#but basically her life is going great and with this great life she apparently doesn’t want to talk to me

[jinxviolets]

reached out to the friend who ditched me for her new fucking boyfriend again bc i’m a grown adult who is trying desperately not to be as petty as i feel and just wait for her to come to me but… she told me she was gonna make plans for us over a month ago and then she never followed through. and she never goddamn reaches out to me. so i’m last-ditch-efforting this shit bc i’m tired of waiting around and wondering if she thinks or cares about me anymore.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 14

part 1 | part 13 | ao3

fuckin' finally some FLUFF

Dinner is awkward.

It’s awkward, Steve thinks as he spears a Brussels sprout with more force than strictly necessary, because Dustin promised that it was just going to be the three of them tonight, and now he’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his leather-clad metalhead neighbor.

It went like this: Steve showed up at the Henderson’s front door with a pie plate and a two-liter of Grapico under his arm, looking like a dork on picture day in his best jeans and a nice polo with his hair actually combed for once, and he lifted his hand to knock only to be greeted by Eddie throwing the door open and hollering, “Be right back, Henderson! Gotta grab— oh, shit.” 

And then, more eloquently, “Uh…” 

Uh. Like Steve was the one unexpectedly crashing the party.

Steve stabs another sprout. 

They’ve been bumbling through stilted small talk about work and school and weekend plans for what feels like a painfully long time, and Eddie has his elbows on the table — didn’t even bother to take his jacket off because he was apparently raised in a barn — and it’s basically dinner with Barb’s parents all over again. 

This is finger-lickin’ good.  

God. Get him out of here.

“Okay,” Dustin cuts through the stalled-out silence in the room. He jabs an accusatory fork into the air, pointing between the two of them and narrowing his eyes. “You two are being weird.” 

Eddie startles dumbly, and Steve just says, “Hmm?”

“You.” He aims the fork at Steve. “Are being.” It moves to Eddie; back to Steve. “Weird. What’s going on? I thought you two were getting along now.” 

Steve dabs his mouth with his napkin. Wow. Okay. So they’re doing this now.

Eddie either doesn’t get the memo or just decides to rip it up, because instead of being honest he throws on a theatrical smile and flings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, proclaiming, “Of course we are! C’monnn. Me and this guy?” He reaches up to give Steve a gentle noogie. Steve wonders if you can get a more lenient sentence if the guy you murdered really, really deserved it. “Thick as thieves.” 

Claudia smiles fondly.

Dustin’s not buying it. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

“Dusty!” Claudia gasps. She gives him a stern look as she tops off her wine glass, then leans over to do the same for Steve and Eddie’s glasses, too. “Stevie, honey, don’t listen to him,” she soothes. “I think it’s sweet. It’s good to see you with some boyfriends your own age.”

Dustin chokes at her word choice, and Steve blushes to his ears. 

Eddie’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Yeah, Stevie,” he smirks, leaning in a little closer. “We’re great boyfriends, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dustin joins in, “best boyfriends I’ve ever seen.” 

Surely murder’s just murder, right? Like, from a sentencing perspective? Does it matter how many people you off, or do you just get thirty-to-life regardless?

“Steve, tell mom more about your boyfriend.”

Steve chugs his glass of wine.

—

The conversation turns to less embarrassing topics after that, the words flowing more easily now that everyone’s warmed up with wine and making fun of Steve. Claudia asks what everyone’s doing for Halloween, and Dustin tells her that Eddie and Steve are taking the boys trick-or-treating in the neighborhood with the good candy bars (which was news to Steve, goddammit), and that leads to a discussion of costume plans. 

Dustin and Mike are going as a pair again, Marty and Doc from Back to the Future. Lucas is doing his own thing, but he's "totally delusional if he thinks a costume is gonna win Max back." Steve doesn’t really have a costume this year, so he’ll probably just pull some sweats out of the closet, throw a whistle around his neck and go as a basketball coach, and Eddie, surprisingly, has the lowest effort costume of them all. 

“Oh, I’m going as a vampire,” he says when Claudia asks. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out some cheap plastic teeth and pops them into his mouth. “Ta-daaa.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “You just carry those around?” 

“Isn’t it awesome?” Dustin asks.

“Not really, no. It’s not.” 

“But S’theeeve,” Eddie lisps around the fangs. The wine’s made him weirder, playful and too-friendly and berry pink in the cheeks. He holds his sleeve in front of his face like a vampire hiding behind a cape and drawls, “I vant to s’thuck your bloood.”

Steve vants to jump out the window. “I’m gonna go serve the pie.” 

—

part 15

tags below the cut, comment if you want me to tag you tomorrow 🩷

@acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @burymestanding @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cr0w-culture @cuips-not-cute @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @heartsong18 @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @ppunkpuppyy @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @steddieas-shegoes @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @teatimeeverybody @thealwithnoname @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.  

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask? 

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows. 

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere. 

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny. 

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”  

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?  

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said. 

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.    

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.  

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind. 

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.” 

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.” 

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him. 

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.   

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either. 

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called. 

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear. 

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said. 

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick. 

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail. 

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep. 

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[choccy-milky]

bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

[hellish-sunsets]

Hi, so, can I ask for husker x young reader (platonic)? Readers father knocked at the hotels door when reader was a very young girl, 5 or so, saying that he’ll be right back, and left before the door was answered by the hotels owner, Charlie. 11 years have passed and everyone has become like family to reader, mainly husker, who’s basically become like her father. So what if one day readers bio dad comes back (reader doesn’t know he’s her dad) and tries to get himself back into readers life? Husker knows who he is, and doesn’t approve at all. What then?

Too Late

Husk was the one who ended up answering the door. He was the only one in the lobby at the time. He sighed and grumbled, but opened the door regardless, only to met with... a child?

She didn't look to be in the best condition, honestly. She was thin, her hair unkempt, and her clothes flitby and falling apart. She jumped when the door opened, looking up at Husk with big eyes. She looked off in the distance behind herself, then back at him. Tears welled up in her eyes, her face scrunched up as she started to cry.

Husk was not good with kids, but even an idiot knew you were supposed to comfort a crying kid.

He picked her up, glaring at the surroundings to see if he could spot who had left her here, but closing the door when he found nothing. His focus shifted to figuring out what to do with the kid.

He ended up settling her on a couch in the lobby and getting her a glass of water until she had calmed down. Apparently, her father had left her there. Great. He got her a blanket and pillow and watched over her while she slept. He would talk to everyone else in the morning and figure out a more permanent plan.

Well, considering the people who were there, he probably shouldn't have expected much. They all just decided to hold on to her and take care of her themselves. Which worked out mostly, but it left Husk doing the majority of the proper parenting.

It happened so gradually, he almost didn’t even notice that's what happened. And by the time the kid first called him Dad, smiling up at him from her bed, he found he didn't mind.

So, she grew up in the hotel for eleven years, becoming a fixture everyone loved to see.

Then came the day a man walked in.

He walked to Husk at the bar and he could immediately tell something was off. He narrowed his eyes at the man, managing to stifle a growl. Y/N was behind the bar counter as well, now a teenager. She looked weary as well, glancing up from her phone between the man and Husk.

"Can I help you, sir?" Husk asked.

The man went on to say he was looking for someone. Husk's fur stood on end as he heard the man describe how he abandoned his daughter here so casually, like he hadn't even done anything wrong. His wings puffed up and spread out, protectively blocking her from him.

"Any chance she's still here?"

"What exactly are you going to do if I say no, hmm?" Husk asked, crossing his arms. "What do you want with her?"

The man didn't give an answer, just asked again if she was here more sternly, a cross look over his face. Husk refused to answer, and the man only got more angry. There was about to be a fight in that hotel lobby, but you step in. You had to process what was going on first.

You didn't remember anything about your life before the hotel. You vaguely remembered the night you were left here, but Husk had told you how he found you on the hotel porch. You were smart enough to recognize the connections from that story and this man's ramblings.

"Sir, your daughter isn't here. Kindly fuck off before we have to sick our overlord on you."

"The fuck did you just say to me, bitch?"

Husk felt his heart stop as that man growled at her, standing off. He put a hand on your shoulder.

Thankfully, Alastor decided to show up, appearing behind the man through shadows and placing a hand on his shoulder as well.

"I believe you were told to leave."

The man turned with a scowl, but went pale when he saw who was standing behind him, grin stretched painfully wide. He all but ran out of the hotel.

You gave a deep breath, deflating now that he had left.

"Fucking jackass..." you muttered, returning to your stool behind the counter.

"Hey, are you going to be okay?" Husk asked with furrowed brows. You just shrugged.

"It's fine, he left. Besides, I already have a Dad, and he's a fuck ton better than that guy."

Husk smiled and nodded, returning to cleaning his glasses with a new lightness to his steps.

[just-another-personal-side-blog]

Session 0 - Damian Priest x Tattoo Artist

Part 1 of 6

Rating: T

Beta Reader: @jstarr86

“Trust me Dam, she’s the best at what she does. It doesn’t hurt that I’d trust her with my life. You’ve been going on about finally getting that back piece, there’s no one better.” Rhea practically herded him towards what looked like an absolute hole in the wall, his nerves judged it based on first appearance.

“Most of my art was done by her, I’ve been meaning to introduce Dom as well. You got first dibs of course.” She paused at the door giving him a single raised brow, “You do trust me, don’t you Damian?”

Cornered he let out a sigh, it doesn’t hurt to at least take a look to appease her. 

“Fine, after you.” 

A bell above the door could just barely be heard over the heavy rock that beat like a pulse within the confines of the lobby. Framed detailed tattoo sketches hung upon the walls, behind the front desk were a collection of awards and licenses to prove this place was legit. Folders full of premade basic bitch designs sat on the coffee table by comfortable leather chairs, Rhea pressed a button at the front. No sound could be heard but in a span of seconds a young woman came out from the back.

“How can I- Oh! Shit! Rhea! Hey girl! Why didn’t you give me a heads up that you were coming?” Priest looked up from one of the framed pieces he was admiring. Apparently the new arrival hadn’t noticed him from the angle he was standing, not something he was used to given his size. He took a moment to admire the person before him…

Purple faux hawk with an under-fade, full tattoo sleeves on both arms, legs, and back, several piercings both visible and one not, brilliant blue eyes with some intense metallic goth eye makeup and a stunning smile. A pair of fake leather leggings with lace ups on the outside of the legs, a fishnet crop top under a Beetlejuice tank top, tying it all together was a basic durable black dog collar and a pair of Demonia knee length boots.Unlike the blonde Barbie she was finishing up, Rhea’s friend wasn’t stick skinny. She was probably a good size 9 or 10, there was some plump flesh but it appeared to have some sturdy muscle underneath. A full pair of breasts accentuated beautifully with the fishnet, and hips perfect to dig fingers into.

“I brought a friend that I thought you might like meeting, he’s been talking about wanting a new big tat for awhile now. So I told him there's only one person I’d trust with that.” After a moment the girl turned to look at him, there was immediate recognition as well as shock across her features. It was brief and fleeting before putting up a friendly facade.

It took Rhea slapping on the bicep to smack Damian back present, realizing he’d been staring at the artist long after the gal she’d been working on had left happily. Meaning he had given her an intense resting bitch for a good minute now. Incredibly embarrassed Priest offered a hand which she accepted with an impressive firm hand shake.

“You can call me Minnie, only people I like get to use that.” Rhea playful shoulder checked her with a warm smile,

“It’s short for Minerva, her parents were from Athens originally”

“So your namesake is a Goddess of War, seems fitting.” Bright sky blue eyes flicked up from the sketchbook she’d grabbed to start jotting ideas from him. And without pause blossomed like a Sunflower, taking note of the dimple on her right cheek. 

“Best make sure you never get on my bad side, Rhea has some great stories of me chasing off her exes prior to Wrestling. I’m only five years older than her, not to mention like 5 inches shorter even without those elevator shoes she stomps around in.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed that at all. Both of you still don’t have me beat.”

“Well you clearly discovered immortality in high school, because you haven't aged a bit.”

Rhea perched herself on the spare stool in the room, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she watched the two getting comfortable with their back and forth.

“What she neglected to mention is the three times she chased them off with a metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and nails welded to it.”

“Jokes on you, I still sleep with that bat beside my bed. Safety first and all that fun stuff. Safer than a machete, I’d rather not accidentally stab myself in my sleep.”

“That’s why we’re best friends.” The Aussie grins before giving Minnie a cheeky wink.

“Why do I feel like I got led into a trap?” She wrinkled her nose at Damian before opening the sketchbook before her.

“You have nothing to worry about Butterscotch, I take my art very seriously. Now let’s start discussing what you’re looking to get and where. I’ll let you know now, that while I’m sure you’re likely VERY blessed… I don’t do anything where I gotta see dick or vag.”

Priest momentarily choked on his saliva while Rhea guffawed in glee. A quick side eye glare at her smothered the sound to a quiet chuckle. Something about her felt like she was messing with the poor Puerto Rican man, akin to a cat staring directly at their owner while pushing a glass of water off the counter playfully.

“You’ve already got plenty of gorgeous pieces on that flawless flesh. What are you thinking of doing?”

No hesitation he pulled his t-shirt up and over while turning to show the empty expanse of his back. Her breath caught audibly, eyes briefly went wide glancing at Ripley wildly. The female wrestler grinned like the Cheshire Cat, watching each interaction with fascination. Plans coming to fruition.

The tattooer bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to focus on what he was actually saying. Once locked in, Minnie began to sketch up fluidly upon paper, at one point he was leaning over her shoulder admiring the work of a talented creative. Bringing his vision to life on the crisp white paper, each description rumbled like incoming thunder located in the man’s voice box. Thank god for hyperfocus cuz lord only knows this was gonna be a genuine challenge for her self-control. All she wanted to do was trace those tattoos on him with her tongue. She had to shake her head to focus back in again, hands working on autopilot, taking in his words with each glide of charcoal across parchment. 

When he finished describing it she looked back up at him with a friendly smile,

“How big are you thinking of making it? So I know what to prepare for, as well as how many sessions to schedule in advance.” He tilted his head in thought momentarily before answering,

“Ideally I’d like it to cover a majority of my back.” She nodded in agreement,

“Alright, I’ve got the sketch started. I'll email you three different versions and you let me know what you like and what you don’t. And if there's aspects you like in one and want to add it to another one, just let me know. This is your tattoo on your skin, I want you to love it decades from now. How’s that sound?”  Damian was genuinely impressed with her professionalism, even as he controls the strong desire to flirt with her. This was a time to behave, she was Rhea’s best friend, and thus not someone to attempt to make any moves towards. 

