#but the second I try to write it out it just... dies in my brain istg

[buckysdingus]

secret longings

todd stevens x reader

word count: 8.9k

summary: your cousins wedding is this weekend and you need a date.

warnings: eventual smut 18+lowercase writing, some angst, weight is commented on in a negative way, todd being a sick sometimes, smut 18+!! MDNI!!

a/n: i’ll be gone for a couple days so i thought i’d give you this! is was based off of this request! <3 let me know what you think!

requests always open!

lewis masterlist

todd stevens is the bane of your existence. he's a cocky know it all with a shit eating smirk that stays on his mouth at all seconds of the day. sometimes it feels like he does it just to piss you everyone off.

you first met him when trying to find your brother at his frat. you knew he was the president, but you were hoping you didn't have to interact with him. you already had to do so in your political science class.

sure, you'd debate him in class, you never back down from a chance to try and humiliate him in front of your classmates. this time, though, you actually had a conversation.

you knocked for what felt like five minutes in the frat house door at eight in the morning. you heard muffled shouting at someone to get the door.

the door opened slowly to reveal, who you thought was a guy named mitch. he held his hand up to shield his eyes firm the morning sun, you thought you actually heard him hiss at it.

"i need to see tom," you sigh, your little brother was roommates with mitch and yet you still couldn't fully remember what the boy looked like.

"okay," mitch said slowly with a shrug, as if he was confused by your statement and didn't understand what it had to do with him.

he turned and screamed your brothers name. you cross your arms over your chest taking an annoyed stance.

"who's at the door," someone asked, you knew it wasn't your brother. the thick, raspy accent belonged to someone you knew. the clench of your jaw indicated it was him.

todd stevens.

"i don't know, some chick for tom,"

"he's my brother," you speak up, you hated that they acted like you weren't standing there.

the door opens wider, revealing the pebble in your shoe.

he says you last name with a grin and rub of his jaw, then matches your stance with his arms crossed.

"stevens,"

"now mitch," he says gripping the boys shoulder, "we don't talk to ladies like that,"

“i can take care of myself, thanks. where’s my brother,” you ask more firmly.

todd’s brows furrow in confusion at your tone and choice of words. you didn’t fall to his feet. you didn’t thank him for standing up for you and trying to make mitch apologize. it’s as if todd’s brain short circuited.

“mitch, go get tom,” todd instructs. mitch rolls his eyes but walks off out of your sight.

you sigh lightly, arms still crossed. your eyes everywhere but the man in front of you. just looking at him made your blood boil.

one thing about todd is that he thinks he’s always right. he knows what’s wrong with your dean aye, he knows what’s wrong with the professors calculations and spelling, and apparently he knows somethings wrong with you.

“what happened?” he asks, hands now in his pockets with his head slightly tilted. his eyes scan your body once then he narrows his eyes at you as if he’s reading you like a book.

“you can’t read me like a book,” you tell him so.

“i have a minor in literature, specifically poetry,” he tells you with a faint smirk on his mouth.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hide the smile that was betraying you, your eyes turning to slits. what was his motive? what was his intention.

“you think you’re funny stevens?” you ignore the pit in your stomach that opened, allowing butterflies to float around, banging against your stomach and chest.

“sometimes, but that wasn’t a joke,” he says, taking one hand out of his pockets and leaning against the frame on his forearm.

your eyes jerk to his forearm, veins protruding from the buttoned up long sleeve that was rolled up to his elbow. the veins going down to his hand, dipping under his watch.

you look back to him, his smirk on full display. you roll your eyes.

tom shows up behind him, your eye slicing to your brother.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asks rubbing his eyes from the brightness of the sun.

todd moves his arm and steps back, but not fully walking away.

“do you mind?” you ask him, blinking at him.

he lifts his hands in mock defense, “i’m going, see you in class,”

“can’t wait,” the sarcasm was impossible to miss.

“what’s up?” your brother asks.

“tiff is getting married,” you tell him, he doesn’t seem to see the importance. your cousin was a very busy woman who did everything last minute.

“okay?”

you sigh, “we have to go, problem is it’s this weekend, saturday. it’s out in tennessee and i don’t know if we can find a flight out there in time. i also don’t have date but that’s not your problem,” the last part was just you talking out loud.

“what about that guy you were seeing?”

you shake your head, “didn’t work out. he was… weird,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath remembering how awful he was. he didn’t have the nicest words aimed at you, you left before it got physical.

“okay well i have things to do this weekend for the frat. i can’t miss out on them,” he tells you with a shrug.

“it’s our cousins wedding tom,”

“yeah a cousin i barely know and a cousin you don’t like. you don’t have to go either,” he says.

“i know, i just… i want to. i like weddings. i just need a date,”

“you want to show tiff up,” he says scratching the back of his neck.

“oh hush,” you wave a hand towards him, “you can tell mom you won’t be there,”

“and you can tell her you don’t have a date. that’ll be fun for you,” he mocks.

you were always expected to have a date at the family functions. you’re about to graduate and your parents expected you to be married or at the very least have a boyfriend. and you were not going to your cousins wedding, who’s constantly one upping you, where your parents are going to be nagging you about not having a boyfriend without a date.

todd appears in the door way, “i can help,”

“what?” you and brother say in unison.

“my truck can make it tennessee,” he says, “we leave tomorrow and make it by friday night,” he shrugs. he’s got a smile on his face and you don’t see anything evil behind it, maybe he’s just being genuine. maybe he actually wants to help.

“no,” you tell him turning back to your brother, “call mom and tell her you aren’t going,” you couldn’t let it go, you turn back to todd, “aren’t you the president? shouldn’t you also be here for whatever horrible thing you’ll be doing the freshmen this weekend?”

todd clutches tom’s shoulders, “tom here is going take over for the weekend. planning on him bein the next president,” he smiling squeezing tom’s shoulders.

“right, well good luck,” you turn away walking from the house, “call mom!” you shout back to tom.

“let me know when you want to take me up on that offer,” todd calls out to you.

you lift a middle finger in the air and hear him laugh as the door shuts. you walk back to your own dorm, trying to come up with someone to take.

maybe you could ask tyler from your communications class or will from your art class. you sit at your desk, arms crossed trying to think of someone. someone other than him.

but he’s the only person that keeps coming to mind. you soon imagine him holding your hand, giving it a squeeze when your mom makes a comment about your life, the squeeze telling you it’s okay and he’s there and she’s wrong.

his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd to the bar. him holding your hips as you two sway back and forth to whatever slow song is playing on the speakers.

before you knew it a couple hours had gone by of you just merely daydreaming of him being your date. you wanted to kick yourself.

todd stevens wasn’t a good guy. you heard the stories, him being a dick to girls, him being a dick to new pledges. you hated the idea of hazing especially for the guys. you’ve documentaries on hazing and it’s disgusting to say the least.

you didn’t know what tom had to go through, and maybe you didn’t want to, you know you didn’t want to know all that todd had put them through.

you go to sleep that night with todd still on your mind. luckily he had escaped your dreams and the next morning came fast.

you show up a few minutes early to your eight am political science class. you knew he’d be there, he sits in your same row, a few seats over.

this morning, however, he sits right next to you. you check your small watch on your wrist, ten minutes until it starts.

you roll your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. his arm reaches back and lays itself on the back of your chair. he leans back in his chair, turning his head towards you.

“we can leave today,” he tells you, “we can make it tonight too. i can pick you up at… say…” he looks at his watch, “ten? we can make it by seven,”

you turn your whole body towards him, leaning an elbow on the desk, “what’s your motive stevens? what do you get out of this?”

“nothing,” his face stoic, his eyes won’t meet yours, “i can’t help out the sister of a fellow brother?”

you squint at him, “you won’t get anything out of this,”

todd thinks: i’ll be with you.

“i know,” he nods, bringing his arm back from behind you to cross them across his chest, “you need help, i’m offering,”

you lean against your hand, starring at the man in front of you. you try to break some sort of exterior wall he has up to try and catch him in a lie.

you won’t get your heartbroken by him. you won’t.

you sigh, biting your cheek to hide a smile, you eventually are able to swallow the smile and be stoic like him.

“i have to get a dress,” you tell him, “i was going to get one tonight.”

“i have a suit,” he says with another shrug.

“no no no,” you shake your head, “i’ve seen you in what you think is a suit. with my family you have to be in a nice suit, like never worn before suit. you’ll..” you pause for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut, “just have to come with me,”

a grin spreads across his face, “okay, when’s your last class?”

“this is my only one today,”

“i got one after this, but i’ll pick you up at one, yeah? take you to lunch too,” his grin stays and you can’t help but match it with a smile.

“don’t get me in trouble this weekend,” yo tell him, pointing a finger at him.

he holds a hand up in mock defense, “yes ma’am,”

“i’m serious-“

“alright class!” the professor begins as he interrupts you.

“and todd,” you reach out, touching the top of his hand, “don’t fall in love with me,”

he furrows his brows and scoffs, “no problem,” he lightly laughs turning to the professor.

you would’ve been upset by his response. you weren’t that bad. you would’ve been hurt by it but you didn’t miss the way he stole glance say you during the class.

you simply clench your jaw and act like you don’t see him, and you hated to admit it but you might have liked the attention he was giving you.

todd picks you up at one pm sharp from your dorm building. he gets out of his truck, walking over and opening the passenger side door for you. you stop a couple feet away from the door and look at him.

“what are you doing?”

“blame it on my southern hospitality,” he smiles, leaning his forearm on the door, “and i’ll take this,” he reaches out for your bag taking it and putting in the back seat floorboards.

you step up into the truck, using the handle at the top of it. you settle into your seat and buckle up. todd closes the door and goes back to the drivers seat.

you give him directions to the dress and suit shop and the thirty minute drive is mostly quiet, until about five minutes in.

“are we good to leave after getting the dress and suit?” you ask looking at phone for updates on anything to do with the wedding.

he nods, “yeah i already got a bag in the back next to yours,” he nods.

“okay, i need to give you a run down of my family how this is going to go this weekend,” you say.

“hit me,”

you turn to face him but take a small moment to take him in. he drives with his left on hand on the wheel and his right arm resting on the center console. his body is leaned ever so slightly towards you and his eyes go from the road to yours a few times.

the sun comes through the windshield, hitting his face perfectly. his stubble shining in it, his brown curls are illuminated. you blink a couple times before continuing.

“uhm my mother will be very… inquisitive. she will ask you any and everything. my father will more than likely just stare at you, he has a real problem with that. my mother wants me to be with just someone and my father believes no one is good enough for me so there’s a lot of differences between them.”

he nods, his brows furrowed in attention.

“okay, my cousin who’s getting married is going to grill you. so we need to make sure you know at least a little bit about me,”

he nods again, “no problem,” he pulls back into a parking space, his rig he hand on the back of your headrest as he twists to look behind him. you look down, his white t shirt exposes the smallest bit of his tummy, you look away quickly, biting your tongue.

stop it, you tell yourself, stop.

as soon as he stops the truck and puts it into park you open your door, the fresh air resting your mind. you hop out turning back to him, “ready?”

“let’s do it, sweetness,”

you roll your eyes but have a smile and shut the door.

the two of you walk up to the boutique and he open the door for you, you thank him and he follows closely behind you.

todd has money, he’s a president of a frat and has a trust fund. but he’s never been in a place like this. the walls are a cream color and the warm lighting is nice. there’s dresses set up on one side and suits on the other.

“hi! i’m charmaine, what are we looking for today?” a woman with bleach blonde hair was dressed in the hottest pink dress you’d ever seen that matched her nails.

“hi,” you smile, “we are going to a wedding and need a dress and suit,” you tell her, clasping your hands together. you can feel the nerves building up in your body.

“oh goodness how fun!” charmaine exclaims, “what are the colors,” she asks walking towards some dresses.

“navy,” you decide, something to help you blend in to the crowd.

“oh what a lovely color. i’ll show you what we have,” she starts to walk away but you become overwhelmed fast. the dresses everywhere, the lights, the loud music. your thoughts race as you try and think of a dress that would please everyone. you didn’t know if todd like navy- why did you care if he’d like it? he’s the one who-

you close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.

a hand touches your lower back, the softness snapping you out of the anxious moment. you feel todd’s breath on your neck. your skin becomes a vast land of goosebumps as your hair stands up on your arms and neck.

you almost shiver form it.

“you okay?” he asks.

you turn your neck to look over and up at him, his eyes are full of genuine concern.

“yeah,” you force a smile, “i’m fine. sorry, i don’t know what happened,” you step away quickly from his touch, the coldness of his absence isn’t very welcoming.

you catch up to charmaine as she shows you different dresses in the color you’ve chosen.

you grab a couple of nice ones and go to the fitting rooms. charmaine’s starts to drag todd off but you stop them.

“i need his opinion,” you fight through the words. you couldn’t believe you were even saying it. you didn’t need to convince this worker you two were dating.

half of you did want to know what he thought.

she smiles and nods, “of course, let me know when you’re ready for the suits,”

you thank her and todd takes a seat, his legs spreading as he does. his lays his hands on his thighs with a sigh, not a bored one. it was more of sigh of relief like he couldn’t imagine not being with you in store like this.

you hang the dresses up in the private room and begin talking again, “another thing, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. you let me know when or if you become uncomfortable and i will shut it all down. i promise,” you look him in his eyes so he knows just how serious you.

“what about you?” he asks.

“what?” you blink at him.

“what if you’re uncomfortable? it sounds like your family makes you pretty uncomfortable sometimes,”

your jaw ticks, “i can handle myself. i can handle my family and others can’t. i don’t expect you to be able to handle them,”

his arms cross across his chest, “im the president of the most popular frat in the university, i think i can handle one of their families,” he tells you with tilt of his head.

“that cocky attitude is going to get you in trouble. i can stand up to family for other people, i’ve learned it’s easier to just take it from them for myself. don’t make me go back on my offer,” you point at him, leaning against the dressing room door frame.

“i can handle myself,” he throws back your first response.

you turn around closing the door and try on the first dress. didn’t like it. you walked out to show todd and it wasn’t his favorite either. he said it looked like yo didn’t like and that was his only comment. the second one: you hated it.

the third one was beautiful on the hanger. you step into it and bring the straps over your shoulders. the smooth satin felt nice against your skin, it was form fitting a a shade above navy but you still loved it so far.

you reach back to the zipper on your back, but yo can’t reach it. the other two had zipper son the side but this one… you’d need help.

you whisper a small prayer asking for your arms to grow longer or the ability to zip but it didn’t happen. you sigh in frustration and open the door, cracking it slightly in case anyone else was in the boutique.

“i need your help,”

todd was on his feet the second he heard “need”. he walks over, his body filling the small crack you made.

“i need you to zip this up for me,” you say bringing around to face the mirror, you move your hair to side, holding it there.

you here the door open to the building and laughing, a big group surely coming in. you didn’t want anyone to see you half naked, you already hated that todd was.

“come on,” you shimmy in forget to the room, but todd just stands there, “come on,” yo repeat, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room. the door closes behind him.

“it’s okay, we’re adults. i just need you to zip this up, please,” you ask in a quiet voice.

his finger find the zipper and pulls it up. the warmth of his hands radiating off of him onto your cold back. one hand stayed at the bottom of the zipper just above your ass as he pulled up with his other hand.

his hands then reach up, taking your hair. his eyes catch yours in the mirror and neither of you look away. he takes your hair and pulls it back, it falls down your back. he moves some pieces from your shoulder.

his hands linger on your shoulders, his eyes never leaving yours. you stomach twists and knots in anticipation. what’s his next move? what’s your next move?

his hands ghost down your arms, they land at your wrists and he wraps his hands around them, pulling them up to your stomach and he begins to sway you back and forth to the soft music playing on the speakers.

he moves so he can turn you around.

he looks you up and down, “it’s pretty,”

“i think so too,” your voice is barely above a whisper, too nervous about what’s about to happen.

“the necklace you wear sometimes. the one small gold chain? it would look nice with this dress,” he tells you, his voice matches your volume. is he nervous too? does want to kiss you as much as you want him to?

“yeah,” you nod, “it would look good.”

“you look good,” he tells you after a beat.

a pink blush rushed across your cheeks. your ears heating up at the moment you two are sharing.

his eyes flutter close and you follow quickly, going to your toes. you can feel his breath on your face, his lips ghosting yours, he stops.

“see?” he says, you open your eyes to see him looking at you, “i can play the part,”

he drops your hands, reaching back and pulling the zipper down with one hand and turns walking out of the dressing room.

what the fuck was that?

the door closes, bringing you back to reality. you were about to kiss todd stevens and he did that?

fuck this guy and this situation.

you change back into your normal clothing and exit the room, passing the dick standing near the suits and straight to charmaine at the desk.

“i’ve decided on this one. so just this and whatever suit he needs,” you force a perfect friendly smile.

charmaine looks at you confused, “oh dear, he’s already paid for the dress and his suit,”

you turn around to look at him, he pays you no mind as he looks through the navy suits. you force all your emotions down. you wipe away what just happened for a moment.

“alright, thanks charmaine. we’ll get his suit and be on our way,”

she nods with a polite smile, if she could feel the tension on the room she wasn’t showing it.

you pick up the dress, now wrapped in plastic and walk to todd, “find anything?” you ask in an even tone.

“yeah, i already know my size. you ready to go?” he asks turning around, holding a suit wrapped in plastic.

you don’t respond as you walk out to his truck. you don’t give him the light of day just like you should’ve been doing before. you open your own door and climb up and slam it shut, folding the dress in your lap.

he opens your door, “let me see the dress,” he says reaching out a hand, “don’t want it wrinkling,” you don’t look at him as you hand over the dress.

he opens the back seat doors and hang the dress and suit on the small hook and lay them out on the seats. once he’s done, he closes the door and goes to drivers seat.

he sits there for a moment, waiting to see if you’d say anything.

he starts the truck, putting it in drive and pulling out of the space. he drives for about ten minutes before pulling into a restaurant.

“what are we doing here?” you finally break.

“told you i’d take you out to lunch,” he shrugs opening his door.

“oh fuck that todd,” you exclaim at him, he closes the door sitting back in his seat. his expression confused.

���what the fuck did you just pull in the fitting room?” you ask loudly, your tone showing just how much you cared about the whole interaction.

“just showing you that i can make it look real. your family won’t be able to tell, it seemed like i had to convince you as well,” he shrugs. his eyes stay looking out the windshield or at his hands. he won’t meet yours.

he won’t look at you as he admits he just did to prove a stupid point. a point that you didn’t even doubt. it feels like he did it to piss you off.

“you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me this morning but now you can’t even look at me,” you scoff, opening your door and hoping out. you shut the door and walk over to his opening it for him.

“i’m paying,” your tone cold.

you walk away, and hear him get out himself. he shits the door and the truck beeps signaling it’s locked. you walk to restaurant and hold the door for him. he grabs it by the top and you slip in under his arm.

the waitress sits the two of you and you eat in silence. he asks you about your classes, you ask him about tom and completely ignore whatever happened in the truck.

this drive was going to be long.

an hour in to the nine hour drive you speak up, “thank you for doing this,”

“no problem,” he says, eyes trained on the road in front of him.

“why did you?” you ask looking over to him.

“helping out a brother,” he shrugs, eyes still forward.

“you don’t look at person when you lie,” you mutter.

“okay that has to stop,” he says, now his eyes going from the road to you, “stop reading me like that, like you know me,”

“i do know you todd. your the fraternity president that even just fawns over and loves. yo don’t do anything unless you’re getting something out of it. you aren’t a nice guy, i’ve heard plenty of stories to back it up too. i don’t know why you’re doing this for me but it’s feeling like a mistake. you say it’s to help tom out and if that’s true that’s great, thank you but don’t expect me to fall at your feet that everyone else does,”

that shuts him up.

your words were harsh and loud. you regretted some of them when they came out. you half expected him to turn the truck around or tell you to get out of his truck but he didn’t. he gripped the steering wheel and sped up a couple of miles.

your fear of… something was taking over you in the moment. the fear that he’d back out? that he didn’t like you? that you liked him?

you let the words hang in the air, “sorry,”

“it’s alright. you think you know me, you know the stories of me. not me,”

“i know i have no right to say this after what i just said but: will you tell me?”

“hm?” he hums confused.

“tell me then. tell me who you are,”

he takes breath and let sit out slowly, “i am the president of a frat, ill give you that but that my identity. i happen to be very smart and i would like to think im kind. i try help those guys be more kind but im doin a shit job,”

he pauses looking for more answers, “i like the color navy, it probably my favorite color. i like chicken and working out sometimes. it helps get my mind off of things.”

