#and crossing my fingers for the gender recognition

[bbiine]

SPILLED WINE REWARD ָ֢

SUMMARY: an accident involving wine, between Seokmin and Y/N, two ex-lovers, at New York Fashion Week, makes Seokmin want to reward you

PAIRING: idol!ex boyfriend!Seokmin x idol!ex girlfriend!fem!reader

WARNINGS: (probably) grammatical errors and a little of smut

GENDER: fluff and (a little) smut

BIBI'S NOTES: hey mes amours! It's my first time writing so if you have any feedback, pls don't hesitate to let me know! I want to warn you that English is not my native language, so forgive me for any mistakes!

Enjoy!

New York Fashion week used to be a major fashion event. Only people who were influential and important to fashion were able to be invited and honored with a presence in the big city.

The kpop industry was gaining more recognition and many more idols were going on to have worldwide careers. And Seokmin, or better known as Dokyeom or Dk, a member of a famous boy group called Seventeen, managed to be influential enough to be one of the guests.

He was sitting in the front row of the catwalk looking at all the new clothing collections and all that luxury, when his eyes met the eyes of an idol, it was Y/N, your ex-girlfriend, you were becoming famous in the Kpop industry and you finally had this opportunity to be present at such a big event. It had been a long time since you had broken up, not a single word had been exchanged.

Seokmin watched you with curious eyes, you were totally focused on the clothes and you looked different, your countenance was dazzling and mysterious at the same time. You hadn't realized that Seokmin had been looking at you since the beginning of the show; for him, the show didn't matter when he could simply observe your every detail and expression.

As he walked through the middle of a large, chic hall, full of people drinking their champagne and sporting their latest clothes after the big show, Seokmin tried to find the girl who had captured his attention. Until he saw the same pair of eyes that had always caught his attention: you were talking to a very influential person in fashion, but things didn't seem to be going well.

Seokmin approaches with a smile on his face

"Hello...Y/N right? Sorry to disturb your conversation, but can I talk to you for five minutes?" Seokmin smiles

When you realize who it is, your smile fades a little, after all you've been avoiding him. As soon as your eyes meet his, you remember all the past you've had and that night when you decided to give up on everything.

It was an ordinary Wednesday night when you decided to end it all. You'd known each other since you were 16, when you were just a trainee, and for as long as you can remember, you'd been in love with him. But the more time passed, the more you felt the pressure of being an idol, you simply didn't have a romantic life with Seokmin, you couldn't go out or have dinner together because everyone would know about your relationship and your company didn't want that. It had been three years since you were in this relationship and it seemed to only put pressure on you, your life revolved around hiding the relationship from the two of you.

Seokmin snaps two fingers in front of you making you wake up from all the thoughts and memories you had with him

"Long time, Y/N" He smiled

"What do you want to talk to me about?" You crossed your arms

"Well, you tour abroad and you can't speak English properly? You didn't seem to understand anything in that conversation"

"Of course I understood, I was just confused because she was talking too fast" you walk to a private corner while picking up a glass of wine

Seokmin accompanies you, he was curious about what had happened to you since the break-up

"How's life?" He leans against the wall and stares at you

"Are you really going to do that? You don't have to try to talk to me, after all, the last time we saw each other you hated me." You sip some wine, trying to forget how much that night hurt you.

"I didn't even remember that, I'm not holding any grudges... if it's all right for you, then it's all right for me" He gives you the same smile and waits for your reaction

"Then we're even" You give a forced smile

Just then, a waiter walked by with a tray of wine glasses. Seokmin reached out to take one, but a sudden stumble caused the glass to slip out of his hands, spilling the red liquid in his direction. Your dress is stained red, leaving you embarrassed and Seokmin ashamed

You look at him angrily

"Seokmin, look what you've done!" You grab a cloth and try to wipe it off, but it only makes matters worse

Seokmin looks totally embarrassed and worried

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to" he tries to help you, taking a cloth and trying to wipe it off

The stain was right on your stomach and a little close to your breasts, as you felt his touch after so long, your cheeks turned a little red and you tried to hide it with your anger

"Don't touch me Seokmin" you pulled away from him, walking into the great hall, inside you found a room where you took out your cell phone and called your manager, so you could get another dress.

Meanwhile Seokmin was trying to find where you were, after all he wanted to apologize and didn't want things to turn out this way.

You were standing with your arms folded with your back to the door waiting for your manager, after all he said he was close by. the door opens and you say

"Quick, open my dress, this smell of wine is bothering me" you say without looking to the door

you feel hands running down your back as open your dress, that feeling was familiar to you, and then you hear the voice of the person who caused all this

"I'm sorry Y/N... let me make it up to you..."

You turn around quickly with red cheeks and see that it's Seokmin

"What are you doing here? Do you want to cause more trouble?" You say trying not to give in, but it was difficult, all the old feelings were coming back.

He laughs a little and faces you "You know I didn't mean it... let me apologize the way I know how" He stares at you, waiting for your reaction as he gently brings your lips closer.

Your legs freeze and you just can't say anything, you wanted it, you wanted to feel Seokmin's lips again. By now you were totally surrendered to him.

When your eyes close and you feel Seokmin's lips, that familiar sensation takes over your whole body, you feel like you're home after a long time.

There was no hesitation when their lips finally met, a passion they had both been holding in for so long was finally released. Seokmin's hands were roaming all over your body, sending all kinds of impure thoughts to your brain. Your lips were in perfect sync, as were your tongues, which were also present in the kiss.

When you both finally ran out of air, Seokmin pulled away and whispered in a hoarse voice with his eyes closed

"I want you...like I've always wanted since I was 16" he opened his eyes and faced her "come back to me Y/N...come home"

That was the pinnacle for you, after those words you could no longer hold in all that passion that had been stored up for so long, you brought your lips together again, causing Seokmin to pull you in, closing any kind of space between the two of you.

His hands were still on her body, and they went to her open zipper, pulling the stained dress down completely. "At least the accident did some good," he said, totally mesmerized by your body in just your underwear. You roll your eyes and laugh softly, "My God, how could I have stayed away from you for so long?" He stares at you with that smile as his kisses trail down to your neck, low moans coming from your mouth as Seokmin leaves marks on your neck.

"This is so wrong, but it feels so right," you whisper. There was no doubt about your feelings for each other and you could no longer resist the physical attraction

In one swift movement, Seokmin picks you up and places you on a random table in the room. In the meantime, his mouth never left your neck, making you continue to moan and driving him crazy "One day you're going to kill me with pleasure Y/N" he said between kisses

"Don't worry, I'm already doing it now" you let out a smile and your hands go down to Seokmin's blouse.

As your hands slowly move down to Seokmin's dress shirt, the intensity of the moment intensifies. The fabric of the shirt ripples with every movement of your touch. His fingers slide between the buttons of Seokmin's shirt, teasing him with each stroke. Soon, the shirt begins to move lower and lower, revealing more and more of Seokmin's muscular frame underneath.

you can feel your own heart pounding and the heat rising through your skin. Perhaps Seokmin's claim that you were already "killing him with pleasure" was right all along.

He stopped kissing her neck and faced her as he slowly descended, looking into her eyes. He was at the height of her legs, while his hands caressed her thighs as he slowly spread her legs apart.

"For you I keep my legs open and forget everything" you said in a sensual and provocative way

Seokmin's smile widened and he left a kiss on the inside of her thigh

"I know, but maybe you can't keep them open for long," he says, teasing you even more

His kisses move upwards until they almost reach the middle of your leg, and then your phone rings, taking all the focus away from you.

You pick it up and your eyes go wide and you quickly get up from the table, looking for your dress and leaving Seokmin at a loss.

The call is ended and you say "My manager is here, he's looking for me, quick, get out of here" you say desperately and put on your stained dress

He gives you a mischievous smile "well, looks like we'll have an audience to see what I'm going to do to you" he approaches you again and you push him towards the door "stop Seokmin, no one can catch us here"

He laughs and then opens the door saying "Fine, fine but...I'm not done with you yet"

@bbiine, 2023

[mooncrestedwaters]

Immortalized Muses

Authors Word: Woo, ok, this took me easily two months to write.

This came to life after having a dream about Rafayel and I attending an art exhibition and him begging me to be in a picture with him after I refused. (Basically this is a glorified retelling of the dream tbh haha)

This is my first time displaying my writings on this account so I hope you all enjoy

- Mikaela 🤍🪽

Warnings/Themes: Mutual Pining, swearing/profanity, non-established relationship (they're friends/employer & employee), Rafayel throwing hints like confetti, mild smut(??), mentions of sexual tones of voice, mentions of alcohol/being tipsy and/or drunk, banter banter, Rafayel is a princess (big surprise)

Please let me know if I missed any themes

Tags: Rafayel x MC (MC is they/them so it can apply to any gender)

"Why do you keep disappearing?"

With a jump, y/n turned towards the intrusion of their solace.

"Rafayel..." With sheepish welcome, they bowed their head looking at their reflection in their drink, knowing that they'd wandered off again and left Rafayel alone at the after party for the exhibition, "Sorry, I just needed some air..."

He made a grunt of recognition and came to stand beside them, leaning his elbows on the intricate steel woven fence around the balcony, overlooking a calm rippling lake, decorated with trees and local habitations to be spotlighted by the gentle moon hung in the night sky, speckled with stars like diamonds on velvet to bounce off his sun kissed skin and lavender locks, "I thought you'd gone home."

Looking down into their drink they swished it around the glass, ice knocking against the crystal and straw poised between their index and middle finger, eager for another sip, "No, I wouldn't do that."

"Overwhelmed?"

They nodded in reply, "I just needed to take a break."

Rafayel's eyebrows creased, a pout working its way onto his charming features, "The reporters were taking pictures downstairs, I couldn't see you anywhere and had to make this perilous journey to find you."

They deadpanned, pursing their lips as Rafayel started his theatrics.

"For all I know you could've been swooped up by some criminal who'd gate crashed the party!"

"Aren't I supposed to be your bodyguard?" - they sipped their drink with a snide snort - "What do you pay me for if not to look after your safety and my own?"

He genuinely pouted now, shooting y/n a half hearted glare, "Oh, you know what I mean."

They smiled, genuinely knowing exactly what he meant.

"That lonely, hmm?"

Rafayel looked away, leaning back from the railing to stand tall, ears burning red, arms crossed as he kicked his heel out and spun away from y/n to saunter off with a huff, "Just come back downstairs already."

°°°°

Smoothing the silk of their outfit, y/n took a deep breath, their shoes clacking against the grandiose marble floors.

They felt a little out of place in such an outfit but Rafayel always insisted. Y/n had no choice when the ornate crisp white outfit made of silk and chiffon was laid on their bed, pearl accessories and details lined with tints of pastel blues.

Then Rafayel would insist on doing make-up for y/n, his skills on a paintbrush transferring to an array of beauty brushes.

Y/n always came out looking like the multiple zeros on a check he'd get for one of his paintings and they always felt their heart beat a little fast when they noted how much time and care Rafayel put into dressing them up to be the prized Belle of the Ball.

"Ah, there you are!" Rafayel greeted them, wrapping an arm around their shoulder and whispering a quick 'Help me!' in their ear.

Y/n chuckled but it soon died in their throat as they heard the business man drone on about monetary prospects of Rafayel's studio.

His arm was retrieved to his side and he showed utmost interest in the poor fool as he droned on, gums flapping like a pig at a troph, greed seeping into their every word and not a care for the art that Rafayel poured his blood, sweat and pearlescent tears into that was displayed around the exhibition like an ornate frame to the arrogant masses.

Y/n even swore they saw Rafayel's eyes twitch once or twice and couldn't tell if it was from the other mans ignorance, Rafayel's affinity with boredom or if their little rest bite from the party before was still grating on him.

They deemed it well to stay put and endure the rest of the night and took a sip of their drink, eyeing the bar like an old lover already.

"Hey, get me a red wine?" Rafayel whispered in their ear, goosebumps flooding their skin, "I fucking need it."

They looked at him from the corner of their eyes and nodded, seeing the ever present smirk and surety displayed in his eyes, behind it was waves of exhaustion and desperation.

He wanted nothing more than for this night to end, just as much as y/n did. They pitied the poor artist.

With a curt nod, they excused themselves to the drink bar, "Old fashioned and a wine."

"Top or bottom shelf?"

They looked over their shoulder as another business man slung his arm over Rafayel's shoulders, laughing boisterously as Rafayel visibly stiffened, his white knuckled fists slipping into his pockets to disguise his annoyance and crafting a smile on his face.

"The one that'll have the highest alcohol percentage." - They snuck a glance at him again, his jaw now visibly tensed, his smile becoming a grimace - "Stat."

°°°°

As the money hungry ladder climbers of the night slowly dispersed to their ubers and chauffeurs alike home, Thomas, Rafayel and themself got to winding down the night. Close friends, family and beneficiaries hung back for group pictures and y/n stuck to the side, nibbling on some fancy hors d'oeuvres.

Rafayel's aunt pulled him in for a selfie, pinching his cheeks as he weakly protested with a groan and y/n couldn't help but giggle when Thomas threw himself into the mix enveloping them both from behind in a hug to join the picture.

There wasn't a sober soul in the venue, that was for damn sure.

Y/n couldn't help the smile creeping onto their face at the pleasant scene of Rafayel - despite his eagerness to leave - visibly loosening up and finally enjoying himself with his people, not the riff raff with obese wallets and closed minds.

Looking up from the empty glass, y/n saw Rafayel's gaze over his shoulder at them.

They raised a brow, wondering why Rafayel was staring at them.

Maybe he was tired and wanted to be escorted home?

They'd get their answer, as Rafayel slipped from Thomas' and his Aunts embrace to stride over and stand against the wall beside Y/n.

"Having fun?" They asked.

"I guess," Rafayel sighed, "Just really fucked."

Y/n could tell, since Rafayel's pleasantries and ability to save face had flown out the window with his language and demeanor.

They dusted their curled finger against his cheek, his dark under eyes starting to show through the concealer he'd applied before the event.

He sighed, his bunched shoulders dropping slightly as he closed his eyes, basking in the gentle and tender touch they gave him, his fists loosened, going slack in his pockets as he revealed in the touch.

"We'll get you back to your home soon," Y/n spoke, retrieving their hand away, pressing their watch as a holographic monitor buzzed to life, "It's nearly one in the morning, Gods...."

They called for a ride to take him back to his place and the other guests were doing the same to head to their own respective abodes.

"Rafayel!" His Aunt called and waved him over and he stiffened, "Come over here, we're taking one last picture."

They leant against the wall as Rafayel began to stride over to meet the group of people. He stopped, turning to them and placed out his hand in offering to join.

"Pass." Y/n held their open palm up in front of him, "I'm not someone who should be in such a picture, I'm just your bodyguard."

He turned fully to speak to them, eyebrows creased and lips pursed, "Nonsense, come."

They shook their head, an apologetic smile on their face, "No, no...you go, I'll keep an eye out for-"

"Quit being stubborn," Rafayel quipped, his tone more rough than usual with his fatigue and waning patience, "I want you in the picture, so you'll be in the picture."

Deciding to skip their words of protest they turned on their heel to go stand outside and wait for the ride. Their plan fell short as Rafayel grabbed their arm, his hold strong enough that they couldn't break free but gentle enough as to not hurt them, "Stay..."

Y/n tilted their head, irritation spiking as they looked over their shoulder with pursed lips and a raised brow. They decided to play on his ego, hoping their bargaining chip would shake the painter off, "Beg then."

A look of shock splashed across his features like paint across a canvas. His lips parted, looking for a comeback but instead he let go of their arm.

Y/n thought they were free, going to turn on their heel until his arm snaked around their shoulders, fingers dusting their slightly exposed collarbone with strands of hair interwoven through his fingertips. He lent down, his face to the side of theirs as his other hand tucked their hair behind their ear, his lips dusting against the shell of their ear as he whispered in a low hum, "Please..."

They felt a jolt through their body, their breath hitched to flee their mouth in a squeak.

Rafayel continued his assault of words against their ear, sending electric currents through their veins to rise as a bright crimson blush on their cheeks. His tone was reminiscent of a whine closing in on whimpering.

"Please, Y/n....Please stay, please don't walk away, stay for me? Please darling, I really want you, I really really need you, please I need you beside me-"

With what energy they could muster between their hitched breathing and trembling limbs they pushed the artist off them and stormed towards the group of people readying themselves for the picture.

"Fine! Gods, Rafayel..." Y/n groaned and stood fixing their hair to the side of the group.

They could feel Rafayel's smug, triumphant smirk burning into the back of their skull and they tried not to bristle with frustration that Rafayel got his way.

As Thomas set the timer everyone huddled in and around the artist. Rafayel pulled Y/n flush by his side, his arm around their waist, fingers gripping into the plush flesh of their clothed hip. He leant down as the timer counted down to whisper once more in their ear.

"Art is meant to be witnessed...Do you really think I wouldn't pose with my favorite art piece?"

Y/n blush and Rafayels smug smile of victory were immortalized within that photograph forever.

Y/n blamed it on the alcohol.

Rafayel always held a knowing smirk as to the real reason.

[thedrownedsiren]

“A Gender Cannot Be Dictated, It’s Lived”

Dorcas Meadowes sat in the Hogwarts library wing, where the murmurs of students blended with the rustling of pages. From the tall windows, sunlight bathed the shelves in an almost surreal warmth. But Dorcas felt cold. A cold that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the news she had read that morning.

“Only two genders recognized.”

The article, which had arrived from the Muggle world, spoke of a man in power trying to fit everyone into two simple boxes: male or female. It was an imposition that erased so many lives, so many colors, and, most importantly, Dorcas.

Dorcas didn’t fit into those boxes. Some days, she felt like a woman, with her hair tied back and robes that seemed to float with every step. Other days, the mirror reflected the image of a young man, with squared shoulders and a determined stance, wearing more androgynous clothing. And there were days when she didn’t want to be anything other than Dorcas—a person without labels, without molds.

“Why do you care so much about what some idiot on the other side of the world says?” asked Marlene McKinnon, dropping a book in front of Dorcas. She was Dorcas’ closest friend, always blunt, always unfiltered.

Dorcas looked up from her parchment. “It’s not just what he said. It’s what it means. People like me get erased when someone like him opens their mouth. It’s like my existence doesn’t matter.”

Marlene sat down, crossing her arms. “And who needs him to recognize you? You exist. That’s enough.”

Dorcas shook her head, biting her lip. “What if it’s not? What if being enough for myself isn’t enough? I want a world where people can look beyond labels and just see us for who we are.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Marlene always had something to say, but this time, she seemed to measure her words. Finally, she sighed. “Ignorance doesn’t disappear overnight, I know. But look around you, Dorcas. Here, in this place, you have people who see you and respect you. You’re not just a name on a registry. You’re strength, you’re voice, you’re you.”

Dorcas lowered her gaze, feeling the frustration still simmering inside her. But there was truth in what Marlene said. At Hogwarts, people saw her as she was: someone who laughed loudly in the corridors, who fought bravely in duels, who cried when no one was watching.

She stood from her seat, crossing the room to a mirror hanging on the wall. Her reflection returned a gaze she didn’t always recognize, but she knew it was hers.

“A gender cannot be dictated, Marlene,” she murmured, more to herself than to her friend. Her fingers brushed against the cold glass of the mirror. “A gender is lived.”

And that’s what she would do. She wouldn’t let anyone—not a man in power, nor the opinions of others—define who she was. As long as she could breathe, love, and exist, she would be Dorcas Meadowes, free and authentic.

When she returned to the table, Marlene smiled at her. “That’s the spirit.”

