Rather into the flames flickering up under and over your dinner.

"Well, that's not gonna happen." Through your peripheral vision, you see Hades disappear from across the fire, and a yelp come out of you when suddenly he yanks you up by the arm, straight to your feet. Then he gathers your waist in one hand and presses you to him, leering down at you. You don't fight it, just deftly lean away; Afraid of how he might react to anything more. "So what'll it be? An apology? A present? A kiss maybe?"

He leans in, but you jerk your head back.

"What makes you so sure you can win my affections with pain, and bravado, Hades?" You finally snap, eyes flickering up to his pupils, which stare back at you in that familiarly amused way he always does when you get the courage to stand back up to him. "Making people I like into pigs, making me hurt... and then smiling about it? Thinking you'll just get away with it? That wont make me like you, you bastard. That's not sexy."

"Oh sweetheart, you're sexy enough for the both of us... " He grins, tracing your lips with a thumb. Marvelling at you even as you're mad, even as you're telling him such cold, hard facts.

Knitting your brows together, you tighten your lips into a confused scowl. "Do you even want me to like you?"

"Oh I want you to love me, Y/N... " For a moment, you see genuine in his eyes... before he turns it off again. And yet you believe him. "I promise you, one day I'll make you. One day you'll be death's partner, in sickness and in health. Just, you, wait." With those last three words, he boops your nose.

For a few moments... you just stare at him. How, in his deluded mind, does he think that's going to happen if first of all, he isn't forcing you, luckily enough, and second of all, he refuses to even try. Try, to be a genuine person. Try, to make you enjoy his company.

Its amazing how entitled Gods can be.

"... Maybe you're right. Maybe I will marry you one day,...

but first you'll have to make me like you- and that wont be such easy a feat. Not even for a God."

Inkubus || A Incubi Demon ||

Walking down the street late at night will always set you a little bit uneasy no matter how many times and how often you do it. Around any and every corner could be a monster waiting for an easy kill, a simple little victim to grab and run with.

But that doesn't change the fact at all that its just something you have to do, as long as you don't have a car and refuse to spend money every night on an Uber ride. So you collect your wits and take out your headphones as you hop off the bus, holding your keys between your fingers like wolverine claws like a back alley street fighter; And a cheater, at that.

Hey, you're brave, for sure- but you're not stupid.

You must keep your ears open, your eyes focused, and your senses as heightened as possible. And if someone's going to jump out at you, you couldn't care less if being prepared with sharp tools at the ready is not exactly sporting. If someone is going to try and hurt you, then they're about to get the rudest slap-in-the-face of an awakening of their goddamn lives.

Also, though... the quietness, can be peaceful. So while your senses are open to any hint of a threat, the rest of you... enjoys it. The quietness, the stillness, the all-together aloneness, despite the constant, faint feeling that someone is near. In a world where everyone is connected, its a really valuable feeling; Of being on your own. With no one watching, or listening, or even thinking about you.

You just get the moment, to be... To be. Just, to exist.

So happily you walk down the street, slipping into the darkness of your neighbourhood and enjoying the peaceful, slightly terrifying time.

Until you run into something your senses didn't pick up on even the slightest bit- you didn't even see him, which is weird seeing as he turned up right in front of you. "Oh!"

You have a mind blank and don't even think of the keys between your knuckles or the idea that this is a threat. Especially not when you look up, and see his face.

Every almost-suspicion and near-scepticism disappears from your mind.

"Oh hello, I'm sorry. I should have been watching where I was going." He steadies you, before taking his hands away from you. For a split second, you find yourself wishing he hadn't.

"That's okay!" For a moment, you get caught up in the mans eyes, before managing to break yourself free, and step back from him. Awkward... Your eyes purposefully turn downcast, avoiding his gaze that had so oddly swallowed you up a moment ago. "Um, anyway, enjoy the rest of your night!" Slipping past him, you continue on your way down the path towards your house, when you hear a gentle whooshing noise behind you, and turn your head to find the man walking casually beside you, like its not a red flag at all. Surprised, your eyes widen.