“did you know you scratch the bottom of your chin with your thumb when you’re concentrating, sometimes you pick at your stubble too,” you tell him a smile growing on your face.

he looks over, “see you know more about me than i do,”

“i’m sorry again, i shouldn’t have said all that,”

“it’s alright,” his hand reaches over and grips your lower thigh, he turns his head to look at you, “i forgive you,” with a slight squeeze his take back his hand back to the center console.

the next few hours were you two talking about anything. from his childhood stories to yours. from your freshmen years fuck ups to yours. from your weird teenage years to his.

you learn a lot about the man who has volunteered to be hassled by your family for a day.

you find yourself leaned against over the center console, starring at him as he speaks with a glint in your eye. his smile grows when he looks down at you then back to the road.

you made fun of how big his hand was, pulling it from the console and comparing it to your own hand. his interlocks your fingers and you don’t move.

the last two hours were you were sleeping against the passenger side window. he hits pot hole on the road that stirs you awake, before you fully sit up your eyes open and see your still holding his hand.

you try your best to play it off, yawning and pulling that hand to your mouth.

“well good evening,” he says.

you look out the window to see the sun setting. you shouldn’t have slept that long but road trips are tiring and you couldn’t help yourself.

“sorry for the bump,” he apologizes, “tried to miss it,”

“it’s alright. how much longer we got?” you ask turning the radio up slightly.

“about twenty minutes to the hotel. is it the same one your family’s at?” he asks, looking to his phone for direction then back to the road.

you shake your head, “god no. the venue is a few miles away and we’re at the second closest hotel. i couldn’t stand to be in the same building as them as i slept to,”

he chuckles and nods, “fair enough,”

twenty minutes later he pulls into the hotel and parks. he gets out quick, rounding his truck and offering you a hand. you take it.

“thank you,”

he nods, “yes ma’am,” he opens the back grabbing your bag and his.

“i’ll get the dress and suit,” you take the two items and follow behind him to the front desk of the hotel.

the receptionist greets the two of you with a smile, “hi! what can i help yall with?”

“uhm we have a room, under the name…” you tell them your last name.

“ah yes,” she says clicking a few times ok he keyboard, “here you go. room four-twenty-six.

you take the two room keys from her, “thank you,”

you walk off, todd following behind you. you step into the elevator and he hits the fourth level button and you ride in a comfortable silence.

the doors open and you walk down the hallway and you reach your room, you swipe the card and open the door for todd. he sticks out his foot and holds it open and lets you go in first. you roll your eyes with smile as you walk in.

you hang the dress suit on the bathroom door and then meet todd at the bed.

singular bed.

“oh my god, this was supposed to be a two bed room,” you say in horror. you look around for your phone, taking your bag from todd’s hand and search for your phone. you look through your emails for the confirmation email and when you find it you realize you did indeed book a one bed room.

“shit, i am so sorry,” you rub your temples, “i thought i’d be coming alone,”

“its okay. i can sleep on the floor with a couple of p-“

“what? no im not making you sleep on the ground. we’re both adult, alright? we can sleep in the same bed.” you say honestly.

“you sure?”

you nod, “yeah, everything will be fine. tomorrow will go by quickly and we’ll be back home on sunday and everything will be fine. my parents aren’t going to make a big deal out of anything i do, tiffany won’t make fun of me for anything and my mother will still love me after this weekend,”

the anxious tears begin to well up in your eyes. when todd sees this he doesn’t hesitate. he pulls you into his chest.

“hey, it’s gonna be okay. i’ll be there the whole time and im great at talking to be people, it’s kind of my job,”

you chuckle against his chest, thanking him for the effort of making you laugh. you wrap your arms around him and let him hold you for a moment.

you enjoy his warmth. you enjoy the sound of his heart beat. you enjoy the steadiness of his breathing. it calms you for a moment, he makes you forget about the big day tomorrow and how poorly it could go.

he’s here and that’s all you need.

the thought caught you off guard and you find yourself pulling away from him. you give an excuse about needing to use the bathroom, as you walk away his hand follows down your arm to your wrist to your hand and your fingers.

you flex your hand at the memory of his hand in yours.

you close the door to the bathroom and start the shower. the hot water couldn’t replace the warmth of his skin, no matter how hot the water it couldn’t compare to him.

half you wished he’d knock on the door and ask to join you. your mind wonders to how his hands would feel on you. your chest, your core. his fingers gliding through you as your head falls back and his lips leave marks on your neck.

your hand journeys down to your thighs, ghosting over your mound. your head lolling to side so the warm water hits your neck.

your finger slips into you, the thought of his finger replaces yours. your hand massaging your breast as you imagine his hands on you.

there’s a knock at the bathroom door, interrupting your fantasy. you pull your finger out and straighten up in the shower, clearing your throat, “yeah?”

“you doin okay? you been in there a while,”

“yeah yeah, i’m good. i’ll be out soon,” you plant a hand on your forehead, lightly rubbing against it.

what was wrong with you? a few hours ago you were grilling him and now you wanted him to what? fuck you?

yeah, you did.

you wash your face and finally step out of the shower. you realize you left your clothes out in your bag, you open the door to shout for todd but you look down and you have clothes sitting on the ground, folded neatly.

you pick them up and bring them inside the bathroom. you put on the fresh clothes and walk out of the bathroom, seeing todd laid on the bed, one hand behind his head showing off his biceps as he flips through channels on the tv.

“thanks for setting out my clothes,”

“yeah, no problem,” he smiles looking over to you. his eyes linger on your bare thighs before he sits up, “guess it’s my turn,”

you nod, pursing your lips, “yeah, okay. i’ll find us a movie or something to watch. i’ll order room service too,”

he thanks you as he gathers his own clothes and goes to the bathroom. you lay on the bed where he was, sinking into the mattress.

you flip through channels as you wait for him to shower.

as you flip you begin to hear grunts form the shower. a groan or two, you turn down the tv volume to listen closer.

your name is said in a moan.

you bite your lip trying to hide a smile.

he was touching himself to the thought of you. your hand floats back down to your core. you bends your legs, giving yourself more access.

your finger drag themselves through your folds and your slick coats you and your fingers. you give focus on your clit and immediately feel a shiver run through you.

you hear your name again, you whisper his as you move faster. you head tilts back and you close your eyes, taking in the feeling. the more you hear your name the faster you go.

soon you’ve already hit your climax and breathing hard. you can tell he did too. you take your hand out and throw a blanket over you. you remember to order room service and a few minutes later he comes out of the bathroom.

he has his boxers and a t shirt on and sits on the bed next to you.

“find a movie?”

you shake your head, “nope. nothing good

on,”

you two end up talking for an hour until the room service comes. todd gets the door and helps bring everything. he thanks the worker and shuts the door.

he rubs his hands together, “so what’d you get?”

you open the tip of the plate to reveal his meal.

“chicken and mashed potatoes for you, and chicken parmesan for me,” you smile.

he smiles, looking over to you, “chicken?”

you shrug, “you said it was your favorite,”

“thank you,” he says, he looks at you like he might reach out and touch but he decides against it.

you two eat and end up in bed at midnight.

you wake up to a nice smell. a cedar smell that brings smile to your face. you’re not sure what it is, couldn’t be perfume or the scent of the pillows.

maybe aftershave.

aftershave.

you open your eyes and realize you head is on todd’s chest. his arms draped around your waist. you think you’re supposed to pull away. you know you’re supposed to but here you, your arms locking around him a little more.

as you shift, so does he. you close your eyes quickly, his arms pull you close as he hums against you.

todd’s eyes blink open, your shampoo is the first thing he smells. a mix of different fragrances and it bring a small smile to to his face. he looks down and see you there, head on his chest, arms around him. he can feel your legs wrapped in his.

he sighs into you, the smile growing.

he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this. he thought the dressing room incident would help the feelings he has towards you. make you hate him and it’d be easier to walk away from you after today. it wasn’t working.

he thought of you in the shower last night and he heard you saying his name at the same time. there was something between the two of you but you told him not to fall in love with you. he did that before you had said that to him though.

you decide to pull away first. his closes his eyes, making it seem like he’s asleep. he lets you go and yo hair up in the bed. you rub your temples and stand, going to the bathroom to get ready.

a few minutes later, todd sits up and orders breakfast for the two of you. waffles and fruit.

the next few hours are silent between the two of you. after breakfast you speak up thank him him for breakfast and telling him your going to get ready for the wedding.

you had a few hours before it started and needed to do all the things. your makeup, hair and putting the dress on.

you lean against the bathroom counter as you fix your hair into a simple style and begin to apply your makeup.

todd slips into the bathroom.

“do you mind?” he asks lowly.

you shake your head, “no, not all,”

he uses the other sink next to you to brush his teeth and get ready himself.

you apply eyeliner and mascara and set it with some spray.

“i’ll need your help with the dress again,” you murmur, remembering what happened the last time you asked him to zip up the dress.

he nods, turning away from you so you can strip out of your bed clothes and into the dress. you step into the dress, standing in front of the mirror.

todd catches the smallest sight of you in the mirror, not on purpose, there were lots of mirrors in this bathroom.

your long legs stepping into the dress, how the dress fell against your chest. it made his heart race and his pants tight.

“alright, you’re good,”

he turns around and clears his throat, he walks behind you and takes the zipper in one hand and his other resting at the base of your spine like yesterday.

he pulls the zipper up and looks at you in the mirror.

“you look beautiful,”

you smile and look to the ground, “thanks, but you don’t have to say that,”

his fingers hook under your chin pulling your head back up to look at him in the mirror, “did i look away from you?”

you shake your head, “no,”

“then i guess i wasn’t lying,”

your stare holds his and you think you might just turn around and beg him to take you on the bathroom but instead you grab his tie that was resting on the counter and wrap it around his neck.

“now it’s my turn to help you,” you tie the tie around his neck and pull it up to his throat. your fingers brush his throat and his adam’s apple bobs. you avoid his gaze that stays locked on you.

“thank you,” he says, you smile and begin to walk away but he grabs your wrist pulling you back.

you come back to your spot in front of him and he pins you between himself and the counter behind you. you can feel his tightness.

his hand goes to your jaw, some finger som your neck and his thumb on your cheek.

“i don’t think i can keep doing this,” he tells you, his thumb ghosting over your lips.

“doing what?” you ask, your eyes never leaving his.

“you know what,” he says. you stick your tongue slightly out, his thumb going against the tip of it.

“when we get back,” you tell him, “just help me get through this night,”

he nods, stepping back, “i’m sorry,”

“no no, hey,” you pull him back to you, “don’t apologize. we’ll talk about when we get back yeah?”

he rubs his jaw and scratches the back of his neck, “yeah,” he walks out of the bathroom.

his absence too great to bare.

he walks you to his truck, opening the door for you and drives the two of you to the venue of the wedding.

it’s already started and you stand in the back as the vows wrap up. you wish part of you felt bad for missing most of the ceremony but you couldn’t find the empathy.

todd’s arm is around you, hand resting on the side of your hip and thigh. his comfort being the only thing keeping you from collapsing form anxiety.

it wraps up and you make sure to make yourself and todd blend in the crowd. you make it to the reception.

you mother and father spot you at the back of the room.

“my darling girl, how are you,” yo step away from todd and regret it, you hug your mother and father only to step back into todd’s side.

“i’m well,” you smile, “school is good,” you nod.

“and who is this?” your mother raises her brows.

“this is todd stevens,” you say turning into him and placing a hand on his chest.

“nice to meet you todd,” your mother pulls him into a hug.

“you’re the president of the frat our son is in,” your father questions him but it sounds more like a statement.

todd nods, “yes sir. your son has been a great addition to the house and brotherhood,”

“so has our money,” your father comments.

you reach your arm around his taking his opposite hand and put your hand into todd’s and squeeze it, an apologizing squeeze.

“and we thank you for your donations,” he ignores the jab, throwing one back. at least he can keep up with them.

“sweetie this dress looks bigger than the size you normally wear,” your mother tilts her head.

“i am a woman mom, my weight with fluctuate.” you sarcastically smile at her.

“well you could lose a few,” she says, bringing a glass of champagne to her lips.

todd’s hand that rests on your hip kneads at it and moves to your lower back, “do you want to dance?” he asks, trying to diffuse the tension.

“i’d love to, if you’d excuse us,” you say to your parents and pull todd towards the dance floor. but your luck runs out quick as your cousin stops you.

she says your name with excitement, “i’m so glad you could make it,” she exclaims.

“me too tiff, you look amazing. i’m so happy for you,” you smile stepping forward to hug her,

only to step back into todd. his hand immediately returns to your side.

“and who is this?”

“this is todd, he’s my…”

“boyfriend,” todd speaks up, “we’ve been together for a few months,”

“well you chose a very cute one. that dress is killer on you,” she tells you, “she’s a hard one to keep up with,” she tells todd, “lots of… issues with this one,”

“she’s perfect to me,”

“you’ll see through it soon enough,”

you watch todd’s jaw tick and his eyes harden, “we’re going to dance,” you break the tension.

tiff nods and tells you to go.

you pull todd to the dance floor. your arms around his neck, and his around your waist.

“i’m sorry about them,”

“why did you want to come again?” he asks you.

you shrug, “it’s my cousins wedding and i haven’t seen my parents in a while. i thought… i think every time that they’ve changed just a little bit but i’m always wrong. i’m sorry i dragged you to this.”

“it alright, glad i was here,”

you lay your head against his chest, “me too,”

you sway back and forth, his chin resting on your head.

after a moment he pinches you side and squirm away, “ticklish are we?” he asks smiling down at you.

“don’t start something can’t finish,”

needless to say you ditch the rest of the wedding. you irish goodbye and you take him to the truck and he drives you two back to the hotel. he sped the whole way, you smiled through the ride knowing what was about to happen.

you reach your hotel door and when it closes, he’s grabbing you by the waist and pushing against the door. his lips on your neck and your hands in his hair.

he trials his lips up your neck to your jaw the to your lips.

you moan into his mouth and open your mouth so his tongue can slip in. you think he’d swallow you up if he could.

“mmm,” you him, “todd,” he hums against you, “todd,”

he pulls back, “what?”

“i told you…”

he steps back, pinching the bridge of his nose, “do you want the truth,” he asks, he doesn’t wait for your answer.

“i have been in love you since the first project we did together. since i saw you help your brother move in to the house. i see you class and watch your little mannerisms. the way you squint when you catch a mistake on a paper. they way you head tilts to the right side when you don’t really understand what’s going on. you have such a big heart and i want to experience it. i want it. i want you. and i don’t know why you’re so hesitant to let me in. you know me now, i let you. let me use my lit degree. you are my favorite poem. one i want to read forever.”

he pauses, “and neither the laughter in heaven above, now the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul for the soul of the beautiful…” he replaces the famous name of the poem with your own.

“todd… i’m scared. not of you but of the feeling you bring out of me. i haven’t felt these before. you’re the only who can make me feel this. i tried to hate you, but the past two days have been… bliss.”

“ill catch you,” he pleads, “let me show you,”

he reaches out pulling the straps of your dress down.

you nod and he’s on you. his hands pulling your dress zipper down, you let the dress fall, nothing else on you. he steps back taking you in.

“fuck whatever your mom said, your prefect.” you whispers, stepping forward again, his lips on yours. he’s a hungry man and your his first meal.

his hands go under your thighs and he pulls you up. you do a little hip and wrap your legs around his waist. he carries you over the bed and when your back his the bed you unhook your legs as he undoes his belt and pulls his pants and boxers down.

you grab onto his tie and pull him down to your lips. he trails his mouth down to your collar bone, leaving small marks. he wants everyone to know who’s you are now.

his hand hooks under your leg, pulling it up slightly to wrap around his waist. your hands begin to unbutton the the shirt he wear but you find trouble. he stand quickly, ripping the tie off and ripping open the shirt. the buttons pop off and you laugh lightly at his urgency. his mouth shouts you up.

he can’t wait. he lines himself up with you and pushes in slowly.

“oh fuck todd,” you exclaim. he stretches you out slowly, sinking into you just as slowly.

you moan against his lips as he drowns out your moans.

he sinks lower, his own moans going into your mouth, “god you feel good sweetness, bet you taste just as good too,”

“find out,” you tell him. you look at each other and he raises his brows. he pulls out of you, you whine form his absence.

he falls to his knees, grabbing your hips and pulling you down towards him. his kisses down your thighs and at your entrance.

“stop teasin toddy,”

he groans against you as he inhales your scent, “fuck,” he groans and then he’s quick to lick you.

you’re already soaked and it doesn’t take much to push you to your climax. a few swipes of his tongue, his fucks you with his tongue, his nose nudging your clit in a perfect rhythm. you good his face against you as you cum.

a shout leaving your lips as he fucks you through it. his arm laying across your stomach, keeping you down as your hips try to pluck up into his face.

then he’s up at your face again, “you do in fact taste just a good,”

there’s now break before he bottoms out in your.

“too big,” you whine.

“you’re alright baby, you’re doing so good. look at me,” he tells you.

you open your eyes and see him looking down at you, “there those pretty eyes are. you ready to cum again?” he asks you with a tilted head.

you nod, “yes, please,”

“good job using your words baby,” his hand placing itself on your cheek with a swipe of his thumb across your bottom lip.

his lips meets yours as he begins to move back a forth. his pace is slow and you tell him as much. he takes that as an invitation to speed up.

he slams into you a couple of times. back and forth of nothing but pure bliss.

“todd im gonna-“

“hold it, come with me,”

he goes a few more times, his hand moving to your clit and rubbing. you clench around him and he close.

“okay, ready baby?”

you nod fervently.

“ come on,”

you both finish together. his pace slows as you both come. it’s a sweet, slow movement that helps you stay on the high for a while. he collapses beside you for a moment before rolling over and kissing you.

“nice job baby,” he tells you. you’re blissed out, head spinning and dizzy.

he laugh lightly and stands, he walks to the bathroom, running water over a wash cloth and coming back to clean you up.

he wishes you down, and places his t shirts over you. you slips his boxers on and slides in next to you.

he pulls you close to him, your body pressed against his. he kisses your neck.

“thanks for coming with me,” you mean it in more ways than one.

taglist:

@bluegardenn

[yaekiss]

one last thing before i pass out. sacrificial bride! luocha. that's all. goodnight~

> 🥞 nonnie

𝑺𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑩𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆

꩜ Room Content: GN! Reader x Sacrificial bride! Luocha, Yan! Luocha in Plotlines 2 and 3, no gendered terms for reader, Luocha occasionally calls himself your bride, reader is the deity/monster Luocha is being sacrificed to in Plotlines 1 and 2, lmk if I missed anything ! ꩜ A/N: Sacrificial bride!Luocha...... inchresting 🤔 My brain just spat out like 3 plotlines this could go down (Post writing Qi here. this ended up being almost 3.1k words. great heavens.)

The usual "I'm appointed as the sacrificial bride but the deity/monster I'm sacrificed to is actually nice and we're having a good time 👍" plotline

It's the same old story of Luocha getting picked out as the sacrificial bride in his town either based on some sort of archaic criteria or just by chance and no one else stepped up to substitute him. (Duh, who would? None of the previous brides have ever returned.)

They dress him up with lovely silks and finery that he's only had the opportunity of selling, never owning, as a merchant. They adorn him with accessories and jewellery till he can't recognise himself in the mirror. To finish, a veil is placed atop him so that his face is covered. No one is to lift the veil apart from you (the deity/monster), not even himself.

And off he goes, chartered all the way to where the sacrificial bride drop-off delivery point is! (Read: altar, edge of cliff, some forest edge, basically wherever you can reach)

The townspeople wait with bated breath for you to arrive in your fearsome display, wary at every minute sound or disturbance. Meanwhile, Luocha just wants for all this to be over with, he can't even see that far in front of him with the veil obscuring his vision for heaven's sakes.

Suddenly, he hears gasps overtake the townspeople, the sounds of panicked shuffling before a hushed silence falls over the area. That's how he knows you're here.

Even with his veil on, he can feel you inspecting him, circling around like some sort of vulture. But you haven't touched him, not yet. Then he feels his ears pop, a sense of vertigo overtaking him before it disappears as fast as it came.

What did you do? Luocha wants to ask but the question dies on his lips as he sees claws trail the bottom of his veil.

