#and i truly wanna jolt down the little human moments

[daddy-ul]

IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT.

!!SPOILER for the concert, i guess?!!

It was so awesome.

I know that, like every band, Metallica has its problems but damn: they do treat us well.

Like, when I read about the “fans’ wall” option I imagined... just a wall? AND INSTEAD. THE BEEHIVE CIRCLE!!!

That was genius. Bc it felt so immersive? And cozy? I especially loved that they let people scream and shout between songs, bc it felt more real like that, more like a concert, an exchage of energy.

And even if I would have loved a full time acoustic concert... you know what? I needed that.

I need to blast the fuck out of this fugue that this period put on me. I needed the raw, unapologetic energy.  (i.e. I had my headphones on bc here it’s night time, and my volume started at 18 and by Waste I had it to 30 and to MOP went to 54 dfjdhfskfhs. I litteraly stood up and raged through it all.)

And it seemed to me that... they kinda missed it too, yknow? And Metallica loves to not repeat itself, so it was very different to the Masonic one. And truly special! At least to me, eheh.

Total highlights for me:

-Turn the page, which, strange??? I’m not a big turn the page stan, I like the song all right but that’s it. But this version????? Holy CRAP. It was otherworldly! It was perfect and the keyboard on it???? Genius. Kirk first solo? NGHHHHH.

-CREEP?? H E L L O??????????? For the first seconds I was like “I’m so intrigued, I’m digging it, the bass is fenomenal but wtf is this?”. I did not recognize it at all. Then it hit me, HARD, and my jaw dropped. The atmosphere was totally different, it did not feel as the usual empowering, avenging song that makes you feel like an angel of death sent by the “chosen one”, but.... something more sinister, something unpredictable and calm. I am rambling but *moves hands* AWESOME, It was basically perfect and I know that if they will play it like that another time it will become a double slap on the face.

-The House of Rising Sun. Damn, when Metallica covers something they go all the way, uh? AND THEY REHARSED IT ONCE. Truly, I didn’t spent much time trying to predict what song would be chosen, but i really hoped for new covers. And this was a total banger. You don’t want me get going on this one, trust me.

-WASTING MY HATE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Five notes in and i started jumping on my ass, screaming internally “LOAD, WE GOT SOMETHING FROM LOAD”. 110 would listen to again. Damn, can’t wait to buy the cd.

-Dead was a really really cool experiment, and I really liked that they put a lil piece of htsd in the show bc we still are in that era. I kinda have one or two things to say abt this one but first I wanna to listen to it again. Still, so INTRESTING.

aaaand i’m certainly missing something, but i did not want to stop looking at the screen to take notes or something, right? And I will surely watch it again in the next 4 days.

[deviltoys]

Nishoya yuu and male reader are dating and yuu was flirting with girls, reader decides to pee on yuu and inside of yuu to show him who he belongs too.

— ‘𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻!’

nishinoya yuu x top!male reader. (wc; ?)

#a/n: sorry this was so short! I REALLY WANTED TO PUMP SOMETHIN’ OUT AND THIS WAS MY FAVORITE REQ AT THE MOMENT. hopefully it's not too bad, i have another noya watersports work comin’ soon ;)

warnings. NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI, watersports, brat-taming (if you squint), daddy k., creampie, dumbification, exhibitionism, voyeurism, manhandling, sex in a locker-room.

once again, you were back at the same place as always. punishing nishinoya for fooling around with some younger females-- backside being fucked into the cold line of a lockers. your lips melted against the skin of his collarbone, tongue leaving small tender pecks along the nape of his neck.

his attitude always changed in moments like these, he would go from teasing you for a sliver of attention, to whining like a bitch in heat— coaxing your fingers to sink deeper into the back of his slender thighs.

he was so pretty begging to be ruined after ‘harmlessly’ hitting on other people, knowing you'd fuck him all nice and rough either way. you saw right through his innocent facade, but he was well aware of how to get what he wanted. every, single, time.

“yuu.” your tone was short; yet condescending. he could taste the lust in your voice, even more so when your tongue glided softly across his plump lips before slipping into his mouth.

he never did, truly get off talking to other girls. your thick cock was the only thing that could ever tame him! how could he resist the urge to be pile-driven into the locker-room floor after a draining practice? your poor boyfriend would never expect what was coming next though-- you were fed up with noya being the only one receiving pleasure and his recent behavior was the final straw.

“y-yeah...y/n?”

you merely hummed in response, the goosebumps littering down his abdomen told you all you needed to know. you let your left hand make it's way to his with a tug-- the right softly trailed along his waist. close enough to send shivers down his spine.

“i wanna try something, different. so pray that you enjoy this, m’kay?”

your words had him feverish, what did you mean? pray? fuck, he didn't care, as long as your cock was inside of him one way or another; you could use his body as you pleased.

you were going to use your boyfriend as a urinal.

edging your blatter all afternoon, consuming as much liquid as humanly possible, it wasn't easy. you had to ignore noya all of lunch break just to make sure he didn't catch on. not that he would ever guess what you had prepared for him anyway.

with his ass up, face down-- you ease your way into the tiny male, making sure to hold onto his hips for support. he wanted your cock so bad and now he had it.

a feminine yelp broke past his throat, his tight hole preventing your dick from going in any further past the tip. but you don't cease, killing what hope he had left for you to slow down; you push the rest of your shaft inside of him with the simple movement of your thighs.

soon noya’s pain clouds with pleasure, and his wails of agony turn into breathy moans. with your cock buried deep into his tummy and your knees spreading his legs to the point of no return-- he breaks. bruised walls are practically squeezing the piss and cum from your balls, and soon enough, your boyfriend realizes what the ‘suprise’ you had in store was.

“mm..fuck baby. you're always so greedy for all of daddy, so i decided to spoil you with all of my fluids.”

his whole body jolts forward into lockers each time one of your shallow thrusts kiss his prostate. your poor dumb slut can only babble out— ‘daddy’ with little pleas to fuck him harder. cock sitting so heavy in his guts, pee and cum sloshing around inside of his body.

little to yuu’s knowledge you informed and proposed that the girls he had been leading on, come and watch you use your boyfriend as a human urine disposal. you wish you could've seen the look on their faces, whatever attraction they had to the libero now moved to you.

they observed your performance from the other side of the wall, wishing you'd breed their pussies like you did his; stuffing him full of your sperm.

he had no choice but to cum right there and then, obeying his body's screams for release. feeling your blatter still holding one more batch of piss-- you slip your wet shaft out of him, a sharp breath signifying how you were about to relieve yourself on your boyfriend once more.

still intoxicated by how good you made him feel, nishinoya can just barely feel your big hands slap the right side of his ass. the sting of your skin on his momentarily inflamed the area before the milky patch of flesh was stained red.

“yeah, take it like the good whore you are!”

a lewd mixture of your leftover cum, piss, and spit dripped out of his spend hole and collected into a puddle at your feet. he was a shaking, stuttering mess— barely able to tell you had finished pissing all over his exposed backside. his body had abandoned any sensible thought in his brain; and he's unable to do anything but nuzzle his face into the drool stained floor, waiting to come down from his high.

“you won't be flirting with anyone but me anytime soon, now that every girl at the school knows yer’ daddy's piss drinker.”

[bangtanpromptsfics]

moonflower.

dialogue prompt #6: “It's 3 o'clock in the morning”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationships, fluff

word count: 1,550

warnings: making out

summary: a 3am walk in the city with your boyfriend

a/n: got this inspiration from an instagram reel and I wanted to transfer that entire feel into this one shot. hope you guys enjoyy and please drop feedbacks it really boosts motivation!! p.s as soon as I completed this, butter official teaser was released SOOOO EXCITED!!!

masterlist

“It's 3 o'clock in the morning”, you take a breath in and resume kissing him, hands tangling in the locks at his nape.

“I know”, he rasps, pulling back to bring your foreheads together, taking a moment to immerse the image of your swollen lips and cold skin of your face “It'll be fun baby”.

You don't know who exactly started kissing. Jungkook came back from his night shift not long ago and he expected you to be asleep. But he was beyond happy to catch you peacefully listening to music and waiting for him, paying attention to arbitrary details of the city still alive below. What began as a welcome kiss soon turned into a brief makeout-session, the first press of his lips against yours truly reminding how much you missed Jungkook throughout the day.

And during small breaks of catching each other's breath, he suggested for a night walk, much like a date since he had been too busy this week.

“Okay”, you huff, still feeling your chest squeezing together to get the normal breathing rate. A smile tugs at his lips and with one final smooch he leaves you to change your clothes into something safe enough for walking through the cold night.

Maybe it's because you had been with Jungkook for so long that you basically adapted a lot of his fashion sense and little habits. When you step out of your small shared apartment, you both look like members of a punk band, all black and leather.

Jungkook smiles down at you, remembering how much you have changed, it felt like you grew bored of colors as well, much of your aesthetics going monochrome at this point. There was a time Jungkook even went worried about it, thinking you were somehow adjusting to him. But you reassured him that he was all the color in your life you needed.

Jungkook interlocks fingers with you, squeezing palms together as he leads the way down stairs.

“Where are we going exactly?”, you ask, an obvious curiosity he hasn't clarified yet.

“I don't know really. We'll figure that out”.

He always had a way with words which made you warm and curious at the same time. You just smile in return and wrap your hands around his leather clad arms and walk along.

You liked this. Dates with no particular destination to be in. Just strolling till your legs are tired, eating street food, getting coffee together or studying at the public library because your apartment is located at a not so silent heart of the city.

And you liked Jungkook very much too. It sometimes feels like lopsided that it demands to overflow from underneath your skin, and sometimes when you are making love to him or cuddling his head close to your chest, you believe he feels it too.

It hits you all of a sudden that you never shared those three words. Never ever uttered them in this two years of relationship and you question them now. Totally random of a realisation just like the day you woke up in a cold sweat accepting to self that you have to confess to Jungkook.

The first place you stop by is a heavily packed food truck selling korean food. It's a usually visited one so Jungkook ask for the customary meal, fire noodles. His favorite of street foods not because there wasn't anything better, he just adored your blush flushed face when you are done.

“Babe?”, he tears open the ketchup and squeezes the content with his chopsticks while watching you, “you good?”.

Apparently you had spaced out, still fueling on the thread of thoughts from earlier. You ground yourself to the present in a jolt, “I'm alright”. You give him a nervous smile.

Jungkook pulls his chair close to yours so that your arms and knees are touching, your skin growing hot despite not touching your noodles yet.

“What are you thinking about hm?”, he demands to know, but not intimidating you more than the point. He busies his hands mixing the ketchup into your noodles instead.

“I love you Jungkook”, you blurt, eyes planted on a random spot on the ground waiting for an outcome.

“And you realized that now baby?”, he chuckles, watching you all shy. He places his noodles from his lap to the table in front to fully face your direction.

“I love you too baby, so much. And I've said that so many times before, when you are sleeping, or when you were not listening. I think I was not as brave as you”, he confesses.

Your chest swells in warmth knowing he had always told you this. You peck his nose and dig into the food, finally able to feel the hunger settling down.

Content with the late night meal, you begin to stroll again after Jungkook laughs and cups your flushed red face. You always hated spicy food as a child but then this is another one of those quirks you caught up being Jungkook’s girlfriend.

“Where do you wanna go baby”, he asks, feeling lost of a trajectory for the date and now you are equally lost too, dwelled in the fact that he will lead the night.

“I don't know”, you state and at the sight of a specific place you continue, “wanna get some drinks?”.

Jungkook immediately giggles, “We both know you lose your mind over half a glass of rum love”.

You knit your brows together for a pout, “Well then you can carry me back home can't you? That would be romantic”, you press yourself to him for no apparent reason.

“Carry you all the way home?”, he muses, holding your whining head softly on his palms while pecking your forehead.

“C’mon Koo then why do you workout for three hours all day? Make some use of your muscle”

“Oh I make plenty use of these muscles and you know it”, he teases back and you smack his arms in response.

After a few very cliche comebacks you both agree to drink the night away. Good thing that Jungkook had a good tolerance to alcohol among you two. Carrying his drunk body single handedly for a smaller human like you would be a tedious task. The math was correct here, and so you start slurping your glass of whatever cheap whiskey they had.

You were enjoying all of this, truly to the core and to the point that you swore there is nothing better to life than this. But Jungkook always felt otherwise.

You see, you are not a rich couple. Just normal millenials who go to college supported with scholarships and debts to pay, several part time jobs and a very low key life where you prioritise your expenses and plan finance together. A couple who has not went on classy restaurant dates in glittery tight fitting dress, or even a sundress and expensive suits. He always wonders about the things that could make you happier and maybe one day he can afford that Italian restaurant you once said is really nice because your sister was proposed by her husband there. You'll look so beautiful in a dress and he can't wait to allure on that.

“Koo?”, you slur, already feeling consciousness leaving your body, “What are you thinking about now hmm?”

He smiles faintly at you swirling his drink and bringing it to his lips to think upon the answer a bit.

“Nothing babe. You look so beautiful right now”, he says.

And immediately you search for a reflecting surface to check yourself out, and that's because you're drunk. Your more sober self usually ends up processing a lot of butterflies at the pit of your tummy.

“I am!?”, you beam, finally able to see a very blurred something of your bummed out face with hair falling over and maybe there's even a little dried drool at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah”, he giggles, scooping you up in his arms for a tight hug, “Let's get home shall we?”

“Carry me pwese”

“C’mon love”, he helps you climb on his back for a piggyback ride, “I'll carry you”.

You tug your limbs a little tighter around Jungkook, he pats under your thigh to loosen up so he can walk. He listens to random mumbles you are whispering to him and he smiles occasionally, carefully paying attention to everything.

“I love you so much sometimes I don't know what to do with myself”, you say and Jungkook stops dead in his track to process the words a bit.

His skin turns red which you can't see and probably you wouldn't mutter such things on your sobering. And he is glad. Glad to know that you are content with what it is. His mind stirs around, his own set of booze blazing the thought further.

“Why did you stop Koo? You tired? Should I carry you?”

“You love me that much?”, he asks, completely dodging your questions.

“Yes. So much”, you kiss his cheeks, pressing down harder then usual to prove your point.

He is convinced you are the one who has a way with the words. You say things which brings him to his knees and you remain so oblivious to it.

“Let's get you home”, he states through a smile.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[flrtwoo]

wc: 1.3k

as changmin neared the locker room, he heard a bunch of shouts and hoots coming from inside. soon after, a crowd of highschool kids started making their way out of the room, buzzing with energy and excitement. siyeon, who was in the crowd, spotted him and ran towards her favorite uncle.

"uncle changmin!" she shouted, earning a jolt from the clueless guy. when he saw siyeon coming his way, he smiled so wide and opened his arms for her. she jumped into the hug, laughing in happiness.

"that's a lie, you now have all the time in the world to do mom's errands WHICH you can't run away from anymore!"

"okay... maybe but don't think that i'm not dragging you with me to do them!"

you watched changmin and siyeon interact so animatedly from the entrance of the locker room, and you couldn't help but fall even further for the guy who's already stolen your heart. his smile could literally light up the whole world, you truly believed that.

"so i lost to dimples? huh."

"so i lost to dimples? huh."

you turned to meet the owner of the voice. "younghoon i still don't know how to respond to your comments, i love you but also are we really okay?"

your best friend laughed as he slung an arm around your shoulders. "YES we're okaaay it's just funny to see your reactions whenever i make comments about my crush on you!"

"you're sick, you know that? sick in the motherfriking head." you poked his head, younghoon continuing to laugh. "i know, i know."

from his peripheral vision, he saw changmin waving siyeon goodbye and walking towards you. with that, younghoon made it his cue to leave.

"looks like lover boy is coming right this way, so don't feel pressured to come to the lunch! i'll take care of the kids for now, you enjoooy your time." he teased and winked at you. you pretended to gag, mouthing a "what the fuck?" to him as he shrugged and left your side.

once you faced forward, you were met with a very nervous-looking changmin. "congrats y/n! you're the last person i needed to congratulate, i already spoke with younghoon but yea." he said.

"thanks changmin." you gave him a soft smile. he looked extremely anxious and you didn't know what was going through his head, so the both of you just kind of stood there in an awkward silence.

as you were about to end the conversation because where tf was this going to go, changmin cleared his throat. "i know your busy with the team, but can we talk? there's something i actually need to say to you."

"oh, sure! we can talk outside, at least it doesn't smell like chlorine and sweat out there." you commented, trying to lighten the mood. however, changmin didn't respond and just made a beeline towards the entrance of the arena.

you were confused, a little scared even. "what if he didn't want to be friends anymore? what if he was moving away to someplace far? what if he's not actually human? what if-"

"y/n, don't worry! it's nothing of that sort." he chuckled. "holy shit i thought out loud." your face grew beet red, and you stuttered out an apology for how he shouldn't have heard your thoughts.

you two eventually made it outside after an excruciating minute of you fanning the red out of your face and him trying to hold in his laughter at your embarrassment. you found a bench and sat on it, gesturing for him to follow.

as he sat down, he rubbed his hands against his pants, wiping off the nervous sweat that had formed. "okay, y/n i'll need you to listen to me carefully. let me know your thoughts after, alright?" he asked as he turned to face you.

"will do changmin!" you turned to face him too and flashed him an encouraging smile.

changmin was nervous in front of you, but the warmth you exuded from your smile alone was enough to give him the confidence to just think fuck it and tell you what he's been meaning to tell you for a while now.

"y/n the way we met, it was so, how do i put this... out of the blue? i mean, who expects to be punched during work duty and be pushed into the pool for literally standing there?"

you laughed at this, recalling the memory of how messed up your first and second meetings were.

"okay, i admit the second time was partly my fault, but still! it's crazy to tell people 'yea i met them in a haunted house where i was the scarer they punched'! but honestly, it's a much more interesting story than all the other 'how did you meet?' stories out there."

you nodded in agreement.

"when i met you the third time, you as siyeon's coach and me as her uncle, not gonna lie i wasn't the happiest about that. i'm sure you knew that too. but we kept meeting and meeting again under the most unexpected circumstances, and eventually i just thought 'maybe they're meant to be in my life, one way or another.'"

"we started talking more and hanging out, and soon i started looking forward to every time we talked and, well, hung out. i mean, you made even the boring things seem fun! that time i was studying for that dance theory test? all you did was ask the dumbest questions and i was already on the floor laughing my ass off!"

you wanted to protest about how your questions were NOT dumb, but changmin stopped you.

"i'm sorry, yes your questions were not dumb, i was just kidding." he patted your head, smiling affectionately at you. you rolled your eyes, however a smile similar to his soon made its way to your face too.

seeing you look at him with so much love in your eyes made something in his mind click and suddenly, his thoughts have never been clearer.

his heart's never been happier.

he didn't just like you. you meant so much more to him, and he knew you needed to know.

"what i'm trying to say is: home is somewhere i feel happy in, where i feel comforted, where i feel loved. and if being with you makes me feel those things, then y/n you are my home. and i hope you feel the same way, because i love you."

changmin exhaled as if he was holding his breath the entire time. he looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

you, on the other hand, was shocked. just plain shocked, and you didn't know what to do, how to react, or what to even say.

the guy who'd stolen your heart had just admitted that you've stolen his heart too, so how the fuck do you respond to that.

after you had stayed silent for 13, 14, 15 seconds (yes, changmin was counting), he lost all hope. sighing, he looked down at his hands. "i'm sorry for putting this all on you, i knew it was a stupid idea, i'm sorry-"

you cupped changmin's cheeks to stop him from talking. he looked up, meeting your glassy eyes. you slowly neared his face until you were inches apart, and whispered your reply.

"i love you too, dumbass."

you closed the distance, lips meeting his as you kissed him slowly, sweetly. he smiled into the kiss, holding you as if you could disappear between his fingers.

it was a very romantic moment that unfortunately didn't last very long, because shortly after a bird landed on changmin's head causing him to scream, you to scream, and the bird to go number 2 on his head.

but oh well, everything about your relationship was so out of the blue anyways, right?

out of the blue | jcm

[chapter 19]

previous | masterlist | next

summary: when you find out that one of the students you coach is the niece of the guy you accidentally punched in the face and pushed into a pool, you're not surprised that he's, well, disappointed at the outcome. however, you're determined to make amends with him for the sake of his niece... and maybe for the sake of his cute face too.

taglist: @s0ngk4ng @wooyoung-a @skiez @kittkyu @stealanity @sofie296 @ccobbiee @deputyjuyeon @enhacolor @simplewonderland @jaerisdiction @arepabella @snuhee @loonathewurld @loki-in-hogwarts @hidejeon @jakesahi @nyujjan @suzy-rainbow @w8nuzone @yeletbz @seungcheoluwu

can't tag: @yannew @deobib

(reply to this post or send an ask/message if u wanna be part of the taglist! :>)

a/n: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE i had to finish writing this piece but 🥲 last update on wednesday AAAA i hope you guys liked this chapter though, i didn't expect to go past 1k but i think i got carried away? 😃 it's not super edited too, so i'm really sorry if there are any mistakes!! please send me a message or tell me thru the ask box if there are hehe THANK UU <3

[imaginewarehouse]

Marcus White x Jonah’sSister!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: 

You find out that you are pregnant... with Marcus' miracle baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, panic attack

🔆  🔆  🔆

Carefully, I pick out one of the pregnancy tests from the shelf. Then grab another... 2 more... and another. Just to be sure.

As I go up to the pharmacy desk, I thank god that Tate isn't working here anymore; I never would've gotten away with this. He would've snitched to Jonah or something, for his own sociopathic enjoyment. Instead, the new guy thankfully rings up and bags my items casually, not really caring what he flings into the white plastic bag- then hands it to me with a soulless customer service smile. If I had to describe it, I'd say its if the man had been working here for years before finally letting the job kill him on the inside- just in time for the wind to change and stick his face like that. Honestly, I never see the guy without this smile. Not even in the breakroom. Its unnerving.

Still, I take the bag and smile back even though I know he for sure doesn't really mean it and turn around so I can walk (The long way around the store, so I don't pass the doors to the warehouse) towards the employee bathrooms... but stop short, jolting into panic mode immediately. Freeze, freeze, freeze!

There's Isaac, standing as tall as a bear in my path behind the aisles, with a scanner in his hand and a surprised look on his face. Or at least as surprised as he would ever convey.

Clearly, though, he saw the tests. And I'm screwed. He is absolutely the well, second last person I wanted to catch me doing this; Buying these.

A nervous smile flickers onto my face and I walk the short ways over to him, hugging the bag to my front. He's still just staring; Mouth half open and eyes a little less dead, then usual. "Oh, hey Isaac! How's is going? You got sent to pharmacy today? That s-sucks... " Honestly I didn't think he was allowed to be assigned pharmacy...

Completely by-passing the option to forget what he just saw and exchange polite chit-chat with me, he instead closes his mouth and his eyes, shakes his head and then opens his eyes again. Then inhales. "Are those what I think those are?"

"Wh-what?"

"Pregnancy tes-"

Shit- Giving him a desperate expression, revealing my true feelings today - being complete and utter panic, - I cut him off. "SHHH! Isaac! No- uh. Yes. Um... Would you believe these aren't for me?"

"Mmm... " His face twists slightly into one of thought, tightening his lips together and sizing me up. "No, I don't think so."

"Well!- " I'm totally ready to make up an excuse... but peter out as soon I try. I could do it. I could string together some kind of half-believable bullshit like 'They're for Amy', but he would still go and tell Marcus and he would find me and... I would still have to have the conversation earlier then I want to. So instead I drop the façade, and my shoulders, and show just how tired I am. "I want to find out myself before breaking the news to Marcus. Okay? He might be unhappy about the idea and then we do the test and it turns out I'm not pregnant and then I just stressed us both out, for no reason! And, on the other hand, what if he wants it and it turns out I'm wrong about this? Please, Isaac, just don't tell him yet. Please, please." I feel like no matter how many pleases I use they may still not change anything. But I'm desperate.

He stands still for a few minutes... so long in fact I think he may be in shock himself, or having some kind of drug induced anxiety attack, and am about to wave my hand up in his face or say his name again, when he finally breathes a little more obviously and I relax back down to earth. "... Well, lets go find out then, right?"

"What- You- you want to come?" Something in me relaxes at the thought- I don't really want to do this alone. I want someone there, like in the movies, to hold the box and just read me the instructions. But I imagined it would be someone I'm actually close friends with, who can hold my hand and wouldn't care that it recently touched a pee-stick. I did not expect that person to be Isaac - Isaac, who likes to watch homeless people kill each other with shopping trollies and sticks and trash can shields like in a horrible, pitiful, modern-day coliseum, - in a million years.

But he nods.

"Yeah, sure." He puts his scanner on the shelf, and we set off the way I was going. He seems to silently understand why we have to go the long way around- to avoid passing the doors to the warehouse. Or he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm thankful he doesn't try to re-rout my course. Or even mention it. "Good excuse to slack off work... besides I should probably get out of this section, anyway. Hey, it is Marcus- right?"

I sigh- I suppose the companionable silence was too much to ask for. "Yes Isaac. If its a thing, in the first place."