“That sounds great to me, thanks.” Her smile was so sweet it could have made him diabetic just looking at it. 

“Great. Oh and Rhea, let me know when you want to come in and do those matching ghost tattoos with Dom.” 

“No rush, he’s busy planning his wedding right now so it’s gonna be a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. Now unfortunately I do have another client coming in twenty minutes so I gotta start prepping.” She pulled a business card from her bra, handing it over to Damian,

“My email and personal number is on there in case you think of something you want to add to the tat.Sound good?” Minnie gave a bashful little smile, and it made something deep in his chest want to say something incredibly forward. Rhea snagged him by the elbow, grinning like a cat that caught the canary. 

A nod of thanks was all he got out before being ushered back out, quicker than able to verbalize his appreciation. Ripley called back loudly,

“Thanks love! I’ll make sure he remembers to check his email regularly.” As if he didn’t already do that for work contacts to begin with. Once back in the car Priest gave his companion a look of utter suspicion, he could tell that she had ulterior motives. Nothing vicious or cruel, but she’d tried to set him up on a couple dates in the past, none that worked out. He’s focused on work, most women didn’t appreciate not being number one in his life. It’s been a string of disappointments, to where he bluntly asked Rhea to stop playing cupid. 

“This better not be an attempt at matchmaking again-” She cut him off with a sigh,

“I’ve long accepted that the ball is in your court from now on. I really truly just wanted you to go to an artist I’d trust my life with. She’s a good one, professional, talented, she spent twenty years as an apprentice before taking on her own clients. To top it off, she’s loyal, fun, and could use more genuine friends other than me. Can you blame me for that?” Her tone of voice was honest, after how much time they’d spent together, he could easily tell when she was bullshitting. Damian nodded to her as a show of acceptance to what she was saying. Her attention locked on the drive back to her place, Buddy was gonna get some sparring practice in with the other man. 

His gaze trailed a spot in the distance, trying to keep that woman out of his thoughts… failing miserably. She had such a lovely face, and all the art on display was impressive to be sure. The name Minerva fit her perfectly, especially with how protective she was of the Australian wrestler. It was endearing how she was barely 5’3 and was ready to take on the world to keep her 5’7 well-muscled friend safe. He hadn’t noticed the small smile that spread across his features, but Ripley sure took note of it. Keeping her features stoic while internally she was so pleased with herself. 

She pulled into the driveway where her man was waiting, he waved as they got out of the car. Buddy smiled at them, 

“I’m guessing it went well? Minnie is great at what she does. Rhea doesn’t like to share her with people, so it’s a hell of a compliment she brought you.” She gave him a quick kiss before heading into the house calling back,

“Play nice boys don’t forget the Terror Twins have some matches coming up.”

Damian shook his head w a huff before following the ginger towards their personal gym. Somehow he still had a sneaking suspicion that Rhea was playing a long game now instead of all the quick fruitless dates in the past… The image of Minerva slid by again, and for once… he might be okay with that.

Tagged:

@superlove167 @midnightlycan @mooshroomii420 @hotwheels1108 @misslackey @gigisview @abadbitchblogs @sexyblacksimper @sweetmoonlove0214 @daithideolishmer118 @tomandbuckyfan1 @terrortwinunicorn @iy-16-18 @sluttysierraaa @jstarr86 @zombiedixon89 @horsekoala @fearlesschimera @eringobragh420 @elainneoneill570 @gretavanhockey @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @sad-dreamer93 @agustd202204 @nubian-queen22 @kaitlinlovetwister @bosslady3168 @gabberzzz1998 @mol2311

[fandomzwriterk]

This my first time ever requesting anything on this site, so please bear with me 💀 I have a request for any of the Mortal Kombat 1 characters (preferably Lin Kuei and/or earthrealmers) with a special other that ats like either Deadpool or Wolverine? I've been hyperfixated on both, and would interested to see how you portray it!! Thanks 💚💚 (also, love your content btw.)

A/N: yes absolutely yes! I act like Deadpool a lot so this is gonna be fun for me😂😂 Also reader with be based off of both Wolverine and Deadpool🤣🤣😂😂 Brought to you by: Ashes by Nathan Sharp

Bi Han

-> When he first met you, which was a mission to bring you back alive, your first words to him were “come at me daddy” as you pulled out a pistol

-> Confused the man right then and there, making him freeze

-> Answered back with “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

-> As you pulled the trigger, Bi Han straight up froze it with a wall of ice

-> Of course, after you shot, you came running up with your claws unsheathed, stabbing right through the ice almost hitting him

-> “There’s a lot of things wrong with me! Where should I begin? I got tortured… A LOT. Oh I was basically a lab rat for a guy, may he rest in peace, that shot me up full of drugs to stop my cancer and now I can self heal which means I can’t die which means I’m forced to live the rest of my life knowing someone took my humanity away.”

-> Bi Han is just fighting you with his mouth wide open

-> He has no idea what to even say to you

-> “Come on bub, I’m not gonna waste my time fighting you. After all I just told you I can’t die.”

-> “Can you… suffer from other things?”

-> You answered with “yes but I grow anything back that gets cut off”

-> You pulled out a katana as he came to strike down on you with an ice blade

-> There is a lot of back forth… mostly you just trauma dumping on him

-> Bi Han is just thinking to himself “I swear to the Elder gods if she doesn’t shut up I’m gonna kill her- Crap.”

-> The fight ends with him plunging an ice blade through your chest and up making you fall to your knees, pinning you there

-> “Oh I’m not new to this. I like where this is going”

-> Bi Han just crossed his arms in front of him, standing proud as a fiery portal opened up

-> “Oh great thanks dude now I’m apparently going to hell.”

-> You tried to cut the ice with adamantium claws, still stuck in your chest considering how fucking cold it was

Kuai Liang

-> Met you on accident… really! On accident!

-> He had been walking through town when he saw you flip a 6 foot dude onto his back while the rest of the bar was going wild

-> He saw your steel like claws, cutting through everything in its path

-> He HAD to meet you

-> But you were gone as soon as he went to track you

-> “Not my first time being stalked but I will say, you my friend are terrible at it.” You answered sitting on the balcony above his head jumping for him

-> He pulled out his weapon, lighting it on fire as he swung towards you, pulling onto the rope that was holding it

-> You backflipped over his head, making his back get turned to you

-> “Ooh… kinky. Not my first rodeo with that though.”

-> Just stopped in his tracks as he turned to fight you, confusing the hell outta him

-> “I You are very strange”

-> “Eh. I’ve heard that one a few times.”

-> “From who may I ask?”

-> You showed him your bloody claws that had been retracted back into your skin previously

-> You lunged at him, making him roll to the side

-> “Oh come on I hate it when the fun is-“

-> He had cut you, seeing your blood light aflame as it spew from your arm

-> But instantly, it healed, sending Kuai into a state of worry

-> You still felt the skin slowly close

-> You did have no intention to fight or kill him

-> You were mad your sleeve had been cut

-> “Oh come on this was my favorite one!”

-> Your mood changed instantly, seeming to forget he was there as you pulled off the sleeve

-> “I uh… I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to attack you. I wanted to-“

-> “No need to apologize, I just fight everyone I come across. After all I don’t know if you were trying to kill me there. Speaking of which how in gods name did you light that on fire? I’ve been trying for years and never understood.”

-> He put away his weapons upon hearing you start to ramble about random things

-> That fight ended but he asked you to accompany him to his home base

-> And of course… you agreed. Why not have fun all the time since you can live forever?

Tomas Vrbada

-> Weirdest place he met you?

-> At Johnnys house where you had been training him in weapon combat

-> Tomas had an immediate liking to you

-> You were even stronger than Raiden, who had been there with Kung Lao

-> He was entranced by your adamantium claws, your precise aim when it came to guns, and your incredible healing

-> Not gonna lie, when he first trained with you, he was so scared when he cut you deep on your arm

-> You being chill about it and going on about your day like it was nothing freaked him out

-> “You can heal yourself?”

-> “Umm… yeah? Thought Mr Playboy Billionaire would’ve told you that.”

-> “Johnny is-“

-> “Unreliable? Difficult? Stubborn? Ignoring all my advice? Yep that’s the Johnny Cage I’ve always known.”

-> You walked off with no worry, just cleaning your katanas with a soft cloth as you went to sit down next to a small pool of water

-> It took him some time, but Tomas eventually found out who you were

-> Surprise surprise, Tomas found out you’re the legend herself, the great and mighty Wolverine

-> Johnny told him that they wouldn’t allow a female to play a dominant role even though he fought against it, making some male actor the lead and changing some of the story

-> All this time thought you were maybe Wolverine’s daughter

-> But… your personality was more like Wade’s, a friend of Johnny’s who played your other “crude” half Deadpool that was actually really you as well

-> You could be two different people, and he liked that

-> So you were real, and Tomas wanted to always have his eyes on the legend herself

-> Soon enough, about some months later and after visiting the Shirai Ryu enough times, you talked to him about your trauma

-> He told you he knew about it, but he’s not one to judge what you went through

-> After all, he lost family too

-> Secretly wants to find out what exactly you can live through

All Brothers

-> Tomas is protective of you, Bi Han wants to push you to your limits, and Kuai is the one who makes sure you do the right thing, even if you feel like a bad person

-> Tomas very much admires you and I’m sure he, Johnny, and Raiden have made a fan club about you

-> Bi Han is the one who punishes you for wrongdoings, even going as far as to hurt you to make you listen

-> Kuai Liang is the one who takes care of you on your rougher days

-> All three understand they have no place try and understand the torture and pain you went through

-> All three have thought about you fighting them in a 3v1

-> You become the most important person to them for various reasons

-> Bi Han makes you important by telling you and reminding you of all the things you’ve fought so far, how strong you are to still be alive

-> Tomas always has your back through anything, specially missions or when it’s just him and you

-> Kuai always reassures you that even if you’ve done some bad things in the past, that’s not what you always will be defined as

-> However, they know you’re technically immortal and that even if you are and they aren’t, they’ll still treat you like a normal person

-> If you ever have nightmares, each brother does a different thing depending on who’s around

-> If it’s just you and Bi Han alone, he’ll immediately come to find you if you’re having a panic attack or a flashback of awful things you’ve done and said before

-> He chills you down when you’re thrashing in your sleep and burning up

-> He knows you’re not a shitty person like everyone said you were, you’re just a broken “hero” who’s been screwed over so many times

-> If it’s you and Kuai, Kuai always stays nearby with anything you need and if you need alone time, he’s still around with food or comfort

-> Always enforces that you will always be a “hero” even if you don’t feel worthy

-> Is the one who will watch your “movies” with you

-> If it’s Tomas, he’s always by your side, never wavering or leaving

-> He’s the one who’s protecting you, making sure your bad days will be good ones in any way he can

-> He’s the one you talk about your past “transgressions” with

-> Tomas always has some sort comfort thing for you wether it be a blanket or a food you like

-> When they’re all there and you’re having a breakdown or nightmare, they’ll each find a spot to be near you with all three of them cuddled against you like you’re a child

-> You’re all snuggled together like a family even if you’re all different

-> They’ll all stay till you’re comfortable, focused, and ready to keep fighting ahead

A/N: as you can see, I’m very partial to Tomas I’m sorry🤣🤣🤣 Anyways I’m back from vacation now (my bf and I went on a trip)

[innerfare]

Lawbin Headcanons 

Summary: Early stages of Lawbin. This whole thing is basically Law being a dork who’s constantly trying to play it cool while falling for the weird girl (Robin, I love you, never change). 

Characters: Trafalgar Law x Nico Robin

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

When Robin met the Captain of the Heart Pirates, the Surgeon of Death and a Warlord of the Sea, Dr. Trafalgar Law, she didn’t trust him, not even for a second. Recall, she has extensive experience with Warlords and would have died at the hands of one if Luffy hadn’t saved her despite her own insistence he leave her to die. As soon as she meets Law, she swears to herself that if things go sour, Luffy won’t be saving her and, in fact, she’ll be saving Luffy. She won’t let the Warlord take a shot at her Captain, and she takes Luffy’s proposition that if the alliance goes bad, the crew will have his back, to heart.  

For the longest time, that’s how Robin thinks of Law: the Warlord. She never talks about it, but she has PTSD from her time with Crocodile. She had never known peace or solace in her life; the safest position she’d had before joining the Straw Hats was as the right hand of a man who ultimately viewed her as expendable. And Sir Crocodile wasn’t just any man, he was a pirate brimming with power and eerily intelligent, with a mind for strategy. Just like Traffy, whose insistence on planning out every little detail and having a backup plan for every backup plan takes Robin right back to Alabasta. 

Robin becomes a little obsessed with comparing him to Crocodile. She zeroes in on his willingness to make small sacrifices for the greater cause, his analytical nature and reserved emotions, his apparent lack of friends. Only, Traffy went to great lengths to help the Straw Hats rescue the children on Punk Hazard, and he didn’t take the opportunity to be too cruel to Smoker and Tashigi despite having them chained in front of him. But that doesn’t stop her from trying to make him into Crocodile 2.0.  

And then there’s Law, who’s such a dork. Strategic alliance this, strategic alliance that, but from the second he met the Straw Hats, he wasn’t thinking about betraying them, he was wondering how he was supposed to remain impartial with such an affable group. He thought Nico, at least, would be an ally against the general Straw Hat insanity, but she turned out to be the crew’s worst enabler rather than the mother hen he had originally pegged her for. Which begs the question, what else was he wrong about? 

Annoyed to have been so wrong, Law begins paying more attention to Nico. He notices that she doesn’t fall into the insular trap that a lot of academics do. She’s not just an expert on her one field but in fact is incredibly well read and is a wealth of knowledge on a menagerie of different topics, and each topic he learns she is well-versed in is weirder than the last. 

Why is Nico an expert on Panda Shark socialization? How did Nico come to find out that there is a mythical, lost library full of love poems on an unnamed sky island? Why does Nico have so many books on a random king from the South Blue who died eight hundred years ago? How did Nico learn that there’s an island in the West Blue where white pumpkins grow on bone trees? And why, oh why, is she versed in Germa 66 lore? Finding out the last one makes his heart drop, the realization that he would risk it all for the Straw Hat archaeologist making Law’s stomach churn. 