"Sorry to seem a bit of a creep- "

"Oh no, you're fine!!" Why, on earth, are you so eager to assure him?

His lips curl up in a pleased grin, his handsome - yet... somehow, oddly disconcerting, - features lifting pleasantly in the dark, and all you think is... that's why. Shadows leave shade all over his face and it is a bit frightening but its like your body has a mind, and ideas, of its own. Your footsteps are slowing down, your heartbeat's relaxing to a calmer velocity then even before this strange man turned up, a gentle heat is rising up your neck.

"That's good to hear, I wouldn't want to scare you. You know, an odd man following you late at night... some people mind find that a tad bit threatening, you know?"

A spark of nervousness, the first since you've been with him, lights up inside your chest. "Well... y-you're not wrong... "

Just as quickly as it ignited though, your anxiety is stripped away with just a kind smile, from him. "But don't worry- I bare no ill will." Your eyebrows lift up at that.

"And I'm... just supposed to take you at your word?"

Exactly, you think. Finally, your body is catching up with your mind! Isn't this precisely what you were just scared about, getting off the bus at this late hour? That a terrifying stranger would turn up??

Well now one has- so why aren't you doing anything? Why aren't you slipping away? Why aren't you running?

God, you want to... But... you cant. Even as the words leave your lips, you feel your feet be leaden to where he wants you to be- beside him, and only slowly walking. Easy to guide, easy to control.

His grin turns mischievous as you watch, a speckle of darkness flickering beyond poisonous green eyes. "Of course not. You're a clever little mortal." Your brows knit together now, confused. Mortal? The green hues flash to yours again and one side of his mouth quirks up a tiny bit higher; Revealing wisdom and wickedness beyond his appearance. "Then again, mortals have always been intelligent. Its how we've survived for thousands of years, right?" He gives a well-humoured wink.

... Yet... you find, that the way this man said 'we've'... just didn't sound right. Like the word was heavy on his tongue. Like a lie.

Still- you don't find yourself feeling the urge to raise your fist, at all. You're almost... hypnotised. You witch every movement he makes, take note of every calculation. From the way his coat whispers in the dark wind to where his hands are.

"I... guess... Um, what's your name?"

His eyes narrow but a corner of his mouth curls up in another mischievous - devilish? Demonic? - smirk that sends your head rushing. "Hmm... lets go with... Klaus, for now... And oh, you're free to tell me a fake one as well if you'd like. Its a tad reckless to give away your real information, like names and telephone numbers, in a situation like this, isn't it?" You cant argue with that- "But, whilst acknowledging that, I still cant help myself sweetheart," Sweetheart- your heart plummets down to your feet and your eyes widen; You can't help but love the sound of that. "I'd really like to get to know you a little bit. Would you please allow me the honour, please?" Oh my goodness- he just looks so pleading at you! Its adorable. How could you possibly, say no?

Every word that comes from him solidifies the hold he has on you already, too, that he so easily took in the first place with just his presence. Arousal and intrigue sinking into you like fangs by the second.

You cant help smiling; And saying yes.

The predatory look that takes over his face now causes a pit in your belly- but it only excites you. Suddenly he puts a hand on you- just the crook of your arm, stopping you in your tracks immediately, like you knew in your very workings that that is what he wanted from you right at that moment. "Is this your house, dear?"

... Oh, um- You shake yourself of whatever trance you're stuck in just long enough to look over at the house your passing, in wonder. How did you even get here... God, you just feel so disorientated... "Uhuh... "

"Wonderful; Now, I consider myself a gentleman dear so I shan't invite myself inside- especially not even having a name for such a pretty face. But... " 'Klaus' shrugs a bit, a perky little knowing look on his face- because he knows, what you're about to offer him.

"Of course, you can come inside!" You smile. "And- " Don't give your real name, don't do it. Pick any other name. Please- "I'm Y/N." The words slip out easily, like there was absolutely nothing inside you begging you not to.

And, just like that, there isn't.