"Yeah, right."

___TIME SKIP___

"You're having a miracle baby, you know? He's not supposed to be able to do that- isn't that kinda... good?"

I only whimper in response from |my new home| the cubicle I've been taking the tests in, holding my head. How am I going to do this? I have college, I have this job, I have my studio apartment to continue paying rent for! Marcus and I don't even... there isn't even... we haven't labelled it yet, and... Oh god, I'm shaking.

Isaac heaves a sigh outside, his chair creaking as he shifts. "Well, that's... three positives, so far." Isaac's memorable, slow drawl seeps through the cracks in my cubicle and takes away my thoughts for a moment. And my breath.

3 positives.

3 positives.

Not one, not two... three.

... Then he goes on, a whiny tone in his voice. "Do we really need to do another one?"

I breathe in deep. I don't know what else to do. The next logical step would be telling Marcus or Jonah, but I'm ready for neither of those. So procrastination through pregnancy test, it has to be. "Uh, yes. We do. Um... can you, please?- "

"Ughhh. Yeah, yeah. I'll get you more water. Stay here." Then Isaac, who has surprisingly been very helpful, even getting me tape so I can stick the finished tests up to the door in front of me so that I can compare them easier, disappears out of the women's bathroom, leaving me with my thoughts.

I peak back up at the tests, feeling panic fill up my chest cavity like its anxiety gas and my rib cage is the gas chamber- and my heart's the poor organ at deaths row. I'm... pregnant.

Oh my god. I'm pregnant. There is a human being growing inside me, right now. A human being who will require time that I definitely don't have, money that its parents certainly could not scavenge if we scavenged for used soda cans like Myrtle and sold them in our spare time, effort that I'm terrified might not even be in me at this point... A baby that needs some semblance of a comfortable, stable home, which I do not have for it.

I'm just burrowing my face into my arms and knees atop the toilet seat when the bathroom door opens again. Looking up, I immediately ask for Isaac- because that was really freaken quick, for him.

And get a familiar, confused sounding voice call back "... No, its Amy... Sorry, I just need to pee. Are you going to be long?".

"Oh!" Oops. Immediately, head going empty with panic, I unlock the door and and jump out to let her in. "No! I just finished. Um- go ahead. I'll just wash- wash my hands."

Now seeing each other, I see Amy's forehead crease and her eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern at my pink cheeked/pale faced appearance and the panicky way I'm talking. She reaches out toward me. "... Y/N, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I laugh, the most nervous sounding laugh ever. "Don't worry."

Amy's nose screws up. "... why were you waiting for Isaac?"

"We-we're just having an affair."

... what??

Her eyebrows furrow even deeper. "Okay... I'm just gonna go... pee... now... " She says slowly, gradually disappearing into the cubicle; Not quite sure what to say back to that.

I sigh in relief when her eyes aren't on me anymore and the door locks, thinking flushing some water onto my face might calm me down, when a loud GASP comes from Amy and I i m m e d i a t e l y remember the tests stuck to the wall. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

Amy comes right out of there, looking at me with completely new eyes now- understanding truly why I'm pale, I'm sure, and definitely why I was acting the way I was. "Y/N! You're... pregnant??!" I open my mouth to respond. Maybe say 'yes' seeing as that's the truth and the only proper answer, but I choke on my words and instead say, "Isaacs getting more water so I can take another test."

"I think 3 is a pretty conclusive number!"

"I-" She is not wrong, but I don't want to do anything else but take another easy test, and get defensive instead. "I bought four, I'm doing four!"

"Wh- Is Isaac the father!?"

"God, no." Isaac and I both spit back in offense.

I whip my head around when i realise he wasn't supposed to be there yet at all, and- there he is in the doorway.

... Jonah right behind him looking sicker then me. My jaw drops. "You brought Jonah??!"

"Uh, no, I was just waiting outside for, um," He gestures to Amy and my stomach drops. So he heard the whole thing. Could this get any worse??! Well I mean of course it could, Marcus could be here. Stupid question. Don't ask questions like that; It always summons the worst, in movies. "You're pregnant!? Who- you know what, unimportant right now. Do you wanna sit down??"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath and holding my hand out to Isaac. "No, I'm fine. I have a test to do. Water, Isaac?"

"Here." He hands me the bottle, and I go to disappear back into the cubicle before jumping back away again, remembering that Amy still needs to go and gesturing for her to go, ridiculously enough. She shakes her head and gestures back, like I'm crazy, to take it instead.

I do so and lock myself in, starting to chug the whole bottle.

A blessed silent moment passes... before Jonah speaks. "Is the 4th test really necessary?- "

"For the love of god- Let me take the fourth goddamn test for fucks sake!"

___TIME SKIP___

"... so what is it?" Amy asks 10 minutes later, breaking the deafening silence, as I sit back down on the toilet seat and hold my face in my hands again.

"... Positive... "

Isaac sighs. "Who would have guessed, really?"

No one tells him to shut up. He's right. But also no one agrees, because I'm a fucking 23 year old pregnant girl and I will kill them.

"So... what now?" Amy asks, speaking to the room, but expecting me to answer.

"Well, I'd like less people to be here, honestly." I pipe up, removing my hands from my mouth to speak clearer.

"Done. Isaac, Jonah, get out."

"What? I was here before you... lady." Isaac exclaims, offended, but a moment later I hear the door close, anyway. I assume it had something to do with Amy's signature resting bitch face- cranked up to eleven. "We'll just wait out here, then! Yell if you need us."

"Yep... " Amy responds to him, sounding exhausted and I can totally imagine her rolling her eyes right now. She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out. I hear her rest carefully down into the chair Isaac vacated. For a moment she thankfully says nothing, and I do wonder whether I should... but I don't know what to so say. So I just stay hidden in the cubicle, silent until Amy takes another deep breath and asks the question. "Who is it?"

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I say it I cant take it back, while on the other hand... its done, anyway. He's already the father and I cant change that (Would I if I could, though?) but telling Amy may either make or break my confidence in having him as the dad of my kid. Not that I have a choice... I just know that Amy's going to be worried about it and I don't know if I can handle the criticism right this moment.

Finally I spit it out though. Marcus.

...

"Oh- wow."

Uncomfortable, I shift on the closed toilet seat. "Yeah."

Her voice gets higher, clearly fake and trying to sound like this is better then she really feels it is. My heart plummets into my stomach like a terrible roller coaster. "Well, that's... " She pauses, searching for a safe word to use, assumedly. "Great!"

"... 'great?" For some reason that word, and Amy's tone... hits something wrong, in me. Panic flickers deep in my chest and my stare on the wall gets colder, harder. "... you think this is 'great'? Really? You? No, you don't. Do you hear yourself? 'Great'. Puh! This is Marcus. 'Been to jail' Marcus. 'Ex Con' Marcus. 'Creator and CEO of BOOB CHEESE', Marcus. Marcus who shits in the shower and thinks breastfeeding is akin to whipping your dick out in public, Marcus who has a tattoo of his mother on his back for Valentines day- "

Okay so maybe I'm just picking on him because I'm inadequate, because I don't have the time for a baby, because if I'm trusted with this perfect thing then I will ruin it... I'll pick work, instead of love, and they'll grow up with less of it then they should have and I'll be to blame...

But I don't want to address that yet. I cant.

"Y/N."

"Neither of us even have the money for this." I'm panicking again. "He lives with his mother! And- what if he gets mad... " I suddenly get worried, my eyes go round and I cover my mouth. "I really like him Amy. I cant have him mad at me. Not for this. Not him. Please don't let him hate m- "

"Y/N! Calm the fuck down, okay, right now. Don't speak. Just... take some deep breathes okay? First of all, Marcus is not going to be 'mad' at you. He's sure as hell is not going to hate you. You're spiralling, just take some long breaths." Amy makes it sound like a ridiculous idea with her tone, that he might be mad or he might hate me. I do as she says as she talks; take deeeeeep breaths. Slowly, I start to clam down. "He might be shocked, yeah, but he's- he's not like that. He's an idiot, not a total asshole. Take it from me, I know what I'm talking about here. I promise you. Whether he'll be good at being a parent, is... debatable." Everything she says makes sense. And she would know- you've met Adam. "But he'll be there, at the very least.

And... and you'll be a great mum, anyway."

I feel my heartbeat start to slow down again as I breath. I close my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and rest back against the wall, carefully.

I really hope she's right on that second part.

"... thank you."

___OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM___

Jonah rubs his neck in nervousness at his sister in the bathroom dealing with something like this, pacing around the small hallway area before turning to Isaac. He raises his dark eyebrows. "So, do you know... wh-who?? I mean... the guy, that- I mean, does he work here, or... ???"

"Its Marcus." Isaac pulls out a bag of trail mix from his vest pocket and starts picking through, standing by the bathroom calmly. The brother to whom he just broke such detrimental news - that his sister, has Marcus White of BOOB CHEESEs baby inside her, - widens his eyes until they're more like dinner plates. "Yeah, they've been talking for a while, man. You didn't know?"

"I- I just thought she wasn't interested in... guys... " All her time must be busy with balancing both school and work, plus her friends... how can she possible have had time to... But on the other hand, he realises that its a bit naïve to think that his younger sister still isn't interested in 'boys'. Part of it might have been wishful thinking.

Isaac barks out a laugh. Its a stale, dry sound that makes Jonah really uncomfortable. "She also went out with Tate. Had a bit of a thing for Sayid for a while, too... "

"What!?- "

"Jonah!" At Amy's exit from the bathroom, he calms down immediately and straightens up. She raises her brows at him. She nods into the bathroom. "She wants you."

Yep- it takes him about 2 seconds to fly into the bathroom... to find his sister still hidden in the cubicle. He sighs, pressing his hand against the door. "Y/N? Amy said you wanted me. Do you want me to get you something to eat? Its just, I'm the only one who knows your snack preferences... and maybe we shouldn't eat in here, cuz its kinda gross... but if you want to, that's cool too!"

She doesn't respond for a minute, silent apart from the careful peeling of tape from the cubicle door.

Then the peeling sounds stop. A moment later her voice, sounding small and tentative as if just saying this would open Pandora's box, slips out. "... how're mum and dad gonna react?"

Its a rhetorical question. They both know it'll be bad - and they'll like Marcus even less, - , but its said so he knows what she's worried about. He sighs and leans back on the door. "Well very, very badly. But that doesn't matter right now. I'll take care of them."

"How valiant." Her voice is still small, quiet. But she sounds less scared; She always believes her big brother. Even when she knows logically that he cant protect her from them. Not their parents.

"Well, I try."

"... hm."

___TIME SKIP, BACK OUTSIDE OF THE BATHROOM___

"She is not leaving that bathroom," Isaac shakes his head. Its been an hour, and they've all been in there with her a couple times but she has not left the cubicle. Not even peaked her head out. She hasn't even e a t e n anything while she's been in there. Its starting to worry them. "Maybe we should go get Marcus."

Immediately Jonah looks up from his phone - having been reading up on pregnancy. What is going to start happening to his sister, now?? - and shakes his head, firmly. "No, she'll tell him when she feels comfortable with it. We aren't doing that."

"Yeah, it isn't up to us." Amy agrees, while still looking like on a deep, unsympathetic level that is tired of standing here... she definitely wants to drag Marcus here. But she also knows that Jonah is, unfortunately, a n n o y i n g l y, right.

Isaac heaves a deep, frustrated huff and gets comfortable on the floor.

___TIME SKIP: 3 HOURS LATER___

Finally, Jonah breathes in a deep, exhausted breath and puts his phone away. That's enough of that. He's sufficiently disgusted. He looks down the hallway, out to the store. Then to Amy playing solitaire on her phone and Isaac drawing slowly on the ground. "... Well, I mean, it's Marcus's baby too, right? He should know... right?"

"Mhm,"

"Yep, that's right."

"And... besides, Y/N might need him, right? Maybe he could get her out."

"You make some good points."

"I just wish they weren't points we already mentioned." Amy looks up from her phone and turns it off, flashing an sarcastic, displeased kind of smile. "Earlier."

"Yeah well... " He rolls his shoulders, looking away from Amy's piercing gaze- god, her face is like a loaded gun with no safety. And he's totally into it. He coughs, then whispers. "So, who wants to go get him??"

"Not it."

"I would, but ah... nah. I'm down for the count, down here."

"So... me."

Amy nods, making a 'shoo'-ing gesture with her hand. "Yep, you, Jiminy Cricket. You made us stay here for hours- you go get Marcus."

Looking to Isaac for help, Jonah is just met with the deadest eye's he has ever come upon, so he eventually sighs deeply, wiping sweaty hands on his jeans. "Fff-fine. Wait here."

___IN THE WAREHOUSE___

"Uh, hello? Hi- have you seen Marcus anywhere? Wh- No? Well if you see him can you tell him I'm looking for him? Its about Y/N."

The warehouse worker with the nametag reading 'Nigel' that Jonah's never spoken to before in his life and who prior to his words, had the new deadest eyes that Jonah has ever seen, suddenly beams- a twinkle of evil mischief in his eyes. "Oooooh, cats outta the bag, huh?"

Jonah blinks. "What?"

"You found out about Marcus and your sister, and now you're gonna beat him up? I was waiting for this moment." Nigel clarifies, actively looking around the room for Marcus now as Jonah rushes to explain that no, that is not what he's here for. Please don't say that so loudly- "HEY RICO! You seen Marcus around?? Y/N's brother's here to deliver an ass beating." Half a second passes while Jonah's ears ring from Nigel's screeching before something new apparently occurs to the warehouse worker as his eyes widen and he turns again to who must be Rico. "And you owe me 20 bucks!! Told ya he'd come!"

How often is Y/N in this place? Just seems weird, these guy's saying her name so casually... Jonah's forehead crinkles in thought as Rico rolls his eyes and groans, walking off to assumedly find Marcus. I'm learning a lot about my sister, today... Not sure how I feel about it...

Jesus Christ, has she eaten the cheese, too??!

Jonah doesn't get a moment to panic about that particular bit of nightmare material before he realises Nigel is still standing, awkwardly now, arms straight at his sides and eyebrows raised expectantly, right by him. Watching him, instead of returning to his job. Jonah raises his own eyebrows back; Shrugging. Like, what?? What do you want?

Nigel just just shrugs and shakes his head back passive aggressively, crossing his arms. Like, he doesn't know. Fine, we'll just stand in silence, then...

"Jonah! What's up, buddy? Visiting me in the warehouse- this is so nice! Want me to take my break now, cuz we totally can. Just let me wrap one last thing up and then we'll be back in my car, together. Listening to tunes; Ya know. Guy buddy stuff." T h a n k f u l l y, Marcus seems to rush from wherever he was in the depths of shelf-land when Rico apparently found him and cuts off the awkward stand off between the two men, dropping a hand on Jonah's shoulder and beaming. "What up, man?"

Quick to turn away from Nigel and get to what his mission really is at the moment, Jonah graciously ignores the touchy greeting... despite the awkwardness on his end and the fact that Nigel is still there, watching.  "Actually, I wanted to talk about, uh, Y/N."

Marcus' eyes immediately widen and his eyebrows raise, taking his hand off Jonah in favour of ringing his hands and stepping back nervously himself. "Oh, man... you found out, didn't you? Did she tell you? Cuz like, I know the bro code says its not cool to bone your friend's sister but- "

"Ah, ah, ah!" No, no, no, Jonah does not want to hear those words. No. "No, um. That's fine, whatever. Y/N's sexuality is her own. But- "

"Its a ruse, Marcus. He's here to kick your ass." Nigel insists, still very much there despite everything about this situation having nothing to do with him and instead just freaks Marcus out more as the warehouse head's eyes go even wider and he takes another step back- raising his hands in surrender.

"No, no! Nigel!- That's... no. I'm not here to kick anyone's ass! The asses here are all perfectly safe, I promise. Okay?" When Nigel's expression doesn't change a lick, Jonah gives up and just gestures off in a random direction. "Nigel, could you give us a minute, here?"

"What, so you can jump my boy here alone?"

"Alone?? Who's alone?" Jonah is getting increasingly irritated. "We're literally surrounded by other warehouse workers!! Ones who are actually doing their jobs, by the way. Maybe you should- "

Marcus finally intercepts and pats Nigel's shoulder, getting his attention from looking confrontationally at Jonah and smiles relatively softly at him. "Its okay, Nigel. If Jonah wants to kick me in my junk once- he's kinda entitled to it. Bro code and everything. Why don't you get back to work? I got this. Thanks, though." Nigel leaves, with that, but certainly not without giving Jonah one last greasy look over his shoulder and an 'Okay, Marcus. But call me, if... you know... '. Along with an extra evil squinty look at Jonah. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks bud. I know I can count on you." When Nigel is finally out of the picture, Jonah feels fatigued and just wants to get back to Y/N. At least its just him and Marcus now, though, so they should be doing that very soon. "So! What'd you want? If you really do wanna hurt me, then, can we go outside? By my car ideally, so I can drive the emergency room right after? Or you, cuz I mean... you're small, man. And I'll have to defend myself. Even if its fair. Its instinct, you know? You get it."

"I'm not gonna hurt you?? Why does everyone think- " What is wrong with people here? Do I give off a confrontational aura right now, or something??? "Ugh, whatever. Y/N needs you- she's been in the bathroom for 4 hours. We did try to get her out ourselves, but our attempts have been... l-lacklustre." Lacklustre? Okay, even he is surprised to hear that one come out of him.

"She needs... me? Like, she said that?" All of a sudden Marcus' expression changes. Worry wells in his eyes and his forehead creases, and he glances at the door out to the floor before returning to Jonah, looking restless now as his body fights with him to go, immediately. "Oh, what's wrong with her? Is she sick??"

"Uhh... in a manner of speaking... Look, I just think she needs to see you right now."

That makes the taller man move towards the door, clipboard dropped on a box on his way. "Of course; Right away man. Come on, lets go see her. So you really don't know what's wrong?? Should we pick up some root beer on the way?" Jonah follows behind, hand on his chin as he answers Marcus' questions. Wow... He did not expect such a response from him... He... kinda respects it, in a way. Its a pleasant surprise, at least.

___BACK TO YOU AND YOUR POV. God I hate third person. Its so hard, I want to cry___

"Y/N? You in here??" As soon as that voice registers in my mind, my heart beat skips in the worst way and I almost start to full on panic all over again, but thankfully instead just freeze and only widen my eyes. What the hell? The door to the employee bathroom closes as Marcus shuts himself in and you watch his boots appear under the door to your stall. "What's going on? Jonah couldn't tell me what's wrong with you," Jonah. I glare at the stall door. I'm going to kill him. "But I brought you some root beer for you- a total cure all. I promise. And some (Enter your favourite snack) cuz I know you like them. Here," He stretches up and holds the items over the stall door, and, feeling genuinely touched that Marcus was sweet enough to bring these, I get up off the toilet seat and accept them from him.

"Thank you, that's really nice. I'm... not sure, that the root beer will fix this, though." I speak carefully, sitting down and holding the items in my lap close to my stomach.  

"Course it will! I poured some in Mateo's ear once when he had an infection... I think it worked?"

Probably not. "This is a lot bigger then an ear infection... Kinda permanent, too?"

"Oh god, is it cancer?" He pauses for a moment but before I can put that particular worry at rest... or remind him that cancer is not always permanent... he makes it worse, and I fight not to facepalm. "The plague??! Its still a thing, you know. Jesus, its not that is it? Please tell me its not that! That would be the worst!" I mean... yeah, it would.

"Oh- no no! No, nothing like that!! I'm just pregnant!"

... wait.

Immediately I want to take back my words and say them differently- because is that really the way I just broke it to him?? Oh my god. My hand slaps over my mouth- then pulls back an inch to speak again, but is definitely on guard to slap again and prohibit anymore stupid to come out. "I mean! ... N-no big deal?" My voice gets tiny. "At least its not the plague, right?" I'm just making this worse, so I cover my mouth again.

Marcus does not respond, and I can imagine his face crystal clear, without having to look. He would have his mouth hanging open like a cartoon character, his shoulders have dropped, eyes are blank, and he's pale as hell. Oh god... oh god oh go oh god... I cover my whole face now and just try to breath evenly, and not talk anymore. I was right! He's not going to even like me anymore, this is going to ruin how he looks at me- I cant have Marcus look at me coldly. I really cant.

Finally, a few minutes later the door to the bathroom creaks open again and I know it's not Marcus escaping because I can still see his boots under the door and they haven't shifted in a while. Amy's voice rings out, too loudly in the stock silent bathroom. "... everything okay in here? We haven't heard anything in a while- Marcus?"

He doesn't respond.

I hear Amy walk in now, her heels click-click-clicking on the tiled floor. "Marcus? Marcus, are you okay?" She snaps her fingers, assumedly near his unresponsive face. I slip my fingers down to just cover my mouth, straining my ears to hear any movement from him. "Wake up!" Another snap. "Marcus wake up."

All of a sudden I hear shifting and his boots shift slightly and I squeeze my eyes slowly shut- now he speaks. Now's the part where he speaks. Now's the worst part! He either leaves, or stays. "Uhh... I'm awake, okay?"

...

Amy and I are both startled by the seriousness in Marcus' voice- Amy evidently in the way she responds, backing out of the room. "... Okay! Um, well talk. To Y/N. I'm... just gonna... wait outside... "

Marcus just grunts in response, turning back to my stall door. Then he wraps his knuckles against the surface and I flinch- unsure whether to unlock it and be a grown up or stay hidden away like I really, really want to. Its not like I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything, not at all! Its just... I don't like to disappoint people and I'm terrified at seeing his face. "Y/N? Can you come out, now?"

"Ummm... no... " I wince, keeping my eyes closed to the world. As if that'll hide me from it.

"No???" He asks, bewildered.

"No... "

Marcus' voice isn't at all as cold-serious as it was when he spoke to Amy, but still. There is still definitely an unfamiliar focused quality about it, and its making me nervous. "What? Come on. What do you think's gonna happen? I'll yell at you? Come on, that's not gonna happen; Come out. "

"I'd really rather stay in here... " I fire back.

"Don't be scared of me." He really does sound trustworthy... but that fear, man; She's one unrelenting bitch.

My voice goes high pitched when I answer, too vehement to be the truth. "I-I'm not! Silly! Why would I be scared of you??" My eyes open up again and I just wince. Such a liar.

"Aghh... " I just listen to him shifting around out there looking for something for a bit, or thinking of what to say next, while I myself sit and think comfortable that there is nothing that will make this worse, seeing as I'm safe and sound in this toilet stall... before his boots disappear from my vision under the door and I hear him disappear out of the bathroom then return again almost immediately, going into the stall beside me and putting something down on the toilet seat in there.

Oh my god- he wouldn't dare! He would not-

Then all of a sudden he's climbing over the wall and I have to jump off the toilet seat and press closely to the stall door, root beer and snack still hugged in my arms like teddy bears. Marcus eases himself over the wall and onto the toilet seat before my eyes, then jumps off it to the tiles again in front of me, while I gape wide at him. "I- what- Marcus!"

"Well you weren't coming out! It was my only option!" He exclaims, and now that I see him I do relax a bit. There's no coldness in his face now, and there is certainly no unfamiliar, unfriendly seriousness, either, seeing as the man just climbed into a toilet stall to get to me. Very Marcus-y. I slowly let out a relieved breath, which is still also a 'calm down' breath as the pressure is certainly still on. I can see him, but he can also see me.

Eager to avoid the issue at hand, I snap. "You might've kicked me!"

"No, I wouldn't have." He makes a defensive 'pshhh' sound immaturely, waving me off with a hand before resting them both on his hips and looking right at me. I give him my own dubious look right back- What makes him so sure??? He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, anyway." Suddenly, a beautiful big smile spreads across his face; the kind that still makes me a little bit weak and almost forces me to smile back. Even now, in this situation. "This is great."

And then I'm speechless, mouth closed and eyebrows furrowed together. ... Great? What? Quickly he moves to clarify, before grinning that goofy grin of his. "The pregnancy! Man, I've seen enough girlfriends get pregnant over the years... its nice to see one having my baby." A moment passes and my system is just registering this reaction - not even relieved, yet. Just in shock and a little less anxiety, - before he drops his smile, raises an eyebrow, and adds: "It is mine, right?"

Still shocked, I answer as if the question was more on the lines of 'That was my cupcake that I just ate, right?'. Meaning, probably too casually. "Oh- oh, yeah! Abs- absolutely." He doesn't seem to mind.

He beams again. "Great! We'll be awesome parents- that is assuming you wanna keep the baby, right?"

"Uh... " All I want to say is yes, right now. Even as the complications of raising a baby right now linger in the forefront of my mind. But at the same time I'm looking at Marcus and I just want to. I want to have the baby, and I want to do it with him... in the moment, he's the absolute perfect person to do it with. I choke out, "Yeah."

He fist pumps the air at that response, and finally the relief starts to settle in my stomach and my heart... a smile grows on my own face. My eyes even get a little watery with the powerful relief. "YES! That's right, I'm gonna be a Dad. Whoo! We gotta tell everyone. But how, do you think? Should we get a cake or something that says it in icing?? Or should we just go out there and announce it over the speakers? Or should we just not tell anyone? Cuz on the one hand, I wanna tell everyone- but on the other... I don't really want Carol to know you're pregnant. That could be bad."