And how is she so calm all the time? He had pegged the academic as similar to him, but her crew’s shenanigans seem to just roll right off her. She sat in that cell with him and the others in Punk Hazard reminiscing about old times with Luffy and Smoker instead of cowering in the shadow of Vergo, and she more than held her own on Green Bit, lending herself to him as an asset time and again, always being there to lend a helping hand (or twelve) when the plan fails. 

All that is to say, Law falls first. But it’s Robin who makes the first move. 

It’s only when she sees Traffy interact with his crew that Robin sees him for who he is, and she can’t get that man out of her head- that man who isn't domineering but tries to make people follow his orders to protect them, that man who is so adored by his crew (the members of which he protects rather than uses for his own gain), that man who, despite being called Warlord, is kind of adorable. 

Robin starts teasing him a bit; she just can’t help herself. Now that her Crocodile glasses are off, she can see that he doesn’t have the sort of temper that leads him to kill people but rather the sort that just leaves him spluttering and speechless. And, well, she thinks it’s cute. She starts feeling dumb, too, for not having seen it sooner. After all, Luffy saw he was a good and trustworthy person, and that should have been enough for her, but she had been blinded. 

No longer blinded, she starts enjoying her time with Traffy, though he doesn’t notice the shift, doesn't realize she's soft on him. He thinks she’s needling him for some other reason. It never occurs to him that Nico (or anyone, for that matter) finds him cute. And he almost goes into cardiac arrest when she tells him. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He demands one night, fed up with that little smile that always seems to be on Nico’s face while she’s staring at him. “Nothing,” she says, swallowing her giggle, “I just think you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” And with that, she leaves him to process what she’d just said. 

Their relationship is built on info dumping. Robin can talk about her weird interests, such as the mating habits of Sea Kings and the fact that the antidote made from Conine in the bark of Kona Trees can actually be used as a poison if mixed with the correct substances. And Law can talk about his childish interests, such as various comic books and ninjas. These two geek out on a level not previously known to humankind. 

They bring each other odd tokens, typically the weirdest possible thing they could find on their respective travels. 

Law buying Robin books and leaving notes inside that get progressively more personal, Robin asking Sanji to show her how to make onigiri because it’s Law’s favorite. 

And then there’s the trauma. Both were nearby when their parents were murdered. Both were alone in the world at a very young age, Robin hunted by the World Government and Law by the Donquixote family. Both know what it’s like to be completely alone with nothing to their name but a bizarre devil fruit ability and a target on their back. Both managed to find their way in the world despite feeling for years that they never would. They didn’t save each other because they didn’t have to. They’re traumatized, but they’re not broken, and together, they can be even stronger. They saved themselves, and now that they did, they’re free to bask in each others’ presence. And that’s exactly what they do. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[moghedien]

HONESTLY THO can we talk about the angst of Aylin and Isobel’s separation from Isobel’s side of things

Because the angst from Aylin’s side is there and obvious and very very clearly a huge motivation for her actions and yeah it’s great. But Aylin is the immortal. Aylin was always going to be the one that watched Isobel die. They both always knew this, it just happened way before they expected and caused a whole lot of turmoil. And even with all her angst, Aylin is certain that Isobel is dead and not coming back. She saw her body. She probably saw her buried. She probably say many of Ketheric’s vile attempts to bring her back before she was imprisoned. Isobel is dead and not coming back. Losing Isobel and then spending a century being tortured and bound as a means of helping Ketheric maintain profane power and immortality is like…so much and it’s driving her passion and anger when you meet her, but it’s also very obvious that’s what’s going on when you have the context. And when you have the context, it’s clear and it’s obvious to see.

But Isobel’s angst is just so subtle and steeped in uncertainty.

Isobel woke up and it seems like she didn’t even realize she had died. She describes it as nothing and then waking up. She doesn’t know how she died. She doesn’t remember dying at all. She just knows she woke up and it was a 100 years later and everything was very, very different.

Her father had been a Selunite when she died, and now he was gone from Selune to Shar to Myrkul. He went from being a seemingly good man and leader to a mass murdering undead necromancer who seemingly began committing atrocity after atrocity as soon as her tomb was shut. He destroyed her home, her community and everyone in it, and defiled everything she has ever held dear. Apparently for her, even.

She has basically no answers for how any of this happened or what is going on, she just flees and hides until she can create a sanctuary for people who seem more or less to stumble in the dark too.

Like all of that has to be terribly confusing and consuming her mind, but that would only be made worse by her learning about Aylin.

Because Aylin isn��t supposed to die.

Isobel is supposed to be the one that would die one day. Aylin is immortal. They both knew this. Everyone that knew about them knew this. But then suddenly she’s waking up 100 years later in a very different world to her very changed father telling her that Aylin is dead.

It’s impossible, but looking at everything else that seemed to happen while she was “sleeping,” maybe it isn’t. Maybe Aylin is dead. Maybe somehow her immortal demigod mate died.

But maybe not

The only thing telling her that Aylin died is Ketheric who is now very clearly an unreliable source. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he isn’t. She literally has no way to know.

So if Ketheric is lying, then where’s Aylin? Did she somehow become corrupted like everything else she used to love? Is she being held prisoner? Did she just leave and move on once Isobel died? Again, she has little to indicate what could have happened. For all she knows, Aylin is off somewhere being the love of some other cleric’s life. It’s been 100 years after all.

And the worst part is that she has two pieces of evidence on Aylin’s fate that seem to contradict each other. She has her father telling her that Aylin is long dead. Then she has Marcus. Someone that she knew and interacted with before you arrive at Last Light, arriving with a newly acquired set of wings. She doesn’t know where those wings came from, of course. But her father sends a goon to kidnap her with a set of wings they didn’t have even days ago? She would suspect the source. She would know that he was being intentional about that. So where would he have gotten a fresh set of wings if the only angel around was long dead?

While Aylin is no doubt like tragic in this situation, she never ever had reason to hope Isobel was alive. She never suspects it. All of her angst around Isobel is mourning and vengeance.

Isobel on the other hand has no idea what happened to Aylin. Aylin isn’t supposed to be able to die, and yet she’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead, yet Ketheric seems to be getting fresh body parts from her. He seems to be doing that, but it could be lies to trick her. Aylin might be alive and well. Aylin might be dead. Aylin might be evil and corrupted. Aylin might be helping Ketheric for all she knows. Isobel has no way of knowing anything and the worst part is, she can’t go try to figure it out.

If she leaves, everyone in the inn will die. Even if she somehow can leave without innocents dying, she can’t put herself anywhere near Ketheric since he clearly seems willing to hurt her emotionally now. He’ll probably do more the next time he has a chance. Who knows what he would do to make her stay if she went looking for answers there. Who knows what damage he could do if she gets the one thing he wanted.

Literally all Isobel can do is sit at the inn and pray to Selune for answers, or better yet for Aylin.

But Selune doesn’t seem to be providing the answers she wants, and if you play as a Selunite, Isobel hints at how much that is angering her.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Here’s a sad thought about Princess Jasmine in Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier, courtesy of listening to the soundtrack again and feeling the feelings about her and Ja’far: this version of the Sultan must be a really bad father.

We never see him interact with his stepdaughter. He already seems rather senile when he steals Scheherazade, and that’s sixteen years before the present day. His sanity may well have completely gone in that time. Even if it didn’t, he makes it clear in his one appearance that he considers everyone in his power to be objects defined entirely by how they can benefit him and remorselessly will torture, enslave and murder them on a whim. I doubt that he’d be sensitive or nurturing toward his child. Now, I think Scheherazade would be a great mother - but she never got to try.

The Sultan has evidently been very neglectful and distant, failing in his duties to teach the Princess how to be both a good person and a good member of royalty. Despite her being his only heir and old enough to marry and rule the kingdom, which apparently has no problem with a female sovereign, he’s let her grow up to be extremely sheltered and not at all adequately prepared for responsibility and politics. It doesn’t even occur to her that having her tiger assault a neighbouring country’s visiting prince might have consequences. The Sultan, and on his behalf the Captain of the Guard, don’t let her know important news and royal decrees: neither what a menace Aladdin is, leaving her vulnerable to him, nor the Sultan’s mass execution of the 2D Department, since for as insensitively egocentric as she is at the beginning, she’s still deeply sentimental and quick to empathize with the homeless peasant Aladdin, so I can’t believe that she wouldn’t be at least a little upset with the Sultan (or more likely Ja’far) over so many lost human lives.

More than that, her immaturity speaks to bad parenting on the most basic level. She hasn’t internalized the Sultan’s cruelty, but has learned his selfishness, entitlement, impulsiveness and poor emotional regulation. Her social skills are notably clumsy and underdeveloped (not picking up on Aladdin’s numerous red flags, “No high five”, “At least Abdul had a family who loved him!”, even cringing herself at the last one). The Sultan’s passed down absolutely zero wisdom of any kind.

Instead it’s Ja’far with whom she has a familiar father-daughter dynamic (“What’s up, are you mad at me?” “Where are you going?” “There she is!”). It’s him who shows concern when she runs away and gives the order to find her before all else, notices that she’s upset and talks her through her feelings, warns her about sexual predators, appreciates her idealism and effort. It’s him who provides the gentle but firm, healthy guidance and challenge that she needs to grow. Who sees her potential, respects and believes in her. Who loves her. However, he is ultimately in her service. Between the imbalanced power dynamic making him wary of treason (after all, the last time he had a stronger relationship than the Sultan with a woman the Sultan called his, it didn’t end well) and his other responsibilities taking away from their time together, he can’t be as influential a presence in his life as he’d like.

Maybe this why she’s initially so resentful of him. Subconsciously she does see him as a father all along, but he hurts her and lets her down sometimes. Like the Sultan, her only official parent, always has. That stings. The differences are that the Sultan hurts her much more, more consistently and without her best interests at heart… but Ja’far is the one she can lash out at and complain to and be a messy adolescent around, because firstly, he’s her subject instead of her ruler, and secondly, he’s actually involved in her life. He cares, and therefore yelling or halfheartedly trying to poison his wine will make an impact. The Sultan is untouchable. We know that she conflates the two in her head as unjust authority figures keeping her trapped and crushing her aspirations (“All the people who say I’m just dreaming, like Father and Ja’far”, one of the only times she mentions the Sultan). It’s easier to blame your problems on an employee everybody else hates than accept that your parent is a bad one.

Maybe this is the root of her discontentment as well, her yearning that she can’t articulate for something more than what the life she’s been given. The joke of “Everything and More” is that she doesn’t need anything besides what she has… but she does. She needs a competent, reliable parent. One who she can trusts loves her the person as her parent, not a servant of her bloodline, and she knows to love as such in turn.

No wonder she falls for “Orphaned at Thirty-Three” hook, line and sinker. She’s never known her mother. Her relationships with her paternal figures range from terrible to complicated. Having unconditionally loving, supportive parents and then suddenly losing them must be the worst thing she can imagine.

But in the end, the Sultan dies and her dad has to leave her. Although he found a way to live forever, it wasn’t enough to save her from the pain of being orphaned at sixteen.

[msmk11]

a hunger games fic where there’s tension between reader and haymitch but he feels conflicted because of the age gap i don’t know lots of pining and angst so i can go insane

Drunk on You

Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader

WC: 4k

CW: Drinking/being drunk; mentions of death and blood; age gap (legal and consensual- reader is 21)

A/n: Thank you for the request!! I'm so sorry this took so long. I have been in a writing rut and also very busy, but I hope you enjoy this! I know I sure did.

You’d been lucky enough to avoid mentoring the first two years after your games- your first year by claiming insanity and the second merely because of the abundance of victors in your district. But the Capitol, and Snow, were ravenous for the return of their Angel- the sweet, innocent girl they painted you to be despite the blood they knew was on your hands.

And while the nightmares of your games were as fresh in your mind as the day they started, you persisted nonetheless. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else die at your hands, even if the cost to you was great. 

So the day of the reaping you stood by Mags’ side- four’s other mentor this year- as you watched kids be chosen to be sent off to their deaths like pigs for slaughter. 

The girl, someone you barely recognized but knew you’d gone to school with, looked strong. Like a potential competitor. She was tall enough, fairly lean, and the definition in her arms was obvious. Her age- eighteen- was a benefit too.

Whatever her name was (you’d been too anxious to pay attention), would be your mentee this year while Mags took the boy. 

The boy.

Finnick Odair. 

And while the age difference between you two was large- almost 7 years exactly- you guys were close. Like sibling-level close. It took everything in your power to not let the tears brimming at your waterline spill. 

The aftermath was a flurry of rushed goodbyes, heated whispers, and your begging Mags to just help you make it through the games. 

Though every instinct screamed at you to put all your efforts into Finnick’s survival, your mind knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. The girl, your mentee, may not have meant something to you, but she certainly meant something to someone. And she deserved life just as much as Finnick. 

It didn’t make it any easier though. 

And in the nights, when the nightmares and fears came creeping in, you turned to drink. 

That’s how you met Haymitch.

Haymitch Abernathy. Blonde, 31, borderline alcoholic, victor of the second quarter quell. And your new drinking buddy. 

Apparently. 

When you get to the bar in the Tribute Center the first night it’s totally empty except for a few Capitol stragglers giggling in a corner booth. 

You take a seat at the actual bar and order from the bartender- a brunette avox who couldn’t be much older than you. You’re sure to be extra polite as you accept your drink and take a sip of the strong concoction. It burns and you know it’ll fuck you up just enough to take the sting off the emotions squeezing your heart. 

“Drinking alone? Seem a bit young to be doing that, sweetheart,” a voice interrupts from beside you.

You turn to find Haymitch Abernathy standing next to you, his appearance a little disheveled, but still obviously very handsome. 

“Not sure you’re the one to be making judgements, Abernathy. You even sober right now?”

He smirks at you a little, “only buzzed for now. Care for some company?”

You scan the blonde suspiciously and decide he’s basically harmless, “fine, but you buy the next round.”

The District 12 victor lets out a chuckle and slides onto a stool beside you, “thought you had more money than you knew what to do with, four.”

“So do you,” you remind him with a shake of your head, “anyhow, it’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

Haymitch doesn’t reward you with an answer, instead turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey. 

“What brings you to the bar so early in the games?”

“Wanted to fully reacquaint myself with the tribute center,” you huff dryly, “I’ve missed it sooooo dearly.”

