dgvirtualassistant

[mononijikayu]

chapter (5) — his primadonna!

GENRE: alternate universe - actors/celeb au!

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18 and above, actors/singers au!, romance, fluff, minor angst, slow burn, humour, slice of life, will they won't they, light-hearted, flirting, playful, possessiveness, teasing, explicit content, possible, kissing, sexual content, innuendos, drama, feels, hurt/comfort, falling in love, love, happy ending, actor/singer! sukuna, actress/celeb! reader;

WORD COUNT: 4.5k words.

NOTE: i really have a hard time finding titles for songs because i listen to so many while doing all these and it just??? i end up finding myself in conundrums of the will i use this or not??? also, yes sukuna is a bit older than reader! the first year trio are in their early 20s, reader is a bit older. there will be more of hey lover soon enough, i promise. other than that, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you guys!!! 🫶

TAGLIST: @kunasthiast, @midnight-138, @v3nd3ttal3on, @r0ckst4rjk, @theshxaverse, @cheescakebroom, @kariatenoh, @ggukfikz, @sukunadckrider ;

masterlist

hey lover! series

YOU REALLY WERE BOOKED AND BUSY. Immediately after wrapping up another variety show, you were already on the road for another one after you teased the location on your Instagram. People could only wonder what this one could have for them to enjoy. They all started to do a guessing game.

And because you spoiled the location already, some fans figured it all out. So, your agency soon enough announced that your next work adventure was going to be a reality travel show with your other Jujutsu Kaisen co-stars Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara.

It works pretty well, between the four of you. You were all very close, since you all went to the same drama and theater school together. You were only a year or two above them in age, it was hard not to have the same energy together.

The news had fans buzzing with excitement, since they liked all of your dynamics in the show and there were very few scenes of you all together, which the fans were craving for. This trended almost immediately on social media, being reposted by your co-stars and even the Jujutsu Kaisen official social media channels.

But perhaps the most notable was from veteran actor Ryomen Sukuna.

"Excited to see bedhead from my bubs." He quote-tweeted the video from the show's official twitter page.

And of course, almost immediately, everyone was going wild.

The hashtags #y/nsukuna, #HESDOWNBAD, #MYBUBS and #HERBEDHEAD were trending all at the same time.

"HUH!??? SUKUNA??? WHAT KIND OF POST IS THAT???"

"bro is not normal about y/n cause what do you mean he's saying he's excited for her bed head???"

"ARE WE GLOSSING OVER THE FACT THAT HE CALLS HER BUBS???"

"ryomen sukuna is down bad guys like its over for him (hes just like me)"

"guys guys, yall are not thinking about the wider picture......sukuna has pictures of y/n with bedhead"

Of course, Ryomen Sukuna likes to add fuel to the fire.

He quote-tweeted that fan and said, "Of course I have bedhead pics of y/n. There's a folder."

You also were not helping your case when you commented, "Do I at least look pretty in them, darling?"

Within a few seconds, the scarlet eyed man slyly replied. "Bubs, you're always pretty. No need to question that."

You liked the post almost as fast as when lightening strikes.

And of course, the world burns once more as your fans lose it.

➽──────────❥

EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR SHOW WAS FUN. And you were enjoying yourself at every taping of the episode, because it really did feel like a genuinely planned friendship road trip all across locations the show chose for all of you. You had never had a show be this fun like this.

The premise was simple: you and a group of fellow cast members would explore different destinations, taking part in challenges, meeting the locals, and showcasing each unique place's culture.

Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi were all pros at making the atmosphere fun and welcoming. Even in acting school, they were all like that and you loved that about them. It made everything so much more fun.

With each location, everyone brought their personality to the forefront, and it made for the perfect mix of laughs, banter, and unforgettable moments. You all took turns driving, cooking, and planning activities, making each stop a collective adventure.

Today had been particularly intense, with endless shots, physical challenges, and more retakes than usual. Now, after the long drive to your next destination and running on only a few hours of sleep, you felt the exhaustion settle into your bones.

As the car bumped along the final stretch of road, the warm glow of a cozy cabin nestled in the mountains came into view, and relief washed over the group.

Nobara let out a deep, dramatic sigh as she spotted the cabin. “This place better have decent beds, guys.” she muttered, twisting in her seat to stretch her neck. “I'm not waking up with another crick, or someone’s going to pay.”

Yuji snickered, tossing his bag onto his shoulder once you all arrived. “Trust me, we’re all on the same page!” he replied with a wide grin. “And that reminds me, can I get some sympathy? Megumi here takes up half the bed when we share. He’s, like, dead asleep, but somehow there’s no room for me.”

Megumi’s expression barely flickered, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Or maybe you’re just sprawled out like a starfish, Yuji.” he countered dryly, adjusting his own bag with a shrug. His usual calm made the subtle quip land even harder, and everyone burst into laughter.

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion temporarily lifted by the familiar rhythm of friendly banter. Nobara, ever the force of nature, hooked her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the moment with a grin.

“So, guys.” she began with a pointed look. “You’re on dinner duty tonight, right? Please tell me you’ve got some magic in that suitcase of yours. I’m about to pass out, and the last thing I want is to wake up for ramen noodles.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you took in her expectant expression. “I’ll do my best with whatever we’ve got. But fair warning, if it’s instant noodles, I was never here.”

“Noted!” she laughed, patting your shoulder with faux solemnity. “I trust you’ll deliver.”

As everyone wandered off to settle in, Yuji threw an exaggerated thumbs-up over his shoulder. “Let’s go, resident chef! You’re a legend on camera and in the kitchen now. We're in for a treat!”

After a while, the crew had set up some lights in the small, rustic cabin kitchen where you were stirring a pot, trying to summon the energy to finish cooking.

The smell of food mingled with the quiet, comforting sounds of the cabin settling around you, though you could feel your eyelids drooping. Just as you stifled another yawn, Megumi drifted over, holding a steaming mug of coffee.

“Here.” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. “You look like you need it more than I do.”

You took it with a grateful smile, letting the warmth of the cup seep into your hands. “You’re a lifesaver, Megumi. Seriously.”

He tilted his head, smirking just a bit. “Only as much as you saved us from yet another ramen dinner. This is... actually pretty good.”

His understated compliment made you laugh, even as you fought the lingering fatigue. Moments later, Yuji and Nobara poked their heads into the kitchen, the smell of food having drawn them in. Yuji rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“Look at this—our pro chef on set! Where did we luck out finding you?” he joked, pulling a few plates from the cupboard.

“Come on, Yuji, don’t distract the one person who can cook!” Nobara chided, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Let’s not ruin our one decent meal tonight.”

Soon, everyone gathered around the makeshift dinner table, the crew even joining in as laughter and conversation filled the small cabin. The exhaustion you’d felt earlier melted away, replaced by the warmth of friendship and the satisfaction of good food.

These simple, shared moments, the laughter, the teasing, the shared triumphs over long days—reminded you why you loved every bit of this adventure. You really felt relaxed, after working in high stakes productions for a while now. This was a deserved break.

As the night wore on, the cabin was filled with tired but happy voices, sharing stories and jokes until everyone drifted off, still smiling. The promise of a new day of filming awaited, but for now, you soaked in the peace, knowing these were the memories you’d cherish long after the cameras stopped rolling.

➽──────────❥

IT WAS ROUGH THE NEXT MORNING. Not only were you driving in the morning, you had to wake everyone up. You already had an alarm set up and everything. But not all of that ever went to plan today, after your phone buzzed over and over. In short, you woke up to a flood of notifications.

Apparently, one of the crew members had captured that moment when Megumi handed you the coffee, along with his rare, dry joke in the kitchen. And of course, it was posted as a Behind The Scene shoot clip for the previous episode.

You expected that, of course. The whole pension house has cameras. The dim cabin lighting made the moment look even cozier, with Megumi’s slightly amused expression as he watched you laugh. Fans were absolutely losing it.

Of course, now that this was all over the place, the world will take over it. Social media was soon overflowing with edits, fan comments, and new ship names. People had screenshotted the entire scene, focusing on every little glance and smile, with captions like #SoftMegumi, #ChefxFushiguro, and #MegumiTheSimp.

"DID Y'ALL SEE HOW HE LOOKS AT THEM? I'M IN SHAMBLES?" one fan tweeted, sharing the clip on repeat.

"HE REALLY GAVE THEM THAT COFFEE LIKE IT WAS A LOVE CONFESSION, GUYS IM NOT OKAY???" another wrote, complete with heart emojis and a collage of your laughing face next to Megumi’s rare, softened smile.

Some of the edits were next level—fans had slowed down the footage, added romantic filters, and paired the whole thing with soft, soulful ballads that made it look like a scene from a romance movie.

The “Chef and Softie” ship was officially launched, and fans everywhere were on board.

Yuji, of course, was all over it. He reposted one of the fan edits with the caption, “Megumi looks happier here than he has in years. Should I be worried? 👀😂”

Meanwhile, Nobara was gleefully teasing you about the whole thing. "So, when’s the coffee date?" she teased, holding up her phone with an edit of you and Megumi staring at each other. “I saw all the comments—there are people already drafting wedding invitations for you two!"

Megumi tried to brush it off, but when Yuji pulled him aside to show him the edits, even he couldn’t hide the slight blush rising to his cheeks. He was always such a shy type, especially when he gets teased or praised.

Oh, Gojo would have a field day with this one if he was here. Megumi was lucky that he wasn't even online right now because he was busy with his new film.

“They’re really reading into it.” he muttered, though he didn’t look entirely displeased. "We're friends. I got coffee, you look like you needed it. Of course I'll get you one."

Cue the chaos: Ryomen Sukuna, in true dramatic form, making his feelings known on TikTok.

It all started to get even more worse when a fan edit of you and Megumi went viral on TikTok. The “Chef and Softie” ship was sailing strong, and fans were ecstatic.

Yuji even tweeted it, tagging you both with, “Did I just become the third wheel?? 👀😂”

@ItsRyoSuku:

"So, that’s how it is, huh? You’re into him now? @TheOneY/N”

This, of course, set the app ablaze with fans screaming in the comments:

@FushiguRizz:

“OMG Sukuna’s JEALOUS HAHAHA 💀 #TeamSukuna”

@SoftieXChefEndgame:

“BACK OFF KING OF CURSES, #TeamMegumi4Life 😤💖”

You, sensing an opportunity to stir the pot, replied:

@TheOneY/N:

"Aw, darling 😘 Don't be jealous. You know you’ll always be my #1. Right, bubs?"

The replies exploded as fans flooded the your reply with more chaos and new fan edits, hilarious ship names like #ChefAndCursed, and endless laughing emojis.

@MegumiStanAccount:

“BUBS?! 🤯🤯 @TheOneY/N OUT HERE DOMESTICATING THE KING OF CURSES I’M DONE.”

@LoveTriangleDrama:

“Y’all realize this means we have a LOVE TRIANGLE on our hands??? chef’s kiss 🍿 #ChefAndSoftie #CursedCoffee”

Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t done, though. Minutes later, he fired off a reply:

@ItsRyoSuku:

"Bubs?? If you think I’m letting Fushiguro get away with those coffee stares, you’ve got another thing coming. >:)”

At this point, the exchange has been shared everywhere — especially on Twitter where it was trending with hashtags #TeamSukuna and #ProtectMegumi. Fans had fully split sides, and edits were everywhere.

Even Yuji was horrified—but laughing.

@YujiItadoriOfficial:

“Guys, this was NOT supposed to be my life… #GetUncOffSNS 😂”

It quickly turned into a frenzy, with fans speculating about “The Battle for the Chef’s Heart” and even pitching fictional scenarios of you, Megumi, and Sukuna all vying for each other’s attention. By the end of the day, the “love triangle” had gone viral, with Yuji groaning and shaking his head.

“Seriously.” he muttered as you all read the tweets, “Unc's just losing it. Clearly, he’s only thinking about you.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but you couldn’t hold back your laughter as Yuji scrolled through the comments with an exasperated sigh. Every time he refreshed, new comments flooded in, fans fully invested in the “Chef, Softie, and the King of Curses” triangle that had taken over Twitter.

@BestiesWithCurses:

“Is it just me, or did Sukuna just out himself as a full-on softie under that murder-y glare? 🤔 #CursedSoftieConfirmed”

@MegumiDefenseSquad:

“Megs doesn’t need protecting, but we WILL #ProtectMegumi from all curse-related jealousy out there!! 😂”

@ChefSukunaShipper:

“Listen, they called him DARLING and BUBS. Sukuna’s in the soft-zone for her ONLY, confirmed 💖”

But then came the fan art—a goldmine of exaggerated, hilarious comics and sketches of you, Megumi, and Sukuna in all kinds of ridiculous scenarios. The best of the batch was a comic panel of Sukuna glowering in the background as you and Megumi shared a coffee, titled “The Cursed Love Triangle.”

Yuji held up his phone to show Megumi, who glanced at the screen and immediately looked away, a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s… they’re really running with this, aren’t they?”

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Yuji laughed, scrolling to another edit with Sukuna in a tux, Megumi in an apron, and you standing in the middle with a confused look. “According to this, you’re both about to get down on one knee.”

Nobara chimed in, wiping tears from laughing too hard. “They even have hashtags for your ‘rivalry,’ Megumi. #TeamMegumi’s doing battle against #TeamSukuna for ultimate coffee rights!”

Megumi groaned, glancing over at you with an embarrassed smile. “Maybe we should just let Sukuna win.”

Of course, Sukuna, apparently with notifications on, took that opportunity to jump back into Twitter tweeting:

@ItsRyoSukuna:

"Nice try, everyone. 😈 The only winning here will be me taking MY seat beside @ItsTheOneY/N Got it, ‘Softie’?”

Fans went wild at this, and new edits started rolling in within minutes. Twitter was flooded with art of Sukuna claiming his “throne” beside you, while Megumi stood off to the side with a coffee, looking exasperated.

You decided to end the day with a final tweet:

@ItsTheOneY/N:

“Who knew coffee could spark this much drama? 😅 #NoTeamJustTea 🍵”

It didn’t stop the fans from picking sides, but it did give everyone a good laugh. The “love triangle” might have been a joke, but you had to admit that seeing the edits and fanfiction of you, Sukuna, and Megumi “competing” over coffee and affection had made the whole trip that much more entertaining.

When Yuji finally got on his account, he was exhausted. This was his uncle after all. Everyone is BEEFING with him. Yuji just can't help but facepalm.

“I just… I’m done. I don’t want to hear about coffee, ‘bubs,’ or anything love triangle-related for at least a week.”

The next day, though, everyone noticed Yuji slyly checking Twitter to see if the ship had started trending again on live television in the next aired episode.

The topic did in fact trend again, much to Yuji or Megumi's liking.

➽──────────❥

YOU WERE EXCITED FOR THE SHOW TO FINISH. With filming almost wrapped up in your last city, you were so ready to finally get back to the comforts of home, and, frankly, to more sleep. As fun as the trip had been, full of late-night laughter and challenges with Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi, you missed your own quiet moments.

But mostly, you missed Sukuna. Between his prep for hosting the music awards and your packed filming schedule, you’d barely exchanged a handful of texts in days.

So, while lounging in your hotel room, a little tired and missing him more than you wanted to admit, you decided to let it out on Twitter.

“I’m super sleepy, but I miss Sukuna. He’s a good hugger! 😴💤 #TravelingAlone #WishHeWasHere,” you typed, hitting “Tweet” without giving it much thought.

And that was that. Except, of course, it wasn’t.