"Your eyes will have to readjust to the brightness after being behind the veil for so long. Close them before opening again slowly," your voice carries uncharacteristic concern for a being who takes sacrificial brides to begin with. Still, he does as he's told.

When his eyes gradually blinks open once more, he's greeted not by the expected view of some dingy cave or perverted wedding sex room. Rather, a smaller palace courtyard of sorts? Granted, he's never exactly been to one but he'd imagine it to be something like this.

You are what he sees next. His brain scrambles to process everything that has happened and churn out a line that you'd like to hear, to play the role that'd give him the highest chance at survival. However, just as he's about to speak, he's interrupted for the second time again today.

"Is that the new one today? Ohhh, aren't they a beaut?" A crowd of others that were previously milling about in the courtyard start flocking around the both of you.

"Must be feelin' quite shocked, huh? Ah, I was like that too..." "Hey, they used the same rouge they used on me for your makeup!" "How many does this one make now again? I lost count after the twelfth one."

The questions are getting a little to overwhelming for him and you seem to have picked up on it, judging by the way you cover him from the rest of them.

"I'm sure they're feeling quite lost right now. How about I introduce them to everyone when they're ready?" Pressed up against your chest as you try to calm the situation down, he manages to regain his bearings. Stepping away from you, he takes a sweeping glance across the audience that has gathered and introduces himself with a clear voice.

"Greetings everyone. I take it that you were all the previous sacrifices, my name's Luocha," he bows, bent at the waist, tone polite and genial. He sneaks a fast glance at you to gauge your reaction at him for figuring out the crowd's identity. Good, nothing hostile so far, if even a bit amused.

After this, you quickly whisk him off to show him his room, lest the questions start up again. The room is spacious, furnished well but nothing ostentatious.

"I'm sure you've already figured it out," you start up from where you're standing in the doorway, "but those you met outside are the previous... sacrifices." The word seems to be awkward for you to say.

"Though, not all of them. Some have chosen to stay whereas others have chosen to go leave and explore the rest of the world. Despite the choice, no one is permitted to return to your original town." Your eyes lock with his.

"Now Luocha, do you wish to stay or leave?"

With nothing else really anchoring him to the outside world, he decides to stay. Perhaps, this will prove to be an enriching experience.

Over time, he gets to know you and he ends up feeling rather attracted to you blah blah blah classic storyline stuff. CUE "HAREM FIGHTING" !!!

You personally don't use the word "harem" to address the others although they definitely kind of see it as one. Some of them are like Luocha and enamoured with you, others just sit back and watch the nonsense unfold. Luocha is determined to be either your one and only or be one of your partners. Unfortunately, he is being set back by the others who are also aiming at the same goal.

Will he make it? Who knows, but there are bets by the other members who say he will :3

The "I'm actually very willing AND VOLUNTEERED/SCHEMED MY WAY HERE" plotline (Yan!Luocha)

This plotline occurs when Luocha has already been made aware of your presence. Maybe it's a chance encounter with him in his past where you save him, one that he cherishes till this day. He hasn't had a chance to meet you ever since but that changes now.

When he sees the townspeople gathering to choose the next sacrificial bride, he doesn't even hesitate to volunteer himself. They might be taken aback by his death wish but, unwilling to give up their own loved ones, they agree quickly.

This time, he can't help but buzz with excitement from where he kneels waiting for your appearance. When he hears the murmurs of the congregation stop, his head snaps up, as if he were trying to see you from behind his veil.

It's the same song and dance, bringing him to the courtyard then lifting his veil. (He hasn't heard your voice in so long, a warmth blooms in his chest.) And finally, he gets to see you again.

Except, who are all these others swarming around you?

He's not instantly put off or hostile towards them by the fact that these are your other "sacrificial brides" because he's clear that they didn't exactly choose to be here. (He'd hold that over them forever.) However, he will start to have negative feelings if they stand in his way.

Now Luocha has two obstacles. First, the other brides who are vying for you too. Second, your denseness.

All your brides would say that you're nothing short of considerate and gracious to them. Always trying to make them as comfortable as possible and making it infinitely clear that they can leave any time they want to. However, this means Luocha's attempts to court and seduce you never really go how he wants them to.

He invites you to spend a night in his room? You end up just falling asleep next to him on account of how tired you are from your daily duties. Luocha is helpless but to watch as you rest, the dim moonlight slicing through his drawn curtains as only quiet breathing fills his room. When he begrudgingly falls asleep, he wakes up to a plate of his favourite breakfast on his table. You however, are nowhere to be seen.

Luocha seethes silently when another snarkier member comments on last night's events, or more appropriately, lack thereof.

He's still cordial and friendly to those who aren't aiming for your heart. But he's definitely more curt with the brides who are. Whenever you visit the common areas to visit your friends, Luocha takes note of the ones who rush to your side first, who seem to flush or change up their personality to appeal more to you, voices sweet and saccharine.

You make no moves to push them off, smiling warmly as you take in all that they have to say and show you. Seeing this, Luocha grips his robes tightly in his fists.

How much longer till you see what he's willing to do for you? How much longer till you'll let him take his rightful place at your side?

It'll be interesting if he could invoke some forbidden or forgotten deity/ritual whatever to increase his chances at getting with you hmmm...

OR he'd purposefully set it up so that you'd catch him in the act. Finally, he has all your attention on him again. Pulled into your embrace and away from the ritual area, he inhales deeply, arms wrapping tightly around you.

Giving him a frenzied once over, you almost shout, "What were you thinking?!"

Now's the time for him to strike.

"What's wrong? I was under the impression that this was a ritual for good fortune?" He peers up at you to really sell the lie. "Sure, it may be more on the obscure side but there was no real harm... was there?"

"Obscure... Who told you about this?"

Hook, line, and sinker.

Of course, he knew about this ritual from his private research but this is the perfect chance to throw the others under the bus. He feigns hesitation, making sure you catch him glancing elsewhere before he answers, "It was one of the others."

For a more sinister development, perhaps Luocha could've already done the ritual once beforehand without you knowing. Equipped with the knowledge and new pact, he now knows exactly how the ritual proceedings play out. And that's how he plans where and when to do it for the maximum effect and possibility of you catching him "in the act".

Luocha knows what step is the flashiest, which might create the most commotion, which step to safely stop at before you come charging in and heroically "saving him".

Thus starts his plans to whittle your community down till it's just the both of you. Some may be stubborn and resist but they'll all soon see just how far Luocha is willing to go to be the only one for you.

Miscellaneous "Exploring the characters outside of the main sacrificial bride and deity/monster duo" and other plotlines. idk. (Yan!Luocha again)

Now. Let's have the deity (a deity works better in this case) that the bride is sacrificed to not be you. It's just a random deity. You are Luocha's childhood best friend who he has harboured feelings for since wayyyyy back.

When the townspeople appoint him to be the sacrificial bride, you're more than ready to fight against the decision and offer yourself up instead. However, he beats you to it, verbally agreeing to his duties in front of all, chilling you to your core.

His gaze sweeps across the throng of people in the town square. When he lands on yours, he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards despite the death sentence that has just been placed upon him.

After the crowd dissipates, you rush over to him, "Luocha! The hell, why did you accept?!"

There's a familiar glint in his eyes, one you've seen before whenever he's up to something.

"If I hadn't, you would have taken my spot, yes?"

"Of course I would've! But that doesn't mea-!" He cuts you off by putting a gloved finger on your lips to shush you.

"Meet me after dark, my place," is all that he says before turning on his heels and leaving.

Your head is spinning as you try to make sense of the plan Luocha has presented to you.

From what you understand (after many many repeats from Luocha), Luocha is going to lure out the deity before the sacrifice ritual happens. Then you would be the one to slay the deity. Easier said than done, but he's adamant on you being the one to kill them.

"I'm just a mere merchant. You have the highest chances out of both of us to succeed." He notes your doubt before he sighs and continues, "Weren't you the one who wanted to save me from my fate? Where's that conviction now?"

"...I suppose I'll be saving the future sacrifices too, right?" His gaze is unreadable as you ask your question. You hate when he has that smile on his face because you can't make any sense of it.

"Yes. No more future sacrifices."

On the plan's execution day, everything is set up and Luocha gives you the signal to start. He goes ahead to call forth the deity, offerings and treats laid on the ground before where he's knelt. They are laced with the deity's one and only weakness but only enough to incapacitate, not kill.

At first, it's quiet, nothing happens. Until the wind picks up, ripping leaves off trees and from the ground below. From within the vortex of leaves, there is a bright flash of light and the pressure around you changes. When the wind dies down, there stands the god that has put your village, your Luocha, at their mercy.

They glance down at where Luocha is prostrated. "An early offering before the coming ritual? How peculiar. What is it you wish to ask for?"

"This one has one very simple ask," Luocha looks up directly at the deity, "Would you not take pity on your lonely future bride and dine once with me?"

From where you stand hidden, you're unable to make out the god's reaction but you can feel the temperature drop. Their tone is hostile when they bark out, "We are not meant to see each other's visages before the ceremony has concluded."

"Those are past traditions. Surely, it could be time for some change?" Luocha all but simpers. The uncharacteristic sweetness in his tone makes something in you roil but you quickly set it aside to focus on your task at hand.

A skilled merchant with a silver tongue indeed, Luocha manages to talk the deity into sharing the food prepared. It is only after the second goblet of poisoned wine that the deity even picks up on what's wrong.

"Arrogant bride! What have you done to me!"

"That's not your title to use," the harsh frigidity in Luocha's tone startles you.

Luocha takes a step back before giving you the next signal. At this you nimbly spring onto the scene, brandishing a weapon that would hit the deity where it counts. You aim for their weak spot, and with their severely impaired state not allowing them to put up much of a fight, the killing is over in a matter of minutes.

Panting to catch your breath, Luocha hurries over and throws his arms around you, "You've done it, dearest. I never doubted you from the start." The pet name is new but you suppose that he just got swept up in the celebration of it all.

"Do you feel any different?" He asks, cupping your face in his hands.

"Not particularly."

And there's that smile you hate again.

When the day comes for the townspeople to cart Luocha off to the ritual site, you suddenly grow unwell, dizzy. It's during the allotted time he's given to say his final goodbyes where he finds you lying on your bed in your home. Through bleary blinks, you note that he's already been prettied up, with a veil to complete the look. (You think he only flips the veil back down when he opens your door. Though with the state you're in, you could've been seeing things.)

"It's alright, I can go alone. You have already done your part," he comforts you, a hand cupping your cheek.

"If it all goes according to plan, I shall see you soon enough. Now, rest up."

With that, your eyes close and you plunge into unconsciousness.

Now, there's just one small tiny detail about the plan that Luocha didn't mention to you. It's forgettable, really. Hardly worth mentioning.

A part of the ritual texts states that whomever manages to slay the deity will then assume the deity's place. The ritual proceedings will still continue, simply with the new deity in place. Effectively, all that you have done is replace the deity.

Luocha is still your sacrificial bride.

When your eyes open again, you first note that this is not your room. Then there's all those people bowed before you. You recognise them. The townspeople.

And finally, at your feet, kneels your longtime best friend, your most trusted confidant. Luocha.

"With the slaying of the previous deity, a new one has taken their place! Luocha shall be offered up to you in exchange for the continuation of prosperity and peace for our people!" One of the ritualists proclaims.

This can't be right. The plan didn't say anything about a new deity. Luocha said there would be no more sacrifices.

The blond in question looks up at you from where he's knelt. With shaky hands, you lift up his veil.

A grin splits his face, the same one as before, but you understand it all too well now. There are indeed no more sacrifices, not when he's this willing.

You've played right into his hand.

"Won't you take your blushing bride back for the night?"

OK that's the end of THAT plotline. but as I kept writing. lowkey all of these could fit into a sort of time loop/regression with tweaks plotline. starts out as the somewhat unwilling bride -> falls in love -> dies from "harem" complications/scheming -> REPEAT !

Equipped with his past experience, now he willingly volunteers -> he's disgustingly obsessed with you -> the whole pact thing plays out -> he has your attention on him (GREAT SUCCESS) -> manages to whittle down your community -> alas, the pact backfires and he dies yet again -> REPEAT !

He notes that things are different this time, the appointing still rather far off and. why are you here by his side already? -> so this time you're a close friend of his? -> he gets appointed -> plotline 3 occurs -> GREAT SUCCESS (for real this time)

ok cool hope you enjoyed reading this thing which is basically like 3 long rambles / 3 short fics in one. talk to me about it PLEASE I feel like I have more to say but nowhere to put it! ARGH

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a full fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[memento-morri-writes]

whump wednesday - part iii

tw / tags: concussion, blood, bleeding out, loss of consciousness character: Rook (who else?) status: canon (took place several irl months ago as part of Rook’s first “Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend”.) wordcount: 525

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | [read the whole thing on ao3]

Another continuation from earlier. The party has now made it back to the Winters' manor. Having lost a lot of blood since being revived (on top of his concussion), Rook is in pretty bad shape. His mentor, Sigmar, is attempting to get him to the Winters' healers.

Rook’s eyes drifted closed, the oblivion of sleep calling to him. A sharp prod at his side dragged them reluctantly back open.  “Rook, you need to stay awake. Just a little bit longer, until a healer can have a look at you.” Sigmar’s voice was serious as he half-dragged, half-carried Rook down the hall of the Winters’ manor.  Rook groaned in response. He was exhausted, and every inch of his body ached. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall headlong into unconsciousness. Sigmar prodded him again. “Tell me what happened to you. How you ended up in this state.”

Rook thought hard for a moment. How had he ended up like this? He remembered Celestia, and healing the party, and then- Oh, right. He started to explain, his words running together as he spoke. “This werewolf guy showed up. Deadringer?” Sigmar’s body tensed but he said nothing. “And he wanted Warren. Warren and Cherry, I think.” He paused, trying to remember what had happened after that. “He… he wanted to hurt them. So I told him he’d have to go through me first. And he said ‘Deal.’ and threw me across the room. I… I think one of his werebeasts killed me.” He felt rather than saw Sigmar shake his head. “I should never have left you. If I’d known she’d bring Deadringer into this… I shouldn’t have let you go off to fight someone like him without me.” Once again, Rook was surprised at the weight of the emotion in his mentor’s voice. He wanted to say It’s not your fault. Or maybe, I would have done it anyway, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he just rested his head on Sigmar’s shoulder. The damp chill that had come over him on the way here was getting stronger and he leaned into Sigmar’s warmth. “‘S cold,” he mumbled. Sigmar picked up the pace a bit, a worried edge creeping into his voice. “Come on, come on. Just a little further.” Rook’s eyes were heavy, and his awareness of the world was fading. He heard a door open, was vaguely aware of a brightly lit, white-painted room, of being laid down on a bed. He could hear people talking urgently, unfamiliar voices joining Sigmar’s. His muddled mind only caught fragments of their words. “Concussion… Severe… Significant blood loss… Not enough… ”  Sigmar’s raised voice cut through the fog. “Help him, damn you!” It sounded very far away, as though coming from another room. Multiple sets of hands touched his skin, and the familiar warmth of healing magic (when had being healed become familiar again?, he wondered dimly) flooded his body. The cold, clammy feeling faded away. The constant pain he had stopped registering some time ago subsided, leaving blissful neutrality in its wake. His head cleared slightly too, blurred reality coming back into focus for a brief moment. Distant voices reached his ears, borne by that momentary clarity. “It’s safe for him to sleep now. He’ll be fine after some rest.” As if his body needed no further reassurance, Rook’s mind relaxed, and within seconds he sank into a deep sleep.

[quiznak-ofgrayskull]

Thinking about Tankhun being an older brother but like. Not being a good older brother (or at least not being the most stereotypical older sibling character). Like I'm probably projecting a little bit but there's something about watching your younger siblings grow up and not being able to help, or even know what's going on in their lives anymore. You love them but you'll never know them better than when you were tiny kids.

Like Tankhun probably doesn't regret giving his position as heir up to Kinn, actually. He probably didn't want Kim to move out, either. But he doesn't have any control over them, and he has to watch shitty things happen to them that he knows he could have prevented, or helped. And it's the fact that he could have more so than the fact that he would have, I guess is what I'm trying to say.

[charlottedabookworm]

#29 - Contravention

feat Rihnn

is this any good? no. does my brain like this prompt? no. am i running on sheer spite to just finish this month? yes

"I'm so sorry," the stranger in front of xem says, their hands on their child's shoulders, shushing them gently as they cry, red-faced.

Rihnn picks xemself up off of the ground gingerly, leaning against xir staff. "It was an accident," xe says and xir lips twitch in an attempt at a smile. "Here, I am a healer, let me help," xe tells them, gesturing at the child, pretending that the words are not ash on xir tongue.

The parent smiles at xem, desperately grateful, as xir hands flicker with aether that dances along the child's skin, soothing aches and closing scrapes.

The child, wide-eyed, laughs as if they are being tickled, their tears forgotten.

"Thank you," their parent says and they shift, as if to say more and-

"Good day," xe says with a bow of xir head and xe runs. Xe runs away as much as xir leg will allow, leaning heavily on xir cane and the bile the rises in xir throat is not only because of the fire that burns in xir thigh.

It is only when xe is far enough away from the village that xe stops.

Xe stops and xe collapses against a tree and xe wants to scream. Xir throat is tight and xir hands are shaking and somewhere in the village, Ianna Carver and the child she named for a brother she doesn't remember carry on with their lives and-

"We had a deal, Rob," Rihnn whispers. Xir eyes prickle painfully. "I was supposed to bring you home to them."

It should have been xem...

[satsugo]

୨୧ You tried to sneak out after a one-night stand. Gojo wakes up — calm, shirtless, and not okay with being left behind. What follows is possessive touches, quiet threats, and a reminder of who you belong to.

I wanted to write something that felt like a slow unravel — soft words, sharp intentions, and Gojo being terrifyingly calm in the way only he can be. just a lil treat for the yandere girlies ♡ hope it ruins you in the best way. mlist

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you tiptoed across the suite.

Gojo’s apartment was too clean — pristine white walls, muted city lights pouring through wide windows, and expensive silence that made your breath feel too loud. Your dress from the night before was clutched in one hand, wrinkled and still smelling faintly like sweat and cologne. You hadn’t even put your shoes back on yet.

He was still in bed, you were sure of it. He’d been wrapped in those dark gray sheets when you slid out, dead silent. You hadn’t dared to glance back.

Until now.

“Y’know,” a voice drawled behind you — slow, amused, terrifyingly awake. “If you really wanted to leave quietly, you probably shouldn’t have stolen my shirt.”

You froze mid-step, breath caught like prey in a trap.

He was sitting up now. Hair messier than before. One long arm braced behind him, the other pushing the sheets off his bare torso. His blindfold was gone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, and his icy blue eyes caught the dim light like sharpened crystal.

You swallowed.

“It was cold,” you offered, lamely.

“Oh, totally,” he said, voice light and sarcastic. “That’s why you’re sneaking out like you killed somebody.”

You turned slowly. “I didn’t think you'd care—”

Gojo laughed. Not loud — just sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” he repeated. “Sweetheart… I’ve had your name circling my brain since the second you touched me.”

He stood, bare feet whispering across the hardwood as he stalked toward you — tall, loose-limbed, terrifyingly calm.

You backed up.

Bad idea.

He moved faster, one hand pressing against the wall just beside your head, caging you without even touching you.

“That’s mine,” he said softly, flicking the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt — white, oversized, the one that hung just a little too low on you and hit just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane.

“You mean the shirt?”

His head tilted. “I mean you.”

You went quiet, breath shaky. “We hooked up once.”

“So?” Gojo smiled, slow and bright — but his eyes didn’t match. They burned. “You don’t do that with someone like me and leave. That’s not how this works.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue. But the words died on your tongue the second his fingers hooked under the shirt’s hem and pushed up — slow, deliberate, warm palms skating along the skin of your thighs.

“W-Wait—” You shifted, but he just stepped closer, pressing the full heat of his body into yours.

“Don’t run,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “You’ll only make me chase you. And you won’t like how that ends.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers kept moving — slipping higher, thumbs brushing over the crease of your hips, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I liked seeing you in my shirt,” he said softly. “But I like you better out of it.”

You shivered.

Then he tugged — not gently. The shirt lifted over your head, arms caught for a moment before he pulled it free and tossed it aside. You were bare beneath, breathless and pressed against the wall like you didn’t know what to say.