Seedeater || A Wild Beast ||

"- Oh I should tell you about that summer. Ah, Y/N darling you would have just loved to be there, trust me! Once I've told you all about it, you'll wish you were, I promise you. So! Let me set the scene... "

This man has been jabbering on to you about who-knows-what for far... too... long... God, you're afraid to pull out your pocket watch, for fear of discovering you are nowhere near the acceptable moment to excuse yourself.

Because for sure you are not about to engage in any more courtship with this insufferable peacock of a man but also- you would rather die right here then go home early and have your parents nag at you over insulting the Duke' right hand man like that.

Even as... you long... so so very deeply... for your bed...

Oh, perish the thought. To be in your warm, cosy bed. Wearing nothing but your nightgown, with the fireplace roaring nearby and a book open on the pillow in front of you... perhaps nibbling at pilfered muffins from the kitchen.

You're just relaxing into your fantasy world - whilst managing to make yourself seem interested in your... eugh... 'suitors' story, with well-placed hums and 'Oh please tell me more's. - when suddenly the slow hum that his droning voice had become to you rather then actual vocabulary, just... stops. Your eyes flicker to his form on the log next to you, to see him perked up. Alert. Like a meerkat.

"What happened, Nigel?"

"Shhhh!"

Hmm... well, you certainly aren't crazy about that... Brows furrowing deeply and lips creasing into a severe frown, you straighten your back more so and take a deep breath with which to give him an earful, when-

You hear it, this time. What's concerned your date so.

Its a rustle just outside of the clearing the of you are set up in, and its definitely not just the wind. Or a bird.

Its slow, and heavy. A twig snaps as if under some huge, terrifying, calloused foot.

Immediately your freeze, gazing around slowly, cautiously for whatever is out there. You like to think its a beast, rather then a man. A man would be far, far worse. You've always thought so. A beast could hurt you, for sure. Scratch you to death or eat you alive... but a man, a man could take you. Steal you away, and sell you for drug money. Or humiliate you... Yes, you've always thought; To be ripped apart by canine teeth, would be better.

But then again, a beast is not ideal either.

You want to live!- and that has never been quite so blatant then right now as your heart hammers in your chest and you feel your cheeks grow cold as ice, despite the raging campfire before you. You want to life, in order to get past this terrible date and go on better ones. Or far better yet- never go on a date again.

Even so, though, when Nigel slowly picks up his shotgun, raising up to his feet and carrying it with purpose- you feel the most impassioned, ardent repulsion towards it and total, striking fear bang in your chest. He's going to kill it??!

I mean... if its a man, go right ahead, but if its not-

"Nigel." You hiss, making the man jump and look down at you in a mix of horror and anger. It reads clearly to shut up, but you aren't concerned with Nigel's needs. "Put that bac- "

A horrible screeching sound fills the campsite and you immediately slap your fingers over your ears, pressing into them firmly to keep the sound out and squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, that's terrible-

Then a beast emerges from the tree line, growling and blowing steam out of its bar-boned nostrils. Your eyes crack open to see Nigel lining up his gun with the monster's head, which surely wouldn't work in the first place as it seems to have some kind of helmet made out of bones. Or maybe that's just its head. either way your eyes widen to the size of saucers, and leap to your feet; your hands on Nigel's gun before you even realise the danger of your actions. "Let go!" He snaps, but you refuse.

"You will not kill this creature!"

"I most certainly will!- " His finger presses down accidentally on the trigger, and immediately a loud BOOM sound crashes from the gun, making you gasp. "Look what you made me do, woman!!"

The creature suddenly rears back on its hind legs, frightened by the noise, before slamming back down like a horse and rushes forward- all gangly, uneven movements as he's too heavy to really move as fast he's going but doesn't care at all. It brushes by you and all you can do is hold your breath and grip the gun like your life depends on it, so you don't run and startle the beast even more. Embedded in its fluffy hide are sticky substances - tree sap, supposedly, - and leaves, and little sticks, and a lot of dirt.