Dorcas returned the smile, small but steady. The road ahead was long, but now she knew she’d walk it with her head held high.

And maybe it's not just about how the Muggle world chooses to recognize only two genders, ignoring the existence of others. It is more an exploration of how this imposition emotionally impacts Dorcas, who lives and celebrates her identity outside of these limiting categories. It is a reminder that the struggle for recognition goes beyond politics and labels: it is about the humanity of those who do not fit into predefined molds.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi! Thank you for your blog. I often hear from autistic people themselves that they have an excellent memory and they remember a lot of things without problems. And I feel incredibly superfluous because I am an autistic with… a very bad memory. I hardly remember what people say. My special interests are more than a decade old, but my brain simply loses important aspects of information. When I share something with people, I always look at the notes to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. I'm very slow and focused, but my brain gets rid of the information anyway. I was diagnosed a year ago and studied autism and other diagnoses for a year. It was difficult for me to study the topic, because my brain likes to grab details and it's difficult for me to immediately see the whole picture, so it took me so much time to understand everything, but… at one point my brain said "enough!". And I realized that I don't remember almost anything that I learned in a year. Although I could have told a lot just a month ago. Unfortunately, I have not found good information about poor memory in autistic people, as everyone says the opposite. I can only say that I often lose my memory after stressful things, but under "stress" my brain considers any situation where there are too many emotions - good or bad.

Hi there,

Unfortunately my memory isn’t that good either due to my epilepsy. I did find one article discussing some research on autism and memory. Here’s are some excerpts:

Researchers at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine and Veterans Affairs Pittsburgh Healthcare System have found that children with autism differ from other children in two specific memory capabilities. The research is in January's Neuropsychology, which is published by the American Psychological Association (APA).

Researchers including neurologist Nancy Minshew, MD, studied 76 children from ages 8 to 16. Half were verbal individuals with autism, half were normal controls matched for age, IQ and gender. The diagnosis of autism reflected social and communication impairments of the autistic type along with restricted interests and patterns of behavior.

First, the children with autism, compared to the matched controls, had poorer memory for complex information (many individual elements or one complicated element) in both word and picture form. In essence, the children with autism found it hard to remember information if they needed a cognitive organizing strategy to aid recall or if they had to detect such an organizing element in the information itself.

The authors speculate that, "People with autism don't have the automatic cross talk between brain systems -- the reasoning and the memory systems -- that tells their brain what is most important to notice or how to organize it thematically."

Second, children with autism also had poor working memory for spatial information, or remembering over time where something was located once it was out of sight. Although working memory for verbal information was fine, a "Finger Windows" subtest of recall of a spatial sequence easily distinguished between children with and without autism. Spatial working memory depends on a specific region of the frontal cortex that is known to be dysfunctional in autism.

Despite these two impairments, the children with autism did not have global memory problems. They showed good associative learning ability, verbal working memory and recognition memory. Because their memories differed in only two specific ways, memory in autism appears to be organized differently than in normal individuals -- reflecting differences in the development of brain connections with the frontal cortex.

The article will be below in case you’d like to read more. I hope this helps answer your question. Thank you for the inbox. I happen you have a wonderful day/night. ❤️

Autism & Memory

[thewickedbohemian]

Fellow So Help Me Todd fans (or w/e we're going to call ourselves as esp. if this show goes on as we want it to we need a demonym), what would you most want to see in future seasons of So Help Me Todd (y'know because we all want to see future seasons of So Help Me Todd)

Here's some of mine

a musical episode later into the show (as both Buffy and Psych had theirs a ways in and assuming it gets that many seasons I don't see SHMT having one until at least a S5) but in a *crosses fingers* S3 I want at least some opportunity for Todd and/or Judy to sing (could be anything from karaoke to one of them (as as a not-technically-a-detective Judy would make the perfect undercover asset) going undercover as a singer a la Leverage's The Studio Job)

If Jenifer Lewis could have the time to appear again as Jacqueline Burton (and could perhaps be as much a recurring-guest-star as her schedule allows) since Jenifer irl has bipolar disorder I think it would be interesting for it to be canon that Jacqueline is bipolar as well (shed some educational light on a scary-seeming disorder by showing a good guy with it for once)

On the topic of mental health a thing I've wanted for this show for a while is for one of the many neurodivergent-seeming main characters (whoever the writers think best fits a given disorder with whatever disorder they best fit (e.g. Todd with ADHD, Lyle with autism etc.)) to go through an adult-diagnosis arc canonizing it and how I'd do that if I wrote for the show (though I don't trust my handling of these characters to find more than broad concepts for episodes or arcs) is through a parallel-recognition thingie when the firm's working a case regarding a parent of a kid with the same disorder fighting Portland Public Schools on behalf of their child (inspired by how Ray Romano's Parenthood character found out he was autistic and if it's Todd himself or anyone else at the firm they'd find it out themselves but if it's someone outside like either of Todd's siblings he notices it about them because of the case)

I mean this in the best possible way but Allison could use a therapist

Wherever Todd's actual career takes him I think it'd be cool if more seasons meant the twice-in-two-seasons pattern was kept up of Todd having to "play lawyer"

more Psych homages/getting Psych-level experimental (like was shown this season with "Dial M For Margaret" the Rear Window homage)

the wardrobe department to (unless it truly is fitting for everyone's character) stop with the dressing half the cast in really obnoxious patterns at once

Some other Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist alum to guest-star outside the musical episode (given the vibe of this show I could see Alex Newell showing up as another unconventionally-gendered character) and Todd making some joke-to-us-the-audience (like his "I hate theater kids" in "End On A High Note") about them looking familiar and if he knows them from somewhere

The endgame arc for Jodd (Judy/Todd) if they're truly going to be the endgame ship of if-this-show-lasts-longer (or at least part of it as for all we know some poly shit could happen either involving just Lyle as well (to appease the Tyle shippers and as the broadcast equivalent of the Leverage OT3) or Lyle and Ariel) being Judy eventually getting her PI license and becoming Todd's detecting partner in addition to romantic partner as a full-circle-parallel-redemption from what happened with him and Veronica

So what would you guys want to see in more So Help Me Todd

[z3llous]

Unbridled

Sanji x Badass Jealous Reader (She/her)

I use the word "bitch" gender neutrally, Pudding just happens to be a woman. Anyone can be a bitch in my book lol.

Decided to keep my lil scene name notes in.

--- Scene 1 Captain Y/n's rage---

A soft light escaped from an airship hovering in the night sky and caressed the deep dark waves below.

"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea? I know the Straw Hat Pirates are friends, but this is really risky." Vera, Y/n's first mate, questioned tracing a finger along the map.

"Vera, I appreciate it. I know and understand how risky this is, but frankly, I don't care." Y/n stated unsheathing her dagger.

Vera swallowed as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of her face at the cold gleam of the dagger under moonlight.

"Sanji and I have had something between us for a long time. We aren't official, at least not publicly, but that's my man and I'm not about to let some sugary bitch think she can take what's mine!" Y/n yelled as she aggressively impaled the drawing of Whole Cake.

--- Scene 2 Preparing for the wedding---

Sanji let out a long deep sigh as he got to the last button.

To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. The wedding would begin soon and he'd have to put on happy face, regardless much he didn't want to.

Pudding wasn't who he thought she was, and she definitely wasn't Y/n.

Oh shit, Y/n! If this plan fails he'd never see her again.

They'd agreed to make their relationship public the next time their crews crossed paths, which should've been Wano, but now he wasn't so sure that'd ever happen.

"Damn it, this has to work." He whispered gripping the sides of the vanity and glaring at his reflection.

---Scene 3 Wedding Crash! Grab that Man!---

Beautiful, everything was perfect, at least it appeared that way to anyone who didn't know what was soon to come.

He was just going through the motions with a lie of a smile plastered on his face.

The moment to pull the vail back had arrived. His hands hesitated. Could he do it? It didn't matter, he couldn't turn back now, no matter how much he wanted to.

Sanji's hands reached for the vail.

A gunshot echoed throughout the area.

The priest let out a groan and dropped to floor.

A coin fell and bounced along the candy brick: everyone heard it.

"I object." A familiar feminine voice stated from her seat on top the wall.

Her crew's sniper blew the smoke from his gun with a smirk.

"Y/n." Sanji whispered in recognition.

---Scene 4 Reunited and Terribly in Love---

The fight was intense and Y/n's crew added to the chaos.

Thankfully, the sheer amount of Luffy was distracting enough for Y/n to grab Sanji and run.

Sanji had hoped to see her again, but in her arms with scowl on her face as she ran at a full sprint wasn't quite how he'd pictured it. He knew jealousy was rare for her, but damn did she look good in it.

Eventually Y/n found an empty building far enough and stopped there.

He was unfortunately back on his feet, but luckily Sanji was pulled back in her arms, and into a kiss that quickly became many. Soon those kisses trailed away from his lips to his neck.

"What you think you're doing getting yourself into all this trouble? Do you have any idea how upset and worried I was when I learned your bastard of a father was selling you off for a political marriage?" She questioned between kisses, a hand sliding up an down his back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry to have worried you. How did you know what was happening?" He held her closer and whispered.

"I have a few spies here. They keep me updated on Big Mom's plans." Y/n said ceasing her affectionate attacks along his neck and collarbone.

"I missed you, Y/n." Sanji said tearing up.

"Shh It's ok. You're going to be ok. I'm right here" She cooed stroking his cheek with her thumb.

---

Sorry Pudding, I took your moment away from you :/

Also Katakuri was like, I'm going to just file my nails a sec while you shoot the priest, cuz like he's not family so it ain't my problem.

Tags: @vemuabhi​

@vission-kid​

[aizawaorkuroo]

rain on me

Ship: Kitsune!Atsumu x f!reader

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: As a sunshine girl, you’ve been blessed by a fox spirit. A spirit that you’re supposed to meet for the first time tonight.

Warnings: Creampie, Outdoor Sex, Biting, Breeding, Dumbification, Panty Sniffing, Interspecies sex lmao

AN: the is based off of the movie Weathering With You! Not gender neutral because reader is referred to as sunshine girl at times! Part 2 of my Valentines day special!

________________________

A fat drop of water hits your cheek, rolling down your skin as you groan. Your lips twist into a frown, eyes narrowed at the rapidly darkening sky. Based on the weather report, it really was supposed to still be sunny…

Yachi squeals jolt you back into reality, her little fist, tugging at your sleeve, while Tanaka throws his head back to glare at the sky.

“Fix it please!” he moans, eyeing the sky like he’s thinking about fighting it. You sigh, shoulders slumping before shutting your eyes in concentration. 

A delicate prayer, one you’ve prayed a thousand times before, enters your mind. Head bowed, you offer up the desires of your friends to the sky, hopes for a balmy breeze and warm sun. And as quickly as it came, the rain began to slow, clouds dispersing in the breeze.

Tanaka gives a holler, fist pumping in the air, while Yachi lets go of your sleeve, letting out a sigh.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she chirps, sending you a small smile. Looping her arm with yours she rests her head on your shoulder, giggling at Tanaka as he swings his arms around, lost in the story he was telling.

You smile softly at your friends, briefly eyeing the sky, and offering a small thanks. There are some days where a blue sky can change everything, it can lift spirits, bring joy, and you certainly weren’t gonna let it rain tonight, not during the festival everyone’s so excited for.

“Y/N!” Tanaka’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and he waggles his eyebrows. “I asked if you’re meeting your fox tonight.” You roll your eyes as Yachi makes a noise of excitement.

“I mean that’s the plan? I’ve never meant him in person though,” you sigh, face feeling warm. A large arm loops around your shoulder, forcing both you and Yachi closer to him.

“Yea, I’m sure you get up to a lot in those dreams.” Tanaka barks out a laugh, and you shove him away.

“It’s not like that! I’ve told you. He’s always a fox.” Yachi pets your arm, nodding in an understanding manner.

“Of course, Y/N. Of course.” You fume, pulling your arm away from her and crossing your arms.

“I’m not lying. Why would I lie about this?” She giggles, while Tanaka shakes his head.

“Will he be at the festival?” Your lips purse and you nod, eyes cast down.

“Yea, but I don’t know when or where,” you sigh. Tanaka strokes his chin in thought.

“Well, you’ll definitely know him when you see him. He marked you after all right?” Tanaka sounds so confident, so sure, and Yachi nods in agreement.

“He made you a sunshine girl and you talk with him all the time.”

Their confidence fills you with an electric excitement. You were finally going to meet your fox. You were going to meet Atsumu.  

Except he doesn’t show up.

Minutes slowly pile onto one another, adding up to hours. The sun dips down, and you’re left in the glow from the stalls, trying to ignore the way your stomach sinks and the looks your friends send you when they think you can’t see.

It’s embarrassing, mortifying, even. You had been so excited, chattering away about Atsumu, only for him to stand you up. And Tanaka and Yachi try to make you feel better, dragging you around to different stalls, paying for all sorts of snacks and treats. But after the 4th pity dessert, you excuse yourself, saying you need to take a walk.

The farther you walk away from the festival, the quieter it gets, the silence and cool air helping you clear your mind.

So what? You had been stood up. That happens all the time to people. But it's not every day the spirit who had blessed you breaks his promise. Your feet slow to a stop, and you bite your lip, trying to hold back the stinging tears that threaten to fall.

Your head tilts back, eyes taking in the cloudless sky. Would he have told you the same jokes he had in your dreams? Would he have bought you food? Would he even have money? Would he still help you bring the sun? You sigh wiping weakly at your eyes, before two golden eyes catch your attention.

A fox sits before you, tail swaying excitedly behind it. You crouch down before it, eyes widening as realization dawns on you.

“Are you my spirit? My kitsune?” you whisper, looking for any signs of recognition or intelligence. It blinks at you, head cocking to the side blankly. Warmth settles over you in an embarrassment. He stood you up; he wouldn’t show up now. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, even if you aren’t him.”

You rise brushing non-existent dirt off your thighs. Giving the fox a small wave before you turn your back.

You’ve taken maybe three steps before arms encircle your waist, and you’re held flush against something warm and hard.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” a low and somewhat familiar voice growls in your ear. You’re wiggling in his arms when he spins you, and you’re met with a new face that is way too close to yours But he’s handsome.

Blonde hair with dark roots, dreamy eyes, a smile that threatens to devour you alive. His yukata is half open, allowing your eyes easy access to his skin. You can see a tail flicker behind him in your peripheral, but you’re too focused on his eyes, how hypnotic they are. You swallow past the lump in your throat, taking in the two fuzzy fox ears that sit in his hair.

“Oh.”

His eyes widen, before his head tilts back, a burst of loud laughter filling the quiet air. Your stomach flips, and you try to squirm out of his arms, a bashful feeling overcoming you. But his hands curl into you, claws almost painful, but keeping you close. When his laughter subsides, he sends you another easy grin.

“You finally meet your almighty kitsune in the flesh, and all you can say is ‘oh.’” Hands settling against his chest, you blink dumbly at him, as recognition finally dawns on you.

It’s him.

You’ve heard him in your dreams so often, it’s utterly embarrassing you didn’t know soon enough, but it’s Atsumu. You cry out, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him against you. He nuzzles into you, laughing and tightening his hold.

“Hi.” It’s a whisper against your neck, and it sends a chill down your spine, reminding you of the impropriety of the position you’re in. You drop your arms, stiffening against him. Atsumu pulls back, corners of his lips pulled down in a small frown. “Why so shy?” Your eyes drop down, and his arms loosen, allowing you to draw back.

“This is different than in my dreams,” you murmur, not sure how else to explain that reconciling your pre-existing idea of Atsumu being a fox with the broad, handsome man before you isn’t going to happen immediately. But he doesn’t seem to understand, hands moving to cup your face.

“I’m sure it is.” Half-lidded eyes meet yours, and his nose brushes against yours, and your mind feels cloudy with the overload of information. “Let me make my little follower feel good..” He trails off, pressing a sweet kiss into your cheek. You bite your lip, brows pinching together in thought.

“I don’t know…”

“Why not?” he mutters into your neck, leaving stinging kisses up your neck, against your jaw. His hands travel to rest on your hips, squeezing the flesh there.

“You stood me up,” you pout, brows pinching in annoyance. Remorse ripples on his face, tail gently swaying behind him.

“I only want to see you. No one else. I was waiting. Do you know why?” Dark eyes spark in question, waiting. You shake your head, head feeling stuffy, letting him move your arms to wrap around his neck again.

“I want you alone, my sweet little sunshine girl. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. Let me make it up to you,” he coos, canine teeth poking out from his dangerous smile. His nose brushes against yours, eyes burning into you.

“Oh.” Atsumu barks out a laugh, head resting against your shoulder, fuzzy ears tickling your cheek.

“There you go again with an ‘oh,’” he murmurs, hands pulling you flush against him again. “Will you let me make you feel good?” He squeezes at your waist again, tail softly brushing up and down your leg. Something hot and dangerous flows through your body, desire blooming inside you, and without thinking about the implications, you nod.

“Ok.”

He shoots you a roguish grin that makes your stomach flip. A warm hand grasps yours dragging you past the tree line, deeper and deeper into the dark, until he stops, yanking you back into his arms.

“No one will find us here,” he murmurs nipping at your neck, ears twitching. You look around at the empty clearing.

“Are you sure?” you whimper, tugging at his hair as his hands slip beneath your skirt.

“I’m positive, little human.” His hand glosses over your rapidly dampening panties. His lips ghost over yours, eyes alight with a burning fire. “Now let me make you feel good.”

Atsumu surges forward, warm lips meeting yours. Your hands grapple into his hair, letting out a little whimper as his hand slips beneath your panties. His tongue slides into your mouth, ring and index finger gently spreading your folds. A whine leaves your throat when his calloused middle finger swipes through your slick. He drags the wetness up and around your clit, teasing the sensitive bud and making your legs tremble.

He pulls away from you, leaving your brain feeling thick as honey, and he brings a shiny finger to his mouth - the one that was in between your legs, you realize. Something hot courses through your body as his cheeks hollow out, eyes narrowed in on yours. Releasing his finger with a pop, he licks his lips, smirking at you.

“I’m going to eat you alive.” Your pussy clenches at his words, and his lips are on yours again. It’s messier this time, more aggressive, his sharp canines poking into you, the rough pad of his tongue trying to explore your mouth. Atsumu drops to his knees, pulling you down with him. He pushes you back into the grass, settling in between your legs.

A clawed hand gently pulls down your panties, and his thumb brushes over the wet spot. He takes a sniff at the fabric, eyes cruelly taking in your embarrassed face, and his tongue shoots out, lapping at your arousal.

“Atsumu,” you hiss, hands covering your face. A bark of laughter reaches your ears, and you feel your skirt being pushed up slowly. It’s only when you feel a hot presence hovering in between your thighs that you peek through your fingers.

Atsumu shoots you a sardonic grin before pressing his face into the warmth of your cunt, shutting his eyes, and inhaling deeply through his nose. You sit up, hands dropping, curling into the soft grass beneath you.

“Atsumu! Don’t do that!” you cry out, trying and failing to shut your thighs. His eyes blink open, and he sniffs at your cunt again.

“You smell good.” His hand lands on your torso, gently pushing you back down. “Human.”

You inhale shakily as he continues to inhale, fingers gently pulling at your pussy. With a certain tenderness, his tongue swipes at your folds, making you shiver, fingers digging into the earth. He hums happily before diving in.

A pathetic noise leaves your mouth as he groans into your dripping cunny. Squelching noises fill the air as he sucks and slurps, tongue circling your clit. You rock against him brainlessly, humping his face as you gush. It briefly crosses your mind that his fangs could do some serious damage, but it feels too good for you to care.