"Um... " I don't even know what to say. I just want to hug him, so I do. I step forward and wrap my arms around his middle, burying my face in his coveralls and the body I've become so familiar with over the past months that smells so uniquely - and not always so pleasantly, but definitely comforting,  - like Marcus and squeeze tight, closing my eyes. He smells like that 'new furniture' smell that's really just 'warehouse', and an unfamiliar home, and a little bit of B.O.

Thank god.

Amy was right. Of course she was. Even when I was stressing, I knew the image I had of Marcus getting mad about this didn't feel quite right, but... you have to prepare yourself for the worst, you know? I'm just so glad he's the way he is though, as he wraps his arms around my shoulders in return and bends his neck to press his cheek to my head. "I'm really happy about this. And I know we haven't figure anything out. With us, with money, with anything actually, but... we will, okay? I'll do my best, I promise."

"... Thank fuck." I chuckle, although its muffled and get a similar sound from him in return. "I'm really happy, too." He rubs my back in that rough, comforting way that guys do and I might as well melt; He's too wonderful. I bite my bottom lip, thinking my next move through before taking a deep breath and deciding to take the plunge and ask. "... hey... um... b-boyfriend?"

Marcus immediately pulls me back and holds me at arms length, a crazy-big grin splitting his face. "Oh, yes! This day just keeps getting better and better; Come on, we definitely have to tell everyone this, lets go." Excitedly, he slips past me and unlocks the stall door finally, but pauses and turns back to me before its pushed open at all. I tilt my head in curiosity- what's up? "Unless... congrats sex?"

...

Oh my god- a snort, transforming into a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. I pull him closer by the front of his coveralls, grinning at both the idea and how silly he is and gently tug him down closer to my level. I close my lips and knit my eyebrows together understandingly. "... How about you come over after work? First we should probably deal with the others? You know, the ones hanging outside right now?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. Oh man- I'll be basically related to Jonah now!" Oh- well- not exactly but... okay fine. If it makes the guy happy. "Ha ha, look forward to seeing this face every Christmas, bro." Oh boy.

I just grin at that - Goodluck Jonah, - before leaning up the rest of the way and pressing a careful kiss to Marcus' lips which he immediately returns with enthusiasm, hands abandoning the stall lock and collecting my waist instead.

This is going to be okay.

It will work out. I hope.

BONUS:

Later in the breakroom while Marcus is busy with talking to some of the other Cloud 9 employees about the news, Jonah takes the seat next to me and I raise my eyebrows at him- he's obviously dying to say something. I know my brother at least that much. He sighs.

"So... you... haven't eaten the cheese, right? I mean, I have but I'm hoping you haven't been put through such, uh, cruel and unusual torture... "

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. I managed to convince him it was cannibalism for women." I grin, returning immediately to my Cloud 9 Caesar salad as Jonah sighs long and hard in relief, relaxing back into his chair.

[lustbile-archive]

In The Cards

HaechanxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warning: Smut. Best friend Haechan wants you to read his tarot :( warning! very beginner tarot knowledge. all card interpretations found on the app golden tarot

Request: can i request a bestfriend-to-lovers hyuck where he and the reader share their first time together?

This is the third installment of my week of halloween fics. Info about possible blurb night here

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird.”

“How is it weird?”

“Haechan seriously,” you finally turn to face him as you lay side by side on your bed, the pout and puppy eyes he wears on his face the exact thing you had feared to see as you knew he had his ways of convincing you no matter what, “you’re asking me to do a reading on your love life.”

“And how is that weird?” his voice pitches as he turns to mirror you, now with you both on your sides and your phones tucked under your respective pillows you have no choice but to stare into his warm eyes. His body is dramatically lax as he relaxes into the mattress, already ready to toss his body around obnoxiously if you decide to deny him again.

“You’re my best friend dude, it would be weird to see what the cards say about your possible romantic activities,” you were somewhat telling the truth. Yes, you thought it would be kind of weird to see what your cards had to say about his love life, the idea being weirdly intimate for you, but you also knew that there was a small part of you, an evil yet insecure little gremlin that had made a home in your heart a few months before, that would take whatever they say directly to heart. You never anticipated forming romantic feelings for the boy in front of you, actually when you and Haechan had first started getting close you stubbornly denied that something like that happening was possible, yet here you were stupidly infatuated with the boy who lays in your bed wrapped warmly in a worn hoodie with your heart trapped between his teeth, “that and I’m not even that good at doing readings yet.”

“An even better reason to do it,” he sits up with a jolt of energy making you return to your place on your back to watch him, “so even if you do my reading, like you said you’re not that experienced so we won’t take what they say to heart right? It can just be for fun.”

Your eyes squint in disbelief as you try to read the look on his face. Regardless of his words, you know it wouldn’t just be for fun. Haechan had made it kind of obvious on the few occasions that tarot readings, and things related to things of that nature, were brought up, that he truly did believe it. Haechan had a whimsy about him, a belief and willingness to believe in things outside of himself, things he couldn’t really explain, and usually you’d find it incredibly endearing, but now it just helped in raising your stress levels.

“Come on dude,” his head tilts back and his face scrunches as he tries to convince you, his determination unfortunately making a smile start to pull onto your lips, “I’m bored and the ambiance is way too sexy right now for us to not do some witchy shit.”

Again, like always, he was unfortunately right. It was late into the night, nearing 3 am, and a storm raged loudly outside. The storm being the exact thing that had locked Haechan in your room to begin with as it had knocked your power out an hour or so before the time he was meant to leave, so he had decided to stay instead. He had claimed it was because he didn’t want to bother with traveling in the storm, but you could easily pick out the softness behind his eyes when you casually mentioned not wanting to be alone in the dark.

Along with the steady storm, you had also gathered your collection of candles and scattered them lit around the room, that and the quiet sounds of Florence + The Machine and Fleetwood Mac playing from the small speakers connected to your phone only supported Haechan’s argument. You two had perfectly crafted the perfect atmosphere to ask questions to some other force, and you can’t help but kick yourself for putting yourself in such a position.

“Okay fine,” you finally respond hesitantly, a grimace on your face and you move to sit up as well. You hate the way your chest tightens at his reaction to your words, an excited jump bouncing him in the air as he leans over to the table you keep to the side of your bed. The idea that he just knows exactly where you keep your things dances tauntingly in your mind and you angrily push it down as you move to sit facing him with your legs crossed underneath you.

“Found ‘em,” he whispers as he rifles through the drawer, a quiet triumphant noise squeaking from his chest as he moves to sit back in front of you, mirroring the way you sit with a smug grin on his face.

“Shuffle them a couple times for me,” you say, motioning to the deck in his hands, and he does so immediately. His fingers work slowly and gently, the fear of damaging the deck floating around his form. He splits it a few times, shuffling them together in a neat stack before he hands them to you like a devious cat happily offering their owner a dead mouse, and you smile softly at his consideration for your things.

“I’m only gonna do a three card pull okay? Past, present, and future okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s cool,” he nods excitedly as he shifts around where he sits, his anticipation slowly gaining on him, “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Okay give me a question to ask while I shuffle,” you command, your hands holding the deck as you get ready to shuffle, “it can be as detailed or vague as you want, the cards should understand what we're asking.”

“I just wanna know…’’ he hesitates for a moment, his lips caught between his lips as he thinks, “love life I-.... hm… I guess I want to ask it to show me the path my love life will take.”

You only nod in response before your eyes fall closed. Your heart beat picks up and your hands shake slightly in your nervousness, but regardless you begin to repeat the question in your mind as your hands begin to move. ‘Show me the path of Donghyuck’s love life’ you speak to your cards as they dance between your fingers, your hands much more rough than Haechan’s.

His breathing is almost deafening as it's the only human sound that hits you as you work, and you hear it catch when your hands stop moving.

Your eyes open again, and with a deep breath you lean forward to spread the cards out in front of him in the shape of a fan, “pick three and put them in my hand,” you command again with your hand held out flat, “whichever three speak to you.”

“Okay,” he whispers, his fingers moving to hover over the cards and the way he holds himself he looks as if you’ve just asked him to take a standardized test. He jolts slightly before grabbing the card below his hand, and it's quickly placed on your palm. His reaction when picking the other two are not much different, and after a minute or two you have all three cards and you’re gently collecting and setting the remaining cards to the side.

“Okay,” you start as you shift to get in a more comfortable position, “we’ll start with past.”

He nods as you move to lay down the first card you were handed, the card revealing itself to be The Lovers, their naked bodies and the angel that lives behind them almost taunting you and making you tongue stick dryly to the roof of your mouth.

“Okay..” you trail off as you glance at the boy in front of you, his eyes going slightly wild at the sight of the card in front of him, “now present.”

Wanting to get out of the situation as quickly as possible, you lay the next card down, and before you now lay the two of cups. Another pairing of people to stare as you squirm.

“Finally,” you huff moving to lay down the last card, “future.”

With a soft thud, you place the card down, the naked woman that floats in the center of The World card is impossible to ignore. Haechan hums quietly in consideration, his head bobbing slightly as his eyes move across the spread before him. He looks pensive for a moment when he looks up at you, until a playful grin takes over his features.

“What does any of this mean?” he asks with a laugh.

“Well,” you start moving to grab the book you keep next to your pillow that hold the different descriptions of the cards, scolding yourself for still not having them memorized, “none of them are reversed so that that as a good sign, and none of them are The Tower so you’re not doomed to die alone I suppose.”

He laughs again as he watches you flip through the book, your eyebrows knitted together as you search for the first card.

“Okay so, your past is The lovers,” you start, one hand resting on top of the card as your eyes shift around the page, “it represents partnership, union, duality, and choice. This says it means a union of harmony, full of trust, confidence and strength, This relationship both a physical attraction and a deep emotional bond between them.”

You stutter slightly as you read, your eyes darting up to gage his reaction once the words leave your mouth, his face is soft but serious as he thinks, and you can’t help but get overwhelmed by the look.

“Okay, and then present,” you hand shifts to the Two of Cups while your other hand flips to the correct page, “this card means unity, partnership and two become one…” you trail off slightly, hoping Haechan only assumes it’s from you trying to read the page and not for the real reason that is the words in front of you makes you heart beat harshly against your chest, “signaling a union and partnership of balance, honor, and respect, The ancient symbol of the caduceus also suggests energy, passion, and sex, and the intermingling of opposite forces.”

“Oh,” he responds involuntarily as he absorbs the words you speak, and you can only wish that you could crawl into his mind and see exactly what he’s thinking.

“Okay and lastly, your future,” you shift again, your previous position suddenly not feeling comfortable anymore, “The World card represents fulfillment, harmony, and completion. It says, absolute unity, perfection, accomplishment that draws from inner and outer sources. This card signals the harmony of the inner and outer worlds, and reaching a level of enlightenment. An era of one's life is complete and there is joy and celebration that is coming to welcome it.”

With a soft smacking noise, you shut the book and place it back to its spot next to your pillow. Your words still linger in the air with a tension wrapped around them, and in your desperation to avoid Haechan’s eyes you begin to return the cards to the deck, a silent thank you being spoken in your mind as you thank them for their knowledge.

“So what do you think about that?” he asks, his voice softer than earlier, the tone making your eyes dart up to try and read the emotion on his face.

“It’s not about what I think Hyuck…” you place the hair tie that lives on your wrist around the deck to secure it and place it on top of the book, and when your done you lean back onto the palms of your hands to survey his body language while also creating more distance between you, “it was your reading so it’s your interpretation, what did that tell you?”

The words come out like you’re trying to cough up years worth of chewed gum and the way they clog your throat makes you feel weird. It may be up to his interpretation, but you can’t stop the way the cards and their meanings make you feel as they wrap a confusing combination of hope and terror around your fragile heart.

“I think,” he starts as he once again moves to mirror the way you sit, a soft but unsure smile on his face, “they told me exactly what I needed to hear.”

“And what was that Hyuck?”

“Well you know, the whole emphasis on partnership, and union, and choices. If anything i’m starting to think your cards like me a little bit cause they kind of told me exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“And what was it you wanted to hear Haechan?” you ask, his smugness and confidence making you laugh quietly.

“That I’m not putting my hope or my heart in the wrong place. I think it’s saying that I’m right in wanting the thing I want so badly.”

“Jeez Donghyuck,” you huff as you fall to lay back onto your side, a giddy feeling flooding you as he once again follows suit, “you speak in more riddles than the cards do.”

“Oh do you want me to tell you straight forward what those cards just told me?” he asks rhetorically as he lays close enough for his face to crowd you personal space, his breath occasionally hitting your skin.

“Well yeah, lay it on me Hyuck, what did those cards encourage you to do?”

“I’ll fucking lay it on you alright,” he doesn’t even give you the time to form the question in your mind of what he could possibly mean before he’s on the move. He’s on you before you can blink, his body pushing you onto your back and his hands landing against your bed next to your head and caging you in. Your body reacts before your mind does, and your hands are gripping his wrists and you legs are falling to the side to allow him to rest between your thighs, as he knocks the air from your lungs with his mouth pressing against yours.

You both let out matching hums in content at the feeling of each other’s lips. You’d call yourself a liar if you said you had never imagined what it would be like to kiss the boy that now rests on top of you, but no matter how many hours you had logged dreaming about the very moment, none of it prepared you for now.

He rests his body flush against yours as his lips work against yours, and there’s only a beat of time before his tongue is brushing against your bottom lip, begging for entrance.

You break away, the idea of him feeling the same way as you filling you with childish excitement and confidence, so much that you can’t stop yourself before you’re teasing, “so my cards told you to attack me?”

“Hush,” he pecks against your lips once before speaking again, “they told me I was completely in the right for being in love with my best friend, and that making a move would only end in happiness.”

“You’re in love with me?” you ask, those being the only words that stick in your mind, Your hands tighten around his wrists, and the skin of his face flushes in realization of what he said.

“Uh… yes,” his eyes are filled with his nerves as they lock onto yours. The internal debate he has with himself of wanting to tear his eyes away while being completely unable to is transparent and puts you at ease at the idea that he’s just as nervous as you, “I’m sorry if that’s really abrupt, but I really am.”

“Donghyuck,” you whisper, leaning up to nudge the tip of your nose against his, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Thank fuck,” he swears louder than intended, and you giggles of happiness is smothered by his lips latching to yours again.

There’s no asking this time as his tongue shoves its way into your mouth, and you let out a pleased groan when the moment he licks at the back of your teeth, his hips shift down and he begins to softly grind against the crotch of the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

“Tell me,” he speaks between open-mouthed kisses that he places across you mouth and up your jaw, his words doing their own licking against the shell of your ear, “tell me if you want to stop, cause I don’t think I can.”

“I trust you Hyuck,” you whisper during the fleeting second that your mouth is free, “do whatever you want, I’m so in love with you.”

He groans loudly at the string of words that leave you, the noise cutting through and disrupting the smooth voice of Stevie Nicks and his body returns to rocking gently against yours.

Your hands trail away from his wrists, moving up his forearms and up until your fingers tangle in his hair. The slight tugging you give to his roots pulls another groan from his mouth, and the sparks of pleasure that hits your lower stomach at the sound combined with his hardening length pressing against you through the thick fabric of his sweatpants makes you feel like you could live in this moment forever.

You can feel your growing arousal spilling from you, the wetness making the fabric of your underwear stick to your skin, and at the feeling of him suddenly bumping gently against your clit makes you squeak as you hips begin meeting his thrusts with their own.

“Please,” you whimper out when his mouth latches onto the skin stretched over your jugular, “want it. Need you.”

“I’m gonna keep you up all night,” he growls the promise against your neck, “I have so much time to make up for.”

He sits up, a smile of pride on his face when you huff at the loss of him. You only get a few sounds of discontent out before his hands are grabbing at the fabric of your shorts, and shoving them down your legs, your ruined underwear following. The fabric is tossed behind his shoulder, and in his impatience, his hands are rough as they grab at your thighs. He pulls you, bringing you down the bed to be closer to him, before he’s pushing his own pants down to bunch at his hips, his tip brushing against you and making you jump as he slaps against his stomach.

You squirm as he returns to his place flush against you, both at the sudden feeling of the room’s air hitting your damp skin and the way his length glides against you. You can feel your arousal smearing against him, and in your desperation, you’re grabbing his face and pulling back down to meet your lips again.

Laying there, pressed as tightly together as you can be with your mouths devouring the other’s, you feel him reach between your bodies. His fingers only take a moment to dip into you, gathering your wetness on his fingers, before he’s using it to coat his length more than it already is.

He pulls at himself a few times, the moans he lets out at the friction being swallowed by you, before he’s pressing into you without warning.

The stretch and the idea of your best friend being the one that is so suddenly fucking into you has you reeling. You feel overtaken by the feeling of whiplash, and as he pushes into you inch by inch, you let out a moan that lived deep in your belly.

He pauses when he’s fully inside of you, the depth that he reaches as the girth of him making your eyes begin to roll wildly and before you can catch your breath his hips are retreating.

His pace is rough. He’s slow, and he doesn’t pull but a few inches out, but every time he returns to your body, it's a harsh thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

It’s not long before you feel overwhelmed, the way the cozy heat from the candles and the thick fabric of his clothes as they brush against you licks at your skin and sinks you into the mattress. His mouth refuses to separate from yours, and his thrusts are consistent and unrelenting.

You’re sure you’ve never felt more held in your life as your wrapped up with your best friend, one of his hands moving to hold the side of your face while the other travels down to play with the sensitive nerves of your clit. The gentle way his hands move against you contrasted by the rough way he fucks into you has you clinging desperately to his hoodie as warm tears well up in your eyes.

One of your hands moves down as you get closer, your nails digging into the fabric that covers his ass as you desperately try to pull him closer than he already was. This and the way your hips start bucking against him makes him groan as you two get tangled in your sheets.

You feel the tingling warning of your orgasm running up your spine, a crackling moan feeding into his mouth from yours and the way you softly clench around him being his only warning before you come with a cry.

His hips stutter as he follows quickly behind, a very similar sound of bliss slipping from his mouth as you two begin to shake against each other.

You feel like you’ve been sewn into his skin as you twitch together with aftershocks, him equally as unwilling to separate his body from yours. Once he pulls his hand from between your bodies, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and he pulls you tightly into his chest as he lays his full weight on you, and you legs wrap around him as you refuse to let him slip out of you.

“We’re going again in a minute,” his voice rasps as he presses his face into your shoulder, his nose nuzzling against the skin.

“Really?” You ask with a laugh as your hands return to their job of running through his hair.

“Yes I just need a minute,” he promises, and you shiver as his hips start to shift already without him even thinking, “it’s what your cards would have wanted.”

[h2bakugou]

could I request a headcanon where bakugo, kaminari, kirishima, and maybe todoroki (that’s not too many) react to their gf giving them a painting they made with their body

a/n: yes! im a bit late for this trend but it’s super cute and i wanna do this bruh, i have a canvas i just need to repaint it and then boom

headcanon: them reacting to receiving their s/o’s painting they made with their body

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, 16+ for mild suggestive themes?

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

You’ve seen the trend a few times before you finally get the guts to do it for Bakugou. 

You’re super excited when the time comes. You’ve never done something like this. All the gifts you’ve given Bakugou before were usually store-bought, either a small piece of jewelry or a new sweater or shirt.

Never a painting that you made.

After getting all the craft supplies to make it, you turn on some music and get to work.

Painting the canvas a solid black color, you wait for it to dry as you look at the color of paint you’ve chosen to use on your body. A bright orange that matches the highlights of Bakugou’s hero costume.

You roll your shorts up and begin to apply the paint after feeling that the black has dried on your canvas.

Applying the paint is tricky, but with the help of a mirror, you’re able to apply it evenly. 

Pressing your bottom down on the canvas, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. You’d just printed your ass in bright orange onto a canvas.

You let your butt rest against the canvas as you lifted the leg you were going to paint and stamp next, applying paint to it carefully as to not let it drip onto the canvas.

You pressed your leg down and used your hands to push it against the canvas.

Sitting for a minute or so, you soon got up and did your hand last. Looking at it from afar, it looked great.

You touched it up some, made the color opaque and then cleaned up. You made sure to sign your name on the bottom in the matching orange paint carefully.

You got most of the paint off, but the rest you’d have to scrub off in the shower. You threw on some loose pants and waited for your canvas to dry completely before taking it to Bakugou’s room.

 Bakugou was finishing up some homework when you knocked on his door.

“Come in.” He groaned, not expecting to see you hiding behind a canvas in his doorway.

“Happy anniversary.” You smiled and handed him the canvas. When he turned it over his cheeks flushed red.

“Holy shit.” 

“I know it’s not much-”

“You’re a fucking piece of art.” Bakugou set the canvas down and pulled you into him, his lips landing firmly against your own.

The kiss was rough, but sensual.

“Does this mean you like it?” You pull away and giggle.

“I love it.”

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

You’ve got the supplies and you’re ready to get to work. You’ve painted your canvas black and you’ve selected a nice electric yellow.

It’s an easy process of applying the paint.

But as you’re sitting on the canvas, stamping your ass on it, you begin to wonder if Kaminari would like it.

He’s can be a bit perverted, but he’s still super sweet. Is this going to make him short circuit?

You’ve been together for a few months now, and for just a random reason, you wanted to do this for him.

You’ve seen the trend and you want to surprise him.

After successfully stamping your body to the canvas, you sign it and let it dry before delivering it to him.

You dress in one of his electric pun related shirts and some sweatpants and make your trip to go give it to him.

When you arrive, he’s playing Mario Kart with Sero and somehow beating him.

You wait for him to be finished before you give him the gift, not wanting to interrupt his game.

“Alright baby! What’s an angel like you need?” He sets his controller down and walks over to you, giving you a kiss, totally ignoring the canvas your holding.

“I made you something.” You smile, turning the canvas over. 

And just like you’d feared, sparks of electricity begin to shoot off of him, his cheeks burning a bright pink shade.

“It’s-you’re...beautiful.” Kaminari mumbles, looking at it and then back up to you.

Sero looks at the canvas and his cheeks brighten up a bit too, but he looks away respectfully.

“This is amazing, can I hang it up?” Kaminari asks, his eyes wide and full of love as he looks at you.

“It’s yours, do whatever you’d like with it, silly.” You kiss his cheek as you watch him jolt over to his bed and quickly move a poster so he can hang it up.

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

After seeing the trend, you’re set on making one for Kirishima. You’ve been together for a few months, and feeling a little confident, you decide to surprise him for training so hard these past few weeks.

You paint your canvas the day before you plan on doing the project so it’s already dry and ready for you to plaster yourself on it.

You’ve chosen a crimson color, similar to the shades of red in both his hero costume and his dyed hair.

Kirishima always tries really hard, and his determination inspires you. He has his moments of self-doubt, but it just goes to show that he’s human, like you.

This is something you wanted to do because of him. Kirishima is always telling you how beautiful you are, and it’s hard to feel beautiful sometimes. So, feeling confident, you decide to make yourself, and him a little gift.

The process of stamping your butt, leg, and hand to the canvas is fun, and something you’ll remember forever.

You love the way it looks when it’s finished, and you’re proud of yourself.

Kirishima is lifting weights as he studies when you knock on his door. He shouts for you to come in.

“Hey babe!” He smiles when he sees you. You walk through the door, shimmying the canvas along with you.

“Hey Kiri.” You give him a quick kiss on the cheek and smile as you hold the canvas behind your back.

“What’s that?” He questions, eyeing the canvas.

“You’ve been working hard, and you also reminded me that we’re beautiful. So I made you something to say thank you.”

You hand him the canvas and he’s speechless.

Kiri’s heart was racing as he stared at the perfection before him. He would’ve packed it up and sent it to the nearest art museum to hang it there.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He whispers as he sets the canvas down and walks toward you, pulling you into a hug.

“Thank you, you’re gorgeous too.” You smile, kissing him softly.

“You are truly a work of art.” Kirishima pulls away and nuzzles you closer.

“Can I make one of these for you?” He asks innocently.

“Kiri!” Your face begins to heat up.

“What?!” It hits him. He face palms and waves his hand at you.

“Shut up!” You two begin to laugh.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

After taking a few dates to art museums, and the trend you’ve seen all over social media, you’re inspired to give Todoroki an art piece.

It’s more of a gift for him being himself since your anniversary isn’t for another week or so.

But there’s nothing wrong with giving gifts to each other.

You paint your canvas black and let it dry. You’ve chosen a bright navy color, one similar to the color of his hero costume.

At first, you were going to do a classic red and white combo, but you figured he was probably tired of seeing the same color combo in everything.

So you rolled up your shorts and got to work applying the paint on your butt. When you sat down on the canvas, it was an odd feeling. The cold paint had gave you chills when you first applied it, but you soon got used to the feeling.

It was like cuddling up to Shoto’s right side on trips or whenever you two got time alone.

Applying the paint to your leg and pressing it against the canvas, you sat and waited for the paint to stick to the canvas. Standing, you did your hand print and did some final touches.