“Pretty little thing,” Gojo murmured, fingers trailing over your bare stomach. “You really thought you could disappear from me? After the way you moaned my name last night?”

You blushed — visibly. It made his eyes darken.

He kissed you. Rough, breath-stealing, like he was trying to taste every sound you’d ever made. You clutched at his shoulders — and it hit you all over again just how strong he was. How fast he could crush you. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

He didn’t yell — didn’t need to. You obeyed without thinking, legs shaky as you moved. He followed like a storm.

The sheets were still warm when he pushed you down, straddling you easily. His hands roamed — over your breasts, down your sides, fingers memorizing every inch like he’d been given a test on it.

“You looked so cute sneaking out,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin as he moved lower. “But you’re not going anywhere now. You hear me?”

You nodded — breathless, wrecked, unsure if it was fear or desire curling low in your stomach.

Maybe both.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, before glancing up with those impossible blue eyes.

“I’m gonna remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And when he finally lowered his mouth to you — all heat, tongue, and expert cruelty — you forgot your own name.

But you remembered his.

Over and over and over again.

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[plaidcowboy]

work wife

( synopsis ) — emily questions a married!reader, not knowing the very man standing behind the two of you was your husband.

( warning ) — none! a lot of people liked this on my old writing acc so i thought i’d repost it here, 3k is the most interactions ive ever had on something other than my rafe fics lol

( bot link ) — here

"You're married?" Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she's afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

"How have I never noticed this before?" she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. "It's not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy, unless you're actively staring at my hands."

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup. Neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she's only now just discovered.

"No picture of your husband anywhere?" she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. "Nope. I see him every single day. I don't exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I'm working."

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. "Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like." She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to go cup next to your keyboard.

"Did you know she’s married?" Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he says plainly. "I proposed a couple of years ago."

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, "They were out of hazelnut creamer, so l got you caramel."

Emily blinks and there's a pause one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

"Okay, very funny," she scoffs. "Good one, Hotch."

"I'm not joking," he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily's laughter dies immediately. "Wait. What?"

"There's no way in hell she would marry you," she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that's equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

"Oh, you poor thing," you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. "That was so mean!"

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. "Oh my God," she breathes, shooting to her feet. "I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn't know- I thought you were kidding.. You're not the kind of person who jokes like that!"

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn't bother responding— he's far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

"Poor baby," you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips.

"Don't listen to her. I'm very happy to be married to you."

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily's wide eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she's trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that's rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow," he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. "Please?"

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. "Promise," you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more, quick and sweet, before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[rottingghosty]

Little Talks | DC X DP

part second part to the ghostling au !! this is just something to give you guys food while i write the fic

also usual errors will be made im only one person blah blah. hope you enjoy, as usual this is scheduled to post at 7am

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny lazily blinked at the person in front of him, his brain slowly rebooting itself as he released a small yawn. The person was green. A green person. Huh. Alien? He was exhausted, he spent so long aiding new systems and cradling stars that died and spread their dust around so they would be reborn again. He wanted to sleep but this person was in front of him and it’d be rude to ignore him. Pandora taught him better than that.

“Mrrp?” Danny felt his ears twitch, he wanted to feel mortified at the fact he made a sound like a cat in his own head but he really can’t be blamed because the moon he was around was really comfortable and he had no shame. He lazily tilted his head as the person’s shoulders seemed to loosen? A shake in his body. Weird.

Oh. He’s trying not to laugh at Danny’s response. Can Clockwork rewind so that didn’t happen. Of course CW ignored him like usual when it came to embarrassments like these.

“I do not mean any harm friend.”

The voice in his head echoed and it made Danny shiver in response, it was odd sharing a head space with someone else. He didn’t retaliate or cause any harm. His core could feel that this person was friendly, curious and respectful. He gives a head tilt in response.

Friend. Safe. Okay.

Danny gave another yawn, feeling his jaw open a tad wider than it should in normal human circumstances but who could care less when he has a Martian— an actual martian in front of him even if he’s too sleepy to actively be excited! He’s tired okay, it’s not everyday he gets to indulge on his obsession heavily on an everyday basis. He’d been so deprived that he’d gotten sick and it’s what made the others decide to give him the boot so he could enjoy his time before he got the crown.

“What is your name, little one?” Martian Manhunter softly asked in Danny’s head after the younger one winced from the volume earlier after he began to wake up.

“Danny.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Old man said I needed my enrichment.”

“One of my allies called you a baby ghost of the Infinite Realms, is this true?”

Danny released another cat like sound, this one more curious than the other when he had just barely woke up. Someone knew what he was? How curious, it wasn’t often Danny stumbled in dimensions that knew he was from the Infinite Realms… much less the fact that he’s even a ghostling.

“Mhm, ghostling is the proper term. We usually calculate age by how long we’ve been dead. In ghost terms I’m like three.”

Martian Manhunter seemed to pause, as if listening to something. Danny gave another yawn before he finally decided to change into a more normal size instead of the large form he had used to travel through the void easier. His form shifted in a bright light before he floated over to Martian Manhunter.

He quickly realized he was a lot smaller than he’d been and he supposes this is what CW meant when changing forms, he’d most likely reflect the age he’s in ghost terms. He doesn’t think he’d handle if Martian Manhunter treated him like a kid.

“When you said enrichment…?”

“Oh! Clocky said to play nice with my cousin? I think her name is Wonder Woman? Um he’s ah known as Chronos?”

[yokumirumerafan]

DS x reader (you accidentally sent a nude to them)

I did this with MHA boys and it's Demon Slayer turn!! Hope you enjoy <33

Hashiras:

🔥 Rengoku ("EXCELLENT FORM, Y/N!— Wait, what is this?!")

He’s literally mid-bite into his food when he sees the notification pop up on his phone. He casually opens it, expecting something completely normal—AND THEN HE CHOKES. Literally almost dies. His brain freezes, and in a reflex, he blurts out, "UMAI!" before realizing WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?!

After a full minute of staring, contemplating life choices, and sweating, he finally texts back:

"Ah, my love, is this the dish you intended to prepare for tonight?" 😳

(Translation: "I don’t know how to respond, so I'm pretending this is normal.")

🌊 Giyuu (internal crisis mode activated)

Giyuu opens the message, blinks once, blinks twice, then freezes like a Windows XP shutdown screen.

"Y/N… what the fuck… I’m at work."

BUT HE DOESN’T DELETE IT. Oh no, he saves it. But in his brain, he justifies it like, "Well, I’m her boyfriend, so it’s fine, right? I have a RIGHT to have my girlfriend’s photo, RIGHT?"

And now, he can't focus on his work because every time someone calls his name, he's thinking, Did they see? Do they know? Am I a disgrace to the Water Hashira name?

🌪 Sanemi (throws phone across the room)

The second he sees your name pop up with an image, he instinctively opens it. Big mistake.

He YEETS HIS PHONE ACROSS THE ROOM so hard it leaves a dent in the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK—"

After five minutes of pacing, running a hand through his hair, and cursing at thin air, he tiptoes over to pick up the phone, glances at it again (while muttering "just one more time"), and then saves it without thinking.

Two seconds later:

"You’re an idiot. But a fine-looking idiot. I’ll be teasing you about this forever."

And he DOES. Every chance he gets.

🎆 Tengen ("Flashy, but could use better lighting.")

Tengen examines the picture like a fucking ART CRITIC. His first thought isn’t "Wow, Y/N is hot." No, no. His first thought is: "This needs better lighting."

He literally squints at the screen, analyzing it like he’s about to write a professional review. Then he texts back:

"Next time, use the other lingerie set. And honestly, the lighting is a bit off—try positioning yourself near a window. Flashy things deserve proper presentation, after all."

His wives: "EXCUSE ME???" 💀💀💀

☁️ Muichiro ("Why would you send this? Oh well.")

He opens it. He blinks. He turns off his phone. He puts it in his pocket.

Five minutes later… he takes it out again.

He opens it one more time. He blinks again.

Then, without a single ounce of emotion, he saves it and deletes it five seconds later like he’s playing some kind of weird self-control game.

Finally, you get a text:

"Not sure what you want me to say."

💖 Mitsuri (blushes so hard she faints)

Poor girl. She literally malfunctions. As soon as she sees the image, she lets out the cutest little squeak and FLINGS HER PHONE.

She tries to calm herself down by drinking tea but her hands are shaking. She tries to breathe but her lungs are malfunctioning. She tries to text you back but her fingers won’t work.

Eventually, she FAINTS.

You don’t get a response for HOURS until she finally texts:

"OMG Y/N I DIDN’T EXPECT THAT BUT WOW YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL BUT ALSO OMG I THINK I DIED FOR A SECOND???"

🐍 Obanai (stares in judgment but secretly combusts)

He reads the message. His face doesn’t change. His expression remains 100% deadpan.

But on the inside? His soul is burning in hellfire.

He grabs Kaburamaru, his snake, and just whispers, "What do I do with this?" 💀

Finally, he texts back:

"This is highly inappropriate."

...And then IMMEDIATELY follows up with:

"Not that I dislike it. Just saying."

Main Trio + Genya:

🐉 Tanjiro (IMMEDIATE APOLOGY TEXT BACK)

The moment he opens the picture, his soul leaves his body.

He panics so hard he starts BOWING TO HIS PHONE.

Then, he starts typing like a madman.

"I'M SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEE THIS, I SHOULDN’T HAVE LOOKED, PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I RESPECT YOU, I WILL DELETE THIS, I AM UNWORTHY—"

⚡ Zenitsu (NO THOUGHTS, JUST NOSEBLEED)

Zenitsu SCREAMS. FAINTS. DIES. REVIVES.

Then he saves it.

Then he faints again.

Then he texts you:

"Y/N. I'M NEVER LETTING GO OF THIS PHONE."

(Tanjiro beats his ass immediately.)

🐗 Inosuke (doesn’t understand but likes the colors)

Inosuke literally tilts his head like a confused puppy.

"Oh, this is that game you were talking about, right?"

He likes the colors and the angles, but he has absolutely no clue what he’s looking at. 💀

🔫 Genya (deletes and prays for forgiveness)

As soon as he opens it, his whole body shuts down. His face is redder than Sanemi’s rage.

He immediately deletes it like it’s a crime, but when you tell him it’s okay to keep it, he just…

"I… uh… I mean… uh… I— ERROR 404 GENYA NOT FOUND."

Upper Moons + Muzan:

🥊 Akaza ("RESPECT WOMEN" mode activated)

He bows to his phone.

"I MUST NOT LOOK. BUT I MUST. BUT I MUSTN’T."

He puts the phone down and just stares at it like it’s cursed.

❄️ Douma (SAVING IT, ZOOMING IN, SETTING AS WALLPAPER 💀)

No hesitation.

SAVES. ZOOMS IN. SET AS LOCK SCREEN.

And then he texts you back:

"Mmm, lovely. You got more?"

(Y/N BLOCKED HIM.)

👁 Kokushibo ("Unnecessary." But is sweating profusely)

"Unnecessary."

But he doesn’t delete it.

🩸 Muzan ("Kneel." …Excuse me, sir?? 😳💀)

No words. Just one command.

"Kneel."

…HUH??? 😳💀

[xichilie]

OMG! I absolutely love you for the way you did my request of Mydei trying to court reader ❤️😭🙏

It was so silly and perfect and i couldn't stop laughing!!!

And now theres part 2???

youre a blessing dear author 🫶

I'm glad you enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this ♡

Here's a part 3 ♡

Mydei x (fem)reader

Mydei courting reader (3)

Part 2

The streets of Okhema had grown quieter as the evening settled in, the sky painted in soft shades of purple and orange. The laughter of the children had faded, leaving only the distant murmur of the marketplace and the occasional chatter of passersby.

Y/N and Mydei walked side by side, their pace slow, unhurried. The excitement from earlier had died down, and now, a strange silence stretched between them.

For once, Mydei wasn’t speaking.

He wasn’t teasing her for losing, wasn’t boasting about his victory, wasn’t smirking at her like he usually did after getting the upper hand.

Instead, he was quiet.

It was… strange.

She kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. He was staring straight ahead, his usual sharp gaze slightly unfocused, as if deep in thought.

The memory of what happened just minutes ago replayed in her head—the chase, the cheers, the kids yelling about a reward, and then…

The kiss.

Her cheeks warmed just thinking about it.

She didn’t even know why she did it. It just felt like the right thing to do. Mydei had looked so composed, as if he hadn’t been flustered at all, and for some reason, that had annoyed her. So she acted on impulse, tugged him down, and kissed his cheek.

And then he turned bright red.

Just the thought of it made her lips twitch, but at the same time, guilt crept in.

She sighed quietly, lowering her gaze.

“…Sorry.”

The word slipped out so softly, she wasn’t sure he even heard it.

But then—

He stopped.

Y/N felt it immediately—the shift in the air, the sudden lack of movement beside her. She turned, only to see Mydei standing still, brows furrowed, watching her with open confusion.

“…What?” His voice was quieter than usual.

She hesitated before meeting his gaze. “I said… I’m sorry.”

His frown deepened. “For what?”

“For… earlier.” She shifted on her feet. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was probably weird, and I—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just—”

“Why are you apologizing?”

She blinked at the sharpness of his tone.

Mydei was still staring at her, golden eyes unreadable, but there was something frustrated in the way he looked at her. Like he didn’t understand why she would even say that.

Y/N bit her lip, suddenly feeling awkward. “…Because it was kind of unfair? You didn’t really get a say in it.”

At that, Mydei let out a breath—one of incredulity.

“You think I didn’t want that?”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

The words were quiet. Almost grumbled. As if he hadn’t even meant to say them out loud.

But she heard them.

Clearly.

Her lips parted slightly, her brain short-circuiting for a second. “…What?”

Mydei’s expression stiffened, and he immediately looked away, crossing his arms. “Forget it.”

“No, hold on, what did you just say?”

“Forget it, Y/N.”

“I will not.”

“Tch.”

He turned on his heel and started walking again, this time at a slightly faster pace.

Y/N scrambled to keep up, her heart hammering, the heat rising to her cheeks again.

Did she just—

Did she mishear him?

Or did he really just say—

No. No way.

…Right?

Y/N hurried after Mydei, her heart pounding in her chest. He was not getting away that easily.

Before he could take another step, she quickly moved in front of him, blocking his path.

He stopped abruptly, barely avoiding bumping into her. “Move.”

“No.” She crossed her arms, standing her ground.

His golden eyes narrowed. “Y/N.”

“Mydei.” She mimicked his tone, unwavering. “We’re talking about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You just said something that completely contradicts the way you act, and you expect me to just ignore it?” She scoffed. “No way. You’re going to explain what you meant.”

“Tch.” Mydei’s jaw clenched, and his gaze flickered away for a moment. His entire posture screamed tense, his arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was physically keeping himself from reaching for something—maybe a sword, maybe just a distraction.

Y/N took a step closer, searching his face.

“…Mydei.”

His eyes snapped back to hers.

“I don’t get you,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “One second, you’re messing with me, the next, you’re ignoring me, and now you’re—” She exhaled in frustration. “Now you’re saying things like that, and you won’t even explain what you mean.”

Mydei stared at her, unmoving.

For a moment, Y/N thought he was just going to shut down entirely, to brush her off and push past her.

But then—

“…You really don’t get it, do you?”

His voice was quiet. Almost amused, but not in a mocking way. More like he was baffled.

Y/N frowned. “Get what?”

His golden eyes studied her face—searching, considering. Then, finally, he exhaled.

“I like you, Y/N.”

Silence.

Y/N blinked, not entirely sure she heard him right. “…What?”

His lips pressed together, then curved into a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not gonna make me say it twice.”

Her brain short-circuited.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

He—

He what?

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her thoughts felt scrambled, like someone had just thrown all the pieces of a puzzle onto the floor and expected her to figure it out in five seconds.

Mydei liked her?

Like—liked her?

She must’ve looked as dumbfounded as she felt because Mydei let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Y/N snapped out of it. “Hold on.”

“What.”

“How—” She ran a hand through her hair, still trying to process. “Since when?”

His gaze flickered to the side, and for the first time, he was the one looking unsure. “…A while.”

Oh.

She swallowed. “And you—” Her voice faltered slightly. “You were trying to tell me?”

He scoffed. “Tch. I was showing you.”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it.

All the moments over the past few weeks flashed in her mind—his sparring matches with her, his gifts, the way he lingered around her, his small but rare smiles, everything.

Oh.

Oh.

Her face burned. “I—I didn’t—”

“Yeah. I figured,” he muttered.

She groaned, covering her face for a second. “I thought you were just—y’know, being you!”

He gave her a look. “I don’t do this kind of shit for just anyone.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, and oh gods, he was serious.

Oh.

Y/N lowered her hands, her heart hammering in her chest. “And… you’re not joking?”

His expression darkened. “You think I’d joke about this?”

…No. No, he wouldn’t.

The realization hit her like a wave.

This whole time—this whole time—he had been trying to tell her. And she—she had been too oblivious to see it.

Y/N let out a breath, her pulse racing. She met his gaze, something twisting in her chest.

“…Oh.”

Mydei stared at her for a moment. Then he scoffed. “Yeah. Oh.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind spinning as she stared at Mydei.

The weight of everything that had just been said pressed down on her chest, making her feel both incredibly stupid and incredibly overwhelmed. She had been blind—completely and utterly blind.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “…I’m sorry.”

Mydei’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For not noticing.” She exhaled shakily, looking down at the ground. “For making you go through all that trouble just to get me to see something that should’ve been obvious.”

“Tch.” Mydei’s lips pressed together, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”

She scoffed. “You literally had to chase me through half of Okhema before I even started putting the pieces together—”

“That’s not your fault.”

She looked up at him. He was staring at her, expression firm—certain.

“…Then whose fault is it?” she asked quietly.

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Mine.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I should’ve just said something sooner.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Instead of relying on Kremnoan traditions that clearly mean nothing to you.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not—”

“I kept thinking, ‘she’ll get it eventually.’” His voice was low, almost frustrated—but not at her. “That one of these days, you’d finally understand.”

She bit her lip, guilt settling in her stomach. “…I still feel bad.”

Mydei let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “And you’re stubborn.”

They locked eyes, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then—

“…I liked you.”

The words tumbled out before Y/N could stop them.

Mydei froze.

Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what she’d just said.

“I—I mean—” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly flustered. “I like you—I liked you—no, I mean—” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “I never let myself think about it!”

Mydei remained still, watching her carefully. “…What do you mean?”

Y/N inhaled shakily, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I mean, I liked you—I like you—but I never let myself think about it.” Her voice grew softer. “Because you’re you.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable passing through his golden eyes. “…Me?”

“You’re a prince, Mydei,” she murmured. “You’re an Chrysos heir. You have responsibilities. A whole kingdom to think about. And I’m just—”

Her voice faltered, her chest tightening.

Just Y/N.

Mydei’s brows drew together.

“Y/N.”

Her breath hitched slightly when he suddenly stepped closer.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep talking. “I just—I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t let myself think about it, because—”

“Enough.”

Her words died in her throat.

His voice was firm—certain.

She looked up at him, startled by the intensity in his golden gaze.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“You think I care about any of that?” Mydei scoffed, shaking his head. “You think it matters to me that I’m a prince and you’re not?”

Y/N swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

He exhaled sharply, then—without hesitation—reached out, cupping the side of her face with his hand.

She froze, her breath catching.

“You,” Mydei said quietly, “are the only thing I have ever wanted for myself.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered.

Her mind went completely blank.

Mydei held her gaze, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. “…Do you understand now?”

She barely managed to nod, her face burning.

He let out a small, breathy chuckle—soft, fond.

“Good.”

The morning sun bathed Okhema in a soft golden light, the streets already alive with the usual sounds of merchants calling out their wares and warriors beginning their morning drills. Among them, Mydei walked with an unmistakable air of satisfaction. His usual composed and sharp demeanor was still intact, but there was something different—his shoulders weren’t as tense, his expression wasn’t as severe, and if one looked closely enough, they might even catch a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Phainon definitely noticed.

He had been casually leaning against a stone pillar near the training grounds, sipping his morning coffee, when Mydei passed by. At first, Phainon had assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no. Mydei looked happy.

Suspiciously happy.

Phainon’s smirk was immediate. He pushed off the pillar and lazily strolled toward him.

“Well, well,” he drawled, falling into step beside Mydei. “Aren’t you in a fine mood today?”