Within minutes, your mentions exploded. “WAIT, does she mean the Sukuna?” one fan squealed. Another posted, “She just confirmed they hug…like a lot. THEY HUG TO SLEEP TOGETHER?!?!”

People were in full-blown fanfiction mode, concocting elaborate stories about you and Sukuna cuddling, secretly sharing hotel rooms, even whispering sweet nothings.

Just as you were debating whether you should tweet a clarification (or maybe just let them have their fun), your phone buzzed again. It was a notification from Sukuna himself.

He’d quote-tweeted you with a simple reply: “Miss you too, bub. 🖤”

That one tweet? Pure chaos. The reactions started pouring in with shrieks of excitement, hearts, and stunned reactions. “He just called her bub?!!” “I didn’t even know I was rooting for them, but here I am, #SukunaY/N!”

Unable to resist, you retweeted his reply with your own message: “Can’t wait to explore this beautiful place, but it’d be better with you here, darling! 😘”

Your castmates had spotted the tweets by now, crowding around and teasing you mercilessly.

“Oh wow, are you two public-public now?” Nobara grinned, nudging you.

“Y/N, this is serious rom-com-level stuff right here, and with Unc too? Crazy stuff!” Yuji laughed, winking.

Megumi looked genuinely contemplative. “This is making me wonder why my love life is so uneventful,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Just as you were laughing at their banter, your phone buzzed again—a private message from Sukuna: “So, is this you hinting I should crash your little trip? Because I’m nearby, doll.”

A grin crept onto your face, and you quickly typed back, You totally should! I’d love the company.

A few minutes later, Sukuna confirmed, Alright. Just booked the flight. Pick me up later, sweetheart.

You barely got any sleep that night, excitement buzzing through you. When his flight finally landed the next morning, you were there, half-nervous, half-thrilled, waiting by the arrivals gate.

Sukuna strolled out casually, dressed down in a black hoodie and jeans, but still somehow looking like he owned the whole airport. Tattoos peeked out from his sleeves, drawing a few interested stares from passersby.

“Long time no see, doll,” he murmured, pulling you into a tight hug with that familiar, easy confidence that made you feel instantly at home.

You laughed, “Took you long enough. Thought you got lost or something.”

“Please. I think I’d know how to find my way to you in a blackout.” he teased, arm slipping possessively around your waist as you led him toward the exit.

A few fans who had been waiting nearby looked shocked, quickly snapping pictures, and before long, the hashtag #SukunaAtTheAirport was trending.

Everyone wanted to know why he’d flown out, what he was doing with you, and if there was something big on the horizon. The tension was undeniable, and you could already picture the theories fans would concoct.

As you walked through the crowd, Sukuna leaned down, whispering in your ear. “You know, I could’ve made my entrance even more…dramatic. But I figured I’d go easy on you.”

“Oh really?” you replied, trying to look unbothered. “Well, I’m just glad you didn’t make too much of a scene. Wouldn’t want to embarrass your new favorite travel buddy.”

Sukuna chuckled, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll make up for that later, darling. You’re getting the VIP treatment.”

The thought made you laugh, wondering just how over-the-top his “VIP treatment” was going to be. By the time you made it back to the hotel, fan theories about Sukuna crashing your trip, “spontaneous romantic getaways” and even engagement rumors were spiraling out of control. But with him beside you, laughing and exchanging private smiles, you didn’t mind one bit.

➽──────────❥

SUKUNA MANAGED TO GET A WHOLE WEEKENS OFF. You were excited when he told you all about it. The moment you stepped into the hotel room, the buzz of excitement between you and Sukuna was palpable. You tossed your bags aside and turned to him, ready to unleash the whirlwind of ideas you had for the day.

“Okay, so what’s on the agenda, Mr. VIP?” you asked, crossing your arms with a playful smirk.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, an amused grin creeping onto his face. “You have a lot of questions for someone who just pulled me out of my busy schedule. I could just take a nap instead, you know.”

“Please, no naps yet! We need to capitalize on your presence here. Let’s explore! We have to make the most of this trip!” You practically bounced on your heels, unable to contain your enthusiasm. “Plus, I still owe you that coffee from when you were busy—remember?”

His smirk deepened. “Fine. Coffee it is. But you’re buying,” he teased, giving you a mock serious look.

“Deal! But only if you let me choose the place,” you shot back, feeling a competitive fire igniting.

“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” he replied, folding his arms with an exaggerated air of skepticism.

As you headed out, the two of you were met with curious glances from the hotel staff, and you could already see a few fans lingering around, whispering and pointing. They were clearly waiting for the latest updates, and your heart raced at the thought of being at the center of the attention.

“Are we about to create some real drama here?” Sukuna asked, noticing the crowd gathering outside. “Should I be on my best behavior, or are we going full chaotic?”

“Let’s keep it cute for now, but I can’t promise anything. I don’t have your special energy,” you replied, grinning.

Sukuna feigned offense, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling! My energy is unparalleled!”

The two of you walked out into the bustling streets, and your phone buzzed with notifications every few seconds. “You know,” you said, scrolling through the latest tweets, “people are going wild about you being here. They’re already predicting our romantic escapades.”

“Romantic escapades? Pfft,” he scoffed, glancing sideways at you. “You mean me rescuing you from boring coffee shops and dragging you into a karaoke bar, right?”

“Hey! I love a good karaoke session!” you shot back. “But let’s try to stick to our plan first. Coffee, then who knows? Maybe karaoke afterward?”

“Fine, but only if you sing ‘I Will Survive,’ and I want a dramatic performance.”

“Of course! But only if you join me! Two-for-one special,” you laughed, nudging him playfully.

As you strolled through the city, Sukuna’s presence felt electrifying. The way he casually interacted with the environment, his low chuckles at your jokes, and even his light teasing made you giddy. You found a quaint little coffee shop with a cozy vibe and promptly ordered your favorite drinks—something sweet and frothy for you, and a dark roast for him, because “real men drink coffee like adults,” he insisted.

As you waited for your drinks, you couldn’t help but lean closer to him. “So, how does it feel to be out in the wild instead of behind a camera?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s refreshing, actually. I’m usually surrounded by a lot of people I don’t like.” he replied with a wry smile. “But it’s different when I’m with you.”

Your heart did a little flip. “Well, I’m glad I’m on your good side.” you teased, sipping your drink and relishing the moment.

Before long, your phones buzzed again. Sukuna glanced at his and chuckled. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club keeping tabs on us!” he said, showing you a tweet that read, “Y/N and Sukuna getting coffee together? Official couple status confirmed!”

“See? Look at them shipping us!” you laughed, shaking your head. “They have quite the field day with this.”

Sukuna shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze steady on you. “Let them. I don’t mind being their poster boy for their fantasies about us if it means I get to hang out with as my primadonna, bubs.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Alright then, poster boy, what’s next on your agenda after coffee?”

“Maybe we could find a spot with a great view? Something to give them a real show.” he said, his mischievous smile returning.

“Now you’re talking! I know the perfect spot,” you replied, your excitement bubbling over. “It’s a little hidden rooftop terrace I found last time I was here. The view is stunning, and you’ll love it!”

As you made your way toward the terrace, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.

The city was coming alive around you, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air, and you felt a rush of happiness at sharing this moment with Sukuna.

Once you reached the rooftop, the view was breathtaking, and you both stood there for a moment, taking it all in.

“Wow, bubs." Sukuna said, leaning against the railing, “You weren’t kidding. This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it!” you said, grinning as you pulled out your phone to snap a few pictures. “Let’s get a selfie to commemorate this.”

“Selfie time? My Instagram’s gonna blow up, don't you think?” he teased, striking an exaggerated pose, pulling you close.

You snapped the picture, laughter bubbling up as he made a silly face. “Now that’s a winner! This will make them go wild!” you said, showing him the shot.

“Just make sure to tag me, or I might feel unloved, bubs.” he joked, but there was a hint of sincerity in his voice that made you smile wider.

As the evening continued, you both settled onto a cozy ledge, enjoying the soft breeze and the distant sounds of the city.

The atmosphere was perfect, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something special—not just for you and Sukuna, but for all the fans who were eagerly following your adventures.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the trip?” you asked, leaning against him comfortably.

Sukuna turned to you, his expression softening. “Honestly? Just more moments like this. The coffee, the views, and you.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words. “You know, if we keep this up, we might have to face the fans’ expectations for more.”

Sukuna chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Let them think what they want. I don't really care. As long as I get to hang out with my favorite person, I’m game for anything.”

You smiled, the world around you fading away as the two of you shared a moment of connection that felt like it belonged only to you.

And as the sky darkened, dotted with stars, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something even more incredible.

Later on, Sukuna asked you to send the pictures to him. He wanted to post them.

His caption?

'My primadonna.'

[saturnine-saturneight]

Teeth

Dear Mr. Caradoc,

this is me emailing you so you have this in writing, just like you asked me to. I'm nervous to leave a paper trail, for obvious reasons, but I also trust that you aren't going to use this against me. On the other hand, I am grimly excited. Like this, nobody will be able to say that I didn't ask for help before it was too late, least of all you.

Which brings me to my point: please, for the love of God, help me. I've tried everything by now, dentists, doctors, family, friends, nobody can help me. They are all itching to send me to a therapist, or better yet a closed institution, and as fast as possible too. But I am telling you right now, if you call the police on me for a wellness check and I am locked away, my blood is on your hands.

With that out of the way: Here is what you didn't want to hear from me the other day at the coffee machine, properly and in writing.

It all started early one morning. I usually wake up around five these days, but I remember it being even earlier that day, I think around 3am or 4am. Did you know that we feel pain stronger at night than during the day? I looked it up. It peaks exactly at 3am. But even without looking that up, I could've told you, because the pain I felt that morning was something I'm never going to forget.

Have you ever gotten a root canal, Mr. Caradoc?

I did, two years ago. It was my lower molar, the first on the right side. I can still see the filling, I think, when I pull my lips back—well, I could, anyways. My dentist did a pretty good job all around, not just with the actual procedure, but also in explaining to me how it works. When a tooth is infected or inflamed down to the pulp, the very inside underneath enamel and dentin, what they will do is, they will bore a hole in the respective decaying tooth, and then hollow it out completely, removing everything within it that's alive, and then fill it with something dead and inert, with rubber and cement. And although it is a dead man walking from then on, surrounding tissue is able to keep such a tooth alive, as my dentist told me, almost indefinitely. He did an excellent job hollowing me out, but it was a bad day to find out that I don't properly respond to the anesthetic he used.

It was that same pain that I felt again that morning, at 3 or 4 in the pain hour, and that was what I was looking for in the mirror as I was standing there in the dim grey light and pulling my mouth open with a finger. A sign that my root canal had to be redone.

But what I saw instead was, and I know how difficult this is to believe: a tiny, tiny dark door, hollow, maybe more of an archway, smaller than the pin of a needle, carved right into the enamel of my tooth.

The first thing I did was of course to call my mom up in a panic. She had to spend twenty minutes calming me down before I'd stopped crying for long enough to take a picture of it, and then when I did and sent it to her, I could immediately hear the pity in her voice. She told me that it was a very normal thing to have nightmares like this during pregnancy, and that she had gone through the exact same thing when she was pregnant with me. I have to admit that I got very angry at her for it. I know what a nightmare is, I am not a child. I was wide awake. People all around me have taken on this patronizing air towards me ever since I've started showing, as if carrying a baby somehow negates everything I have accomplished and everything I am, and has turned me into some fragile stupid thing.

I hung up on her. I'm not proud of it. We haven't been on the best of terms anyways, and I'm sure this didn't make it better.

Four hours later, I stood on my dentist's doormat, practically banging at the door to be let in. I was overjoyed when he opened my mouth to inspect the molar and immediately agreed to give me a filling, but it only struck me why he'd told me to take the day off as I was inspecting the molar in the rear view mirror of my car, and all he had done was to fill in the archway, leaving the intricate carvings around it alone. And they were intricate now: It was as if somebody was miming pillars around the hole in my tooth. I stormed back into his office in distress, and found myself set up with a blanket and some hot tea in the waiting room as one of the dentist's assistants patted my knee, instead of just filling the damn structure in.

I went home. What else was I supposed to do?

The next day, the pillars had been carved.

It went on like this. First there came windows, rows upon rows of them, with ledges and flourishes. Then, the next tooth showed a hole. Then the next. Archways started to grow steps to lead up to them. Windows became larger, more opulent. And the pain—I never saw the actual carving happen, not even once, but I felt it. I felt every single chip, every last line in them.

I saw dentist after dentist, convinced family to look into my mouth, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, even my boss, but there was always that same goddamned look of pity. The woman is going crazy, their faces seemed to scream, as they even stopped being able to see holes at all. But I am not crazy. This is not phantom pain. I know what is happening to me, and I need it to stop. I am being made a home for something, and I want it out.

My parents have asked me to move back in with them. I will be packing my bags next week, but I'm afraid that they aren't planning to help me with the pregnancy. If my suspicions are true, these bags will be on the floor of a mental hospital very soon.

I am asking you for your help because you have always been on my side, even back when I was fighting for accommodations for my morning sickness. I don't know who else is left to ask. I also don't know what I expect you to do about this anymore, but I need it to be something.

My jaw has started hurting.

Please.

Yours,

Kalinka Czajkowska

If you liked this, don't miss the continuation in the next chapter of Particle Decay! Ms. Czajkowska isn't going down without a fight.

Particle Decay taglist:

@gioiaalbanoart @noblebs @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @writingrosesonneptune @marlowethelibrarian @cometkov

[galaxyedging]

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller x older f!reader.

A little reverse agr gap Halloween smut with Joel.

The Hard on due to the Witch's Wardrobe

Even if you do say so yourself, the new porch looks amazing. The skeleton fortune teller is set up at her crystal ball. One that, when switched on, will reveal the spirits trapped inside. The webs have all been hung with your usual level of care. Spiders and bats hang from the newly installed beams, waiting for unsuspecting trick or treaters to get tangled in them. The dry ice machine is all set under the table to bellow out and welcome any guests. The meticulously carved pumpkins all sit with their various creepy grins. The candy bucket is all set up outside for anyone who finds the whole thing too spooky. Those who dare to knock will come face to face with the witch who lives there.

A sly grin plays on your lips at the thought of your costume. This year, you really are a witch. Well, you might have done a drunken spell after being inspired to reconnect with your witchy past after watching the latest episode of Agatha. It was a simple love spell. To some people, it would be as corny as using a wishing well. To you, it was more about self empowerment. Believing the words of the spell and that you did deserve love. Or at least a really good one night stand. That area has been lacking lately.

Even post menopause, your sex drive was still high. The building of the new porch did nothing to help. Four days of Joel Miller showing off his strength and competency. That man was enough to drive anyone feral. Especially when he actively listened to all your needs when it came to your new porch. His eyes never left your as his pretty lips pursed in thought. He rebuffed your jokes about being old and planning for the future with a ramp. Even when the building started, he checked in every step of the way. You often wondered if he would be that attentive as a lover.

The trick or treaters started early. Little toddlers dressed in age appropriate outfits braved the porch and you cooed over their princess dresses and superhero outfits. Especially the little girl who wore a Princess Spider Man outfit.

Then the older children came in their more scary attire. Among them was a vampire soccer player, complete with fake plastic teeth. She was accompanied by her father who’s costume puzzled you. He held a plastic bloody machete but his outfit was his usual jeans and t-shirt.

“Maybe avoid anything chewy, you know, with the teeth.” you nervously joke to Sarah.