Letting it dry was surprisingly more agonizing than you thought. You were brimming with excitement, ready to go give it to him already.

when it was finally dry, you put on one of his sweaters, one you’d ‘borrowed’ from him, and some cozy pants.

Todoroki was reading in his room, skimming over a few chapters in one of the classes reading assignments.

when you knocked, he spoke up for you to come in. His eyes immediately noticed the canvas you were holding.

“Hey baby.” He says softly, a gentle smile on his lips. You could always lift whatever mood he was in.

“Hey Sho.” You respond as you tiptoe into his room. You bite your lip as you begin to speak.

“I made you something, and I hope you like it.” You turn over the canvas and hand it to him.

His eyes widen and his cheeks flush.

Your body was painted in a familiar shade of blue as he stares down at the art. It’s gorgeous.

“You made your body into art.” Todoroki hums quietly as he glances at a wall, ready to hang it up already.

“I did, it was a trend I saw-”

“You are a masterpiece, I am honored to have this.” Todoroki set the canvas down carefully and moves over toward you, peppering you with kisses.

“I love it, thank you.” Todoroki thanks you for your gift and your own cheeks begin to heat up.

“I’m glad you like it.” You smile, butterflies floating around in your stomach.

“You should make some more art, it’s lovely.” Todoroki admires it some more.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[obeyme-darling]

410 with satan

In a Rut

[Satan x Fem!Reader]

18+! NSFW

Prompt:  “I wouldn't disturb him during his breeding season if I were you.”

A/N: Guess who’s writing something for all the brothers based off this prompt... Asmo is next!!

Satan had been ignoring you for some time now. You were confused but tried to let it roll off your back. That was until you saw him at the library and he completely ignored you. Then you spoke to him, he locked into your stare, you smiled and waved, and he turned the opposite way and walked off.

You sat in the kitchen pouting, munching on a bowl of cereal and sulking like you had never sulked before. Satan had been a pretty nice friend once you had gotten to know him. He would read with you, teach you new things about the Devildom, and you would share your knowledge with him. It wasn’t much, since he was a demon and knew a lot, and you were a mere human with limited knowledge, but he always seemed excited when you told about all your interests and little things you had remembered throughout your life.

“Oh, MC...” Beel walked into the kitchen and saw you sadly eating, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Satan...” You blew out air and shoveled another spoonful into your mouth. “He’s been completely ignoring me! He’s doing it on purpose too!”

“Oh.”

You furrowed your brows. Beel knew something you didn't know. You cocked your head and watched Beel shift a little uncomfortably. “Beel, what is wrong with Satan? Did I do something?”

Belphegor wandered into the kitchen, on a mission. “Beel, what is taking you so long? I’m hungry.”

“I’ve been in here for two minutes? Go back to bed, I’ll be up there in a minute.”

“Look, I’m going to go find Satan, I need to figure out what I did.”

Belphegor, without skipping a beat and without turning towards you, spoke up, “I wouldn't disturb him during his breeding season if I were you.”

“His what?”

Belphegor sighed and turned around. He was not about to go through that with you. Beel gave you a shocked look. Belphegor threw his brother into the wild and was not about to return for him.

“Beel...” You sucked in air, trying to process everything. “What is he talking about?”

“Demons- we uh- we go into these... Ruts? I guess you could compare it to that?”

“So, I did nothing wrong? It’s just his rut?”

“I’m sure you did nothing wrong, you’re a lovely person and Satan adores you.”

Your face flushed. He did not hate you after all. You nodded and let Beel go. Once you finished your cereal you walked back up to your room, pulling out your DDD you began to text Satan. Hoping for some reply. You looked at your sent messages before saying anything.

‘Hey, wanna meet at the library?’

‘I found a new book, you’ve probably read it, but I need to talk about it!’

‘I have no one else to yell about this with...’

Those were over the past few days. No response. Knowing you did nothing wrong now though, hopefully, you wanted to try again.‘Hey, I just wanted to say, whenever you wanna hang out again, we can. I’m not mad about all this.’

Then you waited. You laid down in your bed and began to doze off. Your DDD buzzed beside you, jolting you awake. You wiped drool from your chin and looked at your DDD, finding you had a message.

‘Meet me in the library.’

Your stomach turned. You did not hesitate though. Straightening out your shirt, you stood and made your way to the library. Your bare feet padded down the hall, your footsteps echoing around you.You opened the door to the library and walked in. Nothing. No one. You sighed and stepped further into the room. Your eyes wandered and you crossed your arms. You began to pull your DDD out and message Satan when the library door closed.

“You came.”

You turned and felt your stomach flip. You gave Satan a meek smile and his eyes burned your skin. He looked you up and down, his fingernails digging into his palms. He inhaled sharply and his eyes closed.

“I’m assuming you know.”

“Uh, Belphie told me.”

“Figures.” He took a step towards you.

You were stuck to the floor though. You could not step back, you could not move forward. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched Satan’s every move. Muscles tensed as he stopped walking, only a few feet from you now.

Swallowing hard you began to speak, “If now isn’t a good time, we really can-”

“No. You really wanted to see me.”

“I uh, forgot what book I wanted to talk about...” That was not a lie, the thought of Satan being in some rut, absolutely ready to pounce at any given moment was kind of fucking with your head, in a good way.

“Oh, what a shame.” Satan placed his arms behind his back and turned away, “I’d better let you get back to bed then.”

“No!” Your arm went out in front of you, “Wait! Maybe I can- Is there anything I can do to help you?”

You had thought about fucking Satan many times since getting to know him. You had no intentions on acting on that though. But now... the way he was staring, how tense he was, you wanted to do something. He was obviously avoiding you for a reason.

“MC...” Satan kept his back towards you, “you should really go to bed. I would prefer to not harm our special human guest.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

You hadn’t expected to be declined when you offered during a time of need. You did not want to push anything though. You walked past Satan and heard him inhale. Before you could register anything else, you were against a bookshelf, back arched and chest to chest with Satan. Who was now very obviously not in human form anymore.

“Satan...”

“You smell absolutely delectable.” His nose was pressed against your neck and his hands gripped your hips.

“You’re hurting me,” You whined, wiggling against him.

He pulled back and his eyes widened, “Oh I’m sorry, MC, I- You should go.”

“No.” You met his stare and shook your head, “Not if I can help.”

“I can’t risk hurting you.”

“Look,” you placed your hands on his shoulder, under his fluffy boa “you look absolutely feral right now, and that is kinda sexy. I promise, I’ll be okay. You just kinda... shocked me a second ago.”

“Fine.” Satan moved close to you again, “I warned you though.”

Satan pressed his lips to yours, trying his best to not harm you, but as soon as you kissed back he became more ravenous. His hands roamed from your hips to your waist and his nails dug into your shirt, ripping the fabric.

“Fuck-” You mumbled out as Satan moved his lips from yours to your neck. Your skin was burning from Satan’s touch. His warm palms pressed against the soft flesh of your waist and his nails began to scrape at your skin.

“So soft,” Satan nipped at your neck, obviously trying to hold back. “So good.”

Satan could not control himself any longer, he was bursting at the seams to get you undressed and to fuck you. One of his hands moved to your pants and unbuttoned them with precision you definitely did not have.

“Shouldn't we be- maybe we should-” Unable to speak, you just kept panting out unfinished sentences.

“Use your words, love.”

Satan did not back off, he kept at you. You whined and grabbed his wrists, “Maybe we should go to your room.” You finally forced out.

“No time now.”

His voice was hoarse and deeper than you were used to. Satan had lost all control and he was about to fuck you against the bookshelf in the library. That anyone could walk into at any given time. It was time to sleep, so most of the brothers were in their rooms, making you hopeful you would be left alone.

Satan pulled your pants down and you easily kicked them off. You figured it’d be easier to take them off rather than him rip everything off of you and you have to run back to your room naked. He moved to rip off of your bra and you stopped him, somehow.

“No.”

Satan was taken aback. He cocked his head and watched you unclasp your bra and take it off, throwing it to the ground. “Can’t have you ripping my nice clothes, now can I?”

“Fine,” Satan cornered you, his arms going to either side of your head, “take off your underwear. Don’t want to rip such fine articles of clothing.”

Your stomach turned. His pupils were practically slits as he looked down at you. You nodded and quickly kicked off your panties. Satan mumbled a ‘perfect’ under his breath and he eyed you closely. You were so vulnerable and that was suddenly very, very apparent to you. Standing naked in the library in front of a demon who could easily kill you if he wished, waiting to be fucked.

Satan quickly undressed, throwing his clothes on the floor beside yours. And then, he was on you again. “So perfect,” he growled out, “and you’re all mine.” He snatched you closer to him, and his nails dug into your skin again, this time causing you to yelp.

“Shhh,” he grunted, “we can’t let them know we’re in here.”

You nodded and tried to keep quiet. While you were looking up at the ceiling, focusing on being quiet, Satan was preparing you for him. He roughly pushed two fingers into you and, without thinking, you covered your mouth and bit into your palm.

A “Fuck!” was muffled into your hand and tears pricked your eyes. Satan began, very quickly, pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your hips rolled into his fingers and your eyes rolled back. Your head rolled forward and hit Satan’s shoulder. You bit down without thinking and felt Satan’s fingers pick up speed.

“Taking me so well-” Satan grunted, his fingers pulling all the way out before pushing all the back in. He really wanted to make sure you were ready for his cock, he was truly being so generous.While moaning and whining into his neck, you began to come undone. Your hips continued to roll into his fingers as a heat formed in your gut. You were shaking and holding onto him so tightly your nails were causing marks to form on his shoulders.You tried your best to keep your voice down, but it was getting hard.

“Bite.”

You followed Satan’s orders and bit down on his neck as you came. Satan’s fingers kept their pace as you rode out your orgasm. You cried, “Please, ah shit!”

“What do you want, love?”

“Fuck me, please,” you whined as Satan pulled his fingers out of you. He pushed his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them while his eyes locked with yours. Chills went down your spine and you felt your legs buckling again.

“You’re so sweet, so innocent,” he snarled the last word.

Satan grabbed your legs and pulled them around his waist as he pushed you further into the bookshelf. A book dug into your back and you let out a cry. Once Satan had you off the ground he walked to the chair in front of the fireplace and easily sat down with you. Your legs were on either side of his and his hands were pushing down on your hips.

Without thinking, you pushed yourself down onto Satan’s cock and sighed. He restrained himself while you grew comfortable around him and gave a few experimental bounces. Once he knew you were okay, he bucked his hips into yours and you gasped.

“Satan!”

You were getting a little too loud. You bit your bottom lip and stared into his eyes, watching him enjoy fucking you. He grabbed your hips and began to move you at the pace he wanted you to go. You may have been on top, but he was still very much so in control.

You ran your hands through his hair and noticed him let out a moan when you touched his horns. He may have been in control, but you were about to turn the tables, even if only briefly. You gently ran your hands up his horns and let out a strangled moan when bucked into you as hard as he could.

“Fuck.” He grunted as you ground into him, “do that again.”

You did as you were told and watched as Satan’s eyes closed and his jaw went slack. You bounced up and down on his cock while you ran your fingertips up and down his horns.

“So obedient for me.” He groaned, one of his hands running from your hip and up to your ribs, ever so softly. It was your turn to moan.You struggled to keep up with Satan. He seemed like he was still holding back somewhat, and you were still fighting to keep up. You pressed your forehead against his and let out soft, muffled moans as you bit your lip.

“Fuck, you’re taking my cock so well, you’re such a good girl.” Satan whispered, sending you over the edge.

Your body was rocking against his, shaking as you came undone. Your nails raked down his shoulders and you let out a loud moan, almost not caring anymore if someone heard you. Satan thrusted into you, growling and snarling as he finally came. He slowed down, but did not pull his cock from you. He did not let you move. He held you still for a moment, his forehead against yours and both of your eyes closed. Your breathing was shallow and ragged and his breaths were slow and deep.

Your phone began to buzz and Satan finally let you move. You stumbled across the library to your phone and picked it up. It was Lucifer.

‘Are you with Satan?!’

“Who is it?”

“Lucifer. I think he knows.”

You began to struggle to get dressed, you did not want Lucifer walking in on your naked ass. You were panicking. Lucifer surely would not want you fucking any of them while they were like this, and yet...

“Slow down.” Satan walked over to you, “we can just go to my room-”

“Oh you aren’t- this wasn’t a one time thing?”

“No.”

You lit up. You were practically rushing to get ready and head up to Satan’s room. You were tired, but you were all up for helping Satan, if this was what he needed.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Five - Consolation

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, grief, the aftermath of that death...all that Jazz! Plus a lil moment I’ve been fucking itching to include.

Chibs's breath was stuck in the middle of his throat, jutting thickly the more he thought about Opie cradling Donna's sallow cheeks as she bled out onto the gravel.

It'd cut deep, this one.

So many bodies he had bared witness to over the years. So many lives lost and souls snatched and whatever else right before his undaunted eyes--but nothing really hurt as much as that.

Because he knew what it was like. How it maimed a man. How it felt like his world was hurtling toward the chasms of hell during the moments after arriving at the scene and seeing his wife there. Dead.

Cold and dead and lonely. And completely gone.

Guilt resided, too. It was true tangible remorse for the simple proficiency of; that should've been me.

It happened with Diane--it happened to Chibs's wife, the mother of his kid, and the one true light in his life right after Isla. And it should've been him.

It was brutal, the way it happened tonight. It was fierce and heartless and Chibs knew in a flash that those bullets struck the wrong skull.

He couldn't bear the reverberation anymore, the gutturals from Piney's son who'd just lost his wife for no good reason during a drive-by in their quaint little town. The town that'd swelled wickedly with corruption these last few weeks.

Stahl was at the scene before he left. Looking pensive, actually. She looked guilty.

Chibs's basic instinct had landed the blame at her door--put the blood on her hands--but he kept his mouth shut for fear of what'd happen next. He didn't think that SAMCRO could handle this.

Because this wasn't a product of Mayan or Niner rivalry. He wasn't stupid--he knew that his President had something to do with this.

This was cultivated from the seeds sown by June Stahl, the pips planted so very deeply into the mind of Clay Morrow which forced him to believe that Opie Winston was a rat.

And he wasn't. He'd never sell his club out--no matter the damage, the pain inflicted upon him--and he'd never dream of pinning the fault on his brothers.

But he had to look a little bit closer to home if he wanted those answers. If he wanted to know just who sniped Donna--a completely innocent woman caught in the most ferocious of crossfires--he had to turn to someone that he knew was culpable of such activity.

Chibs's heart ached. It impaired him so very deeply that the only thing he could visualize on the ride back to Jax's house was her face.

Her face that dripped blood. Saturated crimson plagued his thoughts and forced his stomach to churn vociferously. He felt sick now.

He felt sick because Opie had lost his wife, Piney had lost a crucial member of his small family, and her kids had lost their mother. The woman that had worked so tirelessly to provide a life for them, to love and care for them unconditionally no matter what.

Opie was strong, he knew that--but he didn't know if he was strong enough to handle this. This crippling weight, this hurt and the idea of what could've been done differently.

Because so much could've happened to prevent this.

His tongue had become inoculated with bile, acrimonious ire for whoever the fuck was to blame for such unnecessary brutality--and, really, Chibs knew that he didn't have to look much further than Isla's favorite blue-eyed heathen this time.

And that broke his heart because of the pedestal she held that man upon. The pedestal she'd always held him atop, so fucking highly, too.

She knew that he was bad--an inherently bad human being--but he was just Tig. Her buddy. Clay's right hand that, really, he'd always count on. No matter what. And he'd always deliver the king's request, too.

Tig was the one that Isla called when her car broke down on the freeway and she needed to get home in time for Gemma's dinner.

The one she turned to for cheering up because he always knew how to crack a smile and get through to her.

The one that she strangely respected the most. Nobody really recognized what it was about that man that had Isla overjoyed when in his presence, she just was. And that was part of his charm.

But her father was anxious, now. Worried that she would take this news--if it came to light--badly. Because it was going to break her heart, regardless.

It was how she would handle it, which was the true hardship.

"Christ." Chibs's voice struggled to materialize, gesturing to his daughter passed out on Jax's couch. "How long's she been sleepin'?"

Mascara and eyeliner and whatever the fuck else she'd painted onto her face had started to melt away, trails of black and grey faintly running her cheeks.

"'Bout an hour." Gemma responded, sniffling back the putrid emotion she'd so obviously let flood the moments leading up to their arrival.

Jax's stomach was doing backflips at the thought of Isla crying herself to sleep in his living room--after everything that he'd put her through, too.

He feared that this was going to be the tip of the iceberg. That this was going to pulverize her sanity and compromise everything she had sought to fight off these last few days.

And he couldn't help but harbor those same suspicions as her father, either. Jax wanted to keep his mouth shut until he was certain that this was an inside job, but he was teetering toward that conclusion regardless.

It was the only viable explanation.

He, too, worried about what this would do to her. That finding out Tig was the potential culprit and reason why Opie's children were officially motherless.

"How's Ope?" She continued, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Jax's head shook. "Oh."

"Not good, ma. But he's home now."

"And you're sure of that?"

"Yeah--I followed him back to make sure he got there in one piece. He wanted to leave the second the fuckin' ATF stormed in."

"Oh." Gem repeated herself, running her fingers through Isla's hair as she rested in her lap. "What about Clay? Where'd he get to?"

Chibs took a seat at one of the wooden chairs that'd been positioned around the coffee table, and Jax sank into the couch opposite the girls.

It was pitiful. Darkness enveloped them as Isla slept, innocently resting as the world shattered around her.

She wasn't oblivious to the happenings. She hadn't slept through it all, but she was done. Isla had been distant for days, had been fretting over the unimaginable and Gemma was worried that she was going to make herself sick if she continued the way that she was.

So she twisted her fingers and nails through the flowing waves of golden blonde, and soothed her the same way that she always did.

The same way that she found comfort as a kid.

He sighed. Exhausted. "Dunno. Last I saw he was with Tig."

"Aye." The Scot agreed with a nod, too. Hating the thought of Trager being responsible for something like this.

But it was merely a suspicion that Chibs hoped and prayed would get debunked sooner or later.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nah. He talked a little to Unser--seems to think it was a hit on Ope gone wrong--so, I guess they're gonna be lookin' into the Niners."

"Aye." Chibs spoke again, gesturing to Isla. "Did she say much when we left?"

"Not really--she just busied herself and cleaned up with Wendy. Seems like they're getting along now."

Jax smiled a bit, happy that his best friend and the mother of his child were starting to accept the presence of one another in Abel's life.

Truly, that's all he really wanted. That and his mother finally being able to turn the other cheek, and quit castigating his kid's mom.

"Did Clay leave before you?" Gemma asked, antsy. She was itching to get home, itching to see and comfort her husband because she knew that he was going to be fretting over this.

"I told you, the last I saw, he was with Tig. Dunno if he left after us, or if he's still there."

She looked away, smoothing her thumb over Isla's cheek.

"He'll be home soon--I should take off."

"Not on your own." Jax upheld, simply terrified of what could've happened to his mother had she left alone.

As far as Jax wanted her to know, this was bad blood between clubs. This was a hit put out on an innocent bystander because they knew it'd jolt SAMCRO--and it did.

It shook them to the very fucking core, jutting them repeatedly--mere moments away from crumbling and completely disintegrating into Harley Davidson dust.

And he really didn't want to admit that this was the work of his step-father and Alexander Trager. But he feared that was the only viable explanation.

"I'll--eh--I'll take her back." Chibs offered, getting up to ghost a hand over Isla's blushed cheek. "I was gonna take her home with me tonight, but I think she's better off stayin' put."

Jax agreed with a nod, smiling weakly at his mother. Though, she knew it was a coverup. A not-so-brilliant facade and attempt at showing that he was okay during this barbarous time.

"I don't wanna wake her." She mused, pushing strands of hair from her face. "She looks so damn peaceful."

Gemma hadn't a cozy moment with Isla for a while--not since she was recovering from a broken heart four summers ago.

The last time that she turned to Gemma--the same way she would as a child--for that motherly comfort.

"I know." The older man crouched to the ground, tracing faintly along her arm. Isla grumbled, slowly rousing. "C'mon petal, it's gettin' late."

He kept a hand against her, running this thumb over the freckled skin softly. Diane's crucifix caught his eye as she shifted, impairing him that little bit more tonight.

"What time is it?" She asked roughly, feeling a sting in her throat. Isla lifted herself off of Gemma's lap, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it late?"

"It's about one o'clock."

"Shit." Her hiss was sharp, galled that she'd been allowed to rest for so long whilst there was a literal wildfire sweeping its way through the club. "Ope--oh my god--Opie. Is he okay?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Jax was about to say before he even opened his mouth, and so tears ensued. Crystalline hues weeped and watered, and he was unsettled.

Unsettled because she was so strong in the face of such tragedy, rarely shedding any tears before an audience.

Unsettled because, up until the Kohn incident, Jax hadn't seen her cry since she was shot in the knee after three Mayans decidedly stormed the T M lot and strived to gun down each and every person on the premises.

He never forgave himself for that, actually. Because those bullets--though completely un-fatal and leaving a simple mark that, really, Isla referred to as her battle scars--should've been for him.

"He went home. To be with the kids." Jax cleared his throat, kneeling in front of her when Chibs got to his feet and gestured for Gemma. "He's--uh--he's in a bad way."

"Understandably." She mumbled. "Any ideas on who did this?"

Your favorite son.

"No. Clay thinks it might've been the Niners--shits been off since they decided to pull their fucking guns on us after the warehouse was raided."

"That was their rationale?"

"I guess so." He added. "It'd make sense. We lost their guns, so we lost a life--"

"But Donna." Isla argued, sitting upright. "Donna was innocent."

"We know that, love, but Laroy was probably under the impression that Ope was the one behind the wheel." Her father spoke over Jax, heeding his uncertainty. "It wasn't meant to be her."

Chibs had to blow his theory out of the water, firstly.

"A life is a life. To them, so long as they've got one of ours--someone close to us--they've succeeded with somethin'--"

"All they've succeeded with is leaving two kids without a fucking mother." Isla spat, throwing away the small blanket that Gemma had draped over her as she stood up. "And you've gotta stop being so fucking insensitive."

Jax stumbled backwards, watching her storm out of the room in her pretty little summer dress. He couldn't surmise whether following behind or leaving the woman to simmer alone, was the best idea.

It was a touchy subject, the loss of a parent. It was prickly and raw and it never ceased to strike Isla's heart. Because she understood.

She understood how much it hurt. The uncertainty of it all. Not knowing what to do next. How life changes more than what anyone ever prepares you for and, really, how nothing is ever the same again.

Isla knew it all too well. She'd been there, done that, and refused to go back. But with Chibs's life, his line of work, she was never granted that security.

And it wasn't particularly the security that she wanted, more so the knowledge of what--god forbid anything--would happen to her father. Because that's what bothered her the most about Diane.

She never knew anything about her mother's passing.

Jax got a pretty tight grip on the concept, too. But it was different with Isla--it was something she never quite grasped.

"A life is a life," Gemma mocked the insensitivity from the baffled Scotsman, shaking her head. "That wasn't just any life, Chibs. That was Opie's woman, the mother of his children, and one of Isla's oldest friends--she was family. She wasn't just a life."

His lips twitched before he exhaled sharply, knowing that she was right.

Knowing that his response was much too unsympathetic and heartless and, really, he was an idiot to forget how upset she got whenever something that pertained to the death of her mother was brought up.

"Your kid is grieving. She's grieving for Ope, for Piney, for Kenny and Ellie--for herself because this--" she gestured to nothing in particular, but he understood, "--is something she knows all too well, ain't it? Diane?"

"I know." Tersely, he responded. He pulled a hand through his hair. "I fuckin' know how she feels, but I didn't think she'd storm out when I said it!"

"Well, she's always been unpredictable."

"I know." His riposte was braided with anger, pure fury.

"Then why'd you say it?" Gemma jabbed. "Isla has been about six thousand miles away from us these last few days, and you thought that saying such a stupid thing wouldn't tip her over the edge?"

She was defensive of the blonde--always had been.

And Jax was sick of it.

Sick of the back-and-forth between the two. Sick of that holier than thou bullshit from Gemma--pretending that she wasn't thinking the same fucking thing--and sick of the way Chibs cared more to argue than to go after his daughter.

"Make sure Wendy stays if you two leave--I'm going."

"Where?" Chibs demanded.

But Jax just glared at him, stuffed his hands in both pockets, and walked straight out of the house.

It was cooler, now. The breeze had hit him square in the face the second he stepped over the threshold, and it was nice. To feel a little breeze that'd inevitably take the edge off of the lament sizzling away inside of him, was nice.

It was short lived, though. The second he realized that he couldn't see Isla--that she was completely out of sight--dragged him straight back down to earth, and the panic had set in.

He trusted her, of course he knew that she wasn't going to do anything stupid because she valued her life too much, and she wanted to do great things. So many great things.

But Jax also knew her too well. Well enough to know that the first place she would've thought about storming toward was the Clubhouse--the place that she'd find Tig.