“You’ll get used to it pretty damn fast. Especially now that the Capitol’s got its claws back on you, you won’t be able to escape it.”

He takes a sip of his drink thoughtfully, “I mean, their angel has made her return.”

A scoff escapes you in spite of yourself and Haymitch smirks. 

“What would they think if they knew you were getting wasted with the Capitol’s most disappointing victor? Your reputation would be ruined.”

“Then maybe I should stick around you a little longer, Twelve. Let some of your bad energy rub off on me. Maybe even have them catch me leaving your room.”

Haymitch chokes on his drink and you smirk. 

“What?! Catch you leaving my room like, like we?”

“Had sex,” you tease, “goodness Abernathy, I didn’t pin you for a prude.”

He rolls his eyes at you and huffs cockily, “me, a prude? Babydoll back where I come from I have a reputation. I’m just shocked that the Capitol’s perfect little angel could be so naughty.”

It’s your turn to choke when he sends you a wink, and you try to cover it with a cough. 

“Looks can be deceiving, Abernathy.”

***** 

You’re not sure if it’s the booze or the blaring music that’s giving you a headache. Or maybe it’s the relentless stares and unwanted approaches by dimwitted Capitol folks. Regardless, you want to be anywhere but here right about now. 

A party. Celebrating. The arrival of tributes. The arrival of doomed children.

It makes you sick. 

You forget someone is yapping away in your ear until they’re suddenly interrupted by your savior. 

Haymitch. 

“I’m sure the story you’re telling is lovely, really, but unfortunately we’re being pulled away for important mentor business,” he shares calmly, barely suppressing a smirk. 

“Oh, oh. Yes, of course,” the blue-haired person before you chatters, “I’ll have to catch you another time.”

Haymitch, thankfully, is already pulling you away before they can make you answer.

The blonde pulls you through the crowd, hands intertwined, and you can’t help but shiver. You figure it must be the evening chill in the air. 

You seem to be walking forever, further and further away from the party until the voices and music are a faint hum. He’s hidden the two of you away in one of the President’s many flourishing gardens. One that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a rose in sight. 

When Haymitch finally comes to a halt you look at him and smile, eyes darting between his face and your joined hands, “what was all that for?”

He looks at you disbelievingly, “I was saving you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “who said I needed saving?”

“The poor glass in your hand that you nearly squeezed to death.”

You once over the glass full of some colorful drink in your hand and shrug noncommittally, throwing it back and then setting the empty glass on the wall. 

“I think you just wanted time alone with me, Abernathy. Seems like an awfully convoluted plan….showing up to the Capitol party, stealing me away so dramatically….”

He releases your hand and leans back against the wall, “don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the free booze. I only brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

A scoff escapes you and you roll your eyes. 

“Anyhow, you owe me now- for saving you. And for missing out on free drinks because of it.”

“Let me guess, with more booze?”

“How else?”

“I don’t know… a meal, a simple favor…. My friendship?”

Haymitch winces and taked a large gulp of his drink, “don’t think the last would be much of a reward.”

You go to slap his arm but he stops you, his hand grabbing yours.

“You’ve got wicked fast reflexes,” you choke out, trying to suppress the gasp that escapes your lips.

“I’m a victor, remember?”

When you look up at him, his smile seems to briefly vanish, replaced with something much darker. 

You take his drink and finish it while squeezing his other hand. 

*****

“You clean up nice.”

Haymitch looks more than disgruntled to be stuffed into a fancy suit and you can barely suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

It reeks of booze. 

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice that you’ve changed up the homeless look.”

The blonde eyes you with a glare, “And I see they’ve stuffed you into another ridiculous costume.”

Haymitch is right. You do look ridiculous, and you’re not even the one on stage tonight. The white, feathery dress made for you was certainly intended to represent your angel persona. You think you look more like a white duck. 

“I suppose it’s better than usual,” you scoff, flattening out a few ruffled feathers, “though it itches like crazy.”

You begin to fidget with your dress again as the group of mentors slowly gather in their assigned seats near the front of the auditorium. The shrill voices of an excited audience echo loudly throughout the room as you step inside. You prepare for the stares and whispers, donning your mask and armor bravely.

Still, your hands shake. Your body’s thrown back in time to your games. You can remember clear as day standing up on that stage as Cesar talked and prodded, guiding you right into the role that had already been decided. 

Sweet. Innocent. Lovely. An angel. 

You’d fallen for the trap, mistaking the net for a lifeboat.

And had you ever really escaped it? 

The knots in your stomach are answer enough, and the seat soon before you is a welcome reassurance for your wobbly legs. 

Somehow, you’ve ended up between Mags and Haymitch. The former smiles at you warmly, nodding in a way that is inexplicably reassuring. Deep down, you know that she’s telling you that Finnick will be okay. That you’ll be okay. 

And when a hand lands on your knee, you’re doubly reassured. 

“Stop tapping your foot, it’s even making me anxious,” Haymitch grumbles. 

You still, turning to look at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… weird being back.  I feel like I’m back in my own games, being in this room again. I hate it.”

Haymitch shifts a little and you see him reveal a small golden flask in his hand. 

“Want a drink?”

As tempting as it sounds, you shake your head, “I think I’d puke if I drank. And I want to be present anyway. Ready for anything.”

Your eyes flit to his hand still on your knee and you recall the pleasing warmth as he held yours those few weeks ago. Carefully, you reach out and intertwine your fingers, resting your clasped hands between you. At first he stiffens, and you think he’s going to pull away. But then, he doesn’t. 

And the flask disappears into his pocket, unused. 

*****

The blare of the horn through the speakers nearly sends you into a meltdown on the spot. It feels so deeply real to you, even though you’re miles away from the games. Your eyes are trained on your tribute as she sprints forward towards the cornucopia, and towards her potential death. Still, she’s technically a career, so you have hope that she’ll survive the bloodbath. 

Your eyes stray to Finnick too and your stomach rumbles in worry. But you know that he’s strong and determined, so you try to relax. 

Like usual, the bloodbath is ruthless and you can barely stomach it. It’s worse too because you have a stake in the outcome. Not just your own life or strangers’ lives, but someone you’ve trained, someone you care about. 

It doesn’t register with you that the death of strangers might actually affect you more than you realize. In particular, the two tributes from twelve. They’re struck down quickly, as they often are, and your heart twists. While the death of children is certainly part of the cause, it’s the image of Haymitch that really pains you. Another year, another loss, and you wonder how he bears it. You suppose he doesn’t. 

Hence, the booze. 

Once the initial craziness of the bloodbath calms down and you’re sure that both your tribute and Finnick are safe, you go on a hunt for Haymitch. 

It doesn’t take you long if you follow the trail of beer.

Not literally, of course, but the bar is certainly the right place to start. Haymitch is slumped over on a stool and your heart breaks a little. 

“Drinking alone?” you say quietly. 

The blonde looks at you unimpressed and you’re immediately taken aback by the pain swimming behind his eyes. 

“Care if I join you?”

He hums noncommittally and you don’t take that as an outward no. After you take a seat you order a drink and sip silently for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry about your tributes.”

Haymitch shrugs, “I knew they were never gonna make it.”

“But it can still hurt,” you remind him. 

Haymitch scoffs a little, “I don’t care. I barely knew the kids.”

You study his face and can tell that he actually does. Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you reach out and grab his hand. This time, he doesn’t even flinch as he grips yours back. 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You drag him along to the fourth floor suite and bring him inside. 

“I’ve entered enemy territory,” the blonde says gruffly.

You smirk at him and hold up a bottle of whiskey, “what about now?”

He smiles a little and you pour a drink for each of you before settling on the couch next to him so that your knee is touching his thigh- so you’re fully facing him. 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be strong,” you tell him softly. 

“I’m not pretending, I’m fine.”

Haymitch turns his head away and you hear a small sniffle. 

“Sweetheart,” you coo.

You grab his chin and gently turn his face towards you. He looks embarrassed and teary eyed and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. Haymitch’s eyes flutter shut and you think it’s a rather pretty sight. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper very softly. 

When Haymitch opens his eyes you’re inches apart, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

You both lean slightly closer, your breaths mingling. 

“Haymitch…”

He abruptly pulls back. 

“I think I need another drink.”

*****

You suppose you’re glad it was quick. Hopefully pretty painless. No chance to be afraid or to bleed out slowly. 

But it also happened so fast. One second your tribute was breathing, and now she’s gone. You’d had such high hopes for her, and now she was dead. Was it your fault? 

Was there something you could’ve done to warn her? To prepare her better? 

You feel even more guilty because you’re sort of relieved that she’s dead. Not because you wanted her to die, but because it means Finnick is one step closer to getting out of the arena. Back home to District Four where he is relatively safe- or at least in your dome of protection. 

When the guilt subsides, it’s replaced by numbness. That’s all you feel. 

You understand now why Haymitch drinks. It provides some semblance of warmth when all you feel inside is coldness and emptiness. 

Knocking. You hear knocking. 

You stumble to the door, bottle in hand, and there he stands.

“Haymitch!”

You lunge towards him and he catches you, gripping your waist firmly. If you were sober, you would’ve been able to suppress the shudder that runs through your body from his touch. 

“Want a drink?” you slur, your boozy breath blowing in his face. 

He shakes his head at you and you shrug, “more for me then.” 

You lift the bottle neck to your mouth but he stops you, gripping your wrist gently.

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart.”

A loud laugh escapes your lips and Haymitch shushes you, shuffling the both of you inside and closing the door, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just funny- you telling me I’ve had too much to drink. Hilaaaaarrious!”

“Well I have a better tolerance.”

You shuffle back and topple over the couch arm, sending Haymitch down on top of you.

“Oooooops… sorrrrryyyyy” you giggle. 

The blonde pushes himself up off of you and sets the bottle down on the side table.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks softly, more kind than you’ve ever heard him before. 

You sober up a little at the question and scoff, “Of course I’m not fine. My tribute just bled out on

television in front of millions of people.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters gruffly.

“Why? What was it you said? You barely even knew your tributes…It’s not like I did either. Why should I care? Or be torn up?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” Haymitch adds gently, “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about people.”

He grips your knee and smiles at you sadly. 

“Well I’m done with caring,” you slur, “It only hurts more. I like your way- drink yourself to death.”

You lunge towards the bottle behind him and he reaches out, stopping you again by grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go when he pulls you away from the bottle. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you. 

“What’re you doing?” you mumble into his chest.

“Giving you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

He scoffs exasperatedly, “I can stop.”

“NONONO don’t! Don’t.”

You shift back a little to look him in the eyes, “It’s… nice. You’re…nice.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.”

You look at the blonde softly, infatuated by his face- the stubble across his chin, his piercing eyes, his lips…

By some unknown force, you’re pulled to his lips. You reach out and close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, he reciprocates, his mouth melting against yours. But then he pulls away, “Stop, stop. You’re drunk.”

“So? You’re always drunk and I don’t stop you from doing things you want,” you remind him.

“I don’t- you’re. Even then, it doesn’t matter. You’re too young and I-”

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, abandoning you on the couch, alone. 

*****

Finnick’s return to the Capitol should be more joyous than you currently feel. You’re beyond relieved that he’s back and safe, within arms reach. In fact, you haven’t let him out of your sight in days and you think he’s starting to get annoyed by you. 

Still, something continues to burden your mind or, rather, someone. 

You haven’t seen Haymitch since you drunkenly tried to kiss him a few days ago. Though you were incredibly wasted, his words still ring in your mind clear as day- “you’re too young.”

It’s more painful than flat out rejection, really. Him not having feelings is one thing, but the knowledge that he potentially does and still won’t let you in hurts much more. What-ifs haunt you constantly, and the memory of the look on his face when he pulled away slowly rips your heart to shreds. 

Now there’s only an evening left until you’re set to return home to District Four, only one night until you won’t see Haymitch again until…well you’re not sure how long it will be. 

“You know, I’m the one that should be moping about,” a voice says.

You look up to see Finnick staring at you from the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m not moping…I’m just tired,” you say.

It is true, but so is Finnick’s statement. Not that you’ll tell him that. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you and walks into the room, plopping down on your bed, “Such a bullshit response. Come up with a better excuse if you’re going to lie.”

“I’m not lying I-”

You shut up as he looks at you unimpressed. 

“Come on, I can read you like a book. What’s wrong?”

You sigh and look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Nothing I- I kissed Haymitch,” you murmur.

“What’d you say? I can barely hear you.”

“I kissed Haymitch,” you say more boldly. 

Finnick’s eyes widen, and it would be comical if it were any other situation, “Abernathy? You kissed Haymitch Abernathy?”

“Yes, Abernathy. Is there any other Haymitch?”

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief, “I owe Mags five dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mags told me she thought you two liked each other. But I didn’t believe her, so we bet on it. Guess I can’t be that mad though.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, we’re not together or anything.”

Finnick looks at you intently, “why not?”

You sigh and pause for a moment, “Because he said I was too young.”

“That’s such bullshit,” the blonde scoffs, “you’re only like, what, ten years younger? Anyhow, you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”

You shrug your shoulders and sigh, “I just wish I never would’ve done anything. I was drunk and stupid and now he won’t talk to me.”

A pillow gets thrown at your face and you wince, scowling at Finnick, “what was that for?”

“Drunk you was smarter than sober you. She acted on her feelings. Now you’re just sitting around moping.”

“I-”

Finnick looks at you seriously, “Don’t waste your chance. We both know life is too short to have regrets.”

You stand up quickly and kiss Finnick on the cheek, “when did you get so smart little bro?”

He only rolls his eyes at your endearment and shoves you out the door.

Your hand shakes as you hold it up to the twelfth floor door. It’s ridiculous, really, how you’re more nervous to confess your feelings than you were to fight in the games. 

You take a deep breath and finally knock stiffly. 

There’s momentary silence and you think maybe Haymitch is asleep or not there. But then you hear shuffling from the other side and the door is yanked open- “Wha-?”

Haymitch freezes at the sight of you, his likely nasty reply hanging off of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks more calmly.

“I-I came to apologize.”

Then, you shake your head, “that’s a lie. I’m not here to apologize because I’m not sorry for what I did… for kissing you. I’m only sorry you left too soon and I was too drunk for us to talk about it.”

Haymitch stands in the doorway still and only stares at you dumbfounded.

“Can-can I come in?”

Finally the blonde nods and steps aside, welcoming you into his space. It’s slightly messy and you suppose he hasn’t left the suite in days, not that you blame him or mind. 