Even in your sixties you still didn't feel like you had teenagers worked out. The last thing you wanted was to seem uncool. Sarah laughed genuinely as she took a piece of candy and you popped another one in her pail.

“And you are…?” you offer the bowl to Joel.

“A Contract-or Killer.” He beams at you at his own stupid pun.

“Funny.” You laugh even when you roll your eyes.

“He thinks he is. Oh, there's Marcie. Marcie!” Sarah skips off to her friend at the next house.

Joel watches her meet up with her friend and her mom. “They are having a sleepover once they've hit up a few more houses.” with Sarah safe his attention turns to you. “So your costume? Let me guess…sexy witch?”

The compliment short circuits your brain for a second. “I was going for a regular witch.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You just look…I didn't want to not acknowledge the effort you put in.” Joel seems genuinely flustered.

Was he trying to flirt and he feels like you've spurned his advances? You might have thirty years on him but you definitely felt like he was checking you out on more than one occasion.

“So you're all alone tonight? On the scariest night of the year?” You prod.

“Yeah, I guess I didn't think of it like that. Do you have any spells to protect me?” There's a glint in his eye as he speaks.

“A couple by I'd have to stay close for them to work.” You emphasise your words by stepping forward.

“How close?” Joel takes his own step forward.

“Very.” You breathe.

Joel's broad shoulders are the only thing anchoring you to this plane at the moment. Your grip on them tightens as you ride him on your sofa. That was as far as you got once you discarded your bowl of treats in favour of a much tastier one. The spooky sounds CD has been cranked all the way up to hide your moans. You hope that they hide Joel's as well, as he moans and grunts beneath you with each bounce of your hips. Joel's right hand that had spit slicked his bare cock for you to take. It remained at the base with his thumb tuned up to graze your clit with each of your eager bounces. Your first orgasm didn't seem to phase Joel much apart from a gritted out ‘fuck’. It did jolt him into action to invert your positions. Instead of letting you take what you wanted he is now giving you what he wants you to take. Your toes curl in your black and white stockings as Joel jackhammers into you, now chasing his own release. Showing his hard earned stamina, he manages to draw another climax from you before he reaches his own, filling you with his red hot cum.

Maybe it wasn't your spell that brought Joel here tonight, but after that, you were definitely under his spell.

[machinavocis]

.

[screampied]

❝ IF I WAS A RICH GIRL . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. not only do you get your panties back but you get a handsome, suave sugar daddy as a gift. gojo takes you out on a date but the lavish, exquisite food isn’t what he’s exactly hungry for. hint: it’s between your legs. oh, and you.

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public themes, toy usage, gojo is a nasty menace, cunnilıngus, implied multiple ōrgasms, praise kink, mentions of brēeding, impact play, size kink, degradation, edging, manhandling.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

“s- ssssatoru,” you hiss. clenching onto your fork, you squeeze your thighs together underneath a velvet red table. it was as if every area of your nerves could barely hold themselves together as they’re continuously being interrupted. interrupted by the sheer vibrations juddering your legs apart. he’s sitting beside you, humming to himself as his eyes skim through the pricey menu. acting as if he doesn’t hear your sweet faint whines, he heard them alright. loud and clear. it’s been a while—ever since that day, you’d have been a fool to not call him from the business card he gave you. accepting his precious offer to be a sugar baby. his sugar baby. and now, you were on a date with him. not just any date though, a date where he brings along a cute new bluetooth vibrator he bought for you. it’s happy new home was located right between your pretty thighs. the setting was powered on level four and you were so so close.

this was bad . . this was really really bad, the immense pressure steadily continues to arise. the bzzzing of the toy rings through your ears to where it gets stuck in your head. everything felt slow, real real slow. the entire five-star restaurant alone was quite loud. blaring with a multitude of conversations from talkative fellow guests. the vibrator makes you whine out a tiny, shrilling squeak, and you squeeze onto his pants leg. “you’re smiling. i know you can hear m- me.”

“huhhh, oh no sweet thing. ‘s just my natural face,” and he’s got a coy grin. he was definitely smiling. “let’s try one more level,” and your legs were just about to give out the moment the buzzing intensifies. so embarrassing, you keep trying to look around, in utter hopes that no one was looking your way. it felt so good, orgasmic even. you’re on your last final hinges of pleasure before he tugs against your ripped fishnets. “hold it, girl,” he directs, planting a kiss against your neck. “don’t finish, at least wait until our food comes. let’s try usin' those manners tonight, yeahh?”

“satoru jus’ let me cum,” you whine, grabbing his wrist. you feel against his g-shock. the cold, metal material making your cute fingertips shiver a bit.

out of amusement— he hums, watching as you try to drag his hand down between your heated thighs.

seeing how desperate you were for more of his beloved touch was adorable. your expanding heat only grows and that’s when you then slouch back against the fat padded restaurant booth. the fabric of your panties felt sticky—almost adhesive like with how it sticks against your mess between your lacey undergarments. just voluntarily glued against your plushed thighs. the toy’s been wavering against your pretty clit for about a good ten minutes. the waiter took you and gojo’s order quite a while ago since then—and those long ten minutes since then felt like long ten hours. “fuck, ‘toru. can’t hold it, pleasepleaseplease.”

“hmmmm,” gojo kneads a thumb against your wrist. his touch alone made you throb more. his touch, you just wanted more of it each time. it was addictive, like a drug, like candy even.

you’re so close to your release that it’s right there. at the very tip of your tongue, you could almost taste it. saliva pours into your mouth as the the inevitable pressure gradually emerges.

as people in the restaurant continue to walk by, you have to try to not be so obvious. you were failing miserably though—anyone could peer a look at you and spot the lewd expressions stretched across your face.

by now, you weren’t really trying to hide it. you were about to make a mess at a public restaurant, and maybe the simple thought of that alone made you pulse with no shame. “aw, y’r squeezin’ my wrist so tight, baby. really wanna make a mess, do ya?” and he leans right up against your neck, giving you a soft kiss. hot breath collides against your collarbone as he gives you a kiss, one simple kiss and you’re just so feral. not a single thought embedded into your mind except you were about to make the biggest nest imaginable. right underneath this table— all thanks to the stupid toy, and stupid satoru gojo, your beloved new sugar daddy. you’re nodding, tiny babbles of whimpers spewing out from your lips before he strums his fingertips against the rotating vibrator. gojo feels against the outer part of it sticking out of you, and he just wants to pull it out, making you cum himself with his tongue. he’s dirty but at least he has some kind of decorum. kind of. “so fuckin’ hot. gettin’ off at a five star restaurant like this, was supposed to be a special night but you just had to be a messy girl today, huh.”

“y- yes, ‘toru, please,” and your breathing hitches the second his frigid cold lips make contact against your skin yet again. if it was anything that could make you so weak, it was gojo’s obscene, sloppy kisses. you craved them like you craved air. “hafta cum, let me finish please. wan’ it so bad.”

with a little teasing sigh he murmurs, “okay fine,” and once he gives you the go ahead, you finally let go. the deafening music reverberating throughout the diner harmonizes over your orgasm— it was a tiny squeal but still. it silenced your own release, but you were still quite loud. you’re slump backward, feeling him turn off the toy from his phone with a simple button and he chuckles. “baby you’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” and he drags a thumb against your now soaked entrance. you’re panting, tummy heaving and heaving as your quaking legs were all sprawled open underneath the table. pried open just for him. “such a wet girl. kinda just wanna get a little taste. my own appetizer before the mea—”

“chilled alaskan king crab legs, two complementary cups of ice and herb roasted chicken—?” a waiter cuts off gojo as he’s flirting with you. with a whip of a head turn, he glances up, a bit annoyed at being interrupted. the waiter with the ordered food in hand stares at the two of you, a short petite male with a eye twitching expression. he gulped, seeing the gojo satoru and decided not to question just why his hand was literally between your thighs. “um, sorry for the delay. here you go.”

“thank you,” gojo cheeses a fake smile—yet as he watches intently as the waiter hands you both the steaming hot plates of lavish cuisine. he pops the same finger that was toying with you right into his mouth. you gaze at gojo, so filthy..

again, no shame at all—a shameless man at best. briefly, he sucks against his finger, savoring the after honeyed taste before smirking. it was as if he preferred your taste rather than the food sitting right in front of him. curling his tongue against his finger, he gives the server a coy nod. “keep the change, man.”

the waiter was stunned to see gojo reaching in his suit, grabbing out a whopping tip amount of four hundred dollars in cash—he stammers, accepting it with a grateful sheepish smile. “ah, t- thank you. please do come again.”

as the server leaves, you’re left with your own body still panting from your most recent teeth shattering release. the food was sizzling, piping hot. with hooded, partly open eyes, you dig your nails into his slacks. “you’re s- so nasty, ‘toru,” and picturing the image of him licking his finger like that . . just a few seconds ago as if it was nothing, you’d lie a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on. at least a little bit anyway. he snickers, planting a kiss against your jawline as you struggle to catch your incoming irregular breaths. “my panties are all soaked now.”

“and. let’s be real—when are you not wet, princess,” he teases, grabbing a napkin to wipe the remnants of drool seeping from the outer corners of your mouth.

gojo’s eyes were so pretty, the more you stare into his elegant, ethereal pupils— the more you wanted him. wanted more of him. swallowing, he grabs the front of your hand before kissing it. the moment his lips press against your hand, you feel your tummy swarm up with butterflies. “and don’t pout. ‘m gonna take them right off ya anyways, c’mon. let’s finish eating. got a surprise for ya back at home.”

at gojo’s mansion, secluded from other buildings to disturb his peace—his surprise for you was nothing more than his tongue.

“i need you so bad, you don’t fuckin’ understand,” he groans, and he’s making sure to take his time with you. his sweet precious time,

you’re in the master bedroom— his bedroom where it was known for having your sweet moans reverberating and bouncing off the walls. as you’re laid on your back, you let off a soft whine once he’s trailing his tongue everywhere down your body. he starts slow, making his way back up to kiss you. strands of delicate snowy strands tickle against your forehead as his lips harshly crash onto yours. you moan, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the leftover taste of what tasted like sweet, sweet tequila. he was still in his suit and tie and you wanted nothing more than to have it off. your hands roam to yank on his tie and he gradually grinds his body against you. “yeah, that’s right. ouch my body, girl. all yours.”

he’s speaking between lewd wet kisses. his voice was deep—his rhythm against your body was so passionate that it was almost carnal. you taste a bit of mint on his tongue also, separate tongues continue to dance and fight against each other all the while he’s left you speechless.

breathless even,

every few seconds he’d have to come up for air, nibbling against your bottom lip coltishly. “don’t be shy,” he whispers, watching as you hesitate to feel against his body. he finds that characteristic about you cute, how you were still shy yet slowly warming up to him. “touch me,” he repeats, his voice a bit more raspy— a bit more needy. so you do, raising your hand and you slip it underneath his dress shirt. as the cottony piece of clothing glides against your skin, he’s still compressing his lips against yours before your fingers start to roam further . . .

as they wander down the older man’s body, you feel his exact build. he was absolutely ripped, even in his early thirties—he could have easily been mistaken as a frat boy. it was no surprise, gojo practically spent his life in the gym. his personal gym anyway. you couldn’t help but take a peak at his buff biceps—only imagining what’d it be like for him to put you in a teasing chokehold.

those arms, that jacked build . .

the more you ponder about him manhandling you, the more you’re so close to making yourself more drenched. as everything progresses, you moan again. his sensual grinding against you gets more quicker and quicker over time. his hardened bulging boner rubs off on you and an arm of yours slings around his broad neck. “mhm,” he groans, feeling the soft centers of your fingertips stroke its way down toward his forbidden happy trail.

it trails and trails,

so pretty, just a beloved white trail of curled hair running down just above the horizontal border of the rest of his pubic hair. it starts near his navel and slides its way further down. a vertical strip of hair that you could never get your hands off of. as you’re still kissing him deeply, teeth gnashing amongst each other before gojo ultimately ulls away.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum jus’ from kissing you,” he lets off a throaty laugh, trying to hide his flustered state. you had him so weak. so weak but he’d never admit that. gojo brings his swollen, dripping lips towards your neck, then your collarbone, all until he goes just a bit lower. “look at this body,” he coos, pausing to take in your beauty right underneath him. “yeah, ‘m gonna take such good care of you, sweets. jus’ lie back ‘n let me love you.”

his words were as smooth as silk— the deep, resonating pitch in it bellows all around the thin walls of his bedroom. the seductively sly baritone of his voice alone makes you pulse. if it was anything gojo had, he had a way with his fucking words. gojo purses his lips, coating your tummy with a plethora of kisses. you struggle to stay still, your expensive dress he bought you a few days ago for this exact occasion now all wrinkled and creases.

but truthfully,

he didn’t care—besides, he’d always buy you another one. his favorite motto. 

as you’re lounged back, he makes you spread your legs. “mwah,” he purrs against your skin, lolling out his tongue just a bit to create a slime wet trail. it goes all the way down until he reaches near your cute navel . . then up to your half ripped panties. they weren’t ripped before the date, but they certainly were now. “you’re so sensitive today. barely did anythin' ‘n you’re squirmin’ from my touch.”

“s- satoru, please,” you whine out a pathetic breath. a hand then grips onto his tangled strands like velcro. tightly, you didn’t let go— at least not yet anyway. his hair was were messy, and that simple detail alone made him ten times more attractive. gojo’s hair as usual was a bit slicked back but still unkempt, especially now due to your gluing grip. fingers of yours massage its way through his scalp and he almost moans. with a pouty expression, you continue to speak. “you’ve been edging me all day. ‘s no fair.”

“thaaaat’s kind of rude,” he chaffs with his white brows contorting into a furrow. “was the toy not enough?” and with a shushed tone, he whistles against your clit— giving it a soft kiss, a thumb peeling down the center. “oh, right.. probably wasn’t, forgot how greedy this pussy is. ‘s my bad.”

your back arches, and you moan once he prods two long fingers inside of you—your warmth envelops around his digits easily before he pulls it out to give it a good three second whiff. “sweet,” gojo slyly says, licking against his fingers. “would have rather ate this instead,” and you moan, watching how his mouth was practically watering from your alluring taste. such a nasty man, the nastiest. gojo leans up to you, tapping against your chin. “ah ah, open that mouth baby, before i eat. don’t wanna hog, wanna make sure ya get a taste too.”

whimpering, you part your lips— sticking out your tongue before his lengthy slender fingers tug its way into your mouth.

immediately, you suck around them, lashes of yours fluttering from your blissful arousal. “m-mhm,” you slip out an inaudible gasp, feeling his free hand grab against your twitching cunt. gojo’s staring at you with the most smug expression before he pulls his digits out, sneaking a wet kiss right on your mouth. as you taste yourself, a messy cobweb string of spit departs from each mouth before he lies you back down. “fuck, hurry ‘toru.”