And under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have rushed to get to her before she had a chance to get to T M. But the possibility of walking in and discerning Trager's inconsolable fury--his resentment and self-loathing--was much too great a risk for Jax to take.

He had to intercept.

He had to save her before she got the chance to set foot onto the property.

But, realistically, Jax was more than aware that Isla was probably already halfway there by now, and weaving through the unusual bustle of traffic in his small town just wasn't worth it.

"Shit." He growled, hopping onto his bike regardless. Saving a sliver of hope that he'd find her tonight.

He wasn't exactly optimistic, though. Because she'd already stormed four blocks.

Isla wrapped her cardigan tightly around her body--feeling the cold a bit more than what Jax had earlier--and hastily made her way downtown.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fear the short walk toward the garage, but it was chilling. The thought of Donna's killer roaming freely, parading around that neighborhood, was daunting.

But she wasn't scared.

Or, at least, Isla wasn't scared until she heeded the red and blue flashing lights right in the middle of the intersection. The apparent murder scene.

Her heart sank, actually. The organ dropped to her stomach, pulsating slowly--barely--at the sight of Charming PD, CSI, and her. The group scattered, conversing, and speculating.

It was horrible. Sick.

She'd seen this before. She'd seen deaths and murders, and whatever came during the moments following. But she hasn't felt this way before.

The incapacitating throb. The discomfort and grief for such a horrendous--albeit freak--accident. And she wasn't stupid. She was as cognizant as her father and as empathetic as Jax, and she knew just as well as those two that this was not a purposeful attack.

Whether it was a consequence of Mayan or Niner misconduct, it was a wrongful onslaught that was about to cull an entire family. An entire charter.

If it hadn't already, that was.

She choked around the swell in her throat, padding along the sidewalk. She took her time, but she wasn't slow by any means. She had a place to be, and a specific person that she had to see--to talk to because she didn't know how to cope with this.

And it wasn't exactly her place to mourn for Donna. She hadn't been involved with her for some five years and she felt bad about the pair unable to rekindle their friendship. She felt bad about grieving the loss of Opie's wife--about taking the focus away from him.

But it hurt. It hurt so much--it sliced deeply, through flesh and tendon and bone--and she knew that Tig wouldn't judge her for this inveterate sorrow. He wouldn't see her as selfish or stupid for wanting to project her sincerities, her emotions.

Her heels clicked across the yard and she smiled a little bit when she passed Juice and Tig's bikes beside one another, letting her know that she wasn't going to be alone in there.

She was scared now, though. Because she hadn't talked about this yet. Hadn't talked about how she felt and how she was going to approach Opie the next time she saw him.

"Juice?" Isla squeaked from the doorway, waiting for him to turn around and run to her, or something. But he didn't move, didn't lift his head.

It was dreary inside. The lights had been dimmed, the men surrounding the tables and bar were downtrodden, and Isla felt as though she'd just walked through the gates of hell.

The vibrancy and boisterous nature of SAMCRO had come to a complete standstill, and she was actually yearning for the sleaze that usually enveloped the space.

Her sigh was defeated, forlorn. She sniffed as her nose ran, making her way to the bathroom to go and clean herself up--because she knew that she looked dreadful, and didn't want anybody to really see her that way.

"Is anyone in here?" She asked softly against the locked door, knowing that the answer was yes and that Tig was the occupant--but she persisted, anyway.

The mellifluous rhythm bled through the oak, jolting him still as blood poured from the gash in his head, and shattered glass surrounded his frame and the sink.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, glaring monotonously at himself in front of the mirror. Glaring at the fucking monster that was about to welcome Isla into open arms, comforting her because he knew that she'd need it.

"Yeah," He opened up, smiling down at her. "But I'm done, if you wanna--"

"What happened to you?" She put a hand against his chest, pushing him back into the room. Her brow furrowed when he didn't respond. "Tiggy?"

His entire body winced at Isla's soft touch. At the way her pink nails traced over the patch of skin on his chest, uncovered by his shirt--the shirt he was going to burn after tonight.

She gently gripped at his chin, turning his face to the right to get a better look at the incision on his left. Her eyes filled again, lips turned downward.

"Let me clean you up."

"You don't gotta--"

"I do." Isla cut him off, blinking away her tears. "If it doesn't get treated, it might get infected."

Like father, like daughter--always the first person to tend to an injury. She was so loving, so benevolent. Nothing like him, he thought.

Tig watched her maneuver around the tiny bathroom, admiring her desire to patch him up. To care for him and help make him feel better.

Not much would've helped at that moment, but she was trying her best.

"How'd you get over here?" He asked, leaning against the sink.

"I walked--"

"You walked?" Pissed, Tig spat. "Jesus fuck, Isla, you can't walk these parts alone, anymore."

She looked up at him from the spot she was crouched at, sifting through a small first-aid kit in the cabinet. "Who said I was alone?"

"Were you?" His eyes narrowed. She got to her feet, putting the small plastic box beside him, looking his face over a few times.

Her head shook. "Nope. Never alone with these thoughts."

Tig couldn't not chuckle at her response, but he was still worried about her. He didn't worry often--he was too selfish for that--but anything to do with his favorite blonde saw him panic like a madman.

"And the voices, too." She mused, breaking out into a genuine smile the first time all evening. "They always keep me real good company."

"Yeah?" Isla's head bobbed, cupping his chin again. "Me too--me 'n you don't seem to be too different after all, baby."

"Never said that we weren't." She poked her tongue out a little bit, surveying the damage. "Never said that we were the same, either."

"We're not the same." He confirmed, curling his hand around her wrist as she held an alcohol pad above his cut. "We are not the same, Isla."

Her head tilted, trying to discern what he meant. But she couldn't, and it caused an uncomfortable shiver to flicker down her spine.

"This might hurt." She whispered in an attempt to dissipate the small tension, gently running her thumb over his chin.

The other was--alongside her pointer finger--tapping the small antiseptic against the wound. She frowned the more he winced, though Tig's smile and hold on her wrist was still present.

"I like the pain."

"I know you do, Tiger." Isla joked. But she couldn't help wondering how the fuck he managed to do this to himself tonight.

Why he would do this to himself tonight.

"I don't wanna have to stitch your pretty face up," she pursed her lips and got him to hold the cotton in place.

"You think I got a pretty face?"

"The prettiest." Her retort was instantaneous, missing that usual glint of something resembling a joke.

She was serious--she wasn't engaging in that usual banter with him today. She was too run down for it, actually.

"Gonna have to give you a couple of butterfly stitches, if that's okay?" Isla looked up at him, holding out the small bandages with a smile. "It won't hurt. And they'll probably dissolve in, like, a week or so."

"Go for it. I love when you play nurse."

She lightly whacked at his chest, laughing as she got him to sit on the closed toilet lid to get a better reach. He wasn't tall, but neither was she. Isla needed him to lower his height if she wanted to successfully repair him.

The comfort, the aid and assistance had him forgetting about tonight--had her forgetting the real reason for her impromptu arrival to the clubhouse--but not forgetting about the newfound misery that encircled SAMCRO.

"You alright?" He asked when she hadn't made a movement, when her eyes seemed to focus on the shelves above the tank of the toilet. "I can do it myself, if you don't wanna--"

"I wanna." The smile she produced was fake--uncomfortable as tears rolled down perfectly blushed cheeks.

It broke his heart. Everything she was doing and saying--and even feeling because her pain was palpable--was breaking his heart and Tig felt like hell for doing this.

"I'm sorry," she stuck the first stitch to his forehead carefully, getting him to rip off the back of the second because her fingers were too shaky to get a solid grip.

"Don't be." He handed it to her. "It's been a tough night."

Her laugh was humorless, dull. "You can say that again, Tiggy."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She sent him an apologetic look, but he got it.

Isla trusted him with her life--for some reason--but she found it hard to open up sometimes. In regards to something this serious, she struggled to get a solid handle on her emotions and how to express them.

He understood her, though. Understood her well enough, her mannerisms and thought processes, and he just wondered if she felt like divulging her pain tonight.

She didn't, though. And Tig didn't particularly mind that. He didn't want to feel that twisted pang of regret, the vehement churn of his stomach whenever she said Donna's name--which she was yet to do, and she probably wouldn't at this point, either.

"I just wanna cry." She stated plainly, not even reluctantly anymore.

Like Gemma, he hadn't seen her cry for a long time. And it wasn't a nice visual, actually.

But he was supportive, and just wanted her to do anything that'd make her feel somewhat better--so he encouraged it.

Isla put everything down, gave his face the once over for the last time, and set herself on the tile with her back to the door.

"You wanna cry? Do it, baby. If it'll help, just do it." He assured, getting to the ground beside her. "I know you don't like doin' it in front of me, but I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want."

"You make me seem like a battle ax." Isla quipped, sniffling. "I don't care if anyone sees me cry--everyone knows that I do. It's just..."

"Showing vulnerability ain't a nice thought. I know."

God. She hated how well he understood her. How he knew what she was going to fucking say. All the time.

Tig wound an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Instinctively, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I get it." He stated mindlessly, pushing tousled blonde strands from her forehead. "But y'know you can always trust me, kid. I'll never tell anyone that you feel emotions--"

"I'm literally the most emotional person you all know." Isla protested weakly, hoping he didn't mind the feeling of her tears bleeding through his shirt.

He didn't.

"I just don't really like crying. It's not a true testament to my character--I'm supposed to be the happy one around these parts. The sickeningly optimistic Irish girl--"

"You can still be a crier, too."

"I know." She finally wrapped her arms around his middle as they sat together. "But people just don't take girls seriously when they cry. And I don't want my position here to be compromised, I guess. I don't want my dad, or Gemma, or Clay to think I can't handle being around the club anymore--because I can. And I always will."

"They wouldn't think different of you for that." He promised, rubbing circles over her shoulder the more he felt the navy cotton dampen. "This is a real tough thing, Isla, nobody is gonna chastise you for shedding a tear. They'd probably think different of you if you didn't cry."

"You think?"

He nodded.

"Crying shows that you got empathy and a heart. We all know your heart is bigger than..." Thick eyebrows crumpled together before he let out a little chuckle. "Bigger than Clay's ego. It's huge, your heart."

"Well, it's gotta be. If I wanna love all of you--warts 'n all--my heart has gotta be huge."

"Exactly," he drew out his response, earning a laugh and something reminiscent of an optimistic smile from her.

Trager never saw himself as the kind of man to make a girl smile or laugh after a little pep talk--after or before incredible sex, perhaps, but never as a result of his unusually comforting nature.

But he just had that effect on Isla--something she wasn't able to extrapolate verbally. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to comprehend, either.

"You've just gotta try not to make yourself too vulnerable, that's all, 'cuz people will get used to coddling you. And I know that's now what you want."

"That's what I mean." She frowned, pulling herself away a bit. "I don't wanna be seen as inferior for being able to cry about the things that you, or Gem, or dad, are able to keep a poker face over. I'm just...I'm just thin-skinned sometimes, and I'm yet to be desensitized to this stuff, I guess."

"You're not thin-skinned for crying tonight." He scolded, knowing that she didn't want to elucidate her thoughts about the happening, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Desensitization don't mean shit when you've lost someone you care about--it's always gonna hurt, sweetheart. Always. And there ain't nothing you can do to stop that."

He was the one with misty eyes, now. He was the one trying to bite back tears, trying to conceal the spread of his sadness--the uncomfortable soreness in his chest. In his heart that wasn't anywhere near as big and full as hers.

"You're never gonna grow immune to grief--I promise you'll always feel that. Whether you show it--how you show it--is another thing, though."

"You feel it?"

"Tonight?"

"In general."

She couldn't seem to recall the last time that she saw him cry--if she'd ever seen it, actually. Aside from this moment, of course.

Tears fell to the apples of his cheeks and she, without any reluctance, used the pad of her thumb to brush them away.

And he got it, now. The idea of showing vulnerability being a fucking liability. Because the pity washing over her soft, beautiful features made him feel fragile.

"All the time. All the fuckin' time."

"It really never goes away?"

"No." Tig sniffed harshly, forcing a smile. "But you learn to cope. You learn that it ain't the end of the world and that life just goes on after death."

"Profound." She chuckled once again. "That's some deep, deep shit, Tigger. Almost made me forget about how much I wanna hysterically break down."

"Do it. That'll make me feel better about my injury."

"Your self-inflicted injury." Isla stated knowingly, but she didn't clarify just what she meant.

Because it could've been an array of things, but he liked to think that she was just referring to his little forehead aperture.

"I like it. It makes you look badass." Isla held a hand out to Tig when he pulled himself upward, and she wanted to follow suit.

"Does it make me look hot, too?"

"Absolutely." Again, it wasn't laced in a tease. It was honest, and the small smile she produced was sincere. "Be careful with it, though. Try not to get it wet or anything, because it'll dissolve too soon--"

"I've had them before, y'know?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Isla rolled her eyes. "You're a super scary, malicious, calculating guy when you've gotta be. But I know that you're accident prone."

He curled his eyebrow upward. "Scary?"

"Totally. I've seen you hold a gun to a guy's head." A chill impaired her, frightening her. "Shits terrifying, Tig. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"You couldn't even if you tried."

"You think?" Her qualm was unexpected, almost challenging him as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. "I think I could."

What's she playing at? She was sobbing two minutes ago.

Oh, I get it. This is her facade--actin' all care free, and shit.

Tig followed behind--every step--as she clicked along the wooden floor of the clubhouse.

"You couldn't. Trust me." He stated lowly, reaching for her hand when she stuttered a little.

Isla noticed her father next time Juice, drinking at the bar with their backs to the duo. She didn't want to see him, right now.

Talking to Chibs would've ignited whatever fucking fire inside of her that'd started to blaze out of control earlier tonight, and she'd worked hard to contain this inferno.

"What you can do, though, is turn your pretty little ass back around, and go get some rest in the dorm. It's been a long night."

She didn't refute, she didn't try to get out of it because she didn't want to. Isla couldn't bear the thought of waltzing past her father, talking to him about her tiny outburst, and resuming as normal.

Because she couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway.

"Tig?"

"Uh huh." He responded, his eyes glued to the back of Juice's cut as he slammed yet another shot back.

Probably wondering what the fuck had gone down tonight.

"Can you stay with me?" Her retort forced his focus to land on her, and the defenselessness--sheer exposure--in her attitude.

It wasn't the simple fact of wanting to be alone.

She couldn't be alone. Not anymore.

Ringed fingers squeezed her hand reassuringly, guiding her into the back room, holding her close. Because that's what she really, truly wanted.

"'Course I can. Anything for you, Isla."

[cuppajj]

I wrote a drabble a long time ago!

This was ripped from a discord chat I was in with a friend a while back, so I wrote a little background at the beginning to clarify the context. But YEAH you all asked for my boy to suffer once more, and as someone who is equally evil, I happily oblige!

Because it was written a while back I'm questioning if it's canon, BUT as of now it is! And even if it isn't then it's still fun and definitely within the realm of reason. Also, I might turn this into a comic? Probably not in the near future, but it keeps popping up in my head and I wanna do something about it eventually...

BUT ANYWAY! Wanna see a bomb in pain?

TW! Violence, death, this is G9 after all! Anyway enjoy the juice <3 hot mama that's a lot of angst asjkdfhejfehksvfsdfasj

Cont/BG - You know how Overlord likes to sit on his throne being all posh as everyone else kills each other?

Frankly, that’s the first time he and Drill met optics.

Of course, back then, with the first few fights, he didn’t see him with the interest he would later. When Drill was dragged out to those first few fights, he hadn’t learned to accept his status yet. Whenever his cell was opened the first few times, he’d look on at the guards in mounting horror as they grabbed him and dragged him out, all the way to the pit where he’d look up at Overlord and he’d look down at him. Then, they’d send out his opponent, and then they’d begin fighting to the death.The first few fights were tame in comparison to the later; at least back then, he still had much of his mind intact and in his palm, and it was easier for him to keep it that way. But as time went on, he also got used to the gravity of the situation. The gore brought on by those very same palms and servos as bots screamed for their lives. He’d nearly come to accept his fate as someone used for nothing else but disposable entertainment - disposable, like he’d always been in the past. But the clapping was always louder with every body, but the two red optics that bore into him with growing interest were ever like searing metal on the nape of his neck. After every fight, Drillburst would sing in his cell, cracked and shaky like a broken record. He used to have a song for every fall, but it became harder to think of one as the body count grew. The scratches along his cell walls fell from their rhythm and sank into little more but the claw marks of a desperate creature.

He’d started distinguishing himself from all the other trembling pit fighters. Unlike them, he’d been built to tear through even the most solid of rock and toughest of metals. His kill streak had topped the average and gone beyond. He’d never plead for his life to be spared. He hadn’t disintegrated into little more than a wild animal hellbent on killing everything Overlord pointed to.

Oh, but he’d gotten close.

Whether he knew Overlord had begun to favor him or not wasn’t clear. Nothing was usually clear. Nothing was clear. There was no usually. Not anymore.

He forgot if it was his tenth or eleventh fight—or twelfth fight—but he remembered the face of his opponent so clearly, scrambling away from him on the pit floor as he bled out and crackled like a machine bashed inward. So horribly broken and stabbed and it was all his doing.

The two met optics, fearful red to fearful yellow, as the nameless fighter struggled for words. He was bigger than him, almost as, or if not more, intimidating than him. He’d been snarling and eager to rend him apart when they’d first begun the match. He’d fallen so far from that.

“You—you monster! L-look at what you’re doing! You’re mindless!” Spoken with such fear. More fear than anger. It was ironic, what he said. When Drill’s pinkened drill halves glinted as he stepped forward, the other jolted with a whimper as his insults fell apart.

“Y-you—p—please—stop. Stop! You don’t—d-don’t have to d-do this! You don’t l-like this, and neither do I! You—you have a choice here, don’t you!? You weren’t meant to do this!” The corners of his mouth curved upward pathetically. He scrambled closer to the edge of the ring, the shadow of the other looming over him. He’d been so violent, so rabid in the fight; yet here he was, begging for humanity as his life slipped away.

Was this how it was supposed to go? Could even the worst of animals become whole again, only at the cusp of death? Would he glimpse into himself if he was in his spot, regaining his thoughts for even a few more moments?

It hit Drillburst somehow, though. Thoughts so murky and meaningless yet so dear to him at the same time. He wanted to stop and get his humanity back. He wanted to flinch and shiver and beg and feel.

But this was Garrus-9, no longer under Fortress Maximus’s watch. It was null of any sense of humanity and order. Nothing mattered anymore: insignia, alliance, status, and wealth. All void of meaning. Everyone became mindless drones doomed to slaughter each other in hopes that freedom would come.

And freedom was so desirable.

It shocked. He felt the tingle of electricity. Like a prick and a pat at the same time. He felt the same burning gaze.

Overlord whispered like a gentle coax, audible to no one but him.

“Kill him.”

On command, Drillburst surged forward like a specter. His face was unyielding as he moved like a predator rounding on a helpless animal. It wasn’t far from the truth. The other struggled to stagger away, pedes kicking against the cold metal as hard and as fast as they could.

Nowhere to run to. He knew that.

“Mercy! Mercy, m-mercy, please! I forfeit! P—Please!!” The animal begged. Drillburst’s optics were cold, pupils dilated.

With the first figment of expressed emotion, he parted his chapped lips.

There is no mercy here.

When he plunged his drills directly through the spark chamber, he heard the scream. He couldn’t drown it out. He’d never learned how to.

In and out, in and out, again, and again, and again. Until the agonizing wails drowned into the dark, and the paling body stopped twitching.

Nor could he drown out the clapping.

His head immediately began to throb and sear in pain, frame screaming and processor crying. It hurt. It hurt so much. He hated it. And he hated the pink. Unbeknown to him—or beknown—were the softening optics on him, the claps louder than the rest.

He sang so long and loud in his cell that his voicebox nearly gave out, and his digits threatened to bleed from how hard he scratched the walls. He had no song, but he sang anyway. Anything to remove the image from his head.

If his humanity would be truly restored on the cusp of his death, then how willing was he to reach for it?

[many-gay-magpies]

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @ofaffectionate @yixiangs @cherry-riki

so uh. heyyy <3

pt 2 (technically pt 1 because it happens before) of blood bonds is here!! tagging everyone that i tagged for blood bonds (except for kyu </3) bcs why not

i'm not 100% on this, but that's mostly because i've been staring at it for a week, and y'all haven't, so i hope that you'll enjoy it thoroughly more than i do

wc: 1.7k, tw for blood, blood-sucking, death and mentions of death, and vague descriptions of a car crash. same as the last one pretty much, let me know if there's anything i missed!

that being said, have some bloodlust.

It's a scent that stops him in the middle of the street, blaring alarms through every inch of his body—thick and sweet, intoxicating, like the richest chocolates and tenderest meats. For a second, it brings him back to his days in the castle; feasts coating tables upon tables in every decadence he could imagine. He hasn't felt that kind of indulgence in a long time.

Jungwon is immediately aware of his instincts overcoming him; he knows what the smell is, he's smelled it coming off the other boys enough times to be familiar with it. But not this strong. Never this strong.

His head swims. Stars cloud his vision, and yet everything is ten times brighter, more crisp; his senses sharpened, sensitivity heightened. Jungwon battles with himself for a moment, there, on the side of the road, watching the car with the contents of it's driver's seat smelling so delectably like food as it drives by; no, no, don't give in, don't succumb, you've made it so far already, just hold on a little bit longer—but the gut-wrenching hunger inside him is like none he's ever faced before.

It tears at him, the unbearable hunger, the emptiness; twists his insides into knots and makes him double over against the brick wall beside him. He doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to take, doesn't want to hurt—but he's so, so hungry, and it smells so, so good and he just can't take it anymore. It's a kind of longing that burns him from the inside out, and maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt, to... to give in, just this once.

He's hungry. He needs food. Really, when he thinks about it for long enough, rationalizes it in his mind, that's all there is to it. Lions don't feel bad when they hunt gazelle, do they?

(Something is different here, though. Lions, unlike vampires, will stop. Lack of food will make their body grow cold, their energy sapped until there is nothing left; they grow tired, bodies moving slower and slower, until they breath their last breath. Vampires do not. Vampires will not stop. The hunger depletes them, eats at them, and then when it can eat no more it consumes them completely—writhing black hole taken ghastly, human shape. Death evades them, and so they become death in it's place—emptiness so great it would eat the whole world if it could.)

So, with his resolve melting as his hunger rages, Jungwon presses onward—taking advantage of the scenery's sudden clarity to slink towards the moving car at a truly frightening pace. Plus, it could be... fun, he finds himself thinking; fun, to play around a bit, see how much fear he can truly instill. In the past, Jay and Sunghoon's jokes to Sunoo to "not play with his food" when me mentioned spooking his victims the tiniest bit before feeding had left Jungwon feeling sick to his stomach—but now, the idea doesn't seem so bad.

A voice in Jungwon's head (the more logical Jungwon; the one that isn't starving, the one that's still on the edge of rational) tells him, you're being stupid, as he throws caution to the wind and teleports directly in front of the car. Someone could see you, do you even have any idea what you're doing? But the voice of hunger rises above all others, and Jungwon, smirking at the screech of tires on asphalt as the car skids to a stop in front of him, tells the voice, it's dark out, and we're in an abandoned part of the city; who, really, do you think could see us?

The voice protests, but the drone of Jungwon's hunger drowns it out. He feels cool metal on the palms of his hands, hears the metallic clang of his boots against the car's hood. The trembling of the man inside tinges his nerves with delight.

He raises his finger to his lips in a single gesture, shhh, and wonders if his eyes gleam red.

Thoughts run one by one through his mind, though they are fleeting, like mice; skittering into the darkness as soon as he catches sight of them. He should have listened to the hyungs, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have waited this long—he knows the consequences of vampires going too long without blood from Sunghoon's stories, how could he have been so stupid?

But it all fades, irrelevant, in face of what sits before him now—food. A meal. Satiation, finally, an end to his hunger. He can feel his conscience slipping away more and more as the moments pass, the little Jungwon in his head letting go of it's logic.

It is with this quieting of the rational voice and sudden booming of the instinctual one that Jungwon teleports himself to the back seat of the man's car. It doesn't take long for him to be noticed—even the lack of his reflection in the rear view mirror cannot disguise the creak of expensive leather and the sigh he lets out.

"Jesus Christ--" the man nearly shouts, car jolting forward as he slams on the breaks. Jungwon doesn't flinch. He turns to look over his shoulder and meets an unblinking vermillion stare. "W-what the hell are you, kid?"

"Go on, guess," he says, brow raised. "I have all night."

Though even as he speaks, Jungwon knows the statement is a lie—he's the closest to the man, the closest to a human he's ever been since turning, no plexiglass or metal barrier between them—the smell of the man's racing heart and pumping blood chokes his senses like smoke, so thick he can barely breath. Jungwon doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold out—but he can feel how the seconds tick by, as if there's a pocket watch embedded in his skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Agonizing. Even so, Jungwon delights in the fear, the rabbit-quick pace of the man's heart. Equally as amused as he is overwhelmed, he decides that quickening it a little more won't hurt, and smirks, doing well to lick over his fangs in perfect line with the man's eyesight.