You find a seat on the couch, comfortably separate from Haymitch on the other end. 

“Haymitch-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For walking out on you. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I-I panicked and you were drunk and…and I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

You stare at him softly and your heart beats in your chest, “So you did feel something.”

Haymitch runs his hand through his hair exasperatedly, “Fuck, of course I did. I mean, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful, how could I not?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look down at your hands awkwardly… “but you think I’m too young. You said that.”

He sighs, “I-I did. And I meant it. I still do. You’re young, you still have a life to live. You deserve to be with someone young and put together and better…”

You scoff gently, “Did you ever think to ask me what I think I deserve? Why do you get to decide for me?” 

Haymitch’s mouth opens and closes silently like a fish.

“Maybe what I want- maybe what I deserve- is a kind, handsome guy who might be a little rough around the edges, but who is gooey and sweet on the inside. What then?”

“But I’m a drunk and fucked up and…”

You reach out and grip his hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drink in days. And also, look who you’re talking to. I don’t exactly handle my trauma well either. I’m a victor too, remember?”

You shuffle closer to him, “Please don’t push me away, please-”

Before you can finish your response you’re cut off as Haymitch moves forward and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

You melt into his touch and sigh, finally being rewarded with what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, “you know, you’re right. I haven’t drank in days because I found something better. I got drunk on you instead.”

[diminuel]

God… Wani transitions, looks so much more like a man than when they first met, and Dragon — so used to being reprimanded and poorly treated by men stronger than him, and used to being cordial and friendly with men he knows are *as* strong as him — but Wani is 10 years his junior. Still a rookie. And the marines teach you to *respect* and *submit* to men stronger than you. Which obviously the RA objects to. But Dragon is *head* of the RA so *everyone* is subservient to him — except his personal friends, whom are all basically equally as strong as he is if not stronger.

/except for Wani/

And whatever level of misogyny Dragon picked up pre-RA from the marines its pretty clear the flavor wouldn’t have been “ugh this woman thinks shes as strong as ME a MAN? Lets teach her a lesson boys!” as much as “pretty lady! pretty lady! impress the pretty lady!!!! make her like you make her job easy as possible so MORE pretty ladies want to work with you!!!!” So whatever Dragon believed about their difference in strength, experience, intelligence, etc. wasn’t assss relevant to him pre-transition. Thats his girlfriend why would he want to compete with or see bis girlfriend as a threat? They love and support eachother forever and ever.

But now he’s a man and he’s less experienced and cocky and all the things Dragon had beaten into him are signs of immense disrespect from one man to another man *clearly* stronger and smarter and more experienced and higher ranking and—

….and now Dragon’s bed is very, very empty. Which is weird because he doesn’t want to get out of it either.

Wani eventually comes back and Dragon has never felt lighter. Nothing really matters except Wani. He’s decided he’d abandon the RA if Wani asked. He really would. He knows his lover has dreams (dreams he’s apparently stomped all over). The RA isn’t a dream, it’s a necessity. But that means he can leave. He belongs to Wani first.

He’s pregnant. Theyre going to be fathers. Wani has NEVER seen Dragon cry like this. He missed him so much and now theyre going to be a family. Its barely past noon and Dragon has a resignation speech ready to go. He just wants to spend the rest of his life with Wani. Clearly his RA duties and his past are getting in the way so he needs to give being supportive his full attention round the clock.

Wani nearly clocks him over the head. Is he INSANE?! He doesn’t own ANYONE. Nobody belongs to ANYONE. Wasn’t that the whole point of his OWN RA? What sort of man throws his ideals away to impress a lover?

Stay in the RA. Wani isn’t giving up on their utopia either. (Maybe he hasn’t given up being king of the pirates yet either.) if theyre raising this child theyre doing it as equals Dragon. Wani thought thats what they were when he fell in love. He was surprised when becoming a man would somehow make that harder (aren’t they even *more* similar now?)

He’s right. Dragon’s respect for his lover should have never been made conditional or brought into question. He never truly forgives himself for fucking this up. Maybe Dragon has given Croc too much leeway with some boundaries, but that should have never been made into an issue of gender. A discomfort Dragon is only able to tolerate for a girlfriend but not a boyfriend. All or nothing. 50-50.

Of course. Reprimanding a superior in thr marines like this would get you on cleaning duty for a month. But he doesn’t feel disrespected. Or threatened. He’s *proud* his Wani is so strong and confident to talk down a man twice his size. Maybe Dragon is bigger and more experienced. But Crocodile is twice as brave and twice as determined and twice as confident and that’s *important* and it *matters* and it makes them both better people together. He’s good for him. Theyre good together. Theyre going to have a great kid and he couldn’t be more excited.

(And besides. Wani is only going to get bigger and stronger.)

Ah, I love it ;w;

Dragon going from one extreme into the other, letting his actions be guided by what he feels is expected of him in a given situation instead of letting himself be guided by his convictions. But luckily, Crocodile's there to knock some sense into him~

And Dragon's right, Crocodile will grow, he will get stronger. ♥

(Though the angsty part in me whispers what about when Crocodile does lose faith in himself? What about when his dream shatters because he was too cocky, too confident and nearly gets killed in a confrontation with Whitebeard? Unless that happened before or doesn't happen at all.)

[lady-lostmind]

And So The Lion Fell In Love With The Lamb

Read on ao3 Rating: E (eventually) | CW: Vampire!Eddie so probably like, blood and stuff.

If this is the afterlife then Eddie Munson is honestly god damn disappointed. Stuck forever in this disgusting wasteland? What a fucking joke. He’s laying on the ground, covered in crusty, caked on blood and with the worst sore throat he’s ever had in his life. The demobats that had been eating away at his flesh are laid out all over the ground. He vaguely remembers them dropping dead around him, right before he dropped dead himself in Dustin’s arms. 

Shit. Dustin. He probably fucked the poor kid up for life. He wonders if there’s any way he can let him know that it wasn’t his fault. Although haunting the kid would probably do more damage than good. Fuck, his throat hurts. Isn’t death supposed to be peaceful? Painless? Why does his throat feel like it’s on fire? 

Eddie pulls himself up, wincing as his hair tugs free of the blood and dirt that has it plastered to the ground. He pats his torso carefully, wondering why, if he can still feel pain here, his wounds aren’t screaming for attention. He lifts his shirt to find nothing but raised, pink skin where there should be gaping holes. He moves his hand up, feeling the side of his neck and cheek where he remembers more searing pain being. He feels the same tight skin as the wounds on his abdomen. At least he’ll look badass in death. 

He looks around and sees a red glow in the distance, back in the direction of his trailer. Not really knowing what else to do, he heads in that direction. As he gets closer he realizes the glow is coming from a giant rip through the world. “ Great. So, basically I died for nothi-” His hands shoot up to pull through his matted hair as he realizes what this means. “Max. Fuck.”  

He didn’t really know her that well. He saw her around the trailer park a lot, always feeding that scrawny dog and riding her skateboard. But he liked Max. She was sassy and didn’t take shit from anyone. The fact that Vecna managed to get her…that she must have ended up just like Chrissy. Eddie closes his eyes and tries to push the image of Max hanging in the air, her limbs snapped and eyes missing, far, far away. He has plenty of nightmare fuel. He doesn’t need any more.

He keeps walking, unsure of what else to do. What are you supposed to fill your time with once you’re dead? He never really thought about what happened after. Was pretty convinced there was no after, if he was honest. Figured it was just lights out, worm food, you’re done. But clearly he was wrong. Clearly there is something after the big dark sleep, because he woke up. 

So, he keeps walking. All the way back to his trailer. To the decimated pile of rubble he once called a home, and stares up into the gate they had climbed through, sees the new rope that tells him they must have made it back. That they must have left him here. Not that he blamed them. He was dead. The fact that he hasn’t run into any of their…ghosts? (Is he a ghost now? He doesn’t feel like a ghost.) It has to be a good thing. That has to mean they're all alive and safe…right?

He stares up at the rope for another second before…”Fuck it.” If he’s going to be stuck somewhere for eternity, it sure as hell isn’t going to be in this shithole. He grabs the rope and hauls himself up, feels the shift in gravity in his stomach as he crosses over to the real world and drops to the grimy mattress below. 

Eddie stands up straight after landing…on his feet. Apparently being dead comes with some perks. He’s not about to complain about being less clumsy. He takes in the dark space around him. The trailer is just as wrecked on this side of the gate as the other. He steps gingerly through a hole in the wall and out into the cool night air. 

“Eddie?” 

Eddie jumps at the sudden sound of his name, at the familiar voice, the same voice he thought would be the last he ever heard. “Henderson. Fuck, am I glad to see you.” 

The breath is knocked out of his lungs as Dustin plows into him, arms flying around him and crushing his middle. He can feel the kid shaking as sobs escape him and he feels a lump form in his throat as he realizes he’s really here. Dustin can see him. Can feel him. So, he’s…alive?

part two

part three

part four

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 5

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: you agree to go out with Steve & Connie to get their idea of a blind date out of the way. but once Javier arrives, you're nothing if not overly excited to give your time to him instead.

word count: 5.7k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of alcohol & smoking; jealous!Javi, tension, mutual pining.

gif: @beldros

series masterlist | AO3

Within the following days, you allowed guilt to chew you and spit you up. You avoided Javier’s eyes at any cost, barely responding to his “good morning” as you continued your morning ritual together. It felt tainted, such a small act of curtesy; tainted by basic biological needs, filthily and sneakily performed in the darkness of your bedroom, culminating in a name you refused to moan in full, but one that still lingered on your mind.

Doesn’t matter whether you said Javier’s name in full or not. He was the one you thought of in the throes of seeking your solo ecstasy and now, whenever you were met with his polite face, bright and early, you felt your cheeks burn red as you inevitably recalled burying your fingers in your wet heat, thinking they were his instead. You were beyond embarrassed, and you swore that under no circumstances he could ever know. Not that you believed the topic could ever come up, but just for safe measure, you had no intention of confessing this to either Connie or Sylvie.

It was just a momentary lapse of judgment, the result of a long dry spell and the presence of a charming, handsome man in your house. Nothing else.

But Saturday rolls around, and you find yourself wondering whether Javier would join you for drinks or not. He hadn’t made his answer clear when you asked, not even replying something sly when you mentioned you were quite certain that you were being set up for a blind date. Maybe he really didn’t want to witness all that; after all, that would mean he’d be the fifth wheel at a table with two couples.

Not the most pleasant atmosphere, and this you know firsthand.

So maybe Javier has no intention of showing up tonight. Truth be told, it’s probably for the best; you don’t need to be sipping alcoholic drinks and avoid looking at him in fear that he’ll notice your blush, ask about it, and then find out he was the star of your random moment of weakness.

You make an effort for tonight to look as good as possible. You find yourself excited about the idea of going out, letting loose a little and simply living. You put on a black dress with spaghetti straps that goes just above your knees, a pair of sandals and do your makeup to the best of your abilities. Then you take a cab and head downtown, your heart thrumming in your chest as you remember that tonight you’re most likely going on a blind date.

It was Connie’s idea; she told you about this guy from her job—Dean, was it?—that would apparently be a great match for you. Funny, kind, smart and a cook—the description sounded too good to be true, really, but Connie managed to spark your interest so you agreed to go, more on the premise of “let’s see what happens”. You found that living life from day to day was better than planning weeks or months ahead and then ending up disappointed or even hurt when certain plans wouldn’t come to fruition.

Which means that you have no plan for tonight. You just want to enjoy some good music, have some drinks and maybe, hopefully, dance.

You notice Connie first upon entering the bar, mostly because she’s wearing a white dress that definitely stands out in the washed out crowd of grey and black. You wave at her and she excitedly waves back, then you notice Steve sitting next to her, looking a bit uncomfortable. You’ve been on speaking terms, but you haven’t hung out since that dinner at their new apartment, so you understood the level of discomfort.

Thank goodness you were in an environment which provided an endless supply of drinks.

“Wow, you look gorgeous!” Connie exclaims as she comes in to hug you.

“You look just as gorgeous, if not more. Look at you, little miss angel!”

Your eyes meet Steve’s, and you spontaneously decide to hug him as well. He’s stiff, clearly taken aback, but not a second too late he reciprocates, wrapping his large arms around you, thus nearly covering you completely.

“Long time no see, huh?” you tease.

“A few weeks, hasn’t it?”

“I’d say so. Where’s Olivia tonight?”

“Going to bed early club. My mom offered to watch her, so we have the night off,” Connie explains.

“Feels good to be out of the house.”

“Tell me about it!”

You have a seat, ordering a Long Island Tea, and strike up a conversation about work. You gladly listen to Steve’s stories from the precinct, they are far more interesting than anything that usually goes on at the library.

But now your mind is somehow set back on Javier, so you take a bigger sip of your drink.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that Javier stopped by the library last week,” you blurt out.

“He did?” Connie’s tone is filled with surprise.

“Yep. He was on his lunch break and wanted something to read.”

“What did he get?”

“A Pablo Neruda book.”

You abstain from laughing at Connie’s frown and her parted lips revealing shock.

“I know, I had the same reaction,” you say. “Would’ve never thought a guy like that reads romance poems.”

“Yeah. Me neither,” Steve says in a low voice.

“In Javier’s defense, there wasn’t much time to pick up a hobby like that in the middle of everything that was going on in Colombia.”

“Fair point.”

“He said he started reading poems shortly after returning to Laredo.”

Steve’s eyes shift onto your face in a feeble attempt to read through it and see if anything’s amiss, but you don’t give anything away. If there’s something you’re great at in this life, it’s hiding things from your big brother.

“Sounds like you’ve got to know him quite a bit,” Steve deadpans.

“We talked for like five minutes, handed him the book and called it a day.”

Nothing else happened.

“Well, we talked some more when he stopped by to fix my pipes but—“

Steve nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t I mention that? How silly of me, I’m sorry. Yeah, I asked him if he could stop by my place to help me with the pipe issue I’ve been having. He was more than capable. Handled it like a pro, actually.”

There’s a big vein on the side of Steve’s forehead that’s about to burst at any given moment simply because from the way you phrased everything, you’re about 97% sure he’s picturing something else entirely and being beyond aggravated by the fact that he spend five, six days a week with Javier and the latter definitely did not mention this to him.

“Don’t dwell on it, big bro,” you tell him amused. “That vein of yours is about to pop.”

Connie chuckles behind her hand as she tries to hide away from the discussion, but her face changes when she glances in the direction of the entrance.