“now . . baby, don’t rush me,” he teases, and with your back laid against the squishy cushioned mattress, he finally digs in. your knees poke and extend outward and a sweet whine rips out rawly out of your throat. it’s almost guttural, he’s yanking out noises from you that you didn’t even know you could even produce.

once gojo starts— it’s never ending. 

he could eat you out for hours, despite how his jaw would tense and tighten. you’re moaning at the way he starts off with sloppy kisses before just straight up digging in. nose deep within seconds. it swipes against your folds in various circular motions. the rotation of his tongue was brutal— you’re whimpering, maintaining a rough grip against his hair and he chuckles. sucking deeply against your puffy slit. you throb in his mouth, and you’re already squelching. gojo groans, reaching a hand inside of his executive pants to stroke himself off.

your pleasure was his pleasure after all. he wanted to always make that clear.

gojo wasn’t lying about pointing out how hard you made him. a thumb of his runs down the vein that remains on his dick. with his eyes closed, he allows his tongue to wander through every part of your pussy. he knew just where to go. he knew the exact spots to make you scream and whine out for more.

with ease, he locates every orifice— he doesn’t miss anywhere, more so because he can’t afford to. 

gojo loves more than anything to make out with your cunt. his most favorite thing to do was to french kiss against it.

after each obscene mwah after mwah, he even allows his own saliva to help him out— despite how you were already a practical dripping faucet. careless, saturated kisses of his had you throbbing time and time again in his mouth. his head vigorously shakes back and forth, side to side as you’re practically shoving him forward. “eh—easy on the hair, pretty,” he jibes, concisely parting his lips away. gojo stares at his thumb that’s trying to insert its way in. he grows quiet, watching the scene in front of him. within long extended seconds, your pussy’s swallowing the single digit whole and you swear under your breath at how lengthy his fingers were . . even a simple thumb. gojo’s thumb stretched you out so good that you couldn’t even comprehend the feeling in words. not like you could comprehend anything anyway, you were already stupid. all from his tongue, his touch, everything. “god, such a wet girl. the nerve to be walkin’ around this soaked, ‘n she’s quite the talker today too..”

as he’s rambling with a thumb entering in and out of your cunt, he takes a moment to spit on it. it’s shimmery, he blows against it before letting off a flirty whistle. “yeah she fuckin’ is,” he praises your folds. “oooh, bet she’s gonna give me a nice squirt or two later,” and you moan once he brings his chatty lips back towards it. your pool of heat continues to grow before he lays his tongue flat. he was always a man to make a bit of a mess. your heartbeat starts to get so rapid that you heard it’s pulse right through your ears. the firm grip you have on his hair was tight. tangled crumped up fingers combing right through his hair— it makes him a bit hard. the feeling of you dragging him back and forth against his face. you could barely keep your legs open but you didn’t want him to stop. he’s practically slobbering over your pussy before he breaks away, giving you a smug grin. “like when i make out with her more than you?”

“f-fuck, ‘toru,” was all you could mutter out in shaky lips. as he’s relishing his meal between your thighs, gojo spanks your cunt twice. you’re so soaked that a few sloshing droplets hit against his skin. “ngh, you’re teasin’ me. ‘m gonna cum if you k-keep doin’ that.”

sucking passionately against your clit, his tongue flicks against the sensitive nub. that spots has you short circuiting. “nuh uh, good girls cum when they deserve it,” and the tempo of his suckling gets quicker by the mile. you’re about to break, unceremoniously grinding your hips against his mouth so much to where he chortles. as he laughs, hot breath of his fans against your pussy and it only makes you throb ten times more. 

straight convulsions, 

you’re feeling so many sensations languidly twitch against your body all at once that you could barely keep up. everything’s fuzzy so you felt like you were on cloud eight. cloud nine or whatever people call it— honestly, your mind was far too fried to even figure it out. gojo grunts, snapping you back to reality with a soft swat against your folds. “be honest with me, sweets,” gojo slicks his tongue out of your clingy walls, peppering a playful kiss against your soddened, moist folds. “do ya deserve to cum? do ya deserve to be my messy baby? tell me the truth.”

with a cute, exasperated sigh, you sob out a needy cry. “y- yesss, i’ve been good, ‘toru. been good all day,” and his sucking against your clit grows within speed. the very cartilage of his nose against his nose prods against your entrance and you feel like you’re floating. the tip of his nose was all soaked, all because of your cunt continuously scooting up against it. as he’s propped right up between your legs, a hand of his squeezes down on your right thigh before giving it a little bite. your legs, one of his favorite things to gently press his teeth into. as well as your neck, but your legs—they were just a force to be reckoned with. you were a force to be reckoned with. “satoruuuu.”

“sweetheaaaaart,” he mocks your cute dragging of your words, slurping every lewd amount of your primal arousal. you’re so cute, barely bring able to stay still so much to where he’s got to hold you in place. “but you were bein’ a bit of a brat earlier,” he hoarsely utters, rubbing his hard on against the edge of the bed. “teasin’ me, even tried ‘ta stroke me off while we were in the diner,” and with coy eyes, he gives you a cunning smirk. as you pout, he simpers. “aww yeahhh, remember that dontcha?”

continuing to rut your sloppy cunt against his face, he playfully nibbles against your clit — you whine, biting down on your lip before spreading a plump thumb against your folds like jelly.

“dunno if she should be messy just yet,” and he’s such a tease. as he speaks, his eyes avert towards your pussy, clearly wanting you to understand he was talking to her and not you. at least not right now. you could hear the playfulness underneath his tone. your heart’s racing— it’s so intense, your legs were quavering within his hold. struggling to maintain decent breaths, you end up finishing anyway. it hits you so abruptly that it’s rude, all kinds of nerves surge through you and your mouth pries itself open. the only thing escaping out of your sweet dry throat was a desperate, wailing whimper. gojo pauses, bringing a final kiss against your pussy before smearing a thumb against his lips. “the fuck.”

“s- sorry,” you pant, but truth be told—you weren’t. in fact, if he squinted just enough, he could see the little smile trying to stretch itself against your guilty, sheeny lips. you’d only last a few minutes with his tongue, featuring his long fingers, but still. 

first and foremost, your powerful orgasm had you feral, a cooling air suddenly sets down against your skin as your legs tremble before your pussy gets slapped with a mean smack. one turns into two, then three, then four . . 

“f- fuuuck, ‘toru,” you gasp, hearing the wet swats against your cunt. you’re still sensitive, your swollen folds all dampened with nothing but your slick, soaking arousal. so wet, so sloppily wet and only wet just for him.

“we talked ‘bout this, sweets,” gojo grumbles, giving your folds an almost disappointed kiss. “but ‘s like ya never listen, guess y’r pussy needs more training,” and as you’re trying to collect as much gasps of air as you can through your full lungs, he squeezes your cunt with his entire wrist. unzipping his slacks, he leans into you before pulling you into a kiss. the entire spacey room was dim lit, velvety shaded rose petals scattered everywhere onto the crinkled sheets. gojo knew how to set the mood. as he shoves a tongue down your throat, still getting a good grip of your cunt with his palm, he then makes you flop right onto your back. “mch,” he hastily pulls away, a tongue savoring your sweetened lip gloss that smothers itself against your twitching mouth. “can’t look at ya right now. face that way, yeah. face down ‘n ass up. jus’ like i taught ya, pretty.”

with unsteady hands sinking into the bed, you do as he says. a soft whine ferociously snatches out of you once a big hand of his caresses your left ass cheek. his touch, you were always so weak for it. ever since you first met the man, your first encounter which was about approximately almost two weeks ago. you started to get deeply attached, well, at least your body was . . 

as you arch forward, you feel a soft scratchy material plop against your back. gojo doesn’t waste time, tugging down his own brand of boxers with his last name stripped in bold letters near the stretchy hem. grunting, he springs his aroused dick out, aligning himself against your achy, drooling entrance. the feeling of material was just gojo throwing a few wads of cash near your back. “bratty but gorgeous,” he scoffs, feeling you wriggle your ass against him. oh, you were gonna be the death of him. the fifty dollar bills trail and slide down your spine— the view of it was so sexy, he wanted to savor this moment. you’re his favorite girl, he already knew it. a hand of his grips near your hip. “needy ‘lil thing. just gotta move that ass against me,” and as he’s speaking, he gifts your ass with another impolite spank. “ugh, pussy’s to die for.”

“s- satoru, fuck me,” your plea came out of your mouth in such a small tone. it was cute, your knees that dug into the mattress remain to grow shaky and wobbly before nearly giving out. the size difference amused him.

the delicious size of his fat cock was pure bliss. you don’t think you could ever get used to it. every time with him always felt like the first. with two clingy big hands glued to your waist, he’s easing his way in slowly. his fat tip ploddingly opens up the outer sloppy walls of your entrance and you’re so slick for him that you’re already coating gojo from the very base down. growing a bit frustrated that it seems like he’s taking forever, you creep a hand down between your thighs to touch yourself but he only spanks your wrist away.

“girl—please, let’s not touch my pussy today,” he warns slyly, catching your hand with quick reflexes.

you moan, feeling his girth expand throughout your walls. he’s just so fucking big, your mouth stretches itself open and a tiny squeak escapes. “so wet, mhm, listen to how sloppy you get for me,” and you end up falling face forward into the bed. with your ass still up in the air, he’s easily emitting such filthy moans from your throat. your pussy doesn’t take long to constrict around his hefty length. gojo always fits nice and snug inside, you wholeheartedly take him inside, drooling from how your cunt grips around him in such a secure way. just one thrust, a single thrust from gojo and you were already limp. “thereee we go, take it, pretty.”

“i-i’m gonna cum,” you whine, speaking in an almost breathy way. fat callused fingertips of his run down your spine, sending you various shivers before he spanks your bass again. the dollar bills that lay against your back start to fall right off of you from the quick paced movements. “s- sirrrr,” and with another smack, he corrects your sweet tone so you can rephrase and address him the right way. “i— i mean satoru, fuck you’re s’big. ‘m gonna cum again.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic sweetheart,” he purrs in a rich tone, feeling you already start to gape around him. your pussy flutters from his thick entrance, and once he starts up a pace you’re frantic for more. a hand of his wraps around the back of your throat like a necklace before the ruthless drilling eventually starts. the sticking cacophonous pap pap paps against each jerking limb paps was so loud. skin against skin, body against body, you felt your jaw tighten. he’s so precise and rigorous with his sharp hips that it gives you whiplash. you’re never prepared—even if you try to be. gojo knows how to hit every part of your cunt in such a way to make you squeal out in pleasure, in ecstasy. he’s got an upward curve that wanders all inside of your caved love areas. just a few thrusts and you were already salivating. “mhm,” he huffs, hearing the stickiness your cunt sings against his base. already, it’s a wet trail coating around his dick with each time he pulls out before back in. “don’t get lazy on me, pretty. i need to see a better arch. even i can do better than that.”

with a pout at his maddening cockiness, he spanks you again. you arch your back forward a bit more and he coos, “good fuckin’ girl,” and he grabs a nice chunk of your ass. burying your head into the crook of your elbow, it takes him barely any time at all to locate your forbidden g-spot.

once he hits it exactly, the sound that escapes from your lips was adorable—it was a little shriek, it sounded so beatific and harmonious it was as if he was listening to a song. a song he never wanted to end, your sweet voice. “goddamn,” he groans, feeling your ass thwack its way back against him in salacious rapture. oh, but despite that all, he knows you’re nothing but a tease. especially with your movements against him, happily moving your hips in sync with his. you’re fucking back against him and it makes him kiss his teeth. “maybe this ‘s what ya needed all along, wanted ‘ta spoil you today but all you wanted was dick, ‘s that right, sweet thing?”

“n- no,” you lie through your teeth, your own voice muffled with how you’re speaking inside of your elbow. your voice was shaky, trembling on every dragging syllable before the bed starts to get rickety. it creates sound with you both— making its own types of lewd harmonies. gojo’s weight pressing against you makes you throb, you were feeling all kinds of pleasure at once. whimpering once more at how he’s stuffing you full of thickset inches, you try to reach down to touch yourself. 

“don’t play with me,” he catches your wrist again, an almost snicker departing from his lips.

damn, so close.

holding onto your wrist, he notices you squeeze his hand, rubbing a thumb against his fingers. “aw, does the baby wanna hold my hand?” and as you struggle to nod, he gently pins your arm back.“you’re somethin’ e-else.”

his words start to cut off a bit as he’s keeping up a decent tempo—the frame of the king sized bed starts to get jittery. all from the weight and his sloppy hips rigorously pounding into you. the bed’s creaking, it’s almost deafening with how it screeches aloud from the massing pounds of hefty pressure crushing against it. “d-don’t stop, please,” and he’s just fucking you into his pillow. even the satiny rich sheets of his pillows smell like him. his signature musky scent of his gojo satoru cologne.

. . speaking of,

his pillows even have his last name bedazzled on them. literal cursive letters of ‘gojo’ written in blue. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d roll your eyes. he’s so deep, a hand of his explores the entire curvature of your hips. your curves were one of his favorite parts of your body, he could touch you all day long if he really wanted. the loving warmth that body provided him had him wanting more—yearning for more, more of you. gojo always relishes in how you respond to just a few of his fingers of his dancing against your skin. you were so sensitive and it was a real sight to witness. one of his favorite sights. “fuck, ‘toru. right there, riiight there, fuck.”

as his hips become more sharper, he hits against that same spot that causes a short circuit in your brain. you’re gasping—holding your breath before whining, he’s so thorough. hands of yours slide underneath your barely unclamped bra, fondling against your jerking tits. “good girl, play with y’r nipples for me like that,” and he swats another discourteous spank against your ass. this time it’s harder, it stings for a second and you whimper out from the sudden contact. after he spanks it, he always caresses it, rubbing the soft palm of his hand to make the sudden sting subside. “y’r so fuckin’ hot, pussy’s gonna make me fall for y—”

and he stops his words right at that last bit. your heart flutters— or maybe that was just your pussy, but you were no idiot. you knew what he was gonna say. or maybe you were delusional and misheard what he was saying. 

gojo satoru was a filthy man, he steals out orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. he was a little older, which meant that he was a bit more experienced.

quite a lot more than you by a long shot, he made you feel ways in where other men never could. couldn’t even come close. maybe that’s why you were so attracted, why you wanted more . . 

a well known businessman, but downright nasty in the sheets. he couldn’t help it, nor did he even really care. gojo had you wrapped around his rich finger, just like how you had him wrapped around yours. 

with him,

the passionate intimacy lasts for many many hours. timeless, numerous until your legs were sore, until you’re just being a cum dump for him. you’re pumped full until it’s leaking out of your cunt. so stuffed, with your panties still lazily pulled to the size, some remnants of his cum coats against it. he’s lost count of how many rounds it was— maybe four, five, or was it eight. 

all you knew was that your legs had been gave out. you were now flat on your back and he’s fucking you in missionary.

beloved, iconic missionary,

the perfect position to stare you right into your eyes. he grows a liking to grab your chin right when you’re about to cum, peeling your bottom lip down, only to then shove a tongue down your throat. speaking between breathy sentences, he groans—rocking his fit body against yours. “kiss me, baby, suck my tongue,” and as he’s swaying back and forth, washboard abs poking through his shirt, your legs lock around his slim waist. a hand of yours slides its way through his dress shirt and tux, feeling against his faint chest hair and washboard abs before you part your lips. you only then start to gradually suck against the tip of his tongue. his heart beats speedily, synchronizing with yours entirely. he’s dizzy, the static that your body produces against him makes his head throw back as he pulls away. glancing up at the ceiling, still presenting your cunt deep solid strokes—he knew you were gonna be a problem. 

his prettiest problem,

perhaps he wasn’t starting to think of you as just his sugar baby, maybe even something more . . but he buried that thought into the very back of his mind. all he really cared about was your pleasure. 

pulling away for a moment, still buried into your sopping wet cunt, he grips your chin. whispering in a weary tone, smiling at you, he sighs. “. . tell me,” and he gifts your wet lips a chaste kiss. “you wanna finish with me, pretty?”