"Shit--" Eyes widen comically, and breath grows shaky with the reckless fumbling at car door handles in an effort to escape, pure, cold fear jolting through bones and bringing goosebumps to unsettled skin. It's useless, though; because all the doors lock, jammed shut, and the most he can do is huddle as close to the door as he can, as far away as possible from the boy with glowing eyes suddenly perched in his passenger seat.

"Surprised?" Jungwon asks with a grin.

The man gulps. "Th-this isn't happening," he mumbles, eyes focussed somewhere off in space, past Jungwon. "This can't be happening to me. This... this is impossible."

"Oh, it's very possible," hums Jungwon. "You'd be surprised to find out how much is." And he smirks wide again. He probably looks like a madman, but he doesn't care. He can taste the man's blood on the air.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispers. "W-whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just-- I don't wanna die. Please."

Any other day, the pleading would have gotten to him—any other day, Jungwon would have cried and screamed and torn at his own skin at the prospect of ever killing anyone, let alone drinking from them. But now, the logical him (the human him, he thinks for a moment) has been tucked into the deepest recesses of his mind, and the sound is like music to his ears.

"H-have mercy," the man stutters quietly.

Jungwon tilts his head. Mercy? a voice in his head whispers. It is a voice he hardly sees himself in, and yet it consumes him completely. There is no mercy. You are only prey.

It's funny how suddenly it hits him—how long he's waited for this, and how he can't stand to wait a second more. Faster than lightning Jungwon blinks on top of the man, pinning him down; the protests (physical as well as verbal) make no difference to him. He searches for a carotid artery with shaking fingers and, once he finds it, sinks his teeth in with a groan.

The car swerves in a panic, and the sound of it crashing into a streetlight is a distant ringing in Jungwon's mind. Everything is muffled, as if he's been thrust underwater, and he might as well have, with the way the smell and taste of blood blooms around him, inside him. He feels himself wanting more, needing more, craving more, the hunger never-ending as he sinks his teeth even further into his victim's neck.

Nothing else matters in that moment, and he knows, now, he knows what the others were talking about—how good it feels to feed when you've starved for so long.

His victim loses consciousness soon after that, but still Jungwon drinks. He can't find it in him to stop—it tastes so, so good and he's still so, so hungry, and it seems his hunger only grows the more he feeds; every bit of blood he drains, the sickness and lethargy drains away with it, leaving a hunger larger than he had known behind. Eyes closed, the world spins around him, and Jungwon can feel himself slowly revitalizing as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Jungwon loses track of time the longer he sits there.

The hunger is less ravaging, now, only a low growl in the back of his throat; and soon it peters out entirely. The body under him has grown cold—it's warmth taking new ownership. He feels the stolen blood and pulse humming under his skin.

There is plenty to worry about, he knows—plenty things he should, realistically, care more about than he does. But for the life of him he can't pick out what they are, buried beneath layers of cotton he doesn't care to reach through.

His mind is heavy with fullness, and heavy with sleep, and for the second time that day a little voice in the corner of it urges him to just give in—so he does.

[kiame-sama]

I love your (Yandere) scenarios and I'm always looking forward to new ones. So I wanted to ask if you could write an Nsfw scenario for Yandere Silva, where his darling tries to dominate him.

Come get y'all's lemon juice!

I have seen his thighs, he's pudding thicc and sculpted as all hell.

Silva probably has a scent like Cinnamon, Sandalwood, and Pine. A real husky and masculine kind of smell.

Baths are dangerous in Silva's eyes since his darling could drown herself while he's out. I hope shower sex instead will suffice.