Mydei didn’t react right away, but Phainon didn’t miss the way his lips twitched slightly before he responded.

“Hm.”

That was it. Just hm.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? No sharp retort? No glare?” He whistled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Mydei sighed, rolling his eyes. “What do you want, deliverer?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” Phainon took another sip of his coffee, watching Mydei closely. “Just curious as to why you look like someone who just won a war without lifting a sword.”

Mydei scoffed. “You’re exaggerating.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Am I?” He took a step ahead, then turned to walk backward, facing Mydei as he grinned. “You’re radiating smugness, Mydei. It’s practically dripping off of you. It’s disgusting.”

The golden-eyed prince sighed, clearly debating whether or not to entertain this conversation.

Phainon’s grin widened. “Does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

For the first time since their conversation started, Mydei hesitated.

It was subtle—the briefest pause in his step, the slightest shift in his expression—but Phainon caught it immediately.

“Oh, this is rich.” Phainon let out a delighted laugh. “You’re really not gonna say anything?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Right. And I suppose that faint blush on your ears is also nothing?”

Mydei turned his head slightly, subtly adjusting his collar, but it was too late.

Phainon saw everything.

“Oh, this is fantastic,” Phainon continued, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Should I go find Y/N? Ask her what happened?”

That finally got a reaction.

Mydei stopped walking.

Phainon barely had a second to register it before Mydei turned his head just enough to level him with a look.

“…You won’t.”

Phainon blinked. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his face.

“Oh, but now I have to.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Phainon.”

Phainon only laughed, stepping closer. “Come on. Give me something. Did she finally get it?”

Mydei crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “…More or less.”

Phainon gasped dramatically. “You mean all of your awkward attempts actually paid off?”

Mydei gave him a flat look. “They weren’t awkward.”

“They absolutely were,” Phainon said smugly. “But that’s beside the point.” He tilted his head. “So? What now?”

Mydei was quiet for a moment.

Then, slowly, a small, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

“Now,” he said, “I make sure she never forgets.”

Phainon blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Then he let out a low whistle. “Oh. Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”

Phainon still wasn’t done.

If anything, Mydei’s flustered reaction only fueled his mischief further.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Phainon reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His smirk was downright wicked as he tapped a few times on the screen before turning it toward Mydei.

“Seems like you had a good time yesterday,” he mused, his voice laced with amusement.

Mydei’s golden eyes landed on the screen.

It was the picture.

The one Phainon had secretly taken while lurking in the distance—Y/N on her toes, a hand gripping Mydei’s collar, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The normally stoic prince was caught mid-reaction, his ears red, his expression stunned.

A moment of silence.

Then—

“Mydei?” Phainon said, grinning. “You okay there, buddy?”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Phainon.”

Phainon’s smirk widened. “Yes?”

Mydei’s eye twitched.

“Delete it.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Phainon pocketed his phone, taking a casual step back. “This is gold. Fantastic, even.”

Mydei ran a hand down his face. He inhaled deeply, as if to compose himself. Then, he took a step forward.

Phainon immediately took another step back.

“Mydei,” he said, amusement clear in his voice.

The prince said nothing. He merely rolled his shoulders back, his expression shifting from mild embarrassment to something much more dangerous.

Phainon recognized that look instantly.

“Oh, shit.”

Mydei lunged.

Phainon barely had time to react before he bolted, laughter spilling from his lips as he dodged between passing warriors and startled civilians.

Mydei was right behind him.

“You’re dead, Phainon.”

“So worth it!” Phainon cackled, vaulting over a wooden crate as he ran through the streets of Okhema.

“Get back here!”

“Never!”

Civilians watched in stunned silence as the two Chrysos heirs chased eachother through the marketplace, dodging carts, weaving through narrow streets, their thundering footsteps echoing through the city.

It was definitely not the last time Phainon was going to bring it up.

[creati-bunny]

“WHERE IS KENTO, YUJI?”

You say, your eyes hold nothing but an expected glint in them. Itadori Yuji flinched, his lips trembling, and his impassive expression slowly breaks. The kid stood still in your living room, having to watch your eager face turn confused and morph into a blank one; Yuji held back a sob, trying to be strong for you to tell the news.

“I—“

Suddenly, the lump in his throat becomes bigger. The oxygen he breathes in becomes thinner, the world around him seems smaller—unclear, made of black and white. His body weighs too heavy, like he had lost the sense of gravity. Yuji’s eyes widened, recalling the traumatic event of witnessing his mentor, one of the people he admired, shredded into pieces by the hands of his enemy.

The missing eye—the obvious structure of Nanami’s skull— invades the senses of Itadori. He lets out a choked whimper, his knees trembling and breaking down on the floor. Your mind resets slowly into seconds, seeing the reaction of your husband’s student. “Answer me, Yuji. Where the hell is my husband?”

Yuji stayed silent, images of the event flashing in his mind as it repeated over, and over, and over again—like an endless torture of his failure; the consequences for being weak, for being useless.

“ITADORI YUJI!”

You shouted with enraged eyes, your heart already breaking into pieces; the truth is right in front of your face, the boy does not need to say more. But you need to let out your voice, your feelings—you begin to breathe heavily, your vision became blurry with tears; your memories with your husband bitterly recalled back into your senses. His warmth, his scent, his love that pierced into your heart to keep you alive.

Your person.

Yuji whimpered weakly, tears dripping on the wooden floor. His body trembled, ears ringing loudly while his hands hung onto the floor for life. “He died,” he whispered, his voice cracking; a solemn look washed over his face. The light inside him was gone—replaced with pure sadness, grief, and fury. The loud impact of his knuckles punching the floor combined with his sobs. “He died right in front of me, and I couldn’t—shit.”

Your breathing stopped as you heard his words. Like someone had carved a hole in your heart, your husband died. Gone forever; you really do have a cruel fate. The love of your life, your reason to live, your pillar in your existence, just gone. “Kento promised me, Yuji. He promised me that we would go to Malaysia after his mission, and see the beach, possibly live there and adopt two to three kids to have a family. He is—“ You interrupted yourself with a bitter, shaky laugh, like you had just heard something ridiculous, before your trembling lips curled upside down. “What do you mean he is gone?”

Yuji sobs and breaks down in front of you. You, Nanami, and Gojo serve as guardians for him. And to see the life taken from your eyes, the light behind them dimmed; he failed all of you.

You cannot breathe, you cannot speak, your brain cannot even afford to contemplate the bleeding on your palm with how your fingers grip the glass of water so tightly—the glass shattered, the liquid mixed with your blood runs over your hand mournfully.

Your husband, Nanami Kento, is dead.

image is by @Deltanpopo on X

I ONLY WRITE FOR FUN. I DO NOT INTEND TO REWRITE THE PERSONALITY OF THE CHARACTERS AND CLAIM THEM AS CANON. I AM AWARE OF THE COMPLEXITY OF THE CHARACTERS PRESENTED.

[tellingtell5]

Fire in These Hills: 《James Cook, skins x reader 》

James Cook x femreader

Summary: You made a choice out of fear, and now you’re stuck dealing with the fallout. You’ve been lost for a while, right on the edge of breaking—and all it takes is a look, a memory, to jump off the train.

A/N: i always start the same but… here’s this mess. i feel like everything i write about cook ends up a little bit tragic. -my poor sad-eyed boy.- hope this makes some kind of sense and that you can enjoy it.

p.s: i genuinely can’t write smutty scenes with cook without throwing in something clumsy, you know?

Thanks for reading, for the support, and I hope you enjoy it. let me know if it hit you in any way—your comments fill my little heart. thank you💛

Two storms don’t cancel each other out. They just burn louder.

You hated coming to this fucking flat. Every single time. It got under your skin like splinters ,sharp, itchy, impossible to ignore. Made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your shoulders throb with tension you didn’t even know you were carrying.

So you just stood there, finger hovering near the buzzer, frozen. Couldn’t make yourself press it.

It always went like this. Every morning Loui’s name showed up on your screen, your stomach turned inside out. The nausea climbed your throat and didn’t let go 'til hours after you’d left the place.

You told yourself it’d be the last time. Every time. You’d walk in there, tell Loui you were done. No more runs, no more late-night favours, no more shit-stained errands for pennies and bruises. But something always came up. Your mum found you again when the money ran dry, looking at you like you owed her the whole fucking world. So you gave her what you could, kept the bare minimum to keep yourself alive. And then boom — back to square one, staring at a future so far off it didn’t even look like yours.

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your mouth, tried to slow the pulsing nerves.

Come on. You’ve done worse. You’ve done this. This ain’t new.

But just as your finger finally inched closer to the buzzer, the door creaked open with a snap. You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

“Look who it fuckin’ is.”

Jason. His voice grated like cheap speakers turned too loud, and you felt your whole body tighten like a cornered rabbit. You could feel his eyes strip you down, slow and deliberate, not even pretending to be subtle.

“Jason,” you muttered. “You gonna let me in or we standin’ ‘ere all fuckin’ day?”

You knew how to use that voice: cool, flat, like you weren’t a second away from shitting it. Like bile wasn’t crawling up your throat just from being near the place.

He smiled, all teeth and no warmth. Moved aside just enough to make you squeeze past him, his arm still gripping the frame like he owned it. You stepped through, your legs jelly, his breath somewhere too close to your ear.

“Oi, what is it — you need an invite now, like some kinda vampire?”

You ignored him, walked straight for the living room, his voice slithering behind you like smoke.

“You know, I saw this film once, right? Vampires, yeah, they can’t come in unless you say so. Maybe you’re one o’ them, babe. Wouldn’t mind you suckin’ me off — I mean, suckin’ my blood. Know what I mean?”

You had something sharp to say, you always did, but it died on your tongue the second your eyes landed on him.

Those blue eyes you hadn’t seen since that night.

Everything in your brain short-circuited. The noise around you faded , the weed smoke, the piss-stained laughter, the clatter of bodies pretending to be alive. He was there, sat on the sofa, not talking to anyone. Watching. Trying not to be seen but filling the space like gravity.

Your heart hit the back of your ribs. Was it doing the same to him?

Time bent weird. Jason’s voice felt warped, like it was underwater. And your mind cracked open, past tangled with now.

Last time you saw Cook was that ridiculous “team-building” party Loui made everyone attend, like they weren’t pushing gear for a two-faced fuck who ran his empire out of a council flat. His lot were always fighting , over turf, over glances, over who breathed louder. You never felt like one of them, not really. You might’ve done the same dirt, but it weren’t your world.

You didn’t even remember how it started. you were nursing a warm drink in a kitchen littered with red cups and fag ends, and then he was there, passing you something, his expression quiet but charged. Didn’t say much. Just looked at you, and for a second you didn’t feel like someone’s employee or someone's debt. You felt like someone. Just a girl. Who was being seen.

You’d barely exchanged more than nods in the corridor before that night. You knew his rep. He knew yours. That was it. But there was something, a simmer under his silence, something coiled. You’d even said it to him, half a joke, you can’t remember the words exactly. Just that you saw through him. That he moved too quietly for someone so loud. That he looked like a fight waiting to happen.

He’d laughed, barely, like his body had forgotten how.

And now, looking at him on that sofa, knees spread, one hand twitching on his thigh , you felt it again. That same tight pull in your gut. You stared too long at his fingertips, and fuck, you remembered what they felt like on your skin.

You feel the memory like a bruise, not fresh, but not healed either.

you’d ended up in a bathroom with him. You don’t do that sort of thing. Not with lads you don’t know, ones who grunt more than they talk. But that night, you did.

You can still feel his fingers digging into your waist, the way the sink pressed into your spine, pain pushed down by the way he moved against you, fast, desperate, like he needed to erase the space between you with friction. Didn’t care about the fists on the door. Just the way he groaned in your ear, like he wanted you to be the only one who heard him fall apart.

You swallow hard. Try to shake it. It didn’t mean anything. He went off after. Back to the party. You saw him chatting up some girl. Just a fuck, yeah?

So why can’t you forget the weight of his body pressing into yours?

“...And that’s why Blade’s better, innit.”

You blinked. Jason was beside you again, waiting for an answer. you've not heard a word. Just Cook's breath, heavy and hot in your memory.

“I dunno what you’re on about, Jason. Don’t watch that shite.”

Of course you knew what he meant. You just didn’t want to give him another second of your voice.

You scanned the room. The other sofa was full, two lads and a girl off their tits, holding PlayStation controllers that weren’t even turned on.

Only space left was next to him.

Cook clocked it too. Shifted slightly, closing his legs to give you room, subtle like. You sat, tense, drawing your limbs in, like not touching him might keep you sane.

Didn’t stop you stealing glances. His elbow rested on the armrest, fingers curled at his chin, eyes somewhere miles away. When he looked at you sideways, his jaw tensed for half a second.

“Hey,” he said. Barely audible.

You opened your mouth, but the back door slammed, hard.

Loui.

He stormed in mid-shout, phone at his ear like the other person could see the fury in his face. He radiated that rage, the kind that made your whole spine snap straight. Beside you, Cook stiffened too.

““Yeah? Well sort it, or I fuckin’ will!”

He ended the call with a jab of his thumb, stared at the phone like he wanted to burn it. Then he clocked you both, half-turning on the couch to stare at him.

Smile. Big, fake, teeth bared.

“There they are. My two little fuckin’ soldiers.”

He gestures to the office behind him. Wants you inside.

You get up first. Just wanna get this over with. Get away from the heat prickling your skin every time Cook looks at you. You feel him behind you. Feel the warmth of his body, like a memory set on repeat.

You sit opposite Loui, at that desk he thinks makes him look legit. It’s cheap wood. Doesn’t make him anything but dangerous.

Cook sat beside you. Close. Shoulder almost brushing yours. You held your breath. Could feel the panic nipping at your neck like cold sweat with teeth.

You had to get out. There had to be another way. This couldn’t be your life. Couldn’t keep waking up feeling like you were already dead.

A voice cut through it.

“You alright?”

He’d leaned in. His face inches from yours. Brow creased, soft frown like he was actually wondering. You caught a whiff of him , soap, smoke, that half-assed cologne that fades the second it hits skin. His voice shouldn’t have felt like comfort. But it did.

The glint was still there in his eyes. Danger, barely held back. A quiet before something wild.

You nodded, automatic. Something in him echoed something in you. That storm under the skin. The one you chained up every fucking day. And now, here it was, sitting beside you like a mirror.

His breath hit your cheek, warm. It lit your skin up like a warning.

Then Loui clapped his hands once, sharp, dragging you both to attention.

He sat down behind his desk, arms wide, fingers laced together like a wannabe godfather. His grin tightened. Anger still fizzing under it.

“I called you both ‘cause we’ve got a right mess on our hands.”

He nodded as he spoke, like doing that gave his words more weight somehow. Then he spread his fingers on the table and pointed straight at you, head tilted, eyes squinting at you sideways like the effort of focusing made him tired.

"I know you’ve been workin’ for me for years, love. Earned your stripes, got yourself a bit of a name... but what happened the other day? That shit don’t fly."

You blinked a few times, trying to sharpen your thoughts, swallowing around that feeling again,  like there’s a blade tucked just beneath your chin, pressing soft but steady. A warning.

You didn’t react. Not yet. You didn’t let the fear show, even though your palms were already damp, your pulse a drumbeat behind your ribs.

"Loui, last week was a mistake. I thought it was sorted. I paid out of my own fuckin’ pocket."

He raised one hand, slow, like a priest giving a blessing, or a command to a dog.

You stopped talking.

You hated yourself for it.

"The bloke’s still fumin’. Says you shorted him. Claims you brought half the gear and then bounced."

Now the anger came. Hot. Fast. Swallowing every other feeling. The fear from the stairwell. The flush of seeing Cook again. All of it burned down to ash in a second. You took a slow breath through your nose, willing yourself not to explode. Not here. Not yet.

Because Loui, that fucker, he lit matches just to watch you flinch.

With your voice flat, calm as you could fake it, you spoke.

"That bloke tried paying me half of what the shit was worth. Laughed in my face when I told him it weren’t a fuckin’ car boot sale. He paid for half. I gave him half."

Loui nodded, like he was listening — like he gave a fuck. But you knew that look. He’d already made up his mind. There was nothing you could say that would change it.

"Well, my good friend says you didn’t hear him out. He wants the rest. And since you were such a bitch about it, you’ll be going back in — on a lead."

Your whole body locked up. You pulled away from the back of the chair, fingers white-knuckled around the armrests. It didn’t help.

"What?"

Loui laughed. Like your confusion was a joke just for him. Then he tilted his head towards Cook.

"Cooko’s goin’ with you. To make sure you play nice. Make sure our client gets his fairytale fuckin’ ending."

You felt Cook stiffen beside you. Barely. Subtle. His body still looked slack, easy. But his nostrils flared. His jaw flexed. His shoulders squared a bit. You caught it. You always caught shit like that.

He didn’t like it either.

"So let me get this straight," you snapped, voice tight, "I make one mistake in years — a mistake that ain’t even mine — and now I need a fuckin’ babysitter?"

"He’s not a babysitter," Loui said, voice oozing with fake patience. "He’s an insurance policy. For my money. And come on, love. We both know you’ve got a temper. Short fuse. Like that time with Michael — remember? He asked to close the deal at his place and you went off."

"He said he’d only sign if I gave him a blowjob."

"And he paid for that attitude, didn’t he?"

He raised his eyebrows, like he was giving you credit for a job well done.

You wanted to spit.

"So why send me back to that cunt, then?" you said, pointing at Cook.

"Because lately you’ve been off the rails. Everyone’s noticed. And it worries me, darling. Worries me that your little outbursts are gonna blow the rest of us to fuckin’ bits."

He smiled.

"Cook’s calm. Loyal. Doesn’t let shit get to him."

A bitter laugh broke in your throat. Came out your nose sharp and dry. Calm, yeah. You glanced at Cook again. He hadn’t said a word. Just watching. That unreadable look in his eyes.

Didn’t let shit get to him. What a joke.

You remembered how he bit your lip the second your mouths met. How he fucked you hard and desperate against that sink, like he was seconds away from shattering. That wasn’t calm. That was chaos. Contained, just barely. Like yours.

"You gonna take the job," Loui said, leaning back, "or you gonna keep barkin’ like a bitch in my office?"

For a second, you thought about showing him what real chaos looked like. Thought about flipping the whole desk, smashing his smug little face into the wall. But you didn’t.

You just let him see the fire in your eyes. Let him feel what you could do if you wanted.

"No, sir. Nothin’ more to say, sir."

You stood. Rage crackling under your skin.

Loui laughed behind you. Loud, mocking. Turned to Cook.

"Women, eh?"

Cook raised an eyebrow. His lips parted, slow — like they’d been sealed shut too long. But before he could speak, you whistled from the hallway.

"Oi! Let’s go, boy!" you shouted.

It was the same tone someone might use with a mutt. And when he looked over, you smacked your thigh and made a kissy sound like you were calling a fuckin’ Labrador.

His mouth fell open. Stunned.

He shook his head but got up anyway. Silent. Unbothered, or pretending to be.

You weren’t waiting’.

You stormed down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder, already lighting your cigarette with that half-dead stone lighter you always carried. But it wasn’t catching. Sparks fizzled out useless.

He caught up just as you muttered a curse under your breath. Without saying a word, he pulled out his lighter and handed it over, eyes on the pavement, leg bouncing with restless energy.

You hesitate. Just a beat. Watching him out the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what the fuck to make of all this.

Then you reach out, slow, take the lighter from his fingers. Just a second — a brush of skin against skin, but it’s hotter than fire. Like something electric buzzes under your ribs.

You don’t know what it is. Don’t like not knowing.

The anger’s still sat heavy in your throat, so when you mutter, "Cheers," it sounds like you're chewing broken glass.

“Come on.”

He says it without looking at you. Hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched forward like he doesn’t care if you follow or not. But you do. Even if it's just to prove something. You ain't even sure what.

You walk behind him, a couple of steps back, and you know — you know — he’s glancing over his shoulder now and then, just to make sure you're still there. He jerks his chin toward a car parked up against the kerb. Doesn’t say a word. Just gets in, driver’s side, like that’s that.

You climb in too. The second you shut the door, you’re hit with the smell of him — strong, overwhelming. Like he’s been living inside this thing for weeks. Your head goes all fuzzy. It shouldn’t make you feel safe, not with everything you know about him, about yourself. But your brain ties it back to that moment. That night. The way your toes curled when he was in you just right. The sweat on his neck. His mouth on your skin.