He paws at your clothing, shoving things away until you’re left with only your skirt bunched around your waist. His hands slide up, gently pressing into the newly exposed skin. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking at the bud.

You thrash under him, fingers tangling into his hair as your thighs squeeze around his head. Atsumu moans against you, rough tongue pushing into your sopping cunny. He curls the muscle, thrusting in and out as you buck against him.

“Gonna cum, ‘Tsumu,” you moan, pulling him tight against you. Eyes hazy, he thumbs at your clit, groaning as your pussy clenches, gushing into his mouth. You babble, fingers brushing at his fuzzy ears. It feels so good, so right, cumming on his face. You writhe against him, as your orgasm gradually subsides. And then ever so gently, Atsumu’s claw scratches at your clit, making you cry out. You weakly tug at his hair, catching his attention as he continues to lap away.

“’Tsumu no more,” you whine. “Wanna kiss you.” And you watch as he melts against your thigh, eyes darkening he finally relents, pulling away from your cunt. Lips glistening, he crawls up your body, before stopping above you. With a grin, he drops down, crushing you with his weight. You let out a puff of air, but you can’t help to laugh as his thighs bracket yours, letting him support some of his weight. He watches you fondly, tail stroking your leg.

“I was gonna make you squirt. But next time, hmmm.” You preen at his words, fingers rubbing at the base of his ears, pushing him down to meet your lips again. He hums happily, tail brushing against the inside of your thighs. You shiver and let out a small moan, cunt already feeling needy and desperate again.

“’Tsumu,” you whine again, this time grinding against him.

“Gonna have to say it,” he teases, sending you a smile that you find infuriating.

“Want you inside of me.” Your brows pinch in frustration, as you continue to try and rock up against him. He tuts as you, finger barely slipping into you fluttering pussy.

“Like this?” His voice is low in your ear, a dark taunt that makes you gush under him.

“Quit messing around!” you yelp, weakly batting at his chest. Atsumu laughs, pulling his finger out and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. His hard cock, lines up with your gushing cunny, and he drags the tip of his cock up and down, nudging your clit.

“Say it.” His eyes are dark, demanding, giving you no room to pout and whine your way out of having to say it.

“I want your cock inside of me,” you moan, squirming under his attention.

“Oh? You think you’re ready?” You nod pulling at his hair as you continue to swivel your hips, trying to force his cock inside of you.

“I can take it, I know I can! I’ll be good!” you cry out, shame evaporating as he begins to push in. Atsumu nuzzles against your neck, peppering kisses against the exposed skin.

“You’re always good to me.”

And with that, he bottoms out. You squeal at the stretch, legs locking around him forcing him to still as you adjust. His tail brushes against your legs reassuringly.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He grunts, nipping at your neck. “My perfect little human, so hot and creamy inside.” You clench at his words, nails dragging against his back. Your legs loosen, giving him room to draw back. He moans as his hips pull back, your gummy walls trying to keep him inside.

Atsumu slams back in, making you squeak out his name. You whimper as your body

“Gonna let me cum in this pussy?” He mutters in your ear, making your pussy tighten. “Gonna let me claim you? Breed you?” You nod, mindlessly babbling, as you tug at his ears. “That’s right, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.” You grind up against him, trying to meet his thrusts.

“Yours. Please. I’m gonna-” His teeth sink into your shoulder, making you scream. You clamp around him, legs shaking as you cunny flutters. He moans as you buck against him, feeling overwhelmed by the velvety heat of your cunny.

“I know you are! Cum for me, just like that. That’s a good little sunshine girl,” he coos, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you cream around him.

“Want your cum!” you slur, mind still reeling, pussy feeling extra sensitive as he continues to thrust.

“Fuck, really gonna let me, huh? That’s my little human.” Atsumu licks at the bite mark on your shoulder. When his hips stutter against yours, he groans your name, thighs tensing. You tighten your legs and arms around him, trying to pull him into you as hot cum fills you.

Atsumu collapses on you with a moan, leaving little kisses along your neck. His cock softens inside you, but he makes no effort to pull out, hands squeezing your waist. His tail swishes along your legs, the repetitive motion slowing your mind.

“You know. Earlier you said I’m always good to you, but you got it backwards,” you yawn, drowsiness clouding your brain. “You’re so good to me. Make me feel special and keep me company in my dreams. You always help me make the sun come out.” Atsumu stiffens at that, and you furrow your brows at the change. 

“Atsumu? Are you-“ but he cuts you off with a tight squeeze, nuzzling into your hair.

“Real tired, baby. Just wanna lay here with you.” You nod against him, softly petting his tail as exhaustion overtakes you. ✨

[softforloki]

The Piercing Voice

Summery: Loki supports you through you Broadway career, and is there to celebrate with you when you get your dream role.

Word Count: 1,445

Warnings: I mean, I’m referencing Little Shop of Horrors. It’s a little gorey, but there’s no explicit description of the musical’s plot.

Masterlist

I have managed to make the reader completely gender neutral, no implied assigned gender at birth or anything by having the reader play Audrey II, which is gender nonconforming as fuck. You’re welcome, fellow they/thems.

“I’m gonna need a whole new song, aren’t I? You groaned, compulsively flipping through your binder of sheet music. “None of these will work.”

“What exactly do you need?” Loki asked, peering over your shoulder as the bar lines flickered by under your fingers.

“Either an antagonist song, or something with a rock and roll vibe, Audrey II′s main song is rock- oh!”

“Got something?”

“Maybe,” You tossed your repertoire book aside, swapping it out for your laptop. “I bet I could use “The Time Warp” from Rocky Horror Show.”

“I don’t think you’ve showed me that one, yet.” Loki mused.

You wrinkled your nose up at him. “They clearly I haven’t been doing my job. Lucky for you, I have the movie.”

He chuckled, watching your fingers fly deftly over your keyboard, pulling up the song in question. “Are you always like this for upcoming auditions?” He teased. “So frantic and full of near manic energy?”

“Kinda,” You replied sheepishly. “I’ve gotten to the point where most of my audition pieces work for the roles I usually go for, but Audrey II is a little out there for me.”

Loki been there when you’d received the email from your agent that will live in infamy. The one that informed you that the musical Little Shop of Horrors was being revived, and would be auditioning soon. Your agent had also mentioned that you’d gained enough recognition as an actor to have a good chance at a role. Evidently, it had been a long-term dream of yours to play Audrey II, a giant flesh eating plant, and the antagonist of the show.

“How does one play Audrey II?” Loki asked, slipping an arm around you. “Would you be dressed as a plant?”

“They’re building a giant puppet, and a stage hand would move it around. Whoever auditions to “play” it would just be offstage, reciting the lines.”

“Ah, so you would just be the voice. Would you appear on stage at all?”

“Not until bows.”

Loki hummed in understanding, pressing his lips to the side of your head as you listened to “The Time Warp”. It was utterly adorable to see you so focused on this. You mouthed along with the words, tapping out the tempo on Loki’s thigh. He smiled, smoothing a hand across your brow as it furrowed in consideration. 

“It sounds similar to the “Feed Me” song you showed me.” He remarked.

“Yeah, it could work.” You agreed. “I’ll probably look around a little more, but I’ll put a pin in that. Ooh, I could also check out Godspell, they’ve got rock stuff. Dunno if any of it has Little Shop vibes though....”

Loki chuckled as you searched again, scrolling through the soundtrack. “You haven’t showed me this one, either.”

“Ugh, why don’t I do anything nice for you?” You laughed, playing a song.

Soon after, you’d amassed a short list of songs from rock musicals, claiming that you could need more than one for the audition. You leaned into Loki, sighing heavily. A dark, desperate look crossed your face. “This has to be perfect. It has to be.”

“I have the utmost confidence that you’ll make it so,” He assured, squeezing you a little more tightly.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“I know, love.”

“I’ve literally wanted to be the stupid plant for years.”

“I know, love.” Loki poked your sides playfully, relishing in the way you shrieked and squirmed away. “You’ve been telling me all day.”

“I’m sorry!” You gasped, fumbling to grab his hands and stop his ticklish onslaught. “I’m nervous! If I loose this chance I’m never going to forgive myself.”

“I do hope you’re joking.” Loki gave you a sharp look, cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “It would be entirely unhealthy to base your self worth solely on this audition. You’ll try your best, and if you make it, fantastic! If you do not, you’ll allow yourself to be disappointed, and then move on to the next audition.”

You sighed again, slumping into him. “I’m going to cry if I don’t get it.” You warned.

“You’re more than permitted to do that. So long as you don’t wallow forever.”

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “You’re the only thing keeping me from going completely insane, you know that?”

“You’re the one who keeps helping me find reasons to find beauty in this planet,” He replied fondly. “so we’re even.”

“If by reasons, you mean Catch me if You Can.”

“I do! How has that show not gotten a revival, yet?” Loki exclaimed.

You laughed, kissing his jaw. “Because no one knows what taste is.”

. . .

Your casting as Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors had been the only thing Loki could talk about for weeks at the Avengers Compound. He nearly mirrored your excitement, annoying the living daylights out of his fellow Avengers.

Stark had bought tickets for the whole team, though Loki was sure his reasoning was less to see a good show or support you, and more so to shut him up.

You’d kept Loki in the dark about most of the show. You’d wanted it to be a surprise, so he only knew the bare minimum of what was going on. He’d only heard one or two songs, and had diligently stayed away from bootlegs and synopses per your request. All he really knew about your character was that it was the antagonist, and it was completely different from any other character you’d auditioned for or song you’d performed. 

He was ecstatic to see what you were going to do.

The audience must’ve been filled with long time fans of the show, because when you uttered your first (most iconic, as you’d told him) line, the audience went berserk.

“Feed me!” Your voice reverberated across the theater, the impressively constructed puppet moving its gaping jaw in time to your words. A cheer rippled through the crowd. It took almost a whole minute for the audience to calm down enough for the scene to continue.

Audrey II was loud, abrasive, and violent. Loki couldn’t think of a more bizarre character for you to play, but you absolutely destroyed it. Somehow, in only hearing your voice, you made the character’s motives, intentions, and deviousness crystal clear.

Thor teased him during intermission about the ridiculous grin he’d worn every time your voice pierced the crowd, but he found he didn’t care. In fact, he hoped the whole team could see just how hopelessly proud he was of you and all the work you’d done.

At the end of the show, he was still wearing that ridiculous grin. He kept wearing it all the way out of the theater, while he bid goodnight to his teammates, and as he waited by your car. It somehow grew even larger when he finally saw you.

He wrapped you in a tight embrace, spinning you around with his godly strength. You laughed, twining your arms around his neck. “I take it you liked it?” You asked.

“Darling, I more than liked it. It was fantastic. You were phenomenal!” Loki insisted, pressing quick, fervent kisses everywhere he could reach.

“Good, ‘cause I’ll be doing this eight times a week for who knows how long.”

“Then I shall be coming back to see you several more times.” He promised.

You kissed him deeply, griping his hair. “What your favorite part?” You whispered against his lips.

“Anytime I heard you.”

You poked him in the gut, scowling playfully. “Pick a scene or line, something!”

“Alright!” He yielded to your pestilent fingers, tearing up. “The end of Act I, very last scene. When Seymour feed the dentist to the plant.”

You raised both your brows as Loki folded your hands in his own. “It was the evil laugh, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes it was.” He admitted.

You laughed again, throwing your arms back around him. “That’s one of my favorites, too.”

He buried his face in your neck, placing more delicate kisses onto the skin there. “I’m so proud of you, love.”

You placed a hand on the back of his head, combing your fingers through his hair, murmuring your thanks.

If Loki could stay like this, with you, for the rest of his life he gladly would. He would fight any war, pay any price, to stay here in your arms, the warmth in his heart keeping out the chill of the New York air. He would do anything to keep having these quiet moments of pride and love with you.

He couldn’t wait to see what you’d do next.

[nambamjun]

The Little Things {KYS}

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Genres: Flufffff so much fluff, tiny bit of angst if you squint, established relationship

Warnings: small mention of insecurity (birthmarks)

Word Count: 981

A/N: I saw a tweet (by the lovely @lilbunnykin) saying "yeosang would blush super hard if u kissed his little eye birthmark", and it was one of those things where once the thought was in my head there was no getting it out until I wrote it out, so ta-da here it is! And let’s be honest here, who isn’t soft for Yeosang and his birthmark? Exactly! As always, comments and (constructive) criticisms are always welcome, I hope you enjoy ~<3

You didn't quite know how long the two of you had been laying there. It was late, the lights in the small bedroom off with only the sound of the occasional passing car to break the silence hanging in the air. It wasn't uncomfortable, however. It was the type of silence where you could tell that he was thinking about you, and he could probably tell that you were thinking about him. Then, every once in a while one of you would pull the other closer. As if there was any space between your bodies to begin with. Clothed bodies, mind you. It wasn't that type of night.

As soon as you had snuck your way into his apartment the cuddle party started, along with talking, laughing, and smiling so much that your cheeks ached. Nights like these were precious to you and your boyfriend, especially considering you were lucky if they happened once a month. No one was to blame. You were busy with your full time position in the job of your dreams, and Kang Yeosang was an idol. Ateez had been growing increasingly popular and considering the time since they debuted it was incredible that they already had this kind of recognition. While you were absolutely ecstatic for him and the others who were living their own dreams it did make it a little difficult to figure out when gaps could be taken advantage of for some well deserved quality time, one on one.

You would always make the best of it, though. The time you could spend together, albeit rare, was precious. And although public dates weren't really an option (a decision made by the two of you together) you never minded being indoors. Pillow forts, movie nights, little floor picnics with a blanket spread beneath you and a board game in progress while you eat delivery food that you take turns paying for. There would always be something and it seemed like whenever you thought it was impossible to love him any more than you already did, OOP, look at that, he just proved you wrong yet again.

This was one of those times. The talking and laughing had died down a bit ago and now it was just you laying on your back with Yeosang happily in your arms. Your fingers were brushing through his hair, every once in a while twirling the strands around so that there would be a bit of a tug when your fingers would pull through. You would feel him smile into your neck and push closer into you. This, of course, would only make you pull him closer as well, but it didn't seem like he minded one bit. You certainly didn't. As uncomfortable as you two might have looked, limbs crossed together, the blankets and sheets tangled haphazardly around your bodies, the two of you were in complete and utter bliss.

Your fingers had moved from the back of his head and were now occupied with the longer locks framing his face, brushing through them and tucking what you could of the now smooth strands behind his ear. Looking down only slightly so as not to disturb him you regarded him in your sight, taking in every line and curve of his face. You had already memorized them by now but hey what harm could it do to go over everything once, twice more...? Exactly, none! So stare you did. Your eyes traced from his hair to his shoulders, his jaw, lips, nose, eyes. You let your gaze linger around there, falling onto his birthmark. In the dark ambiance lit only with the moonlight filtering in through the window it was far from obvious, but your eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago and you could make out the outline of two tiny patches, one closer to his temple and cheekbone and the other expanding from the outer corner of his eye. For a while he was self conscious about it, especially when he was going into the industry. Luckily, once his group's fanbase discovered it they soon fawned over it. Over time seeing them accept him and love him even more for this precious and unique trait gave him confidence, and he wasn't really ashamed of it anymore. Didn't go out of his way to make sure it was completely covered up. This made you insanely happy, as you were almost certain he could tell. He knew you had always loved him and his birthmarks, but you still liked to remind him every once in a while.

You continued threading through his hair for one more moment before you let the back of your fingers softly run over the side of his face. You let your palm cup his face and your thumb lightly brushed against his cheekbone, and you shifted your head to look down and gave a tiny kiss to the little marks. One for the larger mark - peck - one for next to his eye - peck - and then one more on the side of his forehead, this one lasting a little longer than the previous two. You felt him smile against your chest and move his head to bury his face into your neck, once again snuggling closer into you, only this time making a tiny noise of contentment while doing so. Your heart soared and you wrapped your arms around his body, resting your cheek on his head and allowing your hands to draw mindless shapes on his back.

You decided that now was an appropriate time to break the long silence, only for a few seconds.

"I love you," were the only three words you spoke, with barely enough sound, just enough so that he could hear it without popping the bubble that had formed around the two of you. And being just as quiet, he responded simply.

"I love you, too."

[mortedeveles]

Model For Me

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid, awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her. And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki's personality is anything but shy and he doesn't hesitate to undress in front of her. It's for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions. 

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

HERE: PART ONE

PART TWO.  PART THREE.  PART FOUR. PART FIVE. PART SIX. 

a/n: this was originally going to be a oneshot but it was too long to be 1 oneshot, so the chapters will be rather short (1k-2k) but all of it together would be too long for a oneshot so it’s staying as a short story. i have two pointers for this short series!

1- reader is not white in this oneshot!  (i don’t specify reader being white in others, but skin color isn’t usually mentioned) (i’m using the term poc since i’m not sure what else to use) nationality or ethnic background won’t be stated so feel free to employ your own! this isn’t really relevant tbh but i just wanted to clear it up in case someone got confused.

2- reader’s best friend here is Aneko! i would’ve used (F/N) but it would have been more troublesome so i decided to name the friend! 

 enjoy!!

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission. 

''This month's assignment is human anatomy,'' your teacher stated. She walked around in the cramped classroom, holding a beautifully drawn painting of the nude female body to her chest. 

Even though your classes weren't high end or expensive, you were still at awe at how talented your teacher was, especially since the classes were held in a small recreational center that was on the poor end. Since the classes were cheap, you would've thought that the art teacher would be inexperienced or an amateur. Sometimes you wondered how an artist like her didn't have more recognition.

''Since I'm familiar with all of your abilities and weaknesses, each of you will have a specific kind of rules,'' she said. She passed the papers around the rectangular table and once you got your hands on your copy, your face paled.

The bold words GENDER: MALE stared back at you as you swallowed nervously.

While you weren't shy or timid around the opposite gender, having to sketch a naked guy with his dick out sounded... unpleasant.

Your eyes only widened as you continued to read the rest of the rules.

The assignment must be done in a live session with the model, do NOT use images or any other type of resources.

Male must have a muscular and athletic body.

Preferably, the model should be in a position in which they are using their quirk. 

Medium: charcoal.

The model must be drawn with the background as well. This assignment also includes a linear perspective. 

You slowly raised your hand as you bounced your thighs nervously with the tip of your toes. The teacher raised an eyebrow and beckoned you to speak.

''Ma-Ma'am, is it necessary to do the assignment with a nude male model? Can I change it?'' You said nervously.

You could hear your friend snicker beside you and you elbowed her in the stomach without glancing, keeping your eyes on the art teacher. A soft 'ouch!' was heard from your left. 

She sighed in response and stared at you through her glasses.

''Yes, Y/N. Everyone received different requirements. I will revise the progress every three days and I expect the project to be done by the end of the month. Remember that this assignment won't be done in class, so try your best and remember to use your knowledge to your advantage.''

You nodded and ducked your head, swallowing nervously. Who would you even ask to model for you? Money was tight at the moment, you were too broke to hire a model. And besides, most of your money would go to the art supplies you needed to restock on for the assignment.

''Aww, is the baby too shy to see a guy naked?'' your friend's teasing voice made you snap back to reality. Pouting, you turned to face her evil grin and stick out your tongue at her.

''Shut up, Aneko... I'm not shy! I've just never...well...'' you stammered, fiddling with your hands.

Aneko smiled smugly in response as she lowered her head to meet your nervous gaze,

''Never what...?'' 

You shook your head in response, refusing to admit that you'd never seen a naked guy. Scratch that, you had, through a screen of course, but being in the same room as a naked guy...? Nope. Hell, it was a rare occasion for you to be alone in a room with a boy. But staying with a naked boy?! You sighed. You can already feel the headache forming. 