“Heads up, my colleague is here,” she turns to you excitedly. “Don’t freak out, but this is supposed to be kind of… well…”

“Connie, I know it’s supposed to be a blind date.”

Color drains from her cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just—“

To which you giggle, placing a hand over her exposed arm. “It’s fine. You weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

There’s plenty more Connie wishes to share with you, based on the way her lips remain parted and she stares at you desperately, but a man approaches the three of you at the bar, shaking hands with Steve, then briefly hugging Connie and—his eyes land on you.

“Hi,” he smiles, and oh shit, is that a dimple? “I’m Dean.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself, and only then notice that he’s much taller than you. He has charcoal hair, styled nicely and carefully, and what appear to be green eyes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, and you gulp. He might not be a bad boy from Connie’s descriptions, but he sure has the look.

The only thing missing would be a tattoo and you’d even consider leaving this bar with him tonight.

“You are way more beautiful than what Connie said,” Dean smiles, and you already feel flustered. “And she did offer quite an in-depth description.”

“I’m glad to hear her words don’t do me justice then.”

“They really don’t.”

The way he’s staring down at you has you a little weak in the knees, but you do your best to remain composed. You cannot be acting out tonight, certainly not in front of Steve.

“Can I buy you a drink so we can go somewhere and get to know each other maybe?” Dean proposes.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“What’s your poison of choice?”

“They don’t have that on the menu, but I’ll stick with a Long Island Tea.”

Dean chuckles, ordering exactly that and a greyhound. You turn around to ask him what he does for work, only to witness him removing his leather jacket and accidentally revealing a forearm tattoo that extends all the way to his bicep, by the look of it.

Oh no. oh, this is not good.

Calm down, girl. Just breathe.

“Maybe we can find a booth,” he suggest.

You’re stuck in some sort of trance as you keep glancing at his tattoo, but you quickly nod, hoping to dismiss the rush of emotions the entire image forces out of you.

“Told you she’d like him,” Connie playfully smacks Steve’s arm, visibly enthusiastic over the possibility of having set up a fantastic date for her sister-in-law.

“Dean’s a really cool guy.”

“They fit together quite nicely, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

You spend the next forty minutes just talking to Dean and you gotta admit, he seems like a fine man. You find out he works in statistics—which undoubtedly means he’s smart—he has a dog, loves plants of all kinds, and he managed to squeeze several chuckles out of you in the past few minutes. Worst—aka best thing of them all—he’s a huge Star Wars nerd.

You’re sold on the idea that if by the time you finish this second drink and manage to dance with him, you might just take him home because the opportunity is too good to pass on. Dean doesn’t strike you as the one night stand kind of guy, but you decide to live even more in the moment and see where and how the night progresses.

By the third Long Island Tea, you decide to firstly cut yourself off, and secondly, if Dean keeps making you laugh, even as you manage to persuade him into dancing, you’ll almost have no choice but to take him home with you.

You are having the best time you’ve had in a long time; that much can be noticed even by Connie and Steve, who watch everything unfold from the bar. Everyone seems so focused on you and Dean that nobody notices the silhouette emerging from the shadows around 11:37 p.m., an exhausted look residing on his face as he makes his way through the crowd with an unquenchable thirst for some hard liquor and a cigarette.

God, he’d give anything to smoke right now; it’s been such a long afternoon stuck in the office trying to explain to that moron of a Lieutenant why the Berger case hasn’t been closed yet. But it’s been almost months since he last smoked, and he’s quite proud of the progress he's made, and there’s no solid reason to interrupt this marvelous streak he’s got going on.

That is, until he loosens his tie, takes off his blazer and orders a whiskey neat and in the sweaty crowd on the dance floor, he sees you.

He wasn’t even looking, not at first; his eyes were merely scanning the crowd, just eager to see anything else but case files before them, and somehow they managed to land on your silhouette, covered in what appears to be a rather sultry black dress, dancing the night away next to a guy who is so tall, it makes Javier squirm in his seat, feeling unusually small.

“Javi? What are you doing here?”

Steve’s the first one to approach him and they shake hands, followed by a brief kiss on Connie’s cheek.

“Wanted to blow off some steam,” Javier shouts towards them. “Your sister mentioned you guys were going out tonight.”

“She did?”

“Yep.”

“Glad you could join us!”

“Me too. Thrilled, really.”

The way he chugs his whiskey is anything but an indicator of his presumed excitement. He instantly orders a second one, the craving for nicotine even stronger when he has to force himself to peel his eyes from the dance floor.

“Who’s that?” Javier asks passively.

“Her blind date. Connie’s idea.”

“Guy from my office, his name’s Dean. Amazing guy.”

“Right, the blind date.”

“They really hit it off, look at them laughing!”

There is no reasonable explanation for the feeling that’s bubbling inside Javier’s chest. All he knows is that it’s something ugly that he deeply resents and spends the next half hour or so denying its existence, all the while stealing glances at you and this guy Dean.

And what he’s left with is the fact that you look really pretty when you’re happy.

It’s uncanny to think this way when he doesn’t see anything happening between the two of you, but even Javier cannot deny that tonight you look really ravishing and that seeing you smile is quite the sight.

You sure look happy dancing with that Dean guy. And Javier hates what it does to him because it’s all so bizarre and new to him. Though he draws one conclusion as he sits at the bar and sips from his third whiskey of the evening: he doesn’t like seeing another guy around you and that can only mean…

No. No fucking way.

It’s just a typical case of wanting what you can’t have. You’re off-limits, and Javier’s lizard, primal brain, along with the never-ending dry streak, decided that being stuck on you is a good idea. You’re cool and funny, sure, but still far from Javier’s usual type.

Which means that even if he were attracted to you—and you sure are a pretty girl, objectively speaking—he absolutely cannot sleep with you as a form of palate cleanser. If you were any other woman, maybe; but Steve’s little sister? Never in a million years.

The amber liquid in his glass worked its magic and loosened him up, though in the past it hasn’t been proven to be the best choice when around an attractive woman.

But knowing that you are beyond off-limits does help in a way. So he grits his teeth, swallows whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply and forces himself to look away from the dance floor.

“You’ve got some moves!” Dean leans over to chuckle in your ear.

“Thanks! It’s mostly the Long Island Tea, but I gotta give credit to my college partying days.”

“Celebrated a lot, I take it?”

You grin, your hand resting ridiculously comfortable on his bicep. “Oh, Dean. You can’t even begin to comprehend.”

You faintly notice the way his eyebrows cock upwards, revealing surprise. He smiles, spinning you around to the rhythm of a song you do not recognize, and then he pulls you back to him.

“Listen, I have to make an appearance at a friend’s birthday party in a bit. Two blocks away. Would you like to come?”

You open your mouth to offer your response when you notice a third silhouette by Steve and Connie. You gulp, suddenly your back sweating more than before.

Shit.

“I’ll take a raincheck on that if it’s okay,” you smile politely.

“No problem. I guess we’ll be in touch?”

“Sure. It was nice spending time with you, Dean.”

“With you too.”

He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek and you feel that very same spot burning with flattery instead of guilt, which is a more than welcome change. But when your glare returns to the bar and you notice the figure dressed business rather than casual, you gulp and miraculously, your guilt returns full force.

In spite of your better judgment—which really left the building after your first drink—you make your way back to the bar, now face to face with a visibly exhausted and grumpy Javier.

“Hello there,” you greet him.

His face lights up once you address him—or so you’d like to think. Why on earth do you want to think that?

“Hello yourself,” Javier replies. “You look—“

“Where did Dean go?”

Steve’s question bothers you more than what you let reveal. “None of your business,” you reply.

“But I thought—“

“Let them be.”

You don’t say anything else to Javier, and neither does he, but somehow he still finds himself standing up from the rather uncomfortable chair and walking you back to the dance floor, as if that would make both of you invisible to your family.

“I was—what—what are you doing?”

Javier stares at you dumbfounded, his hands not even touching your waist, yet frozen in that very direction.

“I thought you wanted—“he begins, now questioning his every intention.

You shake your head, guiding his hands back to your hips and gulping with difficulty. God, your throat is like sand on paper.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him.

Of course the song in the fucking background had to be by Carlos Santana. Of fucking course. The song bumps all around you, Javier’s hands guiding you steadily along the rhythm and your body naturally following. It’s quite relaxing—if you wouldn’t be busy thinking about the way that your body seems to naturally respond to his touch, as if you’ve been doing this for years.

You were already sweaty from before, but now, with all the people grinding around you and the unbearable heat gathered from the alcohol and the dancing, your temples were dripping with beads of sweat, as well as your neck. You couldn’t help but notice that Javier suffered of the same predicament: he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the first two buttons undone, and again you gulped. You are painfully reminded of the night a similar image had sent you over the edge, and you blush right there with his calloused hands pressed ever so gently on your waist.

He moved both of you expertly, guiding your hips; eventually, your hands found solace around his neck, feeling the heat radiating from his body. But then he makes a move that spins you around, then pulls you back to him so that you bump into his chest, his skin on yours, and you feel afire. His eyes are locked on your face, and when they finally meet with yours, it’s electric. Goosebumps erect all over your skin, and you swear you didn’t feel this way when you were dancing with Dean. For fuck’s sake, you considered going home with Dean. You felt attracted to Dean, he was so handsome and funny and sweet—

But somehow, this moment right here feels more intimate and forbidden than anything else, and it’s evident in the way your breaths come out—ragged, almost as sweaty as you. You swallowed hard at the sensation of being so close to Javier, this mystery man with a troubled past that was the star of your illicit fantasies.

At first you thought it was the drinks that made you see things, but once, twice, thrice you’ve seen his eyes roam all over your body, every once in a while pausing to admire a certain part of you that wasn’t stereotypical to the male gaze: your collarbones, shoulders, the way your waist fit in his hands—

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His voice is like honey dripping straight on your skin when he asks that next to your earlobe.

“You really do know how to dance,” you observe.

“It’s a curse.”

“Cause the ladies can’t stop jumping on you?”

“You one of them?”

In spite of his smirk, you chuckle mockingly, as loud as you can go. “Don’t flatter yourself, Texas.”

“How did things go with the Dean guy?”

You frown at him. “Do you really want to know?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Ask me something else then.”

“Okay. What’s new at the library?”

“Literally nothing. All of our stock is fairly old. Except the two librarians working there. They’re fine.”

I know for a fact one of them is, Javier thinks fleetingly.

“Why the sudden interest in how am I doing?” you can’t help but inquire.

Javier shrugs, spinning you around once more. “You said we’re friends.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sometimes I feel like I barely know you. Just trying to get some intel.”

“Old habits die hard, huh?”

Javier makes a funny face, and you hold back laughter. It’s the first time you see this side of him, loose and almost worry-free, and there’s something inherently captivating about it. When he spins you again, he doesn’t let you face him—instead, your back is against him, and you feel every ridge and bump possible.

Including, but not limited to, the outline of a growing erection.

You try your hardest not go gasp, though the heat that shoots through you is nothing if not making your mouth dry. You want to get lost in this moment more than you’ve wanted anything in a long time, but the rational side of your brain reminds you that your brother and sister-in-law are probably watching the spectacle, and you’re not fond of that audience one bit.

Otherwise…

“So you want intel?” you tease him once you can look at his disheveled yet impossibly handsome face again. “Okay Texas. Let’s see. I’m almost finished writing a book, actually. A real book, my own story.”

Javier’s eyes widen in the slightest. “Really? That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. You’re the first person I told this to.”

“Me? You didn’t tell Steve or Connie about it?”

You shake your head. “Connie, I might. Sylvie, I might. But Steve… you heard what he thinks about fanfiction. Why should he get to see my actual book?”

“He can be very supportive, you know.”

“I know. But I don’t feel like sharing this with him, not right now at least.”

“Did he ever read anything else of yours?”

“No. After his comments, I didn’t want to share my craft with someone who mocked where most writers begin. Especially since that someone happens to be my flesh and blood.”

“I understand. It’s a shame though. I bet you’re really good.”

“Still talking about writing?”

Javier cocks an eyebrow, the faint outline of a smirk gracing his lips. “Are you?”

“Touché.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Peña, I’d say you’re trying to butter me up to get into my pants.”

He scoffs. “Not a chance.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want chaos in our lives, now would we?”

“No, we definitely wouldn’t want anything so… troublesome.”

Back at the bar, Connie’s fed up with Steve’s relentless questions about you and Javier. She doesn’t have any answers, but she sure plans on getting some; that’s the mission in her mind as she strolls through the crowd of sweaty, grinding bodies to get to the two of you.

“What on earth is going on with you guys?” she shouts at the two of you.

To which you and Javier exchange a confused glare. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Ever so foolishly, might you add.

“It is very much obvious that you two like each other.”

“She’s not even my—“

“Oh, shut up, Javi.”

You make a shocked face. It’s not often you get to see someone as sweet and calm as Connie be so bold.

“Damn,” you mutter.

“You shut up too. You’re both adults! Grown ass adults acting like kids hiding from their parents. And for what, may I ask? I doubt either one of you is scared of Steve.”

“I just want to be respectful. I made a promise to him, and… we’re friends. That’s all.”

“Spare me. That is such bullshit. Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t dance with each other like that. How much longer are you gonna keep up this lame charade? All the lying…”

“We’re not lying to anyone, much less to Steve,” you remind her.

“To yourselves! Good God, you guys gotta figure this out before it’s too late.”

“But we’re not—“

“There is no ‘but’, Javi. Figure it out or cut it out before someone gets hurt.”

Whatever good mood you were in before, now it’s long gone. Guilt returns and simmers in the depths of your stomach, even as you do a twisted version of the walk of shame back to the bar. You refuse another drink, your head still buzzing from the three you’ve already had—and the moment you just shared with Javier. You can’t even bear to look at Steve brooding and judging you from afar. Not that you care; you really don’t give a shit what he has to say about your friendship with Javier, but Connie does have a point.

You have to figure out what this is between you and Javier.