You take a breath. Try to calm it. But it’s him again, pouring into your lungs.

You look out the window. Focus on the street, the people. Anything but him.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You don’t get like this. No one gets under your skin like that. You made sure of it. You built yourself like a fortress, brick by brick.

And now, one night — one fucking mistake — and he's rattling the whole foundation.

You think about walking away. Again. Telling Loui to shove it, telling Cook to fuck off with his quiet eyes and his quiet mouth and that storm you keep seeing underneath.

But you're still in the car. Still breathing him in.

He must’ve known before you did. Loui must’ve told Cook what was what. Because he doesn’t look surprised. Just... uncomfortable. The way his fingers twitch on the wheel, like they’re waiting to do something. Waiting for you to.

It hits you then. Loui’s not wrong. Not completely.

You're unraveling. Slowly. Like you’re drowning but too proud to thrash.

That little girl who ran scared made a choice once, and now you’re stuck living in the bones of it.

And then he speaks.

"I'm not a fuckin’ dog."

You look at him. Fast.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other bringing a cig to his mouth. Jaw clenched. Eyes straight ahead.

You squint a bit. Not sure what to say. At the lights, he turns and looks at you properly.

“Back there. You whistled. Like I was some pitbull or summat. I’m not a fuckin’ dog.”

It’s the most words you’ve heard from him in one go. It stuns you a little. That voice. Rough but quiet. Like gravel under boots.

That fire in his eyes — the one you saw the night he bent you over a cracked bathroom sink — it’s closer to the surface now.

Something in your chest sparks. You don’t want it to. But it does.

"Then don’t act like one," you say.

“What?"

But he doesn’t look at you. His eyes stay locked on the road and you wish—God, you wish—he’d look at you like he was ready to burn the whole fucking world down, like he wasn’t scared of the same wreckage he must see staring back at him when he looks at you.

"I’m sayin’, Loui tells you to jump and you don’t even ask how high."

You scoff, turn your head away, lips curled in disgust. But you can’t help it, you shift in your seat, your whole body angled towards him now, one hand braced on the dashboard like you’re ready to climb inside his skull.

"Does Loui even know the mess you’ve got inside you?"

His knuckles go bone-white on the steering wheel. His jaw clenches. It’s not confusion, it’s pure fucking annoyance.

"'Course not. ‘Cause if he’d really seen—"

"You ain’t got a fuckin’ clue what you’re talkin’ about."

It’s probably just adrenaline, but it feels like the car’s moving faster, the streets blurring past, like the whole thing’s matching the way your heart’s thundering against your ribcage.

"It was the first time in a long time you let it out, yeah? That night."

Silence. Says more than he’d ever admit.

"Careful."

He spits it out like it burns him, eyes still fixed on the road, but you can feel the electricity rolling off him, like something’s about to blow. You want it to. You ache for it. You wanna see it break free, because maybe if he does—maybe then—you won’t be the only one barely holding it together.

The car pulls into a back alley, tucked away from nosy eyes, not far from where the whole deal went sideways. He kills the engine. Still doesn’t look at you. He just sits there, waiting like he’s some loyal dog, waiting for your next command. The way he slides back into that role pisses you right off. You were this close—this fucking close—to seeing the real him, the version that ain’t all locked up behind someone else’s orders.

You grip the door handle, seething, and the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we do, the sooner Loui can shove his hand back up your arse and pull your strings like the good little puppet you are."

You push the door open, but before you can step out, his hand snaps around your wrist. It’s not even tight, but it pins you there like he’s dragging you back with everything he’s got. You glance from the place where your skin meets his, up to his face—and there’s no rage. No fury. Just a kind of bone-deep tiredness that knocks the wind right outta you. It’s the first time you really notice it—that his eyes ain’t just wild, they’re sad. Fucking tragic, really. And it grips something in your chest you weren’t ready for.

You sink back into the car, pull the door shut, but his hand stays right where it is, warm and steady on your skin, like letting go might finish him off for good. He shakes his head, slow, eyes unfocused, staring at some pointless spot on the dash. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.

You wait.

You think about covering his hand with yours, guiding him through whatever he’s trying to choke out—but you’re frozen in place. Caught on the way he’s clinging to you, not to hold you back, but to anchor himself. The way his scent’s still clinging to you. The way you’re just now seeing how slumped his shoulders really are, how silence ain’t just control—it’s exhaustion.

"I’m not his puppet. I’m not his fuckin’ dog." His gaze snaps to yours, searching your face like he’s begging for some kind of sign—like jumping off a cliff and praying the water’s deep enough. Like maybe you’re safe.

"I can’t be that person. I know what you’re doin’—but you don’t get it. You don’t know what you’re pokin’ at. Fuck—I don’t even know anymore."

"So what? Easier to let other people tell you who to be?"

His hand loosens on your wrist, like he’s only just realised he’s still got hold of you. For a second, it looks like he nods.

"It’s not that simple. It’s not—"

"Then what the fuck is it, Cook? Why do I feel like there’s someone else in there? Someone I saw that night at the party? Why do I—"

"Stop."

His eyes dart to the windscreen, fixed on the dark alley like the answer’s hiding out there somewhere.

"No. I can’t stop. ‘Cause the only fucking time I’ve felt anything real lately—anything that actually made sense—was at that goddamn party. Not even the bathroom. Before that. When you looked at me like I was real. Like maybe you were too."

You swallow hard. Your throat’s tight.

"That’s pathetic, innit?" You laugh, sharp and bitter. "That the highlight of my year was some look from a stranger in a room full of cunts?"

His jaw clenches.

You turn to him fully now. Let him see the storm in you. Let him feel it.

"I think about it, y’know. That night. Your mouth. Your hands. The way you pushed me like you were angry—like you’d seen the disaster inside me and you wanted to tear it out with your own."

His breathing’s ragged now.

"Shut up." But you hold his stare, two storms colliding. Neither of you backing down. You’ve both let it loose now. No more pretending.

"I can’t be that person anymore ‘cause I fuck everything up. And yeah—it’s easier when someone tells you who to be. It’s easier to forget all the shit that haunts you when you’re busy bein’ someone else."

His breathing’s gone erratic too. His chest’s rising and falling fast, his face so close now you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin.

"And you don’t get to tell me I’m two people when you’re exactly the fuckin’ same."

Your heart’s in your throat now. Blood pounding in your ears. Dizzy with it.

"What?"

"Oh, you thought you were the only one who sees people? Newsflash—you’re just as fucked as me. I’ve seen it. You’re a storm in a fuckin’ bottle, all that chaos dressed up as calm. Bet no one’s ever had the balls to rip the lid off and watch what happens, yeah? Except me. But that don’t give you the right to fuck other people over."

For the first time in a long time, you actually feel present. Like his words just blew the lock off some door you’d nailed shut years ago. You’d built this front, a fortress to contain the mess, the noise, the chaos that threatened to swallow you whole. You’d wrapped it up in fake calm, pretended there was order in the chaos.

And he—he tore through it with a few looks and a filthy bathroom fuck. Got right to the centre of your storm and didn’t flinch.

That’s what dragged you to him, right? Not just that he’s the same kind of broken, but that he saw it and still dove straight in. He didn’t just survive it, he fed it, threw more chaos on the fire.

You feel that spark crackling under your skin again, but this time it’s not anger or confusion, it’s something else. Something hot and reckless.

You don’t know what else to do with it. You don’t know how to hold it in. You need to know he’s still there, still tethered to you in this.

So you grab him by the collar and yank him forward until your mouths crash together. It’s not pretty, it’s brutal, messy, almost painful. You slam your eyes shut because you can’t bear to see him pull away. For a second, a horrible, heart-sinking second, you think you’ve got it wrong. That maybe he thinks you’re too fucked, even for him.

But then he’s kissing you back, desperate and hard, his hand sliding up your face to grip your hair tight, tearing a ragged sound from your throat that he immediately swallows with his tongue.

You don't even think, you just move. Climbing onto him like your body’s been starving for this, for him, your thighs bracketing his hips, palms pressed to his chest, feeling the frantic pound of his heartbeat hammering back against your skin like it's synced to yours.

His hands find your waist the second you settle, rough, frantic, fingers digging in like he's terrified you'll vanish. And when his mouth crashes into yours, it’s raw, messy, seething with everything unsaid, everything you've both been choking down for months.

You drown in it.

His lips are rough, hungry, his teeth scraping yours, breath ragged like he can’t control it, like every part of him is breaking apart under your hands, and fuck, you want him broken. You want him stripped bare the same way he’s stripped you with every look, every word, every time he’s made you feel like you're the only other person drowning in the same storm.

Your hips grind down, the sharp, aching press of him thick and hard beneath you, and his whole body jolts, this guttural sound ripping out of his chest that hits you right between the legs, molten and reckless.

It lights you up, burns through the wreckage under your ribs, the way he’s cracked you open and seen all the ugly, chaotic parts of you you’ve tried to bury.

You’re sick of burying them.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you whisper, your voice shaking against his mouth, words spilling like they’ve been trapped behind your teeth for months. “That night. The way you looked at me, like you saw everything, and you didn’t run.”

His hands are everywhere now, sliding under your shirt, splaying wide over your back, dragging down your spine like he's trying to memorise you, claim every inch before you combust.

He whines when you grind down again, slow and hard, rolling your hips to press your soaked knickers against him, and the sound is so desperate, so raw, it shoots straight to your core.

"You’re noisy," you murmur against his skin, smirking, hips rolling again just to pull more of those pretty, needy sounds out of him.

"Shut up," he groans, but it’s weak, falling apart beneath you, his hands shaking as they drag under your shirt, finding skin. "Fuck—d’you even know—how long I’ve wanted—?"

"Yeah." You cut him off with another kiss, deep, messy, biting his tongue as you press against him, feeling him hard and straining between your legs. "Same, Cook.

“Jesus… fuck…” His voice cracks, head tipping back, throat exposed, eyes squeezed shut like he's trying to hold himself together. His cock twitches under you, straining against his jeans, leaking heat into every nerve ending.

Your fingers fumble between you, popping buttons, dragging zips down with trembling hands, the sharp edge of anticipation clawing through your chest like glass. His jeans shoved just enough down, your knickers torn to the side, the car too small, the space cramped, but neither of you fucking care.

You line him up, your slick dripping onto him, your whole body tightening with the stretch, the need to take him, to be filled until you can’t think, can’t breathe.

You try. God, you really fucking try.

You rock your hips, pushing down slowly, biting your lip as you fight to take him, but the sharp press of the steering wheel digs into your spine, forcing your body at the wrong angle. You can’t sink onto him properly. The space is too tight, the car too cramped, your body straining with frustration, your muscles trembling with the effort.

You huff a breath, half-laugh, half-growl, the heat buzzing hot under your skin.

“Fuck—there’s no fucking room—the wheel’s tryna snap my spine—”

But the second the words leave your mouth, his head jerks up, eyes blown wide, his hands clenching at your hips like he’s misheard you, like you’ve just confirmed every filthy thing he’s ever thought about himself.

“Oh, yeah?” His voice goes low, cocky, wrecked, like he’s already halfway gone. “Can’t handle me, yeah?  Too big for ya, babe? That it?”

You stare at him, breathless, the burn between your thighs aching, and it clicks what he’s just assumed, but you don’t rush to correct him.

Because the smirk that curls his lips, the way his chest heaves under your palms, the glint of that boyish, feral pride, it fucking does something to you.

Still, you roll your eyes, breath shaky as you brace yourself on his shoulders.

“No, you twat—there’s no space—I can’t move—” you pant, laughing under your breath, the frustration bleeding into something fond, almost teasing. “The wheel’s in my fuckin’ back.”

But he’s not listening.

“Oi—move, then—fuck—lemme—” His hand fumbles blindly for the lever by the seat, slapping around in a panic like every second he’s not buried inside you is physically painful.

“Cook—” you try to protest, but he yanks it hard, and the whole seat jolts back so fast it nearly throws you both—and without warning, you sink down onto him—all the way.

You gasp, sharp and breathless, your whole body seizing with the stretch. The thick, brutal press of him splits you open, fills you to the hilt in one unforgiving slide, your walls clenching tight around him, hot and fluttering, the ache so good it scrapes the air from your lungs.

Your head drops against his shoulder, your breath stolen.

“F-fuck—” you choke out, your nails digging into his chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. “You’re—fuck—you’re actually bigger than I remembered—”

The noise he makes—Jesus—it’s a broken little thing, a ragged, desperate sound that shudders out of him, like he’s trying so hard to hold back but you’ve just shattered whatever control he had left.

“Told ya,” he breathes, his voice shredded, trembling, barely there. His hands tighten, bruising on your hips, his cock pulsing deep inside you like he’s been waiting to be right here since the day he met you. “Knew you could handle me—fuckin’ knew it—knew you could take me—”

You shudder, the burn still blooming deep inside, the feel of him too much, perfect, like he’s carved a space inside you that only he can fill.

You try to move, hips rolling, slow and deliberate, but the stretch is so sharp, so overwhelming, your body clenches instinctively around him, pleasure and pain blurring into one heavy, molten ache.

His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as he groans, a low, raw sound ripped from his throat that vibrates through every inch of you.

It cracks something loose in your chest, the way his voice falls apart under you, the way he lets himself feel this, lets himself fall apart for you.

You grind down harder, pushing the limit, feeling him drag along every aching, sensitive spot inside, the burn so good it nearly undoes you.

“Fuckin’—Christ, babe—don’t—don’t stop—” His voice is wrecked, cracking wide open as his hips stutter up into you, deeper, desperate, his moans falling apart, noisy, shameless.

Your thoughts blur, your pulse pounding in your ears, your skin hypersensitive, every nerve raw as you ride him slow, deep, deliberate, forcing him to feel every second of it.

The car rocks beneath you, windows fogging, the heat unbearable, suffocating—but you want more.

You slam your hips down, sharp, taking him to the hilt again, and he shouts, loud, filthy, his hands scrambling for purchase, breath broken, voice rasping your name like a prayer and a curse.

“You feel that?” you whisper, biting at his ear, hips rolling, walls clenching down tight around him, molten and slick and suffocating. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for, Cook—what we’ve both been choking on. “Go on, then . Show me what happens when you come undone.”

He moans, high and wrecked, so desperate it punches through you like lightning.

“Couldn’t stop thinking—’bout ya,” he chokes, voice wrecked, hips bucking helpless under yours, lost in the heat, the noise, the ache. “Dreamt of this—dreamt of you—fuck—wreckin’ me—”

You chase the burn, the sharp heat building in your belly, your body tightening around him with every grind, every deep, aching thrust, your release boiling under your skin, teeth clenched, heart racing.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, sharp, unbearable, walls clenching so hard around him he groans, loud, guttural, his hips jerking, face twisted in bliss and wreckage as he spills inside you.

The sound of him, those breathy, broken moans, stays tangled in your chest as you collapse onto him, hearts racing, your body trembling, filled to the brim, burning with the ache of him still pulsing inside.

You stay there, tangled together, wrecked, raw, alive, for the first time in forever, the storm quiet for just a moment.

You don’t move. Neither of you does.

Still tangled up, your chest pressed to his, your body heavy with the aftershocks, the stretch of him still buried inside you, pulse still racing under your skin.

Your lips trail lazy, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of his neck, tasting the salt, the chaos, the version of him no one gets to see, except maybe you.

He’s still breathing hard, chest heaving under your palms, eyes half-lidded, flushed, looking utterly wrecked in the best fucking way.

“So that’s what it takes…” you murmur against his throat, pressing another kiss there, slow, teasing. “That’s what I gotta do to drag the real Cook to the surface?”

A rough laugh rumbles low in his chest, cracking through the haze, and for a second—it’s him. That version from way before the mess, the boy that broke every rule just to feel something, the smart-mouthed, cocky little shit with the chip on his shoulder and the devil in his eyes.

But the moment shatters when your phone lights up on the dash.

Loui.

Your heart stutters, all that warmth, all that messy, reckless freedom bleeding out of you in an instant. Your stomach knots tight, pulse skipping. It’s like he’s everywhere, even here, inside this cramped fucking car, inside your skin, yanking you back into the shit.

You slap a hand over Cook’s mouth before he can make a sound, your eyes sharp, throat tight.

His brows shoot up, but he stays quiet, lips twitching under your palm, still flushed, wrecked, his cock twitching inside you.

You answer, speaker on, your hand trembling only slightly as you hold the phone between you both.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Loui’s voice explodes through the speaker, all spit and venom, tearing through the fragile quiet. “Deal’s goin’ to shit, you’re late”.

Your jaw clenches. The fear morphs, curdles into something hotter, heavier. Anger.

It burns low in your chest. The way Loui snaps, like he owns you. The way every time you almost remember who the fuck you are, he drags you straight back down.

Not now.

Cook shifts beneath you, hips rocking up ever so slightly, enough to drag his cock deeper inside, enough to make your body pulse and tighten, and the sound nearly slips out of him—desperate, rough.

You grin, slow, sharp, wicked.

Your hips roll, deliberate, dragging your cunt over him, squeezing tight, and his moan rips free, loud, guttural, completely unfiltered.

You take your hand off his mouth, just as that gorgeous, needy sound breaks out into the speaker.

There’s dead silence for half a second.

“The fuck was that?” Loui spits, rage building, the control slipping from his voice now. “You serious? You’re fuckin’ him? You’ve lost the plot—you think you can fuck around with him and still sort my business?”

Your smile cuts sharper.

“Business?” you echo, grinding your hips down again, Cook groaning helpless under you, his eyes glassy, blown wide with lust and confusion, still wrecked from your little stunt. “No, Loui. I’m done. Keep your deals, your bullshit, your control.”

You lean in, voice dropping, cool and lethal.

““I’m off with your fuckin’ safety net, Loui. Sort your own mess for once.”

Before he can answer, you hang up, tossing the phone to the side like it never existed.

Cook stares up at you, eyes wide, breathless, still panting, hands loose on your hips like he’s forgotten how to hold onto anything.

“You’re off your fuckin’ head,” he mutters, wrecked, lips curling in that sideways grin that’s all teeth and disbelief—and a flicker of something else. Something like admiration buried under the mess. “Proper mental.”

You shrug, the chaos still simmering hot under your skin, heart hammering wild in your chest, a fire sparking somewhere deep down where the fear used to live.

“So?” Your voice is steady now, low, raw with everything you’ve been choking on for months. “Let’s fuck off. You. Me.”

He blinks, brows lifting slightly like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing, like no one’s ever actually offered him that choice before.

“What… what the fuck do we do now?” His voice cracks on the end, rough, uncertain, but there’s hope in it too, buried beneath the scars.

You lean in, noses brushing, your words a quiet promise against his lips.

“Start livin’ for real, Cook.”

tag list: @jimmys-tiara

[ninisdollie]

nerdy simp boyfriend taki thoughts 𓈒ིུ ❤︎ ˖

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x taki, established relationship, simp! taki, just some headcanons, he’s a little disgusting but we love him, dirty talk, a bit of objectification, unprotected sex, creampie, facial, usage of sex toys, masturbation, public sex, idk what more omg.

notes: i’m so so taki brainrotted rn so i had to write something dirty for him again but since my brain is literally fried from the heeseung fic i’m writing these are just short thoughts <3

hate comments will be deleted and blocked !! likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

Thinking about nerdy simp boyfriend Taki.

Taki’s always top of his class, organized, responsible, polite. But the second you walk in the room? His brain melts. Words? Gone. He stares at you like you’re the goddess he prays to every night.

The first time you approached him, he almost died right there.

Taki didn’t even look up when you slid into the seat next to him at the campus café, he just kept highlighting notes in four different colors like always, half-mumbling a greeting, completely oblivious.

Until your hand slid across the table and you whispered,

“Hey, Taki. Do you think you could tutor me?”

He blinked, pen stilling mid-sentence.

“Y-You want me to tutor you?”

You gave him that smile. The one that made him short-circuit every time.

“Yes, you are like, the smartest guy in class. I could use your help a bit.”

His throat clicked when he swallowed.

The first session was in the library. You wore a low-cut top and lip gloss that shimmered when you bit down on it, and poor Taki had no idea where to look. His eyes kept darting between the problem set… and your chest.

He was trying so hard to be good.

You leaned forward just enough to make him sweat, the scent of your perfume fogging up every rational thought in his head. You tapped your pencil against the textbook, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“Is this the correct answer?” you murmured, voice saccharine and dripping with innocence.