Warnings: Dub-con, hint of con and non-con, aggressive sex, oral male and female, reader has female parts, dirty talk, attempted domination, aggressive dom Silva is aggressive, shower sex, orgasm denial.

~~~~~~~~

You stood in your bathroom, wrapped only in a towel and contemplating getting dressed after your warm shower. There really wasn't much reason to get dressed other than to feel less exposed. It wasn't like anyone came into your little cluster of rooms to begin with, let alone this late at night.

Sighing softly you gazed at your reflection, seeing the dark bags under your eyes. As much as it pained you to admit it, you hadn't been sleeping even half as well as you usually did these past few nights. And it was all because he wasn't home.

Though it was hard for you to accept, things just weren't the same without your husband around. Of course, it is all likely due to the fact that he was your main form of human interaction and the fact you had become so adjusted to sleeping in his embrace. You just didn't feel right sleeping without him holding you close, cuddled up to his warm chest and listening to the gentle rolling beat of his heart.

Even with your faithful heated blanket at your side, nothing could truly compare to the quiet calm and security that was sleeping in your husband's arms.

You let out another heavy sigh, closing your eyes and trying to muster up the energy to move. Just as you mentally prepared yourself to a lonely night, a sudden large hand lifting your leg to the side forced a sharp cry of fear from your lips. Before you could turn to see who had grabbed you, a different kind of cry left your lips.

There was a slick tongue sliding over your now exposed pussy, your breath catching in your throat. Everything made sense when you caught a flash of white hair in the mirror's reflection. It seemed you weren't going to spend the night alone after all.

You gasped and mewled as Silva dug his tongue into you, clawing at the counter you had been leaning up against. The slurping sound that came from where he kneeled between your legs only made you feel hotter. Every drag and flick of his tongue made you shake in pleasure, feeling his warm breath against your wet heat.

"Ngh~! Silva..!"

As your pleasure built up to a fever pitch, you tried to keep in control of your voice but you couldn't stop the loud noises that escaped your lips. Your voice cracked and rose in pitch the more he slid his tongue into you, crying out hoarsely as you reached your peak. Silva quickly stood and caught you as your legs gave out from the overwhelming pleasure.

A long whine escaped your lips as you were set onto the counter top, legs dangling over the side. You could feel his heavy length rubbing up against your entrance and the deep growling hum that came from his chest. He was enjoying watching you squirm beneath him.

"Ngh~! N- Nya- No, Silva..!  I just got out of the shower, I don't wanna have to take another one."

"I'll take it with you."

"But-!"

The soft complaint cut off with a loud gasp as he gripped you by the hips, pulling you back against him with one of his legs between your own. He slowly lifted and moved your hips, causing your still sensitive heat to press against his firm thigh as he let out a low growl.

"You're so wet... Fuck. Just dripping for me."

Any argument you had died in your throat as he moved you against him, that addictive feeling stirring up in you once more. You knew he wasn't going to stop or take your complaints seriously, so you decided to just let yourself get lost in the delicious feeling. Eventually, he didn't have to move your hips as you began to rub yourself against his thigh.

His gaze was burning hot but you did your best to ignore it and just try to get yourself off from the feeling. It wasn't like he was complaining anyway. If anything, he was soaking in the sight of you perched on his leg just drowning in the pleasure he could provide you. His swollen length twitching with his heartbeat, just wanting to bury himself into you.

"Mmm~ Just riding my thigh and being so needy for me..."

You let out a whine that was almost desperate when he gripped your hips, forcing you to stay still even though you still wanted more pleasure.

"Shh, I have something better I could give you."

He pulled you into the shower, turning on the water and watching you jolt and mewl from the cold liquid before it quickly warmed up. He easily moved you to kneel on the shower floor, guiding one of your hands to his aching length. His needs and what he wanted you to do being made rather clear.

Without a word of complaint, you began slowly stroking his stiff length as the water from the shower allowed your hand to glide over him. He bucked his hips with your strokes and wound his fingers through your hair, pushing the wet locks back to see your face. His hand came to rest on the back of your head before he guided your mouth to where he wanted it most at that moment.

Knowing he wouldn't take 'no' as an answer or protest, you simply opened your mouth wide enough to fit his large cock and let him do the rest. He did so happily and clearly took great pleasure in moving your head at his desired pace, fucking himself into your mouth.

"Fuck... That's right, clean my cock with your hot little mouth so I can pound your tight pussy into oblivion once you're done."

You were vaguely surprised by his words as he was typically not all too talkative during any sexual interaction the two of you had. Clearly he must have missed you much more than usual while he was away on assignment. The stoic assassin only becomes chatty when his desire for you becomes too much for him to handle.

Clearly pleasure was the only torture that would loosen his lips. No amount of pain or deprivation could make him talk, but the moment his needs are finally being satisfied, he will sing like a canary. It was one of the only things he wasn't trained to withstand during his many years as an assassin.

One of the only things he was allowed to be weak to.

A part of you wanted to see how far you could take it, as he was usually in a more agreeable mood while you were sucking him off. Testing his response, you moved at a faster pace, making a sharp inhale expand his chest at the sudden increase of pleasure. He seemed pleased and not annoyed with you taking the lead so you pushed your control a little further.

Gripping his hips, you started a push and pull movement in time with the pace you bobbed your head at, controlling the movement of his hips. He continued to allow you to manipulate how he fucked your mouth, relaxing into the steady stream of warm water and the pleasure you gave him.

You decided to go all out in your control over the situation and tightly grip the base of his cock as soon as he seemed like he was going to cum, forcing his orgasm to slip away almost immediately. The snarl of rage and frustration that ripped through the air made you quickly realize that you fucked up. You yelped in surprise and fear as you quickly found yourself pinned roughly against the shower wall, Silva's eyes practically smouldering in fury from having his pleasure denied.

"Now, what the fuck do you think you're doing trying to take control like that? Think I would just let you get away with it? Have I been gone so long you've forgotten who the master is here? Seems I need to remind you of your place."

The sudden feeling of him gripping your hips and slamming into you wrenched a cry that was more pain than pleasure from your throat. He didn't waste a single second letting you adjust to his massive cock and began pounding you roughly into the cold tile wall. The water from the still running shower did more harm than good as it washed away your juices every time he pulled out of you, making each thrust drag against your walls and feel like the first.

"Ple- ah-! Please! Slow- slow down!"

"No. You dare try to take control when you damn well know who's in charge here."

"I'm-! I'm sorry!"

"You will be."

His pace remained brutal in speed and force, each thrust forcing the air from your lungs and making you scream. Despite the roughness of it all, pleasure still built up in your body and overwhelmed your senses and even the pain. He aggressively slammed his lips against your own and you could practically feel your teeth clash together from the force of his violent kiss.

He immediately tangled his tongue with yours, easily dominating the kiss and forcing your tongue between his teeth where he harshly sucked on it and bit down firmly enough to hold it still. Your whimper was muffled and lost in the noise of the shower as the sound of wet skin slapping together became more apparent.

Just as you came deliciously close to reaching you orgasm, he stilled inside of you and let that pleasure slip away, just as you had done to him. You broke the kiss and let out a sob of frustration at your lost pleasure, crying out when you realized you couldn't move your hips to try and find that pleasure yourself.

"No! No, no, no! Silva!"

"You don't get to complain after what you did."

"No! I need-! I need it! Please! Silva, please! I need it so badly! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm-"

"If you're sorry, address me properly and apologize."

"Master! Master, I'm sorry! I won't forget my place again! Please..! Please forgive me, Master! I need you so badly!"

Your whines and squeals of desperation were almost pathetic, but you typically weren't denied your pleasure like this. If anything, you were actually quite spoiled when it came to the bliss Silva gave you on a regular basis. Being denied your orgasm was something that typically never happened seeing as he was usually quite the service dom.

"Are you going to keep being a spoiled brat?"

"No! I promise I'll behave, Master!"

"Good."

He immediately started thrusting into you again, making every nerve in your body spark in pleasure as your orgasm built up faster and stronger now. You were completely overcome with pleasure as you dug your nails into his skin, pulling him close and winding your arms around his neck. He let out a pleased growl with how affectionate you were being now as he rammed you into the wall with each thrust, eyes rolling back when you tug on his hair.

As if you were being drowned in pleasure, you barely registered your screams of bliss until your throat began to ache. The moment your pleasure washed over you in an engulfing orgasm, you let out one long scream that lasted until Silva released his cum in you and his hips stopped moving.

Your little heart was fluttering out of control and your breaths were shallow as you slowly came down from your high, shaking in his large arms and resting your head against his chest. Silva had calmed a considerable amount and instead held you gently as he moved you beneath the stream of the shower. You were exhausted and just relax into the massaging flow of water, letting him gently clean your figure.

You barely remembered him pulling out of you and drying you off once he was finished washing you both. The soft feel of blankets enveloping you coaxed a happy sigh of content from your lips, snuggling into his broad chest as he held you close, stroking your back until you fell asleep.

[adhdeancas]

For @theangelwiththewormstache, I kind of went all out and searched through your blog to see what you like and headcanon, sent a few sneaky asks to find out more, and wrote in all the things I wanted for everyone’s happy ending. it got... unbelievably long.

Merry Christmas and enjoy :) 

Love, Cas over at @let-me-live-in-peace and @samwinchestersleftshoe

PS: thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for organizing this!

Click.

Dean sighed and nodded, pulling the phone away from his ear so he could stare at it expectantly. Right about…

It rang. 

“Cas,” Dean said languidly, like an asshole who didn’t know why his boyfriend was calling him back.

“Sorry. I forgot again.” 

“I know.” Dean couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice if he tried. And he tried.

“I love you.” 

“I know.” 

“Dean.” A hint of well-earned annoyance. 

“I love you too, Cas.” 

“Bye.” And another click. Dean grinned and pocketed his phone. The dumbass was still too impatient to wait for an answering goodbye. Guess they’d never be the couple to argue about who should hang up first. Then again, Dean kinda liked it this way. It was just a few more seconds of teasing and a special call to say I love you, that was kind of nice, right? Jesus he was a sap.

“Earth to Dean? Wanna stop daydreaming about your boyfriend for a sec and get back on task?” Claire was standing there waving a hand in his face, bitchface firmly planted. Dean gave her one back.

“Don’t be homophobic.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gay.” 

“Yeah.” Dean kept walking, looking around at the rows on rows of Christmas trees. He stole a glance back at her. “Where is Kaia anyway?”                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Claire blushed and crossed her arms over her chest. She would never tell him, but Kaia had hung back to give her some alone time with Dean. “She wanted to hang out with Jack. Guess she didn’t want to stare at your ugly mug all day.” A grin then, as Dean laughed at her joke.

“Fine, fine, guess you’re stuck with me.” 

They roamed around a bit, both insisting on cutting down their tree themselves, Claire winning the fight to get to carry the ax. (Yes, Sam had suggested they bring a chainsaw. They had both refused because they needed to “earn the Christmas tree.”)

“Cas wanted a fraser fir.” Dean remembered, pointing to the section marked for them. 

He felt, rather than saw, Claire roll her eyes, which, that’s exactly what Dean had done when Cas first told him. “Dork. Do you always do what your boyfriend tells you?” 

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much. You?”

“Yeah.” They shared a soft smile before going back to their regular shit-talking. It was just The Dynamic. They searched a little bit more before they found one, the perfect tree that was big enough to make them both giggle over what Sam’s reaction would be when they brought it home.

It… takes longer to cut down a tree than you would think. Than either of them thought. Especially when you bring an ax and especially when you choose an obnoxiously large tree. They took a break about halfway through, sitting down in the snow and passing the thermos of hot chocolate Jack made them take back and forth (Claire spiked it with Bailey’s, which Dean chose not to comment on but was grateful for).

“Hey Claire… is it weird? Seeing me and Cas,” 

Claire looked at him warily, seeming to consider what possible ulterior motives he had. Then, figuring she was the one with the ax, she answered. “A little. But I never saw my dad this old. Or this gay.” She gave him a grin and Dean flipped her off, taking the ax out of her hands to get back to the tree. “It’s good.”

Dean paused. “What is?” 

“You and him. You’re good for each other, you can tell. Don’t overthink it.”

Dean’s lips curled up. “Sounds like something Cas would say.” 

“Yeah, well, sometimes the dork is right. Don’t be an idiot.” She shook her head at him. “Jody had to remind me all the time at first.” 

“What?”

“That I… y’know. Deserve it. Her. To be happy.” She put the last bit in quotes, saying it sarcastically, but Dean could see the truth of it in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, Jody’s smart like that.” He took another swing at the ax and tried to believe it for himself. It got easier every day.

------

Cas was left at home with Kaia and Jack while Dean and Claire got the tree and Sam and Eileen got food supplies. (Dean had protested, but Sam had -correctly- said that if given free rein, he wouldn’t get any vegetarian options and would get 10x more junk than they needed.) Jody, Donna, Alex, Bobby, Charlie, and the rest wouldn’t be here until the next afternoon. Christmas afternoon.

“So what should we do first?” He was a little bit nervous, being once again put in charge of the kids. 

“Paper snowflakes?” Jack suggested, his excitement all too obvious from the smile on his face. Kaia glanced at him, amused by his obvious enthusiasm. Claire had braided his hair before she left while Kaia painted his nails (black, because they don’t own any other color of nail polish). It was clear they were pretty bonded.

“Sounds good to me.”

Kaia had to teach both of them how to make paper snowflakes. Cas tried to make perfectly symmetrical snowflakes; Jack kept cutting his in half on accident which made a bunch of smaller snowflakes. Hey, it worked.

“So… what’s the deal with you and Dean?”

“Deal?” Cas flushed a little. Everytime someone asked it thrilled him all over again. He was dating Dean. Dean. Was his. Had told him so, straight to his face. And he got to kiss Dean whenever, and sleep with him, and make him make noises only he got to hear, and listen to all his worries and weird fears and recaps on the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy.

“Cas?” Jack was knocking on the table lightly. Kaia had two raised eyebrows and a little smile. 

“That good, huh?” She could relate. Everytime she thought about Claire she felt all warm inside, and going home to her at the end of the day was like a dream, especially after being apart for so long. 

Cas looked down, called out. “That good.” he agreed.

“How disgusting are they, Jack, on a scale of cute to rip your own face off cute?” Kaia leaned over the table now, shit-eating grin plastered firmly on her face. Jack looked delighted to be in on the joke, which made Cas happy in spite of himself. Jack really needed this time with kids his own age. (Well, kind of. He was technically three.)

“Well, they do cook together…” 

“Do they do that thing where one of them comes up from behind and puts their head on the other’s shoulder?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Dean or Cas?”

“Cas watches. He can’t cook.”

“Hey!” It was true. Cas was just arguing for the principle of it.

“But the movie nights are the cutest. One of them always falls asleep on top of the other one.”

“Probably at like 10 o’clock. You guys are so old.” Kaia teased, shifting her attention back to Cas. 

Cas shook his head and pointed his finger at the two of them. “I never should have had children.” Kaia stuck her tongue out and Jack followed suit. Proving his point. Kids.

---------

“Hey, you dorks just gonna let us do all the work, huh?” Dean shouted from the garage.

“Yeah motherfuckers, get in here!” 

Cas let out a half-hearted “Language!” before following Kaia and Jack through the halls. Claire pulled Jack into a side hug first before tugging Kaia in for a kiss. Dean would’ve followed suit, except Claire had actually left him to carry the whole fucking tree himself, which Dean, like an idiot, had actually attempted. Cas hurried over to help him, which earned him a glare lined with gratefulness. 

“Oh yeah, have a happy little reunion over there, don’t mind me or this giant tree!” Dean griped at the kids. “Let the old men handle it!”

“Hey, you said it first.” Claire raised an eyebrow at Dean and pulled Kaia and Jack off into the bunker, probably to go find Miracle. Dean sighed heavily, muttering under his breath.

“You brought that on yourself.” Cas informed him, grunting under the effort of holding up half the tree. 

“Thank you, babe. Very helpful.” Dean rolled his eyes. Cas pretended he didn’t feel a jolt of happiness at the most sarcastic ‘babe’ he’d ever heard.

-----

They managed to haul the giant-ass tree into the library and set it up, barely. It did almost crush Cas, but Dean tugged it upright at the last moment, prompting a joke about Cas dying again. (“Hey, you’re not allowed to make those anymore, you’re human now, dick.”) And a kiss that all the kids whooped and hollered at.

Then Cas showed Dean and Claire around the decorations they’d made while they were out. The greatest hits included paper snowflakes, ornaments, and a Christmas tree on the wall made out of old license plates. Dean clapped Jack on the shoulder to congratulate him on his crafts while Kaia held Claire’s hand and pretended not to be affected by the praise sent her way. 

By the time Sam and Eileen got back, they’d decorated the tree, all the chairs in the bunker, and the stair-rail with lights and tinsel. Sam let out a whistle when he came back in, which brought Miracle, Jack, and Cas to greet them. (Claire and Kaia were busy telling Dean all about their local gay bar. Which, considering they lived in South Dakota, was quite the story.) 

Dean’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw his brother and Eileen come in the kitchen with their bags. “Okay Dean, before you ask, we went with apple, pecan, pumpkin, and cherry.” Sam looked at Dean warily, who stared back at him over the girls’ heads with narrowed eyes, deciding whether or not to fight. The amount of pie ingredients he’d put on the list had been truly outrageous.

“Would like to remind you that the kids are making cookies and cheesecake too.” Eileen reminded him. Dean continued to look around suspiciously until Cas sat down on his lap.

That’s great, Eileen. Cas signed to her. He will be fine.

Eileen rolled her eyes. Whiner. Sam let out a snort and Cas grinned at her. Dean glared. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“Learn to sign better and you’d know.” Sam smirked.

“I’m working on it!” Dean protested and wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist, tugging him in possessively. He was going to try to sign something else but settled for a middle finger pointed straight at his brother. Hey, it was sign language.

Cas leaned back and kissed him on the cheek for his efforts. His memory landed on one particularly frustrating night for Dean when they’d been practicing his ASL (Cas knew every language of course) and Dean just couldn’t remember the most basic of things. Lamp, field, tree. The more frustrated he got, the more words started to leave him. He’d started swearing under his breath and stomped out to the porch to cool off, followed by Cas a few minutes later. Cas still remembered the drained look in his eyes as he looked at Cas. 

“I feel like such a fucking dumbass, Cas. I know it’s not that hard, it shouldn’t be that hard, Sam makes it seem so easy…”

“Dean, you are learning. It’s okay if it takes you a little time. Sam has experience with ASL, doesn’t he?”

Dean had sighed and conceded this. “Yeah, he took some in college I think. I just… I never took any language, you know? Didn’t seem as important as woodshop or sex ed.” He grinned half-heartedly at his own joke.

Cas smiled back and pointed at him, signing o and k. You’re okay.

He repeated the signs, nodding. I’m okay.

I love you.

I love you too.

-----

After the pies were made and chicken noodle soup in the crock pot, Cas and Dean relinquished the kitchen to the kids and retired to the Dean cave. Sam and Eileen were cooped up in their room until they were allowed back into the living quarters by the kids. They didn’t want their creations critiqued or tasted before they were ready.

Cas waited patiently while Dean typed away on his phone, eyes narrowed to see the text. He refused to get reading glasses or enlarge the print on his phone, even though he sorely needed it. Cas kept his complaining about it to a minimum though because he liked the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he squinted. It reminded him that he got to grow old with Dean.

Dean looked up finally to see the fond look on his lover’s face and blushed, guilty. “Sorry, just checking with Kara.”

Cas nodded understandingly. As always. “The bar will survive without us for a few days.”

“I know.” Dean looked down, a little pleased he could admit it. “I just miss it.” Wow, to have a life he could miss, and to miss it from a peaceful holiday vacation surrounded by his family. It was… surreal. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

Dean sank back into the cushions, thinking. “Die Hard?” 

Cas smiled at him. “Is that what you want to watch?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped around so he could lay his head in Cas’s lap. “No.” He admitted it grudgingly. Cas could read him like a book. It was inconvenient sometimes and other times, like now, it was nice. “Just seems like the thing to watch. Y’know, Christmas Eve.” 

Cas shrugged. He put a hand in Dean’s hair, just like he liked it. Dean closed his eyes almost at his touch; he’d gotten much more comfortable letting his guard down like that lately. It had taken a while though, months of Dean staying rigid in his arms before he could relax quicker. “There are other things to watch.”

Dean reached a hand up and cupped Cas’s jaw with his hand. “Whaddyou wanna watch, sweetheart?” 

Cas couldn’t help but turn his head to kiss Dean’s hand. Dean only called him sweetheart when he was feeling particularly tender, usually a few whiskeys in. This time he happened to be both. Cas loved it. “What about a double feature?”

“Hm,” Dean scrubbed his hand along Cas’s stubble and thought. Cas’s stubble was one his favorite physical things about him; sometimes Cas accused him of petting him like a cat. “What ones?” 

“First… It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

Dean cracked a grin and opened his eyes. “Clarence?” 

Cas blushed. “I miss her sometimes.” 

“Should I be worried?” 

Cas tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Considering she’s a demon? Probably.” Meg was banished to hell with the rest of the demons that had gotten out of the Empty, but given their old friendship with the Queen of Hell, that didn’t mean much for them.

“Psh, demon-shmemon. Been there, done that.” Dean pulled Cas down into a kiss, making him bend over into an awkward position that made Cas giggle. “Being a human is much sexier.” 

“I agree.” 

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him suggestively. “Wanna make it a triple feature? Little hanky panky for intermission?” Cas rolled his eyes, which Dean interpreted as a solid yes. “What is our second movie, anyway?” 

“Huh.” Cas booped Dean on the nose. “Love Actually.”

A slow, dopey smile spread over Dean’s face. “Okay.” He paused, thinking about it. He’d pushed Cas into watching it years ago, when they were still just friends, by ‘accidentally’ adding it to his Netflix Queue and then letting Cas loose for movie night. He’d watched Cas for his reactions the whole time (and only gotten distracted by looking At Cas a few times). It had been a couple months ago when he told Cas about that. “Second favorite thing about being queer is being able to watch sappy shit like that.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “You were able to before, Dean.”

Dean ignored him. “Ask me what my favorite thing is,” 

“What’s your favorite thing?”

“This.” He burrowed into Cas’s lap. A sap and a flirt.

“I thought you were gonna say Taylor Swift.” A dry witted old queen.

Dean snorted into his stomach. “That’s my third favorite.”

----

“Alright, gang, what do we say? Same place tomorrow morning, let’s say… 5?” He spun around to look at everyone, a wide smile on his face. Everyone seemed less enthused than him, although Sam seemed to think his situation was amusing.

“Dude, I’m not twelve, I’m not waking up at 5 am to open a few presents.” 

“Like hell you aren’t!” Dean was smiling but it was less of a happy smile and more of a disbelieving one. Cas squeezed his arm then, stopped him from continuing his argument. Dean glanced at him and he just stared and gave him another squeeze. 

Dean knew what that look meant. It meant ‘Dean, you’re overreacting again, calm down and think about it’ and also ‘stop being such an asshole’ and probably also ‘wow you’re eyes are really pretty’ knowing Cas.

He took a deep breath and pecked Cas on the lips. “Alright, princess, what time are you willing to drag your lazy ass out of bed?”

Claire smirked and sent a look at Kaia before leveling back at Dean. “Eleven.”

“Eight.”

“Ten. Final offer.”

Dean considered a moment then extended a hand. And shook. “You have yourself a deal.”

----

After they went to bed, they talked about it. These days, they always talked about it. It was one of the things Cas had brought home from his shrink appointments, and, as much as Dean hated to admit it, it worked. Helped.

Cas changed into pajamas and stretched, sending a look back at Dean. Dean rolled his eyes and started before Cas could prod him to. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “You hate the morning.” 

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head, then pulled down his pants, because you should never have a conversation with your boyfriend with pants when you could have one without pants. These things he was learning. “Yeah, I do, it’s just… it’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is. Isn’t it supposed to be a day of relaxation and fun?”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be exciting! Kids jumping on their parents bed at the asscrack of dawn to go to the tree, that kinda shit!” He shrugged, getting stupid worked up over it, he knew. He knew. Cas pulled him in by the hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come on, tell me how I’m being an asshole.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “What part of ‘you do everything for love’ do you not understand?” 

“How is me freaking out over Christmas morning ‘for love’?”

Cas didn’t flinch away from the self-deprecation. “You want them to have the Christmas you never got.”

Dean sank his head onto Cas’s shoulder, thinking about it. He was right, of course he was, he’s always right. Cas can read him like a book, even when Dean himself didn’t know what he was doing. “I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s admirable. But the Christmas they deserve, same as you did, is the one they want. Which might not be the one you wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” he sighed heavily. More than he wanted his kids to have a motherfucking Christmas-card Christmas, he just didn’t want to be the ruin of it. Didn’t want to be John. “Sorry you have to shrink my head all the time.” Dean muttered softly. Cas pulled him away and kissed him, slow and soft. 

“You pay me back tenfold.”

“You’ve got a shrink.”

“I meant with sex.” Cas met his eyes, face stoic as always. He would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for the glint in his eyes. It gave him away.

Dean threw back his head and laughed.

“Motherfucker.”

“I don’t have a mother.” 

Dean shook his head, grin splitting open his face. Cas himself was trying to hold it together; he kept having to push down the corners of his mouth so he wouldn't break. Dean crowded closer, determined to ruin that composure. He walked his face right into Cas’s, only reaching for his lips once they were already bumping together. Then he fell into it, pulled Cas toward him to get more, settled into the easy mesh of their bodies until Cas ended up knocking his knee against the bedframe with a loud thump.

They dissolved into a pile of breathy giggles, too giddy and soft to work up the energy to get frisky. Dean just shrugged off his shirt and pulled Cas closer to him. “You know you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Dean told him seriously. He didn’t know where it came from; it was way too mushy to even possibly be from his mind. Maybe it was something about the holiday, and the family, and the safety that all of it brought. 

“And so are you.” Cas replied simply, eyes glinting. 

“Even though I’m an asshole sometimes?” He had to ruin it. Had to put in that little bit of doubt, of insecurity. But it wouldn’t be truthful if he just swallowed it, so he let it be said.

Cas kissed his nose, which made Dean feel like a child but also like something so special and precious he didn’t complain. “Even though you’re an asshole sometimes.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and chased Cas’s lips, nipping at him in offense. He sank onto the pillow and stared at Cas where he sat up. Cas just looked down at him, adopting that alien-like quality he could still summon. “Marry me.” 

“What?”

Dean smiled fondly at him, for once not at all concerned. “I dunno, dunnit ‘boyfriends’ sound way too young to you? I mean you’re practically 5 million years old, you can’t have a boyfriend.”

Cas pursed his lips, seemingly deciding between protesting his age or agreeing to his proposal. He laid next to Dean during his decision, letting Dean watch him consider. “Suppose you’re right.” He shrugged, offering up a tiny grin. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes’ and then burst into tears.” 

“Dean.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, that’s just how humans do it!”

“Okay, I take it back.” 

Dean laughed and pulled him into a giddy kiss. “I love you.”

“I hope so, you’re marrying me.” Cas couldn’t contain his smile anymore; he stopped trying and just stared at Dean with the kind of wonder that used to make Dean feel uncomfortable. Now, it just made him feel lucky. “I love you too.”

---

A phone rang, a bizarre ringtone Dean didn’t recognize. Sam jumped up and ran off to the map room, apologizing quickly. “What the hell, man!” Dean yelled after him and sent a look at Eileen.

Hunter call, probably. She signed. Sure enough, Sam was in the other room picking up a landline with an annoyed tone. 

He listened for a few minutes, asking follow-up questions before Dean heard him say, “Rugaru, yeah, that’s what it sounds like. Yeah, you gotta burn ‘em. Nasty, sorry. Yeah, no problem. Good luck.” He hung up and headed back into the room, signing and talking. “Sorry, hunting doesn’t care about holidays.”

“So glad we’re not doing that anymore.” Dean sighed happily, wrapping an arm around Cas. Sam smiled at him and nodded.

“Me too. I had to burn those clothes after the Rugaru thing.” He shuddered, the memory of the stench enough to make him happy for an empty stomach.

Eileen shrugged. Never had to deal with one of those. 

“Lucky.” Dean promised her. Cas nudged him, nodding toward Jack. He was shaking a wrapped box with his name on it, a look of deep concentration on his face. 

“Whaddya think it is, kid?” 

Jack shook his head. “No idea. Can I open it?” 

“Go for it.”Jack tore into it, no regard for the painted newspaper (yes, it was recycled, Cas and Sam both agreed) as he got to the box underneath. “Open the card first, heathen!” Dean joked, pointing out the card tucked onto the bottom of the thing. Jack scowled but complied, opening the card to find a nice note from him and Cas and a key taped in. 

“What’s it for?” 

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, excited about this part. He had been the one who came up with it, after all. “Our place. We wanted to make it official, since you been, you know, visiting around a lot lately.” Dean turned a little pink in the cheeks. Jack had indeed been drifting between Sam and Eileen’s, Jody’s, his and Cas’s, Donna’s, and Claire and Kaia’s. But he always spent the most time at his and Cas’s house, trying to copy Dean and always ending up enjoying Cas’s hobbies more. Sam had told him a while back that Jack confided he wasn’t sure he was welcome there, not for the long term. So Dean wanted to let him know he was welcome. Except now, looking at the uncertainty on Jack’s face, he wasn’t so sure that’s what the kid wanted. “Uh, you know, you can just spend however much you want with us, but… you know.” He poked Cas desperately in the side, trying to get him to save the sentence.

“We’d like you to have a ‘home base’ with us, Jack. However often you are willing to stay.” Cas said simply. He squeezed Dean’s knee to reassure him.

Jack looked up at them with a stunned expression. “Does this mean I can take out the trash? And do the dishes?” He looked thrilled at the idea. 

Dean chuckled. “We never would’ve stopped you before, kid. But yeah, sure.” 

Sam cleared his throat, offering a smile to Jack. “That better not mean you stop coming around here though, Jack.” When Dean had called and told him his idea for the present, he’d almost teared up. His brother had come a long way with Jack. Still, he wanted to reassure his kid that he always had a home with him and Eileen too, no matter how busy he was. (And nowadays, between online classes, cataloguing lore onto an online database, and being the New Bobby, he was really busy.)

Jack jumped up, clearly about to go for a round of hugs, but Dean waved him off. “Keep going, you haven’t even gotten through one present yet.” 

Jack grinned and complied, taking a bit more time with the box. He pulled out a Scooby Doo phone case, marked for Extra Protection, with Scooby and Shaggy on the back.

“That one was my idea.” Cas told him proudly.

“I helped.” Dean piped up.

“You did not.”

“I helped you pick which case!”

“You wanted to get one with Fred and Daphne.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Not everyone has a crush on them like you do, Dean.” 

Dean flushed scarlet and went silent, pouting. Jack ignored their bickering and beamed up at Castiel. “I love it, dad. Thank you.” 

Cas looked like he could’ve gone for round 4 with the Empty with how happy he was, but he just nodded. “Of course.” 

The rest of the gifts went by with lots of shouting, laughing, smiling, and hugging. And a few tears all around. Dean got Claire a flamethrower without consulting anyone, and Cas got Kaia a rose and lavender scented pillow fragrance (“It helps ensure good dreams.”), which prompted a comment from Claire (“How’d he know you’re a pillow princess?”) that everyone pretended not to hear. Dean got Eileen a Woojer, a wearable speaker that lets you feel music’s vibrations in your body (“Because no one should have to live without Zepp available to them 24/7. Also, now you can cry with me when the sad music cues come on Dr. Sexy,” - one of their favorite activities together). 

Dean jerked a head at Sam to get him out of the room, so Sam snatched his gift while Dean detached himself from Cas. They went to the kitchen, sending a couple soft looks back at their family gathered around the tree with all their new possessions. It was nice, and they both felt it.

“So, uh, Sammy, I been thinking a lot about what to get you for Christmas and everything. I didn’t want to go with the classic-”

“Skin mag and candy bar?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, damn, now I feel bad.” Sam mimed hiding his present (obviously bigger than a skin mag) behind his back, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I finally got money, you know? Not a lot of it, but… I got a house and fucking, Cas, and… anyway. We’re finally doing Christmas and I wanted to do it right. And I want you to be as off-the-wall happy as I am, dude.”

Sam smiled widely, not even able to come up with a little-brother bitchy comment to that. “Thanks, Dean, that means a lot.” 

Dean cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, so, I, um, I wanna pay for your school.” Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean held up a hand. “No, listen, I know you’ve been stressed about it, and I know you’ve been working really hard on the hunting catalogue stuff. That shit’s important. And I can pay for some crappy internet school classes. No offense.” 

Sam laughed and pulled his brother into a hug. “Thank you, man.” He said, muffled into Dean’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Dean patted Sam on the back, expecting Sam to pull away, but he didn’t. “Uh, Sammy.” Sam ignored him. “Sam. Dude, get off me. I want my present.” 

Sam snorted and finally pulled away. Dean tactfully ignored the wetness of his eyes in favor of snatching the gift from Sam’s hands. He tore it open with all the grace of a rabid dog, unveiling a thick, leather bound scrapbook. “A scrapbook? Really?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’s gay, even for you.” 

Sam pulled a bitchface. “Who sucks their boyfriend’s dick every chance he gets?” 

Dean flipped him off. No need to argue, Sam would see right through him. It was true though. Not that he would know. Dean flipped open the cover and grinned immediately. It was Sam and Dean as kids, in a mall photo booth, being dumbasses with their tongues stuck out and their faces all crazy. Dean mooned the camera in one, and you could see the psychological scarring on Sam’s face in the next picture. A little note slapped on the page next to it said “I have more nightmares about this than about hell”. Dean laughed, glancing up at Sam before he continued. Sam’s eyes were hopeful with a glint of mischief. That was never good.

Dean flipped through the next pages. It showed them through the years, all with little notes of Sam’s internal monologue. “Grumpy because he hasn’t gotten his coffee this morning” “That’s for the itching powder incident, asshole” and more and more. There were even some pictures in there of just him that Sam had obviously taken without Dean’s knowledge, pictures of him sleeping with comments about his snoring, pictures of him singing obnoxiously in the car with jokes about ear damage. Pictures of him and Bobby shooting the shit with notes about the pair of “old men.”

Then the pictures started to change. There started to be pictures of him and Cas. Mostly just him and Cas. Standing, talking, watching TV together (this one says “angel’s first porno!” with a bunch of hearts next to it). Comments talking about personal space (“he never stands that close to ME”) and the like. One of Dean in Bobby’s panic room where Dean has a speech bubble drawn on his serious face that says “Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid” and then just a selfie of Sam pulling his bitchiest bitch face. 

Dean turned a little red at that, recognizing his complete obliviousness at the time, and kept going. The pictures continue, lots of fun-loving pictures of them on the road and the occasional movie or bar night, Charlie and Kevin and even Crowley and Rowena. But without fail, there is picture after picture of him and Cas sharing a publicly private moment, all with little snippy comments from his little brother. More than three of those comments are “Just kiss already!!!” Dean finally looks up to see Sam crossing his arms and staring at him with a smug, self-satisfied smile. 

“When the hell did you make this?” Dean sputtered. These are a lot of pictures, Sam must’ve kept them on his crappy cell phones for years. 

Sam blinked. “I started it in 2006.” 

“No, I mean, when did you go back and add all these bitchy little comments?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “2006.” 

Dean blinked right back. “But you… you’ve got all these dumbass comments about me and Cas.”

His smartass little brother started to smile then, a big shit-eating grin he wanted to smack off his dumb face. “Yeah, man, you weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