“p- please,” you moan, your legs tightly locking around his waist, never letting go. everything was a mess— the entire room had a balmy aroma of love and passion. the both of you were sweating, beads of sweat coating each body. more so gojo, this was a mere work out for him. although, he was actually used to using his body on a daily, so physical activity never bothered him in the slightest. your stomach continues to seize from his fat length and he inches his mouth toward your neck again. his lips were so soft, gently sucking against your tender skin throughout each intimate moment.

viscous amounts of cum race down your thighs as if it’s some kind of lewd competition. as it’s slowly trickling down between your legs slowly, a hand of his slithers down your shaky limbs to feel it. to make sure it doesn’t go to waste, to make sure it doesn’t spill.

gojo satoru’s cum was priceless—quite literally probably. plugging it back in before you whine. “wanna cum with you, ‘toru.”

“can never say no to you, baby,” he hums, bringing another kiss to your lips. despite his raspy worn out tone—he’s still so gentle with your body in his hands. gojo’s zealous hips slow down a bit before his lips capture against yours again. a hand swiftly wraps around your throat, briskly oscillating back against your body before another hand grabs the headboard. you glance up, spitting the veins poke out through his sleeves that were peeling down. he’s giving you slow, sensual thrusts. “fuuuck . . me,” and his words were delayed by a few seconds. he’s mercilessly grinding against your heat so good to where it becomes sloppy. he’s so close again—he knows that feeling all too well. you didn’t know what to focus on. gojo’s length, the girth that keeps your walls sweetly captive, or his voice but it was all so appetizing. so . . flavorsome.

he couldn’t help but slow down his hips a bit. with a single hand, he reaches down to pull his leaky dick out right before he came. he shot into you already—dozens of times actually, but he felt like being a tease again.

“ugh,” he groans, feeling his base swollen itself up. as you finish on your own, your body transmitting into a shockwave of a wave of rapturing rhapsody he mimics you before a stringy amount of ropes splat right onto your folds. it’s so much, so viscous and goopy that paints the entrance of your cunt to where it’s as if your pussy was a mere canvas for him. “look at thaaaat,” and as he licks his lips, you’re shaking right underneath him. gojo leans in to kiss you and that’s when the bed suddenly jitters. it’s rumbling but he ignores it— bringing you into the nth kiss for the night. “atta girl.” he whispers between kisses.

as you’re leaning into his touch, your anklet erotically rubs down the muscles of his back in such a sensual way. with tongues tangling together in corresponding harmony, the expensive wood on the headboard suddenly breaks. it’s a ear-splitting noise, an almost creak. noticing the noise, you break away from his lips before sheepishly muttering. 

“did the bed just . . break?”

“perhaps,” gojo whispers, but he was totally unfazed. you had him pussy whipped, he didn’t even look tired.

pretty cerulean irises gaze into your all—so pretty that it almost could be mistaken for a solid pigment of green. a jade loving kind of green that you only see in jewels. his intense, needy stare longs into you for a few more seconds before he makes you flip over. you gasp, still feeling his cum ooze out of you from the inside. it was so feverishly warm, sweltering hot with bulks of his sticky seed. all that and you just wanted more, you didn’t care how greedy or needy you came across.

snickering, gojo picks up the money that’s scattered everywhere on the bed only to put them right back on your back where it belongs—

he then sticks a single fifty dollar bill between your lazily stuck-to-the-side panties before letting off a dry laugh.

“let’s not worry about that though. let’s worry ‘bout how ‘m gonna try ‘ta get you pregnant, tonight sweetheart. nowww, let’s practice that arch again one more time, my love. bend over just for me, yeah. atta fuckin’ girl.”

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]

[irndad]

don't date coworkers- s.r.

a/n: i literally wrote this very fast and also i hope you like it pls go easy on me!!! reader has a policy they don't date coworkers. spencer is so angsty abt that !! also sorry for dropping a new fic at 2am LOL wc: 1.7k

She’s really, really good at talking to people. 

It’s one of the many traits Spencer adores about her. She moves through crowds with ease, and she can charm her way into any piece of information from whatever city cop they need a favor from. She integrated into the team faster than anyone could’ve expected. This is a strength not all profilers have- they know what it takes to know what makes someone appealing, but rare is the ability to be as charismatic and charming as she is. 

She’s good at talking to him.

She’s worked at the BAU for about a year now. 13 months, 7 days and 8 hours since she walked through the doors of the bullpen for the first time, beaming at him for the very first time. Give or take. 

Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew that he was in love with her. He’s halfway certain she does, and is being too polite to mention it. Normally, Spencer is incredibly regimented about boundaries. While the BAU is his family, and there’s no real way to deny that, he knows that he’s less than ideal to go out with. He’s stocky and he never cuts his hair (even though she swears it’s cute longer) and he’s an awkward guy- gangly and tall and just ill-fitting to be part of the scenery of her life. 

It’s a Friday, and a rainy one at that. It’s one of the blessed ones where they don’t really have a case, just paperwork to catch up on, reports and her desk faces a window. 

Normally, when Spencer gets his work done (a good four hours before everyone else on a paperwork-only day), he’d head out. Catch up on whatever Russian novel he’s been chipping away at- but she’s here, and he’s made her favorite tea. 

“I thought you could use a treat,” he says, walking over to her desk. She looks up at him, brushing overgrown bangs, “It’s not really a great one, but I’ll get you some scones on the way to mine, yeah?”

She looks up at him, dropping her pen and focusing entire energy on him. He feels a bit overwhelmed, like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

“Did you know that I adore you, Spence?” 

He is very much not aware. No amount of her saying it will ever make him know. She takes a long sip from the mug. He knows how much honey she likes in it. He studies how she looks, eyes closed serenely, completely invested in what he’s given her. 

“You’ll be taking her home, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers, in a not altogether unkind manner. 

“Fuck off,” she says kindly, not taking her eyes off of Spencer as she rebuffed Morgan’s teasing. 

“Easy, easy,” Morgan laughs, “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone.”

If she has anything to say to that, it doesn’t come out then. 

He’s still bright red, though. Morgan is amused, and Spencer knows that she really, truly adores Morgan. Spencer loves him too, but it would be nice if he laid off the jokes. 

She doesn’t date coworkers. 

He knows this because of the first time they’d met, when he’d been walking in carrying a croissant for Garcia and a coffee for JJ, and saw what can only be described as a truly ridiculously beautiful woman in the bullpen. 

She’d been leaned back, smiling openly as Morgan tossed some random pick-up line towards her. He remembers it now like he can still hear it, her lilting lovely voice carrying just the right amount of warmth to make this not sting, or at least sting as little as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” she had said, “I make it a point not to date coworkers.” 

Which of course is fine. She can date whoever she wants, and it’s a good policy to have personally. And Spencer’s never really be the kind of guy who excelled at getting dates. He knew from the first minute that he saw her that even if she didn’t think that way… well, it wouldn’t be him, who she picked. 

Now, they are very close. So close that she drives him home from work every Friday. Which usually includes staying at his shitty apartment and watching VHS tapes of documentaries and Doctor Who. 

He wants to kiss her every Friday. All, the time, really. It’s kind of plaguing him. Clearly, she likes hanging out with him. Something about him is appealing. It’s foolish to assume that it’s more than friends, especially for someone like him to be with someone like her. 

She doesn’t date coworkers. 

“I made sure the film tonight has subtitles!”

“Are you saying film because this film is foreign, Spence?”

“I promise it’s worth it!” He says excitedly, “And they’re really done well. You won’t have to have me whisper the translations to you in real time!”

“I didn’t mind that,” She laughs then, a real laugh, “but I’m glad we’re getting to hang out tonight.”

It’s funny- they’ve done this so, so many times, but he never stops being thrilled. 

___________________________________

Sometimes, when the summer air is forgiving enough, they walk home from the office. She takes the train in, and they walk back to his place. Tonight is one of these nights, and god- she looks lovely. She’s tied her blazer around her waist, and the sunset hits her face in that gorgeous baroque painting kind of way. 

“You’re very pretty,” he hears himself say before he can stop it. He’s endlessly pleased when she preens at the praise. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Doctor,” she says, shoving her hands into her pockets, a nervous gesture. He wants to hold those hand, intertwine her lovely delicate fingers with his bony wispy fingers. 

“You’re being nice to me,” he says, looking down at his shoes. They’re stupid. He should wear loafers, or some other shoe that doesn’t make him like half-child half-geek. 

“I’m being accurate, actually,” she says she bumps his shoulder. 

She’d be a wonderful girlfriend. He lives in the world this can happen quite often, in his fantasy. She laughs at his jokes and tells him he’s kind, and good, and she means it. He’s lucky to have this much of her- more than anyone else on the team! Spencer knows he’s her favorite. The way she’s looking at him now, how she give-up her Fridays to spend with him, on his ratty couch, how she always listens. Whenever they're both on the jet and he falls asleep, he always wakes up with a blanket on him. She's so good at loving people.

Being her favorite on the team does not mean he’s in the running to be a boyfriend. But he’d fucking want to be. He’d be a good boyfriend. Spencer, he’s gone so far for her. He fantasizes about getting her flowers that have symbolic meaning.

“Are you okay, boy-genius?”

“I’m better than okay. Do you want popcorn?”

She wants popcorn. He sets the movie up, and she gets comfortable on his couch, curling up with his purple felt blanket, and his mind betrays him with unhelpful images of what it might look like if she was his, if this is what he came home to. 

Don't picture welcome home kisses, or movie nights or being wanted. Don't.

It’s very, very hard to focus on the movie.  

She’s touchy, with him. He’s not sure if it’s because she could never see him as her boyfriend, but he’s grateful as she leans her head on his. She smells like peonies. When the credits roll, they stay like that for minute- her head on his shoulder and one of her legs thrown over his. 

He wonders, not for the first time, if she feels the same way about him. If things were just..different, then they’d be kissing under the haze of his TV right now, if he’d know what that chapstick she carries with her every day tastes like. 

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we met under different circumstances?” he says, once time passes and he speaks instead of thinking.

“Hmm?” She hummed, relaxed eyes flitting their gaze over to him.

“Like, at a bar or something.”

“But you hate bars.”

“That’s why I said or something!”

Her lip juts out adorably, “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in your element.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, resting his neck on the top of the cushion. The AC is a little too much in the room. He wonders if she’s cold. “But who knows. Maybe we’d date, or something.”

It’s the dumbest thing he’s ever fucking said. Both because it was a dumb way to say it, but because it was an advance. He feels white hot shame lick at his spine when he looks at her, and hears her laugh. 

“I don’t think so, Spence.” 

“No,” shitshitshit, “I didn’t mean-“

“I mean, if you don’t want to date me now, I don’t think meeting at like, Whole Foods would’ve been the difference maker.”

It’s then he hears it- the piece he couldn’t place in her voice, when she gets like this. It’s being resigned. 

“What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Spence,” she says, another bitter chuckle coming through, “You know how I feel. I haven’t exactly beens subtle.”

“But you don’t date coworkers. You have a rule.”

She looks at him with no recognition of what he’s saying. 

“No, because you told Morgan that, it’s the first thing I ever heard you say.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And yes, okay, you’ve been my favorite person almost as long as I’ve known you and yes, I would fucking love for you to be my girlfriend, but that was your rule!”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

“Obviously!”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else before, well- before she’s kissing him. More aggressive than that, really. Crawled onto his lap, arms around his neck, and where she leads Spencer is all too happy to follow. His body is not great at moving on instinct, but his whole nervous system feels alive- the weight of her in his lap, the feel of her waist under his fingers, the way he’s allowed this. It feels like such a pleasure, hedonistic in a way he’s never, ever been allowed to experience.

“You had a rule,” he says dumbly when she pulls away. His lips are wet. He’d like to go back to kissing, thank you very much. 

“You’re the exception, to every rule, Spencer.”

When he kisses her again (which he’s allowed to do now, holy fuck) Spencer decides he’s going to spend the rest of all time earning that status. 

[thoughtsandmusingsandideas]

Dehya + Arlecchino Forgotten!Creator AU

A proper response to @ninjacomix sorry for the wait!

Dehya

You woke up in the deserts of Sumeru when you first arrived in Teyvat, so it’s no surprise that the first people you met were Eremites 

Unlike the Traveler, you are not immediately attacked- half because of your divinity subtly making them more docile, and half because you’re covered in sand and dressed in foreign clothes and practically melting under the sun- and yeah, you look too pathetic to rob

They end up taking you back to Aaru Village, and that’s where you end up meeting Dehya.

Well, technically you meet Dehya the day after you arrive, when you rush outside during a sandstorm and spot her fighting monsters

It’s a bit surreal, watching an actual fight like this, and you’re frozen in awe

At least until you notice the Rifthound sneaking up on her

You’re panicking as you lunge forward, feeling something begin to expand inside you, and-

Everything is still

Both the storm and the Rifthounds are frozen in place, and Dehya is looking at you, extremely confused

“What is this?!?” “HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!?!” “YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT!!!!”

Dehya dispatches the Rifthounds quickly, and the sandstorm resumes

And the next day, the both of you set out towards the Akademiya, wanting to figure out what your deal is

(You don’t realize that now the gods are remembering the creator, the Akademiya is Scrambling to find any and all information on you and why they forgot you)

During the journey the both of you grow close, and a few weeks in, the both of you wrapped in a blanket to protect from the chill of a desert night, you turn to her.

“Hey, let’s get married.”

And after choking on her water, she agrees to it

Congratulations! You have a wife!

The Creator, showing up hand in hand with an Eremite is not what an Akademiya scholar expected to see at four in the morning on a random day, but that is what he saw- and he thinks the subsequent panic is very understandable

Before you know it, you and your new wife are sitting in the acting grand sages office as Nahida uses some kind of Archon communication to page the other Archons

It takes about an hour for them to burst through the door

(In that time you’ve taught Alhaitham and Dehya how to play Rock Paper Scissors, Go Fish, Uno, and you’re in the middle of teaching them slapjack. Alhaithams hands are suspiciously red and Dehya is smirking)

They’re instantly fretting over you, apologizing for forgetting you and generally praising you, completely overwhelming until Dehya pulls you away

“Hey! Who are you supposed to be!” It’s Venti, disappointed that his god has been taken from him

“That’s my wife!” You state proudly.

And then everything clicks

“Wait, I’m a god?” 

The room explodes in noise, but Dehya’s hand never leaves yours

Arlecchino

When it comes to Arlecchino, instead of taking you to Aaru Village, you ask them to take you to the border of Fontaine

You’ve only made it to the end of Sumeru in the Archon Quests- maybe if you head to Fontaine now, you’ll get to see the Archon Quest in person!

It’s only once you’ve taken the Aquabus to the Court of Fontaine that you realize you do not have a single mora on your person. 

It’s after a day of exploring that you end up near the sea, and after being startled by a giant crab appearing from nowhere (It was Very Scary I promise) you end up tumbling into the water, you’re trapped under, and-

Wait… you can still breathe!

You light up with excitement, diving deeper, and that begins your life as a diver.

You end up becoming a collector, selling cool shells and oddities to anyone in the Court who’s willing to buy them (You’ve built up a pretty good rapport with the supply manager of Chiori’s Boutique)

It’s also underwater that you discover you’re the creator- finding an old abandoned temple with murals of a god that look just like you, helping you make sense of the power beneath your skin

But hey, if no one else was gonna bring it up, you wouldn’t either

And it’s underwater that you end up meeting your first Fatui member: Freminet

He was surprised when he first saw you swimming around- but now he’s grown pretty accustomed to you, and sometimes you guys even interact

Admittedly, sound doesn’t travel well underwater, so most of your communication is via charades, but the two of you end up growing close

Freminet shows you cool diving spots, you collect valuables from the ocean floor together, swim together in blissful silence, and play with all the friendly ocean animals you seem to attract

It only takes about a month for Freminet to begin mentally referring to you as mother (This boy is starved of a parental figure)

And after that it only takes a week before he slips up

He’s waiting in Father’s office, looking around as he waits for him to arrive

It’s pretty sparsely decorated- but there are a few ornaments still left around.