The teacher's firm voice snapped you out of it. ''Very well. The class is over. I'll see you all next week. Have a great weekend!'' 

Everyone rose from their seats, stashing away their art supplies and heading out of the small classroom. You stayed behind with your best friend Aneko, chatting about nonsense.

''So, who are you going to ask model?'' she said casually, stuffing her can of spray inside her ratty backpack.

''I don't know...'' you mumble. ''I don't really think I'm close enough with any guy to ask him to model for me...''

''Don't say that!'' Aneko chided. ''Well.. there is one person you can ask....'' she grinned at you as the two of you walked out of the classroom.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her words. Who was she talking about? From all the boys you knew, someone who was a male had an athletic build and a flashy or useful quirk, you'd say it would be...

Katsuki Bakugou.

Suddenly, you froze in the middle of the hallway. Aneko raised her eyebrows and she stopped as well, questioning your actions.

Thank god for your dark skin, otherwise, Aneko would've noticed you were blushing. She tugged your hand and urged you forward. But nope, once his name had surfaced, you were frozen. Thoughts of undressing your friend Katsuki were all over your mind, making you feel more flustered with every passing minute. 

''Y/N, is something wrong? Why are you...'' she trailed off and her voice died down. But a devious grin rose from her lips and something told you that she knew exactly what you were thinking.

''Ohhh. Naughty Y/N! You're thinking about him, aren't you?! Asking Bakugou, your big, fat crush to be na-'' her next words were muffled violently as you pressed a hand against her mouth and with the other one, grabbed her ear and dragged her out of the run down the recreational center. 

Aneko was screeching in protest, but her noises were muffled by your hand, keeping a firm grip around her. Once the two of you were outside of the center and no one was around to hear, you dropped your hand, grimacing when you saw that Aneka had tried biting you. Several times.

''Ouch, ouch! Why'd you do that?'' she grumbled, rubbing her sore ear.

''Don't say that when we're in public!'' you hissed, rubbing your warm cheeks.

''Even though he's still a student, Katsuki Bakugou gets a lot of attention from the media! Not to mention, I'm a U.A student too! If someone heard a word of this, who knows what they would've done with it! I don't want to be part of a teenage scandal!"

''Sorry...'' your friend mumbled as she glanced towards the ground. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

''It's okay, Anne, just please be more careful next time,''

Aneko smiled sheepishly and gave you a thumbs up. You smiled and shook your head in disbelief and the two of you began to walk home.

''Do you really think I should...ask Katsuki to model for me?'' you blurted out. Aneko shot you a glance as the two of you crossed the road and continued walking forwards.

''I think Bakugou is the type of person that will never back down from a challenge,'' your friend said. ''And besides, he'll probably agree so you don't ask another guy to strip for you. He'll get really mad.'' she snickered.

You gasped and you felt the familiar warmth travels across your face. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you shook your head in denial and frowned.

''No he wouldn't!'' your voice was a pitch higher and what was intended to be harsh, ended up sounding like a harmless squeak. 

Your friend laughed loudly and her laughter turned into relentless wheezing as she bent over her knees and leaned against the wall. Her lips were quirked upwards and her eyes danced with amusement.

''It's so funny seeing you all riled up when I mention your crush,'' she cooed.

Scowling, you stomped away and you were so angry that fumes were basically rolling off your body. You could hear Aneko's joyful laughter as she picked up her speed and caught up to you. 

You were frowning deeply with your arms crossed, gaze focused anywhere but your cruel, cruel friend.

''Come on babe, don't get upset! You know I say it because I know it's true!'' there was a hint of pride and smugness in her last sentence, making you stop dead in your tracks and point a finger at her.

''You don't know that. He'd never like me...'' you mumbled. ''I'm too awkward and a dumbass to be with someone as confident and loud as him,''

The hope in your heart was quickly extinguished when you realized she was merely joking. Huffing, you shook your head and grabbed her by the ear, dragging her all the way home, though she kept complaining and whining the entire time. 

''Don't you get it?'' the look in her eyes was sincere. Slowly, you could feel a hint of hope growing in your heart. ''You guys are a perfect combination!''

''He's a tough and strong grunting caveman and you may be a dumbass, but you're his dumbass,'' she cooed. ''He'll protect you from anything!''

''Please don't tease me a lot of that,'' you spoke up once you had reach your door. Your gaze drifted to your doorknob. ''I know you don't mean any harm but...it just makes my hopes get up. And in the end, it never works out. And I just get myself hurt for no reason.'' You smile at Aneko's pained expression and opened your door.

''I'll see you later, Anne. Take care and don't forget to text me once you get home, okay?''

Your friend nodded mindlessly and walked away, sending you a final wave. You waved back, smiling softly. Once she was out of your sight, you closed the door and leaned against it. With your phone in your hands, you shakily texted a risky message.

Katsuki had been your friend since the beginning of U.A, since you were quick to befriend him, despite his violent and rude attitude. You didn't mind. It was funny and endearing seeing him react to the smallest of things.

Y/N: hey katsuki, can you stay behind after school tomorrow? i have something to ask you.

Once you had hit SEND, you threw your phone on your couch, a giddy smile on your face as you spun and looked like a clown for a few moments until you calmed down. Sending the message had sent a surge of adrenaline and confidence into your heart. 

Maybe Aneko was joking, but if you were up to the task, you could get closer to Katsuki. And if you were lucky, you'd score a date with him. 

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission.

[reidingandwriting]

A Thousand Years

Word Count: ~3,600 words

Ship: Aaron Hotchner x Reader (my first Hotch fic!!)

Warnings: A curse word or two, a suggestion towards smut; dialogue and plot kind of follows scenes from season 7, but plenty of originality :)

A/N: Credit for the inspiration goes to imreallyfunnybtw on TikTok!! The video that inspired this video is linked here. Can I please have an Aaron Hotchner of my own? This takes place around season 7, except for Beth it’s Y/N! I wrote this as a gender neutral reader with no descriptors, but if I missed anything while editing, please let me know :) I got permission from the creator to post this, so I hope it doesn’t disappoint!!

When Hotch lost Haley, he never really planned on getting into another relationship. He went on the occasional date, being dragged into playing a wingman role while with Rossi, but there was never that spark. There was never that feeling he had always heard of, that moment you knew you wanted that person in your life. And it’s not like he had much time for another person in his life. When he wasn’t at home with Jack, he was at work- whether that was at the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, or in another state for days at a time. And when he wasn’t working, Aaron valued every moment he could get with his son. When he did have time for himself, he often found himself in the park. And that’s where he met you. He had just finished his run when you came along.

------

“Either you do sprints for fun,” Hotch turned around as he heard a voice, a person jogging over and stopping a few feet away, “or you’re training for something. I hope it’s the latter because only a sadist would sprint like that.”

“No, I’m.. I’m trying to do this triathlon in February.” He spoke between pants, and your eyes lit up in recognition.

“The FBI one, right? You’re an agent? Oh, shit. I’m not supposed to ask if you’re an agent.”

“Yeah, the FBI one. I work for the,” a brief pause, “justice department.” A faint smile graced his lips, and you felt your own mood lifting at the sight. “I’m guessing you’re training, too?”

“Yeah. For a MS triathlon, in January. I’m not in nearly as big of a rush as you though.” 

“Well, I only have about forty five minutes a day. Between work and home, it’s… hard. And that’s just for the running. For biking? I’m pretty sure my tires are inflated.” Hotch let out a laugh and you smiled, an idea now in your mind.

“Well, I was planning on cycling this weekend. I’m not the best cyclist, so I could always use a partner. If you’re not busy.” 

“I, uh, don’t know my schedule for work yet. But I should know in the next few days, and I could call you?” Hotch asked and you nodded.

“Yeah! Yeah. I have a card somewhere.” You pulled a card out of your armband and handed it to Hotch. “If you have any free time this weekend, give me a call.” You started to walk off, but stopped when you heard him speak again.

“So, what made you think I was an agent?” You turned around and shrugged.

“I saw your suit. What else could you be?” And with a wave, you spun back around and jogged off with a laugh. Hotch watched you with a smile that didn’t leave until he got to work.

--

“So, are your tires all pumped and ready?” You asked as you settled on your bike. It was late Friday night when you got the call from Hotch, where he asked if you were free in the morning. You happily agreed, and now you were back in the park where you had met- bright and early on a Saturday morning.

“Hopefully. So, you haven’t done a lot of biking?” Hotch asked and you shook your head. “But you’re going to do a triathlon?” 

“Go big or go home.” You put your helmet on and adjusted the strap, and the look on Aaron’s face made you giggle. “That’s what my dad always says.”

“Your dad sounds smart.”

“He was. He passed away a couple months ago.” You weren’t a profiler, but it didn’t take one to notice the emotion that flashed through his eyes, the understanding. He’d been through loss as well. 

“I’m sorry. Is your mom still alive?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah. She’s doing a lot better.” 

“That’s good. And how are you?”

“I’m hanging in there.” A silent moment of understanding passed before you spoke again. “So, where are we headed?”

“I usually go up Connecticut, through Rock Creek Park, then back through Sixteenth. But we don’t have to do all that if you don’t want to.” “No, let’s do it.” You shifted as Aaron put on his helmet. “If we lose each other, we will meet back up with each other at Dupont Circle for coffee.”

“If we lose each other?” Aaron’s brows furrowed. “I thought we were doing this together.”

“The chase is the best part of it.” You winked before you pushed off the ground and pedaled away. Hotch shook his head, a fond smile on his face as he got on his bike and pedaled off after you.

------

That bike ride became the first of many training sessions together, which led to a few dates sprinkled in between. Whether he’d admit it or not is a whole other story, but you had worked your way into Aaron’s heart. While the two of you hadn’t been official for long, he felt as if your connection had been there from day one. Hotch was grateful for that feeling, which made your first real date much less nerve-wracking. It was Valentine’s Day, thank you Morgan for the reminder, and Hotch couldn’t remember the last time he felt that nervous for a date. 

------

Aaron stood on your front porch, bouquet of flowers in one hand, and his other knocked on your door. He took a deep breath to compose himself right as you opened the door. 

“Hi.” You said as you opened the door. “Oh, the flowers are beautiful. Thank you.” You took the flowers from Aaron. “I didn’t think we had anything planned.”

“You’re welcome.” Hotch said and he watched as you lowered your head to sniff the flowers. “And we didn’t, but I just get called away so often. So I thought we should take the opportunity while we had it.”

“That was very thoughtful. Let me grab my stuff and I’ll be right back.” You stepped inside and set the flowers down, then fixed your hair before you grabbed a sweater. Perfect, you nodded at your reflection in the mirror by your door before you stepped back out to meet Aaron. “So, what’s our plan?” You asked as you closed your door, locking it. 

“Well, I suppose I could tell you. But, uh, I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” He flashed a pair of tickets at you and you gasped. “So I guess you’ll have to trust me.”

“My first mistake.” You teased as Aaron started to walk down the stairs. “Oh!”

“Did you forget something?” Hotch turned to face you and you took a step closer to him. 

“This.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he gladly returned. You broke apart seconds later, a lovesick look on both of your faces. “Thought I should spare us the awkwardness later.” You walked down the stairs and offered your hand out to Aaron, and he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. “You don’t have the market cornered on surprises, Aaron.” 

“It’s not often I’m left speechless, but I am now.” Aaron’s laughter filled the street and you had discovered your favorite sound, and you wanted to hear it forever. 

------

After that date, Hotch knew he wanted you to meet Jack. And you couldn’t wait to meet him. Needless to say, both of you were nervous about the meeting. Aaron because you were his girlfriend, and Jack was his son. And you knew Jack was the most important person in Aaron’s life, and you wouldn’t want anything to come in between the two of them, so you hoped with all of your being that you and Jack would get along. You both had decided the FBI Triathlon would be the perfect time for you to meet his son. 

------

You were a few feet away from all the commotion as Hotch crossed the finish line, and you were cheering the entire time. You saw a group of people move over towards Hotch once he crossed, and you guessed they were his team, especially when one of the men set down a kid who then ran over to Aaron. Jack, you thought to yourself with a smile. He took a drink from a volunteer, thanking them, before he bent down to Jack’s level and put his medal on the hyper boy, a homemade sign clutched in his hands. Hotch talked to the group for a minute before you called his name. 

“Hotchner!”

“Y/N!” Hotch looked up then looked back at Jack. “Jack, there’s someone I want you to meet, come here.” You met Hotch halfway and tightly embraced him, a big grin on both of your faces. 

“You were amazing, congratulations.” You let go of him after a minute and Hotch stepped back. 

“Thanks. Y/N, I’d like you to meet my son, Jack. Jack, this is my friend, Y/N.”

“Hi.” Jack smiled up at you and you bent down, shaking his hand. 

“Hey there, Jack, it’s nice to meet you.” Your nerves had melted away once you saw Aaron with Jack, and you felt much more at ease. 

“Do you work with my dad, too?”

“No, we’re just friends.” You looked up at Hotch before you knelt to Jack’s level.”Did you make that yourself?” You nodded towards his sign, which he showed off when you mentioned it. 

“Yep! I cut it myself. And put the sparkles on it, too.” 

“You know what? I look at art all day long. And that, my friend, is pretty good.”

“Thank you.” Jack said. 

“You’re welcome!” You stood back up and Aaron spoke. 

“We’re going to get something to eat. Do you want to come?” Aaron asked you and you nodded. 

“Sure.”

“Okay, great.” Hotch led the way, Jack beside him, and you followed as the three of you made your way to his car. And all of you were oblivious to the looks on the faces of the team just a few feet away. 

“Who is that?” Morgan asked.

“Did you know he was seeing someone?” Spencer asked as he watched the pair.

“They’re so cute together.” Garcia cooed.

“Come on, let’s leave them alone.” Rossi ushered the group away and Emily turned to him with a gasp.

“You knew!”

------

Months had flown by since you first met Jack, and you frequented the Hotchner household, each time better than the last. It started off with a dinner here and there on the weekends, or a night where you’d play games or watch a movie until Jack fell asleep- where you’d then spend some time talking quietly with Aaron, your bodies curled into each other’s, before you headed home. Until one night, where he asked you to stay. 

“Stay with me? Uh, with us. You could stay for breakfast before we go to work.” Hotch had asked, and how could you say no to him? That night together, with your head against Aaron’s chest and his arms wrapped around you, you both knew that you wanted many more nights like those. After that, you spent most of your free time with the Hotchners. Building forts with Jack and helping him with homework, cooking dinner with Aaron and doing little things around the house to give him more time with his son.

When Hotch met you, he never imagined that, months later, he would be in a serious relationship with you. But ever since you had entered his life, you had proved yourself to be resilient. And completely unpredictable. That was something Aaron loved about you, he never knew exactly what was running through your mind. Which led him to now.

He’s seen a lot of unexpected things in his life, he worked as a profiler for god’s sake. But the one thing he never expected was to see you, dancing around in the rain with Jack, your phone playing music from its spot on the front porch. Of course it was on the railing, you knew how worried your boyfriend got over you breaking your phone. Again.

“Y/N, please, quit leaning over the railing.” Hotch’s ‘dad voice’ came out in full effect as he saw you leaned over the side of a bridge, your phone in your outstretched arm. Your other hand was holding Jack’s, who was content looking at the fish in the river below the bridge.

“Just a second! I want to get a good picture.” 

“You can get just as good of a picture without dangling.” Aaron tried to reason, but you waved him off. Unfortunately for you, with your wave, you sent your phone flying down into the water below. 

“Oh, sh-oot.” You turned towards Hotch, your eyes narrowed as you pointed at him. “I blame you.”

“Me?!”

Hotch grabbed your phone and set it somewhere safer and shook his head at the sight in front of him. You and Jack were both wearing your rain boots, and you were loudly singing along with the music. Jack tried to protest through his laughter, feigning embarrassment, but you scooped him into your arms as you kept singing. 

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere!” You spun around as you sang the last word, and the sound of Jack’s laughter made Aaron smile. You set Jack down and you continued dancing, cheering when Jack danced around with you. You didn’t see Aaron on the porch until Jack pointed him out. 

“Dad! Come play with us.” 

“Yeah, Aaron, come play.” You pouted at Hotch, but he didn’t miss the teasing glint in your eyes. “Or are you too cool to join us?”

“And miss out on watching you two? Maybe later.” Hotch chuckled as he leaned against the railing of the porch. You shrugged as you turned back to Jack. 

“Bet I can make a bigger splash in that puddle.” You pointed towards a puddle a few feet away, and Jack ran off, accepting your challenge. You winked at Aaron before running after him. You continued to jump around in the puddles in the yard, and you made sure to let Jack win a few rounds of your splash contest. 

You squealed when the song changed to a song Aaron was familiar with, and you looked at him. “Turn it up!” Hotch groaned dramatically but turned the song up as you started dancing and singing.

“Kiss me once cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice cause it's gonna be alright. Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life. One, two, one two three four! I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings.” You continued to dance to the music and Aaron couldn’t help but notice how happy you looked. How happy Jack looked. Your connection with him wasn’t forced, you never pushed or tried to put yourself in a situation until you knew Jack and Aaron both were okay with it. Hotch was more nervous than words could explain when it came to you and Jack, but the sight in front of him made his worries melt away. You were dancing, hands up in the air as you twirled around, laughing as you stumbled and nearly fell back into a puddle. Jack was doubled over in laughter and you playfully narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Oh, you think it’s funny, huh?” Once you were steady on your feet, you began to count. “Three… two…” Jack’s eyes widened and he ran to hide behind his dad.

“Base! Can’t get me up here.” Jack peeked out at you and stuck his tongue out, and you mimicked him. “Wait, need a break. Need a snack, then we can keep playing?”

“Of course we can. Take your shoes off at the door.” Aaron said to Jack as he went inside.

Once Jack was inside, you walked over to Aaron, still swaying your hips to the music, until you reached the steps. You then held your hand out and looked up at him. “Come on, you have to come dance. Let loose a little, have some fun.” “I can ‘let loose’ without getting rained on.” Hotch said and you pouted.

“Please? Just one dance. Then I’ll let you continue to be a grumpy old man who’s allergic to fun.” Hotch narrowed his eyes at you, and you smirked, knowing you had him now. 

“Old man, huh? I’ll remember that.”

“I’m sure you’ll remind me tonight.” You climbed up the steps of the porch and grabbed your phone. You scrolled through your music before you found the song you were looking for. “But first,” you pressed play on the song before you took Aaron’s hands, “we dance.” You led Aaron down to his front yard and turned to face him. “You do know how to slow dance, right?”

“Let’s find out.” Hotch pulled you into him as the song played, letting the music lead as you started to dance. The rain drizzled over both of you, but you smiled up at him as you danced.

Heart beats fast

Colors and promises

How to be brave

How can I love when I'm afraid to fall

“I can’t hear this song without thinking of those stupid Twilight movies you showed me.” Hotch chuckled as you danced, his arms warm against your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“They were such a vital part of pop culture for years, they are not stupid.” You scoffed. “You were so into them. If I remember correctly, you gasped at the last movie when you thought Carlisle died.”

“Hmm, can’t say I remember that.” Hotch tried to deny but you saw the smile he tried hard to suppress. 

“I may not be a profiler like you, but I do know when you’re lying.” You rested your head against his chest and let the steady sound of his heartbeat relax you. 

But watching you stand alone

All of my doubt, suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer

“You’re really good with him.” Hotch spoke after a minute and you looked up at him. He had a soft smile on his face and a certain look in his eyes you couldn’t decipher. Love, maybe? You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought, and you shook your head to clear your mind.