Taki’s mouth parted slightly.

He forgot the question. Forgot the answer. Forgot his own name.

“I—I think so. Wait—n-no. I mean, not quite. Um—here, let me just—”

His hand brushed yours when he reached for the pencil, and his breath hitched. You looked up at him with those glossy eyes and he was gone.

“Sorry,” he muttered, cheeks flushed, adjusting his glasses as he tried to refocus. “I—I’ll explain it again. Slower. You just—it’s okay if you’re not getting it yet. I’ll go over it as many times as you need.”

God, he was such a sweet boy, trying so hard to be helpful, to be smart, professional.

But his eyes kept falling back to the soft swell of your cleavage when you leaned over the desk again, tapping his arm gently and whispering:

“Could you maybe… help me one-on-one sometime? I think I’d learn better that way.”

He nearly choked on his own saliva.

After that night, he was gone.

One week in: he was texting you constantly. Sending notes he made just for you, doodles of your name in the margins, reminders to drink water. The kind of boyfriend who’d go down on you before his exams to calm his nerves.

Two weeks in: he was edging himself in his dorm room with a pillow over his face, whining into the sheets, thinking about how you taste and how you sounded when you came on his tongue.

Three weeks in: he told you he loved you. Voice cracked. Knees on the floor. Eyes wet.

“I know it’s early, and I—I know I’m not cool or experienced like other guys, but… I’m yours. I want to be yours. Just—please let me love you.”

Now?

He goes to class with your panties in his pocket like a fucking talisman.

He asks to eat you out before every study session. Says it helps him focus.

“You’re my priority. Everything else can wait.”

He kneels between your legs like it’s his religion, mumbling your name like a prayer with his mouth soaked and chin glistening. And when he looks up at you with those flushed cheeks, tearful eyes, and swollen lips, the only thing he ever wants to hear is:

“Good boy, Taki. Just like that.”

Your sweet soft simp boyfriend Taki who is, surprisingly, so good in bed.

This man has studied the female orgasm like it’s his major. He knows anatomy. He knows rhythm. He knows what turns you on because he pays attention. He keeps mental notes of what makes your thighs shake, what noises you make in each position, how long it takes before your legs start twitching when he fingers you with that exact angle.

“Your body’s so responsive. Do you know how easy it is to read you? You’re practically begging me to ruin you.”

Still soft-spoken… but filthy.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, kissing your neck gently, and then his hand slides under your panties like it belongs there. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”

He’s still your sweet nerd boyfriend, but he gets off on taking control, especially when you least expect it.

Loves praising and degrading you in the same breath. “You’re so perfect. So smart. And so goddamn slutty for me, aren’t you?”

His hips know exactly what to do.

Slow at first. Deep strokes that make you feel every inch of him. One hand on your hip to hold you still, the other on your throat, not squeezing, just owning you.

“That’s it. Take it. You wanted this, right?”

Knows how to angle his thrusts to hit that spot inside you that makes your back arch. He’ll whisper the filthiest things in your ear, lips brushing your skin while you fall apart beneath him.

Positions? He’s mastered them.

Cowgirl so he can watch your tits bounce and help you ride. One hand guiding your hips, the other rubbing tight circles on your clit while he murmurs, “You look so fucking good like this, baby. You’re doing so well.”

Mating press when he wants to ruin you. Sweaty, shaky, deep and messy. Eyes locked on yours while he pounds into you, holding your wrists down with trembling fingers.

Spooning for soft mornings when he just wants to wake you up with lazy strokes and sleepy kisses. Still somehow knows exactly when to thrust deeper, when to stop and tease, when to speed up until you’re gasping his name.

Your sweet boyfriend Taki who is obsessed with filling you with his seed, or just spilling it all over you.

“Don’t clean it up yet,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your neck. “I just want to look at it. Want to see you full of me.”

“You’re mine. My pretty girl, stuffed full of me.”

He’s so soft but he’s so nasty about it. He kisses your inner thighs while your pussy is still leaking, then pushes it back in with two fingers just to watch it spill out again.

And your face? His favorite view.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but when you’re both worked up, when you’re looking up at him with those eyes, tongue out, waiting for him to finish? He loses it.

“Oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck—your face, baby, you’re so pretty like this—taking it so well for me, just for me.”

He paints your cheeks, your lips, your tongue, shaking from how hard he comes, groaning your name like a prayer.

He apologizes after… but only a little.

“I’m sorry, was that too much? You just looked so good and I couldn’t stop myself…”

Then he starts rubbing your thighs again and mutters, “Can I do it again? You look even hotter messy.”

Your sweet, simp boyfriend Taki who can’t stop talking about you.

He brings you up in every conversation.

“Oh yeah, that lecture was interesting—hey, did I tell you my girlfriend wears my glasses sometimes? She looks so hot in them, I swear I almost passed out.”

Literally can’t go five minutes without mentioning you. His friends are like, “We get it, bro. She’s hot.” But he just smiles like an idiot and keeps going.

“She’s just… everything.”

He’ll go from sweet to dirty in one breath. “She’s so smart. Like, intimidatingly smart. And her thighs? Jesus. You have no idea.”

“She wore that skirt today, and I could barely focus—I mean, not that I’m just looking at her body or anything, but like, fuck. Have you seen her legs? Her hips?? The way she bites her lip???”

He’s accidentally filthy. All the time.

“I swear her moans echo in my head during class.”

“I got no sleep last night, but it’s worth it. She kept riding me like she was trying to kill me or something. Honestly? Best way to die.”

“She sat on my face for like 20 minutes straight. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to.”

He objectifies you lovingly.

It’s not gross, it’s adoring. He can’t help but talk about how sexy you are, but he also worships you in every way. He brags about your brains, your laugh, how you snort when you laugh too hard. But he also can’t shut up about your tits.

“She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. And she’s mine. Can you believe that? Mine.”

He tells his friends how you ride him like you’re in charge, but also how you melt when he takes control. He knows everything about you, and he cherishes it all.

He sends pics to the groupchat. Of your clothes.

Like, a photo of your skirt on his floor. Or a hickey on his neck. He doesn’t even say anything, just drops it in and waits for the chaos.

“Guess who ruined me last night. Again.”

And you? You love it.

You love how obsessed he is. You love hearing that he tells everyone you’re perfect. That he brags about how good you are in bed and how hard he works to please you.

And when he comes home flustered, shyly mumbling, “I maybe overshared again…” you just giggle and climb into his lap, whispering, “Then make it worth bragging about, baby.”

He’s the softest nerd… but secretly possessive.

He gets off on people knowing you’re together. Wears your lip gloss smudges on his collar like a badge of honor. Leaves hickeys in visible places, your neck, your inner thighs peeking out from your skirt, just subtle enough to look “accidental.”

“You looked so pretty walking around like that. Like a walking reminder that you’re mine.”

He lives to brag, but he wants people to see it too.

He’ll grip your waist a little too tight when you’re talking to another guy. He’s sweet about it, still smiling, still polite, but his hand slides lower until he’s almost touching your ass.

Kisses you stupid right in front of his friends. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. She’s just too perfect.”

Public teasing is his favorite form of torture.

He’s shy in theory, but when he gets going? Ohhh he’s filthy. Like the day he slipped the remote-controlled vibrator into you before your class and said, “Be good, baby. Don’t make too much noise. Or maybe… do.”

He spends the whole lecture watching you from a few rows back, glasses on, biting his pen, discreetly pressing the button every time you shift in your seat.

You glare over your shoulder, and he just smirks like the evil little nerd he is.

He loves when you fall apart somewhere you shouldn’t.

Bathroom stalls. Study rooms. The back of the library.

“Quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone knowing what I’m doing to you… or maybe you do?”

He’ll finger you under the desk while you’re taking notes and whisper, “Come for me like a good girl, and I’ll let you ride me when we get home.”

He gets off on the risk.

Not full-on exhibitionism, he just wants to push boundaries. Wants the risk of getting caught. Wants to see how far you’ll let him go.

“You’re so obedient for me. I tell you to wear my vibrator to class, and you do it without question. Good girl.”

Has a whole folder in his phone of candids he took of you. Not even dirty ones, just you laughing, reading, sleeping. He gets off to those, too. “You’re just so perfect, I couldn’t help it… I-I know it’s creepy, I’m sorry…”

Buys you cute stuff constantly. Nerdy matching outfits. Sex toys. Personalized notebooks.

He’s just so, so obsessed with you because, how could a girl like you fall for him? He needs to make sure you stay with him forever, he could never let you go.

[reginaphalangelobster]

(Grand)Father Figure

After Peter messed up big time Steve is giving him a 'Captain America Talking To' Steve: Kid, you can't just blow up a building. Where is your father? Peter: He's dead Everyone turns their heads to Peter with a mix of shocked and sad expressions: WHAT?! Bruce: T-Tony's dead? How could this happen? He was my best friend Thor: He will certainly be missed, he was a great man Tony, walking through the door: Whoa, who died? Everyone lets out a small scream or gasp Clint: YOU! Tony: Well I didn't get the memo Steve: Peter, why did you say he was dead? Peter, who is utterly confused: I didn't Thor: You did Spiderling, you said your father was dead Peter: He is. Wait, did you think Mr Stark was my dad? Everyone: Yes! They all turn to Tony who has his head tilted down, trying to hide his blushing face Tony: Uh, I have to go, do something, in the lab, that's right, the lab Tony practically flies out the door but he secretly smiles to himself Peter: Why would you think he's my dad? Bucky: Last week you called him dad Peter: That doesn't mean anything! I-I was just tired and I misspoke Sam: Yeah, was that the same time you called Nat mom? Nat, wrapping an arm around Peter's shoulders: Leave my son alone Peter: No, it was around the same time you called Steve babe Sam, now very embarrassed: I n-never did that! Steve: You told me you said bud Sam: I did! Nat gives Peter a little high five Clint is standing behind them laughing Peter: What are you laughing at? You called Bucky sweetheart Bucky, visibly uncomfortable: He what? Clint: He's making that up! Peter: Am not! Thor: I do not see the issue here. We are all a family of sorts, I know that the Maximoff twins have both called Barton their father on multiple occasions Wanda & Pietro: Thor! Clint: Aw! Kids, that's so sweet, you see me as a father figure Pietro: Pfft! More like a BOTHER figure, am I right Wands? Wanda: I'm not getting involved Wanda then uses her powers to fly away Pietro: Not fair! Wanda: You have super speed dumbass Pietro: Oh yeah Pietro runs away without another word Clint: What just happened? Everyone continues arguing over each other Steve: Peter called Fury grandpa! Everyone fell silent Peter: Steve! Steve: I'm sorry kid I didn't mean t- Wait a second, did you just call me Steve? Peter: Yes, I no longer see you as an authority figure I can look up to and trust, Steve Sam, quietly: Daaaamn Bucky hits Sam in the arm Sam: Hey! Bucky: Shut up, bird brain Steve: Don't worry kid, I once called him dad, to his face. But I don't think he heard Peter: That's pretty bad Steve: Yeah, Nat wouldn't stop teasing me for years, I still don't think she's done Nat: Nope Suddenly Nick Fury walks through the door, in a knitted beanie and scarf Peter: Grandpa! Peter runs and hugs him Fury: You told them? Peter: Steve found out Steve: So he knew? I told you that I called him dad for nothing? Fury: You called me dad? Steve: Oh no Fury: Do you see me as a father figure Steve? Steve: Pfft! No! More like a BOTHER figure Steve looks around before escaping the situation as quickly as possible Fury: You did that on purpose, didn't you? Peter, smiling brightly: Yes

This was inspired by posts from @thewrittenpodcast and @ineloe thank you and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Tags:

@everyonesfriend @impetusofadream @goldfishthegr8 @avengers-official-recruit-agent @goreygirl03 @xenasolos @sparklyturtlefox @rios-sythe @nekoannie-chan @ilovemarvel12 @hayneyney @n3ponen @8812-342 @pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse

[shadowsndaisies]

death, who?

a/n: staying true to the resolution! the largest folder in my wips is probably the crossovers. way too many possibilities for someone entrenched in too many fandoms. but, nonetheless, here we are. also big shock! i still write for other fandoms, not just dc.

main masterlist

prompt: A; hold on you died?! ... B; yeah, well, it didn't stick.

synopsis: what if a hunt brought you and your older half-brothers and guardians, Sam and Dean Winchester, to Beacon Hills, and what if, you get in a spot of trouble with your new friends, and need to call for a ride.

wc: 2.7k

Black.

Everything is black.

You feel your body being torn apart, excruciatingly slow, and suddenly it all snaps back together, muscles, veins, tendons reconnecting and attaching, skin growing back.

Flashes of light, bright, discombobulating.

And then your eyes open.

You shoot up, bodies hovering over you.

Someone screams, someone else is crying.

You choke on nothing for a second, and then you push yourself back to your feet.

Hands grip onto you, frantic, and finally everything fits back into place.

You blink and turn, coming face to face with two boys. Not your brothers, a piece of you panics, but the memories come quick, and you force yourself to relax.

Stillinski and McCall, your brain supplies as you stare at the two. Both are watching you with wide eyes, lips parted, slightly pale. There’s a girl behind them with tears in her eyes. The redhead, Lydia you mind supplies after a second, looks especially distraught.

The choking feeling comes back and this time when you cough, something falls from your lips, a bullet.

You stare at the brass for a second, “seven fucking hells,” you hiss, bending down and picking up the bullet.

It’s deformed, likely the exact bullet that had killed you mere minutes before. Deformed from where and how it had impacted against your body.

The memory of being shot comes back fast and painful, your whole body flinches as you jerk to check your side. There’s blood, and your brow furrows as you push off your jacket and then pull your shirt off, wiping at your side, until you clear away most of the blood.

No wound.

“(Y/n)?” Stiles’ voice cracks as he says your name, and your head snaps back to the others.

They’re still staring at you like they’re all about to be violently sick.

“Hey,” you say, swallowing thickly as you calm your heart rate.

Who brought you back? No Angels nearby… Crowley didn’t have the pull anymore… Leaving… Billie? Or… Chuck?

You shudder at the thought, you hoped it was Billie.

You reach into your pants pocket, and pull out your phone, but your frown deepens when you realize it’s broken, screen cracked, totally toast— kinda like you were.

“Damn,” you mutter, turning back to the four still staring.

That was a problem.

“Can I borrow a phone?” you ask, voice hoarse, but they’re all still staring at you. You roll your eyes, and snap your fingers startling them. “Phone? Please?”

Lydia reaches a shaky hand into her purse and pulls her out, holding it to you.

You’d just dialed Dean’s number when Scott comes back to himself.

“Hold on,” he begins, “you died,” he states.

Newbies, you scoff internally.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t stick,” you lament, raising the phone to your ear.

It rings, and rings, and keeps ringing, until you’re met with “Agent Plant, FBI, leave a message.”

“Damn it,” you mumble, dialing Sam’s number next

It rings, and rings, and rings…

“Agent Page, FBI, leave a mess-”

You don’t wait for the end of the message, and instead hang up, biting your lip you try the last active number you knew of.

It rings, and rings, and rings…

“This is Agent Jones, FBI. Please leave a message and I will-”

“Chuck’s sake,” you grumble and then freeze. There was more than one way to call Cas.

“Your tattoo is gone,” a voice interrupts and your head whips back over to the other teens.

“Fuck, are you sure?” you ask tilting your shoulder in to look at the blade. “You’re so dead, Chuck, stupid things hurt like a-”

“What is she talking about?” you’re vaguely aware of Stiles’ muttered question, but you force yourself to take a deep breath and refocus on the task at hand.

“You were dead,” Lydia finally speaks up, as you hand her phone back.

“Yes,” you nod.

“We did CPR,” Scott adds on.

“Explains the pain on my ribs,” you note, looking around, eyes perking when you spot your backpack.

“It didn’t work,” Stiles.

“Yup, got that,” you confirm half-heartedly, as you pull open the bag, rummaging through.

“I heard your heart stop,” Scott adds, and you pull a spare t-shirt, the one you’d used for gym class, out triumphantly.

“Make sense, since I was dead,” you nod, tossing the shirt over your shoulder, and looking back into the bag.

“I felt it,” Lydia adds, you shudder slightly at that, Banshee premonitions were an entirely different beast.

“Sorry about that,” you say uncomfortably clearing your throat as you pull out the small container of hand sanitizer.

You grab the bag and walk back over to the other three, they’re still starring wide eyed, and you refrain from rolling your eyes again as you reach down for the bloody shirt. You reach to your ankle and pull out your switchblade, using it to cut up the shirt, taking the clean parts, and then dousing it in the hand sanitizer, using it to remove as much blood from your skin as possible.

It leaves the skin sticky, you wrinkle your nose at the feeling, but once content, toss the bloodied clothes in a pile, and wipe your blade before putting it away.

You toss the mostly empty hand sanitizer back in your bag, and run your finger over the bullet again before putting that in your pocket. You pull on the gym shirt, it reads Beacon Hills High School, across the front, and is made of a stiff cotton polyester blend that scratches at your skin, and well, it smells like gym, but you’ve had worse, that’s for sure.

You swipe back your hair and reach into another pocket producing your lighter. You crouch down, and set the bloody clothes on fire. It burns quick, hot, and bright. Especially once it catches on the cloth that had the hand sanitizer. You watch the flames quickly until your blood is gone, and then you stamp it out.

Finally, you swing the bag back on your shoulder and you turn to the other three, really taking the time to take them in. This time you do roll your eyes.

“Yes, I died. Tragic, I know. And yes, I’m back, shocking is an understatement I’m sure, but can we please move on?”

“You died!” Stiles repeats again, and you let out a long sigh.

“And it didn’t stick. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last,” you admit, but that seems to be the wrong thing to say because the three of them seem to raise into higher hysterics. “Right. okay! You process this, however you need to. Let me know when you’re ready. In the meantime, I gotta… make a call.”

The three offer jerky nods and you huff, walking ahead of them. They follow in a daze as you guide them out of the preserves and back to the main road. You look up and down, and quietly you close your eyes and pray.

Cas… Castiel, I could really use a hand right about now… Please?

You peek an eye open but are disappointed by the lack of blue-tie-trenchcoat-wearing angels.

You cave after another few minutes of silent prayer.

You drop your bag and walk into the street, “CAS! CASTIEL!!!” you shout.

Stiles flinches so violently he trips over his own feet, the three staring at you as if you were a lunatic, which; fair, but now was so not the time, to go into the angels and demons of it all.

“CASTIEL!” you try again.

“What is a Castiel?” Scott asks, eyes wide and concerned.

“CASTIEL,” you begin, shouting his name once more for good measure, before your lips turn into a deep frown, “is a no-good, older-brother preferring, utterly useless contingency plan,” you huff out, before looking back at Scott and shrugging, “apparently,” you add clearing your throat.

“Right,” Scott nods, but nothing about his response inspired his belief.

Again, fair.

You huff again, “guess we’re doing this traditionally,” you mutter, turning to the three. “No chance any of you has chalk?” you ask.

“Chalk?” Stiles repeats, spluttering. “What like sidewalk chalk? What are we gonna do hopscotch our way back into town?”

You deadpan at Stiles unimpressed, and he shifts under the weight of your stare.

“So no chalk?” you ask, and he huffs. “Fucking townies,” you mumble under your breath, but the look you get from Scott tells you he heard it.

“No chalk,” Lydia confirms. “But, chalk’s mostly made of the shells of single-celled organisms, like coccolithophores and foraminifera,” she explains and your brows furrow.

“What?”

“It’s found in most sedimentary deposits,” she continues.

You blink at her.

Her shoulders sag a bit, “Limestone rocks would work,” she relents.

You perk at that. “Wait here,” you tell them, taking off back the way you’d come. “I saw some limestone on our way out!”

By the time you make it back to them, the three are huddled, whispering quickly and casting weary glances around. They pause as you come back but you barely pay attention, instead, you focus on chalking the ground, delicate and precise marks as you use the limestone on the asphalt.

Once happy with the markings you stand outside the drawing, and toss the leftover limestone aside, wiping your hands on your jeans and standing at full height. You crack your neck, and turn to the markings.

“Amaymon, Amaymon, appear now, by the power of the Angelical Keys, I summon thee, Castiel,” you begin, voice loud and clear. It pulls the other three’s attention. Stiles ready to interrupt when you began again. “Rah ah gah ee oh es, Castiel, Rah ah gah ee oh es,” the three were now staring with wide eyes, on your second pass of the Enochian chant, your voice seemed to reverberate through the preserves, sounding less and less human. “Amaymon, Amaymon, appear now, by the power of the Angelical Keys, I summon thee, Castiel,” you repeat a final time.