“Mother would like this…” Freminet muses, looking at a small model boat, delicate and intricately carved.

A flash of heat at his back. “… What did you just say?”

After a very long and frantic explanation, and a slightly shorter lecture on stranger danger, Arlecchino demands to meet you.

You first meet the harbinger after a day diving with Freminet, and he shoots you an apologetic look as you both surface to find a harbinger on the shore

And then you make eye contact

Your thoughts: That is a harbinger. From the Fatui. Huh. I’m going to pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino’s thoughts: That is the Creator that The Tsaritsa told me to look out for. They have the exact same appearance. I will pretend not to know that.

Arlecchino asks you to tea to get to know you better, and it devolves from there.

At your tea party, she introduces herself as a completely normal orphanage matron, and you’re polite enough to not point out that her brooch is a tiny Fatui emblem

You introduce yourself as a normal diver and she ignores the fact that your spoon has been stirring sugar into your tea without you even touching it

Your relationship continues in a similar fashion, with the both of you pretending to be a completely normal couple

After a few months, when both of you are getting married, you both ignore the oddities of your guests

“Ah, darling, the Fatui are here.” “Oh yes, they sponsor my orphanage, how polite of them to come.”

“Angel, Morax is here.” “Huh. Isn’t he supposed to be dead?” “Yes.” “Well, I’m glad he could make it.” 

The both of you continue with intense purposeful ignorance

Venti: Your grace, do you really want to marry the harbinger? Is she threatening you?

You: What harbinger? I’m marrying a completely normal and totally average orphanage owner. So kind and generous she is.

Arlecchino, in the background, kicking Childe for trying to start a fight at her wedding, pausing to turn and wave: Hello.

Also Freminet is the flower girl

[rcmclachlan]

Wrote this today while I should've been working (don't tattle).

Submitting it for the approval of the Fuck It Friday Society. Thanks to @epiphainie for tagging me!

+

"So? Tell me about the hot pilot."

It takes only a second to scroll through the rows of photos until he finds the one he wants to show her, but instead of handing his phone over, he takes a moment to admire it. The post has nine photos in it and this is the fourth one in—it's by far his favorite out of all the others on the account. Considering how many contenders there are, that's really saying something. 

Maddie pointedly clears her throat and Buck ducks his head with a sheepish laugh, because he knows he's being mean by keeping her waiting. If the tables were turned and she was holding out on him, he'd be ready to tackle her to get to the phone. Plus, he's already looked at the picture at least three hundred times over the last two days; it's not like he's going to miss anything. He's pretty sure he could draw it from memory. 

Nervously licking his suddenly-dry bottom lip, he slides the phone across the counter to her, and she snatches it up like a winning lottery ticket, or Golden Grahams, which she used to hide from him when they were younger because he could house an entire box in a single sitting. 

She draws in a surprised breath when she looks at the screen, and he takes it as his cue to round the island and crowd in behind her so he can peer at it from over her shoulder.

Whoever took the shot should get a Pulitzer. It was taken through the open door of a helicopter, perfectly framing the three people in the cockpit. There are two kids—a girl no more than ten years old wearing a headset and looking at the instrument panel, while the other kid has their back to the camera, showing the familiar logo of two hands holding each other on the back of their shirt—and then there's Tommy, who's half inside the opposite door and haloed by the light of the Harbor hangar, his gaze focused on whatever he's pointing at on the panel. His head is slightly turned, exposing the textbook-perfect right angle of his jawline, and his mouth is half open. But, unlike every picture where Buck looks like a dumbass with his mouth open wide enough to drive a truck through, Tommy looks handsome and competent, caught mid-explanation about manifold pressure or rotor RPMs or any of the other gauges that Buck looked up before he'd called for the Harbor tour. 

"Buck," Maddie says, stunned. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but then she closes it with an audible click. 

"I know."

She spins around and smacks his arm, her grin threatening to consume her entire face. "Buck!"

"I know." He does know. He really does.

"Oh my god." Maddie turns back to the phone and swipes to see the other photos, but the only other one in the post with Tommy in it is a group shot. He stands in the back of a gaggle of kids with four of his teammates, taller than everyone else, and it's either the vivid blue of his flight suit or the magnetic force field that seems to hover around him all the time, but Buck's attention is drawn immediately to him. The first time he saw the photo, it took him a second to realize there were like twenty other people in it. 

"Oh my god," Maddie says again.

Each of Tommy's hands are on the shoulders of two kids, and he's smiling so widely that his eyes are almost closed. He looks so good. He looks like he did when he glanced up from the menu as Buck approached the table—like anyone in the world could've shown up but he was thrilled it was Buck specifically. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was the correct answer.

And that's a wrap on our annual flight rescue simulation! As always, huge thanks to the Los Angeles Boys & Girls Club (@labgc) for introducing us to the next generation of heroes. Can't wait to get up there with them again someday! #labgc #lafdharbor1 

He blows out a breath. "I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. There's no way you could've anticipated Eddie showing up." Maddie swipes over to Tommy's full Instagram profile and starts tapping open photos at random. When she gets to another of Buck's favorites—the one of Tommy mid-laugh, sandwiched between a man and a woman in a bar booth with trivia sheets spread out on the table in front of them—she mutters, "Good lord."

Buck looks at the man and how he's shoved up against Tommy's side, and he swallows around a familiar sour crackle in his jaw. He'd told Tommy point blank that he can get jealous, but he's a little surprised by how much he wants to reach right into the screen and rip the poor guy out of the photo with his bare hands. He shouldn't be shocked, though; he did maim his best friend for the crime of having Tommy's attention, after all. 

But that guy in the picture could've been Buck. If he hadn't been an asshole, he could've been the one sitting next to Tommy, pressed up against him and laughing, flushed with victory and good company and beer, filling out answers on the sheet and preening when Tommy turned an impressed smile on Buck for helping take their team to the final round because he knew things like what the fear of is flowers called and the world record for the longest hiccupping spree.

"I shouted to the entire restaurant that we were going to pick up hot chicks after dinner, Maddie," Buck says, and looks away from the photo where he isn't. "I might as well have paid someone to skywrite 'NO HOMO' above the Coliseum. So, yeah, I am an idiot for that."

She winces. "How'd he, uh, take that? Was he really mad?"

"Worse," he says miserably. "He was really nice."

Where his hand rests on the countertop next to her, Buck's fingers curl in to press against his palm, and the rest of his body wants to follow suit out of shame. He can't stop thinking about how quiet Tommy was after Eddie and Marisol left, how the confidence and charisma and razor-sharp wit had all grown dull and quiet from the time it took them to get up from their table and make their way to the street. 

When Tommy cut the night short, he could have been awful about it. He could have yelled. He could've called Buck a homophobe, or chewed him out for wasting Tommy's time, or sneer that Buck would be better off watching the movie from the comfort of the closet. It would've been well within his right to do any of it, and Buck had been prepared for it. 

He hadn't been prepared for Tommy to be kind.

"But it's not just that. I'm an idiot because… how did I not know? How do you miss something like this about yourself? Nine year olds are out there figuring it out with no problem, and meanwhile, I'm thirty-two and I had—I had no idea. I'm so stupid." 

He bends over and drops his head onto the counter with a painful, yet somehow satisfying thunk. 

Maddie places a hand between his shoulder blades. It's not too heavy, like she's holding him down, and it's not too light, like she doesn't know if her touch is welcome. It's just right. It always is. Even when she was a kid, she always knew how to hit the goldilocks zone when it came to comfort. His parents never came close. 

"What if it were me?" 

He tilts his head on the counter to look at the contemplative slash of her mouth. "What?"

"What if I were the one discovering this about myself?" 

The question is soft and sweet, like how their backyard in Hershey used to fill up with hundreds of dandelions in the spring and they'd spend hours picking them and blowing the clocks everywhere, but the smile on her face is the sound of their mother shouting at them to stop because she thought the dandelions were an eyesore and they were basically planting more of them to come up in the fall.

"Would you call me stupid for not figuring it out sooner? Would you say, 'Maddie, you're pushing forty, how did you miss this?'"

Offended, Buck comes off the countertop so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?! O-Of course not—"

"Then why is it okay when it's you?" She demands, voice trembling like she's physically pulling on the reins of her anger and it's fighting her, just like it did when he hitchhiked to Marysville with a group of boys and perforated both his ear drums jumping off the Rockville Bridge. "You don't get to call one of my favorite people stupid, okay? You're not. There's no time limit to these things, Buck. You just… you figure it out when you figure it out and not a second before, and I'd be saying the same thing if you were one of those nine year olds or if you were ninety."

Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but Maddie takes one look at him, clucks her tongue in sympathy, and then wraps her arms around him. He presses into her embrace with a grateful exhale. 

Clinging to Maddie, to the quiet, endless strength of her, is nothing new, and neither is the wave of sheer wonder and disbelief that nearly knocks him on his ass because somehow she's his sister. Out of everyone in the world he could've been saddled with, he got the best of the best. He has no idea what he did in a past life to have earned a place in her current one, but it must have been amazing. 

"Thanks, Mads," he says quietly into her hair. When she first started dating Doug, she switched from the peppermint conditioner she loved to the floral stuff he preferred. Buck inhales a little and swallows tears upon getting a whiff of something sweet and minty.

She pulls back a little and pats his chest, smiling. "So, what's the plan?"

He blinks. "The plan for what?"

"For trying again," Maddie clarifies, pointedly, like she wants to call him dumb but can't because she just spent the last five minutes telling him he wasn't. "So you screwed up. Big deal. We all screw up. What are you going to do to fix it?"

"Uh, I-I don't think he's going to go for that, to be honest," Buck mutters, looking down at his phone. 

Last night, standing in Miceli's foyer and practically leaving craters in the floor where he was bouncing excitedly on his heels, he'd texted Tommy to see if he was already seated. The last message Tommy sent him reads: Head toward the back. I'm in one of the side booths on the left. You can't miss me :-) 

There hasn't been anything since.

After Tommy cheerfully knocked Buck's entire world off its axis and walked out the door with a grin and the promise of a date, Buck had paced his apartment like a caged tiger, feeling both too big and too small for his skin, jittery and restless. The fourth time he'd stopped in the middle of a room and started laughing for no reason, he conceded he might be losing his mind. He'd felt like the only thing keeping him from exploding or floating into the stratosphere was the fact he had a shift in the morning. He'd kept away from the windows just to be on the safe side. 

You like men, he'd thought giddily to himself, over and over. You are attracted to men. A man asked you out on a date and you said yes because you want to go. A man kissed you tonight and you loved it. You didn't want to stop. You want him to do it again. 

It was like he'd finally found the last missing piece to the Buck puzzle he'd been searching for as long as he could remember, and slotting it into place felt like skipping the 5.0 upgrade and going straight to a different operating system. Increased storage capacity. Longer battery life. A brand new product.

He'd swore to himself that he would be cool about it. He wouldn't be a clingy, needy mess and drive Tommy off before he was able to explore whatever this was. That lasted all of twenty minutes before he was texting Tommy with trembling thumbs to thank him for coming over and clearing the air, and then threw his phone across the room. He spent the next ten minutes fighting the urge to claw his own face off until he heard the ping of a new text message.

It said, Sorry for the delay I'm still driving. Thank YOU for your hospitality ;-)

Buck had to go stick his head in the fridge to cool down about the implications of that, but once he calmed down and unscrewed the manic grin from his face, they were off to the races. 

The only times they weren't messaging each other were between the hours of 1am and 5:30am, or if they were on shift. Although Buck didn't exactly hold to that. He found ways to sneak off a text or twenty during calls when he could, and he had the sneaking suspicion Tommy was doing the same. The photo he got of the sun setting over LA, taken through a helicopter's windshield, was kind of a giveaway.

It's been 24 hours since he last heard the text tone he'd assigned to Tommy's contact file—a sort of whuff sound that reminds him a little of rotor blades spinning—and he feels like if he doesn't hear it soon, he's going to go insane. 

This is absolutely not the first time he's fucked up a date and was ghosted afterwards, but it is the first time the subsequent radio silence has made him feel like his colon is tying itself into a square knot. And he hates it.

"So, you're just—giving up," Maddie says, incredulity turning the question into a statement of disbelief. 

He looks away from the phone and shrugs. "I'm… being respectful. It's pretty obvious he doesn't want to hear from me. I wouldn't want to hear from me."

"You don't know what he wants," Maddie points out. "He said he didn't think you were ready for this, right? Maybe he's trying to be respectful too."

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but it sounds so plausible when she says it. Especially because Tommy hasn't been anything but even-keeled and kind and compassionate, and Buck truly doesn't think any of it is a front. If Buck reached out, he knows Tommy would respond. If Buck started texting him again and never once brought up the kiss or their disaster of a date, if he boxed up the overwhelming need to be the center of Tommy's attention and shifted things back to the safety zone of friendship, Tommy would let him. They'd be okay.

The thought of it makes Buck want to punch something. 

Maddie peers up at him with a sly tilt to her mouth, but instead of calling him on whatever she sees on his face, she simply says, "But I do think keeping this from Eddie is twisting you up a bit. Maybe you need to jump that hurdle before you can move forward."

He clicks his tongue and gives a reluctant nod, because she's right. As usual. "H-How do I tell him that I'm… you know."

"Okay," she says with a falsely bright smile and wide eyes, her tone needling. "If you can't even say it out loud, then maybe you shouldn't—"

"That I like men, Maddie, god," he whines, face hot. "You're so mean to me. Jesus, do you treat Chim like this?"

"Only when he asks really nicely," she says horrifyingly.

He sticks his fingers in his ears and starts shouting, "LA LA LA!"

Maddie cracks up, then gives his chest a conciliatory pat. Annoyed, he shrugs her off, which makes her laugh harder. "I'm your sister, doofus. I'm contractually obligated to piss you off until you do what I want sometimes. Didn't you read the handbook?"

Which makes him duck his head and laugh a little. "The handbook" was a running joke they had when they were kids about what siblings were and weren't allowed to do. He hasn't thought of the handbook since the whole thing with Doug, when he realized Maddie had been taken and a tiny voice in the back of the mind whispered, "According to the handbook, you're allowed to hunt him down like a dog and kill him."

Sighing, he leans into her and nods. "I know. I know I need to talk to Eddie. I-I just wish I had some kind of guarantee he's not going to—that nothing's gonna change when he finds out."

Leaning into him right back, Maddie promises, "If it does, I'll beat him up."

"Yeah?" He smiles, a little pleased by the thought. He wants to tell Tommy about it. But he can't. Not yet. "That in the handbook?"

"Page 53," she says, and hugs him.

[dandylovesturtles]

So it’s definitely implied, at least at the beginning of the series, that the boys do work to keep their existence secret from humans (even if they get lax about this pretty quickly). Only going out at night, coming up with color stories for their greenness, Leo worried about people opening their blinds, etc. really they only seem to relax once a larger mutant presence is established after the release of Draxum’s oozesquitos, and after they learn of the large NYC yokai community.

But I do like the idea of their local neighborhood, at least, learning of their local cryptid family way earlier, and becoming fond of them.