“He’s a great kid. He has a pretty awesome dad, too.” Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your head, your wet hair tickling his face. 

“And he has you. He loves you, you know?” You smiled and combed your fingers through his hair. “We both do.” 

“I love him, too.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against Aaron’s as you whispered. “And... I love you.” Hotch closed the gap between you two, and the feeling of his lips against yours still gave you butterflies after all these months you’ve spent together. 

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

You pulled apart moments later, a lovesick smile on Aaron’s face and yours. You breathed out a sigh as Aaron brushed your hair out of your face, before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful moment before you heard the front door open and close. 

“Daddy, Y/N, I have popsicles!” You and Aaron laughed as you looked at Jack, who held three popsicles in his hand. 

“We’ll be right there, buddy.” Hotch said to Jack before he looked at you again. “Hope you like the blue ones, red is mine.” 

“Blue is the best anyways.” You ran your finger down Hotch’s blue shirt before you took his hand and walked over to the front porch. 

“The team wants to meet you. Properly, at Rossi’s. Jess has already agreed to watch Jack, if you want to go. Dinner on Sunday?” Aaron looked over at you and you looked up at him.

“I’d love to. You’ve told me so much about them, I can’t wait to properly meet them.” You climbed up the porch stairs and took a seat beside Jack, Aaron sitting on the other side of him. “Rossi’s got some big shoes to fill, with our little chef in training here. He made some amazing pancakes with me this morning.” You ruffled Jack’s hair and took the popsicle he held out for you. “Thank you, Jack.”

“I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever had.” Hotch took the other popsicle from Jack, kissed his head, and thanked him. “Maybe Jack should cook dinner, too.” Jack giggled and shook his head.

“You promised Chinese noodles.” 

“Lo mein.” You corrected him.

“Lo mein.” Jack mimicked before handing his popsicle to you. “Please?” You tore the popsicle wrapper open and handed it back to him. He accepted it with a soft ‘thank you’ and tucked himself into your side.

“You did promise at lunch we could have takeout for dinner. Since Jack ate those disgust- I mean, delicious brussel sprouts without complaining.” You corrected yourself when Hotch’s eyes playfully narrowed at you.

“Y/N didn’t even eat theirs without making faces.” Jack spoke as he bit into his popsicle and you gasped.

“I did not! You’re imagining things, bud.” You patted his head and bit your popsicle. Jack dove into a detailed retelling of lunch, and the sound of your laughter along with Jack’s storytelling filled Aaron’s ears and he couldn’t be happier this was his life.

And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

Taglist: @ssa-sugar-tits​ and @spidey-reids-2003​ ❤ Taglist and requests are OPEN, just send me an ask or a message :) 

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Yo Momma

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x avenger!reader

Warning: None

Was just randomly thinking about how each avenger would react to a yo momma joke, hence the name of the one-shot

There's like 0.2% of fluff in this really it's just an avengers crack fic

(Starts in the first Thor movie)

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

You first met Thor of Asgard when you were just nine years old.

Of course, you hadn't known who he was at first. No one did. He was just another new face at the little diner your mom loved until he smashed a mug on the floor while yelling, "This drink, I like it. ANOTHER!"

Your mom always taught you that it was rude to stare, but at this point the entire diner went quiet as everyone watched the man with long blond hair who, though he was wearing normal clothing, looked so out of place.

Even once the diner went back to normal, you couldn't keep your eyes off of him.

"Mom, that man's weird," you whispered as you watched the brown-haired woman in front of him attempt to explain why crashing a cup is wrong, which he was obviously not seeming to understand.

"Don't stare, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know what his deal is but we're not trying to find out, okay?"

"Okay," you replied, still finding it hard to keep your eyes off of the strange man.

"Now I'm gonna go to the restroom, alright. While I'm gone, stay in your seat and mind your business," she ordered. "I don't need to come back having to rip you from the hands of a giant."

You nodded. "Yes ma'am."

The second she left, you looked back at where the man had thrown the mug to see that no-one had picked it up. Frowning, you walked over with your hands on your hips. "Excuse me," you said, tapping the man on the shoulder, gaining his table's attention.

The brown haired woman smiled. "Awww, hi sweetie!"

"Are you going to clean that up?," you asked, pointing towards the mess on the floor.

In return, he scoffed, pushing your hand off of his shoulder. "Go away, little girl."

"My momma says you look like a giant," you noted.

Another woman at the table, this one in glasses, snickered. "Well, she wasn't wrong about that."

The strange man rubbed his chin as he looked down on you. "Little girl," he called out with a small scowl. "Have you no mind of who I am?"

You tilted your head. "Uh, what?"

The brown haired woman laughed nervously. "I already told you, Thor, or whoever you think you are.. no one knows you here."

"Thor's a weird name." You crossed your arms and gave a childish glare. "And you have a weird voice," you added.

Thor rolled his eyes, somehow becoming as emotionally invested in the argument as you, a child, were. "You're a weird, tiny, little girl."

You stuck out your lips. "You're mom's a weird, tiny, little girl!," you yelled back before walking back to your booth. Once there, you turned your body around in your seat. "In fact, your momma's so ugly, she went into a haunted house and came out with a job application!"

"Oh, shit!" The brown haired girl and her friend laughed as they watched Thor's face turn red.

"You keep my mother's name out of your filthy mouth, you-"

Your mother walked out of the restroom and grabbed your hand to leave the diner. "Come on, [Y/N]. Ready to go?"

You shot a shit-eating grin back to Thor's table, having gotten away with your little bout of disobedience, before turning back to your mom. "Yes ma'am."

If only you knew that diner experience would come back to bite you in the butt much later...

~~

You were sixteen when you met Thor of Asgard, again.

"Don't be nervous, kid," Happy told you as you watched the elevator numbers go up. "They're not really that intimidating. Plus, we just got a new kid and he's your age, so you'll be fine if you just keep your head on straight."

"Okay," you mumbled, tapping your foot on the ground anxiously.

It wasn't long ago when Iron Man found you while he was flying through New York. He hadn't even noticed you at first, but the pure energy radiating from you was jamming J.A.R.V.I.S.'s system and well, normal people don't just have pure energy radiating from them.

You discovered your power when you were twelve years old. It was something you hid, until he found you and decided that you didn't need to hide it anymore. Where he would take you, you could actually be yourself, powers and all.

You were going to be meeting the Avengers. You were going to be an Avenger.

"Seriously," Happy groaned. "You're actually heating up the entire elevator. Calm down."

"Sorry," you said, only just then noticing your fingers were lighting up. You took in a deep breath, focusing on calming your nerves. But there was one thing that was just bugging you.

The day the Avengers first saved the world, it was broadcasts EVERYWHERE. Everyone knew who they were.

And it totally was more than just a simple shock to you when you recognized the face on your tv screen.

The guy literally bashing aliens to smithereens was the guy who was at the diner. The guy who'd saved the earth several times since then was that guy.

And you joked on his mom right to his face.

"Question."

"Shoot."

"Does Thor have good memory?"

Happy's brows drew together at the random question. "Uh, I dunno. Why exactly?"

You shook your head nervously. "No reason."

The doors of the elevator opened and you were met with the largest, more than likely most expensive living room you've ever seen (and will ever see) in your entire life.

Sitting on the couch was a teenage boy. A really cute teenage boy in a striped button up shirt. At the sound of the elevator opening, he turned his head from the tv screen to look over. His eyes lit up in recognition at seeing you and he immediately ran over.

"Um, hi!," he greeted. "My name's Peter. Mr. Stark told me to give you the tour when you get here." He held his hand out for you to shake.

The second your palms touched, he immediately pulled away, a yelp of pain coming from his lips. "You're hands are like- REALLY HOT!"

"Oh, sorry!," you said, giving an apologetic smile. "I'm just really nervous."

He held his hand carefully, holding it by his side. "So I take it you have fire powers or something?"

"Pure energy," you corrected. "I can manifest it from my body into these really big blasts and stuff."

"That's super cool!"

You blushed. "Thanks, but I'm still learning to control it. If I get too emotional, it gets pretty bad."

Peter smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder (which was covered up with clothing). "Well, that's what we're here for, [Y/N]. To get better."

He led you down the hall, showing you different rooms and all the places you were allowed to go in. You even had a room of your own. One you could customize however you wished. Needless, to say, you knew you'd enjoy your time there.

And on top of it all, Peter turned out to be just one big ball of perfection. He was sweet, he listened, and holy crap was he cute.

"So," you asked. "What's your power?"

Peter's mouth curved into a smile. "Follow me." You followed him to a room that wasn't too far from yours. You chuckled, noticing how giddy he was being as he unlocked the door.

He led you into the room and you gasped as the first thing you laid your eyes on was a big Spiderman graffitied onto the wall of the room.

"Holy cow, dude. You're Spiderman!"

"Yep," he answered with a smirk. "Oh! And now that you're one of us, that means you get to make a name and have a cool suit too! You're gonna love it here-"

"Parker, is that the new recruit?," a new voice broke in.

You noticed that Peter immediately stood up a bit straighter, so you followed suit as you looked at who the man was. "Uh, yes sir, this is [Y/N]."

Your eyes went wide. "You're Captain America!," you gasped.

He nodded in return. "Steve. Nice to meet you. Come on, come meet the rest of the team."

You gave a nervous chuckle as you walked forward, following wherever Steve was leading you.

"Hey," Peter said, nudging you in the arm. "Relax. They'll be really nice."

You nodded. "Mhmm. Hey, question." He turned, giving you a helpful smile. "Does Thor have a good memory?"

He chuckled. "That's an oddly specific question. Any particular reason you ask that?" Peter looked at you jokingly. "You didn't flip him off in the street or anything, did you?"

You shook your head. "Nah. Not exactly."

Peter gave you a questioning look as the two of you followed Cap into a large dining room.

You looked around and there you saw every single avenger you'd ever heard of. Hawkeye eating a turkey burger. The Winter Soldier and Falcon seemingly playfully arguing over some tv show. Tony frickin' Stark running his fingers through some little girl's hair. Black Widow sitting at the dinner table having a peaceful conversation with some guy with glasses that you couldn't recognize.

And of course, Thor sitting in a seat facing away from the door, nursing a mug in his hand.

Just like last time, you thought. You sucked in a breath. Fuckkkk. Please don't remember me.

"Hey," Peter whispered. "You're getting really hot right now. You should relax."

"Oh," you said, taking another deep breath. "Thanks."

Tony looked over from where he was sitting. "Well don't just stand there. Introduce yourself, [Y/N]!," he yelled.

And slowly they all turned towards you, even Thor. His eyes met yours and your eyes met his. His face lit up in recognition and immediately all of the words fell out of you as you found yourself running to him.

"I'm SO so sorry okay?!?!? Look, I know I KNOW- believe me I do- that I was SUCH A JERK b-but... you gotta UNDERSTAND okay???? I was only NINE and I was stupid and dumb and would say just about ANYTHING at that age - but I mean you gotta admit that youwerealsokindofajerktoo- BUT I MEAN THAT'S TOTALLY FINE OKAY??? IT HAPPENS. IT'S NATURAL!! But like please PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME Mr. Thor I'm SO SORRY I'll literally do ANYTHING!!"

You were breathless when you finished your frantic apology, staring desperately at the God of Thunder with large 'please don't kill me' eyes.

The rest of the room was silent, everyone either waiting expectantly for what was next to come or silently conversing with their eyes, all basically saying to each other 'what the heck was that'.

Thor stared back at you, his expression unclear.

"Thor, anything to say to that?," Tony called out, having no idea what had just happened but being extremely amused nonetheless.

The long, blond haired man furrowed his brow and slowly placed his mug down on the table in front of him. He looked back at you and smirked.

"Tell him the joke," he said, pointing at Tony.

"What joke?," Natasha asked.

Thor chuckled. "When she was a smaller human, this girl and I met at a diner. She spoke very rudely of my mother. It wasn't until Jane explained to me what a 'your mother joke' is that I fully came to appreciate it."

"Dude, you joked on Thor's mom?!," Peter exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amazed.

Thor looked back at you. "In retrospect, it was quite hilarious."

You stared back, jaw hanging in shock. "Y-you're not gonna kill me- I-i mean, you're not angry?"

He laughed as he pointed towards Tony again. "Do him!"

You looked to Tony who was sitting back in his chair, holding his arms up in a "bring it on" fashion. "Uh...um, your mom's so ugly..she-ah.. she went into a haunted house and came out with a job application..."

Peter gasped. "You said that to THOR?!"

You blushed. "Look, I'm not proud of it either okay?"

"Oh we're gonna get along nicely, kid," Falcon, who you would soon come to know as Sam, snickered.

"So do you actually do anything or are ya just a smartass?," Rhodes quipped, causing you to immediately mumble some choice words under your breath.

Tony nearly cackled. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing," you lied.

Peter coughed. "[Y/N], your eyes are kind of glowing."

Bucky looked to Bruce. "I think you're gonna have to work on anger with her or something, bud."

"No wait really, what'd you say?," Tony said, still laughing.

You shook your head, but everyone was staring at you again. Ugh, might as well.

"...your mom's so old I told her to act her age and she died..."

[ushioink]

(Part 1 of Careful,)

The world’s a little quiet today, or maybe she thinks this way because the AC is on full mode. Her earphones are pressed on her ears, and her fingers are running over the laptop keyboard in light speed. Everything she’s doing is an example of tranquility. She’s trapped in this sphere of solitude, and she loves it. The library is entirely empty, too, considering it’s early in the morning for torture. But whatever, she likes when things are clear and monotonous.

Of course, every good thing is bound to the burden of decomposition, and so her quiet is disturbed. At first, it’s just a body that’s hovering over her table. A large body. Enough to darken her desk and wide enough to block the cool air of the AC gushing over her. She’s intending to ignore it, but she’s not exactly good at that. So she takes off her earphone and pauses her monstrous clicking. She looks up, glare taking place over the dead shapes of her bitch face, ready to confront the person stripping her of her cocoon. Only, she doesn’t see a stranger.

It’s a man, and she’s not familiar with men - usually she’s just a virgin in all aspects of the opposite sex - but he’s not a face well forgotten. He’s one of the dudes that people whispered about in the hallways, and even her, an antisocial not-give-a-shit girl has heard about him. She’s a bit mortified about his sudden station over her table, but she forgets about her curiosity to resume her glaring. He winces a little because of her harsh glaring, especially when she pulls her earphones so she can hear the sound of her eyes going absolutely still in the dangerous motion. Besides him stands another man, a taller one, and he, too, sparks recognition in her well-organized mind. But she doesn’t give this other man attention; she only looks at the shorter guy.

“I have a proposition.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. She’s a little - a lot - annoyed about his demanding tone, as if he’s used to dropping requests that take no for an answer. So, she scoffs.

“No.”

His eyes, which were narrowed down in a way to intimidate her (as if) widen a little, and he splutter. “You didn’t even hear what I have to say!”

“Don’t care, still no.” She returns back to her speedy typing, just to have something to do and to irritate the guy. God knows how well-versed she is in the effects of ignorance. She hopes he too, is immensely annoyed by it.

His narrowed eyes go a little wide, before he narrows them again. He looks down at the unoccupied chair across her chair, then at her, who’s still pretending to be immersed in her ridiculous writing, before pulling the chair out from under the table and plopping his pretty little butt over it. She doesn’t give him the attention he desires, not even when he releases a big sigh of relief. She keeps on clicking on her keyboard, completely unbothered. This makes him annoyed for some reason. No other female has ignored him like that when he graced them with his pretty, dark presence, and no other person has taken it so far to pretend he doesn’t exist, either. He’s damn well-aware of what he does to people, both genders, whatnot with his beautiful kohl-ridden eyes, his thin, pink lips that perfectly curl into a pout that’s deadly, and his killer body. What’s wrong with this woman? He actually came here by the stupid, stupid convincing tactics of his friend to beg for help, and he’s being swiped off like dirt? Ridiculous!

He curls a fist over his mouth like a fake posh man and clears his throat, making her look at him with her deadly, iridescent eyes. “What if I offered you ten thousand dollars for catching a mice trap in the Dark Dungeons?”

The Dark Dungeons is a place in the university’s library where everyone just pretends doesn’t exist for some reason - probably because of all the boring past researchers of the graduated students stacked there - and ultimately ended up being deserted. A lot of students are scared to venter there alone, recapping fake tales about pale ghosts and demons that are there to hunt them. She���s not afraid of such stupidity.

“Okay,” she shrugs casually, pausing in her rapid typing and closing her laptop. The student blinks at the quick gesture. “Pay it in cash?”

He’s dumbfounded; of course he is. He hadn’t anticipated his dumb proposition (which isn’t even real) to be met with such ease. He continues to blink, “But you just said no.”

She shrugs again, crossing her fingers over her laptop like a CEO waiting for a colleague’s destruction. The fist he’s holding against his mouth is put down on the desk. He wipes his expression clear of his flabbergast. She doesn’t allow him to say anything, though. “It depends on the proposition, really, and my capabilities in doing it. I can catch a mice trap in the presumptuous Dark Dungeons, and I will agree on it for ten thousand dollars. This is, knowing you, the only good offer you’ll be willing to give. I don’t want to hear the rest, because I know the rest, and I refuse the rest beforehand.”

“So you know who I am?” He sounds delightfully surprised. It’s the only thing he caught from her monologue, the fact she knows who he is despite only discovering about her recently.

She gives him a look as if he’s an idiot. Then, she returns to her work and opens the laptop. His cheeks flush at that look, still surprised that she’s not even remotely affected by him. He finally gives his companion, a tall guy who casually slipped on the seat beside him and practically occupying the entire space with his large body, a helpless look; and his friend merely shrugs disinterestedly.

“Hey,” he changes tactics by knocking on her desk with his knuckles, his eyebrows slightly growing narrowed as he frowns.

The man’s a little bit upturned by the mischievous twinkle that goes on like a bell on her eyes as she ignores him, a spark that would have gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been sitting close to her. But it’s strange nevertheless to see her, a woman so poised, a woman full of confidence and empathy, show such molecular emotion. Mind blowing

“Look at me. Hey!”

She looks up at him, the twinkle shifting into deep, rooted annoyance. “Yes? Is there anything of significance that you want to tell aside offering a proposition to a complete stranger?”

He’s dumbfounded yet again. “Is that a way to talk to someone? What a potty mouth you have! Do you use it to kiss people?”

She’s the one dumbfounded now, fooled at her own game of ignorance. “Excu.. excuse me! Potty mouth! Me? I’m a polite person, thank you very much. I’m just in tune with reciprocation at the moment.”

He sounds extremely frustrated when he says, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

The companion of the rotten boy clears his throat before she can retaliate, and she gives him her attention for the first time since he sat himself next to his friend. His face is long and droopy, lazy, and his eyes are squinted as if he’s trying to make sense of her tiny figure sitting across. When he speaks, his voice is husky. “Yah, don’t yell. We’re in a library.”

They glare at him, their eyes holding icicles. He huffs. “The last time I’ve been here, the librarian kicked me out for knocking one of his shelves. If he knows that I’m here again, which he will by your loud voices, I’m going to be staked. I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve seen a lot of vampire movies. Staking seems really hurtful.”

They shoot him disbelieved eyes. He puts a hand over his chest. “I have a sensitive heart. A wooden stake will make my delicate organ scar. That’s not good on my resumé.”

The first guy gapes at his friend, whereas she shakes her head in disappointment of being a part of this conversation. She goes back to her work while poking her tongue on the insides of her cheek, trying to restrain her growing fury.

“What?” The tall companion looks at his friend weirdly, “You haven’t seen the resumés I’ve seen online. They have applications out of this world. What if my beautifully intricate heart is required? Don’t want it marred!”