It tears through the camp site, crazed, and when its done - now huffing and puffing and still furious, standing at the side, - the little tent that Nigel had set up and cooking equipment is all ripped to pieces. Destroyed. Your heart's beating a million miles a moment inside your chest, hoping you aren't about to look like that, too.

After a few silent moments, apart from the monster's hard breathing, you turn from the creature to Nigel. Both your hands are still on the gun. "... Nigel... " You breath out in a whisper that is only as loud as a breeze. His eyes flicker up to yours, terror gleaming in them; And he's breathing pretty hard, too. "You need to let... go... of the gun... now... "

"No... Y/N... I have a plan,... don't worry... "

Ugh! You think. Even scared out of his wits, he thinks he knows better then me. If only he would just stop-

Suddenly, all far too suddenly, he wrenches the gun out of your hands and turns its aim upon the beast again. Your face goes slack at the too sudden, too jerky, too cocky motion and look from him- to the gun- to the beast and its glowing red eyes, staring down the barrel.

No!

"Now stay still, monster... this wont hurt but a moment... "

And in that second before Nigel presses the trigger again- you see all your futures before it even happens. The beast will tear you both apart with the bullet submerged in its skin. You will not survive, this way. And neither will it.

Just as Nigel is pulling his finger against the shotgun's trigger, you lunge for him. Pushing the barrel of the gun upwards, instead. Another terrible, crashing BOOM sound bangs against your eardrums as the bullet ricochets out and into the air. As you're wondering, horrified where it's going to come down, the beats roar accompanies the thumping sound of your heart in your ears and your head whips around just in time to see it gallop forward-

Its powerful jaws wrap around Nigel's entire face, and they both go crashing down to the ground as Nigel is ripped from you.

You can do nothing but watch, as in a matter of seconds it seems Nigel stops screaming in hat blood curdling way you do when you're being gnawed at alive... and goes limp. As soon as he does, the beast backs up off of him, a gentle and calmer woof coming out of it as it... just... sits back.

It sets its behind down the ground, and using a long... bear-like, tongue, licks at its paws. Cleaning itself.

Calmly.

Blood is still rushing hotly in your ears as you shake like leaf, between this beast and your date's mauled body and turn slowly to look at the hideous, petrifying monster.

Its eyes are no longer red, so they're but shadows hidden inside the bone coverage that is his head, and for all intensive purposes, the beast looks... relaxed. Like you aren't there at all. But you feel its gaze on you, even so. And your skin tingles creepily at the feeling.

After a few more minutes of just standing there, being scared - and maybe going a little bit insane, - you open your mouth slightly. Jerkily, slowly... and whisper. "I- I'm sorry... th-that Nigel... he... t-tried, to kill you... "

Another growly woof is your answer, its response to hearing a foreign noise. Your voice.

But it isn't a threatening noise at all, so you relax a little bit.

Then, suddenly, the dog... bear... monster, creature, gets up again. Its shakes off its behind of some of the dirt there from the floor, and creps closer to you. Its so huge... you have to crane your neck to look at its face.

Or, more specifically, its teeth.

You hear a sort of... fluttery sound, over your beating heart and look around curiously. There are no birds, or anything else that would normally make a noise like that, that you can see... The clearing is still, and empty.

Then your eyes catch sight of something, dark, fluffy and long flying up and down against the ground, behind the creature. When realisation occurs to you that the thing is its tail, and its wagging, you cant help the tiny smile that slips across your face. Gaze slipping back up to the creature, deciding it has no ill intent in the moment, you decide to try something.

Reaching over with one hand, you tentatively slip it through its main. There's so much black fur there that you're unsure that it even feels your touch at all - and there is certainly no reaction as it just looks around the clearing, keeping watch, - and your hand disappears entirely in the surprisingly wonderfully soft fur.

Smile widening, you enjoy the feeling with one hand for a while, before getting adventurous. Your take your pointer finger, and lean up to carefully stroke the bone of its face-

And as soon as you start, the creature startles you by moving- but you don't pull back far before you realise what is actually happening. It isn't readying to attack, its preening. It stretches its neck up, shaking itself slightly, before lowering its head for you. As if to ask; Please, again.