You hold your breath, waiting, seconds tick by and finally your eye twitches. Fucking Castiel, you appear whenever Dean calls, bastards, all three of you.

“Fine,” you huff, throwing your hands in the air. “Prayer didn’t work, neither did calling nicely, or an official summons, so I guess that leaves me with threats! I hope you’re happy!” you shout at no one, and you catch the look Lydia shares with Stiles.

“(Y/n) maybe you should-” Scott begins and you wave him off.

“CASTIEL, YOU GET YOUR WINGED ASS HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR ON MY NAME I WILL NEVER LET YOU HAVE ANOTHER MOMENT OF PEACE YOU WINGED RAT!” you scream, causing the other three to flinch.

And then a man in a trenchcoat materializes right behind you, and the three lose their shit.

“WHAT THE FU-”

“WHO?”

“WHERE DID-”

You whirl around and the Angel stands stiffly as he stares at you.

“About fucking time,” you huff, glaring at him.

“I find your demanding tone off-putting,” Cas decides and your eye twitches.

“Off-putting? Are you kidding Cas? I’ve been trying to get in contact with Dean and Sam, no one’s answering their phones!”

“Which numbers did you try?”

“Plant, Page, and Jones, FBI,” you counter.

“We deactivated them.”

“No shit,” you hiss.

“You are acting like a-” he stops himself, sighing.

the audacity.

“Like a what, Cas?” you press.

“Like an ass-butt,” he admits and you have to scrub your hand over your face. “I do not appreciate it,” he adds on.

You open your mouth with a sharp retort but you stop yourself, count to ten in your mind and let out a deep breath instead. Reminding yourself, you can’t talk to Cas the same way you would to Dean and Sam, it was counter-productive at best.

“You’re right, I apologize Castiel. I’m… flustered,” you admit, levelly, jaw clenched and eye twitching as you do.

“Is it because of these three?” he asks, finally addressing the others hovering just a few feet away.

“No, these are friends Castiel,” you huff.

“Why then? You are usually the most put-together of the three Winchester siblings,” he questions.

Isn’t that a low bar? The 17-year-old little half sister is the most put-together when compared to her two adult older brothers.

“I was shot, and killed about an hour ago Cas, I can feel where they sliced me open down in hell, and smell like a mix of death, blood, and high school gym class. I would very much like to know where my older brothers are, right now,” you explain, once again keeping your voice in that forced level tone.

“I see. One moment,” he says and before you can disagree he disappears.

“Oh, Fuck me!” you shout again.

“I have so many questions,” Stiles speaks up from where he and Scott are still stood.

“Sliced you open?” Lydia repeats, voice pitching up.

“Yeah, and Hell?” Stiles tags on, funnily enough, his voice did the same thing.

You glare at the two. Chuck’s sake, it was going to be such a pain to do the whole tip of the iceberg speech, at least they already believed in the Supernatural.

“Just-” you pause for another deep breath. “Please, let me find my brothers first,” you request instead.

Luckily you don’t have to wait long, because only a few minutes later you can hear an engine coming up the road, and you sigh when you catch sight of the Impala.

The car’s moving fast, and it screeches, skidding a bit, as Dean throws the thing in park. Both of you brothers rushing out. Dean gets to you first, hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down.

“The hell happened?” he asks, voice gruff.

“Hell,” you answer shortly.

“That’s not funny,” Sam counters.

“Neither is radio silence,” you shoot back.

Both of your brothers share a look.

“Fair,” Sam concedes, when Dean stays resolute, he hasn’t let go of you yet.

You feel Dean’s grip tighten and you sigh, “I’m fine, seriously,” you relent, voice softening far more than it has since you woke up.

“C’mon let’s get you to the motel,” Dean decides, keeping one hand on you as he starts pushing you to the Impala.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam calls after him, a nervous laugh paired with a clearing of his throat.

“What?” Dean barks the question over his shoulder, walking you forwards.

“She’s got friends,” he reminds him and you shrug at Dean who finally turns and stares at the the three who have been watching your brothers with curious eyes.

“Ah shit, more teenagers,” Dean frowns. “Fine, pack it in,” he huffs, opening the door.

Sam smiles nervously and gestures for the three to slip into the back row. You on the other hand, end up sandwiched between your two big brothers. Sam casts another look over you once he’s back in the car, and Dean’s pulling a U-turn.

“You sure, you’re okay?”

You sigh, and reach into your pocket, pulling out the bullet, and then dropping it in Sam’s hand as a response.

“Sorry I asked,” he backtracks.

You roll your eyes, and lean back into the leather seat, “Someone has to redo my tattoo when we get to the motel,” you speak up.

“Damn, total wipe?” Dean asks looking over at you.

“Not even a scar,” you mutter.

“That’s not too bad, I mean that wendigo last fall caught you pretty bad, right? Scar’s gone now?” Sam tries to point out but both you and Dean level him with a look.

“I thought we agreed to no bright sides on death, hell, torture, and resurrection,” you mutter mutinously.

“We did,” Dean agrees.

This time Sam rolls his eyes, “Alright, I’m sorry I tried,” he huffs, settling back as well.

“So many questions,” you hear Stiles repeat, and you groan in despair.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

[keyotos]

face-to-face

summary ↯

aventurine has a bit of a staring problem while shopping

tags ⎯ unestablished relationship. like we are in the baby stages of their relationship. minor jealousy. lots of banter. lowk dialogue heavy.

word count ⎯ 3.3k

tana's thoughts ⎯ aventurine has taken over my brain so here's a snippet of the series i'm writing

over the years, it's become easier for you to notice when someone stares at you. before, it was an uncomfortable feeling. you felt eyes peering over your shoulder as if you were a pest–it made your skin churn and shoulders twitch up self-consciously. now though, gazes move past you like air. you don't care as much about the opinions of other people–it's not like you'll be seeing them for long anyway.

except, today is different.

you can feel aventurine's colorful eyes trail your every move. from the moment you chose the necklace, to the moment you took it up to the cashier. he wasn't being as inconspicuous as he assumed to be: that died after the fifth glance that he shot your way while you were inspecting said necklace.

even through his glasses, aventurine's stare was burning and heavy. you never thought that such light-colored eyes could install such a hefty weight on your back, but aventurine proves you wrong.

while the cashier rings up your necklace, you look back at aventurine. coincidentally, he was already eyeing you before you even turned around. so when you catch him, he thinks that the other pieces of jewelry in the store are far more interesting than your face could ever be.

you scrunch your eyebrows and shake it off. by now, you're quite used to his unusual antics, so you brush him off. the cashier engages in light conversation with you, and then you feel it again. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and everything feels like it's weighted down.

you bid the cashier goodbye, and aventurine follows you outside. his hands are in his pockets while he whistles, almost like he wants you to start talking. you shoot him a confused look back, your eyebrow raised and nose crinkled.

when he only whistles louder, you decide to poke the bear.

"okay, what is it?" you stop and turn to face him.

"what? you don't like my whistling?" aventurine responds with an innocent tone; he even shrugs his shoulders like he has no idea what's going on.

you huff, "not just the whistling. what's up with your staring?" you raise a hand up to his eyes, "we're supposed to be acting normal. i don't think gawking at the person you're shopping with is exactly normal."

aventurine's jolts back, like he was accused of murder instead of ogling. "i wasn't gawking."

you nod, "yeah, you were staring."

"those mean the same thing."

"i think you've been hanging out with the doctor too much," you roll your eyes and continue walking. aventurine quickly marches up to you, matching your pace sooner than you thought.

"are you trying to compare me to him? we're completely different people, you know that, right? i don't act like him at all," aventurine rambles on. his head is turned to you so that his mouth is directly next to your ear, meaning you hear all of his words. you can't tune him out like usual.

"first of all," it's your turn to look at him, "i just said you hang out with him a lot. and you do, don't you?" aventurine's lips fall into a flat as you say that.

"and second of all, stop changing the subject. why were you staring at me back there?"

the man next to you huffs, and it sounds nearly childlike, "i'm not changing the subject. i'm just trying to tell you that i'm nothing like the doctor," he says with disdain.

"you are changing the subject, otherwise you wouldn't be talking about dr. ratio as much as you are now," you glance around at the various stores surround the two of you, and for a second, you swear that you see aventurine's eyes linger on you once more.

"you did it again!" you fully stop, pointing a finger at his eyes.

aventurine has to catch himself before he falls over at your sudden stop. "what? what are you talking about?"

"you keep glancing over at me! do i have something in my face? my teeth?" a large smile blossoms across your face as you beam at aventurine. for a moment, his annoyed facade falters, and his face relaxes.

"no, and if you did, i'd tell you," he swats a hand in your face, "i don't know what you're talking about."

you roll your eyes. it's obvious that he's hiding something, because usually his lies are more believable. but when you're catching him in the act, denial is not a good way to refute false claims.

"yeah, whatever," you look around the plaza the two of you are currently in when another store catches your eye. your face instantly brightens, and you wander towards the doors.

it's another clothing store, similar to all the other ones on the planet. except, something specific drew you here, and it was the display of hats they had near the window. you walk up to it, spinning the shelf around a few times to grasp onto all the options. your eyes are wide and your mouth is slightly parted as you examine each hat with awe.

unbeknownst to you, aventurine catches up to you and finds you fumbling around with each hat on the rack.

he sneaks up behind you, mumbling, "now, that's what you call gawking."

you jump up in surprise, hitting your head on something more soft than the hard shelf. aventurine quickly redacts his hand from the top of your head.

"i'm just doing what any normal shopper would do," you rub the top of your head before going back to the hats. aventurine's long sigh rings in your ear as you browse.

"yeah, okay," he looks at the selection of hats beside you, "i doubt anything you do is normal, but–" aventurine doesn't get to finish his sentence. he hears your boisterous gasp, and his eyes are on you once more.

"do you see this!!" you lift a fedora up to his eyes, "we could match," you whisper it like a secret, as if matching would be your thing. like matching would only be a tangible thought between the two of you, and no one else.

"yeah, no," aventurine lifts the hat down and places it back on the shelf, "sorry sweetheart, but the hat is my thing."

you grimace at the pet name, "mkay. so, you're gatekeeping fedoras now?"

aventurine sputters, "what? what is gatekeeping?"

you heavily sigh, and aventurine is pretty sure you're putting on an act right now. "are you serious? how do you not know what gatekeeping is?" you shake your head as you grab the hat from the shelf, "anyway, i think i know the real reason you don't want to match."

"because it's childish? and totally not my style?"

you turn around and flick your partner on the shoulder, "no. and you really have been hanging around the doctor too much." you shudder and place the hat on your head, "i think it's because you know i would show you up in it."

aventurine muffles a chortle when he sees you put on the fedora, "keep in mind that we're in the land of dreams."

your lips curl up in the way that they always do when you're annoyed. you are not very amused by his bits today. "you suck," you take the fedora off and continue browsing for different options.

you hear aventurine's footsteps gradually get softer and softer as you keep browsing. that's fine, you think, this is his shopping trip too–he's allowed to find things for himself.

one hat after another: that's your current predicament at the moment. you're glad aventurine is off doing his own shopping, but you also wish that you glued him to the ground so he could give you a second opinion. unfortunately, he is nowhere to be seen, and you are having trouble deciding between two caps.

"do you need any help finding anything?" a voice perks up from behind you, making your shoulders jolt up. it's not the voice you want to hear, instead it belongs to a lovely retail worker.

"ah, no thank you," you smile politely and turn back to the two hats in your hand.

"okay, let me know if you need anything!" sometimes, you wonder how retail employees are able to maintain such a chipper tone of voice for hours on end. do they really want to help you or are they just saying that because they have to?

and that's when the thought hits you: either way, they're still offering themselves up. your eyes widen and you rush towards the employee.

"actually, wait!" he turns around when you touch his shoulder, "i do need help. and this is gonna sound super random–and possibly weird–but what do you think of these two hats?"

you put one hat on–a red one that seems to flop on your head, "this one is nice, right?" the employee in front of you just nods. he's a bit tense and stiff; it seems like he's trying not to offend you.

"yeah, i think it's nice too. only thing is that it's kinda flopping on my head, and caps aren't really supposed to flop," you take it off and hold it in your hand.

you're surprised the employee hasn't made his break yet, because he's still standing in front of you when you grab the other cap.

"and this one," you hold your free hand up to the new, black hat, "is the one that belongs to my favorite team. well, i guess the other one also belonged to another one of my–"

"what are you doing?" you can recognize that voice anywhere. that voice that carries a slightly whiny tone. that voice that always seems to have some judgement sprinkled throughout it.

you and the worker both seem surprised. well, the employee seems to be more intimidated than surprised, but either way, his entire face had gone pale.

"um, trying on hats?" you take off the cap and hold it up.

"i can see that," he looks over towards the employee in front of you, "but is it seriously a two-person job?"

you scrunch your eyebrows together, "i needed a second opinion."

"you could've asked me," aventurine whispered, though it sounded more like a hiss.

"i think someone else needs help," the employee takes a few steps back from the both of you, "i hope you find everything!" there it is. he tries his best to sound cheerful, but his voice quivered as he moved away from the two of you.

"he was such a nice guy," you said as you waved goodbye. aventurine did not look as pleased as you did.

"we're supposed to be laying low. you know that, right?" the blond emphasizes.

you shake him off, "yeah, and tell me how a regular retail worker is gonna rat us out? what about us possibly screams 'sleuth'?"

"we're buying hats." aventurine isn't very proud of his answer, and he can tell that you thought it was weak as well.

"so everyone that buys hats are suspicious?" you retort, putting on the cap you previously took off. "do i look like a murderer to you?"

aventurine sighs. his fingers go to his temples and you're sure that you've brought him to his last nerve.

"this hat is better than the other one," he puts the red one back onto the shelf. "the other one practically fell on your face. i doubt you could even see with that one."

you look at the red hat and then look back at aventurine, furrowing your eyebrows together. "that was a specific answer. i never even showed you what the red hat looked like."

aventurine cleared his throat, and the ceiling must look extra nice, "i overheard the other guy talking. you're loud, y'know that?"

your face immediately breaks out in a huge grin, so wide and bright that aventurine looks back at you for a mere second, before turning back to the ceiling.

"you were doing it again!! the staring! goodness, i thought you were good at lying," you laugh, slapping him on the shoulder to garner his attention, "admit it. i've caught you."

"i'm being serious. you're a little loud," aventurine crosses his arms, biting on the inside of his cheek.

"la-la-la-la. can't hear you. guess i'm speaking too loudly to notice," you put the black cap on again–the brim sticking the opposite direction–and look in the mirror. "hey, since you're here, can you give me another opinion."

aventurine nods for you to continue, and you smile, "perfect. does this make me look like a cool galactic baseball player?"

this is what takes him aback, "huh? why would you want to look like that?"

"well, i'm going to a game soon, and i didn't want to look like a fake fan," you shrug and look in the mirror again. "but now that i'm really looking at myself, i think i’d be an amazing galactic baseballer. what do you think?”

you pretend to hold a baseball bat in your hands, getting into a hitter stance. you make sound effects as you swing your pretend-bat into aventurine's chest, aiming for the open hole in the middle.

aventurine reaches over your head, "well first of all, i'm pretty sure baseball players wear their caps the right way." he grabs your hat and places it on the right way, but not without making sure the brim covered your eyes.

"are you serious right now?!" you yelp, quickly pulling up the hat so you can regain your vision.

and there aventurine is, staring at you again.

you briefly gulp before broadcasting, "you're staring!" you march closer to him. "i caught you!" you're only inches apart now. "and it was obvious!" your finger is pointed at his eyes, but unlike earlier, your finger is much closer.

if you had gotten only an inch closer, you would be able to feel aventurine's heartbeat, despite not even being chest-to-chest.

"okay, okay," aventurine is the first one to step back, and you feel something sinking, "but that was only once."

"yeah, whatever. 'once.' not like i haven't caught you a million other times," you shook your head and regained your baseball posture, "you can't hide from these sharp eyes. told you i'd be a great galactic baseballer."

the blond chuckles, and your eyebrows raise up at the sound, "keep dreaming."

"well, a really weird guy did tell me earlier that we are in the land of dreams. so, if i dreamt that i could be a galactic baseballer, it'd actually happen."

aventurine tilts your hat down once more, dismissing your cries while he does it.

"remember what i said about acting normal?"

"this is actually pretty normal for me," you take the hat off.

"can't argue with that," aventurine looks towards the cashier and then back at you. you raise an eyebrow, as if to raise the question, "is there something wrong with my hair?"

if there is, aventurine doesn't do something about it. surprising, since he's practically been doing something this whole trip. "are you ready to go up?" he asks you.

"you're not gonna get anything?" you look around the store, "we can look at stuff for you. there's tons of things here."

aventurine shakes his head and gives you a wink, "i've got everything i need." you suck in a sharp breath, and you try to focus on anything else other than how fast your heart begins to beat. when aventurine turns his back away from you, then you gulp.

when the two of you get to the cash register, you stand next to aventurine, preparing to pay. you're well aware of how costly things on penacony are–after all, this whole planet is like a tourist attraction. that's why you're paying with card instead of the usual credits.

"did you find everything?" the cashier asks you. you smile at the woman and nod, making idle chatter with her while aventurine idly stands next to you.

the woman turns over to aventurine, "i'm guessing you also want to pay for your item too?"

it's aventurine's turn to plaster a smile on his face. from what you've gathered from being with him so often, his smiles are often sly. some would compare it to the cheshire cat, but you thought he rather resembled an evil cartoon villain.

"yes ma'am," his saccharine voice masked his villain grin, "do you still have it?"

"that i do," she responds, grabbing something from underneath the counter. your eyes fly from the woman to aventurine. you simply couldn't believe what you were looking at.

"you're buying the freaking feodora?" your posture straightens and you beam up at him, "i knew you wanted to match!"

"slow your roll," aventurine puts a hand up to you, "who said i was buying this for you?"

your smile drops and you shove his shoulder, "are you serious? i thought you didn't like that hat."

"i didn't not like the hat. i just didn't like the thought of us matching," he tilts his head to smirk at you.

the cashier's eye's bounce between you two, not knowing whose side to take. eventually, she settles for ringing your cap and aventurine's feodora up, not even wanting to say a word.

"alright, who's paying?" she looks up at the both of you.

"i am," you and aventurine say in unison. your face contorts while aventurine displays a confused expression.

"um," you whisper, stepping closer to the blond next to you, "i'm paying."

"um," aventurine mocks you, "you're broke."

"not broke!" you kick his shin, and aventurine grips onto the counter in order to keep his balance, "just budgeting."

"yeah, and you know who don't have to budget? people that aren't broke."

"so he's paying?" the cashier interrupts. you step away from aventurine out of shame. he can have this.

when aventurine sees you put away your wallet, he proudly hands his card up to the woman in front of you. when she looks down to scan his card, he shoots you a sly look and a wink. your mouth rests in a flat line and your eyes show no signs of hilarity.

the moment the two of you step out of the store, you immediately go for aventurine's bag. before he could even catch you, the hat is already in your hands.

"we can switch!" you try to reason with him, "you would be a great baseball player. just, y'know, not as great as me."

"and..." you sing, "we wouldn't match. wouldn't that suit both of our goals?"

aventurine looks over at you, and his gaze is softer. this time, you don't get onto him for gawking. how could you, when he's looking at you like that? you don't think you've ever seen him like that... ever.

you squint your eyes, trying to decipher his real expression. but there's nothing for you to investigate.

"what?" you ask.

"you can keep it."

immediately you take a step back, nearly bumping into a bystander walking behind you. you shout a quick apology before returning back to aventurine, "didn't you buy this for yourself though? what's the point of me keeping it?"

"i just realized that it didn't go with any of the outfits i have," he sighed, looking into the distance, "what a waste of money. so, it's yours."

"what kind of bullshit is that?" you scold the blond, "you always have to think about whether or not you'd actually wear the item before you buy it. that's like... number one rule of shopping."

"i don't shop that much," aventurine shrugs, glancing at you one last time before focusing on the street ahead. he bites the inside of his cheek and tries his hardest not to look to the side. you'd give him hell for it.

but you're not focused on that. everything's slow, and it feels like the street is empty.

"well, then we're gonna have to go more often."