“Why the fuck would anyone ask for an image of your heart, Yeol? What job even requires the internal lookout of your organs?” His friend rebuts.

“How’d I know? I’m not logged in to alljobs.com!”

“Maybe you should, so you’ll be prepared to have a reasonable answer to your dumb shenanigans!”

“Will you both just shut up!” She snaps, smashing her laptop closed (again). They turn to her, blinking. “Why the fuck you’d even sit in front of a person you don’t know and have this conversation while they’re listening?”

They look scorned, cheeks going red. They regretfully look down at their laps, fiddling with their fingers.

“Now,” she exhales from her nose angrily, resembling a red-faced dragon (she doesn’t actually blush, but the running fury that’s gobbling her up leaves her face looking like a swollen tomato). “What the fuck do you want?”

The smaller man opens his mouth to say his demands once again, but she rudely raises an open palm up, squinting. “Speak gently. And slowly. And politely.”

He glares but complies. “I have something to ask of you, a proposition. Actually, you’re not a stranger, at least not as if now. I know who you are.”

She quirks a sharp eyebrow up, unrelentingly and very judgmentally. She’s not the type of person to be swayed over anything, definitely not over this man, too.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re one of the smartest students in our batch, and I kinda have been going through a lot with one of my assignments, so this idiot here told me to ask you for help.” He points to his companion, who salutes mockingly using two of his fingers. “It’s about the aftermath of war, and the effects it leaves on the intermingled classes of eighteenth century China. I’m very bad at writing shit. I confuse my statements; I fail at rearranging my paragraphs; I suck at choosing intellectual perspectives; and I most definitely can’t be on the neutral side to the point of sounding extremely radical. Would you help me write my research? It’s worth a bit of my marks considering I didn’t take the midterm for, ahem, certain reasons,” there’s a soft hue of red that glows in his cheeks, and feeling his blush, he scratches them with his long nails awkwardly.

“No.” The cute color doesn’t deter her at all, and she begins to collect her laptop and books to leave. Or, pretending to. She does not have any thought about leaving, not even when there’s a handsome stranger trying to invade her tranquil space. But, regardless of her wants, such gesture made the man nervous. He snaps his head up, eyes wide, and pushes himself to his feet quickly to stop her from leaving.

“Why not?” He begins to be angry. “Is this because you know who I am? Does my... Does our reputation precedes us?”

She gives him a cooly leveled look. “I only give favors to friends. You’re not a friend. Very simply. I couldn’t care less about your reputation, which does in fact precedes you. People tend to talk about things they don’t understand. The juiciest the gossip, the more people want to talk about it.” She pauses a little, confusedly staring at them. “Don’t you guys know that? When you wear these clothes, pierce all parts of your body, flash all of your tattoos, and walk around intimidating people, they will talk badly about you. Huh, I thought you guys are smart enough to discover this much about the nature of people.”

Whereas he looks startled out of his way with the sincerity in her words, It’s the companion who takes the time to speak. He asks her, his eyebrow raised. “Why’d you think we’re smart?”

She smirks at him, and he’s surprised that it’s actually playful, not malicious. “It’s only those that rebel the constant demands of society that have their heads teetered towards either intelligence, or insanity.” She slings her bag on her shoulder, her face going back to its previous expressionless slate. “Bye now.”

She doesn’t leave. She merely just stands and watches them watching her. It takes the two university boys a second to understand the implications behind her words, and when they do, they groan. They stand up, albeit slowly, and the shorter one dares to shoot her a grumpy, malicious glare, before walking away. The taller one simply tilts his head downwards in a respectable nod before following his friend.

Once they leave, she smiles, and the curl of her lips makes her face radiant, a whole lot flowery than the actual blanket of monochromatic nothingness that usually sticks on her all the time. She sits back down on her seat, opens her laptop, and begins to type again.

-

Oh the long road. Oh the long road. She sighs in her head, her legs heavy and unbalanced, almost sending her to the ground with how weak they feel. After almost six hours in university, with three classes and breaks in between, she’s finally done with all the nonsense that she, daily, has to face. Actually, university hasn’t been on her mind before in high school when she was in her senior year for this exact reason. She is too lazy for something overloaded like university. But, if she is being honest with herself, she doesn’t see herself in any place besides university, especially if she wants to have a ‘decent’ job. So, she tries to succumb to the voice compelling her to move forward, and ignoring the one that tells her to fuck everything and flop on the ground, dead.

A sound calling her name stops her in her long, angry strides, and she turns to the back to see her friend, Sami, waving for her, smiling so preciously that actual stars appear on her eyes. She’s not oblivious to the crowd gathering behind Sami, all males (and some females) staring at her with eyes twinkling with hearts. She reluctantly wave back, and Sami comes running towards her, beaming once she’s standing in front of her.

“You’re heading home?” Her friend asks.

She hums without a verbal consent. Her friend beams again.

“Great!” Sami loops their arms together. “Lets go together, and while we’re on the way, buy me a cocktail.”

“Alcohol this early? And why should I buy you one?” She raises an eyebrow up in ridicule, even though she already knows the answer to her rather dumb question.

Sami rolls her eyes. “No, an actual cocktail, with fruits and all. And you should buy me one because I’m your humble friend who asks nothing of you at all.”

“You ask for things all the time,” she narrows her eyes, and points at Sami’s earrings. “I bought you those earrings,” she points at her bag. “And I bought you this bag. And those shoes. I might as well buy you a house to live in if I’m already this much husband material.”

Sami grins, beaming, and her grip over her arm tightens. “It’d be so great if my future husband actually pays for all of my things. I’ll be a pretty, studious, working housewife that do things for him and accommodate all of his precious needs. Aw, I miss him already.”

“You should be careful not to say this in front of another woman that isn’t me.”

Sami blinks cluelessly. “Why? I didn’t say anything infuriating, did I?”

She pats her head sympathetically, her hand calloused despite the gentle, sardonic gesture. “Not at all. Not at all.”

They walk out of the university’s large grounds with Sami the one doing most of the talking, the bouncing, and the gleeful intervals; her grip tight around her arm, and her soft laughter surrounding them whole. She wouldn’t say that she was entirely comfortable about the concept of having a friend, but it has been two years now since she knew Sami, and she began to understand that in order to enjoy something beautiful, you have to watch it burn first, which’s why she, despite not liking it, disposed herself of her antisocial behavior, and stuck around with Sami.

Upon the huge gates of the university, she catches sight of the two students who had interrupted her morning study with their obnoxious presence. They’re standing in front, one of them - the tall one - is leaning against the large beige wall beside the gates, and the nuisance - the one requesting - is crouching on the floor right beside him, a fake cigar made of paper in between his fingers. They’re already staring at her, anticipating her exit. When her eyes meet the dark ones of the crouching guy, he smirks, his pink lips thin and inviting. He puts the fake paper in his mouth, pretending to inhale, and then pulls it off to exhale loudly, his eyes suddenly half lidded. He’s staring at her. She stares back, then she narrows her eyes, ticking her chin to the side in a silent request for him to look away. His smirk widens, and he doesn’t look away; his eyes invading her soul to the point she feels something scratch at the surface of her skin, begging to be released.

She scoffs. And almost as if he’s hearing her, he waggles his eyebrows teasingly. She blanches, disgusted, and her facial expression catches Sami’s attention.

“Who’re you looking at?” Sami turns to follow her friend’s eyes before she can look away, furrowing her eyes upon seeing the two boys. She turns to her friend curiously; nervously. “Do you... do you know them?”

She’s quick to shake her head, “Nah, I don’t know them outside the rumors that I heard circulating about them. I think one of their names starts with a B? Or an H? Anyhow, I don’t know who they are.”

“Why are they looking at you?”

She shrugs. “Beats me. Probably think I’m a visible, touchable time loop or something. That’d be cool. Have you ever seen Doctor Strange?”

Sami stares at her as if she’s an alien. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s quicken our pace. Maybe we’ll lose them in the crowd.”

As if hearing their words, the two boys jump to their feet (the one standing merely bouncing around) and they follow after them like two little creeps. They don’t say anything for a while, like announce their already large presence, and she ticks her head backwards with raised eyebrows, meeting their amused - yet frustrated - faces. She tilts her head, silently asking them about what the fuck they’re doing, and the shorter one of the two shrugs, the taller one smirking a little, the cigarette roll that was wrapped around the other’s mouth now in his. She looks away.

Sami notices her friend’s head going forward and backward, and turn around to give them a funny look, a little nervous for some reason. She looks back at her friend and pulls at her sleeve, a frozen smile on her face. “They’re following us.”

“If there’s an ice cube, large enough to have legs and is following me, and the world is so flabbergasted by it’s appearance, but you’re only concerned about taking your way home without interruptions. Would something happen if I gave it attention? No, you know why?“ she leans closer to Sami and with her big, wide eyes, she whispers. “Because it’ll melt away.”

Sami shakes her head in exasperation. Even after two years of being friends with her; she’s never getting used to her random thought processes. Either-way, Sami doesn’t feel entitled enough to say anything against that, and although she releases a little grumble from her chest in irritation at the skin contact, she doesn’t remove her arm away. Smiling, she leans her head on her shoulder.

“Yah. You can’t just pretend we don’t exist.” The shorter one says, or yells really.

His friend scoffs, and it’s strangely shudder-inducing because of his low grating voice. “We’ll follow you home if destiny calls.”

Sami lifts her head to peek at them, then quickly looks at her calm, astute friend. “Are you not going to answer?”

“A bird could constantly peck on my window and I wouldn’t shoo it away. I’m too lazy.”

Sami’s eyes mellow down, and her lips smile. “But that’s exactly what you do, sweetie. You can’t handle disturbances, especially when it affects your general surroundings.”

“You’re right. I’m going to kick their ass.” She stops in her gait, turns around, and glares; Sami stopping next to her. The two university boys pause in their strides, blinking.

“Question, exactly why was I chosen among the high grades receiving bastards in our class?” She raises her eyebrows up. “Is it because you think I’m easy? Or I’m a woman? Is it because you think I’m nice?” She says nice as if it’s a heinous word created for her personal offense.

The boys share a confused look. Then, the tall one clears his throat, readying himself for the paragraph he’s about to spout. “I’ve never once thought you’re easy, and neither have Baekhyun. We’ve seen the way you talked back to the teachers, and man, do you have a temper. I’m actually a bit shaky right now because I’m asking this favor of you. I’m not a misogynist, man. Why’d you make me something I’m not. love women. I love all wonen. Perhaps a little too much,” Baekhyun, the short guy beside him, is nodding his head sadly, “I’d have told Baekhyun to choose Dahyeon if I thought she was as responsible as you are. But the girl’s a klutz. She ruined a paper of mine once. Won’t let her do it again,” he then tilts his head, his confused face getting graver. “I’m sure as fuck you’re not kind, or nice. I wouldn’t have already been going through emotional trauma just by the thought of approaching you, yet, here we are.”

“Here we are.” Baekhyun spreads his arm with a surrendering look flashing on his handsome face.

Sami turns to her friend and analyzes the stone cold expression on her face. She hesitates, for a second, before she says. “They do have a point. You’ve traumatized half of the population in this university.”

“We still have two more years for you to traumatize the rest.” Baekhyun comments cheekily. When she shoots him a glare, he winks. She’s a little surprised. She hadn’t met anyone who winked at her deadly stare-offs. People are terrified of her, not amused of her.

“How many pages do you want your assignment to be? Mine’s going to be a minimum of eight, considering it’s only a meager homework, so I’ll try to shove your own pages between my breaks to save time.”

Their eyes go wide. Baekhyun actually gulps, unprepared for the challenge. “You write eight pages for an assignment worth ten marks?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re here begging for help for this stupid assignment, so I guess we’re both pulling up our shits, right?”

He shuts up.

It’s the tall one that answers. “Any page number is fine. Take your pick.”

She nods, “You’ll have five pages, then. I take breaks in between my classes. I have two-to-three classes for five days aside Saturdays and Tuesdays, so we’ll write two pages every week until its due date in three weeks’ time,” she takes her phone and shoves it in the chest of the short guy. “Give me your number so I text you the hours I’m free on. I don’t give a shit if our schedules overlap. When I tell you to come, you come, with your laptop and all of your writing necessities with you. One mistake and you’re out, get it?”

Baekhyun sweats, especially since her expression is deadly serious and her hand, which is still clutching her phone on his chest is cold, deadly so. He gulps anyway and nods. “Thank you, really. Appreciate it. Is there anything I can do for you to repay the favor?”

She smirks, and pulls her hand off of his chest after he accepts the phone. “A bad boy who knows how to say thank you? That’s a new one. And keep the favor until after you deliver your assignment. I’m not sure you’ll wanna give me any favors after I’m done with you. Say, are you willing to pay money?”

He pales. “I’m poor as fuck, ma’am, expected of a university student, right? Please say yes.”

She smirks again, amused of the panic in his eyes. “Relax, idiot. Just wanna check something.” She turns to the tall one. He’s staring right back at her, eyes wide and brown hair fluffy. For a bit, she’s taken aback by the actual fact of how gorgeous he is. Wide, almond eyes, soft hair, tall girth like a skyscraper, and she fucking loves skyscrapers, the taller, the better. He’s wearing a weird mesh of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, but he’s also wearing a sweater on top. He must be sweating in there. His wide eyes turn a little confused when she merely gapes at him, and she notices. She clears her throat, and rolls her eyes so the spectators don’t notice she’s a weird bitch.

“What’s your name?” She asks coldly. There’s a strange warmth circulating her body, but of course, she ignores that.

“Sorry?” He splutters.

She lifts a sleek eyebrow up, holding herself from smirking widely. “Your name,” she points at Baekhyun, who’s blinking down at her phone like it’s a foreign industrial scam. “This moron’s Baekhyun. Kinda noticed you mention his name. What’s your name? I’m a bit curious to know about the chaperone’s name, considering they’re always so ignored and unappreciated in movies.”

He looks a bit flustered, as if he hasn’t noticed he has been a chaperone all this time. He wipes the slight vulnerability that flashed earlier, twirls the paper stick in his mouth, and gives her a mock salute. “Chanyeol, ma’am, but don’t bother memorizing it. We wouldn’t be seeing each other enough for the need of that.”

She doesn’t comment on his words even though she’s curious. She merely tells herself he’s as weird as she is, probably a little arrogant, but of course not as her. No one’s as arrogant as her. She sits on the throne of arrogance. Her parents once thought she had narcissistic syndrome, those assholes, but dismissed it later on when she gave them enough evidence she wasn’t. She pays attention to Baekhyun, coughing to alert him of the actual fact he has been taking too much time typing gibberish on her phone, and not his phone number. She swears to God he probably failed to reach her contacts. He looked like a dumb loser up close like that, but she didn’t want to judge him so severely. A guy who winks at her instead of shit his pants must be a dumbass, but again, she doesn’t want to judge.

Baekhyun looks up from her phone upon her cough, smirks his annoyingly attractive smirk, and juggle the phone towards her (after locking it, for some reason) she tries catching her phone, and thankfully she succeeds. She glares, about to scold him about the degrading act of her precious gadget, when he all but announces.

“We’ll go see our own way now. Thank you for such precious moment. Perhaps we’ll be able to create more while avoiding chopped heads, from your part, of course. May the grounds open up to present you with a fortunate gift,” he does a whole theatrics of bowing, while simultaneously taking a step back, bumping into an unamused Chanyeol. “Adios, my lady.”

He turns around to Chanyeol, who whispers something to him. They begin to walk away, and Baekhyun says something to the taller guy, in retaliation, which earns him an eye roll. Not taking this lightly, Baekhyun jumps - to reach the tall giant - so he can wrap his arm around his neck, and pulls him into a headlock. Chanyeol doesn’t fight. He lets himself be dragged like a deadweight doll, like he’s used to such abuse, and she shakes her head. Chanyeol seemed cool with his indifference, but perhaps he isn’t the one in total control here.

Sami calls her softly, and forgetting her only friend for a bit - the two boys have extremely large presence - she turns to her. She offers a small smile, showing a dimple to her left side, and Sami beams.

“I’m not even going to ask what the heck just happened,” she offers her a hand, Sami; and she looks at it weirdly. “Ready to go home?”

Sighing, she accepts the hand, and agrees to be dragged home. Sami looks down at their hands; and thinks a little, her brows going all intersected. She shrugs, cooly intertwining their fingers together. She doesn’t even blink at the gesture, having been used to it. Out of character, the only thing on her mind at the moment is those two, strange university men.

-

Author Note:

So?

We haven’t got anything grounded yet. We still have a lot to cover! The personality of ChanBaek is beautiful, stick to see our dumb yet gorgeous boys.

Also, if you haven’t noticed already, our OC is freaking DANGEROUS! Chanbaek are in for a ride!

[delldarling]

chasing truth | merrick

implied past male faerie x male faerie male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 5823 words note: Aodhfin is pronounced EY-f-hin sfw | prologue ; a task given chapter index?

⊱ ���───── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

“Merrick is an absolutely horrid name,” Roran says, without prompting. He sounds indifferent, dark eyes focused on a distant point in the room, long fingers curled carelessly around the sharp angle of his jaw. He would look indifferent too, if Aodhfin didn’t know him intimately. Aodhfin recognizes the sullen, downward tilt to Roran’s lips, the shadows gathering under his brow. And the tension in his legs, crossed awkwardly at the ankles, like he’s trying desperately to appear relaxed and uncaring? There isn’t hiding any of that. Roran is angry. 

“I suppose what’s important is that I find it funny,” Aodhfin tells him with a shrug, tucking a trinket of a blade into his bag. “Merrick,” he says again, and then twice more, just to be sure. He tilts his head from side to side as he tests the rhythm of the name, white curls falling into his eyes. Aodhfin smiles down at his packing, small and sly, a hint of a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. 

The levity it brings to mind, the joke of it, is worth having to take on another name. After all, he can’t take his current one to the human realm. ‘Aodhfin’ is reserved for the halls of the Court of Air, gifted personally by the King. It’s far too intimate for the mouths of quick creatures like humans, and hearing it on ill suited tongues would only make him long to be home all the sooner. “More amusement never goes awry on tasks like these,” he adds, fussing over a pair of sandals he knows he shouldn’t be taking. He’ll have no use for them. Aodhfin packs them anyway, ignoring Roran’s shuddering, in-drawn breath.

“I still think it unwise that you’re going alone,” Roran bites out. He hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at that distant point, ink-dark hair just barely brushing the tops of his delicately pointed ears. He’s losing his composure though, jaw clenched, thrumming with tension the longer Aodhfin stares. 

“Questioning the King?” Aodhfin finally asks archly, abandoning all pretense with his bag and pushing it away from himself. He needs to nip this bout of temper in the bud before he leaves, or he’ll never hear the end of it. Roran is much too attached, despite Aodhfin’s repeated refusals, and the King will take issue if this goes on much longer. It would be best for the both of them to avoid a personal reprimand.

“Hardly!” Roran snaps, but he finally turns to look Aodhfin in the eye, pushing himself stiffly to his feet. His wings flare open to help him keep his balance, light catching the faint iridescence and casting wheeling prisms across the floor. “I question your judgement,” he whispers harshly, as if he’s worried about being overheard. “The King wouldn’t care one whit if you asked for a partner. Not only have we worked together before, we work well-”

Aodhfin crosses the room in two short strides and clasps Roran’s shoulder before he can continue. His fingers press just shy of too hard into the wiry muscle, a quiet, though regretful, warning. His heart is heavy - he doesn’t want to hurt Roran, but the idiot is going to become a nuisance for everyone if Aodhfin doesn’t do his best to make things clear. Which means it will have to hurt.