Obviously you find him attractive. Very much obvious by now. But you meant what you told him: you do consider him a friend. Though you must admit, strictly to yourself, that you’ve never masturbated to the thought of a friend before, regardless of how attractive said friend was. Which mean that at least physically, you enjoy having Javier around you. Which also means… you’re physically attracted to him. Okay, that’s not bad. It happens. And based on what you’ve heard about him and women, he wouldn’t be opposed to getting this attraction out of the way so you can continue to be friends. Maybe under the right circumstances you can—

What the fuck are you doing? Thinking about propositioning Javier with a one night stand? Well that’s a new fucking low. You shake your head several times, prompting a few concerned glares from Javier in the backseat of the cab, and look straight ahead. Connie and Steve left separately on account of letting you two talk things through, but the silence residing in between is earsplitting. It’s like you’re both trying to figure out what to say to each other whilst also reminiscing of the evening you left behind.

Javier’s mind is racing as fast as his heart. He can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight, how he held you in his arms, barely touching you, and yet his body burned and ached all at once as if—

As if he belonged to you.

No. It’s just the booze and the hormones. He can’t do relationships, that much he knows with certainty, and he won’t ruin his friendship with you or with Steve by initiating something he will regret later. Eventually, something always goes wrong and somebody does get hurt. He doesn’t want that for you.

He takes a big, deep breath, a sudden scent invading his nostrils. It’s not bar-like, nothing pungent of the sort; no, this one’s pleasant and calming. He turns towards you, discreetly inhaling again, and then he holds his breath.

It’s you. Your smell. Something comforting and reassuring, yet all the while alluring, calling out to him.

When the cab driver announces your arrival, Javier practically sprints out of the car. Despite your protests, he still walks you to the door of your apartment. While you search for your keys in your purse, he lingers with his gaze one second longer than he would’ve personally liked, but he can’t fully help it. It must be around two in the morning now, and yet you still look so mesmerizing.

“That scent,” he almost groans.

You look up from your purse. “What scent?”

“It’s—you. Your scent, it’s—I swear to fucking God it’s everywhere.”

Taken aback, all you can do is stare at him and gulp. Your mouth still runs dry, as if no amount of water will ever feel the quench that resides deep in your bones.

“It’s lavender soap,” you clarify in an unusually small voice.

“Fuckin’—lavender.”

Before you can chime in with any other word or even think about what is happening, you find yourself closing your eyes and leaning dangerously closer to Javier’s face. He does the same, his heart thrumming at insane rates in his chest and in his ears by now. You exhale, and Javier abruptly pulls away, eyes wide open and his mind in control once again.

“Go inside,” he orders.

His voice is stern and yet caring, but it still surprises you. “If that’s code for something—“you try to joke, but your smile fades when you see Javier’s face.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Go inside, get some sleep.”

“Why are you so adamant about it?”

You do hear him groan this time, a sound to reenact some pain he’s in, and you shudder.

“Because if you don’t, I might just do something very regrettable within the next few seconds and I’ll break my promise to my best friend,” he nearly whispers, his warm breath tickling your face and your sense. “And just like that, I’ll be the Javier Peña everyone knew in Colombia. And I don’t want to be that Javier Peña anymore. So please, don’t—don’t do this to me. Not now, not ever.”

Stunned, you only stare at him for what feels like an eternity. You take that time to soak up every detail of his face, the way it’s scrunched in pain, the desperation in his eyes, the neediness and urgency in his voice—and it breaks you.

“What if I want to do something regrettable?” you ask instead.

“Just—just go… inside. Please. I’m askin’ as a friend.”

You don’t think you’ve heard Javier ask or beg anyone, not this way, so tenderly desperate, and it’s disarming you of any speck of self-control you thought you had left.

Mark my words, this Javier is gonna be on his knees before you, asking you to teach him how to be good.

“You can come inside too if you want,” you whisper.

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth, especially after seeing Javier’s nearly shocked expression. He cocks his head to the side, eager to dismiss your words and complain, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“We’re both a little buzzed and… a little tense too, so let’s have a cup of coffee and call it a night. We don’t even have to talk,” you tell him.

There’s no verbal confirmation; just Javier following you inside your apartment, hyper vigilant and aware of his surroundings. He’s afraid that any move he might make now or any word he might say will conspire against his sanity, and he’s already having trouble keeping focus. So he admires your book shelves while you make the coffee, slowly pacing around the living room. Something out of place catches his eyes, something that looks handmade and colored purple by hand. He takes it out, examining it.

“Believe it or not, that is my Star Wars story,” you smile fondly.

“This is it?”

Suddenly Javier feels like he’s holding a very important artifact in his hands, and he takes a mental note to treat it as carefully as possible. He flips through the pages with utmost interest, soaking up the words as the smell of coffee and lavender fill the tense air.

“Here we go,” you announce, handing him a cup. “Decaf. I thought you wouldn’t want to be up till six in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

Javier still reads through, as much as he can, picturing a younger you scribbling down this story so excitedly, coloring it to make it seem like it’s a book in and of itself, and the sight makes his heart grow even fonder.

So maybe he’s not just lonely and horny. Maybe he cares about you a little more than initially anticipated. But that’s not bad.

Is it?

“Thank you,” you say after a while. “For walking me home. I mean, you do live right above, but… still.”

“It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

You can tell he’s avoiding looking at you, a sentiment you are certainly familiar with. After all, the very fingers that hold your improvised book between them were in your head less than a week ago as you pictured them buried knuckle deep in your most sensitive place.

“I really respect you a lot, Javier. You’re being very honorable towards my brother with this stupid request of his. And towards me too.”

Javier swallows hard, feeling anything but honorable.

“Yeah, well. He’s my best friend. And you’re—“

“Not your type. I know.”

Feeling less and less honorable at this very moment.

“You—you can’t be,” Javier seems to warn you. “I’m not someone to love. I’m someone who can offer some temporary pleasure and call it a day. And you deserve more than that.”

“I’m no stranger to temporary pleasure.”

So much for the right timing in terms of propositioning something so outrageous.

“You should get some sleep,” Javier coos, removing a lock of stranded hair from your face.

You shudder. You don’t have it in you to protest anymore, not after that dance you shared with him and the tense moment by your door. You just can’t. Maybe you do need some sleep, after all.

“See you Monday morning?” he asks.

That gives you hope. You smile and nod as Javier leaves the coffee mug on the table and promises you that he can let himself out. He’s thankful you didn’t see him sneak your story behind his back while he left, and he’s thankful you can’t read his mind to see the plan he hatched.

previous | next

tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @spidermanfrog

[periprose]

I don't know if my ask got 'eaten' or not, but I did send it while I was on the road so I may have screwed it up anyway. My ask is based on your reblog of the 3 word sentences and if you care to, it's a twofer based plot: numbers 12 and 18 (just do it and you look lost) because I am a dithering decision maker except!! when I am going somewhere in which case my overconfidence gets me in trouble, something Peter knows too well himself. Love your writing!

unfortunately it did but I love this prompt so thank you for resending it!

Prompts can be found here

Peter is fairly sure that he's the one who's always late to everything. Every single seminar for this new Oscorp tech breakdown, he's the one who's five minutes late, and he swears it's not his fault.

It's just that he always happens to run into Spider-Man duties. He always finds another old woman who needs to cross the street, or a newspaper stand that has just been stolen from, and then after saving the day, he can make time towards catching the next subway train to Oscorp and hopefully run up the stairs, through the door, into the lobby, elevator, and then to the board room with a minute to spare. It always works out better in his head. 

He doesn't understand why Harry needs him there. Peter knows technology stuff like the back of his hand– he already understood what the seminar leader who oversaw the development of the new tech was saying halfway through the meeting, and basically put the concluding points together before the meeting was even over. 

Peter is nothing if not a good friend. Or employee who will be sent off with a strict warning if he doesn’t at least try.

This time, though? Peter has just made it to the subway station, and his glance catches onto a woman with a muted blue handbag, looking mostly competent and professional in a blazer, staring at the map, very obviously confused. He decides to be a good civilian and take a moment to help her. Just as Peter Parker, good guy who has two extra minutes to spare. Not because she happens to be a little more pleasant to look at than the rest of the passerby. She does really have bright eyes, though, and the way they catch onto every written detail of the map has Peter wanting those eyes on him.

Unfortunately, as she’s dithering and Peter approaches a little too slowly, about to work up the nerve to ask if she needs help, she suddenly mutters “Just do it! Who cares…” with a sudden bout of confidence, and she walks off towards the train heading North. The same train Peter is due to take.

Peter is kind of elated by this, even though he knows he’s a total dork and he doesn’t actually have the courage to speak to her. Even though Harry makes life sound like a romance movie– that apparently all it takes is the right conversation starter– Peter knows he can’t manage it. He’ll trip over his words and make the wrong jokes, and she’ll give him a polite nod while secretly dialing 911.

He’s just happy to have a commute crush to stare at.

The southbound train arrives from the opposite side of the road, and loudly beeps as the doors open.

Peter’s Spider-Sense goes off and he sees that a bunch of people are starting to exit the train, right into the poor woman who gets turned around a bunch of times and then looks utterly lost. Helpless. Eyes widening with the telltale fear of someone who doesn’t know where they’re going. 

Well, we can’t have that, can we? Peter decides to saunter up to her and be her hero of the day.

/

You are so horrible with making decisions sometimes. Unless, of course, it’s taking a new journey somewhere, with directions you’re not exactly familiar with– for some reason leaping into it headfirst works better, cements it into your brain better if you have to travel around these parts around later, and you usually have the time to figure it out.

Of course, this time you’re late. This time, when you need to present a great big presentation at Oscorp, where your big new tech job is, you’re late, and you had to be overconfident about figuring out the directions.

God, couldn’t you have just asked for help?

As you’re beginning to spiral– was it the north train, or the south, will this crowd ever dissipate properly, and is there time to look at your notes for your presentation on the train?– someone taps your shoulder.

“Hey.” A friendly looking guy with warm brown hair, and eyes, is staring at you, not unkindly. He pulls you aside, out of the crowd, and you’re thankful– but a little wary. 

“You look lost. Are you good?” The man has to lean in closer to you, and kind of yell-speak over the crowd, who are finally moving away to the above ground.

“Uh… No. I’ll be honest.” You cross your arms and huff, glad that someone could see that you needed help, and you feel a little happy that your saviour happened to be a smart, handsome guy who doesn’t look particularly judgemental, and you pull out your phone from your bag. “I’m trying to get to–”

“Oscorp?” He reads your phone and blinks, and then looks affronted that he spoke so soon. “Sorry. I just read your phone screen– I know that’s not proper etiquette. I’m going there too.”

“Uh-huh.” You fix your eyes on him, and Peter feels a funny twinge in his heart– something warm and soft as you size him up, making your own teasing assumptions of him. You half-smirk. “How do I know I can trust you? That you won’t just lead me to a random dungeon full of murdered women?”

You feel that you might’ve scared him off– you always come off a little too strong.

“Uhhhh, I was going to say I probably don’t look like a serial killer, but then again, you never know as a woman, right? Plus that’s some unnecessary bias and profiling on my part.” Peter fishes around in his pocket for his Oscorp ID, snorting at your joke, but also knowing that you’re not wrong to be concerned. “See? I’m Peter Parker. One of Oscorp’s biotech engineers.”

“Alliterative. Very cool.” You smile at him genuinely, glad to see that he is worth trusting, and he’s about to say something when the northbound train comes in.

“Hey, that’s us. Just two stops and then we’re at Oscorp.” Peter lets you walk ahead of him into the train, and you do so with some speed.

“Nervous?” He asks as the train starts going. He’s holding onto the loop for stability, while you lean against an arm rail. The train is kind of packed– and Peter is just a teeny bit happy for it, since it means he gets to stand a little close to you. He’s not trying to be a creep– you’re just cute.

“Very.” You shake out your hands, trying to chill out, and then reach inside your bag for your cue cards. “I’m starting out as a software developer– working on a genome editing program– and I’m doing a presentation on that today.”

“Oh, I’m in that seminar too. Although usually it’s just some dude presenting… not exactly someone like you.” Peter immediately facepalms, hiding in his hands for a moment before shaking his head, brown hair flopping about. “Sorry, I just mean… he’s not a cute girl, you know?”

Nice going, Parker. Peter groans and his hands remain on his face now, totally embarrassed by what he’s said.

“Oh–” You turn to him, but Peter interrupts you first.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean your looks are everything– I know how hard it is to be a woman in STEM, to get judged on things that have nothing to do with your credentials–” Peter swallows and sighs. “I’m not saying you were hired for your face– I’m sure you’re a very intelligent person.”

Peter feels your hand hesitantly touch his and move them, so he can get a look at your expression. You don’t look upset, just flattered, maybe with a hint of a laugh crossing your eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry. I didn’t take it that way. Good to know you’re not a typical STEM bro, though.” You read through your notes again, and Peter feels a bit of relief. “Thanks, by the way. You’re a cute guy too.”

You don’t know where exactly that came from, maybe an unexpected bout of courage bolstered by the adrenaline from your oncoming presentation, but it’s not like it’s false– this guy is very cute and you know you’re going to struggle if you have to work with him. You can’t quite look at Peter for the rest of the train ride, staring out the window. You catch a little grin on his face.

/

“So, genome editing, huh? That’s actually part of my work right now. Except more in the lab at the moment– working on synthesising frog DNA.” Peter shudders jokingly, and you laugh as you walk with him.

“Yeah, I’m basically the one who made the software program you’ll be using from now on. I just gotta make it easy for you guys to understand.” You inhale, and Peter can see that you’re still really nervous about your presentation. 

“Hey.” He gives you a comforting squeeze of the shoulder, in front of the building. “You got this.”

“Really?” You look up at him, bright eyes glassy with sudden fears. “But you don’t really know me, right? For all you know, I’m going to run out of the room with stage fright.”

“No way.” Peter grins, self assuredly. “You wouldn’t be talking to an almost stranger if that was true.”

“I mean… kind of true. I just don’t want to mess up.” You sigh and pinch your forehead, thinking it over.

“Okay, how about this?” Peter decides on something silly, but something that also allows him to shoot his shot. When else was a pretty software developer going to just fall into his lap like this?

He ignores that image. 

“If you don’t ace this presentation: who cares? People might be a little awkward about it, but they’re just people. It’s not a big deal.” Peter starts, and he sees you visibly brighten a little at that. “But if you do, you win something real special: a coffee date with Peter Parker.”

“Oh, I do?” You snort at his blatant flirting, but you can’t help but feel better with that potential date hanging over your shoulder. Peter Parker happens to be very sweet, at least so far, and you want to see just how far this could go. “Okay. I like the sound of that, but acing this presentation probably involves being there on time…”

You and Peter run through the lobby into the elevator– and you swallow your fears as you enter the boardroom, apologizing to the many developers and technicians about having to make them wait.