The smile comes back full force, and you do as it so politely asked; Stroking down its smooth snout over and over again. You can feel its warm breath on your arm and various bits of the forest stuck in its fur but you don't care. You just enjoy the feeling- its actually like a big dog rather then a monster!

"Aw... you're a good one, aren't you? ... I'm so sorry we frightened you earlier... "

Ursula || A Sea Witch ||

"Yes, yes... " Ursula rolls her eyes, sighing out her words in an irritated way; Getting tired of going through the deal, over and over again. But you cant stop wording it slightly different- as if it will ever get better, for you. Because its quite simple. "I'll save your precious baby brother, let him live on happy and healthy and all that rubbish for another 30 to 40 years... and you get to come down and stay with me, eternally. Happy?"

"... yes." You force the word out from between your lips as soon as you've worked yourself up to agreeing, not allowing yourself to back down again. As you suspected, the moment that word makes it into the open air, materialising into steam from the cold air as you kneel by the murky, foggy morning waters and the monster waiting for you in their depths- you regret it. You want to take it back... but you forced the word out for a reason.

For him.

And you refuse to even try to take it back, because the one thing you desire in life is to keep him safe... and this is the only way you can do that.

Tears well up in your eyes, as a wet hand curls around your own outstretched one, long red nails scraping into your skin as you shake. Bright eyes with pitch black pupils and wicked intent not-at-all hidden away gleam back at you, as thickly painted lips pull back on either side in a pearly, sinister, grin. Like a switch, your heart suddenly plummets down to your feet, and the cavern of your chest feels as cold as the unforgiving waters, below.

"Its a deal, then, doll~ " The sea witches voice is rough, that black heart of hers and ill intent bleeding out unapologetically through in her tone, and you know you've made a terrible mistake for yourself.

But the right decision, for him.

And as Ursula's hand slips out from yours and she disappears back under the water, the gentle waives slipping over her violent tinted skin until she's gone, your eyes slip closed; You must remind yourself, of that fact. He will be safe now. That's all that matters. It has to be.

Because you know, that she'll be back soon enough- and you'll be hers, for good. Just as she wanted it to be.

These are your last few moments of freedom, before she comes back with a disgusting tonic or filthy ointment or horrible scent, or something, that'll make you like her,... tied to the sea rather then the shore... and you use them to think about him.

Taking a deep breath, you think; You'll be okay now.

Take care of yourself, because I cant anymore. Create a good life, for yourself.

Don't miss me too much, please.

The fear striking sound of waives lapping harder against the rock you're perched on alerts you that she's back, and when you open your eyes she is indeed there; An expectant look on her face, and a closed clam shell in her hand. "Well? Come on in, darling... I promise I'll hold your hand, if it gets too rough."

"Y-you want me to come in... to the water?? Now??" Before you've changed? Before you have a tail, and gills? Surely it'll be freezing- you're cold just looking at that water.

"Well I wouldn't want you convulsing too hard when you transform and hitting your pretty little head on the rocks! Trust me, honey."

Trust her...

The concept repulses you, but what other choice do you have anymore? Taking a deep breath, you dip your legs in first- before shuffling off the shire for the last time and dipping silently into the frigid sea.

Your eyes are squeezed tightly closed as your head disappears under the waives, and the only feelings you know are the freezing fucking cold and, and thick tentacles wrapping gently around you. Holding you still.

Under water.

"Now, now~ Don't panic, that'll just make this worse for you." You're starting to run out of air - you've never been good at holding your breath, - , and as Ursula's thumb brushes over your lips you struggle, like an impulse, away from her. You try to wrestle out of her hold- reach the air, again. To breath- Air- God, fuck- Need to-

But her grip just tightens around you, her new play thing, constricting like a boa constrictor until you cant fight anymore. "I said don't panic, lovely...

now open that lovely mouth, now."