“I don’t need you,” Aodhfin says softly. The words come out clear and easy, and there’s no hint of sourness upon his tongue or in the expression on his face. They’re the truth. Anyone with eyes can spot it, clear in the straight line of his lips.

Roran tenses, wheezes, as if he’s been stabbed through the heart. His freckles are stark in his pale face, dark eyes void of any of their typical humor. He knows then, that Aodhfin doesn’t just mean on this task, but here. In his private quarters. 

“You have your own orders to attend to,” Aodhfin follows it with, verbally distancing himself, “and I can complete this on my own. Now, when I get back and I find you passing time with Kiera or Muiren, or both-” and now Roran’s cheeks flame, as red as the blooms that pepper the mountainside of the Court. “Ah, you thought I didn’t know?” Aodhfin laughs, and pushes Roran away. The push is gentle, and not unkind, but the longer Aodhfin stares with a smile on his lips, the more tense Roran becomes. His eyes dart to the side, a guilty tell that he only ever seems to display with Aodhfin - though Aodhfin is fairly sure that Roran lets the tell come through, and… That’s the problem, really. Roran has never held any part of himself back, and Aodhfin has never been able to find a part of himself to give. 

“You don’t-” Roran says softly and nearly flinches when Aodhfin lifts his hand to place it back upon his shoulder. His touch is much gentler this time, barely there, almost clinical.

“I’ve told you, Roran. My heart remains my own.” Sometimes Aodhfin wishes he felt even a hint of sadness in saying that. It would be easier for them both, but for Roran especially, if he loved him. He cares, but that’s all he can muster when he deigns to think about his feelings. Aodhfin rarely considers them anyway, not when he loves his work so thoroughly, loves the places it takes him, the secrets he learns- No. Not friendship, nor pity, can push him to change his feelings. 

“When I find that you’re passing time with one or both of them - and I don’t blame you if you are,” Aodhfin teases, arching a brow in a jovial manner. Roran glances away again, shy, for all his bluster. “I would be perfectly happy to celebrate with the lot of you. As friends. After all,” Aodhfin says, straightening up and touching a hand to his chest, sketching out a bow that is all theatrics with fluttering wings. The floor is a dizzying array of color when the sunlight catches his wings, too. “When I get back, my work will have united the Courts. I’ll be a hero.” Aodhfin straightens as he finishes speaking, smile turned slightly pompous.

Roran’s chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath, but in the end he only exhales, whatever words he’d planned so carefully left unsaid. He already knows that nothing he says could ever change Aodhfin’s mind.

“I still hate the name. You don’t look like a Merrick,” Roran insists, glancing around the sparsely decorated room. There are a few useless trinkets cluttered together on a shelf, gifts that Roran had given him, mostly, but even those don’t quite make the place look lived in. Aodhfin is gone far too often. 

“I feel like one though,” Aodhfin- Merrick - says. The name will settle, as much a part of him as the one he was born with, as every one given to him since, and with it will come widespread recognition of his accomplishments and accolades from both the King of Air and the Queen of Land. “Besides, can you imagine the traitor’s face when I tell him I chose it because of him? They rhyme.” Aodhfin tilts back his head to laugh, utterly delighted by the thought.

The laughter proves to be too much for Roran. His mouth quivers, eyes caught on the beauty mark on Aodhfin’s chin. For a moment, Aodhfin thinks he might cry.

“You’re idiotic,” Roran snaps at him, and his voice has gone sullen again, though his expression is back to his typical stoicness. He retreats back to his seat, hands clenching tightly to his knees, knuckles tense and pale. 

“My humor is simply wasted on you,” Aodhfin laments with a sigh, turning back to his packing. He’s unable to stop the twitch of irritation zipping through his wings. “The King will appreciate the irony though. He thinks I’m funny,” he says, and tucks a pale curl behind his ear. His finger pauses, stroking, and then his hand freezes over the pointed cartilage, eyebrows drawing together in concern. The sudden stillness, the change that comes over Aodhfin, clues Roran in almost immediately.

“Have you seen the error of your ways, or is something bothering you?” Roran asks, tone sharp, as if he’s hoping to spite him by asking such an inane question.

“Too much glamour will be like a beacon to the traitor,” Aodhfin mutters, ignoring Roran’s request for him to speak up. “It won’t be an issue,” he throws over his shoulder, before Roran can truly get going with some kind of tirade. “But, as we were speaking of Kiera, send her my way, won’t you?”

The silence behind him is so rife with tension, with anger, that he wonders for just a moment if Roran is going to throw something at him. He doesn’t dare turn around and invite further ire. Roran is hurt already, there’s no need for Aodhfin to add fuel to the fire by pestering him. The atmosphere starts to ease- and then the door slams shut, rattling his lonely shelf and the useless trinkets lined up by size.

Aodhfin sighs.

Roran will do as he’s asked, if only because Aodhfin asked, and he asks for so little from him. Kiera won’t thank Aodhfin for the tide of emotion she’s going to be left with though. He’ll have to promise a favor for her help.

...Which will only make Roran angrier that he can’t lend aid somehow, though he doesn’t have any of what Aodhfin will need where he’s going. Roran has even less experience with humans than he does.  

“He’ll get over it,” he muses and steps away from his bed to glance around the room. There’s nothing left that he needs to take, though his gaze lingers on the shelf and some of the items Roran’s given to him. If he takes one of them, no matter which, he knows that it will completely mollify Roran’s anger. And yet... If he takes any one of them, Roran will likely hold onto his hope that something will change. He swallows, knowing what his decision should be, will be, but- 

Aodhfin looks away, choking down regret, just as the door swings open on creaking hinges. 

“That was rather fast of you,” he says, pasting on an easy smile as he turns towards the door, expecting to see Roran in the frame. 

The King stands there, a wry smile on his thin, pointed lips. Aodhfin has the chance to spy long, dark windswept hair and topaz gold eyes before he drops to his knees, one forearm across his chest, while the other is thrown out to help him to balance. His wings are laid close to his back in a subservient gesture, held utterly still so as not to offend.

“My King,” Aodhfin greets, barely daring to draw breath lest he risk his wings shifting with the motion.

“Expecting another?” The King asks, curious. A heavy dragging noise drowns out his footsteps, the King’s fair feathered wings brushing over smooth stone, until he comes to a slow stop in front of Aodhfin. 

“Kiera, your Majesty,” Aodhfin breathes out, almost trembling when the King taps a fingertip to the back of his skull. The curved edge of a nail just barely pricks his skin before the King retracts his touch. Aodhfin lifts his head, slowly, heat crawling down his spine when the King laughs. There’s always been an echo when the older Fae speak, a shadow to their voices that gives hint to their talents. The sound of leaves rustling and wings flapping seems to trail after the King’s every word, frightening and awe inspiring, all at once. 

“She’s overfond of humanity, isn’t she?” The King asks, and the way he asks, the unpleasant tone of his voice- Aodhfin… He may not hold any special love for Kiera, but that tone makes Aodhfin want to lie. 

It’s the urge of every young being, mind wanting to supply words before thought can form, though Aodhfin can beat it down. There’s no use in lying to the King, and he’s no desire for the sourness of a lie to twist his tongue and stop his words. 

“Fascinated, I believe. Fond of artisans, perhaps?” There is no fault in that, at least. The Fae as a whole have been fond of those who create for a millenia. “I thought to borrow some of her uncommon work. Glamour will hide me from humans, but draw attention from-”

“The traitor,” the King sighs, eyes closing, heavy, sooty lashes fanning across his cheek. “Correct. You think well ahead,” he says, and the compliment sings through Aodhfin’s veins. “I knew I had chosen wisely.” The words leave Aodhfin feeling as brilliant as the fire he was named for. His wings buzz against each other before he forces himself to be still. “I know you will do everything you can,” the King says, and there’s a sudden weight to his speech, golden eyes locked with Aodhfin’s dark ones, intent on getting his point across. “But I would like you to promi-”

“Merrick, now, is it?” Kiera barks out, slamming the door open with a swirl of skirts and tousled red hair. She takes a half step inside, and then chokes, promptly dropping to her knees at the sight of the King. She whimpers, frightened enough that her wings vanish into her flesh, hands shaking around the sack she’d been carrying. She clutches it weakly to her chest. “Your Majesty,” she manages to say, not daring to lift her face. 

The King’s hands tense and curl into fists at his sides, his eyes blazing with fury. For a moment Aodhfin is sure that the King is going to strike Kiera. He’ll have to shield her then, no matter how much or little care he feels for her, he could never just stand by and watch. As soon as he tenses, ready to throw himself in the way, the King whirls away from them both, his wings and shoulders trembling. 

“I’ve other matters,” he says, voice frigid, void of emotion. “Do as you’re told, Merrick,” he adds, wind echoing heavily in his words, and strides for the door. His wings are the barest whisper over the stone, and he doesn’t react in the slightest when Kiera has to throw herself to the side to get out of his way. He doesn’t close the door behind him. 

Both Aodhfin and Kiera are still for likely far too long afterward, but it’s Kiera who finally gets to her unsteady feet, frowning. “How.. how long has the King been visiting your private chambers?” She asks idly, and then grimaces when Aodhfin says nothing, his expression unchanging. “Never mind. Glamour, then?” She asks, tone brisk as she opens the sack in her hands and starts tossing out clothes on the bed. 

Aodhfin lingers in his kneeling position on the ground, suddenly wanting to put off using his new name for as long as possible. He’d agreed to nothing, and the King hadn’t even gotten the chance to explain - but something about the whole ordeal feels… Strange. This might not be the first time the King has given him a task, out of view of the Court, but it is the first he’s ever hinted at a promise.

He gets to his feet, wincing when they prickle, and glances at the bed. Kiera’s hands are still trembling, but Aodhfin won’t dare draw attention to it. Instead he let’s the clothing catch his attention, notes the cut of them and the plain brown, green, or fair colored shades. A single flash of brilliant red catches his eye, the last item out of Kiera’s sack. It’s a cap, laid out over the top of the pile and it looks… It looks like it should be his - Merrick’s. He’s Aodhfin no longer, then. The King had Named him, truly.

“What will this cost me?” Merrick asks, arching an eyebrow as he picks up the cap. The texture is soft, but the weave is heavier than most Fae use these days. He wonders if this is the product of those large wooden needles Kiera carried around with her for over a month, brandishing them like daggers whenever anyone teased her. 

“What will you give?” Kiera asks sharply, crossing her arms over her chest when he lifts his eyes from the cap. Her gaze is razor sharp, expectant. 

Merrick stares at her for a moment too long, and then his nose wrinkles. He knows exactly what she wants, what her and Muiren both have been desperate for, ever since Roran proclaimed his intentions to court Aodhfin, and Aodhfin alone. “You want me to swear him off?” He asks, pleasant mood fading. “I’ve already claimed my heart as my own, Kiera. I confess, I’m not sure what else I can do that won’t come off as-”

“I know,” she interrupts with a sigh, shoulders slumping, glancing down at the floor, guilt in the purse of her lips. “And he would never forgive me. I just want him to move on from you, even if it isn’t with me.” Her eyes trace over the paltry gifts on the shelf and then shoot back to Merrick. “He hasn’t been kind to himself,” she says quietly, worrying at her lower lip before she continues. “Not when it comes to you.”

Merrick does his best to ignore her words, and tugs the hat over his head. He willingly lets Kiera dart in close, adjusting it until his ears are covered and his hair isn’t matted around his face. His hair will always be a strange shade of white, but he’s heard that humans are fond of dyes these days. Or perhaps he can claim an illness.

“If nothing else, that is why I believe he would be happiest with you,” Merrick murmurs, grabbing at the next item in the towering pile of clothing. “I’ll be forced to wear my wings in my skin,” he says sadly, noting the lack of holes on the backs of the garments. “You have my blessing, not that I should give it. I am not, cannot, be what he wants,” Merrick says decisively, meeting Kiera’s reserved gaze. “I will not promise any-”

“I suppose that’s payment enough,” she says with a sigh, turning away and trying not to frown. She fails, refusing to look back at him, to see him witnessing her unhappiness. She’s twisting a lock of hair round and round her hands, worried enough that the emotion is fast chasing away the awkwardness. “Don’t die, will you?” She asks finally. “I would rather not pick up those pieces.”

Merrick says nothing at all to that. Nothing he could or would say in response to such a request will be the complete truth, and there’s no reason to give any of them, himself included, false hope.

“I do believe you’ll come back alive, if that helps any,” Kiera backtracks, sensing the dour mood overtaking him. From anyone else, the statement would be too much of a falsehood to even attempt to utter - but Kiera does believe it, and she wants it. If only for Roran’s sake.

Merrick wants to believe it too, though. That he will come out of this alive. The traitor is nothing more than one of the Queen of Land’s gardeners, spouting lies that might prevent the uniting of the Courts.  Merrick has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, if only he does this one thing. It’s just that… The King’s visit had been a strange one, and he has very little time, if any, to seek the King out for clarification. He was supposed to be able to relax in the Court for a few more hours, but it doesn’t matter now.

“You’ll have to find more clothes while you’re there,” Kiera adds, when Merrick doesn’t show any signs of responding. Her hands have stopped their constant fidgeting. “Humans own more than two pairs of hose and a good shirt these days, and while I think these won’t draw unneeded attention-”

“Muiren says that humans once walked about bare,” he murmurs, lifting a long sleeved item up to his chest. They’ll all fit, of that he has no doubt, but his wings- It’s a shame he’ll have to hide them.

Kiera scoffs. “Muiren is only a few years older than Roran. Neither of them have any notion of what humans are like or what they’ve done. You should know that, Aodh- Merrick.” Kiera watches him in silence, likely recounting everything he’s done wrong with the clothing in front of him, but eventually she shakes her head.

“When do you leave?” She asks, gaze darting around the room. She’s likely eager to get back to Roran, to comfort him - or to escape the scene of her less than cordial encounter with the King.

“Today. Tonight,” he tells her, opening his bag back up and shoving a few of the clothes inside. He keeps out a long sleeved shirt and a pair of dark trousers. “Unless you have instructions for me, you’re free to go.” Merrick finally looks her in the face, noting the tight corners of her mouth, the concern still writ in her hazel eyes. “I won’t forget this,” he says, by way of thanks, reaching up to tap at the red cap on his head.

Kiera looks torn. She’s still facing him, but her eagerness to leave is palpable. “The only thing you can’t forget is this,” she says quickly, back to her usual self, “no dying.” Her eyes meet his for a single moment, and then she walks out. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Merrick alone.

“Human clothes,” he mutters to the empty room and proceeds to strip off his things, arching his wings as far as he can to either side and relishing the stretch of his muscles. It’s not uncomfortable, wearing his wings in his skin, but he can’t say he’s used to it. The Fae he tracks are generally too frightened to leave Faerie entirely, and wings like his are common enough. He hasn’t needed to hide his wings in years, and when last he had, the task had lasted only a few short days. This one will likely last the month, at least.

He smooths his hands over his own shoulders, his wings following, leaving nothing more than ink dark lines behind before he pulls on the clothes. He adjusts his hat one last time, and snatches up his bag. “Be b-” Merrick starts to say idly, and then bites his tongue viciously, unused to the sour tang. Be back soon is too close to a lie, then.

It’s not as if there’s much he’s leaving behind anyway. Merrick sighs, shouldering his bag on his newly wingless back, and leaves. His hand might linger a fraction of a second upon the door handle, but he doesn’t look back.

And yet, every hall he walks down, Merrick finds himself pausing. His eyes trail over the fine details carved into stone pillars, they linger on the glowing cloud lights, bobbing down the halls with every breath of wind or flutter of wings. What memories he has of his parents are vague, so the Court is nearly all he’s ever known, but.. He’s always found himself more at ease outside the mountain. He drags a hand over the roughly hewn walls, caught in old memories, and then spots one of the King’s Pages. She’s a slip of a young fae, proudly sporting the heavy looking brooch of her rank on her small shoulders.

“The King,” Merrick blurts, rushing to stop her before she can leave the hall. Her wings flare, feet lifting off the ground for a moment in surprise. “Could you tell me-”

Her narrow eyed glare makes him pause, her feet touching back down when he keeps his hands to himself. “The King, last I heard,” she says, high voice gone haughty, “asked to be left undisturbed. I’ve little idea where he might be, but if you need an audience, you’ll have to wait with the rest two days from now. He’s much too busy to mitigate any kind of disputes right here in the hall.”

Merrick grits his teeth, but lets her snub him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fluttering her fragile looking wings. There are four of them, opaque and frail without the sun catching their iridescence, and he rather thinks that she might put on a burst of speed to leave the hall behind. She’s coasting on the current of her status then, and is likely quite new. 

Even when Merrick turns to other Court denizens though, he can’t seem to find pinion nor down feather of the King. If he pushed, if he made a fuss, Merrick might be able to track him down, but the thought doesn’t sit well with him. If the King has sequestered himself, has told his pages to leave him undisturbed, he’ll simply have to continue with the task he was given, promise unmade.

He heads for the cliffs on the Eastern side of the mountain, and the rippling Veil, almost visible if you look straight down over the edge. He’s tarried far longer than he should, and the sun is already fast setting, turning the Court of Air golden in its last rays. Merrick takes one last look, but his gaze is caught by the Veil and the shifting shapes beyond it. He concentrates on thoughts of the traitor, of the task he’s been given, and then steps off the cliff face, free-falling.

There’s a single moment of breathlessness, and then the Veil is crackling through his hair. Merrick slides into a roll, tumbling over the rooftop of a human building and coming to a stop in the middle of laundry lines, sheets snapping in the wind.

He sets himself up on the rim of the roof, a small scroll open on his lap so he can sketch out a rough map of the city. It isn’t until he’s half finished, ink leaf growing brittle and dry in his hand, that he realizes how little information he has to go on.

The traitor is a gardener, no one of consequence, normally. Perhaps he’d been given a distasteful task? Whatever the actual reason, something had driven him to tell lies great enough that it was threatening the uniting of the Courts. Merrick wasn’t sure how the gardener could - he’d over ever tasted the beginning of a potential lie, and he’d never been able to finish it. To say them repeatedly? 

“Perhaps he’s human-born,” Merrick murmurs, mulling over the thought, and the brand new map of the human city. Even if the gardener is human-born, it likely won’t matter. Human parentage isn’t something terribly uncommon, but it’s generally ignored. The rumor though, is that those that hold even a drop of human blood are supposedly better at bending a truth to their own ends. He doesn’t need information about the gardener’s parentage, not really, but part of Merrick does wonder at the truth of it. He hopes the gardener hasn’t gone so mad with lies that he no longer makes sense or has become a danger to others. The humans will be cut down in seconds. Though if he has, it’ll be much easier to find him. He taps at one of the green areas he’d detailed on the map, thinking of gardeners and the proclivities of those Fae who reside within the Land Court, tracing the outline that he can just barely spy from the rooftop. 

Merrick doubts the gardener will be there though. If it had been an easy assignment, the King wouldn’t have sent him in the first place. The gardener hid much too well, and had escaped someone from his own Court once already. His hand moves to what he hopes is the market district. If he’s masquerading as a human, he’ll need to pick up supplies, if only to keep up appearances.

He wishes that he were allowed to use his wings to help speed his search, but he’ll have to wait for the night to do anything of the sort. Those small squares of electricity the humans all seem to carry don’t guarantee he won’t be seen though. He’s been watching them from the building edge all afternoon, tapping away at the little things - taking photos. Merrick’s last memory of human photography involved great hulking cameras and frames of fragile glass. The humans truly change so fast. 

A door scrapes open to his right, and a very human gasp reaches his ears. Merrick tilts his head, meeting an old man’s eyes through sheets and clothes fluttering in the wind, and arches his eyebrows. 