/

At the end of your very enlightening presentation– Peter knew there had to be no way he knew everything about this particular software since he had never tried it yet, and the fact that the original presenter seemed to be kind of vague on the details made it seem simpler than it was– you smile at him, and Peter grins back, knowing that he’s just won himself a date with you. 

[violetsaffron5]

Beautiful Disaster (11)

← Chapter 10 • series masterlist • Chapter 12 →

11 | Midnight

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

After Shoko's ex is an ass to her, you take matters into your own hands

words: 3.1k

cw: drinking, slight jealousy, reader being an idiot, gojo letting her be an idiot, reader punching someone, car sex, rough sex, creampie

AN: Nothing bad is ever going to happen between these two 👍

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

February 2012

Things between you and Satoru have been great since the new semester started. You’re closer than ever, spending as much time with each other and your friends as you possibly can.

Mei has been notably absent around campus, to both your surprise and happiness. You had half expected her to show her face the moment the two of you arrived back at the boys' house.

You’re not sure if Satoru said anything to her or not, after your heart-to-heart with each other over break, but you’re certainly not complaining. And you don’t want to bring it up and ruin this blissful honeymoon period you’re finding yourselves in.

Every once in a while you’ll see Mei at a campus party but it’s never for long. The last time you saw her, she had an arm around Naoya Zenin, and you’re guessing that has more to do with his family business and money than anything else.

Tonight you’re having another party of sorts. It’s smaller, at Satoru’s campus house with quiet, upbeat music playing in the background as Shoko vents about a guy she started seeing right before Winter break.

Satoru, Suguru, Choso, and Sukuna are talking, joking, and goofing around in the kitchen while you, Utahime, and Nitta sit around the coffee table sipping on your mixed drinks, listening to Shoko.

From the corner of your eye, you can feel Satoru staring at you from the kitchen. Turning your head, you’re met with a flirty grin that causes your cheeks to heat and bite your lip before turning your attention back to the matter at hand.

“And then I went into the break room and he had her pressed against the wall basically fucking her.” Shoko groans before knocking back her drink.

She started working as a Phlebotomist, which is where she met the guy she started seeing. And where she found him cheating on her, apparently.

“Such a fucking prick. I told you I didn’t like him when we met.” Utahime interjects.

“Seriously, Shoko. You’re so smart and gorgeous with a great life ahead of you. He’s the one that’s going to be missing out.” Nitta adds.

You hadn’t met the man before leaving for break, but you try to be encouraging nonetheless, “you’ll find someone who respects you and truly cares for you. Maybe you already have and you just don’t know it yet.”

Shoko snorts before taking another drink as you give her a soft smile, eyes flickering between her and Utahime for a moment.

When the guys make their way into the living room, Satoru brings you a new mixed drink, handing it to you before sitting on the couch behind you, pulling you onto his lap. He’s been holding you close all night and your best guess is because Choso is here to hang out with Suguru.

You’ve noticed anytime Choso tries to talk to you about your classes, or about anything in general, really, Satoru gets a lot handsier. Pulling you close, abruptly kissing you in the middle of a conversation. Nothing is off-limits with him.

You brought it up, trying to ask why he’s so jealous and acts that way, especially with his history with Mei, but he just says he’s not the jealous type. You laughed, reminding him when he thought you slept with Suguru and that’s when he suddenly decided he wanted to be exclusive.

“He also said he doesn’t want to be with someone who is taller than him in heels and then told me there was no way I was smart enough to make it through medical school.”

Shoko has tears in her eyes, head resting on Utahime’s shoulders recounting the conversation she forced him to have when they broke up.

“What the fuck?” You mutter with raised eyebrows while Utahime gasps before chastising Shoko for not telling her that part. “Shoko this guy is so fucking infuriating. I really want to kick his ass. No man should ever speak to you that way.”

She laughs for the first time all night, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table, “I wouldn’t mind seeing that, honestly.”

“Want me to?”

Shoko would never do something like that herself, as kind-hearted as she is, but you’re pissed for your friend, and tipsy enough to go through with it.

She laughs again which brings a smile to your face, “Are you serious?”

You nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically before looking at Satoru who is watching you with his own amused expression and wide smile, “Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“Nope! But I’m going to do it. Where is he?”

“We were supposed to go to a different party tonight,” Shoko says between blowing her nose, “It’s downtown, at one of his friend's places.”

You turn and look at Satoru with wide, shining eyes, “Will you take us there?”

He laughs, amused at your feistiness - something he’s always loved about you, “Calm down, killer. First I’m going to teach you how to punch.”

Satoru ushers you off his lap, moving over in the living room to give the two of you enough space, showing you how to hold your hand properly, and to not tuck your thumb. He also warns you that it’s going to hurt worse than you expect, especially when punching someone in the face.

You giggle a few times, tipsy and tripping over your own feet, falling into his arms as he catches you with his own boisterous laugh.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. But can we go soon before I lose my nerve?” You’re grabbing your shoes as Utahime, Shoko, and Suguru all get ready to leave as well.

He chuckles, “Sure, babe.”

“Okay,” you breathe after gathering your things, bouncing on your feet in anticipation, “Ready to go kick some ass?”

“You’re perfect for me,” Satoru whispers, pulling your chin up to him, and pressing his lips to yours.

You make him want to be a better person. You’re sweet, kind, and more adventurous than he expected when you first started dating. He loves that he brings out that side of you. And you, you reign him in enough to not be so wild and carefree.

He really believes you bring out the best in one another.

Shoko is able to get the address of the party pretty easily, from another one of her friends who was planning on attending tonight.

When you arrive, it’s a very familiar sight; similar to the parties thrown at Satoru’s place. Loud, obnoxious, red plastic cups littered everywhere, and plenty of cars parked in front of the house.

Taking a deep breath, you look at Shoko, raising your eyebrows and giggling at what you’re about to do as she nods her head toward a group of guys standing outside the house. They’re talking, all with cups in their hands and laughing about something one of them said.

Scrunching your nose, you give Satoru a quick peck on the lips before walking up to the group of guys. Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Utahime hang back, letting you do your thing. Satoru will get involved if he needs to.

Choso didn’t want to take part in your drunken shenanigans and Sukuna stated he was going to meet up with someone, but wanted to hear the tales of you kicking ass tomorrow when he’s back. You’re surprised Utahime joined since she rolled her eyes and called you immature before heading this way.

The group of guys stop talking, a few of them quirking an eyebrow, looking you up and down as you as for Shoko’s ex.

“Yeah, he’s inside.” One of them nods towards the door of the house.

“Could you go get him for me? I just need to talk to him for a second but I can’t stay long.”

One of them smirks, looking you up and down again before chuckling, heading inside. You stand awkwardly, hands in your pocket to keep them warm until the man of honor emerges from the house a few minutes later.

When he comes out he smiles salaciously, showing a perfect row of teeth, “Do I know you?”

“No. But I’m friends with Shoko,” You point back at her and he looks over with furrowed brows, “And I have something for you.”

He looks at you confused just before your fist makes contact with his nose. And Satoru was absolutely right, it hurts way worse than you expected, but it was also exhilarating. Silly. And a really dumb fucking idea.

But you can’t help the way you giggle as your mouth hangs open from the pain, tucking your hand between your thighs for a moment as you suck a deep breath between your teeth.

“What the fuck?” The man says, swiping the back of his hand over his nose, seeing the little bit of blood spilling out.

“Fuck you. Never speak to me again!” Shoko yells, giggling as she and Utahime scamper back to Suguru’s car with him in tow.

You laugh, running back to Satoru, throwing your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. You’re on your tip toes, moving your hands to his shoulders guiding him to take several steps backward, until his back hits his car.

He’s laughing, smiling between kisses, reaching back and opening his car door with one hand, never breaking the kiss until you sit and he has to close the door.

You watch, biting your lip as Satoru makes his way around the front of the car, hearing the man you punched yell about how you’re a crazy bitch. Satoru smiles, flipping him off before getting into the driver's seat.

As soon as his door is closed, you’re scurrying onto his lap, pushing your hips into his. He groans with a soft “fuck,” when you rock back and forth, his hands quickly making their way to your waist, pushing you down further.

You moan quietly when Satoru’s hands find their way up your shirt, running small circles with his thumbs below your breasts while he focuses on kissing and nipping your neck.

Adrenaline is running through your veins, and you’re shaking from excitement, needing a release to help calm down, “Satoru, I need you to fuck me.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

He groans, slipping his hands into the small space between the two of you, ripping the tights you have on under your skirt to expose your pussy to him. Satoru moves your panties to the side easily, sliding his fingers between your folds before pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles.

You moan into him, kissing his jaw and lips as you focus on unbuckling his belt, helping him shuffle his pants and briefs down to release his hardening cock.

The car is quickly getting warm, windows starting to fog with your hot breath and the warmth of two bodies pressed into one another. You stroke his cock slowly, squeezing the tip as he curls his fingers, hitting the spot that makes you see stars until your legs are shaking and you’re gushing around him, throwing your head back in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you.

Your kisses are hurried, frenzied, all tongue and teeth as you take his hard cock, lining him up with your entrance. Satoru’s hands are on your hips, helping you slide down his length until you’re fully seated, moaning into one another.

Placing your hands on the roof of his car, you use that as support to help your roll your hips and his on your waist helping you bounce up and down the best you can in the cramped space.

This has to be one of your favorite views, when you’re on top of him, driving him wild. He’s biting his lip, cheeks tinted with a pink blush that extends down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. When you lift his shirt to get a view of the way his muscular abs constrict with each of your movements.

“Fuck, baby,” He mutters as his eyes drift down to where you’re connected, watching a ring of white form around the base of his cock.

After your heart-to-heart conversation over Winter break, you don’t use condoms anymore. You’re too adventurous and in love.

Satoru says whatever happens, happens. If you were to get pregnant, the two of you will figure it out. You on the other hand argued that your mother would stop paying your tuition. He didn’t care, said he would take care of you, anything you wanted. But you can’t let yourself lean on him like that over something that’s preventable, so you started taking birth control.

However, if your mom does find out about that, there would be hell to pay as well. But at least you have a better argument about trying to stay somewhat safe, rather than explaining you got pregnant.

“I’m close, so close,” You mewl into Satoru’s lips, leaning forward just enough that his cock continues to hit your g-spot with every bounce.

He groans, feeling the way your pussy constricts around his cock. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he mouths a silent, “Oh my god,” before crashing his lips with yours just as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

Satoru loves this. Loves the way you are together. How neither of you can control yourselves with each other, how you need one another. It’s not what he expected to happen, but he doesn’t regret it, not for a moment.

You focus on kissing his neck as you come down from your high, taking several deep breaths before nibbling the shell of his ear, whispering, “Drive.”

“Mm. You’re perfect,” He says before easily turning on his car, shifting into gear.

You giggle, rolling your hips on his lap as he looks over your shoulder trying to concentrate on the road, but it’s hard when you’re moving your hips against his. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel from gripping so hard. He’d be afraid he’s going to break it, but that’s the last thing on his mind right now.

He speeds down the road, not for long before he’s pulling into an empty parking lot, throwing the car back into park.

In one swift movement, he’s wrapping a long arm around your waist to hold you close as he opens the driver door, easily lifting you and keeping you connected.

The air outside is cool, especially compared to the inside of the car. When the wind blows, a cold chill runs down your spine leaving goosebumps along your skin before Satoru presses your back to the side of his car so he can move his hips more freely, relentlessly.

You laugh a little, tilting your head back against the edge of the car taking in the pleasure he’s giving you as he continues to watch the way his length disappears in you, gripping your hips so hard there are sure to be bruises from his fingertips.

The wind blows again, it’s chilly but feels amazing as your body continues to heat up, even after being outside of the cramped, hot space of the car where your bodies were so closely connected.

“Need a better angle,” Satoru mutters to himself softly before grabbing you by the ass, hoisting you up a little so he can carry you to the hood of his car.

Satoru pulls out slowly, setting your legs on the ground as you whine at the loss of being filled. His smile is lopsided, eyes blown with lust as he turns you around, pushing you down gently so your face is pressed against the warm hood of his car.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he grunts out, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance once again, easily sliding himself between your slippery folds.

You’re smiling, moaning into the wide open space of the outdoors. It’s quiet, the dead of night and the only sounds that can be heard are mewls of pleasure as the sound of Satoru slamming his hips against your ass.

He laughs, a little unhinged when he notices large, puffy snowflakes falling from the sky, blowing in the wind. Satoru presses a hand to the center of your back, keeping you down as he spreads your legs wider with his knees so he can get deeper, losing himself in you.

Satoru leans back, smacking his hand on your ass, watching the way it giggles as you moan his name at the contact. And he really can't help the way he rips your tights even further, exposing your ass to him so he can spread your cheeks with his large hands.

And he really can’t help himself he lets a trail of saliva fall from his lips, right onto your other hole, feeling the way your pussy clenches around him in surprise.

He sighs, it’s deep and longing as he spreads his saliva with his finger before slowly pressing his finger in. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, a new kind of heat forming in your core as he moves his finger in and out at a much slower pace than his hips.

“Gonna fuck you here one day,” his voice is rough with need, want, and desire.

“Please,” You’re practically begging for it now as your clench around him.

Satoru pulls his finger out and you whimper until you feel his hand snake under your stomach until his long fingers are wrapped around the base of your throat.

You watch him through the corner of your eye, turning when he hooks his finger into your mouth pulling your face to look at him.

“Open.” He commands and you listen, moaning when he spits into your mouth.

It’s enough to set you over the edge again, convulsing like you’re having a seizure out in the open, for anyone to see.

“Gonna fill you so f-full of me,” he babbles as he continues to pump his hips vigorously, “Gonna fuck you ‘til it sticks, ‘til you’re full and round of me.”

The thought sends him over the edge, slamming his hips into yours a few more times until he’s moaning out your name, his warm seed spilling out each time he continues to pump his hips into overstimulation.

You’re both breathing heavily, he’s littering your neck, cheek, and jaw with little kisses as he works on catching his breath with half-lidded eyes. When he finally pulls out, he watches the way his cum drips out of your core with a lopsided smile.

“What are you kids doing out here?” A deep voice says, startling the two of you.

Your eyes are wide and Satoru laughs as he helps you stand before shuffling you into his car, the two of you laughing at the absurdity of tonight, kissing until he closes your door behind him, running to the driver's side and speeding away.

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