“Hey, fuck you, what does that mean?” It was said in jest, but Dean’s volume control went out the window.

“Dean? Sam? Everything okay?” Cas’s voice reached them from the other room. Dean sent an offended glance back at Sam before answering.

“Yeah babe, I’m just finding out how much I wanna punch my brother in here,” 

“Okay, well, leave it till tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

“Nah, isn’t fighting with your family a holiday tradition?” 

“I think you’re right. Okay, continue.” 

Now Sam was just watching him with such a knowing expression it made him annoyed. He was watching him flirt with his boyfriend- no, technically, husband. Oh yeah. He lowered his voice back down to a reasonable volume to talk to just his brother again.

“Yeah, so, I should also tell you-” He closed the book and set it on the counter. “We uh… Cas and I, we’re gonna get married.” He looked down at his feet and blushed a bit, could feel the rising heat in his cheeks. Honestly, he couldn’t believe he was saying that. He was getting married. To Cas. “Obviously, you know, we can’t really, with one of us being a legally dead terrorist and the other a former angel in the body of a missing family man,” Dean and Sam both  laughed at that. “But I asked him and he said yes.” 

“You asked him?” Sam seemed more surprised by that than the actual news. Dean shrugged and nodded. “Wow. Congrats, Dean, really.” Sam pulled him in for another hug, which Dean happily returned. “Can I walk you down the aisle?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If anyone’s getting walked down the aisle, it’s Cas. He might get distracted by a butterfly halfway down, he’ll need the guide.” 

Sam grinned. “Come on, it’s not like you weren’t always gonna give me away.” 

Dean frowned at him. “Me? Why?” 

“Dean, you’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” Sam says it like it’s obvious, like he isn’t forgetting about-

“You had Dad.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making his big brother look him in the eyes as he repeated it. “You’re the closest thing to a parent I ever had.” 

Dean wasn’t gonna get choked up. No, he wasn’t, damn it. He’d made it this far in the visit without getting choked up, he could- 

“Sam?”

Eileen appeared around the corner, making them both realize how long they’d been away from the rest. Sam looked at her apologetically, signing Sorry. Dean was just telling me he and Cas are getting married! 

Eileen turned to Dean, barely giving Dean time to process a quick congratulations sign before she enveloped him in a hug. Dean laughed and hugged her back, pulling away to sign thank you. At least he knew how to do that. 

Big church wedding? Eileen teased. 

“Only if Cas wears a poofy dress,” Dean joked back. He only knew the signs for Cas and dress, but between that and lip-reading, Eileen got it. She shook her head with a grin and grabbed Sam’s hand. They all went back into the living room and to the rest for another round of hot chocolate and a marathon of all the Home Alone movies, per request. 

------

Dean snuggled into Cas’s side and ruffled a hand through Jack’s hair and he tried to think of something more perfect than having his family all together for Christmas. He couldn’t.

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 6

Day 6 - When your soulmate is injured you will experience pain in that area

Pairing(s): Analoceitmus [ambiguous, can be read romantic or platonic, or a mix], QPR Royality 

TWs: Injury mention, swearing, Remus being Remus near the end 

–

“I’m going to sue him.”, Logan hissed, attempting to sit up in his hospital bed, “Soulmate or not, how can one man possibly be so irresponsible?! I’m definitely going to sue him.”

He winced as he tried to get comfy, but the tough mattress and uncomfortable bunching of the sheets said suffer. 

And boy, was he. 

Logan Sanders was an immaculate, careful man. Had been since he was a child. A neat and tidy lad who - upon learning of the rules of fate - made it his utmost mission to spare his soulmate any pain or anguish for as long as he could manage. 

His soulmate, however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

From childhood, Logan found himself with sudden knee pains from scrapes he never fell for, abrasions he had caused no friction to gain, and the occasional shoulder or back pain as if he’d been pushed over when he was standing perfectly upright. At least the universe had decided to spare humanity the anguish of leaving soulmates with the physical injuries that came with the pain, but it was only a minor comfort.

Logan couldn’t say he hadn’t expected a lot of rough and tumble from his soulmate after his elementary school years, but really; a broken leg, facial burns, and a splintered forearm? “This is absolute bullshit.”, he bitterly muttered, “Barely hours apart! How is that even possible?!”

His ranting went ignored by the nurse who came to administer his medication; thankfully science had worked out a wonderful little clear pill that could banish the pain from particularly debilitating soulmate pains. The little bastards were expensive - the true pain is always capitalism within the medical world -  but Logan’s job paid handsomely. Say what you will about computer nerds and whatnot, but programming for the right people lets you make some seriously high end bread. None of that homemade farmer’s market shit.

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait about a week for his pains to ebb gently into nothingness until the klutz of a man fate paired him with got into MORE trouble. Thus Logan couldn’t get back to his work. His leg was, for all intents and purposes, broken so the staff couldn’t let him go home. He couldn’t simply drive home himself either, his splintered forearm saw to that. And Logan couldn’t even ask his roommate Emile to bring him his work laptop to try and keep his workload at bay, his left eye was too cloudy and painful to concentrate on a screen. 

Yes; his soulmate BETTER be paying his hospital bills.

Realisation struck Logan; his soulmate is obviously just as injured, ergo it’s a high probability that he could be somewhere within the hospital too. Using his good hand to reach for a pen, and absolutely dreading adding to his pain, Logan poked the tip into his good arm, wincing as he first attempted to contact them with simple morse code, “My/ Name/ Is/ Logan. Who/ Are/ You?”

He waited for a response, fearing he would have to start scratching his name onto his arm when he felt the little jabs in response,  “Janus.” Great. He FINALLY had a name to put on the lawsuit. Logan, already wincing at the bee-sting pain from the pen, he jabbed out another message,

“Are/ You/ Currently/ Staying/ At/ Stokes/ General/ Hospital?”

The reply came cryptically,

“Yes / I / -”

Logan wasn’t sure why his soulmate had suddenly stopped replying. Had a nurse confiscated whatever his soulmate was using to poke himself? Either way, Logan would have to be content with the knowledge his soulmate was at least close by. He truly had no idea how close until two very disgruntled voices were within earshot of his room door,

“Brilliant, I just adore being ousted from my comfortable bed so I could spend even longer looking at your delightful face.”

“Oh, like you’re the victim here, asshole! You’re the one stabbing yourself and fucking up my unbroken arm!”

Logan watched them both argue outside of his room door. Both men were sporting similar injuries to his own; the first one that had spoken, refined looking gentleman with sharp features and neat blonde hair, had the left side of his face bandaged heavily. Meanwhile the other man, sporting raven hair and eye bags that could carry a month’s worth of groceries, was fitted with a cast on his left forearm. Both of them were on crutches, though Logan couldn’t see if either had a genuine cast.

“Ahem. Gentlemen?”

Logan called to them, watching as both turned to meet his gaze. He lifted the pen in his hand and asked, “I take it one of you is Janus?”

The man with the bandages over his eye, Janus, nodded, “That would be me.”

The man with the broken arm looked confused, “Wait, so, you’re the one who was ramming a pen into their arm? Damn.”, he turned, begrudgingly to the first man, “I guess I owe you an apology then.”

“Really you needn’t-”

“Then I shan’t.”

Janus glared at the other man’s snark, but Logan found it rather delightful. Clearing his throat once more, he breached the topic, “I take it that means we three are soulmates?”

“Four.”

Logan and Janus looked to the third man as he explained, “Your leg doesn’t have a proper cast on it, this asshole doesn’t have one either,”, Janus gifted the man a half glare and a middle finger before he continued, “And since I don’t have one, it’s pretty obvious there’s a fourth musketeer.”

Fair to say, Logan was impressed, even Janus was hiding the tiniest hint of admiration as he retorted, “And are we to call you Sherlock or D’artagnan?”

The man rolled his eyes, “Ha ha, fuck you. My name’s-”

“VIRGIL!!”

The man, Virgil, nearly lept out of his skin, jerking his arm and giving the three of them a jolt of pain. Logan felt relieved he’d only have to put up with it for a few more days once the medicine took effect. 

In the doorway stood a man who could only be described as unnecessarily handsome, clad in a burgundy bomber jacket and a Nightmare Before Christmas shirt that seemed out of place on someone who stood poised like the protagonist of a romance anime. Logan noted he and Janus both checked to see if his leg was broken; good to know they had similar tastes even if the man’s lack of a cast dashed their hopes. Said handsome man made a beeline for Virgil, only to receive a swat and a motion to back off, 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Princey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!!!”, Virgil hissed and took a deep breath. ‘Princey’ let out a fond huff, “You should be so lucky, Bring Me The Depression, do you know how worried Pat and I were when we couldn’t find you!? This, dearest Emo Nightmare, is karma at its finest-!”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Roman. Where’s Pat? He’s gonna wanna meet my soulmates.”

Roman blinked, finally registering Logan and Janus just watching the two of them reunite. Clearing his throat, Logan made the introductions, “I’m Logan Sanders, this gentleman is-”

“Janus Delgado. Charmed I’m sure.”, Janus butt in, “Really, Logan, I can introduce myself. Unlike some people.”

Virgil flipped him off just in time for Roman to frown in confusion, “And…. you’re all sure you’re soulmates? I mean, no offense but you don’t...”, he picked his words carefully, his face contorting at the effort, “....act like soulmates?”

The three of them looked between one another and shrugged, “To be perfectly fair - Roman, yes? - we have all literally just met today under…. Less than optimal circumstances. I doubt you and your soulmate, assuming you’ve found them, hit it off instantly.”

Roman blinked, “Kind of, we didn’t have any problems like this, quite honestly...”, he almost sounded guilty at that notion, “The worst we have to deal with is his cat allergies-”

Out in the hallway, a couple of nurses hurriedly walked past and allowed another man into the room who immediately lit up at the sight of Roman and Virgil, “There you both are!!! I got held up at the vending machine, but when I came back you were both gone!”

“Patton! How glad I am to see you once more!”, Roman beamed, pulling the taller man into a hug and planting a dramatic kiss upon his cheek, to which Logan, Janus, and Virgil simultaneously met with an ‘ugh’. Perhaps they were more alike than they first assumed. 

Patton turned to meet Janus and Logan’s gaze, looking back to Virgil who explained, “They’re two of my soulmates, Pat.”

For a moment, the tall excitable ball of sunshine looked like he was about to pop with joy when Roman held up a hand to interject, “Pardon me, but ‘two of’?”, and cast his confusion towards Virgil who explained, “Our last soulmate has a broken leg, it’s the only injury we can’t account for.”

Patton and Roman shared a momentary look, drawing Logan’s attention, “Roman? Patton? Are you both alright?”. The two seemed to play eye contact rock-paper-scissors to decide who would answer, with Roman losing apparently.

“When exactly did you feel the pain in your leg?”

“Couple hours ago” “Around three?” “Precisely 3:27 pm.”

Came the chorus of answers. Janus and Virgil both shot Logan a look, to which he quietly murmured, “It never hurts to provide a little extra clarity.”

“Apparently so,”, Janus began, before shifting his partial gaze to the couple, “So, are you lovebirds-”

“Qpp’s.”, Patton corrected quietly, to which, Janus did apologise, “Pardon me. So, are you queer platonic saps going to clue us in to why exactly you asked us such a specific question?”

Roman sighed, “I ask because my brother, Remus, broke his leg at that exact same time today. Pat and I were going to visit him right after we’d checked in with Virgil.”

The three soulmates shared a collective look, but the first one to pipe up was Virgil, “You have a brother?! Why am I only finding this out now, I’ve known you for 12 fucking years, Roman! What the fuck!?”

Logan exasperatedly ran a hand down his face as he tried to maneuver himself out of his bed and into one of the hospital’s wheelchairs, Janus offering a hand to him, “Virgil, as much as I would love to listen to you and Roman bicker back and forth, could we possibly save such trivialities for after we meet our fourth soulmate?”

This time Patton piped up, “Oh, um, you may not want to do that just yet-”

As if on cue, roughly six or seven medical staff rushed by, causing Patton and Roman to quickly look around the doorway, only to turn back to the others, “Well, no time like the present. Patton, if you help Virgil, I’ll help Janus once Logan can shimmy into that wheelchair.”, Roman assigned as he offered an arm for Logan to hold onto while he got himself in the chair. Noting the context clues, Logan was rightfully worried, especially as he felt a new pain in his hand, only to note that while Roman and Patton helped them move, Virgil and Janus seemed to be experiencing more pain in their legs than before. In the moment, Logan did feel a little bad that the pill he’d taken hours earlier was saving him from too much additional pain. Approaching the hospital room the medical staff had gathered within, the group were greeted with a wild scene.

A scruffy man strikingly similar in looks to Roman - albeit sporting a thin moustache and silver hair streak - wearing a leg cast was holding a crutch in one hand and an honest to god butterfly knife in the other, standing atop his hospital bed, raving like a lunatic and gesturing frantically to an empty space in the room,

“NOW WILL SOMEBODY FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE?! ME AND THIS BEAR WANNA GO CATCH HORNY FISH AND SHIT IN THE WOODS!!” 

Charming. 

Logan glanced over at Patton and Roman, the question clear on his face just like their answer. That was Remus alright. He watched Roman talk with a nurse trying to calm Remus, “We gave him some painkillers to ease his leg pains, but it shouldn’t be affecting him this much!”

“Oh, Remus has always been like this with medication, I should’ve warned the nursing staff.”, he groaned, “But that doesn’t explain-”

“He must’ve pushed the blue button behind his bed,”, Logan sighed, already anticipating Roman’s question, “The medical staff likely assumed Remus was coding and thus went into action. That’s why they’re here right now.”

Roman’s expression confirmed that was indeed going to be his question. As Roman went to help the nurses tranquilise Remus’ wild flailing, and while his other two soulmates stood by to watch the chaos - in varying degrees of worry and strange admiration bordering on attraction for his disregard for social norms - Logan tried to come to terms with the facts.

He had three very different soulmates, and by the looks of it? He’d have to get used to frequent hospital stays….

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

This one’s probably on the weirder side, but uh, yeah, I hope it’s still a good read! [Also sorry these have been a little late lately TTvTT] @tsshipmonth2020 Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me

I’m gonna miss writing about Amethyst.

As the most sisterly Crystal Gem, a firebrand in the new role of middle child after spending millennia as the baby of the group, Amethyst’s story is about growing from a wild teen to a responsible adult. Like Steven, she feels the need to prove that she’s a Crystal Gem too, but unlike Steven, she already is a Crystal Gem, so she carries a different kind of resentment as she continues to be treated like a child. It’s made even worse by her warrior instincts clashing with her small frame: she lives with the constant anxiety that she’s a mistake, a Gem who came out wrong and doesn’t belong in her family, so she comforts and distracts herself with hedonism and shapeshifting. Her problem goes beyond not feeling respected: deep down, she fears that she doesn’t deserve respect.

But she changes her mind.

“This isn’t normal.”

The Return and Jailbreak culminated the first act of Steven Universe, giving our characters subtle achievements (Amethyst and Pearl casually fuse into Opal, Greg reveals a deeper understanding of the Gems than we once thought, Beach City comes together as a community when Steven is in danger) and huge changes (Steven summons a massive shield, Garnet’s status as a fusion is confirmed, Lapis goes from prisoner to imprisoner). While not an official finale, Beta and Earthlings culminated the second act, narrowing the focus to five characters as they each reach one milestone or another: Lapis and Amethyst find a level of peace, Peridot defends her new home, Jasper succumbs to corruption, and Steven helps his friends but fails to help his enemy.

In a way, Change Your Mind culminates the third act with an even narrower focus. Sure, it gives big moments to a ton of characters (there’s fanservice galore, and we see the three Diamonds in particular take enormous steps), but we zero in on Steven in the same way the entire act has zeroed in on Steven, because this is a story about identity. It isn’t only about who he is, but who he wants to be moving forward, and fusing all the insights he’s learned from his human family, his Crystal Gem family, and his Diamond family into a song that encapsulates his growth over the course of the series.

We start in the most lifelike of the Diamond dreams, so real that Steven still sees himself as Steven rather than embodying Pink. Once again, this connection emerges from sleeping in a location where Pink once dwelled, but while he wasn’t feeling her impatience and rage in Jungle Moon, nor her hardening resolve in Can’t Go Back, nor her whimsy in Familiar, this time they share the same headspace when they’re both locked in a tower.

Considering how bombastic things get in this episode, I love how low-key this final dream remains until White Diamond interferes. We’re as lost as Steven at first, worrying about Connie and baffled at Blue’s recognizable mood but incongruous accusations, but as the truth becomes clear, he transforms into Pink off-screen without any fanfare, both in body and in mind: Steven isn’t questioning Blue’s warning about Pink Pearl, Pink Diamond is apologizing for her own behavior in Zach Callison’s voice. Still, looking down jolts him out of it, and after seeing the Crystal Gems poofed at the ball for a more definitive Steven memory, we cycle in Rose’s horror at her family launching a final attack on Earth. The rapid-fire identity shifts that follow inspired the most haunting piece of promo art for the episode, drawn by Rebecca Sugar herself, but I didn’t wanna display it without a seizure warning.

It’s excellent exposition, hitting the highlights of the Diamonds’ many wrongs and establishing Steven’s fraying sense of self in a way that’s both artful and brief; it’s important to remind younger viewers about the stakes, but Change Your Mind doesn’t pretend that anyone should be watching this episode without context, so it doesn’t prioritize thorough explanation. And despite how frightening the nightmare becomes, Steven gains a new sense of clarity after seeing the pattern laid out in front of him. The Diamonds are hurting him in the same way they hurt his mother, and if he’s going to help everyone, he needs to help himself.

When Blue Diamond returns to the tower in modern day, Steven isn’t afraid, and he isn’t alone. The first of many puns riddling the finale emerges (“Déjà Blue!”) before Connie proves why she’s the perfect partner for our hero, platonic or otherwise. He’s terrible at confronting the people that hurt him—this would require him to acknowledge he’s hurt in the first place, which he’s also terrible at—but if she was comfortable enough with confrontation to call out her best friend when he wrongs her, Blue Diamond doesn’t stand a chance. Connie comes out swinging, loading the bases with candor and sass despite Blue’s confusion over why a human even gets an opinion about this stuff, which makes Steven’s refusal to apologize hit the Diamond like a grand slam.

I love that Steven’s flat “no” takes Connie by surprise as well as Blue, because yeah, it’s uncharacteristically blunt for someone who’s spent his entire trip to Homeworld bending over backwards like he usually does to accommodate others. When he doubles down by explaining that he isn’t sorry about creating a show that celebrates queer characters whoops sorry I mean fusion, Callison makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and this is what upsets Blue enough to inflict her tears on him. We’ll learn even more about Pink’s temper in Steven Universe Future, but the simple act of not bowing to authority makes Steven “worse than ever” in Blue’s mind: violence is more acceptable than insubordination. (Also, violence in cartoons is more acceptable than queer folks just sorta existing in cartoons, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Change Your Mind is about combating bigotry and cycles of abuse, and Blue is the obvious first test. She’s a bigot who doesn’t think she’s a bigot (compared to Yellow, who doesn’t care that she’s a bigot, and White, who’s quite proud of being a bigot). She passively perpetuates a toxic status quo (compared to Yellow, who actively perpetuates it, and White, who established it in the first place). It makes sense that she’s the first of the remaining Diamonds to change her mind, because all it takes for her to realize that something is wrong is thinking about it a little harder.

This doesn’t let her off the hook, of course: Blue’s sloth—the sin, not the animal—might not look flashy next to Yellow’s wrath or White’s pride or Pink’s envy, but she still chose to do nothing for thousands of years rather than contemplate how her actions and her society might have wronged Pink. If it was this easy for Blue to realize she was hurting Pink, it makes it that much more of an issue that it took her this long to figure it out. Unintentional bigots might be the “best” option by default, but they can be just as harmful as intentional bigots, and there’s a special sort of damage that can come from an oppressor who truly believes themselves an ally.

That said, while it’s important to acknowledge her blame (emphasized here when she only stops attacking Steven when he calls her out rather than the Diamonds in general), Blue is also a victim. She’s one of the most powerful beings on Homeworld, but she’s still trapped by White Diamond, and resorts to putting others down as a means of reclaiming a sense of that power. In the same way oppressed people often turn to sexism and racism and homophobia to make themselves feel bigger, Blue (and Yellow) reinforce White’s sweeping bigotry in the same way they echo her family-specific abuse. It’s not a good coping mechanism, in this show or in the real world, but understanding the problem is key to fixing it.

So it still feels like a victory when Blue turns, even though it should’ve happened ages ago, and even though she’s a tyrant. She isn’t just deciding to help Steven, she’s breaking out of that cycle in a way that allows for growth beyond our hero’s immediate concerns. Lisa Hannigan captures this transformation beautifully, shifting from manipulative whining about Pink’s behavior to a crushing realization that she’s the one who’s wrong. And even as she joins Steven’s side, she remains weighed down by her longstanding prejudice: Hannigan stutters as she refers to the Crystal Gems as his family, and her triumphant defense of Steven’s name to Yellow comes with the caveat that she’s still misgendering him.

But before we get to Yellow, we take a pit stop that grounds us back to Steven and Connie’s hunger. It may seem small, but this is a critical moment in establishing Steven’s humanity in a way the show has quietly done from day one: with food.

The very first scene of Steven Universe establishes our hero’s human half in a donut shop, upset about dessert. From there, the next five episodes drill in that Steven will take a unique approach to his magical Gem heritage, and they all involve food in a major way: Cookie Cats, then his father’s saying about pork chops and hot dogs, then the Cheeseburger Backpack (important enough to be the episode’s name), then the Together Breakfast (ditto), then creating a monster based on fries.

It’s not just Steven, either. The first few Connie episodes involve eating and drinking in ways that show hints of growth (worrying about trans fats, then sneaking food into movie theaters) and mark key moments in her life (sharing a juicebox, taking her parents to dinner). Lars’s development is tied with his love of baking, and on top of him and Sadie working at the Big Donut, the Frymans and the Pizzas are so tied to their food service jobs that it’s in their names. And speaking of names, we’ve got Vidalia calling her sons Sour Cream and Onion. It even extends to the Gems: Amethyst’s connection with Earth means she loves food, and Pearl’s greater distance from humanity means she can’t stomach it.

Food is fundamentally something that humans require and Gems don’t, and just like we saw in Lars’s Head, Steven’s physical body forces him to think about his own needs despite his usual focus on others. Both his humanity and his ability to stand up for himself are key to his eventual victory, and what could’ve been a generic transition between Blue and Yellow’s big scenes instead becomes a quiet Steven scene. Steven changing into his usual clothes (including his mom’s star) and Connie changing into her own outfit (including her dad’s jacket) is the perfect finishing touch before we dive back into the drama.

True to their natures, Yellow Diamond gets a starker introduction than Blue’s dream sequence: as the lights burst on, we get two shots focusing on a horrifying number of mutated Gem Shards floating around in the room, then the Crystal Gems’ thankfully intact gems in one big bubble, before panning down to the villain who caused all this pain. The menace is palpable before she even opens her mouth, but Patti LuPone’s low tone keeps the mood from boiling over just long enough that when she loses her cool, it hits like a freight train.

Blue’s passive bigotry endured because she lacked introspection, but Yellow’s active bigotry requires constantly justifying actions she knows are cruel by presenting it as a matter of superior reasoning. We’ve known from her first appearance that Yellow’s seething fury undermines her reputation for cold logic, and now more than ever the connection between her behavior and that of “sophisticated” bigots is clear. You know the type: openly, smugly hateful, but couching their hate as something derived from some deep knowledge about the subject, whether in religious convictions or whatever “science” they can scrape together to confirm their worldview.

Sure enough, even in her rage, Yellow lays down what she sees as a rational explanation for why it was okay to mistreat Pink, and why it’s okay that they themselves are mistreated: if they make exceptions for anyone, even other Diamonds, they must make exceptions for everyone, and chaos reigns. Besides the slippery slope being a fallacy, her argument is punctured by Connie’s second big retort of the night, pointing out that this extreme conclusion of Homeworld Gems living free actually sounds pretty nice. But you can’t force this type of bigot to change their mind through reason; if such a person was actually interested in logical worldviews, they wouldn’t have become a bigot in the first place. You need to change their heart.

Fortunately, emotions are Blue’s domain, so she’s just the person to help. Unfortunately, in the same way she still can’t get Steven’s pronouns right, Blue lacks experience with healthy communication, and strikes a first blow against Yellow on instinct. The ensuing brawl is brutal, switching between the massive scale of two warring titans and the smaller scale of Steven and Connie scrambling to save the Crystal Gems as Blue and Yellow unload millennia of baggage on each other. It’s so important that Blue is the physical instigator here, as it fuels Yellow’s white-hot self-righteous streak like nothing else, and it keeps the fight from being one-sided all the way through: Yellow pretty much needs to be the one dealing the final blow for the scene to stick, so it gets balanced out by Blue’s opening punch.

Blue uses her powers on Yellow, and Yellow uses her powers on Blue, but Steven’s power is talking. So just like with Blue’s conversion, Connie gets the opening words while Steven gets the finisher. When he finally gets her attention after being ignored throughout the scene, he makes Yellow listen to him by using the same food-based expression I mentioned from all the way back in Laser Light Cannon. It’d pack a bigger punch if Greg said “If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs” at literally any other point in the show, but it still does the trick.

Blue was emotionally ready to accept that Pink was suffering, but hadn’t considered the Diamonds’ role in that suffering. Yellow knew that Pink suffered thanks to the Diamonds, but suppressed her emotions to the point where she couldn’t empathize with her sister’s plight. Blue needed to be more thoughtful to change, and Yellow needed to be more in touch with her emotions to change, and thus the stage is set for the Battle of Heart and Mind against White Diamond.

Except that this isn’t the lesson of Change Your Mind. Blue and Yellow show that some bigots can be reached, which is great! But despite their differences, Steven uses the same basic strategy in both: he doesn’t let them belittle his identity, he confidently dispels their wrongheaded assumptions, and he gets help from allies instead of shouldering the burden himself. We spend the beginning of the episode seeing that in the right circumstances this approach can work, but from here we’ll see that with some bigots, it’s a non-starter.

So long as you can engage with bigots while maintaining your self-respect, it can be good work to try and help them see the light. It’s not an obligation, but if you want to change hearts and minds, Steven provides a good template for how to do it. Now the rest of the episode can focus on the bigger lesson: if someone refuses to respect your humanity when you’re steadfast and forthright, it isn’t your job to breathe in their poison, or to hold your breath until you asphyxiate waiting for change.

But more on that after the break!

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

As we reach the end of the original series, it would be criminal not to acknowledge three long-time storyboarders who are on their way out. This isn’t their final contribution to the series, as only one of Change Your Mind’s twelve credited writer/boarders didn’t go on to work on The Movie in some way (Christine Liu, whose tenure was brief but great), and Hilary Florido stayed on as a supervisor for Future. But I wanted to write the big sendoffs here, as this is the last proper “episode” that these three worked on as regular boarders. So it’s time to say goodbye to Katie Mitroff, Hilary Florido, and Jeff Liu.

First up is Katie Mitroff, who clocked two early knockouts with Alone Together and The Test alongside Florido. Mitroff’n’Florido went on to make other classics like Maximum Capacity and Joy Ride before the former teamed up with Lamar Abrams and the latter teamed up with Jesse Zuke for their next batch of episodes.

With Abrams, Mitroff deepened the lore of the show with We Need to Talk, Steven’s Birthday, Bismuth, Buddy’s Book, Three Gems and a Baby, and especially The Answer. She gave us the harrowing revelation of Back to the Moon, and the most ridiculous episode of the series, Restaurant Wars. Her final partner was Paul Villeco, finishing strong with The Trial, Back to the Kindergarten, Your Mother and Mine, Pool Hopping, What’s Your Problem?, Reunited, and Change Your Mind, 100% of which are either in my Love ‘em ranking or my Top Episodes. (Oh, sorry, spoiler alert I love Change Your Mind.)

It’s strange, because she didn’t work on any of the major episodes of Amethyst’s big arc at the end of Season 3, but Mitroff is one of my favorite Amethyst boarders: she’s the consistent thread between Maximum Capacity, Back to the Moon, and What’s Your Problem?, three cornerstones of the character. She excelled at going outside the show’s usual style, as seen in The Answer and Your Mother and Mine, and it’s no coincidence she helped animate Isn’t It Love? to bring Cotton Candy Garnet back for one last ride.

Katie Mitroff is an absolute rock star, I wish her well and you should too.

[timextoxhajima]

12 Days Of Christmas: Ravens

Part of a collaboration project under 12 Days Of Christmas hosted by yours truly.

Member: Younghoon

Genre: christmas fluff, ion know

Word Count: 1.6k

The sanitizer scent of the airport was inviting you into a gentle slumber due to the jetlag. Younghoon had dragged you halfway across the planet in a bid to spend Christmas with you, because you had been so busy with school that you barely had time to spend with him. 

Whilst it was unlikely of him to initiate a holiday overseas for just the two of you, it didn’t come unexpected. It had been something the two of you wanted to do for a long time anyway. 

But your groggy sight can only offer you so much of the male sitting opposite you in the empty waiting lounge for the plane. Younghoon was staring blankly at the planes outside the window, the blue pullover looking so snug around his shoulders. You’ve always been told that you were lucky for having such a good-looking friend but you’ve always felt luckier that he was even your friend. 

Most people had placed him on a pedestal without thinking twice about how well he takes care of people, especially when he cares for you. You haven’t been friends with Younghoon for an extremely long time, if you counted the years, it’d be about five or six, give or take. 

Out the corner of your eye, you catch some other youngsters your age enter the waiting lounge for the plane, and the two girls just could not remove their eyes off him. 

A smug smile creeps on your lips when you open your chat messages with Younghoon, coyly sending him a text. 

You: Still got that charm, don’t you?

Younghoon’s trance is broken when the vibration shakes him out of it, and he flashes you a quick glance before turning to them. It’s not surprising that they look a little shier when he looks to them, offering a small bow of his head. 

Pulling your hoodie over your head, Younghoon grabs his jacket and duffel bag, walking over to you and taking a seat down next to you.

“The heartbreak they will suffer when they think I’m your girlfriend,” You pull out a book and flip through to the page you stopped at. 

Younghoon grips his phone and passport in his hands between his knees, leaning over to you. “Had they not made those googly eyes at me, I wouldn’t be so worried about you being upset.”

A frown creeps onto your face, a sneer of disgust showing up on your lips. The book has lost your attention. “Me? Upset? Over your fangirls? Pfft.”

Younghoon’s scent is stained all over the hoodie you were wearing, and whatever piece of clothing of his that’s on you, it’d be way larger than fitting for you. Pulling the sleeves over your fingers, Younghoon picks up the book from your lap, flipping through the pages.

If you could count the number of people who had assumed you were dating, you’d need more than a pair of hands. The first day you met Younghoon, his dumbass had been trying to feed a Raven sitting right outside an elderly care centre. Your grandfather had just been admitted due to a home incident, so walking out of a building filled with people struggling to stay alive and then running into someone who had no clue how dangerous Ravens can get was an entertaining episode in its own.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Younghoon’s bright doe eyes look up at you with the breadcrumbs still in his palm. The raven was cocking its head to the side, dark pearls for eyes staring at him.

“Ah, well,” Younghoon drizzles the breadcrumbs on the grass, allowing the raven to start pecking on it as he stands up. Your eyes follow his face so when he reaches the height he’s at, it intimidates you for a good few seconds. “It’s a friendly one. The nurses here feed it occasionally too.”

“Huh,” You shove your hands into your pockets. “Most ravens aren’t fans of humans.”

Younghoon smiles, then pushes his coat aside to reveal his uniform and the nametag he had on. The sight of the uniform catches you off-guard -- he is a freshman at the same school as you.

And just like that, five years had passed since without warning. 

On the plane back home, it’s a quiet, peaceful ride. Younghoon isn’t a fan of words, and you appreciated it. He probably wouldn’t open his mouth to say anything stupid to waste your time (unless he’s intentionally feeling particularly annoying on some days). So it’s comforting when he wraps you in his arms with the armrest between the two seats pushed upwards, and his attention is on his screen while yours are on your book. 

The jetlag returns to haunt your lids, making them heavier than you’d like them to be. The constant whirring of the plane in the background was also coaxing you to drift off into your slumber, and you miss the moment that Younghoon gently removes the book from your hands to stuff it inside the compartment below the screen. 

By the time you’re awake, the plane was bustling with activity because it was breakfast. Home time or not, you couldn’t even decide. All you knew was that you couldn’t eat a grain of rice even if you tried. 

“Are you okay? The stewardess is coming over soon, what are you feeling?” Younghoon helps you sit up in your seat, brushing your hair out from your eyes. He hands you the little menu booklet, leaning over into you and resting his head on your shoulder. 

“The roasted chicken thigh looks good, but I know you’re more of a chicken salad and pasta person.”

The words look hazy to you, something doesn’t feel right. 

“Hoon, I’m not feeling all that great. D’you mind if you get me the salad, and you can have the chicken and pasta?”

“What?” He removes himself off your shoulder and presses his hand to your forehead. “Are you okay? You don’t have a fever though. Are you feeling nauseous?”

No, but I kinda feel like I wanna die. 

Younghoon reaches for his bag under the seat, pulls out some medication and then calls for some water. 

The days that Younghoon chooses to be a kind, caring friend are the days you enjoy the most. Albeit your health would be at risk because this side of Younghoon isn’t specially a regular sight, but you know he can be the most thoughtful person you’d ever meet, even if you don’t see it often. 

The food comes after he orders, neatly rearranging the food on your pull-out tray and leaving you with more medication in case you needed it. You can feel the digestive juices in your stomach gurgling, so at least you know your shit-whack of an appetite hasn’t given up on you. 

The rest of the flight is then spent drifting in and out of drowsiness, because the medication that Younghoon had you eat was sleep-inducing. There was a pang of guilt because you were well aware that he was for you and yet there was nothing you could’ve done about it.

Then the plane jerks a little due to turbulence, jolting you out of your sleep. The plane was in complete darkness, forcing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. 

Thanks to the light from the back of the cabin, you could roughly make out the reflection in Younghoon’s screen. There he was, resting his head against yours, with most of his blanket covering you even when you already had your own. the sight makes your heart flutter, forcing you into an internal panic mode. 

No. Why now? We’ve been friends for so long, if feelings were supposed to come, they would’ve a long time ago, right?

Younghoon shifts a little, nose scrunching up and his fringe tumbling over his brows and over his eyes. His cheek was flat against the crown of your head, and a light squeeze under the blanket makes you aware of your arm linked in his. 

You continue watching your reflections in the screen, admiring how peaceful he looked while he was asleep. His breath was gently tapping against your hair as he exhaled, and you could feel his shoulder under your cheek heave gently with every breath he took. 

The cabin was decorated in some Christmas ornaments, the gold and silver glitter shimmering in the reflection of the screen and in the corners of your eye. The sleepiness is about to claim you again, then Younghoon’s fingers interlocking with yours under the blanket captures your awareness again.

“What are you looking at?” 

He’s looking at you through the reflection now, eyes sparkling like two stars in the black screen. 

“Um, just the Christmas decorations.”

You can feel his Adam’s Apple shift when he gulps away a dry throat, expecting him to release you or move off you --

But he doesn’t.

His eyes are closed when he licks his lips. “But are you feeling better?”

“Somewhat. Thank you for the medication.”

His laughter comes out in the form of a sharp exhale through his nostrils. “How could I have forgotten it when I know you have motion sickness?”

A smile claims your lips. “I appreciate it. I’ll buy you a meal or some sorts when we get back home.”

Younghoon hums in slight response, then a pause. “If you want to return this favour, I have a better idea.”

“What is it?”

“Stop being so busy with school for once and go out on a date with me.”