“Son,” the man says, dropping his laundry basket and raising his gnarled hands, like he’s ready to reach for Merrick, to pull him away from the drop. “Could you- could you come away from the edge?” He sounds choked, rheumy eyes wide and scared.

“Ah,” Merrick says, sitting back up, one leg still dangling over the edge. “I won’t jump, if that’s what you’re getting at. Would you mind telling me where one might find gardening equipment?” He shakes out the map, pointing at a spot that seems likely.The panic on the elderly man doesn’t ebb, but he no longer looks ready to keel over. “I’m- I’m sorry?” He asks, hands only dropping very slowly.

The words make Merrick’s nose wrinkle. “Perhaps you are,” he offers, hoping he sounds proper. “A market, however. Where would we find one?” He swings his leg back onto the roof, not wanting to startle the old fellow more than he already has, and gets to his feet. He’s a fair bit taller than the man, so he keeps what he hopes is an acceptable distance, not wanting to tower over him, and displays the map so it can be easily read. 

The old man blinks, glancing past Merrick to the building edge and then back to the map. “Son, how did you ever get up here?” His arms cross over his chest, but the motion doesn’t read as defensive or aggressive. The old man is still scared. 

None of what he could say will make the man happy. The veil between your world and Faerie is particularly thin at the right corner, would only leave the man thinking Merrick crazy. I jumped, won’t help much either. There will be follow up questions that he’s both unable and unwilling to answer.

“You don’t know where the market is?” Merrick asks, letting his shoulders slump. Perhaps the man will assume he’s a very strange foreigner. He just hopes he won’t decide to call the local guard. That would turn things ugly fairly quickly. “Then could you direct me to someone who does?”

The panic is gone, though the confusion isn’t. “What kind of supermarket are you looking for? We have, we have too many shopping centers, if you ask me, but I still don’t see-”

“The largest then,” Merrick interrupts, realizing he’ll have better luck asking someone he hasn’t inadvertently frightened. Once the old man gets talking though, Merrick isn’t sure he’s going to stop. He has too much to say about parking structures and the state of traffic - but he is all too happy to give Merrick directions. He makes careful note of them, though he wonders at the length of steps he’s supposed to take, and then heads straight for the door the man left open, murmuring a hasty farewell.

Apartment buildings, Merrick finds, are confusing things. His elderly acquaintance has to give him another set of directions to the stairs in the end, and then mistakenly assumes that Merrick must be a new tenant. 

It almost makes him laugh, though. Humans are all too quick to answer their own questions, and he doesn’t even have to attempt to circumvent a lie of any kind. It turns out that apartment buildings are less confusing than the market. The sheer number of the quick creatures is absolutely staggering, but the old man had assured Merrick that this was the largest market. He has his doubts about finding Garrick in this place - a gardener to the Queen of Land, amidst all this man-made material? But he supposes it will serve as a good place for research. At least there are clothes. He picks at the shirt Kiera gave him, noting that the copper buttons at the collar are of.. Much higher quality than what many of the humans are wearing.

He needs human currency then, and clothes. He turns on his heel, keen on finding a pocket to pick and just barely avoids a running child. He scowls at the little beast, brushing the curls out of his eyes and takes another step-

Straight into you.

You stumble, shimmering square of electricity flying from your hand, but Merrick snatches it before it can crash to the ground. You save yourself, unsteady, but still on your feet, arms out to either side for balance. 

“Holy-” You laugh, apparently not caring about Merrick nearly knocking you to the stone - though you rub awkwardly at your shoulder. “That was a great catch!”

The device is heavy, he notes. Man-made, then, full of iron. He grabs your hand, shoving the device back into it and then takes a step back, eyes darting to either side of you. Some of the humans are looking, though the lack of yelling has several of them continuing on without comment. 

“Not hurt?” He asks, because that’s the human thing to do, isn’t it? 

“Maybe my pride,” you murmur, glancing yourself over. You open your mouth again, a small smile growing on your face as you meet his eyes, but Merrick wants no part of it. You’re useless as a mark - he’s made himself memorable, and you seem keen on continuing a conversation, which won’t help.

“Good,” he blurts and then sidesteps you entirely, ignoring the questioning noise you make as he walks away. He can’t afford to have any distractions: Currency, clothing, and studying the map of the city. That’s all he needs to think about for the rest of the day. He finds himself glancing back over his shoulder, just to check that you aren’t following, and sucks in a breath when he finds your eyes still upon him.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

[luckhound]

— shelter from the storm.

pairing.  reko/gender neutral reader

genre.  angst, hurt/comfort

description.  after the events that transpired in the room of lies, reko is reeling. so are you. the two of you find solace in each other.

warnings.  spoilers for chapter 2, part 1 and 2. mentions/discussions of death.

note.  this is my first piece of writing for this series; hopefully it doesn’t disappoint! reko might be ooc, but i figured it kinda made sense, given what happens 💀💀 inspiration taken from these prompts.

You find her in the monitor room.

You aren’t surprised. Her room had been the first place you’d gone to check on her, then the lobby. When you hadn’t seen her in either area, you just knew that’s where she’d be.

Reko stands in front of the monitors. Her back is to you, so you don’t know what expression she’s sporting. You don’t need to see her to know that it must be the same blank face she’d sported once she stepped into the medical center, Nao at her side.

You consider leaving her be. Maybe she wants to grieve alone. But you’ve come this far.

You take careful steps into the room. She doesn’t move to look at you, not noticing you’re there or perhaps not caring.

“Are you thinking of doing it?” you ask softly. There’s no need to elaborate on what you mean.

Reko heaves a sigh. “I considered it,” she admits. “Found myself in here before I even realized where I was going. But...it’s just a machine.” A hollow laugh leaves her. “I know that, and yet...if I saw him on that screen...I wouldn’t have Nao’s strength.”

She falls silent. You stare at her back, at the hands hanging limp at her sides. Since you haven’t been told to leave, you approach her. Now you’re beside her, your shoulder inches from hers. Close, though not touching.

You look out at the monitors. Two are smashed to pieces, but the others are intact. You’re reminded of Mishima’s AI staring out at you, no recognition in his eyes as he met your gaze. You find yourself relieved that there isn’t a monitor for you; as frightening as the prospect of your death is, being immortalized as an AI is a horror of its own.

You glance over at Reko.

(Even now, you’re struck by how different she looks without her makeup. Her face is bare. Vulnerable. It’s strange, seeing as how you’d never once thought of her as vulnerable. Not until...)

She’s still facing the monitors, but her gaze is distant. Faraway.

Three hours. That’s all the time you have until the second Main Game. Then the horror begins anew. If there’s one person you want to spend that time with, it’s Reko. You try not to think hard about why that is.

You hesitate, then reach out for her hand. It trembles in your grasp, however she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is cold to the touch.

“We should...try to rest up while we can,” you say. “Come with me?”

Reko doesn’t respond. Then her chin dips in a slow nod.

You keep a hold of her hand as you guide her out of the monitor room. You don’t need to, you know, but you don’t even contemplate pulling away. Reko allows you to, her fingers curled loosely over the back of your hand. You hope the contact is as reassuring for her as it is for you.

You aren’t sure where you’re leading her. As you walk out of the monitor room and cross the lobby, though, your destination becomes clear.

Reko doesn’t protest when you enter your bedroom. You stop only once you’re inside, the door closed behind the two of you. You face her, your joined hands dangling between you.

All of a sudden, you're struck with shyness. You fidget, resting your weight on one leg then the other. “Is, uh...this okay?” you ask awkwardly.

Her mouth twitches upward in the ghost of a smile. “A bit late to ask that, don’t you think?”

Before you can stammer through another response, she sits down on the bed. The stress of the past couple hours finally shows in the way all tension leaves her limbs. You go to pull your hand back, give her room to lie down if she wants, only for Reko’s grip to tighten.

You look over at her, but she doesn’t meet your gaze. “Can we just...stay like this? For a bit?”

“Y-Yeah.” You take a seat beside her on the bed. It’s then that you realize just how tired you are.

(You’d been beside yourself during the ordeal with Gin and Q-taro, unable to do anything except watch from the sidelines. In the end, you just offered advice that hadn’t amounted to much. It feels like that’s all you’ve done, since the moment you first woke up to this nightmare.

That, and watched helplessly as people died in front of you.)

“Do you mind if we...?” Words are failing you right now, so you lean back, with only your elbow on the mattress keeping you upright. You hope your intention is obvious.

Thankfully, Reko nods, leaning back as well. As one, you both recline on your backs and stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom. Your hands, still clasped together, rest between your bodies.

You should say something. Kind words, like Nao might offer, or a rousing speech, like the ones Sara is so good at. But your mind is blank. I’m sorry for your loss feels laughably inappropriate in this situation.

So you squeeze Reko’s hand, wishing it was enough to convey everything you feel.

A moment passes. Then she squeezes back.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of your breathing. You close your eyes and focus on that, emptying your mind of all doubt and fear.

The both of you are still breathing. Despite everything, you’re still breathing.

Come what may in the next three hours, at least you have that.

[drsilverfish]

Understanding the Closet in Narrative - Healing Hands/ Holding Hands in 15x08 Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven

The best theoretical book on this subject, in my view, to date is Eve Sedgwick’s Epistemology of the Closet (1990). It’s not that easy to read without a grounding in post-structuralist theory (it’s from that period in the academy when that was fashionable) and it has its flaws (one being that it only theorises the historical male closet, not the female one). But it’s still great :-) 

Essentially, she reads nineteenth and early twentieth century literature by European and North American authors, who were, or, scholarship suggests, may have been, queer (that term is anachronistic for the time-period, but I used it as a shorthand) e.g., Oscar Wilde, Henry James, Herman Melville.

But Sedgwick’s readings are situated in the political context of the AIDS crisis in North America of the 1980s. And her attempt to unravel the significance of the closet, in narrative and culture, is predicated upon a passion about the cruel times she, and her many queer friends, were living in.

She attempts to delineate how queerness was written about, by male queer authors, in times when they could not be openly homosexual/ bisexual/ otherwise queer, nor felt able to write openly about queerness (because homosexuality between men was a criminal offence).

As she carefully elucidates, that meant that often, themes of horror, rejection, criminality, deceit, even evil, were projected by these authors onto characters they were (in a coded manner) delineanating as “queer”. This was about expressing what culture made these authors feel about themselves and, about, somehow, finding a way to present queerness, or the queer experience, in a manner which would be “acceptable” (because heavily coded, and depicted negatively) to the mainstream audience. Internalised homophobia also fed into these depictions. You can see all of that in Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897).

This is why the monstrous has always been “ours” in a special and specific way in narrative (here, in relation to Sedgwick’s discussion, in fiction) and later, as cinema developed, on screen, because it has often been a site of queer-coding. Of course, that’s a bit of a double-edged sword as a symbolic history. So pervasive did those codes become, that they are still used today, sometimes, as a short-hand for villainous, as in Scar in The Lion King (1994) (much discussed in pop-culture YouTube videos about queer-coding) or SPN’s Crowley (who for instance drinks “fruity” cocktails as part of the historic repertoire of male queer-coding as effeminate and therefore, untrustworthy/ villainous). But, of course, Crowley is also written as deliberately drinking those fruity cocktails because he knows what they “mean”, and not only does he not give a shit, he flaunts drinking them as part of his particular combination of transgressive bravado and demonic viciousness (an “I may drink a fruity cocktail but I will also rip your heart out and chop you into tiny pieces” vibe). Crowley remains, however, queer-coded [not unequivocally bisexual/ homosexual/ pansexual] for most of his SPN screen-time. He refers to his relationship with Demon!Dean as a “bromance”, even if the way he utters it sounds as if he’s sarcastically calling that word for it out. We see him kiss men on the lips as part of doing cross-roads demon-style deals with them, but it’s played as him fucking with those dudes (notably Bobby) rather than fucking them. 

Finally, we do see Crowley participate in a a mixed-gender orgy in 11x01 Out of the Darkness into the Fire (well, we see the before and after). He has a four-way and then slaughters them (I really hate that particular scene; there’s a shitty menopause “joke” in there too) but Crowley is smoked into a different vessel from the one we are used to, a female vessel, for that orgy. So, although we do “see” it, Crowley’s pansexuality, we also don’t “see” it, because Crowley’s usual male-embodied vessel is missing from the scene. It’s out there (I’d say it does semi-“out” Crowley) but it’s, on the part of the SPN text, kind of a chicken “out” because dude-Crowley is not present. Moreoever, the context is horrible and murderous rather than tender or intimate. So, there is a classic, historical, on-screen queer-coding residue. Because, in terms of our still powerful cultural norms, it would have been more shocking for the audience if dude-Crowley had been present and the scene was a tender, loving orgy, rather than the gender-swopped and slaughtery scenario Carver gave us. 

Sedgwick develops the useful concept of the “glass closet”. Which means, that, deliberately, in a text, a queer reading is at once available (clear) to some readers and opaque (unavailable or rejected/ denied) by others. She writes, of Oscar Wilde’s famous story The Picture of Dorian Gray, that it...

“.... occupies an especially symptomatic place in this process. Published four years before Wilde's "exposure" as a sodomite, it is in a sense a perfect rhetorical distillation of the open secret, the glass closet, shaped by the conjunction of an extravagance of deniability and an extravagance of flamboyant display. It perfectly represents the glass closet, too, because it is in so many ways out of the purposeful control of its author. Reading Dorian Gray from our twentieth-century vantage point where the name Oscar Wilde virtually means "homosexual," it is worth reemphasizing how thoroughly the elements of even this novel can be read doubly or equivocally, can be read either as having a thematically empty "modernist' meaning or as having a thematically full "homosexual" meaning.” (Sedgwick, 1990: p165-66). 

So, what she’s saying, is that the closet as a narrative structure, has a double structure. It makes queerness at once visible and invisible, “there” and “not there”. Another way to put this is that the “there” is queer subtext, and the “not there” is all the other available readings provided by the built-in ambiguity that delineates the narrative closet. Such queer subtext IS part of narrative, but its nature is to contain a plausible deniability. 

This shot from 15x08 Our Father Who Art in Heaven, epitomises Sedgwick’s “glass closet”:

There’s no doubt this is (in its context) an intimate gesture between Dean and Cas, and a loaded one, because the SPN text has made it clear (not subtextual) that Dean and Cas are not in a good place with one another emotionally or communicatively, following Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary WInchester. We see them fight, and Cas leave, in 15x03 The Rupture. 

However, in its subtextual context (meaning in the context of all the other queer subtext in SPN in relation to Dean and Cas’ individual sexualities and their relationship) this gesture (for those taking the text’s invitation to read it queerly) is also a gesture which begs for the space between those hands to be closed, for those fingers to be entwined, for those hands to clasp one another, in a manner that cannot be understood as between “bros”. The narrative negative space screams, in this register, “Hold hands, you idiots, we know you love each other!” 

It’s loud, but the fact that it’s clear AND opaque (visible to some, and “don’t see it” to others) means that is still follows the structure of Sedgewick’s glass closet, i.e., it’s still subtext.

Other readings of it are available:

1) Yes, the negative space is there between their hands, but it symbolises how they are not as close as they usually are, because of the rift between them.

2) This healing gesture, in which Cas uses his fading power (and it costs him to do it) to heal Dean’s wound, a wound which Dean initially keeps hidden, curled inside his clenched fist, is symbolic of something at the core of their relationship- pain and healing.

The wound on Dean’s palm, is almost a stigmata, or a wound-from-the-cross; healed by an angel.

Cas fought his way to Dean in Hell and, in their initial (off screen) encounter put him, body and soul, back together, from his half-Demon, broken-on-the-rack, state. In other words, Cas healed a wound in Dean’s soul and restored him to humanity.

Cas: “Good things do happen, Dean”

Dean: “Not in my experience”

4x01 Lazarus Rising

Cas ended up himself being a good thing which has happened to Dean, the best thing (outside of his brother and his mother’s return from the dead) Dean’s ever had in his life.

It hasn’t all been roses. Far from it. Cas has hurt Dean deeply as well as healed him, particularly during the Godstiel/ Levi!Cas arc.

And Dean, in turn, has hurt Cas deeply too, particularly when he was vulnerable and human after the Angel Fall, and now, since Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary Winchester.

But, this healing gesture, palm to palm, which is vulnerable for both of them, in the midst of their painful period of miscommunication, tells us, in spite of all that, that at the core of what Dean and Cas are to each other, or could be to each other, is a place of healing.

These readings make sense, whether we consider Dean and Cas to have a deep fox-hole type, bestest buddy in the world friendship, or that they are sexually and/ or romantically desirous of one another as life-partners.

This is the structure of the glass closet - healing hands/ holding hands; the gesture is both, but the holding hands reading (because of that physical space in between those hands) is subtextual. The romantic/ sexual reading is visible/ invisible, for different segments of the audience. 

The history of heterosexuality as visible and coded as “normal” and homosexuality/ bisexuality/ queerness as invisible and coded as “abnormal”, means that we don’t yet have a narrative level playing field for queer and straight characters even simply in terms of recognition.

In general, audiences are socialised to be excellent “readers” of the codes and gestures on-screen that signal heterosexual intimacy. So, a man and a woman can just look at each other on-screen in a certain way and the audience knows they are being written and performed as desiring one another, sexually/ romantically. 

Straight audiences have become, in the last fifty years of activism which have precipitated LGBTQ social and political changes (moving from decriminalisation to gay marriage) better readers of queer subtext, because they have been “invited in”, to some extent, to these codes, which were previously themselves opaque (and often written as a coded bat-signal between queer creatives and queer audiences). It would be hard to watch Freddy Mercury’s video for “I Want to Break Free” (1984) which he sings whilst doing the hoovering in drag, without understanding him to be queer today, but trust me, at the time, those codes went straight (ha ha pun) over the heads of thousands upons thousands of his fans, who saw him as a macho rock God (who must be straight by default). 

 However, more subtle and complex forms of queer subtext can and do still remain opaque for the “mainstream”. Because, you have to learn to read queer subtext; it’s not something LGBTQ folk are automatically born with either, not some inherent textual kind of gaydar. Queer people, certainly those of a certain age, just tend to be socialised into it to a greater extent, because it’s been our hungry experience to search deeply for characters that reflect us, given the slimmer pickings. 

So, the standard of “proof” that a character is, without ambiguity, understood by all (not some) of the audience as homosexual/ bisexual/ queer is still higher than the standard of “proof” that a character is straight, because straight remains the default. 

Is that fair? No.

Is it the deal? Yes. 

And whether that full recognition (full audience recognition) is there or not has political implications for a text. It changes its impact in the world. 

That doesn’t mean a queer-coded text has no political impact in the world, however. In some ways it can be more persuasive, e.g that “love is love”, because a queer label isn’t there up-front, kicking in (some) people’s automatic resistance. 

So the fact that Dean and Cas are still queer-coded, not textually “out”, doesn’t mean Dean and Cas are not queer, unless the whole audience knows it. Dean has been queer-coded since S1, so I’d say, that, to me, he’s been queer all along. But, it does mean that Dean and Cas’ queerness is still structured by the glass closet - it’s there (for some of the audience) and not there (for others of the audience). It remains visible/ invisible.

A complex additional question, is whether it is ethical, in this time period in which we can (in some, but not all, parts of the world) show LGBTQ characers on-screen, to continue to tell queer stories in subtext. That is essentially what lies at the root of the contemporary, popular “queerbaiting” debate. 

The answer to that is complicated too, and I think, varies from text to text, but this post is long enough.

If you want more, you can browse my “reading subtext” tag for some of mine, and others’ further musings on that topic.