Like maybe Splinter, with no resources and four little mouths to feed, caves and goes to a soup kitchen. And if his cloak slips and someone notices he looks more like a rat than a person, and that he keeps feeding spoonfuls of broth to the little green faces that keep poking out and cry more like babies than animals, well, they’re gonna mind their own business

Except maybe to mention something to Jen, because she helps organize the supply drive for struggling parents, and maybe she can conveniently mention it to the rat guy and then conveniently stay behind after closing to slip him baby food and other supplies. And if he returns the favor by making sure she isn’t mugged on the way home, that’s just neighborly.

And maybe after they move into the sewers, some maintenance worker’s lunch attracts a curious and hungry toddler. And maybe after that they start bringing food and treats and the hand me downs from their own kids to give to the weird little green boys.

And maybe when a pharmacist sees the security footage of the local sewer rat man swiping kids cold and flu medicine he deletes that before the owner can see, because everyone knows the rat man is nice and he just has four kids to take care of

And maybe when clout chasers like Stockboy and government narcs like Bishop show up, the locals show them right where they can stick it. They may be weird mutants who live in the sewers, but those are their weird mutants who live in the sewers!!

[rmbunnie]

I see so much of "is post-crisis Robin Jason an innocent little sweetie-pie or a mean aggro delinquent" and after reading through all of his batman and detective comic issues post-crisis I think i can safely say he's... an introverted and distrustful, but altogether friendly teen boy who has convinced himself to the deepest level that he is an Adult Man, and also does not hold a particularly good view of adults.

The sweet little babypie characterization falls a little short (assuming we aren't being too silly with it, there's plenty of that in the comedy issues of tec) because it disregards the part where he's a jaded teenager who is constantly going off and trying to take care of his own problems like "his own man" and reacts negatively to any breach of trust or move to take care of him. But negative doesn't mean "violent and rageful." The delinquent angle is incorrect because not only is his disposition peppy, silly, and agreeable most of the time, but assuming the problem upsetting him isn't a predator or the guy who killed his dad (and three out of four canon instances it is a predator to be clear) he reacts to emotional turmoil with Bruce by bedrotting, sulking, communicating through notes, and overall being avoidant. The only times he lashes out are when Bruce is calling him out or after Bruce told him to his face that he chose to look for the Joker over looking for him, and that case of "lashing out" is just getting a little snarky.

More than anything his main personality trait (besides being silly, a robin staple) is kinda coming into this parentified as fuck. Not that it's Catherine's fault, but it really shaped his character, like one of the first things he says to Bruce (after he promised not to turn Jason in to the foster system) is that he kept her fed and warm as long as he could like he wasn't her ten year old child when he started. It's why he views himself on the same level as adults and why he gets all closed off at any insinuation that he needs to be taken care of, both of which heavily inform his dynamic with Bruce. He's constantly checking in on Bruce's wellbeing, like half of Batman: the Cult is just him taking care of Bruce while he recuperates from being brainwashed. (Side note, he's also constantly asking Bruce stuff like "what's your relationship like with this woman or this rogue or the concept of religion, how did that play out, how do you feel about it?" he is Very chatty like that.) The first thing he does when Sheila tells him her (revised to exclude medical malpractice) life story is hold HER and try to affirm her struggle. After a while he starts to act more childish with Bruce (although he doesn't really stop trying to brush off attempts to care for him) but as soon as Bruce admits he prioritized crimefighting over Jason and didn't show up to look after Jason like Jason assumed he came there for, Jason snaps back to acting very independent and rejecting any attempts to be looked after on any terms other than some kind of "equals" thing, which he isn't, as he's a 15 year old boy. Like. He's very sweet to his former neighbor, but also he refers to being a homeless child and the sole provider in his condemned building living situation as "getting by" to her.

He's definitely not. some bloodthirsty delinquent, at least to anyone who's not an uber-misogynistic predator, and he like demonstrably is a pretty sweet kid. It's just that when people say he's a sweet kid they kinda just jump to "untraumatized eight-year-old who grew up in a loving family and just got a new puppy from Santa" instead of "good hearted and curious teenager who has trust issues and is deeply uncomfortable with being taken care of, so kinda just compromises by pretending his dad is a Friend Doing him a Solid and acts like his kid only when he has plausible deniability so he can't get the rug pulled out from under him." Of course. He does kinda get the rug pulled out from under him despite all that. So there's that.

[papercorgiworld]

No date for the bully

Enzo Berkshire and Mattheo Riddle

The Slytherin gang mock you after class, but when you run into one of them alone a few days later they aren’t mocking you anymore… rather they are flirting with you.

Thanks for the request and to all those reading: thanks for reading. Happy readings! and lots of love to you all! 💛

Warning: bullying

“This is a question first years can answer, miss (y/l/n).” Snape snares, looking not only angry and annoyed but also seriously disappointed. Your mouth opens, but closes again. Telling him that you probably knew the answer, but were in fact daydreaming and missed the question was probably not a good comeback in Snape’s book. Aside from the fact that you felt the whole class stare at you, there was a particular group of Slyterins really enjoying your screw up. You could hear them snickering, but chose to ignore them. 

However as soon as class ends the lot becomes unavoidable. “And here I thought Weasley was the dumbest in our year. Turns out I was wrong… It’s you.” Theodore Nott laughs as he passes you. You roll your eyes and quietly gather your books. “You have to actually read those to learn. You do know that, right?” Mattheo Riddle raises his eyebrows and you look away, trying to pass Mattheo. “She can’t read!” Draco snorts, finding himself really funny. But you huff and just try to get past Mattheo. “And apparently she can’t speak either.” Mattheo grins down at you, purposely blocking your way out. “Guys leave her alone.” Enzo intervenes and you’re both surprised and relieved, but it doesn’t last long. “She’s obviously a bit slow.” Enzo quips. 

“You’re all hilarious.” You manage to mutter as you use all your force to shove Mattheo aside. “What a comeback.” You hear Enzo laugh at your attempt at self defence. 

***

“Move aside, dumb and dumber!” Draco snares at Ron and you, followed by a smirking Theodore as you jump. 

“Ugh, why are they all like that?” You think out loud and Ron shrugs. “Because they’re evil Slytherins.” You chuckle at Ron’s answer, before parting at the stairs. “See you after potions.” You wave at Ron and walk around the corner, straight into…

Enzo. 

“I’m so sorry.” You apologise immediately, but when you look up to see who you collide with your eyes widen. Sure he would hex you or at least insult you. 

“No worries, I wasn’t watching where I was going either. You alright, princess?” No worries? Princess? “Yeah, I’m fine.” You whisper, not at all comfortable with this nice version of Lorenzo Berkshire. You move to walk past him, but he grabs your arm. “Let me help you with those.” Enzo points at the books you were holding. “No, I’m fine.” You answer without even considering his offer, obviously you would never get them back. He and his friends played mean games like that all the time. 

“Oh come on, let me help. It will give me an excuse to walk you to class.” Enzo’s smile was adorable, he really was hoping to spend some time with the pretty girl he had been crushing on for months now. 

“No.” You state dryly and hurry up the stairs. “Wow, you’re quick.” Enzo chuckles as he catches up with you. “Ha, that’s funny.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Why?” Enzo asks, obviously not remembering what an ass he had been a few days earlier. “Oh, right. You insult people all the time so you probably don’t remember calling me ‘slow’.” An awkward laugh leaves the slytherin’s lips. Oh boy, she remembers. I fucked up. “Me and the guys were just having a laugh.” You again quicken your pace, not in a mood to listen to his lame excuses, but he keeps up. “Yes, you were having a laugh. I was not. I was being mocked by four pompous shits.” 

Enzo jumps in front of you to bring you to a halt. You avoid his gaze, but he ignores your hints of annoyance and moves close to you. “Maybe not my best moment… but how about I buy you a drink as an apology.” Un-be-lievable! “You’re joking, right?” You look up and raise an eyebrow at Enzo, who gives you a weak half smile. “Come on, it will be fun… I’ll pay.” The audacity of this man. “Enzo Berkshire, are you asking me out?” Enzo laughs nervously as he looks down at his feet for a second. “I know I haven’t made the best impression, but I think you’re beautiful and smart and… I think that you should give me a chance.”

Enzo’s starry eyes meet yours again as he closes the distance and carefully snakes an arm around you, convinced his charm, popularity and good looks would win you over. You reach for his tie, playing with it as you lick your lips. “You think I should give you a chance?” Enzo nods, adoring how adorable you are, playing with his tie and looking all flustered. Just as Enzo is about to whisper something flirty you let go of the tie and push him away hard, making him stumble back a few steps. “I’m sorry Enzo, but you must be a bit slow, considering you haven’t caught on to the fact that I don’t like bullies like you. So go try and convince someone else to ‘give you a chance’.” 

Enzo is absolutely shocked and just stares at you as you walk to class. He’s so crushed and confused that he doesn’t notice everyone else in the hallway looking at him. When he finally does notice, he straightens his tie and forces a smile. He tries to come up with something funny to say to make the awkwardness surrounding him go away, but his mind is still stuck on you. 

Mattheo.

You stumble back, missing a step, but an arm wraps around your waist. “Careful there, love, you almost fell for me.” Your brain can’t process that it’s actually Mattheo’s voice you’re hearing until you see his signature smirk. “I’m-I’m sorry.” You whisper and look away from him, but his arm stays around you. “Don’t worry about it, I like saving pretty girls like you.” Your eyebrows knit together. Did Mattheo Riddle just flirt with me? A cocky wink answers the question you never asked.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to be going.” Mattheo nods. “Let me guess, potions? I’ll walk you. Make sure you don’t stumble and fall.” Why is he being nice? Mattheo shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks with you. There’s an uncomfortable silence as you nervously watch him from the corner of your eyen, not trusting the Slytherin at all.

“Soooo, I’m curious. If I were to ask you out, where should I take you?” You stop to stare at Mattheo, but you don’t say a word since you really have no idea what is going on in his head. “You’re really cute when you stare so quietly.” Mattheo whispers his soft eyes meeting yours. However, you just shake your head. “Last time I fell silent you didn’t think it was cute. You and your dumb friends mocked me.” Mattheo runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Not my best moment.” Mattheo admits sheepishly, making you frown at how he downplays his bullying. 

Not planning on spending another second in this idiot’s presence, you start walking again, but Mattheo doesn’t let you go very far. He reaches for your wrist and pulls you into him. You place a hand on his chest to steady yourself. “I was a bit of an idiot, but let’s just forget about that.” Mattheo whispers suggestively. “I promise I will make it up to you.” Mattheo adds when you don’t seem convinced. 

Now it was your time to play. 

You move your hand from his chest to the back of his neck. “And how would you make it up to me?” You ask, playing with his hair and almost making his eyes roll back. “Obviously I will spoil you rotten both on our date as well as afterwards.” You bite your lip at his words and press your chest against his. “That actually sounds tempting.” You whisper in his ear, letting your free hand trace his belt just to tease him. “Maybe we can just skip the date and find ourselves a broom closet right now.” Mattheo offers, confident that he has you wrapped around his finger. “We could.” You move your lips close to his, but just as Mattheo closes his eyes wanting to meet your lips you pull away. “Then again, I would rather sit through potions class and walk through hell than go out with you. Bye Matt.” 

And just like that Mattheo was left standing in the hallway, horny and needy for you, but nowhere near a date with you.

“Auch.” Mattheo immediately recognises Pansy’s amused voice. “Did you really think that after being an ass to her for months, a few minutes of smooth talk would get you with her?” Mattheo lets his head fall and sighs. “Pansy. How long have you been lurking?” Pansy just grins. “Long enough to see you make a fool out of yourself. Have fun simping for the girl that hates your guts.” Mattheo growls as Pansy walks away. I screwed this up so bad. How am I gonna win her over…

[reiderwriter]

If your requests are open could I get a fic where Spencer lost his virginity to bau!reader the night before and when he comes into work the next day Morgan is like ‘you look different’ (you know that stereotype that people you know well can tell when you lose your virginity) and bau!reader is like yeah you do why is that Spencer🤨 lmaoo

A/N: This was a really fun request to write! Nice, short and sweet! I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: implied sexual encounter, some suggestive talk, mentions of virginity.

Masterlist || Song Fic Challenge

“Wait, kid, hold up, something’s different. You get a haircut or what?” 

You tried your best not to giggle profusely as the blush crept up Spencer’s neck to sit prettily across his cheeks. It had only been an hour since you'd left him sleeping soundly in your bed after a night of well… ravaging him. 

Spencer Reid, your beautiful, awkward, nerdy, and charming coworker was no longer a virgin. Nor was he single. And surprisingly, he wasn't all that bad at sex either, a little cautious, but for all intents and purposes, quite the natural. 

He certainly hadn't turned into a sex god over night, but you did plan to accost him rather regularly from that point onwards, so you very much were enjoying the abject look of horror passing over his features at that moment. 

“I was running late this morning. My alarm didn't go off.” 

You stifled a giggle, knowing that his alarm probably had gone off. He'd just been in a completely different apartment and hadn't heard it. Maybe it was still going off now. 

When his eye caught yours, he froze still in a flush. It was impossible not to run tour gaze along the length of his body, showing him enough quiet appreciation you thought he'd drop to his knees. 

Instead, his hands that were wrestling with his tie fidgeted more, finding it impossible to tie the damn thing like he had every morning for the last five years. 

“Having some trouble, Spencer? Maybe I could help you out?” You winked at him to punctuate your question, and all he could do was stand and gulp down a breath, nodding in agreement. 

“You do look pretty tired, kid? Long night?” Derek asked, a quiet bemused look hanging on his face. He'd had this same conversation with Reid at least four times in the last year, assuming that every time he came in looking slightly dishevelled, he'd enjoyed a night of pleasure. 

It had certainly been pleasing to you, and you were absolutely going to help teasing Reid if you got the chance. You certainly enjoyed doing just that last night. 

Grabbing the two ends of his tie and pulling him a step closer to Reid - maybe a bit too close for two people in their place of work - you began righting all of his clothes. 

“You didn't wake me up,” he whispered with a pout into your ear, his pout audible even as he tried to keep his face neutral. 

“I tried,” you whispered back. “But every time I got close, you lunged for me in your sleep and started grinding your morning wood into my ass.” 

The flush that you enjoyed so much was now a fully glowing face. He was so red you expected steam to pour from his ears any minute. 

You finish knotting his tie and brush his shirt a little, just as Derek clears his throat again. 

“Kid, did you hear me? I asked if you had a long night.” 

Spencer's gaze didn't leave yours, though. Even in his embarrassment, he was so intently focused on you that it nearly set your entire body on edge. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips. You wished they hadn't, because now you had to stop yourself from jumping him right there in the bull pen. 

“Oh shit,” Derek couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest as he stood looking from you to Spencer and then back to you. 

“Oh shit. Spencer, I didn't know you had game like that.” His words were wheezed out between fits of laughter, and you were irritated when the focus in Spencer's gaze shattered, settling into a look of discontent. 

“Derek, come on…” he groaned, and you put your hand gently on his chest to get him to look at you again. 

“Next time, I'll work my hardest to wake you up, Spencer.” 

With his jaw hanging open in shock, you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him stood like a statue as Derek bent over in laughter, trying to catch his breath. 

You smiled in your final triumph just as Emily walked over to greet the two men and opened with a question. 

“Weren't you wearing that outfit yesterday, Reid?”  

[1d1195]

Green Skies, Pink Grass

~2.6k words

From me: Going with another one shot for Monday. This very much jumps into the middle of a storyline that I'll never write but just wanted to post something small in between Most updates.

Warnings: jealousy, enemies(?) to lovers

Summary: It is very obvious Harry gets enjoyment out of irritating her. But not when she can't take it anymore.

“Excuse me,” she approached like she owned the table. She slid right between Harry and the girl that was talking to him. She stood at the corner of the square table made for four. But there were only two, Harry and the girl that had every right to be sitting at one of the right angles so they could be closer together.

For nearly the entire night, she watched another girl touch Harry’s arm and flirt with her eyes as they spoke. All while he leaned close and whispered God knows what. Who knew what secrets he was telling her. The stuff that she dreamed of knowing and not just figuring out from her friends or him taunting her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rebecca,” she stated and looked around her intruding body so she could peek at Harry. This was ridiculous. She was talking to him and there was no reason for her to have intruded like that and get in between Harry and him. Everyone knew they didn’t like each other. Of all the people that could have taken his attention from her it couldn’t have been the girl that wanted to wring his neck.

Her backside was directly in front of Harry’s vision. He paid nearly no mind to the intrusion—almost like he expected it. In fact, he took the moment to sip his drink because while he wasn’t proud of it, he was extremely grateful for the reaction it caused from her. All night he felt her stare from across the restaurant. Her gaze bored into him. It was painful how long it took to come to this in his opinion. Now he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next. She didn’t even flinch as she approached; her sure-footed steps had her heels clicking across the floor with a power that made Harry’s body warm over. The confidence she had was so sexy. The only thing that could have made the current interaction better than having her perfect ass right in front of his face, would have been being able to see her pretty, angry face as she glared at the girl he was chatting with. “Can I help you?” Becca asked.

Harry smirked, grateful neither one of them could see him because he was very much looking forward to this.

“Yeah, umm…” she swallowed that swagger and confidence suddenly wavering.

Harry wasn’t hers. Not by a long shot. They argued about almost everything there was to argue about. They had opposite movie tastes. He never took her suggestion for making dinner recipes better. His driving directions to get somewhere the fastest were always different than hers. She swore he would argue the sky was green if given half the chance. They weren’t that close, but Niall was her favorite coworker and quite possibly her best friend. But that meant she had to spend an infinite amount of time with his best friend, Harry.

She could have taken all his misgivings in stride, honestly. Tt wouldn’t have been that bad nor hard to have. She liked a bit of a challenge in her life. If Harry hadn’t looked down on her the first time that they met, they might not have been on this frustrating path of annoying one another.

It was no secret that Harry was one of the most gorgeous men she had ever met. His handshake was warm and firm but that was as far as his warmth went—at least when it came to her. She wasn’t oblivious to the way his voice sounded when he talked about his mum, sister, or niece. He donated to a ton of charities and was constantly helping his friends.

It was just her.

He was cold and standoffish the day they met. It hurt. Mainly because Niall told her that she would love him, and she was excited to make a new friend. How often did someone in their late twenties make new friends?

But after their introduction and awkward silences while Niall tried to get them chatting about their similarities instead of their differences, she overheard him whispering to Niall in the kitchen while they got plates and drinks for the pizza they ordered. Only catching some of the words that included dislike, irritating, and know-it-all. She prided herself on being kind, never making anyone feel inferior, but Harry made it seem like a fault and didn’t see her that way at all.

Harry wondered where she was possibly going to go with her irritation at Becca. Only moments before the evening began, she wanted to strangle him. He could see it in her eyes and knew she truly thought about wrapping her hands around his throat because he made some comment about her not getting fucked properly in front of Niall. He smiled impishly at her as the rage filled her eyes. It made her eye twitch in that cute way of hers. The way that made him want to keep pissing her off so it would continue twitching. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch just next to her eye and hope that it would make her crazier but also so he could ease that tension all the same.

But it was clear she was lost here. There was no follow through for this moment and seeing Miss Prim & Proper discombobulated was one of Harry’s favorite kinds of sights. But even still, she didn’t deserve to be this lost. It wasn’t her fault the little envious monster took hold of her without a way out of the situation.

“Hey love,” he hummed quietly, pressed a hand on her lower back. She stepped away like he shocked her—or stabbed her. Her eyes were wild as she glanced at Harry briefly. He smiled, his lips straining a little too much to keep him from smiling mischievously—just like before they entered the restaurant. That little quirk that made her eye start to twitch just the same as well.

 That stupid dimple, that knowing look. She wanted to strangle him again.

He knew what she was feeling all too well. Fortunately, it hadn’t happened tonight, but he knew the irksome feeling that heated his stomach and chest when anyone bought her a drink or complimented her smile while he was in earshot.

It was a beautiful smile, but it made him sick to hear other people say it to her and not him.

“Do you have something to say or what? I was talking to Harry.”

Perhaps the alcohol she had ingested was cause for the bravery that resulted in her walking across the restaurant and planning to tell the girl off. But what was she supposed to say? Harry wasn’t hers. There was nothing she could say that would deter Rebecca from spending time with him. Nothing to stop Harry from spending time with Rebecca.

It seemed Harry noticed she was floundering but for once he didn’t make fun of her nor antagonize her further. Instead, without warning, there was a warm hand on the small of her back. “Kitten,” he hummed. His voice was low, directly in her ear, and full of caution. “Let’s go,” he pressed his fingers into her back in effort to get her away from the table. “Sorry, Becca, I gotta go,” he grabbed his drink, tossing the remaining sip back and settling it back on the table.

She said nothing, glaring at her feet with heated cheeks. While the woman who had taken Harry’s attention but wasn’t going to keep it smiled bitterly. “You’re really going to leave? Just because she interrupted?” Harry ignored her, rolled his eyes but not even the girl he had his hands on could see it.

Harry’s lack of response made her burn with anger more and she wished she knew why she went over to interrupt them. Harry was behind her, his body so close to hers she thought a piece of paper couldn’t fit between them. “Wow can’t even fight back—”

She started to move back for Rebecca, but Harry yanked her closer to him. Not even a molecule of air could have fit between them, before she could even take a full step. His arm was wrapped around the front of her stomach, his lips went directly to her earlobe. “M’here, kitten. She’s not worth y’time,” he assured her. “Walk,” he ordered quietly. Normally, she would fight back and tell him not to order her around. But the alcohol in her system simultaneously subdued her anger toward Harry and amplified it toward everyone else. So she walked.

She could hear the way Rebecca laughed calling her pathetic loudly to anyone that walked by. Harry snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly each time he heard one of Rebecca’s taunts and the following pull of her muscles to turn around to continue her chat with her.

Once they were out of the restaurant, he continued to usher her up the road away from the offensive restaurant. There was a cool chill in the air that hadn’t been there when they entered the venue. Confident she wouldn’t make a break for it and return to give Becca a piece of her mind, Harry released her briefly.

In an instant, he pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist again. He gave her a warm squeeze then walked beside her; his other hand stuffed in his pocket. They didn't speak as they walked. After a block and a half, she bit the inside of her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hadn't ever heard an apology directed at him from her mouth. "Am I dead?" He murmured.

She sighed. "I don't know what came over me," she admitted.

Harry knew. He knew because he knew exactly how she was feeling. "Yeah," he nodded.

More silence followed and they just kept walking. The shoes she was wearing weren’t really conducive to a city walk but she was willing to have a blister on each toe and her heel if it meant Harry’s warm arm and a jacket that smelled like him was going to be wrapped around her. “Did you like her?” She asked.

Harry smirked. “She was fine.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “She was fine, but I’d’ve much preferred you sitting next t’me all night.”

“But you don’t like me.”

Harry snorted. “Honestly, right now, I don’t. Think I could throw y’into traffic for such a remark. What are y’talking ‘bout, love? M’obsessed with you,” he rolled his eyes.

“Obsessed?”

“Obsessed.”

Her heart fluttered. She stopped walking. Mainly because her feet hurt, but also because she was floored that he admitted such a thing. After all the time she spent wondering why he taunted her and made her want to strangle him. Her voice shook as she asked her next question. Because it was mean spirited of him. “Is this a trick? Like that time Niall was setting me up on a date and you convinced me I got the date wrong, and I sat at the coffee shop for hours before—”

Harry chuckled at the memory. Proud of his handy work and grateful she didn’t go on a date with that prick (who was actually a really nice guy that probably deserved her more than Harry did). “No, s’not a trick.”

She was staring at him like he had ten heads and honestly there was nothing better than seeing her little eye twitch. “You like me?” She asked.

“Very much, kitten,” he nodded and stuffed both hands in his pockets while she processed this.

“Can we sit? These shoes are killing me,” she frowned. Harry followed her to the bench out in front of a closed café. He reached for her feet and unclipped the strap from one ankle then the other.

“You really like me?” She asked again while Harry untied his dress shoes. Harry had this thing about always wearing two pairs of socks. It alleviated blisters, of his own dress shoes and there had been countless times Gemma hated her own high heels after a long night at a family wedding. He slid off the top pair and put them on her feet without fanfare.

“I really like you,” he assured her.

“But you...” She frowned, her stomach aching at the kindness he was showing her. Finally. The nice thing about the cute little sock thing he was doing? She had never seen him do it for anyone else. This was a treat for her as far as she knew. He retied his shoes and settled her feet back to the sidewalk. He held her shoes beside him on the bench.

“I what?” His smile was adorable, mischievous as always, dimple appearing cutely in his left cheek, but it didn’t make her eye twitch and even though he missed it, he liked her soft expression, analyzing him more.

“You said I was a know-it-all. And... irritating.”

“You are irritating,” she glared at him so cutely, he wanted to take a picture of her and make it his phone background and print it on a poster to hang on the ceiling above his bed. “When did I call y’irritating?”

“When you met me. You said you disliked me."

He tilted his head. “Do y’mean at Niall’s?” She nodded. He was clearly processing that and tried to think back. She was finally quiet, while he thought. Didn't try to further their discussion because part of her thought she would turn it into an argument just by accident. “Is that why y’always keep me a foot away from you? Why y’never let me get a word in? Why y’argue with everything I say? Swear y’would tell me the grass is pink jus’ t’argue,” She didn’t dare dignify that with a response. Or that she felt the same way. Harry tugged her legs back up and shifted her so she draped across his lap. His arm around her back while her bum warmed his thigh. He brought his hand slowly up her leg, over the socks he had put on her that looked ridiculous with her dress. His fingers skimmed over her knee and up her thigh while his eyelids hooded his gaze as he followed the path of his hand. He tickled her skin, his fingers circling her wrist in her own lap before he brought it to his shoulder. Then he brought his fingers to her face, cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m going t’kiss y’now,” he murmured. “Because m’not going t’explain how ridiculous y’are for thinking the first time I met you I called you irritating, or that I disliked you...or thought you were a know-it-all.”

She blushed. “Oh...” she swallowed feeling woozy Harry's face was so close to hers. He smelled so good. He looked so good.

“Don’t y’think it was much more likely I called Niall an irritating know-it-all that I would fall so hard for you and I disliked how right he was?” She remained silent, dropped her gaze again, until Harry tilted her chin up once more. “You are irritating,” he murmured his mouth a breath away from hers. He could feel the warmth of her lips pulling an invisible string to his. Like he had already touched them without touching them. “But I love when y’irritate me,” he assured her and closed that final breath between their lips.

The sky could be green. The grass could be pink. Harry was done arguing with her about it.

--

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[prentissluvr]

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket. 

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years. 

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.” 

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours. 

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have. 

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up. 

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch. 

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. 

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel. 

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat. 

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand. 

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love. 

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips. 

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap. 

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth. 

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible. 

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

[idioticbat]

Idk how to write this, but I got caught in the south Brazil floods. My partner and I have been homeless since last Saturday, we've stayed until this Thursday at a shelter, but things were getting worse and worse, and my partner's company paid a hotel stay in another town till the next week or two.

Thursday/Friday on the week before the last (may 2nd and 3rd) we were housing two friends, who were already homeless due to the flood which had just started. They're also both trans and have no family to support them.

Friday morning the power went out and our friends left for a shelter. In the evening, my partner and i went for a walk to check how bad things were, and it was already flooding a mere 3 and a half blocks from our house. On the time it took for us to walk across that block, the water was already covering our feet.

We rushed back home and the street in front of where we live was starting to get covered in water. We carried everything we could to the attic, mostly my art stuff, computer, etc. We originally planned to stay home and survive a couple days until it got better. I barely slept that night because I knew the water was coming, so my brain was on maximum alert. I woke up after 3 hours of sleep, from a dream that I was trying to escape the flood.

When I woke up, we organized a bit more and ate lunch for breakfast. On the time it took for us to eat, the water was already at our doorstep, and we rushed to pack. I had a panic attack as the water rushed into our house, and a police officer rescued us and carried our bags inside a barrel. I only got a few clothes, medication for two weeks, basic hygiene stuff, plushies and some food. My partner got clothes and their laptop. I regret not picking my computer.

We had to swim and waddle through 1.60m+ (5'3") deep water for two blocks. On some places it was probably close to 2m. It felt like an eternity passed while we found our way through the cold water. Some neighbours who were also helping us recommended us a place for shelter. After we crossed a bridge, some person gave us a ride, so at least we didn't have to walk 3km to the shelter.

We got there really early on Saturday, the university which was one of the places being used as a shelter had just opened, so we were able to shower and eat. They also gave us new clothes. As it got more packed, we got help from volunteer psychologists, who gave us a separate room in another floor, since both my partner and I have autism.

I had more panic attacks but we got some help from other volunteers. Things were otherwise fine throughout Sunday and Monday, we managed to shower once more. Stuff started getting worse on Tuesday, as the place went from sheltering some 100-200 people to around 700. We were seeing the psychologists only once a day for a couple minutes and food started getting delayed for hours. Water was also scarce and we started having power outages.

Wednesday we were without food til 4pm, and since we also had pretty much lost access to the psychologists, we accepted the offer from my partner's company to take us to a hotel in another town. Thursday we left for the hotel, I showered for the first time since in four days, had lunch and finally changed my patreon password so I can post from my phone, as I do pretty much everything from my computer. Yesterday and today (friday/saturday, one week later), i finally managed to have computer access on my partner's laptop and log in to tumblr, cohost and so on.

I'm still not sure what we'll do about the future. Our place was rented and all the furniture that belonged to the house will be lost. Our landlord lives in another country and it's almost impossible to contact her. The kitchen and laundry appliances are still underwater and I guess we'll lose all of these. We can't afford to renew a house that isn't ours, and buy new appliances on top of that. We have nowhere to go that's nearby after this is over, no family, and our few friends are worse off. I'm not even sure I'll be able to recover my computer since the roof on the attic is leaky, and there'll be even more rain this weekend.

I feel absolutely crushed inside. Some people have tried to get me art supplies and I did draw a bit on a whiteboard in the classroom we were staying at in the shelter, but it's not the same thing. I can't feel any kind of inspiration knowing I might be completely homeless in two weeks, knowing the only two friends we have here might also be homeless, knowing I might have lost more than 15 years of art and music that were on my computer, that I might have lost thousands of physical drawings and so on. But I'm just trying my best to not think about any of that, so I just feel numb, occasionally I cry and feel anxious. My partner has also been trying to cheer me up since we got to the hotel, but i still feel pretty terrible. I haven't slept more than 5 hours straight in some 10 days. A lot of the time I dissociate and everything feels surreal.

I'll leave my ko-fi here in case anyone wants to donate. I also want to help our two friends with at least 100usd if possible, since they're even more vulnerable than my partner and I. If you have me on discord, please dm me instead and I'll give you my paypal address.